Death, Doom and Detention

We turned in unison to Cameron, who stood behind us, casual as could be.

“What are you doing here?” Brooklyn asked, her hands over her chest as she tried to catch her breath.

“I wondered where you guys were sneaking off to, so I followed.”

“You heard us?”

“The entire neighborhood heard you.”

“Cameron, you can just admit it,” I said. “You like hanging out with us.”

“Can’t.”

Brooklyn frowned at him. “Why not?”

“You guys are weird. Bad for the rep.”

She scoffed. “You have to have a good rep to be worried about anything bad happening to it.”

“True. So, what are we doing?”

“Nothing,” I said, a little too fast and a little too aggressively.

His brows shot up. “Okay, count me in.”

Glitch sighed and walked down the stairs past us.

“Who’s watching Jared?” I asked.

“Your grandfather’s asleep in the recliner.”

“Poor guy,” Brooke said.

We crept down the eerie stairs and past jars of canned vegetables, an old typewriter that fascinated me as a child, and a box of collectible snow globes until we came to the shelf with an ancient trunk stuffed underneath. I knew from previous explorations that it contained my parents’ personal items. Things they had saved. Things of no importance to anyone but me. Every time I rummaged through the trunk, a nostalgic sense of pleasure washed over me. I knew what was inside. The dress I’d worn home from the hospital. My favorite blanket I’d practically eaten as a child. A teddy bear named Garth.

But I’d never paid much attention to the documents inside. They were mostly things like receipts and travel logs and such. And how could I forget the awards certificate for my Best of Show in Finger Painting? The more important documents like birth and marriage certificates were kept upstairs in my grandma’s file cabinet. But these were from my dad’s personal effects. If there was anything about his father, surely it would be in here.

As I rummaged through the trunk, Cameron asked, “So, what are we doing again?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” Glitch said.

“Sure I would.” Cameron’s voice held a hint of humor. He seemed to love nothing more than baiting Glitch. Then again, Glitch did start it. And yet he knew better than anyone what Cameron was capable of. Glitch had gone crazy.

After practically emptying the chest, I came across a manila envelope I hadn’t noticed before. I opened it and thumbed through the papers inside. They weren’t my father’s but Mac McAlister’s. My grandfather’s. My pulse quickened.

“Oh,” Glitch said, reading over my shoulder. “I thought Mac was short for McAlister. But it was actually his name. Then it makes sense that they called him Mac.”

“Yeah.”

“Your grandfather on your dad’s side?” Cameron asked.

“Yep.”

Brooklyn pushed past Glitch to point at the paper I was holding. “What is that?”

“It’s a license of some kind. A pilot’s license. And here is a receipt with his name on it.”

“But there’s nothing here to indicate that he might still be alive,” she said.

“You think your paternal grandfather is still alive?” Cameron asked.

Crap. I didn’t want him to know why I thought that quite yet. My new ability was just that. Shiny and new. I wanted to explore it further before announcing it to the world. “I have my suspicions.”

“Why?”

Brooke and I looked at each other. At least, I was pretty sure it was Brooke. In the low light, it could have been Elvis.

“It’s a long story.” I stopped on the last page of documents and read. “But it’s what’s not here that’s interesting. These are my dad’s papers, but there’s no death certificate for my grandfather.”

“There’s not one for your grandmother either.”

“No, but there is an autopsy report.” I held up the paper for a better look and startled.

“What?” Brooklyn asked.

Cameron leaned down and saw it immediately. “Wow.”

“According to this report,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse, “my grandmother died the day I was born.”

* * *

I took the contents of the envelope up to my room for a better look and to study the report. Cameron said he had to do a perimeter check, so we hurried upstairs to learn what we could while he was gone. I didn’t want to slip and say anything about the magic picture trick. Not just yet.

The description of my grandmother’s death made me ill. I had to stop reading because I thought I’d be sick. According to the report, my grandmother died while being tortured. And the report, while very cold and technical, listed the multiple lacerations and contusions consistent with a person suffering from traumatic physical abuse and/or torture, and it did so in great and explicit detail.

My stomach turned. Why would anyone torture her?

And crazy thing was, my grandparents knew.

“Do you think your grandmother’s death was what your parents were talking about when you were born?”

“No. I don’t. They said he was still alive. He.”

“Lor,” Brooke said, placing a hand on my arm to draw me back to her, “do you think your grandfather killed your grandmother?”

“No!” Glitch shouted.