Adam sat alone at the desk in his room, reading again the textbook on the wonders of forensics.
With the death of Cora Rowes, his summer had just become ten times more interesting, never mind intense, because he knew that her death would likely not be the last. Not that he wanted other innocent people to die, but Adam had been studying hard in college, and high school before that, working towards his degree in crime scene investigation.
When Allen Bond had come to Adam’s house to get a statement from him, he’d answered the questions easily, trying at the same time to get information out of the detective, the real detective who’d sat in front of him, attentively scribbling words down on his pad.
That’ll be me one day, he had thought, being aware of how childish and silly it sounded, but relishing the thought none the less.
His stomach growled, and Adam glanced down at it in slight irritability.
Adam’s mother, Rose, had gotten back from work over an hour ago, and dinner still hadn’t been made, because she usually liked to wait for Thomas, her husband, to get home from his job.
Tonight he was late, and Adam passionately wished he’d get home sooner, because then they would be able to eat. If his father wasn’t too beat from work, he may even listen with genuine interest to Adam’s account of what had happened that morning.
A knock sounded on the door downstairs, and he had just gotten up to answer it, when he heard Rose call, “Coming, coming!”
Adam strained his ears, wondering who was visiting at seven-fifteen at night, hoping his father had arrived, hearing soft murmurs, followed by feet tramping up the stairs.
The knock was repeated on his bedroom door, and Adam sighed quietly, in resignation, knowing Thomas wasn’t home yet, and acknowledging to himself that he’d just have to starve until then.
And then he wondered why Marc (for surely that was who was rapping at his door) was here at this time of night.
Adam pulled open the door a little harder than he’d meant to, and saw not Marc, but Doug standing there, looking resolute and a bit angry.
“Hey, Doug,” he greeted him, remembering with a flash the incident that morning, remembering Doug’s confession that the dead girl on the beach had been his former girlfriend. “How’s it going?” he asked, stepping aside and inviting Doug into his room.
“Hey,” Doug replied stiffly.
Adam wondered what was up, wondered why Doug was here if he didn’t appear to want to talk or do anything of importance.
He shut the door, eying his friend who leaned against the wall, returning Adam’s stare.
“Listen,” he finally rasped, “I know how much of a geek you are for school and your CSI cop stuff…I want you to help me find out who murdered Cora.”
Doug’s request caused a chill - he wasn’t sure if it was fear, or exhilaration - to run up and down his spine.
“And you can’t tell anyone. Not Marc, or the girls...no one,” he added in a rush.
“But…why? I mean, Allen is-”
“Screw that stupid detective,” Doug growled viciously, surprising Adam with his meanness. “I just want justice for Cora, and I know he won’t provide it.”
“Why do you say that?” Adam asked, starting to feel befuddled.
“Forget why!” Doug cried. “I just need your help! I can’t sit by and wait for the cops to get their act together and find out who killed her! I can’t!”
“You don’t believe it’s that guy Carmen?” Adam ventured curiously.
Doug turned his face away abruptly, shrugging. “Possibly, and if it is him, I will happily watch as they take him away and lock him up forever. But I don’t know anything anymore. Adam, do you know how hard it was to leave her?”
“Why did you anyway?” he asked boldly, knowing who his friend spoke of.
“It wasn’t my choice! They separated us because the guy who Cora had just dumped for me was angry, and he found out where I lived. He kept doing things to entice me to fight him, and I did eventually, getting into a good hard fist fight with him. I won,” Doug informed him, his voice tinged with a bit of smugness, “but my foster parents, schmucks that they were, sent me to me to Ravenscourt. I didn’t even get to say good-bye to her, in person, that is. We wrote letters plenty and often, but it wasn’t the same at all. But now she’s dead, and I feel like I have unfinished business of the worst kind tugging on me…I need this, man. You gotta help me…”
Adam took a deep breath. “I will.”
Doug smiled, a small smile that was a mix of genuine gratitude and grim determination, reaching out to clap Adam on the shoulder, who did the same, wondering what he’d just gotten himself into.
