Page 119 of Serenity Falls

I didn’t know who to talk to.

I sat and stared at the pages of houses and names. I had no idea how many people normally had accidents or left town every year, but this looked like a lot. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit.

I remember, when I was small, we went to Winsom Wonderland for the day. Everything felt so magical, like a different world. Then, because I was a little kid and curious and my parents weren’t always so good at keeping an eye on me, I sneaked off and somehow found a half-open door behind the scenery.

Bucky the Bear was sitting on a fold-up chair. As I watched, he took off his head, revealing a sweaty-looking teenager underneath. The kid took a swig from a bottle of water, and then he took a rollie out of his suit and lit it, blowing out a huge cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

I felt sick, like I’d been sucker-punched. Like my whole world had just tilted on its axis. The shattering of the illusion, the realization that Bucky wasn’t real, just some kid in a suit with a dope habit. I had a similar feeling right now. The stuff I’d always taken for granted about Serenity Falls was all fake. Make-believe. Underneath the suit, it was a sweaty, dope-smoking fraud.

I looked at the note again. You need to take this stuff to the police out of town.

I’m not the hero type. I’m not someone who looks for trouble or saves the day. Every instinct was telling me I should just get rid of this stuff. Burn it, bin it, stick it back under the damn floorboards. But I couldn’t. A nagging feeling in my gut kept stopping me. Your damn conscience, Grandma would say. Pain in the ass.

So, instead, I stuck the small pile of paper under my mattress while I tried to think what to do. And every night for a week I took it back out and stared at that letter again.

Maybe something bad has happened to me.

I guessed it must have. Because here I was, sleeping in Cash’s room. I mean, I knew Grandma had had a lodger years ago and he’d died, but I never asked what happened to him. Never even remembered his name.

That was when it occurred to me. I should talk to Grandma. She might be old – and I didn’t want to worry her – but she was still sharp. Maybe she could give me some answers.

So that evening, as the sun was just dipping below the houses, I joined her out on the swing chair on the back porch where she liked to sit with an iced tea (and the occasional sneaky cigarette).

I decided to plunge right in. ‘Can I ask you something, Grandma?’

‘If it’s about having girls over, it’s a no under my roof.’

‘No, it’s not that.’

‘Not boys, is it?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’ I took a deep breath. ‘What happened to the lodger who used to live here?’

‘Cash? Well, that was very sad. He passed away – a tragic accident. Came off his bike in the woods, hit some barbed wire. Poor man.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you asking?’

My stomach churned like I’d eaten off meat. ‘What if you found out something bad was happening in Serenity, Grandma?’

‘In Serenity?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, what sort of bad are we talking?’

‘Real bad. Like getting rid of people and making it look like accidents?’

It sounded crazy when I said it out loud and I half expected Grandma to laugh. But she didn’t. She took a long time to reply and, eventually, she said:

‘I’ve lived in this town for most of my life, Frankie. And I’ve been happy here. You know why?’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s easy to be happy here. It’s beautiful, clean, safe. And a lot of people work hard to keep it that way.’

‘I guess.’

She sighed. ‘You ever think about who takes out your trash, who cleans the streets, who makes sure there are no cockroaches or rodents running around?’

‘Not really.’