Chapter 4: Ghosts of High School

I was still lost in thought when the door opened. An officer called, "Sam Whitaker, let’s go."

I followed him down the hall to the office. Detective Ellery was waiting.

He was nursing a mug of coffee, dark circles heavy under his eyes. "We looked at the school’s cameras, but you were in a blind spot. We couldn’t spot you."

My throat closed up. Ellery caught the panic in my eyes. "But one of my guys found a small convenience store across the street. We pulled the video. We saw you there, holding a black laptop bag. It’s a forty-minute walk from your house, so you couldn’t have been at the crime scene."

I let out a shaky breath. Ellery gave me a tired half-smile. "You caught a break."

"A break? I was innocent! And what about that knife? Why say it’s covered with my prints? I don’t even remember seeing that knife at home. Detective Ellery, I’ve got a college degree—do you really think I’d be dumb enough to leave the murder weapon behind?"

Ellery looked a little embarrassed. "We’ve got questions too. There’s a lot we still don’t know. You’ve been through enough—go home for now. If you remember anything, call me. We’ll keep working the case." He paused. "Oh, and the door got busted in yesterday. You’ll want to get those locks changed."

"Can I see my dad?"

Ellery hesitated. "Better wait a few days. The medical examiner isn’t done yet. It’s not a good time for family."

Another wave of pain crashed over me.

"Detective Ellery..."

"Yeah?"

"Can I see that blood test report again?"

"Sure. Hang on." He nodded to the officer next to me, who stepped out to grab it.

"Sam, the main thing was to check if the blood at the scene was all the victim’s. As for what else we found... that was just a side effect. Don’t let it weigh on you. Raising a kid matters more than biology."

---

The house was cold and silent, the air heavy with the stale scent of old coffee and grief. Police tape still fluttered in the doorway, and evidence markers dotted the living room. I sat beside the couch, gently tracing the outline where Dad had lain, as if I could reach across time and touch him once more.

The ticking of the old wall clock was the only sound. I could almost hear Dad’s voice, low and steady, telling me to keep my chin up. The house felt emptier than ever.

In Dad’s room, a photo of him in his Marine dress blues hung on the wall, standing proud on a windswept field. There were medals and certificates, mapping out the course of his life. My mom’s photo was in the center. This wall held all his memories—now just echoes.

Opening his dresser, I found only his clothes.

The scent of aftershave and old leather drifted up. I found his favorite flannel shirt, still folded, and a pack of wintergreen gum he kept in the top drawer.

My eyes fell on an old leather-bound notebook. I’d seen him scribble in it, but he never let me read it. Maybe it was for bills or his will?

I opened it gently. His handwriting filled the pages—a diary, full of memories and longing. He only wrote when something big happened.

I skimmed through.

November 9, 1995

Supposed to be bittersweet, but turned out to be pure joy. At dinner, Linda seemed off. When I asked, she blushed and said she might be pregnant. I was so happy I spun her around. City council’s restructuring is in full swing, but I dodged a transfer and got assigned as Director Evans’ full-time driver. All the other drivers are jealous. Sometimes good things really do happen to good people. Life’s looking up.

That was when Dad found out Mom was pregnant. Linda was her name.

Suddenly, I shivered. The blood test from Ellery said I couldn’t be Dad’s biological son. The child in the diary—was that me? If not, then who was I?

Both parents type B, but I’m AB. That means my mom had a child with someone else, and Dad raised me as his own, never knowing.