I'll Stop the World (92)

Or maybe this is just the universe’s idea of a sick joke, to make me the one responsible for saving Dave’s dad over and over.

Plus, I just missed an opportune chance to bean Prime Arson Suspect Robbie Reynolds in the head with a rock. Sending the kid to the hospital would definitely make my life a lot easier tomorrow.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Robbie may be fine with casually brutalizing a twelve-year-old to the point of death, but I’m not. Even if I do feel like the kid is probably going to grow up to be a serial killer.

Yes, there is definitely ample evidence to suggest the universe enjoys screwing with me.

My knee throbs as I walk Karl home, my ripped jeans growing increasingly wet with blood. I doubt I’m going to need stitches or anything, but I don’t relish the thought of looking at my mangled knee. The stone that hit me didn’t hurt all that much, but it made my leg go dead for a second so it suddenly couldn’t support my weight. The rocks that broke my fall were large and jagged and cut right through my jeans, ripping into my skin like claws. I haven’t examined it yet, but from the blood I can feel trickling down my leg, I imagine it looks pretty gnarly.

Fortunately, Karl’s house isn’t far from the bridge. I don’t think I can walk much farther than that.

“So what’s up with those kids?” I ask as we limp along, side by side. “Did you do something to piss them off?”

Karl shrugs, his teeth chattering slightly. “They just hate me. I don’t know why.”

“Kids suck,” I say. I have nothing else helpful to offer.

“The biggest one, that’s Robbie,” Karl says. “He’s the leader.”

I don’t let on that I’m already well acquainted with Robbie. “He seems like a real treat.”

That gets a little laugh out of Karl, but the smile quickly falls from his face. “He hates me the most,” he says softly.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since the beginning of middle school.”

“Do your parents know? Or any other adults?” I don’t have a lot of faith in most adults to have any idea how to deal with bullying this severe—in my experience, they tend to just make things worse—but I’m not sure what else to suggest.

Karl shakes his head. “Mr. Warren, he’s the guidance counselor at my school . . .”

My stomach tightens at the mention of my grandfather. Who will probably die tomorrow, if I can’t stop it.

“He asked me about it a couple times. But I told him that nothing bad was happening. I think it would just make Robbie madder, if he thought I told.”

“Yeah, I get that.” His instincts about Robbie are definitely right, but I don’t tell Karl what I know about Mrs. Hanley’s cat. It would only make the kid more terrified.

Man, my knee is killing me. When we get to Karl’s house, I think I’m going to need to call Rose and ask her to come pick me up. I can’t imagine walking the few miles back to Mrs. Hanley’s house. “Have you ever tried to get them back? Learn some self-defense?”

“I can’t fight them.” He’s probably right. All the self-defense classes in the world likely wouldn’t make up for the fact that he’s half their size and there’s three of them.

He goes quiet for a few minutes, and I’m kind of grateful for the silence. It’s taking everything in me not to just sit down on the ground and scream in pain. I think it’s more than just the scraped-up skin. It feels like there is something seriously wrong. Like that rock knocked my kneecap out of place or something. My teeth are clenched, and I can feel sweat beading along my forehead.

“I tried to get back at Robbie once,” Karl says suddenly. “But . . . it was a bad idea.”

He has a strained expression on his face, like the words are spilling out despite his efforts to hold them in.

“What did you do?”

Tears start leaking from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to.” He looks up at me, his face crumpled and red. “If I tell you, will you promise not to tell?”

I’m starting to get alarmed, wondering if Karl murdered this kid’s dog or something. But I’ve probably just got animal murder on the brain because of Mrs. Hanley’s cat; surely there are not two adolescent pet killers in this town. I nod my agreement.

“It’s really bad.”

“I’m not going to tell. I swear.”

He takes a few deep breaths, then says in a shaky voice, “A few months ago, over the summer, I-I broke into Robbie’s house. Sometimes I like to . . . take things. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to take something from Robbie that he would really miss. And then I’d know I could hurt him, too, even if he didn’t know it was me. I didn’t think anyone was home. I crawled in through the dog door.”

Something inside me starts to twist. No.

“I went up to Robbie’s room. I was looking around for something that I could take, something that would mean a lot to him. But then I heard his mom come home, so I grabbed a couple of action figures—he had them set up really cool on his shelf, so I figured they were important—and I ran out the back door. But I was scared she’d come out and find me, so I ran into the neighbor’s garage.”

I can feel my eyes widening as Karl talks. The action figures, the garage, the way he tore away from Mrs. Hanley’s like a bat out of hell when he realized where he was. My vision temporarily blurs; I wonder if I’m about to pass out.