“Near the arcade?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.” Run, Katie. Get away from this guy.
“Show me the entrance over here.” When I started to protest he made a face, one that reminded me of a sad puppy dog. “Please? My wife and kids are waiting for me over there and I’m late. They probably already left me. I don’t want the wife mad at me, you know?”
He had a family. How bad could he be? “But my friends . . .”
“That line is forever long. You’ll be fine,” he said, brushing away my words. “It’ll take all of two minutes. Please?”
I wanted to help him, but I couldn’t put the way he’d grabbed me out of my mind. That had been weird. But now he was so friendly . . . I was conflicted. I knew I shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I should help people, right? And this guy, with his wife and kids waiting for him, needed my help. “Come on,” I told him with a wave of my hand.
He fell into step beside me once more, the smile on his face . . .
Triumphant.
The memories were so strong the minute I walked inside, so incredibly powerful, that I could feel them rise within me, one after another. The cry of the seagulls, the ever-present scent of fried food lingering in the air, and the screams. The constant screams of the people on the roller coaster, and on that Ferris wheel–looking thing that had individual cages that spun round and round. I never rode it. Was always afraid I’d barf everywhere.
Coming here was a mistake. I’m frozen in place, right at the entrance of the park, remembering vividly the way Aaron Monroe approached me, all friendly with my sweatshirt in his hand, the smile on his face, the pleading way he asked for my help.
I’d fallen right into his trap like the idiot twelve-year-old girl I was. Naïve and stupid and wanting to please someone I didn’t even know. I’d shown him the entrance to the Sky Gliders and he’d taken hold of my arm again, steering me right out of the park, right into the giant parking lot nearby. He’d pressed a knife to my side, close to my ribs, the tip of it sharp, piercing through my thin T-shirt, and my legs had almost given out on me right then. Like my bones were made of jelly.
And that wasn’t even the worst part of my experience.
I move forward as if in a trance, settling heavily on a bench at the first table I spot at one of the food courts, closing my eyes for a brief moment. This was the place where I had lunch with my family and Sarah and my sister’s friend Emily. Where we ate corn dogs and shared fries and I sucked down that large Pepsi like I was dying of thirst. Dad teased me, ruffling my hair, irritating me because he was treating me like I was seven, not almost thirteen. I’d tried to pass my sweatshirt off on my mom but she wouldn’t help me out. Said that I was the one who brought it, so I was going to be the one who’d have to carry it for the rest of the day.
It’s not my responsibility, she’d said, her mouth thin, her eyes full of irritation.
She’d pissed me off with that remark. I’d griped to Sarah the minute we made our escape. I think of that moment now, how everything would have been different if she’d taken my sweatshirt. I wonder if she regrets what she said, if she ever even thinks of it.
I hope not.
I don’t even know what happened to the sweatshirt. It had been left behind in Aaron Monroe’s car. I remember that it appeared during the trial as evidence. That they knew I’d been in his car because the sweatshirt was found in the backseat.
It’s funny how the park looks exactly the same, like it’s hardly changed at all. Even the people who are here at this very moment resemble the ones I remember from eight years ago.
Glancing around, I see a young girl wearing a sweatshirt almost identical to the one I had. They are still popular, with lifeguard written in bold white letters across the front, a giant white rescue cross right below it. She reminds me of a younger me, the same guileless expression and sparkling eyes. Long, thin legs and coltish body. Light brown hair pulled into a ponytail, her face animated as she talks to who I can only assume is her little sister. They look a lot alike.
I want to grab hold of her shoulders and give her a little shake, tell her to never talk to strangers. Don’t get separated from your mom and dad. Life is scary. There are predators everywhere.
But I don’t. I keep my mouth shut, my butt remaining glued to the bench. I watch people as they enter the park, their heads bent over the tiny map they receive when they pay for the ride tickets or all-day wristbands. Admission to the park is free but the rides cost. A lot of people cut through the park so they can get to the beach, but there aren’t many people out there today. It’s fall and the ocean is cold. The sun warm but certainly not intense.
A couple walks by; they look around my age. He grabs hold of her hand and smiles at her and she stops, tilting her head back when he delivers a slow, soft kiss to her lips. They break away from each other, smiling, and I turn away, feeling like I’m invading a very private moment. A moment that fills me with an unfamiliar sense of longing. Of wanting to fit in, to find what they have.
For once, the longing overrides the fear and that surprises me.
My stomach growls when a garlicky smell wafts over me and I stand, heading over to the booth that sells garlic fries. I buy a basket of thick-cut fries smothered in garlic and Parmesan cheese along with a bottle of water and sit on the bench I’d vacated a few minutes ago, devouring the fries and sipping my water, enjoying the breeze, watching the people pass by. It isn’t very busy and I’m glad. The crowds would have reminded me of the day it happened and I might have panicked more.