AllieOop918: hi will u call me?
NetProphet182: i dont know u leave me alone
Allie blinked, bewildered. Maybe she’d messaged the wrong person. She checked the list, and NetProphet182 was David’s screen name. It was him.
Allie heard the sound of the AIM door, cyber-closing.
CHAPTER 46
Barb Gallagher
Barb sat next to Sharon in old-fashioned wooden chairs in Chief Holtz’s office, at the township police station. They had fallen into an exhausted silence, having given their statements, then the chief had told them to wait here. The police suspected suicide, but the cause of death wasn’t official yet. Barb knew it had to be true because it was the only thing that made sense. She knew he was hurting. She knew he’d been drinking. She should’ve seen this coming, especially after the newspaper article. She couldn’t blame anybody but herself, not even her ex. Barb would never, ever forgive herself.
The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes. Her shirt and shorts clung to her, clammy. Her sneakers were soaked and muddy. Buddy slept under her chair, the traces of Kyle’s blood almost gone from his ruff and muzzle. Kyle always called Buddy self-cleaning. Barb would have cried at the memory, but she couldn’t cry anymore.
Barb’s heartbroken gaze took in the chief’s office, with its old wooden desk cluttered with sports paraphernalia, an antiquated computer, and a calendar from a local plumbing company. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, though she doubted smoking was allowed. Either way, she didn’t care. She was trying to neither think nor feel.
She didn’t want to live anymore, truly, and she’d said that to Sharon, sobbing, hysterical, brought to her knees when they’d zipped Kyle into a body bag in the pounding rain.
No, no, no, Sharon had said, crying, too, full bore.
I never should’ve let him go tonight, I should’ve known he’d be upset—
—no, you couldn’t know that—
—yes, I could, the newspaper article—
—but you didn’t know he could get a gun—
Chief Holtz entered the office, a taciturn type in his late fifties. A paunch strained the buttons of his blue shirt, and his jowls bracketed his lips, which were fleshy. His eyes were a weary blue-gray behind stainless-steel bifocals, his nose was bulbous, and his chin grizzled salt and pepper after the long night. He closed the door quietly behind him, meeting Barb’s eye with surprising tenderness.
“Ms. Gallagher, Barbara, can I get you another water?”
“No, thank you.”
“How about you, uh . . .”
“Sharon,” Sharon supplied. “No, thank you.”
Chief Holtz lumbered around the desk and sat down heavily, sliding some paperwork aside and folding his hands on top of an old-fashioned green blotter. “You have my deepest sympathies on your loss.”
“Thank you,” Barb said, numb with shock. She had to keep it together. She had to hear what she was being told.
“As you know, this is a small county, so we only have the one medical examiner. That’s why it took so long. I have the autopsy results, not the report. They gave us priority on account of the press attention.”
“I understand.” Barb didn’t want to even think about the reporters already out front, having smelled blood. Literally, her son’s blood. Kyle, her only child. Her big baby boy, oversized, eleven pounds. It took her twenty-one hours of labor and every drug they could give her.
How did you pass that thing? one of the nurses had joked.
With great difficulty, Barb had shot back, and they had laughed.
Chief Holtz cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this terrible news. The coroner has found that the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the victim’s temple, self-inflicted. The manner of death was suicide.”
Suicide. Barb imagined the bullet blasting through her son’s brain, destroying everything in its path, the blood vessels, soft tissue, neurons, all the things that somehow comprised his thoughts, memories, and his very soul. All that was him.
Chief Holtz blinked, waiting for Barb to say something, but she couldn’t speak. She was remembering when Kyle was thirteen years old. He’d been five foot seven and having a growth spurt. She’d put cocoa butter on the bright red stretch marks that went sideways across his back. He’d never once complained about growing pains. He was always in the ninety-seventh percentile for boys ages two to twenty, and last year, he’d gone off the chart. He’d grown two inches since September. She couldn’t keep clothes on him. He was always wearing floods and belly shirts. She couldn’t find anything tall enough that wasn’t too wide. And good luck with jeans.
Sharon interjected, “Chief Holtz, is the coroner sure?”
“Yes.”
Sharon shifted forward. “How does he know? How can you tell that he wasn’t murdered?”
Barb wanted to know, but couldn’t ask. Sharon would understand this instinctively. Sharon would have anticipated it. Sharon would know that Barb wanted to know everything but couldn’t speak right now.
Chief Holtz cleared his throat again, in a deliberate way. “The wound, obviously. The pattern of the wound. It was a close-contact wound, with stippling typical of a suicide. In addition, there was what we call blowback on the victim’s right hand, which indicates that he fired the gun himself. Gun residue was also present on his right hand, and we’re testing to double-check. In addition, there were no defensive wounds on his body. That is, no signs of a struggle to suggest the victim was in a fight with another person. For example—I’m trying to put this in layman’s terms—there was no evidence that another person put the gun to the victim’s head.” Chief Holtz hesitated, though he was speaking slowly. “Finally, we searched the area and the woods, and there was no evidence that he was with another person, though that might’ve been compromised by the rain. We will double-check after the storm. Unfortunately, it’s going to be a nor’easter.”
Barb listened. She sat very still while Chief Holtz kept talking.
“Oh, I should mention, the initial blood screening shows the presence of alcohol in his blood. Toxicology tests were performed but we won’t have those results for a while. Finally, we considered the circumstances, such as the adverse publicity in today’s newspaper. It suggests an explanation for why the victim would do away with himself.” Chief Holtz turned to Barb. “You did say earlier that he was in therapy, for depression.”
Sharon interjected again, “But she was told that he wasn’t at risk.”
“It’s not an exact science, is it?” Chief Holtz sighed. “I’m so sorry. This is one of the most heartbreaking cases I’ve ever experienced.”
Barb believed that this was one of Chief Holtz’s most heartbreaking cases. He looked so sad. His tone was sincere. He had a family photo on his desk, a wife and two sons. This was heartbreaking. Her heart was broken to death.
Sharon shifted in her seat. “But, Chief, what about the dog? Kyle loved that dog. If he went to the woods to commit suicide, he wouldn’t have brought the dog. He would have worried the dog would run off. It could have gotten hit by a car.”
Barb felt it ring true. Sharon was right. Kyle loved Buddy. He would have worried about Buddy. He never let him off the leash. He always worried he’d get hit by a car. He never would have left him alone, outside, in the rain.
Chief Holtz shook his head. “I remind you, there was alcohol in his blood. He wouldn’t have been thinking clearly. He didn’t behave the way he normally would. He could have acted impulsively.”
Sharon sighed. “But where did he get the gun? We told you, Kyle didn’t have a gun.”
“It’s an illegal gun. It’s one of the most common revolvers. Its serial number was scratched off, typical of a gun you buy off the street.”
“But here?” Sharon asked, skeptical. “I grew up in Bakerton. It’s not easy to buy a gun around here.”
“We’ve changed since then. Street guns are available in the county, and it wouldn’t take much doing.”
“But he di
dn’t have a car, so he couldn’t drive anywhere.”
“Did he have a bike?” Chief Holtz didn’t wait for an answer. “And we have public transportation. Believe it or not, I’ve seen cases where street guns have been delivered to the buyer.” He paused. “It’s also a possibility that he bought the gun in the Columbus, Ohio, area and brought it with him.”
Barb closed her eyes. She could have missed the gun. Kyle had cleaned his own room. He’d packed himself for the move. He had insisted on it, and she’d thought he was being responsible. Maybe he’d been hiding the gun. There were kids on his old basketball team who weren’t from New Albany. He could have bought the gun from them, or somebody they knew. Or at an away game.
Sharon leaned back in her chair. “How much would the gun cost? Where would he get the money for a gun?”
“A few hundred bucks?” Chief Holtz turned to Barb. “Did he have that sort of money?”
Barb nodded, stricken. She had given him the money because he’d done so many chores, packing boxes for the move, all the heavy lifting. She’d looked for reasons to give him money, to make him feel good after everything had gone to hell. She never would’ve thought he’d buy a gun. She should have, considering what he’d been through. The therapist had told her he wasn’t at risk, but she was his mother. She was supposed to know him better than anybody else. She’d thought she had. She loved him more than anybody and anything else. More than the sun, the moon, the stars, her life. He was her baby boy, still growing. He was only fifteen. She would never, ever forgive herself.
Barb blurted out, “I thought things were bad, I didn’t know they’d get worse, I was so wrong, I should have known.”
“Honey, don’t do this.”
“But I should have.” Barb couldn’t even finish the sentence, there were so many things she should have done, so many things she didn’t do, so many things she would’ve done differently that she couldn’t even begin to list them all, she could go on and on and on, and all of it, every decision, every action, inaction, mistake, and misstep had led to this moment, and Kyle was dead.
Chief Holtz linked his fingers on his blotter. “Do you have any other questions?” he asked, his tone gentle.
Barb had a question, but it wasn’t one Chief Holtz could answer.
Why go on?
CHAPTER 47
Allie Garvey
It was August, so it got dark outside after dinner, leaving the family room gloomy, but Allie didn’t turn on a lamp. She slumped in a chair in front of the TV, watching music videos. She and her father had just eaten, and he was cleaning up in the kitchen. She’d had mashed potatoes with no butter and chicken breast with no skin, since the doctor said only bland foods. If she ate normal food, she’d get cramps and have to go to the bathroom. Her father had taken her to a gastroenterologist who diagnosed her as having ulcerative colitis. Allie was consumed with guilt about Kyle. Literally, consumed. She was eating herself alive, from the inside.
A TV commercial came on for Blockbuster, and the volume went too loud, but she didn’t bother to lower it. She wasn’t listening anyway. She was thinking about Kyle. During the daytime, she’d get flashes of him walking down the hill to them, or of the gun against his head, or the blood drenching his shirt. She’d hear the gunshot and smell smoke in the air. At nighttime, she’d replay what happened like a horror movie. She slept badly. She was tired all day. She never left the house. She told her father it was because she couldn’t leave the bathroom, but that was an excuse. She lost thirteen pounds and weighed 135, which was the thinnest she’d ever been. She couldn’t keep weight on. She sealed her secret inside.
Suddenly her father dropped a pan in the kitchen, and Allie startled. She was nervous all the time. She expected the police to come knocking on the door any minute. She was terrified of getting caught. She’d read in the newspaper that the police ruled Kyle’s death a suicide, but she still worried they would figure it out. She’d jump whenever the phone rang. Once she was driving with her father and a police car passed. She started shaking.
An ad for Law & Order came on TV, and she stiffened. It seemed like all the TV shows were about murders, the whole summer. NYPD Blue, Homicide. The TV cops always caught the bad guy, and Allie was the bad guy. She still didn’t know how the gun got loaded, but she suspected Julian. He was jealous about Sasha, and he was cold that way. She felt sick to her stomach, keeping his secret. By shutting up, she was helping him get away with murder.
Another TV commercial came on, showing a smiling mom serving a platter of watermelon, and even that reminded her of Kyle. She felt so bad for Mrs. Gallagher, who’d been in the newspaper after Kyle died. There was a picture of her, and she had a nice smile. She’d moved out of Brandywine Hunt and stayed in the area, but the newspaper didn’t say where.
Allie thought about her every night, wracked with shame. She knew how heartbroken Mrs. Gallagher must feel because she knew how her mother felt after Jill died. Her mother was still in the hospital, and she and her father visited her there, but she wasn’t getting better. Allie used to worry that Mrs. Gallagher would end up in a hospital, too. Allie cried at night, knowing she was responsible.
“Honey, ready to go?” her father said, coming into the room, his car keys in his hand. He was still dressed from work, in his pressed white shirt and slacks, though he’d taken off his tie.
“Where?”
“Let’s go get your school supplies.” Her father jingled his keys, but Allie looked away. She dreaded going back to school because it felt like coming out of hiding, and she would see David and Sasha. She knew they’d avoid her, but it would still be weird. David never spoke to her again or messaged her. She thought of him all the time, but what had happened to Kyle made David a terrible memory. She didn’t return Infinite Jest because she didn’t want to let it go, but she couldn’t read it, either. Oddly, the library fines added to her guilt, even at a nickel a day.
“I don’t want to go, Dad. Can we do it another time?”
“No, honey. School starts next week. You keep putting it off. Your mother told me to take you. She said you like this. You love to get school supplies, she said.” Her father smiled in an encouraging way, and Allie flashed on the annual trip to Staples with her mother. Allie had her mother all to herself for those trips, and they both loved school supplies, for some reason. They would take forever choosing highlighter colors, pencils with novelty erasers, and the correct point size for pens. Allie loved thick points, and her mother liked fine-point.
“I don’t really, I don’t want to.”
“She said you like to get a new backpack. Every year that’s your big thing. So let’s go get a backpack.”
“I’ll use the one from last year, okay?”
“She says you never want to do that.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“Honey, let’s go. Let’s go, really. It’s back-to-school time. Look, everybody’s doing it.” Her father gestured at the TV, which showed a happy family skipping into a Staples store. His eyes were worried behind his glasses, and Allie felt bad for him because she knew he was trying so hard, working all day and taking care of the house and her, but she couldn’t help him, or herself.
“Dad, they run those commercials in June.”
“Still, come on, honey. You have to go outside. You never even go outside anymore.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Honey, enough with the television.” Her father tried to take the remote control out of her hand, but Allie yanked it away.
“Dad, please. I’m not watching television. I’m resting.”
“Well, enough with the resting. Let’s go. Come on out.” Her father clapped his hands together.
“What if I have to go to the bathroom?” Allie shuddered to think what it would be like to have colitis at school. Diarrhea city.
“They have a bathroom. Honey, I’m not gonna let you do this.”
“Do what?”
“Wallow in misery.”
“I’m not wallowing in misery.”
“Yes, you are,” her father snapped, grabbing her hand, but she pulled it free.
“Dad, stop.” Allie felt disturbed. Her father had never been physically rough with her, ever.
“Get up or I’ll get you up.”
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because we have to get school supplies.” Her father tried to catch her eye, leaning over, but Allie stared at the TV.
“Dad, please, leave me alone.”
“No. Get up. No more wallowing.”
“Why, are you worried I’m like Mom?” Allie shot back, regretting the words as soon as they slipped past her lips, and her father’s face fell instantly.
“Honestly, honey, that’s exactly what I’m worried about. You have to fight this wallowing you’ve been doing. You and me, we can’t fold up the tent. We can’t pack it in. We have to keep on keeping on. That’s why you have to get up. Not because of a backpack.”
Allie swallowed hard, surprised that he was being real with her. It felt adult. “But I don’t want to.”
“I don’t care if you want to. I’m your father, and I know it’s best for you. You have to get out of the chair and come with me. You’re going to be fine, and so am I, and your mother’s going to get better, and she’s going to come home soon.”
“No, she isn’t.”
“Then all the more reason. Honey, think of it like a tooth. If I pull a tooth in my patient’s mouth, the others don’t have to go, too. Every tooth has its own roots. That’s us, you and me. We stay rooted in the gum, even though the others go. We’re our own separate teeth.”
“We’re not teeth, Dad,” Allie said, though she got the analogy. Her mother and Jill were the missing teeth in the Garvey gums. “You’re in denial.”
“It’s not about denial, it’s about survival. Maybe you need to be in a little bit of denial to survive. We have to survive, and you know how we survive? By putting one foot in front of the other.”
Someone Knows Page 19
