Page 93 of We Already Dug the Grave

She examined the silver piece of jewelry. “Oh. The cross ring. I forgot about this. I found it.”

“Where?”

She shrugged and held it back to me. “You know, I don’t remember. Maybe outside somewhere?” Her eyes rolled upward, as if she were thinking. “Why do you ask?”

I exhaled. That made sense, didn’t it? It could’ve come off when I was moving him. And anyway, why was my heart pounding? What had I expected her to say? That she’d pulled it from Casey’s hand? That was idiotic.

In my mind, there’s an image. A moment. A flash of silver on my finger as I gripped Casey’s ankles. But that can’t be right. Any thoughts from that time are all jumbled, filled with blank spots and pain and ten years of trying so desperately to forget. It’s not only possible, but likely, the moment I imagined is more dream than memory.

Still. I couldn’t shake the image of Casey’s helmet in that desk drawer in Frances’s home. And now here was the ring.

She watched me and I realized I hadn’t answered the question. Why did I ask? “I don’t know.” I shrugged as if I weren’t mentally spiraling. “It reminded me of something. From high school. It’s pretty.”

Why did I lie?

Frances’s smile eased. “Yeah. I guess so. Here.” She tossed the ring to me, and it bounced against my hands, juggling through the air before I caught it. “Keep it.” She picked up the photo I’d set aside, the one I’d plucked from the vanity mirror of her and her old roommate. Her expression grew wistful. “I haven’t thought about Matilda in ages. Breaks my heart too much. You know, she introduced me to Burt?”

“I thought you said you met him after she disappeared?”

“No.” She frowned and shook her head. “We didn’t get close until after. But Matilda introduced us. She had a huge crush on him. I should’ve let her have him. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess. And maybe she would’ve been on a date with Burt instead of at that seedy bar the night she disappeared.”

I frowned.

She set the photo down. “Shower’s all yours.”

“Thanks. But I have something to do first.”

Frances’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious. Tonight?”

I nodded. “The aunts can’t know. And it has to be taken care of, it takes away any leverage Burt might have if my plan works and he’s caught.”

“Do you, uh, do you want me to help you?”

I wanted to say yes. It had been a decade since I’d buried my best friend in an unmarked grave. One Burt had somehow found years later, without a problem.

“No. That’s okay. I know what I’m going to do.” It was sort of the truth.

Frances crossed the small room and slid into the bottom bunk. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

It annoyed me that she didn’t try to insist.

“I’m going to get some sleep. If you change your mind, wake me up. Will you get the light?”

“Okay,” I said. I turned off the bedroom light and climbed to the top bunk and lay on top of the covers. I’d wait a few minutes to be sure everyone was down for the night—I couldn’t risk the aunts asking where I was going—then I’d sneak away.

Chapter 35

Then

Casey’s ankles were bony, even thinner than I’d have thought. I should’ve known, though. One Halloween we’d thrifted together Jack Skellington and Sally costumes.

He has Jack Skellington’s ankles.

It was a weird thought to have as I pulled him toward the trees, but what wasn’t weird when burying your crush?

The boy who liked me—my only friend—was dead.

It was my fault. My fault my fault.