White Space Season 1

to Alex, touching his shoulders. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
    Alex nodded, hugging his mother. “Yeah, mom, everything’s okay. Officer Sanders arrested Mr. Henderson before he could do anything.”
    His mom turned toward the SUV still in the driveway, glaring. He’d rarely seen his mom get angry, and this was the most furious he’d ever seen her. He was certain she was seconds from running to the SUV, pulling Mr. Henderson out, then pounding on him, even though she was a small woman who’d never hurt a fly.
    “Everything’s okay, Mom,” Alex said, putting a hand on her shoulder and meeting her eyes. “He’s just upset about Teddy. I can tell he was just confused and angry. He said he’s sorry.”
    Alex wasn’t sure why he felt a need to downplay the incident and protect Mr. Henderson, who’d just tried to kill him. But there was something in the man’s eyes, sadness, or something along with the confusion in the moments between his bursts of anger. And that something called to Alex, asking him to show compassion.
    Alex’s mom wasn’t feeling compassionate, however.
    “I want him in jail. I don’t want him anywhere near my family!”
    “We’re going to take him to the police station now,” Sanders said. “They’ll have to decide what to do with Mr. Henderson, and will probably ask if you want to press charges.”
    “Damned right I do,” she spit.
    Alex put his arm on her, trying to calm her. He felt embarrassed that his mom was overreacting so much, especially given what happened. People had a right to be angry. She couldn’t get too worked up.
    “Okay, ma’am. We’ll have someone get in touch with you. Might I make a suggestion?”
    “What’s that?” she said, her voice slightly calmer, but suspicious of what he might suggest.
    “Would you mind if we posted someone outside your house to keep watch? You know, just until things calm down a bit?”
    She stared at him, then turned to Alex, her eyes growing more concerned.
    “Do you think that’s necessary?” she asked.
    “I don’t know, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Your son is lucky I happened to be in the neighborhood when I was, and got here before Mr. Henderson could really hurt him.”
    “What do you mean really hurt him? Did he hit you, Alex?”
    “Just a little, on the back,” Alex said, not wanting to whine about the throbbing pain.
    “Let me see,” she said, pulling his shirt up, embarrassing him further. “Oh my God! Your whole back is bruised!”
    “It’s not that bad, I swear. I’ve been hit harder in soccer. This’ll be gone in a couple of days.”
    “Yes,” his mom said. “I want someone here to watch over us.”
    Alex closed his eyes and sighed. The last thing he wanted was for people to see that they — the family of the man who shot their sons and daughters — had security stationed at their house. It would be seen as a big “fuck you” to the victims’ families.
    “Yes, ma’am. We’ll send a truck by in 20 minutes to keep an eye out for you all.”
    “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t been here. We’re so lucky you happened to be in the neighborhood.”
    “Right time, right place,” Sanders said. He handed her a card, wished them well, then headed toward the SUV.
    As the SUV rolled away, Alex found his mind turning over the phrase Sanders had said.
    “Right time. Right place.”
    That’s when Alex realized that he hadn’t seen Sanders arrive in a car. Had he just happened to be walking by on foot at the exact moment that Mr. Henderson decided to go apeshit? Something wasn’t right.
    Aubrey started crying, pulling Alex and his mother into the house, as he continued to consider the odd coincidence of Sanders saving the day.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 3 — Jon Conway

    Seattle, Washington
    Tuesday
    September 5
    7:20 p.m.

    Jon Conway stared out the window counting the minutes before the 747 descended into Sea-Tac, feeling the usual butterflies flittering through his stomach, just like they always did whenever he had to deal with his family in person. Although he was lost in thought, he felt eyes on him.
    He turned to his left and saw that the teenage Goth girl, across the aisle in the window seat, was no longer hiding the fact that she’d recognized him despite the shades, black baseball cap, and bulky black coat he’d tried to hide in.
    “Are you … Jon Conway?” she asked, as the man beside her, likely her father, seemed