OCDaniel (13 page)

“Are you sure it's here?” the man asked. “I need to get over there soon.”

I could hear faint talking on the other end of the line.

“There are clothes everywhere. What about under the bed? I know you didn't want Michelle to see it, right? Maybe you tossed it there.”

Sara and I looked at each other, blanching. Her hand tightened on mine. It was over.

The bed skirt was just pulled up when the man paused.

“Where?” He snorted. “You left it in your jacket? Nice one. Where is it? All right.”

He dropped the bed skirt and left the room. Sara was squeezing me so hard, her knuckles were white. We waited while the footsteps trailed away, and then the door shut again.

Sara released my hand and sighed, turning off her phone. “Nothing of note. At least I know that my mom isn't in cahoots.”

“Michelle?” I guessed.

Sara nodded. “So John has a gun, has my dad's watch, and just gave some guy five grand.”

She looked at me. “I think we can safely start assuming we're dealing with a killer.”

  •  •  •  

When I got home, I went straight up to my room and sat at my computer, trying to still my hands enough to type. I wanted to write or do something, but I couldn't. I just kept remembering the moment when those hands lifted up the bed skirt and I thought I was about to die. I pushed back from the chair, feeling my throat tighten and my skin prickling. I was disappearing.

I felt the chair sink away beneath me as the Great Space swallowed me up.

I sat there, not feeling anything. I felt like I couldn't move or breathe or do anything but survive and hope desperately that I would keep surviving. I was so zoned out, I didn't even know where I was.

When the Great Space finally receded, I was tired. So tired that I climbed into bed and pulled the covers to my chin and tried to go to sleep. But the fear set into my bones. The Zaps became constant.
If you don't do the Routine, you won't wake up.
I rolled over and shut my eyes, but my whole body started to shake. Tears started spilling down my cheeks. Why was I so broken?

The tears streamed down my face as I brushed my teeth until my gums bled and I did the steps and flicked the light switch. They flowed for the entire two hours, and when I finally climbed into bed, they continued until I fell asleep.

  •  •  •  

It was the Friday before the game. We had practice that night, of course, and I spent most of the day thinking of ways to get out of playing. Max was getting concerned.

“Have you been visualizing like I asked you?” he said at lunch.

I paused. “Maybe.”

He scowled, pacing along the basketball court. “Visualization is important, Dan.”

“I've been busy.”

“Doing what?”

Investigating a murder, writing a book, trying not to go crazy. . . . There was a lot to cover. I just flushed and said nothing.

“That's what I thought.” He shook his head. “We have to win tomorrow, Dan. Got it?”

He looked more stressed than I had ever seen him before. His face was red, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like he was squeezing lemons. Now that I looked at him, I saw bags under his eyes. Max wasn't sleeping either.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” he snapped.

I raised my eyebrows, and he sighed and turned to me.

“It's just a big game. Coach Elwin is coming from Erie High, and you know I want to be a starter next year.”

“Is that it?”

He hesitated. “We heard from my dad. He's coming down to watch too.”

“You don't owe him anything,” I said.

Max scowled. “I just don't want to lose when he's down. I want him to know . . .” He broke off.

“Want him to know what?”

Max turned and started to walk away. “That I'm fine without him.”

I watched Max go, and thought about fathers. Maybe I didn't see mine too much, but he was there. Sara's and Max's were gone, and they had both taken a bit of their children with them.

  •  •  •  

That night at practice it was confirmed—our kicker wouldn't be back in time. His knee was still too sore for him to kick. It was up to me.

“Hut!” Max shouted, and the center threw it back to him in a perfect spiral. Max caught the ball and expertly twisted it so the laces were out and it was angled at about 75 degrees. His eyes were locked on the ball, and I caught a glimpse of the opposing line rushing forward, and Coach Clemons holding his forehead in exasperation, already expecting me to miss. I felt the anxiety and panic and started moving.

One right step, one left step, and kick. I made decent impact, and the ball sailed over the line, though it fluttered a little. I watched it, and everyone else in the line turned to watch it too, hoping that for once I was going to make it. The ball kept sailing, straight and true, and then it dropped a foot short of the bar. I had missed again.

Max sighed and stood up, and I just slumped, waiting for Coach to yell at me. Instead he raced over and looked at where we were lined up. Then he turned to me, pointing at my chest.

“It was straight,” he said. “That's all I ask. We're at the thirty-five, so we only kick it if we're inside the thirty. Do the same thing tomorrow, and we'll be fine. Got it?”

“I guess.”

“Good! Laps!”

A chorus of groans went through the group, and then we all started for the track around the field. Max fell in line beside me and clapped me on the back, grinning.

“See? Getting better?”

I laughed. “I missed. I think everyone is just lowering their expectations.”

“Either way.”

As we rounded the bend, something caught my eye. There was someone leaning against a tree with their arms crossed. Sara. Max saw her too.

“Is that—”

“Yeah.”

He looked at me. “Does she actually like you?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

He broke out laughing and kept running, and Sara just sat down to wait.

  •  •  •  

She was still there when I wandered over an hour later, sweating and flushed. She didn't have a book or her phone or anything. She was just picking grass and letting it float away on the cool breeze. She looked peaceful, or at least far away.

“You watched me practice?” I asked.

She smiled. “Hardly. I can only watch someone miss a field goal so many times.” She climbed to her feet, brushing off the grass. “I just didn't want to be at home anymore. I can't even look at my mom.”

“We decided she wasn't a criminal, didn't we?”

“It doesn't matter. She left my dad for one. She may well have had John kill my dad.”

It was silent for a moment.

“So, what do we do next?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know. I don't think we have enough to go to the police. As far as they are concerned, my dad isn't even dead. He's just gone. They don't have a body or anything. We need to get more information.”

“So how do we do that?”

She looked at me nervously. “John is coming over for dinner on Sunday.”

“So?”

“I would like you to come too.”

“Sorry?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Is it that painful to have dinner with me?”

“No, I just . . . I mean, what would we tell your mom?”

She shrugged and started walking through the park. “That you're my friend. She'll be happy.”

I hurried to catch up with her, trying to wrap my head around this new development.

“And what are we going to do . . . ask him?”

She laughed. “No. We're going to use our combined intellects to ask other questions that lead us to the truth. Or you are. I don't talk to them. Remember?”

“I don't know—”

“Are you in this or not?”

I stopped. “Listen . . . I feel bad about your dad. And I want to help. But I have the game, and—”

“And it's not your problem,” she whispered. She had stopped too, but she had her back to me.

“No, that's not what I meant . . .”

She turned a little, so I could see her profile. Her lips were drawn tight. “You're right. I'm sorry. This is my issue.” She started walking across the street toward the sprawling field on the other side. “You did a lot. Thank you, Dan.”

I stood there, seeing my way out. But I couldn't. I jogged after her. “Wait.”

She didn't slow down. I grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“Wait.”

When she turned, her emerald eyes were full of tears. “This isn't me,” she said, her voice breaking. “I shouldn't have asked you all this. I was selfish. I just . . . I don't know what to do anymore.” Her arm was shaking under my fingers. “I miss him,” she whispered. “I want him back. I'm sorry.”

She pulled away. Her cheeks were bright. Her eyes were wide. I could see it coming again.

The Collapse.

Her fingers found her chest, and then she turned and took off sprinting into the field.

I was so surprised, I just stood there for a moment, stunned. She was sprinting across the field, her ponytail bouncing around madly behind her.

“Sara!” I shouted, suddenly realizing she was not coming back.

I ran after her, chasing her into the field. Grasshoppers bounded out of the way around me.

“Sara! Wait!”

She was halfway across the field when I caught her arm again. She tried to yank it away, but I held on, pulling her to a stop. She turned back to me, tears spilling down her face.

We just looked at each other for a moment, and then her expression softened.

“Just let me go,” she said. “It would be better. You have a chance to be normal, Dan. I don't.”

I shook my head. “No. I want to help.”

“You don't want—”

“I do.”

She seemed to consider that. “I shouldn't have run away.”

I shrugged. “No big deal.”

“I get . . . angry sometimes. And then sad. And then nothing.”

I nodded. “The Great Space. It's okay. I go there too.”

She smiled. “Look around us. Do you ever wish you were alone on Earth?”

I looked around. It was kind of serene. Nothing but grass waving in the breeze, and houses, and clouds lazily drifting across the sky. We were just little specks in the grass.

“Sometimes,” I whispered, thinking of my book.

“Me too. You can't be crazy when you're the only one.”

She spun, lifting her hands and shouting. Then she burst into laughter and rolled into the grass. She came to rest lying on her back, staring up at the sky. Loose strands of hair fell about her face and framed her eyes.

“I could stay here forever,” she said.

I lay down beside her, watching the clouds roll past.

“What do you see?” she asked, and I looked at her, surprised. She sounded like Emma.

I thought about that for a minute. “Freedom,” I said at last.

She smiled. “Me too.”

After a while she looked at me. “I'll try not to go bonkers anymore.”

“That would be nice.”

“Good luck at your game tomorrow. I'd come watch, but I hate football.”

I laughed. “Fair enough.”

We climbed to our feet and started for home, the sun just now starting to set.

“What time is dinner on Sunday?” I asked quietly.

She looked at me, surprised, and then smiled.

  •  •  •  

Game day dawned gray and gloomy. I woke up early, though really I hadn't slept any more than an hour at most. The Routine had taken me until three, and then I had lain there until five. It was seven now, and I'd woken up twice in those two hours to go to the bathroom.

Now I just lay there, staring at the opaque light filtering in around my curtain. It felt like there was a boulder sitting in my stomach. I tried to get up but couldn't. I lay down and tried again. It took ten attempts before I just barreled out of my room and went downstairs, still in my T and sleep pants.

I opened the front door and stared outside. A misty rain was falling, making everything cold and damp and slippery. Not exactly ideal kicking conditions. I closed the door and went to try to eat something. Didn't work. I just stared at a piece of toast until Emma came in. She shook her head.

“You should eat,” she admonished.

“Can't.”

“It's just a game,” she said. “One that you don't even like, I might add.”

“It's not a game,” I murmured. “It's Dad and Mom watching. Steve. Raya. Max.”

She frowned. “And me?”

“You don't care about football either.”

“True,” she agreed. “So think about me. I don't care if you kick a goal or not.”

“Field goal.”

“See?” she said, smiling. “Now eat your breakfast.”

She calmed me enough that I could force down the toast, but soon after, my dad strolled into the kitchen, beaming.

“Big game today, Dan,” he said proudly. “You all ready?”

We had to travel to Portsmith, but it was only about half an hour away. A lot of the families of our team members traveled with us, so it was like a home game no matter where we went. Which just meant more people to watch me miss field goals and lose the game.

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “Good. We leave in twenty. Go get dressed.”

He started whistling as he poured himself some cereal. My stomach turned again, and I went upstairs to get ready.

  •  •  •  

The game started well enough. I had to kick off first, but I was always a bit better at that, since there wasn't a target to miss. I managed to get a decent kickoff, and Max tackled their returner at the thirty, which was pretty good. Coach Clemons even patted my back on my way off the field, and my mom gave me a thumbs-up from the stands.