I hated everything about Lake Bellinor High. The old, thick double doors that were hard to push open. The big concrete steps that unwind to the parking lot, where students scattered every day, before and after school. The fact that it was the only public high school in Lake Bellinor.
I looked down at my phone, checking the time. My mom should have still been working at the hair salon right about now. Damn, that meant I was walking home again. It was about time I started riding my bike again, since the skies were getting sunnier, and the air warmer.
Clouds cast over the parking lot, with spots of the sun seeping through, as I descended the school steps. Over the mass chain of cars parked around, I could hear a voice shouting in the distance. The voice overpowered all the others in the parking lot.
Well-modulated and calm, that voice couldn't fool anyone.
"Yeah, but I can't help you if you keep taking a look at everyone but yourself!" he yelled.
My eyes searched the parking lot until I spotted a slim, grey-eyed man with a phone pressed to his ear. I took notice of his messy black curls falling over his face. That was one feature our father passed down onto him. The rest of him was a spitting image of his mother; a pale White woman whom my father loved before Junior and I's mom met him.
His skin was a few shades darker than hers, thanks to our father's genes, but it was still nothing compared to the brown skin Junior and I earned from both parents—both of them having been Black. What was he doing here though?
I arched an eyebrow at my older brother, Christian, who was posted against his Navy blue, 1996 Chevrolet Nova SS. Anyone could spot his car from a distance. He's always had a thing for old classic cars, as almost everyone else in this town did.
"This is your problem. You need to put in the effort if you really want to fix it—" The anger in his voice thickened and it had me wondering who was on the other line.
But I didn't dwell on it. My mind was too busy trying to play guessing games on why he was here. I wasn't particularly indifferent towards his sudden appearance. However, Christian never picked me up from school voluntarily. At least, not unless my mother asked him to.
When he took notice of me, he immediately dismissed his call and shifted positions. "There's the man I'm looking for!" he said, tasseling an arm around my neck. The sudden movement knocked a groan out of me. I screwed my face and nudged his arm off of my shoulders.
He chuckled, and backed away with his hands in the air, yanking the driver side door of his car open. "Still as temperamental as always," he teased. I scoffed and pulled on the passenger door of his car; a sour expression haunting my face as I hopped in.
When we were both seated, there was a moment of silence, and staring. There was comfort in his smile, but sympathy washing over his face. I narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for him to speak. There had to be a hidden reason for him being here. He was a Loftman, after all. The Loftman men of this family always had something to talk about. Like father, like sons.
"Why have you been looking for me?" I sunk into the seat with my arms crossed. It seemed the conversation wasn't going to go anywhere if I didn't say anything. And I wasn't particularly up for having a staring contest until one of us broke first.
Christian shrugged. "I didn't know I needed a reason to see my little brother."
My stared hardened.
He should have known I wasn't buying into his bullshit. All three of us may have had the same last name as my father, but Christian had no reason to care about us. Half-brother or not, we were only bound by blood. His presence was hard enough to deal with growing up.
My dad loved to play favorites. Christian was at the top of that list. It didn't take me long to realize I was at the bottom. I didn't know if it was because I was the middle child, or because Christian's mom had passed away, so he had been catered to more as a child.
He sighed and softened his gaze at me. "Okay, you got me. The truth is . . . I heard about what happened last night."
"Oh." I shrugged. "So what? It's the same crap as any other day."
"Come on, don't give me that crap Tyler. You're sixteen—almost seventeen—it's about time you start speaking up for yourself." An obnoxious ringing caused both of our eyes to fall on the pocket of his black jeans, where his phone buzzed through.
"Damnit. One second—oh and this isn't over." After narrowing his eyes at me, he sifted through his pocket, and answered the phone on the fourth ring. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and scoff. I'd been doing a lot of that lately. Maybe a bit too much.
"What's going on, Logan? . . .Okay. Where? . . .I'll be right in then." Christian's conversation was practically over before it began. Short. And straight to the point.
"A new case?" I asked as he slipped his phone back into his jeans. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, a sigh escaping his chest when he breathed. "I'll take that as a yes."
Nowadays, it seemed like he was always on call. An outsider would have probably thought there'd be less of a crime rate in this small town. Unfortunately, that wasn't how things worked in Lake Bellinor. I guess that was the price to pay working as a full-time homicide detective. He was fairly young, as a twenty-four-year-old, for the job. But there was no doubt he was good at it.
"Looks like our talk will have to wait, after all," he murmured and gripped the steering wheel. "I hope you don't mind going for a little ride."
Part of me didn't; because that meant I didn't have to brace myself for another lecture from him. Part of me did; because I knew what kind of screwed-up things happened to me when I got too close to death. A lecture sounded more pleasing on second thought.
* * *
There were loads of policemen and women wandering in between the trees when Christian drove onto the crime scene. Various items piled in their hands. Some of which were zipped in clear plastic bags with a hazardous sign printed on it. By then, I already had an idea that there was nothing accidental about who and what was found.
I groaned quietly under my breath.
The car slowed into mid-drift; stopping fully when he switched gears into park. We were parked alongside the edge of the lake. A wide dirt-covered ground was beneath us. My eyes skimmed over every detail in the area; the police cars surrounding us, the grass, the narrow dirt path trailing from the lake back uphill through the trees—likely leading to the main road.
Anything that'd help me get a better understanding of just exactly what we were walking into. Christian didn't look fazed at all. Meanwhile, I was a jittery mess. My hands were clutching onto the arm of my seat, as though someone, or something, would reach in and tear me away. My teeth were chattering behind my lips. Death usually gave me the chills. But this was different.
"Okay"—Christian turned in his seat, wrapping his arm around the head of my chair—"I don't know how long this will take but I want you to stay here. Do not, I repeat do not move from this spot, please," he begged.
"I won't." I held my hands up in surrender. "I swear."
"Good." Christian unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out. He circled around the car; his badge dangling from the side of his jeans as he walked towards the bright yellow crime scene tape. I pressed my face to the window, watching him.
"Christian! Over here!" I could hear someone yelling through the glass.
My eyes glossed over the wavy, silky-haired blonde man waving Christian over, from where he stood ahead in the area sealed off by the tape. I recognized Logan Sanchez on first glance. He was a guy who'd been partnered with Christian as soon as they finished in the academy, and were transferred to the same department. It was easy for me to forget about him sometimes.
There were no hard feelings to it, it's just Logan had the average image going for him—on top of his hair, there was his dark brown eyes, and that faded line of facial hair growing around his jawline. He was like a cut and paste copy of Austin Butler but less interesting. I'd admit he was one hell of a detective when it counted though.
"So, what do we have here?" was the first thing I heard Christian say after rolling the window down some. He bent under the tape, joining Logan's side. I rested my head against the glass, my ears pressed to the window now, eavesdropping.
Logan shook his head. "So far, a girl. She looks to be between seventeen and twenty; we're not sure yet. There was no ID, no wallet, or much of anything on her."
Christian stroked the bottom of his chin. "What about any witnesses?"
"Not exactly. An old, married couple who live in the area were out fishing when they saw the body floating down the lake. So, they called it in. An officer is speaking with them and taking down their statement now.
"We've also sent a few officers out to talk to folks in the neighborhood, to see if anyone can put a name on her. Someone on the other side of town might be able to identify her too. Until we get more information, all we have is a body," Logan replied.
Christian sighed. "Looks like we've got ourselves a Jane Doe. Alright, let's get her into the morgue, and see what they can find. How long has our victim been deceased?"
Logan removed the upper-half of the white sheet from over her head. Before I could adjust to what I saw, my eyes widened, and I blinked once. "I'd say a few days now," Logan said.
"C-crap." I gagged. Vomit climbed up my throat, but I quickly forced it back down, before I could hurdle it all out in his car. Though I'd only caught a glimpse of her, my weak immune system seemed to have thought that was enough to upset me.
Her wide eyes were staring up at the cloudy afternoon sky. The pale, drenched texture her skin appeared in could only have been the damage left behind by the lake. By the looks of it, she was most likely a brunette. Although, the color of her hair was fading out. If no one found her now, she'd have most likely been long gone over the winter.
She'd have sunk deep into the bottom of the lake nearly six months from now. Next, her body would have deteriorated as the lake began to drop in temperature from autumn weather, and finally, she would've been buried frozen six feet under the winter ice. Lake Bellinor was known for having its brutal Winters. Her body was no exception.
I rolled the window down a little further, trying to get a closer look at Christian.
Christian took out a glove and pulled it down over his right hand. He lifted her chin, examining every inch of her skin. From where I was seated, she appeared to have no physical marks on her body. But I wasn't close enough. I could have been missing a lot.
"Hmph." He made a noise and backed away, removing his glove.
"Could be a suicide. What do you think?" Logan covered her face with the sheet again.
"I don't know," Christian answered, "it's too soon to tell."
"Tanya's around here somewhere gathering evidence. Let's catch up with her." Logan gestured to the rest of the people scattered around. Christian nodded. I frowned as they walked away; my eyes never leaving her body.
"A suicide? Psh, not even close," I murmured out loud with a sigh.
Suicide was the last thought on my mind. It couldn't have been. If she had drowned herself, why was there such a heavy feeling weighing down my chest? I'd dealt with suicide victims before. This was nothing close to a suicide victim. I felt like I was drowning in betrayal.
As eager as I was to oppose Logan's theory, I kept my mouth shut. Just like all the other times I wanted to offer my insight. Sometimes, I needed a cruel reminder that telling Christian about my ability was not an option. Crime didn't work without proof. I could have a feeling or I could even be telling the truth. But as long as I didn't have proof, I was practically useless.
It sucked but there was nothing I could do. I could see what they couldn't. But I couldn't say a word or tamper with any of the evidence. The older I grew, the more stress I felt knowing I could've put a soul to rest if only I had the evidence to prove who was behind their murder or why they died. I had told myself it'd get easier when I was younger—bearing this secret.
But that was one of the biggest lies I'd ever told . . . and believed.
My shoulders slouched as I sunk back into the seat's fabric again. Rustling leaves fell from their branches in a slow tumble. I watched them scatter in the wind; one of them landing on the ground beside Christian's car. Where one of the leaves fell, something black caught my attention. My eyebrows drew together. What the hell was that?
I checked to make sure no one was looking, then reached my hand out the door. When the thin piece of material was in my hands, I closed the door, and sat back once again. Was this a piece of leather? The material looked as though it'd been stripped from an article of clothing or something similar. Maybe even some sort of object.
"What the hell?" A tickle in my throat startled me. It started with a cough. Another cough followed soon after. I winced and inhaled as much air as I could swallow. My face puckered up as my chest began to tighten. The walls of my throat compressed together, a dry texture building up inside the roots of my mouth. Rubbing at my chest, I took another deep breath.
"D-damnit." I gasped. "C-Chris—!"
I'd attempted to call Christian's name but my weakened lungs wouldn't allow it. In a panic, I bit down on my lip, rubbing my fingers along the middle of my throat. I didn't know what to hope for by doing that. I just wished I could feel something. My inability to breathe was beginning to mess with my head. Literally. My head felt like a balloon ready to pop.
Was this where I died? Was this how I died?
Wow. The end of Tyler Loftman. I never imagined my death to be so brutal.
On my left side, the sound of someone gasping for air filled my ears. So close. So heavy.
I almost thought someone was actually in the car with me. I saw a dark silhouette flash before my eyes next. Black gloves. The figure was wearing a pair—made out of the same material I'd found on the floor. An all-black hoodie was pulled over their upper-body, while the lower-half was dressed down in all-black sweatpants.
I could hear leaves crunching whenever the figure's foot touched the ground. Then, there was a loud splashing noise, indicating something heavy hit the water. Judging by the sound, it must have weighed over a ton. Dread came over me; most likely an emotion gifted from the vision.
After whatever it was, was dropped into the water, the person in the hood began walking away. I paid close attention to the person's glove covered hands. They must not have noticed a piece of the material ripping from their glove as they brushed past a branch on the narrow dirt path, because there was no reaction. The material blew right into the spot I picked it up from.
"Tyler!" a voice yelled. At once, a mass amount of air filled my lungs again. I was able to breathe in moments before breaking into a fit of coughs. Everything was back to normal.
"What? H-huh?" I trembled.
"Are you okay?" Christian tilted his head through the car door, eyebrows furrowed at me. I didn't need to know there was a look of horror or confusion plastered across my face; Christian's face already told me.
"Are you okay?" he repeated when I didn't answer. "You're shaking. . ."
"Oh, no! I mean, yeah, I am! No, I'm fine," I rambled.
"Okay. . ." he trailed off, hesitation overwhelming his words. "Are you ready to go home?"
I nodded. "Oh, uh, yeah, sure. Let's go." I took one last look around the crime scene. I didn't like this place one bit. I didn't want to intervene either. But I knew this feeling wasn't going to go away. They never did. Not unless I got involved.