Haze (9 page)

I grabbed the banister. “How do you know about that?”

He smiled. “I'm resourceful. All I want to say is, it's better for everyone if that photo never existed. What's the big deal anyway? It was three years ago.”

“You weren't even there,” I said. “What does any of this have to do with you?”

“Coach is a friend of Nate's father,” Steven said.

The friendly look vanished from Nate's face. “Shut it,” he said. He turned back to me. “Coach came to my father for help. Dad was able to…guide the investigation, so that things worked out best for everyone.”

I thought of the Tams, back at the hospital. “Everyone.”

Nate nodded. “And now all we need to do is make sure that the photo disappears. You can help me with that, right, Bram?”

“I don't have it,” I said. I was glad I had given it to Abby for safekeeping.

“We know,” Steven said.

My mouth went dry. The only way they could know that I didn't have the photo anymore was if they knew I had given it to Abby. Had they seen me hand it to her? Or had they gotten to her somehow? Was this why she hadn't answered her phone?

“We're asking about copies,” Nate said. “You didn't copy it, did you? Or scan it, or do anything silly like that?”

I shook my head.

“So you won't mind if we check your room? As teammates and all.”

My heart pounded. I had to find Abby. I had to make sure she was all right. My hands were sweaty. I fumbled for my keys and handed them to Nate. “Here!” I said. “Knock yourselves out.”

I ran downstairs to the refectory. Droid was at our usual table, talking technology with his friends. Red Cap was sitting with them. I did a double take.

“Dude,” Droid said, spotting me. “All is well?”

I shook my head. “They're searching the room,” I said. “Take your friends, grab a teacher, don't go alone, but don't let them hurt your computer. You have to send that picture to the police as soon as you can. Tell them everything. I'm going to find Abby.”

His face paled. “On it,” he said.

As I left, Droid said something to Red Cap, who nodded. At least Droid would have some muscle on his side.

I raced for the bike rack, but someone had slashed my tires. Mumbling an apology to Droid, I took his bike instead. It was time to talk to the one man who might have some answers. Coach.

chapter twenty-three

I remembered the way to Coach's house from when Abby and I had gone there looking for a green car. When we didn't find the car, I had thought that was proof of Coach's innocence.

I had been an idiot.

It took me about twenty minutes to get there. I dialed Abby's phone twice more on the way. No answer.

It was nearly seven thirty by the time I reached Coach's house. The streetlights made the pale yellow siding look washed out and ghostly. No Halloween decorations here, even though the big day was tomorrow.

I knocked at the door.

Coach's wife answered. I had seen her before. She was at the first-day-of-school barbecue. She had short dark hair and wore a tracksuit. “Yes?” she said, out of breath.

“I need to see Coach,” I said.

Her face sharpened. “You're from the school.”

I nodded. “Please,” I said. “It's important.”

“What's going on?” Coach's voice carried from somewhere inside. His wife bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Her hand moved on the door, as if she wanted to close it.

“Coach!” I shouted. “It's me. Bram.”

Coach appeared in the hall behind his wife. “It's all right,” he said, putting his hand on her back. “I'll deal with this.” She nodded, then disappeared down the hall and through a door.

He was red-faced and sweaty. When he let me into the house, I saw moving boxes stacked in the living room. There was a smell of dust and cardboard.

“Are you moving?” I asked.

“It's time for a change,” Coach said shortly. “What can I do for you, Bram?”

I took a breath. “I need to know if you've seen Abby. Jeremy's sister.”

He wiped his palm over his face. “No, I haven't seen her. You came all the way out here to ask me this?”

“I can't find her,” I said. “She's not answering her phone.”

“Why on earth—what does this have to do with me? Does the school know you're here? They can't.” He shook his head. “I'll give you a ride back. We'll talk on the way.”

“Coach.” I stood firm, not stepping back when he moved toward the door. “I thought she might have come to talk to you. About a photo.”

“Jesus, Bram, my wife,” he whispered. “Do you know what that sounds like?” He looked anxiously over his shoulder. “I'm going to run Bram back to the school, honey,” he called. “I'll be right back.”

He ducked back into the house, saying something about a phone call. I wheeled Droid's bike toward Coach's gray Jetta. And there, on the driveway, I spotted a flash of silver. A silver cuff earring, like the one Abby wore. My breath caught.

I pocketed the earring just as Coach came out of his house. “You're sure Abby wasn't here?” I tried to sound casual.

“I already told you, didn't I? That bike won't fit in the trunk. We'll have to use a bungee cord.” He popped the trunk.

I pasted a smile on my face. “Sorry to bother you, Coach,” I said. “I guess it was stupid. I think I'll just ride back to the school after all. Don't want to put you out of your way.”

“Stupid? That's one word for it,” he said, rummaging around inside the dark trunk. “But I'm going to see you back to school safely. We'll discuss this tomorrow, with the headmaster.”

My brain was spinning. Abby had been here. Coach was lying again. What had she said to him? What had he done?

“I know you were at the party,” I said. “I've seen proof. I didn't want to believe you had anything to do with what happened to Jeremy. But now I'm not so sure. So could you please tell me the truth?”

He straightened and looked at me. “What's the truth, Bram? Yeah, I messed up. But what about all the kids I've helped? Isn't that the truth too?”

“Did you try to kill Jeremy?”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Jeremy.” He crossed his arms. “I didn't even realize, at first, that it was about Marcus.”

“So you know who did it.” I leaned forward. “Tell me. You owe it to Jeremy. You owe it to Marcus, Coach.”

He shook his head. “Some kids here have a real shot, you know? You're one of them, but there have been others too. I told myself I owed it to them to keep coaching. Not to let one mistake end my career. To keep…”

He leaned on the car, frowning, but his eyes were unfocused. He seemed to have run out of words. He wasn't a champion. He was a sad old man.

“Coach,” I said. “Where's Abby? Is she in trouble? I know she was here.” I put my hand in my pocket and felt the earring.

He rubbed his palm over his face again. “Abby? I dropped her off back at her school. She wanted me to go to the police, to come clean. I told her I'd think about it. I needed to…there were things I needed to do. People I needed to talk to, first.”

“She's not at the school, is she?” My mouth filled with a bitter taste. I threw one leg over Droid's bike, ready to go. “I'm calling the police.”

“Bram, I—” He stopped. A dark car eased onto his street. “I'm sorry.”

The car rolled closer. A chill worked its way down the center of my bones. I looked at Coach, then back at the car. Coach reached for me, but I took off.

I pedaled down the street in the dark. The car followed.

chapter twenty-four

My heart was pounding hard. My palms were damp. Was this how it was for Jeremy? Knowing what was coming, trying to get away?

I pedaled faster. The car matched my speed. The engine revved once, startling me into a swerve. Sweat pooled under my helmet and trickled down my face. I wiped it away from my eyes.

They wouldn't dare try anything here. There were too many houses around. All I had to do was stay where the houses were—but I couldn't make it all the way back to Strathmore that way.

I started across a street, then turned right. Tires squealed. The car was still with me.

There wasn't much traffic at this time of night. I headed for busier roads. Ahead, there was a gap between subdivisions where train tracks crossed the street I was on. I heard the distant rumble of a train coming.

I crossed the tracks. The car crossed behind me. I kept going, swung around the block and headed back to the tracks again.

After the barriers were lowered across the road, there would be a moment before the train appeared. I could slide under the barrier and leave the car stranded on the other side of a train.

At the train crossing, the red lights flashed. The signal clanged and the wooden barriers lowered themselves into place. The train was coming now. I saw it. A black metal beast, bearing down fast. I raced toward the tracks. I could get there first. I could dodge the wooden barrier and squeeze by the train. I—

I couldn't.

I braked hard, falling, sliding under the barrier, scraping to a stop inches away from the rails as the train whizzed by. My front tire crossed the rail. I rolled away from the bike. Sparks flew as the train devoured the front wheel. I closed my eyes, turned my face away from the deafening noise. A harsh metallic breeze flew past me, and my heart thumped in my ears.

Pain shot up from my right ankle. I pushed onto my hands and knees.

The car rolled up to the crossing, headlights pinning me down. I panted, trying to crawl. There was nowhere to go. The train kept rumbling by.

Car doors opened. Two shadowy shapes stepped out. One was tall, and both were broad-shouldered. Built like swimmers.

My ankle throbbed. I straightened, still on my knees but facing them.

“Pond scum,” Nate said. He had been driving. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to do us a favor.”

chapter twenty-five

“One good shove,” Nate said. The train flashed by. I narrowed my eyes, ready to move.

“Don't,” Steven said. “Your dad said. It'll be clean and professional. No way to trace it back to us, right? We get rid of Bram, get rid of the photo and Jeremy's computer. And we go on, like…like nothing ever happened.”

“Shut up,” Nate said. But he stepped away from me. “It doesn't matter. The others will be here soon.”

I snuck my hand into my coat pocket and felt for my cell phone, hoping the train would cover the sound of dialing 9-1-1.

“What's he doing?” Nate asked. Steven yanked on my arm. My hand flew out of my pocket and my phone clattered onto the road.

Nate laughed and kicked it under the train.

The caboose raced away. We were alone. Not for long though. A dark sedan pulled up and a short wiry man got out

“This the kid?” he asked. “Get him in the trunk. Meet us down by the dock.”

I fought and yelled, but there was no one around. They threw me into the trunk. I banged on the lid and kicked at the sides. As we bounced over the train tracks, I cushioned my head between my arms to keep it from slamming against the trunk's lid.

I felt for a safety latch, a way to open the trunk, but there was nothing. The trunk smelled greasy and old. The fabric beneath me was caked and stiff with something. My fingers curled away from it.

Maybe twenty minutes passed before we stopped. I braced myself, ready to come out fighting. But when the trunk finally opened, it wasn't Nate and Steven looking at me. It was the wiry, narrow-faced man. He had a handgun pointed at me. I stared at it and forgot to breathe.

Nate and Steven stood behind him. “Get up,” Nate said.

I swallowed twice before speaking. “What's going on? Who's he?”

There was a click from the gun. I sat up. In the end, Steven had to help me out of the trunk. I was shaking. Gunmetal cold.

The air smelled of salt. We were in an empty parking lot. No lights, just the moon, and even that kept dodging behind clouds. Forest crowded up against one side of the parking lot, and the other side was a park. But straight ahead, the way I was facing, was water. We were at some kind of beach. At the bottom of the parking lot was a boat ramp.

It was quiet, almost peaceful, with the waves rushing to shore.

My body prickled, every nerve tensed to run.

“Take him to the boat,” Nate said.

Steven nodded and helped me hobble along the uneven pavement, past the boat ramp. The parking lot narrowed to a sidewalk through the park. Nate went first, then Steven and I together, me hopping awkwardly. The guy with the gun followed. I shivered in the damp, cool air.

Ahead and to the right, a narrow, wooden dock stuck out into the water. A motorboat loomed at the end. I tried to breathe deep, tried to calm down. I could see West Haven across the bay. We had to be near Lighthouse Park. The bay opened into Long Island Sound. Where were they taking me?

“Do you like boats, pond scum?” Nate asked.

I stumbled and bit the inside of my mouth. Blood. I spat.

Nate glared.

“If I meant it like that,” I said. “I'd have hit your shoes.” My voice came out higher than I wanted. I couldn't catch my breath, and I couldn't make my pulse settle down. Every time I pictured the gun, my hands shook.

The moon slid behind another cloud, and I tripped. Steven stopped me from falling, but he didn't say anything. He smelled of sweat and startled at every sound.

“Who is that guy?” I whispered.

Steven turned his face away.

We stepped onto the dock as the moon came out again. Some of the boards creaked. I stared at the spaces between the slats and into the inky water below.

It took thirty-one steps to reach the boat. The ocean smell of salt was strong, and the wind had picked up, pushing waves to shore. Sea spray froze to my skin. The boat reared up and down, rubber bumpers protecting it from the dock.