wasn’t Mr Concerned that day,” Deena announced sharply. She began rubbing her arms as if feeling a sudden chill despite the warmth of the day.
“He came round to offer me more than a shoulder to cry on,” Deena continued, lowering her voice slightly and casting nervous glances around the street on which they were currently alone.
“He did?” Even though Aiden sounded surprised, he knew he wasn’t. Clyde White had never struck him as someone capable of being either honorable or decent. It made sense that he would move in on a friend’s recently widowed wife if he thought it suited his own purpose.
“He’s no saint!” Deena lifted one hand to caress her temple. “I wanted you to know that. He’s running your name through the mud when you’ve not done anything wrong. But him…he acts like he’s untouchable, like he’s a God around here. Well, he’s not. I told him to get the hell off my property.”
“And did he go?”
“He went.” Deena nodded slowly. “But not before telling me that I’d change my mind. He had this cruel grin on his face, like he knew something I didn’t.”
“He likes to mess with people,” Aiden sympathized.
“Well I didn’t appreciate it, certainly not in my time of mourning. I don’t care what shit he says about you, I know you’re a decent guy. And I want you to know that. I want you to know that I appreciate you being here in Avalon.”
“Thanks.” Aiden smiled as someone came out of the café behind them, signaling the end of their conversation.
“It’s nice to know someone does,” he called as he headed across the street, back over to his office.
*
A light curtain of rain fell silently upon the football field making Aiden’s skin glisten beneath the harsh stadium lights. Shivering slightly in his damp clothes, he trudged forward, his steps slick against the wet grass.
The stadium seemed completely deserted. Aiden scanned the stands where only shadows seemed to occupy the seats. He tightened his jacket around himself and continued to walk across the field. He was nearing the thirty-yard line when his entire body tensed with the unpleasant realization that he was being watched. Pausing, Aiden lifted his head against the rain to look back at the stands.
It took him less than a second to locate the solitary figure sat in the center, their features shrouded beneath a dark hood. Had they been there before? Aiden tried to remember but his mind felt foggy and his thoughts sluggish. For reasons beyond his comprehension, he felt drawn to the lone spectator. He changed his direction and began walking swiftly towards the stands. The figure didn’t move or seem to register Aiden approaching, they remained perfectly still.
As Aiden moved closer, he realized that the figure was wearing a battered leather jacket over their hooded jumper. A jacket which looked all too familiar.
“Hey!” Aiden forced the greeting out from the back of his throat, making his voice boom as much as possible. The figure didn’t look up.
“Hey!” Aiden quickened his pace and reached the base of the stands and began to swiftly climb the steps, heading for the row on which the figure sat. Aiden was growing in certainty that they were wearing Justin’s beloved leather jacket. But how was that even possible? He could now see the patch which covered the left elbow that had been lovingly stitched on by Justin’s mother when he made a tear in the jacket after a particularly heated bar fight.
Justin had told his mother that he’d torn the leather when he fell from his motorbike but it was a lie. Justin never fell from the bike, he had an almost symbiotic relationship with the vehicle. They moved as one, seamless and precise. But Justin’s mother would have been distraught over the revelation of a bar fight, better to the blame the bike; the inanimate object she couldn’t fear.
Aiden snorted at the irony of it. All along it was the bike Justin’s mother should have feared as it was the bike which ended her son’s life. The air in the stadium had suddenly plummeted and Aiden’s breath gathered in a wispy cloud before his face. He was now standing on the end of the stranger’s row. Their gaze remained fixed upon the empty football field.
“Hey!” Aiden called out but they did not look up. There was no way they couldn’t hear him when he was standing so close. It took Aiden less than three long strides to reach the hooded figure. Aiden’s teeth had started to chatter loudly in his head from the growing cold.
“Where did you get that jacket?” Aiden asked as he reached out and touched the figure’s shoulder, the leather damp beneath his fingertips. As Aiden connected with the figure, their head suddenly snapped back, limp like a rag doll. Recoiling in horror, Aiden looked down at the face which was now staring up at the sky. A terrified cry was born deep in his gut but it remained trapped down there as Aiden froze, suddenly unable to move or even look away.
The figure’s face was nothing more than a skull, the hollowed eyes gathered rain water as they now gazed up at the heavens. Aiden’s mouth hung open and his shoulders trembled as he looked at the perfect white of the bone, the rows of teeth; the preserved shell of the man it had once been.
Then Aiden’s cry managed to burst out; breaking through the fear and tumbling against the harrowing figure.
*
“Aiden!” Brandy was staring down at him, silhouetted against the bedside lamp shining behind her.
“Are you okay? Were you dreaming about your friend again?”
With a groan, Aiden hoisted himself up and ran his hands through his hair.
“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “I was dreaming about him again. I was led to believe that he’d died in a motorcycle accident. But recently I discovered that his death wasn’t an accident, that he’d actually been murdered.”
“Oh God!” Brandy’s eyes widened and she nudged closer to Aiden. “Murdered by who?”
“I don’t know, though I’ve got my suspicions.” Aiden’s shoulders slumped. “And now I see him when I close my eyes. Like I can feel him suffering from beyond the grave, as stupid as that sounds. No one was made to pay for his death. The people who killed him, they got away with it.”
“You feel like they need to be brought to justice.”
“Yes!” Aiden felt his body begin to burn with intention. That was exactly what he wanted. He thought of the phone call with Guy Chambers, of the small slip of paper with a Mexican town written upon it. The culprit for Justin’s death was within reach, Aiden was certain of it.
“I might have a way to bring them to justice,” Aiden lifted an arm and looped it around Brandy’s shoulders. She pressed her head against his bare chest and Aiden felt a pleasant sense of contentment surge through him. Brandy seemed to fit perfectly against him, like they were made for one another. His fingertips spun circles on the soft skin of her exposed shoulder as they talked.
“I know a guy in the FBI who has pointed me in the direction of a potential contact. But it means going to Mexico for a few days.”
“Want
