Chapter Fifteen

A cold, windy Saturday provided the backdrop for Josh’s funeral, much too early to be this frigid. I sensed a winter storm looming. Call it witchcraft or just an accurate weather sense, but the way the sky melded several tints of gray with dark clouds speedily rolling in felt like an omen of even worse things to come.

Ian’s parents offered to pick up Dad and me, as they knew my car was still at school. The five of us piled into their van and attended the church services. Josh’s parents sat in the front pew along with his brothers, back from college. They looked typically anesthetized after their tragic loss. I know the feeling well, having already attended too many funerals for someone my age.

The preacher blathered on about how Josh had departed to a better place and yadda, yadda, yadda. Occasionally, an attendee would rip out an agonized sob, jarring me from my stupor. One poor kid, in particular, wailed throughout the entire service, his anguished howls echoing throughout the large church. I didn’t recognize him but assumed him to be an old friend from Josh’s previous school, or maybe a cousin. Another kid comforted him by wrapping his arm around his shoulders, tormented shudders bouncing both of them in unison.

We sat next to Olivia and her mother. Impossibly, Ian, Olivia, and I had cried all of our tears out the day before, given our head start. Only half paying attention to the surrounding proceedings, we sat immobile in stony silence.

After the church services, Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton took Dad home, as he wouldn’t be able to get out to the gravesite part of the ceremony. “Tex, you be sure and get a ride home from someone, okay?” he said as I assisted him into the Stapletons’ van.

“Yeah, Dad, but I want to go to the Berillo house, and I might try and get my car later.”

He looked doubtful and reiterated, “Just be careful.” I watched the van pull away as a low rumble of thunder sounded above; the Fates getting restless and demanding to play.

At the gravesite, Red stood not too far behind the Berillos. As the cold wind blew his curly red locks about his face, for the first time since I’d met him, he appeared less than cock-sure about everything. Obviously on the losing end of a macho battle with his feelings, gritting his teeth and looking skyward, he fought against the tears, but they fell like rain, anyway. Over to the far left of Red—to my great surprise—loomed Vice-Principal Hastings and directly behind him, Principal Who’s This Guy Again. Hastings wore sunglasses (totally unnecessary with the overcast skies) and chomped gum like a cow chewing cud. His hands rested idly within the pockets of his too-tight suit pants, and he apparently couldn’t have been bothered to wear the accompanying suit jacket. Principal Mystery Man stared down toward the ground, his hands folded in front of him in a well-rehearsed display of respect.

The turnout made me happy. With at least seventy people in attendance, I recognized half of them as Clearwell students, a lot of whom I vaguely knew by passing them like ships in our high school ocean. I’m ashamed to think I’d underestimated the number of kids Josh called friends, as they all looked appropriately devastated.

Not one to miss a party, Detective Cowlings lurked in the background. Respectfully, he kept his distance and didn’t join the gathered mourners, but he remained painfully obvious, particularly while scratching away in his omnipresent notebook. On occasion, I’d sneak a peek his way and catch him staring back at me. The wind whipped what little hair he had up and over, thus negating the effect of the cue ball cover-up. Didn’t fool anyone anyway.

The thunder continued to bubble up throughout the ceremony, but it didn’t rain. Nature having a good yuk, warning us that at any minute, we would be at her mercy.

When the ceremony concluded, I approached the Berillo family, the hardest thing in the world. Instead of comforting words, I gave both Mr. and Mrs. Berillo long, hard hugs, the kind of condolences I wish I’d received at Mom’s funeral.

“Tex, who would take my boy from me?” Mrs. Berillo gargled her words with wrenching sobs. “Who would do this? Why?” She pulled back from our embrace, peering into me as if I had the answer.

“I don’t know, Mrs. Berillo.” For her benefit, I sought strength. Didn’t work. I only found anger. “But I’ll find out…I’m going to find out.” All I could muster. My vow of vengeance probably didn’t supply much comfort to the Berillo family, but I needed to try and do something about it. Way past time.

Ian and I hitched a ride from Olivia’s mom to the Berillo house. I didn’t look forward to the gathering, but I had to go. I remembered when Mom died, and people came over to the house after the funeral. An endless wave of well-wishers spouted the same useless clichés over and over. At the time, I remembered thinking how are casseroles supposed to help? But I soon realized I misplaced my anger onto these visitors, who were obviously just as uncomfortable with loss and sorrow as me. When you’re forced into it, everyone finds a different way of coping.

Packed to the rafters with friends and family, the Berillos’ small house was eerily reserved and quiet, a far cry from the rollicking family meals I’d enjoyed there in the past. Josh’s twin brothers grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the hallway for some privacy.

“Tex, do you have any idea who’s responsible for this?” asked one of the brothers. I wanted to respond with his name, but I never could tell them apart. Muscle always looked the same to me.

“No. I don’t.” I shook my head. “It’s just…weird.” One of the brothers grimaced as if I belittled the impact of Josh’s death.

“Could it’ve been one of the bullies who picked on Josh?” asked the other one. Well into their third stage of grief—anger—they were primed and pumped for some ass-whooping. As much as I would’ve enjoyed sending them after someone like Johnny Malinowski, I figured it best not to fan any sort of mob mentality, deserved though it may be.

“I’ve no idea. It may or may not have been one of Clearwell’s bullies. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

“If you find out anything…I mean anything,” said brother number one, “you call us.” He slipped me a small piece of paper with their cell phone numbers on it. “We’re going to be in town for a while, helping Mom and Dad…and stuff.”

I verbally agreed although I wouldn’t call them. The thought of more violence flipped my stomach like an omelet. There’d already been too much bloodshed.

Clearly out of their element, Olivia and Ian stood in the kitchen as I rejoined them. Ian appeared ready to bolt. “Dude,” he whispered, “this sucks.”

“I know, but we need to be here for Josh.”

I had to replace Josh’s photo on the refrigerator. At the moment, we were alone in the kitchen, so I discretely tacked his photo back on the refrigerator. His visage stared back at me serenely. I dragged my thumb across it and whispered, “Goodbye, Josh.”

The atmosphere of morbid sadness and despair permeating the house grew tangible. Poor Mrs. Berillo couldn’t stop crying. Her husband joined her on occasion, his entire body racked with violent spasms. The twins circled the house, their rage building, fire stoking their eyes. Guests delivered their condolences to the Berillos and whispered their suspicions to others. Gossip quietly and quickly spread, heads shook condescendingly, and lips tightly pursed in disgust.

I felt stifled. I needed to get out of there. Very all too reminiscent of Mom’s funeral and after-gathering.

“Hey, guys, I gotta go. O’, could your mom make sure Ian gets home?”

“Yeah, but where are you going?” asked Olivia. “What are you going to do?” Visibly agitated by my early rabbiting, she got in my face.

“I need fresh air. This is just too much for me…” I could tell they didn’t understand and added, “It reminds me of when my mom died.” They nodded. “I think I’ll go get the Bucket from school.”

“How’re you going to get there?” For a second, excitement gripped Ian, hoping to escape the uncomfortable proceedings with me.

“I’m just gonna walk. School’s not far, and it’s still light outside.” But just barely. As dusk dropped, the intimidating clouds turned even darker, some nearly navy blue, one small step away from black.

“You can’t walk, and you can’t go alone,” spat Olivia in an uncustomary quiet tone. “You’re being a dumb-ass!”

“Maybe I am. But I really, really have to get out of here.” I looked over at Olivia’s mother, deep in a heavy but hushed conversation with Mrs. Berillo. “And it looks like your mom’s gonna be here a while.” No argument from Olivia.

“Okay, but, text me as soon as you’re in your car and headed home,” she said. “I mean it, Tex.” She swatted me on the shoulder, leaned closer, and whispered “Dumb-ass!”

While I didn’t disagree with Olivia’s assessment of me as a dumb-ass, I thought I’d start screaming if I stayed there any longer.

With one last round of hugs and condolences, I left Josh’s family. Pretty much an expert at this behavior now, I knew exactly what not to say. Leaving the twins with handshakes and light guy-hugs (but not too huggy!), they reinforced their offer of retaliatory payback.

****

After the oppressive atmosphere of the Berillo house, the cold night air felt like an unexpected slap.

The skies growled, rumbled, teased, and threatened a deluge but stayed stubbornly dry. Eerie, purple-skied nights foreshadowed worse weather. But for now, the heavens remained constipated, and all the angrier for it.

As I walked over the hill, I saw good ol’ Clearwell High. It looked so different on a weekend night. Heavy robes of night cloaked the long building. The usually bright streetlights lining the entry drive napped in darkness. A shadow of its daily, bustling self, the school looked dead—a skeleton deprived of its inner organs and muscles.

I hurried down the long winding drive toward the parking lot. Across the street sat the abandoned gas station, hiding in the gloom. By day, a den of iniquity for the pot-smokers, but at night, even they had deserted it. I thought of Josh’s last week of life when he’d taunted Bellman there. The ghosts all marched out in full force tonight. At least in my mind.

Fallen leaves crunched beneath my feet as I crossed over the descending islands between the lots. A low, long rumble roared above me, the accompanying lightning bolt firing up the sky for several long seconds. There sat the Battle Bucket, waiting for me like a loyal steed.

I unlocked the door and slid onto the cold seat. My car key slipped into the ignition, but the Bucket wouldn’t catch. “Come on, come on,” I whispered, afraid to stir the ghosts. The engine kept trying to rev up but gave up and slowed to a down-winding death groan. “Bucket, don’t fail me now.” But I knew it was no use. “Not so loyal now, are you, Bucket?”

A light snap cracked outside the car. The wind blowing the leaves? Something scratched across the passenger side window. A dark figure in a ski jacket stood outside. With a sudden flash of movement, the window shattered inward, showering me with glass shards. My scream sounded ridiculously feminine, a helluva time for such a thought. A black-gloved hand reached inside and grabbed the door handle. I snatched my skateboard from the floor, swung with all my might at the intruding arm. I made contact, and with a satisfying thud, the person fell backward, grunting. A male sound, caveman style.

The keys still in the ignition, I wrenched open my door and jumped out of the car. Flipping the skateboard onto the ground, I pushed off with one foot, keeping the other firmly on the board. As I sped by my attacker, he scrambled on the ground trying to get to his feet. But I didn’t look closely, too scared to.

With momentum building, I propelled myself across the pavement. The board ratcheted and echoed throughout the empty lot. My target lay ahead, the football field. If I could cross it on foot and exit through the far fence, I’d be able to shake my attacker off in the streets beyond.

I dared a glance back. The person ran in the opposite direction. A car roared. Tires shrieked like banshees. Bright headlights pinpointed my back as I reached the field. Kicking the board up into my hands, I ran onto the turf. The car raced parallel with me on the street opposite the fence, trying to beat me to the exit. I couldn’t outrun a car. The car came to a screeching halt in front of the fence exit. Waiting for me.

Fists flailing in the air, I turned and ran back toward the school. The car spun out in a loud, ferocious u-turn. I slammed up against the gym exit, immediately pulling at the doors. Locked. With nowhere else to run, I raced to the back of the school.

Across the football field, the intruder’s tires squealed. Echoes of death bounced off the empty school buildings.

Break into the school and hide? No. Sitting target. Better to take my chances outside.

Carefully, I crept along the back wall of the school. With shaking hands, I fished my phone out. The Fates had indeed settled on playtime. No charge.

My desperate panting sounded magnified, way too loud. I tried holding my breath but was too winded. At the far edge of the brick building, I peeked around the corner. I couldn’t see or hear the car. After gently placing the board down, I hit the pavement and began to ride. At slower speeds, the oiled wheels made little noise.

At a sluggish pace, the board carried me along the short edge of the building toward Red’s garage. All lights off—my last hope shattered.

I passed the garage door, prepared to bolt into the circular drive along the front of the building for a last, wild, Hail Mary getaway. I stopped and peered around the building’s edge. In the center of the drive sat a silver car, lights off, engine quietly idling.

Two choices. One, speed by the car and get out to the main street, hoping to take the driver by surprise. Not a good plan. Two, back up, scramble over the privacy fence flanking the apartment complex next door and wind my way through the residential neighborhood. Much better option.

Quietly, I clutched my skateboard and hunkered down, running as best I could through the grass. At the fence, I climbed, the skateboard pinched between two trembling fingers. Even though the fence stood at nearly six feet tall, I managed to scramble to the top. The skateboard slipped from my grasp. Head over tail, it flipped as if in slow motion. It struck cement with a loud, hollow clump, sharp as a gunshot.

From around the corner, bright lights flashed with far-reaching knives of illumination. Tires shrieked. The headlights rounded the corner as I jumped from the top of the fence into the apartment parking lot.

I darted between two apartment buildings. Never slowing, I took a quick look behind me. The car sped backward into the street, whipped around, and wrenched into the apartment parking lot. As I ran through the grassy strip between the two buildings, I pounded on tenants’ doors. But I didn’t take time to stop. Or wait. Just knock knock, who’s there, no one, and onto the next. As long as I kept to the grass, between buildings, the murderer couldn’t get me. At least by car. But I didn’t feel great about my chances.

I tossed the dice of life and exited the apartment complex lot onto another residential street. The car sped through the parking lot, hurtling over speed bumps at a breakneck pace, to get around the buildings. To get to me.

As soon as I crossed the street, the silver car bounced out of the parking lot, headlights bearing down on me. I jumped into a residential yard, eyes locked on the backyard fence beside the house.

Foomph. Zzzzzzz…

At the fence, I turned around. The maniac had bumped the curb into the yard, the tires sizzling in the grass. The front door lights of the house flashed on as I hopped the fence with one bound. The car backed up, sped away, scurrying to meet me on the next street.

Over the next fence, my jeans snagged and tore on the chain-link edges. I tumbled down the other side. My leg buckled underneath me, a sharp jag of pain electrifying my body. The car roared down the street in front of me.

Change of course, sideways-ho. I hurtled through multiple yards, most mercifully free of fences. A row of houses stood between me and the killer, nothing else. I stopped, closed my eyes, and listened. The car slowly ambled past my position, now a good several house-lengths away, the engine quieting with distance.

Suddenly, a little rat of a dog yapped loudly, nipping at my heels. Crap! Unsuccessfully, I tried to shush the dog by whispering to it.

Yip, yip, yip…

Shit, shit, shit…

On the street, the car stopped, grew louder, and reversed toward the barking dog. Quickly, I jumped over the fence, braved myself, and ran like hell through the front yard toward the street. Before I reached pavement, the oncoming taillights grew larger at an alarming rate. I dashed across the street. Fishtailing in reverse, the car swam toward me. The tail end of the auto barely missed me, the ensuing rush flapping the back of my shirt up. I tore into the yard. Car brakes slammed on. Gears shifted as the car lurched forward slowly and then stopped. I felt eyes peering into my back as I continued my survival run. The driver once again raced down the block and turned onto the next street, attempting to cut me off.

This time I went up the street through the backyards. I couldn’t keep this up much longer, not with my aching leg.

About four houses from the top of the street, I peeked around the corner of a large bush. The silver car slowly rumbled by. It crawled another two hundred feet or so before the headlights shut off, the motor idling, the car at a standstill. If I could make it another two houses up the street, it would put about four or five houses between us. And he’d again be facing the wrong direction. That left only two more blocks to clear and reach the safety of Josh’s house.

One more fence to climb before I’d sneak across the street behind my attacker. My one-move vaults were history. It now took me several slow and clumsy moves. Once at the top, I tumbled down over the fence. I crawled toward the front of the house, my leg on fire, my gaze locked down on the car down the street. At the large oak tree in the front yard, I hugged it for dear life. The driver still hadn’t made a move. Waiting…hunting… Every bush and mailbox my camouflage, I slowly duck-walked my way to the street. By the end of the driveway, flanked by two bushes, I’d resorted to all fours.

Another automobile pulled into the top of the street, headlights on high. An additional beam snapped on from within the driver’s compartment. Fantastic time for the skiff ice cream man in the white van to show up. Caught between a serial killer…and a serial killer.

Glimpsed in the van’s sliver of light, I watched the silver car slowly pull out. Quiet as a ninja on wheels, it motored down the street, headlights still off. Once it topped the hill, the speed picked up, followed by more squealing tires. One killer down, one to go. Maybe they’re the two killers Cowlings suspects. Lucky me.

Do I make another mad dash for it? Or do I lurk in the backyards until dawn? Probably the latter. The van driver might not even know about me, not tonight at least.

I stood halfway up, ducking the flashlight from the van while it swept back and forth through the yards. When I turned around to make my way to the backyard again, the front porch lights popped on, flooding the yard with brightness. Startled, I bolted up. The van’s flashlight targeted me. I yelped and stumbled backward. The van pulled up in front of the driveway. The driver jumped out, his engine still running. I scrambled toward the backyard, footsteps quickly catching up behind me. My leg numbed, slowing me down.

A voice called out behind me, “Hey! Stop!” A hand snagged my arm as the ice cream killer took me down to the ground. My chin cracked on the driveway. A man in T-shirt and jeans stared at us from his porch.

“Call the cops! Now!” I pleaded.

“Goddamn it, kid,” said the man who’d tackled me. “I am the cops!”

****

After Detective Brittaglia flashed his credentials to the man whose home we’d invaded, I climbed into the van next to him. I looked around, not a single Bomb Pop or ice cream cone to be found. Instead, a detached police radio sat in the front, a fenced holding area behind me. I massaged life back into my leg and let out a long, obvious sigh; I’d had my fair share of fences for a while.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer,” I said. “You don’t even look like an ice cream man.”

Smiling, he turned toward me. He wore enough hair product to qualify as a fire hazard. “You’ve kind of been a pain in the ass, you know that? What in hell were you up to?” With no malice in his voice, something unusual, I felt somewhat at ease. Somewhat.

I told him everything that happened after I left Josh’s house. He nodded sympathetically. “Tell me everything you can about the car that was pursuing you.”

“I didn’t really see much. Didn’t you see anything?”

“Kid, I didn’t even see the car. Just took it as a neighbor’s parked vehicle since the lights were off.”

“Well, I didn’t see anything, either. Maybe, kinda, I think it was silver.”

“You think it was silver? What about the year and the make?”

“As I said, I think it was silver. It was dark. It could’ve been white or light blue. I don’t really know much about the makes of cars or anything like that.” I felt lame, but cars were not what you’d call a passion for me.

Brittaglia shook his head—his turn to sigh belligerently—while he picked up his radio receiver. He phoned in an APB for a silver car, make and year unknown.

“Your girlfriend called Cowlings when you didn’t call or text her back,” said Brittaglia. “So we sent a cop down to your car and saw there’d been a scuffle. And with all the neighborhood complaints of a prowler…well, you weren’t too hard to find.”

Thank God for Olivia. Proven right once again…I am a dumb-ass.

“So, you work with Cowlings? All this time? And Cowlings didn’t think to mention this to me when I told him about you?” This knowledge could’ve saved me nearly two heart attacks.

“Well, you’re not exactly on a need-to-know basis, Richard. Once Cowlings told me you had suspicions about me, at least we dropped the pretense of being an ice cream man.” He pointed at the bell, lying discarded on the floor.

“Next time, you guys should spend a little bit more money if you want to look like a non-serial-killing ice cream man.”

Brittaglia chuckled. “Department’s not exactly loaded with cash. I’m actually on loan from the Olathe police department.”

“Could you please take me home?” I didn’t want to worry Dad sick, although I knew that boat had probably already sailed. Let’s just hope it’s not the Titanic.

“That’s where we’re headed. I know where you live, cruised by there quite a few times. I suspect Detective Cowlings is waiting there for you already.”

We pulled in the driveway, and sure enough, Cowlings’ car loomed large and lawly in front of the house. Great. I looked around for Mr. Cavanaugh, but it must have been too chilly for one of his nosy nighttime vigils. Nowhere to be seen, all his lights turned off, about the only scary adult who hadn’t come out to play tonight.

Dad and Cowlings had assumed the same positions they’d been in last time I arrived home for an interrogation.

“Tex, are you all right?” A map of crevasses and fault lines etched into Dad’s face.

“I’m a little bruised and scraped, but I’ll live.”

“Tex, tell me everything that happened, and don’t leave anything out.” Cowlings’ notebook perched on his lap, his pen hovering over his lip.

As I recounted the story, Dad fidgeted, his hands twisting the entire time. “What did I tell you about being careful? You should never have gone off alone.” He was pissed and rightfully so.

“Sorry, Dad. I really thought it’d be okay.”

“What can you tell me about your assailant?” Cowlings asked.

“I know he was male. When I whacked him with my skateboard, I heard a definitely male…groan, I guess you’d call it.”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Cowlings’ eyes lit up behind his glasses.

“No. It was just Ugh! I wasn’t paying attention to voice recognition at that point.” Realizing my snark might be a bit much, I added, “His voice was muffled, and I was in the car when he fell backward. I think he was wearing a ski mask. Maybe not.”

“What about the color of the car?”

“I think it was silver. It might’ve been white or light blue. Look, I was running for my life! My powers of observation weren’t at their peak.”

Silence swept the room, broken only by the slap of Cowlings’ notebook against his thigh. “Tex, think hard about what I’m about to ask you before you reply. Why do you think the killer went after you?”

I honestly had no idea, unless I knew something I shouldn’t. But I couldn’t fathom what. Then realization gobsmacked me. The killer perceived me as a threat. Even more unsettling, the killer apparently knew about my car at school and had waited for me. Unless, of course, the killer might just be balls-out crazy and simply targeting random Clearwell students. I miss the good ol’ days of Bob Bellman and his wacky, sadistic, bullying hijinx.

“I don’t know, Detective.” I tossed my hands up.

“Did you say anything at Josh’s funeral?” asked Cowlings. “Or at the Berillo household afterward? Anything at all? Did you hear anything?”

I recalled my conversation with Mrs. Berillo. Stupidly, I’d told her I planned to find out the killer’s identity. But this seemed an unlikely reason for the killer to target me. And I also thought it best not to tell Cowlings. He didn’t like my playing Tex McKenna, Boy Detective.

“Sorry, Detective, I got nothing. Wait…” I considered mentioning Josh’s brothers and their readiness to form a vigilante party of two but decided against it. The Berillo family didn’t need to borrow any more trouble.

“Yes?”

“Ah, nothing. It was just a bunch of old ladies at Josh’s house whispering rumors about the killer. I didn’t really hear anything, and I don’t think they fit the bill of who you’re looking for.”

Dad remained reverently quiet. I believe he now saw Cowlings as an ally instead of a harassing policeman.

Teeth clenched, Cowlings stood up and walked toward me. “Explain something to me…” I could tell he worked hard at keeping his anger in check. “At first, it looked like our killer was targeting Clearwell High School football players. Okay, that gave me a little something to work with. Not much, mind you, but it was something—at least a discernible pattern.”

He stared at me for confirmation I understood this. I nodded in agreement, wary of where this might lead.

“Now, the killer has seemingly switched his choice of victims to you and your group of friends,” he continued. “Why is this, Tex? What’s the connection?” He wouldn’t be satisfied until I gave him an answer. I sat on the sofa he’d just vacated. What is the connection? It made no sense. And it scared me.

“Detective, the only possible thing that links everything together in this…mess, is the victims were either bullies…or the bullied.”

“Yes, I’ve figured that out.” A faint glimmer of a smile crossed Cowlings’ lips. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know…” I felt two years old again and getting a stern talking to for misbehaving. “God, I don’t know!” I buried my face in my hands, trying to concentrate. A sudden, horrific thought hacked away at my brain. I looked up at Cowlings, tears beginning to form around my eyes.

“What is it?” Cowlings placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Tell the Detective everything you can, son,” said Dad.

“What if…what if…” I began and halted. The thought nearly pummeled me, too painful to complete. But I had to put it out there. “What if Josh saw something? Something terrible. Something he shouldn’t have seen?” The idea gushed out, thinking out loud, trying to make sense of my newly incoherent world.

“Go on, Tex.” Cowlings released my shoulder and grabbed his “comfort” notebook. “Why do you think this?”

“Well, the day Josh…went missing,” I said, choking up, “he’d sent me a text saying ‘I’m scared.’ At first, I thought it was just about the usual round of bullies, but…later on, that didn’t make sense because Bellman was gone.” Breathing loudly through my nose, I beat back the inevitable torrent of tears through sheer force. “I also knew after Bellman was expelled, he was hanging around the old gas station across from the school. Josh’d been taunting Bellman by skateboarding in front of him…staying out of reach. I think he did that the night Bellman was killed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What if Josh was still around when the killer grabbed Bellman?”

The room filled once again with a heavy, ominous silence, interrupted on occasion only by my pathetic whimpers. Dad rolled over, handed me a tissue, and wrapped his arm around me.

“Shhhh, Tex, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re doing great.”

Through blurry eyes, I glimpsed up at Cowlings. He’d crossed the room to the fireplace, resting an elbow on the hearth above it. As if in deep concentration, he shut his eyes.

“Thanks, Tex,” said Cowlings finally. “I know you’ve just lost your friend. And I know this is hard for you. But I wish you would’ve told me this earlier.”

“I didn’t think any of it was that important. And I’m really just…guessing right now.” I gained control of myself and let out a cleansing sigh.

“This all makes a little more sense. Now we just need to figure out why the killer went after you. Did Josh text anything else to you?” He looked suspicious again, probably getting used to my withholding information.

“No…on that day, I only got the one text from Josh. And he wouldn’t answer his phone. I don’t even think I talked to him the night before.” The memories came hard. So much had happened in such a short time.

“All right.” Cowlings snapped his notebook shut. “I won’t give you the usual spiel to call me if you think of something because I think now you know anything might be vital. Right?” He stared at me coldly.

“Yeah…”

“Oh, and you might want to call your pseudo-girlfriend Olivia. She’s been pretty worried about you.” Cowlings made his way to the front door.

Oh, crap, Olivia! She’s going to kill me! “Okay, I will, thanks.” I pulled out my phone but remembered the battery had gone AWOL on me.

“By the way, Tex, here’re your car keys. You really shouldn’t have left them in the car. You never know, there might be a criminal around.” Cowlings took out the ring of keys from his pocket and tossed them in my direction. I held up a hand to catch them. They smacked hard against my fingertips before falling to the floor with a clank. An athlete I’m not.

“Oh, thanks,” I said, embarrassed at my lack of physical dexterity. As for leaving my keys behind, I kinda’ had other things on my mind at the time.

“Good night, Tex…Mr. McKenna,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

Obviously anxious to talk to me, Dad said something, but I’d already dialed Olivia’s number on the land line. “Sorry, Dad. I’ve got to let Olivia know I’m okay.”

She answered on the first ring. “Tex?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” I prepared myself for an onslaught of verbal abuse. “I’m okay.”

“You dumbass!” She screamed and cursed at me non-stop for a few minutes. I accepted my punishment accordingly.

“You’re right, Olivia, I’m a dumbass.” Dad winced at my language. “I’m really sorry…you were right.”

“Tell me what the hell happened, dammit! And don’t leave anything out!”

Once again, I relayed the story of my close call with the killer. Cold silence on her end met me.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “This is…scary…”

“I know. And I think we’re all definitely in danger.” Dad strained to listen in, hanging on to every word. I lowered my voice to get a little bit of privacy. “Don’t go anywhere alone. Always be with someone. If your mom’s not home, or if I’m not available, go to Ian’s, but don’t stay alone. Is your mom home now?”

“Yeah, she’s downstairs baking or something.”

“And she’s not working all weekend, right?”

“Right…well, she’ll go to church tomorrow.”

“I hate to tell you this, O’, but I think you better go get some religion yourself with your mom tomorrow.”

“Gah! Don’t make me do it!” Even after what I’d been through, I could always count on Olivia to make me smile.

“It’s just for one hour. The killer is not going to go after you there.”

“Fine. Will you go with me?”

“Ah, no. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow with my dad and other stuff.” A partial truth at best. I did have a lot to do, but it didn’t involve Dad. And, honestly, I didn’t feel ready to go back to church. Not yet. Not Mom’s thing. Again, I realized my hypocrisy, but I thought saving a person’s life kinda compensated for my sin.

“Whatever,” she sighed. “What’s next? We can’t run and hide forever.”

“I’m going to find out who did this, Olivia,” I said quietly. I glanced at Dad to make sure he couldn’t hear me. “I’m going to use my witchcraft to find out who took Josh away from us.” I pressed my lips together in anger. “And then I’m going to get the bastard.”

“Don’t you dare be a dumbass again, Tex! You let me know what you’re doing, and don’t you do it alone! You’re not the only one who gets to give orders around here. You stay in constant contact with me.”

“Okay, okay…I’ll call you tomorrow. I’ve gotta go.” Ending with my Dad’s constant mantra to be careful, I hung up.

I hated to already prove Olivia right again, but what I needed to do tomorrow night would definitely be considered text-book dumb-assery.