Chapter Text
The camera lights flashed before Ryan Evans, but he did not want them to this time. On any other day, he would’ve smiled brighter than all the lights combined. He was a wonder , of course --- from his perfect strands of hair, down to every inch of his soles. Smiling was second nature; to smile for cameras was first . After all, he’d learned how to perfect the smile of an award-winning actor, to tilt his head at just the right angle with every photograph, to connect with an audience greater than the one he could see with his eyes. He was a goddamned great actor, too. He could smile right now if he wanted to.
But his eyes were sullen things: deep and dark and angry. His usual upbeat demeanor was replaced by a certain kind of sadness. His smile, shrouded by the dark cloud that hung over his head. For once in his entire life, Ryan did not want the cameras to flash at his direction.
How could they not, though?
Sharpay Evans had died , --- no, had been murdered --- and Ryan Evans was to say a few words about it.
Let me grieve , he wanted to say. Let me grieve my sister’s death in peace. Please. But to beg would be out of character; and, for as much as they claimed to, the media never wanted to hear the truth. They wanted to gather around celebrities for the latest stories, to pick up bits and pieces of lies they could pass off as the truth. It didn’t matter that Ryan wanted to grieve; he knew this. They wanted a statement, so he was giving them one.
Even in the wake of her death, Sharpay always outshone Ryan. What a pity.
If Ryan were braver, he would mention this. Somehow. An out of place joke wouldn’t be too bad; he was, after all, grieving.
Instead, he sunk into himself and looked back at the pairs of eyes and ears all waiting for him. For something. For anything . They blinked when he did. Breathed when he breathed. Stayed silent. And, perhaps, it was such silence that made the loneliness all the more evident. These people, all with baited breath, hanging on a moment for a simple word, would all leave when this was done. Wasn’t that lonely? Wasn’t it sad?
In one quick moment, Ryan broke eye contact with the dozens of cameras pointed at him. His gaze met the ground, but hollow were they nonetheless. “She doesn’t deserve this,” he said, finally. An agreeable murmur came from the crowd. “We will find justice. I will search for it and turn the world upside down if I have to.”
*
“Ryan, are you with me?” Detective Chad Danforth said with furrowed eyebrows. His voice, a quiet thing, almost as though he were afraid to startle Ryan out of his daze. He, after all, had seen grief one too many times before. It took the forms of so many monsters; the look in Ryan’s eyes were nothing new. But, for as much as Chad wanted to sympathize, he had a job to do. If he took home every murder case, every homicide, every kidnapping, then he’d never get some sleep. He simply had to do what he had to do. “Tell me again, from the start. When was the last time you’d spoken to your sister?”
The question would do the trick for a moment, as Ryan met the detective’s gaze. He opened his mouth to say something --- anything ---, but in place of what should have been words were sobs. Unruly. Disrupted. Loud, and clear, and hurting. When he spoke, his words were muffled. There were only four, but they were enough. “I--- can’t do this ,” Ryan said.
“You have to,” replied Detective Danforth. “It’ll help us find your sister. It’s been a week, and we’ve got no leads, no nothing. Whatever you say could possibly help us crack this case open. Please .”
Ryan Evans was many things --- both good and bad. He was a lover moreso than he was a fighter; a coward more often than he was brave. Even now, though, he knew the importance of speaking up.
And so, when he finally opened his mouth, a multitude came out. Stories both related and not related to the case at hand. Answers to questions that Chad did and did not ask. Clues and details that helped build a case. But, amongst all these, a single name stood out: Troy Bolton .
“She went out on a date with him, once,” Ryan began. This was all too familiar: a story of forbidden and unrequited love, ending sour for a woman. “I know the guy from our meet and greets, as we do love to interact with our fans. He had always been persistent in asking Sharpay out, and he was cute, so I guess she gave it a chance.” The story, while seemingly innocent, was told with such a solemn tone. “But it didn’t end well, and Sharpay mentioned him coming over even when she hadn’t invited him, at unexpected hours of the night.”
By the end of the afternoon, Detective Danforth had enough details about Troy Bolton to list him as a suspect. He and Ryan parted ways on a friendly note.
But, just as he was clicking the lock on his door before heading to bed, a text message arrived.
INCOMING TEXT from ANONYMOUS
Don’t try to look for me. You don’t know what I can do to you.