Eighteen Years Ago…

A rhythmic pounding woke me from a restless sleep early on a Sunday morning. I was two weeks from leaving for college, leaving this shitty town, and leaving Stella. We’d spent the prior evening wrapped in each other’s arms in a sleeping bag down by the river. It had been the best and worst night of my life. She’d given me a precious gift to take with me—her virginity and the promise of her undying love. We’d made plans to reunite as often as we could, knowing that our time together had come to an end. Marianne had been sent to the hospital following a stroke, and Stan wouldn’t be able to watch the girls any longer.

“Mom! Somebody’s at the door,” I shouted, not wanting to face reality quite yet. The knocking continued. After a minute, I got up, grumbling, and stabbed my legs into a pair of board shorts.

By the time I got downstairs, the sheriff had my mom in the living room. She was crying uncontrollably and calling Chris’s name over and over again. I hadn’t seen my brother since Friday, but that wasn’t unusual. He often disappeared for days at a time without excuses.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my stomach churning with dread.

“Son, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but Chris was found dead this morning.”

An icy wave swept over my body. White hot pain followed swiftly, gutting me. Memories of Chris flashed through my head. The two of us learning to ride bikes. Playing video games into the wee hours of the morning. Laughing over fart jokes. I blinked, trying to comprehend the news. It just wasn’t possible. Although we’d grown apart over the past few years, he was my older brother. He’d always seemed invincible to me. The sheriff observed my face with emotionless eyes. I wanted to be a man, but I couldn’t stop the slow trail of tears down my face.

“Can you tell me where you were last night, Owen?” he asked.

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.” I ran a hand through my hair, fighting past the bile in my throat. “How did it happen?”

“I’m going to need you to come down to the station,” the sheriff said. I didn’t like the way they were looking at me, but I was too distraught to make sense of the situation. I wanted to do anything I could to help them find the person who’d done this terrible thing.

“Sure. Whatever you need.” At the flash of silver handcuffs, I recoiled. “Wait a minute. Am I under arrest?”

“No, we’d just like to ask you a few questions.”

The ride to the police station passed in a blur. When we got there, they hustled me into an interrogation room, but not before I caught sight of Lanie and Stella. Lanie sat on a bench outside someone’s office, her arms wrapped around her waist, rocking herself. Stella looked like hell. Her left eye was swollen shut, and her lip had been busted. They had her in handcuffs, leading her from a different interrogation room and down the hall, away from me. “Stella,” I called out to her, but she disappeared around a corner.

Inside the interrogation room, I drummed my fingers on the table. Nondescript white block walls surrounded me on every side. I stared at the two-way mirror between me and whomever was on the other side. The hard folding chair bit into my backside. Numbness settled over my body. Chris was dead. I still couldn’t believe it. A farmer had found his body on the riverbank a few miles from Stella’s house, not far from where we’d been. I wanted to cry for him, but my tears had dried. Chris had been a ruthless, cold-hearted asshole, but he’d still been my brother. No one deserved to die like that, especially at such a young age.

My thoughts turned to Stella. Why did they have her in handcuffs? What was she doing here? We planned to walk down Main Street today, so she could photograph the historic homes. With so little time left together, we wanted to spend every moment in each other’s company. The sight of her small and helpless filled me with rage and frustration. I bounced a knee to expel some of the pent-up emotion. Finally, the door opened, and the detective pulled up a chair across from me. He placed a folder on the table.

“Owen, I’m going to ask you some questions,” the detective said. He had a kind but weary face with an overgrown moustache and pock-marked skin. “Take your time. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of what happened, so we can put whoever did this terrible thing behind bars.”

For hours, I answered question after question. They drilled me about Chris, his habits, his friends, where he hung out. The tone of the questions grew more intense. Eventually, the grilling turned to Stella. They wanted to know everything about her. This path of cross-examination immediately raised my defenses.

“Were you with Stella last night?” the detective asked.

I hesitated, not wanting to get her into trouble, knowing we were both screwed no matter how I answered. “Yes.”

“Do you know who this belongs to?” He raised a plastic bag in front of me. The dark sheen of blood crusted the silver blade of Stella’s knife. My stomach churned. I swallowed hard, trying to keep from puking on his shoes. “Is this Stella’s knife?”

“Can I get a glass of water?” I rasped with an unfamiliar voice. Suddenly, everything became crystal clear. Stella’s fight to keep Lanie away from Chris. The bruises on her neck. I fought back panic. She wouldn’t have done something like this, not in a million years. Sure, she was tough, but she was sweet, too. And Chris was a strong guy. He would have taken the knife from her in a heartbeat.

The detective shoved his chair back and jumped to his feet. He slammed his hands on the table between us, lowering his face until we were nose to nose. “Look, son. Your brother is dead, and I need answers. I think either you or your girlfriend had something to do with it.”

“I’ve told you everything I know.” A headache blossomed in the back of my head. I rubbed my neck to ease the ache. “There’s no way Stella did this.”

“Are you saying you did it?” The way he twisted my words wore down my exhausted brain.

“No. I’m saying that you’re looking at the wrong people. You’re wasting time when you should be after the real killer.”

The detective glared at me then opened the folder. Slowly, he placed a series of photographs in front of me. Chris’s lifeless body in the muck among cattails. Several shots of the wound to his neck, the one that had severed his artery. I covered my eyes with my hand, unable to deal with the gruesome scene. No one deserved to die that way. Not even Chris. The detective waited until I pulled myself together before showing the last photo of Stella’s knife lying beside Chris’s corpse. My empty stomach clenched into a hard knot.

“Have you seen this knife before?” the detective asked, tapping the photo with an index finger. I didn’t answer. He gave an exasperated sigh. “Listen up. We have witnesses who say you threatened to kill your brother, that he tried to strangle Stella, and you didn’t take kindly to that. According to the people around here, you two never got along. This knife belongs to Stella. From where I stand, both of you have means, motive, and opportunity. If you know something, Owen, I suggest you speak up now. If Stella did this, then you have to tell us.”

The sickening feeling in my gut continued to grow. I crossed my arms over my chest and turned away from the heartbreaking pictures. Could Stella have done this? I knew in my heart it wasn’t possible, but the detective’s words confused me. “I want a lawyer.”