“It can’t be him,” she repeated.
He had the same mussed hair, the same T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the same arms, long and sculpted like a swimmer’s. The only difference I could see in this picture was the tattoo. Two, actually. Wide bands of what looked like a row of ancient symbols encircled each of his biceps.
“It just can’t be, right, Lorelei?”
He was just as breathtaking, just as surreal. And somehow, it made perfect sense. I swallowed hard and asked, “What if it
“Lor,” Glitch said, shaking his head, “that’s impossible.”
“Maybe it’s his father, or even his grandfather.” Brooklyn glanced up. “Lots of kids look like their grandparents.”
“Think about it,” I said. “Think about all the things he can do.” I studied the photo again. The caption below it read,
“What if it is him and he was there the day Mr. Davis’s brother died.” I thought back to what Cameron’s father had said. “Cameron calls him the reaper. Maybe he really is.”
“Is what?” Brooklyn asked, pulling away from me.
In hesitation, I pursed my lips. Then I said it, what we were all thinking. “What if he really is the grim reaper?”
“Then wouldn’t you be dead?” Glitch asked, suddenly angry. He’d set his jaw, and I could tell he’d slipped into a state of denial. Heck, I’d considered moving to that state myself, but the facts were hard to dismiss.
First the vision, then the accident, the fight, the gunshot wounds that didn’t faze him, didn’t leave a scratch, and the way he’d rolled out of the bed of Cameron’s truck and landed solidly on his feet when he escaped. And just the way he walked, the way he moved. So ethereal. So dangerous.
“Nothing about Jared is normal,” I said. I looked up at Glitch. “Or Cameron, for that matter. He’s different. You said so yourself. Always has been.”
Glitch offered me a sardonic smile. “Okay, so if Kovach is the freaking grim reaper, then what the heck is Cameron?”
I certainly didn’t have the answer to that. “I just think we should at least consider this a possibility.”
“Yeah, a crazy one.” He raked his fingers through his spiked hair.
“You weren’t there, Glitch. You didn’t see what I saw. What kind of entity can stop time?”
Glitch’s face softened. “Lor, you said it yourself. You had been hit by a truck.”
“And I don’t have a single bruise to prove it.” Despite my best efforts, I was getting frustrated.
“Have you looked at your ribs?”
“Do you honestly believe a delivery truck would only bruise my ribs? I told you how that happened. I was being torn through a tiny sliding glass window.” After a moment, a shocking realization burrowed into my thick head. I eyed him, dismayed. “You don’t believe me.”
Guilt lined his face as he tried to convince me otherwise. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I stood and strode out the door with the yearbook, searching my pockets for change for the copier. As Glitch approached, I turned to him.
“Of course I believe you,” he said softly. “It’s just—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Though the revelation hurt, I could hardly blame him. It
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Glitch said, regret lacing his voice. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”
His sincerity squeezed around my heart. So did his lost-puppy expression. He was such a cheater.
“And besides,” Brooklyn said as she walked up, “when you’re mad at him, he totally ignores my insults. Those insults serve a social function. They reinforce the hierarchy of our little threesome here.” She opened her hands, indicating our merry band of misfits.
“I’m not mad in the least,” I said, offering Glitch a half smile. “But when I prove I’m right?”
He grinned. “Then I’ll be your love slave forever.”
Brooklyn chortled, “You’re grounded forever. And a couple of days beyond that. How can you be anybody’s love slave?”
“And just think,” I added as I turned to make a copy of the memorial page, “when your parents find out you skipped again today, they’re going to be even more upset. You may have to do yard work. Or worse,” I said with a soft gasp, “the dishes.”
“That’s not funny.” Glitch’s grin evaporated. “If you’re gonna crack jokes, they should really be funny.”
“I thought it was funny,” Brooklyn said with a shrug.
“You think the
I raised my brows. “He is right, you know. For once.”
“I know,” she said, her tone flat. “I hate when that happens.”
I wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulders. “Cheer up, kid,” I said, brushing a fist across her chin in jest. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day. It was bound to happen eventually.”
“Of course,” she said, brightening. “I feel so much better.”
“Here.” Glitch grabbed the yearbook, feigning annoyance at the jokes made at his expense. “I have some change.”
He didn’t fool me. He loved every minute of it.
As he turned to make a copy, Brooklyn asked, “So what’s next?”
That was a good question. I could only come up with one answer, the only trail we had to follow. “Don’t they keep all the old newspaper articles on eight-track tapes or something? We could try to look up the report on Elliot Davis’s death. Find out what happened.”
“Good idea. We can see if there was anything suspicious about it. Not that we’d actually know if it were suspicious, but it wouldn’t hurt to check.”
I nodded my head in agreement, then lowered it, almost afraid to ask my best friend’s thoughts on the matter. But I had to know. “So, what about you, Brooke? Do you believe me?”
Brooklyn’s face split into a brilliant smile and she leaned into me. “With every bone in my body.”
Relief washed over me. I needed Brooke to believe me. It surprised me how much I needed it. “And where do I stand?”
“Stand?” Her huge brown eyes looked at me, confused.
“Yeah, you know, in your social hierarchy.”
“Ah,” she said, propping an arm on my shoulder, “the way I see it, we’re co-presidents, and Glitch there is on the bottom rung of the political ladder. He’s pretty much pond scum.”
“Perfect,” I said as Glitch growled over his shoulder. “Nothing like a society with two heads of state and one poverty-stricken, uneducated, mentally ill constituent to back us.”
“Exactly,” she said, polishing her nails on her blouse, quite proud of her governing hierarchy.
THREE LAWS AND A SUBARU
It took a while, but we managed to find a newspaper article on an ancient cell of microfiche that described the sudden death of Riley High’s star quarterback. He’d apparently died of an aneurysm while sitting in his car after school, waiting for his brother, Alan.
Elliot Davis, the oldest child of James and Anne Davis, died moments after his brother found him. A later article explained that he spoke to his brother right before he died, but that Alan Davis was in shock and couldn’t tell his parents what their son had said. How awful his father must have felt. How awful Principal Davis must have felt as well, his older brother dying in front of him, so suddenly, so tragically.
The mental image of the scene played over and over in my mind as we walked home, wondering how Jared fit into the picture. It made no sense. Elliot Davis died of an aneurysm. What did that have to do with anything?
