Final Assignment

Six

Greta and Malcolm Carson exchanged looks of sheer panic. I think we all figured the police had arrived. The doorbell seemed to have paralyzed them, so I got up and answered it myself, expecting to come face to face with Barry Duckworth.

It was not Barry.

Standing on the front step was a woman, looking at me through wire-framed oval glasses. Good-looking, mid thirties, straight brown shoulder-length hair, almost as tall as me, and I’m just under six feet. She had an athletic bearing about her, and was dressed in black slacks and a blue sweater with an elaborate puffy collar, a long-strapped purse slung over one shoulder.

‘Mr Carson?’ she said.

‘No. My name’s Cal Weaver.’

‘Oh, well I’m here to see Chandler’s parents.’

‘Who should I say’s here?’

‘Lucy Brighton.’

I recognized the name. One of the school officials who’d been at the meeting to discuss Chandler’s story. The head of the guidance department.

She said, ‘I came by to—’

‘Oh great,’ said Greta, who’d been listening from the couch.

Lucy leaned her head in far enough to see into the living room.

‘Hello, Ms Carson,’ she said. ‘Hello, Chandler.’

‘Hi, Ms Brighton,’ he said.

‘What do you want?’ his mother asked. ‘Haven’t you caused us enough trouble already?’

‘I came by to see how Chandler was doing,’ Lucy said. Then, cautiously, ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard...’

I said, ‘About Mike Vaughn?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said. ‘The police came to the school a short while ago, asking questions.’ She touched the fingers of her right hand to her lips. ‘It’s such a horrible thing. Just horrible. I’m sorry, Chandler. I know he was a good friend to you.’

The teenager nodded.

Seeing as how a conversation seemed to be starting, it struck me as rude to keep the woman standing outside. I gestured for her to come in without waiting for Greta or Malcolm to offer an invitation. She moved forward two steps and I closed the door behind her.

Lucy rested her eyes on Malcolm, probably waiting for the man to introduce himself. I said, ‘This is Malcolm Carson, Chandler’s father.’

He stood.

Lucy offered a hand, and Malcolm reluctantly stepped forward and shook it. He’d stopped looking at his watch in the last few minutes. I guessed he’d come to accept that he was not going to make his appointment. Then Lucy turned toward me.

‘Are you a friend of the family?’

‘I know the Vaughns,’ I said. ‘I’ve only just met the Carsons.’

Greta, still on the couch, said, ‘Mr Weaver is advising us on... Chandler’s situation.’

‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s why I’m here. Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘We were right in the middle of something,’ Greta said, then turned on Chandler. ‘Were you here last night or not?’

‘Like I said, I went out for a little while.’

‘I never heard you leave.’

‘I think you were asleep. I tried to be real quiet.’

‘When was this?’ Malcolm asked.

‘Like, around midnight? I just had to get out, get some air. I was stressed out. I went for a walk.’

‘Do you drive?’ I asked.

‘I don’t have my license yet,’ Chandler said.

‘Where did you go?’ Malcolm asked.

‘Around.’

‘Around where?’ his father persisted.

‘I walked down to the gas station, bought a Coke, and then walked some more.’

The station would probably have Chandler on security surveillance video. Telling the police he’d never left the house probably wasn’t going to fly. ‘Where else?’ I asked.

‘I went over to Michael’s house. I’d been trying to contact him. I’d sent him some texts, tried to phone him and stuff.’

‘Did he get back to you?’

Chandler shook his head. ‘I didn’t knock on his front door, but I looked to see if his bedroom light was on, or if maybe he was hanging around the house. His light was off and he was no place around there. Then I walked down by Clampett Park and worked my way back home. Just thinking, you know?’

I walked down by Clampett Park.

Lucy Brighton was still standing next to me. I asked her, ‘What did the police tell you about what happened?’

‘They didn’t tell me anything. They spoke to Ms Caldwell — that’s our principal — and she told me what they’d said.’

‘Which was?’

‘That Michael’s body had been found in the woods. That he’d been beaten.’ She hesitated. ‘Probably with a bat. I think it was that bit of information that prompted the principal to bring me in, to ask me what I thought.’

‘What you thought about what?’

Lucy looked from me to the parents. ‘About whether she should tell the police about Chandler’s story.’ She turned back to me. ‘Do you know about that?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘What did you tell the principal?’

‘I told her I thought I should come out here and talk to Chandler and his parents first. And so here I am.’

‘Is there some reason why you or Ms Caldwell wouldn’t tell the police about it immediately?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy Brighton said, and asked for the second time, ‘May I sit down?’ There were nods. She took the spot I’d been in, and I stayed on my feet. She trained her eyes on Chandler.

‘I was on your side at that meeting,’ she told him. ‘I think students must be allowed to use their imaginations, to write from the heart, to explore ideas that others may find unpleasant, to push the boundaries. That’s what good writers do. I didn’t see what you’d written as evidence of some kind of mental disorder or anything like that.’

I felt we were all waiting for a but.

‘But,’ Lucy said, ‘I did see evidence of something else.’

She pulled her purse around in front of her, opened it, took out some papers. ‘These are a few of your reports from other classes, other subjects. Samples of your work.’

She held them on her lap, made no move to distribute them. She seemed to be holding onto them as though they were grenades that might go off seconds after they left her hands.

She looked at Chandler.

‘Is there anything you’d like to say about your story that you haven’t revealed to us so far?’

Chandler seemed to be squirming beneath his skin. He was a mouse backed into a corner, looking for a way out and not finding one.

‘Answer the lady’s question,’ Malcolm Carson said.

Chandler took a deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘Okay, so there is something I kind of didn’t tell you.’

We all waited.

‘I didn’t want to get in trouble,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble.’

‘Go on,’ Lucy said.

‘I guess I sort of didn’t write it.’