The Other Side of Goodbye (Norman Green Book 1) Page 12

  “Or what?” Amelia crossed her arms. She was terrified, and her heart was pounding, but she refused to let her stepfather know that. “Harold, what the fuck happened to Joel and Robin? What happened to my siblings?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Harold. He took a step toward Amelia as though he wanted to comfort her. “I loved them like my own children. This was never supposed to happen.”

  “Then why?” She took a step away from him.

  Harold paused. He bit his lip and looked around. “I don’t know.”

  “I’m going to the police.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Because the police are on your side? Detective Franklin is going to push it all under the rug?”

  Harold frowned and seemed genuinely confused. “What does Detective Franklin have to do with anything?”

  “What’s going to happen if I go to the police?” Amelia pushed herself off the desk and tried to be as threatening as possible.

  “If you go to the police,” Harold swallowed, “they’ll kill Norman.”

  Amelia felt her face go pale. “What?”

  Harold reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “I’m scared too,” he said. “I made a mistake, and now I have to live with it. I’m sorry.”

  He pulled Amelia into a hug, and it seemed genuine. Amelia could feel Harold’s shaking and fear.

  “Harold,” she said softly as she hugged him back. “What happened?”

  It took Amelia a few seconds to realize that her stepfather was crying, his tears falling onto her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “What happened?”

  Harold heaved a heavy sob. “I can’t tell you. I can’t let anyone else I love die. I’m so sorry.”

  Chapter 33

  Norman’s stomach growled. His phone had died an indeterminate amount of time earlier. A few times he had gotten a single bar of reception, but it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  In the corner of the hallway, a constant dripping from the roof was making a slowly widening puddle. It was his only way to mark the passage of time.

  Norman jumped as the door to the stairway opened and a man entered. Norman frowned.

  “Hello, Norman,” said Thomas Ruutu, putting his hands into his pockets and leaning against the opposite wall. “Good to see you again.”

  “Thomas?” said Norman, frowning. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Thomas gestured around them. “This is my operation, Norman. You didn’t think this place was running without a little financial backing behind it, did you?”

  Norman picked up a small piece of cement from the ground. He tested its weight in his hand then threw it at the wall.

  Thomas laughed. “Thought you were going to throw that at me.”

  “I was considering it.”

  “Then why didn’t you? Scared?”

  “What’s the point, Thomas?”

  Thomas took a few steps forward and leaned through the bars. “I need you to tell me everything you know, Norman. You’re in my world now.”

  Norman looked up at the twenty-four-year-old heir to one of the biggest fortunes in North America. This kid must have had at least half a billion dollars in a trust fund somewhere, enough to buy a small country if he wanted to.

  “What’s happening here?” said Norman, standing. “What are the scientists doing?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Thomas. “What matters is what you know. Tell me everything, and I’ll let you go.”

  “Really?” said Norman sarcastically.

  Thomas laughed. “Of course not. You must have a general idea where we are. Those band geeks were supposed to rough you up more.” He paused and laughed. “You knew where this place was and never thought to come back and investigate it? Robin Sweetwater had the random guess of the century when she guessed I was the one who had the ability to get you your career back. When you walked into the arena and asked to talk to me, I couldn’t believe it. I suppose it goes without saying that your tryout offer has been rescinded.”

  Norman breathed through his nose and stepped toward the bars. “You killed Robin and Joel.”

  Thomas waved his hand horizontally. “You’re like sixty-percent right,” he said. He laughed again. It sounded like a wood chipper.

  Norman turned away from Thomas, then suddenly turned back around and lunged at him.

  Thomas flinched, stumbling backward and losing his footing. He caught himself on the bars of the opposite cell, his face becoming pale.

  Norman smiled. “It’s nice to see you’re as pathetic as ever, Thomas.”

  Thomas swallowed and stood. He straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re going to regret that,” he said. “I’m going to send someone down here who will beat the ever-loving shit out of you.”

  “Don’t want to do it yourself?” said Norman, smirking. “I figured you would, since you’re such a tough guy.”

  “Fuck you,” said Thomas, taking a step toward Norman but staying out of his reach. “I could beat the shit out of you, but you aren’t worth it. You’re nothing, and you’ll always be nothing. I offered you a way to correct all your mistakes and get back the life you fucked up. I was merciful. But you don’t want that, do you? You want to feel sorry for yourself. You chose to take those steroids, Norman. All this is your fault. You could have walked away, but you didn’t, you prick.”

  “I can’t stand by while you do this,” said Norman. “You’re hurting people.”

  “Who fucking cares?” Thomas screamed, his voice echoing around the small enclosure of the cells. “Who gives a fuck? People die every day. People are killed in darkened alleyways, people are smothered in their beds, people are shot in their homes while they’re eating dinner. Children starve to death and get eaten by worms. People die in North Korean death camps. Google it, and you can find someone who died tragically within the last minute. Are you going to save all of them, Norman?”

  “I can’t stand by when I have a chance to save a single person.”

  Thomas scoffed. “Don’t give me that fucking bullshit. Fuck you, Norman Green, you pretentious, self-important prick. You ruined your last chance to get your dream back. You’re never going to be a hockey player again. That being said, you’ll be dead soon, so it doesn’t matter too much. No one will remember some asshole who cheated his way into the NHL. You will be forgotten.”

  “What about Detective Franklin?” said Norman. “What is he doing? Is he working for you? Why did you have me find him?”

  Thomas turned to leave. “Have fun with my friends.”

  “Wait!”

  “Fuck you, Norman Green. You were my hero once.”

  Norman shook his head incredulously. “People keep telling me that, and I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you shouldn’t meet your heroes.”

  “Maybe not.” Thomas slammed the door behind him as he left.

  The moment he was certain Thomas wasn’t coming back, Norman walked around the cell, looking for any weak point in the wall. He shook the cell door to see if maybe it had been hastily attached and one of the screws was loose. No luck. The screws were revealed, so he could remove them if he had a screwdriver. He checked his phone, but it was still just as dead as it had been before.

  He had nothing to help him escape. He sighed, picked up the stone, and threw it against the wall again. It bounced back to him. Norman did it again and it came back once again.

  “Well,” he muttered, “at least I won’t be bored.”

  As he said this, two pairs of heavy footsteps echoed from the stairs, accompanied by the clanging of tools in their hands and their laughter.

  Norman’s blood turned cold.

  Chapter 34

  Amelia sat on the side of her bed, staring at the wall. It had been three days since Norman was captured. She didn’t know whether he was alive or dead or what unspeakable horrors had happened to him. She had tried to get more information out of Harold, but he’d refused to tell h
er anything.

  “I’m protecting you,” he said, tears in his eyes. “I can’t tell you anything more without putting you at risk.”

  “Why did you let me do this if you’re so worried?” Amelia said.

  “I didn’t think Norman would find anything,” he said. “You got too close. You should never have gone to the medical examiner. That formula should never have seen the light of day. It’s already too late for him.”

  “For who?” A cold chill had spread over Amelia.

  “The medical examiner. The moment that they showed up at my door, his life was forfeit.”

  “What?” Amelia shoved him backward. “How can you allow this to happen? What if I tell Mom?”

  Harold straightened up. “Then her life is forfeit as well. I’m sorry.”

  Amelia stared at her stepfather. “What did you do, Harold?”

  “I love your mother,” said Harold. “I love her more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

  “And yet,” said Amelia, “you are responsible for the deaths of two of her three children.”

  With that, she had marched past Harold and into the house. She hadn’t spoken to him since. Her mother spent a lot of time trying to get to the bottom of why her only remaining daughter was so distraught. Amelia had let her think it was because of her siblings’ deaths. To be honest, she was left with a lot of empty time to remember them.

  She and Joel had never been close, but she felt his absence more than she ever could have anticipated. Every time she walked past the closed door to his room, she felt the urge to hold her breath, as though it reeked of death. She had once absentmindedly googled his name to see how he was doing in his recent games before remembering there were no new post-game updates involving Joel, and there never would be again.

  Then there was Robin’s old room. She had moved out a few years earlier, after she had finished university, but the room had always been “Robin’s room,” even as it started being used for storage and guests. Her bed was still there, as well as her endless collection of books.

  Amelia had started to feel like the house was inhabited by ghosts of average moments that would never happen again.

  She pushed herself off her bed. She grabbed her bag, threw it over one shoulder, and walked through the house in a daze. Her mother was in the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea. Harold had left for work earlier that morning.

  Amelia hesitated at the front door. She hadn’t told her mother anything for fear that Harold was telling the truth and her life would be in danger.

  No, thought Amelia, I can’t lose anyone else. Not Mom. Not Norman.

  She left the house walked down to school. The weather was finally beginning to behave like it was spring and not the dead of winter. The sun shone brightly overhead.

  She arrived at school and walked through the halls. She felt as though everyone was watching her.

  “Amelia!” someone shouted as she walked down the hall.

  Amelia put down her head and kept walking. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted to go to her classes then go home.

  A hand grabbed her shoulder, and she spun around.

  “Fuck off,” she snapped.

  “Sorry,” said Carl Atkinson, pulling back. “I need to talk to you, Amelia. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”

  It took Amelia a few moments to remember the meeting they’d had behind the school with Norman. It seemed like an eternity ago. She looked around her. Everyone in the hallway was looking at her now.

  “What do you want?” said Amelia, trying to make it clear she didn’t want to talk.

  “That thing you asked me to do,” said Carl quietly. “I did it.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” said Carl, glancing around. “Can we get some privacy?”

  “What is it?”

  Carl leaned in and whispered so no one else could hear. “I found Sam Hanson. I know where he’s hiding.”

  Amelia flinched and started slowly walking backward. Her heart rate seemed to be a million miles an hour. Her mind was dominated by pictures of gravestones with Norman and her mother’s names on them.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “We were wrong. It’s nothing. Please stop doing that.”

  “Amelia?” Carl walked up and grabbed her arm. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” she screamed, shaking him off. “Please stop. I can’t lose anyone else.”

  Carl put his hand back to his side. The people in the hallway were making no effort to pretend they weren’t paying attention.

  “Amelia,” said Carl, “I’m trying to help you find out who killed Joel and Robin. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Amelia shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  She turned and walked as quickly as she could past her classroom. The math teacher looked out at her but said nothing. She marched out the back of the school, her breathing heavy and tears blurring her vision. She looked around the empty soccer fields and cement blacktop.

  She couldn’t go back inside. Almost without thinking, she walked to the back of the school. Just as she had expected, there were several people lounging against the wall at the back of the school, the smoke wafting up from their cigarettes.

  “Hey,” she said, walking up to them, “you guys mind if I chill here for a bit? I can’t handle being in there right now.”

  One of the smokers, a broad-shouldered girl with pitch-black hair, shrugged. “Sure, you want a smoke?”

  Amelia shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Amelia put down her bag. She sat against the wall, putting down her coat so she wasn’t sitting on the melting snow.

  For a few minutes she sat there without moving, staring at the fence in front of her. The pines on the other side of the fence swayed softly back and forth in the breeze. The smoke from the smokers’ cigarettes floated in front of her.

  The black-haired girl suddenly said, “Fuck it,” and turned to her.

  “Hey,” she said, sitting down beside Amelia. “I’m Darcy.”

  “I’m Amelia,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Darcy waited for a few seconds. “What’s the matter, Amelia?”

  “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

  Darcy sighed. “You clearly have something on your chest. You can tell me. Ask anyone. I’m great with this kind of thing. Watch. Charlie! Am I great with secrets?”

  “The best!” replied one of the smokers leaning against the wall.

  “See,” said Darcy. “Charlie trusts me.”

  “So?” said Amelia. “I don’t know you.”

  “Listen,” said Darcy, “I’m not going to force you to tell me, but I can tell that it’s eating at you from the inside. I know that feeling.”

  Amelia scoffed. “You have no fucking idea what I’m feeling right now.”

  Darcy sighed then looked thoughtful for a moment. She said, “My mom is in prison and I’ll probably never see her again except through a pane of glass.”

  Amelia jerked her head toward Darcy. “What?”

  “A few years ago,” said Darcy, “she was involved in a hit-and-run. It was late at night and she’d been drinking heavily. There was a ten-year-old boy riding his bike home from a friend’s house. She’d forgotten to turn on her headlights and was mostly navigating the streets by memory. The boy tried to bike across the crosswalk. She hit him dead-on. I don’t know if the boy was dead by the time he hit the ground or if he bled out on the road. She reversed and drove home another way.”

  Amelia was staring at her. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Darcy sighed. “I know who you are, Amelia. Everyone in this school knows who you are. You’ve had some shitty luck. The worst.”

  Amelia frowned. “What?”

  “When my mother killed the boy,” said Darcy, taking a deep breath, “I was the one who turned her in to the police. I heard the co
ps looking for someone, and I saw the blood on the grill of my mother’s car. I could smell the liquor on her breath. So I called 911 from a payphone and turned her in.” She looked down at the ground and laughed nervously. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Not even my best friends.” She looked at the two others leaning against the wall.

  “Why are you telling me?” said Amelia, pulling a knee to her chest.

  “Because I know what you’re going through. If you need to talk to someone, I won’t tell anyone. I’ll just listen.”

  Amelia felt tears welling. She pulled her knees to her chest and cried, her sobs coming in rapid succession.

  “Come on,” said Darcy, “I’m here for you.”

  Darcy pulled her close, and Amelia could feel her warmth.

  “Thank you,” said Amelia through her sobs.

  “Take as much time as you need,” said Darcy. “I’ll be here.”

  Amelia looked up at her. “Don’t you have class?”

  Darcy laughed. “If you ask the teachers, they’ll say I’m a lost cause. What that means is I can do whatever I want.”

  “Isn’t that kind of sad? What about your future?”

  Darcy shrugged and took a drag on her cigarette. “I don’t know, Amelia. I try not to think about it.”

  Amelia sighed. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Darcy pulled on her cigarette and blew the air away from Amelia.

  “I’m being blackmailed,” said Amelia softly, “by my stepfather.”

  Darcy’s eyes opened wide for a moment, then she nodded. “Is he involved?”

  “Yes,” said Amelia, “but I don’t know how. I don’t think he killed Joel or Robin, but he knows who did, and he’s involved somehow. Possibly against his will.”

  “What’s the blackmail?”

  “Have you ever heard of Norman Green?”

  Darcy nodded. “He was the hockey player who took a bunch of steroids, right? He got caught, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. He’s working as a detective now. My sister hired him to look into the case.”

  Darcy laughed. “That’s kind of a strange career change.”