22. Kennedy
Kennedy
The sun had been up for hours now, but it hadn’t done anything to chase away the chill from last night.
I hadn’t really slept. Not with the Carver’s email still pulsing like static in the back of my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, I pictured him watching me read it with a sinister smirk on his face; a face that I still couldn’t quite glimpse, even in the depths of my imagination.
Even though I’d replied immediately, demanding answers again, he hadn't written back. On the bright side, he hadn't delivered any more packages with body parts to my house either, which meant he probably hadn't killed anyone else yet.
That made me wonder if Jacob really was responsible for it all, because he obviously couldn't sneak off to kill anyone while he was under strict surveillance.
But that brought the same old questions back.
Where was he keeping my father and Brian?
How long could they last until the police finally found them?
I stared at my phone for a long moment before I finally tapped on Dec’s name. He answered my call on the first ring.
“Kenny! This is so weird. I was just about to call you!” he said.
“Oh.” My brows rose. “How come?”
“I heard through the grapevine that the cops declared a person of interest. Figured you’d know more details about it. Is it true?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah, it is.”
He exhaled deeply. “Thank god,” he said. “Whoever he is, it’s gotta be him, right? I mean, cops don’t declare something like that and put someone under surveillance for no reason.”
I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “I’m really not sure,” I said. “I guess we’ll find out soon. At least I hope we do.”
“I really think it’s him,” he insisted. “I mean, just think about it. It’s been two days since that last package was dropped off at your house, right?
And everyone thought the guy was escalating.
So by that logic, he should’ve killed again by now.
But nothing’s happened. So it makes sense that it’s him, because he’s been forced to stop all his shit because of the surveillance. ”
“Yeah, that could be it.”
Dec sighed. “I just hope they find your dad and that other guy in time.”
“Me too,” I said softly. “On that note… that’s actually why I called you.”
“Yeah?”
I hesitated for a second, wondering exactly how much to tell him.
“Long story, but Freya and I had to scrap our most recent episode, so we need to hurry up and record something else,” I finally said.
Now that Jacob was a person of interest in the Carver case, the episode we’d recorded with him felt tainted.
Every word, every theory about the profile…
what if he’d shaped them on purpose to throw everyone off his scent?
Nudged us toward seeing the killer in a totally different light so that we’d never suspect him?
We couldn’t risk it, so we agreed: it had to go.
“Anyway, we’ve decided to do an episode that really focuses on my dad and Brian Delgado,” I hurriedly went on.
“It’ll be a direct appeal to remind people that they’re still out there and still alive, hopefully.
If someone out there saw something and didn’t realize that it mattered at the time… well, maybe this will jog something.”
“Hold on, didn’t you already do an episode about your dad?” Dec asked.
“Yeah, the one about the night he was taken. That episode was the one that got the most shares, and most of the comments said the same thing: they really felt connected to the case because of the emotional side of it. So Freya and I are leaning into that.”
“And hoping it goes super-viral again,” he said, picking up on our logic immediately.
“Because every new listener is another shot at a useful tip, and you’re really on a timer now that we know Brian and your dad are still out there somewhere.”
“Exactly.” I hesitated. “But… I’ve realized that I only ever saw my dad through my twelve-year-old kid lens. There’s so much I don’t know about who he was outside of being my parent. So I’m going to the house today to go through the boxes Mom packed up after he disappeared. See what I can find.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. Old letters, maybe. Or lectures he gave to surgical interns. Maybe some books or journals,” I said. “Anything that could help me paint a fuller picture of him as a person. Something we can use in the episode to make him feel real again.”
“Ah. Got it. So how can I help?”
“Well, half the boxes are stacked on high shelves in the spare room, and I can’t reach them. So I figured I’d call the neighbor with suspiciously long, strong limbs to lend a hand.”
Dec let out a dramatic sigh. “Women only want me for my big, muscular body,” he said in a wounded tone. “It’s tragic, really.”
I cracked a smile. “So… are you free?”
“Of course. I’ll head over now and start pulling boxes down.”
“I’ll be there in twenty.” I paused. “Thanks, Dec.”
“Always, Kenny.”
I arrived twenty minutes later to find Dec in the spare room, halfway up a stepladder, balancing one of the heavier boxes against his chest.
“Hey,” I called out as I stepped inside.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Perfect timing. I was just about to drop this on my face.”
I smiled faintly. He’d already hauled most of the boxes off the high shelves, stacking them in several neat towers on the carpet. Each one was labeled in my mother’s neat block handwriting: CLOTHES, AWARDS, NOTES, BOOKS, MISC.
Dec carefully lowered the box onto the floor beside the others and stepped down. Then he stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene like he was preparing for battle.
“There’s a lot here,” he said, nudging one box with the edge of his shoe. “It’s going to take us hours to get through.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “Mom never wanted to get rid of anything. She said it’d feel like a betrayal.”
“I get it. Want to start with the books?”
I nodded as I sat down on the floor. “Let’s do it.”
I opened the flaps of a box marked ‘BOOKS’ and began pulling them out one by one, checking the inside covers automatically.
“Hey,” I said after a beat, glancing up at Dec. “I know you lived with your mom for most of your childhood, but you moved in next door with your dad when you were around seventeen or eighteen, right? Or am I remembering wrong?”
“No, you’re right; it was at the start of my senior year. You were only four feet tall back then,” Dec replied with a grin. “How come?”
“I was just wondering if you remember much about my dad. Or was it too long ago?”
“I remember a bit. I mean, he wasn’t around a ton, with the hospital shifts and all, but when he was, he always waved or said hi.”
I nodded, flipping through another book. “That’s nice.”
“Oh, and he used to listen to jazz sometimes when he was in the garage,” Dec added. “I thought it was weird at the time. Like, who under the age of eighty listens to jazz for fun?”
I smiled at that. “Hey, jazz is cool!”
He smiled back at me, but it slowly dropped, fading into a more serious expression. “I guess my most vivid memory of him is a conversation we had when I’d just finished school.”
“What did you guys talk about?” I asked.
“I was checking the mail to see if I’d gotten any college offers yet, and he happened to be checking the mail at the same time, so we got talking.
He asked what I wanted to study, and other stuff like that.
” The distant look in Dec’s eyes was getting more intense, like he was peering right into the past. “He gave me some advice, and I remember thinking he must’ve been going through some sort of mid-life crisis. ”
“Really? Why?”
“His advice was basically: don’t get sucked into a life you don’t really want just because everyone else is doing it,” he said.
“He told me not to confuse expectation with purpose. That just because college and a nine-to-five job are the default path, it doesn’t mean it’s the right one. Not for everyone.”
I blinked. That didn’t sound like the version of my father I remembered. But then again, I was twelve when he disappeared, and to me, he’d just been Dad. Serious, dedicated, practical. Not the kind of person who talked about purpose and soul-searching.
“What else did he say?” I asked.
Dec frowned. “He said it was easy to wake up one day and realize you’ve built a life that feels like a costume. One that looks fine on the outside but feels wrong in your bones. He told me not to settle for that. Said it was better to disappoint other people than to betray yourself.”
I stared at him, stunned. “He said all that?”
“Not in those exact words. But yeah, that was the gist,” he replied. “Like I said… it was all very mid-life-crisis sort of stuff. I remember feeling kinda sorry for him.”
I nodded slowly, breathing out a quiet sigh. “I guess that actually tracks with something my mom told me recently,” I said. “She said they’d lost the spark and gotten into a roommate phase in their marriage.”
“That makes sense. Happens to a lot of couples.” Dec reached into his box and pulled out a worn folder. Then he glanced back up at me. “Hey, I forgot to ask earlier. How are you doing with everything that’s been going on? Are you getting enough sleep?”
“I’m all right,” I said, though nothing could be farther from the truth. “Not much sleep, though.”
“I’m not surprised. You’ve really ended up in the middle of all this shit, haven’t you?”
“Yup,” I murmured, lips pressing into a tight line.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m here. So let me know if I can do anything to help,” he said. “I’m sure the cops don’t want me hanging around your place after Beer-Gate last week, but still, anything you need, just say the word. Okay?”
“Well, actually…” I sat up straighter, an idea forming. “There is something you could help with. I have a computer-related question.”
“Shoot.”
“If someone uses a military-grade VPN when they send emails, is it really true that even the world’s best hacker couldn’t track down their real location?”