J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

“Yeah.”

“You’re a good kid, Tim. The principal at Spring Valley High reports no trouble from you despite the accusations against you. You get good grades. Your parents are good people. You aren’t the first kid whose been picked on and harassed by the social elite of a small community. I’ve been in touch with other law enforcement officials in other cities where similar events have happened. We’re consulting with one right now in Colorado where a high school girl suffered what you’re going through. Her parents sued the school district and the city. Received a tidy sum, too. I’d be lying if I told you I’m trying to avoid a similar action from your parents, but I also want to see justice done. I’ve been working at protecting you and keeping you out of trouble as much as the law allows me, but I can’t do my job unless you help me.” Officer Clapton made eye contact with him again. “Please, Tim. Be honest with me. What were you and Gordon really doing driving around so late for?”

Tim sighed, the urge to tell the truth so strong that he almost told Officer Clapton everything. Once again Chelsea came into his mind. The memory of her caress, her kiss, and then something worse. Chelsea lying dead on the floor of that guesthouse, those dead things crowding around her, their rotting teeth buried in the smooth flesh of her throat —

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Tim blurted.

“How will you know if you don’t come clean with me?”

Tim said nothing as Officer Clapton drove down 501 toward Lancaster. When they approached the train station, Officer Clapton said, “I think Gordon broke into that cemetery and desecrated that grave to pin it on you. I think he’s blackmailing you. Why, I haven’t quite figured out yet, but — ”

“You think I can trust you now?” Tim said, the words tumbling out suddenly as his frustration bubbled to the surface. “Nobody believes me anyway, not the dean of the school, not most of the police force, not the majority of the whole goddamn township!”

“I believe you,” Officer Clapton said.

“The whole town is out to get me!” Tim said, looking at Officer Clapton. “Don’t you get it? They’re not going to care if you believe me. Your boss probably thinks I’m guilty.”

“That’s not true. Chief Landon and I have talked quite extensively about you and your situation.”

“What good is talk if you don’t do anything about it?”

“Certain procedures have to be kept. We can’t just rush in and arrest Gordon on suspicion of — ”

“But it’s okay to arrest me because some nitwit thinks I might be casting spells in the woods? Are you kidding me?”

“We have to follow procedure, Tim. When a criminal accusation is levied against a citizen we’re required to investigate. We’re compelled to be impartial and — ”

“Bullshit,” Tim muttered, his anger coursing through him. He flopped back in the seat, frustrated this was happening and unable to control his emotions. “The history speaks for itself. Scott and his friends have ruined my life and have convinced damn near everybody in Spring Valley that if a goddamn cat so much as gets mauled by a coyote, they blame me for sacrificing it to the devil. You know how many times I’ve been investigated on such bullshit claims?”

“I understand your frustration,” Officer Clapton began.

“I don’t think you do.”

Officer Clapton sighed. They were in downtown Lancaster now, heading south on Prince Street. Tim had no idea where Brendan Hall was but he figured they had to be close. “I believe Gordon dug up that grave and stole the bones of that corpse. I think he did it to frame you. I don’t know why. Only you can answer that question, Tim.”

Tim shook his head. Officer Clapton slowed down and pulled into a parking lot. A large building stood before them and Tim felt himself tense up again. They were at Brendan Hall.

Tim felt on edge. Despite wanting to confide in Officer Clapton, despite knowing that the opportunity to do so was presenting itself to him at this very moment, he was still scared for Chelsea and his family. If past events were indications of how things would turn out, the truth would be met with skepticism by most of those in authority. Gordon and his friends would deny everything and the Bradfield’s family clout would delay the search of the guesthouse, giving Gordon and Scott plenty of time to dispose of the corpses. Even with such advance crime investigation techniques like blood spatter and DNA, by the time that was gathered and a case was built against them, they’d be free to strike back. They could snag Chelsea at any time, Scott’s dad could essentially crush Tim’s parents with a lawsuit and there was no way they could afford an attorney competent enough to go up against the kind of money the Bradfield’s had at their disposal. They’d be ruined.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Tim finally said, the confession sounding false to him. “We were just talking. Trying to sort things out.”

Officer Clapton parked near the entrance and turned off the engine. He regarded Tim from the front seat. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s what you say happened, fine.”

Officer Clapton exited the vehicle and opened the passenger side door for Tim. As they walked toward the entrance to Brendan Hall, the dread that was coursing through Tim’s system solidified. “What’s going to happen now?” Tim asked, his voice cracking.

“You’ll be fine,” Officer Clapton murmured. “You’ll be in a room by yourself so you don’t have to worry. I’ll process you at the front desk and make a call to your folks, then we can talk some more in private if you want.”

“Will my parents be able to get me tonight?” Despite the trouble he felt he would be in with his folks, he wanted to see them as soon as possible.

“Yes, they’ll be able to pick you up as soon as they can get here.”

Tim heaved a sigh of relief as they entered the lobby of Brendan Hall.

As Officer Clapton led him to the administration desk, which was sealed off by bullet-proof glass, he casually asked, “By the way…do you know John Elfman? He was reported missing yesterday by his parents.”

“I didn’t know that,” Tim said, trying not to let the surprise show in his voice.

“Didn’t know him, or didn’t know he was missing?”

“Both.”

They stopped at the front desk and a civilian clerk dressed in dark slacks and a dark shirt looked up at them. Officer Clapton nodded at the clerk. “Hi, Phil. I need processing papers, please.”

“Sure thing,” Phil said. He reached beneath his desk and retrieved two forms, which he slid through to him.

Officer Clapton took the papers, retrieved a pen from his breast pocket and began filling them out. “I understand from several sources that John used to pick on you a bit. Not as much as Scott and his group, but enough to arouse interest with your guidance counselor. You’re sure you haven’t heard about his disappearance?”

“I’m sure,” Tim said, looking at the paperwork Officer Clapton was filling out. “I tried to stay away from John as much as I could. Besides, I don’t think John hung out with Scott and his group.”

“They were rivals, weren’t they?” Officer Clapton asked casually. He was filling out Tim’s name and address and began filling in the section about why he was being brought to Brendan Hall.

“I guess you could say that,” Tim said.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Tim shook his head. “No.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, I’ll be on duty until noon. You can always ask a warden to talk to a detective and I can come down. I can always come to the house and talk to you and your parents. Understand?”