“I’m still trying to get a handle on Heather… she’s so different from how I remember her. But every now and then, I see the old Heather, for just a second.”
“A lot has happened since you knew her. And a lot has happened to you. The two of you are coming from two completely different backgrounds, even if you started out in the same place.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“It’s good that you’re getting together and getting to know each other. You’ll find each other again.”
“Yeah.” Zachary hesitated, not sure what he could or should share with his foster father. He didn’t want to break any confidences, but he wanted to talk to Lorne about Heather. “We were talking about her case last night and she said she never even told her husband about it. They’ve been married for twenty-four years and she’s never talked to him about it.”
“Wow.” Mr. Peterson thought about it. “It sounds like maybe she’s tried to suppress it. To pretend it never happened.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Sort of like you’re doing.”
“I didn’t say that,” Zachary said quickly.
“You don’t have to. I already know.”
Zachary didn’t know what to say to that. He cleared his throat and looked for a segue into another topic that would be more comfortable.
“You should be talking about it to your therapist, even if you don’t want to talk to anyone else about it,” Mr. Peterson advised.
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.”
“We want the best for you. We want you to be healthy and happy.”
“I’m doing okay.” Zachary looked back at his computer. “I just thought I’d call you in between a little computer work, but I should probably be getting back at it.”
“You don’t need to run away. I won’t harass you about it.”
“It’s not that. I just have a lot to do.”
“We can talk for a couple more minutes. Nothing is going to blow up if you take a ten-minute call.”
Zachary conceded. “How’s Pat?”
“He’s doing well.”
But Zachary sensed a hesitation before the answer. It felt incomplete, as if there were something else that Mr. Peterson wanted to say, but had stopped himself from saying. Why? Because he wanted to protect Pat’s privacy, or because there was something he didn’t want to get Zachary involved in? Was it bad?
“Is he… I guess he’s probably still having trouble with Jose’s death,” Zachary suggested.
“It takes time to process a thing like that. Not just losing someone close to you, but having them taken away so suddenly and in such a violent way. We know that Jose’s last few days on earth… were not happy ones. It’s not like when someone goes peacefully in their sleep, or even unexpectedly with a brain aneurysm or car accident. It’s… it’s very hard to work through, and Pat was closer to Jose than I was. It’s hit him harder.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
There was a long pause as Mr. Peterson considered it. “I don’t think so, Zach. I try to talk to him about it, but we just keep going in circles. Because there’s no way to explain why it happened or say it was for the better or that something good will come of it. It’s just something that we have to accept.”
“Is he getting any counseling? That cop, Dougan, he said that he could recommend some victim services and support groups or therapists.”
“He’s gone to a couple of meetings. I think that’s good. But it’s still very raw, and I don’t know if rehashing it with this group is any better than going in circles with me. Too early to tell. I just have to be more patient and see what comes of it.”
Zachary knew that it hadn’t been a long time since Jose’s death, but it seemed like his murder and Zachary’s experience with Archuro had happened in another lifetime. And that was how he wanted it to be. He wanted it to be far away, somewhere he didn’t have to think about it.
“They say time heals…”
“Yes. I’m sure that it will help. It will be less painful over time. You know Pat; it’s not like him to let things get him down. He’s always so cheerful, trying to make everyone else feel better.”
“Well… give him a hug for me. Tell him that I’m thinking about him.” Zachary stopped short of saying, “Tell him I’m here if he wants to talk,” because he didn’t want Pat or anyone else talking to him about what had happened.
“I will. Thanks for that, Zachary. Things will get better, I’m sure.”
“Well… let me know if they don’t. If you’re worried about him…”
“I know you could help out with some advice and direction. I don’t think that things are going to get to a crisis point, but if they do… you’ll be the first one I talk to.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” Zachary felt a little buoyed up by the possibility that his own struggles with loss and depression might help someone else, especially someone who was so deserving as Pat was. Zachary wasn’t usually the go-to guy for emotional support, but he definitely had the experience if they wanted to talk to someone about depression and mental health services.
“Okay. I’ll let you go get back to your computer work. But call me anytime. Tell Tyrrell and Heather and Kenzie ‘hi’ for me, when you see them again.”
After saying his goodbyes, Zachary ended the call and looked back at his computer. He didn’t really have anything else to do while he waited for Heather to make her decision. Not on her case, anyway. As usual, there was a big pile of skip traces and other work for him to do. If it took any length of time for Heather to get back to him, he could take up a few smaller cases. There were a number of people who were looking for surveillance of employees or cheating spouses, and those kinds of jobs rarely went over a few days.
But he’d just wait a little while and see if Heather changed her mind.
The next call that he got was from Rhys’s grandmother, Vera. Rhys Salter was a black teenager that Zachary had met on a previous case and liked to keep in touch with. He felt a little responsible for Rhys’s mother having been sent to prison as a result of his investigation and he had a connection with the boy, who had selective mutism. They seemed to hit it off in spite of their differences in age, race, and backgrounds. Rhys had been institutionalized for some time as a child after his grandfather’s murder. Institutionalization was an experience Zachary shared with Rhys that not many other people did.
“Mr. Goldman, it’s Vera Salter.”
“Mrs. Salter,” Zachary prompted formally, trying to nudge her out of calling him Mr. Goldman again. They had been on a first name basis, but it had been a while since they had talked. Zachary never went by Mr. Goldman.
“Oh, it’s Vera!” she insisted immediately. “Zachary.”
“That’s better. How are things going?”
“Well, they could always be worse. I have to remember what we were going through last year around this time,” Zachary could almost hear her shake her head. “It was a very difficult time, with Robin suffering so badly with her cancer… a very difficult time.”
“Are things not going well with Rhys? Or is it your health?”
“I’m okay. But I do think our Rhys could use a little extra support. He can be so isolated, I worry about him, about how he has no one to talk to. I mean, there’s only so much you can tell an ancient old gramma like me.”
Zachary liked that she said ‘talk’ for Rhys’s communication, even though he rarely spoke more than a word or two in an entire conversation. He used gestures and text and pictures on his phone to communicate his meaning. A conversation with him could be exhausting, but it was also like playing a game or solving a puzzle. Zachary found a certain amount of satisfaction in being able to communicate with Rhys, even though most of it was non-spoken.
“Should I set something up with him? You had said that you didn’t want me doing that…”
“I said you could still see the boy, but I would like it to be here. With all of the stuff about you in the media, I d
on’t want him getting teased for being homosexual or something. I just want to protect him.”
“That’s fine with me. I don’t want to cause him any grief. He has enough to deal with without having that on his plate too.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. You know how cruel teenagers can be. Even though it seems like everyone or his dog is LGB-whatever these days. I don’t want him getting bullied or beaten up for his friendship with you.”
Zachary nodded his silent agreement. “So shall I set something up with him next week?”
“Well…” she sounded suddenly hesitant.
Zachary frowned. She was the one who had contacted him saying that Rhys needed someone to visit with him. Why was she suddenly waffling about it?
“You don’t think you could find some time today, do you?”
“Oh. Sure. I can pop by after school today. Would that work?”
“That would be wonderful. And you would be welcome to stay for supper. Is there anything you can’t eat?”
“You know me. I don’t eat a lot, but anything goes.” Growing up in a home where they sometimes didn’t have enough to eat and then in foster care where he had been faced with all different kinds of food, good and bad, and institutional food at Bonnie Brown and in the hospital, Zachary had learned to eat whatever was put in front of him. Which had served him well when Bridget had taken him to fancy events where they had all manner of fish eggs and sea creatures.
“Great,” Vera declared. “We’ll see you after school, then.”
16
Zachary was glad to have somewhere to go later in the day when Heather still hadn’t called him back and he couldn’t face the pile of skip traces in his inbox anymore. He enjoyed visiting with Rhys and with his grandmother but hadn’t seen either of them for some time. It had been too long. He had neglected the relationship. But he had felt put out the last time Vera had called, in the middle of the serial murder investigation, because she didn’t like the way that Zachary was being presented in the media. He had been shy of calling again after that, even when life was getting back to normal again.
He made sure he gave Rhys enough time to get home after school before he showed up on the doorstep and rang the bell. Vera was there quickly, greeting him like an old friend and inviting him into the spotless living room. Roast chicken and other food smells emanated from the kitchen, making Zachary hungry in spite of his usual nausea and lack of appetite.
“Why don’t you go on in to see Rhys, and I’ll call you boys when dinner is ready,” Vera suggested.
“Sounds good,” Zachary agreed. He headed to Rhys’s room.
Rhys’s room looked like the typical teen boy’s room. Definitely not up to Vera’s standards for the rest of the house, but she had apparently accepted the fact and simply cleared out the worst of the detritus or closed the door when he was not home. Rhys was lying on the bed with his phone. Texting or playing a game, Zachary wasn’t sure which. Usually when Rhys texted, he communicated in images rather than words, though he did throw in a word or two here and there, the same as in a face-to-face conversation.
Zachary knocked on the open door to warn Rhys he was there.
Rhys looked up from his phone and smiled. He sat up and gestured for Zachary to enter.
“Hey, Rhys. How’s it going? I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately.”
Rhys reached for his hand and gave it a strong shake, clapping Zachary on the shoulder with the other hand. He released his grip and drew his hands apart in a questioning gesture, then pointed to Zachary. How about you?
“I’m doing all right,” Zachary said, shrugging off the question. He was more concerned with how Rhys was faring. He looked for a place to sit down, but Rhys didn’t have a chair and sitting on the floor was not going to allow them to communicate properly, besides which it was covered with shoes, sports equipment, books, and whatever else Rhys could fit in his room. Rhys motioned to his bed for Zachary to sit.
He hesitated. He didn’t want Rhys to feel uncomfortable or like he was invading his privacy. He remembered how he had felt as a teenager when a house parent or social worker would sit down on his bed to talk to him. He always felt threatened, his space invaded, and he always worried about what the next step would be. Whether they wanted to be on his bed just to test out how close they could get to him, if they could desensitize him to inappropriate contact. Rhys widened his eyes and pointed again to the end of his bed insistently.
“You sure?” Zachary asked. “We could go out to the living room or something.”
Rhys pointed again. Zachary sat down and tried to look comfortable.
“So, what’s been going on with you lately? How is school?”
Rhys indicated a backpack on the floor, the size of a small boulder and probably just as heavy. Rhys rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“That’s a lot of work,” Zachary observed. “Can you really get through that much?”
Rhys shook his head. Then he shrugged and indicated his phone.
Zachary hazarded a guess at his meaning. “Not when you’re spending too much time online talking with friends?”
Rhys pointed a finger at him, making a shooting-a-gun motion. Exactly.
“I don’t imagine Grandma thinks much of that. She doesn’t threaten to take away your phone?”
Rhys nodded and gave a grin. He bent over to look under the bed, clinging to it upside-down and eventually coming back up for air with a small laptop in his hand. He showed it to Zachary. It had a sticker with the school’s name and logo on it, along with a warning that it was for homework only and that any student-installed programs would be deleted.
“Nice. And I’m sure you only use it for homework, like it says.”
Rhys grinned again.
“I don’t imagine you can do your homework without a computer and online access these days. Back in the stone ages, we didn’t even have computers.”
Rhys shook his head in silent disbelief.
“So, other than getting a crap-load of schoolwork, how is it going?”
Rhys pressed his lips together in a slight grimace and shrugged. Okay.
“You involved in any after-school sports?”
Despite the various bits and pieces of sports equipment scattered around on the floor, Rhys shook his head. He didn’t seem saddened by the fact that he wasn’t on any of the school teams. It was something that had never particularly bothered Zachary either. He had been more concerned with survival than with being on a team. He had been small and awkward and always was one of the last to be picked for anything when his gym classes had been forced to split into teams. Rhys was a lot taller than Zachary had been, already an inch or two taller than Zachary’s adult height. Zachary suspected from the way that he walked and moved that he had at least basic skills in the sports that he played. He had a certain grace in the way he moved.
“Any girlfriends?” Zachary didn’t have any doubt that there would be girls interested in Rhys. He wasn’t bad looking, was black in a population that was largely white, and his mutism gave him the sympathetic appeal of a lost puppy. There would definitely be girls who wanted to make him feel better.
Rhys shook his head and made a straight line gesture with both hands. No way.
“That’s probably a good thing,” Zachary said. “If there’s one thing more distracting than social media, it’s girls.”
Rhys nodded and laughed silently. Zachary cast around for something else to comment on or another safe topic of conversation. Rhys reached over and touched his wrist, a signal that Rhys had something else to say and wanted Zachary to focus on the message. Zachary watched carefully, meeting Rhys’s eyes briefly and waiting.
Rhys pointed at Zachary, and spread his hands wide. A typical how are you? But made significantly slow and with plenty of eye contact and an eyebrow that stayed raised, demanding more than just a quick social fine.
Zachary hadn’t seen Rhys since Archuro’s arrest. It had been in the news and Rhys had dou
btless seen online chatter that Vera might not even have been aware of, speculation on what had happened that the police weren’t talking about. What had happened during the time that Archuro held Zachary, before the police were able to track them down and effect an arrest and rescue. Like Zachary’s other close friends and family members, Rhys wanted to know how Zachary was really doing following the traumatic events.
“I am doing okay. Really. It was all pretty crazy, but I’m managing. Moving on and working on other cases.”
Rhys cocked his head, considering. He didn’t seem to have anything else to say, but waited, looking for more.
“It was hard,” Zachary said, “but I’d rather not even think about it. I want to put it behind me.”
Rhys still didn’t seem satisfied with this. He considered Zachary for a few more long seconds. Zachary couldn’t think of what else to say to him.
Rhys lifted his phone and powered the screen on. He tapped around for a minute, and then turned the face toward Zachary.
He saw a picture of himself. One that he had seen a few times, since it had been plastered all over news sites for days after the ordeal had ended. It was a picture of Zachary as he left the hospital—earlier than the hospital or any of his friends had wanted him to—and it clearly showed the bruises on his face. The bruises were not from Archuro, but from a group of neo-Nazis who had attacked him earlier in the investigation. But no one reading the article would know that. In the picture, Zachary’s eyes were dark shadows, his face almost skull-like in appearance. He was wearing his own clothes, which he had asked Lorne to bring to the hospital, but they hung loosely on his frame.
He looked awkward and uncomfortable, and if Rhys had seen the accompanying video footage, he would have seen how gingerly Zachary had been moving. No one could see the damage that Teddy had inflicted, but it was there, under Zachary’s intentionally loose clothing and deep beneath the surface.
Zachary touched Rhys’s hand holding the phone, as if to steady his hand from shaking so that he could see the picture more clearly. But that wasn’t the reason he felt the need to touch Rhys.
He Was Not There Page 10
