Chapter 29
The following Monday, there’s a very intimidating looking guy standing next to Ms. Kendrick as she greets us at the door.
“Darcie!” he says, stretching out his hand.
My feet do this backward shuffle thing. “How do you know my name?”
Stuart leans in, “Your picture’s been all over the news.”
Right. “Sorry. You just surprised me.”
Laughing, he shakes my hand. “My name’s Patrick. Looks like you’re doing well. I’m glad.”
His calloused hands scrape against my skin. Shaking hands isn’t really my thing.
“You know, I saw your speech on Friday.” He grins at me. “Pretty powerful stuff. I bet you could hold your own on the witness stand.”
He saw the speech? I glance at my teacher for some sort of reassurance, but she’s busy talking to Sebastian.
“I—” Images of my interview with Officer Briggs flash through my mind. “I think I could. Yeah. I could.”
“I think so, too. We’ll talk later, alright?”
Sebastian has saves us seats up front and waves us over.
“Who is this guy?” I whisper to Stuart. “He was here for our presentation.”
Ms. Kendrick asks for our attention before he can reply, introducing the man to the class. “…Lieutenant Patrick Douglas, the COC for the District Attorney’s Office.” She starts the clap, and we all follow suit.
Mr. Douglas holds up both hands. “Thanks, guys.” He clears his throat. “I realize you all have an interest in a particular—”
“The Shadow Man!” Terrence hollers from the back. Sebastian elbows him in the ribs. “Ow!”
“…whereas I cannot comment directly on a specific case, we can definitely talk hypothetically.”
Stuart raises his hand. “What if we protest?”
He laughs. “Community response can matter. It doesn’t override the law, but it can influence how a prosecutor thinks about a case or how they argue in court. So yes—there’s a small chance it has an impact.”
“How small?” Stuart leans in.
I interrupt. “Excuse me, Mr. Douglas?”
“Patrick.”
“Okay, Patrick. Pretend that there’s only one week before the hearing, how would people actually get the word out fast enough to matter?”
He nods like he’s been asked that a thousand times before. “One of the most direct ways is writing letters to the judge.”
“Like, what would the letter say?” I flip open my spiral, ready to write.
“Stick to what you know.”
“Like what?”
“How the person acted. What you saw. Judges already know the charges. Letters help fill in the parts they can’t see.”
He glances around the room. “You fellas in the back. You look a little skeptical. Anything on your mind?”
“Yeah. How about if the people writing letters and protesting are lying?” Amelia’s favorite bodyguard, Ezra, folds his arms and glares.
“Ah, Ezra. You and your father hold the same opinion.” He grins, taking a step forward. “In that case, judges can hold them in contempt and assign them, or their parents, jail time.”
I scribble off a note to Stuart. “How does he know Ezra/his dad?”
Stuart’s face wrinkles into a look of confusion, like I’m the dumbest person on the planet.
“What?” I mouth.
In all caps, he writes: SHERIFF.
So “The Pits” is his actual name? How did I miss that?
Sebastian raises a hand. “Sir—Patrick—what’s a logical reduced charge for kidnapping?”
“Okay,” Patrick rubs his chin. “You know what kidnapping is.”
“Yeah,” says Sebastian. “Taking someone where they don’t want to go.”
“Right.” He gestures toward the room like he’s mapping it out. “But sometimes cases aren’t perfectly clean. Sometimes it’s more like someone stops you from leaving. You might not be tied up, but…anyway, same fear, different scale.”
“Or they put your life in danger and the charge gets boosted up to attempted murder.” Ezra stands. “When are you people gonna figure out that this guy is just what we always knew he was? A degenerate who hurts kids.”
“You’re wrong, Ezra!” I stand facing him, my fists digging into my sides. “He never hurt anyone! It’s people like you—”
“That’s enough, you two.” Ms. Kendrick moves between us. “This is not how we settle our differences in this classroom.”
I hang my head and murmur an apology as Mr. Douglas continues.
“So in those situations, the charge might be reduced to something like unlawful restraint.”
I raise my hand, almost afraid to say anything else. “What if the person was trying to prevent something worse from happening? Like, he wasn’t thinking clearly because he was stressed or something?”
“Consideration is given in the event that there are mental health issues. Not that it erases what happened, but sometimes the legal system tries to balance consequences with helping a person get back on track.”
By the time class ends, I’m certain what we need to do. We have to contact Amy.
Patrick stops me as I’m heading out the door. “Hold up, Darcie.” He stands just outside the doorway, looking like the total opposite of the relaxed guy from class. His stiff posture makes me want to grab for Stuart, but I tell him to go ahead. No reason for us both to be late.
“Everything you told us was really helpful." I say. "Sorry about…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “Every case has strong feelings on both sides. After all, he’s the sheriff’s kid.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He clears his throat, intentionally switching from Mr. Friendly to Mr. Government official. “I wanted to follow up on what you said earlier about testifying.”
“What I said about it?” My eyes fall to the envelope in his hands.
“I need to be transparent with you about something.” He taps the envelope lightly. “This is a subpoena. It’s basically a formal notice that you may be called to testify.”
The word formal just makes everything more real.
“And because you’re a minor, I’m required to serve it to your parent or guardian in person.”
My grip tightens on my backpack strap. “Oh.”
“You’re not in trouble. And you don’t have to do anything right this second, but I wanted to give you a heads up and to find out when someone will be home so I can deliver it properly.”
I glance toward the classroom door. Ms. Kendrick is already greeting her students. “Uh…maybe six?”
He nods.
“Should I…tell them first? I mean—is it okay? They’ll be good with it—me testifying—just…it’s going to surprise them.”
“I understand. And yes, giving them a head’s up is a good idea.” He slips the envelope back into his pocket. “Alright then, I’ll be there around six.”
I let out a heavy breath. “Okay.”
“You’re doing something really hard, Darcie. Make sure you give yourself credit for that.”
The tardy bell rings as I step away, but the image of that envelope follows me down the hallway. A subpoena. Five minutes ago, testifying was just an idea—something I might have to do—someday. But now…
My footsteps echo loudly on the tile. The classroom doors are closed—class is starting and I’m on the outside.
My pack suddenly feels too heavy. What if I say the wrong thing and get Grover into even more trouble? I shift the weight of my book bag, but it doesn’t help. I have to get to Stuart.
I head toward his Spanish class, rehearsing lies that will get him out of class. It’s a family emergency. The nurse needs him. There’s been an incident.
This is getting real, and we are running out of time.
Suddenly, I’m grabbed from behind. Hands shove me into the custodial closet, and the door slams shut. I’m so stunned, I don’t even scream, but I do pound on the door. “This isn’t funny! Let me out!”
Whispers and snickering float through the cracks around the door, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I run my fingers over the wall until I find the light switch. The space is tight. Metal shelves filled with cleaning supplies line the back wall, and a rolling bucket and mop are pushed to one side, with a vacuum on the other. It smells like Pine-Sol and bleach. I pound again on the door, then try the handle. It turns easily, but as I push against the door, there’s resistance. Someone bigger than me is holding it closed.
Beneath the door, the corner of a note pokes through. I pull on it, knocking my head against the door handle. “I found the old memes on Instagram. Stop trying to free the Shadow Man, and they’ll stay hidden. If you don’t, more memes to come.”
My hands start to shake. Someone knows about Veronica’s posts. Everything I’ve done to get away from all of that is suddenly front and center. I can’t go through that again. My fingers crumple the paper and I cram it into my pocket.
Someone is working awfully hard to make me quit. I know exactly what those posts did to me before. The laughter, the whispers. Walking into school everyday wondering who’d seen them.
Grover needs help. But what if helping him means going through all that again?
I throw my shoulder against the door, but at the exact same moment, someone yanks it open, and I stumble forward. A large woman holding a squeegee glares at me. Her plastic name badge swings against her shirt. SUBSTITUTE CUSTODIAN. Good.
“Oof!” Her eyes go wide. “What in the—”
But I’m already sprinting toward Stuart’s classroom. I whip around the corner and slam straight into him, just as he’s taking a puff from his inhaler. We both hit the floor. Seriously? Not again.
“What are you doing out here?” I say, jumping up and looking around for the custodian. “Someone just locked me in the cleaning closet.” I give him a hand up and we duck into the stairwell.
“I figured something was up. My asthma gave me the excuse to come check.” He grasps my shoulder. “Alright, now?”
“I’m fine, but look at this.” I hand him the crumpled note. “Now they’re fighting dirty.”
“What do you want to do?” he asks. “It’s your call.”
I stare down at the paper in Stuart’s hand. “Those memes were awful.” I say. “I never ever want to go through that again.”
He folds the note before handing it back to me. “So, we’re dropping it then?”
Tears fill my eyes and I angrily wipe them away. “What are a few nasty memes compared to a life in prison?”
“You mean?”
“We need to talk to Amy.”