White Space Season 1

‘squeaky clean.’ Makes you wonder what else he was up to?”

    Milo kept scrolling, getting angrier as he read – his rage at war with his swelling sadness. There were a few legitimate fears, and thoughts about the students who died. In a school as relatively small as Hamilton, everyone pretty much knew everyone else. The grief may have been real, but that didn’t give anyone the right to act as if they were there, or stand on the shoulders of the victims so they could gaze out at the rest of the world. Christopher Swart, the guy who said he’d always have nightmares, was the only one on the page who was even in the room. Roland Wilder, the asshole who commented on Heller’s empty expression wasn’t even in the same grade. And then some of the names, he didn’t even recognize. Probably trolls just looking to hit the hornet’s nest to see what comes out.
    One troll in particular stuck out, a name that despite seeming like a real name, struck him as made up. It was Cody Brandt, who posted:

    “Mr. Heller was screaming at everyone, telling them to kiss the floor as he waved the gun in the air. His eyes were crazy and he was drooling like a dog.”

    The post made Milo so mad he felt like punching his laptop.
    Milo typed:

    “ Unlike you, I was there. I was the only one who was there, other than Manny, who saw Heller shoot himself.”

    There was a ding, just seconds later. A private message.

    “Cody Brandt: You were there?”

    “Milo A.: Yes, who are you? You shouldn’t be making stuff up.”

    “Cody Brandt: Someone who thinks there’s more to this story.”

    “Milo A.: What do you mean?”

    “Cody Brandt: Did anyone talk to you yet about what happened?”

    Milo took a second to think, mentally scrolling through the long list of reporters, police department and Paladin officers, all asking a similar series of questions, with varying degrees of compassion. He wrote:

    “ Of course. Reporters, cops, everyone. What do you think?”

    “Cody Brandt: What did you tell them?”

    “Milo A. The truth, unlike you.”

    There was a long pause. Milo was ready to log off and leave the asshole behind, when there was another ding.

    “Cody Brandt: Did Mr. Heller say anything to you before he killed himself?”

    “Milo A.: No, but he said something to my friend, Manny.”

    “Cody Brandt: Then your friend is in danger.”

    “Milo A.: WTF do you mean?”

    There was no response, not then, or for the five minutes Milo spent waiting, scratching his arm and cursing his goddamn allergies. “Cody Brandt” had crept under his skin, along with the pollen.
    A loud knock on the door downstairs made Milo jump from his chair.
    He went to the window, slipped his fingers into the slats of the blinds, then pulled them open enough to see outside. Alex.
    Milo turned from the window, then collapsed onto his bed.
    Fuck him and his father.
    He could stand out there all damn day for all Milo cared.
    Milo hoped it rained.
    Milo closed his eyes and decided he wasn’t ready to wake up today.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 4 — Alex Heller

    Alex knocked on Milo’s door, feeling exposed and alone standing on Milo’s doorstep, as if behind every closed window on the street, prying eyes peered from barely opened curtains and blinds.
    There he is, the son of the murderer.
    Come on, Milo. Open the door. I know you’re in there.
    He didn’t know if Milo was home, but figured he was, since his mom’s SUV wasn’t in the driveway. Milo’s dad usually kept the sedan in the garage, but Alex doubted his father was home, either. He was never home. And if he were, Alex wasn’t horribly concerned that Milo’s dad would freak out nearly as much as his Other-mom. Milo’s dad was laid back, and a nice guy. Why he’d married Beatrice was beyond Alex. Sure, she was hot. But there were tons of hot women who weren’t blue ribbon bitches.
    Alex knocked again, listening at the door to see if he could hear music or the TV. Nothing but silence.
    Alex grabbed his cell and called Milo.
    It went to voicemail.
    “Come on, man. I know you’re home. Please, come to the door. I want to talk. I want to tell you how sorry I am about my dad. I’m just as freaked as anyone. Please, Milo.”
    Alex hung up and waited a few minutes at the door to give Milo time to listen to the voicemail, maybe change his mind and come to the door. He waited nearly five minutes before turning from the door and heading back to his bike.
    Alex rode, uncertain where to go.