by Scott Kelly
“Do you really care what I think? I wonder, sometimes. Aren’t you just going to do what you do, no matter what I say?”
“I’m not, now,” David answered. “I haven’t been for a few weeks. Been waiting on you, honestly.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “But if you do care what I think, then yes. What if Eureka is a great idea, but we as human beings are totally screwed? Aren’t some ideas like that? You know, they sound good on paper, but when you try to make it work, you find out the people involved ruin it. Steven and Kent only wanted to use Eureka to make other people do what they want them to do. Emily, Cameron and me—okay, great. We can play the game the right way. Except, you’re sleeping with Emily and Cameron. So where am I supposed to fit in? And, David—someone died, you know? Because Kent thought Eureka could make Cameron like him, or that it could erase his past and his dad’s past.”
David sighed heavily. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this was a mistake. I think I’m doing the right thing, but, sometimes I don’t feel like I can tell. I look at the people around me, and… am I hurting them?”
“You’re pushing them,” I said. “Sometimes they break. You need to develop your own sense of right and wrong. Or, you need to accept that concepts like right and wrong do apply, even to you. Maybe you are responsible for some suffering, for some failures. Maybe a part of Geoff’s death is your fault—and my fault, too. Can you accept that?”
David looked like he was about to say something, but never did. Almond eyes squinted behind brown curls, as beautiful a creature as ever. We arrived back at Broadway. Grackles fluttered, harkening the arrival of their king with a confetti blast of loose feathers.
The car rolled to a halt. “I’m starting to worry I ruined everything,” he said, voice low.
“It’s not so bad,” I told him. “You’ll bounce back from this. You’re a genius, David. Whatever you do next will be even better; you just needed to learn, first. Here, I’ve got something that might cheer you up.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Tag. I may not want to be your conscience anymore, but I still want to see you do amazing things.”
I stepped out of the car, leaving David to his thoughts. I couldn’t stand to see him sounding depressed or lost; it was so out of character. Tore my heart out.
“Thanks, Jacob,” David’s voice carried through the passenger side window as it rolled down. “You’ve been a good friend. The best.”
35. I blame the death of David Bloom on…
Yesterday
I tried calling Nora that night. She didn’t answer, so I left a message on her machine: “I feel awful about what happened. Look, there are no excuses. What I did was stupid. Without you, Eureka is the one thing I have that makes me special. You’re right, though—when I play, you get hurt. I’m sure you will do fine at graduation tomorrow. I’m sorry I didn’t get to hear you practice your speech yesterday. I’m sure it’s great. I love you.”
Felt a little better after that, but I still mined up deep veins of self-pity every time I let my mind wander. I told myself things would be better for Nora if I wasn’t around; she didn’t need me in her life. Separating was for the best.
I went to sleep feeling as depressed and lost as I ever had.
Sound and fury woke me at four in the morning. I rolled over and peered out my small window in time to see a car colliding with Mr. Gimble’s trailer. Mass smashing mass, chassis splitting chassis in rapid action, gas splashing. Maniacal music of plate glass crashing, plastic cracking, both vehicles splitting apart, axles clashing. The car’s remaining headlight rolled to a stop against a tree near the landlord’s abandoned trailer. I jumped out of bed and was out the door in moments, running over the wet grass in bare feet to the car, to see if anyone was injured.
Except, that was my car. The little blue box didn’t deserve this: used as a weapon against Mr. Gimble’s property, blue aluminum exterior peeled back like soda cans after target practice. I dashed around to the other side, jumping over the detached bumper, but found no sign of life. The door was open and I searched the area, peering into the darkness. No trace of Emily or anyone else.
No one inside the car, either, except for a pack of cigarettes on the floorboard of the driver’s side. I took them, wondering if they were Emily’s. One cig remained, with familiar handwriting on the side. Hell is other people.
“What the hell did you do?” Dad’s voice was a brutal growl.
“Nothing. I was asleep, I just ran out here.”
His eyes narrowed, arms folded, posture screaming disbelief.
“Seriously!” I demanded. “Look at my clothes, I don’t even have shoes on. Besides, I haven’t seen this car in months.”
“You’re lying, somehow,” he said. “I’m gonna call the police and report this. But I know you’re lying somehow. You told me this got stolen. Who is gonna steal a car then drive it back to the owner’s property? You’re guilty somehow.”
Well, partially true. I looked at Mr. Gimble’s abandoned trailer. The window where he’d written his selling price and phone number was smashed. A microwave had flown out, open and dirty with burnt-on sauces, cord dangling uselessly on the lawn—little box refrigerator, toaster, shelf full of silverware spread out on the grass.
Dad put his hands on either side of the car’s mangled frame and leaned into the open door. “Look at this shit!” he exclaimed, pulling the shattered remains of a liquor bottle from the car. “Are you drunk?”
I stared at him, exasperated. “Do I look drunk, Dad? It’s four in the morning. I was sleeping like five feet away from you all night.”
He stood next to me. The two of us stared at the ravaged trailer. A pool of fluid bled onto the soil; I stepped back to keep it from getting on my feet.
“Least it hit the right trailer,” I said.
“You shut up,” Dad scolded, anger lacing his voice. “I know you had something to do with this, and I don’t want to hear you making light of it.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
“What’d you say?” he threatened.
I ignored him, walking back to the trailer and getting dressed to the sound of policemen and tow trucks. By now, most of our neighbors had formed a circle around the scene of the accident, sipping coffee and speculating as to what happened.
While I was inside, the phone rang. I answered.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Jacob.” Steven’s voice.
“You did this,” I said immediately.
“Emily is surprisingly easy to steal from. But that’s beside the point: It looks like you did this. How are you gonna explain how your stolen car ended up crashed into your neighbor’s trailer?” Steven asked.
“You’re insane. What if you killed someone?”
“I’m not stupid. I knew that place was empty. Just aim it, jam a stick between the gas and dash, not rocket science. I mean, we’re all about changing identities, right? Well, let’s see how you like these changes. Jacob Thorke: felon.”
“You’re full of shit,” I said. “Get this over with and get to the point. I’m so sick of you trying to impress me with these games. This is not what Eureka is about; I’m not tagging you, and I’m not playing Eureka with you. Let it rest.”
“This is the best way to play, Jacob. Eureka doesn’t make people friends; we’ve been doing it wrong. Competition, challenging each other, that’s what builds character. That’s what gets you out of your shell. Look, you don’t have to answer now. Today, at ten—come to the water tower instead of graduation. I’ll be waiting.”
“I tagged David yesterday. You’re on your own, Steven—” He hung up; my words fought over airspace with a dial tone. I slammed down the receiver, pissed, trying to decide if I should actually go to the water tower.
I looked at the cap and gown wadded up on my bed. Limp things, meaningless pomp. And going to graduation meant watching Nora give her speech. I tried to have it all, and now I had nothing. I picked up the black robe and tossed it into the trash.
Dad bang
ed on the side of the trailer, yelling for me to get out. I did, and he waved me over to a uniformed cop with a notepad. A dark tattoo of a Chinese symbol barely registered over the blackness of his forearm. “You know anything about this? Your dad says this car was yours when it got stolen,” the policeman asked, swatting at a moth which fluttered in the glow of his headlight.
I told him the same story I gave my father. “The car got stolen months ago. I don’t know why it’s here.”
“You know who stole this car in the first place?”
“We filed a report. Some girl who called herself ‘Moira Blocker’ scammed me. We were supposed to meet for sex and she took my car.” Pretty much the truth, right? “You guys know everything I know. Look, I’m graduating from high school today. I want to get some sleep. Do you think I finally got my car back, then I wrecked it? Can I please go?”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “I want him to take a Breathalyzer.” The statement wasn’t made to me, but to my father. He nodded.
“Sure, whatever,” I shrugged. “Better let me leave if I pass.”
“Kids don’t tell me what I better or better not do. Now, take a deep breath. All right, blow out into this little tube.”
He held a plastic device up to my mouth, and I exhaled slowly. When I was finished, he studied the device with squinted eyes, angling it into his headlights to see.
“All right,” he said. “No alcohol. Don’t go anywhere, though. I know you don’t have a car to run with.” He put the pen and pad into his shirt pocket. “You know if the owner of that trailer had any enemies?”
I laughed, despite myself. “Ask any of the neighbors, they can fill you in. But yeah, he had enemies: everyone, even the birds.”
In the end, who was I kidding? I had to see what Steven planned. Even if I just watched, I needed to know what he was doing. I learned the hard way that ignoring him didn’t solve anything.
I rode my bike up to the water tower. Got there about ten, when Steven said to meet. I didn’t go all the way up to the tower, though, because I figured he probably had some stupid elaborate plan, and I didn’t want to walk right into it. So I held back about a hundred feet, just looking. Didn’t see anything. Stayed another ten minutes, and still didn’t see anything.
Then, when I was just about to give up and go home, I saw something at the edge of the water tower, up top. Two shapes. One of them fell. Never seen anything like it; felt like I was the one falling. And the sound—I heard it. The worst sound in the world. I started running up to the tower, and the closer I got, the more it looked like David. Then I saw someone else coming down the water tower ladder, but he had a mask on. For some stupid reason, I thought David might be need help, so I didn’t chase him.” I stopped and cleared my throat. “But he was dead, of course.”
Universes collided as Mr. Aschen leans in.
“Who was it, Jacob?”
“What do you think?”
The color drains from Mr. Aschen’s face. “Steven. It fits, I think. Are you sure that’s who you saw?”
“Like I said, he had on a mask. But, he was the right size. The right build. And he told me to meet him at the water tower. Who else knew to be there?”
“And you think he drove your car into Mr. Gimble’s trailer in an attempt to frame you?”
“He called me and took credit, that’s all I can say for sure. But since you asked me, here’s what I think happened: Steven wanted to be David, but that position was already filled. So, Steven wanted to take Eureka and start over on his own. That would be this big victory for him, to take the game away from David and then start his own group. Maybe take credit for the whole idea. First, he tried to convince me to tag him with that debacle in History class. Then, maybe he knew about Emily coming to Nora’s and figured I’d tagged her; when he found out she wasn’t ‘it’ either, he took her car and came back for me. That morning, after he wrecked the car, I talked to him on the phone and told him David had the tag. I think he went after David next, and that’s when things got out of control. Or, maybe he already knew David was ‘it,’ and he only wanted me at the water tower so he could frame me for murder.”
Mr. Aschen leans back, left hand clutching his jaw, as though he must hold his mouth in place. “If you suspected Steven, why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I don’t have any proof. If I just told you, it wouldn’t mean anything. Besides, I may be angry at Steven, Mr. Aschen, but I don’t want him to go to prison. At least, not unless he really murdered David.”
The door to the interview room flies open. A familiar face appears: the detective. In his hands, a plastic grocery bag—can’t tell what’s inside. He enters the room fully and closes the door behind him, then leans down until he’s inches from my nose.
He reaches into the plastic grocery sack and retrieves a smaller sandwich bag with a single, half-smoked cigarette inside. “This look familiar?” the detective asks, sour breath hot on my cheeks, the smell of bismuth syrup and hot sauce.
“Can’t say it does. I don’t smoke. What’s that written on the cigarette? ‘Hell is?’”
He presents the second plastic bag and the identically branded pack of cigarettes within. “Same writing on all these. Little messages. One of them says ‘Hell is other people.’ You sure these don’t look familiar?”
I look up at him, lock eyes, summon every ounce of earnestness. “I don’t smoke, officer. I’ve never seen them.”
“If you’re lying to us, then we’ll find that out, too.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’m broke, officer. I don’t smoke.”
The detective sighs.
My counselor’s legs are crossed and clenching each other tightly, as though this is the only way he can keep from jumping up. “I believe Jacob, for what it’s worth.”
“Not much,” the detective says.
Mr. Aschen lifts his hands, as if to say what now?
“Listen,” the detective addresses me as he scratches his scalp. “Don’t think about leaving Kingwood. Just because I’m not arresting you today, doesn’t mean this is over. We’ve got Steven here now, and if his story conflicts with yours, you’ll be back here.”
“Then I don’t have anything to worry about,” I say. “Because I didn’t kill David.”
The detective grunts. “We’ll see. For now, our focus has shifted. I’ll have someone escort you out. Thanks for your stay; I hope you found the accommodations hospitable.”
I shake my head, dazed from a lack of sleep and the events of the day—too confused and conflicted to make sense of it all. I’m let out of the room then led through the maze that is the police station. Someone hands me my shoes and wallet.
I end up on the front steps, wondering what the hell is next for me. I don’t have to wonder long—the one person who cannot deny me, much like I couldn’t deny David, is here waiting.
Nora’s car is parked on the street, and she’s leaning against it.
“Hey,” I say, walking up to her. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I could turn around,” she offers. “Turn around and go home.”
“Please don’t.”
“Maybe I should.” She’s angry, I can tell. That’s a good thing; if she’s angry, there’s still hope. “You missed graduation. I rocked the speech.”
“I heard the whole thing. I was a few hundred yards away, with David. I mean, David’s body.”
“I heard. What happened?”
“No idea,” I say. “They think Steven did it. Don’t know why.”
Nora clucks her tongue and opens her door. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Weren’t you and David friends?”
“When we were kids. This has been weird, yeah. I need to sleep. I’ll be all right eventually, though. They questioned me all night.”
She looks concerned for a moment, then recovers her stern frown.
I open the passenger door; we crouch into her car and she begins driving away from the police station.
“And all this
—I mean, David dying—this has nothing to do with Emily coming over?” she asks. “With history class and the stolen wallet?”
“Absolutely nothing,” I lie.
“You’re lying. I want you to open up to me, Jacob,” Nora says as she drives toward Broadway.
“Let me sleep. Then I’ll tell you everything. Please, I promise. I just spent like thirty hours in an interrogation room. Did you ever get Emily off your lawn?” I ask.
“It took a while. We actually sat down and talked for a few minutes.”
“Oh, really?” I’m afraid of the outcome.
“She made me think about giving you another chance. This was her fault, wasn’t it? Not yours? The car being stolen, and all that?”
“We’re equally guilty. She’s a little crazy.”
“I’ll say,” Nora agrees. She seems satisfied with this; maybe she’s getting used to the fact my life isn’t going to be normal. I can only hope. I’m tired of lying.
Done a lot of it today. Bold lies, crafted with purpose. Lies bundled in truth. Didn’t want to underestimate Mr. Aschen and the detective, like I’m sure Steven will. I don’t have his ego.
The first lie? Steven didn’t invite me to the water tower at ten that morning; David did.
I lift up off the seat and pull my wallet from its place in my back pocket. Hidden deep within the furthest recess, in a compartment closed to unfamiliar eyes, is a sheet of paper folded into neat squares. I pull the white slip from its place. I’m lucky the police hadn’t noticed this, or didn’t know what it signified. Can’t bear to let the note go.
There’s only one word and a signature on the page.
Eureka.
-David Bloom
The grim epitaph was pinned to his chest. A final, private message to the Six.
I met him at the watchtower yesterday. I saw him fall. Not from the ground, but from ten stories in the sky. I was up there with him.
The blue bars of the narrow ladder were rough under my hands; I death gripped each rung, taking deep breaths to steady myself as I climbed up after David. When I stopped to look down, I had a feeling like the whole world spun, like I was crawling along upside down. I wrapped my right arm around the bar so I couldn’t fall, held on and looked straight up until the spinning passed.