Whisper Down the Lane by Clay Chapman (inspiring books for teens txt) 📕

I lied to myself.

What happens if you believe in a lie, believe it with every fiber of your body? Does it become real, somehow? Does the lie become the truth? Your truth?

I was born from my own lies. Richard Bellamy never existed.

I’m not even real.

DAMNED IF YOU DO, DAMNED IF YOU DON’T

This is the version of the story that fits best.

Miss Levin had come to our house, luring Eli outside with promises of a game.

We’re going on a road trip, she’d told him.

She gave Eli something sweet to drink. Too sweet, he said. His head felt fuzzy and he quickly drifted off.

Jenna had drugged her daughter as well. We were all meant to be in that car together, our road trip to the river bottom.

Because she was trying to kill us, wasn’t she? That had been her plan all along. The puzzle pieces fit.

This is the truth that makes sense to me. You just have to look at it from my point of view.

You have to believe.

The authorities didn’t believe me at first. Detective Merrin thought I had kidnapped Elijah and Sandy. He speculated I had “done something” to Miss Levin.

But Elijah backed up my story. He said when he woke up, the car was already underwater. The river would have taken us all had it not been for me. I couldn’t save Miss Levin, but I saved him and Sandy. I was the hero.

It sounds good, doesn’t it? Who would believe that it was actually Eli who pulled me and Sandy from the car? That doesn’t sound right. Those pieces don’t fit. The story doesn’t fit.

I should be dead right now.

In some ways I am.

I like to believe Richard Bellamy drowned and Sean Crenshaw emerged from the water, crawling back into this life.

That’s my story. The death and rebirth of Sean can now finally come to a close.

Full circle.

—

It took a hydraulic crane to haul Jenna Woodhouse’s car from the Rappahannock. A regular tow truck couldn’t reach it, so the police had to bring in a telescoping boom truck, positioning it on the bridge where the car had rammed through the rusted abutment. Divers tethered the crane’s hook to the rear bumper and slowly hauled it up.

Sandy stood at the water’s edge, watching her mother’s car twirl in the air. A paramedic draped a wool blanket over her shoulders, but she wouldn’t move, transfixed by the sight of the suspended car. She was waiting for her mother.

Jenna’s body dislodged itself, slipping through the windshield and washing downstream. Sandy didn’t see the divers carry her mother out of the water. There must have been a part of her that believed she had escaped somehow. It’s easier to believe things like that.

I would, if I were her.

When Tamara arrived at the riverbank, she pulled Eli’s mud-covered body into her arms. His hair was matted down, that mop top covering his eyes. She couldn’t stop gripping him. She needed to touch everything, take inventory of his limbs to confirm nothing was missing.

Tamara and I saw each other. Her eyes found mine and immediately turned away. It would take time to get everybody’s story straight. I just had to be patient. To regain her trust.

Every day is a step toward understanding who I was and moving toward who I can be.

I am looking for forgiveness.

I am looking for myself.

The last thing Tamara said to me was that she didn’t know who I was anymore, if she ever knew me to begin with. Are you Sean or are you Richard?

That had been months ago. I respected her need for space, for distance, leaving them be. Then, out of the blue, the most miraculous thing happened…

Elijah asked to see me.

See me.

Tamara supervised our hangouts. She refused to leave us alone. We’d meet at the park or a playground of Tamara’s choosing. After a few successful outings, we went to Elijah’s favorite restaurant.

Is Eli sleeping through the night? I asked while he was in the restroom.

No, she replied, giving as little of herself to me as possible.

He’ll get there. Just give it time.

Time, she echoed.

Guess what? Condrey’s considering giving me my job back. Not my old job, exactly. There’s a summer program that she’s trying to start—

Richard, stop.

Sean, I corrected her. It’s…Sean.

I have to believe we’ll find each other again. That I can find my way back to my family.

Time. That’s all I have. Healing takes time.

Sandy is on her own. No extended family, no relatives. Apparently, she screams her head off whenever social services tries splitting her and Eli apart. They found a foster family willing to house her temporarily, but that only lasted a few sleepless nights before they gave up.

Tamara will foster Sandy for the short term until the state figures out what to do. She has an apartment near downtown that’s big enough for the three of them. Sandy apparently crawls into Eli’s bed at night. Tamara often finds them nestled together in the morning.

Me—my new digs are farther off the interstate. I don’t know if I’m technically still in the county limits or not, but I’m close enough. I’m staying in a drab complex where everyone is content minding their own business, keeping their heads low, which is fine for the time being.

Tonight is Eli’s first sleepover. It’s a big step and I’m not taking it lightly. Months of rebuilding trust have led to this. Tamara can call or text anytime she wants, just to check in. I know it’s hard, but she understands this is something he wants, and she’s at a point where she’s willing to give him just about whatever he asks for, as long as it brings him back to how he was.

Who he was.

I’ve already mapped out the itinerary for Boys Night: Pizza. A movie. Painting.

I’ve been getting Eli’s room ready for him. The apartment isn’t much to look at. I haven’t decorated the place and I doubt I ever will. The eggshell suits me just fine.