The Tear Collector Read online

  Robby shakes his head. “What in the hell?”

  “I know, man. It was crazy. He starts twirlin’ down the pool deck.” Tee hops to his feet and begins twirling, hand atop his head like a ballerina, giving a faithful reenactment. Robby and I giggle. “The parents are gaspin’, just freakin’ out, man. But nobody does nothin’, just mouths hangin’ open. He starts singin’, ‘I’m a pretty girl, such a pretty, pretty girl.’”

  Robby bursts out laughing. “What in the hell is wrong with that kid?”

  “Got me. So, he’s doing these ridiculous hops.” Tee leaps mid-twirl and the bridge creaks as he lands.

  “Careful, Tee.” I flash my open palms, wearing a wide grin.

  “So, his chubby, red cheeks are bouncing, and you can guess what else. I couldn’t hold it in no more. I was cracking up. Couldn’t believe what was happening. And his dad sees, right? Comes running up with a towel. But you know Tommy Tantrum’s crazy ass wasn’t goin’ out that easy.” Tee jumps into a karate pose and starts waving his arms. “Tommy screams, ‘Naked ninja attack,’ as his dad lunges at him.” Tee makes an exaggerated jump to the side. “And he sidesteps his dad. He starts doing karate jabs, hi-yah, hi-yah.”

  I nudge Robby’s shoulder. “This is the best part.”

  “What’d I say, Brooks? This is my story.”

  “So, his dad misses him again. Ends up behind him. And Tommy screams, ‘Naked ninja fury kick,’ and kicks him in the butt, hard. He went headfirst into the pool in his clothes. Man, after all the parents gasped, the whole place erupted with kids laughin’. It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen. And Tommy takes a naked bow to the crowd. Lifeguard’s screamin’ at him. Drags him out of the pool while he’s doin’ the shake and screamin’, ‘Watch my wiener dance. You know you can’t resist my wiener dance.’”

  We all chuckle as Tee returns and takes a seat with us on the bridge. As soon as one of us stops laughing, a simple grin initiates another cycle. I manage to compose myself enough to speak.

  “He got banned from the pool after that.”

  Tee nods. “For life, bro.”

  Robby shakes his head and chuckles. “What a dumbass.”

  I grip the can as both boys’ eyes gather on me. After the whole incident with Tommy, my mom didn’t allow me to try a Force. It headlined the gossip of the town for weeks, moms on the phone with other moms, telling and retelling the story. By week two, there wasn’t a person in Harper Pass who hadn’t heard the pool story of Tommy Tantrum. Some concerned moms made such a stink about the whole thing they banned Force from all the schools.

  I’m pretty sure I won’t end up like Tommy, so I take a big gulp. It’s warm and tastes terrible. It’s bitter and foreign going down, a chemical swirl. I squint my eyes and clench my face tight like I bit into the sour pulp of a lemon.

  “Eww, that’s awful.” I pass the can to Robby.

  Tee laughs. “It’s an acquired taste.”

  “Why in the world would anyone drink that?”

  “Gives you energy, man.” Robby grins and takes a swig.

  “So, what you think, Robby? Should we let him in the crew?”

  “Well, we were going to give you some hell today. But since you’ve already been through twice as much as we were even planning on dishing out, yeah—I think so.”

  A huge smile blooms on my lips. This feels like the most perfect moment in my entire life. I can tell things are going to be different for me now—better. Tee pats me on the back.

  “Welcome to the Markland X Crew. Brother from another mother.”

  “So that’s it?”

  “Well yeah, ‘cept the rule.” Robby pauses and locks his eyes to mine. “You never leave a member of the crew behind. Never.”

  “And you have to take a dare. If another member of the crew dares you to do something, you have to do it.”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  “You have to.” Robby’s stern eyes bore into mine.

  “I got it!” Tee raises both of his index fingers to the sky. “In honor of Tommy Tantrum, you refuse a dare, then you go bare.”

  “Yes, that’s perfect.” Robby snickers and we all nod to seal the accord.

  As we swallow our laughter, we move into a semi-circle. We all make fists and put them together to signify the agreement. The pact is made.

  We share our Force Energy Drink and swap stories all afternoon on Jennings Bridge. It feels like we’ve known each other all our lives. I’ve never felt so connected before. It’s effortless, a natural chemistry we share together. And before we leave Jennings Bridge, I know two things for sure. I’ve found two friends I will keep forever, and I’ve never felt happier in all my life.

  Chapter 8

  Missing Margo

  THE SUN RESTS its head on the horizon, the day growing dim. Robby and Tee pack their things as we get ready to head home.

  “Can I catch a tow with ya, Tee?”

  “Come on, man.” Tee motions me to his bike.

  Tee lives a few short blocks from my house. I hop on the BMX pegs on his bike and grab hold of his shoulders. We set off on our bikes on the dirt road that leads to Jennings Pike, a hazy cloud of dust roiling in our wake. The sun setting behind the trees casts long shadows on the roadways, and a warm orange glow percolates on the horizon, washing through the treetops.

  Robby turns onto his street. “Later fellas.” He jumps a curb and lands on the sidewalk before bunny hopping and pedaling out of sight.

  Tee pedals hard for a half mile before hanging a left on Chambers Road. A police patrol car zooms up on us from behind. As the police car prepares to pass us, it slows to match our pace. Pulling alongside Tee’s bike, the older officer in the passenger seat studies us. The officer says two words to the driver before the car accelerates and zips past us. Even though the siren isn’t on, it looks like they’re trying to get somewhere in a hurry. Tee turns on Parson Street, and we coast to the cul-de-sac at the bottom of the hill where I hop off.

  “Thanks for the tow, Tee.”

  “You got it, man.”

  “So, what you guys doin’ tomorrow?”

  “You mean, what are we doing? You’re in the crew now. Brothers.”

  Tee smiles and gives me a fist bump. Relief tugs at the corners of my lips, drawing them upward. I don’t need to worry about my future in the Markland X Crew anymore.

  “I’ll come by your house tomorrow morning, and we can go meet up with Robby.”

  I flash a smile. “Cool. Later, man.”

  “Try not to run into Sammy, Nutcracker Brooks!”

  Tee grins and rides away. I walk into the edge of the woods and retrieve my bike as the sun sneaks below the horizon, the moon already beaming full in the clear sky overhead. I jump on my bike and pedal home. The street lights begin flickering on as I pull into the driveway, the last remnant of daylight a faint orange glow on the tree line.

  My mom lifts a warm smile as I amble through the door. “Brooks, how was your day?”

  My face and eyes brighten. “Amazing.” My mom’s smile grows larger, her squinty eyes sparkling. “Mom, you care if I go and play with Tee and Robby again tomorrow?”

  “Sure. When do I get to meet your new friends? I know of Tee, Sandra Mitchell’s son. But I don’t think I’ve met the other boy. Robby, you said?”

  “Yes ma’am, Robby, and I’m sure you’ll meet them soon. I think you’ll really like ‘em.”

  “I’m sure I will, sweetie. You boys must’ve played hard. Look at you. You’re a filthy mess. Why don’t you go get washed up for dinner? We had dinner earlier, but I saved you a plate. Your favorite, spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Thanks, mom.”

  After cleaning up for dinner, I join my mother at the kitchen table. She’s reading a detective novel. My mother loves reading. For as long as I can remember, she’s surrounded herself with books.

  Over the past year, my mom developed a particular obsession with true crime novels. She reads them day and night. Several week
s into her crime book reading binge, she started insisting everyone lock all the doors. We all kind of laughed at her. Dad said, “Really Susan, it’s Harper Pass. You’ve been reading too many of those damn books.”

  A supervisor at the power plant, dad works most nights. He goes in around seven-thirty in the evening and doesn’t get home until the middle of the night. But mom’s always here, though.

  I take a seat at the kitchen table and join my mom. She’s reading her book and half-listening to the local news on TV. My hollow stomach growls. During my tussle with Sammy, I lost my lunch when Myron took my backpack. The crazy events of the day suppressed my appetite, made me forget I hadn’t eaten. But presented with my favorite meal, I’m shoveling food into my mouth like a rescued shipwreck survivor.

  My mom looks up from her book before setting it on the table. She hoists the corners of her lips.

  “Hungry, are we?”

  With a mouthful of food, I nod through my chewing and voice an uh-huh through my nose. I twirl my fork through my spaghetti collecting another heaping portion of saucy spaghetti noodles.

  A car commercial ends on the television and a loud newscaster comes on.

  “We have breaking news. I’m going to take you now to our reporter, Kasey Norton, who is live on scene, and we are going to hear from a family who is desperate for the community’s help tonight. Kasey, are you there?”

  “I’m here, Tom.”

  The young reporter flashes a beaming smile. She’s standing by a small, one-story house. The camera pans to a man and a woman. In the light of the camera, the petite woman’s body quivers. Frizzy gray hairs jut out from the sides of her disheveled dark brown hair. Her hands tremble, and her mascara runs in faint black lines underneath her eyes, tattling her tears. Fat beads of sweat rappel the large man’s forehead. His thick white eyebrows furrow at his shaking wife—concern stitched across his face. Patches of wispy gray hair, strategically combed to one side, dot the top of his head, but he’s nearly bald. Two large areas of sweat, shaped like sideways crescent moons, dampen patches of his light blue t-shirt below the flab of his chest.

  “I’m standing here with Jim and Linda Combs. Tonight, they have a desperate plea to the community. Their little girl, Margo, has gone missing, and they are asking for the community’s help.”

  A picture of Mysterious Margo flashes onto the screen. I drop my fork to my plate with a loud clank.

  “Brooks, are you okay? Brooks. Honey. Are you okay?”

  My parted lips won’t make words. The reporter places the microphone near the woman’s mouth.

  “Please, please, my baby girl’s gone missing. She’s been missing since yesterday. She can’t be all alone. She, she…” The woman breaks into tears and sobs. The man puts his arm around her before speaking.

  “Our little girl has autism. Please, if you see her, please call the Harper Pass Police.” He wipes away tears from his cheeks. The reporter brushes her blonde hair away from her eyes.

  “Tom, can you flash that picture on the screen again?”

  “It’s on screen now, Kasey.”

  “Folks, this is Margo, and this family really needs your help. Margo was last seen when her parents put her to bed Tuesday night. She was wearing a white, floral-patterned nightgown at the time. Please call the Harper Pass Police Office immediately if you have any information so that we can reunite this special needs child with her parents.”

  My stomach free falls. I saw Margo hours earlier in the woods near Grief Hollow, no idea at the time she was missing. The number for the police office flashes on the screen below Margo’s picture. A million disjointed thoughts swirl around in my mind. A dizzying rush of air deluges my head, overcoming me with a sensation of traveling outside of my body.

  “Back to you, Tom.”

  “Great reporting, Kasey. Really sad story. We’ll stay on this story for you with any new developments. Let’s hope it has a happy ending. And now we’ll send it to Kevin for your Tri-County weather report.”

  “Brooks!” My mom’s shout leaks into my mind.

  Her hands are gripping my shoulders tight. She’s shaking me. As I come out of my trance, I realize she’s been shaking me for a while. I blink my eyes several times as a quick tremor passes through my body. I lock eyes with her. She’s trembling, and her light green eyes glisten with concern. But a mother’s concern is intuitive.

  “Brooks, do you know something about that missing girl?”

  I nod.

  Chapter 9

  The Questioning

  “BETTER BRING HIM in.” I overhear the man’s gravelly voice on the telephone.

  I’m still sitting at the kitchen table, but I’ve lost my appetite. I sit there in silence, my blank eyes cast straight ahead, listening to my mother’s phone call and thinking about Margo.

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  My mom grabs her purse off the kitchen counter and kneels in front of me. She clasps both my hands and looks into my eyes.

  “I don’t want you to be scared, Brooks. But we’re going to go to the police station now. It’s very important that you tell them everything you just told me. I want you to tell them the truth, tell them everything you know. Do you understand?”

  “Yes ma’am.” My words fall out as a timid whisper.

  A couple of minutes before, I told my mother the story of how I ran into Margo in the woods. I told her how Margo spoke to me and how she disappeared. My mother didn’t ask why I went into the woods, and I didn’t tell her about Sammy and Myron. Nor did I mention Grief Hollow.

  My mother leads me out to the car.

  “Buckle your seat belt.” She gives me an affectionate pat on my knee. “Try not to be nervous. It’s all going to be okay.”

  We pull out of the driveway and onto the road. We pass strands of ticky-tacky houses, each cut from the same mold as if originality dawned as an afterthought, never truly realized, its only expression coming in the form of different shades of paint. We drive in silent contemplation to the police station.

  A faint mist hovers in the air of the black night, the streetlamps casting miniature rainbow halos. My stomach grumbles, a cauldron of nervous bubbles. Have I done something wrong? I replay the events from earlier in my mind. I was just about to help Margo get back home when she disappeared. Given a chance, I would’ve done the right thing. But she disappeared. Just vanished.

  The brakes squeak as the car rocks to a stop. Our headlights illuminate the lettering on the small, one-story building. Mounted on the faded red brick, large tarnished brass letters spell out Harper Pass Police Station. We park between two late-model police cruisers, balding tires hinting to a small-town budget.

  “Remember what I told you, Brooks?” It’s more of a reminder than a question.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, let’s go then. That poor girl’s family needs your help.”

  I scoot across the seat and follow my mom out her door. We walk the ramp together to the door of the police station. My mom places a delicate hand on the nape of my neck as we walk inside.

  “Hi, I’m Susan Raker. I called about my son, Brooks Raker.” She places her hand on my back presenting me.

  “Have a seat over there, please. Detective Holt will be with you in just a moment.” The desk officer flashes me a warm smile.

  The desk officer’s name badge reads Marcy Peterman. Her curly, brown, shoulder-length hair accentuates her chubby cheeks, and her swollen belly tugs against the buttons on her shirt, giving her a comic-strip appearance of disproportion. Pausing from her paperwork, Marcy grabs the telephone as we take a seat on a wooden pew in the lobby.

  “Detective Holt, Susan is here with her son.”

  Upon ending the call, Marcy flashes a smile at me before returning to writing on her papers. My mom lays her purse on the bench and drapes an arm around me.

  I squint in the glare of the lobby, the steady hum of the fluorescent lights a monotone soundtrack. Scanning the walls, I spot a fire safety
poster filled with information about forest fire prevention and a ridiculous caricature of a bear, wearing a ranger hat and wagging a stern finger. A familiar visage draws my eyes. I crimp my lips at the missing persons poster tacked to the bulletin board, a picture of Margo on it. The upheaval in my stomach is audible, as bile churns a queasy stew.

  My mom rises from the pew and greets a man in a suit.

  “Tripp, how are you?” She gives him a hug, her voice warm and genuine.

  “I’m good. Kirsten’s good. We’re good. Thanks for calling. Is this your son?”

  “Brooks, this is Mr. Holt. I mean Detective Holt.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, son. You know, me and your mother have known each other for a long time. Any son of your mom’s is a friend of mine.”

  Detective Holt extends his palm for a handshake. His massive hand swallows my own, burying it beneath a cluster of fingers and knuckles. The detective applies firm pressure to his grip, trace perspiration in the creases of his palm dampening my hand. His red neck tie hangs crooked and loose, the knot dangling away from his neck a couple of inches.

  “What grade are you in, Brooks?” He twiddles the end of his thick mustache.

  “Sixth grade, sir. Well, seventh grade, when we start back next year that is.”

  I begin to fidget.

  “Over at Markland Middle?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Very good. Brooks, I have some questions that I need to ask you. Is it okay if I ask you some questions, son?” He studies me with discerning eyes.

  I nod.

  “Susan, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to take Brooks to the back of the station.”

  “Okay. Yeah, sure. Let me grab my purse.”

  The detective’s voice lassos my mom on her way to the pew. “I’d like to speak with him alone if that’d be alright, Susan.”

  “Oh. Ohhh. Okay. I guess that would be okay.” She looks at me and at the detective.

  “You know, just protocol really. Missing persons investigation and all.” He slathers his words in an air of nonchalance.