Freeze Frame (3 page)

G
ollum scratched his pointy chin. He looked at Dad, at Igor. “Michael, are you the legal owner of the gun?”

Dad nodded.

“Can you tell us why you had the gun?”

“Yeah. Ray, my brother; he had a pawnshop in Reno.” Dad cleared his throat. “He had some problems, so I bought him the gun.”

The officers exchanged a look. There's something about the word
pawnshop
that makes people get weird, like they're embarrassed about it.

“When he closed the shop, he returned it to me.” Dad's voice got real quiet. “I didn't even remember. It was so long ago.”

“We need to get your registration and permit. Can
you get that for us?”

“Of course. Certainly. I brought it with me. Yesterday…” Dad's voice trailed off. “I couldn't seem to find anything.”

The cops wrote furiously. Dad's hands trembled, handing over the registration and permit. I felt like my sense of time was off again.

I wanted it all to be over. I wanted the policemen to leave everybody alone. I wanted the sick feeling to leave my stomach. I wanted to stop smelling the burn. I wanted the movie to stop.

“Kyle.” Gollum leaned in. “I really need you to take us back to yesterday.”

The rewind didn't work. Didn't he know that?

“Can you do that?” His eyes widened, the lids peeling back.

I rubbed my eyes. My throat tightened. It was hard to swallow. “But,” I stammered, “but the movie. It's missing a scene.”

October 8, 9:24
A.M
., Scene Five, Take One

Mrs. Bishop brushed by me. “Maggie, what happened?” she asked. She dropped to the floor. “No, my baby! Hold on, hold on, hold on.” Her words barely made it through her tears.

Mr. Bishop came right behind the men with the stretcher. They pushed Mom and Mrs. Bishop out of the way. They talked fast into walkie-talkies, hoisting Jason onto the stretcher.

“Gunshot wound to the chest.”

“Fifteen-year-old boy.”

“Nine millimeter.”

“Massive blood loss.”

“How long ago did this happen?” They looked at me. “Kid, can you remember?”

I shook my head. “I don't know.” How long ago did what happen?

Mom stepped forward. “We heard a loud noise around nine fifteen. I ran out, saw what had happened, and called nine-one-one.”

The blanket dripped black with blood. A crimson pool formed on the floor.

Jason blinked every once in a while. I could hear him gasping. He made a terrible, wheezing, choking sound, worse than anything I'd ever heard.

Stop it. Stop making those noises. Say something.

His eyelids fluttered.

I reached out to touch his arm, but the EMTs pushed me away.

The Bishops ran behind the stretcher. Mrs. Bishop heaved herself into the back of the ambulance and sat next
to Jason. The paramedics turned on the lights and siren and peeled out of the driveway. Mr. Bishop and Dad followed the ambulance.

“Mom, you need to change,” Mel said. I looked at Mom's shirt, then down at my pajamas, stained with the same red-black color. I felt splatters on my face and started to scratch at the dried blood spots.

“And the pancakes are burning,” Mel said.

Was that the terrible burning smell?

Mom pushed me to Mel. “I've got the pancakes. You help Kyle.”

Mel nodded. She steered me through the kitchen door and upstairs. “Christ, Kyle,
snap out of it!
” Mel looked nervous. She threw some clothes at me. “Get dressed. Wash your face. We have to get to the hospital.”

My toes were blue—the same blue as Mel's cheerleading uniform, as Mom's eyes, as Jason's lips. Why were his lips so blue? I pulled my socks on and shoved my feet into my orange sneakers.

“Come on, Kyle. We need to get going.” Mel yanked my sweatshirt over my head. She took a cold washcloth and scrubbed at my face. She jerked back when she touched my hair and gagged. “Put on a baseball cap.” Her voice quaked.

“I didn't—” I couldn't finish the sentence. “He isn't—?”

Mel wiped her cheeks. “Come on. We've gotta go.”

We rushed downstairs. In the kitchen, Mom held on to
an old towel and wiped her hands, over and over again. The pancakes were burned and the kitchen looked as disastrous as the morning I bet Jase he couldn't eat seventeen pancakes. I never thought he'd actually go through with it. I ended up losing out on an entire semester of Twinkies from my lunch for that bet.

Jase was the biggest sophomore in all of Carson City. At Carson High School, all the coaches drooled over him. Jase liked sports enough. He just had other shit he wanted to do more. They didn't get that. I did.

Mom led me to the garage. “Kyle, get in the car. Mel, go over to the Bishops' and get Brooke and Chase. We're going to the hospital.”

I climbed into the very back of the Suburban. I pulled my knees in tight and tried to squeeze the pain out of my stomach.

Mel came back with Brooke and Chase. Brooke and Mel cried all the way to the hospital. Chase didn't say anything.

He passed his Jack Sack from one hand to the other.
Swish, swish, swish, swish.
I could tell he was scared. Even though he was only eight, he did everything with Jason and me. He was a great kid. Chase unbuckled his seat belt and turned around. His head popped over the seat back, and he held out his hand.

I took it in mine.

 

“Kyle, is that what you remember?” Gollum smiled.

“Yeah, those Jack Sacks
swish
when you pass them back and forth. You know what I mean? All those little pieces of sand—tiny, tiny pieces of sand, trapped in that leather cover. They
swish
.”

“I do. I do.” Gollum nodded.

He was lying. He probably didn't even know what a Jack Sack was.

“Can you remember anything else? Besides the sounds of the Jack Sack, of course?” Igor looked nervous. Sweat rings soaked through his gray shirt. He paced back and forth and wiped his forehead with a coffee-stained handkerchief. Maybe he was hungry. I hoped they had more bagels for him in the other room.

“You know Chase can say every word, line for line, from the X-Men movies?” I shook my head. “Every damn word.”

Thinking about Chase made everything much worse. I chewed on my lip. I wondered how they'd explain all this to him. Who'd tell him?

“Okay, Kyle. We need to get back to what happened yesterday.” Gollum and Igor exchanged a look. Igor rolled his shoulders back in circles and moved his head side to side. “Let's talk about what came next.”

“I don't know. I guess. The hospital. Yeah, we waited at the hospital.”

I looked over at Dad. He nodded, like I was doing okay, like I should keep going. He tried to smile, but his eyes looked like the Nevada road map—red lines and dark circles. He hadn't shaved and his shoulders curved in. Dad shrank that day. And it was all my fault.

October 8, 9:39
A.M
., Scene Six, Take One

Dad waited for us at the emergency room entrance. He held a cotton ball to the crook in his arm. He threw his heavy coat over his shoulder. “Maggie, we're donating blood. He needs blood. Melanie and Brooke can go too.”

“Why can't we?” Chase stepped forward, holding my hand.

The emergency room doors opened and shut. People hurried in and out. Doctors and nurses rushed up and down the hallways. Cushioned footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. I listened to the crinkle of cheap hospital gowns being put on and clothes dropping to the floor with soft thuds.

It smelled like sterile plastic, a kind of sickly new smell.

I'd come here two years earlier when Jason bet me the Fourth of July sparklers his grandma brought him from Mexico that I couldn't jump from the roof onto the porch. I missed the porch and landed in the hedges, breaking my ankle. I had to wear a cast for ten weeks and then do another five of physical therapy. We both got in big trouble for that one. Jase shared his sparklers with me anyway, just because he felt so bad. But I didn't remember the hospital being so loud.

“Mr. Caroll, I want to give my blood, too.” Chase looked up at Dad. He pulled on Dad's sleeve.

“You're too young, Chase. You need to be bigger.” Dad took us into the waiting room. “You can help by sitting with your parents.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bishop sat in the far corner, holding tightly on to each other. Chase tugged on my arm. “C'mon, Kyle.”

The Bishops looked up at Dad and me. They had these empty, expressionless eyes. Mrs. Bishop held a Bible.

Dad put his coat on. “Let's give them some space. We'll wait outside.”

Chase let go of my arm. He ran over to Mr. and Mrs. Bishop.

“Is he okay?” Chase asked. “What happened?”

Dad led me outside. I felt better in the bitter October cold. The wind chafed my cheeks, and my fingers turned numb again. I didn't move closer to the building.

I didn't want protection.

Mel and Mom joined us. Mel pulled her jacket up high and hugged herself. She was still wearing her cheerleading uniform. The four of us stood in the cold silence. The doors whirred open and shut with each patient coming and going.

We waited.

October 8, 10:02
A.M
., Scene Seven, Take One

Dad and Mom didn't speak. Mom chewed her nails. She went to the hospital chapel. She lit candles. She brought back cheap vending-machine cocoa for all of us. I singed my tongue and the skin peeled back, raw and burned. I liked the feel of the burn. It was the first thing I'd felt all morning.

We waited.

I peeked through the windows and my breath fogged the glass. The Bishops sat huddled together. From the outside, they looked like a normal family, just sitting in an ugly room. Grandma and Grandpa Bishop had come. Every now and then, Grandpa Bishop would walk outside and light his pipe. He'd nod at us, puff on his pipe, and return to the warmth of the waiting room.

Inside, the machines beeped and footsteps padded down the hallways. Telephones rang. Children cried. When
the doors zipped open, the sounds amplified by thousands, but then the doors would shut again.

“That's his ER doctor.” Dad's words shattered the underwater silence that surrounded us.

I didn't want the waiting to be over.

Please be okay. Please, please, please be okay. Please.
I clenched my fists.

“Should we go in?” Mom asked. She stepped toward the door.

“Maggie.” Dad shook his head. He pulled her into his arms. The four of us pressed our noses against the cold glass. My heart accelerated. I bit my burned tongue.

October 8, 10:46
A.M
., Scene Seven, Take One, Continued

The doctor approached the Bishops. He shook his head. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

I looked at my watch: 10:46.

10:46.

I yanked out the winder. The hands froze.

We didn't have to wait anymore.

Dad's shoulders slumped. He struggled to catch his breath. Mom leaned into him, clutching his shirt. Mel threw up right outside the ER doors. My heart stopped.

I hadn't even seen the cops until then. I didn't pay attention to the tapping on my shoulder. I kept staring into
the waiting room, hoping that everything was a mistake—a horrible mistake. We needed to do another take of the scene. Throw out this script. Write another one.

Time of death: 10:46.

Mom looked really confused. She grabbed my shoulders and shook her head. She looked right through me, eyes wild.

Nobody made any sense. Everything moved in slow motion and everybody had warped kidnapper voices.

Dad shouted something and threw his coat over my shoulders. Mel puked again. The officers talked to me. They pushed me toward their car. But the sound track I heard was the quiet gurgling noise Jason had made earlier.

Cold metal handcuffs tightened on my wrists. I felt thankful for the warmth of the police car, but I couldn't stop shaking.

I saw Mom holding on to Dad; Mel's hand was on her stomach; Dad slouched around both of them. They looked like they were drowning out there. My head pounded. I watched through the back window as the car turned a corner and my family faded out, disappearing from the screen.

October 8, 10:46

The End

G
ollum and Igor cleared their throats.

“Kyle,” asked Gollum, “how long had you known about your dad's gun in the shed?”

“I—I don't know.”

Dad shifted in his chair. Mom dropped her head.

“We're just trying to clear a few things up, okay?” Igor dabbed sweat off his forehead with a yellowed handkerchief, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

“Kyle,” continued Gollum, “whose idea was it to look for the gun?”

My chest constricted. “I don't know. I don't know.”

“Did you point the gun at Jason knowing it was loaded?”

“I don't, I don't remember.” I closed my eyes, but all I saw was the gun in my hand, like the camera had
zoomed in for a close-up.

“Who taught you how to shoot a gun?” They looked at Dad, and the camera zoomed out: an aerial view of us sitting around a wobbly table, the steam of the coffee curling up, fogging the lens, blurring the scene.

Igor raised his left eyebrow. “Did you aim the gun at Jason?”

Did I? Did I point and aim and shoot and kill? I squeezed my eyes shut, only to see the red lens and a pool of blood.

“Can you tell us who taught you how to shoot a gun?” Gollum smiled. His lips stretched thin across yellowed teeth.

“I—I—I never—” I stuttered. “I don't know.” I didn't even know I
had
shot the gun.

“Please help us out here. We just need to get some answers.” Igor paced back and forth. He drummed his fingers on his fat belly.

“Kyle,” Gollum said, his eyes boring holes through me, “had you and Jason been getting along all right lately? Did you have any fights or disagreements you'd like to tell me about? Maybe some things happened at school?”

I thought back.

 

“Hey, Jase! Where're you heading?” I had caught up to him leaving the building after science.

“Hey, I looked for you by your locker. Me 'n' the guys are going to Taco Bell.”

“Again?” It slipped out. I cleared my throat. “Cool.”

“There's room, man. C'mon.”

We'd joined up with Alex, Pinky, and Troy as we made our way to the parking lot. Alex rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, Shadow, there's room. You don't take up much space.”

Jason laughed. “C'mon, Kyle.” He lowered his voice. “Dude, they just mess around like that. They're pretty cool when you give them a chance. Plus,
yo quiero Taco Bell.
” The perfect Taco Bell Chihuahua impersonation. “I'm dying for one of those triple-bean burritos.”

“What, so you can drop a bomb in math?” I cracked up, picturing Mr. Rivera running around the room frantically to open all air vents and windows before we met our demise from Jason's toxic gas.

Alex exchanged a look with Pinky and Troy. “Real mature.” Pinky and Troy grunted.

I shrugged.

Jason looked back at Alex and rolled his eyes. So now Jase didn't even laugh at fart jokes?

Alex laughed. Then Pinky and Troy did. It was like Alex was the brain for the three. One brain. Three heads.

“C'mon, Kyle.”

“Nah. Brown-bagging it today. Got some homework to do before math.”

“Okay then. See ya after lunch.”

“Yeah, see ya.” It felt like somebody had just punched me in the stomach.

I watched them walk to Alex's new four-door truck. Alex was one of the only tenth graders with a driver's license. And for his sixteenth, his parents had given him a sweet cherry red truck.

Jason turned around and shouted, “I'll bring you something back. We're still cool for after school, right?”

I smiled. “Yeah, we're cool.”

 

Igor cleared his throat. I came back to the same small room with the stench of sweat. “You remember anything at all, kid? Anything we should know about?”

I thought about Jase and the guys and felt the sting of tears. I shook my head. Jesus, I was such a tool.

“Did you and Jason struggle in the shed? Did you fight?”

“No.” My chest felt like Igor was sitting on top of it. “I know we didn't fight. We never fight.”

“Fought,” Igor corrected me.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Mr. Allison stood up. “I'd like to know where this line of questioning is going. We're talking about a
fifteen-year-old boy here and his best friend.” Mr. Allison clenched his jaw.

“We're talking about a fifteen-year-old corpse, okay?” Igor snapped back.

Mom gasped.

Dad stood up. “We've talked to you enough today. My son, m-my son…” He stammered. He kicked his chair out of the way and paced the room. “I just went to the store for more syrup, okay. That's all they wanted that morning—maple syrup.”

Fucking maple syrup.

“Let's settle down, everybody—take it step-by-step,” Gollum said in a soft voice. He hummed his words like music.

Mr. Allison stood up. “What are you trying to do here?”

Everything started to sound scripted, like in
The Truman Show
. I half expected Igor to hold up his pen, grin, and say,
It's a good thing we have these brand-new Swick permanent marking pens to write down this boy's statement—the only kind of pens the Carson City police department uses.

Then Gollum would pipe up,
Oh, and these bagels from the Kaufmann Bagel Shop, all natural, all kosher, using only the finest ingredients purchased from local farmers, are de-e-e-e-licious.

I listened for a catchy jingle. Mr. Allison pulled me
back to the room by squeezing my shoulder.

Gollum stood up. “We're trying to find the truth, Mr. Allison—what really happened in that shed yesterday morning. We think that the Bishops deserve at least that much.”

The room spun. The officers cleared their throats and scribbled in their notepads. Mr. Allison looked angry. Mom buried her face in her hands.

“Don't even start to play that power game with me.” Mr. Allison's eyes narrowed. His comb-over flopped the wrong way.

We'd gotten to that part in the movie where the innocent guy tells everything or the guilty one lawyers up. But I didn't know which guy I was.

“Like we said, we're just looking for the truth.” Igor gnawed on a toothpick. The clock ticked, rattling the walls. Louder. Louder. Deafening.

Then Gollum snapped his notebook closed and put his pen away in his breast pocket. “Mark,” he said, looking at my PO. “He's all yours.”

Mark finally spoke. Until then he'd looked like he was meditating. Or napping. This all had to be pretty routine to the guy. “Tomorrow morning, at eight
A.M
., you will stand before the juvenile master. Kyle, that's the kind of judge who handles cases like yours. But as I said, until I have the full psych evaluation, Kyle will not be going home.” Mark
uncrossed his arms and snapped his gum.

“Mr. and Mrs. Caroll, we appreciate your time.” Gollum held out his fingers and wrapped them around Mom's small hand. “We hope to resolve this quickly.”

How can you resolve a dead body? Dead is dead, right?

The two policemen left. Mr. Allison stood up. “Michael, call me if you have any questions. We'll figure this out.”

“Thanks, Bob. We really appreciate it.” Dad shook his hand. Mom hugged him.

“Kyle.” Mr. Allison came over to me. I looked right through him. I wanted him to disappear too. “I'm real sorry about Jason. I know he was your best friend.”

I'm sorry, too.

My throat constricted and everything went out of focus. Fade to black.

Mr. Allison left with Mom and Dad. They took me back to my holding cell to wait for Mark. I counted the seconds and a scene flashed through my mind, then stuck there.

I tried to erase it, because it scared me. I had never thought about death like that before. I had never wished for it to come and get me.