Free Shadow of the Past by Thacher Cleveland Page A

in his ears. He knew the
Detective was saying something else but he was concentrating on
blinking away his tears.
    “Excuse me?” he said softly, hoping his
voice did have too much strain in it.
    “This wasn’t an accident, Mark. This is
being treated as a homicide.”
    “What?”
    “Mark,” David said, “Can you think of
anyone that may have had a reason to hurt Clara, or if there was
anything unusual about that night? Did she say or do anything out
of the ordinary?”
    Well, there was this phantom
guy that tried to throw you down the stairs, but he probably wasn’t
real or even human, so that doesn’t mean much aside from the fact
that you’re batshit crazy.
    They stared at each other for a second,
Mark’s eyes still misting and he realized he was taking too long to
answer. The longer he didn’t say anything the more obvious it was
that he could be saying something and wasn’t.
    But there was no man, and if
you say anything you’ll look so crazy they’ll probably take you
downtown to talk about it more. And I bet they don’t need the phone
books or rubber hoses to crack your shell, sissy.
    “No,” Mark said softly. “Nothing at
all. She was the greatest person in the world. She . . .” Mark
tried to think of a way to convey to these men that would never
know her how important she’d been to him, but realized that it was
futile. Nothing he could say would show how much she meant and how
impossible someone wanting to murder her was.
    “She had a daughter,” Mark said, trying
to stay away from total blinding despair and focusing on being
helpful.
    “Yeah,” the Detective said. “We found
her information in an address book and we’ve already notified her.
We’re going to have to talk with the other people that were with
you that night. Just a formality, but we have to be
thorough.”
    Mark’s heart sank. Steve’s mom would
freak, and Christine’s dad would now have something better than the
V to worry about. He recited their names and address for the
Detective to jot down in his little notebook, so he could go forth
and make an even bigger wreck of his life.
    Before he left, the Detective turned
back to Mark, handing him a business card. “If you can think of
anything, and I do mean anything, feel free to call me.”
    Mark nodded and watched him go. Joe
walked him to the front door and Mark made it as far as the hallway
before he stopped and leaned on the wall. When the door closed
behind the cops, Joe turned and said “I know this must be hard but
. . . I just want you to know--”
    That was all he needed to get him off
the wall. “Save it,” he shook his head and pushed himself back onto
his feet, storming past Joe and heading for the stairs. “You hated
her. You couldn’t stand that someone gave a shit about me and I
don’t need your pity. Not now.” He took the stairs two at a time,
pausing only to throw open the attic door before bounding up the
rest of the stairs. Before he made it to the top of the steps,
everything was blurry and wet and shaking. His foot didn’t clear
the top step and he sprawled forward onto his knees and hands,
crashing into the side of his bed.
    He shoved it as hard as he could, and
then swung at it over and over again, not seeing anything but
indistinct shapes. Whatever it was in front of him, he wanted it
gone. Destroyed. Burned.
    He screamed until all he had left were
silent, chest heaving sobs and sore hands that lashed out in weak
futility.
     

Chapter Nine
     
    Mark wasn’t sure when he’d pulled
himself into bed, but it hadn’t made him any more comfortable. He
woke up with a wet pillow and limbs tangled in sheets. Something
had startled him awake and he wasn’t sure what it was until there
was another yell of his name from downstairs and getting
closer.
    “Mark! Telephone!” Joe yelled through
his door.
    “I got it!” Mark screamed back, picking
up. “Hello?”
    “Mark, it’s me,” Christine said. Mark
dropped himself back on the