The hand we’re dealt
Charles Martinuzzi, 2026
As she was leaving school, Kara saw the kid at the edge of the football field. He was wearing a burgundy windbreaker and jeans with a hole in one knee. He had some trendy kid shoes, Keds or something similar. He was saying something. Even if he hadn’t been 30 meters away, Kara knew that she wouldn’t be able to hear him. People like him never made any sound when they talked. That didn’t even seem strange to Kara any more.
She shrugged at him and tilted her head in a “let’s go” gesture then turned and started to walk home. As she passed the cutoff, she veered left, away from the route home, and headed into the wooded area behind the middle school. She couldn’t say why, just that she needed to go that way; to walk to the end of the access road and then into the woods proper, and keep going until… something.
Twenty minutes later, Kara smelled him before she saw him. It was a rankness slowly replacing the normal earth and dead-leaves smell of the woods. Honestly, Kara thought the woods smelled like “ass”, but this was worse. It got stronger with every step she took and she she tried to convince herself it might be a deer, or maybe a coyote; something bigger than a rabbit or a possum. Then she came over a slight rise and saw where the earth had been disturbed.
His face, chest, and one arm were partly exposed. His skin was covered in maggots and wildlife had been chewing on him. One of his legs was sticking completely out of the ground. The hole in his jeans was familiar. So was the burgundy windbreaker, ripped and dirty but recognizable. Crouching from about 10 feet away, Kara looked carefully at the sole of his running shoe, studying the pattern of waves and circles.
After a long while, Kara became aware of a pull, as if a hand was tugging at her. She inched closer to the body and began shuffling the leaves to the right of it with the toe of her running shoe, uncovering glinting caked metal. Holding her breath, she crouched down quickly and scooped up the object: a keyring, with two keys on it and a fob with a picture of Niagara Falls, encrusted with wet, slippery dirt. She wiped as much off as she could, then scraped her hands across some leaves and put the keyring in her pocket. Okay. Time to go.
It was already getting darker as she retraced her steps. The straps of her backpack started to press on her shoulders and the small of her back was hurting. At least she didn’t have to touch him. It was enough that she could still smell him the whole walk home. It sure would be nice if this kind of thing would happen to someone else.
Once home, Kara let herself into the silent house. She was careful not to track mud into the foyer. She hung up her coat and set her backpack by the boot tray. Dad was away on business and Mom had a meeting until 9:00. No point in thinking about dinner right now. Maybe a shower? But first, she walked upstairs.
The boy was sitting beside her bed. His legs were stuck out towards her, showing the soles of his shoes, with their circles and waves. She looked at his windbreaker, zipped up to his throat. She looked in his eyes.
“Hey kid. I found your body.”
He stared at her. Of course he did. Moving his mouth and gesturing with his hands but still making no sound, until she felt the keyring move in her pocket.
“I can’t go tonight. Tomorrow after school. My mom gets home and I’m not here, that’s it for me. Can’t help you if I’m dead.” Okay, that was funnier in her head. The kid seemed to understand but he didn’t look happy about it.
“I gotta shower before Mom gets back.“ She grabbed her pajamas and a towel and headed for the bathroom. He was gone when she stepped back in the bedroom, towelling her hair.
School was a haze of inconsequential nonsense. Kara navigated by muscle memory and nobody seemed to notice that she was distracted. But usually nobody noticed her on a “normal” day so, that was probably a good thing. The final bell rang, she gathered her coat and backpack and set off. Her hands were shaking a little bit and she kept squinting as if everything was too bright.
He appeared a block away, disappeared as she got close, and then reappeared further up the street. The moved into town, across a couple of unfamiliar neighbourhoods, and then down a street that led to a deserted cul-de-sac. The kid was standing on the porch of a two story brick house. The house was nothing special. The front lawn was well-kept, the window and door trim were recently painted. Kara knew that it was “post-war” because Dad was always talking about real estate and wanting to get into rental properties.
The kid had vanished from the porch. Kara stood for a solid minute, making sure that no one was around before she approached the unfamiliar door and nervously took the key from her pocket. She took a deep breath, forced her shaking hands to slot the key, unlocked the door and slipped into the house.
She saw an empty main floor, open to the back where a kitchen seemed to guard the back door with stainless steel intensity. In the middle of the living room floor, the dead kid was standing and looking at her.
She had to wheeze to get the words out: “This is where it happened, didn’t it?”
The place had obviously been scoured. The hardwood was scuffed but clean. The walls looked freshly painted. Looking up, the kid was gone, which allowed her to let out her breath, and move further in. The kitchen was well-used but spotless. The back door looked out on a small square of grass enclosed by a silvered cedar fence.
Up the matte-finish stairs were two bedrooms and bathroom, equally worn in and clean. There was nothing here. Empty closets. A bureau with empty, wood-smelling drawers. Empty, empty, empty.
Why didn’t he change the locks? Maybe he didn’t realize he’d dropped the key in the woods. Maybe he thought no one would be able to find this place. Kara somehow knew who “he” was, but couldn’t say how she knew.
She stood in the back bedroom and turned in a slow circle. Something was odd. The quality of light. A patio door that opened onto a small wooden balcony. Curtain rods but no curtains. All the other windows were draped, closed over. But no curtains here. It was obvious, now that she spotted it. The floor was different, too. Very dull, with large wear patterns. And along the baseboard, a few staples with tufts of fabric attached to them. Someone took the curtains and the carpet. “Yeah, here’s where it happened.”
Back downstairs, heading out. She locked the front door and a flash of white caught her eye; the corner of an envelope in the black mailbox. Mrs. A. Slider, 775A Warnock. Looking around, her hands trembled again as she slipped the envelope into her backpack and fought the urge to run all the way home. This time was different and Kara had no idea what to do next.