Shadow of the Past (10 page)

“It’s okay,” Mark said, shrugging
Steve’s arm off his shoulders before anyone saw.

Steve shook his head. “Light years away
from okay. This has got to be . . . well, I can’t imagine it. I
mean, when my Grams died, it was weird, but this--”

“It’s a little different,” Mark said,
walking off. By the time Steve caught up with him Mark was relieved
that the hallway was a little less crowded.

“I know, totally different, you’re
right.” Steve said. “I have to tell you my mom was wicked pissed
when that cop showed up. I mean, you know how much of a hard-ass
she can be, but this? Whoa, baby.”

“I’m sorry it’s such an inconvenience
to her,” Mark said, making a quick left into a
stairwell.

“Dude, tell me about it. I
mean, this is the fucking
cops!
” Steve said. Mark glanced
sideways as one of the field hockey girls walked past, her eyes
actually shifting over a bit to look at Steve and Mark.

Mark let out a sigh and drew up short
on the steps when they were finally alone. “Look,” Mark said,
stopping Steve with a hand on his shoulder, “I know you’re trying
to help and all, but please don’t talk about this at school. I
don’t want people knowing this kind of shit about me,
okay?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Of course. Yeah,
you’re right, that was dumb of me.”

“Steve . . .”

“What?”

“Did you--” Mark didn’t even have to
finish the question before he knew they answer. So much for
acting.

“I’m sorry,” Steve pleaded. “I just
mentioned it to Shannon in first period. I mean, she asked me what
I did this weekend, and, y’know, this is kind of a big
deal.”

Mark balled his hand into a fist and
pressed it into the throbbing pain growing between his eyes.
Shannon Brown wasn’t the biggest gossip in the whole world, just
the biggest one in the drama club. And no one in drama club ever
spoke out of turn, or gave much thought to rumor. No, not someone
in the theater.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, but Mark
couldn’t see past the knot of rage that was spreading in his brain.
By the end of the day it’d be over half the school, by tomorrow,
it’d be everywhere. “She’s in my next class and I’ll tell her not
to say anything to anyone.”

Oh yeah, that’ll work. He
can totally put that gossip outbreak monkey back in her
cage.

“Just . . . don’t tell anybody else,
okay?”

“Yeah. Of course. Man that was so
stupid, I just can’t believe that I didn’t think--”

“Can we just drop it please?” Mark
brushed past him and tried to leave the knot on the stairwell
behind him.

“So, how’s your girl? How’s she
handling all this?”

Mark let out a sigh. “She’s fine. She
called me last night and we talked, but I think her parents are
going to give yours a run for their money in the ‘freaked’
department. Not to mention the fact that I had to level with her
about Joe and the whole ‘I’m an orphan’ problem.”

“Ouch. But she’s cool, right? I mean,
you don’t want to let a chick like that slip away.”

First smart thing he’s said
all morning.

“Yeah, she’s cool.”

“Very cool,” Steve said with a wink and
a nudge. “Look, I’m sorry for the screw up, but I’ll try to think
of some way to make it up to you, okay? Or I’ll think of a way and
tell Christine to do it to you from me.”

“Get out of here,” Mark said, rolling
his eyes. “I gotta get to class, and you do too.”

“Right on, man.” Steve turned to go,
but then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I really am sorry,
Mark. About everything.”

“I know, man. I know.”

It didn’t come up again the
rest of the day, and lunch was spent with Steve and Christine
talking about happier things, although Mark could swear that more
people glanced their way than had the other day.
You’re being paranoid. Not like you don’t have a
right to be, but still.

Even though the conversation didn’t
turn back to what happened to Clara it never left Mark’s mind. It
was as clear in his head now as when he woke from with a yell last
night. What little sleep he’d gotten the rest of the night was
punctuated with wondering if what he’d dreamt was just a mélange of
his crazy visions and dreams or something that had really
happened.

It crazier than anything else that had
happened this weekend (and what an accomplishment that was), but
when he remembered the dream he could feel the heat from the fire
and smell the smoke and burning blood. No dream had ever felt so
real, and he knew that there was only one way he could be sure if
he going crazy or if this was something far worse.

“Detective Prescott? You’ve got a Mark
Watson here to see you,” the desk sergeant said.

“Okay, I’ll be right down,” David said,
hanging up the phone.

David welcomed the distraction from
staring at the paperwork and various reports on his desk. Maybe
Mark could tell him something that would help him make sense of all
this. He’d been planning to go see him again anyway, so this saved
him some time.

Mark was sitting downstairs on one of
the benches near the desk sergeant, drumming his fingers on the
backpack on his lap. He knew Ms. Washington’s death had disturbed
Mark a lot, but today grief had been replaced with a nervous energy
that was usually reserved for the guilty or the scared.

“Mark, how’re you doing?” Dave said as
he came up to the bench.

“Well, I’m okay. Better, I
guess.”

“That’s good. What can I do for
you?”

“Yeah . . . is there was some place we
could talk?”

David nodded. “Sure, I think I can
arrange that. Follow me.”

He led Mark down a hallway and into one
of the small interview rooms. He sat behind the table and motioned
for Mark to do likewise. The kid hesitated, taking the room in
before sitting, setting his backpack on the table between
them.

“So what’s up?”

“I . . . I just wanted to talk about
Clara,” he said, still glancing around the room.

“Don’t worry, all the recording stuff
is off. This is just between you and me. What about
her?”

“I just wanted to know, to really know,
what happened to her.”

“Mark, I don’t want go in too much
detail because this is still an ongoing investigation and well . .
. it’s a little gruesome and I don’t want to upset you. Obviously
you and Clara were very close.”

“I’m not . . . Yeah, okay, I’m upset.”
He started rubbing his forehead, eyes down on the table. “Clara was
like a mom to me. When my aunt died, she was one of the only people
that was able to be my friend without coddling me or making me feel
like I was being pitied. She was one of the greatest people I ever
knew and now she’s gone, and I’m just trying to figure out what
happened.”

David waited as Mark’s hand wiped at
his eyes. “Mark, this is a real terrible tragedy, but--”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Mark said,
throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, it’s terrible that she’s dead
and now I’m all alone, but what if it was just an accident? How do
you know someone did this?”

“Mark, we’re pretty sure about this
kind of stuff.”

“How? If there was a fire how can you
be so sure?” Mark was leaning forward, gripping the edges of the
table. “If her body--”

“Mark, her body wasn’t burned. Yes,
there was a fire, but she wasn’t in it. She was assaulted. That’s
how we know it wasn’t just the fire.”

Mark trembled, dropping his arms to the
table so suddenly that it echoed around them.

“No. It can’t be . . . that can’t be
right.” Mark’s trembling hands came up to his face as he tried to
hide his tears. “Not like that. Not like that.”

“Mark,” David said, getting up and
moving his chair next to Mark’s. “We’re going to figure this out.
We’re going to find who did this.”

Mark wiped his eyes, quickly and then
he gave a manic chuckle. “Oh god I hope so. I hope he fucking
fries.”

“I can get you a tissue, if
you--”

“No, no.” Mark said, shaking his head
violently. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come down here, I just . .
. I just needed to know. I just can’t believe she . . ." His hand
drifted down to his neck, squeezing it for a second. “I just was
hoping she didn’t die like that. I just wanted it to be an
accident.”

“I know, Mark.” Dave said, getting to
his feet. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, I think so, thanks. I’m sorry, I
didn’t I mean to get all . . . y’know.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mark picked his backpack up from the
table, and was just out of the door when David called him
back.

“Mark, can I ask you
something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about hearing
something upstairs that night?”

Everything that had drained out of Mark
came rushing back, his body tensing and his face flushing with
color. It was a cheap ploy but David knew it was his best chance at
getting an honest reaction out of him. Sudden panic seemed pretty
genuine.

“What do you mean?” Mark
said.

“Well, both Christine and Steve said
that you thought you heard someone upstairs that night, but you
didn’t say anything to me about it.”

Mark swallowed, and David just stared,
hands in his pockets.

“I was a little embarrassed. I fell
down the stairs because I thought I saw someone but it turned out
that it was nothing. I was trying to forget about it, and with
Clara’s death and all I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“You forgot about it or you didn’t
think it was a big deal?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed for a second, but
he relaxed and shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I guess I forgot
about it when you first came to see me, but later, when I did
remember, I didn’t think it was important enough to mention. We
didn’t see anyone up there.”

“Yeah, that’s what they said, but I was
just curious. If there’s anything else like that, you let me know.
Even if you don’t think it’s important, it might mean something to
us.”

“Yeah, of course.”

David nodded and walked Mark back to
the front entrance where they parted ways. Back at his desk, David
pushed the various photos and scene reports around, as if they
could make sense in different piles. His favorite was the note from
the fire investigators that said “Fire doesn’t burn like this,”
noting the perfect circle around Clara Washington’s body and head
that had been left untouched as the rest of the apartment
burned.

The fire hadn’t burned for long before
the neighbor in the next building saw the smoke coming out of the
back, and David wondered if that patch of floor would’ve been left
in the rubble of the building still untouched and proudly
displaying its decapitated passenger if the fire had been allowed
to burn.

Now, instead of that mystery preying on
his mind on his mind he had something else bothering him. It was
Mark, clutching his throat protectively, muttering “Not like
that.”

Chapter Eleven

“I really don’t want to do this,” Mark
said, tugging at his collar.

“Oh relax, it’s clean. Now stop doing
that or I’ll never get this damn thing tied,” Steve said, slapping
away Mark’s hand and going back to work the tie. “I’m used to doing
this on myself and everything looks backwards.”

They were in Steve’s luxury suite sized
room getting ready for Clara’s funeral. Mark had realized that the
suit that he had worn to his Aunt’s funeral was now painfully small
and called Steve in a panic. Of course, Steve had an abundance of
clothes that could pass as funeral wear. Unfortunately Steve was an
inch taller and wider than Mark, so he felt like he was getting
ready for clown college instead of a funeral. It was just one more
thing to feel uncomfortable and awkward about.

“No,” Mark said, “this whole thing. I
shouldn’t go to the funeral, no one even invited me.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Mark, funerals
aren’t invitation only. There’s a reason why they put them in the
newspaper, y’know, with the date and time and all that shit.
Besides, we’re getting the day off from school. There,” he said,
wiggling the knot around. “You’re gorgeous. Go check your fine ass
out.”

“I could give a crap about school,”
Mark said, pushing his hair around, not really sure what else he
should be doing with it. The enthusiasm he’d had for grooming had
left him when Clara did. “I still feel . . .”

You feel like if you
actually saw the person get killed you shouldn’t go to the
funeral.

“Mark, she was one of your closest
friends. Not going is something that you’d regret for the rest of
your life.”

“I know, I know,” Mark said, turning
away from the mirror. “I’m just really nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?”
Steve said, still looking in the mirror and fixing his
hair.