“I tried to get back at Robbie once,” Karl says suddenly. “But . . . it was a bad idea.”
He has a strained expression on his face, like the words are spilling out despite his efforts to hold them in.
“What did you do?”
Tears start leaking from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.” He looks up at me, his face crumpled and red. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell?”
I’m starting to get alarmed, wondering if Karl murdered this kid’s dog or something. But I’ve probably just got animal murder on the brain because of Mrs. Hanley’s cat; surely there are not two adolescent pet killers in this town. I nod my agreement.
“It’s really bad.”
“I’m not going to tell. I swear.”
He takes a few deep breaths, then says in a shaky voice, “A few months ago, over the summer, I-I broke into Robbie’s house. Sometimes I like to . . . take things. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to take something from Robbie that he would really miss. And then I’d know I could hurt him, too, even if he didn’t know it was me. I didn’t think anyone was home. I crawled in through the dog door.”
Something inside me starts to twist. No.
“I went up to Robbie’s room. I was looking around for something that I could take, something that would mean a lot to him. But then I heard his mom come home, so I grabbed a couple of action figures—he had them set up really cool on his shelf, so I figured they were important—and I ran out the back door. But I was scared she’d come out and find me, so I ran into the neighbor’s garage.”
I can feel my eyes widening as Karl talks. The action figures, the garage, the way he tore away from Mrs. Hanley’s like a bat out of hell when he realized where he was. My vision temporarily blurs; I wonder if I’m about to pass out.
“I didn’t mean to do it,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “I swear I didn’t mean to.”
“Karl,” I say slowly, feeling like I’m going to throw up. “Are you telling me that you started the fire at Mrs. Hanley’s?”
He nods miserably. “I didn’t mean to,” he says again.
“What happened?”
The picture he paints is one of just absolutely horrible luck. Karl went into the garage through the back while Noah and Rose were out front goofing around with the hose. He decided to hide between a workbench loaded with tools and a pile of boxes that they had pushed off to the side to make room for the lawn furniture.
After a few minutes, when no one came after him, he started poking around the stuff on the bench, mostly out of boredom. He found a lighter and started messing with it, but accidentally burned his fingers and dropped it. It landed on the pile of WD-40-soaked rags Noah and Rose had been using to clean off the furniture, which immediately ignited.
Karl panicked. He ran out the back door and sprinted away as fast as he could. It was only when his sister later picked him up outside the library that he realized he’d dropped one of the action figures somewhere during his mad flight.
“I’m really sorry,” Karl sobs as his house comes into view. “I never meant to do anything bad to that old lady.”
I know I should say something, comfort him or offer some words of wisdom, but I can’t make my mouth form words. My stomach feels like someone has poured concrete into it.
Mrs. Hanley’s fire was an accident. Not Robbie Reynolds acting out of some sadistic desire to watch the world burn. Not Robbie Reynolds at all.
Karl.
By accident.
A total random fluke.
Started by a scared kid who didn’t know how to hold a lighter.
It has absolutely nothing to do with the fire tomorrow.
Which means Rose and I have wasted our entire week, and our plan tomorrow is useless.
When we reach Karl’s front door, I ask if he would mind if I used the phone. None of the rest of his family is there, thankfully, so I don’t need to attempt to make small talk. I dial Rose’s number and Lisa picks up. She says Rose isn’t there, but she should be back soon. I tell her that I’ve messed up my knee and need a ride home from the Derrins’ house.
“The Derrins’？” Lisa sounds startled. “What are you doing there?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my fingers to the bridge of my nose. I can feel a massive headache coming on. “Can you just please ask her if she can come pick me up?”
“Okay,” she says, her voice sounding a little chilly. “But it may be a while.”
“That’s fine.”
After getting off the phone with Lisa, I ask Karl if he has a first aid kit. He hands me a box of Band-Aids and a tube of Neosporin and points me toward a bathroom—Downstairs bathroom, North, I think, wishing I could engage in some moderate intoxication therapy right about now—where I shut myself in and focus on the only thing left within my control.
I wince as I peel off my jeans, the fibers around the tear pulling painfully where dried blood has adhered them to the cuts. Gingerly, I dab at the mess of blood and dirt and gravel around my knee until I can see the injury clearly.
I blink at it for a few seconds, uncomprehending.
I’ve seen this injury before.
Only the last time I saw it, it wasn’t swollen and bleeding. It was old, healed, and scarred. It looked like a smiley face, which I always thought was ironic, given that its owner was one of the most miserable people I’d ever met.
No no no NO NO NO NO NO
It can’t be. It can’t be.
I spin around and vomit into the toilet, the truth ripping me apart, leaving me scattered in a million bloody pieces.
Stan.
I have the same injury as Stan.
I.
Am.
Stan.
Chapter Fifty-Six
LISA
Lisa sat on the couch, flipping idly through the channels on the TV. Nothing good was on in the afternoon, so she finally settled on MTV, although she wasn’t paying much attention to the groups singing on the screen.
Her eyes kept going to the digital clock on the VCR. School had ended more than an hour ago. Where was Rose? She knew she wasn’t with Justin; he’d called a few minutes before to ask Rose to pick him up from the Derrins’ house. Lisa couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to call, considering how much trouble Rose would be in if one of their parents picked up. And what on earth was he doing at the Derrins’ anyway? Lisa was dying to know, but she didn’t really know Justin well enough to press for details. She’d get them from Charlene later.
Since her conversation with Shawn the day before, Lisa felt like a fire had been lit under her. All day at school, she’d felt like she was floating, and had even dared to hold Charlene’s hand under the table at lunch. She knew Shawn had noticed—he still sat next to her, after all, since they’d agreed to not officially “break up” until after the election—but when she caught his eye, he just gave her a small smile, then turned to say something to Noah.
Lisa had been so worried about telling Shawn, but it turned out . . . he was fine. Next to him, Rose should be easy.
If only she would get here.
Finally, Lisa heard the front door open. She sprang up, switching off the TV, and ran to meet her. “Where have you been?” she asked, eager for Rose to finish taking off her shoes so that they could talk.