White Space Season 1

admit it.”
    “Bullshit. You’re just feeling guilty because that’s what you do.”
    “No,” Jon shook his head. “I had a hard time believing Sarah was with another guy so quick. I was her first, after all.” His voice cracked. “And she was mine. But believing she had moved on, made it easier for me to move on, too. Even if part of me wondered. I’m an asshole for letting it go. If I hadn’t, everything would be different. Sarah never would’ve been on the island, and she never would’ve been in the classroom when that bullet tore through the wall.”
    “Okay, you’re done,” Houser said, scooping Jon’s glass to the other side of the table. “You can’t rewrite history. And who’s to say Sarah wouldn’t have been hit by a bus walking the Strip?”
    Jon rubbed his temples. “Losing Sarah the first time was what made me want to step into the middle of the street without looking both ways, come home to my empty apartment and watch shit TV, and coat the acid and ache in the pit of my stomach with whatever I could pour from a bottle. Even after I moved on, a part of me always believed our story wasn’t over. But now it is, and I can’t live with it.”
    Jon started to quietly sob. Houser looked around the bar, then scooted his chair closer to Jon, softly patting the back of his shoulder.
    “Sarah’s different, there’s no one like her,” Jon kept shaking his head like it had a fresh set of batteries. “She loved me before I was on the cover of Entertainment Weekly . Before I was damaged. Back when I was still innocent, and before I’d ever been a punch line. I’ll never be able to trust another woman the way I trusted her, because I’ll never know another woman before the fame.”
    “You always had the money, Jon.”
    “Yeah,” he said, “but I knew Sarah before she knew what it was, or at least why it mattered.”
    Houser’s phone started buzzing on his belt. Jon barked out a laugh and pointed at Houser’s waist. “You should keep that in a fanny pack,” he laughed through his tears. “And you call me a bitch.”
    Houser looked at the screen. “It’s local,” he turned to Jon, then tapped the green button on his black phone and said, “Houser.”
    His eyes narrowed, then after a few seconds of silence, Houser said. “Yes, ma’am.” Another few seconds later, he added, “How can I help you?”
    Houser listened for around 30 seconds, then turned the phone from his ear, palmed the speaker, and whispered to Jon. “It’s Heller’s wife.”
    The wife of the man who murdered Sarah — and Jon’s dreams.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 9 — Brock Houser

    8:28 p.m.

    “Is this the same Brock Houser who found the missing girl today?”
    “Yes, ma’am” he said. “How can I help you?”
    “I hope so,” she sounded less sad than upset. “I don’t know who else I can turn to. My son is missing. And I’m afraid something bad has happened to him. Is there any chance I could hire you to find him? I don’t have much money, and I’m not even sure what you guys charge, but I need help.”
    “Did you contact the police?” Houser asked.
    “Yes, but I’m not sure how much help they can be. Last week, his father, Roger Heller, shot six people at the school. And I’m afraid that someone might have hurt him.”
    “Why do you think that?” he asked, as Jon leaned close, listening to the conversation.
    Liz told him about the shooting, then about how one of the victim’s parents came to the house and assaulted her son. She also told Houser about the “Murderer” spray painted in blood red across her windshield. After Alex got in a fight with two kids at school — a fight which left one of the kids in a coma — he and his girlfriend, Katie, ran into the woods. She hadn’t seen them since.
    Houser asked if it was possible that he and his girlfriend ran away together, as young lovers sometimes do.
    “He wouldn’t do that to us,” Liz said. “He wouldn’t leave me and his little sister behind. I know this is gonna sound ridiculous, but I know something has happened. I can feel it.”
    Houser looked at Jon, who shrugged on his way to another sip of whiskey.
    “Hold on a second,” Houser said and muted the phone.
    “What do you think? It’s probably nothing, but I could probably swing by and give her some peace of mind.”
    “You’re gonna help the wife of the man who murdered Sarah?” Jon asked.
    “She didn’t murder Sarah. She’s just as much a victim in this as the