Signs of Life by Melanie Hansen Page A

disgust, he leaned down and picked up his snow shovel from where it was almost buried in the leaves. Every time he’d been out here chopping firewood over the last several months, he’d intended to stick the shovel in the garage but kept forgetting about it. This time he would—
    A sudden thought struck him, and Jeremy looked over to where his stack of firewood was covered by a sturdy green tarp, tacked down around the edges with thick tent pegs. He found that when he had really bad days, chopping firewood was one of the most therapeutic things he could do, hard, vicious swings of a sharp axe, the satisfying splinter of wood, the physical exertion that exhausted him like not even running could. Consequently he was out by his woodpile often, even during summer months, and he knew he hadn’t left his tarp that way, two pegs out of the ground and the whole thing askew. And where was his axe? He usually kept it in its sheath underneath the tarp….
    As he drew closer, Jeremy noticed the neat stack of firewood underneath the tarp had collapsed somewhat, like someone had pulled some logs out from the very bottom, causing the top tier to crumble down. What on earth could someone want with his firewood? Hard winter was still a few months away and—winter!
    Suddenly Jeremy thought of something he hadn’t checked, and he broke into a run as he headed toward the detached guesthouse-turned-gym that was about twenty yards away from the main house, set back amongst the trees and almost hidden from view. When he bought the property, he saw no need for a guesthouse, and so had converted it into a state-of-the-art gym he could use when the weather was too inclement for running, such as during blizzards and ice storms, the only two things that could keep him indoors.
    Jeremy’s breath sawed in and out as he crunched through the leaves, and when the guesthouse came into view, he skidded to a stop and felt his knees weaken almost to the point of collapse. Several logs from his firewood stash lay scattered around the small porch after having been clearly used to smash the windows of the guesthouse in. The front door was kicked open, hanging from one hinge, huge gouges from his missing axe marring the wood. Obscenities and gang graffiti were spray-painted on almost every available outside surface, and as Jeremy staggered closer and got a look inside his gym, rage and a sickening sense of violation overwhelmed him, and he doubled over and vomited on the ground.
    Over the next several hours, Jeremy dealt with city police and property crimes detectives, along with crime scene investigators who dusted for fingerprints, took an exhaustive amount of photos, and bagged up bits of evidence, including what appeared to be a student ID that was lodged in the rubble.
    “At least we have a starting point,” one of the detectives said to Jeremy as they finally wrapped things up. “I can’t imagine it was the work of just this one kid, so hopefully we can get him to talk and roll on his buddies.”
    The man pulled out one of his cards and wrote something on the back of it. “This is the number that will be assigned to your case, so if you want to keep abreast of any developments, call me any time and reference this number.”
    Jeremy took the card numbly, then watched as the various police and city vehicles backed carefully down the driveway and left him standing there alone.

Chapter 5
     
     
    “ALL RISE!”
    The packed courtroom rose desultorily to its feet as the black-robed man swept into the room.
    “Juvenile Court of the State of Oregon is in session. Referee Michael Slater presiding.”
    As the security officer’s voice died away, the court referee took his seat at the bench, the cue for everyone else to sit down as well.
    “A referee ?”
    Jeremy heard the sotto voce mutter from a man next to him, his wife shushing him. Suddenly the back doors of the courtroom opened and the in-custody juveniles were shuffled in, their legs shackled and