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The flight and car trip home were largely uneventful. George had ventured back to the cockpit and stayed there, and my dad hadn’t wanted to talk. Fine by me, I was totally exhausted. I happily napped the whole way and didn’t wake up until we pulled into our drive.
George was right about the money: I had looked constipated. Passersby had avoided me as I’d strolled back to the hotel, so I’d decided to play it up. I’d told my dad I’d eaten a bad hotdog, which he’d immediately believed. I’d stuffed the money in between all my clothes, and amazingly, the scanners hadn’t picked them up. I was officially a million dollars richer. I could think of absolutely nothing to do with the money.
First world problems.
My dad parked in our carport and rested his hands on the steering wheel, steering himself. George took the hint and scarpered. I waited for the inevitable vague reprimand.
‘You can’t keep doing this, Bree,’ he went with.
‘I know, Dad.’
‘No, please. I don’t think you understand. I have given everything for you,’ he lamented.
Um, you have an amazing job, tons of friends and a three-floored house. Convincing argument.
‘I know, Dad,’ I said. Safest option.
‘Don’t keep saying that, because you don’t. You never will know what I’ve done, unless-’ he halted, perking up. ‘Oh my God. Why didn’t I see it before? That’s why you’re doing this. Is there something you want to talk about, Bree?’
Uh...
‘Nope?’
‘You’re sure? Nothing at all? There’s nothing bothering you? Nothing at the back of your mind?’
‘You’re talking in riddles, Dad. What the hell are you talking about?’
He’d looked so relieved, I’d almost wanted to agree with him. He only ever looked confused and upset around me. It’d been a nice change.
But I hadn’t the single faintest clue what he’d been talking about.
He realized that soon enough. His anxiety and sadness came back and he tapped his head gently on the wheel.
‘Nothing. Never mind. But if you ever need to talk, about anything at all, you can trust me, okay? Anything.’
Boys and periods? What was he getting at? He hadn’t wanted to hear my countless stories of lucies. Why would he suddenly want to listen to what I had to say?
‘Thanks, Dad. Appreciate it. I’ll bear it in mind,’ I grinned.
We finally got out the car, both of us perturbed and uncomfortable. I caught sight of Mr. Randle shuffling past and I gave him a friendly wave. He nodded blankly in return.
My dad glared at me, furious.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he hissed.
I jumped, surprised at his tone.
‘Acknowledging a neighbor? Am I not allowed to do that now?’
‘He’s lost his child,’ he said after a moment.
‘And wouldn’t it be nice to know that we’re here for him?’
He only stared at me.
‘Let’s go inside, Bree,’ he ordered.
I shrugged carelessly and followed the big man.
I found George eyeing up my bookshelf again, no doubt critiquing in his mind. I heard country music coming from the lounge, so we could talk freely. Still, I closed my door over for more privacy.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said thoughtfully, eyes still roving the books.
‘About?’ I prodded.
Whilst he gathered his thoughts, I rooted under my bed for an empty cardboard box and a marker. I scrawled “tampons” on it in horrifically large red letters, ensuring my father would never peek in it. Then, I dug around in the suitcase until I found all bundles of money. Time to start counting.
‘Ronnie just vanished,’ he finally said.
‘Yup,’ I confirmed.
‘Will he come back?’
‘No, no reason to. At least, nobody who’s vanished has ever come back. That’s it for Ronnie, now. Fifty-four years of life, and now he’ll be forgotten. Life goes on.’
‘One,’ he said. I looked up from my counting.
‘He was fifty-one.’
‘Fifty-one, then,’ I shrugged. He turned back to the books.
Ten thousand in each bundle, one hundred bundles over all.
‘One million dollars,’ I announced, packing it in my new box. I shoved it back under the bed and searched through my library for a movie to watch.
‘Don’t you think it’s sad?’ George asked, tearing himself away from my books.
‘I guess. Poor guy never even got to spend it.’
‘Not that. I mean, you were right. Ronnie had a life. He had a wife and a career, and now he’s dead. And he will be forgotten. It really makes you think,’ he mused.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ I groaned.
‘Have you got any sympathy? Any at all?’ he snapped, disgusted.
‘Sure, I do. But people die every minute of every day. Would you like me to mourn him, George? Would that make you feel better? I barely knew him. It’s not like we were friends. I was a means to an end, that’s all. Don’t get too attached, buddy,’ I advised him. ‘They all go away in the end.’
‘Even me,’ he whispered.
I looked up.
‘You ready to talk about it? Say the word and you’ll be with your best friend forever.’
He narrowed his eyes, annoyed.
‘Or not, whatever,’ I sighed.
‘I’m not ready to go yet,’ he said.
‘Yeah, I gathered as much.’
‘But I will be. I have to be,’ he said, conflicted.
‘What’s the issue?’
He frowned, anxiety cutting deep.
‘I don’t want to end up like you and Ronnie.’
‘Oh my God. Are you implying that Ronald Higgins and I are similar?’ I cried, offended. I dropped the movies I was holding, I was so shocked.
‘Yes. You’re both bitter and angry and cynical. I don’t want to end up like that,’ he whimpered. Aww. ‘I try to see the good in people. Even my killer. Especially my killer. I’m hoping there was some reason for my death, but right now I can’t see it. So, I can’t understand. It’s nothing but a sick joke.’
‘And karma doesn’t exist, and the bad guys win, and everything sucks,’ I summed up happily.
‘I refuse to believe that. My death happened for a reason, and I’m going to find out what. In the meantime, I will prove to you that not everyone’s like Ronnie.’
‘Hey, take all the time you need,’ I yawned. Travelling always took it out of me.
I checked my calendar. It was a Monday. School would be over in a couple of days. My dad had thankfully not mentioned anything about me going back, so that was awesome. I had plenty of free time to do whatever I wanted. Whatever that was.
I shrugged and put a movie on.
‘I mean it,’ he stressed.
I sighed.
‘What if you weren’t killed for a reason?’ I suggested softly, feeling like the worst human being on the planet.
‘What do you mean?’ he said sharply, rounding on me.
‘George, you were hit a week ago. There were no witnesses, and you yourself didn’t recognize the driver. There were no cameras, and we have no way of ever finding out who it was. What if you never find out?’
‘I will find out. I will. And you know what? I don’t actually care about the who,’ he chuckled. ‘I care about the why.’
‘What if there isn’t a why?’ I pressed. ‘What if you were just random?’
‘Then, I’ll do so some good on this side,’ he said stiffly, resolute.
I was arguing with a brick wall. He was dead, for no reason, and he couldn’t acknowledge either fact. And as he parked himself on my armchair and settled in, waiting for the movie to start, I realized something myself.
He wasn’t going away.
He was here for the long haul; unless I found his killer, or he turned me into one of those selfish do-gooders I hated so much. He was going to be my conscience, and I could never get rid of him.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.