Page 79 of Five Survive
Reyna’s face tensed. She had, she’d thought about it again, Oliver wasn’t speaking for her, Red could tell.
“Everything is fine.”
Fine.
“And then two days later, Reyna is working at the local hospital, on this shadowing program Dartmouth runs for premed students to get clinical experience.” Oliver paused, wiping the sides of his mouth. “And while she’s there, she learns of a patient that just died that morning. It was him. The guy from the bar. He was called Jack something. He died of bleeding on the brain.”
“Epidural hematoma,” Reyna said, voice thick and her eyes far away, not in the RV anymore, back in that memory that only she could see.
There was silence, only the hissing of static in Red’s hands.
“So,” Simon said slowly, carefully. “You killed him?”
Oliver’s hands slammed down on the table, making them all jump. “I did not kill him!” he shouted, voice spiking at the edges. “Heattacked Reyna and then he attacked me. He hit me first. I was only defending myself, defending Reyna.”
“Did you tell anyone?” Arthur asked now, his voice low and steady. “After you found out he died, did you tell anyone?”
“Turn myself in, you mean?” Oliver looked at him, blinking too fast. “No, we didn’t tell anyone. We said we never would, unless someone asked. I guess there weren’t any cameras in the parking lot, because no one ever came to speak to us about it. Maybe the guy hadn’t told anyone about the fight after, maybe no one knew. But let me be clear.” Oliver rolled his shoulders. “It wasn’t my fault. He hit me first. It was self-defense. But we couldn’t go to the police, because the right prosecutor might have been able to argue that it was a manslaughter case and press charges against me.”
“So you kept it secret?” Maddy asked, voice even smaller than before. “Just the two of you.”
“Of course we kept it secret,” Oliver replied. “He hit me first. Why should I be punished for him attacking me, attacking my girlfriend? And I couldn’t do that to Mom,” he added, directing the words to Maddy. “She’s about to become fucking district attorney, she’s worked so hard. A son with a criminal charge would destroy her career. Not to mention my own legal career. He hit me first.”
But Oliver must have hit him harder.
“So,” Arthur said, speaking tentatively, careful not to set Oliver off again. “You think it’s possible someone knows what happened, or suspects at least. The guy out there with the rifle, he could be a friend, or family? Wants you to admit what you did, how Jack died?”
“I don’t know,” Oliver said, a small shrug in his too-wide shoulders. “This whole thing is so fucked. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to…” He drew off, gaze circling in front of him. “I didn’t mean to.”
Oliver’s face rearranged, softening between the eyebrows, a twitch in his lower lip, pulling at his chin. His eyes glazed, almost with the threat of tears, and he looked down before anyone could see. But Red saw, she was watching. And she knew that feeling better than anyone. The guilt a physical pain in your gut, twisting and twisting, like a hunger that never ended. The hot-faced feel of shame. And, despite everything, Red didn’t want Oliver to feel that way, to feel like she did. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Red stepped forward, to Oliver’s side, and he glanced up as the static hissed closer to his ear.
“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Red said, looking down at him. “I know exactly what that feels like, that it’s your fault someone died. And I—”
“It wasn’t my fault.” Oliver cut her off, the words rasping into empty sounds in her throat. “He hit me first. I was just defending Reyna. He hit me first. It wasn’t my fault.” He repeated it, like it was important she understood that. They weren’t the same, she and him, and she shouldn’t make that mistake again. That was what he meant. But Red hadn’t even got to explain what she meant, who’d died because of her.
There was a snuffle to her right. Reyna was still crying, wiping her nose across her sleeve. She didn’t look relieved that the story was over, that it was finally all out.
“How old was he?” Maddy was the next to speak, a cautious glance at her brother.
“Don’t know, around our age, I guess,” Oliver said.
“Twenty-two,” Reyna added, a moment later.
Oliver shot a look over at her. Red stepped back so he could see, clearing the way between them.
“How do you know that?” he asked. “From the hospital? You never said before.”
Reyna sucked in a deep breath, eyes side to side like there was a war going on in her head, and there she was, stuck between both sides. She blew the breath out through gritted teeth, decision made, one side chosen. Reyna blinked and looked back at Oliver, Red caught in the middle again. She backed away into the kitchen. The story wasn’t finished, was it? It wasn’t complete. Reyna clearly knew something Oliver did not.
“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Reyna said, voice croaky and raw, a new tear dancing down the lines of her face, in and out of the other tracks. “He wasn’t a random guy. I knew him.”
Oliver’s mouth hung open, tiny movements in his lower jaw, up and down, and Red imagined she could hear it, creaking at the hinges, creating the sound out of the emptiness of the static.
Oliver still didn’t say anything, so Reyna did.
“His name was Jack Harvey, not Jack Something, and I knew him,” she said.
