fractures

everything clicks into place

Layne

Abbey's house is pretty cool. There's lots of high tech stuff. Like the curtains can be drawn by the simple push of a button. And the lights in certain parts of the house are voice activated. She's rich. Very rich. 

She taps away on her phone while I explore the coolness that is her house. 

Her parents are pretty cool too. They're really friendly. Unlike my parents. Her mother is full of smiles, greeting me excitedly, offering me homemade cookies, which I'm very glad I accepted. Her cookies are the best cookies I've ever tasted. Her father is full of jokes, constantly teasing us. It must be fun to live in this kind of environment, always so joyful and lively. I'd give anything to have a family like Abbey's. 

But beneath all the smiles and the laughter, behind the cheeriness in her parents' eyes, I sense some sort of sadness. There's some sort of unhappiness, underneath all that joy, like a thin layer of mist shrouding the entire house. I wouldn't call their happiness a facade, but I wouldn't say that they're really, truly happy either. 

I grew up learning to read my mother's moods. I learnt how to differentiate all her different expressions, whether they were real or fake or somewhere in between. And believe me, my mother isn't an easy person to read. The change between her moods are so subtle at times that most people, even those close to her, won't see a single difference. You have to catch the smallest of details to know. The twitch of an eye, the slight crease between her eyebrows. But I mastered all that. 

And I like to call myself a master of reading moods now.

But I don't have time to dwell on all the sadness below happiness stuff because Abbey drags me up the stairs and to her room, with the cookies of course. 

"And this is my room!" She says, opening the door with a flourish. 

If the rest of Abbey's house is high tech and modern, Abbey's room is anything but. There's not a trace of any complex technology system in her room, like voice activated lights. There's also no curtains activated by buttons. It's messy and cluttered and rather cozy. 

"Sit down somewhere," Abbey says, grabbing her laptop and plonking down on her bed. "And don't mind the mess."

I pick my way across the book and cushion strewn floor, before settling down on the bed beside Abbey.

"Do you know which company Marlene's dad worked in?" I ask Abbey, because I sure don't remember.

"Yeah," Abbey answers. "Rain University."

"Really? I know he works as the deputy of something."

"Deputy Dean."

"There's such a thing?"

"Apparently."

"Did Marlene tell you all that?"

"Yeah."

Abbey opens the browser and types 'Rain University' in the search bar. Then she clicks on the news section. The first few articles show, "Rain University Deputy Dean Involved In Scandal", "Rain University Cheating Money From Students?" and "Rain University Scandal". 

Woah. I can't believe I didn't even hear anything. Or maybe I did. Maybe I did but I was just too focused in my studies to care. Actually, come to think of it, I do remember some things. Some things people whispered in the hallways at school. 

Abbey clicks on the first link and we read on how Marlene's father, Mr Stanley Underwood, used the school's funds to pay off his gambling debts and how the police weren't sure if the entire school administrative staff was behind it and how they were going to continue their investigation. The article was dated a few weeks before Marlene's death. Abbey clicks on a follow up article, where they say that only Mr Underwood had been proven guilty. 

Abbey opens a new browser and types in 'Rain University' again. This time, she doesn't click on the news section and we look at all the hate Rain University and Mr Underwood got. 

We take about an hour going through each and every website about Rain University. 

"There's nothing in here about the daughter," Abbey finally says. "Not even on the founder's page."

"So the founder is someone who has a daughter in our school? That means the university's pretty young."

"No, actually, the founder is the daughter's great grandfather, Mr Clinton Rain."

"Oh."

Nothing on who the daughter is. 

Then I get an idea. 

"Why don't we list out all the people in our school whose last name is Rain?"

Abbey visibly brightens. "Good thinking. Let's write it down somewhere."

After a little fumbling around for a blank piece of paper, Abbey and I put our heads together to think. A few minutes later, when we couldn't think of anyone else, we had a list of four names.

Tommy Rain (Abbey's art class)

Odelia Rain (Layne's chemistry class)

Gwyneth Rain (a few of Layne's classes)

Hansen Rain (senior)

Abbey strikes out Tommy and Hansen. "They're brothers and they're parents own a bakery at the town central. So they're out. You should go there someday."

I strike out Odelia. "She once said she wanted to become a doctor like her dad." 

That just leaves Gwyneth. 

She was there the day Marlene died.

It must be her. 

"It's her alright," I say, circling her name. 

"How are you so sure?" Abbey asks, moving to erase the circle.

But I stop her with a hand on her arm. "I'm sure, Abbey. She was there the day Marlene died. If it isn't her, who else?"

"You sure?" Abbey asks again, still uncertain.

I picture Gwyneth, quiet, wordless Gwyneth. It's fuzzy and unclear, but I picture her there, at the cliff edge that night. 

And everything clicks into place.