He gestured to the curb. "Why don't you come sit down. I want to talk to you."
Slowly he managed to get himself down on the curb without actually falling. I walked over warily and sat down. I didn't sit too close too him, though. This was too weird. Why in the hell would Ross want to talk to me?
For a moment, neither of us said anything. It was as if we were in awe of each other. It was like Bugs Bunny and Elmer Fudd sitting down to tea: It just wasn't natural.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Ross asked, his face staying calm. It didn't look as if he was going to try and do anything to me. "It was you who attacked me on the football field. Even if you say no, I know you did it."
There was no way in hell that I was going to admit that. "No, Ross. Not that I'm not capable of doing something like that, but it simply wasn't me."
Ross sighed and leaned back a little. "Oh well, it doesn't matter either way whether or not you admit it, Sexton. Everyone knows it was you." I started to slide over a little. "I don't care, Sexton. I don't care if it was you. I just want all this to be over. Ever since all this shit started to happen my life has been in hell. Everybody is looking at me differently."
He looked over at me weirdly, and I swear I noticed that he was tearing up a little. "I'm a joke in school, Sexton. I'm a fake. I'm tired of acting the part. I'm tired of playing Mr. Sports Hero."
"Ross, I don't—"
"Sexton, just listen to me," Ross cut me off with a swipe to his hand. "I want this to end. I want everything to go back to the way it was. You were my brother's pain in the ass friend and I was his older brother. I don't want to fight anymore. You win, Sexton. I'm a big joke now." He paused for a second and began playing with some rocks in the gutter. "You went too far, Harlan. Okay, so maybe I was being an asshole sometimes. I'm a goddamn cripple now, Harlan. The doctor says that I'll probably never play football again, not in any serious way. I'm a person too. Isn't that what made you go off at the pep rally? You felt that they weren't treating Alisa as a real person. Football was my life, it's all I ever wanted."
I swallowed heavily. This bastard was actually making me feel guilty. "I'm sorry, Ross. Maybe this situation did get out of hand a little."
Ross stood up, wincing. "Fuck off, Sexton! I don't want your goddamn apologies, or your sympathy! All I'm saying is that I want this to end before you go and do something else stupid." He started to limp down the sidewalk. "I'm a person too," he muttered as he went.
I wanted to shout out at him. What about Vlad! He was a person! Okay, so maybe I did see Ross as a sort of cartoon jock, but what in the hell did he see in Vlad but some pansy faggot? I watched him limp away, my mind a mix of confusion and awe. My, how things change. At the beginning of the year I was so afraid of him that I would nearly run at the sight of him, and now I was looking at his back thinking about how pathetic he seemed.
I took a deep breath and got up from the curb, absently brushing gravel from my pants. I picked up my backpack and continued walking to Suzanne's house. Part of me was relieved the little feud between me and Ross was over. Another part of me, a sadistic part, was pissed it was over. I was winning. Who likes to stop a fight just when they are winning? In a way, he got the last punch in by making me feel like a little piece of shit my next door neighbor's poodle drops in the grass.
Oh well, Dear Reader, I have a new war to raise anyway. Peterson was the serial killer, of that I was sure. I intended to prove it.
"Harlan, this is crazy!" Julian hissed from the bushes of Peterson's lawn.
We were dressed in black, becoming one with the darkness
"Shhhh!" I hissed back, putting the ski mask over my face. "I told you I wouldn't be mad if you stayed home."
"Oh sure," Julian whispered angrily as he pulled the ski mask over his face. "Like it's that easy. If I didn't come, I'd stay home all night being a nervous wreck over your stupid ass. The only reason you're not scared is because you're going to die anyway. What do you care if we get caught. We're not the fucking Hardy Boys, Harlan. And stop me if I'm wrong, but I don't see the Mystery Van anywhere around here."
I smiled under my mask. "Julian, could you, like, not bring up Scooby Doo while we're trying to solve murders here? Jesus Christ. You going to bring up seventies cop shows next? I'd rather have the speech impaired dog here than you—at least a Scooby snack would make him shut the fuck up."
"Ha fucking Ha, Harlan. You slay me with your razor sharp wit. You really think that sounded clever?"
I ignored him and crept up to the window. The drape was open a crack and I peered inside. The room was empty just like we expected. Peterson was coaching a Volleyball game tonight, making our job easy. We were going to sneak into the house, find some kind of proof I was right, and continue on our way.
And yes, Dear Reader, I'm quite aware of the idiocy of the situation.
The only answer that I have to accusations of stupidity is that on some level I'm enjoying myself. For some reason, I like to take risks. And what's more of a risk then entering the den of our town's serial killer?
I reached up and checked to see if the window was locked. It was. Shit.
We crept quietly to the next window. It opened easily. You see? That's the cool thing about living in a town like Rawley. People don't have to lock everything up yet in fear. Of course, we do have a serial killer in town, but then again, why would he need to lock his own window? He was the serial killer. Just another reason to prove I was probably right.
I looked over at Julian. "You can stay out here if you like. This should only take a minute."
Julian sighed. "No. I've already come this far. I may as well go inside with you."
I nodded and climbed through the window. The house smelled musky, like someone had neglected to take a shower for a long time. Everything looked normal. Plain furniture, bad art—your typical American household. A bright nightlight lit the room, making the small flashlights that we carried unnecessary.
A hallway led down to two closed doors. We walked quietly across the thick carpeting, both of us too nervous to breathe. I opened the door to the left and stepped inside. The room was completely dark, so I pulled out my flashlight and shined it around.
We were standing in a large library. High shelves lined the walls, each one overflowing with books. There were no windows, so I flipped the lights on.
I quickly looked over the shelves, but saw nothing suspicious. Classic literature and a bunch of math books.
Peterson wasn't married and lived by himself. I've never seen him with another person outside of school—and it's a pretty small town. Julian was looking around nervously, his eyes darting over the room as if he expected it to come alive.
"You know something, Julian," I said, smiling at him. "If this was a horror movie, a character like you usually dies."
Julian jumped cartoonishly. "Shut up, Harlan. Let's just look around and get the hell out of here. Fast."
I pulled out a copy of Truman Capote's IN COLD BLOOD and leafed through it. It was the only book that was even remotely violent.
I looked over at Julian, who looked like he was going to flee any minute. "I thought you said that you didn't think Peterson was the serial killer?" I asked, placing the book back on the desk. You're jumping around like a scared little school girl in pretty white shoes and lace socks."
"Um, excuse me, Harlan," Julian said, his face red. "There are people that live in reality, you know, instead of the fantasy world you dwell. They're called police officers, and you know what? They arrest guys just like us. Last time I checked, breaking and entering was a felony."
I flipped off the light and went back into the hallway. I opened the next door and stepped inside. At this point, I damn near jumped out of the nearest window.
A woman's body was on the bed.
"Oh my God," Julian hissed from behind me. "You were right. Let's go, now."
Then I noticed something weird. Well, actually it wasn't weird at all unless you consider breathing weird. The woman's ba
ck was to us. She was covered in blankets, which rose and fell with every breath.
We quickly backed out and left the house the same way we'd entered. "That was close," I said. "I guess Peterson has a girlfriend after all."
"I hope you see now you were being paranoid," Julian said, breathing a little easier now that our adventure was over. "I hope you're going to put your mind off this whole thing now. Your crime solving days are over, my friend."
I was disappointed—I had to admit it. I wanted so bad to be right. It would have been so cool to catch an actual serial killer. Then I got to feeling guilty. The whole thing was kind of shallow. Julian and I were treating it like some sort of game, joking and fantasizing about being local heroes. It certainly wasn't a game to Alisa. I was guilty of the same shit I had accused the school of doing. I had belittled her death by my actions.
The crazy thing was they found another body the next day. She was a senior at our school, a top basketball player. Her name was Janet Rowlands. The body was found once again at Lake Angel. They didn't even bother calling off school this time.
I guess they figured we were getting used to it.
Chapter 15:
Life goes on
I ran into my mom today. I was in the local convenience store getting a coffee when I heard her voice behind me.
"Hello, Harlan."
I turned around slowly, not quite up to an emotional run in. I looked quickly for signs of my father.
"He's in the car," she said, looking tired and guilty. "I won't tell him you're in here. Are you doing all right?"
I nodded and glanced towards the entrance. "Yeah, Mom. I am. He's not hitting you again is he?"
She shook her head, but I could tell by the way her eyes jumped guiltily to the floor that she was lying. "Mom, I love you," I said. "But I can't come home and live with him again. I can't."
She smiled then—it was an odd smile. The kind of smile you give to someone when you say goodbye and you know you won't see them again for a very long time. "I love you too, Harlan. I'm sorry."
I could see she was about to cry, but before any real tears could form she turned her back to me and walked up to the counter to pay for her food. I was about to head to the restroom and do a little crying myself when she spoke again. "Your father and I are going to be out of the house tonight if you want to come and get your clothes and stuff."
And that was it. I no longer had a house or even a family, albeit a dysfunctional one. It felt kind of weird at first, and then I sort of liked it. It felt good to be independent, to be entirely on my own. It hurt me deeply that my mom had given up so easily, but if I didn't think about it, then it went away, only throbbing a little, rather than full force pain.
The odd thing was I was smiling when I left the store. It was a weak one, but a smile nonetheless.
I often wonder just why in the hell I'm writing this little memoir. It's weird really, and I have to smile when I realize you are listening to a ghost.
As you read this, I'm dead, whoever you are.
Reading over it, I realize my life has been really eventful since September. New friends, serial killers, and a war with a psycho jock from hell. This damn journal has begun to mirror some teenage movie about individuality, which in a way makes me a bit queasy and is kinda cool at the same time. It would have some hip soundtrack, the latest hot group of the moment with some catchy, yet timely song. The lead would be a River Phoenix type, not overly handsome—yet charismatic. The only thing that's different is the bummer ending when our hero, me, kills himself.
Julian and I are supposed to go to the mall today to pick out some Christmas presents. One thing that's really odd when I think about it is the fact that I like Christmas. It's the only time of the year when people are really nice to each other. Shit, even my Dad was nice to me on December twenty-fifth.
One thing is I don't see Christmas in the same way the general public sees it. I don't believe in Jesus Christ. Rather I don't believe he was God's son. The whole idea is silly—especially pictures that make Jesus look like a blue eyed seventies rock star. He must have been the only guy in Jerusalem with light hair, blue eyes and white skin.
Yes, I could say that crass commercialism has ruined the spirit of the holiday, but that's not really how I feel. The whole virgin birth thing has never rested well with me either.
Religion has been a sore spot with me ever since I had a conversation with a local Catholic priest when I was about eleven (My Dad actually made me go to church, as sick as that sounds). Anyway, I asked the priest if man came first then what about the dinosaur bones? You know what that dumb bastard told me?
He said, "Harlan, God put them there to test your faith. They aren't real. They're kind of like models."
I just kind of looked at him, nodding my head like an idiot. Inside I was thinking, no goddamn way. Okay, so maybe I wasn't cursing, I mean I was only twelve years old and all, but I was still thinking no way.
Models! Fucking Models!
Right then, Religion and I began to travel separate roads. I never lost belief in God, just religion. Organized religion has always been really scary to me. Kind of like the Borg in Star Trek. It wants you assimilated into the collective. That priest would probably now say I've lost faith, but then I have to say, what is faith? Faith is the belief in something in which you have absolutely no evidence. I don't have that much faith. I wish I did.
When you really think about Christmas you realize just how ridiculous it is. Jesus Christ is born—let's all give each other presents! Easter is even worse. Jesus Christ is dead—let's all give each other candy and paint Easter eggs in pretty fucking colors! However, that's not why I like Christmas. I don't like it because of its religious significance, I like it because of the way I feel. I like the fact that people are giving each other the time of day for a change.
"What the hell you writing for?" Julian asked, startling me. "You writing about me?"
We were just pulling into the mall parking lot. This was going to be a real treat. I hate crowds.
"If you want to know the truth," I said, closing my journal. "I was writing about Christmas."
"Probably something negative, if I know you. Can't you enjoy anything without being so damn down and cynical all the time?"
I smiled as he parked Fat Ethel. "You know Julian, it's a well known fact that most suicides occur during the holidays."
He looked at me suspiciously. "And why do you bring that up? You're not thinking about—"
"No, I'm not thinking about killing myself. I was just stating a fact, that's all. The fact is that maybe I'm cynical, but thousands of people kill themselves every year when they become filled with the Christmas spirit."
"More like filled with too much Christmas alcohol."
He noticed I was studying his hair again. He had somehow let his father cut his hair and good 'ol Dad had messed it up majorly, giving him no choice but to shave his head to the skull. His ears stuck out in a funny way, giving him the appearance of a doe eyed elf.
"What in the hell you looking at?" Julian sputtered turning off the ignition. "I told you I'm sick of you making fun of my hair."
"I'm not making fun of your hair, Julian." I paused dramatically. "You don't have any hair to make fun of." I looked over at the parking lot where two teenage girls were walking. I pointed at them. "What are they saying?"
He looked at me suspiciously. "How the hell should I know." His eyes widened with realization. "Oh very funny, Harlan."
I laughed. "Yeah, I figured with ears that big you must pick up even radio signals and shit. You should be able to hear them easily."
Julian grimaced and got out of the car, trying his best to ignore my laughter.
"You know something?" I asked as we entered the crowded mall full of shoppers and tacky Christmas decorations. "I was thinking maybe we can go away on our spring break. Maybe head down to the shore or something. Me, you, Sam and Allison."
"I doubt my father will let me take Fat Ethel awa
y longer than a day."
A girl from school smiled at me and I waved. "We won't need Fat Ethel, we can use Sam's jeep. I doubt Fat Ethel would even make it that far. We're lucky we made it to the mall."
"In that case, I can definitely go. I usually get about five hundred dollars for Christmas. I'll save it this year, that way I'll have money."
A well-dressed woman was looking at us, not unlike the way that a shark looks at a swimmer. A cameraman was with her. Great, a reporter.
She started walking towards us. "Hi!" she said in a fake, super perky way. "I was wondering if you two will agree to answer some questions for us! We'll put you on the eleven o'clock news!"
"What about?" I asked, curious but suspicious. I had a pretty good idea.
"You two go to Rawley High, don't you?" We nodded in unison as the cameraman put his light into our faces. We both froze instantly like animals caught in a bright light. "Well, I'd like you to answer some questions on the murders at Rawley High. I realize that this is probably a pretty touchy subject for both of you. I'm curious at how you feel. I—"
"Fuck off, lady," I hissed and Julian looked over at me in stunned surprise. "How in the hell do you think we feel? I'm not going to be your sound bite for the night. Go bug someone else."
The woman blushed and then her eyes registered anger. "You little dick!" she screeched.
I smiled. "Oh, I'm glad you're so sensitive to us poor grieving teens. Go exploit someone else and piss off." I pulled Julian's arm and we turned and walked away.
"Aren't we feeling a little bit hostile today, Harlan?" Julian asked as we walked to the gift shop.
"You could have talked to her if you wanted," I said.
"You could have just said no. You didn't have to turn into psycho-boy on her. What if they put you on the news acting like that?"
I laughed. "Oh yeah, 'Fuck off, lady' will make a hell of a sound bite on the eleven o'clock news."
HARLAN Page 12
