Back From The Dead

Officer Clapton was writing in his notebook. “Gordon Smith?”

“Dammit, I knew it!” Naomi said. She turned away from the door in anger.

Tim felt suddenly like he was to blame. If he hadn’t been receptive to Gordon’s seemingly friendly overtures maybe this wouldn’t have happened.

“Care to tell me about the circumstances that led to you loaning this book to him?” Officer Clapton asked.

Taking a deep breath Tim told him, starting with the day Gordon inquired about the book and culminating in Monday when Tim finally turned it over to him. “He seemed to be…I don’t know,” Tim said, feeling embarrassed. “Interested in it. I thought…I thought we’d put aside our differences and…”

Officer Clapton offered them a small smile. “I know what you mean, Tim. You were trying to meet Gordon halfway. No problem with that.” He looked at Naomi and Jeff. His features seemed gentler now, more at ease. “I think we can get to the bottom of this,” he said.

“You damn well better,” Naomi said. She was in Officer Clapton’s face again, pointing her index finger at him. “I’ve had about enough of these goddamn self-righteous little shits spreading falsehoods about my son! Do you understand me!”

“I understand perfectly, Mrs. Gaines.”

“I hope you do.” Naomi was so upset she looked like she was going to cry. “I’m…I’m sorry for blowing up at you like this, Officer Clapton, it’s just that — ”

“Listen,” Officer Clapton said. He took a step inside the house. Jeff and Naomi stepped back to allow him entry and Tim found himself huddling near them to listen. “I understand your frustration. Believe me, I do. If it was my kid I’d be furious. I hope you can see my position, though. I can’t play favorites. I have to play by the rules. I know you, and I know you’re good people. Tim’s a good kid.” He nodded at Tim and smiled and Tim instantly felt better. Gone was the cautious semi-accusing tone and stance. “And I know you’ve had problems with certain kids at the school, specifically Scott Bradfield, David Bruce, and Steve Downing.”

“And that Smith brat,” Naomi muttered.

“Have you had problems with Gordon before?” Officer Clapton asked Tim.

Tim sighed. “Back in, like, ninth and tenth grade. He’s friends with Scott Bradfield, David Bruce, and Steve Downing.”

Officer Clapton nodded. “I see. They run around together, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, they don’t have criminal records,” Officer Clapton said. “They’ve been clean since the day they beat you up after school. I will follow up with Gordon Smith, though.”

“Do you think there’s a possibility Gordon was cozying up with Tim to perhaps frame him for something?” Jeff asked.

“It’s possible,” Officer Clapton said. He took a step back so that he was on the front stoop again. “Best thing I can do is bring Gordon in for questioning.” He nodded at them. “Thank you Jeff, Naomi. Tim.” He held his gaze with Tim a bit longer than normal, as if silently communicating that he was on his side, then stepped off the porch and headed back to his squad car.

Naomi closed the front door. Tim felt relieved that the focus of attention was now finally on one of his tormentors rather than him.

“You have one more week of school, Tim,” Naomi said. “I suggest you avoid Gordon Smith as much as possible. Do you understand me?”

“Loud and clear,” Tim said. Mom was right. There was no question about it. Trying to be friendly with Gordon, trying to be civil with him and meet him halfway, had blown up in his face.

Chapter Nine

All four boys were standing around the bum, peering down at him when Rebecca Watkins showed up.

“Okay, what happened?” she asked. She shouldered her way into the circle of guys and gasped when she saw the bum’s condition. “Oh my God, what have you guys been beating him with?”

It was the following afternoon and they’d set on the bum shortly after arriving at Scott’s house directly from school. They’d headed straight to the guest house, flipped a quarter, then started the game. Steve first, then Scott.

“What the hell do you think?” Steve said. There was blood spattered on his face and chest. He was rubbing his swollen, bruised knuckles. “No weapons, just our fists and feet. That’s the rules.”

Gordon and Steve had headed to Scott’s house straight from school and gotten into the game the minute they entered the guest house. Two minutes later, Scott placed a panicked phone call to Rebecca, telling her to get the hell over to the house now. He wouldn’t have called her if he didn’t trust her; she’d known about the past wilding incidents in Philly and Harrisburg and he’d told her about their abduction of the homeless man a few days ago. Her only concern was that she didn’t want him to get caught.

Rebecca knelt on the floor near the bum’s cracked and bleeding head. The man was in worse shape than ever. Not only was his face a swollen, bleeding mass, his right eye was ruptured and there appeared to be a crack in his forehead. Scott could see the white of shattered bone and the thick jelly-like substance of brain matter filling the cavity of the wound. “Well, if you guys wanted to keep him alive all week, I think you’re going to be out of luck.”

“What do you mean?” Scott barked.

“He’s fucking dying, you nitwit!” Rebecca stood up.

“What the hell do you mean he’s dying!” Scott grabbed Rebecca by the arms and was about to shove her against the wall when Gordon and Steve intervened. Gordon grabbed Scott and held him back.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Rebecca shouted.

“Come on, man,” Gordon said, holding Scott back. After some shuffling around, in which Gordon and Steve kept Scott and Rebecca separated, Gordon and David continued talking Scott down from his anger. “She knows what she’s talking about, man, she’s done all the First Aid courses at the Rec Center and shit. Come on, chill out.”

Scott let go of Rebecca. They glared at each other. “Sorry,” Scott muttered.

“Fuck!” Rebecca rubbed her upper arms where Scott had grabbed her.

Steve motioned to the bum lying on the floor. The bum was unconscious but breathing. His breath came in slow, bubbling rasps. “You said he’s dying. There’s no way to save him?”

“Not without taking him to a hospital, and they’re probably not going to be able to save him either,” Rebecca said. She looked at the dying bum. “His head is bashed up. You sure you didn’t hit him with a rock or something?”

“No,” Scott said. No use in telling Rebecca that the guy had been slammed in the face repeatedly by fists and feet for the past few days. She knew that. “I didn’t realize that if you hit somebody repeatedly and hard enough, you’ll eventually break their skull.”

“Well no shit! Welcome to Human Anatomy 101!”

There was awkward silence for a moment as Rebecca crouched down and visually examined the bum again. She picked up his left wrist and took his pulse.

“Well?” Scott asked.

“Pulse is weak. His breathing is shallow. See how he’s breathing? Hear that bubbly sound?”

The boys nodded. Rebecca continued. “The bones in his face are so broken they’re creating a problem for his nasal cavities. He’s probably bleeding down into his esophagus. Also, see that purple stuff there in that cut? Looks like jelly?”

Steve answered; he sounded hesitant. “Is that his brains?”

“That’s singular. And yes, it’s his brain. It’s swelling. It’ll probably fill the wound and then he’ll be dead in an hour, maybe less.”

“Damn.” Scott turned away from the group, clearly mad at this latest turn of events.

Rebecca stood up. “You asked me on the phone if I could help him. I can’t. He’s dying. You should finish him