The Departed

want to make that call.
    She’d have to call him eventually. She knew it in her gut.
    And it was enough to make her heart skip a beat, make her knees go weak, make her belly clench. Will he come this time or send one of the others?…Will I see him?
    Taking a deep breath, she shoved all of that aside. It didn’t matter, couldn’t matter. This mattered—the boy, the job, the lost. They were what mattered now.
    Focusing on the boy, she asked the question—whatever his answer was, it was one that mattered, because this was what held him back, what kept him from moving on. Something else she knew in her gut.
    “You know who did. You know why. How about you tell me?”
    She was expecting some story about teenage angst. Jealousy. Anger. Maybe even the loneliness or bullying that was so common these days.
    What she didn’t expect was the answer she got.
    He stared at her with a grim, sad expression and replied, “Because they were going to kill a girl…and I wouldn’t go along with it.”
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    I  wanted to see you today, my angel. But not yet. When it’s time.
    Almost time.
    I think I’ll bring you pretty yellow flowers this year. I think you’d like yellow.
    Pen continued to scratch over paper, pausing only from time to time.
    Perhaps a new dress? Would you like a yellow dress? I saw one and I think you would like it. I don’t know much about girls’ dresses, but I think you would like this one. I also have a surprise for you, pretty angel. But I can’t tell you yet. Soon, though. Very soon.
    * * *
     
    “WHAT was Tristan like?”
    His sister shot her a look from under a fringe of heavy, dyed-black bangs. She stared at Dez for the longest time, not answering. Dez was already prepared for several long days of getting absolutely nowhere.
    But to her surprise, Tiffany Haler sighed and actually answered her question. “What’s it matter? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
    “Yes.” Dez kept her hands tucked in her pockets, stared straight ahead. Damn it, she was tired. It had been nearly one a.m. before she’d managed to find a bed to collapse into and what little sleep she’d gotten had been fitful. Tired or not, though, she had a promise to keep. Judging by the restless burn inside, she didn’t think she’d have much time to do it, either. “Tristan’s dead. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t matter, does it?”
    “No.” Tiffany tucked her chin low and hitched her bag up on her shoulder, mumbling under her breath, “It’s a bunch of bullshit, though. Bull shit .”
    “What is?”
    Tiffany shot her a look. “Nothing. Look, lady, just leave it alone. It’s not like there’s some story of the week to go with this. Tristan wasn’t some kid who got bullied to death, and he wasn’t into drugs. He just…”
    The girl’s voice broke. And for a second, her natural shields, the reticence that kept Dez from reading many people, slipped and she felt something from the girl.
    Doubt.
    It was enough.
    Seizing it, she said softly, “A bunch of bullshit…him killing himself?”
    Tiffany stumbled. Under the heavy makeup she wore, it looked like she’d gone rather white, too. “What?”
    Dez shrugged. “Well, from what I can tell, your brother had a lot of things going for him—a girlfriend who adored him, decent parents, a lot of friends, scholarships. We’re not talking some poor little rich boy, we’re not talking some scared, confused kid—he seemed like a genuinely nice kid. I think he even had a good relationship with you, didn’t he?”
    “He…” Tiffany looked away. She chewed on her lip, her eyes closed. Then, quietly, she whispered, “Everybody loved Tristan. He was a good guy, you know? People…they listened to him. Even me.”
    A harsh breath shuddered out of her and she looked back at Dez. “I used to get a lot of grief around here. Hell, I still do. You know what it’s like being different?”
    “Actually, I do.”
    Tiffany sneered. “You probably don’t have a clue. I don’t just mean being black. But I mean different . Half the school thinks I’m a lesbian. I’m not, but they used to tease me all the time…and then one day, Tristan heard. One of the guys—Beau Donnelly, some hotshot on the football team, he grabbed me. Said some things. It got back to my brother.”
    A smile, somehow both sad and proud, curled the girl’s lips. “He waited until the guy was out of school. Then he beat the shit out of him.” She slanted a look at Dez and added,