“Did your parents know you went to the tracks?”
“Earlier in the summer,” Mrs. Pederson said from the doorway, “they were caught out on the tracks by a police officer, who brought them home.”
Gus had already found the incident report.
“So you were caught on the tracks before, you and William? And you were told not to go back, right?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Pederson said, the anger audible in her voice. “I told him not to take William to the tracks again.”
Gus turned and looked at Mrs. Pederson. “I’m going to let him tell me in his own words.”
She nodded.
“Your parents and the police told you to stay away from the tracks, is that right?”
The kid nodded.
“But you went out there anyway.”
Another nod.
“What was so interesting about the tracks?”
The kid shrugged. “I don’t know. We just liked to go out there and flatten our pennies. William was always asking to go.”
“William had never gone to those tracks,” Mrs. Pederson said. “Only in the last six months had this been an issue.”
Six months, Gus thought. That’s how long the Pedersons had been fostering this young man.
“Can I see your collection?” Gus asked. “You said you collected the pennies you flattened.”
“My penny collection?”
“Yeah. You said you and William had gone to the tracks a bunch of other times to flatten pennies. You mentioned last night that you kept them all.”
“I did.”
The kid stood from his bed and walked over to the desk. He picked up a bowl and handed it to Gus. It was filled with flattened pennies. Gus stuck his fingers into the bowl, copper jingling against porcelain, and grabbed one. It looked identical to the one the kid had shown him the day before. Thin and flat and smooth.
“This is a lot of pennies. What would you say? Thirty?”
“Twenty-eight,” the kid said.
“Every time you went to the tracks, how many pennies would you flatten?”
“I don’t know. Sometimes two, sometimes three.”
“Tell me how it worked. You laid the pennies on the tracks and then watched the train run them over? Then, once the train was gone, you retrieved them?”
“Yeah.”
“So what happened yesterday?”
“I don’t know. William just got too close.”
Gus held up the bowl of pennies. “But you’d done it so many times before. What did William do differently yesterday evening that he hadn’t done all the other times?”
The kid locked eyes with Gus. “He got killed.”
Gus Morelli sat on his lanai and listened to the surf as it rolled up onto the beach. It was late now, past ten P.M. The cloudless night offered a half moon, its reflection gamboling along the surface of the ocean until it spilled onto shore to shadow the beach with ashen hues of gray. The sun had set hours ago and here he was, still thinking about the old case that had been stirred awake by a random phone call. He sipped his La Rubia but had an itch for the brown stuff. If there were a bottle in the condo he might have poured himself a couple of fingers, but he’d sworn off it ever since he’d lost his leg. Before cancer tried to kill him, the hard stuff had come close. Now he limited his intake to two beers a day. It wasn’t textbook sobriety, but was as close as Gus Morelli was going to come to it.
He thought back to that day in the kid’s bedroom. He still remembered the jingle his fingers made when he reached into the bowl of the flattened pennies. The sound echoed in his ears now and muted the surf three stories below. He reached for his beer and took a sip. It wasn’t the first time a case from his past awoke from a long slumber. This time, though, he was prepared for it.
He carried his beer back into the condo. He had work to do before tomorrow.
CHAPTER 71
THINGS WERE OUT OF CONTROL. I FELT IT IN MY GUT. I HAD FELT something similar the day my foster brother died. I thought then that I might have miscalculated. Every time he bullied me, every time he ripped one of his MAD magazines from my hands, my anger grew. In those moments, my foster brother reminded me of my father. And when I lay docile on my bed as he stood over me intimidatingly, holding the magazine as if he were about to strike me with it, it reminded me of that feeble child who stared through the keyhole of his bedroom door and allowed his mother to be beaten. That frail and pathetic soul no longer existed. He was long gone, and only I remained—someone who no longer tolerated bullies or the weak souls they preyed on.
My planning had helped me weather the storm. My meticulous preparation had helped deflect the pressure the detective put on me. I came through unscathed then, but this time I’ve been less careful. I’ve allowed my emotions to override my reason. I’ve been reckless and impulsive. When I witnessed the things that took place at Westmont Prep, I had no choice but to act. I executed my original plan flawlessly. To perfection, really. It went off without a hitch. But some people refused to accept the reality I set forth. Some continued to dig for answers. Some who dug too deeply were now gone. But there were others still, and it was unrealistic to think I could avoid each of their shovel thrusts. Gwen was my biggest problem. Her unwillingness to stay silent, and her desire to share with others what she knew about that night, was enough to show me the end was near. But the end of my journey was tied to someone else’s. It always had been.
I went through the usual routine when I entered the hospital, and soon I found myself in the east wing. Doctors rarely entered this ward. It was for the downtrodden and those too far gone to be positively affected by anything medicine could offer. Palliative care was all that remained for those here. Doctors signed off on copious doses of drugs to sedate the patients who might harm themselves or others. An abundance of narcotics were rationalized by the claim that they prevented the detached and ambivalent patients from wandering any further into the abyss. Really, though, they were meant to keep them there.
The patient I came to see tonight was the same one I’d sat with once a week since I was allowed visitation privileges. There has never been hope of improvement, and perhaps that was why I came so often. It certainly explained why I came tonight. Things were falling apart, and the patient in the east wing of this hospital would be inextricably part of my downfall.
The bed was calm when I walked into the room. The patient lay wide awake under the covers, eyes wondering but blind, as if sensing I would come tonight. This was normal, and not for the first time I imagined what life was like in such a state, staring out at the world while being trapped in an inescapable bubble. Tonight, though, escape was possible. Freedom was tangible. I could never leave this world without taking this person with me.
I closed the hospital room door. It took effort and time, but I eventually secured the patient in the wheelchair. A moment later, I pushed the chair past the nurses’ station and received only smiles and nods. I paused in the sitting area, where the television was on but muted and where other patients stared, openmouthed, at the contraption. We joined them for a moment, just long enough to blend in. I looked back to the nurses’ station. They were all staring at their computers and preparing for the long haul of the night shift. None were interested in the subdued patients watching the soundless television.
I stood up and drifted casually to the elevators, where I depressed the down button. I heard the cables engage as the elevator car rose from the ground floor. I strolled back to the wheelchair and slowly pulled it, and its occupant, toward the elevators. When the doors opened, I backed inside, pressed the button for the ground floor, and waited patiently for the doors to close. They finally did, and we were alone.
“I’m taking you out of here tonight,” I said.
I bent around the chair and looked into those wide, wondering eyes that have never changed since I started visiting. They didn’t change then, even when freedom was so close. The elevator bell rang and announced our arrival on the ground floor. When the doors opened,
I showed no hesitation. I simply wheeled the chair past reception and to the sliding glass doors of the entrance. They opened like curtains welcoming us onto a grand stage. We passed through the threshold and into the night.
CHAPTER 72
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, THE NURSE STARTED HER SHIFT AT SEVEN o’clock. She spent thirty minutes in the exchange—the overlap between the night shift ending and the morning shift starting, when nurses who were going off the clock brought the arriving nurses up to date on the events of the previous night. It had been a quiet night with no emergencies and no 911 calls. It had been two weeks since a resident had died—a long streak at this hospital.
It was seven-thirty when the nurse started her rounds. She went room to room, waking the residents and taking breakfast orders, seeing who needed assistance out of bed, organizing the morning dosing of medications, and checking off items on a laundry list of activities that would keep her busy until noon. When she entered Room 41 she expected to find her patient in bed. Instead, though, the bed was empty. Worse than empty—it looked undisturbed, as if no one had slept in it. She checked the bathroom as a light flutter of fright tingled her sternum. Sometimes she found her patient standing in front of the mirror, confused and disoriented. Last time, her patient held a toothbrush with no cognitive understanding on how to use it. Before that, she had found her patient standing in front of the toilet with soiled pants, having forgotten the purpose of entering the bathroom. But when she slowly pushed the bathroom door open on this Saturday morning, it, too, was empty.
She hurried down the hallway to check the dining area, then to the community area where residents gathered to watch television. Finally, she ran to the nurses’ station and picked up the phone.
“I have a code yellow,” the nurse said in a hurried tone. “Missing resident. Room forty-one.”
CHAPTER 73
DR. GABRIELLA HANOVER’S LIFE HAD BEEN IN UPHEAVAL SINCE THE events of last summer. She would never survive if the truth came out about her relationship with Charles. The board of trustees would never keep her as dean of students if it were known that she had been in a relationship with one of her patients, and her career in medicine would be gone as well. She had convinced herself that it was best to keep quiet about the things she knew. Specifically, that the manifesto the police had used to convict Charles was her idea. That it had not been a declaration of intent, but rather a psychotherapy tool used to expel anger. Admitting those things now would change little.
Gabriella found a spot in visitor parking on Saturday morning and walked into Grantville Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane. She had gone through the process so many times over the last year—every week, in fact—that it had become routine. The nurses had told Gabriella the remarkable difference they saw in him after each of her visits, and so she tried never to miss one.
Grantville was not like other hospitals. Admission was a process. It required photo registration, the creation of a visitor’s badge, and the company of an armed guard as she made her way through one locked door after another until she found the fourth floor. But the reward was worth it, because when the rigmarole was over, she got to see him. He was nothing like he used to be. Still, though, the sight of him calmed some part of her. She was skilled at analyzing and understanding others’ emotions but was lost when she tried to decipher her own. How she felt about the last year was still a subject she had refused to examine.
Her stomach stirred with excitement now as she approached his hospital room; it always did. She closed her eyes for a moment as she held the handle of the door, took a deep breath, and then pushed the door open and walked inside.
He was in his wheelchair when she entered. His expression remained stoic when she stood in front of him. It didn’t change when she lowered herself to make eye contact; it never did.
“Hi, Charles,” she said. “How have you been?”
She didn’t expect an answer. He had never once spoken during Gabriella’s visits. But today, his silence affected her more than ever before.
“Oh, Charles. I never wanted any of this to happen.”
She placed her hand on his cheek and watched his eyes blink but register nothing. Gabriella took a deep breath and sat in the chair across from him.
Westmont Prep
Summer 2019
CHAPTER 74
MARC MCEVOY KISSED HIS WIFE EARLIER IN THE MORNING BEFORE loading a small suitcase into his car and driving to the airport. He had told her that a business meeting in Houston required him to be gone overnight. He parked his car at the airport, made sure to get a receipt, and then boarded the Metra. An hour later, he was rolling his suitcase behind him as he made his way from the train station, found Grand Avenue, and walked into the lobby of the Motel 6.
“Last name?” the young woman behind the reception desk asked.
“Jones. Marc Jones.”
“Yep. Here it is. Just one night?”
“That’s all.”
“I’ll need a credit card for the security deposit.”
Marc smiled. “I’m having a bit of a credit issue currently. Someone stole my identity, so my credit cards have all been cancelled. Can I pay cash?”
“Sorry to hear that. Um...” The woman tapped on the keyboard. “Sure. Cash will work. We require a two hundred dollar deposit against damage. When you check out tomorrow, we’ll refund the difference after you pay for the room.”
“Perfect,” Marc said, pulling his wallet from his pocket and peeling off two $100 bills. “Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“It’s no problem.”
The woman tucked a keycard into a Motel 6 envelope and scribbled 201 across the front.
“There you go. Second floor, just to the right of the elevators.”
“Thanks,” Marc said, grabbing the envelope. A couple of minutes later he was in Room 201, lying on the bed. It was four P.M. on Friday, June 21. He had just a few hours to kill.
CHAPTER 75
THE NIGHT OF THE MAN IN THE MIRROR INITIATION HAD FINALLY ARRIVED , although it came with more fear and uncertainty than it should have. They were supposed to be scared of what waited for them in the dark woods on the edge of campus. Finding the keys and making it to the safe room was meant to stir anticipation and angst inside them, as were the imaginings of what they would find when they opened that door and whispered into the mirror. The initiation rules were created to separate them and force them into the woods alone while they searched for their keys, each racing to be the first to the house.
Although none of them openly admitted it, they each wanted to be the first to arrive. They each wanted to emerge from the woods and find Andrew Gross waiting by the front door. Andrew had explained weeks before that being first to the safe room was meaningful. It was the winner of the Man in the Mirror who moved to the top of the food chain the following year when they all became seniors and sent out invitations to unsuspecting juniors. The winner of the night was also tapped to lead the Man in the Mirror festivities for new initiates, as Andrew would do tonight. Andrew was the only senior who would be at the abandoned boarding house. He would assist all those who successfully found their key and made it through the woods. At midnight, the other seniors would leave campus and head to the house to see which initiates had made it. There would be an epic ceremony for those who had.
But the events of the past week had soured their anticipation of the night. Since Tanner had loaded the video of Mr. Gorman into the projector and allowed the footage to play during lab on Tuesday, classes had been cancelled for the rest of the week. The faculty had been silent about their reasons for shutting classes down, but it didn’t take long for rumors to spread through campus. By the end of the week, everyone had heard about Tanner’s prank. Repercussions were rumored to be coming the following Monday.
Tonight, as Gwen and her friends prepared for the initiation, they each had self-preservation on their mind. All of them except Tanner, which was fine with the rest of them. Having him out of the picture was
the only way to accomplish what they hoped to pull off tonight, which was to secretly return Mr. Gorman’s journal before heading to the abandoned boarding house. They didn’t tell Tanner about their plan, instead agreeing that they were each on their own tonight. Finding their own way to 13:3:5 and venturing into the woods alone—sur vival-of-the-fittest style.
Gwen, Gavin, Theo, Danielle, and Bridget were all in a circle in Gwen’s dorm room now. Tanner, they were sure, was already on his way to the boarding house. Or had even started stalking through the woods by now in search of the key. They conceded the win to him. They would soon join him but had to secure their futures first, and put out the fire that Tanner had set blazing.
Bridget reached into her purse.
“Here,” she said, producing Mr. Gorman’s leather-bound journal that she had taken from Tanner’s dorm room earlier in the night.
She placed it on the floor in the middle of them all.
“And,” Bridget said again, pulling a Ziploc bag from her purse, “while I was stealing things from his dorm, I took this, too.”
Inside the plastic bag was a single joint.
“Good idea,” Gwen said. “I’m freaking out right now.”
Bridget removed the joint, clicked her lighter, and touched the flame to the tip. Gavin opened the window, and they each took tokes before blowing smoke out into the night. Before long, their heads were spinning and they laughed as they stared at Mr. Gorman’s journal.
“I couldn’t believe the son of a bitch blew that air horn,” Gavin said.
They all laughed again.
“When that video popped up in Gorman’s lab,” Theo said.
“I nearly crapped myself,” Gavin said.
They continued to laugh as they took hits from the joint.
“It’s ten-thirty,” Danielle said. “We need to get going if we want to make it before midnight. Who knows how long it will take to find the keys.”
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