Brendan believed in many gods (even if he knew it meant others would recommend counseling) and belief was the magic ingredient that opened you up to blessings from on high. The gods demanded obedience and sacrifice, and Brendan gave them both, but still they had taken Delaney. Perhaps some kind of cruel joke. Were the gods, even now, laughing somewhere above him in the sky? Mr. Nicholson referred to the gods as “capricious,” which meant they were constantly changing their minds, bestowing favor on one person and then removing it without cause to place it upon another. Had that been what happened? The gods simply changed their minds and—oops—Brendan killed his own sister? Was there no fairness? No sense of obligation from the gods to a dutiful servant?
When Brendan read the following passage from Finding God: a History of Appeasing Higher Powers and Fulfilling Man’s Destiny, he almost brought the book to Mr. Nicholson and risked a trip to Guidance or The School Psychologist:
All rudimentary religions are founded on the cornerstone of polytheism, the belief in numerous gods. Whether this be from the Aztecs through the Romans or even the Native Americans (and their belief of spirits in all things—pantheism), the existence in multiple gods, each ruling a separate sector of the natural world and, presumably, the world beyond, is irrefutable as a belief common in early civilizations. To Man, it only made sense that multiple gods held dominion over the world—there was just too much for one god alone.
Brendan didn’t show that passage to anyone, but the top of that page was folded and the passage underlined and placed in crooked brackets, so he could access it the moment he needed support for his beliefs.
He still had a lot left to read. He ought to do that; maybe there was an answer in there somewhere.
Mom was asleep on one of the puffy chairs and Dad in the other was shaking everybody’s hand and thanking them for coming. People offered Brendan and Tyler a nod or two and a mouthed, I’m so sorry, but no one really spoke to either of them. They were the living counterparts to the body in the coffin and as such were like rare artifacts that should be left undisturbed for fear of shattering. Brendan saw the fear in the eyes of the mourners when they glanced his way; they were too scared to say anything because saying the wrong thing might make Brendan or both he and Tyler erupt into an uncomfortable display of grief. People cried at funerals, sure, but men, even boys, were supposed to keep those emotions under control. Tyler had cried during the first showing but Brendan hadn’t felt the urge. He was too confused to give in to the rising tide of pain. He had to figure this out first.
It was a complex math problem. He’d need time to unravel this mess. Grief and guilt would hinder him, like chains. He needed freedom from emotions to find an answer to his sister’s death. He needed to focus. He had taken Pilly Billie, but that was hours ago, and Pilly started to wear off usually after lunch and by this time was almost nonexistent. If he could write, that might help, but Tyler had his composition book and Dad would probably say it was rude or something, writing at his sister’s wake.
Tyler leaned close to him. “You want to hop outside for a bit?”
Brendan nodded. Tyler said something to Dad and then tugged at the sleeve of Brendan’s suit and Brendan followed him through the people gathered outside the Death Room (Dad said it was actually called the Viewing Room, but Death Room sounded more appropriate), and finally outside onto a wooden porch that wrapped around the funeral home. The house was old and the paint was peeling in places on the railing. It was the type of house that creaked no matter where you stepped. Did the funeral people live here, hidden away upstairs somewhere?
Brendan followed his brother to the corner of the porch looking over the parking lot. Almost every spot was filled. Tyler gripped the railing with both hands and leaned back to stare at his shoes. He was going to say something about Brendan’s composition book. Brendan knew when he returned to the bowling alley (after You Killed Your Sister!) that Tyler had taken it, fallen for the bait. Had he realized it was a trick? Did he think Brendan was hiding something?
“This is so fucked,” Tyler said. The words ached with the pain he had displayed during the first viewing. Not only was Delaney dead, Mom in a drug-coma, Dad depressed, but Tyler was overwhelmed with grief, too. Brendan had wanted to protect his family, and look what happened.
“I’m sorry.”
Tyler glanced at him from under his arm. “For what?”
Brendan shrugged. He couldn’t confess. That was insane. He’d end up in jail or at least in some psychiatric center. Dr. Carroll would probably keep him loaded with all kinds of drugs, maybe even operate on his brain. A lobotomy, it was called. He’d never be able to tell anyone and certainly no one in his family. They’d never forgive him, regardless of Brendan’s good intentions.
The cops had tried to get the truth but Brendan said he never left the bowling alley and that satisfied them. Why would he leave? Why would he want to drop a bowling ball off an overpass? Brendan cried for Delaney and the cops told him to relax. That was it. Detective Bo Blast would not have been so easily fooled.
“It’s not your fault,” Tyler said. “You know that, right?”
“I guess.” It was the gods’.
Tyler paused, thinking. “I just can’t believe she’s gone. And I spent the morning making fun of her at breakfast. They say you should never say anything you don’t mean because people could die at any second and you’d be left with the guilt of what you last said. It’s nobody’s fault but we still feel guilty. Least I do.”
Though sincere, Brendan sensed that this was the setup for something. His brother was the one, after all, who taught him all he knew about tricking people. Duplicity was the vocabulary word for it.
“Who would do this? Drop a fucking bowling ball onto the highway. You’d have to be crazy, right?”
“Right.”
“And isn’t that really just fucked. The bowling ball, I mean?”
Tyler waited but Brendan had no response. Was this the duplicitous moment? Better to remain silent, just in case.
“Fuck, Brendan. You were bowling and I left you there and at the same time some wacko got it in his head to drop a bowling ball off a bridge not two miles away. That’s what I mean. Makes you wonder.”
“Yeah.” That sounded noncommittal enough.
Tyler was shaking his head. “The ball was probably from that alley. I bet it is. The police figure that out and I won’t be surprised. The sicko might even have been there at the same time, could have walked right past us. That can’t just be a coincidence. Right?”
Would the police really track the ball back to the alley? Could they get fingerprints off of it? Brendan had been smart enough not to use his own ball but he had forgotten to wear gloves or use the sling. They would have confronted him. They wouldn’t wait on information like that. Would they?
“I don’t know.”
Tyler let go of the railing and knelt in front of him. “You’re only twelve, but you’re smart, so stay with me on this, okay? You know what I’m saying, I see it in your eyes. Don’t be afraid. Shit is going down, that’s all. This is not your fault. It’s mine.”