Page 179 of A Million To Fall

“It must have happened around one or one-thirty,” I say, eyes glued to the screen.

She forwards slowly until, finally, there’s motion. I stop breathing.

Boston steps into the frame. The picture is gray and grainy, but it’s definitely him. I’d recognize him anywhere. Tall, muscular frame. The unassuming way he moves. His hands are shoved into his pockets, shoulders shrugged up, shielding against the cold. Why isn’t he wearing a jacket? Why is he even out there at—I glance at the time—1:44 in the morning?

He’s alone, but not for long. Headlights sweep across the screen. Ten more seconds—and suddenly Jake rushes into the frame, Archer trailing leisurely behind him.

My stomach flips when, without warning or even a discernible exchange of words, Jake punches Boston in the face. A fraction of a second later, they’re on the ground, Jake landing hit after hit while Boston tries to shield his head.

“Jesus Christ,” I whimper, hand flying to my mouth.

“Is that… That’s Jake?” my mom says, horrified.

The footage is silent, but I swear I can hear it anyway. The dull thuds. Boston’s muffled grunts. My own heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

It goes on until suddenly Jake freezes. God, I wish there was audio, because Boston’s saying something—and whatever it is, it’s working. Jake finally climbs off him. Boston gets to his feet, unsteady.

More words are exchanged. The boys stand facing each other, until—seemingly out of nowhere—Archer lunges, tackling Boston back to the ground.

My dad inhales sharply. My knees go weak.

“Slow it down,” I say hoarsely. “I want to see everything.”

My mom reduces the speed, moving frame by frame. Archer’s body slanted over Boston’s. Boston’s hands are up, protective, not hitting while Archer beats him viciously.

It’s twenty seconds of sickening violence before Jake manages to pull Archer off Boston.

Archer staggers upright. Boston’s still in the snow.

More soundless words, Archer pacing.

And then, the flash of a muzzle.

I don’t even see the gun in Archer’s hand until it’s too late. I can tell he shoots by the way his arm kicks with the recoil. Then he drops the weapon and takes off running out of the screen.

“Oh god,” my dad groans. My mom is frozen, hands clamped to her mouth.

The footage keeps playing. Jake drops to his knees beside Boston.

My heart is in my throat. I can’t look away.

“What? Why?” my dad stutters. “This… what happened?”

My mom closes the laptop slowly, as if not seeing it anymore might erase what we just witnessed.

My dad rests his forearms on the table, staring blankly ahead of him. “Do you know anything about this, Skye?” he asks, voice low. “Why this would’ve happened?”

I don’t answer right away.

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

I just shake my head as tears start slipping silently down my face. Again.

God, how do I have anything left?

“I… I have no idea,” I whisper, voice catching. “But I need to find out.”

I rub at my face and stand.