Chapter Fifty

THE POLICE WERE DIRECTED to 1403 Maple Street, where they found a shaken-up and handcuffed Rick and Tracy Mitchell after a neighbor had called about “something funny going on at the Jacob Day house.” I imagined that same neighbor was the one who had called social services on my behalf the night of the Event, too.

My dad, Jacob Day, had taken the full brunt of the collective, devoured and used as a human host over the course of fourteen or so months while under psychiatric care, something only I knew. Scans revealed he had brain scars that were believed to be just that old, although it was said he’d suffered an aneurysm that night and was pronounced dead at the scene. I knew he had died a long time ago.

Dean didn’t die that night, but something worse happened. His mind slipped into a severe coma, what doctors called a level one coma—the worst kind. I was determined to see him through it or wherever it may lead. I owed him that much. I’d put him there, a new burden I would now have to carry.

As for me, with Dad gone, the Mitchells filed paperwork for my adoption, and I started calling them Mom and Dad. I slept well most nights, save for a nightmare once in a while of an oily, yellow-eyed substance that wanted to devour my thoughts. But other than that, the voices and nosebleeds—which I figured were a representation of me mentally holding open doors to people’s minds—ceased. I would never take sleep for granted again.

***

IT HAD BEEN ALMOST two weeks since that night, and Mondays being Mondays, I began a new week. That meant going back to school.

Classes at River West resumed, assignments were handed out, and life went on, although the halls lacked that certain charisma Dean had filled them with. He wasn’t forgotten, and just like Stephanie, he echoed a legacy amongst the students and staff. Something good we could all strive to be. Something I knew I wanted to be, starting with that first day back. It was a decision Dean had made with his life after realizing what he had truly done by placing the blame on Trent—the last memory Dean had passed to me before his room went dark.

I flopped a thick stack of pages on the desk in front of Kate. “There you go.”

She was nose deep into her laptop. A bluish glow tinted her face, and her hands scribbled notes in her black notebook. She didn’t inch from her focus, but offered one word. “Thanks.”

I waited a few seconds, looking around the messy newspaper staff room as other members worked away, preparing articles and performing other duties.

I turned back to Kate, who moved her pen with ease and loyalty across the page.

“What, you’re not even going to look at it?”

I watched Kate’s eyes scan the screen then jump to the notebook.

“It’s all there,” I teased.

Finally she set down her pen and picked up the stack of papers with frustration.

“This is way too long.” Her fingers fanned the pages. “I said an article, not a manuscript.”

She flashed a fake smile at me and then she was back at her computer.

I sighed, knowing too well that she was pissed at me. Things between us were still uneasy after the events of that Saturday night. I’d come to the realization that I couldn’t get close to people without putting them in jeopardy. Something Kate quoted as, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

I had backed out of our relationship and we decided to stay friends. Kate was the only person who knew my secret, and—using that to my advantage—I had gotten her to agree to allow me to write the story for the Weekly Beak, the one she had just rejected as too long.

I went for the stack of papers, and as quick as a ninja, Kate slammed her hand down on them. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

I raised my eyebrows, ready.

“I’ve known about Dean and Trent for a long time. I knew Dean was the one who started the fire. I’d dug around and even toyed with writing an article on it, but I abandoned the idea because I wanted to protect you.” Kate blinked hesitantly.

I nodded in true Mitchell fashion.

“Trent wanted me to expose Dean.” She curled a strand of hair around her ear.

“Why didn’t you?” I asked.

“Well, even though I knew Dean’s secret, deep down he was trying to make up for it. At times it was hard, but I kept my mouth shut for the sake of the good he was doing.”

Kate let a small smile escape that told me she was sorry for not telling me.

“Sooner or later, we all have to face our demons,” she said.

A moment passed between us, and I knew that even though we were just friends, I still felt something more for Kate.

She went back to work on her computer but kept talking. “Instead of this, why don’t you write an article on Dean, but I still get to keep this for a possible future issue. I’ll have to edit it and change the title anyway.”

“Change the title? Why?”

“You titled it ‘Uncanny, Inc.’” That gives your business way too much exposure in the Weekly Beak.”

I replied back with enthusiasm, “Oh, but I’ve changed direction. I’m no longer in the business of secrets.”

This caught more of Kate’s attention, and she looked back up at me.

“Now I’m in a new business. Call it a community service.”

Kate rolled her eyes in her typical Muddy Huddy way. “That is so lame. It needs to be called something else. How about—” She thought a moment, and I stared deep into her eyes.

At exactly the same time, we both said, “Detective service.”

We laughed.

“I told you not to read my mind,” she said, flipping her wrist to check the time on her watch. “Well, you’d better get going. You’ve only got so much high school left, and you’re late for class.”