After I left the library, I search for all the places Ollie and I would meet after school. I got to the Hamburger's Mary, then his favorite record shop, the skate parks, art galleries, and movie theaters. Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I grip the handlebars and pedal across the leaf-infested sidewalks of Portland until I see Ollie sitting on my front steps.
His face is fine, but his legs are scraped up pretty badly. Hot tears rush down his cheeks until I drop my bike, run up to him, and throw my arms around Ollie's neck.
"Ollie!" I exclaim. "Are you okay?"
My best friend does not answer. He moves away from my embrace and mutters something under his breath. Confused, I sit down beside Ollie. I struggle to get him to talk, but Ollie lifts the cigarette pack from his pocket, takes one, and sticks the cigarette in his mouth.
"What happened after your stepdad found us?" I ask him. "Did he do something bad to you?"
"I'm fine, Kat," Ollie grumbles.
"The fuck you are!" I yell. "You look like total shit!"
Ollie shoves the box back into his pocket and tells me to forget about it. That we should talk about something else. Taking off my sunglasses, I scoot towards my best friend, who leans his head on top of my shoulder. His tears soak my sleeves. I flinch at their touch, but I just hold Ollie's hand and then look at the crows flying above the trees.
"So what are you going as for Halloween?" I ask suddenly.
"You do know Halloween is canceled, right?"
"I'm just having a conversation."
Ollie closes his eyes and reopens them. "I wanted to go as Sid Vicious. You know, that bass player from the Sex Pistols?"
"Yeah."
"I wanted to go trick-or-treating as him. You?"
"Veronica Sawyer from Heathers." I chortle. "But now, I am thinking about going as Wednesday Addams."
A laugh escapes from Ollie's throat. "It's going to be hard picturing you in those long pigtails and a dress."
I give him an elbow jab in the shoulder, causing Ollie to stick his pink tongue at me. It's hard to look past the bruises, but I can finally see his humor growing back. There is still some color on his damaged cheeks. I rise from one of the stairs and hold out my hand.
"Come on," I urge. "Are you going to sit there and mope, or do you want me to clean up your face?"
Ollie snorts, but he grabs my hand, lets me pull him off of the stairs, and then follows me to the house.
******
I make Ollie sit on the living room couch while I get the first-aid kit in Mom's room. Running my fingers up the stair rail, I silently prayed that Mom left for work. But she didn't. Instead, Mom is still in bed, sleeping uncomfortably under the covers.
Three empty wine bottles tumble past my feet.
Crumbled balls of tissue paper roll across the bed until they fall on top of the carpeted floor. I trudge through the mess, collect the wine bottles and tissue balls, and shove them in the trash can beside my father's writing desk. Next, I walk over to my mom and kiss her on top of her sweaty forehead.
"Hey, Mom," I whisper. "How are you feeling?"
Mom doesn't answer, but she squeezes me tight and kisses my face until I ask her where the first-aid kit is.
"I think it's in the bathroom, Kat," she answers drowsily. "Why, are you hurt?"
"No, it's for a friend."
"Oh? Who is she?"
"His name is Ollie. A guy from school."
My mom stares at me. "Why? Is your friend okay?"
"Yeah, he got his knee scraped from skateboarding." I lie, pushing her hair out of her alarmed eyes. "That's all, Mom."
"Make sure you bring the kit back, okay?"
"Yes, Mom."
I kiss her cheek and head over to the bathroom to retrieve the kit. However, as soon as I take it, I notice how skinny my mom is. Not Naomi Campbell skinny, but the type of skinny where you can see the person's bones through his skin. I don't know what doctors call it, but I do know it's not normal.
Regardless, I decided to pull my focus away from my mom and take care of Ollie's bruises.
******
"Ow!" Ollie winces. "What the actual fuck?"
He jerks his legs away from me as I try to apply rubbing alcohol to his fresh wounds. Gritting my teeth, I dab the liquid with a white cloth I found near the sink until Ollie flinches.
"Stop moving, dumbass." I huff in frustration. "I know I am not a nurse, but I can't do anything unless you sit still."
I pour some alcohol on a white washcloth and dab it on Ollie's knees until he stops wincing. Ollie closes his eyes and reopens them. He gently takes the cloth from my hand and then uses it to rub my elbows.
"Are there any bandages left?" he asks me.
"Yeah, man," I say, picking up the kit off the floor and offering it to Ollie. "Here you go."
"Thanks," he says with a grin.
Watching him pick up the box of pink Hello Kitty bandages, I place my hands behind the back of my head and ask where he got those scrapes. Ollie doesn't answer. He applies the bandages to his legs and arms and then asks me about the reward money.
I roll my eyes at the ceiling. "If you are going to bitch about not helping the police—"
"No! No!" Ollie stammers. "I want to do it."
"Do what?"
"You know, gather some info on the serial killer."
Scrunching my face, I tilt my head to the side and snort, "What made you change your mind?"
Ollie expresses a tired groan until I point my finger at his nose.
"And don't you fucking dare say that it's complicated or any of that brooding bullcrap?" I snap. "I want to know what happened to you after your stepdad dragged you into that fucking truck-"
"I don't want to talk about it!" he interrupts angrily.
"Okay? Look, I just want to find the money so I can get out of my fucking house!"
I flinch at his angry shouts, then watch Ollie sulk in the corner of the couch. He leans his back against the soft yellow couch cushions and massages his face. Hello, Kitty bandages peel off of his elbows and legs. I want to slap them back on, but I am afraid Ollie doesn't want to be touched right now.
"What about your mom?" I whisper. "You once told me you would take a bullet for her."
"Fuck her," Ollie spat. "Fuck her, fuck the baby, and fuck Tony!"
"Who's Tony?"
"My stepdad!"
"Oh."
Ollie wipes the hot tears running down his face and says that he wants to help me get the reward money for my family and fund our New York City trip.
"I gathered newspaper clippings of all the murders that have happened so far," Ollie blurts quickly. "I know this sounds crazy, but if we find out who did this, we give the motherfucker up to the cops, we get paid, and we split the money equally."
A part of me wants to kiss Ollie on the mouth again, but the other is a little terrified of him.
"Uh, yeah," I say slowly. "Maybe we should take a couple of baby steps and put our heads together."
Ollie takes a deep breath before getting up from the couch. He helps me put away the bandages and rubbing alcohol in the first-aid kit and shuts it tight.
After thanking Ollie, I hurry upstairs to return the kit and rush downstairs with some exciting suggestions.
"Why don't we go to the scene of the crime?" I ask hopefully.
"You mean, like, investigate a crime scene?" Ollie says it carefully. "Won't it be swarming with cops?"
"Probably."
"Aren't we going to get caught?"
"I don't think so," I say, a mischievous smile growing on my lips. "Not if we're sneaky."
*********
When I was, like, seven or eight years old, I used to love going to Space Disco with Mom.
The name looks like it could use some work, but even so, the arcade was always packed. There were carnival games, video games, pinball machines, and places where you could use tickets to buy prizes.
Every time I got an A in a subject, Mom would drive me to the arcade and play games until it was time to go home. Sadly, the police had to shut it down after some lost kid found a teenage girl's lifeless body in the back of the building.
Multicolored, luminous lights burn my eyes. The humid air reeks of expired pizza and lemonade.
Dark indigo dances across the moldy walls. Some of the games I grew up with are still there: Street Fighter II, pinball, Mario Bros., and Donkey Kong. They stood in the third row, distancing themselves from Dance, Dance Revolution.
Sweat begins to dribble down my left cheek; I wipe it off with the back of my hand when, all of a sudden, my face is starting to get warm.
"Why the hell is this place so hot?" Ollie grunts. "Is the air conditioner even working?"
"Maybe the guy who owned the arcade shut it down, too," I answer with a shrug.
Putting up my hair into a ponytail, I notice a wide corkboard hanging next to the janitor's wide closet door.
I notice a wide corkboard full of advertisements, old newspaper clippings, and a poster discussing the disappearance of a fifteen-year-old girl. She has black hair, cinnamon-brown skin, and almond-brown eyes.
The last thing she wore was a red varsity jacket, a bright pink American Summer t-shirt, Mom jeans, and black Old Skool Vans.
What's weird about it is that Matt used to crush on this girl in eighth grade. I didn't see them together, but he would always describe her as the teenage version of Cher. Now that I am looking at her picture, I think Lila was beautiful.
Suddenly, a wave of putrid stench overwhelms the room. I immediately cover my nose and jerk my face to the wall so I won't have to taste the odor. I could hear Ollie coughing loudly next to the Donkey Kong arcade cabinet.
"God, where the hell is that smell coming from?" I snarl.
"Maybe it's coming from outside," Ollie responds between two coughs. "Let's check it out."
We lift the necks of our shirts over our noses and venture between the field of arcade cabinets until we reach the back door. Ollie tries the rusted knob and opens it to find the polluted corridor. The smell comes from the disgusting trash cans and coarse rats sprinting past our feet.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter. "Why does it have to be rats?"
Ollie curls his nose at the warm puddles near our shoes and steps around them.
"Come on," he urges. "The sooner we find some info, the faster we get our cash."
Groaning some more, I circle the puddles until a yellow crime tape stops us.
Its split ends stick onto grime-covered walls like spiderwebs, but based on the rain and dirt, I can tell that it has been there for a very long time.
Ollie and I duck under the tape and venture toward the bloodstained varsity jacket sticking out of the pile of garbage. I blink slowly, observing the red jacket in complete shock. Hanging from one of the sleeves is the same Dreamcatcher necklace I saw in Lila's picture.
"This is crazy," Ollie mutters. "What kind of deranged lunatic would leave clothes behind an arcade?"
"And why didn't the police collect them?" I ask in an unsure tone.
"Don't touch my treasure!"
Then, like puppets on strings, the garbage begins moving on its own. Ollie and I backed away. I discover an empty Coca-Cola bottle on the floor, snatch it up, and smash the end against the metal lid of a trash can.
Meanwhile, Ollie zips open his backpack and then pulls out his trusty skateboard.
We advance towards the shaking garbage until some dude's head pops out of it. Blood runs down from his ears. A gaping cut stretches across his brown, gaping forehead. He has grayish-brown hair and blue eyes and wears these types of clothes that look like they have been ripped apart with a knife.
"Holy fuck!" Ollie gasps.
We pull the guy out of the garbage bags and brush the trash off his body and clothes.
"Are you okay, man?" I ask him. "Are—"
"Don't touch my fucking clothes!" the homeless guy snarls.
Ollie and I respectfully distance ourselves from the guy until he reaches for the necklace and varsity jacket.
"Wait!" I blurted. "I don't think you want to touch those items!"
The old dude shoots his dark eyes at me and barks, "Why not?"
"Because unless you want to be implicated in the murder of a teenage girl," Ollie snaps. "I suggest you leave those alone and talk to us."
"Murder?" the dude snorts in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about, Missy?"
"Ever heard of the girl, Lila Schultz?"
"Yeah."
"Well, congratulations. You found her fucking jacket."
"What?" the homeless man gawks at me. "Are you sure?"
"There's a missing photo of her in the arcade," I tell him. "If you don't believe us, go inside and check the corkboard beside the janitor's closet."
Stunned, the old geezer stares at the soiled dark red varsity jacket and then backs away as if it had grown legs.
"Jesus," he stutters. "Fucking Jesus! I didn't know-"
"We get it," Ollie says calmly. "We aren't going to rat you out to the police."
"But we do want to know where you got that varsity jacket," I say with a pleading smile. "So, maybe instead of wallowing behind a trash can, why don't you tell us?"
Slowly getting up from the floor, the homeless man wipes the snot with the back of his hand and then rubs it against his dirty jeans.
"I don't know how I got the jacket," he confesses. "But I do remember waking up hearing animal noises."
I glance at Ollie, who gives the homeless guy a disbelieving look.
"Animal noises?" he repeats with a low snort. "You're fucking with us, right?"
"It's the truth!" the old man huffs. "It sounded like a bear who took a nosedive in a pile of cocaine!"
Wow, that's a powerful story, I think to myself.
Pushing my hair out of my brown eyes, I cross my arms and give the homeless dude a hard look.
"Alright, say that we believe in you," I say firmly. "Say that the noises you heard sounded like a bear. What did the killer look like?"
The homeless guy looks at me again, but this time, all the color drains from his brown, sunken face.
"He looked like a cannibal," the man says. "I saw that animal snapping the girl's neck and biting her until she stopped screaming."