The Pantheon Read online

  “A guy... Astin, I found a dead human being.”

  “Well he was dead before you found him. If he wasn’t he probably wished he was. No harm, no foul.”

  “Oh shit.” She put her face into her hands.

  “I’m more worried about who killed him. This guy’s dead. Whoever killed him is still out there.” Astin took another drink.

  “I-- thanks for that comforting thought.”

  “Diana, I gotta tell you about something else. I mean, something big that happened out there. Maybe I was going crazy, but--” Astin stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the security camera in the corner. Did it record audio? He didn’t want to risk it, so he shut up. “Nevermind. I’ll tell you at home.”

  “Astin, I think I heard whoever it was,” she whispered barely loud enough for him to hear if he leaned in close. “I heard at least three people out there, maybe more. They were right next to me, all around me.”

  “Diana...” Astin said, his smile fading. “You were the only one out there. They did a sweep. I didn’t see anyone on the path.”

  “I didn’t see anyone either, but I heard them, Astin. One of them threatened to kill me.” She didn’t mention that she thought one of those voices came from an owl.

  “Listen... I love you, but don’t tell them that. Voices without bodies... that sounds crazy.”

  “It was dark, maybe I just couldn’t see them?”

  “Right next to you?” He shook his head. The door opened. Astin gave Diana a warning look before Sgt. Thompson and his Lieutenant, a young guy fresh out of school, walked in. Mrs. Hill followed. She looked tired, stressed and she wasn’t wearing any makeup; that was a very bad sign.

  “Alright,” Thompson slid Astin’s coffee mug away from him. “I’m gonna give you one last shot to tell us the whole truth.”

  “We don’t get a lawyer?” Astin was really getting fed up with all of this. “Isn’t that the law? And, as we’re minors, weren’t you supposed to wait for our guardian to get here before you started interrogating us? I know the laws. You might be a cop, but I’m a teenager. We know the laws too.”

  Diana hid her face in her hands.

  “A lawyer is on his way. People take a moment to hop in their cars when you get them out of bed, son.” He sat down and leaned toward Diana, “If you wanna wait, that’s your right, but if you wanna talk now you can speed this up considerably.”

  “We told you.” Diana looked over her hands, glaring at Thompson. “Yeah, we were out in the woods after curfew. Yes, we were at the bonfire. No, we didn’t drink. You can’t get anything else out of us because there’s nothing else to tell you!” She heeded Astin’s advice in leaving out the voices. Now that she thought back on it, there had been nothing close to the path but low ferns. Nobody could have hid in them. She was going mad, it was as simple as that.

  “Don’t talk to him, Diana. You don’t have to tell him the same thing over and over.” Astin looked over at the Lieutenant. “What’s your name?”

  “Gutierrez,” he looked between the twins. He was wiry with buzzed black hair and a perfectly straight tie.

  “Okay, quick question. Does this guy hate teenagers?” He pointed with his thumb at Thompson.

  “Uhhh... no?” He knew he couldn’t answer that honestly and keep his job. Sgt. Thompson had a long history of ranting about ‘those damn kids and their backwards hats and hip-hop music.’

  “Because I’m trying to make sense of this.” Astin stood up. “I’m trying to figure out why he’s implying that my sister killed this guy when it’s pretty damn obvious she didn’t?”

  Thompson got to his feet too, “Why is it obvious? It doesn’t seem so obvious to me. She was at the scene of the murder with his blood all over her. Sit down, kid!”

  Astin didn’t.

  “She tells you honestly that she violated curfew. She tells you she tripped while cutting through the trees and landed next to the body. You find a torched corpse with no burnt trees, no burnt leaves around it. You find no lighter. No fire making tools. My truck is clean. I’m clean. She’s like, a hundred and twenty-five pounds tops, she couldn’t carry that body herself, but contrary to all evidence you wanna stick the only teenagers you can’t get a blood alcohol content on with murder charges and leave my traumatized sister covered in a stranger’s blood while some pyro-slash-killer runs around town. So I’m wondering if you have a vendetta against teenagers or if you’re just a moron.”

  Thompson’s face was red. Diana looked at the Lieutenant and saw him smirk. He quickly put on a straight face and cleared his throat. He cut in before Thompson could decide how Astin would pay for that monologue. “Uh, sir, Mr. Soto is here.”

  The family attorney was visible through the glass panel on the door. Thompson tore his eyes away from Astin and nodded. Thompson let Mr. Soto in. He was a short balding man with large glasses and a mean presence. Mr. Soto was mostly employed for double-checking loan contracts and managing Mr. Hill’s business affairs. He looked ready for a fight. “Sgt. Thomspon,” he said with a weak smile. “Do you have any evidence to press murder charges?”

  “Not at the present, no, just presence.”

  “Alright, and you interrogated the children before their mother arrived, Mrs. Hill has informed me.”

  Gutierrez nodded behind his superior.

  “Then I suggest you don’t press charges for the curfew and let them go home. Miss Hill needs a shower and you know how these laws are. They’re meant to protect the children. You wouldn’t want it going on the record that there was any misconduct by the force.”

  Ten minutes later Diana was in the bathroom changing into an O.H.P.D sweat suit so she could leave her clothes with evidence. Mrs. Hill was scolding Astin in the interrogation room while they waited. He was laughing. He was feeling pretty good about getting away with that much sass. Mrs. Hill slapped the back of his head, not caring that she was on camera. “You can’t talk to the police like that, Mister! They should throw you in jail for the night just to teach you some respect.”

  “Whatever, they know I’m right.” He sat back down and started drumming on the table with his hands. He had never been humble in his life.

  Mrs. Hill was relieved to get Diana in the car so she could get her home, showered, and to bed. Astin, however, was in serious trouble the moment they all got in the car. Astin was laughing and muttering about “stupid pigs”, when Mrs. Hill slammed the door shut.

  “What?”

  “They let you off but you’re still in trouble with me.”

  His mirth faded. He knew that look. Their mother was not someone to cross when she had that look in her eyes. “Sorry,” he croaked.

  “Oh, you will be, Astin Samson Hill! You will be.”

  Astin knew he’d lost his guitar for at least a week.

  “Aid friends.”

  -Delphic Maxim

  iv.

  His broad shoulders collapsed with every breath

  as he lay on the floor, his shackles like ice.

  Bound at the wrists and ankles, he fought his binds,

  growing ever tired.

  Each attempt to break free only weakened him.

  The battle above was being lost without his might.

  The clever enemy played their hand too well

  and struck at strength first.

  The greatest warrior had been locked away.

  For a year the conquest had been too easy.

  He dragged himself to his feet, his head kept down.

  The cell was too low.

  A normal man might have been able to stand

  but he was nearly seven feet tall and broad.

  He slammed against the walls, shouting to be heard.

  The shackles fought back.

  They threw him in the opposite direction,

  Their bewitched strength stolen from his own display.

  He hit the cold stone floor and crumpled, shaking,

  lost beneath the earth.

  He could feel the fight a
bove through miles of dirt.

  He stared at the slick molding walls in the dark.

  Water ran in beads down their red clay surface.

  Then he heard footsteps.

  At first he couldn’t identify the sound.

  The patter was too fast to be a man’s pace.

  Feet skidded to a halt outside the jail cell.

  And then his friend crouched.

  The ceiling lifted, letting torch-light pour in.

  It filled the blackness and the warrior saw.

  A familiar, bright smile looked down upon him,

  here to set him free.

  “Anger begins in folly, and ends in repentance.”

  -Pythagoras

  IV.

  Haley Livingstone was singing a song from her favorite Disney Channel show when the Sunday morning news came on. She was sitting in her pink penguin pajamas, eating a bowl of Cheerios, off in her own world as her father tried to convince James to eat his breakfast. Scott sat quietly absorbing the whole scene as his twin turned his head away just as the spoon reached his mouth and giggled. Toddlers.

  Jason had the television on in the background, trying to keep a handle on what was going on in the world. The news announcer started the broadcast with the latest political sex scandal and moved on to which celebrity had supposedly attacked what paparazzi on a Malibu beach. By the time they had gotten to the real news, James had already grown bored with his game and was hungry enough to eat. Jason was fixing his own breakfast.

  “Tragedy struck Miami Dade County early Saturday morning when the body of a Miami High School football player was discovered. The body was found in the state forest on the outskirts of Olympia Heights. Police arrived on the scene to bust up a teen party where alcohol was reportedly involved and got a lot more than they bargained for. Manuel López-Famosa is at the scene.”

  Jason paused in scrambling three eggs to look at the screen. They were showing a yearbook photo of the boy found the night before. The reporter talked about how he played tailback for the Miami West Titans and participated in the Boy Scouts of America program. It was always shocking when someone young died, but for Jason it made the noise of the kitchen fade out for a moment. He worked with kids that boy’s age every day. He had children of his own. He had experienced death close to him. To see a picture of a teenager with his life ahead of him and hear that he had been lit on fire, it made him feel sick.

  “Daddy,” Haley said without paying any attention to the news, “Sarah got a digital camera for her birthday. It’s pink.”

  “Oh yeah?” he replied, turning away from the television. “Did she take a lot of pictures at the sleepover?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said with an enthusiastic nod. “Can I get one for my birthday?”

  “That’s not for a long time. How about you tell me what you want closer to it, in case you change your mind.” Just like that, Jason was back in the present. His children never let him stay lost for too long.

  Monday morning, to the students of Olympia Heights, it was more like an urban legend than a tragedy. Jason heard the whispers of it in the halls and even in the teacher’s lounge. Jason didn’t repeat any of it, though, because he knew how rumors spread in a high school and he didn’t want to help propel false information through the atmosphere.

  He even heard, though he doubted it was true because it seemed a bit too grotesque, that the charred and oozing body had fallen on Diana Hill as she was running from the police.

  At lunch Jason, realizing he’d left his brown bag at home on the counter to spoil once again, ventured into the cafeteria for the bold adventure that was cafeteria food. Some days it was chicken patties and he could throw enough ketchup on the patty to make it passable. Some days it was what was supposed to be American Chop Suey but was really just kind of gross and dry. Today Jason hit the jackpot; it was turkey with gravy on potatoes and peas. It was hard to mess up peas.

  Jason came out of the lunch line with a spring in his step. He crossed the cafeteria for the south door, planning to head to the lounge to eat instead of his office so the food might still be warm, when alarms sounded in his head.

  Frank Guerrero, the football team’s center, was a transfer from Miami West. He’d been on the team in previous years with Tim Heckley, the victim. Frank wasn’t sitting with the football team today. He’d chosen a table beside them and Jason could see murder in his eyes as he stared at the wall ahead and listened to the conversation behind him.

  Jason slowed, letting some giggly girls pass him as he surveyed the situation. Danny Levski, a notorious loudmouth who played second-string free safety, was on the hot topic of the day: the crispy body in the woods.

  “We should find out who did it,” he said as loud as he could so that others might hear him and think him a wit. “Ask him to take care of the rest of the Titans for us.”

  Frank slammed his hand on the table and got up. For someone almost seven-feet-tall, he moved quickly. His dark features combined with his size and stare to make him look more myth than man. It was mere seconds before he had Levski by the collar and was lifting him up off the ground.

  Danny Levski wasn’t smart enough to shut his mouth, though. It was common knowledge that Frank had moved to Olympia Heights after a hush-hush trial, though the rumors of what had happened didn’t even brush upon the actual tragedy. Frank’s father had been an abusive drunk and slapped Frank and his mother around most of his life. One night last spring he had beaten Mrs. Guerrero within an inch of her life and was prepared to keep going. Frank had only struck his father once, but Mr. Guerrero died in the hospital hours later. Frank was let off on a defense of others plea. The judge had sympathy for the battered remains of a broken home. Frank spent the summer helping his mother recover. In July they moved back to Olympia Heights, where he was born, to live with Mrs. Guerrero’s sister. The school staff had been briefed but most students didn’t know the exact story. It was still whispered in the halls that he’d killed a guy. And Danny Levsky had to go waving the flag at the raging bull.

  “Oh come on, Frank, you’re Thunder now,” he said, trying to swing his feet to scrape the ground. “You don’t have to keep bleeding crimson and black.”

  “You think this is about football?” Frank growled. Jason was setting his tray down. He wasn’t moving too quickly, though. He wanted to let Levski sweat for a moment.

  “Lighten up, sulking around isn’t gonna un-charify the guy. He was a total douche anyway. Let it go man, it’s no big deal.

  Frank’s self-control snapped. He slammed Levski down on the lunch table, knocking trays aside and spilling milk. Jason dashed to Frank’s side. The only other person who hadn’t backed away from the table was Zach Jacobs.

  “Frank,” Jason said, “let him go.”

  “I know you’re pissed,” Zach jumped in. He put his hand on Frank’s shoulder, trying to be like a coach, a big brother, anything to connect with him. Frank grabbed Zach’s wrist. He didn’t want to be touched.

  “Frank!” Jason said, breaking through the chatter. Frank let go of Zach’s arm and pushed Levksi down into the table once more for good measure before letting him go.

  Zach rubbed his wrist.

  “Mr. Guerrero,” Jason said calmly. “Get your books, follow me.”

  The gathering crowd of spectators didn’t even have the courage to erupt into an anonymous “Ooh” as Frank followed Jason out of the cafeteria.

  Frank and Jason were both silent until Jason set his tray down on his desk. It was probably cold by now. Frank stood in the doorway.

  “You lifted that kid like he was made out of paper.”

  Frank just grunted in reply.

  “Were you friends with Heckley?”

  “Kind of,” Frank said.

  Jason stared at him for a moment. It was hard to converse with someone when they gave you only two words. “Listen,” Jason said, pausing to assess his tactics. “I’m not going to write you up, so relax. But you’ve got to learn to ignore idiots like th
at. Okay? Your temper’s gonna get you in a lot of trouble.”

  Frank grunted again.

  “And nobody here will forgive you if you break the quarterback’s wrist.”

  Frank smiled just a little at that. Success.

  “Do you need to go home sick?”

  Frank shook his head, “No sir.”

  “Alright then. Bell’s gonna ring in ten minutes. What you do until then, I don’t care.”

  Frank nodded and looked back at Jason before walking out of the office. Jason picked up his plastic fork and focused on his cold potatoes.

  Leaving the office, Frank passed Zach at the junior hall lockers. “Sorry,” he grunted.

  Zach didn’t turn around. Frank wasn’t sure if he was being ignored so he said it again. “Sorry.”

  Zach looked up and nodded. “Yeah, okay. Fine.” His arm was in his locker and he was hiding something from Frank’s view. Frank leaned around Zach’s body and saw that what he was hiding was his hand. The wrist Frank had grabbed was already swollen and red, but the attached hand was the far more alarming sight. Zach’s fingers were clenched into a fist, but even so, Frank could see that they were sparking like a broken transformer.

  Zach and Frank made eye contact for a long time. Finally the sparks stopped and Zach shoved his hand into his pocket. Frank swallowed. “So you were the lightning, huh?” he whispered.

  Zach slammed his locker shut. “This conversation is over.” He walked quickly down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

  Frank watched him retreat and then headed to the bathroom to wash his face before the bell rang.

  “Gratitude is the sign of noble souls.”

  -Aesop

  v.