Exposure Point: A gripping small town mystery. (The Candidates Book 1)

by M. D. Archer

  “I could try getting a look at more test results.”

  “Maybe. We’ll figure this out. I’ll come down next weekend.”

  “You will?” I beamed.

  ***

  We loitered in the bus terminal, waiting for the 392 to Montrose to arrive.

  I’d insisted on getting the bus home so Isaac had a chance to catch up on his work. But I also needed some alone time to think. And maybe on the bus ride, I would find the courage to turn on my phone and find out what level of Mom Ballistic Missile Crisis I’d return to. I’d sent her a text last night and then again this morning to let her know where I was, that I was okay and I’d be back later today, so she wouldn’t worry, but then I’d turned my phone off because I knew she’d call anyway. But I didn’t care how much trouble I was in. It was worth it.

  I looked over at Isaac. He stared back. Suddenly I felt shy. It was so weird because he was still Isaac, my best friend, but also somehow different.

  “Callie.” Isaac took a step toward me but hesitated. He pushed back his shoulders, then took another step. “I know it’s weird to bring this up now, but with everything… I don’t know… I kind of feel like I have to. Like, I don’t want to not say it, you know?”

  “Not really. What are you talking about?”

  “I, uh.…” His eyes locked on mine. “I… I waited for you.”

  “You waited for me?” I repeated.

  “I thought….” He paused, trying to pick the right words. “I thought you might… feel the same way, eventually.”

  It was hard to look at him, but I had to. His face was so raw and vulnerable it made my heart ache. “Feel the same?”

  “Yeah, like, more than friends.”

  This had never come up before, but now, in this moment, I wasn’t surprised. Maybe some part of me knew Isaac had feelings for me, but maybe I didn’t know what to do with it, or maybe it was that I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t lose him.

  “I… I don’t know what to say,” I said lamely.

  “It’s fine, Callie. You can’t choose who you like. I get it. And I’m getting over it.”

  “You are?”

  I was both disappointed and relieved. What was wrong with me? How could I want something and not want it at the same time?

  “Quinn is cool. I like her.” He sat down on the bench but then got up again. “But you and me this weekend was… kind of different.”

  “Yes, different,” I echoed, “but maybe it’s just because I miss you, Isaac. I really miss you. It’s been hard without you around.”

  “I know.” Isaac nodded, a sad gesture.

  “You’re my best friend, Isaac. I….” Now I was the one trying to find the right words. “I really need you to keep being my best friend.”

  Was that what I wanted to say? Was it enough? No, but it was all I had right now.

  Isaac nodded. “I get it.”

  The hiss of brakes and the engine squeal from the arriving bus broke the spell.

  “I’ve got to go.” I went to pick up my bag, but Isaac grabbed my arm and pulled me into a hug. It was familiar. It was Isaac. But it was different.

  When he released me, I gave him a shaky smile and turned away to ascend the bus steps, my ticket ready to give to the tired-looking driver.

  “Callie?”

  I turned.

  “You’ll always be….”

  He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.

  I paused for a moment before replying.

  “I hope so.”

  21

  When I got home last night, Mom was furious.

  I was grounded and phoneless. But I almost didn’t care. Something more important was going on. Mrs. Pemberton wanted to see me first thing today—she’d texted this morning and Mom had grudgingly passed on the message—but as soon as I arrived at school, I heard an announcement.

  There was a special assembly for the grade twelve students.

  Instead of going to the office, I went to the assembly hall. If something was going on with the grade twelve students, then I needed to hear it. Because what if it had to do with DcH?

  From a little alcove near the entrance, I watched as students streamed out of classrooms, down the corridor, and into the hall. When I was sure everyone else had gone in, I went and stood at the back.

  Ms. Michaels stood at the front, and she looked so serious my insides started tap-dancing. And when Logan appeared on stage next to her, my chest got tight.

  She cleared her throat and leaned into the microphone to speak. There was a ringing in my ears. This was bad. I could feel it. This was really, really bad. A foggy haze swished through my brain like the mist that descended on Montrose each winter.

  “Students. I have some bad news.”

  She cleared her throat and looked around the room. I did too, following her gaze as if it would somehow tell me what was about to happen. Some looked down at their phones, others whispered to each other, but most people’s attention was fixed firmly on Ms. Michaels. My eyes landed on Gabby; her face pinched with worry. Next to her, Steph looked bored but was completely still, obviously listening. They were waiting for the news, bracing themselves, just like me. But it felt like part of me already knew.

  And then she said the words.

  In a clear, unfaltering voice, Ms. Michaels told us Mitchell Faulks was dead.

  All sounds dropped out of the hall.

  An image of him lying on the ground with blood trickling out of his ear—the night he went berserk at The Hill—ran through my head, and a wave of intense nausea surged up. I had to crouch down to get my breath.

  This was because of DcH.

  “Counselling will be made available for each of you.” Ms. Michaels nodded, looking around the room. “In addition to this shocking and tragic event, there have been some other concerning incidents. It’s a stressful time for you, on the cusp of adulthood, and you have many important decisions to make, not to mention all the normal trials of teenage life. You have an intense workload, and many of you are under college-related pressure, so the faculty would like you to know there is support available to you, to help you through this challenging time. Each of you will receive a one-to-one counselling session to talk about Mitchell, but also to make sure there are no issues you need to discuss or resolve.”

  As soon as she finished, a clear and confident voice cut through the shocked whispers.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Michaels?” Amanda stood up to ask her question. “Are these sessions for everyone?”

  “All grade twelve students must attend at least one session.”

  There was a burst of chattering.

  “Ms. Michaels?” It was Amanda again. I knew from personal experience that her head-tilt-and-smile combo was a warning sign. “It’s super sad about Mitchell… but compulsory counselling? I don’t think so.” There were murmurings of agreement until Amanda finished. “They should only be for the losers who can’t handle their lives.”

  A sea of heads swivelled from Amanda to Ms. Michaels as a shocked silence descended. Before Ms. Michaels could respond, Justin, Liam, and Brooke rose up next to Amanda. The four of them stood there, proud and impressive-looking.

  “Or better yet, let natural selection do its thing,” Amanda finished off with a triumphant smile. I heard a quiet gasp, then realized it came from me.

  After a moment of stunned silence, there was a burst of excited chattering. While everyone else was babbling to each other, I looked up at the stage. The look on Ms. Michaels’s face was hard to read, but Logan’s was not.

  He was smiling.

  I backed out of the hall, my head swimming. This was it. It was time. No more waiting. Isaac was coming down this weekend, but I had to do something about Logan and DcH now, before somebody else died. I didn’t care that Mom had given me strict instructions, delivered in her scariest Mom voice, to come home straight after work. Work wouldn’t be over for hours yet. And this was too important. This was life or death.

  I r
aced back to the office.

  “Mrs. Pemberton.” I was breathless. “I need Mr. Ellison’s address, or his phone number.” I hurried past her and went straight to the staff address book in the cabinet. “Is it in here? Has this been updated?”

  “Calliope, honey, stop.”

  Mrs. Pemberton’s voice was so serious I pulled up and turned to face her.

  “You heard about Mitchell?” she said.

  I nodded. “I can’t believe it, but I can’t talk about that now. I need—”

  “I know, it’s awful and shocking, but that’s not…. Did you get my message about meeting with me?”

  I nodded. “I promise I’ll come back, but there’s something—”

  “Calliope, no, you don’t understand. Sit down, please.”

  “But—”

  “I need to tell you something.” She pressed gently on my shoulders until I was sitting in the chair next to my desk. She took her own seat and leaned forward so she was only inches away from my face. “Calliope, a formal complaint was made.”

  “Logan, I know, but—”

  “I don’t know how to say this. I tried my best, I did. But….”

  “But what?” A sick feeling landed in my stomach.

  “Apparently there’s proof.”

  My stomach clenched. “Proof of what?”

  “You’ve violated patient confidentiality.”

  I wanted to tell her everything, so badly, but would she believe me? Would I only make everything worse?

  “Calliope, do you understand?”

  I shrugged helplessly.

  “I have no choice but… you’re fired,” she whispered.

  “Fired?” I repeated.

  I felt light-headed, but I had to focus.

  “Just like that? Aren’t there, like, formal procedures to go through first?”

  Mom had been fired by some shady boss a few years ago and ended up getting legal advice. Apparently, you can’t just fire people without warning.

  Her eyes went wide. “Not this time.”

  “Mrs. Pemberton, please. I haven’t done… I’m not… aren’t you on my side?” Her eyes flickered, but she didn’t reply. “Aren’t you?” I repeated. Still, she didn’t answer.

  I’d laughed off the idea of her working with Logan, but was it so ridiculous? The school administrator being in on Logan’s shady dealings made sense.

  “You have to leave the premises immediately, and you can’t come back.”

  22

  Detective Radowski looked like he was in his fifties, with a round face and small, beady eyes.

  He nodded at the police officer who’d shown me to his desk, Constable Greene, then waved her away. I almost wanted to ask her to stay. She seemed nice and safe, with her no-nonsense haircut and kind eyes. And the way she hesitated before walking away, it was almost as if she thought she should stay too.

  He waited as I took a seat in the chair next to his desk. We were near the back of an open-plan area that had several other desks spaced throughout, and I felt exposed, sitting with my back to the entrance and people coming and going behind me. But since the alternative was probably being interviewed in an interrogation room like a suspect, this was better.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Oh, uh….” I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry. And why were the lights so bright in here? “It’s kind of hard to explain.” I pulled my bag onto my knees and dipped my hand inside. I fingered the edge of the manila file, trying to gather confidence, trying to find the words.

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m a busy man, young lady. Let’s start with the basics. Your name?”

  I cleared my throat. “Calliope Laws.” Suddenly this felt so official, like a big deal. Maybe even a mistake. How did I even begin?

  “And you’re here because…?”

  “I think there might be something, uh, illegal going on at Montrose High.”

  My voice sounded squeaky, immature, unreliable. I cleared my throat again.

  His eyes flickered. “Illegal, huh? In what way?”

  “It’s… I guess it’s all about Logan Kerry. The manager of the health centre. He messed with the blood donation, you know, from the blood drive. And I think… I mean, I don’t know why… but remember the truck crash? I think the chemicals released did have a toxic effect, and he’s covering it up.”

  Radowski nodded slowly. “The truck crash. And what makes you say that?”

  “Students have collapsed.”

  “You’re referring to Mitchell Faulks?”

  I nodded. “And Emily Levene, and Nikki De Luca.”

  He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head, regarding me down the length of his nose. “Nikki De Luca’s collapse was due to overtraining, exhaustion. I’m not sure about Emily, but Mitchell died from a brain haemorrhage. Tragic, but completely explainable. What makes you think it’s to do with the truck crash? And what does Logan Kerry have to do with it?”

  “I thought he was dealing steroids. At first. The crazy student behaviour and him messing up the blood donations. I thought it was to cover up the steroid use, but then….” I inched my file a little farther out of my bag.

  Radowski’s eyes flicked down to my hand. “What do you have there?”

  “It’s, uh, my patient file.”

  “From the health centre? They gave it to you?”

  “Yeah. I mean, no, I guess not technically.”

  “You stole it.” He nodded as if this confirmed something.

  “It’s my file.” I sat up, pushed my shoulders back. I had to be more convincing, more assertive. He obviously didn’t believe me. “And that’s not the point. My DcH result is zero, but Emily’s and Mitchell’s results weren’t.”

  “DcH?”

  “The chemical the truck released.”

  “And how do you know about Emily’s and Mitchell’s results?”

  “I saw them,” I blurted.

  He narrowed his eyes. “You looked at the confidential medical records of other students?”

  I fell silent. Crapola. I hadn’t thought this through properly. The only thing I had evidence of was my crime. I rose, my legs shaky.

  “Sit down. Let me get this straight. You think the truck crash released a toxic chemical, and you think Logan Kerry is somehow involved. You think he covered it up.”

  I nodded, a jerky movement.

  “You see, it’s all very interesting, Calliope Laws, because Logan Kerry, well, he has some things to say about you too.”

  A surge of nausea barrelled through my stomach.

  I’d left it too late.

  “And from what you’ve told me, sounds to me like Logan’s accusations are right on the money.” He leaned forward. “Because you don’t work at the health centre, do you, Miss Laws? You work at the administration office, and you had no business looking at confidential medical records.”

  I lurched to my feet. “Sorry to waste your time.”

  “He’s thinking of pressing charges,” Radowski said, raising his voice as I hurried away.

  As soon as I was safely a block from the station, I collapsed against the outside of a building and tried to think.

  That had not gone well.

  I rummaged in my bag for my phone, frowning when I couldn’t find it. Had I spaced and left it at home? My shoulders slumped. No. Mom had confiscated it. I’d forgotten.

  I needed to call Isaac and I knew his number off by heart, but where could I get a phone? I scanned the street. There. The convenience store. I was pretty sure they sold cheap phones. I raced over and five minutes later I had an unlocked cell with a new SIM and $20 of prepaid credit. Five minutes after that I’d convinced the clerk to let me plug it in and charge it so I could use it straight away. As soon as I had enough juice, I called Isaac. His phone rang three times, then went to voicemail. He was either busy or screening. I sent him a text.

  It’s me, Callie. Answer.

  New phone? Can’t talk. In class.

  Urgent, I
replied. SOS.

  I gripped the phone and glanced up at the clerk. He eyed me as I crouched near the wall, looking a bit like he was regretting letting me do this.

  “Won’t be long, I promise.”

  Finally, the phone rang.

  “Callie, this—”

  “Mitchell is dead, Isaac.”

  The line went quiet for a moment. “I know.” His voice was small. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Well, I can. And I just tried to tell the cops about the truck crash cover-up, but Logan beat me to it. He might be pressing charges against me.”

  “Frak, really?”

  “Really. We have to do something.”

  “Why don’t you go see Mr. Ellison now, without me. Make him listen to you. Plus, who else is there? Mrs. Pemberton?”

  “She could be in on it,” I said. I still hoped she wasn’t.

  “Are you kidding? Mrs. Pemberton?”

  “I’m not sure, but she just fired me.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.”

  There was a noisy gust of air down the line. “Sheesh, Callie.”

  “I know. I think it was Logan who made it happen, but as far as I can tell, she’s going along with it.” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll go see Mr. Ellison, but I don’t know where he is. He’s left school.”

  “He’s leased a space downtown until his grant money comes through and he gets his lab set up. I’ll text you the address.”

  ***

  I looked up at the old brick building in front of me and took a breath. Why did I feel so guilty and nervous, as if I had made the whole thing up? But I hadn’t. Emily, Nikki, Theo, and now Mitchell. And Logan had gotten me fired and complained to the actual police about me. It was for sure the act of someone trying to get the heat away from them.

  No matter what Detective Radowski thought, Logan was guilty of something. And Mr. Ellison was the obvious person to talk to, I just had to be more convincing.

  I opened the door.

  On the second floor was a reception-type area with a tired-looking plant, a sofa, and a coffee table. A broken light added to the dinginess.

  “Hello?” I called out. There were sounds of activity behind the closed doors off the hallway, but no one responded. I shrugged to myself and started checking numbers on doors. The hall was deserted and smelt dank, but the aroma of freshly brewed coffee grew stronger as I neared the office I was after, 2H.