funeral.
Apparently, I’d died in a fiery car crash in late January. Police figured I was joy-riding. My body had been so badly burned that the local police had needed the help of a federal forensics lab to make a positive identification. I stared at the clipping for a while, feeling a numbness that went far deeper than the drug-induced stupor Bowdler had used to keep me under control. Death by itself was too weird to think about. My own death was beyond weird.
Oh man—my parents thought I was dead. I couldn’t even imagine what they’d been through. My throat closed up as I pictured my mom dressed in black, standing in front of a coffin.
I kept hunting. There was no clue where they’d gone, except I couldn’t find their passports. I guess they’d left the country. Maybe they needed to get away from all the memories here. As far as they knew, their only son was dead. Worse, I’d died in a senseless, stupid way.
As more funeral images flashed through my mind, I raised a bottle of perfume from my Mom’s dresser and hurled it at the opposite wall with my mind. Before it could smash against the wall and shatter, I stopped it.
I sat on the edge of their bed until the anger faded enough so my whole body wasn’t trembling.
Never act in anger.
Another of Dad’s sayings. Whoever made up those sayings had never met Bowdler.
I needed to find out what I was dealing with. Whatever agency Bowdler worked for must be pretty powerful. They’d kidnapped me and faked my death. I had no idea what else they might do. I figured I shouldn’t even try to e-mail Martin or Cheater or any of my friends. Stuff like that left too much of a trail. I didn’t use the phone or even turn on my computer. They could be watching all of that. I really wanted to get in touch with Martin. But that would have to wait.
I also needed to catch my breath and calm down. I felt like I was on an amusement-park ride that spun in every direction at once. I was so tired the whole world seemed fuzzy. I decided to stay here tonight and sleep in my own bed.
When I went to the bathroom, I almost flipped on the light, but caught myself in time. That was the toughest part—watching every move I made. I wondered if that’s what life was like for Flinch. I hoped not. It was exhausting. Cheaterhad shown us a trick once. Ask someone to write a sentence without dotting any i’s or crossing any t’s. It’s almost impossible. We’re all bound by thousands of habits.
Starving, I went to the kitchen, hoping there’d be something in the fridge. I unplugged it before I opened it, so the light wouldn’t go on. But it was empty. I guess my folks had cleaned it out before they left. I found corn flakes in the cabinet. There wasn’t any milk, but I didn’t mind dry cereal.
It was strange moving through a darkened house. But at least I was home. Though it felt empty without my parents here.
Tomorrow, I’d figure out what to do. Tonight, I just wanted to lose myself in mindless sleep and hope I was tired enough so that the dreams of snapped ribs and flowing blood would stay away.
PART TWO
where it is seen that
trash isn’t the only one
having an eventful Wednesday
cheater misplays the
hand he’s been dealt
“ I’LL TAKE TWO .” Cheater pulled the seven of clubs and the three of diamonds from his hand and slid them facedown toward the dealer. He was glad his nickname hadn’t followed him from Edgeview. It would be tough to get anyone to play poker with a kid called
Cheater.
And it would be impossible if they knew he could hear their thoughts. But that wasn’t a problem because these guys at the table—a group of older kids playing high-stakes dealer’s choice—had no idea what they were facing.
He was also glad to be out of Edgeview. Now that he understood his talent, he was able to avoid trouble. Martin had shown him how. But his talents came with a price. Knowing what people thought—that was brutal. He still couldn’t believe how much the smart
Learning to Kill: Stories