“Don’t say it,” Ron said just before they entered the observation room. The shrug was the closest thing to “I told you so” David would dare.
In the tiny room looking into the interview room was the Deputy Chief overseeing the Investigation Unit and the Essex County District Attorney. Neither of them looked particularly happy, and in a room that small it was hard to ignore.
“This is pointless,” the DA said. “I’m not going to try to prosecute some kid, or open ourselves up to some sort of harassment lawsuit.”
“He’s the only connection to this whole thing,” Ron said. “If he doesn’t know anything, then whatever is happening is happening because of him and he’s in danger. If he does know something, then he’s eye-deep in it and after that performance only god knows what he’s capable of.”
“But this is getting us nowhere,” the Deputy Chief said. “Prescott, you’ve talked to this kid a bunch already, what do you think?”
Ron glared back at him, and David took a deep breath to stall while he figured how far over the line he’d put his ass for Mark. “Honestly, I think he’s telling the truth. If there’s something going on, what he knows probably isn’t going to help us. According to the hospital, Howard Baker should be able to answer some questions in a couple of days. As long as we keep him safe, he can give us an idea of who did this to him.”
Which is what David had told Ron, but he didn’t want to put too fine a point on it.
“Alright, let’s try to keep an eye on this kid. Cut him loose,” The Deputy Chief said.
“What’re we going to do if there’s another murder?” Ron said as the all walked out.
“Then we hold him,” the Deputy Chief said, and the DA nodded. “Either for his own protection or until he tells us something useful. This is already turning into a fiasco, and the last thing this town needs is another Justin Corwin.”
David stopped in his tracks, watching the two walk off down the hall. “Hold on,” David said before Ron opened the door to the interview room. “Who’s Justin Corwin?”
“C’mon, Dave,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “I know you’re from Philly, but do your homework, would you? He’s Cedar Ridge’s very own serial killer. He’s in that book the kid had. Happened in the 50’s and the guy is long gone.”
“This has nothing to do with Clara, Ms. Kennedy or Cor--”
He’d been cut off by his Uncle’s yell at the hospital, but if that was why he’d gotten the book then perhaps there was more of a connection than they were seeing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When they got home from the Police Station, Joe informed Mark that the lawyer cost $200 and that he’d like to be paid back by the end of the month.
Mark spent the rest of the evening and the next day in the garage stopping his futile repair job every couple of minutes to make sure he wasn’t missing hearing the phone ring.
He didn’t. She didn’t call all weekend. Mark couldn’t tell which was worse: not hearing from her and not knowing if she was okay, or knowing she was okay and that she wasn’t calling him back anyway.
At school on Monday, Mark was relieved that no one at school seemed to put together that it was Christine’s family that the news had been talking about. The police hadn’t confirmed that there was a connection to Clara or Ms. Kennedy’s death, but it didn’t stop reporters from speculating about it. Steve asked him when they met for lunch about it and Mark reluctantly told him what details he had to share. It was the only thing he’d ever seen that completely shut him up. Well, for five whole minutes.
“Have you talked to her?”
“No,” Mark said. “I left messages but I haven’t heard anything.”
He actually looked relieved. “Do you think she’s okay?”
Mark just looked at him. “Right,” Steve said. “Stupid question. Do you--”
“I don’t want to talk about this. If you can’t talk about anything else but this then let’s not talk about anything at all. And I sure as shit hope you don’t tell anybody else about it.”
Steve opened his mouth, but then closed it and went back to his sandwich. They didn’t say anything else the rest of the period or the next. At the end of gym, when the bell rang and Mark headed down the hallway, Steve followed him.
“Mark, hold up a second.”
“I don’t want to,” he said, not stopping.
“We should talk about stuff. I mean, things are getting kind of fucked up and--”
“Oh, now they’re getting fucked up? Thanks for the update since I hadn’t figured that out yet.”
“Mark, look--”
“Just forget it, okay?”
“I’m sorry!” Steve called down the stairwell. “For everything.”
“Hey.”
Mark didn’t notice Christine until she’d called to him from inside the car as he walked past.
“Hey,” he said, squatting down on the sidewalk to lean on the open window. “How’re you doing? I tried to call you but all I got was voice mail.”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve just been . . . well, you can imagine.”
“I know, and I’m so sor--”
“Don’t. I need to talk to you but I don’t want to do it here. Can we drive somewhere?”
“Sure,” he said, walking around to the passenger’s side. “Whose car is this?”
“It’s my Aunt’s rental. My Mom’s been staying at the hospital and my Aunt flew down from Hartford yesterday and has been making plans all day for Ryan . . . I told her I needed some air, and she’s been kind of a push-over since she got here.”
They drove most of the way in silence, finally pulling into one of the parking spaces at the park they used to go to. Christine turned off the car but stayed where she was. Finally, she turned to him and said, “I want you to tell me everything.”
“What do you--”
“You know what I mean! Everything about what’s going on with all of this! Why my brother was killed and my father may never walk again. You tell me everything you know about this right now or so help me I go to the police and I’ll tell them it was you.”
“Christine, stop, please--”
“Try me,” she said.
He took a deep breath and told her.
“Are you serious?” she said when he was done.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know it sounds crazy but it’s the truth. Corwin’s ghost thinks I’m this Darren kid, and he wants me because he escaped before he could finish . . . well, whatever the hell he was trying to finish.”
“So you’re saying it’s a ghost? A ghost of some guy who died in the fifties killed my brother and tried to burn down my house?”
Mark could just nod. “I’m sorry, I wish--”
“Stop it!” she screamed, pounding her fists on the steering wheel. After a few seconds she slapped at her seatbelt until it let her free and then shoved her way out of the car.
Mark scrambled to follow her. She was standing with her back to him, a fistful of hair in each hand at her temples. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she shrugged it away without even looking back at him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just . . . I know that if we stick together we can work this out, we can get through this and then--”
“And then what?” She spun around to face him, throwing her arms up in the air and letting little threads of red hair sprinkle down to the ground. “I don’t want to think about what happens after because I’m too terrified about what’s happened right fucking now! I haven’t been able to sleep! I can’t close my eyes without thinking something is going to come into our hotel room and finish what it started! I can’t even go back into my own house to get my things because it’s a crime scene!”
“I know, I know. I’m just glad that he didn’t find you and that you’re safe. I mean, it’s horrible about your Dad and brother but I’m just glad he didn’t get to you.”
She rubbed at her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I wasn’t in any danger.”
“Wha
t are you talking about?”
“I wasn’t in my room, Mark. I wasn’t even home.”
“What?” Well, this is a thrilling new development.
He remembered the vision of that night, and how Corwin had been asking where she was and he’d thought she’d hidden from him, but if she wasn’t there, then where . . .
“I wasn’t there. I was out. I went to go see Steve.”
Let’s not lose sight of what matters here, okay? She’s fine, physically, and now you guys have a lot more in common. So she went to see Steve, after you explicitly asked her not to and was at his place until, what, 1am? The important thing is that she’s just unfaithful, not unfaithful and dead.
“I know you didn’t want me to but I just went to pick up his notes and when I couldn’t read them I told Ryan to just go, since he drove me, and I guess he went out and came back when Corwin or whatever that thing is was at the house. I’m sorry.”
“Wh . . . why are you sorry? I mean, I didn’t want you too but that was a mistake. You can do whatever you want. It’s not like . . .”
She looked away.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
I’m sorry, okay, Steve had said. For everything.
“I can’t . . . How could you?” he said, stepping towards her.
“Mark,” she said, turning around to face him. “It didn’t mean anything, okay?”
“Is that supposed to make it better?” he said.
“Mark, stop it. I didn’t want to lie to you but this isn’t really that important now.”
“I realize that,” he said through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t excuse you going off and doing god knows what with my supposed best fucking friend!”
“I said stop.”
“Why? Why the fuck should I? I mean, it’s not every day that you realize your girlfriend is just a cheap whore who will--”
He didn’t get a chance to finish as his head snapped back, propelled by the force of her fist.
“Fuck you!” she screamed as he staggered backwards. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! My brother is dead and my Dad may be crippled all because of your stupid bullshit, so you can just fuck yourself!”
He ran his fingers along the inside of his lip, and they came back tinged with blood. “Right, that’s fair. You screw around then get to hit me. Fine.”
“Mark, don’t--”
“Don’t what?” he snapped. “Don’t argue because this is all my fault anyway? Why don’t you just say your brother is dead because of me and get it off your chest and then you and Steve can live happily ever after.”
“I don’t want Steve and don’t you dare try to twist this around and try to martyr yourself. You kept saying that you were going to take care of it but all you did was read a book and try to keep it to yourself! If this whole thing wasn’t so goddamn crazy I’d go and tell Detective Prescott myself.”
“I get it. I fucked up and it’s all my fault. You’re right and I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could’ve done to keep this from happening, but the fact of the matter is that you were at Steve’s fucking around before you knew all this had happened. I guess you knew even then that you were done with me.” He turned and headed for the car.
“Fuck you!” she screamed at him as he stopped at the car to get his backpack. He didn’t stop or turn, getting comfortable with the rage boiling inside him as he headed out of the park just short of running. He wasn’t going home yet.
He had a stop to make first.
Steve was almost to his house when he heard running footsteps coming up behind him. He stepped over to the side to give whoever was hauling ass room to get by and glanced over his shoulder to see if it was one of the piss-ant 8 year-olds that lived up the block. It wasn’t, and it gave him time to roll to the side as Mark plowed into him.
The two tumbled onto his neighbor’s lawn, backpacks coming off as Steve tried to roll Mark off of him.
“You fucker!” Mark yelled, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s jacket and swinging wildly at him with the other hand.
“Stop! Stop!” Steve batted away Mark’s poorly aimed blows and squirmed his way out of his jacket, giving him a little bit of breathing room.
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Mark finally landed a solid blow to Steve’s chest, knocking him back onto the ground. Mark dove back down on top of him, but Steve managed to get a leg up, plant it on Mark’s chest and then send him flying away with a push. Steve got back onto his feet and moved away from him.
“I’m sorry, okay! I swear I’m sorry!”
“Fuck you,” Mark said, lunging at him. Steve sidestepped out of the way and knocked Mark to the ground, pinning him to the grass with a knee in his back and a forearm in the back of his head. Mark thrashed and writhed on the ground like an animal, screaming obscenities at him. Mark’s uninjured arm was pinned under him, and his other was flailing at him with murderous intent until Steve grabbed it just below the bandage and twisted it behind Mark’s back.
“Stop it, Mark, please! I’m sorry, okay. I am really, really, sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry, you worthless backstabbing piece of shit!” Mark’s cheek was pressed into the ground, and only one eye glared up at Steve, red-rimmed with tears and blazing fury.
“Just calm down, okay? Please.” He looked around hoping none of the neighbors had come out to investigate what was going on.
“Why? So you can rationally explain why you stabbed me in the back during one of the worst times of my life. Is that why?”
“No, because if you don’t I’ll break your arm,” Steve said, giving the captive arm a rough twist. Mark yelped in pain. “Just settle down, okay?”
“Go to hell!” Mark hissed in pain, but the thrashing all but stopped.
“If I let you up, will you try to hit me again?”
“Maybe.”
Steve twisted again. Mark gritted his teeth, but didn’t cry out.
“No.”
“Good,” Steve said, pushing off of Mark and quickly getting to his feet.
Mark just rolled over and propped himself up, glaring at Steve with raw hatred.
“Jesus, I haven’t had to do that to you since the 5th grade,” Steve said, picking up his bag without taking his eyes off Mark.
“Go to hell.”
Steve sighed. “You’re repeating yourself, man. Not good.”
“You want something new and original?” Mark said, getting to his feet. “How about this? I despise you. I always thought that you’d be my friend no matter what, but now I find you’re no better than Jack and his pack of assholes. Shit, you’re worse. At least they are upfront about making my life hell.”
“For fuck’s sake, Mark,” Steve said. “No one makes your life more hell than you do. You’re always so fucking melodramatic about everything.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mark said, shaking his head. “You screw around with my girlfriend and I’m being melodramatic and over-reacting, is that it? You sick fuck.”
“Look,” Steve said, but then stopped and shook his head. “Y’know, I can’t even argue with you. You’re right, I’m an asshole. But I just . . . it just happened, okay? I don’t think she’s the girl for you, and--”
“But she’s the girl for you?”
“No, she just . . .” Steve let out a sigh. “I just wanted to and I guess I didn’t think it through. I’m sorry.”
Mark shook his head and turned away from him. He was quiet for a moment, and then walked over and picked up his bag. “You fucking rich-kid prick. You want something, and you get it, no problem. When I want something, just one lousy thing in my entire lousy, miserable life you’ve got to have it too. What the fuck did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?”
Mark turned and walked away. He must have known that Steve didn’t have any answer
Chapter Twenty-Eight
What did I ever do to deserve a friend like you?
The question haunted him all the way home and until he was lying face down on his bed, screaming with rage
into his pillow.
Hey, if it makes you feel better she’s right when she says it’s all your fault. I mean seriously, if Corwin wasn’t so obsessed with ruining your life, her dad and brother would be alive and kicking instead of . . . well, the opposite.
He screamed even louder at that, but he knew that it was true. Everything she’d said was true, and now she hated him even though he still loved her. He couldn’t even be truly angry at her given what he’d brought into her life. If anything he deserved worse than being cheated on but he couldn’t imagine feeling more miserable. There wasn’t anything that she’d said that wasn’t true, and what he’d said to her? Fuck, he deserved every bit of this and more.
Well maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll go after Steve next.
But why bother? Corwin had completely destroyed the fabric of Mark’s life. If there was anything else he wanted it was clear that he could just take it. It wasn’t as if he could do anything to stop it.
“Just come and get me,” he said, pulling a blanket over his head. “I’m done.”
Darren had been sleeping, face resting on the cell door. He pulled away and the sweat from his face stuck the mesh to his face for a second. With the furnace blazing at full blast during the middle of summer, the heat had become unbearable. Life had devolved into a haze of sitting at the door and watching the fire in the furnace dance its magical dance.
Except for when he came in and took them. And if they stopped moving for too long, it was down from the chain, chopped into pieces and into the fire with them.
Like Suzie Morris, a week ago.
Like Oscar Lukacs, two days ago.
He looked over his shoulder at Randal, now his only cellmate. He was exhausted, lying flat on his stomach with his head turned to stare at Darren with blank eyes. The Shadow Man had been coming more and more often for them now, but Randal had taken the brunt of the beatings since Oscar fed the fire.
Shadow of the Past Page 21
