The Tragedy of Eden's Gate

12 - Three Decades Too Late

Ryan's hard gaze drops to me. "Hello, again," he greets gruffly.

I shrink a little against his close attention and check behind his shoulder for any other friends. Thankfully, he seems to be on his own. Sorting out the problem, just like Angela told him to.

And I am the problem.

Fucking shit.

"Dad told me where you lived," he says, letting his eyes sweep over the place. Nostalgia tinged with agony lights behind his eyes; a crackling flame. "Christ, it's weird being back here."

Thanks a lot, Cliff. You've led a murderer to my door.

Sam, bless him, crowds in front of me. Putting an incorporeal barricade between me and Ryan.

"Don't you dare," he seethes.

Ryan — who cannot see or hear this show of courage — gazes at me through the smudge of Sam's presence, features tight with discomfort.

"I, uh... I know you heard us, back there. Can we talk?"

I shake my head— a barely perceptible jerk. "No."

Something cracks behind his gaze, and he raises his empty hands as though I hold all the cards and he's the one caught off-guard. Despite myself, I flinch a little anyway, and he notices.

"Kid, whatever you're thinking— I'm not gonna hurt you."

Sam makes a strangled noise of disbelief. "Yeah, right. Theo, tell him to get lost."

"I just want to talk," Ryan tries once more.

I can work this to my favour, I think. I hope.

Hesitantly, I step aside to let him in. Get him to talk, get him to confess, and get him out again. Easy enough.

"Theo!" Sam gripes, turning to give me a lost look leaden with the sort of heavy understanding that can only mean 'this guy is a bit of an idiot'.

"There is no article, is there?" Ryan asks as he wanders inside and closes the door after him, studying the staircase. Something flickers behind his eyes and, with an effort, he drags his focus to me.

I feel small and helpless, caught beneath his piercing gaze. At my side, Sam bristles— but that might have something to do with the fact that Ryan had to just walk through him. I imagine that can't be very pleasant, and he looks as though someone has shaken his brain about.

"I've looked. There's just the article when it happened and the anniversary a few years back. And neither of them mention me or the others— they both say he was there with friends and stayed late. How do you know about us? And why are you digging?"

"I just— I asked your dad," I managed, backing up a little to put some space between us. My thoughts are ablaze; caught between the desire for answers and the horror that this is the man who shoved Sam down the stairs and left him to die.

I owe it to Sam to figure this mess out, so I try my best to square my shoulders and put on a brave face.

Ryan shakes his head. "My dad knows how much it broke us. He wouldn't help you speculate. He likes to pretend we weren't even there— that it happened to other kids."

The words, coaxed out by fury and helplessness, come spilling. "I think what happened broke Sam a little bit more than you and your shitty friends. What, with the fact his head's caved in and he had to die alone while you ran."

Sam hums in agreement— a stern little 'uh-huh' as he crosses his arms that has me biting back a smile in the midst of this chaos.

Ryan goes still. The curtains close behind his eyes, and his features twist with something close to agony. "How do you know that?" he asks softly.