My knee suddenly buckled.
I didn't understand what had happened.
One moment, I was walking.
The next, I was falling toward the roadside.
My school bag slipped against my shoulder.
I landed on the wet gravel.
For a moment, I stayed there.
The rain struck my face.
I could feel the cold ground beneath me.
I tried moving my legs.
They felt heavy.
"Get up."
My voice sounded weak.
I placed my hands against the ground.
Then I pushed myself upright.
It took more effort than it should have.
I managed to stand.
I took one step.
Then another.
And my body gave way again.
This time, I fell forward.
My face struck the soaked ground.
I stayed there, unable to understand why standing had become so difficult.
I could hear something in the distance.
A vehicle.
Its sound grew louder.
I tried lifting my head.
The headlights passed through the darkness.
For one moment, I thought the driver might notice me.
I tried calling out.
I wanted to shout.
I wanted to ask for help.
But my voice wouldn't come.
The vehicle continued along the road.
Its lights disappeared.
I was alone again.
I tried moving my fingers.
They barely responded.
My school bag was lying beside me.
I pulled it closer.
Somehow, I managed to bring it against my chest.
I pressed my hands into the fabric.
The rain continued.
I thought about the house.
The porch.
The kitchen light.
I remembered standing outside the door, waiting for Dad to change his mind.
I remembered hearing the lock.
That sound seemed clearer than everything around me.
Click.
I thought about Karen.
Her face came back to me.
The orange bottle.
Her hesitation.
The way she had whispered that she was sorry.
I wondered whether she was still holding it.
I wondered whether Dad had finally examined the label.
I wondered whether either of them had realized I wasn't coming back.
Then my thoughts became scattered.
I couldn't hold on to one memory for very long.
The darkness seemed to grow heavier.
I tried to stay awake.
I couldn't.
And then there was nothing.
Back at home, Dad apparently believed I had gone somewhere else.
Maybe he thought I had found a friend.
Maybe he assumed I would eventually become frightened enough to return.
Perhaps he imagined I would knock on the door and apologize.
I couldn't tell you exactly what he was thinking.
I wasn't there.
But I later learned that almost three hours passed before the telephone rang.
The call came from the County Police.
Officer Daniels was on the other end.
Dad answered.
"Mr. Walls? I'm Officer Daniels with the County Police."
Dad didn't sound particularly concerned at first.
"What's happened?"
The officer asked him a question.
"Do you have a daughter who's still a teenager?"
"Yes. Why are you asking?"
"When was the last time you saw her?"
Dad explained that we had argued.
He said I had left the house.
The officer didn't immediately respond to that explanation.
Instead, he asked something else.
"Was she wearing a coat when she went out?"
Dad paused.
"No."
There was another question.
"Did she take her telephone or any money?"
Dad went quiet.
Those were two simple questions.
But they forced him to think about what had happened.
I had left without my coat.
I had left without my phone.
I hadn't taken my wallet.
Karen had been nearby when he threw me out.
She knew all of it.
By then, she had entered the kitchen.
She was close enough to hear the conversation.
Dad's voice changed.
"What's going on?"
The officer continued speaking.
"Has she gotten herself into some kind of trouble?"
He still seemed to believe the problem was something I had done.
Something that had brought the police into our lives.
Then Officer Daniels told him where I had been found.
"Mr. Walls, your daughter was located about four miles from your residence."
Dad gripped the kitchen counter.
"Located?"
He repeated the word as though he didn't understand it.
"What do you mean?"
The officer explained that a passing driver had spotted me beside a drainage ditch.
I was lying on the roadside.
I was unconscious.
And I wasn't responding.
Dad struggled to answer.
The kitchen suddenly seemed very quiet.
Karen was listening.
The orange bottle was no longer the only thing that mattered.
"Is she okay?"
For the first time, his voice sounded frightened.
Officer Daniels gave him an answer.
An answer that would change the rest of that evening.
"Mr. Walls, when the driver reached your daughter, she wasn't breathing."
Dad reached for the wall.
His hand searched for something solid to hold.
The kitchen counter was no longer enough.
And Karen, standing nearby, had heard every word.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: My Father Finally Understood That This Wasn’t an Ordinary Argument, but the Police Had Already Found Something Terrible
The Orange Bottle My Sister Held Was Enough to Make My Father Forget Everything He Had Ever Promised Me
Part 4 of 20
