68. Newt Knows

I ring the doorbell, and Newt cracks opens the front door to the nice-sized two-story house.

“Go around the back,” he tells me through the sliver in the doorway.

This looks like a relatively new housing development, one with maybe twenty or so houses in it. Everything looks like it’s maintained carefully. I walk over lush grass and find a deck in the back. Newt stands by an open screen door and waves me in.

“Come on,” he says as he guides me through a kitchen and toward the stairs going down. “Shut the door behind you.”

We get to the basement. It’s one of those that’s been finished and transformed into an entertainment room. It’s complete with the big screen television, a foosball table, a pool table, even a fish tank.

A part of me wonders with both humor and irony how many others come down to play games with the kid.

“Mom’s out shopping and Dad’s at work. But just in case, I wanted to come down here.”

“You think someone’s watching us?” I try not to look at the scar on the side of his cheek, though it really stands out under all the canned lights in the ceiling.

“They’re watching you,” he says.

“Who are they? And why are they watching me?”

Newt surveys the room, appears to be thinking. He’s an odd little guy. Even simply thinking appears to be a strenuous, awkward act.

“People around here don’t like outsiders.”

“My mom lived here when she was younger.”

“Doesn’t matter if you have ties. You’re outsiders. New kids don’t last long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen them come in, and then the family moves away. It’s happened every time someone new has come around here.”

“But why?” I ask.

“Certain things just are around Solitary. Certain things are just accepted. That’s the way this place is.”

“Like what?”

“Like Gus, for one. He gets away with so much simply because of his father.”

“So his father is some rich guy who everybody wants to brown-nose?”

Newt shakes his head. “No. It’s more than that.”

“What then?”

“There are adults that act like—I don’t know. They act like they owe Mr. Staunch something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Even my parents. We don’t talk about him, but when his name comes up, they act almost …”

“Almost what?” I ask.

“Almost scared.”

I think of the figure I saw on the deck, the feeling of dread that came over me. Of course I was temporarily trespassing on his land, so I had a right to feel a bit scared.

“I overheard my parents talking—people don’t ever think I’m listening because I’m little, you know, but I do—and someone mentioned Mr. Staunch in an angry way. Probably because they were drinking. And my father told the other man to be quiet. To stop talking like that. As if they couldn’t say anything bad about him. It was really weird.”

“Tell me something. What does this have to do with Jocelyn?”

Newt sits on the edge of the couch and looks down.

“Newt?”

“It’s another unspoken thing. For the most part.”

“Unspoken? Then how do you know enough to tell someone like me to stay away from her?”

“My parents told me the same thing. And someone told them.”

“Why?”

Newt shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“You have to know.”

“I don’t. But the same thing happened with Stuart—the kid who disappeared—the one I showed you the article about. It was almost as if the very mention of his name was almost—well, like it was blasphemous. Before and after he disappeared.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s secrets. This town is full of them. Everywhere you go, every person you see, every corner—they’re all full of secrets.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know.”

“You have to have some ideas.”

“I have a lot of ideas, Chris. But the biggest idea is to keep quiet and to keep to myself. Just like my parents. Just like everybody else.”

“But surely there has to be someone—some people who can do something.”

“Who?”

“Your parents?”

Newt laughs. “No, no. My dad serves on several boards. He’s Mr. Respected. And Mom is busy and—no. They’re not going to say anything.”

“But this kid—he just disappeared.”

Jocelyn says he was murdered.

“People who have asked questions have disappeared too.”

“Like who?”

“Rumors. That’s all I know.”

“Newt, listen to me. Jocelyn can’t disappear.”

“How are you going to stop it from happening?”

“How? I don’t know. You gotta help me.”

Newt looks around the room and fidgets. “I’m helping the best I can. The only way I can.”

“But does this Ichor Staunch have something to do with these secrets—and that guy’s disappearance?”

“Nobody will say that.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Yeah. Totally. But there’s no way to know. No way to prove it.”

“That guy lives right down the street from me.”

“Then you need to be extra careful.”

I laugh and let out a curse of disbelief. “What is going on here? I mean—where in the world is this place? Isn’t this America? Things like this don’t happen. Can’t someone put out a rumor on the Web? Tweet about it?”

“This is a tiny town in the mountains of North Carolina. There aren’t a lot of people around here. They’re friendly, but they don’t like outsiders. They all know each other, and they all keep their secrets to themselves. A lot of things can happen in a place where people live out lies.”

“But why would someone—what does someone want with Jocelyn?”

Newt stares back at me.

“Tell me,” I say.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. Or he won’t.

He looks back at me, and I wonder if the scar on his face was there at birth.

I want to ask him, but I can’t.

He’s already helped me enough, and I don’t want to pressure him anymore. To pressure him or to remind him of something that surely he doesn’t want to be reminded of.

I sit on the floor and put my arms behind me and let out a sigh.

“One other thing you need to know,” he says.

“What? What else can there be?”

“It’s about Jocelyn.”

I wait for him to tell me.

“That guy who’s around her—the creepy guy who looks like he belongs in prison—Wade, is it?”

I nod. Newt continues speaking in his matter-of-fact way, no emotion clouding his face.

“Guys at school say that he does more than just hurts Jocelyn. That he does a lot more.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I’m just telling you what I hear.”

I curse, calling it vicious gossip.

“Maybe it is,” Newt says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

“He’s not going to touch her.”

“You can’t watch her all day long.”

I leave his house feeling bewildered and confused and angry, but I should probably feel frightened.