Read Online The Heavens Rise by Christopher Rice - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Rice
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to have dinner with.” And as soon as the words left her mouth, she saw the soulless look in Marshall’s eyes again, the lattice of cuts on the boy’s face. And . . . Oh my God. Holy mother. He’d said something! He actually said something and I plum forgot it with everything that—
She didn’t want her struggle to remember Marshall Ferriot’s last words— maybe they’d be his last words; he wasn’t technically dead yet—to show on her face, not with her tiny accuser still standing right there, looking calm and focused now that she’d been thrown off her game.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” The boy said. “That he said something . . . before the window gave way . . .”
“I put . . . That was it. He said, I put a . . . And then. That was it. The window gave and he was gone. He and his father . . . just gone.”
His slight nod told her she’d just given him what he’d really come for, that her sudden recollection matched what the other guests atTable 10 had told him. And only then did she stop to consider how remarkable it was that this quaking teenager had managed to get to all of those people in just a few day’s time. Her column had gone up on the website just the day before, and it wouldn’t be in the print edition until Monday. So, either he’d done his investigative work in a day, or he’d been working this since it happened. Working it, or living it, she wasn’t quite sure, given that the kid’s connection to Marshall Ferriot still wasn’t clear. Either way, holy crap! Who was this little guy?
“Is that why you went to church with your mother last Sunday? ’Cause you feel responsible for what happened to Marshall Ferriot?”
“That’s stalking, son.”
“Oh, but if I was you, it’d be journalism, right?”
“It’ll all be semantics when my mother pulls the pepper spray.”
“And you still won’t have answered my question.”
“I went to church because I haven’t been sleeping well since it happened and I believe in something, so I thought it might help.”
“Did it?”
“Yes. But so did wine.”
“My mother drinks wine to go to sleep too.”
“Yeah, well, if I had to deal with your mouth every day, I might need wine to get up in the morning.”
“That’s nice.”
“I see. So nice was your objective here?”
“Well, if your objective is not to answer my question, then—”
“Tell you what. If one of those nice ladies over there steps in front of a truck by mistake later today, you gonna feel responsible because you shot off your mouth at them before they had time to digest their lunch?”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it—”
“Don’t tell me what I know, young man.”
“He bashed out a plate-glass window with a metal folding chair and threw himself against it. He took a running start, for Christ’s sake!”
“I know what he did. I was there. I saw it!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t write it. No, you wrote all about teen suicides and mental health resources in high schools. Oh, and you took a bunch of pot shots at my high school because everybody who goes there is rich—”
“Rich and ?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“The answer’s no. I don’t feel responsible. I think Marshall Ferriot was clearly unbalanced and it wasn’t going to take much to tip him.”
“I’ll say,” the kid growled under his breath.
“But you’re asking the wrong question.”
“How so?”
“You should ask me if I regret saying it.”
He was regarding her for the first time without open hostility, and she felt the tension in her chest turn into a vague wash of heat that ran down into the pit of her stomach.
“Do I think he tried to jump out that window because of me? Hell, no. But what I said to him that night might be the last words he ever hears. And they were unkind and they were meant for his mother. So yes, I regret saying it. I do. But if you’re after some kind of truth with me today, son, let me tell you the only
She didn’t want her struggle to remember Marshall Ferriot’s last words— maybe they’d be his last words; he wasn’t technically dead yet—to show on her face, not with her tiny accuser still standing right there, looking calm and focused now that she’d been thrown off her game.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” The boy said. “That he said something . . . before the window gave way . . .”
“I put . . . That was it. He said, I put a . . . And then. That was it. The window gave and he was gone. He and his father . . . just gone.”
His slight nod told her she’d just given him what he’d really come for, that her sudden recollection matched what the other guests atTable 10 had told him. And only then did she stop to consider how remarkable it was that this quaking teenager had managed to get to all of those people in just a few day’s time. Her column had gone up on the website just the day before, and it wouldn’t be in the print edition until Monday. So, either he’d done his investigative work in a day, or he’d been working this since it happened. Working it, or living it, she wasn’t quite sure, given that the kid’s connection to Marshall Ferriot still wasn’t clear. Either way, holy crap! Who was this little guy?
“Is that why you went to church with your mother last Sunday? ’Cause you feel responsible for what happened to Marshall Ferriot?”
“That’s stalking, son.”
“Oh, but if I was you, it’d be journalism, right?”
“It’ll all be semantics when my mother pulls the pepper spray.”
“And you still won’t have answered my question.”
“I went to church because I haven’t been sleeping well since it happened and I believe in something, so I thought it might help.”
“Did it?”
“Yes. But so did wine.”
“My mother drinks wine to go to sleep too.”
“Yeah, well, if I had to deal with your mouth every day, I might need wine to get up in the morning.”
“That’s nice.”
“I see. So nice was your objective here?”
“Well, if your objective is not to answer my question, then—”
“Tell you what. If one of those nice ladies over there steps in front of a truck by mistake later today, you gonna feel responsible because you shot off your mouth at them before they had time to digest their lunch?”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it—”
“Don’t tell me what I know, young man.”
“He bashed out a plate-glass window with a metal folding chair and threw himself against it. He took a running start, for Christ’s sake!”
“I know what he did. I was there. I saw it!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t write it. No, you wrote all about teen suicides and mental health resources in high schools. Oh, and you took a bunch of pot shots at my high school because everybody who goes there is rich—”
“Rich and ?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“The answer’s no. I don’t feel responsible. I think Marshall Ferriot was clearly unbalanced and it wasn’t going to take much to tip him.”
“I’ll say,” the kid growled under his breath.
“But you’re asking the wrong question.”
“How so?”
“You should ask me if I regret saying it.”
He was regarding her for the first time without open hostility, and she felt the tension in her chest turn into a vague wash of heat that ran down into the pit of her stomach.
“Do I think he tried to jump out that window because of me? Hell, no. But what I said to him that night might be the last words he ever hears. And they were unkind and they were meant for his mother. So yes, I regret saying it. I do. But if you’re after some kind of truth with me today, son, let me tell you the only
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