Nightingale

Chapter 20 In Enemy Hands

The day at school had started out so well for Bron, but all too soon he felt as if he wanted to hide. All through his first class people had asked if he would play again at lunch. He couldn't really keep a low profile.

Since he didn't have a locker at the school—those were reserved only for freshmen, and came with the fear of scorpions creeping into your gym shoes at night—Bron had to carry his guitar from class to class.

Within an hour he was so famous that at the beginning of second period, social sciences, his teacher announced, "I've had several requests for Bron to play for us today, and so if you're all quiet and attentive for the first hour, I will ask our guitar virtuoso to play."

The entire class was angelic, so Bron played.

He felt conflicted. Olivia had warned against attracting attention. She wanted him to keep a low profile, but he'd never felt popular before.

He wondered if he should come up with a cover for his new-found skill. After all, it had come out of nowhere. But no one here knew him. Back in Alpine, at the Stillman's, he'd played only in secret. As far as anyone knew, he'd always been talented.

So he made sure to hit a wrong note in class, just so that folks didn't get too excited.

At lunch, he wanted a little anonymity, so he hid his guitar in the car and huddled in a corner beneath the stairs at the atrium and ate a sandwich from a sack lunch.

A couple of the guitar geeks in the school sought him out—a pair of undersized kids who apparently felt that he might spout some wisdom that would multiply their own talents. They squatted on the floor next to him and talked softly about their World of Warcraft exploits while munching on carrot sticks and bologna sandwiches.

As Bron ate, he closed his eyes and listened to songs on his iPhone. Someone kicked his feet. He peered up at Justin Walton, the teacher's aide for his dance class, who was all glaring eyes and square jaw.

A couple of Justin's friends hovered at his back, thugs eager for some entertainment. Bron pulled off his headphones and said, "Hey, looks like you found Crabbe and Goyle!"

"You've played your last song with Whitney," Justin growled, nostrils flaring. His face was red, and his curly hair looked like the mane of a wild animal. His sculpted body was all sinew and muscle, without an ounce of fat. He breathed heavily, as if he'd just gotten out of dance practice. "I know all about you. You're just welfare scum."

Bron thought of a couple of comebacks, all having to do with piglets, but decided to take it easy.

He'd often found that the best way to avoid a fight was to simply ignore the aggressor, and he suspected that any match between him and Justin wouldn't be even.

"Whitney can hang out with anyone she wants," Bron said, and slipped his earphones back in, as if he was disinterested. But he just couldn't let it go at that. "Besides, I don't take orders from ballerinas."

Justin kicked Bron's feet again, hard, and made a face that was half snarl. This fool didn't know who he was dealing with. Sure Justin was bigger and more muscular, but Bron figured that he could teach the cop's son a few wrestling moves.

As quickly as he considered how to go about a takedown, Kendall McTiernan stepped around the corner, appearing at the edge of the stairs, as if he'd been standing guard duty.

"Is there a problem here, Walton?" Kendall asked. He stepped in front of Justin, and glared, the muscles bunching in his broad shoulders. The two kids who had been sitting next to Bron also rose to their feet, backing Kendall.

Suddenly Bron realized that his newfound friends had all been standing guard duty.

"I was just... advising Bron here to stick with his own kind." Justin retreated a pace, as if unsure whether he could win this fight.

"Oh," Kendall said easily. "His own kind? You must mean the really cool people? Whitney's crazy about him, in case you haven't noticed, and he's crazy about her. I really think that they should hook up, don't you?" Justin's face fell at the sexual innuendo. "That's okay with you isn't it? There's no law against it."

Bron's fingers began itching, his sizraels extending. He closed his fists, even as his palms began to tingle.

For an instant, Justin's nostrils flared as his frustration turned to wrath, and then just as suddenly his face paled in dismay. Bron felt energy flow into him, like living water.

Justin's pupils shrank to pinpricks of fear. His nostrils flared and his face went white.

Bron had begun draining Justin of will. The effect was palpable, instantaneous.

At that moment, Kendall's hand strayed to the back pocket of his slacks. Bron expected Kendall to pull a knife, but instead he pulled out a comb. "Get out of here," Kendall told Walton, "unless you want to party?"

At that moment, Justin's resolve crumbled. He turned and strode away, his entire frame shaking.

The guitar geeks guffawed at Justin as Kendall stood combing his hair. The tension in the air began to ease. Kendall leaned over and put his hands on his knees, as if he'd just taken a punch. His geek friends were shaking too, and Bron realized something.

I wasn't just draining Walton. I was draining all of them!

He felt energized, alert and powerful and just a bit deadly. But his protectors were all trembling, as if they'd just lost a fight.

Bron kept his fists clenched, to hide his sizraels. "Hey, thanks," Bron said. "I owe you."

He put a hand on Kendall's back while Kendall struggled to draw breath. He willed something vital back into his friend, and felt a small tug as it was released. It wasn't much, but Bron gave something back.

Kendall drew a deep breath. Bron looked at the two geeks, wanted to help them, but felt too nervous. He couldn't do it now, in public. It would have to wait.

Kendall drew upright and said, "Watch out for that creep. He'll send his dad to do his dirty work."

Bron went through the next couple of hours in a daze, worried about Kendall, longing for Whitney. He went to class, but couldn't have repeated anything that was said.

At the end of third period, as the hall filled with students bustling between classes, Bron bumped into Galadriel.

Literally, he bumped into her. Or maybe she bumped into him. He was walking through a crowd, had turned his head while he tried to maneuver, and "slam," he stepped right into someone. He got the impression of soft, yielding flesh, long blonde hair, and he caught the gentle aroma of perfume.

He turned as Galadriel grabbed his shoulders, as if to keep from falling, then steadied. "Oh, sorry!" she said.

Somehow he wasn't surprised to see her. He was more amazed at the change in her. There was something brilliant and determined behind her eyes, and she held him with ... boldness, he decided.

"Hi," Bron said. "You coming to school here?"

"Yeah, I'm all registered." She smiled, waited for him to strike up a conversation. Finally she asked, "So, are you going to try out for the Hyperion Club?"

"Me?" Bron said. "Nah."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to look like any more of an idiot than I already do." Galadriel's face fell a little. The school was electric with excitement. This was the most important club on campus. "I'm going to try out."

Bron wondered at that. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said. "Do you want to stay and watch me? You might even offer a few tips." He didn't really, but he couldn't admit that without hurting her feelings. "Maybe I could."

Immediately he regretted saying it. He wondered how long he'd have to sit waiting for her. Still, watching Galadriel would kind of be like watching a gorgeous sunrise. Tedious but breathtaking.

"Great!" Galadriel beamed.

At just that moment, Whitney came down the hall, smiling prettily. She took one look at Galadriel and the smile faltered.

"Who's this, Bron?" Whitney asked. "New girlfriend?" Whitney came close enough to bump elbows with Bron, and leaned into him, as if to stake her claim.

She forced Galadriel back just a pace.

"Uh, this is my neighbor, Galadriel," Bron apologized.

"Lucky you," Whitney said.

Galadriel's smile faltered. A hurt expression crossed her face, frown lines and tight lips. Bron realized that Galadriel hadn't heard about Whitney.

"Well," Galadriel said, retreating just a bit, "see you after school, Bron. It was nice to meet you, Whitney."

She lunged through the crowd as if to escape, trembling.

"She's beautiful," Whitney said. It was a loaded compliment. If Bron disagreed, he'd obviously be lying. If he agreed, he'd get in trouble.

"You're beautiful, too," Bron said, turning his full attention to her. He almost felt that he had to say it. Normally he would have held his feelings in, but he just decided to let them out.

In part, he was surrendering to his desire. In part, he wanted to reassure Whitney. Maybe, even, just a little he wanted to make Justin Walton crazy.

"So what are you going to do about it?" Whitney demanded.

He gave her a quizzical look. "I was thinking about asking you out this weekend, if you've got time."

"I'll make time," Whitney said. She half turned to head for class, then did an odd thing. Her smile faltered and her expression became thoughtful. She put her hand on his shoulder and peered into his eyes, as if seeking to come to some decision.

Her pupils went wide, and Bron breathed in her scent, as if she were an orchid that had just opened in the night. She leaned on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Her lips tasted intoxicatingly sweet, and they were softer and more inviting than he'd ever imagined.

He'd never been kissed by a girl before, not like that. It snatched his breath away. He felt as if he might fall into her.

Whitney whirled with a mischievous smile and headed for class.

He stood staring as she stalked away, and fought the impulse to beg her to come back.

Two girls giggled nearby, and Bron realized that news of the kiss would spread all over school within the hour.

He glanced back, saw the girls with their heads down, exchanging excited remarks, texting on their phones.

Nah, he thought, it won't take an hour. The news will be all over school in ten minutes.

Bron spent the rest of the day in a daze. He kept imagining Whitney, what it would be like to run his hands through her hair, to stare into her eyes for hours. He had never taken a girl out before. The Stillmans had had a rule against dating until he was sixteen. Even once he reached the age limit, he'd been too broke to date.

Mainly, he realized, he'd never dated because he'd never been attracted to a girl the way he was to Whitney.

He'd promised to watch Galadriel practice for auditions, but realized that Whitney would be jealous. So when the bell rang, he bolted for the door.

Galadriel caught him in the foyer. "Hey, Bron," she said, as he joined the stream of students heading out the front door. Her face was pinched with worry. "Can I ask a favor?"

"What?" Students, mostly girls, jostled Bron as they passed. He felt exposed and vulnerable, like a rabbit in the open.

"My mom called, and she's sick with a migraine. I don't have any way to get home. Could you give me a ride? Pretty please? I'd owe you forever."

He looked into her blue eyes, and wind gusting outside stirred her hair. He was afraid that she might be trying to make Whitney jealous, but all he could see in her eyes was worry and an apology.

I'll be stuck here for hours, he thought. Olivia might be able to take Galadriel home, but who knew how late Olivia would have to stay? He didn't know anyone else who might be driving all the way to Pine Valley.

"All right," he agreed.

She smiled in relief and bounced a little. "Thanks," she said. "You're the greatest!" She bit her lip, as if worried, and begged, "Can you come help me prepare for my tryout?"

He didn't want to be alone with her, so made an excuse. "I can't. I have a bunch of homework. But I will wait for you."

While Galadriel found some place to rehearse, Bron hid in the Hafen Theater, with a math book opened on his lap, as he watched the tryouts.

As faculty advisor to the Hyperion Club, Olivia sat in the front row during auditions. To Bron's surprise, Whitney, as club president, hunched beside Olivia, taking notes as each student tried out.

Between auditions, Whitney often glanced up. She just beamed, but didn't come up to say hello. Bron realized that he was going to have to walk down to see her, if they were to spend any time together.

An hour after school had ended, Galadriel entered the theater and took a seat beside Bron. He wished that he could shrink under his seat, and somehow hoped that Whitney wouldn't notice Galadriel.

It didn't take ten seconds for some girl to nudge Whitney. She glanced back, and lost her smile.

Bron tried to think of some way to put her at ease. He wanted to pretend that Galadriel didn't interest him. He peeked to his side, and felt stunned: once again, Galadriel's natural beauty floored him. She was too gorgeous to ignore. The sweet scent of her hair tugged at him. He tried to figure out words to describe her: curvaceous, shapely, sexy, desirable.

Superlatives failed.

Thoughts of Galadriel seemed to burrow into the back of his skull. Even when he looked away, he felt profoundly aware of every little shift of her body, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

Being with her wouldn't be so bad, he considered. I mean, she does seem to have changed a little.

He tried to focus on the performers, and was barely aware of them. The auditions were an odd mix. The Hyperion Club was for triple threats. Over a hundred kids tried out for only five slots. Those who won a spot would receive extra training from Olivia, and that would take them a long way in their careers.

Competition was fierce. People performed who could sing but not act, dance but not sing. Everyone got applause, but some of it was less heartfelt than others.

Near 6:00, a deliveryman came in with a stack of pizzas, and auditions broke up. Bron walked down and selected a slice of Hawaiian, then climbed up on the edge of the stage and sat next to Whitney. She had her own pizza, something with steak and tomato.

She let him sit by her, but turned and began to talk to friends. He knew she was angry. She'd make him suffer. After a minute, she turned back and asked, "How's your friend Galadriel?"

"We're not really friends," Bron said. "She just asked for a ride home. Her mother got sick, and couldn't pick her up."

"I'll bet that happens a lot this year," Whitney prophesied.

"I'd be happy to give you a ride home, sometime," Bron suggested. "Maybe even pick you up? Like tomorrow morning?"

Whitney smiled. "I live down in Saint George, way out of your way."

"I like taking the scenic route," Bron said.

"There's nothing scenic in my neighborhood."

"You're scenic."

"You wouldn't be impressed by my neighborhood," Whitney said. "Too many cheap houses." He could see that she wanted him to pick her up for school, but she was worried.

That surprised Bron. "I like cheap houses," he said. "I've lived in them all my life." He realized that he wasn't the only one at the school hiding behind a uniform. "Somehow, I thought you were rich."

"Why's that?" Whitney asked. She inched toward him, and he felt stunned by her nearness. His heart was pounding.

"Your smile," he said simply. "That alone looks like it's worth a million or two." He was telling the truth. He'd seldom seen teeth that were so perfectly aligned, so white. Her smile spread slowly, opening like a morning glory when touched by the sun. "Then there are your eyes: you should get a patent on that shade of green. Your freckles are really cute, too. I think each one is worth at least a couple of bucks."

Whitney grinned widely and moved closer, until her shoulder bumped his. Bron had earned forgiveness.

"You're not really jealous of Galadriel, are you?" Bron asked. "I mean, she's got nothing on you."

Whitney's expression hardened. "Look," she said, "my dad died when I was eight. My mother got just enough money from dad's life insurance so that with luck we'll survive until I get out of high school. Then mom will have to try to live on her income as a waitress. The only way I'm ever going to get through college is if I can rack up a couple of scholarships, and to do that, I need parts in plays. Even better, I need summer jobs at the theater.

"Now when someone like Galadriel comes along, she's got something that's worth a lot to casting directors: she's breathtaking. I don't know if she's got any talent, but even with a little, she turns into major competition. I hear that she's rich. She's got a great look to her, and with her money, if she needs a little enhancement—a nose job or her lips collagened—she can run to the best plastic surgeon in Hollywood, and the next day she'll be twice as gorgeous.

"So ... we're in competition. I have to be worried. That girl is a dream breaker. I'm kind of hoping that she has zero talent, or that she falls off the stage and snaps an arm or something."

Bron laughed and bumped shoulders. "It doesn't have to be that dramatic, I hope."

"Life is hard enough without her. Bron, I want to hang out with you, get to know you. But time is not something that I have much of. Play season starts today, and for the next eight months, I'm going to be working my tail off each night."

"So," Bron said, "if we're going to hang out, it sounds like I'd better sign up for theater tech."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course. I want to hang out with you, too."

Whitney nodded toward his pizza. "Are you going to eat that beast, or just gaze at it longingly?"

Bron realized that he hadn't touched it. She hadn't tasted hers. She raised an eyebrow at his pizza, as if admiring it.

"I've been waiting for a royal food taster to come by," Bron said. "You never know what someone might try to sneak onto your pizza, like arsenic or roofies. Want some?"

He held up his pizza, and Whitney looked into his eyes as she leaned forward and took a bite, then smiled. When she'd chewed it slowly, she said, "Seems safe. Alas, I have no food taster of my own."

Bron leaned forward, took a bite of her pizza, and Whitney stifled a chuckle.

He swallowed quickly. He was surprised at how great it tasted—sundried tomatoes, marinated steak, forest mushrooms and ... something he couldn't name. "Wow," he said. "That's the second-best thing I've tasted today."

She looked confused, as if nothing could be better than her pizza. "What was better?"

"You."

She raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm. I don't really remember how your lips tasted."

"If you want a kiss," Bron said nonchalantly, "you don't need to beat around the bush. For most women, my lips are off-limits. But for you...."

He leaned forward, peered into her startling green eyes. Part of their attraction, Bron decided, was the size of her eyes. They were so large, he could get lost in them.

Whitney grinned, glanced around the room. At least a hundred students were milling about. She leaned into him and kissed.

Bron's heart pounded and his cheeks flushed, but he didn't dare stop. He took it long and slow, and he didn't care whether anyone saw. He reached up and cupped her head with his hand, just holding her lightly....

It wasn't until almost eight at night that Galadriel took the stage. She wore a yellow designer raincoat that went fantastic with her blonde hair, and she carried a matching umbrella. She cued up music from the sound booth, and then went into a little soliloquy that launched her into a tap routine while she sang "Singing in the Rain."

She started out a little wooden with her first lines, but quickly her voice took on a sincere tone, and she slid into the role as easily as if she'd just pulled on a sweater.

Bron was surprised to find that she had real acting skills. Her singing was nowhere as cool as Whitney's, not as soulful.

As she began to sing, he realized that she had a pretty voice. It wasn't amazing. She had probably never been trained, but it was better than average.

Her tapping was impeccable. The stage had a few leftover props here and there—stairs that went to nowhere, an overturned bucket, a barber pole.

Galadriel danced up the stairs, twirled the bucket, swung on the pole.

When she finished, there was enthusiastic applause, and Bron saw Whitney and Olivia with the other judges exchanging urgent notes. When they finished, Olivia nodded, and Bron felt sure that Galadriel was in.

The sun was setting after the auditions, when Bron walked Galadriel to the car.

When they left the school, Tuacahn had a festive air. Orange lights lit up the school and the theater. People had begun to arrive for the Tuesday performance of "Tarzan," and were lining up on the plaza, talking contentedly. The snack counters wafted a scent of cinnamon-coated almonds and caramel corn, while lights in the gift shop illuminated bronze statues and wall hangings.

"That was so great," Galadriel said. "That was so great!"

Bron said nothing. He realized that he should be on the lookout for strangers. He saw plenty, but none with the cruelly focused gaze of Olivia's enemies.

Bron and Galadriel strolled down in the evening shadows, into a parking lot that was rapidly filling. It was that gloaming time, when shadows deepened toward pure darkness. A crimson glow limned the red rock cliffs behind the school, and bats weaved crooked patterns across the sky, as if writing words that only prophets might read.

If a squad of enemy masaaks is hiding down here, Bron realized, I'll never see them.

Bron got in his car, as Galadriel hopped in the passenger seat. He turned the key with a sense of relief, and sat for a moment, just letting it idle. Some old people walked past on their way uphill to the outdoor theaters.

He glanced at Galadriel. She'd surprised him. He wondered, Do I really have any talent? Sure, I played the guitar today, but that wasn't really me. Olivia loaded me with memories, taught me to play.

But where does the teaching end and me begin? I'm not sure that I'm any better than a karaoke singer.

Bron didn't want that. He wanted the music to be a part of him, as natural as a laugh, as essential as bone.

"That Whitney girl has a crush on you," Galadriel said.

"Yeah," Bron said. "I've got a crush on her, too."

He wondered where he should take Whitney on Friday.

He wondered how he could even be thinking about Whitney with Galadriel in the car. His mind spun. Galadriel was pretty, and apparently talented.

He drove slowly out of the parking lot and downhill, then reached the turn at the road. He had not gone far when he realized two things: he seemed to be heading the wrong way, driving up the hills into the sunset, and Galadriel was just leaning back in her seat, staring at him.

He kept driving for a long mile, and saw a sign announcing that he was entering Snow Canyon Park. There was a ranger's shack just ahead, and the park was closed.

He pulled off the side of the road, and Galadriel laughed in amusement. "Man, you're lost. Turn around already. Unless ... you brought me out here for a reason?" She smiled teasingly.

Bron felt the blood rise to his cheeks, and he turned around, went down the hills with the sparse mesquite bushes until he reached the main road. From there he was able to follow the signs home even in the dark.

He had just reached the T in the road as he came into Pine Valley when he saw Officer Walton's squad car parked by the chapel.

Bron's heart pounded at the sight. He couldn't help think of Kendall's warning about Officer Walton. Bron made sure that he used his turn signal, then took a left and accelerated slowly toward home.

The bubble lights on top of the police car began to flash, and Officer Walton made sure to flip on his siren as he spun out of a driveway and "gave chase."

Bron couldn't believe it. He pulled over at the park, and the squad car came up behind.

Officer Walton turned on his spotlight, so that the car was lit brighter than day. He came out with his long flashlight, the weighted kind that could be used as a club.

Bron hit the switch and rolled down the window, and Officer Walton flashed his light into the cab. There was a gloating expression on his face, tinged with chagrin. He seemed displeased to see Galadriel there, as if having a witness to what was about to happen might suck all of the fun out of his evening.

"Everything all right, ma'am?" he asked.

"I'm fine, officer," she said.

Bron reached for his driver's license, but Officer Walton said cordially, "Bron, could you step out of the car?"

Bron tried to remain calm. He climbed out the door, stood facing Walton. He imagined that he might be asked to walk in a straight line, as if he was drunk, but Walton said, "Will you put your hands on the hood and spread your legs?"

It wasn't until then that Bron saw that Walton had pulled his revolver and had it leveled at Bron's gut.

"What? What's going on?" Bron asked. "Is this about me dating Whitney? I can't believe this!"

He turned and dutifully took the position as Walton patted down his back and waist. "Put your right hand on your neck," Walton ordered.

Bron did as asked, and the officer snapped a handcuff onto his right wrist. Half a second later, Sheriff Walton twisted the arm down while he clasped the cuffs onto Bron's left wrist. By putting a toe into the back of Bron's knee, Walton forced him down onto the ground, where the gravel dug into Bron's skin.

"Galadriel, will you step on out of the car, sweetie?" Officer Walton asked.

Galadriel came out, shaking. "What's going on here?" she begged.

"We got an anonymous tip," Walton explained. "Someone sent a cell phone picture into the police, which identifies Bron here as a suspect in a murder...."

Bron froze. He tried to sound surprised. "Murder?"

"There was an incident down in Saint George, on the on-ramp at Exit 8?"

Bron's heart hammered. This had nothing to do with Whitney at all. Officer Walton went to the passenger side of Bron's car, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out a pistol.

Bron blinked in surprise. He didn't recall ever having seen the gun before. He could only imagine that Olivia had put it there. But when?

"Well, well, well?" Walton said. "What have we got here? Maybe I better check into any armed robberies in the area."

Bron wanted to object, to tell Walton that it was Olivia's weapon, but his mind was racing. The only people who knew that he'd been in the car when Olivia threw out the tire traps were the people who were chasing him. They must have been the ones who supplied the police with the "tip."

He hadn't realized that anyone had photographed him.

Which begged the question, "Why?" Why would they want him arrested? He could only think of one answer. They'd been hunting for him, and they'd come up empty. So they'd enlisted the aid of the police.

Saint George was a small city. His arrest would be a media circus, and would land on the front page of the Spectrum. The paper might withhold his name, since he was a juvenile, but the enemy would learn he'd been caught. They'd know where to look.

Neither he nor Olivia would be safe.

Bron worried that if he implicated her at all, Olivia would get arrested, too.

Then what would happen? If the enemy caught him, he wasn't sure. What could a memory merchant do to him? Rip all of the memories from him? Yeah, he thought, they could do that—and probably a whole lot more.

Officer Walton stuck the gun in his belt, reached into the glove compartment, then pulled out a paper bag filled with caltrops. "Looky here," Walton gloated. "These look curiously like the custom-made tire spikes that got thrown out onto the onramp the other day. So what do you do with these, Bron?"

Officer Walton pulled out a spike. The spike was made of iron, and had four prongs. No matter how it fell, one prong would always be left pointing up. Each prong was roughly two inches long, and had a hollow center, so that it would pierce and deflate even the toughest tire.

"Those? I play Jacks with them," Bron said.

"Jacks?" Walton asked, as if he'd never heard of the game.

"You know," Bron replied, "One, two, buckle my shoe?"

"Ohhhh," Walton said. "That little kid's game?"

"Adults can play games, too," Bron suggested.

"According to reports," Walton said. "You were in a white Honda CRV at the time of the incident the other day. There was a woman with you. You mind telling me who it was? Was it Galadriel here?"

"Friday?" Bron said. "I don't remember being with anyone on Friday."

"Olivia?" Walton asked, as if confused. "Was it Olivia, maybe?" Even Walton couldn't imagine Olivia being involved in anything like this, obviously.

"She loaned me her car for a bit, to run some errands," Bron said. "I may have picked up a hitchhiker."

Walton peered at him for a long time, looking down his nose. "You sure that you want to play it this way?"

"I want a lawyer," Bron replied. On television, that always left the cops frustrated and angry, but Walton just smiled coolly, like a lizard in the sun.

"Okay," Walton said. "Bron Jones, you're under arrest for carrying a concealed weapon, vehicular assault, fleeing the scene of an accident, premeditated murder—and a whole lot of other things that I haven't even thought of yet."

Before Bron could say anything more, Walton read him his rights.