Elliot Grey Solves a Murder

Chapter 3 - I am shot at by a crazed gunman

When Garth said that the fencing coaches were lax, and that the captain of the team, was 'dedicated'. He was not factually representing reality. He was practicing for his future as a White House press secretary. Because our team captain. A kid named Fallon Granger, that's Fallon Granger kind of scrawny, tall, scar through his left eyebrow for the love of god please find him and kill him before he kills me. I'd say the Marine Corp drill sergeants are holding a place for him, but like I have met drill sergeants and they are so much nicer than this uptight sixteen year old who needs that fucking whistle crammed down his throat.
It is five am.
Five am. The time of day, that is really night. And I'm in a godforsaken field. Being forced to die slowly after we just spent eight months of therapy convincing me we wanted me alive.
"PUT YOUR BACKS INTO IT. ONE TWO THREE FOUR. GIVE ME TEN MORE JAMESON—GREY KEEP YOUR HEAD UP!!!!!" Fallon walks the line, strolling, stopwatch clasped in hand, whistle around his neck. Our coach and an iced coffee are twenty feet away letting this abuse occur.
"I want—to—die—," I breath.
"THAT CAN BE ARRANGED GREY IF YOU DON'T PULL YOUR OWN WEIGHT."
No, he's not actually shouting but caps lock really adequately represents the sheer rage of repressed teenage aggression that is emanating from this kid. I'm not saying gay sex would help in fact it might make him worse. I do however think he should try and get back to us. He's mad and it's five am. I didn't know people were awake at five am let alone mad.
"It's Elliot's first day! I'll help him get acclimated to the team isn't it nice we have a new member!" Garth asks, smiling.
"NOT IF HE CAN'T DO A GODDAMN PUSH UP. PUT YOUR ASS DOWN GREY," Fallon walks over and puts a trainer on my ass to push me into the proper position.
"I am far too gay to be expected to do this properly," I growl, falling completely because he did that.
"Do you think Alexander the Great was straight?" Fallon snarls, kneeling in front of me.
"I am attempting to go through all my life without knowing who that is," I say.
"Oh do go easy on him, Fallon! It's his first day and he's doing really really well," Garth says.
"Will you be my lawyer, forever?" I ask, rolling over in the dust.
"No. I'm officially separating you. On my team we don't have any slackers. You either give me 150%, or you go the fuck home," Fallon says, "I will get your ass expelled."
No, we're not supposed to swear. In school. Like we do but. He's also not supposed to torture me.
"Twenty push ups Grey, or I tell Coach Waters you're not meeting your exercise requirements."
"I cannot do those I don't know why I'm sure it's a side effect of one of my medications," I say.
"Look he's done really well!" Garth says, gesturing to me nicely. It's important to note I have NOT done really well at all even I know that.
"Twenty push ups, or you run ten laps with me while the others get showered off. Your choice," Fallon says.
"I'll come with," Garth offers.
I consider. There are two wolves inside me. I don't want to be alone with Fallon because I might hit him. But I also want to be alone with Fallon in order to hit him. There's also a duck. That duck is telling me that if Garth comes I have to be mad and quiet because he's happy and nice.
"No just save me a spot at breakfast, I'm fine I can run, I run away from my feelings all the time. How hard can it be?" I ask.
"Oh, we're going to make it hard," Fallon says.
"ALL RIGHT GO HIT THE SHOWERS TEN MINUTES PEOPLE. IF I SEE CARBS ON YOUR PLATES I'LL CRAM THEM DOWN YOUR THROAT."
"All right," Garth says, nervously.
"Just—I'll meet you at breakfast," I say, "Really. I'm okay."
I say this despite never having once been okay in my goddamn life.
Fallon joins me from threatening the rest of the team, and together we take off around the track. I was thinking I'd breath and not talk to him. But unfortunately he seems to have other ideas.
"What the fuck are you doing on my team, Grey? We both know you've never done a sport before," he snarls.
"I needed the credit. It's not your team. It's the school team," I pant. The months in the hospital have left me jelly legged. I wasn't athletic before but now I feel like a Victorian Maiden who's unlikely to last the winter.
"You expect me to believe nobody put you up to this to sabotage my team?"
"YES I EXPECT YOU TO BELIEVE THAT YOU UNHINGED MANIAC!" I grab his shirt to throttle sense into him.
"Competition is fierce. We're set to go to the junior Olympics this year half of us have shots at the Olympic team. And all of a sudden you're here to drag my team down?" He asks, pushing me off. This sounds tough and masculine but it's like brushing a butterfly off your shirt really I think he's honestly trying not to hurt me.
Can't have that.
"For your information, I drag myself down before anyone else. If self-sabotage were a sport I'd be an Olympic gold fucking medalist. So I'm sorry if my presence is an inconvenience for you but if I can live with me you can too, sister," I say, pushing his chest.
"Self pity gets you nowhere. I don't give a shit about your tragic backstory, Grey. I do care about my team, so either pull your own weight or find another credit," he says, pushing me back.
"For your information, everyone is required to care about me, until therapy works. I'm a touch starved, incomplete, maniac and it's a shock I get up and dress myself daily so my best is going to look worse than the bare fucking minimum so fucking deal with it," I say, shoving him again because he came back for more.
"Your best had better get a hell of lot better if you expect to survive this semester," he says.
"So ominous. And unnecessarily violent. Look I don't know if this will fix you, but I feel like I should try," I say, and then I punch him squarely in the face.
And that's how I wind up in the nurse's office, on the first day of classes, tampons stuffed up my nose, bloody, and shaking out my fist. Yes he punched me back.
"Who taught you how to throw a punch? Come here this is education now—back off coach we're not fighting," Fallon, holding an ice pack to his face.
"I learned from TV. And probably a book, The Princess Bride, that was the book," I say, "I have two brothers."
"Yeah that tracks I've fought your brothers. Here, ball up—protect your thumb you're going to break it like that, there, better—," he takes my grip and adjusts it.
"Fuck off—wait really—?"
"Yes really. Here try again—,"
"BOYS, opposite ends of the bench, now," Nurse Skansen says, as she gets him another tampon for his nose.
I look down at my phone and text my dad 1/3 🤪
His immediate response is: Please tell me that is not how you choose to tell me that you got in a fight on your first day.
Me: I think you know it is. Anyway I think I'm justified.
"Hey, Fallon, I'm going to take your picture pose naturally," I say, holding up my phone.
"Fuck off," he says, flipping me off.
"Perfect, that's a good look for you," I say.
"About time for these," Nurse Skansen says, coming over with a paper cup of my morning pills.
"Yeah, sure, why not," I say.
"Wait—will any of that affect his athletic performance?" Fallon asks.
My dad responds: all right you have me there he doesn't look pleasant. I'm counting it as a half because he doesn't look mad just like a jerk
Me: I think there's more wrong with him than with me honestly
"You going to get pulled or some bullshit because you're 'unstable'?" Fallon asks.
"I appreciate the wholly unnecessary air quotes and yes possibly what's it to you?" I ask.
"Can't compromise the team—Nurse—I started it. Grey was defending himself," Fallon says, standing up.
"Your parental contacts have been notified, Mr. Granger I was blaming you. However, I expect better of you both," Nurse Skansen says, "Now, shake hands."
We both sigh.
"Why'd you do that?" I mutter.
"I literally just said," he slaps his hand into mine, shaking even his handshake is fierce. "Figure out how to do a push-up before tomorrow morning, or we stay through breakfast and I teach you myself," he says.
"Not a problem, YouTube is my best friend," I say. Without another word he walks off down the hall, blood still dripping from his stopped up nose.
I sigh. Well that could have gone worse. Probably. I do need the sports credit. I wish I could say I dealt with crazier assholes in inpatient. But I absolutely did not.
I book it to breakfast, where Garth is waiting for me having already made up a tray.
"How was fencing?" Jaden asks, nicely.
I stare at Garth.
"Fallon's got a face and a personality only Jesus can love," Jaden says, looking me up and down, "I take it you figured that out."
"I realize I spent last year sitting on the roof and having mental breakdowns but how did I miss that jerk?" I ask.
"Oh, he never leaves the sports complexes," Jaden says, "Like, for class and that's it. If he's bothering you let me know I'm friends with his sister, we did a photo shoot together last summer."
"Oh, I started it it's cool, this is my personality baseline even on drugs," I say, stirring my scrambled eggs. I wonder vaguely if they did photo shoots if I should recognize them? Probably not. Make up, air brushing, and just good old photoshop, can do a lot to change a person. Not me I'm hideous. But Jaden could have been on the cover of People and I wouldn't recognize her here in front of me, in a faded patagonia pink sweater, her hair in Dutch braids, zero make up save cherry pink lip gloss that's more for fun than fashion.
"I shouldn't have left you alone he's got a bit of a temper," Garth says.
"I did start it. Seriously," I say, "Admittedly he finished it."
"By finished it you mean—-,"
"I was seeing stars and crying," I say, eating hungrily.
"Whatever. Boys will be boys," Jaden says.
"That's misogynistic," I point out.
"A touch a touch I do confess, all right, Lit should let out early so do you want to meet up by the fountains?" Jaden asks.
"Just text us," I say.
"He doesn't check his phone."
"I'm awful at looking at my phone. I do try, I am trying I wouldn't want my parents to worry," Garth says, quickly.
"So I will text you. But. Fountains," Jaden says, "I'll try to get a more accurate map of the island during my study hall."
"Thanks, like, a lot," I say, still trying to finish eating.
"You've got a moment, Mrs. Bradly isn't going to mind, she's our first period, calculus," Garth says, nicely.
"Should I be—honored that Jason thinks for one pretty little moment I can even spell Calculus?" I breath.
"Oh she'll help you get it switched if you need it. She's very nice I had her last year," Garth says.
"What for pre-cal?" I ask.
"Oh. No. I do tutoring help in Calculus I'm in Dif E, Q, this year," he says. That's what he says I don't know what those words mean. I they mean things to smart people.
"Are you like a genius or something?" I ask.
"Lord no!"
Reader. He's a genius.
We go to calculus and Mrs. Bradley does turn out to be very nice, offering quickly to change my schedule so I'm in remedial algebra. Again. Garth offers to walk me there which I accept not because I don't know my way around, but because he offers nicely and I have issues saying 'no'.
We're partway down the hall for the remedial classes when we run into Otto. My brother. Older, by a solid nine months. There's some awful and Freudian happening to his psyche has been since we found out about me. But we've never liked each other, mostly because our mother showered me with attention. I was the favorite. I didn't like that I wanted to be friends with my siblings but it made it awkward. And while they were kind of keeping back their hate for me, finding out about my paternity let it all loose. They're now free to hate me, and the fact that I had nothing to do with it, is irrelevant when now it's blatantly obvious why I was the favorite.
He's in a blue Nike hoodie, designer jeans. New hair cut, looks good. He looks like his dad, my former dad.
"So they let you out," Otto says. I don't know if Garth recognizes him as my brother but I'm sure he puts two and two together. "What'd Stephen have to pay them to get you back here?"
"We don't have to talk," I say, shaking my head. Normally I'd have a sharp comeback. But he is my brother.
"Next time you try to off yourself, do us all a favor and do it properly," he says.
Garth just takes me by the shoulders and guides me past him, marching us along. I hang my head, shaking with anger and something else. Like shame.
Garth squeezes me gently as we turn the corner to the stairwell. I press the heels of my hands to my face.
"He shouldn't talk like that. If you like I'll report it to administration," Garth says, more gently than I've ever heard someone speak before.
"Do you want me to tell you what happened? Like, it's not like that—it's like that. Like less than half is reliably in the news, I'll tell you," I sigh.
"No. Only if you want to talk about it. I don't need to know anything to be your friend," Garth says, kindly, "He shouldn't speak to you that way."
"This is pretty typical. I'm the product of an affair, a bastard. He's not, so I'm the reason for shit at home, worse I'm our mom's favorite," I say, "I don't talk to her outside of therapy. I'm cool with my dad."
"Okay," he nods.
"I'm saying this because if I—get weird can you call him?" I ask, holding up my phone, "My only contact. Other than you."
"I'm glad to. Anything to help," Garth says, leaning against the door, "Would you like to go back to the dorm?"
"No. No I should go to class. Thank you--you don't have be my, guide dog," I say.
He smiles, "Emotional Support Human then."
"I probably could use one," I say, "No I should go to class. Try to start feeling normal. I had to face them eventually."
"Yeah," he nods, "Look I realize that situation is—tepid—but if you do ever need a place to stay over the holidays I know my fathers wouldn't mind a bit, they'd be pleased I have a friend actually."
"Thank you. I —," wasn't thinking of living till the holidays. "I may take you up on that."
"It's there," he squeezes my shoulder.
I go to class and try to forget Otto's harsh words. I knew he was a jerk. But it's a special kind of low to say that sort of thing in public. I assume he knows I've blocked his texts at the advice of my therapists. And the fake accounts he used. And the social media. I'm not even on social media.
I get accosted in the hallway to my next period, by a belligerent individual.
"What the fuck, Fallon?" I ask, holding up my hands.
"Phone Grey. I need your number in case you don't show up for practice I have to find you," he says, "There is one reason to miss practice you know what that is?"
"I'm dead?" I ask, giving him my phone to punch his number in.
"Wrong! If you are dead I will prop your lifeless body up as an example to the other athletes. The only reason to miss practice is if you've been arrested and are awaiting bail."
"What if I'm in the hospital?"
"Walk it off," he pushes my phone back into my chest.
"How's the nose?"
"Oh thank you, I need to put on my list. Teach pansy ass how to throw a real punch," he says, staring at his phone.
I text him a vomit emoji. He texts me a Jolly Roger emoji.
Good talk.
I set his contact photo as the one I took of him flipping me off with two tampons in his nose, nearly smiling. I could use a nice healthy rivalry to take my mind off my family stuff.
I knew that seeing my brothers would be bad, and honestly I thought that seeing Otto would be the worst. But. Cole is bad.
See, Cole is our baby brother. Solid three years younger than me and definitely the oops baby. He's always been shy, always been quiet. Like he knows he wasn't wanted. Long blonde hair that he refuses to let be cut, he was always my pet. My little playmate. Our mother left him with nurses and nannies. I'd bring him my toys, I'd go and sit with him and watch his little kid shows. For a while there he followed me around like a puppy. Then I went to boarding school first. And I haven't been doing great for the last couple of years, and so, we haven't had much time together. Last year was supposed to change that he was finally at school with us. But, I was serverely fucked in the head. Now all this. I'm sure our parents have given him no more attention with my recent hospitalizations.
He spots me from across the crowded hall. Eyes down cast.
I stop. We haven't spoken properly he never answered my texts no mystery there.
"Can we talk?" I ask, "Just like—you be pissed off at me but I'd like to talk?"
He looks away and keeps walking. So he won't even talk to me.
I wipe tears from my face. They're quickly replaced by anger.
"Fuck you then," I say, shaking my head. He can grow a pair and talk to me. It's not like I wanted this either.
Come lunch hour I'm more than tightly wound, and hide in a corner, staring at my phone and picking at one bag of chips. Garth loyally seeks me out. But now he is followed by two freshmen or eighth graders maybe. So he collected more of us.
"This is my roommate, Elliot. Elliot this is Simon, and Zach, I tutor them," Garth says, proud of his children.
"Hi, I'm anti social," I say, leaning back.
"Right on," the one identified as Simon bounces a little. He looks energetic.
"Do you play DnD?" Zach asks.
"I'm not that anti social," I say.
"We have a campaign," Simon says god I'm gonna laugh everytime I write that okay. Time to do grammatical backflips to avoid breaking the suspension of disbelief writing that.
"Do you want to join us?" Garth asks.
"Nope, I'm good thanks," I say, "Need to be anti -social for a while."
I watch them from across the crowded lunchroom. Garth is fine, talking to Jaden, happy. Otto is with some of his gross friends, he clearly isn't looking for me. Cole is with some of the lower classmen but he looks miserable. Simon tries to recruit him, looks like for their campaign, and Cole doesn't say two words. I sigh. Not a lot I can do about that if he's refusing to talk to me.
I have my first period after lunch with Fallon, and discover why I never noticed him last year. Turns out when he's not busy being a professional dick, he's super quiet and reserved. He sits in the back of class taking notes and not saying two words even for roll. He doesn't acknowledge me even, which is fine I don't really want to talk anyone either.
The school day can't end fast enough, after a very uneventful study hall I go to the fountains to wait, wondering if they will actually show up.
Garth and Jaden don't disappoint, though. They arrive changed from class, both in hiking clothes, Garth carrying a very competent backpack and her a sling bag.
"How was the rest of the day?" Garth asks, tenderly.
"Fine," I say.
Jaden glances between us. So he didn't tell her.
"Saw my brothers, they're jerks," I say, as we start walking towards the woods. We aren't supposed to go past a certain boundary in the tree line but that has not once been anything like enforced. They know we sneak off but we have cell phones. So. No one truly cares.
"I have a class with Otto, and I had homeroom with him last year," Jaden says, sympathetically.
"Is he the charming young man we met in the hallway?" Garth asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Ah," Garth winces, putting an arm around Jaden protectively, then one around me.
"I'm fine, really he's always been like that," I say.
"I am fine too. There's always going to be bullies, speaking of you and Fallon make up?" Jaden asks.
"No I think I could use an arch nemesis," I say.
"Very dramatic of you," Garth says.
"I tend to be," I say.
"Here, this is the cut off," Jaden says, nodding in the proper direction.
"Let's talk about this a minute, if this is a hook up spot, what were three straight and proud guys doing at it, what was it in the middle of the night?" I ask.
"Possibly they were there to observe local wild life, as we were," Garth says.
"Or not, like, no, Elliot is right, why would they go out there? To drink beer? People do that in the dorms," Jaden says, "This is a mile and a half walk."
"How big is the island even?" I ask.
"Ten square miles, the school takes up half of it this is all back trails intended for like, nature walks and stuff," Jaden says.
"Doing drugs?" I ask, "I mean total disclosure people do do that in the dorms, what are you wandering around here at night for?"
"Wasn't it storming that night?" Garth asks.
"Was it?" Jaden asks, "I don't remember."
"I do. We got word the next day to stay in but the storm was still going. Nobody had told us what was going on but we'd put together people were missing so word spread. I know my dad called because it was such bad weather he couldn't fly in they weren't letting the float planes land, you do remember it was the spelling championship," Garth says.
"I was so proud of you babe I do remember," Jaden says.
"You're both very cruel when I'm single and unhinged," I say.
"The point is, why would you do even illegal extracurricular nearly two miles from campus, in a storm?" Jaden asks.
"If you were meeting someone, and whatever you meeting them for you, you thought if you missed it it'd be gone," I say.
"Drugs?" Garth asks, more scandalized than necessary.
"I'd say they were getting a shipment? But I don't know if those guys were dealing. And if so—float planes weren't landing surely the water was rough for a boat," Jaden says.
"Surely the police have looked into this though?" Garth asks.
"It was ruled death by misadventure no signs of foul play because they fell to their deaths, and parents are going to suppress a toxicology," Jaden says.
"I feel like we're missing something obvious here," Garth says.
"I don't know," I say, rubbing the back of my neck. My spine is crawling.
"You okay?" Jaden notices and is overly empathetic.
"Side effect of my legal drugs, so okay as I'm going to be," I say.
We reach the cliffs in short order, and sure enough they are steep as described. Nothing drastic. But a fall to the rocky beach below would certainly break necks. There's plenty of room on land for extra curriculars, I can see why it's a popular hang out spot. The view of the sound and lush green islands isn't to be ignored. But I'm going to try.
"Okay, so, what's our theory? Lucas met them out here to fight?" Jaden asks.
I shrug, "It's a bit in character."
"And somehow succeeded in pushing three boys, from that photo bigger than him, to their deaths?" Jaden asks.
"Or maybe Lucas wasn't alone? Or he witnessed something? We haven't seen him at school, he's not answering his phone," I say.
"He's not answering you," Garth says gently.
"Well I've got an idea, what's the number?" Jaden asks, taking out her phone, "I'll call it."
"Here," I show it to her.
She dials, putting it on speaker. It rings, and rings. And rings.
I put a hand to my ear. There's a humming noise. I'm trying to listen to the phone goddamn it. Fuck this.
"Wait—I hear something," Garth says.
"Oh thank god," I breath.
"Call it again," Garth says, stepping a few paces away.
"What?" Jaden asks, obeying.
"I heard it too—is that a phone?" I ask.
"Yeah," Garth pauses, kneeling in the leaf litter, he pushes some aside, and picks up a cracked iPhone, attached to a battery pack.
"That's Lucas'," I say, hurrying forward.
"Wait," Garth says, holding it up, using his sleeve to pick it up. There's clearly blood splattered on the phone. "There's plastic bags in my backpack."
"Why?" I ask, impressed.
"Emergencies," Garth says, proud.
"Here," Jaden gets it for him, dropping the phone in, "Didn't cops comb this area?"
"Clearly they missed this," I say, looking at the phone through the bag. Jaden's missed calls and my texts, "Look those are my texts this phone hasn't been unlocked."
"It was pretty far, we need to report this to the police," Garth says.
"Is there a path down to that beach?" I ask, looking over the edge of the cliff again.
"This way," Jaden says.
There's a narrow, rocky path down the cliffside, followed by some rickety wooden stairs. The three of us descend hurriedly.
The beach is all stone, and at the moment completely barren and windswept. It's high tide so there's barely any room to walk.
"What are you hoping to find?" Jaden asks.
"Anything! Clearly they missed his phone. This is proof Lucas was here, and if his phone is lying buried in the forest that means he's missing," I say.
"Missing how?" Jaden asks.
"Missing—murdered. Now we have four people who walked off a cliffside, that's not normal," I say.
"Okay but someone didn't push four nearly grown people off a cliff that's—impossible it would take a gang," she says.
"I know it doesn't make sense—," I sigh, hands to my head.
"Do you know his passcode?" Jaden asks, looking at the phone.
"No," I shake my head.
"Guys. This looks like a camp fire," Garth has stopped behind us on the beach. He's kicked sand to reveal the remains of a fire.
"Yeah people do hook up down here. Lots of people," Jaden says. She clearly wishes she were one of those people.
"And eat canned peaches?" Garth asks, picking a can up with the end of his pen.
"Someone's been camping down here," I say, kneeling down as well, "Look these ashes—that's gotta be several days worth."
"I think I realized what we're missing," Jaden says.
"What?" I ask.
"If we have Lucas' phone, and we know he stopped texting and using it right before the boys were killed—why weren't four boys reported missing? Knowing his name or not," Jaden says, "Forest Grove definitely knew they were short a student. He'd have had a roommate. Someone looking for him. Even kept out of the press."
"Because his parents suppressed it?" I ask.
"What parents?" Garth asks, walking over to look at the phone, "Elliot, he doesn't have any texts—on the Home Screen there's just your unread texts some dating back to this spring, and then there's the missed calls from us. No spam. Who has that? I get probably ten texts a day, half of those are my dads telling me about some cheese one wants to send me and the other with pictures of dogs he saw."
"Your experiences are not universal but I do see your point," I say.
"He's right. No roommate texting him. No siblings? Why is it just you?" Jaden asks.
"And why's it connected to this power bank? Convenient for us," he says.
"Oh he always had it on that, like he usually carried it he said he was sick of it running out of power—oh my god, you're saying he's still on the island?" I ask.
"And he's living out here," Jaden says, "Maybe that's why the bullies were confronting him. Did you ever see him in class?"
"Or in the dorm?" Garth asks.
"Before either of you judge me this was prior to be diagnosed with several mental disorders. No. I met him on the roof or talked outside of school," I say, "I wasn't very present. But no. Now that it's brought up. I never went to his dorm."
"So what he's a runaway? Living on the island and if he witnessed, whatever happened to the boys then maybe he's scared," Jaden says.
"We have to find him, there's no place to dock a boat other than a skiff there's no way on or off the island, he's still here," Garth says.
"But why? Why bother to come close enough to the school to befriend me and—where was he getting cigarettes?" I ask.
A gunshot rings out.
I almost don't realize what it is. Garth and Jaden both jump and the sand puffs up near my feet.
There's another shot.
"Cliffs," Jane looks up.
There's a dark figure at the top of the cliffs, shooting down at us.
Garth grabs us both, pushing us flat up against the cliffside, while I try to see. But the figure retreats, firing one more time.
"What the fuck?" Jaden is shaking.
"I don't think someone wanted us investigating, which is proof positive of foul play," Garth says, "We need to call the police."
"And say what? We were shot at on our private island where the only suspects are in school? Nobody is allowed a gun on campus grounds our stuff gets X-rayed," Jaden says.
"She's right. Whoever just took shots at us? They either are at school and smuggled a gun on, or they're not even supposed to be on the island," I say, "We need more time. What if they're looking for Lucas?"
"Why?" Garth asks.
"Any reason? Half our parents have illegal dealings, Elliot is right. If some mob bosses' kid? We don't want to call the police to a mob war, that's a great way to get a price on our heads," Jaden says.
"Well what do you suggest?" Garth asks, wiping his forehead, "That—madman could still be up there."
"He's not. Those we're warning shots, and I have a fragile enough will to live to go look," I say, leaning out a bit. Garth grabs the back of my sweatshirt.
"No, we stay together," Jaden says, "Let's just call a chaperone, on impulse your fencing coach, and ask someone to come and help us back up, one of us is having a panic attack about the steps. We're in minimal trouble and someone else clears the path from above."
"I can't get in trouble. I already got in a fight today. Three strikes and my dad pulls me back to school in New York," I say, "You two can. I'll just go."
"No we're sticking together," Garth says, "Surely your father would understand—?"
"Again about your wonderful experiences NOT being universal," Jaden says, "The other option is, telling another student and having them come out and clear it. I mean chances are those were warning shots maybe some more people tramping through the brush will scare off whoever it was."
"I don't want to endanger anyone else. No," Garth says.
"We wouldn't if they came by sea. You yourself said that a small boat, like a kayak, could dock, we do kayak trips around the island all the time. Even I participated in one," I say.
"I know who could row to us," Garth says, looking down at his phone.
"It would involve stealing the kayak," Jaden says, gently, "Do any of your—friends do things —like—that?"
"My new friends do," he says, "And they owe me a favor."
I didn't have 'rescued from crazed gunman by freshmen on stolen boat' on my bingo card for my first day of school. But that is what happens. We remain in the shelter of the cliffs, and Simon and Zach arrive in no time, each piloting a kayak, inexplicably both boys are dressed as Solid Snake but I'm sure I won't get to talk about that.
"Get on the boat," Simon leaps out to cover us, bearing a paint ball gun.
"Where did you get that?" Garth asks, horrified.
"That's classified, get in the boat."
I get in the boat, glancing one more time at the top of the cliffs, "Is the eye patch necessary?"
"Incredibly," Simon hops in the kayak, paintball gun in one arm.
"Okay then," I mutter.
On the trip back we mostly fill in the boys on the incident and swear them to secrecy. We've missed dinner, so I go and collect my meds and the others get us a boxed dinner to eat Lion Lodge's main lounge. It's fairly quiet since it's move in week, and we find a corner sofa.
"So our best guess is that Lucas is in hiding on the island. Maybe he witnessed our crazed gunman kill someone? And so did the others so he's covering it up?" I ask.
"What though?" Garth asks.
"Drug running," Simon offers, he's still dressed like Solid Snake.
"It happens, piracy," Zach offers.
"That's stealing a vessel," I say, "But maybe drugs? I don't know. Whoever had that gun, is not supposed to be on this island."
"Or it is a student, who smuggled it on, exactly like they got their paintball guns on," Jaden says.
"This can be disassembled and hidden on my person in less than five minutes," Simon informs her, holding up his piantball gun as evidence.
"Or, Lucas is dead. And we just haven't found his body. That phone could have been there for months. And that camp could have belonged to the gunman, cleaning up his tracks," Garth says, gently.
"The current is pretty strong," Jaden agrees.
"I don't care. I'm still going to figure out what happened," I say.
"I'll keep the phone. But I do think if we can't figure anything out we need to inform the police," Garth says, "He could have family looking for him."
"The phone nearly proves he doesn't. And why don't we have any record of him?" Jaden asks.
"He went here a previous year? And dropped out but hid? Can you look at enrollment records, photos, anyone matching his description?" I ask.
"I can try," Jaden says.
"For now we should lay low. Whoever shot at us could very well come back, and I really do think we need to tell the authorities. Sooner rather than later," Garth says, "We're lucky our new friends here were able to come and get us."
"It's a pleasure," Zach says.
"Anytime, call," Simon salutes us seriously, "We live for adventure."
"Live for calculus," Garth winks, he'll make such a good kindly old man. The boys groan.
"Let's just see if Lucas was ever enrolled, then go from there, we have no description of a shooter, just that shots were fired, that and a phone that apparently only Elliot ever had the number to," Jaden says, gently, "They'd probably brush it off. Right no we sound—,"
"Crazy. I sound crazy. I'm the mental patient and I'm describing someone and have a picture of someone we have no proof exists," I say, quietly.
"You're not. We believe you," Garth says, "You have a photo of him."
"Yeah that for all the cops know I could have downloaded off the internet, or photoshopped, no we primarily have my testimony. And I'm not a relatable witness."
And worse.
I'm starting to wonder if I'm even a reliable narrator.