J. Gonzalez - Back From The Dead

That had been two hours ago. He’d stayed awake, feeding off the adrenaline that was still running through his system.

And he’d considered his options.

Mom and Dad were probably going to retain the services of Doug Fenner, the attorney George’s dad had gotten. It would make sense if they did since Fenner was already familiar with their case. This latest incident was going to push Mom right over the edge regardless of Tim sneaking out of the house and getting picked up by the police. He was pretty sure he could count on Mom (and Dad) to be angry enough to not only go to their lawyer, but press him to sue the city.

Fenner would probably advise him to plead not guilty for his arraignment. After the arraignment, Tim was going to request a closed-door meeting with him and his parents.

And then he was going to tell them everything .

It would sound crazy, but Tim was confident he could at least get the police out to the Bradfield estate to question Scott’s parents. Mr. Bradfield probably had no idea what his son was up to, not to mention having any knowledge of the zombies in his guesthouse. If he could get the police out there as quickly as possible, they’d have the element of surprise. Mr. Bradfield would probably sic his own lawyer on the city, probably even on his folks and if that was the case let him have at it. Either way, Tim was going to expose Scott and his friends for the monsters they were. That guesthouse was going to be investigated even if Scott and his friends got rid of the zombies and cleaned the place up before a proper search could be conducted. There was still DNA, forensics…surely a proper search warrant would ensure a search of that magnitude would be undertaken. He also had Gordon’s own confession, which the bastard would deny, but Tim would insist the police follow through with the allegations that Scott and his friends murdered John Elfman. Scott couldn’t buy the silence of every kid that was at Susan Zimmerman’s party the night John had gone missing. Somebody would have seen something.

And as for Chelsea, he would make it clear that she was in danger, that Gordon had threatened her specifically. Surely they had to take threats like that seriously.

Of course the police, and possibly his attorney and parents, were less likely to believe that Gordon and his friends had killed those homeless people for the purpose of raising them from the dead, but he didn’t need to tell them that. All he had to reveal was that they’d kidnapped and imprisoned them in the guesthouse and tortured them until they died. He could say that Gordon was trying to extract himself from Scott, that he knew what was happening was wrong and wanted to avoid legal trouble and that’s why he’d sought Tim’s help. He’d dug up the grave at the Reamstown Cemetery to blackmail Tim into helping him come up with a scheme to get out of everything without going to the police. Tim had been appalled by the allegations of murder and wasn’t sure if he was going to help Gordon, was still thinking of what to do, in fact, when Officer Clapton pulled them over.

And that was pretty much the truth.

Tim sat down on the cot, fatigue suddenly coming over him. They’d taken his watch along with the rest of his possessions when he was processed, and last time he’d checked it was 2:30 A.M. It was hard to keep track of time in this room, but he guessed he’d been locked up for the past two hours. That sounded about right because now he was dead tired. He needed to lie down and get a few hours sleep, recharge his batteries for the day ahead of him.

Tim rested his head on the small pillow on the far side of the cot and turned over on his left side. He closed his eyes. He had it all planned out. He was going to remain silent until he could see his lawyer and his parents. Only then was he going to confess to what was happening, leaving out the part about the zombies. But first, he was going to reveal Gordon’s threat against Chelsea and ask that she be protected.

Then he was going to tell them that Scott, David, Steve, and Gordon had been up to no good.

With that decision firmly in place, Tim Gaines fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

Gordon Smith waited a good thirty minutes before he called Steve Downing.

He waited with bated breath as the phone rang, sitting in his darkened bedroom. Down the hall, his parents slept, their anger at him having diminished as quickly as it had arisen. They’d been furious when Gordon was escorted home by the cop, and had made a good show of displaying that anger by yelling at him in front of the officer, threatening to ground him for the rest of the summer, but the moment the officer left Mom had muttered, “I’m tired and going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.” Gordon had experienced many of these proclamations in the past. What this meant was she was going to forget about it come morning. Dad might bring it up in passing, and it was possible the idea of grounding him would be floated between them, but it would never happen. It never happened before.

Steve picked up on the fifth ring. “Yeah?” His voice was groggy.

“It’s me,” Gordon said. “We need to talk.”

“Gord?”

“Yeah.” Gordon spoke in as low a tone as possible. “I’m sorry for waking you up. Your folks didn’t hear, did they?”

“Fuck no, they’re on the other end of the house. What’s up?”

“We might have trouble,” Gordon began. “It’s about Count.” Gordon told an abbreviated version of what happened that evening, leaving out any notion that he’d gone to Count for help in the first place, as well as leaving out the part where he’d showed the zombies to him. He might have been dumb enough to get mixed up with Steve, Dave, and Scott, but he wasn’t dumb enough to admit that he was planning on ending everything.

“So you were driving around with Count Gaines because the little shit tried to blackmail you?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Gordon said, repeating the story to Steve again. “Like I said, he called me earlier in the day. Said if I didn’t go to the police and confess I robbed that grave that he would furnish them with proof. He said he’d snuck over to my place and planted evidence, but wouldn’t tell me where. He said he wanted to make a deal with me. For us to leave him alone, so I told him I’d talk to him.”

“That little fucker.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. That’s when we got picked up by the cops for violating curfew.”

“Violating curfew? There’s a curfew?”

“Yeah. If you’re under eighteen you’re not supposed to be out after eleven P.M., or some shit.”

“You aren’t? When’d that law go into effect?”

“I don’t know,” Gordon said, changing the subject quickly. “The point is, we lucked out. Count Gaines got taken to Brendan Hall and — “

“Brendan Hall? Oh man, is he in deep shit!”

“Yeah. I don’t know what for, but maybe they got a hard-on to really bust him now.”

Steve laughed. “That’s great! Bet he’s finally going to take the fall for all that shit we blamed him for!”

“Maybe,” Gordon said. “But it’s not gonna be so great if Tim and his parents fight the allegations, get a lawyer and raise a big enough stink that the cops are forced to do a thorough investigation. They might not only come poking around my place, but Scott’s. What do you think they’re gonna find there?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Steve said adamantly. He sounded more awake now.

“The cops asked me if I’d heard about John going missing,” Gordon said. “I’m positive Count was asked the same thing.”

Steve went silent.

“I played dumb,” Gordon continued. “Count didn’t know shit, of course, but I played dumb. Suppose somebody at the party saw John leave with us?”