Free WhiteSpace: Season One (Episodes 1-6 of the sci-fi horror serial) by Sean Platt, David Wright

ago.
    “I’m sorry,” Brady said. “I know how close you two were.”
    Jon sighed, “Yeah, it’s a tragedy. You all know what happened? Why the teacher snapped?”
    “No, not a thing. Hell, five minutes into the shooting, the Feds swooped in and took over the investigation.”
    “The Feds?”
    “Yeah, and get this . . . they’re coordinating efforts with Paladin.”
    “Is that even legal?” Jon asked.
    “Well, the township made Paladin the same as us, really. Though given the size of Paladin, I’d say we’re nothing more than figureheads at this point.”
    “Shit,” Jon said. “So they’re keeping you in the dark, even though you’re the chief?”
    “Pretty much. They took all the evidence we collected, and acted like they were doing us a favor. To be honest, they probably are. We don’t really have a staff to handle something like this. And the way people are pissed off, let Paladin and the Feds deal with this shit.”
    “You sound burned out,” Jon said.
    “You don’t even know, brother. Used to be that being the chief meant something, you know? But now, I’m just the hired help. But I figure if I keep my head down, just handle the shit I’ve gotta handle, I can provide for my family, ya’ know.”
    They talked a bit more, catching up as much as Brady’s reticence would allow. It was around one in the morning when Brady walked Jon to his car. Brady looked around, making sure Officer Henry wasn’t within sight, then reached into his jacket and handed Jon his stash of weed.
    Jon felt his face turn flush. Even though Brady had been a friend a long time ago, he was still a chief, and to see his stash in the hands of the law sent a chill through Jon, fearful Brady was about to come down on him.
    “I think someone accidentally left this in your car,” he said, handing the stash to Jon.
    “Yeah, I’ll see if I can return it to its rightful owner. Probably an old guy with really bad glaucoma.”
    “Yeah, glaucoma,” Brady said with a grin.
    The smile faded as Brady looked around again, however, and then met Jon’s eyes. “You need to leave the island, Jon.”
    Jon stepped back, confused. “Huh?”
    “You need to get out of here. Something bad is going to happen.”
    “What do you mean?” Jon said, noticing the fear in Brady’s eyes.
    “I can’t say anything more. Not here. They’re probably watching.”
    “You sure you didn’t smoke any of this?” Jon said, patting his pants pocket where he’d put the stash.
    Brady didn’t laugh.
    “I’m serious, Jon. Get out while you still can.”
    With that, Brady turned, and headed back inside the station.
    “Hey!” Jon said, trying to get his attention so he could ask a few follow-up questions. But Brady kept walking.
    Jon got into his car, shut the door, and glanced in the rearview and side mirrors, looking to see if he could see anyone watching.
    There was only darkness.

    * * * *

CHAPTER 8 — Liz Heller

    Wednesday
    September 6
    10:14 p.m.

    Liz was cuddled on her bed, the comforter and blankets pulled tight around her as she stared at the TV, watching a rerun of Everybody Loves Raymond . She wasn’t in the mood to laugh, and wasn’t really paying attention. She just wanted something familiar, something to make her feel a little less alone in the bed she’d shared for so long with Roger. Something other than the constant barrage of news coverage of her husband’s shooting “rampage,” as the talking heads on the TV news were calling Friday’s tragedy. Rampage, like some Roger was some sort of monster, instead of the sweet, sensitive, if not sometimes goofy, man she married 20 years ago.  
    Five days had passed, and though reality had forced itself upon her, it all still felt unreal.
    Five days of going through the motions of life, trying to pretend that they would ever have anything close to a normal family again.
    Five days of wondering if she could be strong enough for Alex and Aubrey.
    Five days of kicking herself for