DON'T TELL (Jack Ryder Book 7) Read online

  “Please, give me another chance?” he said, smiling like he already knew she would say yes.

  She exhaled, leaned forward, and kissed him. “But it’s just the two of us from now on, okay? I know you love your sister, but I don’t want to share you with her.”

  He nodded and kissed her again. “You got it.”

  18

  "Austin, please, you have to talk. You have to tell us what happened. You can't just clam up like this."

  Shannon looked at Jack from across the living room. They had come back to the cabin, and all the other kids had gone to their rooms while Jack tried to get Austin to open up about what had happened at the ski school. Shannon didn't like how harsh Jack was with Austin. The boy hadn't spoken a word to any of them, not even his twin sister Abigail. He was in shock. Couldn’t Jack see that?

  "Austin," Jack said and rubbed his forehead. “Come on, boy. Tell me what you saw?”

  The boy was looking at his shoes, not his father. They had been at it for at least half an hour, and it was going nowhere. It was getting painful to watch.

  "It's me; it's your dad. You can tell me anything," Jack said. "I won't be angry with you if that’s what you’re afraid of. I just need to hear from you what happened inside that school. It's important for you to talk about this to someone. You can't keep it bottled up. It is also important that the police know the truth. I am gonna ask you one more time; did the instructor shoot himself or did something else happen?"

  As Jack said the words, Austin lifted his glare and looked into his father's eyes for the first time. The gesture made Jack gasp lightly.

  "He didn't shoot himself, did he? I knew it. Austin, tell me exactly what happened."

  But the boy didn't answer. He rose to his feet, then ran off towards the stairs.

  "Austin, no!"

  Jack ran after him, but Shannon grabbed his arm and stopped him. "Don't, Jack. You're scaring the boy. Can't you see? He's terrified of you."

  Jack turned and looked at Shannon. His eyes burned in desperation and anger.

  "You stay out of this, Shannon. This doesn't concern you. It's between me and my boy."

  Shannon bit her lip, contemplating what to do. She knew Jack was angry right now, but she couldn't just keep quiet. She had to be honest with him, and she had to help Austin. She had bonded with him over hot chocolate today, and that had made her realize that she understood him.

  "It does concern me, Jack, and you know it. We’re married, remember? We have a family, and we're raising these kids together. I love Austin too, and right now, you're being a detective and not a father. The boy needs your comfort and love; he doesn’t need a third-degree interrogation. So what if he chooses not to speak? He's just been through something very traumatic, something that may have scarred him for life. The last thing he needs is to feel like a disappointment to his father. The last thing he needs is for you to be angry with him. That will only make him clam up further."

  "So, now you're suddenly the expert on my son, huh?" Jack asked.

  Shannon exhaled, calming herself down. "That, I am not. But I do understand him. He's a sensitive boy, a creative soul, and he needs nurturing, not strict discipline and yelling. I know this because that's how I used to be as a child."

  Jack glared at her, mouth gaping. Then he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Well, if you think you can do a better job, then be my guest. Go ahead; you talk to him."

  "I will," she said, then walked past him up the stairs without another word.

  19

  How come when it came to my own son I always turned into this monster, this terrible version of myself that reminded me of my old man? I knew it was wrong to pressure him, to yell at him in this situation, yet I still did it. I knew Shannon was right, yet I got angry at her when she told me I was being unreasonable.

  I was such a hypocrite.

  I stared at my beautiful and wise wife as she disappeared up the stairs, wondering if I should just find a hole and crawl into it. Why was it that all my sense went out the window when I faced my son? It was scary how much I had sounded like my own father just a minute ago. I hated when he yelled at me or when he was disappointed in me. Why was I making my own son feel the same way when I knew how crushing it was to such a young heart? Had I learned nothing from my own experience?

  I exhaled and sat in a recliner next to the fireplace, then hid my face between my hands. I felt awful for my son, and the truth was, I was so angry that this had happened to him. This was supposed to be a fun vacation for all of us. I knew it was going to be especially tough on Austin to learn how to snowboard because he often struggled with athletics whereas these things came easily to his sister. All I had wanted was for this to go well for him. I just wanted him to have fun with it, and now this had happened?

  What the heck was going on in this town?

  First, there was the woman in the car, almost crashing into us. Then there was the boy who had disappeared from next door and his creepy mother in the window, rocking in her chair day and night, waiting for him. And now a nineteen-year-old ski instructor had allegedly shot himself in front of my nine-year-old son?

  I grabbed the local paper, The Mountaineer, that had been in our mailbox this morning and found the article written about the accident the night before, then found the name of the woman who had driven the car. Eliza Reuben. I wrote it on a piece of paper, then looked at it, wondering who she was.

  I then grabbed my laptop and googled her. Tons of links appeared with her name in them, and it didn't take me long to find her Facebook and Instagram profile along with her LinkedIn page.

  "She’s a journalist," I said to myself and scrolled down her professional profile. "Some pretty big names in here."

  "What was that?" Shannon asked as she came down the stairs.

  "Nothing,” I said. "How did it go with Austin?"

  She shrugged and shook her head. "I just hugged him and told him he could come to me anytime when he was ready to talk, but he didn't want to say anything. I told Abigail to stay with him and then put on a movie for them all to watch, to take their minds off things a little. They're all pretty shaken. Tyler doesn’t really understand much of what is going on, but he's exhausted from all the skiing and fresh air, so even he sat still and watched the movie. What are you doing? You said something just when I came down?"

  "Thank you,” I said and looked at her with gratefulness.

  "For what? I didn't get him to talk."

  I grabbed her hand in mine and put it against my cheek. "Just for being you. I don't know what I would do without you. And you're right. I think you understand Austin better than I do."

  Shannon chuckled and sat next to me on the couch with a deep sigh. "So, what are you up to, Jack? And don't try and talk about something else. I know that look in your eyes."

  "I just looked up that woman from last night, the one in the car that crashed."

  "And? What did you find?" Shannon asked, putting her feet up on the coffee table.

  "She's a journalist and not just some random local journalist. She's quite big around here. She's written stuff for Time Magazine and all the big ones, and listen to this; she's won a Pulitzer Prize once for her investigative journalism. It was twenty years ago, but still pretty impressive."

  Shannon looked surprised. "So, what was she doing out here in the mountains?"

  I shrugged. "If you ask the police, she killed someone and then crashed as she tried to escape."

  "I have a feeling you don't believe that anymore," she said.

  "There are many reasons why she could have the man's blood on her hands and clothes. Just sayin’.”

  "But, certainly, the police must have other things on her to accuse her of killing him?" Shannon said.

  I nodded. She had a point. They had to have been investigating her deeper. If only I knew what they had found.

  Shannon looked out the window and spotted the woman in the top window of the house next door, sitting in her rocking ch
air.

  "She's still up there, the poor thing. I hate seeing it."

  "I know,” I said. “Waiting for him to come back. It's heartbreaking. I can't stand looking at her. How long do you think she'll be sitting up there?"

  Shannon turned to look at me. "Imagine it was Austin who hadn't been home for three weeks. How long would you sit up there and wait for him to come home?"

  I exhaled. "You've got a point. I heard that they searched for him for the first two weeks, combing through the creek and the mountains, but found no trace. I guess after that there is nothing left but to wait."

  "What do you think happened to him?" Shannon asked.

  I sighed. "Hopefully, he just ran away from home. He’s the age for that. But they say a girl broke up with him the night he disappeared. Some people in town fear that he committed suicide, maybe by throwing himself in the creek, and the body just hasn't resurfaced yet. I read in the paper that most people in town blame the girl. Either she killed him, they say, or she broke his heart, and he killed himself. Either way, she's to blame in their eyes."

  "Sure can't be fun being her right now," Shannon said with an exhale. "Living in a small town like this with nowhere to escape to."

  "Nope. And it won't be less fun should his body show up. The way it is now, there's still the chance that he simply ran away, but should he turn up dead, then people won't forgive the girl."

  Part II

  20

  She didn't go out much anymore and skipped school on days when she simply couldn't face those accusing eyes that seemed constantly to follow her wherever she went.

  At the high school, they talked about Savannah from the moment she set her red sneakers in the hallway. Eyes followed her every move, and people turned their back on her if she tried to come near them. The worst time was lunch, where she found herself eating alone day after day while people whispered behind her back, some with small gasps in awe of the girl they believed had killed her own boyfriend.

  The school had called the day before and told her mother that Savannah had missed too many classes lately and she needed to come in if she didn’t want to risk having to retake the entire year. As she was sitting in class, waiting for the first-period teacher to arrive, something touched the back of her head. Savannah lifted her hand and felt her hair. Her fingers came back with what appeared to be the leftovers of a glazed donut. Savannah turned to look at a group of students behind her.

  "Who did this?" she growled.

  The kids in the group behind her pulled back in fear. Savannah saw it in their eyes and felt like crying. Did they really think that she was capable of hurting them? Was this what it had come to?

  The teacher arrived, and Savannah decided to let it go. She found a napkin and wiped the rest of the donut out of her hair, then found her books and tried to focus. Behind her, she could hear voices whispering.

  "I bet she pushed him in the creek."

  "I think he's buried in a cave in the mountains."

  "Did you see the way she looked at you? That girl is capable of anything. I say she cooked him and ate him."

  Savannah sighed and opened her book, then concentrated on what the teacher was saying, but it was hard when she felt like breaking down and crying. This had been going on for three weeks now; was it ever going to end? Would her life ever go back to normal?

  WHERE'S BENJAMIN?

  The banner was still hanging outside in the courtyard of the school. The wind had torn it at the edges, and it was only stuck to the wall on the top corners now, but the words still rang in her mind. For the most part, when she walked through town, people whispered behind her back, but this very morning as she walked toward school, someone had yelled those exact words at her.

  "Where's Benjamin, Savannah?"

  Savannah hadn't been able to answer them, just like she hadn't been able to answer that same question when the sheriff had asked her. They had taken her in for questioning twenty-four hours after they realized he was gone. Sheriff Franklin had asked her again and again about Benjamin, and Savannah had answered him repeatedly saying the same thing, feeling crushed that he didn't believe her.

  "I haven't seen him since last night when I left him on the porch. I texted him and asked him to come out on the porch with me. I said I needed to talk to him."

  "And that's when you broke up with him?"

  "Yes. I had waited all night to find the courage to tell him that I didn't want to be with him anymore. It was over and had been for a long while. I don't love him anymore."

  "That's a pretty tough statement to swallow for a young boy. It can be crushing to be broken up with. How was his state of mind when you left him?" the sheriff asked.

  "His state of mind? I don't know…I guess he was upset and angry."

  "So, he got angry when you broke up with him?"

  "Yes. He was upset with me. We had a fight. And then I left."

  "Were you angry with him?"

  "I…I guess."

  "Did you kill him? Did you get angry with him and then kill him?"

  The question felt like a punch to her stomach. It would be a lie to say that it took her by surprise. She knew what people thought in this town and, of course, they had to ask. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

  "No," she said shaking her head desperately. "I could never… He was still alive when I left. The last time I saw him was while I was driving out of his driveway. He was still standing on the porch. Wait…you don't think…oh, dear God; do you think he might have…hurt himself because of what I did?"

  "We don't know yet," Sheriff Franklin said. "So far, all we know is that he is missing and apparently you were the last person to see him. Who else was in the house that evening?"

  "His sister and her boyfriend. And then his parents, of course, but they had already turned in. It was Saturday, and his dad had to get up early as usual on Sundays to preach."

  "Did anyone else fight with him that night or did he seem out of sorts in any way?"

  Savannah looked at her fingers, then shook her head. "No. It was just me. He was fine till I broke up with him."

  Now, as she sat in the classroom, staring at the poster swaying in the freezing wind outside, she couldn't stop wondering if Benjamin's disappearance would end up destroying her life. So far, it had turned it into a living hell for her. She spent most of her time inside the trailer, afraid of leaving it, and she had begun to hate the sight of her prison. She couldn't leave town since the police had told her to stay put, and she couldn't stay either. Every day, she waited for news and feared it at the same time. She had hoped it would pass, that people would eventually stop talking about them, but so far, it had only gotten worse as the days progressed. She couldn't even go to Joey’s Pancake House or the Dollar General without people staring at her or saying stuff to her that would make her want to cry. They truly believed she had killed him or at least driven him to suicide. Benjamin was the most popular boy at school and in town. He was the local hero, the sweet preacher's boy, the one everyone loved, whereas Savannah was just a newcomer from out of town, someone no one cared for. If Benjamin's body turned up, she was definitely going to be lynched.

  21

  None of us slept much that night. I was staring at the ceiling while Shannon was tossing and turning next to me. I kept wondering about that kid at the ski school. He had been no more than nineteen years old. He had his whole life in front of him. No matter how I turned it, I simply couldn't fathom that this could be a suicide. The look in Austin's eyes when I asked him about it told me I was right, and I couldn't let it go.

  As daybreak came, I took a shower, then hurried downstairs to get the newspaper from the mailbox. I glanced briefly at Mrs. Rutherford in the tower window, then rushed inside before my cheeks froze to ice. Tyler had come down with a handful of cars in his arms and sat in front of the fireplace, playing. Shannon came down soon after while I was in the middle of the article about Lyle Bishop, the graduate of Maggie Valley High, who was working as a ski instru
ctor at the Cataloochee Ski Area and who was supposed to start college after the summer. He lived outside of town on his parent's farm, and the newspaper had interviewed a neighbor who said the family was in deep shock. Lyle had never shown any sign of depression; he was a happy boy and known to take very good care of the children at the ski school.

  He was by far the best one to handle the younger children, one of his colleagues was quoted saying. He was like a big child himself, always goofing around and making the children laugh.

  "So, why should we believe he killed himself?" I mumbled as Shannon pulled out a pan for making pancakes. "And in front of a child he knew would be scarred for life. It makes no sense."

  Shannon placed a hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you make some sense out of it?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked, even though I already knew. "What about our vacation? What about the children?"

  She sighed and tilted her head. "You're not going to get any rest anyway, and neither are we. The kids don't want to go back there today, and I can't blame them. They need a break. I do too. We're just going to hang out here today anyway. You go do what you need to do."

  I swallowed, feeling all kinds of love for my wife. I couldn't believe how well she knew me. I leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  "Thank you, sweetie."

  "A peck on the cheek isn't going to be enough, you know,” she said and grabbed my chin and pulled me into a real kiss. As our lips parted and she looked me in the eyes, she said, "Now, that's better."

  I heard chatter and footsteps on the steps above us, then smiled and grabbed my phone.

  "I have a phone call to make, but I'll take it on the porch, so you and the kids can be as noisy as you want. Be back in a sec."