I kick at the doorknob and the adjacent wood. After three furious blows, it splinters, and then my foot breaks through. I reach inside and unlock the dead bolt and the button on the knob.
He could have anything inside there. He could have the shotgun. He could have a knife. Nothing I’ve done so far is smart, fueled as I am by insatiable rage—but I charge through, anyway.
A dark room, but fresh air sweeping in.
The window, open.
He escaped out the back window.
I climb through the window and run into the backyard, into a vacuum of blackness.
He’s gone. This is his home turf. He probably knows every nook and cranny of those woods behind his house. He’s long gone.
The darkness, suddenly interrupted by colored, flashing lights.
A car engine, tires crunching over gravel.
A patrol car, pulling into Aiden’s driveway.
I move to the side of the house and peek around to the front. I hear a car door open and close. I hear footsteps, but not coming my way. Moving into the house.
I place myself flat against the house, not moving an inch. The only sound the gentle swaying of the trees in the wind.
Then a light comes on in the bedroom, where I just came from. I hear the footsteps inside.
A head pops out of the window, looking outside. I hold my breath.
It’s our beloved chief of police, Isaac Marks, illuminated by the light of the room. He’s only twenty feet or so away from me, but I’m bathed in darkness and far to his right—I don’t think he can make me.
“Shit,” he says into the darkness.
A noise; then I hear beeps. He’s dialing a cell phone.
“You okay?” Isaac says. “Where are you? No, she’s gone. I don’t know, do you? She said what? Okay. Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of her. I said I’ll take care of this. You gotta relax. Listen to me …”
His voice fading as he leaves the room, as he moves into the interior of the house.
81
AFTER WAITING OVER an hour in Aiden’s backyard, I head back to my car. Aiden’s not coming back, and Isaac left long ago.
My car is tucked away on the shoulder of the road down the street. Did Isaac spot it? I don’t see an ambush awaiting me. No doubt there’s an APB out, possibly a warrant for my arrest.
I don’t know what Isaac has planned. I don’t know what he meant when he told Aiden he would “take care” of me.
And I’m not anxious to find out.
I have to get my car out of sight. I have to get myself out of sight.
I pull my car into his driveway and ring the doorbell. Nobody likes unannounced visitors at midnight.
“Who’s there?” he calls through the door.
“It’s Murphy.”
When he opens the door, Noah Walker is wearing an undershirt and sweat pants. He’s clutching a hand towel, his face still dripping with water.
As always—that heat across my chest.
There. That’s the difference. That’s the spark. That’s what’s missing with Justin.
No time for that now, Murphy.
“You okay?” Noah asks.
“No,” I say. “I can’t go home. The police are looking for me.”
“The pol—Well, come in.” He moves out of the way to let me in. “So what happened?” he asks.
“I broke into Aiden’s house,” I say. “I know it was him.”
“What, that dream again?” Noah closes the door and locks it.
“He did something to me,” I say. “A long time ago. Back in ninety-four. The dream is a flashback, Noah. It’s a memory. I saw the police report myself.”
“Then why wasn’t Aiden arrested or—”
“Aiden’s not in the report. I didn’t tell anybody anything. I couldn’t. But now I know.”
“Look, Aiden’s a strange bird,” he says, “but he’s a sweet kid.”
“That’s what everyone says. That’s what everyone says.” I grip my hair as if I’m going to yank it out at the roots, feeling a buzz of nervous energy. “What happened to me was in 1994,” I say. “And in 1995, there was the school shooting. I know Aiden was involved in the first of those. Was he involved in the second?”
Noah’s head drops. “Murphy—”
“Tell me, Noah. Tell me what happened in that school yard.”
“Let me make you some coffee or—”
“Fuck coffee,” I spit. “I don’t give a shit about some stupid code or promise you made seventeen years ago. People we care about have died. More will die. Was Aiden a part of that school shooting or wasn’t he?”
Flustered, Noah puts his hands on his head. Looking off in the distance. Probably pondering the importance of a promise made, or maybe just reliving what happened back then.
Finally, he drops his arms, clears his throat.
“I always met Aiden by that bench before school,” he says. “Back then, people used to pick on him. I tried to help him out. So we’d meet at that bench and walk into school together.”
I suck in a breath. Aiden. I knew it.
“So that day, I sat on the bench, listening to music on my headphones. Then all of a sudden, a gym teacher, Coach Cooper, is running up to me and telling me I have to come with him, I’m in big trouble.”
I stare at him, waiting for more.