Page 4 of False Idols

“Beau,” I whisper, and start to dial 911. But the second I say Beau’s name my mother crosses the room and jerks the phone out of my hand.

“You’re lying!” She slams the phone down on the cradle and shakes a finger at me. “You get Beau Du Pont’s name out of your mouth, little girl. You’re a liar!”

“I’m not!” I scream at her and she falls back a step. I never scream at my mother. I’m a good girl. “Beau was there. I-I saw him with his date, and she’s dead. He said that I was dead too! I’m telling the truth!”

“You go and accuse that boy of anything and we’re done in this town.”

My blood runs cold and I feel like I’m still out on that ledge with Beau cutting his date up. Coward. The word bubbles up in me, but it dies on my tongue, even though I know what my mom wants me to do.

She wants me to lie

She points a finger at my face and her voice gets quiet. It always gets quiet when she’s really mad at me. “You didn’t see anything tonight.”

She wants me to forget.

“You lied,” she whispers.

I shake my head. “No m-ma’am. I saw him. H-he grabbed me and said I was dead, just like she was! I tried to help her, I promise I did!” My voice rises with every word. I make a wild grab for the phone, snatching it from my stunned mother’s hands. She’s not used to me yelling at her. She’s always worried about the wrong things and I know she’s going to be upset with me for a long time for it, but I can’t help it. Beau Du Pont is a killer.

“I tried to save her.” Tears blur my eyes and it’s hard to hold onto the phone, but I manage to dial it this time. It rings twice before the operator picks up.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“There’s a dead girl on the Mineral Belt Trail. You have to come, please hurry!”

“Where are you? Where is the girl?”

I hold the phone so hard that the plastic creaks in my hand. “I-I’m at home and she’s on the trail. She’s dead. Please hurry, you have to come or he’s going to kill me too!”

“Stay calm. Is your home a safe location?”

I nod, but then remember she can’t see me, so I answer her. “Yes, I’m safe now. But he’s coming and-” I turn in time to see my mom make a run for the cord, she’s going to try and yank it out of the wall. “Mommy, no! Don’t!” I have to force my body between her and the cord to stop her from getting a hand on it.

“Hang up the phone, Nevaeh!” My mom screams at me. She slaps me, but I don’t let go of the phone.

“Who is after you? Who else is there with you?”

“My mom is here and-and we’re scared,” I blurt out. I don’t know how else to explain my mom beating on me while I’m on the phone with the 911 operator. Shame wells up in me just like it always does when my mom acts out. “She doesn't mean it,” I say quickly.

“Who is chasing you? Are the doors locked?”

“Yes they’re locked and it was Beau Du Pont.”

The line falls silent, because I know they are thinking what my mom thought when I told her. It can’t be Beau Du Pont. Someone from his family wouldn’t kill. If they report this and they’re wrong, there will be hell to pay, but I know what I saw.

“Are you sure of the identification?” They ask after another second.

“Please, you have to believe me. It was him. I-I saw him,” my voice cracks and I start to cry again, “there was so much blood on her. She’s dead.”

“What is your address? We have units on the way. Stay indoors. I need you to stay on the phone with me now. What’s your name?”

“Nevaeh Santiago,” I whisper.

“Where do you live, Nevaeh?” They prompt again and I give them my address on autopilot. I can’t stop seeing the girl or hearing the sick rattle of her breath. I squeeze my eyes shut but I can’t make it stop. “Everything is going to be okay, Nevaeh,” the operator tells me, but I hear sirens. I’m glad I hear the sirens. It makes me stop hearing the girl. They’re getting louder and I run to the door to look out the front window.

“I can hear the cops. Are they here already?” I ask. Bloom isn’t a big city, but how can they be here already? I shove my face through the curtains and look out the window in time to see the cop cars blow past us and continue on up the road. They’re heading for Bloom Point, they have to be. We’re too far outside of town. There’s nothing past the trailer park but Bloom Point.

My mom comes to stand beside me and pulls the curtains back from the window. The road in front of the trailer park entrance is alive. Cop car after cop car flies past, sirens screaming, and red and blue lights flash and light up the night. Our neighbors come out of their trailers and stand in their driveways and on the streets that crisscross through the trailer lots. They’re gathering together in groups as they watch the never ending stream of police heading up to Bloom Point. The operator is talking but I can’t focus. I’m staring at the blood on my arms and the smear of dirt I left on my mom’s white lace curtains. We don’t have many nice things in our house, but these curtains are the nicest. She’s going to give me hell for ruining them. But when I look at her she isn’t busy noticing the stain on her curtains. She’s pale and shaking and staring out at the scene unfolding in front of us. A cop car speeds into the trailer park and comes to a screeching halt in front of our trailer, and a second later a policeman is banging at our door.

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