The Ghost of Robert Brown: A Mystery Novel

by P. Wish

  “I wanted to hide,” he said. His voice was low and shaky.

  Jane held her breath, letting shallow breaths puff on the door.

  “Hide? From who?” the counselor asked.

  “From…from the world,” Jack said in a low voice. A moment of silence passed. It was followed by sobbing sounds. Her heart skipped a beat.

  “What did you feel when you locked yourself in the room?”

  “I felt safe for a moment. It was very comfortable…like I didn’t want to exist anymore.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “It makes me feel comfortable. I don’t have to pretend, I don’t have to fear. I can just be.”

  “Is that where you cut yourself?” the counselor asked, clearing her throat. There was no reply. Jane assumed Jack nodded.

  “I saw the piece of glass glistening in the light and it drew me towards it.” Jack spoke in a trancelike state. “I had to touch it so, I did. I picked it up and looked at it.”

  “Looked?”

  “I wanted to feel it.”

  “On your skin?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did it feel?”

  “Cold. Lifeless.”

  “Painful?”

  “A little, then it was gone.”

  “What after the pain?”

  “I felt relief,” Jack said.

  “Is that why you cut yourself? To feel that relief?”

  Jack nodded. “It hurts in the beginning, but moments later, the pain is replaced by strength.”

  “Did anyone know you were in there?”

  “No.”

  Jane’s heart constricted upon hearing those words. She pressed her palms against her nose. The heavy breaths condensed on her skin, which absorbed the sound. She held on to the edge of the wall.

  “How do you feel about the whole event now?”

  “I don’t blame anybody,” Jack said, sounding more hopeless than peaceful. “I haven’t thought about it since my release from the hospital.”

  “Are your parents still around?”

  “They want me to go back with them.”

  “Do you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “Hopeless.”

  “Hopeless? Is there a reason you feel hopeless?”

  No response. Jane’s ears vibrated with the hollow sound of the air brushing against wood.

  “Jack?”

  “I think I’m different from the others.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t have normal feelings.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If I knew why I have those strange feelings, I’d feel better. I’d feel better if I didn’t have them at all.”

  “What kind of feelings?”

  “Like a moth attracted to the flame.”

  “An interesting metaphor. What is this flame?”

  “I…” Jack said. “I think it’s a false promise of happiness.”

  “A false promise of happiness, huh?” The counselor scribbled something in her diary. “Why is the promise false?”

  “Because I can never have it.”

  “What is it that you can’t have?”

  “Love.”

  Jane’s eyes softened. She swallowed.

  “Whose love?”

  “Nobody’s in particular. It’s a kind of love.”

  “What kind?”

  “It’s just the idea of—” Jack stopped midway.

  “The idea of?”

  “The idea of being in love with another man.”

  Jane sucked in her breath. Her heartbeat sped. She felt her pulse thudding against the wooden door. She pulled her fingers away. She heard the counselor take a deep breath.

  “How long have you been aware of, ummm…these feelings?”

  “It’s been a few months,” Jack said, his voice low.

  “When was the first time you felt…this way?”

  “I think it was four months ago.”

  “What happened four months ago?” the counselor probed. Jack took a moment to answer.

  “One of the boys burst into the common room. He joined school this year. I had never seen him before. I was watching television when he came in. This was shortly before the Christmas break, so there was nobody in the dormitory. It was just me and him.” His voice broke.

  “Go on.”

  “When I saw him enter the room, I felt something. Ummm…if I had to describe it, it felt like being shot with a thousand arrows. I was sucked in by his eyes. They were blue…the deepest shade of blue. There’s nothing unusual about blue eyes, but…a tingling sensation came all over my body. I thought it was because of the cold, but it didn’t go away. He smiled at me and sat down next to me. After that, I couldn’t concentrate on whatever was on television. I was aware of his presence all evening. The tingling didn’t go away. It stayed and became more pronounced. My heart started beating fast. I turned my eyes towards him, trying to make sure he didn’t know what was going on with me. Then, he turned to me. I felt exposed. I hoped he didn’t notice my abnormal reaction. It made no sense that I felt all that for a stranger. I didn’t know where those feelings came from.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I ran away. I went to my room and locked myself in. Then…” Jack hesitated. “I leaned against the door and sat on the floor. My heart was still beating like crazy. I thought—” He stopped.

  “What did you think?”

  There was no answer.

  “Jack, it’s okay,” the counselor said. “This is a safe place. You can talk about anything.”

  Jack cleared his throat.

  “I thought how it would feel to kiss him,” Jack said, almost inaudibly. If Jane didn’t have her ear dug into the door, she’d have missed it. “I thought how it would feel to touch him. I know I’m not supposed to feel things like that…and he’s a stranger…but…I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Have you felt that way towards someone else?”

  “No. If you mean a girl, no.”

  “How did you feel after the sensation passed?”

  “Like a new world had been opened up.” Jack swallowed. “I don’t think it was right—”

  “It’s all right,” the counselor said reassuringly. “There’s nothing wrong with any of those things. They’re your feelings. Anything you feel is right.”

  “Those thoughts refused to stop…they played in my mind like a movie.” His voice broke. Jane heard the shaky tone as he went on. “We were making out…it kept playing in my mind…his lips on mine…my skin brushing against his. I felt the softness of his body…then…” He was breathless.

  “You’re doing well,” the counselor said. “Keep going.”

  Jane heard muffled whispers and choked sounds for forty-five seconds. Jack stopped speaking. The moment faded. Jane’s heart thudded outside the door.

  “You did very well,” the counselor said. “For your next appointment, I want you to think about the feelings you described. I want you to think about them without any stigma or guilt. Think about it like you’d think about eating dinner or watching a TV program…just something that feels normal. Write down what you feel when you think about it like that.”

  “Umm…I’ll try.”

  “Good…good. You’re doing really well, Jack,” she repeated. “When would you like to come in for our next appointment? I have a slot next Monday at twelve. Can you make it?”

  “Ummmm…”

  “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

  Jane backed off from the door quickly. She heard Jack’s footsteps. She ran away from the room as fast as she could. But when the door opened, her shadow lingered in the corridor.

  “Have a good day,” the counselor said. Jane heard her voice more clearly now. Jack’s footsteps edged towards her. She began walking towards the staircase. He emerged from the corridor. His eyes fell on her for a moment.

  She acknowledged him with a nod. He nodded back. He turn
ed and went the other way. Jane stayed on the base of the staircase and watched him disappear.

  What he said during the session ran through her mind. Jane had had no idea that he had locked himself in the storage building. She’d assumed it was the other two boys who had done it. She had been wrong all along.

  She descended the staircase slowly, building the scene in her mind. As she thought back, she remembered the hopelessness in Jack’s eyes.

  ***

  Thursday, April 25, 2002

  The sharp sound of her cell phone buzzing cut through the quiet the following morning. Jane woke up with a start after a very short night. Her phone continued to buzz on the table. Reluctantly, Jane kicked her duvet away. Her feet hit the floor. It was only six in the morning. It had to be Gary Myers at that ungodly hour.

  She sleepily walked towards her desk and answered it. Her eyes hit on the time. “What?” she asked in a groggy voice.

  Gary’s raspy voice echoed through the speakers. “You called.”

  “Oh, yeah. I figured it out.”

  “I have something to tell you too.”

  “What?”

  “I found the name of the person who Mr. Greene made the last call to.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Let’s meet at the coffee shop in thirty minutes.”

  “Wait—”

  He hung up before Jane could say anything.

  Chapter 10

  Having come this far, I have no choice but to go all the way. Then again, that was the only choice I had from the start.

  —Robert Brown

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s room was quiet that afternoon. Inside it stood Mrs. Wolverhampton, Mr. Sharpe, Mr. McEwan, Mrs. Maeda, Jane and Detective Myers.

  “Good afternoon,” Detective Myers said in a formal voice. His voice ricocheted through the room.

  “What is this about?” Mr. McEwan asked.

  “Why did you want to meet us?” Oliver asked.

  “I’ve come to a conclusion,” Detective Myers said. His eyes met Jane’s in a sidelong glance across the room. “It’s time to close the case.”

  “What? Does that mean you know who…?” Mrs. Wolverhampton’s voice faded. A tense expression sat on her face.

  Detective Myers nodded. “My colleagues from the homicide department are waiting outside the room.”

  “What—what do you mean?” Oliver asked. “You think—”

  Gary’s gaze met Jane’s. He looked at Mrs. Wolverhampton and continued, “I’d like to thank you all for your cooperation during this case. Many classes and students had to be displaced so I thank you for cooperating with the police.”

  “You’re welcome, detective. Go on,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.

  “Like I said, Mr. Greene was murdered. Before we get into the details, I’d first like you all to know who Mr. Greene really was.”

  Mrs. Maeda clasped her hands together and looked up nervously.

  “I’ve come to this conclusion after examining the evidence and talking to witnesses,” he said. “But I cannot explain his real identity without talking about the case of Robert Brown.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton stiffened. Mr. McEwan coughed. There was an air of stillness in the room.

  “I don’t know why—” Oliver began.

  “It was a murder,” Detective Myers announced. Oliver was silent. The teachers were too shocked to say anything. The wall clock ticked for ten seconds before Mr. McEwan asked the first question.

  “Huh?”

  “Robert Brown didn’t commit suicide. He was murdered.”

  “What—what are you saying?”

  “The detective who was in charge of the investigation closed the case quickly without examining all the evidence,” Detective Myers continued. “I’ve found new evidence. A diary and a witness.”

  He turned to Mrs. Wolverhampton.

  “What?” Mrs. Wolverhampton said.

  “Robert Brown’s diary,” Detective Myers clarified. “I’ve confirmed that he wrote in a personal diary every day. His therapist said he never missed a day. Mrs. Wolverhampton, you would know about his writing because you were his English teacher.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton nodded.

  “You had it at the time of his death,” Detective Myers said. “That was why the detective never found it.”

  “Is that true?” Oliver asked, turning to Mrs. Wolverhampton.

  “Um…uh…yes,” she said.

  “And the reason you decided to hide this diary was to protect the killer. Isn’t that right?” Detective Myers asked.

  “No-”

  “The witness, then?”

  “There was a witness?” Mr. McEwan asked.

  “There was. Unfortunately, he isn’t with us tonight. However, I have his recorded testimony. Our witness saw someone at the lake that night. Someone other than Robert Brown.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton was quiet.

  “This is the person who, I believe, caused the death of Mr. Greene,” Detective Myers said. “Robert’s diary was an important part of this puzzle because, in that diary, he wrote the name of the person he was going to meet that night.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s hands moved over the desk. She leaned on it for support. The other teachers turned to Mrs. Wolverhampton.

  “The starting point of this case was always Robert Brown,” Detective Myers said. “It was no coincidence that Mr. Greene died on the same day as Robert. It was all planned. But…the plan went wrong.”

  “Went wrong?” Mr. McEwan asked.

  “Mr. Greene wasn’t supposed to die that night,” Detective Myers said.

  “Then who?”

  “Robert’s assumed killer,” Detective Myers said. “The person Mr. Greene was meeting that night was the person Robert met the night he died. Mr. Greene put his plan together and chose that day to carry it out.”

  “What?” Mrs. Wolverhampton exclaimed.

  “Mr. Greene was Robert Brown’s father,” Detective Myers said, making eye contact with everyone in the room.

  “Good Lord!”

  “Mr. Greene never spoke about his family… and now we know why,” Jane said.

  “That is why this case has to begin with Robert Brown,” Detective Myers continued. “The reason he came to St. Anne’s was Robert. He came here with a mission—to find out how his son had died.” Detective Myers ignored the shocked faces. “He couldn’t make sense of Robert’s sudden death. His intuition as a parent told him Robert had not committed suicide. Robert had been selected to participate in Oxford’s summer school on a full scholarship. He was excited. Why would somebody like that kill themselves?”

  “But the depression…” Oliver turned to Mrs. Wolverhampton.

  “Robert’s condition had improved over time. Though his counselor said there was always a chance it could relapse, he had been emotionally stable around the time of his death.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “The piece of evidence Mr. Greene was looking for was Robert’s diary. But what he found was way more interesting,” Detective Myers said, his husky voice lighter. All eyes focused on him. “He found the person who had killed his son.”

  Mrs. Maeda blinked.

  “So, Mr. Greene had the diary?” Jane asked.

  “Yes. We found it in his room during the investigation. We also found out how it got there, but I won’t go into the details,” Detective Myers said, his glance sweeping over Mrs. Maeda.

  “The diary was evidence that proved that Robert hadn’t killed himself.”

  “Greene had read the diary,” Detective Myers said. “If I had to make an estimate, he read it two years ago—”

  “Did he ever meet this person?” Mr. McEwan broke in.

  “He tried to, but this person didn’t want to meet. Over time, Mr. Greene found out more of the truth. When he did, he wanted to avenge Robert’s death.”

  “Revenge? Mr. Greene?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought of him as vengeful.”

  “Parents can become
very emotional where children are concerned,” Jane said. “Especially when they’re killed.”

  “Mr. Greene signed up for dining hall duty the week after Easter. Why? Because he expected to be alive,” Detective Myers said. “He put the plan together. The Prozac, the suicide note and the setting….they were all a part of his plan. He deleted all evidence before the murder, but our tech team managed to retrieve some of the files from his computer.”

  “He had planned every detail of the murder. He stole the kitchen knife at the last moment because if he got it from the shop, the owner would get suspicious and people would find out. Nobody at St. Anne’s noticed. Except Tom, of course, who didn’t make a big deal of it,” Detective Myers said. “Once he had decided the date and location, he began sending messages to Robert’s killer. Through the messages, he confirmed his suspicions.”

  “What messages?” Mrs. Wolverhampton asked.

  “He shared things only the murderer would know about. In legal terms, one could call it stalking.”

  “Stalking? Good lord!”

  “He sent these messages from a computer, not a phone. He obviously had done his research before he began.”

  “Did he receive any replies?”

  “Not for a while. Whoever was receiving the messages, understandably, never replied but they obviously affected him. Then, he started replying. There were three of them, ‘yes, go to hell and yes’”

  “Him?”

  “Yes. Him. The person who received these messages recently changed his phone number. In fact, he changed it to avoid being found out. We found a missed call on Mr. Greene’s phone from the afternoon of the day he died. On the night of his death, Mr. Greene finally met the killer.”

  “I still don’t understand. How did Mr. Greene drown?” Mr. McEwan asked.

  “The murder was accidental,” Detective Myers said. “The culprit didn’t know Mr. Greene was the one sending the messages. He didn’t know Mr. Greene was the one he was going to meet that night. But he was prepared. When the stalker asked him to meet at the lake, the murderer knew it was someone from St. Anne’s because nobody else has access to the area. So, he narrowed down his list. And he came prepared.”

  “Prepared?”

  “He was prepared to retaliate if the stalker threatened harm.”

  “You mean he acted in self-defense?”