Anyway, for a split second after getting her text, I genuinely tried to imagine her and me being friends—because whatever, maybe I’m lonely enough to consider it. The furthest I could get was imagining us sitting silently in my living room. One look at taxidermied Mother Peanut Butter and Libby would probably be screaming “ewwww!” and running for the door.
“Can I talk at you about something?” I ask Ralph.
“Of course.” He sits down on the carpet. “But just so you know I have to play my game soon.”
“Right.” I take a deep breath. “So you know Mrs. Klitch?”
Ralph blinks at me sleepily. He has a hot-chocolate mustache.
“Here, go ahead and put in your game, it’ll make it easier to talk,” I say. I slide down in my chair and kick him one of the controllers.
“It’s fine, Kippy,” he says, looking at his watch. “I don’t have to start playing for eighteen more minutes. I’m hoping to set a world record by playing for one hundred thirty-six hours straight.”
“That’s quite a schedule you’ve got planned out.” If Dom were here he’d probably be concerned by the idea of 136 hours in front of a television, but I kind of feel like until Ralph’s parents have been dead a whole year, Ralph should do whatever might make him happier. It took Dom and me a full year to start acting like human beings again. For ten whole months I just pored over this book called When Animals Attack, planning for the next emergency, I guess, and wouldn’t talk to anyone. The only reason Ruth and I even became friends is that she saw me reading it at recess and came over going, “Oh my God, did you know a chimp is so strong it can pull your foot off? Like right off the bone?” It was the only reason I let her sit down next to me on the grass and pull the book across both our laps.
Anyway Ralph probably won’t even go through with it. The 136-hour thing, I mean. He has a lot of trouble finishing what he’s started.
I crank open the footrest on the Barcalounger. “Okay, so I’ve got eighteen minutes.” I chew on my tongue for a second like I’m getting ready to give a speech and then launch into the thing about Sheriff Staake and Colt’s alibi and my visit to Fang Road. I end with the part about how Mrs. Klitch said Colt was there that night, but how no one will believe her. “I mean, seriously,” I say, watching Ralph blink at me nonjudgmentally from the carpet. “It’s like a horror story. In forty-five minutes I’ve got to go eat hot Italian sausages with Dom like nothing is wrong.” I roll my eyes. “Because you know if I mentioned any of this to him he’d just think I was having some grief-stricken psychotic break.”
Ralph fiddles with the controller. “When my parents passed I got it into my head that deer were evil creatures planning to take over the world. Eventually I came to terms with how irrational that was, but it took a few weeks—and I have to admit, it felt good to have an explanation for what had happened.”
I make a frustrated noise. “Ralph, are you even listening to me?”
Ralph’s mouth hangs open as if he’s considering this. “Kippy, do you remember when they came to get Ruth from the field?” He studies my face, his one wobbly eye creeping more and more toward his temple. “I just want to make sure you remember because it wasn’t so long ago.”
“God, I’m not, like, in shock or anything.” I pull my knees up to my chest and play with the bottoms of my feet. Ralph doesn’t usually talk to me like this—like some kind of parent. And of course I remember that moment—the ambulance lights hitting our kitchen walls, alternating emergency colors on the refrigerator. When I saw them pull up I screamed so loud because I knew that she was hurt—but I guess Dom already knew it was worse than that, because he dragged me into the living room and literally sat on me so I wouldn’t see them load her in. I was lying there on the couch screaming with him pinning me down when they finally drove away. I’ll always feel like maybe she still could have heard me if I had wrestled my way out to the ambulance and shrieked her name.
I don’t remember telling Ralph about it so I guess Dom must have.
“Kippy—”
“I remember!” My mouth tastes like metal and I know I’m going to cry. “The whole reason I came over here is because you’re supposed to be the one person I can talk to.” No matter what crazy stuff she put in her diary, I can’t get around the fact that Ruth’s the one person who would have trusted me on this—who would have said, “Wait, that’s batshit, what the fuck is everybody waiting for? This town is fucking crazy.” The hardest thing to get through to yourself about death is also the most obvious thing: that the person is really gone. That you can’t talk to them about anything anymore. That they’re not coming back. I burst into tears.
“Kippy, please.” Ralph cringes. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know how this looks. I’m not stupid.” I press my palms into my eye sockets until I see stars. “Dom printed out the seven stages of grief and put them on the refrigerator. The first stage is denial and it’s easy to say that’s what this is.”
“Kippy, that’s not what I mean at all.” Ralph sounds sad. “I was just going to say it seems like you’re hoping for a revenge mission of sorts—like in Total Escape Three—”
“Druid Mountain, I know.” I hiccup and blink my eyes open. Tears roll down my nose.
“There is a multitude of evidence pointing to Colt. You and I both thought it made sense back at the Great Moose. But I can see how you might want to create another problem to solve—you know, to do something for her.“ He glances at his watch. “Is it that you feel scared? Scared that someone capable of gruesome violence might still be—”
“Obviously I’m freaked, okay? Obviously that’s part of it. But the creepiest thing isn’t that someone’s still out there, it’s that everyone’s ignoring it.” Aside from Davey, I almost add. But I’d rather not mention that in case Ralph gets up on his high horse about the mental health of veterans. My chest is tight and I can feel tears sliding down my chin. “Just never mind.” My voice is soggy. Ralph’s closer to my age than Dom’s but when it comes to this he’s more like a Dom than a friend and I can’t blame him for that. He’s just trying to protect me. “I’ll deal with it on my own.”
“Kippy, stop it.” Ralph reaches for my foot and gives it a squeeze. “If you really feel scared, I have some things that might put your mind at ease. I know how important it is to feel prepared.”
“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” I wipe my nose and try not to look too petulant.
Ralph sighs. “I think you’re ignoring some important facts. But if you’re having some itchy paranoia—well I understand that. And it can’t feel good. And if you truly think there’s a killer out there, you should do whatever it takes to feel safe.” He smiles at me. “Okay?”
“You mean I should look into it, right?” My heart races; he’s on my side. I need to go talk to Mrs. Klitch again, I realize—just brace myself and go back there and bring a tape recorder this time. And I should talk to Jim Steele, too, obviously, come to think of it—and whoever else—
“No, I mean you should arm yourself,” Ralph says, interrupting my racing thoughts. He leaves the room before I can answer and comes back in dragging a giant machete with a handle the length of a baseball bat, and a large can labeled Ursidae Eye Gas.