bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter sixteen, part two.❤️

The first aid kit clipped shut. "Why would I do that?"

He wants you to say it.

"Because . . ." Case paused, choosing his words carefully. He swallowed back saliva until the inside of his mouth was desert dry. "What I said earlier. About people noticing you were online."

Sir peeled off his gloves, rubber snapping. He turned away, face hidden.

"Does that mean . . . I mean, am I . . ." Am I a liability now?

Don't say it. Don't give him the idea if he's not thinking it already.

"Are you—" Angry? Worried? Scared? "—mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" Sir asked, the southern charm creeping back into his voice. "You're right, I made a mistake. I was careless, a reflection of my own hubris."

Case knew how to spot Sir's tricks by now. He kept his guard up, on edge and cautious as Sir reached into his jean pocket. The easy, nonchalant motion took Case right back to the trailer in the woods. His instincts screamed gun, but instead Sir pulled out a phone. The same phone he'd used to show Case the news article declaring him dead; the one that'd played the YouTube video of him singing while—stop. Stop, don't go there. Mental walls sprung up, blocking the memory behind frosted glass; Case knew what was on the other side, only now it was obscured and out of reach. Good.

"Now, I'm not one to make the same mistake twice. So I've done a little reading, and I think I've found something you'll want to see."

Sir sat beside Case, angling the phone to show him the logged out Facebook account. The big blue ADD FRIEND option sat under his name CASE KELLERMAN. Next to his name was the small caption IN LOVING MEMORY. Case's stomach lurched as he remembered the news article; the mention of his family trying to crowdfund his funeral. He saw a link on his profile, some kind of donation button, but he didn't have a chance to read it properly. Sir scrolled down, revealing his timeline, open with no privacy settings. Dozens of posts, big declarations of friendship and grief from classmates. People he partied with but barely knew. People who, a year ago, had laughed at his expense when . . . Acquaintances, not friends.

Fakes and liars, the voice hissed. Comments and reposts of that video played through his mind like a flipbook of bad memories. They posted mean, hurtful things about you for a few laughs and Likes before. Now they're pretending to care about you because whoever grieves best wins.

"Let's have a look at some of these," Sir suggested, his timbre low and rumbly like thunder.

"No—" Case was cut off as Sir projected his voice, as if he were performing in a darkened theater, mockingly-mournful as he read aloud:

"'An electric soul and true friend to so many people. Taken away too soon. RIP study hall, buddy.'"

"I know we'd grown apart, and we ran in different social circles, we didn't speak or hangout anymore. But I remember that when we were kids, you were my friend."

"I remember meeting you for the first time. You tagged along with Alex to hang out, and even though you were just a kid you were so funny and happy. I remember keeping the weird bunny-monster you drew on—Oh, this one's dragging on," Sir muttered before switching to another post.

"'Ace-Case, you were so bright you lit up every room you walked into. Senior year is going to be a lot less full of fun, laughter and light without you.'"

"'Only the good die young.'" Sir didn't make it halfway through that one without laughing. "Now, that one is a classic."

"Stop it," Case whispered. He couldn't protest any further; not with the restraint it took to keep from crying.