Word Count: 72,027
Summary of Events:
Walker was fuelling up his truck on his way home from work when he got a call from Dr. Schissler asking if he'd be free Saturday morning to meet with all the Schissler children; Walker agreed, although it would require him to miss part of the practise of the baseball team he helped coach, which displeased the main coach. Only three of Dr. Schissler's four siblings were present at the meeting, Frederick, Maurice, and Zina, the one who'd written the diaries, and who was the most upset of all of the siblings that Walker had found the papers and read through them . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
“Answer me boy,” Zina snapped. “Do you expect me to believe you have pure and true altruism within yourself to not seek remuneration for giving us these papers? Whether it’s to keep you quiet or just to suggest that we’re grateful to have this dredged up from the pit we buried it in?”
Walker hesitated. He couldn’t claim he was always good, although he did at least try to be nice to people he didn’t know, although it was hard to be nice to people who weren’t being nice to him. “Yes.”
“Really?” Zina asked, sounding sceptical, her tone only temporarily relaxed.
“Yes,” Walker repeated.
“Don’t think I can’t see right through you,” Zina replied coldly. “You should know I would considering what you’ve read about me and what I’ve been through. You’re playing the good boy card in an effort to get away with our story without having to pay money for it.”
“No, no I’m not,” Walker replied. “I’m not a writer or anything. I work in construction.”
Walker startled when he felt a solid surface behind him; he hadn’t realised he’d been edging backwards, but he pressed his back against the door as hard as possible. He wanted to run away, but he had his doubts that would help; in fact, he feared that it might actually lead to his getting arrested, considering the mood Zina appeared to be in.
“You don’t need to be a writer to tell stories these days,” Zina said. “Everyone does, and who doesn’t want to hear a story about a sadist?”
“That’s not what this is about,” Walker protested.
“It isn’t is it?” Zina asked guardedly. “Then what is it about?”
“It’s about the mail,” Walker replied.
“Mail?” Dr. Schissler asked.
“What mail?” Frederick asked.
“When the first papers fell down on me I got a recycling bag and started putting them inside, and then I climbed up into the attic opening and grabbed the rest, at least as much as I could reach,” Walker replied. “And then I scanned around to see if there was anything else I should be worried about and saw a box in the far right corner, like, if you look at the front of the house from the road, the far right corner of the roof you can see, that’s where it was. I tore down the rest of the ceiling to get to it, and found there were two boxes all full of mail that hadn’t been opened, and it was all addressed to your mom. I think your dad hid it from her, and I was wanting to track some Schisslers down so that I could find out if she wanted it.”
“Where is this mail?” Frederick asked.
“At my house,” Walker replied. “With all the rest of the papers.”
“May we see it?” Frederick asked.
“Sure,” Walker replied. “Like, right now?”
“We might as well,” Frederick replied.
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