James Patterson - Murder House

He’s gone. This is his home turf. He probably knows every nook and cranny of those woods behind his house. He’s long gone.

The darkness, suddenly interrupted by colored, flashing lights.

A car engine, tires crunching over gravel.

A patrol car, pulling into Aiden’s driveway.

I move to the side of the house and peek around to the front. I hear a car door open and close. I hear footsteps, but not coming my way. Moving into the house.

I place myself flat against the house, not moving an inch. The only sound the gentle swaying of the trees in the wind.

Then a light comes on in the bedroom, where I just came from. I hear the footsteps inside.

A head pops out of the window, looking outside. I hold my breath.

It’s our beloved chief of police, Isaac Marks, illuminated by the light of the room. He’s only twenty feet or so away from me, but I’m bathed in darkness and far to his right — I don’t think he can make me.

“Shit,” he says into the darkness.

A noise; then I hear beeps. He’s dialing a cell phone.

“You okay?” Isaac says. “Where are you? No, she’s gone. I don’t know, do you? She said what? Okay. Don’t worry about her. I’ll take care of her. I said I’ll take care of this. You gotta relax. Listen to me...”

His voice fading as he leaves the room, as he moves into the interior of the house.

After waiting over an hour in Aiden’s backyard, I head back to my car. Aiden’s not coming back, and Isaac left long ago.

My car is tucked away on the shoulder of the road down the street. Did Isaac spot it? I don’t see an ambush awaiting me. No doubt there’s an APB out, possibly a warrant for my arrest.

I don’t know what Isaac has planned. I don’t know what he meant when he told Aiden he would “take care” of me.

And I’m not anxious to find out.

I have to get my car out of sight. I have to get myself out of sight.

I pull my car into his driveway and ring the doorbell. Nobody likes unannounced visitors at midnight.

“Who’s there?” he calls through the door.

“It’s Murphy.”

When he opens the door, Noah Walker is wearing an undershirt and sweat pants. He’s clutching a hand towel, his face still dripping with water.

As always — that heat across my chest.

There. That’s the difference. That’s the spark. That’s what’s missing with Justin.

No time for that now, Murphy.

“You okay?” Noah asks.

“No,” I say. “I can’t go home. The police are looking for me.”

“The pol— Well, come in.” He moves out of the way to let me in. “So what happened?” he asks.

“I broke into Aiden’s house,” I say. “I know it was him.”

“What, that dream again?” Noah closes the door and locks it.

“He did something to me,” I say. “A long time ago. Back in ninety-four. The dream is a flashback, Noah. It’s a memory. I saw the police report myself.”

“Then why wasn’t Aiden arrested or—”

“Aiden’s not in the report. I didn’t tell anybody anything. I couldn’t. But now I know.”

“Look, Aiden’s a strange bird,” he says, “but he’s a sweet kid.”

“That’s what everyone says. That’s what everyone says.” I grip my hair as if I’m going to yank it out at the roots, feeling a buzz of nervous energy. “What happened to me was in 1994,” I say. “And in 1995, there was the school shooting. I know Aiden was involved in the first of those. Was he involved in the second?”

Noah’s head drops. “Murphy—”

“Tell me, Noah. Tell me what happened in that school yard.”

“Let me make you some coffee or—”

“Fuck coffee,” I spit. “I don’t give a shit about some stupid code or promise you made seventeen years ago. People we care about have died. More will die. Was Aiden a part of that school shooting or wasn’t he?”

Flustered, Noah puts his hands on his head. Looking off in the distance. Probably pondering the importance of a promise made, or maybe just reliving what happened back then.

Finally, he drops his arms, clears his throat.

“I always met Aiden by that bench before school,” he says. “Back then, people used to pick on him. I tried to help him out. So we’d meet at that bench and walk into school together.”

I suck in a breath. Aiden . I knew it.

“So that day, I sat on the bench, listening to music on my headphones. Then all of a sudden, a gym teacher, Coach Cooper, is running up to me and telling me I have to come with him, I’m in big trouble.”

I stare at him, waiting for more.

“You didn’t participate?” I ask. “You had nothing do with the school shooting?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t even know it was happening. I was on the other side of the school, down the road, blasting music in my ears.”

I step closer to him. “What about the rifle they found in the bushes behind you?”

“Don’t know anything about it. Never saw it.”

“And — what did Aiden say to you afterward?”

“Nothing.” Noah raises his hands. “I was suspended for the rest of the year. I didn’t see Aiden for months. When I did — I mean, what was there to say? I don’t rat people out. And it’s not like I knew Aiden had something to do with it. I still don’t know that. I just know I didn’t.”

I start pacing. “Reports said the shooter — the one they saw, over by the woods — was wearing a Spider-Man costume. Just like you were.”

“Yeah.”

“Did Aiden know you were going to wear a Spider-Man costume to school?”

Noah thinks about that. “Probably. Yeah, he probably did.”

“And it never occurred to you that Aiden set you up?”

“It crossed my mind. But I didn’t know. And I’m not a rat.”

I bring a hand to my forehead, push my hair off my face.

“The second shooter,” I mumble.

“Yeah, you keep going on about that,” says Noah. “You’re sure two people did this?”

I nod. “That’s the only way it could’ve happened. So if you didn’t do it...”

“Then someone else helped Aiden,” says Noah.

And after tonight, I think I know who. I think I know who was working with Aiden, who’s been working with him all along.

The man who was in Noah’s house with my uncle when Lang planted the incriminating evidence to frame Noah.

The man who always seems to show up conveniently to rush to Aiden’s rescue.

The man who demanded that I stop investigating the school shooting, my uncle’s murder, all of it.

The man who told Aiden tonight, I’ll take care of this.

“I have to go,” I say.

“No, don’t.” Noah puts a hand on my shoulder. “You said yourself, you can’t go home.”

“I can’t stay here.”

“You could, actually,” he says, his voice quieter.

I look at him, his eyes peering directly into mine.

He puts his hand on my face and moves in for a kiss.

Like a surge of electricity through my body. Realizing that I’ve always wanted this. His hands in my hair, my hand cupped around his neck, letting myself surrender—

“No,” I say, breaking away. “I have to go. They’ll look for me here. It might not be the first place Isaac looks, but he’ll get here eventually.”

“So let him.”

“Why?” I gather myself, fix my hair. “So we both get in trouble?”

He concedes that. “Where will you go?”

I don’t know. Hotel, not an option — no cash to my name, and using a credit card would be the same as handing the address to Isaac. Ricketts’s house, negative. Uncle Lang’s house, nope, I already gave back my keys.

Someone I can trust, but close by, so I don’t have to drive the streets very long.