Flash Burnout (20 page)

"Yes."

He nods. "And what if she's the right age?"

I sit down on his bed.

"Anyway, it can't be done. After we do the exam, we'll know more about the case. And if Marissa has valid reasons for thinking it's her mom, she'll have to contact the police."

"Garrett, man."

"What?" he says, an edge to his voice.

"She's my friend! And she's so scared it's her stupid mom."

"Yeah, I get it. But what else can she do?"

I don't want to say it.

But I say it. "Maybe I should look at her."

His eyes bug out. "Who? The
case?
"

I can't say anything else. I can't even nod.

"Get out," he says, and opens the door to his room.

***

I feel bad for killing my brother's happy
diener
buzz.

I'm in my room, and I can hear him stomping around next door in his room.

It was a stupid idea. I don't want to look at a dead body, anyway! I probably wouldn't even recognize if it
was
Marissa's mother. Do faces collapse and get weird in death? I can't picture Marissa's mom right now. All I can remember about her is her bilge breath and her tattoos.

Wait. Her tattoos. I would remember those, wouldn't I? Didn't she have something on her neck? I think about scrolling through my photos, but then I remember all her tats were covered up when I took her picture at Marissa's. And what if she's gotten new tattoos over the old ones? Do people do that?

Why did Marissa have to come over tonight?
I think.
Why can't my dad talk about current events during dinner?

My bedroom door bangs open.

"So are you saying you want to come with me tomorrow?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Never mind."

"Good." Garrett walks a few steps away and comes back to the doorway. "Because people can't just waltz into the state medical examiner's office and ogle the cadavers."

"I said never mind!"

He clomps downstairs.

I locate
Huck Finn
on the floor and decide the floor looks good enough for me. I flop down on my back and open the book. I manage to read a whole chapter before Garrett comes back.

"Dad would never let you."

"Jesus, I said
never mind.
"

"It's the kind of thing we'd have to sneak in to do."

I close the book.

We lock eyes, Garrett staring down at me with a tight look on his face, me goggling up at him.

Finally I break the silence. "When?"

He paces. "You can't come with me tomorrow. Dad would find out and I'd—" He shakes his head and says, almost to himself, "I'd probably be banned from working at the ME's office."

"So then when would we—?"

"It would have to be tonight."

A weird little quiver starts in my legs and moves up my body. I sit up and cross my arms. "You know what? I really appreciate it, but you're probably right. We can't risk it."

"What? Now you don't
want
to?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure I could positively ID her."

He throws up his hands. "Then why the hell did you bring it up in the first place?"

I'm sorry."

"What about your friend being so worried? What are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know. I can't think." I put my head in my hands. "Marissa would know if it was her mom, but—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Garrett pats the air in a STOP motion right above my head. "Stand on the brakes, man. Are you saying a third person would be involved?"

"No. Well, yes. If I can't ID her, then it would have to be
someone close to her. We can't ask her grandma. It would have to be Marissa."

"You're on crack," he says, and leaves.

He doesn't come back this time.

As I crawl into bed later, I'm ashamed to realize I'm glad he said no.

***

"Blake."

Dark.

"Wake up, man." Someone is shaking my shoulder.

I jolt awake.

Garrett is standing next to my bed.

"What?" I mumble.

"Get up," he says, and the look on his face doesn't allow for questions.

I push back my covers and sit on the edge of the bed in my boxers, shivering. My mouth is gunky and dry. I need a drink of water.

"Get dressed. Meet me downstairs," he says, and leaves.

Make your peace with waking up early. The early bird gets the good light.
Of course, so does the late afternoon bird, but why limit yourself
to beautiful slanting light once a day?
—Spike McLernon's Laws of Photography

I throw on my jeans and a sweatshirt. I grab a pair of sneaks and tiptoe down the stairs. It's dark. I don't know if it's midnight or four a.m. Where is Garrett? There's no light on anywhere. "Here, man."

I jump. I peer through the darkness and see Garrett standing by the front door.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Five. Put your shoes on." He opens the front door. It's pitch-black outside, too, no porch light.

I stuff my feet into my shoes, and Garrett hands me my jacket.

"I put your cell in your pocket," he says.

"Okay." I step outside onto the porch, next to him, and he closes the door quietly.

"It's good that you're not asking a bunch of questions," he
says. "Because if I have to talk about this, I might change my mind."

I immediately want to ask a bunch of questions.
What about Mom and Dad? They're going to wonder where we are when they wake up. What about Marissa? Are we actually going to the morgue?

Through some miracle I manage to clap a mental hand over my mouth and follow him out to the car.

He eases the car door open and indicates that I should get in. "Just crawl over to the passenger seat," he says. "I don't want to have to close more than one door. It'll be bad enough starting the engine. We just have to hope they don't hear it."

I do as he says.

He eases the door closed and turns the key in the ignition, wincing. The car starts, and he throws it into reverse and backs down the driveway. Usually he lets his baby warm up first.

"How do you get to your friend's house?"

"My friend's house? Oh! Marissa. Um, turn left at the corner."

I give Garrett directions. When we're halfway there, the predawn cold has woken me up enough to think,
What are we
doing?
Is he really going to get Marissa so we can take her to the morgue? This is crazy! Marissa infected me, and now I've infected Garrett with her insanity!
I plan my speech: "Garrett, man, never mind. I can't go through with it. Thanks, anyway. I don't know what I was thinking."

I stay silent. The mind-boggling stupidity of this idea is so obvious as we drive down the dark streets. But it's too late to stop now.

What I wouldn't give for a glass of water. And a TARDIS. I would go back in time and
shut up
about the possible identity of gunshot victims.

Garrett turns down Marissa's street and I point out the house. He drives past it and parks at the end of the street.

"Go get her," he says.

I sit there staring at him. "Go get her?" I repeat.

"I am not playing, Blake." Garrett using my given name gets me moving. He
must
be serious.

I get out of the car and walk down the street toward Marissa's house, trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to do when I get there.

Wait. Maybe I should pretend I couldn't get her. Like, she didn't hear me calling her, or she's not there or something. Then I could tell Garrett we can abandon this deranged idea.

Next thing I know, I'm standing in front of the house trying to remember where Marissa's bedroom is. Upstairs, right? She's mentioned it's upstairs. But is it the bedroom in the front or the back? And how am I supposed to get to her? Break into the house? Throw pebbles at her window like some kind of Romeo? I put my hands on my hips, frowning.

I feel exposed standing out on the sidewalk in front of her house. What if a neighbor sees me, some random guy stalking the house?
What if a cop car comes by on patrol? I walk down the driveway and slip through the gate to the backyard.

Okay. I'm standing on the patio looking up at what I hope is Marissa's bedroom window.

I picture Garrett waiting in the car, getting more and more impatient. I can't think of anything else: I bend down and try to see if there are any pebbles lying around. As I bend down, my cell phone shifts and almost falls out of my pocket. Duh!

I take out my cell and scroll through the names, looking for Marissa's. How happy am I that her grandma finally,
finally
got her a cell phone! But what if her cell isn't on? What if her grandma hears the phone?

Shit.

Okay, I don't have time for this head-stuck-up-my-ass thinking. It's getting later by the second.

I punch the button for Marissa's number and wait while it rings. I can feel my heart beating in my throat.

"Hello?" comes a groggy voice, and I could faint with relief. It's Marissa.

"Mariss," I say.

"Yeah?"

It's Blake."

"Blake?" Rustling sounds. "What time is it?"

It's crazy early," I say. "Listen. I need you to wake up. Do you hear me? Marissa?"

"I hear you. What's going on?"

"I'm at your house."

"What?" Her voice is sharper now.

"I don't have time to explain. You have to trust me. I'm at your house, and I'm waiting outside. I'm in the backyard. Is your room the one in the back?"

"Yes." There's more rustling, and I look up at her window. She pulls up the shade, and her dim silhouette appears in the frame. "Blake, what are you doing?"

I can't see her expression. "Please, Marissa. You have to trust me. Get dressed and come down. Leave a note for your grandma."

"I don't understand. What time is it?"

I close my eyes and sigh. "This is never going to work," I mutter, more to myself than to her.

"What's never going to work? Why do I need to leave a note? Are we going somewhere?"

"Yes, we're going somewhere. I
so
don't have time to explain, Marissa. My brother is waiting in his car, and he's going to fucking freak if we don't get back to him, like, now. Get dressed and meet me out front. I promise I'll tell you everything then."

"Okay!" She hangs up and closes her shade.

I run around to the front of the house and down the street to the car. Garrett looks up at me as I lean down to his window. "She's coming," I say. Then I run back to meet her.

***

Garrett parks down the street from the medical examiner's office. "There's a surveillance camera on the parking lot," he explains.

Marissa is silent in the back seat, her eyes wide and scared. We told her what we're going to do. It took a while to make her understand. When we first started talking about going into the morgue, she must have thought she was still asleep, having a nightmare. I'm sure when she asked me how to find out who the victim was, she never imagined she'd have to look at the body herself.

Once she understood, though, she didn't refuse. She didn't cry.

She's not going to chicken out. I can see it in her face. She really wants to know if it's her mom who died.

"Here's what's going to happen," says Garrett, turning around in his seat so he can see both of us. "We're going to walk over to the back door of the morgue. You guys are going to wait outside while I go in and make sure no one is there."

Who would be there?" I ask.

He narrows his eyes. "I told you I am not playing, Blake. Get your head in the—" He stops. I can tell he was about to say "in the game." "Just use your head," he fumes. "Anyone could be there. People get killed in the middle of the night, you know what I'm saying? There could even be cops. Now, do you want to keep talking about it? Or do this?"

Do this," whispers Marissa.

Garrett glances at her, and his expression softens. "Okay. So I'm going to check things out, make sure no one else is there. If
it's clear, I'll come get you. The cold room is near the back door, thank God." He runs a hand across his forehead. "Marissa."

"Yes." She answers quickly, like an attentive student.

"You will—" he says, and stops.

The three of us sit there in a moment of surreal silence.

"You will come in and look. They're just—" But the words get stuck in his throat again.

The three of us get out of the car. We're a block away from the building, and with every step I want to say,
Wait. Lets not do this.

Then we're standing at the back door, and I'm still speechless.

Garrett pulls a credit card–size passkey out of his back pocket. I can see his hand trembling. He swipes it through the reader, but the little red light stays red. Locked.

"Shit," he says.

I moan.

"Wait, wait," he says, swiping it again. "Why won't it work?"

Red.

Garrett looks at me, his eyes dark with panic. Then his face relaxes. "Ohhhh," he breathes. "It's after hours! I need the alarm code." He closes his eyes for a moment. "Let's see. I think it's—"

He
thinks?
What if he's wrong? Is a siren going to go off and floodlights and ... and the alarm system will auto-dial the cops?

"Okay," he says after a second, and punches in four numbers. The keypad makes a mocking little beep, and the light stays red.

Our three hearts collectively sink. Full disclosure: mine does a blip of relief, too.

"Okay, wait," says Garrett."

"
Damn,
Garrett!" I burst out.

"Shut," he says through gritted teeth, "
up.
" He hovers his trembling fingers over the keypad, and I wonder what will happen if he's wrong a fourth time. Will it be like a secure website that locks you out and you have to call tech support?

He punches in four numbers, and with a cheery chirp the light turns green. Garrett grabs the handle and opens the door. "Wait here," he says. He steps inside, and the door whooshes shut behind him.

I look at Marissa. She hasn't said a word this entire time. Her face is blank and white. She looks like a wax statue.