I
14th September 1934
You see your mother put the shotgun in your father’s trunk. The moon sunk low in the sky; casting shadows against her pale face through the window. She turns around and hands a man in rugged overalls five dollars. Next to him was a woman with a dark blue shawl over her head. She had become a prominent figure in the Elder household recently, but all you know is her name: Holly Speer. The man’s calloused hands take the money and shove it in his pockets. He nods his head to both women, does a 180, and you watch as his lanky figure walks out the door into the starless sky. Your mother shuts the trunk and turns to Holly Speer, “It’s done.”
What are they talking -- creek! -- your foot lands on a piece of loose wooden board and calls the attention of your mother and her guest. You dash out of the garage before either of them notice you have been spying. When you get to your room you press your back against the now closed door; wheezing through each breath. You sit on the foot of your bed staring at the shelves adorning the wall across you. You think: What did they do with father’s Remington?
II
6th September 2008
Thump!
I am awakened by the jolt of the car. My eyes flutter open and I sit up straight to rub the sleep out of my eyes. My grandpa is in mid-conversation with my mum.
“I remember when it was just us boys. ‘MOUNT HERMON SCHOOL’ was a household name!” My mum giggled. The sun was a bright orange, beaming down on the car. I could feel the intense heat through the windows.
“Grampy, it’s still a great high school. I’m so excited to carry on the family legacy of NMHers… and the likes.” I glance toward his pouty face. He scoffs. It was clear he was not happy with the social reforms Mount Hermon had taken way back then. “Hey, Grandpa, tell me more about, uh, what’s his name? Eli? Elliott-?”
“Speer.” Grandpa sat up. There was a glisten in his cataract covered eyes. He looks at my mum and back at me; like a 5-year-old who knows he shouldn't do what he’s about to.
I furrow my brows. “Grandpa?” He broke into a smile.
“We’re at the scene of the crime.” I cock my head to the side. I watch, with a raised eyebrow, as his shaky hands reach into his sweater and brought out a faded yellow envelope. “Listen to me son, your mind is young and fresh. In this envelope lies something like a testimony. I told you about the murder, didn’t I? Well, this leads us to the killer, but it’s only half of the reveal. You need to find the clue. Okay?” I slowly nod but had no idea if this was real or my grandpa was off his meds again. His eyes look up dreamily, “I’ll never forget finding this piece of paper jammed between the closet and wall in my room: 311. Third floor of Crossley. I couldn’t finish my Senior year the same. I had to find the clue; the gun. For some reason, I couldn’t. It bothered me that I couldn’t. But you my boy! You have a great chance!”
I blink. “Um, it’s been what, 60 years Grandpa? Of course, I don’t.” I saw his face falter. Long gone was the sparkle that seems to give him purpose. I felt guilty, “B-but, of course, I’ll… try. For you. I’ll let you know what I find, okay?”
He smiles. His cataracts glistening once more. I adjust in my seat, and just in time to see a white signpost with ‘NORTHFIELD MOUNT HERMON SCHOOL’ printed in black.
~~~
My new roommate, Tyrone, and I sit on the very first benches up in the 9th graders’ section of the chapel. Nicole Hager, the dean of students, welcomes everyone into the new school year. She set some expectations for the year: academic integrity, no drugs, blah, blah, blah. Tyrone nudges my knee and makes a joke about how now he would have to smuggle crack through his crack like in prison movies. It isn't funny, but I laugh anyway. I crouch to the side wall to stifle my laughter. In the process, my knee bumps the paneling. Pop! The worn oak wooden panels bust slightly open. Damn, NMH, budget cuts much? I glance inside the pitch black crevice. Cobwebs. Intricate patterns of cobwebs. Ew. They’re all over some rusty shotgun.
Wait, what?
“Wait, what?”
“What?” Tyrone looks at me with an eyebrow raised.
“Uh…” I look back down the little dark crack. “Uh, nothing.”
I use my knee to hit the panel back in place and look straight ahead. In my peripheral, I see Tyrone lean forward as if to catch a glimpse of what was making me act weird. After a moment of eyeballing me, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders.
That wasn’t a gun. A shotgun? No, of course not. I comb my hand through my hair. I stare straight ahead at Nicole. Her mouth was moving and her hands were talking, but I hear nothing. At once, the chapel was thundering, the sound of clapping hands echo off the walls and draws me back to reality. I sink into the bench. If that’s not a clue, I don’t know what is.
III
13th September 1934
You’re washing the dishes beside your mum who’s sweeping the floor. At 9 pm you hear a soft knock on the kitchen back door. What an ungodly hour to be in someone's house. “I’ll get it, Mother.”
“No! No, honey. Don’t worry about it.” Your mother frantically heads to the door. She opens it slightly and lowers her voice to a bare whisper. She uses her body to block who she is talking to. What is she doing? Who is that? You try to sneak a peek but all you see is a dark blue shawl.
“Mother?” She turns her head to you.
“Continue cleaning the dishes. This business does not concern you.”
Business? What on earth? Nonetheless, you turn back to the task at hand. You work deliberately slow and quiet as you strain to hear a bit of the conversation going on: back… garage open… trunk… leave keys… Remington… tomorrow night… paid… expert… revenge.
They have no meaning to you, but you recognize that the “Remington” is the shotgun many families on campus have; including your father. But what in the world does that have to do with anything? Is she selling the gun? Is that the “business”?
Your mother begins to back up and shut the door, “Oh, Holly!” Your brain remembers that name. She encompasses the hands of Holly into her own, “I pray you find what you desire.” Holly… Holly? You inhale sharply. Holly! Holly… Speer.
Your mum shuts the door and you continue with your duty like you weren’t eavesdropping. It’s quiet for a while until you hear your mother whisper: “Lord forgive my trespasses. I know good things are in store.” You stop in your movement. Trespasses? You glance back at your mother.
She is idly sweeping the floor.
IV
7th September 2008
6:00 AM
*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*
I roll onto my side and swat my hand aimlessly at the alarm clock. Thud! I knock it down but it was still blaring. *BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP* I groan; my eyelids were heavy and not ready to face the day. Then the image of the paneling in the chapel flashes through my mind. There are questions that require answers. I force myself off the bed. I look to my left and see the lumpy figure of Tyrone still in bed facing the wall.
At first, I convince myself if I deny it long enough it’ll become untrue. Alas, the beautiful brain that got me into NMH cannot be fooled. I decide to go to the chapel at 6 am. I was going to wear sporty clothes so no one would suspect me. This time I was gonna purposely open the panel. I was gonna find the clue. I pick up a paper clip, grab some gloves and head out the door.
6:24 AM
I go around the backside of the chapel. I bring out the paper clip and unravel it. I crouch low and stick the straight pointy end right into the key lock. I jiggle it a bit and eventually heard the satisfying click sound. I creep in and the foreboding hollowness of the chapel greets me. There is such a different vibe than when it is full and the varying tones of students’ voices float around the room.
I tiptoe up the spiral staircase in the back to avoid the creaking sounds that come with the aged wooden steps. Once on top of the landing, I check my surroundings. The coast was clear. I continue to walk to the front of the seats and stop when I reach the balcony. I go to the side which I sat on yesterday, and back to the same set of panellings. I squat near the wall and tentatively run my fingertips across the panels. Gosh, Henry, what are you doing? I put my right hand in a fist and started knocking on each panel until one eventually popped open. I take a deep breath and remove the panel very carefully. Staring right back at me, covered in cobwebs and extremely rusty, was a brown shotgun. Oh shit, this isn’t “nothing.” I put my gloves on and unwedged the gun from it’s rested position. A piece of paper fell out. I open it and read: a lie. It was a perfect plan. Kill two birds with one stone with inside help. To protect my mum, I hid the gun in the chapel. On the top row where no one ever sits. Hopefully, no one finds it. I’ll take this secret to my grave. Only you know.
Tommy
What secret? I inspect the piece of weaponry in front of me. I dust off the surface and peer for any signs of ownership. Right along the bare barrel was a name engraved. I drew a sharp breath. What? I squint closer. Thomas Elder.
V
9th September 1934
You’re walking down the stairs to get breakfast. You stop in your tracks when you hear the muffled voices of your parents.
“The only way Elliott Speer will stop being a problem is if we get rid of him. Darling, everyone knows you deserved that spot. He stole that from you. Is he even loyal to Holly? There are rumors of his affair with Miss Dill. You could finally expose him”
“Come on, sweetheart. What are we gonna do? Kill him? There’s no way. We’re trapped. I’ll just wait till he's tired.”
“Yes but Holly offered - “
“Enough! Bring me my eggs. No more chatter about this. It may be the Lord’s doing, I don’t know. But the school year is starting soon. There’s nothing we can do.”
Your mother’s face is stoic. She had a look that said otherwise.
This was usually the conversation in the house ever since Elliott Speer was appointed headmaster of Mount Hermon. He was radical, which most people disagreed with. Your parents fail to see that the world is changing and it’s becoming progressive. Mr. Speer? Scandalous? You ignore the thought. Your mother knows how to blow things out of proportion. However, if that was the case, if there’s anyone that should shoot him, it should be his wife.
VI
8th September 2008
I sit cross-legged on my bed reading the note I found with the gun. I hold it next to the note from the envelope Grandpa gave me; connecting the dots. I read the letter in its entirety and I’m speechless. Wouldn’t grampy love to know this.
VII
27th October 1934
You sit on your new desk and wander through the past events. Your father, the dean for years before you were even born, was leaving the school. Your mother looking around shamefully, guiltily. You spot Holly Speer lurking in the shadows. What you now realize was also shame. You could continue the school year as a boarder in Crossley. But you would have the burden of being the murderer’s son… which you now realize is true. But it was a different parent. A different culprit. You bring out your diary and get your ink pen.
29th Sept. 1934
Dear Diary,
I know who did it. All the secret “business” meetings and suspicious behaviour from Mother led me to solve the crime. It was no coincidence that after the mysterious dark blue shawled woman, who I confirmed to be Holly Speer, came into our house, her husband, Elliott Speer, was shot dead. This was planned. Unfortunately, it was planned with Mother. They hired a hitman to do the job; that’s who she paid five dollars to. Mother just wanted more for father, for us. Holly wanted revenge; tired of being the second option. I guess the affair Mother was talking about was not a rumor. It was a perfect plan. Kill two birds with one stone with inside help. To protect my mum, I hid the gun in the chapel. On the top row where no one ever sits. Hopefully, no one finds it. I’ll take this secret to my grave. Only you know.
Tommy
No comments:
Post a Comment