don’t remember that night because you passed out?”
“I did it, Kerry.”
“I know, but humor me for a second.” I stand and start pacing back and forth. There’s a thought emerging, pieces of a puzzle falling into place. His memory has holes. He felt sick. The chick puked. The next morning he was himself again, and so was she. “You both drank the same thing.”
“Kerry, I’ve been through this a million times. I grabbed a bottle, and we opened it downstairs. When things got hot and heavy, we headed to the bedroom. She wasn’t drunk on the staircase. Neither was I.”
“But you felt sick?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Did you feel drunk? Did the walls swim and the floor shift a little? Did your head feel too big for your body, like it weighed too much to hold upright?” The words come out in a spray, and I can’t stop. Maybe he thought it in the back of his head, but Josh wasn’t ready to admit it. For years, he took the blame for his actions and carried the weight of that night on his conscience.
He’s still defensive. Eyes narrowed and jaw locked, he hisses, “There’s no way I was drunk.”
“I know. Josh, neither was I. Neither was Beth. Neither was Emily. None of us were drunk, but it felt like I was and then there are scattered memories until everything goes dark. There are hours of nothing.”
As he watches me, I see him shove down the hope that tries to float up inside of him. “Right, you passed out. I raped a girl. It’s not the same.”
“Yes, it is!”
“I was the only one there—”
“How do you know that?” I’m practically yelling now. I don’t mean to, but it makes the most sense. “Josh, what if you weren’t? What if Scott gave you a spiked bottle? You both head upstairs to make out or whatever, and you both fall asleep.”
“That’s impossible. Someone tied her to the bed. Someone raped her. We didn’t just sleep.”
“But what if that someone wasn’t you? What if Scott did all that shit, raped her, and then left. She’d think you did it. You’d think you did it, too. So would everyone else.” I keep thinking this through and looking for holes in my theory, not finding many.
He laughs bitterly. “That’s far-fetched.”
“No, it’s not. Think about it. To everyone else, it looks like things got out of hand, but neither of you remembers anything.”
“She remembers.”
“No, she doesn’t. I'd bet you anything she can’t remember that night at all because she blacked out just like you did. If she were lucid, hell, if she were awake, she would have screamed loud enough for someone to hear, but she didn’t. So she either wanted it, or—what I’m starting to think is the more likely option—she passed out at the same time as you, and a third person was there.”
“Kerry, even if it was Scott, why? That’s an insane accusation to make on some random guy.”
“I don’t know why Scott would do anything. The guy is a shadow. He’s always there but never says much. Josh, I don’t know why he’d go after Emily, Beth, and me either. I barely know him.” I sweep back through my memories of Scott, trying to find a malicious comment, anything to suggest he’s evil, but I’ve got nothing. “The bottle—let’s find out how a bottle could appear sealed even if it was tampered with.”
Josh rubs the heel of his hand over his face and sighs. “Don’t give me hope, Kerry. I can’t take the pain when I find out it’s not true.”
“There are a bunch of things that don’t add up. Please, humor me. Find out for me?” I plead with him for a few minutes.
Josh finally caves and shakes his head, trademark grin back in place. “Fine, but it doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. I accepted what I did a long time ago.”
My phone buzzes on the table. I walk over and glance down at it. MEET ME AT THE HOUSE. My heart sinks and ice shoots through my veins. It’s from Ferro.
Josh asks, “Who is it?”
I steady my voice and answer, “No one. Nothing important.” I know he senses the lie, so I shove on. “Listen, I know you didn’t do this. You’re a good man, Josh. You find out what you can about the bottle. I need to take care of something. Can you please bring me back to my bus?”
“Going to see the new love of your life?”
I smirk at him. “Maybe.”
Or