Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes
The cause of Dylan’s death was not revealed to Brendon; he was not kin nor friend, merely a witness who hadn’t witnessed anything. But he knew Dylan had been crushed. Slammed against the wall of the garage, shaking the foundations, the car then thrown in reverse to rev away with murder in its fender.
In the aftermath, Casey was a pariah in Castlebrock, blamed by proximity before due process took hold. Brendon’s parents forbid him from calling, at least until the situation resolved itself into some semblance of responsibility, citing many things as reason, some of them frail—such as “you need to focus on something positive”—some of them steeped in reality—such as “he’s a white boy; you’re not.”
That blue Mustang was confiscated as evidence based on Robbie and Brendon’s testimonies. Then was released from custody two months later. With no arrest.
Brendon overheard his parents talking one night, the rumor mill up and working overtime through the town.
“So they’re hunting for a different car? The one that hurt that boy?”
“Seems they can’t figure out what exactly happened.”
“But they know he was crushed.”
“Cross his torso, I’ve heard.”
Silence. Mom turning the water on to scrub out her teacup. The light chime of it hitting the counter as she set it down. Continue reading