A Life of Death: Episodes 1 - 4 Page 8

  I cast around the gym for support, but found none. Instead, a multitude of wide-eyed teenagers stared in shocked silence. Even Paige seemed caught in the high beams of an oncoming car. She watched in disbelief as I sealed my position in the history books of Madessa High School. No one had every spoken down to the golden boy or any of his family. Flames consumed Grant’s eyes as he stared down his nose, but before he could lift a finger we caught sight of Coach Moyer jogging across the court. His girth was giving him problems and his wheezing carried to our ears. In his eyes I saw pain, but more than that, I saw fear. I flashed back to the moment before Michael’s tragic fall. Behind Daniel Brogand stood a heavy boy with large cow eyes. He was far lighter and shorter than the man barreling toward me at that very moment, but his eyes were the same. He had seen what really happened to Michael Michowsky. It occurred to me that I might have had a better chance if I’d painted a target on my back and taken a stroll through the far end of a target range. My gaze returned to Grant. His face was flushed and red, his hands were clinched in fists of rage.

  Then, Coach Moyer caught up to us.

  A LIFE OF DEATH: 3

  BY

  WESTON KINCADE

  - BOOKS of the DEAD -

  Revelations - 12

  “Split it up, you two,” Coach Moyer said between panting breaths. “Drummond, you’re coming with me. Now!”

  Without another word, he clapped a large, pudgy hand over my shoulder and steered me away from Grant. Unable to let it go, I turned back to the school’s star athlete and pleaded, “Ask your dad. I know he’ll lie, but you know when he lies. Just ask him about the railroad bridge, and you’ll know the truth.”

  Just as I finished, there was a quick swat to the back of my head. Coach Moyer’s deep voice let out a muffled whisper, “Don’t you know when to stop?”

  The words I guess not crossed my mind, but I had sense enough to keep the remark to myself. I followed the large man out of the gym and back into the locker room. Once there, Coach steered me into his office and a metal folding chair in front of his desk. He sidestepped the desk and squeezed through a small passage between it and a set of metal filing cabinets that had been stuffed into the claustrophobic room. With a sigh of relief, he plopped down in his large office chair and peered out the metal blinds guarding his window. That and a pane of glass were all that separated us from the boy’s locker room. He wasted no time before beginning the interrogation.

  “Where did you hear about the Michowsky boy?” he asked, struggling to meet my gaze.

  “I don’t remember,” I muttered, attempting to calm the butterflies that had taken flight. “I’ve heard a couple people talking about it.”

  His eyes narrowed, then his face took on a look of pity that seemed odd on its broad expanse. “Look, I know it’s been hard at home. You can’t quite hide those things. I’m just trying to help you. What you said out there could get you beat up… or worse, killed. At the least, the other kids will ostracize you. Just tell me who told you, and maybe we can turn this thing around before it gets out of hand.”

  I had to give him credit. The ploy was a good one, but he was a stranger to compassion and he didn’t wear the façade well. His voice sounded strained and unnatural. The fluttering in my midsection settled as my fear took a back seat.

  “I’m already the odd man out in everything. And there isn’t much else they can do that I don’t deal with on a nightly basis,” I replied. My voice was cold and stern, and hearing my own words bolstered my confidence. My fear disappeared. “Besides, there are plenty of people already talking about it. I’m not saying anything new.”

  “Well, it’s the first I’ve heard of it,” he answered with feigned calm. His own fear was barely hidden behind his wide brown eyes.

  His lies and fake attempts at ignorance infuriated me. “Maybe it’s the first you’ve heard, but you know it’s true.”

  His eyes widened further, and his fear leapt to its feet and danced a jig. The feigned mask of pity shattered under my reproachful stare. “Wh-what do you mean?” he stammered.

  “You were there. You watched as Daniel pushed and prodded Michael, even tempted him with a chance at mercy, only to drop him at the last second. And you did nothing.”

  As the story unfolded in my mind, my volume grew, filling the small room until I’d risen to my feet and was glaring at the obese man with disdain. I continued in a loud, booming voice that surprised even me, dredging up his guilt from the depths in which it had lain hidden for the last thirty years. I relished in his feverish gaze as he peered up at me.

  “You stood there and watched him fall into the rock strewn river. You didn’t do a thing. I’m sure that’s what you’ve told yourself over the years, every night when you were trying to get to sleep. But it should have kept you awake. It should have driven you nuts. You were an accomplice to murder, and to this day you’ve kept silent.” While I condemned the man for his inaction, he stared at me in mute horror, trying futilely to interrupt my tirade, but he couldn’t find the words. After my voice finished echoing off the cinderblock walls, he looked at me in silence. His large mouth hung agape, supported by his double chin, while tears beaded in his large brown orbs.

  Eventually, a few whispered words broke the silence. “I’m so sorry.”

  He mumbled the words a few more times. Then he rose from his chair and waddled out of the room, his shoulders slumped in resignation. The soles of his sneakers squeaked with each step on the tiled locker room floor. The door opened and closed with a hiss as he exited, blocking the sound of his retreating footsteps. After a few minutes the other students filed in, discussing the eventful class. The end of the period was approaching and Coach Moyer still had not returned. I turned and joined the others in the changing room. I dressed under the watchful gaze of a dozen curious faces, all of them wondering what had caused such an outburst and what the repercussions would be. Only one set of eyes avoided me entirely. Even as he joked with the other athletes, shrugging off the rumors, Grant was unwilling to meet my gaze.

  I made my way through the throng of adrenaline-laden boys and into the hall where Paige stood waiting. She leaned against the wall, one foot pulled up and resting flat against it.

  “There you are,” she said, relieved. “I wondered if you would make it out alive.”

  I laughed and shrugged off the confrontation. She smiled back, but I could tell the thought had crossed her mind. She wasn’t exaggerating. I wasn’t surprised. I wondered the same thing on the walk to Coach Moyer’s office. I hefted my backpack and turned down the hall and back to the main portion of the school. She fell in step next to me.

  “So what brought all that about? Didn’t you hear what I said about keeping your cool and staying out of sight?”

  “Yeah… I heard you, but he came at me out of nowhere. I didn’t even know what I was gonna say till I’d already said it.”

  “Alex, you can’t just do that anymore, not if you want to be around to take care of Abby and Gloria. You’re just making it harder on yourself.”

  “I know. I wish I hadn’t done it, but there’s no turning back time… What do you think is going to come of it?”

  Paige considered the question for a few seconds. “Who knows, but I don’t think it’ll be good.”

  “Yeah, me either. But, I realized something about Coach Moyer today.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, her thoughts still tumbling elsewhere.

  “He was friends with Daniel Brogand.” I let the words sink in before moving on, allowing her to connect the dots. When she had, her eyebrows furrowed and she mouthed a question. I nodded. “Yeah, he was there when I… I mean when Michael was dropped off the bridge. I just didn’t recognize him at first.”

  “Wow…,” she whispered, at a loss for words.

  The rest of our walk was an awkward stillness. Hundreds of students murmured to one another as we passed, raving about new outfits, games, and parties. We walked by them, absorbed in our own thoughts. I eve
ntually made it to class and slipped in to my chair. Paige glanced my way at the last moment before moving to her own seat and academic responsibilities.

  Word got around school faster that I believed possible. The rumor mill was in motion. Those that didn’t know would find out by the next day. Most people gawked at me in class, but a few approached and asked if it was true. I assured them that it was. As the day wore on, I wondered about Coach Moyer’s warning. Had I just set loose a hungry tiger? Would he be stalking me, seeking his revenge? Would the golden boy, or maybe his father, kill me to protect his secret? The questions plagued me for the rest of the day.

  I wanted to see my father after school and ask his advice. I knew he wouldn’t answer, but the cemetery was a comfortable place to think, assuming I didn’t feel as out of place as I had the other night. But, I had my responsibilities to attend to. I fled the school as soon as the bell rang and rushed to meet Abby and Gloria before they were released. If I had just painted a target on my back, I didn’t want them to suffer any collateral damage.

  We made it to the trailer unharmed that Thursday evening with the sun still hovering in the sky. It was fortunate that the rumors seemed to be confined to the one school, at least for the time being. As I had hoped, the drunk hadn’t made it home yet, but his frosty cold beverages were awaiting him in the refrigerator. Frank was passed out on the couch due to the massive energy he’d spent watching various soap operas that day. He would never have admitted it, but I’d caught him watching programs that tend to target stay-at-home moms. When I walked in, he always responded with the same excuse: There wasn’t nothin’ better on. Today, the television was tuned to the afternoon cartoons, their nasal voices whispering into the room. We slipped through the trailer and back into our rooms.

  “Thanks for walkin’ us, Alex,” commented Gloria with a grin.

  I couldn’t help but smile back; it was contagious. “No problem, Glory.”

  Abby weighed me with her eyes, unable to figure out the cause for such a drastic change. I knew my behavior was odd, but it had to be done whether I liked it or not. And to be honest, Gloria was growing on me. I should’ve given them a chance years before. As I’d heard Father Gilbert say on previous occasions, “Things happen for a reason. You can’t change the past, only the future.”

  I stepped into my room and considered the question that had plagued me earlier that morning. What could I do to protect the girls? The only guns in the house belonged to the drunk. Besides, I didn’t want to take it to that level, never having handled one myself. There were too many horror stories floating around about kids getting shot by accident. If push came to shove, we would probably wind up on the wrong end of such a weapon anyways. I began searching the room for anything that might help and came across Frank’s old aluminum baseball bat from high school. It was leaning against the darkened wall in the back of the closet, as though waiting for a time when it would be needed once more. There were a few spider webs attached to the rubber handle. I brushed them away and hefted it over my shoulder. It was lighter than it looked and I’d easily be able to use it with one hand if need be. Feeling more comfortable with my discovery, I retrieved a pillowcase from the linen closet and wrapped the bat inside. I climbed the bunk bed ladder and pressed it between the mattress frame and the wall. If something happened, it would be within arm’s reach.

  It wasn’t much, but it put my mind at ease. I rummaged through my backpack until I found my binder. I couldn’t explain it, but I was in the mood to do my homework. Pulling out my science text, I sat down at the small desk inhabiting the corner of the room and grabbed my headphones. This time, I made sure to keep the volume low. Aside from Vivian and the drunk coming in, nothing disturbed the place that night.

  Friday - 13

  October 7, 1995

  The following day, I dropped the girls off at school and found Paige waiting in the high school courtyard. She was seated on the stone wall circling the clock, plucking leaves from the flowerbed. The plant life was struggling futilely this late in the year.

  She hopped down from the wall and chirped, “Morning, Alex.”

  It was a surprise to hear her so chipper considering how little we spoke through the remainder of the previous day.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” I asked with a yawn.

  “Not bad. I take it, you haven’t heard the rumors?”

  I shook my head. I was still groggy from the few hours of sleep I’d gotten.

  “So, how are the girls?”

  “Fine, but what about the rumors?” We headed toward her locker in the main building.

  “I think things may be looking up,” she muttered as we meandered through huddled groups of teenagers. As we approached, each one seemed to watch us with interest, as though waiting for an encore to the previous day’s performance.

  “What do you mean? They’re looking at me like I’m a circus freak.”

  She giggled at the thought and whispered, “No, no they aren’t. They’re watching you because of yesterday’s outburst. The rumor mill has already churned out new versions of what happened. Some are far from the truth, but others are closer than most people realize. There are even rumors about certain teachers. Coach Moyer hasn’t been seen since he walked you out of class yesterday. Some kids started a pool about which teachers helped do Michael in.” Her words spilled out in an avalanche and by the end of it, she was smiling with pride.

  “Don’t tell me you had anything to do with that one?” I asked, stifling another yawn.

  “Me, no…,” she replied in feigned shock. “Well… I might have helped that particular story circulate, but nothing more than anyone else.” If it were possible, her grin grew even wider.

  I grimaced at the thought of Paige doing something so deceitful. “And why is this good? This is just gonna tick Grant off even more. He’ll come after me, or worse yet my family.”

  Paige was shaking her head before I’d finished. “That’s not what I’m happy about. You told Grant that you heard it from other people, that gossip was already going around. This supports what you said.” She dropped her voice to a whisper a mouse could barely hear. “Thanks to the socialites that love spreading gossip, your bluff made it a reality.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to see it that way.”

  “I’m sure he won’t,” she replied, “but one thing the Brogands have always been concerned with is their reputation. If the people around him don’t think you’re the cause, just the one who spilled the beans, I doubt they’d approve of him killing the messenger. Whether he wants to let it slide or not, I think these rumors just got you off the hook.”

  She had a point. As we continued our walk through the school halls, I listened to the conversations around us. I leaned against the wall of lockers and eavesdropped on other students while she inserted her head into the small, half locker and rifled through her belongings. Paige was right, the school was abuzz with activity and I overheard more than a dozen variations in as many minutes. After she gathered the books she needed and stuffed them into her purple backpack, she turned knowing eyes on me. She had been listening, just as I had. A smile crested my lips as we looked at one another.

  “Maybe it’ll be all right after all,” I said, breaking the silence.

  “I’m sure it will. Oh, and remember about tomorrow. My dad’ll give us a ride to the battlefield in the morning if you want to come.”

  “Sure thing, I’ll be there bright and early.” Even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then, I thought with a laugh.

  The school day went by in a flash. I could tell that the teachers were disturbed by the growing legend, Paige’s most of all. Some stuttered while they tried to teach class. Paige was also right about Coach Moyer. We had a substitute for second period, a young college student that looked lost. At the recommendation of one of the other coaches, she wheeled out the aluminum basketball carts and gave us free reign for the period.

  After school let out, I met up with Abb
y and Gloria. We talked about how their day went as we walked through town, but my mind was spinning with thoughts of a brighter future. Maybe the next semester wouldn’t be so bad. After passing the Brogand manor, we came to the turn I was quite familiar with, the road that led to my father’s grave. I stared down it, frozen in place, before making my decision.

  “Abby,” I said, turning to her. “I have some things I need to think about. Would you mind taking Gloria home and I’ll catch up as soon as I can?”

  She stared at me like I’d grown horns. “Are you sure you’re all right, Alex? A week ago you wouldn’t have cared.”

  “I know,” I muttered, ashamed, “but I have some things I need to think over. Will you two be okay?”

  She nodded. “We’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

  “See you soon, Glory,” I said, placing my hand on her head.

  She smiled, but winced when I ruffled her blonde hair. She slapped a small hand on to her head for protection against the playful assault.

  “Byes, Alex,” she hissed through clenched teeth and squinting eyes.

  I turned and headed down the familiar road. Although it had only been a couple days since I last ventured to the cemetery, it felt more like a year. Nothing had changed on the street, but I was different. Most people were still at work and the houses were dark and unoccupied. The last few leading up to the cemetery stood watch over the vacant street. Their curtained windows appeared to be eyes with dark, rectangular irises. The classic mantles hanging over them made it more so. They looked like large eyebrows, waiting to contort in anger. Before, I felt like they bored holes into my soul each time I passed, but now the houses stood erect, like lookouts. The trees had shed more colorful leaves, and now they littered the sidewalk like the aftermath of a great storm. It felt different. As the cemetery came in sight, I wondered whether it would be the same. When I last left, it felt like the occupants had grown tired of my tales of woe, tired of my visits to their final resting place.