He moved through the directory until he found the folder for the Adelia Herald. He’d start here, then move on to the Albany Times Union if he had to.
His biggest problem was the fickle nature of memory. After so many years he could no longer trust his recollection of events— not of the murder itself but of what had happened afterward, what everyone around him had done in the aftermath. So he had to return to the day, and the only way he could do that, since he couldn’t rely on those who were there, was through newspaper accounts of the shooting. Even then, he wasn’t sure what he expected to accomplish, even if he was successful in locating a recounting of the tragedy.
The first difficulty that presented itself was that he didn’t know the exact day, and unlike modern newspaper records, he couldn’t simply type in Eddie’s name and find the obituary. But he knew the general time period—knew that it had happened within the first month of school that year. Even so, he had to scan images of entire newspaper pages to find what he was looking for.
He started with October 1985, figuring that the death of a boy in a hunting accident—especially one that had happened on Baxter property—would have made the front page in a town like Adelia. So he placed that limit on his search, at least for the time being.
When the first issue came up, CJ felt a hint of nostalgia because he could remember when this paper showed up on their doorstep, how he would go out on the porch in his pajamas and bring it in for his father. The paper was now produced in digital format only, but he swore he could still smell the distinct scent of a fresh newspaper. A quick scan of the front page, photographed with a crease that cut through the far left column, recounting small-town life a quarter century ago, showed no crime more serious than a DUI charge against an Adelia High math teacher. CJ remembered when that happened, although he’d been too young to have Mr. Shaw as a teacher. At the time it was quite the scandal.
He closed the file and moved on to the next. It too lacked any reference to the shooting. It was on his third attempt, and only five minutes into his search, that he found it. He’d carried Eddie’s face in his mind over the years—one of the few clear memories he had. But it was still like looking at a ghost to see the black-and-white photo of the sixteen-year-old boy who had lost his life on property owned by CJ’s family. CJ let his eyes linger on Eddie’s face for a long time before turning his attention to the story. What surprised CJ was how short the account of Eddie’s death was. Even though it was above the fold, it didn’t move on to an interior page.
He took his time reading it, and he didn’t realize until well into it that he was matching what was written with what he’d carried with him. It started with the reveal of the death, then moved on to the particulars, and these were what interested CJ most. According to the Herald, the boys had separated during the morning, and Eddie, for some reason, had doubled back toward Graham’s position. The rest was said to be a simple, and tragic, hunting mistake—a rookie mistake, really. A rustling in the brush, an overanxious young hunter.
Before he finished reading, CJ felt sick to his stomach. The account of Eddie’s death on the screen in front of him was a lie. It was as simple as that. He hadn’t expected the revelation to affect him as much as it did, to make him feel his heart beating through a vein in his neck. He tried to get his anger under control, knowing it was counterproductive right now.
He saw the attribution before he read the quote. It was toward the end of the article, an appropriate closer—CJ’s father stating how Eddie’s death had devastated the whole Baxter family, and how his heart reached out to the Montgomery family. And how no one should forget that there was a boy who had just lost his best friend.
CJ almost punched the screen, but at the last second he redirected his anger to the table on which the computer sat. In the quiet of the library, the attack sounded like a gunshot, and it sent Ms. Arlene