“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t expect to get much sleep.”
“Don’t beat yourself up. You messed up. We all do.”
“Even you,” I said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah,” Myron said. “I messed up. I thought I was helping your dad all those years ago. It ends up, I made him run away. And, yeah, I know that if I hadn’t done that, he’d be alive right now. I live with that ghost every day. And your father isn’t my only ghost. There are a lot more who won’t let me go.”
“Myron?”
“Yeah?”
“How do you live with that?”
“With what, the ghosts?”
“Yeah. How do you live with them?”
“You don’t have much choice. What else are you going to do?”
“That’s it?” I frowned. “That’s your answer.”
“Mostly, yeah. And I try to remember that the mistakes I made were just that. Mistakes. I never meant to hurt anyone. Sometimes you try to do right but wrong still seems to find you. I remind myself of that. And I also remember that it’s not the battle, it’s the war.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning in the end, I’ve done more good than evil. I’ve saved more than I’ve harmed. You are a sum of your life, not just one part.”
I nodded. He started to walk away. “Myron?”
“What?”
“Dad wouldn’t want you to blame himself,” I said.
“I know,” Myron replied. “And that just makes it harder.”
Chapter 46
I didn’t sleep. But in a little while, none of that would matter.
In fact, what Troy Taylor had done to me wouldn’t matter either.
As I grew more tired, delirium started to set in. I saw Troy’s mocking grin. Then I saw Luther’s mocking grin. Sometimes the smiles were superimposed on top of each other. Sometimes one face slowly transformed into the other.
Luther and Troy. My enemies. My Butchers.
At 6:00 A.M., still lying on my back, I heard the phone ring. Early, I thought.
A few minutes later, I heard the basement door open. Uncle Myron trudged down the stairs slowly. I sat up when I saw his face. It looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach.
“Who was on the phone?” I asked.
“Buck’s father.”
“What happened?”
Uncle Myron swallowed hard. “Buck.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dead.”
Chapter 47
Speed was of the essence, so I asked Myron to drive me to Ema’s house.
“Was Ema close to Buck?” Myron asked.
He saw the look on my face, nodded, and grabbed his keys. We sprinted to the car. He gave me details, though it all came to me through a haze. Buck’s body was found buried in the woods not far from his father’s gym. The news hadn’t been released to the media yet. Myron had been called in his “professional capacity.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.
We reached the front gate. There were two lion heads on either side. Uncle Myron had already called Angelica Wyatt, Ema’s mom, so the gate was open. We drove through and up the long hill toward the estate.
“The cause of death is still unknown,” Uncle Myron said.
“But he was murdered, right?”
“I don’t think so.”
In front of us, the huge baronial mansion started to come into view.
“Wait, you said someone buried him in the woods.”
“Yes.”
“So how could it not be murder?” I asked.
He didn’t reply. Or maybe I didn’t wait long enough for the answer. We’d arrived. I said, “Stay here,” and hopped out of the car. Before I knocked on the door, Angelica Wyatt opened it. I hesitated for a moment. It is odd what star power does to a person. I had only met her in person a couple of times, so seeing her in the flesh, after so many years on the screen, still felt surreal.
Angelica Wyatt crossed her arms and blocked the door. “What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to Ema.”
“What happened with you two?”
“Nothing. If I could just—”
“She’s been crying since she got home.”
That slowed me down a second. “She’s been crying?”
“All night. She won’t say a word to me or Niles. She just”—Angelica Wyatt started welling up too—“cries.”
“Does she know . . . ?”
“Know what?”
“Please, I just need to talk to her. Where is she?”
“The basement.”
I didn’t hesitate now. I knew the way. I ran past her, nearly slipping on the Italian marble floor. I ran toward the kitchen, veered right, found the basement door. I didn’t bother knocking. I opened it and started down the stairs.
“Ema?”
The room was dark. There were faint lights above the Angelica Wyatt movie posters. I couldn’t see much with it. But I could hear the cries.
Ema was sitting on a beanbag chair. I started toward her, but she put her hand up. “Don’t.” She looked up and met my eye. The tears were still on her face. She didn’t bother to wipe them away. Gone was the heavy makeup, the black lipstick, the temporary tattoos. Ema looked so young right now. She looked young and vulnerable and really, in a way I don’t think I ever fully noticed before, pretty.
“I need to tell you something,” I said.
“Go ahead. Tell me from there.”
I took a deep breath. I had never delivered devastating news like this. I wasn’t sure of the protocol, but the fact that she was already sobbing made me rush it. “It’s Buck,” I said. “He’s dead.”
I wasn’t sure what I expected. I figured that she’d start sobbing again. But that wasn’t what happened. Instead she stood and said, “Thanks for letting me know.”
I waited.
“That’s it?”
She didn’t reply.
“You’ve been crying,” I said.
There was something close to anger in her tone. “You’re so perceptive, Mickey.”
“Why have you been crying?”
Again she didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. The answer was obvious.
“You knew already,” I said. “But how? They just found his body. The media . . .” And then I saw it. “My God. That’s what Buck’s mother told you, didn’t she?”