He hauled on a new shirt and jeans and opened his door. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the door, his lower lip quivering just a little.
His door had been locked last night. Now it wasn’t.
He looked around his room quickly for anything out of the ordinary and saw nothing. Just stacks of Popular Science magazines and clothes scattered all over the floor, along with a pile of CDs he’d been meaning to give back to Sara for some time. Taking a long, slow pan of the room to make sure, he decided that it had to be nothing. Maybe the lock had slipped, as it had sometimes in the past. No big deal.
He walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. He turned sharply to see his mother crying and his father sitting at the table.
Xander’s father was old and scrawny, wearing a flannel shirt and suspenders he refused to admit were out of style. His shoulders were slumped forward and his face sagged more than usual as he clenched his wife’s hand tightly around her fingers.
She was a little younger and usually hid her years much better. Today her hair wasn’t curled and Xander noticed she was only wearing one earring. The makeup on her round face was smeared by tears and tissues, and when she looked at Xander he could see her eyes were bloodshot.
Xander’s eyes widened in shock. “What’s going on?” He almost didn’t need to ask. It was as if he knew before the words even escaped his mother’s lips. The image of what he knew had happened came to his brain. He could practically hear her saying the words in her head.
“Xander, son, you should sit down,” his mother coaxed, motioning toward an empty chair at the table.
“No. No way. Just fucking tell me,” he said slowly but defiantly, hating it when people started bad news with sit down. It just made it worse by drawing it out.
“Sit,” his father said in a stern voice, frowning in disapproval of his son’s choice in language.
Xander took a step toward the chair without even realizing it, almost as a reflex, his father glaring at him as he did.
“Alex, sweetie, were you with Mike and Cathy last night?” his mother asked, her voice unwavering even through her tears.
“I... what?” Xander asked, getting confused as his head spun a mile a minute.
“Son, Michael and Cathy were attacked last night,” his father said bluntly, placing an open palm on the table as if he were laying out the facts.
Xander could feel the words cut through him like a dagger. He ran into the porch and hauled on his shoes, unlocked the front door and ran out.
His mother started to get up and go after him, but his father touched her on the arm quickly, shaking his head.
He hopped across the threshold they had passed over only last night. He ran to Sara’s doorway and started banging on her door.
She opened it, still wearing her nightgown, her eyes red and puffy.
Without a word, he took her into his arms and cried.
Carl Dent slammed a fist down on the folder in front of him, this one marked Harris/Kennessy. “Fuck!” he yelled, getting the attention of the entire wing. Nobody dared to say anything to him, as the entirety of his balding head turned red with livid anger.
He ran a hand through his remaining hair, clenching his teeth as he opened both this and the Dawkins file.
“What am I missing?” he mumbled to himself, waiting for something to jump out at him. A tattoo, a locale, anything besides the manner in which the people were attacked.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
He glared at it, willing it to stop on its own.
Which of course, it did not.
Cursing again, he picked it up and put it to his ear. “Dent,” he grumbled, scraping his teeth together.
“Yes, this is Don Smith. I’m a reporter with Beach News Daily...” said the polite yet exhausted voice on the other end of the line.
Dent rolled his eyes, throwing his free hand up in the air. He hated reporters, always had. More than anything, he hated the way they introduced themselves, putting emphasis of their job title, the newspaper, and even their name. It was as if they were trying to make themselves sound so much more important than they really were. “Yes?” he sighed reluctantly.
“... I was wondering if you had any information regarding the attack?”
“All information associated with Jamie Dawkins that we are willing to disclose at this time has been released in a press release to all media outlets. I would suggest you get off the phone with me and check your fax machine. Besides, I only deal with Tom Drake. He’s the only decent reporter at that rag.”
There was an audible silence on the line as Don took a deep sigh, composing himself before speaking again. “I wasn’t talking about that attack. I meant the attack last night. On Mike Harris and Cathy Kennessy?”
Dent raised an eyebrow. “And how do you know shit about that?”
“My son told me. He goes to their school. They all seem to know...”
Dent narrowed his eyes. “Then why don’t you go ask them?” he hissed, slamming the phone down onto its receiver as hard as he could.
He immediately grabbed the file on Mike and Cathy and threw on his jacket, cursing as he walked toward the door.
“Bout time I stopped sitting on the sidelines anyway...” he mumbled, slamming the door behind him.
Xander and Sara both took that Wednesday off school to go visit Mike and Cathy in the hospital. Cathy was as good
