Thirst (23 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTY

DENIAL

The two officers stared sternly into Connor’s eyes, trying to intimidate him into slipping—something they did with all of their potential suspects.

“Where were you last night?” Constable Hendricks asked the tall hockey star.

“I was at the hospital,” Connor said. He was not intimidated. In his eyes, the officers could see nothing but sleeplessness.

“Why were you at the hospital?” Hendricks followed up, squinting as he tried to put together the pieces of the most recent string of deaths.

Officer Wendale took notes in a leather notebook, documenting every word that came out of Connor’s exhausted mouth.

“My mother was admitted. She had a heart attack.”

“When was this?”

“Um—the other night. Two nights ago, now.”

“And she’s still there now?”

“Yes officer,” Connor said.

Officer Wendale scratched his pen against the notepad as a cold hiss of wind rattled the university entrance.

“Can anyone at the hospital confirm that you were there last night?”

“Yes, officer. You can ask the nurses or the doctor in the cardiac ward.”

Officer Hendricks took out a notepad of his own and began to scribble in some ambiguous notes.

“How well do you know your classmates?”

“Um—I know a few of them pretty well.”

“Who would you say you know ‘pretty well’?”

“Hanna,” Connor said. “And Brittany’s lived on my street for years.”

“Hanna Wilkinson?” Constable Hendricks asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve known her since before this class started last week?”

“Well—No,” Connor said.

“But you would say that you know her well?” the constable asked, squinting one eye and trying to better understand the situation.

“I don’t know—We’re pretty close. I feel like I know her pretty well.”

“Okay, but we’re talking about a single week...” Constable Hendricks reminded Connor.

“I think what he’s saying,” Officer Wendale chimed in, “is that he knows her as well as he could in the span of a week.”

“Right,” the constable said. “But you don’t really know her that well—compared to your other friends.”

Connor stood silent for a moment. Perhaps a single week was not enough time to truly know someone as he thought he did.

“Are you aware of Hanna’s past?” the constable continued.

“Um—Yeah. I understand that her dad was killed.”

“Do you know about her foster family and her school history?”

“Foster family—I—I’m not sure,” said Connor.

Constable Hendricks jotted down more notes into his little book. There was a cold moment of silence. Connor could hear the new teacher speaking from within the classroom.

“How close were you with Andrew Walker?”

“He’s a nice guy. I don’t know that I would say I’m close with him.”

“Andrew was killed on your street last night, Mr. Knight,” Officer Wendale said. “Do you know anything about that?”

“What?” Connor said sharply.

“You said you were at the hospital last night—were you there all night, or did you leave at any point?”

“Um—I went straight there after—after work,” Connor stuttered. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“Are you okay, Mr. Knight?” Wendale asked.

“Huh? Yeah—I mean... Andrew was a good person. A really good person.”

“Well, that makes it all the more important to catch the guy who did it.”

Connor stared into the abyss as reality sunk in deep. “Yeah...” he said.

“So you didn’t leave the hospital last night, is that correct? At no point did you leave the hospital?”

“That’s right...”

“And the nurses can confirm this? If we were to call the hospital right now, and ask if they know a ‘Connor Knight’, they will say ‘yes’?”

“That’s right...” Connor was suddenly overcome by a faint spell. His stumbled in his place before gathering himself.

“Are you okay, Mr. Knight?” Officer Wendale asked.

“Me?” Connor asked, looking up; his eyes still glazed over and his face still flushed. “I’m okay.”

“Mr. Knight, this next question is very important—Have you seen anything suspicious in your neighborhood in the past few days, or weeks—unfamiliar faces, activity at strange hours in the night—that sort of thing?”

“Activity?” Connor asked.

“You know—People driving through the neighborhood. People wandering alleyways—anything you can think of.”

“No,” as the word slipped away from Connor’s tongue, a recent memory slipped back into his mind.

His first kiss with Hanna.

“I meant to ask—What brought you out here, so late at night?” Connor’s memory replayed that moment right before the kiss. He never received an answer.

What was Hanna doing out past midnight, wandering the streets of his neighborhood?

“Mr. Knight?” Constable Hendricks said, pulling Connor back to the present.

“Yes?” Connor asked.

“Are you sure you can’t recall any strange behavior? Any information can help us with our investigation.”

“Um,” Connor thought.

Officer Wendale and the constable looked over at one another.

“Take this.” Hendricks reached forward and handed Connor a card with a number handwritten on it. “It’s the number for the police psychiatrist. You can get in to see her for free.”

“Um—Okay—thanks,” Connor said, hesitantly taking the number.

“Can you do us a favor and ask Kane Patrick to come out and speak with us for a moment?”

“Sure,” Connor said, slowly turning towards the door.

“And Connor...” Constable Hendricks said before Connor could open the door.

Connor spun around.

“I’m sure you have very good judgment, but this is life-or-death. Only trust people you are absolutely certain of—okay?”

Connor nodded and then turned to re-enter the classroom.

“And Connor...” Constable Hendricks said.

Connor stopped again and turned around.

“Get some sleep.” The constable smiled.

Connor smiled and nodded as he stepped back into the room.

As he entered, Hanna looked up at him and smiled. No amount of effort could silence his rapid-fire mind. It took a moment, but Connor forced a smile back.

CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE

SUSPICION

The remainder of that class was painfully silent as every student had more on their mind than they could handle. After the police completed their interviews, they remained on the campus—waiting intimidatingly for class to end so that they could make their next move.

Hanna, unlike her classmates, was used to the police attention. This was something she had been through before. Officer Wendale and Constable Hendricks asked her all of the same questions she’d heard a million times over. And, just like every other person aware of her mysterious history, the officers stepped on eggshells as they asked her question after question.

All Hanna wanted to do was write in her little notebook.

Hear the sound stop, and the chill reside—

The wind rests a moment.

A single serene second of simple solitude

And look!

Every pure white snowflake;

A mosaic of seemingly perfect architecture

Only visible against the eternal darkness.

A cold, cold darkness. Too cold to bear.

Oh, darkness, your reign is endless!

Your frost is boundless.

Go now, and let the day shine bright.

The sun creeps over the tall mountains

For just a minuscule moment.

Hear the sound stop, and the chill reside—

The wind rests a moment.

I feel the cold, wet snowfall against my skin,

But no longer in sight

The beauty of your design

Return—oh, restless night.

Return and let me see that beauty

Her classmates kept their eyes glued on the window as the police cruisers continuously rolled past. Hanna kept her eyes glued on her private little notebook, where she scribbled down her stream of consciousness poetry.

Hanna was used to people being afraid of her.

Certainly, she didn’t do anything precise to make her seem threatening, but her connection to the Wilkinson murder case always lingered around her—breathing it’s humid breath intimidatingly down the back of her neck like some black wolf in a night forest.

The reputation of Hanna’s father did not help matters either. Everyone in Snowbrooke old enough to remember the man carefully kept his or her distance from the Wilkinson home. People used to say that Francis Wilkinson’s eyes were not human; that he gazed at you like some evil hissing snake. The only mystery greater than the grizzly Wilkinson House Murder was the mystery of why the most beautiful woman in Snowbrooke chose Francis to be her one and only lover.

Many people subscribe to the idea that people want what they do not have—not because they need it, but because they desire completion. Olga was the epitome of everything good. She never said a bad word about anyone. It may sound silly, but I believe that Olga loved Francis because he was the opposite of good; Olga loved Francis because he was evil. Their relationship was a perfect Yin and Yang.

When class ended, Hanna quickly packed her things and ran to catch up with Connor, who was already out the front door.

“Hey,” she said, running up next to him.

“Hey,” Connor said, forcing a smile back at the pretty, young girl.

“Are you in a rush for something? I finished packing up my binder and you were already gone.”

“Oh—I have to go sign some things at the hospital. Sorry about that,” Connor said. He looked down at his feet as he continued to walk. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a space cadet today—I didn’t get a ton of sleep.”

“Did you want to hang out after you’re done at the hospital?” Hanna asked. Her backpack was not properly on her back, and her jacket was not properly zipped up as she hustled to keep up with the tall, athletic boy.

“Um—Maybe another night. I’m beat. I’m probably just going to hit the sack.”

“Oh,” Hanna said. “Maybe I could just lay with you for a while. I wouldn’t mind reading you my latest poem.”

“Sorry Hanna—But I just have a lot on my mind. Maybe another night, okay?” Connor said, still failing to make any prolonged eye contact with his young lover.

Hanna stopped walking and she looked down at her feet. Connor could feel her heart break into two pieces.

“Okay—No problem,” Hanna said, forcing a smile.

Connor took a breath and then stopped about ten feet away from Hanna. He turned around slowly, taking a long look at the girl who he was quickly realizing he knew so little about. “Sorry—I just—I just don’t want to bore you with all this hospital stuff... And then I’m literally going to pass out. We’ll hang out another day, okay?” Connor stared into Hanna’s eyes from his safe distance.

“Okay.” Hanna stood silently in the dark cold, trying to process Connor’s sudden distance.

“Have a good night, okay? Get home safe,” Connor said.

“Good night, Connor.”

Connor forced a smile as he turned and began to walk away, not looking back as he disappeared into the thick snowfall. Hanna did not have to try hard to see Connor's fear. She knew that he, like everyone else, was afraid of her; he’d gotten his little crush out of his system, and now he’d come to his senses. At least he was being polite about it.

Hanna took a long, deep breath, and then turned to walk towards her house.

Every good thing comes to an end—especially for Hanna Wilkinson.