Page 4

4

Tallus

D iem took the exit for the 401 east, and I frowned. “Where are we going?”

“Northumberland Hills Hospital. It’s in Cobourg, about ten minutes down the highway.”

“Cobourg? But… why are we staying in Port Hope?”

“It’s where the Mandels live and where the kid had the accident. I didn’t ask questions.”

Confused, hugging a takeout coffee between my palms, I settled in for the short drive, keeping an eye on the brooding man beside me the entire time. We’d come a long way in the six weeks since we started dating, but sharing a bed was one obstacle we had yet to overcome. If Diem had realized beforehand that we’d be sharing a single room at Ivory Lace, he would have never invited me.

No matter how often I pushed for overnights, Diem wormed out of them. Sexing him up never worked. The man might have learned to awkwardly fuck in a bed and had mostly overcome his fear of touching me—although he remained hesitant and awkward most times—but I had yet to convince him to stay put after climax. The heat of the moment dissolved most of his barriers, but once sated, they returned worse than ever.

It didn’t help that I tended to drop like a stone after a good orgasm. The instant I was asleep, Diem fled. The previous night was no different.

I didn’t know where he’d slept, but it wasn’t in bed with me. The shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept at all or not well. When every clock in the establishment chimed simultaneously at seven in the morning, I’d dove from bed in a panic, thinking the world was ending. I’d almost sprained an ankle in my flight. Covering my ears, I spun, horror-stricken at the assault, unsure what to do. Until then, the steady ticking of clocks hadn’t bothered me, but what in god’s name possessed someone to set a hundred and ten alarms to go off simultaneously?

Diem had crashed through the door a moment later, cursing a blue streak, his hands also covering his ears.

The uproar had shaken us both, and we were in no mood to stick around for Ivory’s scheduled breakfast.

In fact, Diem’s urgency to flee had been so great he had barely given me time to shower and dress. We’d gone through a Starbucks drive-through instead, and since Diem’s nerves were frayed, I didn’t argue, even when they made my coffee wrong.

“What’s the kid’s name?” I asked as he pulled off the highway less than ten minutes later, entering the small town of Cobourg.

“Weston? Westley? Shit. I don’t know. Something like that.”

“Your attention to detail is astounding. How old is he?”

“A teenager.”

“Fourteen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eighteen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sixteen.”

“For fuck’s sake, Tallus. I didn’t ask.”

“Did you sleep last night?”

No answer, but the death grip on the steering wheel and tension in his iron jaw said no.

Diem pulled into a quickly-filling parking lot attached to the main building and chose the first available spot.

“Is there a reason we’re meeting this woman at the hospital? It’s… gloomy.”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. She’s paying a shit ton of money for us to listen to her speak. If she wants to meet in a goddamn funeral home, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re cranky.”

“I know.”

“Was it the clocks? That was kind of a shock to the system. What was up with that?”

“I don’t know. I’m tired, okay.”

“Because you didn’t sleep.”

“No, I didn’t.”

We got out and aimed for the hospital’s front doors. Winter had blown into Ontario with a vengeance much earlier than usual. Our first snowfall occurred in early November, and the temperature had barely ventured above freezing since. Although we hadn’t seen more snow in the interim, the blustery north wind and crisp air warned of a nasty season ahead.

I huddled in my unsuitable jacket, shoulders close to my ears as I tried to keep pace with Diem’s long strides. Once inside and basking in the glorious heat pumping from a ceiling vent, I snagged Diem’s arm, stopping his momentum.

“My rodeo, right?”

He grumbled and nodded.

I patted his chest. “Blend into the background and try to bite your tongue.”

The resonating growl in his chest and snarled lip only made me chuckle. “No growling. Neutral expression if you can manage it.”

He deadpanned.

“That’s better. Come on.”

Northumberland Hills Hospital was small compared to the hospitals in Toronto, but it contained all the imperative departments, including an emergency room and intensive care ward. Inquiring at the front desk got us nowhere since the Mandel teen—whatever his name was—was underage. The balding man in the volunteer vest was not inclined to help us out, no matter how high I cranked the charm.

Diem texted Delaney Mandel to let her know we had arrived. Since the mother was camped at her son’s bedside, she met us in the lobby a few minutes later. In her early forties, Delaney’s faded brown hair hung limply around her face. Ordinarily, I thought she must be an attractive woman, but grief and stress had wiped away beauty, leaving tired creases beside dull, slate-gray eyes. Old mascara clung to her lashes, drawing unwanted attention to swollen eyelids. Her concave cheeks and cracked lips were sure signs of dehydration. Although dressed in a blouse and slacks, both were wrinkled, coffee-stained, and wafting body odor. Her manicure was old and chipped.

If I had to guess, the woman hadn’t been home to shower or change since her son was admitted. Diem wasn’t big on details, so I wasn’t sure how long ago the supposed accident occurred.

Delaney Mandel glanced between us, seemingly processing on a lower level than most humans on a pre-caffeinated Monday morning. Before Diem could be Diem, I stepped forward and offered a hand in greeting.

“Mrs. Mandel? I’m Tallus Domingo, a junior partner with Shadowy Solutions. This is Diem Krause, the lead investigator and person you spoke to on the phone.”

She nodded and shook our hands listlessly, her grip as lifeless as her attempt at smiling. “Yes. Of course. Thank you for coming.”

“Is there a food court or somewhere quiet we can talk?” I glanced over her shoulder at the long length of the austere hallway. “A café maybe? Can we buy you a coffee or something to eat?”

Delaney shook her head and made a veiled attempt at straightening her clothes and smoothing down her hair. “No. I’m not hungry. Do you mind if we chat in Weston’s room? I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. I need to be close to him.”

“Um… sure. That won’t… disturb him?”

Delaney’s blank stare conveyed incomprehension for a few seconds before she shook her head. “No. My son is… not with us anymore. At least, that’s what they tell me. He’s alive because of the machines. He’s… There’s no…” She waved a hand at her head, eyes taking on a sheen. She didn’t continue. She didn’t have to. The message was clear.

“That would be fine.” I worked hard not to show any discomfort, but the last thing I wanted to do was sit in a tiny hospital room with a kid on life support. “Lead the way.”

The elevator ride was quiet. Diem’s discomfort and size took up a great deal of space, but Delaney didn’t seem to notice. I eyed him a few times, but he seemed to be working hard on keeping a passive expression as I’d requested, so I didn’t hassle him.

The air in the intensive care ward hung thick and oppressive. It moved like tar through my lungs every time I inhaled and exhaled. The moment I stepped inside the boy’s room, I wanted out, but Diem blocked the door. When I spun, urgent for an escape, his gaze took me in. Reading my mind, he tipped his head in a subtle, reassuring nod, silently encouraging me forward.

For all my high talk about wanting to be an investigator, facing the realities of death—or the closest thing, as was the teen’s case—impacted me on a level I hadn’t considered.

Ex-cop Diem had been around the block a few times, so the boy in the hospital bed and his condition didn’t seem to affect the surly man.

Weston Mandel had been given a private room surrounded by machines, get well soon cards, and wilted flowers no one had bothered watering or discarding. The presence of decaying blossoms told me the kid had been a patient for at least a week.

The curtains over the window were drawn shut, so only a framework of morning sunlight bled around the edges and down the seam in the middle. Apart from a shaded lamp on a side table, whose illumination barely reached the opposite side of the bed, the room was deeply shadowed.

Machines breathed for Weston, their mechanical suck and release as unnerving as the ticking clocks back at Ivory Lace’s establishment. A steady beep sounded at intervals from one of the pieces of equipment. Numbers and line graphs filled the screens, providing feedback to the nurses in a language I didn’t comprehend.

The boy in the bed looked to be about sixteen or seventeen. His graying skin and slack muscles gave him the look of death. I focused on Delaney, who moved to her son’s bedside. A single chair occupied the room, but neither Diem nor I sat.

“This is my son,” Delaney said into the void. “The doctors tell me he’s gone, and it’s time to say goodbye. No brain activity. They want his organs for other children in need.” She shook her head. “I’m not ready. You see, I don’t believe my son suffered an accident, and maybe he can’t hear me and doesn’t understand anymore, but I swore to him I would do everything in my power to discover the truth before… before giving them permission to…” She covered her mouth for a moment. “Before discontinuing life support.”

She turned to face Diem. “You promised me two days, Mr. Krause. You said you would listen. No snap judgments. If you decide to believe me and help find the truth, I will pay you handsomely. Are you still on board?”

Diem grunted and nodded, arms crossed tightly over his burly chest.

“Yes, we are,” I translated. “You wanted us to hear your side of things, isn’t that right?”

Delaney nodded and sniffled, stroking her son’s hand. No tears fell, but I assumed she’d cried them all out. “You may think I’ve lost my marbles or I’m conjuring wild theories where none exist. Maybe in the end, you’ll agree with the police, but I know my son, and I know he didn’t have an accident. Call it mother’s intuition, or what have you, but someone did this to him.”

She paused, and I waited without interrupting for her to go on, sensing she needed to tell the story in her own time. The only comfort I could offer was a sympathetic ear.

“Are you familiar with the Port Hope area?” she asked.

I shook my head.

Diem said nothing.

Delaney dabbed her nose with a used tissue she drew from a pocket. “Not many people from the big city are. It’s a decent place. A small enough town that I didn’t worry excessively over my son’s safety but large enough I didn’t feel the need to get neighborly and befriend everyone on my block.

“Anyhow, the Ganaraska River cuts through the town center, running north from the lake and Port Hope harbor. You can see it from Ivory Lace B&B if you have an east- or north-facing room. Do you have an east- or north-facing room?”

“Um…” I glanced at Diem. I’d honestly not looked out the window in the few short hours we’d been guests, and I’d always had a poor sense of direction, so even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered.

“West-facing,” Diem mumbled.

“Ah. Too bad. It’s a gorgeous view. Your accommodations are satisfactory, I assume?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

“Good. Ivory is a lovely woman.”

“You were saying about the river?” Delaney needed a nudge before Diem contributed his raving review about the B&B.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m easily sidetracked lately. Forgive me.”

“Understandable.”

She turned to her son again, staring longingly into his pale, slack face. “The river cuts through the town and ventures north, heading right out into the middle of nowhere. Before it circumnavigates the Port Hope conservation area, there’s a dam. Just before the dam, through a densely wooded area, the river is narrower and the current much stronger. That’s where they found him, partly draped over a protruding rock—unconscious and barely alive.”

“Who found him, ma’am?”

She blinked a few times, whether clearing tears or the memory, I didn’t know. “A dog walker. Um… I can’t remember his name. I’m not sure if they told me.”

“It’s okay. Go on.”

“He was out and about early in the morning as the sun rose. There’s an old trail along the river. Scenic in good weather if you’re a hiker. The teens use it for snowmobiling in the winter and dirt biking in the summer.

“I guess the man’s dog noticed Weston first and barked, tugging the leash. The man pulled my boy from the water and called 911. He tried to wake him up but couldn’t. He said Weston was colorless and so cold he was certain he was dead. When he searched for a pulse, he thought maybe something was there but feared it was wishful thinking. It was weak enough to cause doubt, so he started CPR in case it wasn’t too late.”

Delaney stopped to blow her nose and clear her throat.

I glanced at Diem, whose face was as impassive as ever. He rolled a hand, indicating I needed to move this along. I scowled, hoping to convey that this was exactly why I was taking the lead.

“Would you like to sit down?” I motioned to the only chair since the distraught mother looked dead on her feet.

“No, no. I’m fine.” She petted Weston’s hair, smoothing it back off his forehead. “My boy is brilliantly smart. Rather, he was. Straight As. He wanted to go to university to study journalism like his father. He wanted to travel the world and write stories about what he saw.”

She sighed. “He should not have been in those woods. He told me he was going to the library with his girlfriend before attending a meeting with the school newspaper at four. Weston was a stickler for attendance and kept a rigid schedule.”

“What day of the week was this?”

“A week ago yesterday. A Sunday. Weston was found Monday morning.”

“He had a meeting with the school newspaper on a Sunday?”

“Yes. It’s typical. They like to get their weekly paper out on the first day of the school week, so the group meets Sunday afternoon to finalize their pieces and get the printing done.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“Weston didn’t show up for the meeting. He didn’t come home that night either. The girlfriend was interviewed—she’s a flighty thing. Pretty but not much happening between the ears, if you catch my drift. Never liked her. She turned Weston stupid sometimes, and I had to keep reminding him to focus on his future and not his… teenage hormones.

“Anyhow, she claims they parted ways at three thirty that afternoon. For all she knew, he was going to the school to work on the newspaper. Like I said, Weston had no reason to be in those woods. It is nowhere near the school or the town library.”

“What did the police say?” Diem’s question emerged low and in a tone about as nonthreatening as he could make it.

“Oh, they brushed off my concern. They investigated the area where Weston was discovered and determined it was nowhere near where he went into the water. Obviously. The current in that river is atrocious. About two or three hundred yards down river, at a wider section, they found evidence that he’d likely lost his footing and slipped down a steep embankment.

“The Ganaraska is unbearably cold this time of year. Dangerously cold and violent. The mud along the embankment was partly frozen, preserving his slide into the river. They discovered his glasses there, too. Broken branches seemed to suggest he’d tried to save himself.

“The water’s been high with all the rain this past fall, and the current is unbearable that close to the dam. They figure after he slipped down the embankment and landed in the water, he was unable to get his footing. They think he was pulled under or dragged along. Even a strong swimmer wouldn’t have been able to avoid the obstructions or fight the current. Somehow, he managed to get on a rock downstream, where the dog walker found him, but… it was too late. He’d been in the ice-cold water all night. It’s a wonder he was alive at all.”

She stared from her son to the monitors and machines lining the side of the bed. “It all sounds perfectly accidental, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” grumbled Diem under his breath, a note of defeat undermining his tone.

I didn’t think Delaney heard, but I spoke up before she could inquire or ask him to repeat himself.

“What makes you think it wasn’t an accident?”

“You mean aside from the fact that he should never have been in those woods, on that trail, or near the water?”

“Well, yes. I mean, no offense, ma’am, but he’s a teenager, and—”

“And you assume he doesn’t follow the rules. That he’s rebellious.” She harrumphed. “You’re no better than the police.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but even the most well-behaved teenager can be a bit… secretive with their parents.” I shrugged, stuffing my hands into my pockets and rocking on my heels. It was a sad fact of life.

Delaney studied my face momentarily, likely registering my younger age and figuring I wasn’t much more than a boy myself. Maybe that helped. “I suppose. He has been… acting unusual lately. More… defiant. I sensed he wasn’t as truthful with me as he used to be. I blamed the influence of the girlfriend.”

She turned and retrieved something from the bedside table—a generic spiral-bound notebook. “It’s this that has me skeptical.”

She leafed through several pages, stopping when she neared the end. Wedged inside were a few folded sheets of white printer paper. She opened them, revealing a typewritten font too small for me to read from my vantage.

For a long time, she stared at whatever was printed on the page as though deciding if she was right or wrong or wanted to share the discovery. Ultimately, she handed me the folded pages, and Diem moved behind me to read over my shoulder.

It seemed to be an essay of some kind. A story. No title. An English project? Creative writing assignment? Someone had taken a pen to the composition and had scribbled editorial notes in the margins. Parts of the composition were circled or underlined, words changed, or spelling corrected. Certain sections had been crossed out and rewritten for clarity.

“Read it,” Delaney urged.

I started at the top and read. Three paragraphs in, my stomach sank. Before I could address what Weston’s mother had so blatantly observed, Diem tore the pages from my hand and waved them at the distressed mother.

“What the fuck is this?”

“D.” I put a hand on his arm, but he shook me off.

Delaney didn’t flinch at Diem’s outburst. She stood her ground and lifted her chin. “That’s why I called you, Mr. Krause. That is a word-for-word short story depicting my son’s attempted murder.”