Fear Has a Name: A Novel (The Crittendon Files) by Mapes Creston

Author:Mapes, Creston [Mapes, Creston]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, mobi
Tags: Bullying, Newspaper, Suspense, Thriller
Publisher: David C. Cook
Published: 2013-06-01T07:00:00+00:00

24

Granger perked up and drummed the steering wheel as he rolled back into Cleveland Heights, his old hometown. Appropriately, Kiss was blasting “Rock and Roll All Nite” on the Impala stereo as Granger seemed to float over the hilly road leading to Carver High School.

Other than the large parking lot having been freshly blacktopped and the bleachers newly painted in red, white, and blue, the brick school buildings looked exactly the same. He rolled past the outdated two-story middle school, Carver Junior High, and glided through the empty parking lot, coming to a stop at the tall chain-link fence at the football stadium.

Over where a leathery brown Hispanic man in work boots was mowing at a high rate of speed on one of those stand-up riding mowers—that was where Tim Lingoli had teased him in front of the others. Knocked Granger’s books from his arms. Poked. Prodded. Called him filthy names. Spit on him. “What are you gonna do about it, Granger Ranger? Huh, Granger Ranger?”

Granger had gone off by himself without a fight.

If you were here now, Lingoli, I’d show you what I’d do about it.

Beyond the thick green grass of the playing field and the black-cinder running track was where the band used to congregate. He had loved being part of it. No, he didn’t have friends, but he had made himself so good and strong on that trombone, they had come to need him. Whether they knew it or realized it or cared, he was part of the team—the team that made the music.

The bleachers were the old wooden kind, with slats beneath the seats. People used to drop money through down to the ground all the time. He would walk beneath the bleachers, looking for money as a kid. That night came back to him, when he trudged under there to find a bill Michael Riggler had dropped through the slats.

Granger had always been desperate to make a friend. Just one true friend. Someone who would listen. Take him seriously. Not laugh. Someone he could trust.

Pamela had been the closest thing to a friend he had ever had.

Granger peered down over the hill at the portion of the chain-link fence where Blake Devonshire and his buddies had knocked his band hat off his head and tried to mess him up.

What guts Pamela had, barging down into that scene.

Granger had shown Blake who to mess with.

He’d skidded that loser’s face into the stones.

Blast him.

And that special moment with Pam minutes later—she’d held his hand and looked up into his face, those big eyes glistening in the cold. “You’re a good person.” And she had said his name.

Sitting in the Impala alone at the school, he looked down at the hand she’d held and shook his head.

But you’re not good. You’re a bad seed.

The mess he’d gotten himself into pressed in on him like a stifling, shrinking cage.

They’re coming.

He knew it wouldn’t be long.

You’re in for it now.

This was his parents’ fault. His despicable life was their doing.

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