Page 12 of Artifacts

“I’m an adult,” Aldric ground out. He forced himself to leave the injury alone, wiping his hand on a paper tissue Dave held out. He brought his hand to his side, then pushed himself—slowly—into a sitting position. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Duh, it’s the fault of whoever hit you and smashed up your stuff.” Dave added an eye-roll along with his words. “Seems obvious.”

Elliot opened his mouth but snapped it shut again when sirens blared close by. He moved over to Aldric’s side, Dave and T stepping away.

Aldric expected to see EMTs rounding the corner, reassuring in their controlled haste and carrying whatever was needed to make him feel better. Instead, two police officers appeared, shoulder-to-shoulder, implacable and unreadable. One man was taller and lankier, his black hair shining even in the poor lighting, and the other was shorter and stockier looking. Both had their guns drawn. The sight of the two cops, moving as one, all practiced speed and stealth with their weapons in their hands, tested Aldric’s bladder restraint. He was glad it held up. He hated guns with a passion, a leftover borderline-phobia from his first job. He’d bet anyone working in fast food who’d had an active shooter on the premises would hate guns too.

Elliot held out a hand toward the officers. “Please. None of us are the bad guy here, officers. I’m Elliot Douglas, owner of the antique store behind us. Aldric Beamer is my employee, and he’s been hurt. These two young men are…well…um.”

The cops looked at Dave and T. Both boys held their hands up. “We called for y’all,” Dave said. “T called, and I sat with that dude—Aldric, is it? Cool name. I only touched him to check for a pulse and to put his glasses on for him.” He went to lower one hand, perhaps to show the cops on his own neck where he’d rested his fingers on Aldric’s, but a slight shift by both uniformed men had him raising it again.

T bobbed his head. “Yeah, I can show you the call on my phone.” He still had his cell in one hand and shook it slightly in illustration.

“What were you two doing back here?” the more built cop asked of the boys.

Dave lowered his hands. Slowly. “We always cut through the alley to get to the apartments where we live in at the next block over. It’s shorter than staying on the sidewalk. We’re usually through here earlier, but T and I got parts in our school’s play and we had our first rehearsals just this afternoon, so we were later coming this way.”

“And you found this man—” This time, the wirier police officer spoke, glancing at Aldric. “Aldric Beamer?”

“Yeah, we thought he was dead at first. It was creepy!” Dave’s words came out in a rush. “He was so still, and there’s blood, and all that broken stuff scattered around. We didn’t see anyone else.”

“I need you two to remain where you are. Mr. Douglas, Mr. Beamer, can you corroborate their story?” the shorter officer asked, his voice hard.

“I was unconscious, but I came to with them trying to help me, and, er, T on the phone with emergency services.” Aldric blinked as he tried to remember what had happened between that time and earlier, when he’d left the shop. “I was leaving, by the back door, then…” Then he had no idea. He’d woken up in this pain.

A noise at the mouth of the alley had him turning his head to see…and instantly regretting it. More police officers filled the space, with two EMTs right on their heels. Aldric lost track of the cops’ questions. He noted there were no more drawn guns, and two officers were talking to Dave and T, while another spoke to Elliot.

One of the cops that had arrived after the first two might have been questioning Dave, but he was watching Aldric. Aldric stared back. The guy was average height, but better built than average, and had a square jaw and blunt chin. His eyes were dark, at least Aldric thought they were. He couldn’t see them well in the gloom of the alley, yet he felt the man’s gaze like a searchlight turned on him.

Does that guy thinkI’mguilty of something? ThatIwas trying to rob Elliot’s store? Or maybe that all this is a hoax?Aldric could never do anything to hurt Elliot, and the way he was feeling was no ruse. Perhaps because he was shaken up, Aldric found the courage to snap at the cop, “Why are you staring at me? Who are you?”

“I’m Officer Darrell Williams.” The cop’s voice was clipped, terse, maybe, but not unpleasant.

Aldric racked his brain, trying to figure out if that name should be familiar and came up empty. “So?”

Williams approached, eyes narrowed, looking every bit like the bad cop in every stereotypical good-cop, bad-cop TV show Aldric had ever watched. It irked Aldric. He’d just been attacked and was bleeding in a grimy alley, so why was this Williams guy treating him like that? “What?” Aldric spat out, in a way he never would have dreamed of doing ordinarily, and to a police officer least of all. “You got something to say, say it.”

“Just, you say you were robbed, but nothing was stolen from you? You still got your wallet? It seems odd that you—”

“You can ask him questions after he’s taken care of,” Elliot interrupted, pushing his way past Williams as if he weren’t afraid of the police at all. “Your tone is incredibly rude. Aldric’s been hurt. He’s the victim, not the perpetrator or one of the perpetrators. If you want to be obnoxious to him, I can make sure my lawyer handles all the questions you might have.”

“Why would he need a lawyer?” Williams asked. “And I wasn’t being obnoxious. I—”

Elliot growled, a sound Aldric had never heard him make before. “Oh, for the love of God! Stop harassing him. What is your problem?”

“Williams, come here,” someone called. “Now.”

Williams stared for another second, then turned and walked off.

“Some cops,” Elliot muttered. “I can say that because I once knew a police officer—well, a detective—who was great at his job. That guy who was snapping at you, not so much.”

Aldric couldn’t help agreeing about the Williams part of that statement, but tried to be fair. “Maybe he’s having a bad day, or…or he’s the bad cop in the scenario. And it could look suspicious, me being hurt but nothing being taken.”

“Or it could mean someone is out to hurt you specifically.” Elliot pursed his lips. “Damn it. I should not have said that. It’s possible the boys interrupted a would-be robbery.”

Aldric was stuck on the first of Elliot’s ideas, that someone had meant to hurt him, that he had been the goal, not his merchandise or money.But what does that mean?

The wave of nausea that hit him, making him twist around and vomit, might have been caused by his head injury—or the fear that Elliot was right.

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