Chapter 3 The Murderer’s Space
The Murderer’s Space
Dylan’s POV
“Do I look like I give a fuck about it?” I asked Calen, not wanting to hear an answer.
The door opened again and this time, I looked up and it was Liam. He walked inside and didn’t look at me right away, he moved to the bench across from mine and put down a fresh bandage and a small bottle of antiseptic. Then he stepped back, putting distance between us, and crossed his arms.
“Okay, I will be with the others outside.” Calen said, noticing the awkwardness. He stood up and left the room.
He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching.
I looked at what he brought, then at him. “I thought you ran away? I was starting to think that you are a coward.”
He didn’t say anything, he just bent his head slightly like he was trying to understand what I meant. He must be praying in his mind that I didn’t see his fangs.
I took a deep breath and reached for the antiseptic. I cleaned the cut myself, pressed the bandage down, and smoothed the edges. The whole time he stood there with that same unreadable expression, like he had shown up to fulfill some obligation he hadn’t agreed to but couldn’t walk away from either.
When I was done, I looked up but he was already turning toward the door.
“Hey,” I said.
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
“Thanks,” I said. The word felt strange leaving my mouth, mostly because I meant it.
He didn’t respond, he just walked out, and the door clicked shut behind him for the second time.
“The hell…” I breathed in shock.
I sat there for a moment, staring at nothing, trying to figure out what exactly I was supposed to do with a person like that. He came back after leaving without saying anything… No, he must be a wacko vampire for real.
I didn’t go back out to the ice. I packed up, changed out of my gear, and left through the side exit before anyone could see me in the corridor. My knee was stiff and the cold outside didn’t help, but I walked to the bus stop and kept my head down and didn’t think about that wacko.
I reached my apartment, but the atmosphere was different. There were two people standing at the entrance, a man and a woman, both with recorders out, a camera over the man’s shoulder. The woman spotted me first and her whole posture changed.
“Dylan Petrov! Can we get a comment on the investigation into Coach Harlan’s death?”
I didn’t respond to her, I pulled my hoody up and covered my face and kept walking.
“Dylan, there’s footage circulating of you and Coach Harlan arguing the same day he was killed. Can you address that?”
“There’s nothing to address,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
The woman stepped slightly to the side, not blocking me, but close enough. “Sources say you were the last person seen with him. How do you respond to…”
I grabbed the coffee cup I was still carrying, and turned around. I didn’t think about it, my hand just moved and the cold coffee went across the front of her recorder in a dark, wet arc.
“Oh my god! How dare you?!” She gasped.
I pushed the door and took the stairs two at a time and didn’t stop until I was inside my apartment with the door locked behind me.
“You will pay for this!” The cameraman yelled loudly.
I stood in the middle of my kitchen breathing hard, and staring at the wall.
Coach Harlan was dead, but having a stranger shove a recorder in my face and say the words out made me very angry, and my hands were shaking in a way I didn’t have a good explanation for.
I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes.
I was about to doze off when I heard a soft knock at the door. I knew who it was.
“Come in,” I said.
My step mom opened the door and leaned against the wall, looking at me the way she always did when she already knew something was wrong. She had that quiet kind of patience that never felt like pity, which was the only reason I didn’t tell her to leave.
She came and sat beside me, close enough that her shoulder pressed against mine.
“I saw the reporters outside, are they still following you around?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m tired of all this… Why can’t I have one peaceful moment in my life?”
She was quiet for a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Dylan.”
“I know that but… it’s as if everybody hates me.”
“Stop it, nobody hates you, don’t hold onto that belief.” She walked towards me and put her hand on the back of my neck, the way she used to when I was a kid. “You are not what they’re trying to make you... You never have been… You’re stronger than this noise and you know it.”
I didn’t say anything. I just let her hand pat me until my shoulders came down from where they’d climbed up around my ears.
“Get enough sleep, you will be alright. I will bring you food in the evening, okay?” She said with a smile.
I nodded and she left and I didn’t even know when I dozed off, I slept better than I expected.
The next morning I got to the rink early. As I walked toward the group, conversations stopped, eyes moved away and guys who had nodded at me the day before suddenly found their skate laces extremely interesting. The space around me stayed wider than it needed to be, like everyone had silently agreed on something and forgotten to tell me.
I looked around for Calen and found him near the boards, his expression already apologetic before I even reached him.
“What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s a video… It’s been going around since last night. You and your old coach, arguing. Rumors has it that’s the same day he died, man.” He looked at me like he was sorry to be the one saying it. “People are making up stories that you...”
I did know how it was. I just hadn’t expected it to follow me here this fast. I looked around the rink. Some of them weren’t even being subtle about it, full stares, the kind with a specific kind of disgust sitting behind them. One guy whispered something to another and they both looked over.
Fear settled in my stomach, but I had nothing to feel guilty about. It was exhaustion, the particular tiredness of being looked at like I was already a verdict someone else reached without you.
I picked up my bag.
“Dylan…” Calen started.
“I’m good,” I said, and I started walking toward the exit.
“Petrov.”
The voice stopped me and I turned around slowly.
Liam was standing at the center of the ice, holding a stick, eyes on me. The whole rink had gone quiet again, that same held-breath silence from the day before.
“If you want to be a coward… you can,” he said, his voice loud across the ice. “But not under my watch.”
I stood there for a second, it felt as if he was giving me hope, or maybe a chance to stand up for myself.
Then I dropped my bag, picked up my stick, and got back on the ice.
I skated hard, harder than the day before, and I didn’t look at anyone. I kept my focus forward and my jaw tight and I told myself that was enough, and I would get through it all.
I was mid-drill when I felt a shoulder pushed me harshly, it wasn’t accidental. I steadied myself and kept moving. Then a voice came, low and close, pressed right against my ear as the guy skated past.
“Can’t wait for when this will be over, murderer.“
