Like I figured, Mom freaked. A full on, arm flailing, tear flooded, question filled freak out  – "How did this guy find out Kirk? What did you say? What did you do?" Jeez, I have only got a third of my emotion back, but it is enough to feel floored by Mom. I know it is because she loves me; she has lost me once, now she has a fraction of me back, yet she is a couple of steps closer to losing me forever. This is tough for her. I know she will do anything to protect me – and that is a worry.

Mom does not wake in the morning; she sleeps off the bottle of wine she downed last night (at least that is what Dad says.) Luckily I have the ability to do my own make-up now, not as effectively as her, but I pass.

On the way to school Dad gives me a pep talk, "Don't get involved in anything today Kirk, any body try to be smart with you, just shrug them off – you understand?" I note a nervousness in him; I do  not ever recall him being the nervy type when I was alive. Perhaps my death has changed him? 

I meet Casey at the School entrance, "Wow, you look pretty today," I say. She looks at me, puzzled, "Did your Mom tell you to say that?" I laugh, 35% of real human laughter, "No, I am saying what I see Casey, you look just like the lovely girl you are. Trust me, you look gorgeous."

When we walk into the locker area, they all stare, and then look away. I expected this, was prepared for it – but not for what happens next.

The School Principle approaches, "Kirk, Casey, can you come with me please," he says, with authority.

He leads us into a classroom, where two police officers sit at a desk – with Dale. Cop one stands and thrusts his badge in our faces, "Are you Kirk Russel and Casey Edwards?" The principle leaves the room. 

Dale sits with the Cops on one side of the desk, Casey and I on the other. I have a small sense of trouble ahead.

Cop one speaks, "Kirk, I hear you got hazed yesterday, is that right?"

"Yes."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Not much."

"It didn't make you pissed, fill you up with anger?"

"No."

"Why did you eat the guts, that's not exactly normal is it?"

Casey jumps in, angry, "Hey, having a whole load of shit thrown at you by twelve guys isn't normal!" She points at Dale, "He's the one you should be questioning, for arranging the abuse of a freshman; especially one who's on the Autistic spectrum." Cop two raises his hand along with his voice, "Quiet young lady, you speak when spoken too – understand?" She looks at me, frustrated by my lack of anger with the injustice of his questions. It is just that I don't care as much as I would if I had 100% of my emotional response to this situation.

His questions resume, "Do you know Toby Evans?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I am sure." He looks at Casey, "And you, do you know Toby Evans?" She answers, confidently, "He's a sophomore, a short guy, a douche like Dale." He ignores her scorn and turns back to me, "A short guy – do you recall a guy of that description during your hazing kirk?"

"Yes I do, he was the one who brought in the gut bucket."

"Correct."

"So you do know Toby Evans?"

"No."

"Why were you staring at him during the hazing?" he asks, accusatorially.

"Because I read an uncomfortable look on his face." 

The Cop laughs, "Oh come on buddy, tell the truth."

"That is the truth."

He leans in close, I smell his mouthwash, "How about this: you're so pissed off at being hazed that you decide to take your anger out on Toby, the smallest of the gang, the easiest target. Ain't that the truth Kirk?"

"No."

"What did you do to Toby Evans?"

"Nothing." 

He leans back, "Empty out your pockets Kirk." I stand, and do as I am told. I place my I.D. and three dollars on the table. He smirks, "So, you left your brass knuckle at home today, did you Kirk?"

"I don't know what a brass knuckle is."

"Maybe you call it a knuckle duster, the thing you used too knock out Toby Evans." 

"No sir, I did not do that." 

He leans back again, looks at Dale and says, "You wanna take over buddy, tell him what you saw yesterday."

I see hatred in Dale's eyes, "Toby was beaten to within an inch of his life last night, left for dead and dumped down a ravine. I saw the way you looked at him last night, saw your thirst for revenge – you almost killed him!" He pauses, with heightened emotion, then continues. "Toby's one of the nicest guys in Arlington High, and now he's like a frigging zombie, on a life support machine, because of you!" he says, jabbing his finger at my face. He turns to Casey, "And you! You helped him, didn't you?" Casey looks at each of us with her mouth open in disbelief, eventually she speaks, "Is this for real?" 

They quizz us for an hour; after which they seem satisfied Casey and I had nothing to do with Toby's beating. And, we had not; you guys know that for sure. But, a thought enters my head as Casey and I discuss our brush with the law – I suspect my Dad might have done it, to calm Mom's huge fear of losing me. 

In math class my mini mind wanders. I recall my living self and how much I would worry about little things. Now, this big thing, my Dad attempting to kill Toby to protect me, it barely skims my conscience. I'm kind of detached from it, a position that gives me the momentum to deal with it directly.

The lunch siren interrupts my thinking; to my surprise, my first thought isn't food – no, the noise is my cue to go and confront Dad.

As I walk the school hallways en-route to Dad, I see groups of kids scattered about, huddled conspiratorially over cell phones. They giggle and gasp; scuffle for better views. Jenna, the girl who took a liking to me on my first day spots me first, "Hey everybody, here he comes, the star of the show – it's ZOMBOY!"

I freeze. Has my secret been discovered, is my time over? I count: 10, 20, 30...

... 60 seconds pass; no more feeling returns to me. I am still with you folks.

I continue onwards. Another of Jenna's crew shouts after me, "Are you off to the abattoir for lunch ZOMBOY?" Her chant is accompanied by peels of laughter that ring through Arlington High.

Casey calls after me, "Kirk, wait for me." She's breathless, shaking with what looks like anger. The cackling chorus that fills the school subsides as we walk away.

I discover the reason for their mirth, "Your hazing was videoed Kirk; some sicko's put it on YouTube." Says Casey.

I put my confrontation with Dad on hold while Casey and I find a quiet spot to watch the video on her ipad. She finds it @ zomboygets_hazed. "You ready for this?" she says. "Sure, hit it,"  I say. 

Casey is shocked to the core, "The gross thing is, while they're subjecting you to all that shit, they're laughing and joking. That's what's so horrific; how can any sane mind find that thing funny?"

I had not watched the video; instead my eyes scanned the peripheral details: 1.288 views. 58 comments. 64 likes. Casey continued, "Dale's clearly forcing you to eat raw guts, he's gonna be in big trouble for this." My ears prick up, I look at Casey, "Forcing me?" She looks at me, "Forcing you Kirk, get real, we need to take action against this cretin."

I hit play again and watch. The video is surprisingly good quality. Sure enough, when it comes to the guts sequence, the angle from which it is shot, and the way Dale's positioned, make it  look like he is forcing me to eat the contents of the bucket. I guess the camera can lie. Result.

The video stops abruptly just before the point I got my feeling back. It lasts 2 minutes and 16 seconds. I note the views: 2.132. They have almost doubled. 

I hit play again, and watch intently. At the end, I spot something telling.

Hit play, and watch again – very telling.

I read a look of mild distaste on Casey's face, "Kirk, are you getting some kinda pervy pleasure from watching your own hazing?"

"Yes."

Casey looks freaked. I try to explain, "Not 'yes' in I am getting pleasure, I mean 'yes' in I think I have seen something good." Casey frowns, "Kirk, there's nothing good in that video – trust me."

I Hit play and watch again – "Yes!" I say, with as much enthusiasm as my limited emotion can muster. Casey takes the ipad from me, "Kirk, tell me, what is the good thing you are seeing?" A half smile cracks across my face, "This video contains a clue as to who beat Toby Evans."

Three seconds from the end I pause the video; Dales back view fills the frame, "Look here Casey," I say. The outline of an object can be clearly seen filling his back pocket, "Is that a Brass Knuckle?" I ask, Casey nods a triumphant yes, "Absolutely! We got him Kirk, well spotted; we need to go show this to the cops..."