I took the photographs of the brothers home with me, thought if I stared at them long enough, one of them might tell me their secrets. Then I pored over Facebook. Jay’s page already had hundreds of messages. But all were somber—gone too soon, he’ll be missed—and expressions of disbelief. I just heard—I can’t believe it—I saw him last weekend. As if somehow seeing someone one day promises they will be there the next. There was nothing from Katie. And no: he got what he deserved. Or: good riddance. But who would be so obvious? I remember needing air and to stretch my legs. I took my usual route—up Pineneedle Road, down Sylvan and Talmadge, an ellipse of sorts. The night was quiet, all the kiddos in bed, lights out or blue glows from televisions behind curtains, but there had been something … off. I thought it was just Michael’s voice echoing in my head. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who’d make threats without following through. But his threats were the rich-kid kind—Be careful, or I’ll talk to my dad’s friend the mayor; be careful, or you’ll be out of a job. Those kinds of threats. But the skin on my arm prickled. I remember distinctly now, that strange sensation of looking over my shoulder. I close my eyes and try to focus. What was it? Something or someone just past my vision—a vibration in the air, the sensation of being watched. I had felt an uneasiness and brushed it off. But I remember I cut my walk short, turning back at Willow Run instead of continuing down to Westover.

I open my eyes. I’ve been squeezing them so tight, my cheekbones are sore, and I imagine them black rimmed, my face racoon-like, yellow eyes blinking in the dark.

Well that’s something, I think. Even if it was just a feeling, it was an unusual blip during an otherwise usual day. I exhale.

And then what? And then I poured wine into a glass and took the bottle up to my room. I don’t think I finished it. I undressed, pulled a crumpled pair of shorts and a tank top from my dresser, and fell asleep. The next thing I remember is waking up on fire and screaming in German.

Fourteen

Saturday, December 7, 8:00 A.M.