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Authors: Robert Cormier
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very much, that seemed to look right into your brain.
On top of all that, he felt that Mr. Trent was disappointed with his responses. Maybe right now, this minute, he was reporting to that detective that the questioning wasn’t going very well. A dawn of hope: Maybe they’d decide to call the questioning off and he’d be free to go home.
Jason wondered whether the other guys had done well, had answered all the questions correctly, had even remembered something that would be vital, provided clues that might lead to solving the murder, catching whoever had killed poor little Alicia.
He also wondered whether he should tell Mr. Trent what he hadn’t told the detective about that afternoon, but he discarded the thought. Mr. Trent’s job was to find out about suspicious strangers in town. Or people out of context. Anyway, Jason wasn’t sure about what exactly
had
been going on between Alicia and Brad. If anything had been going on after all.
Sadness welled up within him as he thought of Alicia and the last time he had seen her, not knowing it would be the last time. How he wished he had seen something to help the investigation. How he wished Mr. Trent would help him remember a suspicious person he might have forgotten about, although Jason didn’t think that was likely. How could he forget something that important so completely? Yet the police, and especially Mr. Trent, who was supposed to be an expert at stuff like that, certainly knew more than he did about how the memory worked. In fact, Jason was kind of awed by the way the questioner seemed to know sometimes what he was thinking, like when he had that wild idea about making up a suspicious person.
Better be careful, Jason, he warned himself.
Why should I be careful?
A nagging thought just below the surface of his mind gave him an uneasy feeling again, the feeling that something was wrong, that things were not what they seemed. Was that his imagination or just being in this small office, no air-conditioning, not even an electric fan? For some reason, the blank walls bothered him. No pictures. And no windows.
I want to get out of here.
He realized that he
could
get out of there. He could simply get up and leave. He didn’t have to even speak to anybody. Hadn’t they said this was voluntary? He was a volunteer. Well, he didn’t feel like being a volunteer anymore. He wanted to go home.
Jason pushed back his chair, winced at the scraping sound on the bare wooden floor and made his way to the door.
T he office was empty, the boy gone.
Trent stepped back into the hallway, saw Sarah Downes disappearing around the corner at the far end and no one else in sight. The boy had obviously left the building, most likely escaping through the rear entrance. The word
escape
gave Trent a measure of satisfaction. Escape was certainly an indication of guilt. Why would the boy flee if he was innocent?
Hurrying down the hallway to the rear door, he swung it open and stepped, blinking, into a blast of sunlight.
Waiting for his eyes to adjust, Trent saw the outlines of two cruisers parked at haphazard angles and a figure approaching an overflowing Dumpster. As his vision cleared, he saw that the figure was a derelict about to forage in the Dumpster.
He spotted the boy standing at the entrance of the parking area, shoulders drooping, head down as if studying the pavement for answers to questions that Trent could only guess at.
“Jason,” he called.
The boy glanced up, saw Trent, frowned, swayed slightly as if trying to make up his mind whether to stay or leave.
“Stay, please,” Trent said, going toward him.
Why was he keeping the kid here? If he left, alarms would sound and a search would be launched and all of it would point to the boy’s guilt.
I need him. I need him to confess to me.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said.
They stepped into the shadows of an ancient brick building, its walls scrawled with graffiti. Trent checked the cruisers, saw that they were
On top of all that, he felt that Mr. Trent was disappointed with his responses. Maybe right now, this minute, he was reporting to that detective that the questioning wasn’t going very well. A dawn of hope: Maybe they’d decide to call the questioning off and he’d be free to go home.
Jason wondered whether the other guys had done well, had answered all the questions correctly, had even remembered something that would be vital, provided clues that might lead to solving the murder, catching whoever had killed poor little Alicia.
He also wondered whether he should tell Mr. Trent what he hadn’t told the detective about that afternoon, but he discarded the thought. Mr. Trent’s job was to find out about suspicious strangers in town. Or people out of context. Anyway, Jason wasn’t sure about what exactly
had
been going on between Alicia and Brad. If anything had been going on after all.
Sadness welled up within him as he thought of Alicia and the last time he had seen her, not knowing it would be the last time. How he wished he had seen something to help the investigation. How he wished Mr. Trent would help him remember a suspicious person he might have forgotten about, although Jason didn’t think that was likely. How could he forget something that important so completely? Yet the police, and especially Mr. Trent, who was supposed to be an expert at stuff like that, certainly knew more than he did about how the memory worked. In fact, Jason was kind of awed by the way the questioner seemed to know sometimes what he was thinking, like when he had that wild idea about making up a suspicious person.
Better be careful, Jason, he warned himself.
Why should I be careful?
A nagging thought just below the surface of his mind gave him an uneasy feeling again, the feeling that something was wrong, that things were not what they seemed. Was that his imagination or just being in this small office, no air-conditioning, not even an electric fan? For some reason, the blank walls bothered him. No pictures. And no windows.
I want to get out of here.
He realized that he
could
get out of there. He could simply get up and leave. He didn’t have to even speak to anybody. Hadn’t they said this was voluntary? He was a volunteer. Well, he didn’t feel like being a volunteer anymore. He wanted to go home.
Jason pushed back his chair, winced at the scraping sound on the bare wooden floor and made his way to the door.
T he office was empty, the boy gone.
Trent stepped back into the hallway, saw Sarah Downes disappearing around the corner at the far end and no one else in sight. The boy had obviously left the building, most likely escaping through the rear entrance. The word
escape
gave Trent a measure of satisfaction. Escape was certainly an indication of guilt. Why would the boy flee if he was innocent?
Hurrying down the hallway to the rear door, he swung it open and stepped, blinking, into a blast of sunlight.
Waiting for his eyes to adjust, Trent saw the outlines of two cruisers parked at haphazard angles and a figure approaching an overflowing Dumpster. As his vision cleared, he saw that the figure was a derelict about to forage in the Dumpster.
He spotted the boy standing at the entrance of the parking area, shoulders drooping, head down as if studying the pavement for answers to questions that Trent could only guess at.
“Jason,” he called.
The boy glanced up, saw Trent, frowned, swayed slightly as if trying to make up his mind whether to stay or leave.
“Stay, please,” Trent said, going toward him.
Why was he keeping the kid here? If he left, alarms would sound and a search would be launched and all of it would point to the boy’s guilt.
I need him. I need him to confess to me.
“I’m sorry,” the boy said.
They stepped into the shadows of an ancient brick building, its walls scrawled with graffiti. Trent checked the cruisers, saw that they were
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