A Strange Case [1]

(Malory)

I spot a very dread-looking Kyle Davidson walking through the entrance doors as I’m conversing with some girls from my class. He has the look and smell of death; like someone dragged him across the block by his ankle and then powdered him in milk. He looks pale, exhausted, irritated, sick and has the face of a serial killer. Only one eye peeks out from behind his thick, unkempt hair. Should I feel sorry for him? Or should I pummel the daylight out of his good eye for being absent from rehearsals? Delinquent. I excuse myself from the current conversation and practically bounce my way over to Kyle with a toothy grin.

“Looks like someone beat me to it, already pressing your piss-off button. Who do I have to thank?”

“Not today, Lloyd.”

I smirk. “I’m saying this as a cooperative co-star: You look like shit.”

“Do me a favour?” He says, wearily.

“Uh huh?”

He inhales sharply. “Don’t talk to me.”

He continues walking on so I just fall into step with him. There’s no way he’s getting off that easily after he did exactly the same thing to me.

“Why didn’t you show up to rehearsals on Friday? What, did you have to attend some clown club? Or is it because you’re like your character, Angus, in the script where you have some kind of massive possession of tangible wealth and had to manage it all? How are your livestock? Where do you hide your golden coins and precious jewels? Did your mother wake you up at the sound of the cock’s crow to tend to the horses? And you became so preoccupied that you forgot you had other duties to attend to?”

Kyle comes to an abrupt halt in the hallway. The next thing I feel is the palm of his hand shoving me backwards and then my body slams against the locker behind me.

Why was the metal so cold? Why is his hand shaking? Why does everything – the locker, his hand- feel like ice against my skin?

I grimace. “Ouch. What the hell is wrong with you today? Did you down an extra dose of Sure-Pissed syrup or something?”

Kyle glares down at me. There’s an uneasy tension between us as I process how close he actually gets to me. “Let’s get one thing straight, Lloyd,” he says in a stern, spiteful tone. “Do not ever utter a word about my family from your filthy mouth. Do I ever piss you off about the dead drunkard you called a father? I don’t care how annoying you get. Leave everyone else out of it. Don’t cross the line. Especially not today.”

I feel my heart stop for a minute. Something about his anger has definitely caught me off guard. I feel the fear. I push it aside.

How could you do that to me? My eyes ask him. How could you mention my father?

My knee finds his abdomen, and his grip of my shoulder is gone. He stumbles backward. He groans in pain and bends forward –and then I see it. Hiding behind his thick, messy black hair is an awful purple bruise that puts a knot in my stomach and gives me the worst nauseating, sinister feeling I have ever felt. It puts a chill up my spine and into my neck. The bruise covers his cheekbone, and much of his left cheek, and his hair had done a pretty good job of concealing it from the eyes of others. I can’t help but wonder what happened to him.

Genuinely concerned, eyes wide and voice low, I say, “Kyle...” he looks up at me, painfully, “what the hell happened to your face?”

Kyle’s expression goes from fury and pain to shock, fear and anxiety in the span of two seconds. He frantically fixes his hair over his face again, straightening his back. “Mind your own business, Lloyd.”

“Did you get into a fight?”

He ignores me and walks away. Ron appears from around the corner just in time to almost bump into his best friend. He extends a hand for a fist bump but receives nothing. Kyle just pauses, looking down at Ron’s clenched fist, oblivious. Ron clears his throat and lowers his hand awkwardly. “Hey, you know what was fun?” he asks Kyle sarcastically. “Eating all the junk food by myself, last night. Why didn’t you show up? The least you could’ve done was give me a heads up. I had to hide six cans of energy drinks in my room for the night just so my mom wouldn’t piss off about them lying around this morning. I couldn’t drink it all out because I’d downed like five in one hour. Do you know how much damage that does? Anyway, forget it. Why do you look like shit today? What’s up with you? Why haven’t you responded to any of my messages or calls this weekend. We have important things to do, man. I was worried.”

Kyle doesn’t utter a word. He ignores Ron and heads to his classroom.

“What’d you do to him this time?” Ron asks me, spitefully.

“I didn’t do anything,” I confess. “He walked into school like that. Even I’ve never seen him this bad. And he ignored you all weekend?”

“We were supposed to hang out at my house. He didn’t cancel, didn’t come and didn’t respond to me all weekend. I don’t know what’s going on.”

The image of the deep purple bruise on Kyle’s pale face flashes across my mind again, his expression of fear and anxiety rippling in my mind.

“What do you think happened?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think it’s got something to do with his uncle who’s flying out of the country again. When I called him during rehearsals on Friday he said he couldn’t make it because he was doing errands for him. He probably has a lot on his mind since he’ll have the whole house to himself once his uncle is gone. That’s probably why he’s so irritated. His brain is probably working overtime.”

“He lives with his uncle? What about his parents? Come to think of it I’ve never seen them. Not that I really thought much about it, but it is kind of weird. What do you mean he’ll be in the house all by himself? Have you ever been to his house?”

Ron sighs, defeated. “All I know is that his uncle is his guardian. He said it’s best never to talk about his parents. He gets pretty aggressive whenever they’re mentioned. After a while I just learnt to deal with not knowing. He stopped being aggressive once the topic dropped. And his uncle travels a lot. I’ve never been to his house, though. I’ve suggested hanging out at his place –even jokingly- but it’s never happened. I don’t know where exactly he lives, either. Besides, I get the feeling his uncle doesn’t like visitors. He’s not the type to show his face here anyway, is he? He’s probably the sort who avoids company.”

“Strange,” I say.