Do-Gooder by J. Leigh Bailey

Author:J. Leigh Bailey [bailey, j. leigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult
ISBN: 978-1-63477-290-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2016-09-15T04:00:00+00:00

It’s a square room, framed with beige-painted cinder blocks. A plain, narrow table sits in the middle. I sit in one chair. Sometimes Wendy sits in the chair opposite me, sometimes it’s her father. Right now, Wendy faces me, her expression as cold and emotionless as her father’s. “Why’d you do it, Ice? Why’d you leave?”

I had to leave! The words form in my brain but don’t come out of my mouth. I try again. I didn’t have a choice! Still no sound.

Suddenly Detective Sorenson sits there, smirking, leaning forward in a good-old-boy manner that makes me want to punch him. Who does he think he’s kidding?

Wendy’s father is a stocky man with thick, graying hair. A stone-faced and cold man, menace colors his voice. “Where’d you get the gun, boy?”

“None of your business.” At least my voice works now.

He drops the good-old-boy façade. “I’ll find out. And when I do, when I know for sure, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

He knows. He must know I got the gun from Wendy, otherwise he wouldn’t be so adamant.

Wendy spins in her chair, snapping strawberry-scented gum, a fun cheerful version of herself, one that is at odds with how I saw her last. “They searched your room, you know.”

I know.

“They took your computer in and searched it too.”

I know that too. I hope they enjoyed the sites I have favorited. There are a couple of hot web pages that are very inspirational to a young gay guy with more hormones than sense. It is the only thing they’d find anyway. I really hope Detective Sorenson got a real eyeful. The righteous prick.

In the way of dreams, Wendy disappears but the scent of strawberry gum lingers. I’m alone in the interrogation room, my arms secured in front of me. Not by handcuffs, though. Heavy bands of metal circle my wrists, and the table is magnetized. Not only can’t I move my hands, but I can’t even lift my arms from the table.

I look up from the table and stare at the two-way mirror across from me. Instead of seeing my reflection, I see two men in the other room facing each other. Both tall. Both harsh featured. They appear to be glaring at each other. I can’t hear what they say, but their gestures, their posture, it all screams of demand and fury. Through the hazy glass they are indistinct. No real details show through. These men could be anyone.

Yellow light floods the room, a spotlight focusing on the man on the left. In the stark glow, Detective Sorenson’s stony face stands out, grim, harsh. The other man, though fully illuminated, is less clear. His face looks like it’s made of clay and the sculptor has only started carving the features. The hair glows a fiery red. It’s not me, despite some very basic similarities. No, it’s Chuck.

Chuck and Detective Sorenson face off.

I blink. The light is gone, and the men are silhouettes, mirror images, nearly identical in form and stance. One is my dad, the other is the asshole Sorenson.

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