by Adam Kunz
To say the least, breakfast (if you could call what I had “breakfast”) this morning was a quiet affair, with both of us trying to start sentences, but then letting them trail off. I don’t even know what to say to him anymore, which is sad because we used to talk all the time.
The only high point last night was seeing Rory at the hospital. He was still shaken up by the whole thing, but that was understandable. So was I. I fought with myself to tell him what really happened, but even I didn’t truly know. Sure, I could’ve told him about the unknown stalker, but if that was to get out, who knows what else this sicko would do to the ones I love?
The even suckier part was that Rory still didn’t have any recollection of what happened. He said that he felt drugged after I rescued him, but thought it was because he almost drowned. It wasn’t until the feeling still lingered well after he was at the hospital that he began to question it.
After he told me this, I made the connection to when I woke up the morning after the party in Parker’s dorm after passing out. I asked Rory if the hospital did any kind of test on him to see if there was a drug in his system. Apparently, there wasn’t any trace of one. The only conclusion I could come to was that we were both drugged by the same person—Unknown.
Pulling into the senior parking lot, I’m surprised to see how empty it is. I know I’m a little early, but that’s only because I couldn’t stand being stuck at home amongst the awkward silence any longer.
The overcast sky and dark, ominous clouds hovering overhead seem fitting for a day like this. As I plod toward the school building, the sound of flyers flapping in the wind surrounds me, creating a twisted melody to my ears. There seems to be at least thirty flyers per lamppost now, with more being added every day. The flyers don’t end there, though. They’re on every bulletin board, on the walls in every hallway, in every classroom…it feels like all of them stare at me, judging me for a false crime. I can almost hear Hattie cursing my name as she hung every one of them.
There are a few stragglers peppered throughout the hall as I walk to Mr. Whitman’s office. Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it. A gut feeling nags me.
Mr. Whitman’s door is closed. When I reach for the handle to turn it, it’s locked. He’s usually here early. This doesn’t make any sense. Then it occurs to me that I didn’t see his car in the teacher’s lot when I walked in. I hope everything’s okay, especially after what happened yesterday.
Leaning up against the wall next to his office door, I slide down it to sit on the ground. I fiddle with the clasp on my messenger bag. Worry starts to set in as the minutes tick by and he still doesn’t show.
The halls are now bustling with activity and there’s still no sign of Mr. Whitman. After the tardy bell rings, I decide to head to the front office to see if he’s called in. The receptionist’s desk is just down the hall and around the corner from the office, but unfortunately there’s a line. Feeling impatient, I slyly lean over the desk to get the receptionist’s attention.
“Excuse me, do you know if Mr. Whitman has called in today?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s a line of people in front of you,” she replies.
“I know, but I have independent study with him right now and he isn’t here. So, could you please check to see if he called in? I don’t want to keep waiting there if he isn’t going to show.”
She sends me a quick glare before sifting through a few papers on the desk in front of her.
Seeming to find what she was looking for, she says, “Yes, Mr. Whitman did call in today due to illness. Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asks, with an eyebrow turned up.
“No, that’s it. Thanks.”
I don’t really know how I should feel right now. On the one hand, he called in, but on the other hand, did he actually call in? The thought of this being a part of Unknown’s sick plan creeps into my mind and fills me with unease. I wish I had Mr. Whitman’s cell number on hand so I could check up on him.
Rounding the corner to head back toward Mr. Whitman’s office, I see Parker standing in front of his door. Great, he’s like the last person I want to see right now. When he turns to me, a slight smile shows on his face. It kind of infuriates me how cool, calm, and collected guys can be sometimes, even after you’ve caught them in a lie—and a serious one at that.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too,” he replies with a laugh.
I don’t respond. I just give him a look of “Well?”
“Mr. Whitman sent me an email. He wanted me to fill in for him today.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling like I may have made more out of this situation than I really needed to.
“I’m sorry for not telling you about my—”
“Stop,” I interrupt.
“Wow, so it’s going to be like that, huh? I guess this is why you haven’t returned any of my calls or texts.”
“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” I state, avoiding a direct answer.
“You’re not the only one,” he replies, looking intently in my direction, but then his eyes soften.
“I’m not getting into this with you right now, okay? There’s so much going on, and the last thing I want is to bring some superficial high school relationship crap into it,” I mutter, wanting this conversation to just wither and die.
“Is that seriously how you see us? I really hope not, because I sure as hell don’t feel that way.”
I don’t know how to reply. I don’t actually think our relationship is superficial, but it’s kind of hard to express anything else right now. Especially after finding out he’s had an effing girlfriend this whole time.
I hear him laugh to himself. “I guess I got my answer.”
“I guess so.”
“Dani, we’re going to have to talk about this sooner or later,” he presses, moving closer to me.
“I’d prefer later. Much, much later. After what happened last night, I can’t deal with us too,” I respond, taking a step back.
“What happened last night?” he asks, taking a step forward while trying to get me to look at him.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean, ‘don’t worry about it?’ What happened? You can trust me.” He attempts to touch my arm.
I pull away. “Oh, really? I can trust you? That’s frickin’ hilarious, Parker. My sides hurt from laughing so much,” I say, shaking my head at him.
“Don’t be like that. You know I’ve been there for you this whole time—”
“Except when you were with your girlfriend,” I snap, interrupting him again. I’m desperate for this conversation to be over.
He goes silent for a moment and just stares at me. I can see that he’s thinking of a rebuttal, but I’m not sure he has one.
Finally, he says, “I fucked up, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I saw you at that silly Halloween party and all the feelings I had for you came back. Yes, I had a girlfriend—”
“Had?”
“Yeah, had. We broke up when I told her about you and me.”
“As she should’ve,” I reply.
“Okay, I deserve that. But I also think I deserve some trust from you. I think I’ve proven myself lately, sans the girlfriend thing. I don’t want you to go through this alone, Dani.”
I want to believe him so much, but it’s hard. Why does he have to be the only one who knows the truth? Oh yeah, that’s right…because I was the one that freakin’ told him.
I take in a deep breath before my words come spilling out. “We can’t talk here. I don’t want to risk it.”
“Risk what, exactly?”
“Certain people hearing. I have no idea who Unknown is, and for all I know, he or she could go to this school. So, if you’ll please just put this off ‘til later, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Later then?” he asks.
“Sure, whatever. Just drop it for now, please?”
“Well, I guess I better track someone
down who has keys to the newspaper office.”
“Probably,” is all I mutter, causing him to look at me and proceed to move past me. I turn to watch him walk away.
Parker waves his hand, but never looks back. “I look forward to our chat.”
I wish I would’ve just gotten everything off my chest right then and there. I’m so effing stubborn sometimes. Not to mention, I have a key to the newspaper room in my bag.
As the bell’s ring echoes throughout the hall, ending first period, I acknowledge that sooner or later my talk with Parker is going to happen. I’m just not sure if I’ll be ready for it when it does.
Chapter Twenty One
Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…Buzz.
That’s all I’ve heard today at work. My dad has been blowing up my phone for the past couple of hours, and all I’m trying to do is occupy my mind with a book while we’re having a slow day. He’s left, like, four voicemails, but I don’t care. I need my me time. He’s probably just making sure I’m coming home right after we close. It’s annoying to say the least, especially since I’m at work. I’m surprised he hasn’t called the front desk to get to me.
“Dani, phone’s for you. It’s your father,” Joan calls out into the aisles.
Spoke too soon.
“Tell him I’ll call him on my break,” I reply.
“He said it’s urgent.”
Pulling my nose out from the book I’m reading, I roll my eyes and groan. “He’s so incorrigible sometimes,” I murmur while standing up.
I pick up the phone and place it to my ear. “Hello, Dad.”
“Why haven’t you answered your phone or returned any of my calls?” he asks, but doesn’t sound mad at all. Actually, he sounds more sad than anything.
“I’m kind of at work right now. I was planning on calling you back during my break,” I lie, but I think it sounded convincing. “Well, what’s up? I’ve got to get back to stocking the shelves, and I’m getting the eye from Joan.”
“So you haven’t listened to any of my messages, either?” he asks, sounding even more somber than before.
“Like I said, I’m at work. I haven’t really had the time to check. Why, what’s wrong?”
I hear his deep sigh come through the phone and suddenly fear the worst. A number of things run through my mind and I hope not one of them comes out of his mouth.
“I have some bad news.” He leaves me hanging on his words when he pauses. His hesitation is killing me, and I’m not sure I even want to hear what he has to say next.
“What is it, Dad?”
“It’s your teacher—Mr. Whitman. I’m so sorry, Dani, but he’s dead.”
“Wait, what? He’s dead?” I hope I didn’t hear him right.
“Yes.”
Pain surges through my chest as I stand there trying to comprehend that simple answer. The only other time I remember a “yes” hurting this much, was after I asked my parents if they were getting a divorce.
“How?” I whisper into the phone, still stunned.
“His wife found his body when she came home from work. He suffocated in the garage with the car running. He must’ve fallen asleep at the wheel and never opened the door. According to Mrs. Whitman, he had been having trouble sleeping. It appears to have been an accident.”
For a split second I actually think that maybe it was an accident. Mr. Whitman was really tired yesterday. Then Unknown enters my mind and squashes that thought. “Do you really believe it was an accident?” I ask, snapping out of my paralyzed state.
“Dani, don’t start. We’ve already been over this. Gunnar’s death was an accident, and so is Mr. Whitman’s. These things happen, that’s life. It sucks, but it’s true. There doesn’t seem to be any foul play involved whatsoever with either case.”
“I’ve got to go,” I reply in a calm tone, even though I want to scream at the top of my lungs that these weren’t accidents.
“Are you going to be all right?” he asks in a concerned tone.
“Yeah, as all right as I can be, I guess.”
“We’ll talk more tonight when I get home, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I reply, and hang up the phone.
I feel a hand touch my shoulder and turn to see Joan standing next to me. She flashes me a sad smile, clearly noticing how distraught I look.
“You okay? What’s wrong?”
“My teacher passed away,” I say, feeling every syllable roll off my tongue. I still can’t believe I’m saying it.
“Oh, no. What happened?” she asks, pulling me in for a hug.
“It was an accident apparently. Don’t really know the details,” I answer, not really wanting to talk or think about it.
“I’m so sorry. Do you need to go home early?”
“No, I should keep working. Keep my mind busy, you know?”
“All right, but the moment you need to leave, just let me know,” she says, pulling me in for another hug. “Maybe you should go take a break in the back office. Clear your head a bit.”
“Yeah, I think I might do that if you don’t mind,” I reply with an empty smile.
“Take all the time you need. We aren’t really busy today anyway,” she says with a soft laugh while gesturing to the store floor, which is pretty empty.
Sitting in the back office, I regret not taking my boss up on the whole leaving early thing. Back here, I’m all alone with my thoughts, and they’re not being too kind at the moment. I have my phone out on the desk, anticipating a text any minute now from Unknown, taking responsibility for Mr. Whitman’s death. No matter how many times I think it or say it, I never get used to the idea of him being gone.
My thoughts are interrupted by Joan calling into the back office through the P.A. system. “I know you’re probably not up to this right now, but I thought I’d ask. There’s a customer inquiring about Edgar Allan Poe, and I figured with you being an expert, you might be able to help him out.”
“Be right up,” I reply after pressing the button on the intercom.
When I reach the front desk, there isn’t any sign of a customer or my boss. There are only a few people milling about in the café area, and a guy sifting through the bargain bin of mystery paperbacks near the entrance of the store. I finally spot Joan emerging from the stacks and she sends me a wave to come over.
“He’s back there. I thought maybe I could help him, but he’s asking very specific questions,” she says with a snicker. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
“Thank you.” She moves past me toward the front counter. “One moment, sir,” I hear her call out behind me as I move into the aisles.
When I reach the section containing the works of Edgar Allan Poe, I see a man standing there, thumbing through a book with his back to me. His clothes make me think he’s probably in college or a little bit older. I’d probably call his style hipster chic.
“Excuse me, sir? I heard you had some questions about Poe?”
“No, not really. I just wanted to get you alone so we could talk,” he replies and turns around to face me.
“Seriously, Parker? You have the worse timing ever for joking around,” I scold him and begin to storm off, but feel his hand grab my arm. Shaking free of his grip, I whip back around to look at him with a glare. “Mr. Whitman’s dead,” I blurt out.
“What?”
“So forgive me if I’m not in the mood right now to have an existential conversation regarding where the two of us stand relationship-wise.”
I see the surprise register on his face as it pans down to the ground. The look gradually turns into sorrow as his eyes once again meet mine. Seeing his reaction, I feel bad for the way I broke the news to him.
“I can’t believe...Mr. Whitman…How did it happen?”
“You’ll probably hear all about it on the news. The shitty part is that everyone, including my father, thinks it was an accident, but I know better.”
“Did Unknown send y
ou another text?” he whispers in an urgent tone.
“Doesn’t have to. This has ‘Unknown’ written all over it.”
“But you never got a text? Are you sure this wasn’t an accident?” he asks, seeming flustered.
“You’re beginning to sound like my dad,” I respond indignantly, which lands me on the receiving end of a scowl.
“I’m serious, Dani. Why do you think Unknown did this?”
“I don’t want to talk about it here. Can we go somewhere else?” I ask, looking around and making sure there are no eavesdroppers.
“Sure,” he says as he combs his hand through his hair. He looks stressed out. He’s clearly still trying to process that Mr. Whitman’s gone. “I know a place where no one will bother us. Larry’s. I could really use a drink right now, anyway.”
“Larry’s? You mean that skeevy bar at the edge of town? My dad and his deputies break up bar fights there nightly. Not to mention I’ve met Larry in town before and he kind of gives me the wiggins.”
“Do you have a better idea?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“I guess not.”
“Larry’s it is, then.”
Walking back up to the front counter, I hear the door chime as Parker exits the store. “I’m cutting out early, Joan. I thought work would be the best thing for me, but I think I’m just too overwhelmed right now to even think.”
“I completely understand, Dani. You don’t have to explain. See you Sunday?” she asks.
“Most likely,” I reply.
Chapter Twenty Two
It’s just before dark, and as I drive up to the bar the neon signs pulse in anticipation of nightfall. I laugh to myself when I see that the “Larry’s” sign has a few faded sections and now just reads “Lar’s Bar.” By the looks of the place, I can see it’s a real winner. Shoddy construction plus shoddy signage equals skeevy bar on the edge of town. I’m sure every town or city has at least one of these timeless treasures to call their own.
