Emotions & Feelings
"First dead person, kid?" John says as he pulls the ambulance into traffic.
I decide not to answer him, because I don’t want to get into it. I eye Holly, but she's not answering for me. How much does she know?
All I could think was that I was in over my head again. The guy had one hand tight on my throat and I was pinned down. The other hand held a knife. He was snarling at me but I couldn't make out anything. Then I looked in his eyes and noticed that he was as scared as I was. He was breathing hard and he was trying to say something.
"You tell, I kill," was what I finally made out.
I felt strong. And angry. Angrier than I've ever been. His bare, wet chest collided with my palms, and I shoved him—hard. He staggered and fell backward.
The cop pulled something out of his pocket.
"You recognize this, Josh?"
I stared at it. It couldn't be.
Andrew looked at it too. After a moment he said, "That looks like the fish club Dad gave you."
"Those are your initials, aren't they, Josh?" the woman cop said.
I nodded.
"It's what Scott was hit with. We have it down at the police station, Josh. Besides your initials, it has your fingerprints on it."
Tarksalik is about forty feet ahead of me, running by the side of the road. I can tell she's got sled-dog blood in her from the way she runs: head high, legs taut.
The sun has just come up, and when it lands on Tarksalik, it looks like she's shining too. For the first time since I found out I'd be spending this term in Nunavik, in northern Quebec, getting reacquainted with my dad, I don't feel one hundred percent miserable. Right now, as I let the fresh cold air fill my lungs, I'd say I'm down to about eighty-five percent miserable.
Maybe, I think as I watch Tarksalik run, this visit won't turn out to be a total disaster. Maybe there's more to life than Montreal.
