and made me sick with worry. I pictured him caught somewhere between the innocence of the boy I had first met at the creek—the one with the gentleness to heal a small bird—and the crazed killer capable of murdering a young girl nearly his own age.
Someone like…me.
I had walked the last of the patios and hadn’t seen anyone as young as White Bird. My heart sank as a wave of nausea hit me. When I thought about turning around and heading home, giving up on all I had hoped would happen today, that’s when I saw a guy in a wheelchair under some trees near the high fence. He was alone and his back was to me.
My heart crammed in my throat as I walked toward him. And I had trouble breathing. I desperately wanted it to be him. It had to be him. And when tears filled my eyes, I fought the lump in my throat and clenched my hands into fists.
“Please, God. Let it be White Bird,” I whispered as a tear slid down my cheek.
I wasn’t sure God would listen to me. He never had before.
chapter three
Red Cliffs Hospital
As I walked toward the guy in the wheelchair, my stomach twisted into knots. I couldn’t catch my breath, but I kept walking anyway, unable to take my eyes off him. The sun, the trees and the people on the grounds of the mental hospital, they faded to nothing. All I saw was that boy slumped in the chair with his head too heavy to lift. He wore pale blue hospital scrubs and a white robe with slippers on his feet. And when I got close enough, I took off my sunglasses and knelt in front of him—crying.
It was White Bird.
He looked thinner, not like the strong boy I remembered. His golden skin that once looked like sweet caramel had turned pale. And someone had cut his long black hair to make him conform to what they thought he should be. If White Bird knew what they’d done, he would have fought them. And I would have given anything to see the fire in his eyes again. But in his condition, he had no fight left. His keen, dark eyes were glazed over and empty. Dead. With his arms limp in his lap, he stared into a world only he could see.
And it broke my heart to see him so lost.
“Oh, my God. What have they done to you?” I whispered, not recognizing my own voice. “What have I done?”
I reached out a trembling hand and pulled it back. I wanted to touch him, but I didn’t deserve to be comforted by that touch. I had played a part in putting him here. And if he could truly see, I knew he would glare in anger at my betrayal. Every time I looked in the mirror, I stared back at myself with the same blame.
“White Bird.” I said his name and lowered my head to meet his gaze. “It’s me, Brenna. Brenna Nash. Remember me?”
The words stuck in my throat. How the hell could he forget me? You’re an idiot, Bren! Tears stung my eyes. And I had no idea what to say.
Over the past two years, any suffering I had done wasn’t enough, not compared to what had happened to him. The life had drained from him. His body was nothing but an empty shell where my friend used to be. I clutched my hands tight on the armrests to his wheelchair until my fingers ached. And bile rose hot in my belly.
None of this was right!
“Please…look at me. I have to—” I stopped.
What did I have to do? I wanted to know what had happened. Why had this gentle boy killed Heather? It made no sense. And yet I couldn’t shake the images I saw that morning from my head. The reality of what I had seen blocked everything out.
“I have to know what happened. Why did you…?” I swallowed, hard. I couldn’t bring myself to ask why he’d killed Heather. Saying it aloud made it real. Saying it aloud meant I had accepted it.
But why did I have to know what happened? Did my reason have more to do with letting me off the guilt hook? I hated myself for even wondering that. If he were guilty of murder, that would justify what I had done by turning him in. But guilty or innocent, I should have stood by my friend. Why hadn’t I done that?