At school, a few people ask the taller, fitter me about Todd. I know nothing. I say nothing. I am a tad perturbed, though, that no one asks about Christine. She signed my yearbook twice, people!
They've now been missing for thirty six hours – some of the news stations are starting to measure it by days. A big-toothed reporter paces near the student parking lot, trying to get someone to say Todd and Christine are lovers who have run away together, but she can't find anyone who accepts this as a plausible theory.
If I am an emotional wreck no one notices. Almost everyone is shaken up by the news, so I guess I don't stand out. Almost everyone liked Christine in one way or another, and several of us knew who Todd was.
No one seems to know about me being out of the house Saturday night, or about me being picked up by the police, or giving them the vital tip that sparked the entire investigation. No one has come to interview or interrogate me at all. I should be pleased about this, but frankly I can't believe the officer forgot all about me, even after I told him about Drama class and about Todd being at the pond.
They started searching the pond Sunday morning. Discovered Todd's shoe Sunday night. No one has mentioned a pond filled with hair.
Then things get interesting. The police start interviewing students around noon. Nothing is officially announced, but there are cruisers by the curb, and Christine's friends are being called out of classes one by one. As far as I can tell, they don't call anyone for Todd. Not even me.
The teachers don't say much. Work out of your books. Raise your hand if you need to talk about things. Counselors are available. No one raises their hand. The minutes drag by.
Despite how strong I felt this morning, it becomes increasingly difficult to hold my form. By fourth period I hardly dare move. I catch a glimpse out the window. Five police cars line the curb.
I raise my hand and get permission to go get a drink.
"Brian," says the teacher a minute later, "are you going to go or not?"
I manage to stand. I manage to make it across the floor.
"Brian, you're leaving puddles. What –?" The teacher stops short, realizing one explanation – not the right one – that might account for this. I am partly glad when people start laughing, since it saves me having to answer his question.
Not overly glad, but a very little bit. Really, I am.
The closest fountain waits at the end of the hall. Halfway there, my clothes feel baggy. Moisture leaks from my shoes, like snail trails. It will be better once I drink. I'll regain my strength. Then I'll leave, before it can happen again.
But before I reach the fountain, Principal Snyder comes around the corner, followed by two police officers, including the one from Saturday night. If I had more strength I'd wave hello, not that it would help.
They take me to the principal's office. To talk.
YOU ARE READING
Swamp Monster Love
ParanormalBrian and Christine have never been close. Now that she's disappeared, and he's changing into something monstrous, people are starting to talk. People like the police, for instance. And a strange boy who claims to be Christine's long-dead brother. ...
