by David Gane
Dad offers to drive, but I tell him we’ll walk.
The morning air is cool on my face and crisp to breathe. Charlie pulls his jacket up around his neck. My head starts to clear.
I can’t stop thinking about Mike. Dumbass things he said or texted. The way he made a fool of himself at parties trying to pick up girls. Oh God, his stupid pick-up lines! Or how he’d steal my food all the time.
Once in Grade 4, he decided to stick his feet into the front tire spokes of his own bike. In Grade 9, he tried to forge a detention slip because a girl told him she wanted to fool around with him one day after school—
Did my stupid decision to help Detective Gekas cause this? Did I do this to him? There’s no way Mike crossed paths with Theodore Thompson, is there? Yet somehow he caught the killer’s attention.
It just doesn’t make sense.
Mike wasn’t part of our investigation. He never went with us to the crime scenes or to the lawyer’s office or to see the s’kids. And he sure as hell didn’t break into the condo with us.
So if this was retaliation for any of it, why go after Mike?
“What’s on your mind, Shepherd?” Charlie asks as we wait to cross Albert Street.
“Nothing …,” I say unconvincingly.
“Stop blaming yourself for this shit.”
I hate that he always knows what I’m thinking. “Is there anyone else?”
“Yeah, the asshole who did this to Mike!”
“But it wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t been messing around. Gekas didn’t even want us—”
“Oh God, stop it, Shepherd. We tried to help. Don’t go blaming yourself for that.
“You don’t think Mike died because of us?”
“No,” Charlie states emphatically. “No, I don’t.”
But he doesn’t look at me when he says it.
chapter 72
By the time we get to school, the news has broken, and there’s an eerie familiarity about it. Radio and television vans line the street in front of the school. Students stand in small, sobbing huddles. And when people see me coming, there are darting glances, hushed whispers, and awkward, forced acknowledgments.
Grief counsellors are on hand, and I understand the need—in fact, I appreciate it—but the pain is too raw to talk about. I just want to keep moving. I’ve lived this before—once was too many times for my liking—and it isn’t any easier now.
But I find myself asking how genuine some of these people’s feelings are. Charity Pelton’s bawling in the middle of the hallway near my locker, and I wonder if she’ll miss Mike or just his fawning over her at parties. I catch the mean-
spirited thought and force myself to empathize. Perhaps I’m misjudging her; maybe she did actually care for Mike.
Mike was a good guy who played hard and was liked by a lot of our fellow students. He was all about the team and sportsmanship, and although he might’ve been a little over-infatuated with the opposite sex, he was like a big ol’ puppy dog everyone liked having around. And now—well, it feels like another gigantic hole has opened up in my universe.
I say bye to Charlie and go straight to Psych 30. No one’s there and I sit in my desk, but as soon as I see the empty place beside me, the dull thudding behind my eyes picks up the tempo and I struggle to roll through it.
“Tony?” Statten’s at the doorway, moving calmly into the room.
“Sorry.” I struggle to speak. “I just needed a place to hide.”
“It’s all right, but can you take a deep breath for me?”
“I’m fine,” I lie. My forehead feels like it’s stuck in a vise.
“No, you’re not.” She’s beside me now. “Start with one small breath.”
I’m not interested in her help, but she’s not going to leave me alone until I do what she asks. I inhale, hold it, then let it out. Something in my head loosens.
“Good. Take another.”
I make more of an effort this time, and after a couple more deep breaths, the tightness in my temples diminishes a bit.
“Better?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She sighs, staring at Mike’s empty desk. “I’m going to miss him.” She smiles sadly. “God, he could be such a pain to deal with—” She catches herself, realizing how her words might sound. “Mike was a good kid. Such a big heart.” Now she’s looking at me. “Should I ask why you’re at school today? Or are you just going to ignore my advice?”
I smile meekly.
“A lot of people are going to want to talk to you.”
“They’ve already tried to offer their condolences—”
“Not just that. They’re going to turn to you for help.”
“Me? Why?”
“Because you’ve gone through this before.”
I shake my head. I’m a mess—I can’t help anyone else.
“Anthony, they look up to you.”
I look at her. “Why?”
“Because you’re a leader and a good friend. And because you try to make things right.”
I don’t respond. If I had just left things alone, if I hadn’t tried to “make things right,” maybe Mike would be sitting here, telling me about his latest conquest.
I sink down in my chair, wishing I’d never come to school.
She kneels down beside me. “Whatever’s going on inside your head, don’t hold on to it too tightly. It’s not your fault.”
I hear what she’s saying.
I’m just not ready to listen.
chapter 73
When the intercom crackles during English that feeling of déjà vu settles over me again: “Can Anthony Shepherd come down to the office, please?”
All eyes are on me as I gather my books, but I’m neither surprised nor concerned by the call. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I expected it. Just like with Sheri, they’ll ask me what I know. I doubt I’m a suspect, but I try to ready for myself for anything. I’m halfway down the hall when Charlie trots up behind me.
“They called you too?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Nope, just figured you could use the support.”
I didn’t really expect this from him, but I’m glad he’s here.
“Do you know what’s up?” he asks.
“Figure they’ll have some questions. See if I know anything.”
It’s not a shock when we see Gekas at the front desk in a discussion with our principal, Mrs. Johnson. Nor do they care that Charlie’s tagging along with me.
“Anthony, Charles, can we talk?” Gekas asks.
Gekas leads us into the principal’s office.
Mrs. Johnson follows, and there’s an awkward moment when I think Gekas is going to ask her to wait outside, but then she changes her mind.
The two of them take their places almost exactly like they did last year when I first met Gekas. Mrs. Johnson settles into her chair, while Gekas pulls out the folded leather case containing her ID and badge to set it on the desk before leaning against its corner.
“How are you doing?” she asks, and I hear the concern in her voice.
Charlie doesn’t say anything and I only shrug. Really, what are we supposed to say?
Fortunately, she doesn’t try to make us share our feelings, and gets back to being a cop.
“I called Keya—” She’s a little too familiar with our family and glances at Mrs. Johnson to see if she’s caught on.
Mrs. Johnson has definitely taken notice.
Gekas starts again. “I told your mother I had a couple of questions for you—”
“The last either of us saw Mike was right after school yesterday,” I say, trying to be helpful. “He was talking about hooking up with a girl, but he didn’t mention anyone specifically.”
“You don’t know where he went?”
“I didn’t t
hink to ask,” I say. “I wish I had.”
“And he—” Gekas pauses, looking over at Mrs. Johnson again before continuing, “he wasn’t with you at all after that?”
She’s asking if he was with us at the condo.
I catch sight of the badge beside her on the desk, its smooth black leather surface, the finely stitched corners. Somewhere on her identification will be her first name: Margaret. It never sticks in my head how strange our relationship with Gekas really is.
“No. Nowhere close,” I say, trying my best not to say anything that would raise a red flag for our principal.
Gekas nods, considering what I’ve said. “Was he with you before that? At any point?”
It’s clear Gekas wants to get as much information as she can while it’s fresh in our minds. It’s often little things people don’t think are important that can be the biggest breaks.
But before I can answer, Charlie interrupts. “Detective, do you think there’s some connection between Mike’s murderer and the guy who went after Sheri?”
I never considered the possibility.
Mrs. Johnson shifts a bit in her chair. She seems uncomfortable that Charlie’s addressed Gekas in this manner, but it doesn’t seem to bother the detective.
“What are you getting at?”
“I mean, why would this guy choose the jogging trails? Seems like too much of a coincidence.”
“Charles—” she says.
He persists. “Have you talked with the scumbag who took Sheri? Checked into any correspondence he’s had? Maybe someone’s a copycat.”
“You know I can’t answer that,” Gekas says. And although she does nothing to encourage Charlie’s treatment of her as a colleague instead of an authority figure, the way her lips twitch upward briefly makes me think she’s impressed.
“Could he be some sort of obsessed fan of serial killers?”
“We’re checking all avenues.”
Now it’s my turn for questions. “Could this be some sort of message?”
Gekas glances at Mrs. Johnson, worried I might incriminate myself, so I clarify my meaning as carefully as I can. “Maybe a threat to those investigating to say, ‘Back off’?”
“It’s highly improbable.”
“But it’s a possibility?” Charlie persists.
She frowns at the thought. “I don’t believe so, no.” She leans forward in her chair and I realize we’re about to be reined in. “I do, however, think it would be best if you stayed close to home for the next little while—”
“Oh, come on, Detective!” I mutter.
Charlie, though, is strangely quiet.
“The fact is, we don’t yet know what’s driving this individual, so we all just need to be cautious.”
“What are you saying?” I ask. “We’re under house arrest?” My voice is pitched higher than I intend. Louder too. I can’t believe this—we’ve got to get this guy and she’s benching us?!
Gekas pauses a little too long before forcing a conciliatory smile. “No, not exactly. But perhaps a little less wandering around. For now. For your safety.”
I can tell she’s not going to relent, no matter how much I plead, and when Charlie still doesn’t speak up, I realize I’m on my own.
chapter 74
After Gekas is done with us, Mrs. Johnson sends us back to class.
Why did I think coming to school today was a good idea? Every class or spare or lunch period I ever had with Mike, every moment spent by my locker talking, every corner and hallway, is filled with memories of him. By the time the final bell rings, I feel like absolute shit.
And it only gets worse.
My phone bings as I pack my bag to go home. It’s a message from Dad:
Out front.
“Looks like Gekas told your folks to keep us on a short leash,” Charlie says, walking up, holding his phone out with its identical text.
“Yup.”
And this won’t be the last time, either. Until Gekas says otherwise, Dad will be our personal chauffeur to and from school.
As we climb into the car, he informs us that we’re expected to stay on a set schedule. School during the weekdays and close to home on evenings and weekends. Any deviation from this plan and we need to call Gekas with our whereabouts. They’ve even kiboshed taking Ollie for a walk unless we have parental accompaniment.
I know everyone’s trying to protect us, but it really feels like we’re being treated like children.
I didn’t think I could feel any more restricted, but as we pull up to the house, Charlie states, “Looks like she’s decided to put us under surveillance too,” and points to a nondescript navy blue car across the street.
A man and woman are sitting inside, looking our way.
“Does she really think we’re in that much danger?”
“She’s only being cautious,” Dad says.
I don’t care what Gekas’s intentions are. I hate it.
Feels like we’re the ones who’ve been thrown in jail, while Mike’s killer is running loose.
chapter 75
After supper, I want to disappear upstairs, but I’m betting that’s not going to happen.
“Anthony, can you please put on the kettle?”
Shit.
Mom has us gather around the island for teatime, and I’m hoping that it’ll be quick and painless. But when Dad asks the first question, I realize it won’t be.
“How are you doing, son?”
I shrug. “Fine, I guess. Under the circumstances.”
“We know it’s tough. Sheri. Now Mike. And, after Maggie’s request today,”—ha, “request,” nice one!—“a lot is being dumped on you.”
“Everyone just wants to make sure that the two of you are safe,” Mom adds.
“Why is Gekas so concerned about us? She said it was highly improbable that his death has anything to do with us. And Mike has other friends. Are any of them being watched by the cops?”
They glance at each other, then Charlie, then me.
“No, it’s just—” Mom stops.
“Considering what you boys have done in the past, the connection to Sheri, and Mike being your close friend … It just seems personal.”
I’m irritated. “And nothing to do with anyone thinking it’s our fault?” I look at Charlie for some sort of support.
Charlie isn’t saying anything, which bugs me more.
“No, Anthony. Not at all—” Dad counters, but Mom cuts him off.
“Are you?” Mom asks.
I glare at her, feeling angry but also guilty, knowing I should tell her about how we were trying to help Gekas.
“It’s seems like an awful coincidence that such a tragedy occurs less than a week after you two start living together under the same roof.”
And that’s when Charlie finally decides to step in. “Well, Mrs. S.—”
Mom shuts him down immediately. “Thank you, Charles, but I’m talking with Anthony.”
I’m pretty sure Mom has no interest in, or patience for, whatever lie he was about to tell.
He falls silent and I’m on my own.
Do I tell her the truth? That we thought Gekas wanted our help; that despite promising my parents that we’d behave, we broke into the home of a potential killer; that Mike paid the price because of it?
“No,” I say finally. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?”
She’s going to keep hounding me until I spill my guts—then I realize she might already know everything anyway, and I just need to find out. “You talked to Detective Gekas. Does she think Charlie and I are responsible?”
Mom leans back in her chair, the crease in her brow deepening in frustration. “Well, she’s worried you might be indirectly connected. She said she was exploring the possibility of a copycat kill
er.”
Ah, Detective, do you feel so guilty that we misunderstood your intentions that now even you aren’t telling my parents the whole story?
Before I can argue further, Mom adds, “For your sake, Anthony, I hope you have zero connection to whoever’s responsible.”
So do I, Mom. So do I.
chapter 76
My head is pounding by the end of the discussion, so I skip homework and go to bed early.
I dream of floating deep in the water of a lake. The moon is above, ripples shining down on me. I need to breathe and I try to swim, but I can’t seem to get my hands and legs to work together. My lungs are about to explode and I think I’m going to drown, but I bust through the surface for a big gulp of air, happy to be alive.
That’s when I see Mike, far below me, wrapped in purple ribbons, dead eyes staring up at me. There’s nothing I can do. I call out to him, but he can’t hear me.
I wake up screaming, bedsheets soaked in sweat.
chapter 77
When I wake the next morning, there’s a dull ache where my heart used to be, and I figure I’m so numb I can stand anything, even school. I’m thankful that it’s Friday, though.
I get ready, and wait for Dad and Charlie downstairs. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and remove all notifications. I learned last year that social media after a tragedy like this is best avoided.
I’m quiet on the car ride, and Dad and Charlie don’t push me to talk. I keep my head down through my classes and my teachers let me be. The only person who actually stops me in the hall is Elaina.
“That information I gave you the other day? That has nothing to do with Mike, does it?” she asks. She has dark circles under her eyes—how much stress has worrying about this put her through?
“No,” I try to say as convincingly as possible.
I don’t blame her—it’s not her fault—but I sure as hell wonder if she’s right.
“If I—” she breaks off, unable to finish the thought, wincing in mental anguish.
I use the words that Charlie used on me, “Elaina, the person who did this to Mike—he’s the one responsible. Not you.”