Let Me In - Adam Nicholls (e book reader pdf .TXT) 📗

Morgan had his plan for the day, and it was the strangest feeling returning to his high school. As he roamed the corridors, which he remembered being a lot wider, he stopped every few feet to examine the cabinets where artifacts of yesteryear were kept on display. Each cabinet skipped forward a few years to when the new national football tournaments were held. Morgan had been the quarterback—something his father had made him pursue—and his mouth turned dry as he got closer to his year. He remembered wanting to leave school and throw in the towel, climbing out of all that padding and chasing the life he wanted. Sports had always come naturally to him, but academia was his true path, and he’d known that from a very early age.

His year’s cabinet was close to the end, and although he wondered where later years would be held, his fullest attention was on the cup they’d won in that game. Below the cup was a faded photograph of their prom night, which Morgan leaned in to study. Even the best detective in the world would’ve had trouble finding him; he’d sported an afro, and Rachel’s braces were the focal point of her appearance. Gary was easy to find though; the only thing that’d changed there was that he now had a moustache and his hair was grayer.

Morgan smiled at the memory of those years, his heart aching with the nostalgia, but he was here to do a job, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do it. Sighing to shake off the sad realization of what life was truly like, he found his way to the office, which he was glad to see hadn’t moved. The young receptionist took his name and offered him a seat, telling him the principal would be with him shortly.

It felt like forever before Mr. Weir arrived. Morgan was shocked to see he was still working here after all these years, and he’d changed beyond belief. Maybe he was remembering it wrong, but the man who’d run the school all that time ago was no longer tall and well built; he was buckled over like a sagging doll, his thin hair now receding over his liver-spotted scalp. Those stern eyes searched the entire room before they found Morgan, and he waved him into the office. As Morgan followed him in and took the offered seat, he found it heartbreaking to see the transformation from strong superior to a victim of time.

Mr. Weir took a seat at his desk, lowering himself gently into it. “Mr. Young, I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember you. My assistant tells me you were the quarterback, and some old photographs didn’t help ring any bells.”

Morgan gave a kind smile. “I wouldn’t remember me either.”

“You remember me, son?”

“Very much, sir.” Morgan scanned the room, surprised to see everything more or less in the same place. The technology on his desk had changed a bit though; what used to be a typewriter was now a shiny new laptop. “I was in here a lot, especially at lunchtimes.”

Mr. Weir mouthed his name, scratching his temple. “Morgan Young. Morgan… Oh, yes, I think I remember you now.” His expression turned to one of delighted surprise. “You used to sit in here and discuss literature with that girlfriend of yours.”

There was something sweet about being remembered, and Morgan couldn’t help but grin at the mention of Rachel. He could hardly imagine what it must look like from the other side of the desk—there was probably a lot of sadness in the job, watching people start their lives and watching what they became. Morgan wondered if he had it better or worse. “That girlfriend is now my wife.”

“Oh, splendid. Any kids?”

“No kids.” Morgan shook his head, swiftly changing the subject. “Sir, as much as I’d love to sit here and discuss the Life and Times of Morgan Young, I’m here in a more official capacity. See, you may have read about the DC Carver in the news?”

Mr. Weir nodded, sighing. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’ve been hired by the police to investigate the murders,” he lied, staying as close to the truth as possible. “Carrie Whittle and Danielle Phillips were students here a long, long time ago. During your reign, in fact.”

“Those I remember.” Mr. Weir held up his finger like an exclamation point. “Although they had different names back then, the newspapers say.”

“What can you tell me about them?”

“You didn’t know them?”

“Not that well. They were a couple grades above me.” Morgan had in fact missed most of the drama surrounding Gary’s relationship with Carrie. The age difference meant everything at the time, and although they later rekindled, the exciting new relationship had stolen Gary’s attention from their friendship. “Gary Lee dated Carrie—he sends his regards, by the way—but Danielle was more or less a stranger to both of us.”

Mr. Weir opened his mouth to say something, then appeared to change his mind. He rose from his chair and approached the window on shaky legs, placing his hands on his hips and staring out to the noisy football field. “My memory is a little foggy, but there was something of an altercation between those girls.”

“There was?” This was the first Morgan had heard of it.

“In the months leading up to their graduation, I gave them both detention almost every day. You know how young girls can be. Almost as bad as young boys. Anyway, the last thing I remember about those particular students was that they were fighting.”

“You mean like an argument?”

“I mean like a vicious attack. They were clawing at each other and screaming bloody murder down the halls during inspection week. I had them both in the office, as you would imagine, to investigate what exactly was going on.”

Morgan shifted in his seat and said nothing.

“It was… a boy. Can you believe it?”

“Actually, I can.” Although Morgan had been lucky and found Rachel at such a young age, he had very strong memories of what high school relationships were like for others. Everything was dramatic, probably thanks to the influence of TV shows, but nothing ever truly amounted to anything. All their woes were soon forgotten, and they went on to live their lives. The seriousness of earlier life was so easily left behind. “What about this boy?”

“They fell in love with the same young lad, or so they said. They sat beside each other, insisting that the boy belonged to them. Neither of them could be bargained with. I really do wish I’d understood girls more at the time. It gave me an awful hard time.”

Morgan grunted, looking down at his hands and realizing he’d been squeezing his knuckles white. He released his grip and returned his attention to the principal, wondering if this drama was related to the murders. He doubted it.

“I wish I could tell you the boy’s name.”

“Anything on record?”

Mr. Weir shook his head. “Nothing helpful. I had him in detention once or twice, but we shred detention slips every six years.”

“Could you identify him from a photograph?” Morgan was thinking of the yearbook.

“I’m afraid it’s not like it used to be up here.” Mr. Weir tapped his head and turned around. “I’m terribly sorry I haven’t been much use, but my recollection of those girls is vague at best. Probably a good thing too, since now I don’t have to mourn them as others would.”

Morgan agreed but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. This trip down Memory Lane had been a strange form of pleasant torture. It had all the effects of a car wreck; it was ugly, sure, but you had to look… didn’t you? “Thank you for your time, sir.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure. Do come back again someday.”

“Will do.” Morgan shook his hand and left with no intention of returning. After poisoning his mind with all the painful memories of his youth, he had no desire to stay a moment longer than necessary. And to go through all that without any progress on the case? Well, that was just another kick while he was down. So far, he’d had nothing but bad luck, and something told him that wasn’t going to change.