What Happened to Cass McBride? by Gail Giles

indeed, deep in debt. But, it ain't just living above his means. McBride is a savvy businessman. He's got loans against his home and his business, everything but his dog.” The knobby-knuckled finger pointed up. “However, and this is a big however, these loans are for his investment in a subdivision for ‘adult living.’ Like a retirement village. Big business now. You know, for old farts. Well, young farts ought to be investing, but old farts buy the houses.” He looked at Ben and shrugged. “He's probably set to make a killing, but right now he's cash poor.”
    “He got insurance on the kid?” Ben asked.
    “Not enough to count. Barely enough for a funeral.”
    “Any money coming to him through her in case of her death?”
    “Nada.”
    “So…,” Ben said.
    “It's not about money.”
    Ben turned to Scott. “We're running out of our first forty-eight and we're going nowhere. Remember Oakley's spider feet about the Kirby kid?”
    “Yeah, we talked to everybody and she didn't know the kid.”
    “But, did he know her?”
    Scott scrubbed his spiky hair. “What's to lose?”

KYLE
    “So, I thought we had a chance. David would ask some girl out. Someone just like Mom, someone with a bubbly personality. I gave him the lines to make the approach, a few kinda funny things that made him seem a little witty and not so needy, told him exactly what to do.
    “And one more time, there wasn't enough hurt sitting on David's shoulder. He goes and finds the biggest hurt he can. Cass McBride.”
    I dug my nails into my thumbs again. Pain felt so much better than guilt.
    “Here's David, thinking it's his last chance, his last chance ever to get Mom to approve of him, and what happens? Cass shoots him down. And she does it by calling him a loser, a bottom-feeder, gay. She rejects him with the same words my mother has.”
    I wiped the tears from my face. “One thing made me feel a little better. The way David did it. Hanging himself so publicly. In front of our house, with that note on his chest. It told me something.
    “David finally worked up the nerve to…” I looked at the cops. “The kid just royally shot Mom the finger. For everyone to see. Big and bad.”

CASS
    Cicadas? My head pounded so hard and loud I didn't know if the sound was inside or out. Dark all around, but white noise. Go figure.
    “Hey, are you asleep or dead?”
    Kyle.
    Not cicadas. Not white noise. Static from the radio. He was back. Oh thank god, he was back. How long had he been gone? Was it night or day? Was it Sunday now? Had I been asleep? Could it be Monday? Had it just been minutes? Time was impossible here. I faded in and out, sentences paused and I didn't know if it was seconds and minutes or…
    I moved my thumb to the button. Even that was an effort. I pressed. Opened my mouth to speak. It was already open, my tongue swollen and the tip sticking out between my front teeth a bit. Stuck to the top of my mouth. I tried to talk but my tongue was foreign, too heavy and cumbersome. All I managed was a rusty groan. Even breathing seemed to take grueling effort. I was going to die. That thought wasn't panic now. It was truth.
    “Miserable down there?”
    I groaned again. Not part of my campaign. Reactive. I couldn't think or plan with this headache or tongue or all-encompassing thirst. I brought my left hand to my lips to break the scab on my knuckles and lick the blood, but a sweet, sick liquid oozed out. Pus? Wounds get infected that quickly? Why couldn't I have learned a few facts in biology classes? I sighed. Like it would help to know what was going to kill me first: infection, dehydration, or the cold.
    I worked my tongue loose from my hard palate and tried to own it. I pressed the button again. “Water, please, water.”
    A lot of nothing from Kyle. Then, “You sound like crap.”
    A lot of nothing from me.
    “Okay, but only because I'm not done with you yet.” The silver dollar—sized circle of light appeared above me. It hurt my