Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

It was tragic—and in this case, gruesome—for a student to die at a reform school. But it wasn’t exactly scandalous. Even so, Janine noticed she was trembling as she read the article.

She kept going, grabbing the 1983 and 1984 microfilm rolls.

No mentions of the school.

Then, 1985.

A mention of Wayne Whitewood in May. Not about the school. He’d won a barbecue cook-off.

Then, June 12.

Oh my god.

“Girl Killed in Gas Explosion at Whitewood School.”

The accident was similar to the first: a sixteen-year-old girl had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing (sneaking around to smoke a cigarette). The article included another heartfelt but blame-shifting quote from a grieving Wayne Whitewood.

Janine’s mind was reeling faster than the knobs on the microfilm machine. Two students dead in a few years? Weren’t the people of Bleak Creek curious? Did no one consider launching an investigation?

As she reached down to continue scrolling through the rest of 1985, she felt someone’s presence.

“All those funerals were closed casket,” a gravelly voice said.

Janine recoiled and turned to see the sunken-eyed man standing right behind her.

She thought of running for the exit.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the man said with a voice reminiscent of an old car trying to start up. His dull gaze was locked on the microfilm display. He rocked back and forth slowly, his thumbs looped under his suspenders like he expected them to come undone at any moment.

“Wha…what are you talking about?” Janine asked, trying to catch her breath.

“The parents couldn’t even identify the bodies. Sheriff had to use dental records.”

“Wait a second…Did you say… all the funerals?”

“Yeah, I’ll save you the trouble. There was another accident in ’eighty-nine.”

“What…what happened?”

“Boy got struck by lightning out there on the property. Heard it was a pretty ugly scene.”

Janine reached for the 1989 roll, already stacked next to the machine. She hurriedly exchanged the spools, then began whirling through the articles.

“What date?” she asked.

There was no response.

Janine turned around.

The man was gone.

10

REX AND LEIF walked into the cafeteria on their first day at Bleak Creek High School, feeling Alicia’s absence more than ever. This moment had been building in Rex’s mind for years, ever since his older sister, Misty, told him that whoever you sat with at lunch that first day could determine your future. “Brad Stewart was the smartest guy in eighth grade,” she’d said, “but he sat with the Gardner twins his freshman year, and now he drives an ice cream truck.”

He, Leif, and Alicia had developed a plan: Instead of buying lunch, they would bring their own to avoid the hiccup of having to go through the line. Then they’d take their brown bags—lunch boxes were strictly off-limits, a sacrifice particularly challenging for Leif—directly to the spot of their choice, sit down, and wait to see who naturally joined them. The only rule they’d agreed on was that Mark Hornhat wasn’t allowed. “If he comes over, I’ll handle it,” Alicia had promised. “I’ll let him down easy. Don’t worry.”

Both Rex and Leif had serious doubts about doing all this without her.

But they didn’t admit that to each other.

An initial scan of the room revealed that nearly every table was already taken, with very few students in line buying lunch. Maybe their plan wasn’t so original after all. They walked around methodically, not talking, Rex doing his best to play it cool and blend in (not an easy task considering he towered over almost everyone), while Leif somehow forgot to move his arms as he walked.

After two and a half laps around the cafeteria, Rex looked at Leif and motioned with his head toward a table next to them. A handful of guys and girls they recognized as upperclassmen were deep in conversation, but there were three open seats.

“Mind if we sit here?” Rex asked.

“Huh?” a blond girl with a jean skirt asked.

“Go for it, Stretch,” a guy with a Vanilla Ice To the Extreme T-shirt said before turning back to Jean Skirt and picking up where they’d left off.

“Thanks.” No sooner had Rex and Leif sat down than they got a powerful whiff of Eternity. Mark Hornhat appeared beside them, as if he’d been perched somewhere waiting for them to decide on a table. A very Hornhat move.

“Hey hey, fellas,” he said, taking his lunch out of his backpack. “High school is pretty rockin’, huh? So many hot babes.”

Rex and Leif just stared at him. They both realized that without Alicia, they stood little chance of repelling Hornhat. Freshman Lunch Plan 1992 was quickly falling apart.

“Oh, man!” he said. “What y’all did at the Second Baptist fundraiser was so rad. I can’t wait to see Ghost Dog so I can relive it. Does Boykins have lunch this period? I want to congratulate her on her performance. Especially the part at the end, heh-heh.”

Rex and Leif continued staring, coming to grips with the fact that Hornhat might be a permanent fixture of their cafeteria crew. Rex knew Hornhat’s dad was a doctor, so at least eating with him on a regular basis didn’t guarantee a future as an ice cream truck driver.

“What?” Hornhat said, responding to their silence. “Did Mr. Whitewood die or something?”

“No,” Leif said. “But Alicia…she’s not here. She’s at Whitewood.”

Hornhat’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Rex said. “How have you not heard about this?”

“I’ve been in the Outer Banks with my family since the night of the fundraiser. You know, at our three-story beach house.” Everyone knew about his parents’ three-story beach house, seeing as Hornhat had a way of working it in to just about any conversation. “We got back yesterday. Oh, man, that sucks about Alicia…”

“It’s not a huge deal,” Rex said. “She’ll probably be out in a few months.”

“I don’t know,” Hornhat said, shaking his head. “Seems pretty serious to me. I mean, think about it. How many kids do we know who—”

“Shut up, Hornhat!” Rex said, his intensity surprising even himself. Vanilla Ice and Jean Skirt stopped talking to look at him. “Sorry.”

Hornhat looked shell-shocked, caught off-guard by the scolding. “Okay.”

“You gotta chill out, Stretch,” Vanilla Ice said before picking up his conversation again.

“Yeah, uh, I will,” Rex said, trying to reassert his coolness.

“Hey,” Hornhat said excitedly, “you guys hear that Marky Mark is coming out with a new album?” Rex was always annoyed at Hornhat’s tendency to bring things up at inappropriate times, usually in an effort to prove how in the know he was.

Rex looked down, trying not to explode again.

“Nope,” Leif said. “Hadn’t heard that.”

“Yeah, just a couple more weeks,” Hornhat said. “But honestly, I’m not too excited about it. I think the real talent in that family is Donnie. He’s the most underrated member of New Kids on the Block, which is one of the most underrated bands of all ti—”

“Mark!” Rex said, almost yelling once more. “We’ve got some important business to discuss. You can sit here, but please don’t interrupt.”

“Okay, got it. Whatever you need, guys,” Hornhat said, gesturing with a partially peeled banana. “Whatever you need.”

“Thanks.” Rex was already backfilling Alicia’s role of speaking authoritatively to Hornhat. It felt better than he expected.

“One last thing,” Hornhat said, his mouth filled with banana. “Leif, can I breathe on your shirt?”