that.
“Look—there are things—big things—to talk about. But not here. Not now.”
Newt nods and looks around the hallway through his big spectacles. “Okay. Keep me posted.”
I half expect him to say “Over and out,” but he just leaves.
Newt is a spy in training. A wannabe spy. It would be funny watching him if I didn’t know the horrible truth behind all of this.
The kid is going to have to know more of the story sooner or later. Because he’s one of the few people around here I trust.
And because I need as much help as I can possibly get.
Before lunch, I decide that I actually need Newt’s help with something right away. I know I’ll be sitting with Kelsey and her friends at lunch as usual, so on the way to the cafeteria I ask Newt a question that’s been on my mind all morning.
“Do you know anything about a haunted bridge around Solitary?”
He just looks at me and goes a bit pale. “What do you mean?”
I thought my question was pretty obvious, but I ask again. “Do you know of any kind of bridge around here that’s supposed to be haunted?”
“The Indian Bridge.”
“The what?” I ask.
“Indian Bridge. That’s the name.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “Yeah. That’s just the nickname. It’s got a real Indian name that I forget.”
“And it’s around Solitary? Kind of in the woods?”
“Have you been there?” Newt asks.
“I think so.”
Newt’s eyes grow wide. “They say if you go there around midnight you can see ghosts of the Indians who were killed building the bridge. And there are animals that guard the bottom—it’s impossible to walk through the bottom part of the bridge.”
“So it’s like an urban legend, right?”
Newt shrugs. “If you’re wanting me to go check it out with you, you’re crazy.”
“No, it’s fine. I need you for the haunted house.”
“The what?” He suddenly looks even paler, if that’s possible.
I pat him on the back. “I’m just kidding.”
“It’s not funny.”
He has a point. Around Solitary, joking about ghosts is not a good idea.
When I get home that afternoon, there’s a package in the mailbox addressed to me. It’s square and white and feels light. I open it and find bubble wrap around something. I undo it and find another white envelope marked Chris .
Part of me doesn’t want to open this.
Things have a way of just showing up around here.
I think of the cell phone that just appeared one day on our kitchen table.
As I open the envelope, I can see my hands shaking.
Stop it, Chris.
I pull out a note and a wad of money that looks like the kind you see on cop shows after they bust a drug deal. It’s a stack of twenties.
For a long time, I just stare at the money that’s bound together with a rubber band.
Something tells me it isn’t an early graduation gift from Dad. Finally I open the note.
Chris:
This money is for you to use while your mother is at rehab. If everything goes the way it should, she should be coming home any day.
The bills that have been previously paid for by your mother are being taken care of as well.
Mr. Kinner wants to see you this Friday evening at six. Show up promptly at my house.
Make sure you’re there, Chris.
Staunch
I let go of the note and feel a dread inside of me.
No matter how often I see Kelsey and how much time I spend around her, I still have this to deal with.
No matter how I try to live my day “by faith,” I still have this filling my soul.
I shudder and look at the money.
It only makes me angry.
I wonder how many people Staunch has bought off in the past.
People like Lily …
Friday is four days from now.
And Memorial Day is four months from now.
The clock is ticking.
What will happen when the alarm goes off? Where will you be, Chris?
I really don’t want to know.
30. A Gift Returned
The snow is light and doesn’t really stick to the ground but rather seems to float upward and around as I walk. I’m heading toward the empty church
“Look—there are things—big things—to talk about. But not here. Not now.”
Newt nods and looks around the hallway through his big spectacles. “Okay. Keep me posted.”
I half expect him to say “Over and out,” but he just leaves.
Newt is a spy in training. A wannabe spy. It would be funny watching him if I didn’t know the horrible truth behind all of this.
The kid is going to have to know more of the story sooner or later. Because he’s one of the few people around here I trust.
And because I need as much help as I can possibly get.
Before lunch, I decide that I actually need Newt’s help with something right away. I know I’ll be sitting with Kelsey and her friends at lunch as usual, so on the way to the cafeteria I ask Newt a question that’s been on my mind all morning.
“Do you know anything about a haunted bridge around Solitary?”
He just looks at me and goes a bit pale. “What do you mean?”
I thought my question was pretty obvious, but I ask again. “Do you know of any kind of bridge around here that’s supposed to be haunted?”
“The Indian Bridge.”
“The what?” I ask.
“Indian Bridge. That’s the name.”
“Seriously?”
He nods. “Yeah. That’s just the nickname. It’s got a real Indian name that I forget.”
“And it’s around Solitary? Kind of in the woods?”
“Have you been there?” Newt asks.
“I think so.”
Newt’s eyes grow wide. “They say if you go there around midnight you can see ghosts of the Indians who were killed building the bridge. And there are animals that guard the bottom—it’s impossible to walk through the bottom part of the bridge.”
“So it’s like an urban legend, right?”
Newt shrugs. “If you’re wanting me to go check it out with you, you’re crazy.”
“No, it’s fine. I need you for the haunted house.”
“The what?” He suddenly looks even paler, if that’s possible.
I pat him on the back. “I’m just kidding.”
“It’s not funny.”
He has a point. Around Solitary, joking about ghosts is not a good idea.
When I get home that afternoon, there’s a package in the mailbox addressed to me. It’s square and white and feels light. I open it and find bubble wrap around something. I undo it and find another white envelope marked Chris .
Part of me doesn’t want to open this.
Things have a way of just showing up around here.
I think of the cell phone that just appeared one day on our kitchen table.
As I open the envelope, I can see my hands shaking.
Stop it, Chris.
I pull out a note and a wad of money that looks like the kind you see on cop shows after they bust a drug deal. It’s a stack of twenties.
For a long time, I just stare at the money that’s bound together with a rubber band.
Something tells me it isn’t an early graduation gift from Dad. Finally I open the note.
Chris:
This money is for you to use while your mother is at rehab. If everything goes the way it should, she should be coming home any day.
The bills that have been previously paid for by your mother are being taken care of as well.
Mr. Kinner wants to see you this Friday evening at six. Show up promptly at my house.
Make sure you’re there, Chris.
Staunch
I let go of the note and feel a dread inside of me.
No matter how often I see Kelsey and how much time I spend around her, I still have this to deal with.
No matter how I try to live my day “by faith,” I still have this filling my soul.
I shudder and look at the money.
It only makes me angry.
I wonder how many people Staunch has bought off in the past.
People like Lily …
Friday is four days from now.
And Memorial Day is four months from now.
The clock is ticking.
What will happen when the alarm goes off? Where will you be, Chris?
I really don’t want to know.
30. A Gift Returned
The snow is light and doesn’t really stick to the ground but rather seems to float upward and around as I walk. I’m heading toward the empty church
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