Circle of Silence

by Carol M. Tanzman

“I’ll be right back.”

  The kitchen is separated from the living room by a half wall. I run the tap, fill a glass and glance back to see Jagger’s mom and Raul talking quietly. Taking advantage of her distraction, I step into Jagger’s room. Perhaps Mrs. Voorham forgot she put the backpack in there.

  Standing in the bedroom is impossibly hard. Jags actually made his bed because we were supposed to meet here to transfer the footage to his laptop. Swallowing hard, I glance around the room. No backpack. That means the cops have it. A huge obstacle. It’ll be harder for Raul and me to convince them to give it to us than it would be Jagger’s mom.

  She takes the glass with a soft “Thank you.”

  Raul stands. “We’ll visit him later today. You should try to get some sleep, Mrs. Voorham.”

  She hesitates, not quite able to let us go. “The kids have been great. So many of Jagger’s friends stopped by the hospital. I don’t recognize half of them.”

  “He’s kind of popular. Really, if you ever want company, or you need something, please call me. I live close.” I scribble my phone number on a piece of paper and place it on the coffee table. As I move to give her a goodbye hug, I notice Raul staring at the half-open coat closet. I follow his eyes. There, on the floor, is exactly what we’ve been looking for.

  “You did get Jagger’s backpack!” I say. “It’s in the closet. Would you mind if I look through it? Jagger, um, borrowed something I need.”

  “Oh.” She rubs her eyes. “I can’t remember. Everything’s so confusing….”

  The backpack lies on its side. I check the pocket. The book is exactly where I hoped it would be.

  29

  We’re on the way to my house when my cell buzzes. I look at the readout. “Omigod!”

  “What?” Raul asks.

  “It’s Emily!”

  “Emily who?”

  I hold up my hand to silence him, take a breath and accept the call. “Hello.”

  “Emily Purdue speaking. You left a message.”

  “Hi, um, Ms. Purdue.” Raul’s eyes widen. He leans in to listen. “This is Valerie. Valerie Gaines. Thanks so much for calling me back.”

  On the phone, her voice has a higher pitch than when she’s on camera. More impatient. “You said it was ‘extremely important.’”

  “Yes. It’s about a story you reported. You got it wrong.” As succinctly as I can, I start to explain what happened at the warehouse. She cuts me off before I get very far.

  “Listen, sweetie, that’s old news. If the kid in the hospital dies, okay, let me know. Maybe I’ll follow up. Not promising.”

  Without another word, she hangs up.

  Raul whistles. “That’s cold, Val. Sorry. I know you like her.”

  The last bit of the world that I trusted, the part desperately clinging to the belief that reporters want to get a story right, crumbles before my eyes.

  “Do you think she realized what she said? How…awful that was?”

  Raul sighs bleakly. The disaster that’s become our lives is wearing him down, too.

  “I don’t know.” He shifts Jagger’s backpack, hooked over his own, higher on his shoulder. “Let’s see if there’s anything on the camera. The only way anyone will take us seriously is if we have proof of what went down.”

  We walk the rest of the way to my house in silence. After unlocking the door, I push Raul ahead of me.

  “You sure this is okay?” he asks.

  “No one’s home, but the neighbors are nosy.”

  Once we’re inside, I open Jagger’s book and pull out the camera that’s been securely taped into a well of cut pages. Nothing happens when I press Play.

  “Dead battery,” Raul observes. “That’s good. It means Jagger had it running at some point.”

  “Computer’s upstairs.” I gallop up the steps, then pull to a dead stop. “Wait here. I share with my sister.”

  I pop in to check for stuff like random underwear thrown onto the floor, which would be totally embarrassing. I’m lucky. Bethany has finally taken to dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper. Although both beds are unmade, there’s nothing especially cringe-worthy lying around.

  “Okay. Come in.”

  “This isn’t so bad,” Raul tells me. “You should see my room.”

  I plug the camera directly into the computer. It takes a moment to power up. A couple of mouse clicks later, the transfer starts.

  “Not sure how long it’ll take. There’s ninety minutes of memory.” I peer at Raul. “You can take off your coat, you know.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Do you want something to drink? We have everything. Soda, milk, juice…”

  “Juice is good,” Raul says.

  Breakfast dishes, milky glasses and crumpled napkins are all over the kitchen table. The garbage can overflows.

  Raul quietly checks it out. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “Three, but the boys are twins.” I open the fridge. “Apple or orange?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  I pull two glasses from the cabinet and rinse them in case there’s crud inside. Raul says, “I can clear the table if you want.”

  “Are you kidding? That’ll totally make my mom suspicious.” I hand him a glass of cider. “Or give her a heart attack.”

  “Wouldn’t want either to happen.” Raul gulps half the cider, and then stares at the glass.

  “Is there dirt inside? I’m so sorry, the dishwasher’s really old.” I reach out. “I’ll get you another glass.”

  “It’s fine.”

  I lean forward. “Then it’s Hailey that’s bothering you, right? Wasn’t it a little strange the way she wanted to know the exact day Jagger got hurt? And the question about the footage. What if we’re right, after all, and it is someone on A Team but not her? Scott lied about Omar’s wall when he shot the fire piece.” Raul gives me a look. “He told me he asked Omar about the new paint, but he didn’t.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Oh. Then what…”

  Raul gestures toward the glass. “I was thinking about Jagger’s mom. When you got the water. You seem to know the apartment pretty well.”

  “Yeah. Well, I mean, it’s not a secret that Jags and I went out at the end of tenth grade.”

  “But you broke up.” He waits for me to nod before continuing. “That’s why I thought it would be okay to ask you to Winter Formal. And the reason you said yes.”

  “Raul—”

  “Because after Jagger wakes up, and after all he did to get the story, maybe you’d rather go to the dance with him.”

  At last! The time to confess. But the thought of seeing one more person hurt right now is too much for me. In the room directly above us, a camera transfers the footage that will show how Jagger slipped into a coma. A coma he may never come out of.

  Across from me is a guy who’s working as hard as he can to uncover the truth. For Jagger. If you asked which he’d rather have—Jagger waking up perfectly fine and losing me or the other way around—Raul would certainly choose Jagger. He’s liked Jags from the moment they did the skateboarding piece. Yes, I complicate things, but the fact doesn’t change. Raul is as upset by what happened as the rest of us.

  How can I knowingly wound a guy like that?

  “Will any of us feel like going to the dance if Jagger’s still in the hospital?” I ask quietly. “I know I won’t….”

  Raul’s hot cocoa eyes
widen. “God, Val, you’re right. I just assumed he’d be better by then…. Jesus, I’m a jerk.”

  I lean across the table. “You’re not. I’ve hardly ever seen you be less than the most considerate person imaginable. Everyone knows you care. About a lot of stuff. Your family. Campus News. Jagger. What we need to do right now is find out who did that awful thing to him—and then pray he wakes up. Nothing else matters.”

  He nods—because the truth is, Raul may be the nicest person ever.

  Climbing back up the stairs feels different. As if we’ve reached another level in our relationship. Real friendship? The comfort of people who want the same thing? Whatever it is, neither of us feels the need to talk about it.

  By the time we get to my room, the footage has transferred. Instantly, we’re all business. I pull Bethie’s desk chair next to mine. Raul reaches for the keyboard.

  “Ready?”

  “Do it.”

  At last we find out who’s in MP! The idiots who left Jagger with the rope around his neck. My heart ticks fast as the image on the screen moves. It’s shaky. We can see the street in late-afternoon light. I catch a glimpse of a jean jacket on the person walking next to Jagger. Just like the one I wear—along with half the kids at WiHi.

  Jagger’s voice is loud. “Why aren’t we going to the flagpole?”

  “Change of plans,” a girl replies.

  Her voice is clear, although I don’t recognize it. Raul shakes his head. He doesn’t know who she is, either.

  “Where are we going?” Jagger manages to sound annoyed, not worried because he knows I’m waiting.

  “You’ll see when we get there.”

  After some jostling, the footage abruptly cuts off.

  “Damn,” Raul says. “You think she found the camera?”

  “My guess is Jagger shut it down because he didn’t know how long it would take to get to the next place. Didn’t want to run out of memory.” I point to a second thumbnail image on the computer screen. “The camera saves each start-up as a different file.”

  “Got it.” Raul clicks the mouse, and the second section begins. Same girl’s voice. “In here.”

  “That’s the warehouse,” Raul mutters. “I recognize the walls. That tiny camera’s pretty good, Val.”

  “Except we aren’t getting her face.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s early. I’m sure—”

  “Shit!”

  “What?” Raul looks startled.

  My stomach drops. “We’re not going to get picture. It was pitch-black inside.”

  “Oh, man,” he moans.

  Even a tiny camera needs light.

  On-screen, the back door swings open. Jagger and the girl step inside. Just as I predicted, the computer screen goes dark. In an eerie echo, both Jagger on the computer, and Raul next to me, swear.

  All we get is sound.

  “Lights?” Jagger lightens his voice. “I’m afraid of the dark.”

  “No electricity. But we have a flashlight.” She raises her voice. “It’s Ghost Face. Shine the light this way.”

  It doesn’t help. The camera needs way more illumination than a single flashlight to capture images. Footsteps shuffle. It sounds like several people are moving into position.

  On-screen, someone says, “Let’s begin.” The chant bounces off empty walls, echoing eerily.

  “Blood of the untamed

  Runs through our veins,

  Power that forms

  Cannot be contained.

  Cold winds will rise

  Increasing the pain

  Yet our circle of silence shall always remain….”

  I blink. “What the—”

  “It’s some kind of oath,” Raul mutters. “Or warning. Keep quiet or else!”

  To me, it sounds like a curse. The hair on my arms goes electric. The creepiness pouring from the screen is almost too much to bear.

  The chant ends. Eagerly, a boy asks, “Ready, dude? Skeletor found a good box. Look how we set it up.”

  I imagine the flashlight shining first on the box—and then the ceiling.

  “What the hell?” Jagger’s first glimpse of rope, looped over the pipe, finally makes him sound nervous. “What’s going on?”

  Run, Jags! Get out. Now!

  “It’s for the initiation,” Ghost Face says.

  No one snickers duh. Instead, a titter of excitement makes its way around the group.

  “This is sick,” Raul mutters.

  “Not so fast.” A new person. A guy. “He needs to sign.”

  “Skeletor?” Now Jagger’s pissed. “No one told me I had to sign anything.”

  “Yeah, well, new rule.” A paper rustles. “It says you’re doing this of your own free will. No one’s making you.”

  “What exactly am I doing? All I see is a rope thrown over a pipe in the ceiling. And a box underneath it. And, like, five of you standing in a circle.”

  “He’s narrating,” Raul breathes. “Jagger knows the camera isn’t picking up picture.”

  The first guy speaks again. Totally amped. “It’s Pass Out. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

  Ghost Face pipes up. “I’ve got a pen.”

  Don’t take it! Get out of there—

  “Let me read it first. Hand me the flash.”

  My hand grips the desk. Beside me, Raul barely breathes.

  Jagger laughs. “Whose father’s a lawyer?”

  The group shifts, but no one answers.

  “If you don’t sign, you can’t be in MP,” Skeletor states.

  “Why doesn’t he leave?” Raul grabs my arm. “He must know who they are by now.”

  I shake my head. “Jagger told me they wore masks the first time. Probably have them on again. Maybe there’s some stupid ceremony where they take them off after the initiation’s over.”

  “Give me the pen,” Jagger mutters.

  “Sign at the bottom.” Skeletor’s cocky, not at all surprised by Jagger’s surrender. He knew Jags would give in, just like he knew he’d show up for the initiation. In some primeval recess of my brain, the one that got created when cavemen discovered poisonous snakes, a message throbs: watch out for this guy. He’s vicious. But Jagger’s not getting the same message. Or if he is, he thinks he can handle it.

  “How’s it work?” he asks, in full reporter mode. “Tell me everything.”

  A third boy takes over. He’s the one who either did the research or played before. “First, you step on the box. Then you go up on your toes with the rope around your neck and let yourself hang. The rush comes in just a few minutes.”

  “Why’s it called Pass Out?” Jagger asks.

  “Because you might pass out. Not everyone does. That’s why the box is there. So you can get down.”

  Raul notices my head shaking. “Val? What is it?”

  “The box was on its side when I showed up. There’s no way he could reach it.”

  Raul clenches his teeth. “Which means Jagger either kicked it when he tried to get down or someone knocked it over.”

  For the next few minutes, we listen to a plan designed by a devil. The members of MP get Jagger up on the box, bring one end of the rope over to the wall, tie it to the radiator and make sure it’ll hold. Beside me, Raul looks like he wants to punch the screen. I grip the arms of the chair, steeling myself for the final descent into hell.

  At last, they’re ready. It’s hard to tell by sound alone if Jagger puts the rope around
his neck himself or if someone helps. Then…nothing. The entire group seems to have stopped breathing. The eerie silence goes on—and on. Finally, there’s a shout: “He did it. He passed out.”

  A new voice speaks up, someone we haven’t heard before. This person must be in the back, because it’s hard to hear. I think the words are “It’s done. Can we…down—”

  Crash!

  Raul glances at me. My mouth is so dry, I can only nod. That’s me falling into a piece of equipment.

  “Uh-oh.” It’s Ghost Face. “Somebody’s here.”

  Skeletor yells, “Evacuate. Now!”

  Instantly, we hear the sound of retreating feet and a bang when the box falls. The next voice we hear, just a few minutes later, is mine. Calling Jagger’s name. Full of fear—yet not even close to understanding the horror that’s to come.

  I would do anything to hit Pause and then Delete, Delete, Delete. If only I could make what happened vanish with a click of the mouse.

  * * *

  The camera’s memory runs out sometime during the ambulance ride. When it’s over, Raul paces. I stare at the screen. “I can’t believe I let him go through with it—”

  “He was going to do it no matter what you said, Val. All you did was try to help.”

  “A lot of good that did,” I mutter.

  He waves my self-pity aside. “Focus, Valerie. Did you recognize any of the voices?”

  I shake my head. “It was hard to hear everyone clearly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Jagger said there were five people. Four did most of the talking. But there was someone who hardly said anything until the end.” I find the spot on the computer, play it back. It’s the low, whispered voice. “Sounds like ‘It’s done. Can we get him down?’”

  Raul stops pacing about and sits on my bed. “That could be their weak link.”

  I move to him. “Meaning…?”

  “Since he didn’t say a word until that point, it could be someone who wasn’t into this particular initiation.”

  “Why didn’t he do something to stop it?” I ask.