The Weight of Guilt
by Jon Ripslinger
Genre: Young Adult Mystery/Romance
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing
Publisher: Red Adept Publishing
Release Date: February 24, 2015
The Weight of Guilt Characters Speak Out?
Lieutenant Leo Garske: Look, I'm a trained police officer of the law, an investigator, and I'm damned good at what I do. This kid John Hawk will be accused of the rape and murder of Megan Jones, a girl he took to the prom. He's the last person to see her alive. I'll be serving a warrant any day now, guaranteed. He's angry, belligerent, and smart, but not as smart as me. He damn well better get a lawyer because there's no way in hell I'm letting him off the hook. He's already been busted four or five times. Drinking. Traffic violations. Once for beating up his girlfriend's brother, nearly killing him. Damn nice kid, don't you think?
Officer Kevin Striker: I'm helping Leo investigate Megan Jones's disappearance and apparent murder. You kinda got to forgive the guy for wanting so bad to nail John Hawk. See, couple of years back his wife was jogging with their dog and a teen hit-and-run-driver plowed into them. Killed the dog and left his wife in a wheelchair. They never found the car or the kid. So Leo's not going to let another kid get away with something. Me? I think maybe John's okay. Just made some bad choices is all. Lot of kids do. I sure as hell did. I don't know if John's connected to Megan Jones's death or not. Looks like it. But I'd like to wait and see.
Dr. Franklin Jones: I'm Megan's dad. I'm also the principal of our only high school in town. A lot of this is my fault. After Megan's mom died of cancer and after Megan found out that I'd been having an affair, she sort of jumped off a cliff. She ran away from home. She started drinking—I don't know, maybe she'd been drinking before. But not so bad that I had to take her to the hospital to have her stomach pumped like I did one time. Like I said, a lot of what happened—her acting out, especially—is my fault, and I'll never be able to forgive myself.
Stephanie Jones: I liked Megan from the beginning, but she never gave her dad and me a chance. Frank had to practically drag her to our wedding. She got plastered at the reception, gulping down drinks people set on tables while they went to the restroom or danced or whatever. We didn't get along, Megan and me. Still I liked her, wanted the best for her, and hoped she'd straighten out. I don't know exactly what happened to her, but she certainly didn't deserve to die like she did.
Charley Cotton: Megan was my best friend. Had been since ninth grade. Really, my only best friend ever. She was one of the most popular girls in school—not because she was the principal's daughter and everyone wanted to suck up to her. But because she was kind, generous, understanding, and loyal. Sure, she had faults. She drank. She slept around a bit. She had a stupid, scum-sucking boyfriend named Cole Wainwright, who might've killed her out of jealousy. Why? Because she hooked up with this scary new guy in school, John Hawk, who is obviously hiding some deep, dark secrets in his soul. Losing Megan is going to screw up my whole life. I'll never be the same. And if I find out that John or Cole hurt her, I'm doing some serious ass-kicking.
Cole Wainwright: I'm sayin' nothing! Except that Megan's been my girlfriend for two years, and then an asswipe named John Hawk shows up at our school, steals her from me. Now she's dead, and he's sayin' I killed her. Well, I didn't. He did. And that's all I'm sayin', man!
John Hawk: Ever feel your life sucks? It's cursed? You're doomed. This starts when I'm thirteen and my mom runs away with a drummer in a band she liked. Then it turns worse when I'm driving home one night from a party and get into an accident—not my fault—that kills my girlfriend, Riley. Couldn't take the bullying, so I go to a different school, and the first girl I date, Megan Jones, dies—probably raped and murdered. I'm accused, mainly because I've been in trouble before, and I'm supposedly the last person to see Megan alive. If I don't prove myself innocent, I'll die from the weight of guilt on my shoulders—before I go to prison.
Driving home from a bonfire party, eighteen-year-old John Hawk crashes, killing his girlfriend, Riley. Bullied and tormented at school, and crushed by his guilty conscience, John transfers to a school on the banks of the Mississippi River, where he attracts the eye of the principal’s daughter, Megan. Though he’s reluctant, she convinces him to be her prom date. The morning after prom, Principal Jones reports Megan missing. Four days later, her body is recovered from the river, and John becomes the prime suspect in her death.
Charley Cotton, Megan’s best friend, knows that Megan had a secret, but she doesn’t trust John because of his past. John is desperate to avoid adding to the shame he carries for Riley’s death, though—it’s destroying his life. With Charley’s help, he learns that others in Megan’s life had a motive to keep her quiet. But every effort they make to uncover the truth edges them closer to a desperate murderer with everything to lose.
THE WEIGHT OF GUILT
Riley's drunk, and it's all my fault. Swaying near the blazing bonfire with a dozen other kids, she's guzzling beer from a red Solo cup. They laugh, jostle, and slop beer over themselves.
Damn! I should have been paying more attention to her. I should have kept better track of time. You idiot, John! I need to get her home and tuck her into bed—now—or we'll both be in deep crap. I step up behind her in the brilliant firelight. The heat feels good on my face and arms, but the smoke curls into my nostrils, and I cough. Someone must have piled wet logs onto the blaze.
I touch Riley's shoulder. "We better go."
She whirls. "Where have you been?"
"Checking out Brian's weightlifting equipment. I forgot the time. Sorry."
Flames leap and crackle into the crisp night air, casting flickering shadows across Riley's face. Her eyes glitter like stars in the inferno. A few kids rotate, trying to keep all sides warm. Earlier, we roasted hot dogs, bratwurst, and marshmallows over the oak blaze.
"What time is it?" she asks, her words slurred a little.
"Midnight." I’d promised her folks I'd have her home already. I don't need them yelling at me again. Or breaking us up. That thought jars me. I'd rather lose an arm and a leg than lose Riley. She's the only thing good in my life, except wrestling.
"They never come home before two or three," she says and gulps her beer.
"Let's throw that away. You've had enough to drink."
She smiles, her mouth crooked. "Look who's talking."
"I haven't had a sip." True statement. I never drink the night before a wrestling tournament. I dump Riley's beer but hang on to the cup—I don't litter. I also help little old ladies cross the street. "I can do without your folks being pissed at me. They already don't trust me."
"Yes, they do." Riley grabs my free hand and squeezes.
After planting a kiss on her forehead, I say, "C'mon, pretty lady. Home we go." I guide her by the elbow away from the fire.
The party was a spring break bash at Brian Holdorf's parents' farm pond. Dense woods block out half the sky, and a breeze ripples the treetops. My arm around her waist, I guide Riley across the pasture to my car, which is parked by the farmhouse. A squatty barn and a tall silo loom close by. Brilliant stars and a huge moon light our way. Laughter drifts up from the pond, and the scent of pigs floats in the air.
Opening the car's passenger door, I toss Riley's cup in the back. Then I slip her into the seat and close the door. After I climb in, I close my door and poke the lock button to make sure we're secured. "Buckle up."
Rather than take Interstate 80, I drive a ribbon of country blacktop that twists through hilly farmland. I think I can drive the blacktop faster than the highway—hardly any traffic and less chance of the cops picking me up for speeding. I don't need another face-off with them.
"I'll bet my parents aren't home," Riley says after we've been on the road a minute or two. She leans over and kisses my cheek. "Let's park somewhere. This road's dark." Her hair smells of wood smoke, her breath of stale beer.
I smile. I wouldn't mind parking for an hour or so and making out. "We need to get you home and into bed."
Wisps of fog curl in my headlights. I'm zooming downhill toward the Des Moines River, and the curtain of fog thickens quickly. I cut my speed from seventy to fifty, then to thirty. I don't want to be going too fast if a deer darts into the road. Fifteen…
The fog turns dense—a gray, billowing wall that reflects the glow of my headlights back into my eyes. I squint and dim the car lights. I swallow and slow the vehicle to a crawl: ten miles per hour. I glue my eyes to the yellow center line and guide the car's left fender along the line.
"Why are you slowing down?" Riley asks.
"Can't you see how soupy it is out there?"
I'm not sure when I cross the bridge over the river. The fog is too thick to see even the side rails. But when I head uphill, my grip on the wheel eases. I fill my lungs and exhale slowly. I've escaped the danger. The moment I can see ahead of me though—still going ten miles an hour—I spot headlights racing toward me. They blind me. I barely have time to swear.
This can't be!
Even Riley sees the headlights. She screams, and the next sound is the wail of my horn and the hideous grinding shriek of brakes as I try to swerve and evade the headlights.