See No Evil Read online

  See No Evil

  Diane Young

  orca currents

  Copyright © Diane Young 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Young Diane

  See No Evil / Diane Young.

  (Orca currents)

  ISBN 1-55143-664-7 (bound) ISBN 1-55143-619-1 (pbk.)

  I. Title. II Series.

  PS8647.093S44 2006 jC813’.6 C2006-903442-7

  Summary: Shawn and Daniel witness a gang beating behind the local mall.

  First published in the United States, 2006

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2006928968

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design: Lynne O’Rourke

  Cover photography: FotoSearch

  Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Station B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada

  09 08 07 06 • 4 3 2 1

  For Michael and Kate

  chapter one

  “All right. You can go. I would appreciate it, however, if you boys would make an effort to arrive on time in the future. Just once I would like to get through the first fifteen minutes of class without being interrupted by you two.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I mumble. As I get up from my desk, I can see Daniel making faces at me. He’s crossing his eyes, letting his mouth droop open like he’s a mental case.

  “What’s her problem?” he says as soon as Ms. Wolischuk leaves the room.

  I just shrug and heave my knapsack over my shoulder. I can’t wait to escape. We’ve been in detention for a whole hour just for being a few minutes late this morning.

  “So, I didn’t tell you,” Daniel says as we trudge down the hall. “I went to Travis’s party on Saturday night.” Travis is a guy in our homeroom.

  “Oh, yeah. Was it good?”

  “Yeah, not bad. That new girl was there. You know which one I mean?”

  I shake my head.

  “Maya. You know who I’m talking about. She has long black hair.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say casually. “So what’s she like?”

  “Cool,” Daniel says. “I think she likes you.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why do you say that?” I ask. The truth is, I’m thrilled.

  “Well, she asked me a million questions about you.”

  A million questions? Wow. “She’s okay,” I tell him.

  “Okay?” Daniel bumps my shoulder. “Okay? Get out of here, man! She’s hot, and you know it!”

  He’s laughing, and I can’t help grinning a bit too as we head outside. It’s only five o’clock, but it’s already dark. We cut across the yard toward the street, crunching leaves underfoot. I notice there is new graffiti scrawled over the school wall. It reappears just as fast as the janitors can clean it off. Gangs marking their territory.

  When we get to the corner, the bus has just left. We could wait for another, but we decide to walk. Ignoring the red light, we cut across the road, dodging traffic.

  Some storefronts are boarded up on this side of the street. Others have iron bars on the windows. After ten minutes or so, Daniel and I are nearly at the mall.

  It’s a busy place, even on a Monday. Cars are pulling in and out of the parking lot, and people are streaming through the front doors. Daniel and I aren’t headed inside, though. We’re strolling toward the service lane, behind the mall. If we hop over the fence, it’s a quick shortcut to my apartment building and Daniel’s house. We take this route home all the time.

  On the fence, someone has scrawled a message in spray paint: See No Evil. It’s good advice. As soon as we turn the corner, I know we’ve made a mistake. I hear someone swearing, then a thud and a groan. Daniel freezes, and so do I.

  Down the lane, about thirty feet away, three guys are kicking someone who is curled up on the ground. One of them has an object in his hand, maybe a lead pipe. Is there a pool of something dark on the pavement, oozing around the person’s head? I can’t be sure. One of the lights in the lane is out, and it’s hard to see. I’m paralyzed. I’ve stopped breathing.

  Two of the figures are tall. The other one is short, but he seems to be in charge. I can’t see their faces. They’re all in black so they blend into the shadows.

  I just stand there, listening to the blood pounding in my head. I’m aware of Daniel beside me, can almost hear him breathing. We’re dead quiet, but the gang must sense us. The short one has been crouching, looking at the person on the ground. Now he straightens up, turns in our direction. In a low voice, he says something I can’t hear. For a second, he steps into the light, and I catch a glimpse of his face. It’s angular and bony. Skull-like. I know who it belongs to. His name is Damien Sykes. Lots of people know him. I just pray he doesn’t know me.

  He’s seen us. “Hey! You!” he shouts. Somehow his words break the spell, and we can move. Beside me, Daniel has finally found his feet. He slams into me as he wheels around and takes off in the same direction we’ve come from. I am right behind him. And then I’m ahead of him, because I’m taller and my legs are longer. And we’re pounding back toward the parking lot, dodging honking cars and gasping for air.

  “Run!” Daniel shouts as he catches up to me. I grab the handle of the door leading into the mall and yank it open, practically knocking down an old woman in the process.

  “Hooligans!” she shouts after me, but I don’t have time to stop. I am hurtling down the mall’s main aisle, while shoppers either curse or stop and stare. I streak past the smaller shops toward the big discount store at the far end.

  “Good evening!” the greeter says as I sprint through the doors. “Slow down, please,” he calls after me.

  But I don’t slow down. Not until I am at the far end of the store, as far as I can get from danger and still stay indoors. I am walking up and down the men’s underwear aisle, staring at packages of boxer shorts and sports socks. My heart is pounding while I try to drag air into my lungs.

  Where’s Daniel, I wonder. Did he follow me into the mall? The last thing I remember, he was telling me to run. I lost track of him after that. Could he still be outside? Did they catch him? I don’t even want to think about it.

  My lungs are begging for air. I bend over and try to catch my breath.

  “You all right?” a middle-aged clerk asks me. “You need some help?”

  “Ah, no. I’m fine,” I gasp.

  She nods, but doesn’t look like she believes me. She retreats a few paces, keeping me in sight.

  I pretend to be checking out men’s underwear, but my mind is really back outside. I am remembering what I saw. The sales clerk must think I’m desperate to steal some socks because she’s still watching me. I have finally calmed down a little, and I’m trying to decide what I should do next. That’s when I hear the sirens outside. Someone must have called the police or an ambulance. The sales clerk forgets about me and wanders off to the window.

  I choose that moment to turn around and head toward the exit. I push through the mall doors, and the cold air hits me like a slap. At the far end of the complex, I see an ambula
nce and a fire truck with their lights flashing. Heading in the opposite direction, I set off at a run, and I don’t stop until I’ve reached home.

  chapter two

  “Where have you been?” Ethan asks in a whiny voice as soon as I step inside the apartment. “You were supposed to be home by four-thirty.”

  I kick off my shoes, adding them to the pile in the front hall. In the living room, my brother is sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, eating peanut butter out of the jar. He’s dropped his knapsack beside him, but he’s still wearing his winter jacket. “Don’t bug me,” I say in a warning voice. I don’t need attitude from a nine-year-old. Not right now.

  “I’m going to tell Dad,” he says. “You’re supposed to come straight home and make me dinner.” His brown eyes are big and glassy. I bet he’s been watching TV for two hours straight.

  “So I’ll make dinner,” I say, walking over to him. “Stop doing that. It’s disgusting.” I snatch the jar out of his hand and take it into the kitchen.

  “But I’m hungry,” he calls after me. A second later, he’s glued to his program again.

  In the kitchen, I put the peanut butter back in the cupboard. The room looks like the morning after a big party. The trashcan is overflowing; the sink is full of dishes. Ethan has added his own touches to the mess. He’s spilled milk on the floor and upended a box of corn flakes all over the counter. Normally, I’d chew him out, but I’m not up to it right now. I’m thinking about what I just saw at the mall. You better concentrate, I tell myself. Just put it right out of your mind. I start cleaning up at top speed, sweeping the cereal back into the box and mopping up the milk.

  I’ve got to feed Ethan quickly, I decide. Then convince him to shut up and not tell Dad I was late today. Dad gives me twenty-five dollars a week for looking after Ethan. I don’t want to lose it. More important, I don’t want any questions about why I was late. I open the fridge to see if there’s anything for supper, but it’s looking pretty empty. Let’s hope there’s macaroni and cheese, at least. I’m in luck. There’s one box left in the cupboard.

  I drum my fingers on the counter as I wait for the water to boil. My mind is darting around from one thing to another. What happened to the guy behind the mall? Was he badly hurt? I wonder suddenly if there is anything about it on the news.

  “Hey, Ethan. Let me watch the TV for a second.”

  “That’s not fair,” he wails. “I’m watching my show.”

  “Brat,” I mutter under my breath. He was never like this when Mom was around.

  “Com’on, Ethan,” I say, trying to convince him. “I won’t be long.”

  “No!” he says, holding the channel changer behind his back. “I’m going to tell Dad you were late.”

  “Fine. You tell him I was late, and I’ll tell him who broke the lamp.” He doesn’t say anything, but his forehead is all scrunched up like he’s going to throw a tantrum—or cry. “Okay, forget it,” I say, exasperated. I’ll watch the news later.

  In another ten minutes, the macaroni is finally ready. I heap it onto a plate and then hand it to him. He looks away from the screen for long enough to take the dish.

  In the kitchen, I peer down at the shiny, orange mass left in the bottom of the pot. I’ve got a funny, clenching feeling in the pit of my stomach. I can tell that eating anything right now would be a bad idea. Instead I pick up the phone and dial Daniel’s number. I really need to talk to him. But the phone rings four times, and then the answering machine kicks in. I leave him a message and then hang up.

  A second later, I hear Dad’s key in the lock.

  “Why are all these shoes in the hall?” he asks as he walks in. He must be in a bad mood. Normally he doesn’t notice how messy our apartment is.

  I apologize. I don’t want any arguments tonight. “I didn’t expect you home so early,” I tell him.

  He walks into the kitchen, look s at the dishes in the sink. “Yeah, well, Riba cancelled. She had to work late.” His face looks gray and tired under the kitchen lights.

  He wanders into the living room, walks over to Ethan and ruffles his hair. “How you doing, kid?”

  Ethan just nods, barely glances up at him.

  “Ethan, how long have you been watching television?” Dad wants to know, but my brother doesn’t answer.

  “Right,” Dad says. “That’s enough. Take that plate to the table. We’re turning this thing off.” And he does.

  For a second, Ethan sits there, blinking. I can tell he’s about to complain, then he looks up into Dad’s face and seems to change his mind. He lets Dad lead him to the table.

  “How’s school?” Dad asks me.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I lie. I don’t know why I say that, I just do. “I’ve got a lot of homework,” I tell him. “I’m going to my room.”

  He’s looking at his mail and just nods, without paying much attention to what I’m saying.

  I head into the bedroom I share with Ethan, close the door, and stretch out on my bed.

  Hours later, I’m still awake. The glowing numbers on the clock tell me it’s two in the morning. The room is dark and shadowy, but if I try, I can make out Ethan’s shape on the bed opposite me.

  I must have slept a little, but it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’ve been awake all night, watching the same loop of film over and over in my mind: Daniel and I turning the corner into the lane, three figures kicking someone who is on the ground, Damien looking up at me. Sometimes I think the guy on the ground is okay. I’m pretty sure I saw him move. At other times, I’m not so sure. Maybe he died. Maybe he’s lying in the hospital right now, fighting for his life.

  If he died, would that make us accessories to the crime? That phrase worries me. I’ve heard it before, but I’m not really sure what it means. I think it has something to do with witnessing a crime, but not doing anything about it. Not informing the police.

  Is it too late to call them now? Maybe not. I could get up and sneak out to the kitchen and use the phone. But Dad might hear me. Besides, what would be the point? I heard the ambulance and the fire truck at the mall. The guy must be in a hospital now. The police must know what happened. Maybe they’ve already picked up Damien and the other guys.

  Every time I close my eyes, Damien’s face floats in front of me. It’s a strange face, thin and bony. Could he see me clearly, I wonder. Maybe not. There was a light out in the lane, and it was dark where we were standing. But if he did see me, did he recognize me? Does he know who I am?

  I don’t think so, although he could probably find out. He used to go to my high school, but all I really know about him is what people say. Someone told me he was in a gang. I also heard he got expelled for beating up another student. I never knew whether to believe those things or not, but I always avoided him when I could.

  In the bed across from me, Ethan turns over, kicks off the blankets, and mutters something. Is he waking up? I would really like to have someone to talk to, even my kid brother, but no, he’s still fast asleep. I tried to reach Daniel three times last night before I finally gave up and stopped leaving messages. So now I don’t even know for sure if he made it home safely. Suppose Damien caught him?

  I worry about Daniel for a while, but I fall asleep eventually. The next thing I know, my father is telling me to get up, it’s seven-thirty.

  “Dad,” I call out.

  He comes back, stands in the bedroom door, a tall man in jeans and a flannel shirt, holding a cup of coffee. “What is it, Shawn?”

  “I’m not feeling well,” I tell him. I’m not really lying. I do feel sick. “I have a stomach ache. It kept me up last night.”

  Dad frowns. “That’s too bad. Do you need to stay home?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re not trying to skip a test?” he asks.

  “No. I just don’t feel well.”

  I’m in luck. Usually I have to be dying before Dad will let me take a day off school, but he seems to have other things on his mind. “Okay,”
he says. “Stay put. But Ethan, you need to get moving.”

  “I’m feeling sick, too!” my brother calls from under the blankets.

  “Nice try,” Dad says, heading back to the kitchen. “If you hurry up, Ethan, I’ll give you a lift in the truck.”

  My brother finally sits up in bed, rubs his eyes. After a few seconds, he stands up and shuffles off to the bathroom. As he passes by, he looks down at me in bed. “I know you’re faking,” he says.

  I stick my tongue out at him.

  Half an hour later, they’re gone, and I have the apartment to myself.

  chapter three

  By the time I arrive at school on Wednesday morning, I feel like I’ve dragged myself through heavy glue. I tried to talk Dad into letting me stay home again, but today he wasn’t buying it. Now I really do feel sick. Of course that could just be the result of not sleeping well for two nights. I stayed inside all day yesterday, playing the guitar and watching TV. I kept thinking I’d see something about the attack on the news, but there was nothing. Sometimes I could almost believe it didn’t happen.

  Standing in front of my locker, I spin my combination, but the door is stuck. At first I can’t get it open, then the moment I do, stuff starts sliding out like an avalanche making its way down a mountain—books, binders, papers, a nd eventually my basketball. I just stand there like a zombie as it bounces down the corridor.

  “Hi, Shawn,” a voice says from behind me. I turn around. It’s Maya. She gives me a little wave. I get a quick flash of her long, shiny black hair and wide smile before she disappears into our homeroom. It’s obvious she’s seen everything. Well, that figures. My timing has always been great.

  Travis, whose locker is next to mine, dribbles the basketball back in my direction.

  He’s short and nerdy, no athlete. “So, where were you yesterday?” he asks. “Trying to skip the chemistry test?”

  Oh, God. I forgot. After Monday night, it wasn’t exactly at the top of my mind.

  “Forgot,” I admit. “What was it on?”