by Navi' Robins
The entire room broke out in a roaring laugh. I even found myself laughing at Ronald’s revelation.
“Aw, ya’ll think it’s funny? You don’t believe me?”
“No!” we all responded in unison.
“Dude, this is Deerfield, not Chicago, Elm Street, or Crystal Lake. Things like that don’t go down here,” Brian said. “And I think it’s extremely disrespectful to Steve’s memory for you to make up that kind of story about his death.”
“Okay, now have I ever led any of you astray?”
“Well, yeah, that time you said the police found a body behind the school and it was half eaten and the teeth marks couldn’t be identified,” Brian responded.
“That was true, they covered it up.”
“Oh, so little Deerfield has conspiracies and cover-ups? C’mon, Ron, I can say most of the time your info is on point, but Steve’s head getting cut off?”
“Almost, I said almost,” corrected Ron.
“Okay, almost cut off. But, Ron, this is Steve and it’s disrespectful to his memory to lie about his death like that. Not cool, dude. You lost a lot of cool points with me on this one.”
“I’m not lying!” Ronald screamed. You could see the frustration and seriousness in his eyes and I wanted and needed to hear more of what he had to say, because inside I knew the heart attack story made no sense at all.
“Okay, okay! Let’s hear him out,” I interjected. “But, Ron, this better be actual or you have a good team-hazing in your future. Deal?”
“Deal!” he agreed without hesitation.
“Wait! I am the captain of this team, not you,” challenged the quarterback. “And I don’t want to hear this crap. Steve was my friend and I don’t want to remember him this way.”
“Well, you may be the captain on the field, but you have no say on what we want to hear off the field,” I snapped back.
“You wanna go?” Brian challenged with anger in his eyes. “I’m not my big brother. I won’t just fall on the floor!”
“Wait! Wait! C’mon, guys, this is stupid,” Ronald protested. “We shouldn’t be fighting. Steve wouldn’t want this.”
“Steve’s dead, Ron. He don’t want anything anymore,” responded Brian. “Listen, if ya’ll want to listen to this crap, you can, but I don’t have to. I’m out of here!”
As the quarterback turned to leave I could see Ronald becoming desperate. Whatever he had to tell was extremely important to him to get out.
“They suspect a serial killer is on the loose in Deerfield and the surrounding areas!” he yelled out behind the quarterback.
Brian stopped dead in his tracks.
“They lied because they don’t want us to panic, but that’s real,” Ron continued. “There were markings all over Steve, carved in his flesh, patterns they can’t explain. His body isn’t even in the casket. The FBI has it, studying it for clues. They want to keep it hush and they are hoping the killer was just passing through.”
Brian turned and charged Ronald with the intent on knocking him to the floor and Ronald just stood there waiting for the impact. I quickly jumped in Brian’s path to prevent him from pounding Ronald. Brian stopped and stood face-to-face with me. Now his rage was concentrated on me and I could tell my presence made him want to erupt in a fury of violence.
“Get out of my way!”
“No! Beating on Ron doesn’t change that what he says makes sense.”
“I swear,” Ron protested. “It’s the truth. I’m not happy having this news, but we need to be careful, because any of us could be next. If you still don’t believe me, look at the funeral service program. It says ‘closed casket, please don’t touch the casket.’ Look, I got a copy of the pamphlet.” He pulled out the program for the funeral service and began showing everyone. And just like he said there it was in bold capitalized underlined letters: THE FAMILY RESPECTFULLY ASKS THAT EVERYONE REFRAIN FROM OPENING OR TOUCHING THE CASKET!
“Okay, stop! This doesn’t prove anything,” protested Brian. “Maybe the family is in too much pain to see Steve lying there, so they want a closed casket. And what if the police said he had a heart attack because that’s what happened. Ever thought about that? And why would they keep this from us anyway? How can we keep ourselves out of harm’s way if we have no idea that there is a serial killer on the loose?
“Aiden says this makes sense? No, it makes no sense whatsoever!”
“It does!” Ronald yelled. “The FBI wants to flush out the killer. They know that this kind of serial killer usually has some kind of purpose or they feel like they are a tool for a higher power. So they need their work to be known. They need their victims to be identified as their victims and if they don’t get credit for their work they begin to act out of character, which makes them easier to catch. So they haven’t mentioned anything to prevent panic and to flush him out. There will be FBI agents at the funeral just in case the killer shows.”
The mood in the room immediately dropped from excitement to gloom. I could tell that the team began to accept Ronald’s explanation. Even Brian dropped his head in submission. No one wanted to admit that the story of Steve dying from a heart attack sounded suspicious out of respect for his family and his memory, but it was definitely hard to believe a seventeen-year-old healthy young man died from cardiac arrest.
I was too busy trying to keep Brian from cleaning Ronald’s clock and shutting him up that I hadn’t had time to process what was revealed in the locker room. Was I responsible? Did I take Steve’s life? But there was no sign of blood anywhere on me and that kind of violence produces a huge amount of blood. But somehow I felt responsible and once this new information got to Tony’s ears he would surely come forward. I felt like I was on borrowed time, that soon my life would take a 360-degree turn and the world that I knew would transform right before my eyes and I would no longer see things the same way again. After listening to Ronald, I really didn’t feel like being in the same room with Steve and the federal agents.
But if I didn’t show up it would not reflect good on me, being that his death allowed me to start in his place, and also I was out at the time of his murder. Murder, wow! To even let that concept enter my mind was terrifying. I prayed I had nothing to do with Steve’s death. Because without a shadow of a doubt I had no intentions of turning myself in if I found out I did, and that thought sent chills down my spine.
CHAPTER TEN
Later that evening I found myself standing in the doorway of Steven Gray’s funeral and the atmosphere was devastating. So much grief and pain filled the room; it was difficult to breathe, like the grief everyone was feeling just sucked the air and life right out of me. I knew right then I would not be here very long; it was just way too weird. I scanned the room looking for any signs of possible agents or plain clothes detectives. I needed to either confirm or disprove Ronald’s story about a possible serial killer on the loose, and being that the serial killer could be me I really needed to make sure.
Being in a family with a strong military history gave me the keen eye to single out men and women of the armed forces or public safety and it wasn’t too hard to spot them scattered across the room. Stern looks and postures, always observing and calculating. They seemed to look right through you instead of at you. Assessing the threat level, they watched everyone and no one. I counted six agents and eight detectives. Ronald was on point and I would never doubt him again. Their presence made it even harder to remain here for long. I decided I would just walk up to Steve’s family, say how sorry I was, pretend to look at the casket, which was closed just like Ronald had predicted, and leave immediately. I didn’t care who saw me, and if asked about my speedy departure I would simply say I needed to prepare for tomorrow’s game to be at my best to honor Steven. Actually, thinking about that excuse, I had to admit it was pretty good. I could feel an evil smirk develop on my face at the thought of so many people buying that lie and showing pride in me for making that sacrifice. It was all bullshit, but only I knew that. I made my way t
hrough the crowded room of mourners, speaking only if I was spoken to. I was in no mood for lengthy conversations with anyone. I just wanted out of here ASAP.
I could feel all the agents’ and undercover cops’ attentions fixed on me. I may not be a suspect yet but I definitely was a person of interest. It’s just rare that someone my age would be a potential serial killer. I believe my age was the only reason they didn’t aggressively pursue questioning me about my whereabouts that Friday night. With Tony and I at odds with each other, and my memory lapse, I had no solid alibi. Something these men could sniff out like feces in an outhouse. So my best bet was to not draw attention to myself by letting on that I knew they were there and watching me. I made sure to steer clear of direct eye-to-eye contact but didn’t cower from looking in their directions from time to time.
While in line to give my condolences to Steve’s family I noticed that the “suits” began moving closer to me, not too close but their positions were definitely changed to a more tactical point if anything strange were to happen. It was a strange and terrifying thing to change from being an introverted teen with no real social status to a starting running back potentially guilty of murdering his teammate with a serial killer flair. Now I was on the radar of the local authorities and the Feds.
Oh, what a difference a few weeks can make.
After what seemed like an eternity I found myself face-to-face with Steve’s mom. Steve was never really that handsome of a guy and looking at his mom I could see why. To say her looks were average would be insulting to average-looking people everywhere. She was totally and hopelessly ugly, and looking at her now burdened with grief just made it worse. Steve wasn’t a total loss like his mom, so I assumed his dad, whom he never had a chance to meet, was a pretty decent-looking guy to run interference from all that ugly Steve’s mom “hail married” downfield.
Steve had to be the by-product of a drunken one-night stand between his mom and dad. After experiencing my first night of drunken passion I could only imagine how that night went. Steve’s dad had to be totally wasted, I mean deemed “medically retarded”- wasted to consider bedding the wild beast before me. The hangover the next morning was nothing compared to seeing the tequila-inspired beauty being removed from Steve’s mom’s face, revealing God’s entire wrath. Her kind of ugly should have been labeled a toxic waste. Because of his shortcomings in the looks department, Steve vigorously pursued sports to gain attention and popularity. He was a pretty good running back; but NFL-bound? I don’t think so. A college scholarship maybe, at a good school with a decent football program, but unless he increased his speed he would ride the pine for most of his college career and return back home to momma; ugly ass momma. Maybe his murder was an act of kindness to prevent him from waking up another day looking at this modern art masterpiece.
I bet her cooking tasted ugly too. Geez! He was really attached to her as well and he may have turned out to be Deerfield’s own Norman Bates. Who knows?!
What is wrong with me?
I’ve never been this mean before; I mean, yes, Steve’s mom was in fact ugly, but to rip on her like this now in my mind while she grieved the loss of her only child? The gloomy and mournful mood in the room was having a negative effect on me and I needed to get out of there fast. It was hard looking her in the face, not because I somehow felt responsible for her grief, and it wasn’t because I grieved with her. Wrong again! She was just too damned ugly in my eyes and it made it unbearable to look at her longer than ten seconds. She reached out her hand for me to shake it. I caught myself pulling away from her touch. Somehow I felt like touching her would allow a portion of her ugliness to rub off on me.
I was truly tripping out. I touched her hand slightly, and quickly made a mental note to disinfect that hand thoroughly when I got home before I touched my face. Yuck! I immediately got in line to view the closed casket. I could feel myself getting impatient now. I mean, really, who wants to look at a closed casket? I’m sure, like Ronald said, Steve’s body wasn’t even in there. Finally, I was standing in front of Steve’s casket. I wondered seriously if he was in there. I moved closer to the casket to try and tap it a bit to see if a hollow sound would come back at me. From the corner of my eyes I could see the “suits” moving closer, waiting for me to give them a reason, any reason. I knew if I touched the casket I would be whisked away immediately by the suits.
They made it clear while entering the funeral home: Under no circumstances were we to touch the casket. They figured the killer would want to confirm his work was done and would find it impossible to resist touching the casket. So far they could be on to something because I felt an uncontrollable urge to tap the side of the casket to see if it was occupied by perhaps my first victim among many others to come. I moved closer still. I could see them tensing up, waiting to pounce on me any moment now. The urge was building stronger and stronger. I didn’t feel like I was in control of myself anymore. I was all rage, passion, desire, and lust. I felt impulsive and dangerous. I couldn’t take it anymore.
To hell with it, I’m tapping this casket now!
Just before I touched the casket I felt a familiar presence beside me; it was Tony. I didn’t see him anywhere when I walked in the room. Where did he come from? He stood there next to me with his hands in his pockets without looking at me. He just stared ahead and calmly said,
“What are the odds?”
And then he turned around and walked out of the room. I quickly followed Tony outside to confront him. The last thing I needed was for him to terrorize me day in and day out for his own amusement. I had enough on my plate already. After navigating through the crowded room, I finally made it outside and exhaled deeply and instantly started feeling much better than I did a few moments ago. I looked around and didn’t see Tony anywhere. I really needed to confront him, but if he wanted to play this cloak-and-dagger game, he could…but by himself. I was not in the mood for this right now. After looking for Tony a little longer I decided it was time to go home. While I was searching around the funeral home property I noticed several suits had begun posting up outside to monitor me.
They played “the smoker” role, but I wasn’t convinced. I knew exactly why they were outside now and it had nothing to do with a cigarette. I decided to head home before something else weird happened.
I barely got any sleep that night and got up extra early on Saturday. My nerves were all over the place and I had no appetite whatsoever. Jason promised that he would come to my first game with my mom and Sarah. For strange reasons that eluded me, the thought of Jason being there kind of eased my worries about how I would do that day. I decided not to give much thought to it then. I had a game in a few hours and something inside me felt that how I did today would affect my life years down the road.
This game was important to everyone in Deerfield after the murder of one of our own and I would be the center of attention because I was the one taking over his position. If I clucked this up, I didn’t think I’d get another chance. Everything, and I mean everything, was riding on this game. Most of the time when you are excited about an event or a new experience, time moves like a snail trapped in crazy glue. But because I was more terrified than excited, the day moved faster than Governor Blago’s impeachment proceedings. One minute I was getting out of bed and the next I was in the team’s locker room trying to listen to the coach’s speech about winning and good sportsmanship. He kept going on about “how to be a team player and show restraint when emotions get high on the field.”
All of which I thought was a load of crap because all of our training consisted of us being aggressive and not holding back on the field. “Hit them so hard you knock their helmets off!” was his slogan during practice.
Now today before the season opener and a game dedicated to a fallen teammate, he wanted us to play nice? Yeah right! It was only for the cameras. We knew what he really meant. From the locker room you could hear the roar of the crowd. The sound was amazing as it seemed to vibrate the very air around u
s. The walk out on the field was incredible—the crowd, the energy, the cheers. I felt at home. All the jitters were gone now and the more they cheered and stomped, the stronger I felt. I felt like I could crush the entire opposing team all by myself. I belonged here and my only regret was that I hadn’t gotten here sooner. I started searching the stands for my family, hoping I would see them cheering and smiling back at me. Nothing, I couldn’t find them anywhere. They said they would be here and maybe they were just running a little late; no matter though, nothing could spoil the great mood I was in.
I should have kept that thought in the back of my mind because just when the offense was about to take the field, Jasmine suddenly appeared on the sidelines staring me down. I immediately felt weak and every step I took felt like I had two five-hundred- pound gorillas tied to my legs beating the crap out of my thighs. Then to add to my troubles I started feeling faint. My God, no, not right now! The entire field began to spin and I felt myself losing balance.
I can’t, I just can’t let her do this to me.
All I got from her was the same smirk she gave me in the lunchroom. God, I hated her. If this becomes a disaster and I lose my spot on the team and we lose this game, my first order of business will be to end her life. Because whatever she was, she wasn’t human, and she was my enemy and had to go.
The next two quarters of football was horrendous. I fumbled the ball constantly and rushed for only fifteen yards. No matter what I did I couldn’t get out of the backfield. I dropped easy passes and even assisted in an interception play by the other team’s defense. The boos and taunts from the crowd was unbearable. But the looks from the coach and team were worse. My mom and Sarah got there about five minutes into the first quarter and they got to see my choke performance. I talked about Steve not having a chance of a college or NFL career, but I wouldn’t see a career past today. The mood in the locker room at half time was rabid and all the anger was directed at me. The team wouldn’t even sit next to me, and a few players made choking gestures towards me.