The Less-Dead Page 9

“That you’re sanctified, justified, glorified,

  and I’m cyanide?

  But that’s fine, you see, fine with me.

  “Did God save your soul?

  Did he make you whole?

  Did he set you free?

  When someone else replaced me?

  “Horrified of all the lies

  you tell through your eyes,

  But that’s fine, you see, fine with me.

  “I really hate your face,

  Hate you were my friend in the first place,

  Now there’s nothing left to do,

  But sing this anti-love song to you.”

  I hum the last few bars on my harmonica, and when I open my eyes, Aubrey is standing in the front row. While the crowd applauds—and I must say, they really do dig my song—she marches onto the stage, looks me in the eye, and says, “You asshole!”

  Before I can explain to her the cryptic nature of my lyrics, and how words are more powerful if you write the opposite of what you feel, she slaps me across the face. Hard.

  I look at Carson. My left ear is buzzing.

  At first he’s not sure what to do, but soon a grin spreads across his face. He raises one fist in the air and shouts, “Whoa! How’s that for rock and roll?” The crowd goes wild.

  I watch Aubrey push her way toward the door. Brandon and Marty follow her, but Kat stays put.

  “Jeez, I wasn’t expecting that,” I say. “Anyway, thanks for saving my butt, dude.”

  “Anytime.”

  At the end of the show, we take our last bows and pack up our guitars. Except for Aubrey’s slap, everything went better than expected, so I guess I can’t complain. I just wish Will had come. I wonder if he changed his mind at the last minute because he didn’t want to face me.

  “Hey, Noah?” Carson says. “Kat’s giving me a ride home, okay? Are you all right without me?”

  “Sure, man. I’ve got my car. Go for it.”

  I watch as the two of them stroll happily out the door. The club is empty now. I take one last look around, then climb the narrow, winding staircase to the street. Outside, Quindlan is waiting. “Hmmm, not too much damage,” he says, studying the left side of my face. “She’s pretty. What’s her name?”

  “Aubrey. She hates me now. Thinks I’m an asshole.”

  “Nah, I doubt it. Just wait. She’ll come around.”

  “Will helped me write that song,” I say. “And he didn’t show up to hear me play it. I’m bummed.”

  “I don’t know what happened,” Quindlan says. “He said he’d be here. It’s not like him.”

  I look up and down the street, hoping for a sign of Will. Nothing. “It’s probably my fault,” I say. “Last time I saw him I acted like a jerk. Anyway, maybe we should go to the campsite and look for him? I’ve got my car, I can drive.”

  “No, not tonight, Noah. It’s pitch black out there. Even with a flashlight, we’d never find our way. Besides, Will left for the campsite hours ago. He could be anywhere by now. My guess is he’s home, safe and sound.”

  “Yeah. I heard he liked his new foster home.”

  Suddenly I hear a dog barking. Hercules turns the corner and runs to Quindlan. “Hercules, hey, bud,” Quindlan says. As he stoops down to pet him, Doomsday appears. “Hey, Dooms, show’s over,” Quindlan says. “Thanks for watching Hercules. You should have heard Noah play. He was awesome.”

  Doomsday gazes at the neon sign in the window of the Red Room. He shakes his head and looks at me. “ ‘Broad is the road that leads to destruction and many enter through it. But narrow is the road to life …’” He pauses, waiting for me to finish the verse.

  “‘And few find it,’” I say. “Matthew seven, verses thirteen and fourteen.”

  Quindlan sighs. “Come on, Dooms, give the kid a break. It’s late, Noah. You should go home. And don’t worry, if I run into Will, I’ll be sure to give him hell for missing your show.”

  {fourteen}

  I WAKE up with a jolt. I’m out of breath, covered in sweat. My hands and feet are freezing. The left side of my face hurts. For hours I’ve been running through the woods along the path leading to Will’s hideout in the greenbelt. But none of that makes sense, because here I am, safe in bed. All a dream.

  I turn over and peer at my alarm clock. It’s five a.m. Everything starts coming back now—the show, Aubrey, my song, the slap. Carson ditching me for Kat. Quindlan and Doomsday outside the Red Room. Will never showing up.

  Last night it was too dark to search for Will. But it’s morning now, and the sun will be up soon. I feel dread in the pit of my stomach.

  I get up and dress in the clothes lying in a heap by the side of my bed. I stuff my cell phone into my pocket—just in case—and grab the car keys from the kitchen counter.

  By the time I reach the entrance to the greenbelt, there’s just enough light to see along the rocky path. I run until I come to the twin waterfalls. I weave through the brush. Will’s there, just like I feared he’d be. Facedown. Dead.

  “So, tell me again,” Officer Frank says. “Will was supposed to meet you last night for a show?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” The police arrived fifteen minutes after I called 911. Officer Frank and I are standing under a juniper tree. I watch an investigator snap photos of Will. The killer’s note and the rope used to strangle Will have been marked off with numbers. The investigator snaps photos of them, too. Two other officers have already cordoned off a large area with yellow tape and flagged a path to the body.

  “And the last time you heard from Will was Friday afternoon at school?” he goes on.

  “Yeah. Will’s friend gave me a note from him. In it, he said he’d be at the gig. Didn’t I tell you this already?” My head aches and a deep tiredness has settled between my shoulder blades. I want to go home and sleep, and when I wake up, maybe all of this will be a dream.

  While Officer Frank jots down a few notes in his book, another investigator, the guy who’s been lifting footprints, walks over to us. “So, you’re Noah? The boy who called 911?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Robinson. I need to know what happened before the police came. Did you touch anything, move the body, tamper with any potential evidence?”

  “Um …” A lump rises in my throat; my heart pounds. I shove my hands into my pockets and run a finger across the edge of Will’s book, which was tossed not far from his body. “No. I mean … well, yes. When I saw Will on the ground, I ran over to him. He used to camp out here, and I thought he might have been sleeping or hurt. I rolled him over and that’s when I realized what happened. I saw the bruises on his neck, the blood on his shirt, and the note under the rock. The rope, too. I lifted his shirt and saw the cross. That’s when I threw up. I didn’t mess with anything, though. Right away I grabbed my phone and dialed. The police showed up maybe fifteen minutes later.” When I’m done speaking, I realize that my armpits are soaked with sweat.

  Detective Robinson studies me for a while. His expression isn’t friendly. “Is there anything else you want to tell us, Noah? Anything at all?”

  You mean that I never got to say I was sorry? I clutch Will’s book tighter. I feel anger rising inside my chest. “Yeah, actually there is. I thought the killer was in jail. I thought this wouldn’t happen again. But it did. Obviously you’ve got the wrong guy. Obviously the police aren’t doing their job.”

  “Whoa, son,” Detective Robinson says. “You’re jumping the gun here. There are a lot of facts you don’t know.”

  Officer Frank puts a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot, Noah. Please try to stay calm. And believe me, we’re doing everything we can. The medical examiner should be here any minute. And the local police and the FBI have been working together. We’re going to solve the case. It’s very complicated. What Detective Robinson said is true. We don’t have all the facts yet. We will soon.”

  The photographer walks over and, without asking, snaps several photos of me. I want to rip the cam
era out of his hands. My face burns. I feel naked, exposed.

  Then, from the corner of my eye, I see movement in the bushes. Suddenly Quindlan appears. He runs, jumps the crime scene tape, and races over to Will. I look around, expecting the police to tackle him, do something, but instead, they just watch.

  Quindlan kneels beside Will. Detective Robinson calls out, “Please, be careful! Don’t disturb anything!”

  I watch as Quindlan covers his face with his hands. He moans, picks up a rock, flings it into the woods, and screams, “Damn it!”

  “I said, don’t disturb anything!”

  Quindlan turns around. “Shut up! I knew this kid! All right!”

  Everyone’s silent. I can’t figure out what’s going on. Why are they letting Quindlan, of all people, near Will’s body?

  Quindlan scans the small crowd of police, investigators, and forensic workers. When he sees me standing next to Officer Frank, his eyes widen and he quickly turns away.

  “Noah, I have to call your parents now,” Officer Frank says. “They need to know what’s going on. Please, give me the number. I’ll take you to the police station. They can meet you there.”

  “Wait,” I say, motioning to Quindlan. “Who is he?”

  “Sorry, I can’t tell you that, son. We need to go. Now.”

  My father meets me at the police station. He’s pretty upset. “Noah, why didn’t you tell Mom and me what was going on? You could have gotten hurt. For heaven’s sake, killed. You should not have gone out to the woods by yourself.”

  I can barely look at him. “Sorry.” My voice is flat.

  “Sorry? Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through?”

  What I want to say is Do you have any idea what I’ve been through, Dad? Or do you not really care because Will was gay? But instead, I mumble, “No, I guess not.” It’s the most I’ve said to him all week.

  My father calls my mother, who apparently is too hysterical to appear at the station, and tells her I’m okay. Then Officer Frank leads us to a room, sits us down, and asks me a bunch of questions. How long have I known Will? How did we meet? How did I know he was in the woods? My mind is a blur, but I answer everything as well as I can.

  “Mr. Nordstrom,” Officer Frank says, “I need to ask Noah a few personal questions, and for the sake of the investigation, it’s best if you’re not present.”

  My father looks back and forth between Officer Frank and me. “Well, I’m not sure. Noah? How do you feel about me not being here?”

  “It’s all right, Dad.”

  “Do I need a lawyer?” my father says. “I mean, Noah’s not a suspect, is he?”

  “No, no, nothing like that, Mr. Nordstrom. It should only take about ten minutes. I’ll call you when we’re done.”

  My father nods, gets up, and walks out of the room.

  Officer Frank clears his throat. “Noah, I asked your father to leave because this can be a difficult subject between fathers and sons. Also, I’m aware of your father’s occupation and conservative beliefs, and I know he may not approve of your answers. We have to cover all angles in the case. As you know, this murder appears to be another gay hate crime. We’re aware of Will’s sexual orientation, so I need to understand your relationship with him. Were you and Will friends or … more than friends?”

  “Friends,” I say, feeling the stab of guilt return.

  “Okay.” He jots something down in his book. “And are you gay or straight?”

  “Straight. But why does that matter?”

  “Well, so far, the killer seems to be targeting gay teenagers who have been in the foster care system. Like I said, we’re covering all angles. I don’t believe you’re in danger, Noah, but if your relationship with Will had been intimate, I would have strongly urged you to take precautions. Even though it wasn’t, you should be very careful. We just don’t know what this killer will do next.”

  I think about this for a moment. “Officer Frank, I need to ask you something. It’s important.”

  “Okay.”

  “The man at the greenbelt, the one who jumped the crime scene tape, I know him. His name’s Quindlan. He was a friend of Will’s—a homeless guy who hangs out on the Drag. Why didn’t anyone stop him back there?”

  Officer Frank sighs. “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m not at liberty to tell you. And please don’t worry about it. I’m going to call your father now. Just go home and get some rest. You’ve been through a severe trauma, and you’ve seen horrific things, things a boy your age shouldn’t see, and it’ll take time to readjust.” He hands me his card. “Call me if you remember anything else. Or if you just need to talk. I’ll be here. Of course, your privacy will be protected, but expect a lot of coverage of the murder on the news. Will’s autopsy results and the forensic testing will be in by next week. Hopefully, we’ll have some answers and a few more leads by then.”

  My father wants to take me right home, but I insist on retrieving the van parked by the greenbelt. “Noah, are you sure you want to drive home? Mom and I can come back later and pick up the van. It’s not a problem.”

  “I can drive, Dad. It’s not like I’m hurt. I’ll be fine.”

  He argues awhile longer, but when he realizes I’m not changing my mind, he finally gives up. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  I get into his car, and he drives me to the greenbelt. We’re silent the whole way. I’m relieved my father doesn’t ask questions about my private conversation with Officer Frank.

  The entrance to the hiking trail is barricaded, and police are standing guard. “Noah, I know we have a lot of unresolved issues and we need to talk, but—”

  “No,” I say. “There’s really nothing to talk about, Dad.”

  He lowers his head and sighs. “I’m truly sorry about Will. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. Mom and I, we’re just concerned for your safety. I hope you can understand.”

  “Whatever, Dad.” I open the door.

  “Noah, wait. Why don’t you follow me? I’d feel better if you were in my rearview.”

  “Dad. Please go. It’s a ten-minute drive. I said I’m fine.”

  He waits while I get into my van. I start up the engine and wave him on. Reluctantly, he drives off. When I see him turn the corner, a surge of anger floods through me. My whole body tenses, and I punch the steering wheel over and over. When I’m finally done, I look up and see Quindlan walking down the street.

  I shut off the engine and bolt out of the van. “Hey! Quindlan! Wait up!”

  He turns, sees me, and continues walking.

  “I said wait!” I run after him. When I catch up, I say, “I want to know what’s going on. Who are you?”

  He glances around nervously. “Don’t draw any attention, just follow me.”

  He leads me down a path into the woods. After a quarter mile or so, he stops, turns around, and whispers, “The best thing to do is pretend you never met me.”

  “What? No. I won’t do that. Besides, I think I figured it out. You’re an undercover detective, aren’t you? In fact, you’re the one who had Will wear the wire. You’re the one who used him. Took what you wanted and tossed him aside. You knew he was in danger, you knew he was a target, but you did nothing to protect him. And now he’s dead.”

  “Noah, please, there are a lot of things you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand. Everything you told me was a lie. You should have been there for Will, protecting him. I thought you were his friend, but it turns out—”

  “Look, Noah, you’re not the only person who lost a friend today. Now, what you said is true. I take full responsibility for what happened. I thought Will was safe. I even helped him find a new home. He was happy there. Supposedly the killer was in jail. It was my mistake, my blunder. And now I have to live with it. In fact, right now I have to go back to the Drag and break the news to Doomsday.”

  “And who is Doomsday?”

  “Exactly who you think he is. A homeless man with a tragic story. And he’s
a friend of mine too. In my line of work, it’s hard not to get close to the people you infiltrate.”

  “Infiltrate?”

  “Yeah, I know it’s a cold word, but it’s the truth.”

  “What about Will’s friend Hawk? Do you know him too?”

  He nods slowly. “I do. I know he helped Will out from time to time, but I don’t trust him. He’s bad news, Noah. Trouble. Keep your distance.”

  I think about Hawk’s gun. The way he protected Will out in the woods. Sure, maybe that was illegal, but it’s more than Quindlan did. Certainly more than I did.

  “Okay, I’ve got one more question. All that stuff you told me about your father being a hard-core evangelical, working with gang members in the South Bronx—was that true, or were you just infiltrating?”

  He sighs. “I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I left home after my brother committed suicide. Put myself through school and became a detective. I lost my brother, and now I’ve lost Will. So, yeah, I do understand how you feel, Noah. More than you realize. But now do yourself a favor. Go home. Try to make things right with your dad. Try your best to forget …” Tears well up in his eyes. He looks away. “Everything.”

  “But I can’t forget. I screwed up too. Last time I saw Will I was an ass to him. I wanted to apologize, and I never got to.”

  “Noah, look, I understand, but that’s water under the bridge now. You need to let it go.”

  “Will there be a funeral? After the autopsy?”

  “A funeral?” Quindlan shakes his head. “No. I expect the media will cover the story closely, which is a good thing. These hate crimes need to be exposed, and we need to find the killer, but as for a funeral, who would come? Who would pay for it? Who would even care? Will had no family. He dealt drugs. Got arrested. In the end, he was murdered because he was easy prey—a gay foster kid. When the media moves on to their next story, Will won’t even be dead. He’ll just be one of the less-dead.”

  “The less-dead?”

  “It’s a term we use. Think about it, Noah. If someone like, say, you were murdered, it would be this big huge deal, because you have a family and there are tons of people who care about you. But if you’re someone like Kyle, Paul, or Will—homeless, no family, in trouble with the law—well, when you’re dead, you’re really less-dead. Do you understand?”