Rumors

by Phil M. Williams

“Would you like to change your story?” Detective Strickland asked.

  “No. I told you the truth already,” Gwen replied, sitting across from the detective in an interview room.

  “Mrs. Baumgartner said that she had no idea Caleb was suicidal.”

  “That may be true. I never talked to Mrs. Baumgartner. I talked to Janet Wilcox.”

  “Janet Wilcox said she never talked to you about Caleb Miles being suicidal, only about a verbal altercation between Caleb and her son, Shane.”

  Gwen clenched her fists. “She’s twisting the truth. I did talk to her about the verbal altercation, but later in the day I gave her the essay, and we talked about Caleb being suicidal.”

  “Why didn’t you follow up with Mrs. Baumgartner?”

  “I should have. I asked Caleb if he’d talked to her, and he said he did. I thought he was telling the truth.”

  The detective lifted one side of his mouth in disdain. “And now you think Janet Wilcox is lying.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Did you do anything wrong?”

  Gwen exhaled and glared at the detective. “Yes. I didn’t follow up with Mrs. Baumgartner, and I didn’t stop you guys from killing Caleb.”

  The detective narrowed his eyes at Gwen. “Where’s the original copy of Caleb’s essay?”

  “I told you this yesterday. I gave it to Janet Wilcox.”

  “Did you make a copy of the essay?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did Caleb get a copy?”

  “It wasn’t from me. We’ve been through this.”

  The detective ignored her last statement. “Do you normally leave graded papers on the floor of your classroom?”

  Gwen blew out a breath, exasperated. “No, I don’t. I don’t know how it got there.”

  “In the essay, Caleb references Flash Gordon. Do you know who that might be?”

  “I think he’s talking about Jamar Burris, but I’m not certain. Jamar was Caleb’s friend.”

  The detective scribbled Jamar’s name into his notepad. “You said that you thought that Shane Wilcox and Lance Osborn were the bullies Caleb referenced in his essay.”

  “I don’t know that for certain, but, yes, that’s what I think.”

  “What about Drew and Aaron Fuller? Could they be the bullies?”

  “I guess it could be Drew, but Aaron doesn’t play football. I really don’t think it’s Drew though. I know he’s a little rough around the edges, but I think he has a good heart.”

  CHAPTER 82

  Rick and the Funeral

  “Thank you for coming in on such short notice,” Detective Strickland said.

  “Sure,” Rick said, settling into a seat.

  The detective stared across the table at Rick, silent.

  Rick’s heart thumped in his chest. Is it hot in here? He wondered if they would arrest him for Ashlee Miles. It had been a constant worry since he’d seen that picture. The silence stretched into discomfort. Rick felt compelled to fill the quiet. “What do you wanna talk to me about?”

  Despite his middle-aged face, the detective looked small and childlike in his oversize suit, like he was playing detective dress-up. “Did you ever see Caleb Miles being bullied?”

  Rick relaxed, thrilled that it wasn’t a question about Ashlee. “Not that I can think of, not that he wasn’t. He probably was bullied.”

  “What makes you think he was bullied?”

  “I would imagine it’s tough for a small boy on a football team.”

  The detective nodded as if he knew from experience. “Are you sure you’ve never seen Caleb being bullied?”

  Rick shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s possible I have. Sometimes the kids talk trash and get into fights in practice. Not sure if that counts as bullying.”

  “So, you did see Caleb being bullied.”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember.”

  “Did you do anything about it?”

  “Like what?”

  Strickland narrowed his eyes at Rick. “Did you stop the bullying? Did you reprimand the bully? Did you provide any counseling services? Did you refer Caleb to a counselor? Did you do anything at all, or did you just let it happen?”

  Rick leaned back in his chair, as if he were dodging punches from the detective. “Look. I don’t know what you’re getting at, but, if I saw something bad enough, I dealt with it.”

  “Were fights and trash-talking a regular occurrence?”

  “What do you mean by regular?”

  “How often does trash-talking and fighting occur?”

  “Every few weeks we might have a fight. And trash-talking? … I don’t know. I suppose that probably happens every day. It’s not about bullying though. It’s part of the game. It’s competitive.”

  Detective Strickland nodded. “Then you were aware of Caleb being bullied.”

  “I don’t remember a particular instance.”

  “But you said, ‘He was probably bullied.’”

  “Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Did you do anything wrong?”

  “No.”

  Strickland shrugged. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

  “Are you aware that Drew Fuller sexually assaulted Caleb Miles?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We have an eyewitness who says that, in the football locker room, Drew Fuller put his scrotum in Caleb Miles’s face.”

  Rick’s face twisted in disgust. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I hope not, because, if you did, and you didn’t do anything about it, you could be charged with negligent endangerment of a child or even child abuse neglect.”

  * * *

  The interview had ended with Detective Strickland saying, “I’ll let you know if I have any more questions.” Rick drove home from the interview, an uneasy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. What have they found out about Ashlee Miles? But the only evidence is that picture. What if Janet finds someone to lie? Would she go that far? Isn’t it enough to fire me? Does she want me to go to prison too?

  Rick made it home, went inside, and changed into his black suit. He checked the time, left his house, and drove to school. He knew he wasn’t allowed on campus, and he had no intention of going inside, but he felt compelled to show up for Caleb. Rick parked his truck in the back of the school parking lot, near Gwen’s black Jetta. He watched as students, parents, and teachers exited their cars and made their way to the school auditorium for the funeral reception. Three reporters with their cameramen stood at the entrance, hoping for interviews and sound bites.

  Teachers and parents wore suits and dresses, but many students wore jeans and sneakers. The Burris family parked their sedan nearby. Jamar surveyed the parking lot as he stepped from the back seat. Unlike his classmates, he was dressed to the nines. He looked in Rick’s direction, held his gaze for a moment, then said something to his parents. Mr. and Mrs. Burris followed the crowd into school, but Jamar approached Rick’s truck. Jamar knocked on Rick’s passenger window, and Rick powered it down.

  “Hey, Coach,” Jamar said.

  “Jamar,” Rick replied. “You all right?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Can I talk to you?”

  Rick unlocked the door. “Come on in.”

  Jamar climbed onto the bench seat. The October sun warmed the cab. He pursed his lips. “I heard you’re not coming back.”

  “It doesn’t look good.”

  Jamar nodded, silent for a moment. He looked at the school through the windshield. “Are you going in?”

  “No. Technically, I’m not even allowed in the parking lot.”

  Jamar looked at Rick and his dark suit. “Then why are you all dressed up?”

  “I wanted to pay my respects.”

  “Are you going to the game tonight?”

  “I’ll have to sit on the East York side, but I’ll be there.”

  “I think I should quit. I don’t even
know why we’re playing after what happened to Caleb.”

  “Playing or not playing won’t bring him back.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you like playing football?”

  “I’m not playing anymore.”

  “You don’t play in practice?”

  “Yeah, but …” Jamar shook his head. “It’s not fair.”

  “What if I never would’ve started you this season? Would you’ve quit?”

  Jamar frowned at Rick. “I guess not.”

  “Then why do you wanna quit now?”

  “Because it’s not fair. If I wasn’t playing because Coach Schneider thought I wasn’t good enough, I wouldn’t care. I mean, I would care, but I would understand. Even if he was wrong. I’d just wait till next year. But I think he knows what he’s doing, and he’s doing it on purpose. How am I supposed to trust the man?”

  “This world’s full of weak, selfish, and dishonest people. You can complain about the unfairness of it all, and you’re right. It is unfair. But are you gonna let another man’s weakness run your life and determine your fate?”

  “But he does control my fate.”

  “To a certain extent, but you control your reaction. Coach Schneider is making the wrong choice here, no doubt. You can quit and tell everyone how unfair it is, or you can go to practice every day and get better as a quarterback. You can work hard in the off-season and get even better. It’s gut-check time. You can let all this bury you, or you can keep fighting.”

  “What about you? Are you still fighting?”

  Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven’t decided.”

  Jamar took a deep breath and looked at the school through the windshield. “I guess I should go in.” He opened the door and stepped from the truck.

  “Hey, Jamar.”

  Jamar stood on the asphalt, facing Rick, his hand on the open door.

  “Don’t let small-minded people grind you down. You’re gonna be great at whatever you decide to do with your life.”

  Jamar blinked, his brown eyes glistening. “What about you?”

  “I had my time.”

  CHAPTER 83

  Janet and the Funeral

  Janet stood with Rachel in the back of the auditorium, away from the crowd.

  “Oh, my word. I can’t believe she came,” Rachel said, watching Gwen join the line of people offering condolences to the Miles family.

  “It’s inappropriate,” Janet said. “Heather might slap her.”

  “Heather wanted to kill her after I told her about the essay.”

  “I’ve already spoken with Pruitt and Cliff Osborn about Gwen’s role with the essay. I think they’re planning to fire her.”

  “Don’t let the door hit you on the patootie on the way out.” Rachel giggled.

  “Did you tell Heather that Pruitt was out when it happened?”

  “I did. She wasn’t that upset about it though. She was already so mad at Gwen—and for good reason.”

  “I don’t know why Pruitt was so high on Gwen. She’s not a rigorous teacher. Her students might be having a great time, but I question whether they’re learning anything. If, for some miracle, she’s not fired, I’ll be giving her an unsat.”

  Rachel nodded. “I didn’t like her the first time I met her. She acts so high and mighty, like she’s better than everyone.”

  “Well, she’s about to be taken down a few pegs.” Janet gestured to the receiving line.

  Gwen neared the front of the line. Heather Miles glared at Gwen, her fists clenched. Gwen turned and hurried to a seat away from the scene. Janet and Rachel stifled their laughter.

  Janet’s cell phone chimed in her purse. She checked the number, recognized it as the newspaper reporter she had called, swiped right, and walked away from Rachel. “Hello, Phillip.”

  “Janet. I have some good news,” Phillip said.

  “Hold on a second.” She stepped out of the auditorium and walked down the hall, headed for the main office. “Is the paper running the story?”

  He chuckled. “Better than that. There’s been a new development.”

  Janet walked back to her office. “What’s the new development?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  Janet sat behind her desk. “I am now.”

  “Gwen Townsend’s married name is Walker.”

  “So?”

  “She was married to Brian Walker.”

  “Okay?”

  “You don’t remember the Brian Walker case a few years ago? It was in Philly. It was all over the news.”

  Janet shot out of her seat. “Holy shit!”

  CHAPTER 84

  Gwen and the Funeral

  Gwen sat in the audience of the half-filled auditorium, flanked by Lewis Phelps and the Burris family. The football team and most of the young people congregated near the back, the adults near the front. Shane and Lance were noticeably absent. Pictures of Caleb flashed across the projector screen, programmed in an endless loop, with instrumental music in the background. She’d seen the loop five times already. There were only a dozen pictures. His fifteen years had been reduced to twelve pictures, not even one per year. There were baby pictures, a school photo, and football pictures, with Caleb smiling, on one knee, a football in the crook of his arm. There was one selfie with a blue-haired girl who Gwen had never seen before.

  Principal Pruitt stepped to the stage and stood behind the podium. The music was cut, but the pictures still scrolled. Pruitt waited for the audience to quiet. “Thank you for coming. I’d like to extend my deepest condolences to the Miles family.” Pruitt nodded to the front row where Heather sat next to Ashlee, along with half-a-dozen adults who Gwen didn’t recognize. “We’re here today to pay our respects and to remember Caleb Miles. His life was taken far too soon. I hope we can be there for each other in this time of need. We have a few speakers who knew Caleb best. They’d like to share a few words.” Pruitt stepped away from the podium.

  Lewis Phelps stood from his seat and walked down the aisle toward the stage. It had been prearranged as to who would speak and in what order. Gwen had volunteered to speak, but Pruitt had said they already had enough speakers. Gwen was pretty sure that was a lie, especially after trying to offer her condolences to the family and Heather giving Gwen a look of pure hatred. It had nearly brought Gwen to her knees.

  “I had Caleb for American history last year and world history this year,” Lewis said, standing behind the podium. “He was extremely bright, thoughtful, and introspective.” Lewis paused, swallowing hard. Gwen thought he might lose it, but Lewis regained his composure. “We had a project to design your own government, and students had to decide what type of government they wanted and to explain why. Some students chose a monarchy or a theocracy or a republic or a democracy. I had a few students who even made the case for a dictatorship. I’ve done this project for seven years now, and I’ve never had a student do what Caleb did. Caleb argued for anarchy or no government.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Caleb was rebelling, but it wasn’t like that at all. He argued that all governments were inherently evil because they derived their revenue and power from force. He thought the only ethical way for people to arrange themselves was voluntarily. Not only did Caleb successfully argue for no government but he also provided ample criticism for every other type of government throughout history.

  “I wanted Caleb to share his project with the class, but he refused. He didn’t want to be singled out. He just wanted to fit in. But Caleb was different, and I mean that in the best possible way. He had a unique way of looking at the world. He was a special person, and this world is worse off without him.” Lewis’s voice caught on his final sentence. He stepped back from the podium, and the audience applauded.

  Jamar gave a short speech about playing video games and football with Caleb. Heather Miles followed Jamar. She wore a little black dress and high heels. She held tight to the podium, her tan arms flexing in the fluorescent light. She read from a handwri
tten piece of paper, never lifting her eyes to the audience.

  “Caleb Miles was my only son, my baby. I’ve been told that the worst pain anyone can feel is losin’ a child. I’ll never be whole again. A piece of me was taken on Tuesday, and I’ll never be able to get it back. Caleb should still be alive, and he would be, but mistakes were made. Big mistakes. He had a pellet gun because I refused to buy my son a real gun, even though almost every kid in this town has a gun for huntin’. But the cops shot him anyway. That ain’t right.

  “This school ain’t innocent either. They knew that Caleb was havin’ problems. They knew he was thinkin’ about killin’ himself, but they didn’t do nothin’. They knew he was bein’ bullied, and they didn’t do nothin’. I ain’t got much. I ain’t got a fancy house or a fancy car or a fancy degree, but I know what’s right and what’s wrong.” For the first time, Heather looked up from her paper and glared at the audience. “What they did to my baby was wrong.” Heather stomped from the podium, much of the audience applauding.

  Gwen hurried from the auditorium, feeling nauseated. She went to the teacher’s bathroom, opening it with her key. She dropped to her knees, her stomach lurching, hot vomit creeping up her esophagus. The tile was rock-hard and ice-cold on her knees. She leaned over the bowl and puked foamy scrambled eggs. She gagged and lurched again, bile mixing with the last of the eggs. Her breath was labored.

  Gwen grabbed the sink and hoisted herself to her feet. She flushed the toilet and washed out her mouth. Heather Miles thinks this was partly my fault. Maybe she’s right. I should’ve checked with Mrs. Baumgartner. Gwen went to her classroom and sat in her desk chair alone, afraid to face the funeral crowd or the reporters outside. On the way in, they had swarmed her, but a few teachers had blocked them. The reporters had been calling her day and night. She had turned off her phone in response.

  A knock came to her door. Lewis appeared in the door window. Gwen stood and walked to the door, opening it, but not letting him in.

  “Are you okay?” Lewis narrowed his eyes at her face. “You look pale.”