Chapter Thirteen

On the way to Mickey’s house, Olivia tried her best to pump us up with her unflagging optimism. “Yeah! With your witchy mentor’s help, we’ll find Josh in no time.” Although I appreciated her valiant effort at keeping the faith, I couldn’t help but recall Cowlings’ rather ominous final words about “being realistic.” Because I ain’t nothin’, if not realistic. But maybe a faint glimmer of hope lay in my witch status…and how’s that for “being realistic?”

“I hope so, Olivia.” Pretty much by-the-numbers, I drove in a half-lucid dream state. I couldn’t think straight or even concentrate on the traffic surrounding me. My reflexes dulled, my senses numbed, and nothing seemed as it is or should be. The world as I knew it stopped making sense. Olivia said something else, and I couldn’t hear her through the overwhelming sense of dread and fog clouding my head, my only certainty that terrible danger claimed my friend.

I snapped out of my reverie when we reached Mickey’s house. Her white picket fence acted as my guiding light, welcoming me up the path to Josh’s salvation. Despite the freezing turn of the weather, her flower garden still thrived in life-affirming full bloom.

I suddenly realized I hadn’t called Mickey, and even worse, I brought a stranger to her home. I fervently hoped they’d hit it off, and Mickey wouldn’t mind. Boy, talk about naïve.

I knocked on the door. “Mickey, hi. It’s Tex.” I hoped to forego our usual game of “knock knock, who’s there?” The endless clatter of the chain signaled her arrival as Olivia and I shuffled, trying to stay warm in the chilly wind.

She yanked open the door and immediately frowned. “Dammit, Tex, you’re supposed to call.”

“Sorry, but it’s an emergency. We need your help.” Olivia stood behind me on the small porch, sneaking furtive glances at the neighborhood witch. “This is my friend, Olivia.”

Olivia nodded politely and said, “Hi. Tex has told me a lot about you.”

Mickey peered at Olivia through her glasses. “Oh, he has, has he?” She burned Olivia with a slow, judgmental take as if she were a rotten side of beef. She lingered on Olivia’s spider-webbed leggings. “It’s a little late for Halloween, isn’t it, girl?”

Olivia let out an irritated huff. “Yes, it is, so maybe you should take your mask off!” Oh boy.

Stunned by the personal attack, Mickey glowered at Olivia. She chuckled once, built momentum into a loud bray, and polished it off with the inevitable coughing fit. “Heh! Good for you, girly. Come in then. You’re letting out the heat!” She pinched my arm and shooed Olivia in with a flourish. When she slammed the door with a bang, her cats shot upstairs to safety.

“Tex, you didn’t tell…this girl everything, did you? You know it harms the potency of your…work.”

“Yes! This girl has been told everything,” said Olivia sarcastically. “And this girl’s name is Olivia!” Her visible eyebrow arched down toward her nose.

Time for Fireman Tex to put out some fires. “Mickey…it’s fine. I had to tell Olivia about my being a witch because we’re in trouble.” Mickey exaggeratedly whipped her head between the two of us. “It’s okay…she believes,” I added meekly.

“Well…I suppose the damage is done,” she said with a loud sigh. “What trouble are you in this time? It’s always an emergency with you, kid.”

“Our friend, Josh…he’s missing. And I think he’s been taken…or worse.” Hearing my words brought back the terror we’d been operating under for the last ninety minutes. “We need to find him…fast.”

“Oh. I see.” Lost in thought, Mickey scratched her chin, one eye cocked toward the ceiling. “Okay. Sit down.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia fishing for my attention but thought it’d be rude to return her astounded smirk. I put my hand on her back and ushered her to the sofa. She sat with a wind-rushed flumph. Quietly, she said “Whoa” while sinking deep into the depths of Mickey’s devouring sofa. I returned a knowing glance. Mickey disappeared into one of the back rooms while chattering to herself.

“Tex, what’s going on?” whispered Olivia. She grabbed my arm, forcing my full attention. “What are we doing?”

“I really don’t know yet.”

Mickey reappeared, her pink slippers flapping, holding a large map and what looked like a green pendant.

“Tex, move that coffee table out of the way,” ordered Mickey.

I flipped up out of the bowels of the hungry cushions—a trick I learned from Mickey. I did as told, careful not to knock over the various knick-knacks on the table.

“Now, I saw you brought in a sweater or something,” she said. “Was that the boy’s clothing?”

“Yes.” I unfolded Josh’s turtleneck. “I also brought a photo.” I waved the photo in front of Mickey as solid proof. At the time, I had no clue why I had thought to bring these two items from Josh’s house. Maybe I had read about it in one of my undercover studies, or chalk it up to witch’s intuition.

“Well, we don’t really need a picture. But sometimes it helps. Good boy, Tex.” She smiled approvingly at me, her obedient puppy. “Spread out the map.”

Olivia jumped up and helped me straighten out the map over the floor. A large, very detailed map of the Greater Kansas City metropolitan area unfurled before us. I spotted Clearwell and noticed that even tiny alleyways were shown.

“All right, now…you, Olivia,” —She extended a gaunt finger in her direction.— “Give me that chain you’re wearing.”

Olivia unfastened the plain, thin silver necklace and handed it to Mickey. “Um, will I get it back?”

Mickey grabbed it and exhaled noisily, ignoring Olivia. She quickly tied the green pendant on the end of Olivia’s chain. “It helps that the chain’s from a friend. Tex, grab my fire poker.”

I snagged a rusty fire poker from a small copper scuttle, the only tool there. I passed it to her, handle first.

She squeezed the turtleneck tightly to her chest. She mumbled a litany of words in a barely audible tone, head tilted toward the ceiling, her eyes shut. “Okay, what’s your friend’s name again?”

“Josh. Josh Berillo.” Olivia hovered behind me, slack-jawed in awe.

“Lemme have that picture.” Mickey placed the sweater on the floor beside the map. With cat-like speed, she grasped the photo from me and repeated the turtleneck ritual. She then took the pendulum and chain in one hand, letting it dangle about an inch above the floor while wielding the poker in the other.

“Is today Thursday?” she asked in a low, even monotone. The pendulum awoke from its neutral position and bobbed up and down.

“Is it Halloween?” She popped open one eye, peeking directly at Olivia. Olivia rolled her eyes. The pendulum began to swing back and forth, to signify no.

“Okay, good,” said Mickey. She stepped onto the map carefully, her slippers crinkling the paper. “I should probably get this laminated,” she said to no one in particular. “Is Josh Berillo now in the vicinity of this map?” The pendant responded with a wide-swinging Yes. She walked toward the Clearwell area. “Is Josh Berillo now in Clearwell?”

No, answered the pendant, flinging back and forth. Olivia pressed her fingers to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

Mickey walked in circles around the map, stopping at large areas, repeating the question over different vicinities. She had worked her way toward the center of the map. The pendant continued to respond with No.

“Is Josh Berillo now within the North Kansas City area?” The pendant answered with a definitive Yes. I sat up on the edge of the voracious sofa, Olivia joining me. Mickey suddenly stopped dead and said, “Wait a minute.” She tossed the pendant to me as she ran out of the room, the back ends of her slippers slapping loudly.

We both studied the pendant. I wondered if I should ask the pendant if Josh was still alive. But I chickened out. I really didn’t want to see the pendant deliver a very final No. Besides, maybe the pendant was aligned—or whatever—to Mickey and only Mickey.

“Tex, this is creepy,” whispered Olivia.

Not knowing what to say, I nodded in agreement.

Mickey rushed back into the room, another couple of maps tucked under her arm. She deftly kicked the larger map aside and instructed me to spread out one of the new maps. It was a detailed map of the North Kansas City, Missouri area. Mickey once again went through her routine until the pendant settled on an industrial area by the railroad. She asked about specific streets, but the pendant began to swing in small circles.

“Hmmm,” she said, finally addressing us. “My spirit helper is either tired…or unsure. That’s what it means when the circles begin. But I have it narrowed down to between Ninth and Twelfth Streets, on the East Side by the railroad tracks.” She grimaced at us painfully. “That’s probably all I can do for you kids with this. Unless…you want to ask something…”

I knew what I wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Olivia swallowed hard and blurted out, “Ask if Josh is all right!” I grabbed her hand, and we held on tight.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Mickey asked. I’ve learned when Mickey issues one of her half-warnings, it’s best to heed it. Instead, we both nodded, unable to find our voices.

Mickey hesitated. Her shoulders sagged briefly as she cleared her throat. “Is Josh Berillo all right?” The pendant stood absolutely still for one long, agonizing moment. It began to slowly wobble, unsure of which way it wanted to go. Its movements became more pronounced, more confident in its resolve. Back and forth, a dog’s rhythmic wagging tail, the answer definitively stated No. The pendant came to an abrupt stop the way I thought my heart might. Olivia crumpled, her shoulders shuddering as she buried her face into my arm. Too stunned and defeated to cry, stone-cold shock negated any emotion.

“I’m sorry, kids,” said Mickey. “Maybe my spirit guide isn’t always one hundred percent right.” But she didn’t sound very sincere at all.

A sick, cold gut instinct told me to believe in the spirits.

After a few minutes, my shock trickled away as a profound sense of loss tidal waved its way in. A salve to my crushed soul, tears of loss and rage unleashed. Olivia and I huddled together, hugging, sobbing. Mickey, no longer the Iron Queen of Witchcraft, appeared befuddled, uncomfortably out of her element. She didn’t have a spell to handle two crying teenagers in her home. Her efforts at consoling us felt awkward, sadly comical at best. She tentatively patted our shoulders, issuing hollow condolences, such as “He’s in a better place,” or “Josh’s life isn’t over yet, you know,” which of course, just made matters worse.

When the tears ran their course, I realized whatever the outcome should be—and maybe, just maybe, hope still persisted—we needed to quit wasting time blubbering and call Cowlings. I gathered Josh’s photo and shirt and helped Olivia off the sofa.

“Mickey,” I said, my voice still shaking, “I have to call the police about this.” Through my swollen eyes, Mickey looked like a blue-topped blur.

“Well, I agree. But you know…you should make the call anonymously. You don’t want the cops nosing about your business of witchcraft. That’s what your mom did those years back when she helped to find that kid who went missing.” She wiggled her lecture finger, although with my impaired vision, I saw two digits. “What’re you gonna tell the cops how you knew where to look for your friend?”

She made sense, but I couldn’t make any logically based decisions now. “Okay, we’ll call anonymously.”

“And be careful of what phone you make the call from,” she warned. “According to my stories, they can trace any phone now. I’d use a payphone.” Mickey rubbed her chin again, shrewdly concocting a plan to outsmart the police. “I think there’s one down at the Shop-Kwik, still.”

“All right.”

“And be sure and disguise your voice,” added Mickey. The criminal underworld really lost one shrewd crime lord to witchcraft.

“Okay. Thanks.” The awkward and inevitable moment of not knowing how to end our visit set in. I didn’t know if Mickey still found hugs taboo because “Mickey don’t do emotion.” I gambled. She responded with her uncomfortable half-hug.

“Go make your call and then go home and sleep,” she said. “That’s an order.” She looked at both of us.

Unbelievably, Olivia threw her arms around Mickey’s neck. Holding on for dear life, Mickey acted as her emotional life preserver. As light as a feather, Mickey caressed Olivia’s back. Olivia started crying again and buried her face in Mickey’s shoulder.

“I…um…I didn’t think your spider-web stockings were really all that bad.” Over Olivia’s trembling shoulder, Mickey gave me a helpless look. I bet she’d received more hugs this week than since birth. I let them hug it out for another minute before I interjected.

“Come on, Olivia. We’ve got to go make a phone call.”

On the way to Shop-Kwik, Olivia’s focus clawed its way back. “You think Josh is dead, don’t you?” The directness and coldness of her question took me aback, although it shouldn’t have, considering the source.

“Truthfully? Even though I don’t want to say it? Yes.” I glanced over at her, and she looked as if I had just struck her. “Maybe I’m wrong, O’, but…you know me, I hate giving out false hope.” I reached blindly for her hand and latched onto it. “I’ve become a big believer in Mickey’s world of spirits.” I told her about contacting my mother. She stared out the window silently.

“Besides…if Josh is down by the railroad tracks,” I added, “that doesn’t give me much hope at all. Why would he be alive and not contacting someone?”

“Maybe…maybe he’s being held by someone,” she said.

“Maybe.” This scenario opened a whole new world of terrors as I imagined the worst implications possible. I hastily changed the subject. “Hey, do you think you’re up to making the phone call?”

“Sure. But why me?” A little bit of life sprung back into her.

“Well, I think Cowlings may recognize my voice.” I almost added “and because he no longer suspects you,” —but Olivia didn’t need another blow. “And I can’t disguise my voice very well.” She nodded in agreement.

Mickey proved right about the payphone at Shop-Kwik. When you grow accustomed to living with your cell phone, it’s funny how you actually forget about things like payphones.

We parked in front of the shop and I gathered some change from out of the Bucket’s ashtray. While I deposited fifty cents into the phone, Olivia glanced about conspiratorially. “Don’t forget to disguise your voice,” I said, as I dialed Cowlings’ number.

Our faces pressed together closely, we hovered over the phone receiver. “Cowlings,” answered the detective on the third ring.

“Yes, I say, is this Inspector Cowlings?” She spoke in an outrageously stereotypical Cockney accent. I rolled my eyes.

“Yes it is,” he said hesitantly. “Who am I speaking with?”

“Never you mind that, guv’nor! Oi’ve got a clue for you to follow up on, then.” She scrambled for the paper with the street numbers on it. “Look for that missing lad, Josh Berillo, down in the ol’ North Kansas City industrial area. Say, somethin’ loik between Ninth and Twelfth Street, then. By the railroad tracks.” Olivia owned her performance art. Her head swayed back and forth as she unrolled her hand in the air with a royal flourish.

“Why don’t you tell me how you’ve come by this information and my name and number, please?”

“Afraid Oi can’t do that, guv. But please…hurry, inspector!” With that, she slammed down the phone, and we high-tailed it to the Bucket.

I shook my head in disbelief.

“What?” She threw her hands into the air.

“Honestly, Olivia. Bleedin’ Mary Bleedin’ Poppins, ain’t we now, guv?”

“You said to disguise my voice!” Despite everything, we both managed a slight grin.

I pulled into Olivia’s driveway and turned off the ignition. We let the encroaching darkness outside devour us in silence. The trees in Olivia’s yard stood as naked reminders of their past lives, their shed skin of leaves blanketing the once green lawn.

“Looks like you’ve got some yard work ahead of you,” I finally said. Best not to leave Olivia on a down note.

“Yeah, you better get on it for me,” she shot back. We contemplated the mass of leaves and thought it could wait, the last thing on our minds. “Tex…what are we going to do?” A tear touched her eye, a glistening jewel, sad, yet beautiful. “I mean, if Josh is really…gone? What are we going to do?”

“I…don’t know.” I gulped, trying to be strong and failing miserably. As the truth that Josh may be out of our lives forever settled over me, my voice cracked. “I know…I’m going to miss him…” My words faded away. The endless parade of tears marched onward again. We sat in the car sobbing, uttering sad remembrances of Josh.

Olivia scooted across the seat closer to me. She cradled my face in her hands, leaned in, and kissed me. I kissed her back, taking warm solace in her soft, wet lips and her fresh vanilla fragrance. Our arms wrapped around each other. The inside of the windshield fogged as our breathing became more pronounced, more unified.

I pulled back, gently placing my hands on her shoulders.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. Her hand jolted up to her mouth. “Omigod, is it true, Tex? Are you gay?” Like an old horror movie damsel in distress, she held the back of her hand to her mouth in shock.

“What? No. What are you talking about? Look, several weeks ago, I had a normal life, I guess. Now I’m a witch…a murder suspect… I’ve lost a friend…” I released a brief anguished sob. “And I’m afraid for our lives.”

“I know. I understand…I just thought…you and I…” she trailed off, appearing ashamed in her assumption.

“No! It’s not you, Olivia. I do like you. I may…even feel more than that for you…” I swept her hair aside so I could see both her eyes. “Let’s just get through this…all this shit…before we decide whether we… I don’t want to be like that couple in a horror film that ends up making out because all their friends are dying around them.” I managed a meager smile and wiped away what I hoped was the last of my tears.

She returned my weak smile, a hint of hope playing around her lips. I leaned in and hugged her. She placed a light, lingering kiss on my cheek. “You’re right.” She released her arms from around me and lowered them to her lap, staring at them like a chastised schoolgirl.

“I think about you. I want to think about us. But right now, there’s just too much confusion…too much fear…and a whole lot of unknown stuff I hate to even think about.”

“Okay.” We stared out the window. She reached in front of her and drew a small heart in the rapidly dwindling condensation on the windshield. She looked at me and smiled shyly. Since when had she ever been shy about anything?

I grinned back. It took me all this time to realize I loved her. Soooo dumb. But I’ve gotta stay focused. “We’ll circle back to this, Olivia, I promise.”

“We’d better.”

“Hey, listen. Your mom’s at work, right?” She nodded. Suddenly, it felt like business as usual. “Maybe you’d better come with me to pick my dad up and have dinner with us until she gets home.” The thought someone had abducted Josh while he was home alone made me fearful for her.

“Okay, now you’re just being crazy. Obviously, you forget I can take care of myself.” She dug into her giant purse and plucked out a can of pepper spray. She splayed her massive array of keys between her fingers, reminding me of mammoth bear claws. “Snikt,” she said.

“I know you can take care of yourself, but we really don’t know what we’re facing here. I mean, Josh was…is…pretty resourceful as well.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ve already got Cowlings’ number—and the local cops—put onto speed dial, and I never leave home without my trusty phone.”

“All right,” I sighed. “Just call me if anything—anything—goes weird or something. And put the bottle spell under your pillow and keep it there. It’s supposed to be most effective there for whatever reason.”

“Dealio,” she said. I got out of the car and quickly raced to her side, letting her out. I gave her another hug, this time full-bodied. And maybe I lingered a little too long.

“Omigod! I just remembered! Josh’s backpack—with his bottle spell—is in his locker at school. Do you think that’s why…” She didn’t finish, but it wasn’t necessary.

“I don’t know. Could be. Please…put yours under your pillow, okay?”

“I will.” She ran to her front door. With a glance over one shoulder, she shot me a quick, dazzling smile before she went in.

I barely made it in time to rescue Dad from work. As always, he acted genuinely happy to see me. I wondered if I should tell him about Josh, but didn’t want to worry him needlessly. Then I remembered my parents using that same excuse for not telling me about Mom’s cancer. Quite a hypocritical little witch boy. Also, I’ve learned Dad can be a good ally in certain situations, and really, couldn’t he be in danger himself, maybe? After what happened to Josh, anyone could be a target.

“Dad, something happened today,” I said very deliberately. “It’s Josh. He’s gone missing…and I think someone snatched him.”

Dad’s hands rested on top of his legs before falling to the Bucket’s seat as if he lost control of his muscles. “Oh, no…not Josh…no.” Dad liked Josh and found him to be respectful and not nearly as “wild a card” as Ian.

I debated telling him how witchcraft played a part. I had the feeling the topic made him uncomfortable. But, I’d been wrong about people before, so I forged ahead and told him everything. I definitely spared him my earlier spiritual encounter with Mom, though.

Anguished-looking throughout my recounting, he just nodded thoughtfully at appropriate times. When I finished, a protracted calm filled the car. For a while.

“You think Josh…has been killed?” Dad shook his head. “How did this happen? Josh was a good boy….” He appeared ready to cry. I hoped he wouldn’t, as I’d had more than my fair share of tears today.

“I don’t know, but we alerted Cowlings, anonymously. He’s looking into it.” He gave me a despairing look. I felt he didn’t share the faith I had in Cowlings’ capabilities.

“Tex, this is serious. You’ve got to be careful. I don’t know if it’s safe for you to come home after school by yourself. Maybe you and your friends should all stay together until all the parents get home.”

“I thought the same thing, but Olivia already punted the idea.” I now regretted telling him everything. “Don’t worry, Dad, I will be careful. Any sign of a problem, I’ll have the cops all over it.”

I could tell this didn’t allay his fears. “Son, I want you to be careful with this witchcraft stuff, too. Don’t get in over your head.” He looked at me, cautiously sizing up the situation to see if he’d overstepped any boundaries. “Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying, and I’ll leave it at that.”

Upon arriving home, I noticed the “cat pack” out in full force. I brushed a handful of cats off the porch with the back of my coat arm, carefully avoiding skin contact. “Sorry, Dad. Apparently, I’m neighborhood catnip now.”

To my surprise, Dad nodded casually and said, “Yes, your mother used to have the same problem.”

We ate in silence as I stared at the phone positioned beside my plate, mentally urging it to ring. I wanted news, but I also dreaded the inevitable finality of what I expected to hear. Neither of us felt like watching TV, so I excused myself early and went to bed. I texted Olivia and Ian—home now and ready to return to school on Monday—to touch base.

—Right as rain— Olivia returned immediately.

—Can’t believe I’m ready to go back to school!— texted Ian.

I decided Ian should hear the news about Josh via a human voice so I called him.

“What’s up?” he answered, more jovial than usual.

“Ian, I have to tell you something…it’s about Josh.” I told him the heart-rending tale.

“Bastards.” Ian’s righteous anger stoked his defense mechanism against falling prey to vulnerable emotion. “Josh…” he said before falling quiet.

“I know… I’ll let you know when I hear something. But I don’t expect it to be good.” I hung up and nervously paced the floor. I held my phone at arms-length, anxiously checking it every few seconds to see if I missed a call.

About eleven fifteen, the phone rang, startling me even though I expected it. I answered on the first ring.

“Tex…it’s Detective Cowlings. I’m sorry to call so late, but I knew you were waiting for my call.” He hesitated, coughed once. “There’s no other way to tell you this, Tex, but we found Josh’s body down by the railroad tracks in North Kansas City. I’m sorry.”

Oddly, I reacted with cool calm, probably because I’d been prematurely wrapping my head around this news for the last eight hours. “No. Josh…” I tried to feign surprise and shock. But I just felt dead.

“If it’s any consolation,” Cowlings continued, “it doesn’t look like Josh was beaten like the other two boys. He was strangled. And it looks like he went fast and didn’t suffer.” Some words of consolation. The idea of poor, innocent Josh being strangled to death didn’t exactly bring me peace of mind. “That’s what’s odd,” said Cowlings, brainstorming aloud, “I’m not so sure we have the same killer here.”

Great, I thought, now we’re dealing with two killers? “How…how’d you find him?” But I knew the answer.

“That’s another strange thing, Tex.” His voice tightened considerably. “We received an anonymous tip from a girl pretending to be British.” A long pause stopped our conversation, as I visualized Cowlings whipping out his overused notebook. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“No,” I blurted. When I’m caught off guard, my love of the English language fails me miserably. “I’m not a girl…or British!” Way to go, Tex, that’ll get him out of your hair.

“I hate to do this to you…” He released a long sigh. “But I’m going to need to talk to you and your friends tomorrow. Will you be at school? I know it’ll be hard on you…but I’d recommend your going. It actually might be the safest place for you and your friends.”

I nearly let rip a lunatic’s laugh at the irony of school as a safe haven. Last week I had feared for my life at Clearwell high, and now, Cowlings presented it to me like a shiny gift-wrapped present full of comforting safety.

“Yeah, okay, I guess so,” I said.

“Needless to say, I hope you and Olivia can account for your whereabouts after you left Josh’s house, right? I assume you did go home when I told you to.” Cowlings delivered this assumption like a military officer to a subordinate who’d blatantly ignored direct orders.

“Well, I did make a quick stop at my friend Mickey’s house.”

Silence again. I imagined him counting to ten, trying not to lose his cool. “Ah yes, Mickey…Goldfarb.” I heard the flippity-flip of his fact-checking through the phone. “She’s certainly quite the charmer, isn’t she? You have some strange friends for a teenage boy.”

I’ll just bet that had been a fun encounter for Cowlings. “Well, strange is more interesting, sometimes.” I suspected my goodwill with Cowlings had about run dry.

Cowlings said he’d talk to me tomorrow and hung up.

I called both Olivia and Ian with the conference call option.

We talked through the night, sharing many stories, laughs, and tears. God, yes, there were tears. And anger. Anger was expressed frequently as we wondered why such a terrible thing could happen to someone like Josh. Out of the four of us, he was by far the sweetest, and thus, the most vulnerable to any situation. We wondered why he didn’t call the cops and guessed his fear of anybody in an authoritative position won out.

I didn’t share this with the others, but a very unsettling notion threatened to swallow me alive. What if Josh did call the cops? And what if a cop was the killer? It seemed a stretch, but the message my mother sent me—Trust none—kept clanging in the back of my mind like Quasimodo leaping onto his large bell.

But mostly, we shared great stories about Josh. I guess you could say we held our own personal mini-wake for him. When the conversation would turn hateful—–or morbid—I’d steer my friends back to what made Josh so great. Yet, all the while, my mind kept churning over a horrific image of Josh, staring upward with his round, innocent eyes and the last image he would have seen. Someone strangling him. Maybe someone he knew. His last thought, Why?

Olivia wanted to bail out on school tomorrow, but I told her of Cowlings’ warning. She hesitantly agreed to go. I made sure Ian’s mother would be at home with him throughout the day. We got off the phone at nearly three-thirty in the morning, and I still couldn’t sleep. Finally, I drifted off and dreamt about Josh during last summer, the best of times, when he taught us how to skateboard. The dream played out like one of those gloriously hot, comforting summer days we shared as we took turns falling and bruising and laughing until the sun went down. Then Josh quietly and effortlessly stepped onto his skateboard, the wheels rolling of their own accord, and slowly drifted up the street and over the hill, waving sadly until he was out of our sight.

When my alarm went off, I realized I’d been crying in my sleep.