The Fort (Aric Davis)

back on and do his job. Not because of the shooting, but because of the dead boy who’d been forced to do his job for him.
    Van Endel was almost to his car, and the flask that was in it, when a voice called to him from behind.
    “Detective?”
    Van Endel spun. It was Luke’s two friends Tim and Scott. He walked to them. They were alone, their parents likely talking about the tragedy and trying to forget that their sons could just as easily have been killed too.
    “How long are you going to be a detective?” Tim asked.
    Van Endel wasn’t sure quite what to say to this but found himself answering. “I’d always figured my whole life,” he said, “but now I’m not so sure. Today it seems that my calling might be elsewhere, or ought to be.”
    “You’re a good cop,” said Tim, while Scott nodded. “At least as far as we can tell.”
    His voice thick, Van Endel said, “Thanks for that.”
    “But do you see our eyes?” Tim asked.
    Van Endel nodded, looking back and forth between them and seeing no hatred or anger, just the eyes of two sad children who would be forced into being men soon enough.
    “I do,” said Van Endel.
    “Well,” said Tim, “you should keep being a detective, but you should remember us. Remember that even when it seems impossible, people can still be telling the truth.”
    “I will,” said Van Endel, but the boys were already leaving, their backs to him.

57
    It was nearly twenty years later when Van Endel thought of them yet again. It wasn’t the first time that he’d recalled the boys while working a case. Tim and Scott, all grown now, of course, had influenced his career more than he thought they ever would have imagined.
    Now, though, it was like they were in the room with him, along with Luke. Phil, his old partner, had died of a heart attack three years prior, and so his new partner, Tom, sat with him. But more than Tom, and more than the suspect before them, it was the boys whom Van Endel felt in the room with him. They were electric around him, and it was all he could do not to ask Tom or the suspect if they could feel or see something weird.
    He didn’t, though. Instead he let the suspect, some tattooed scumbag named Mike, tell the story of how his drug-addicted girlfriend named Sid had killed herself in the tattoo shop above where he worked. Tom had said from the start that he was positive that Mike had done it, and so had Van Endel. Now, he wasn’t so sure. In fact, he thought they might be mistaking the man’s guilt over not being there for his girl as his guilt over her death.
    “Tell it all to me again,” said Van Endel as he looked deep into the suspect’s eyes and saw the same thing, that same electricity he’d seen so many years before. The man began talking, but Van Endel already knew he was telling the truth. He knew exactly what to look for.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    My first four novels were dedicated to lives taken far too young, and it is with no small amount of pleasure that I’m able to say that thankfully there appears to be a drought in my life of young people falling far before their time. I truly hope that is a streak that lasts a good long while. For my daughter, Scout, someday when you read this, I hope it gives you fond memories of the time in your life when this was written. You were eight when this manuscript was begun, nine when I was editing it, and nearly ten when it went to press. I hope you are as happy when you read this as you were on the days when I wrote it. I love you very much and cannot wait to talk to you after you read this. Considering the content, I’d say we have a few years yet to go.
    Thanks to my wonderful wife, Megan, who has endured a whirlwind of writing that no one should have to live through, yet you’ve done it with a smile on your face. We’ve had a long journey together, and I’m blessed to have traveled this road with you at my side.
    Thank you to my parents, both of whom were first readers this time around, and who offered wonderful advice that helped this story be everything that it could at that stage of its creation. I respect you both so much for the lives you’ve lived, and I could never thank you enough for putting books in my hands at a young age. Reading, and now writing, has been my lifeblood, and always will be.
    A massive thank-you goes to Amazon editor Terry, who gave me a chance when no one else was interested in my writing. I am blessed to have such a thoughtful man overseeing my writing career,