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She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to remember.
I raise my voice, making it sharp the way that Rachel might have spoken to her. “Don’t be stupid India. You can’t move in with Charlie. He’s no good. He’s no good for you. Because…”
“Because…” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I can’t do this! I don’t know!”
I g
lance down the street. Rachel’s body was further along up the alleyway. How did she get there?
“I didn’t want to tell you about Charlie, did I?” I say harshly. “I walked away, didn’t I? I walked this way.”
I start walking, keeping India’s arm tucked in mine so that she has to follow me. I walk in the direction they must’ve walked, hurrying her along as Rachel must’ve hurried, intent on getting away from India that night. And India must’ve followed her, demanding to know what her problem was.
I stop at the little parking bay near the gate. “You grabbed me here,” I tell her accusingly. “You made me stop. You made me tell you. What did I tell you, India? What was it?” I grab her arm hard.
She shakes her head. Tears are pouring down her cheeks. She tries to pull away from me, but I won’t let her. I hold onto her arms, the way that she must’ve held onto Rachel’s arms that night.
“Tell me!” I demand angrily, the way that she must’ve demanded of Rachel that night. “What did I say?”
“Stop it!” she cries out.
“I told you Charlie was no good for you. I didn’t like him. I didn’t want you to live with him because… Because what?”
“Because you slept with him is why!” India shouts. “You were sleeping with him. You slut! Sleeping with my boyfriend. Who are you to tell me that he’s no good for me? How could you do that to me?” She slaps me hard across the cheek.
“You bitch!” she shrieks. “I knew you wanted him for yourself!”
I let her hit me. Lucky her. I’m not the sort to let people hit me, but I am not about to break things off now.
“That’s right,” I snarl. “I’m a slut. I slept with Charlie and I liked it! What are you going to do about it?”
She raises her hand to slap me again, and then she stops. She is turning away from me. She is staring at the road. “A car is coming!” she says.
There is no car. She is remembering what happened that night. She staggers backwards as if the car is coming right at her and Rachel. I stagger with her, mimicking what happened.
“What’s happening now?” I ask her urgently.
She raises her arm above her eyes as if to shield them from a bright light. “Someone is getting out. Someone. I can’t see. The headlights are too bright.”
“Who?” I demand. “A man or a woman? Who is it?”
“Someone. I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m screaming at Rachel…”
She stops. She is gasping for breath. Her hand flies to the side of her neck.
“What?” I ask her urgently. I shake her. Knowing this is the moment she either saw or didn’t. “What happened?”
“I’ve been jabbed with something. A needle. And I can’t move. I feel sick.” She drops to her knees, as if that is what happened to her that night. She is sobbing now. “Oh my God. Rachel is screaming. Rachel is screaming for help. I can’t move. I can’t see. Why aren’t I doing anything?”
She curls up onto the floor, crying, sobbing her heart out. I kneel on the ground next to her. I pat her shoulder. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. It’s over.”
She only sobs harder. I am impatient. Tired of playing the friend. I need to know what she remembers. I have to make her tell me. I force her head up from the ground. I force her to sit up and look at me. She tries to cover her face with her hands, but I force her arms down to her sides.
“Tell me what happened next,” I demand.
“Rachel,” she whimpers.
I want to snap at her to pull herself together. Rachel betrayed her. Rachel was a bitch who pretended to be sweet. But I know that saying this will not help matters. The reality of what Rachel has done ceased to mattered because apparently death has promoted her to sainthood. And India’s grief is bigger than her anger right now.
