One Tiny Secret

by Adam Kunz

  “That’s a really odd question, Dani. Does this have anything to do with those strange texts you claimed you were receiving?”

  I nod, yielding to the fact he’s not going to believe me.

  “Now, we’ve been over this already—”

  “I know. But I’m telling you the truth. Someone has been harassing me with texts, and I think the person killed Gunnar,” I reply, feeling good that I said it out loud. At least now it’s out in the open.

  “Stop it, Dani. Gunnar’s death was just an unfortunate accident. He fell from the rafters adjusting a silly banner. That’s it, end of story. And where’s your proof of these texts anyway?”

  “The person is deleting them from my phone before I have a chance to show anyone,” I huff.

  “Will you listen to yourself? Have you ever heard of that happening?”

  “No, but I hear there are apps for this kind of thing.”

  “An app? Really?” he asks. “Dani, I think you just need to get home, clean up, and relax. You’ve been through a lot tonight, and you’re probably just in shock.”

  “Will you quit with the whole ‘in shock’ shit, seriously!” I yell.

  My dad slams on his breaks.

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that, young lady,” he snaps, pointing a finger at me. His face is flushed and I can see the flames of anger brushing his cheeks.

  I sink back into my seat and cross my arms in front of my chest. I hear him release a growl as the car begins moving again.

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m really starting to worry about you,” he comments, seeming a little calmer.

  “That makes two of us.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The whole school is in shock over Gunnar’s sudden and tragic death. A somber cloud floats over everyone’s head while we walk through the halls. No surprise, though, since he was the “it” guy. He was loved and admired by most and had very few enemies. Actually, the first harsh words I ever heard him speak about anyone were the ones he said to me.

  I stare down at the new cover story for tomorrow’s paper. I can’t help but get misty-eyed looking at Gunnar’s smiling face in the picture his parents gave us for the story. The article focuses on his stellar academic and football career, ending with an announcement of a candlelight ceremony tomorrow night in his honor.

  It feels so weird writing about a dead person that I knew. Almost as weird as the article I still have to write up about Janice’s disappearance. I’ve put that one off for as long as I can. I can’t bear to look at her picture and not feel completely overwhelmed with guilt. It’s been hard enough seeing her missing persons flyers posted up all around town. Each one serves as a constant reminder of my stupid decisions. This is officially the one and only time I’ve ever not wanted to be the editor-in-chief of the school’s newspaper.

  My dad wasn’t too terribly excited that I had to stay late today to work on the changes. After the whole situation yesterday, he’s been cracking down even harder on me and what I do. We had another tense discussion after we got home last night. He almost had me convinced I never received any messages from an unknown person, and that I had made it all up in my head. I wanted to believe him so bad. Maybe that’s why I was close to being convinced. I would give anything to wake up from this and have it all be a bad dream.

  Thankfully, Parker’s not in the office. I think a little time away from him might do me some good. I have a lot going on in my head, and even though he’s the only one in my corner right now, my feelings about him are muddled at best. I had an epiphany while standing in the shower earlier. After my anger settled about the whole “Parker’s girlfriend” thing, I realized that he can’t help but make drama wherever he goes. It’s kind of his M.O. The last thing I need right now is more of that in my life.

  I look over at Mr. Whitman when I hear the clank of his glasses hitting the desk. He’s fallen asleep. I told him to go home and get some rest, but he insisted on staying late with me to help with the last-minute changes. He mentioned something about “if there’s work to be done, a captain should be around to help.”

  “Mr. Whitman?” I ask.

  He wakes up with a jerk of his head. I feel bad I startled him from his peaceful slumber, since it really looks like he needs it.

  “Sorry, must’ve dozed off,” he replies while massaging his temples. “I’ve slept horribly these past few nights. It’s this stupid sleep apnea machine my wife insists that I wear so I don’t stop breathing in the middle of the night. The thing’s so damn uncomfortable.”

  “I didn’t know you had sleep apnea.”

  “Yep, pretty much all my adult life. Bad genes, I guess,” he laughs.

  I walk over and place Gunnar’s picture and article on the desk in front of him because I can’t bear to stare at it anymore. “Well, it’s finished,” I say.

  “It’s a shame, what happened to that poor boy. Terrible, just terrible,” he say quietly to himself as he looks at the picture.

  “Yeah, a lot of terrible things have happened lately, huh?”

  “Well, you know what they say: When it rains, it pours.”

  I let out a sigh. “True.”

  “I’m going to head to the vending machines. Do you want anything? I need some sugar and caffeine, stat,” he jokes.

  “I’m good. Thanks, though,” I say before returning to my desk.

  He chuckles, but it sounds halfhearted. “Suit yourself.”

  A sudden chill courses through me and I shiver in the frosty, air-conditioned room. Reaching for the sweater draped around the back of my chair, I pull it on to keep the cold at bay.

  When I begin to suffer from eye strain after gazing at the computer for too long, I decide to get up and stretch my legs. The simple that fact I’m alone in the room hits me when I start to wander around. The feeling of paranoia sneaks into the back of my mind, and I begin to wish Mr. Whitman hadn’t stepped out to get a damn candy bar.

  Buzz…Buzz…

  My phone vibrates on the desk. It taps against the metal pen holder, making the sound more pronounced. Uneasiness fills me as I stare at the phone, not really wanting to check it. Growing up, all I ever wanted was a cell phone, but now I’m really regretting ever begging my parents for one.

  I slowly make my way around the desk while running my hand across the smooth, wood surface, contemplating picking up the phone. It vibrates again when I reach out to grab it. I see my hand trembling as I bring the phone in front of my face, experiencing a sense of dread I’ve never felt. Turning it on, I see two messages on my home screen and press the icon to reveal them. They’re both from Unknown.

  You have a choice to make, Dani…

  I can’t scroll down fast enough to get to the next part of the message:

  Save the teacher or the friend.

  I make a last-ditch effort to appeal to the person and send a message of my own:

  You don’t have to do this! No one else has to die!

  It only takes a few moments to get a short and blunt reply:

  Your move.

  Before I stuff the phone into my pocket, I get the bright idea to forward this whole conversation to my dad. Finally feeling like I’ve outsmarted Unknown, I head for the office door, but I’m not even sure where I’m going. I assume the person is talking about Mr. Whitman, but who’s the friend?

  “Holy shit. Rory told me he was swimming laps tonight.” A rush of anxiety slams into me as I pull open the door.

  Mr. Whitman is standing on the other side of it, taking a bite out of his peanut butter Twix bar. “Want the other half?” he asks.

  I breathe a quick sigh of relief that he’s okay.

  “Not right now. I need you to go into the office and lock the door behind you.” He tries to ask me why, but I cut him off. “Please just listen to me. I’ll be right back,” I say, moving him into the room.

  Before he has another chance to argue, I shut the door and wait for him to lock it. Once he does, I take off down the hall toward the po
ol.

  My phone pings as I go to pull open the double doors that lead into the pool. I draw out my cell and see a response from my dad:

  Did you mean to send me a text of all gibberish? It’s nothing but symbols and numbers.

  I groan when I find the entire conversation with Unknown gone from my phone so I can’t try to re-forward it.

  “Damn this fucking app!”

  I shove my cell back into my pocket in frustration before I continue to rush into the pool area. I’m hit by the over-chlorinated air the instant I enter. I gag a little and bring my hand up to cover my nose and mouth, trying to limit the amount of chlorine entering my lungs. I scan the area, looking for any sign of Rory, but I don’t see him. Panic sets in even more as I run around the pool’s edge, keeping my eyes on the water for anything.

  A shape floating a fair distance from me catches my eye. My mind goes to a dark place when I make out the form in the water.

  “Rory!” I shout out, hoping the form isn’t his body floating in the water. I slip and fall to my knees, but don’t care as I make a quick recovery and keep pushing forward, trying to make it to the shape. “Rory!” I cry out again, praying that he’ll pop out from one of the doors surrounding the pool with a smile on his face, completely safe from harm.

  The figure is a person, and without even giving it a second thought, I leap into the pool and begin swimming as fast as I can. My only drive is to get to the person in the water. I reach out the moment I’m within grabbing distance and flip the individual over to see my worst fear come true—it’s Rory.

  “Rory, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay,” I yell, dragging him toward the side of the pool. I prop him up on the ladder and climb out, never taking my hands off him. “I’ve got you, Rory,” I repeat, and imagine him answering me. I desperately want him to answer me, but he doesn’t. He just floats there, interlocked with the ladder, bobbing up and down in the water.

  Somewhere I find the strength to pull him up the ladder and lay him down on the ground. As I begin to administer CPR, I thank my dad for encouraging me to get certified through his department.

  Every chest compression and breath feels like it does nothing, and I start to lose hope.

  “I won’t give up on you, Rory,” I say before administering another breath.

  I press on his chest again, a little harder and quicker than before. No matter how futile it seems, I keep going. Tears stream down my face as memories of Rory and me flow through my head. I give him another breath and begin chest compressions once more. His pale blue-tinted skin causes doubt to rise up in my mind, but I keep at it.

  “Come on, Rory. Don’t give up on me.” I close my eyes as the tears overwhelm them. “Dammit, come on!”

  The sound of light coughing makes me whip my head over to look at Rory’s face. I let out a relieved and teary laugh when I see him spitting up water in between coughs. I can’t even form words, so I just take him in my arms and squeeze tightly. For a split second, I feel like I’ve beaten this psycho asshole. Unknown didn’t get what he or she wanted.

  “Oh my God—you’re okay!” I exclaim, not letting him go.

  “What happened?” he asks wearily against my shoulder. He clearly doesn’t have any recollection of what the person did to him.

  “I don’t know what happened. I just found you floating in the pool. I was going to ask you the same question,” I say, cracking a smile.

  “I don’t…remember,” he replies between coughs. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I manage through the tears.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” someone asks from across the pool. Glancing over, I see the swim coach standing there.

  “Where the hell were you? Rory almost drowned,” I answer.

  “I was in my office—”

  “I don’t really give a shit where you were. Call an ambulance!” I notice the surprise on his face at how I’m responding, but I don’t care if I get in trouble. My friend’s safety is more important than some stupid after-school detention.

  He leaves without arguing. I sit and rock Rory, murmuring nonsense as I wait for help to arrive.

  “I just phoned them. They’re on their way,” the coach calls out to me as he comes back into the pool area.

  “Good. I need you to stay with him until they get here, okay? I have to go check on someone,” I say. The coach nods his head.

  I brush Rory’s wet hair. “You’re going to be all right.” He grabs my hand tightly as I move to stand up.

  “I love you, Dani.”

  “I love you too, Rory.”

  A fatigued smile shows on his face as the coach takes a knee by his side.

  “You know I’m giving you detention for what you said, right?” the coach comments, handing me a towel to use to dry off.

  “Do you really think I give a shit? Just do your job,” I reply while wiping my face. I hear Rory laugh, which only results in making him cough again.

  “Make that two,” the coach states with exasperation this time. I ignore him and toss the towel back in his face before heading toward the exit.

  I realize night has fallen as I emerge back outside the pool. My damp clothes and hair make the cool temperature feel that much more severe. I shiver, scanning the quiet and desolate school grounds. There’s no sign of activity. All I can hear is the low howling sound of wind as it sweeps past me.

  A few overhead lights leading up to the main building are dark. For a brief moment, I wonder if the unknown person is waiting for me in the darkness, or even in the next building. Then the thought of Mr. Whitman being in danger snaps me out of my fear and I begin moving toward the double doors at the end of the walkway. I can’t shake the thought of what this person did to Rory. The anger building up inside me gives me a sense of fortitude, and I take it out on the doors as I rip them open before heading into the next building.

  As I hurry through the halls toward the newspaper office, I hear nothing but the squeak of my wet shoes on the slick tile floor. Reaching the office, I notice the door’s cracked open. The worst-case scenario begins playing out in my head as I approach it. The light inside is still on when I peek through the door’s little glass window, but I don’t see Mr. Whitman at his desk. My heart thumps loudly in my ears as I think about all the horror movie clichés I’m fitting into right now. But this isn’t a movie—it’s real life.

  Wrenching open the door, I find the room completely empty.

  Buzz…Buzz…

  That’s the last sound I want to hear. Pulling out my phone, I see it’s completely drenched and I’m surprised it’s still working. A new message appears on the home screen from Unknown:

  Good choice…

  I stumble over to Mr. Whitman’s desk, propping myself up and thinking the worst has happened. My emotions overwhelm me, causing me to feel numb all over. Sitting there slouched over, I stare down at the message until my phone’s screen goes to sleep.

  “Fuck you,” I murmur with absolute disdain.

  “There you are,” I hear Mr. Whitman say. I raise my head to look at the door with the largest smile on my face. “Why were you so hysterical earli—”

  I hug him senseless before he can finish his sentence. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  “What do you mean? Of course I’m okay. Are you?” he asks, sounding baffled.

  “Much better now,” I say, pulling back to see him again, just to make sure I’m not imagining all of this.

  Mr. Whitman grabs my shoulders and puts some space between us. “Why are you soaking wet?”

  I study his shirt and realize I’ve left it pretty damp. “Long story,” I reply.

  “Uh-huh, whatever you say,” he states with another questioning look. “I think you might need to get some rest, young lady. You’ve been through a lot lately, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it’s starting to get to you.”

  “I think you may be right,” I say with a tired laugh.

  “And don’t worry about tomorrow’s is
sue. I finished up what we had left to do and got it ready for print in the morning. That’s actually where I just was,” he explains, grabbing my messenger bag from in front of my desk and handing it to me.

  “Sorry I bailed on you.”

  “No, you didn’t. We were working on this together. It was a team effort, and you definitely pulled your weight,” he says, placing a hand on my arm. “Now, I think you should head on home and get a good night’s rest. Hopefully you don’t catch pneumonia.”

  I nod. “Hey, do you think you could walk me to my car?”

  “Of course,” he replies. “I’m heading out too.”

  The entire time I’m talking with Mr. Whitman, I can’t help but wonder how Rory’s doing. No one in my life is safe, and it’s taking every fiber in my body right now not to fall to pieces. But if I do that, then Unknown wins.

  Just as we’re about to step outside, I hear the blaring siren of an ambulance. My mind is put somewhat at ease when I see it speeding away from the school down the road toward the hospital. That will be my next destination, no matter what my dad says. I need to make sure Rory’s all right. There’s also a chance he might remember something that will help me get to the bottom of all this.

  “I never enjoy seeing ambulances with their lights and siren going,” Mr. Whitman states somberly.

  “Yeah, me neither. It always makes me wonder what’s going on inside,” I reply, not taking my eyes off the vehicle.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Mr. Whitman asks when we reach his car first.

  “Yeah. Just a little preoccupied at the moment, I guess.”

  “Are you going to be all right going home? You seem a little bit more than just preoccupied.”

  I smile halfheartedly. “I’ll be fine, no worries.”

  What’s another lie in the grand scheme of things, right?

  Chapter Twenty

  The drive to school the next day seems like it takes forever. I’ve driven this way so many times, but never has it seemed this long before. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I can’t stop thinking about how fragile my life has become, and it’s all thanks to one individual. At any moment, things could come crashing down around me, more than they already have. Trying to muster the courage and strength to prepare for that is beyond exhausting. It doesn’t help that the one person who can do something about it won’t because he doesn’t believe me and thinks I’m making all of this up to get attention. My dad actually asked me again if I was doing this in retaliation for Mom leaving. Seriously?