by Baigh Queen
I’m shaking my head, eyes closed. “No, no, I know there weren’t any fireworks there.”
Bane let’s out a breath. Something between a sigh and an irritated huff. I should know, I do that one all the time around my aunts. “The doctor tells me you have a concussion.”
“Barely!” I’m inching forward again but I feel Brett’s hand on my elbow just before I topple over the edge of the bed. “Maybe if you had any real training and didn’t get your position on the popularity vote by banging the prom queen you’d know what evidence of a bomb looks like and-”
Brett interrupts, his voice loud, “She does have a concussion Sergeant so I think we better let her get some rest, okay?”
It’s Bane’s turn to grind his teeth. I can see a comeback written all over his face but he doesn't’ say it. I can’t tell if it’s because Brett is there to play witness or the fact that he’s Sergeant and can’t insult me back that stops him, but he gives a curt nod.
“I’ll be in touch when you’re feeling better,” he says. “Maybe you’ll remember something when you’re thinking a little clearer.”
My blood is like fire in my veins. I open my mouth to reply but Brett pulls me back, forcing my butt onto my heels as Bane leaves. Outside I can hear him mutter something under his breath and when I try to sit up again Brett gives my arm another yank.
“You’re insane, you know that?” he asks.
“I’m not insane I know what I saw!” I shout at him. I fall back, stretching my legs out on the bed as I pull out of his grip. I cross my arms.
“I mean for yelling at the Sergeant.”
“Jeremy Bane is no Sergeant.”
“Well I hate to break it to you but he didn’t get the job just for banging the prom queen.” Brett gives me a cocky grin. “He banged the homecoming queen, too.”
I give him another pointed look but I can feel the corner of my mouth twitching into a smile. And just like that, my anger dwindles. “I’m not crazy.”
“You’re a little crazy.”
“I know that the hat was there,” I tell him quietly. “And I saw the note that said ‘Don’t Touch’ just like the other cases. Maybe it isn’t the original guy, it could be a copycat, but it was there.” I’m pleading with Brett now, hoping for someone to believe me. “I’m telling the truth.”
But Brett doesn’t give me what I want and just nods his head and pats my knee. “I’ll go find Dr. Torres and see if we can get you home now.”
I look down as his hand slides off of me and nod. Sure, home sounds nice. It’ll be quiet at least, and there won’t be any bull-headed fake Sergeant’s there to tell me that what I saw wasn’t real. Brett’s footsteps are the only thing I hear as he leaves the room. Instinctively I go for my phone but realize it isn’t in my pocket, and that’s when I remember that I don’t have my backpack either. I took it off when Lily showed up. I groan and roll my head back. Everything I was carrying on me must be toasted right now, and even if it wasn’t it would live the rest of its days in evidence lockup because I’m sure Bane is just that spiteful.
Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed I apply a small amount of pressure on my ankle. It doesn’t hurt as much now, but it’s hard to walk.
Brett appears with crutches in the doorway. I say, “Thank God.”
“I leave for literally thirty seconds and you’re already trying to escape?” he asks, handing me the crutches. I lift them under my arm, well versed in how to use them after breaking my leg trying out for the gymnastics team in middle school. The first and last time I ever tried out for a team sport.
I make my way past Brett and into the hallway, quickly turning left. He catches up easily.
“I need to go back and get my stuff,” I tell him. “Before Bane orders his lackeys to consider it ‘evidence’.” I do air quotes on the handles but realize Brett can’t see them.
“No, Dr. Torres says you need to go home,” Brett says. I’m still moving down the bright white hallway and only stop when Brett seizes my shoulders and turns me towards the counter. Dr. Torres sits behind it and places a clipboard in front of me.
“Discharge papers,” she says.
I quickly sign on the dotted line without reading anything.
“Get some rest,” the doctor orders as I start to hobble out the sliding doors. She’s not as interested as Brett is in my health, or maybe she knows that telling me to do something won’t do any good. I imagine a lot of patients are like that; she must be used to it.
“I need a laptop,” I say, stepping out into the late afternoon sun. “It’s how I earn a living.”
“You have a job?”
“Something like that,” I say. “I’m a freelance writer.”
“And you make money from that?”
“Money, yes, good money, no. Enough to pay the bills.”
I’m getting back into the swing of using crutches and have already made it to the end of the driveway. Brett is no longer grabbing onto me to stop me from doing anything now, and he’s smart to; I have weapons now. But that doesn’t stop him from talking to me. “They won’t give you back your things yet anyway—they’ll be going over that place with a fine toothed comb.”
“You heard what Bane said,” I reply, “it was an accident.”
“No, he said they think it was an accident. They’re still investigating, Gwen.”
I come to a stop and try to release the stress from my shoulders. It’s hard with the crutches, but I manage to take a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll go home.”
“Great, I’ll walk with you.”
I want to turn against Brett and demand him to tell me why he’s being so...so nice. But then my mother’s voice comes into my head telling me to be more trusting of people.
Not everyone is out to get you, she’s always telling me. So instead I nod at Brett and let him walk me home. It’s slow going now that I’m no longer fuelled by fury, and Brett’s not talking as much as before. I assume he’s feeling the exhaustion of the day wearing on him, and if I’m being honest so am I.
Chapter Three
There are four messages on the machine, two of which are hang-ups and the other two are my mother. She’s reminding me to do my chores as if I’m still twelve years old and avoiding them; I almost expect her to add on about doing my homework out of habit, but the message ends with a simple “I love you, see you soon”, and then a click. It’s too normal as I stand there in the hallway, surrounded by family photos and the familiar scent of dog hair and lavender air freshener. Though the house is empty with Thor at boarding school, my mother’s golden retriever that she doesn’t trust me with, I’m glad it’s quiet. I struggle up the stairs, leaving my crutches at the bottom and using the wall and the railing to haul myself up each step. By the time I make it to my room all I can do is fall into bed and close my eyes, finding my entire body is sore. I’m not sure when, but I fall asleep faster than usual, with that same lullaby playing in my head.
I’m always angry in my dreams, I don’t know why. I’m usually yelling at someone, not usually someone I know. But that fury is always there, and sometimes when I wake up I’m still ready to rip someone’s head off. But today is different, instead I’m lost. Not scared, just lost. There’s a tune playing in my head that’s so familiar I feel as if I’ve heard it a thousand times but when I wake up it’s gone.
I’m coated in sweat despite the dream giving me no fear. I look outside to see it’s still dark, my alarm clock reads five in the morning. I’m wide awake now, and I think this is the most sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life. Is this what having no internet access is like? I’m not sure I like it.
I climb out of bed and make my way downstairs, choosing to shuffle down the steps on my butt. When I reach my crutches it’s only a few minutes before I have a cup of coffee in my hands and am sitting at the kitchen table, unsure of what to do with myself. Normally I have my laptop or my phone out, reading the news from around the world and starting my morning off with a heavy dose of depressing eve
nts. But today I can’t do that, so I grab a random book off my mother’s bookshelf in the living room and sit on the front porch. Mom took her laptop with her, as if that too was something I couldn’t look after.
The sun is coming up on my left, casting the world in an orangey-yellow glow. It’s nice and peaceful and I take a few moments to enjoy it before the worry starts to set in and I remember it’s just past six in the morning now. I try to read the book I’ve grabbed but my eyes can’t focus on the words. I’m sipping on coffee and reading the same paragraph over and over before I finally put it down and curl up on the swinging chair.
I need to know if anything has developed in the bombing. They must have found something, right? There must be some kind of evidence pointing to a bomb and not some fireworks accident. I can’t imagine a couple sparklers would be able to set off a propane tank, and even if it had I was there. I saw exactly what happened.
But the fact that I can’t remember a barbecue being there bothers me. The fact that the kids aren’t talking also bothers me. I just need one of them to speak up and confirm what they saw, and hopefully they’ll do that today. I shut my eyes and pull my mug to my lips.
“Just one,” I murmur. I want to believe that’ll happen, but the pessimist in me thinks it’s going to be more trouble than I want.
“Hey,” a voice says. I flinch and open my eyes, almost dropping my mug in the process. Brett is standing before me, clean shaven and hair combed, and apron in his left hand. His black button-up is only done up about halfway to reveal the matching tank beneath, and he’s wearing boots instead of those anti-slip sneakers he usually has on for work.
“What are you doing here?” I question.
“Good morning, Brett,” he says, walking up the two steps onto the porch, “thanks so much for bringing me home yesterday and staying with me at the hospital. It’s so nice of you to do that.”
I roll my eyes and gulp my coffee. “I told you to leave.”
“No thanks needed,” Brett says, lowering his voice, “just doing what I can to help out a friend.”
“I didn’t think we were friends.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I notice a wince in Brett’s brow. I feel bad, but it’s the truth. I ask, “You consider us friends?”
“Well I didn’t think we were enemies.”
The logic doesn’t make sense to me but I nod. “Well...thanks then...I guess.”
“I can see you physically struggle to say that.”
I purse my lips. “So you’re going for the early shift?”
“Mid-morning shift, actually,” he says. “I just wanted to check that you’re not in a coma or something.”
“It was only a mild concussion,” I remind him, “perfectly capable of sleeping without worry.”
There’s a pause and Brett shifts his weight between his feet. He’s gripping his apron hard in his hand, twirling the string with his fingers. I ask, “Something else?”
“Yes,” he admits. He scratches at the back of his neck, and seeing him nervous makes my stomach do a little flip. I tell myself it’s just because I haven’t eaten yet this morning.
Birds fill the silence as Brett thinks of what he’s going to say. I wait, getting more and more impatient by the second until he finally asks, “Did you remember anything else? About yesterday?”
I blink at him. “Exactly what I said before. No more, no less.” I’m not sure if I should want to remember more or not, because that would mean my memory really is unreliable. I take it as a good thing that what I remember is the same, because if it changed I would be even more confused than I already am.
Across the street I see a kid riding his bike, throwing the local paper onto lawns. He’s speeding down as if the hounds of hell are chasing him, and he sometimes hits lawn ornaments or windows when he throws. I turn my attention back to Brett, who’s still standing awkwardly on my porch.
“Are you waiting for a tip or something? Because my wallet has probably been ransacked by Bane.”
Brett wet his lips. Maybe it’s too early for our casual cajoling. I think I’ve pushed him to his limits but he nods with a small smile. He pulls a piece of paper from his jean pocket and passes it to me.
He says, “If you need anything let me know. Your mom is out of town, right?”
“Yeah, some singles cruise down south.”
His face wrinkles at the idea of a fifty-something woman on a singles cruise. “You could have just said yes.”
“That’s no fun.” I take another drink of coffee to hide my smile. “If I have to suffer with the knowledge of my mother in a bikini flirting with old men in speedos, so do you.”
“Oh, God, come on,” he moans. “I still remember when your mom made cookies for the bake sales!”
“Well you better be careful because if she sees you hanging around here you might be on her radar, bake sale or no bake sale.”
“I have to go to work,” he announces, jumping down the steps. “But I’m serious, if you need anything just call.”
I look down at the phone number he scrawled onto the paper. His handwriting is nice, in a quickly jotted down kind of way. So casual, but means a lot more than it should. I can’t bring myself to give him a snide remark so I say, “Thanks. Have fun with the gossip at work.”
It’s Brett’s turn to roll his eyes. “Tell me about it.” He turns and sees the boy racing towards him. Apparently even a pedestrian can’t slow that kid down and he hurls a paper in my direction. Brett jumps up with ease and catches it in the air. He looks to me. “Mind if I steal this for my break?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
Brett waves at me and I wave back, and only once he’s around the block and out of sight can I breathe easily. My heart is pounding hard. Normally when people come around unexpectedly I feel irritated, but this morning I feel...cared for. It’s a weird kind of warmth in my chest that I can’t shrug off. Just as Brett rounds the corner down the street I remember that the paper is my first chance of reading about what happened yesterday. My mouth opens to call to him, but slowly closes. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?
Feeling exposed in the rising sun I decide to move inside. I make another cup of coffee before sitting down in front of the television and flipping on the news. There’s a morning show from Vineville, the nearest large city to Goderich. The hosts are cheery and looking perfect despite starting their work before the sun is even up, but it keeps me distracted. I still have hours before I can even attempt to get my things back from the police department, or until the stores are open and I can just buy replacements. If I can buy replacements, I remind myself. I’ve been avoiding checking my bank account for so long I’m not sure how much I have left.
The female host asks what’s in store for the weather and the camera turns to a man in a suit holding an umbrella. My eyes begin to droop, but I manage to keep them open if only so that I can sleep a bit tonight.
After an hour of news segments, featuring people I’ve never heard of and events in Vineville I’ll never go to the female host, Brittani Bellsworth, says, “And in an unusual turn of events there’s been an explosion at a small park in the town of Goderich.”
I perk up, nearly falling off the couch at the name of my town. I turn up the volume.
Bellsworth continues, “Yesterday afternoon children were playing in a park with sprinklers and fireworks when a propane tank attached to a barbecue exploded! Thankfully, Sergeant Jeremy Bane reported that there were only minor scratches from the incident as the children ran away before the explosion happened.”
“What on earth were kids doing in the park with fireworks in the middle of the afternoon?” the second host asks.
“I have no idea, Chad, but I’ll bet those parents won’t be letting their kids out of their sights for a long time,” Bellsworth replies. “They’re lucky the kids recognized something was wrong and got out of there, that’s for sure.”
Chad agrees, and then they turn back to discussing news from Vineville.
I
’m frozen to the couch, heart smacking against my ribcage in a painful rhythm. My mouth is hanging open, and my fingers and toes are numb. There’s a few moments before I can snap myself out of my stupor and think through everything I just heard.
It’s officially been reported as an accident. I’m too shocked to move, let alone race down to the police station like I want to. Bane actually reported that it was an accident caused by fireworks. It’s so baffling I can’t wrap my head around it.
My hands turn to fists, my vision narrow. There’s nothing I can do to convince Bane of what I saw, but maybe I can convince someone else. Lily believed me, and so did Brett.
I stand, ignoring the pain in my ankle from the sudden movement. “I need a computer.”
Chapter Four
I’m sitting on the steps of the library when Mr. Williams comes up. He’s a very tall man, over 6’5” I estimate, and he’s quiet, but he’s kind. He doesn’t have any kind of degree to be running a library yet he does, and he knows exactly what kind of book everyone would love. It’s his gift, I’m told. I’ve never asked for a recommendation.
His eyebrows rise high on his head when he notices me and my crutches. I’m waiting for him to ask about yesterday, because he must already know what’s happened. Everyone must know, certainly not from the news this morning but probably from word of mouth. Mr. Williams just mumbles a “Good morning,” and moves to the front door to unlock it.
He moves inside and flicks the lights on and I’m right on his heels. He doesn’t seem perturbed by me, and only once he’s behind the counter does he ask, “Can I help you find something?”
“I’m just looking to use the computers,” I reply.
“Do you have a library card?”
I pause. “No...But-”
“You’ll need a library card before I can let you through.” He drags his eyes from me to the small metal bar that blocks me from the rest of the library. It’s not locked, I could easily just push through and find a computer but Mr. Williams’s eyes are just like the dog my neighbours had when I was a kid. He was a big bloodhound with the saddest eyes, and even though my father assured me he was a happy dog he always made my chest twinge. Now with Mr. Williams looking at me I can’t argue that I don’t need a library card.