Knockout Games (21 page)

They charged five dollars to ride the elevator up there. Well, that was the end of my cash. I stood in line for a good ten minutes to get past the ticket taker. I pulled my hat down and tried to act casual, though I could tell a fifteen-year-old by herself was a little suspicious. When we went through the metal detector, I almost lost it because it kept beeping.
What is it with me and metal detectors
? I was sure they'd pull me into a special room and within minutes figure out who I was and that'd be it.

I emptied my pockets and when they waved the wand over me, I realized it was my phone again.

When the security guy saw me pull it out, he kind of smiled and waved me through.

I swear I almost died. I quickly moved past to where the line stopped on a series of steps. People were standing in front of these tiny rectangles on a cement wall. A dead end? But then those rectangles opened and I saw they were tiny doors to the tiny elevators—I almost freaked again. These little pods were so small, I had to crunch down in my seat so my head wouldn't hit the roof.

A family with two little kids joined me after I sat down. They were so excited. “We're going to the top of the world,” the boy said to me.

I smiled and the elevator doors closed, making it even smaller. We began to move. Sideways. My eyes fell onto a sign that said TAMPERING WITH DOOR WILL RESULT IN PRISON AND A FINE.

Were those claw marks on the door?

A drop of sweat fell onto my hand, panic rising in my throat. The father looked at me like maybe he shouldn't have let his family in here with this crazy girl.

My phone vibrated. It was almost too tight in there to reach into my pocket. But it kept going off, so I dug my sweaty hand in there just as the elevator suddenly lurched to an abrupt stop.

“What happened, Daddy?” asked the boy.

“Oh, sometimes these things get stuck. They'll fix it and we'll be on our way.”

I stared at the phone display. Destiny. “Well, aren't you gonna answer it?” the boy asked.
When I get to the top
, I thought.

I stuck it back into my pocket and waited for it to go to voice mail.

The walls were closing in on me. Why wasn't this thing moving?

My phone went off again. I pulled it out. Now Destiny was texting.

Where tha FUK r u????

Was this a trick? Were the cops all standing around waiting for me to answer so they could track my location?

I deleted the text.

“Why don't you wanna talk to anybody?” asked the kid.

I looked away, the sweat kept building on my forehead.
If that kid asks one more question, I'm gonna—

“Maybe she doesn't want you listening in on her phone call,” said his dad.

“That's silly,” said the boy. “Texts don't talk!”

I glared at the tiny door, about to tear it open.

The phone went off
again
.

This time it was a call. My mom. I took a deep breath and answered.

“Hello?”

“Erica. Where are you?”

“I'm stuck in an elevator. Why aren't you sleeping?”

There was a long pause.

“You better come home. The police are here and they want to talk to you.”

My heart stopped. “What?”

Now she was whispering. “They found your camera.”

“How do they . . . know it's mine?” I asked innocently.

“Your name and phone number were engraved on the bottom, remember?”

I did now.
Thanks, Dad
.

32

That stupid elevator never did reach the top. After a half hour in that tin box, I about had a nervous breakdown. Finally, it started moving again.

Back
down
. Something about high winds.

Forty-five minutes later, I was home. I stood outside for a another ten minutes more, trying to walk through that front door. Then I saw Mom staring at me from the window above. I took a deep breath and went in.

“Erica, we meet again,” said Rodney Graves, rising up to greet me, along with a nicely dressed woman who looked like a lawyer. “Have yourself a good run?”

I didn't even have time to say anything to Mom because they were all sitting there in the living room waiting for me. I'm sure they grilled her all about me, but she really didn't know anything, so they probably learned nothing.

“I wasn't feeling good.”

He nodded. “You go to Truman, right? You probably remember me from school?” he said in that soft Southern lilt. “I'm the Special Investigator for the Juvenile Division. This here is my partner, Ms. Hallstrom, from the Family Court Prosecutor's office. She makes sure we do everything by the book.” He winked, tapping on his notebook. He was well-dressed and had a kindly but weary face—the deep lines in his brow said he'd been doing this forever. “Your friend Destiny. She wasn't too pleased that you ditched her and left her holding the bag.”

“What bag?” Mom asked.

“It's just an expression, ma'am, you know?” He stared straight into my eyes like he was trying to suck the information from my head using telepathy. “I already know that you know something about the events from this morning, so you might as well start talking before things get ugly. We have your camera and that alone says a lot. Right now, you could either be a potential witness to a serious crime and or you could be a suspect. One is a lot better than the other—”

“I didn't do it.” The words just came out. “I . . . I . . .” Mom looked at me, confused by it all. “I need to think.”

“I think you've had plenty of time to think this afternoon. Where did you go?” he asked.

“Is that important?” I asked.

“It is if you went to visit the suspects in a murder investigation.”

The words sunk in.

“I went to the Arch.”

Mom looked at me, surprised.

“Funny time for sightseeing,” said Mr. Graves.

“What did Destiny say?”

Mom put her hand on mine. “Erica, if you know something, you have to tell him. A woman died today! She could be somebody's mother. What if it had been me?”

I imagined Mom lying in a pool of blood. After seeing what Kalvin was capable of, I knew anything could happen if I talked.

“She's right. This needs to stop, now,” said Mr. Graves.

Mom panicked. “Was that Kalvin involved?” she asked.

I tensed up. Graves noticed.

“Who's Kalvin?” he asked.

“A boy from school,” I said.

“What's his last name?”

I wasn't ready to say anything; I was so stunned. I just shrugged. “I don't . . . even know. Everyone just calls him K.”

He scribbled some notes. “Does the name ‘Knockout King' mean anything to you?” He looked for a reaction from me.

I dug my nails into my arms to see how much pain I could take. Mom noticed I was about to explode.

“Is she under arrest?” Mom asked.

He stopped writing, glancing at Hallstrom. “Not yet.” He seemed to confer with the woman lawyer telepathically. She nodded. “But perhaps . . . it would be best if you all came down to my office. We could take a formal statement and, as you have the right to an attorney, especially considering her age—”

“I didn't do anything!” I said, the tears flowing.

A lie. That stupid camera would betray me. I wished Dad had never given it to me. I wished he and Mom had never divorced. I wished we'd never come to St. Louis and that my video had never impressed Destiny. Then I wouldn't be stuck in this mess.

Assured that I wasn't about to skip town, they gave us until tomorrow morning. Mom said we'd come down after she called Dad. He knew lawyers. I almost screamed from the tension in the room, but Mom kept a firm grip on my arm until they left.

“
Please
don't call Dad,” I begged.

She grabbed my shoulders hard and hissed, “You think I
want
to call him?! I can't afford a lawyer by myself for whatever you've gotten yourself into. So it's either him or you're on your own!”

I could see I would lose this one. I was tired of fighting. “Fuck it.”

Her face screwed up. “What happened to you? You used to be such a sweet girl.”

“I moved to St. Louis,” I shot back.

She gritted her teeth. We'd been through this many times and she didn't want to go through it again. She spoke very slowly. “Now . . . you're going to tell me and your father everything. No more stories, just the truth. Because the police are surely going to get to the bottom of this and we are the only two who have your back. Certainly not that Kalvin.”

I nodded to Mom. She called Dad, who was too busy until she told his assistant that I might be going to jail. That got him on the line.

I heard them arguing for about half an hour, blaming each other for how I turned out. Finally, she came in and put Dad on the speakerphone.

“Erica.”

“Hi, Dad.”

He sighed and then there was silence. “I don't really know what to say to you. I was getting ready to come in a few days for Thanksgiving.”

“Are you still coming?” I squeaked.

There was a long pause on the other end. I knew he was trying to hold it in. Finally, he said, “Yes. I will save my sermon for tomorrow when I'm there. But right now, you need to tell me everything. And I mean
everything
.”

Of course, I couldn't tell him
everything
—just some of the highlights. I made it look like I'd been sucked in, and that I was innocent. I didn't tell him about the other Knockout Games, but let him know that it was an accident gone bad and that I didn't do anything but try to save her.

Mom's expression was bad enough. She'd read about the Knockout Games and was horrified to see it hit so close to home. “He was in your
bedroom
,” she said over and over. I lied again, told her he'd never touched me, that he was a mixed-up boy who wasn't so bad.

“Not so bad?” Dad started in. “Your mom said they were doing this game for fun! Do you think this is fun?”

No, I told myself. “It wasn't like that . . .”

“Why would you even attack another human being? It really makes me sick—” he paused for a few seconds, the anger building up in him. I heard something break. Finally, he took a deep breath. “To know that you were somehow involved in all this just makes me sad. I liked you better when you used to sit by yourself and draw, not—” he couldn't say it.

So much for saving the sermon for tomorrow. “Maybe if you hadn't divorced Mom—”

He cut me off. “Don't even go there, Erica. You're close to becoming an adult and it's time you learned that we cannot clean up after all your messes. I take responsibility for mine because I know life is messy. This one, you'll have to deal with the consequences. Whether you like it or not.”

I was done talking. So was he. He said he'd make calls to his lawyer acquaintances and be here tomorrow first thing. We'd plan on a strategy where I had been coerced by the others, but I had never actively participated. I did not tell him about Metal Detector Man. He said if I testified against the others, I could probably get probation or community service.

This is a conversation I never expected to have with my dad before my Sweet 16.

33

Dad showed up at ten in the morning. His lawyer friend, Mr. Tillman, did not look like the lawyers I'd seen in the commercials. I found out later he wasn't even a criminal lawyer, but that's all Dad could come up with overnight. Tillman was short and balding, and probably needed glasses because he squinted at everything. Dad said the guy owed him one, though he wouldn't say why. When you owe a bail bondsman one, it's usually not a good thing.

Tillman had already done some digging. “They're not after you. They really want this Knockout King guy. You give them him, and we can negotiate. At your age and being that you have no criminal record, you might get off lightly.”

“I don't know if I can do that,” I said.

Dad was confused. “Why?”

I sighed again. “You're asking me to snitch.”

My parents were about to say something, but Tillman cut them off. “Right now, Erica, you still have a future. But you've hit a major fork in the road. One way is a dead end. That road goes nowhere and you can ride it with all the others who were afraid to speak out. The other road is filled with obstacles, but at least it goes somewhere.”

“Where?” I asked. I wanted to know.

“That's up to you.”

Dad stared at me, confused. “Are you in love with this guy or something?”

“What?” The question caught me off guard. I was sure my face was turning red.

He rubbed his temples, unsure. “Do you . . . care for him?”

I felt my stomach. I imagined something alive growing in there. But even with that possibility, I wasn't sure about this.

“No.”

He turned back to Tillman. “Can she get off with probation?” asked Dad.