WhiteSpace Season One (Episodes 1-6)

by Sean Platt

  Cassidy thought, bullshit, but ignored Jon. He kept talking.

  “And Houser will help. He’s the best, I promise, maybe even better than the best.”

  Jon gave Cassidy a thin smile, but she continued to ignore him, and kept ignoring him until the front door of the station swung open and Brady’s boots were back on the porch.

  He seemed both taller and sadder as he walked up to Cassidy and looked her in the eye. “You wanna tell me again where you were the night Emma went missing?”

  “I told you,” Cassidy said, her voice steady. “I was home. I fell asleep and when I woke the next morning, Emma was gone.”

  “So you didn’t go anywhere?”

  Cassidy could feel Brady’s doubt rising like heat waves over the asphalt.

  She lied anyway. “No, I was home with my mom. You can ask her.”

  Cassidy could feel Jon’s eyes suddenly burning with the same heat as Brady’s.

  The chief said, “Really, Cassidy? Because one of my guys is over at Paladin reviewing the security footage taken from your street the night Emma went missing, and says that you left for a bit. You wanna tell me where you went?”

  Cassidy said nothing, just shoved her hands inside her pockets and stared at Brady.

  Jon spoke, “Wait. You guys have the surveillance video? Did you see Emma leave?”

  “No,” Brady said. “There was some static on the camera around three in the morning or so, which lasted about two minutes. Other than, nothing.”

  Cassidy didn’t answer the chief’s question, but instead asked her own, “And did you get footage from Whistler’s house? Huh?”

  “I’ve asked for the footage, yes. Now, you wanna tell me where you went?”

  Cassidy could feel Jon’s eyes on her. Judging her. Accusing her. It was only a matter of time before they found the truth if they pieced all the island’s CCTV footage together. But it seemed unlikely that they’d spend that much time on doing so unless Emma wasn’t found. Or was found dead. So she’d lie her ass off until then.

  “I went for a drive. My mom was driving me nuts. I was stressed out, and missing Sarah,” she began to cry. The tears were fake, at first, but quickly became real.

  Jon surprised her by opening his arms and hugging her.

  She accepted his embrace until Chief Brady excused himself, to say he was going to see if he could get something out of Whistler, and went back inside.

  The lie had worked. But for how long?

  As the door closed, she let the tears flow, and was surprised at how much better she felt hugging Jon than hating him.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 7 — Alex Heller

  The first half of Alex’s return to Hamilton K-12 was relatively quiet, even if supremely uncomfortable. Teachers seemed afraid to look him in the eye. Students eyed him suspiciously, accusation in their faces. Conversations and jokes once passed with friends had twisted into awkward glances and, at best, quiet nods. Alex wasn’t sure if people hated or feared him, or maybe they just didn’t know how to talk to him. He felt like a tourist in a world where he’d always been a citizen.

  He understood the suspicion, but Alex had yet to bury his father, and was mourning, the same as them.

  But he doubted he’d get a single “I’m sorry” from his schoolmates, and if he was being honest, couldn’t imagine feeling much like giving one if he’d been on the other side of the violence.

  Not a single student had spoken to him between first period and lunch, except for Katie, who added a few awkward words to her smile on the few occasions when he passed her in the hallways. Before fourth period, Alex met her in front of her locker and admitted that he’d made a mistake by coming back to school so soon.

  “I’m getting out of here at lunch,” he said. “Interested?”

  Katie looked nervous. She said, “I’m not sure.”

  “It’s fine with me either way,” Alex said. “But if you wanna bail, meet me behind the racquetball courts.” He added, “see ya when I see ya,” then took off down the hall.

  **

  Security was tighter in the school than it had normally been, with four Paladin guards instead of one, patrolling the campus. But none were watching outside when Alex made a break for the racquetball courts and the hole in the fence Alex and his onetime crew had used to escape into the surrounding woods a few times before.

  Normally, getting caught skipping school meant an automatic suspension, which always seemed ironic to Alex. Skip school and get punished by being sent home for one to three additional days. Hey, I’ll take that punishment! But Alex wasn’t too concerned about getting busted on his first day back. The dean was sure to go easy on him, considering the circumstance.

  Alex didn’t head straight to the hole in the fence, however. He sat far back in the corner of the racquetball court on the right, where the walls met. It had rained earlier, but the sun was out now, and the court had dried. He sat his backpack on the ground, then pulled his Moleskine notebook and his Pilot pen from the bag. He wanted to explore the story idea he had the other day in his father’s office, about inanimate objects mourning their lost owner. It was a unique idea, and writing about it might give him a chance to work through some of his feelings about his father.

  He was one line in, when footsteps paused his pen. Alex looked up, expecting to see Katie. But it wasn’t her. It was Jake Brewster, whose best friend Eddie Tarroza had been one of the victims. He was with Ray Wilson, another of Eddie’s friends. All three had belonged to the row team, and were pretty much the Unholy Trinity of royal assholes. Eddie was the one death Alex hadn’t missed a lot of sleep over.

  “How’s it going, Heller?” Jake said as the pair closed in on Alex, cornering, and hanging over him.

  “OK,” Alex said, keeping his eyes on the book, pretending to write, knowing shit was seconds from going bad, which was the very thing his mother had warned him might happen.

  Eddie and Ray were two of the only kids Alex ever had problems with back in middle school. They had bullied him for a few weeks until Alex’s dad said something to Eddie’s, and they finally backed off. Though they’d stopped outright fucking with him, they never passed Alex again without snickering. Jake was all to quick to join in the snickering, of course.

  Jake and Ray towered over him, taunting him in their silence. Alex stopped writing, wondering who would open their mouth first, or if they were just going to start hitting him. He wanted to look up, but didn’t dare tempt them. There were two of them, and one of him. Even if it had just been Jake, Alex would have had a tough fight on his hands. And there was also an excellent chance that Katie would be coming around the corner at any moment. The last thing Alex wanted was for her to see him getting his ass kicked, or worse, have her get caught up in the fight.

  That was assuming they only wanted a fight. Maybe they intended to spill blood for blood.

  Jake kicked Alex in the chin. It wasn’t hard. He seemed more interested in provoking Alex than actually hurting him.

  Alex looked up. He said nothing as he met Jake’s dark, beady eyes.

  Ray kicked next, without holding back. His foot landed on Alex’s arm, hard, knocking his moleskin and pen to the court.

  “Get up, pussy!” Jake said.

  “I don’t want to fight,” Alex said, trying to blink the pain, while bracing for another blow.

  “Too bad,” Ray said. “You’re gonna pay for what your father did.”

  “He killed Eddie!” Jake said, swinging a balled fist at Alex’s ear.

  “Fuck!” Alex screamed, trying to rise to his feet.

  Ray kicked him in the right ribcage, sending Alex reeling back, and into the wall hard. Pain tore through his right shoulder as Ray and Jake blocked his escape.

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife, pushing a button which popped a blade from the black handle. The knife wasn’t large, though big and sharp enough to kill.

  Alex’s eyes darted between the thugs, weighing his options through th
e thin slivers of seconds. He didn’t want to fight, but the knife stripped him of the choice.

  Fighting might not be enough. Alex might have to kill.

  “Leave him alone!” a girl’s voice shouted, bouncing off the court walls – Katie.

  “Get outta here, bitch,” Jake said, turning to Katie. Ray turned toward her, too. This was Alex’s only chance.

  He ran at Jake, grabbing his right wrist with his left hand to keep him from using the knife, then Jake’s head with his right hand, shoving it backward into the concrete wall hard with a loud thud.

  Jake dropped the knife and slumped to the ground.

  Oh shit, I killed him!

  As Alex stared in shock at Jake’s motionless body, Ray grabbed him from behind and knocked Alex to the ground, falling on top of him with a fury of punches.

  Alex squirmed, trying to break free, putting his arms out in front of his face, as his arms were mercilessly battered.

  “Get off of him!” Katie screamed.

  As Katie ran toward them, fear coursed through Alex’s veins, terrified that Ray might turn and hurt her, or worse.

  But Ray never had a chance.

  Katie grabbed him from behind, lifted him from Alex, then threw him from where they were beside the left wall, all the way to the right one, where Ray slapped the wall and fell to the ground, screaming.

  Alex stared at Katie in disbelief.

  Did she just pick him up and throw him?

  That’s impossible!

  Katie grabbed Alex’s book and pen, dropped it in his backpack and tossed it to him.

  “Let’s go,” she said like some kind of military commando, quick, to the point, and ready for action.

  Alex stared at Jake, still motionless on the ground, then turned to Ray, who was starting to get up, in obvious agony.

  “Run!” Katie said, pulling Alex from his state.

  He ran, following her into the woods, wondering two things.

  Had he murdered Jake?

  And did Katie really do what he thought she did?

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 8 — Milo Anderson Part 1

  Milo sat in Economics, his final class of the day, hating life in general and himself specifically. Normally his last class was with Alex, but Alex’s seat was empty.

  It didn’t help that Milo was bored out of his mind, which he probably wouldn’t be if he could keep his mind on anything, and everything wasn’t a constant reminder of either Jessica, Manny, or Alex.

  Milo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked around the room, though he didn’t care nearly as much as he usually would whether or not he was caught or not.

  No, he wasn’t supposed to have his phone outside of his backpack, and yes, checking texts in class was grounds for detention, but Milo cared about whether or not he got a pink slip for detention approximately not at all.

  He palmed the cell from his pocket, turning his thumb on the outside so he could see the caller ID.

  The text from Jesus sent a hard lump into Milo’s soggy throat.

  “Manny is dead. Died in his sleep 15 minutes ago. Thought you should know.”

  Milo had to chew his bottom lip to keep from crying, and but his face was seconds from springing a leak anyway.

  Milo looked around the classroom at the mostly vacant faces, then up at Mrs. Mellakar, wondering if he should make an announcement to the rest of the students.

  Would his classmates want to know that Manny was dead? Or would that only add to their misery? They would all find out eventually, so did he have to be the bearer of bad news?

  What would Manny have wanted?

  Jesus must have had something else to say, because Milo’s cell started buzzing inside his pocket a second after he slipped it inside. Or maybe Jesus just wanted to make sure Milo had seen the first message since he hadn’t responded.

  It was easy enough to check a text, texting back might be pushing his luck.

  His cell went quiet, but buzzed again a few seconds later.

  Milo pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the new text that wasn’t from Jesus. It was from “Cody,” the weird guy he’d seen on the LiveLyfe message board. The text said: “Need to talk. Now.”

  Milo felt a horrible chill wondering how “Cody” had his number in the first place. Somehow, Milo felt his text had something to do with Manny.

  “I have to go to the bathroom, Mrs. Mellakar,” Milo said, raising his hand with one arm while clutching his stomach with the other, not bothering to wait to get called on.

  Milo wasn’t sure if it was the arm on the stomach, the look on his face, or the fact that his best friend’s dad gave two of the most important people in his life a matching set of bullets, but Mrs. Mellakar simply nodded.

  Milo slowly rose from his seat, then walked to the door and closed it behind him. Once in the hall, he tore off toward the bathroom, locked himself inside a stall, then waited for Cody to text or call. Two minutes later, Milo felt a chill through his body as the phone buzzed in his hand.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Cody,” the voice said. Definitely not a kid. Maybe in his 30’s, though it was hard to tell since he was obviously trying to disguise it. Milo said nothing.

  Cody said, “Manny is dead.”

  How did he know that?

  Curiosity had Milo swallowing his tongue. It took him a half minute to find it before he said, “Yeah, I heard. From his brother. How about you?”

  “I have my sources,” Cody said. Then, after a long pause: “They got him.”

  Cody said They like a four-letter word it wasn’t.

  “Who are they?”

  Cody ignored him. “Who else knows you saw Heller say something to Manny? Did you tell the police? Do they know you saw?”

  Milo nodded even though Cody couldn’t see him. “Yeah, but why does that matter? Are you saying they had Manny killed? Because “they” didn’t. Manny died naturally. His brother was there when it happened, and he’s the one who told me.”

  Jesus had actually texted Milo, not told him, and Milo had no idea if Jesus was actually in the room when Manny passed, but that didn’t change the truth. No one killed Manny, and whoever Cody was, he was probably just trying to scare him.

  “They have their ways,” Cody said.

  It wasn’t what Cody said, but how he said it that felt like a cool blade of ice slipping beneath the heat of Milo’s skin.

  Milo gulped.

  Cody said, “I didn’t think they’d strike now, in fact I was sure they wouldn’t. But they did, and that means they’re more worried about what Manny was going to say than I realized.” Cody paused, then dropped a ton of bricks on top of Milo.

  “That means you’re probably next.”

  “What?” Milo cried, curling his knees to his chest and pushing his back against the cold tile of the bathroom stall. “What do you mean?”

  “They might think you know more than you’re saying, Milo. You need to get out of town. Now.”

  “That’s crazy. You’re crazy. This whole thing is crazy. I can’t leave the island. I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  As though Milo hadn’t protested at all, Cody said, “I’ll be in touch later tonight. We’ll work this out.”

  Horror flashed through Milo’s mind.

  Mr. Heller paused, looking at Manny with hollow eyes, his expression drifting from nervous and glassy to haunted. He kneeled toward Manny, lying in a pool of blood and screamed, or whispered, hard to tell which through the chaos. He stood, then pointed his gun at the word “eleven,” raised his pistol, placed the gun in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

  Sudden terror turned his voice to a whisper. “How do I know I can trust you?” Milo asked.

  “You don’t,” Cody said. “But if you want to live, you don’t have a choice.”

  The line went dead.

  Milo sat on the top of the porcelain until he could calm his breathing into a steady beat. Then he lowered his feet to the tile, opened the stall, walked
to the mirror and stared.

  Milo looked worse than he had expected, and exactly like what he was: a hollow shell of the boy he had been a week and one lifetime before.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 9 — Brock Houser Part 3

  Houser was driving back to Whistler’s to check the woods surrounding his house while Jon and Cassidy hung out at the police station waiting to see if Whistler spilled his guts.

  If Brady had let Houser interrogate him as requested, guts would have been spilled already. But Brady was a stickler for “rules” and wanted to be sure that whatever happened at the station didn’t help the fucker avoid prosecution. Houser couldn’t complain too much. Brady did let him walk, which he didn’t have to do. Still, Houser would have loved to have had a few minutes alone with the sick fucker. At least he could’ve gotten a feel for whether Emma was still alive.

  Houser drove in silence, glancing down at Ted D. Bear, riding shotgun as always, and found his mind meandering down memory lane.

  No.

  Can’t think about her now.

  Need to keep my head in the game.

  As Houser neared Whistler’s house, his cell phone rang. Jon.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Can you meet us back where we met this morning? Vivian’s house?”

  “Yeah, why? What’s up?”

  “Cassidy remembered something. It’s weird, but it’s better than the nothing we’ve got.”

  “So Whistler didn’t talk?”

  “Not yet. He asked for a lawyer.”

  “Shit,” Houser said. “OK, see ya in a few.”

  **

  They met in front of Vivian’s house, where Jon was sitting in a white Toyota Avalon beside Cassidy.

  “Hop in,” Jon said. “We’re gonna take a ride.”

  “OK,” Houser said, then ran back to his car, grabbed his gear bag and Ted D. Bear, and hopped into the back seat of the car.