Left Without Answers: An Intriguing Suspense

By Cori Nevruz

After the suicide of her only child, Alice is committed to finding out why her son took his own life. With no warning signs or even a letter, Alice searches for answers regarding her son Hank's death. She turns to Hank's best and only friend, Arnold, for answers.

But Arnold, like Alice's husband, has moved on from the trag

• Language: English
• Publisher: 5310 Publishing
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781990158711

Cori Nevruz

Cori Nevruz is a thriller and suspense author. Some of her works include "Noxious," "Left Without Answers," and "Dirty Laundry." Nevruz likes to write emotionally invested stories. Originally from Raleigh, North Carolina, Cori Nevruz now resides in Wilmington with her husband and three sons. She is a graduate of the NCSU and works from home as a website designer. She has also previously published 11 children's books that feature student illustration, giving over 100 children published illustrator credit. An active volunteer, an avid reader, potty humour enthusiast, and a strong believer in the power of kindness.

Book preview

Chapter OnE

This can’t be happening, Arnold whispered to himself as he sat on the floor next to his bed, slowly rocking back and forth with his knees pulled up to his chest.

His breathing was shallow and quick. Arnold may have been pulled into too tight a ball or he could’ve been having a panic attack. But he knew that whatever was causing his chest to tighten and his breathing to become labored, he needed to get up and move around. He stood up slowly so as not to let the blood rush to his head and make him pass out. The smell of burnt bacon wafted upstairs. Something happened that was more important than what was cooking. He could hear the muffled sounds of his parents’ voices from the floor below while he paced in front of his window. As his breathing steadied, he listened closely and could almost make out some words.

His mom had been attempting, unsuccessfully, to stifle her sobs since his dad hung up the phone. Arnold could hear his dad’s deep, monotone voice trying to calm his mother down and keep her quiet. It didn’t matter, anyway. Arnold knew what was going on, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

It started with the ambulance that lit up their dark and peaceful street. Arnold found it strange that the lights were flashing, but there was no siren. Nor did the paramedics look to be in any sort of hurry when they exited the vehicle. Already awake and dressing for school, Arnold sat on a stool by the window to watch the house across the street. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one. Neighbors poured out of their homes, curious of the early morning commotion.

The community was tight knit, if a bit nosy, but for the most part, they truly cared for one another. The random assortment of neighbors gathered in clumps around the street and neighboring yards. Some were dressed for work, holding their morning coffee and handheld breakfast. While others wore robes over their nighttime wear, head topped with curlers or disheveled hair as unruly as when they crawled out of bed. No one stepped foot onto the property or approached the house, as a sign of respect. The body language of the onlookers was saying, I’m here. I hope you saw my text message. I don’t want to bother you, but what can I do to help? Sure, there were a few rubberneckers who didn’t know the family and only hoped to be there to watch something tragic and gossip worthy, but the majority of the crowd looked concerned.

With his bird’s eye view, Arnold stared out of his second-story bedroom window in the direction of the house belonging to his best friend, Hank, while the morning sun was just starting to rise. His hand was sweaty from tightly gripping his cell phone, afraid to put it down in case Hank texted back. He glanced out the window, looking for movement from the house, then down to his phone. With each glance, he was more disappointed to only see his last several messages that he sent to Hank.

Text messages from Arnold: What is going on over there? Sent at 6:04 AM Come on dude, is everything OK? Just let me know. Sent at 6:06 AM Where are you? Pick up your phone!! Sent at 6:07 AM

No answer. No little animated dots, which would at least let him know that Hank was on the other end trying to figure out what to say. Nothing. No sign of Hank at all.

As long as nothing changed outside his window, as long as he didn’t get a call or text, as long as he remained clueless about whatever was happening across the street, he could stay optimistic. Perhaps their carbon monoxide monitor was generating a false alarm. Maybe one of his parents had chest pains and confused a simple case of heartburn with a potential heart attack. Maybe the ambulance went to the wrong house, and by the time they realized it, the call was canceled, and they stayed for coffee. Those weren’t likely scenarios, but Arnold needed to prove to himself that there were alternative theories to the horrible, dreaded thought that he continued to try to push to the back of his mind.

Arnold had been a bully target since kindergarten when Brian borrowed his favorite mini-stapler. Of course, the stapler was never returned, and Brian went so far as to display it like a trophy on his desk every day when he arrived at school. Arnold’s hopes of middle school being a new chapter were dashed when Brian and a few of his buddies kept the ball rolling by borrowing lunch money, class notes, and test answers. The torment was daily, agonizing, and became as routine as brushing his teeth.

Arnold’s best friend Hank was a normal kid with extraordinary potential. To his classmates and neighbors, he was just an average teenager. Some would go so far as to call him a bit nerdy. But, for most, he was one of those people that wasn’t even noticed.

He didn’t stick out with his looks, and when it came down to it, he had a face that was quite generic. He didn’t make headlines for his athletic ability, but wasn’t the last kid picked for teams in PE either. Hank was incredibly smart but didn’t flaunt his superior intellect in class by being the first person to raise his hand.

Hank tended to blend into the background in any situation, and he liked it that way.

Yet somehow, for someone who went unnoticed by most, Hank had the misfortune of attracting bullies. Historically, the torture didn’t get much past snide comments or knocking books out of Hank’s hands in the hallway for the sake of a laugh. But Hank didn’t care. It never bothered him. Not initially, anyway.

Hank’s first and life-changing mistake was speaking up to a counselor to help his only friend. However, the counselor made a recommendation for an open debate where all the kids sat in a circle with Hank and Arnold to talk through their differences. What the hippie counselor didn’t realize was that her talkie-feelie mumbo jumbo had now given the bullies an additional target–Hank.

The middle school years were miserable from all the teasing and psychological torture for both Arnold and Hank. But that was nothing compared to high school, and they were still only in their freshman year. After the first couple of weeks in a significantly larger population of students, the two boys mistakenly felt hopeful they could fade into the background.

The classrooms were spread out over four buildings, and if you didn’t have a class with someone, you may never even see them in a school day. But then a new kid, Dayton, showed up. And Dayton would prove to be a much more formidable foe than Brian ever was.

Dayton moved to town at the beginning of the second week of school. He did not look like a typical high schooler. He looked more like he should be playing professional football. He was at least six feet tall and very bulky. He didn’t look muscular, but you knew by looking at him that it was in your best interest not to get in his way. His size alone meant power. His too-close eyes, protruding unibrow, full-grown mustache and greasy, stringy hair gave him the look of a hit first, ask questions later type of Neanderthal.

Arnold knew just from looking at Dayton that he would make Brian look like a sweetheart. Within a week, the physical bullying started. His physical aggression was targeted mostly towards Hank, but always ended with a threatening look at Arnold as he walked away.

Dayton’s bullying of Hank started with impossibly hard accidental shoulder bumps in the hallway but progressed when Hank was physically pinned to his locker by Dayton’s huge, meaty fists for the second time in just a week.

Arnold would never forget the look on Hank’s face the first time it happened. Hank was scared. Petrified. But, after Dayton leaned in and whispered something into Hank’s ear, he no longer looked scared of the pain that was sure to come but scared for his life. Hank cried. He actually cried. He was inconsolable. He didn’t want to talk about it and certainly wouldn’t share with Arnold what was said. Arnold tried to convince himself that Hank would shake it off the way he always did, but he should’ve known better.

Dayton’s relentless bullying had driven Hank to such a state of hopelessness that he couldn’t go on. In retrospect, Arnold was indirectly responsible as a passive bystander, and he knew it. His body shuddered as he was wracked with guilt. Hank had stood up for Arnold against Brian, making himself a target, and all that Arnold had done for Hank was to stand by and watch.

Hank would smile, let the others have their fun, let the bullies have their 15 minutes and move on. As he started his freshman year, he had been told by teachers and other adults that after high school, none of it would matter. He knew more about computers and cyber security than most professionals. He had big dreams. He was sure about what he wanted to do, and he knew that keeping his head down now would pay off in the future. It’s rare to find a teenager with intellect and fortitude that didn’t care what their peers thought. But Hank was a rare teenager after all. A fairly unnoticed, but bullied nonetheless, rare teenager.

As Arnold stared back out of his bedroom window, glancing up from his silent phone, he watched the paramedics wheel out a sealed body bag on a stretcher.

Unfortunately, for Hank’s lofty dreams and his bright future, he is dead. Arnold knew his best friend was inside the unidentifiable black body bag, and one way or another, it was one of his bullies who put him there.

ChaptEr Two

When the police arrived shortly after the paramedics, Alice sat nearly catatonic with shock. She couldn’t climb the stairs, nor could she help with any of the detective’s questions. Thankfully, Mark was taking care of what needed to be done. He had that kind of personality. Take care of business now, mourn later. The same thing happened when his mother died last year. He was strong for his family, took care of all the arrangements, and when everything was settled, he locked himself in his room for the weekend and allowed himself to process his grief.

Mark was the one to call the ambulance and managed to keep his cool while explaining that he found his only son, Hank, hanging dead from the door frame. He was the one to cut the braided leather belt and gently carry the lifeless body of his son to the bed.

After Mark closed Hank’s eyes, if he didn’t look at his skin tone or his neck, he may have been able to convince himself that Hank was only asleep. Even being fully aware that the police would investigate, as they did with all suicides and suspicious deaths and that what he was doing was likely considered tampering with the scene, there was no way he could leave his son hanging open eyed, pale, and limp in the doorway.

Hank was dead, as was a part of Mark for having witnessed the scene. Regardless, he managed to keep Alice safe and away from witnessing the horrific scene that no parent should ever have to experience.

He managed it all in addition to getting dressed and opening the front door to both the police and the paramedics. Mark’s grieving would come later.

Mark took the lead when the police began asking questions, while Alice only offered the occasional nod or head shake. One of the detectives asked most of the questions, and although Alice occasionally felt the weight of his stare, he mostly conversed with Mark. Police officers marched up the stairs with empty cardboard boxes as the detective explained the inventory process. He wanted to know Hank’s password to his computer and his phone. Mark shrugged and looked at Alice, who didn’t move. He wanted to know what Hank’s friends were like, to which Mark informed the detective that Hank really only had one, Arnold.

After answering no to questions about drug use, depression, and social media, Mark again tried to get a reaction from Alice when they were asked about a girlfriend. Alice simply shook her head. Hank had never had a girlfriend… and now he never would.

Did Hank keep a journal of any kind, paper or digital?

I know he used to keep one. Alice, does he still write in that journal of his? Mark asked in the present tense as if they were being questioned about their son who was alive in the other room.

Alice nodded. She knew he still wrote in his journal. He often kept it on his desk but lately, probably out of fear that she would read it, he had been taking it with him to school. She was curious about what he wrote. Even more so now. The thought of the officers rummaging through his personal belongings, his inner thoughts, his hopes and dreams, should have offended Alice, but she was numb.

Alice felt herself drift into the background as the entire scene surrounding her became out of focus and the voices muffled. She had no idea how much time had passed when Mark stood by her side and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

They’re leaving now, Mark said quietly. His voice was clear and rose above the background noise.

As the officers cleared out with their sealed boxes. The detective approached them.

We’ve removed anything that we believe can help in the investigation. Hank’s belongings will be kept secure, treated respectfully, and returned to you as soon as possible.

He handed a handwritten list to Mark.

This is a full inventory of what is being removed from the house. Two computers, USB drives, backpack, cell phone… it’s all listed there.

Mark looked down at the list with his eyes glossed over.

The one thing we didn’t find was a journal. If you find it, please contact me. My number is on the bottom of the inventory sheet, the detective said as he shook Mark’s hand and left behind the last officer.

No journal? Alice thought that was strange. They took his backpack and if it wasn’t in there or in his room, where was it? For the first time all morning, Alice spoke.

Did he leave a note?

Mark looked down and shook his head.

The three of them were such a tight-knit family. How could Hank