by Hart, Jerry
But the murders. Nothing could undo them. No matter how much she wished and prayed, nothing could change the fact that Don had killed people—including his own brother—in cold blood.
Monica listened to the messages on her answering machine: One was from Terry, stating he couldn’t get her on her cell but left a voicemail, which she would check later; another message was from a woman who left no name, but asked her how she felt about the murder that had taken place behind Don’s house.
Monica gasped and listened to the message again. She couldn’t have heard properly. The voice had sounded casual, like a friend merely being curious. Monica called Don’s cell phone, praying he answered. While she waited, she booted up her computer in the bedroom.
“Hello?” Don’s voice answered after a thousand rings.
“Don, why didn’t you tell me someone was murdered behind your house?” Monica was suddenly angry and could not keep the heat from her voice.
“How did you find out about that?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Calm down, Monica. Nobody was murdered. My neighbor fell into a hole upside down.”
Monica pulled up the story online, read it to herself. “The news says he was buried upside down. I hardly call that an accident.”
Don was speechless for a moment. Monica held her breath and waited. He was clearly trying to come up with a response, which told her that he had something to hide.
Finally, he said, “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I’m handling it.”
“What’s going on over there, Donovan?” After a breath, she at last voiced her concern. “Did you do it?”
“No,” he answered at once. “I was out of town and.... I would’ve remembered.”
There was another concern, however. “Did one of the boys do it?” The words tasted awful in her mouth, and she hated herself for even asking.
Her concern was made worse when Don said, “I don’t know yet.”
* * *
Jordan looked for his cousin at school the next day during lunch period but couldn’t find him. Students weren’t allowed to stay in his or her classrooms during lunch—which was probably just where Conner would be. Jordan looked around one more time before deciding to go searching for his cousin’s art class. He saw Erin sitting at their table and talking with a friend.
Travis wasn’t with her.
So both boys were missing. Strange.
Jordan made his way down a hallway, keeping an eye out for any hall monitors. He’d encountered a teacher once during lunch period a few months back, when he and some friends had decided to eat in class, and that had ended up blowing it for everyone when that teacher followed him from the bathroom and disbanded the get-together. Jordan remembered how hot his face had felt as he struggled to come up with a lie to tell the teacher. Those “friends” hadn’t spoken to him since.
He rounded a corner and saw Conner’s class on the left. The door was closed. He was about to open it when someone burst through, nearly knocking him down. It was Travis, and he looked pissed.
The boys stared at each other for a moment before Travis charged off. Jordan looked into the classroom and saw Conner sitting on one of the desks, facing the windows.
“Conner?”
His cousin jumped at the call of his name. His eyes were wet and red. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he wiped tears away.
“I was looking for you. What just happened? Did Travis hit you or something?”
Conner laughed. “No. If he had, he’d be dead right now.”
Jordan ignored the joking tone. “Why are you crying?”
Conner walked past him to get to the door. “I’m not,” he said, wiping his cheeks dry.
* * *
Jordan kept a closer eye on his cousin that week; something was definitely wrong with Conner. What that had to do with Travis was anyone’s guess. Erin was just as clueless about her boyfriend and, therefore, not much help.
Jordan felt like everything was spinning out of control. He wished Mom was there to tell him everything would be okay. He wondered if she knew about Mr. Leper’s murder yet; she hadn’t called to check on Jordan, and per Dad’s request, Jordan hadn’t called her. Dad probably figured she would worry and try to bring Jordan back to Georgia.
What about Conner, though? Would she leave him with Dad? Most likely. She was a good woman, but Jordan knew she’d never felt responsible for Conner because he wasn’t her son.
A curious thought suddenly occurred to Jordan as he rode the bus to school the next day: What if Mom did take him back? He and Conner would be separated. The two were practically brothers and though Conner got on his nerves often, Jordan still loved him.
* * *
Don decided to finally stop brooding and get back to life. At some point, while doing the boys’ laundry, he realized he’d been in a depressing state of mind for quite a while. For how long he had no idea, but he did know it had started even before Samantha left him.
When Conner made him laugh at the dinner table that night, however, something had opened up inside him, some hidden reservoir of happiness, and he was still feeling its lingering effects to this day. He felt like a new man. Despite the murder, he felt optimistic about the future. Anyone could have murdered Mr. Leper; there was no evidence to point to either of his boys. He had simply jumped to conclusions.
Though there was Monica to think about. She’d found out what happened and was worried sick.
He headed upstairs and started picking Conner’s clothes up off the floor and loading them into a hand basket when he noticed his camcorder peeking out from under the bed. Don had bought it for his birthday, though Conner rarely used it.
The camera had dirt on it now.
Don grabbed it, examined it. Did Conner take it with him when he went camping? Don’s pulse quickened. Could there be evidence of the murder on this very camera?
Don tossed it in the basket and left the room. The boys were playing laser tag and wouldn’t be back for hours. He went down to the den and turned on the TV. He then hooked the camera to it and began playing the recording.
There was shaky footage of Jordan and two other teens—a boy and a girl—walking through the woods. Don assumed Conner was holding the camera.
The kids came across a stream.
They found a weird hole in the ground next to the stream—the one in which Mr. Leper was buried.
More footage of the kids talking around a campfire at night.
Then, nothing. The recording ended.
Don relaxed. There had been nothing to incriminate the boys in the crime, no footage of Leper or his murderer. Don was about to stop the recording.
More footage appeared.
The cameraman was pointing the camera at a man’s back.
The man was none other than Mr. Leper himself. He was standing outside a big tent. He looked like he was about to open that tent when—
Something seized the old man by the neck. It had been so fast that Don barely registered it as a gloved hand.
Now the camera was pointed downward and slightly back. Don could see Leper’s left foot dragging against the ground. Whoever grabbed him was running very quickly through the woods.
Don’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched his former neighbor plunge headfirst into that hole. Then the camera fell to the ground, pointing in the opposite direction. All Don could do was listen as something that sounded like a dog quickly shoveled dirt into the hole, burying Leper alive.
* * *
Jordan put on his glowing vest and prepared himself for what was to come. He looked at his fellow teammates lined up behind him. They were all pulling their own vests from the rack and clipping them on. A large round target glowed blue in the very center of the vests.
Being out of the house and with friends was exactly what he needed. The kids at school seemed to forget all about the event from weeks
ago—oh, the attention span of a teenager—and Dad slowly seemed to escape his “fog of torment,” as Jordan liked to call it. Still, it was nice to unwind.
Conner, Erin, Travis and a few others were on his team. Travis was helping Erin with her vest, which she accepted reluctantly. They were clearly still having problems, which actually pleased Jordan, though he’d never admit that to anyone. That would make him sound like a monster.
And Jordan was no monster.
“You ready?” Conner asked as he aimed his laser gun at the wall in front of him. He looked ready to kill.
After witnessing a brief and cheesy instructional speech from an employee in an “airlock,” the two teams—red and blue—were let into the battlefield. Jordan took in the black-light brilliance of walls and forts. Arrows pointed in glowing orange, telling them which ways to go.
The red team flowed into the opposite end of the field and were setting up defensive positions. Jordan barely saw them through the numerous obstructions as he followed Conner to the top of the closest fort.
“Come on,” said Conner as they charged up the ramp. “We can ambush them. They’ll try to sneak up on us.”
Once they got to the top, they hid behind a wall. Conner peeked around the corner and said, “Here they come.”
Jordan heard footfalls on the floor, felt the vibrations from the ramp. There were only two ways into this fort. Suddenly, Conner jumped from his hiding spot and started pulling the trigger. Jordan followed.
Two boys stood there. Conner had shot one, causing the opponent’s red vest to vibrate and flicker. Jordan shot the other, putting him into a ten-second delay as well.
“Fuck you both,” said Conner’s victim.
“All’s fair in love and war,” Conner replied with a grin as he started to run away.
“You would say that, fag!”
Conner stopped in his tracks, halfway down the ramp.
“You left your boyfriend behind!” the sore loser continued.
“He’s my cousin,” Jordan supplied unhelpfully. He and Conner looked nothing alike, so he understood the confusion. Though he didn’t like the name-calling.
“Whatever, queer.”
The two red members ran off just as their vests reactivated. Jordan turned back to his cousin.
Conner was no longer there.
* * *
Jack and Leo ran down the ramp of the opposing team’s fort and began blasting every Blue they could find. Jack was still fuming from the encounter he’d had with those two Blues that ambushed them. The black one had claimed they were cousins. How was that possible? Jack’s sixteen-year-old brain couldn’t process the concept of interracial families.
Either way, it didn’t matter. Jack had a plan for those two. If he could get the timid Leo to go with it, that was.
Jack and Leo looked alike, both with bowl-cut brown hair and freckles on their noses, but they couldn’t be any more different if they’d been paid to be. Jack was the adventurous type, Leo the rule follower. Jack didn’t quite understand why the two got along so well, though Momma always said that opposites attract.
To be honest, Jack just liked being idolized, and he got the impression that Leo adored him. Leo hadn’t always had that distinctive haircut that was so similar to Jack’s. He’d even taken to liking the same music and movies as Jack.
Some kids at school thought it was creepy, but Jack didn’t mind. He and Leo were in their own little world, where other people’s opinions couldn’t touch them.
He and Leo had blasted a few more Blues as they made their way to the ramp of their own fort. The “cousins” would probably head in this direction.
“What are we doing?” Leo asked.
“We’re gonna get those assholes back.”
“Why?”
Jack sighed. “Because I don’t like them.”
“All they did was tag us. That’s what they’re supposed to do.”
“I don’t care. I’ve never, ever been tagged first. They cheated somehow.”
Deep down, Jack knew they hadn’t cheated, but the mind was capable of convincing one of anything. And Jack’s mind told him those boys were playing dirty. So Jack had to play dirty as well.
He had something other than simple harmless revenge on the agenda. He wasn’t going to tag them; he was going to hurt them. There was a particular spot in the battlefield that was completely hidden from view. Whether it was put there for tactical reasons, or perhaps just a structural oversight, Jack figured it would serve his purposes.
Jack and Leo stealthily worked through the maze of walls and waist-high barriers, with Jack noting the glowing orange and green markers. The spot he was searching for looked like someone had thrown a bucket of orange paint on the outer barriers, hiding the niche beyond.
That niche was where he planned to take the cousins. He just hoped Leo was up to the task. Though Jack thought highly of himself, he wasn’t sure he could beat up two guys at the same time on his own.
After rounding a corner in the middle of the battlefield, Jack saw the niche. The glowing orange paint made the area beyond look even darker. The barrier was split down the middle, with just enough space to squeeze through. Jack and Leo removed their vests and hid them behind another barrier a few feet away. Then they creeped into the niche and waited.
After a minute, Jack saw the black cousin walk by. He looked lost and confused. Jack was confused as well—where was the other cousin? He was the one Jack really wanted. He was the one who’d most likely planned the ambush that tagged Jack first.
Leo was about to leap out and grab the black cousin when Jack stopped him. “Leave him; let’s wait for the other one. He can’t be too far behind.”
They knelt in the darkness a minute longer. Techno music blared from the overhead speakers. Jack’s knees and feet ached and he started to feel like he was being watched. He looked about the outside and saw nothing but colored walls and an occasional passerby. No one was looking at him. There was no way anyone could see him in this darkness.
“Where is he?” Jack whispered to himself.
“Here” came the reply from the darkness behind him.
Chapter 8
The events that occurred at the laser-tag arena Friday night were the talk of the school on Monday. Jack Goldsmith and Leo Williams had suffered some kind of traumatic experience and had been taken to the hospital. They hadn’t been physically harmed, however; their injuries were psychological.
Both boys had been found in a niche in the middle of the arena, wide-eyed and mumbling, their faces whiter than snow. The facility’s employees had to call the cops and an ambulance just to coax the boys out of the hiding spot. They didn’t speak of what had frightened them so.
But Jordan had a suspicion.
As he walked into history class, he noticed Conner sitting alone in a corner desk, looking out the window. Jordan took the desk next to him. Conner hadn’t said a word all weekend. They had left the arena before Jack and Leo were discovered missing, and Jordan hadn’t even found out until this morning.
It didn’t take a genius to connect Conner’s strange behavior to the bullies’ attack.
When Jordan sat down, he got a horrible feeling that stole the breath from his lungs. It felt almost like terror, though he couldn’t explain the source. He wasn’t terrified...but he recognized the sensation. And it had started the very moment he sat down next to Conner.
“What’s up with you?” Jordan asked.
“Nothing,” Conner replied. “What’s up with you?”
“This is the first time you’ve talked since Friday. Congratulations.”
“What’s my prize?” Conner asked.
“Me not telling Dad you had something to do with what happened to those boys.”
Conner finally looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“I couldn’t find you that night after we got separated. And when I finally did find you, your vest was unbuckled, like you’d taken it off or something.”
&
nbsp; “And?”
“So, it’s just a coincidence that the guys that picked on us just happened to be attacked.”
“The world is full of coincidences.”
A silent moment passed before Jordan asked, “What did you do to them?”
Conner stared at his cousin for a long moment as the class continued to file in. Finally, he said, “I just scared them a little. They deserved it.”
“Why do you think that?”
Conner scoffed. “Do you know what they were planning to do to us? They were waiting to beat us up.”
Jordan let that go; he was focused on something Conner had said earlier. “How did you scare them that badly?”
Conner grinned. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
“All right, people,” Mr. Locke, their teacher, called from the front of the class. “Settle down and let’s get today started.”
The students settled into their seats. A boy sat at the desk Jordan usually used, so Jordan stayed where he was. He’d never sat next to the window before and found it somewhat pleasant, despite the feeling he got from his cousin.
“I hope everyone finished their essays on the Renaissance,” Mr. Locke went on, “because they are due today.”
Jordan didn’t care much for his history teacher. Mr. Locke was very loud and a little too energetic for his own good. The man was in his fifties, at least, and had this brash demeanor that appealed to some and annoyed others. Jordan, obviously, was in the latter camp. So was Conner.
Mr. Locke started talking again as Jordan got to his feet, his folder with the essay in his hands. Without a word, Conner handed him his own folder.
Jordan grabbed it and said, “Yes, sir. I’ll dance for you and I’ll sing for you, too.” He did a little jig, much to his cousin’s delight.
A moment later, Jordan returned with Conner’s folder. “You asshole, sending me up there with an empty folder.”
Conner started at that, as if jolted by an electric shock. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a battered essay that had, apparently, fallen out of the folder. He took the folder from Jordan, placed the essay inside, and then ran to the front of the class and started to place it on the teacher’s desk.