Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (9 page)

26. A Sliver of Sunlight

The sun has disappeared, and I’m back at the silent cabin, feeling empty. These pep talks with Uncle Robert really leave me feeling so very encouraged.

I think back to the first time I saw him in Chicago. Then I think of that ride back to my father’s apartment on an empty L-train late at night.

Were those prayers real?

I know they were. The words I said and thought were absolutely real.

But what if Marsh and Uncle Robert are right? What if God has no more interest or use for any of us?

That’s why it’s called faith.

I remember the Bible Dad gave me—which I threw over the falls. Great decision there. No wonder God might not want to hear me out. I wish I could have it back just to try and see whether it’s true what they say, whether there really are answers inside.

I don’t have anywhere else to go or anyone else to ask.

What about Kelsey?

I think about it for a while, and it makes sense. Kelsey and her whole family are believers. Not that I’ve gone into depth with her about God and Jesus and angels and demons, but I know that her family goes to church and that they seem different.

Marsh seems “different” too, but well, you know …

I said I’d call her sometime today, so I pick up my phone to see what she’s up to.

“Just sitting watching television,” she says.

“Am I interrupting anything big?”

“I have DVR.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have DVR on your life? You could just fast forward an hour or a day. Or maybe six months?”

“Or you could go back. Like twenty-four hours.”

For a second I don’t get what she’s saying, but then I think I do. “So is that what you’d do?” I ask her.

“Beats watching television by myself.”

“Glad to be a seat filler.”

“Is that what you call it?” Kelsey asks.

“Hey, I think I came up with a title for an epic love story.”

“What’s that?”

“Bloodline
. That way it sounds like something to do with family and with blood.”

“Sounds like a vampire saga.”

“Well, of course,” I joke. “Have to have vampires.”

“Is the guy a vampire or the girl?”

I spot Midnight on the couch next to me. “The dog. The dog’s a vampire, and she infects the couple.”

“Does one of them die at the end?”

“Uh uh,” I say quickly. “We can’t reveal that just yet. We have to take time to create this story. It’s going to be huge.”

“Or epic?” Kelsey jokes.

“What about both?”

When I realize that we’ve been talking for an hour, I say the obvious.

“You know, it’s kinda stupid that I’m on the phone with you when I could be talking to you in person.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come over,” she says.

“Two nights in a row? Your parents might wonder something.”

“They think you’re a nice guy.”

“I’ve always wanted to be nice.”

“You were born a nice guy. There aren’t many like you around here.”

I think of what Uncle Robert would say to Kelsey’s comment.

Good thing.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” I say.

“Sure.”

I’m not sure how to bring it up, but with Kelsey I don’t have to watch my words. That’s the nice thing about being around her. It’s always been easy, from the very beginning. So I just ask.

“Is church for you a real thing? Like—is it more than something you go to every Sunday?”

“We actually go on Wednesdays sometimes. And on Saturdays.”

“Well, no, I mean, not just church.”

“What I believe?” Kelsey asks.

“Yeah.”

“Our pastor says that church is not the building, but the believers. It’s about the relationships.”

“Do you believe everything he says?”

“Sure.”

“That easily?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I don’t say anything, even though I have a hundred questions in my mind. Kelsey ends up with a question of her own.

“Why do you ask?”

“Do you think God hears prayers?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Do you think He answers them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, okay then,” I say with a bit of sarcasm.

“I’m just telling you what I think.”

“Is it that easy?”

“Yeah. At least, I think it can be. But I don’t know. That’s just what I believe.”

I wish I could see her as she says this. Those blue eyes cheerful and bashful and excited at the same time. Her cute little face and cute little lips.

“I’d kiss you if I was sitting next to you,” I tell her.

“Why?”

“Just—just because.”

Just because you’re a sliver of sunlight in this sad, scary place.

“I told you you’re welcome to come over.”

“By the time we get off the phone it will be Sunday,” I say.

“You can see me tomorrow if you want.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to go to church with us?”

And no, I really don’t want to because of Marsh and her parents and the whole faith thing, but in my typical way I say, “Okay.”

Because it feels right to say it.

It will feel right being next to her while I’m dealing with my fears and doubts.

It’ll be nice to sit next to someone I care for who doesn’t have the same fears and doubts.

27. Whole

I hear the scream in the shadows of the woods and feel myself running toward it.

I’m out of breath running toward the sound, toward the girl who’s screaming.

I hit a branch and feel blood coming out of my side and I get this weird sense of déjà vu.

You’ve done this before, haven’t you?

Then I reach a small clearing and see it.

The bridge.

The bridge with an opening beneath it. An oval opening like a mouth screaming or gasping for life.

I see Kelsey standing at the base of the hole.

She’s screaming as she’s being held by two figures. Dark figures, faceless, nameless, soulless figures.

“Chris, help me!”

I keep running, but I suddenly realize this is a dream.

Doesn’t matter ’cause dreams are real too and you know this.

I run down the hill and slip and fall on my back.

By the time I get up, the opening to the bridge is empty.

Kelsey’s nowhere to be found.

I hear another cry, but this one sounds worse. Like someone being hurt and tortured.

Like someone being killed.

I race down and look into the oval opening, but suddenly it’s pitch black.

Then I remember the lighter. The one that belonged to Walter Kinner. I flick it with my thumb, and I see them.

Hundreds of them.

Hideous dark figures blending into each other, standing guard, looking out and waiting.

Waiting for me to take a few more steps in.

Waiting for me to come to them so they can swallow me whole.

And that’s when I wake up.

As I’m getting ready, wondering if I should use some of Uncle Robert’s cologne that I found earlier, I notice the picture on the desk.

There I am, smiling and looking carefree on what appears to be a summer day.

The picture that once faded has come back into focus again. No reason why, not that I can see. But the picture is full and colorful and perfect.

I’d really like to be that guy smiling there.

Somehow even though it’s me, I don’t believe that the picture is real. It feels made up. I pick it up and shake it as if the image is going to go back to being fuzzy. But it doesn’t.

It remains.

For some weird reason.

An hour later I realize I really need to get a haircut, because when I get to Kelsey’s house my hair looks like I got struck by lightning. I don’t have dress pants, so I hope it’s okay that I’m wearing jeans. They’re nice, dark jeans, but they also have mud on them from riding my bike.

Kelsey doesn’t seem to notice any of that when she opens the door.

And when I see her I forget about what I look like.

She is a yellow rose sprouting in January in a dark, muddy field.

I want to pick this flower and put it in a vase and hide it forever. Yet all I can do is stand there and look like some stupid boy who doesn’t have a clue what to say.

“Good morning,” Kelsey says.

“I feel like I should probably go home and change.”

“Why?”

“’Cause next to you I look like a bum.”

“Oh stop. Come on in. We’re almost ready. You don’t mind riding with us?”

Kelsey really does look amazing in her long yellow dress and matching sweater. Everything about her is opposite of how my life has felt since coming to Solitary.

I wish I could tell her that and explain what that means.

Instead, I only manage to make small talk and then hit the bathroom to wet down the volcano of hair on my head.

Before heading out, Kelsey thanks me for coming.

“Yeah, sure,” I say.

Such an understatement.

Such a cool, casual comment.

I follow Kelsey and her parents out to their car to head to church, the way any family might get in their car on a Sunday morning. I long for a time when I don’t have to be understated with Kelsey. When I don’t have to be cool or casual. When I can simply tell her that she is and always has been a breath of fresh air.

A breath of fresh air in a life that occasionally feels the need to stop breathing.

28. Faith

The cold slaps me awake, and I get out of bed, remembering that I’m the only one in this cabin.

“Sorry, Midnight,” I say as I shiver and head down the stairs.

It’s five o’clock, and outside it’s black and silent. I turn on a light and shiver as I stand in my boxers and T-shirt. I check the thermostat and see that it’s fortysomething degrees in here. I forgot to turn on the heat last night.

Mom always controls the thermostat.

When I flip it on, I know it’s going to take a while for the cabin to become even remotely warm. I get busy with the sleeping fireplace. It takes me a few minutes to get the kindling and newspaper in place. Then it gets going, and I put some heavy logs on it. It dies down, and I go through the whole thing again.

I’m still not an expert on this whole making-fire-in-the-morning thing.

I’m still not an expert on living by myself, either.

I grab a blanket and wrap up in it and watch the fire slowly build.

I’m wired now and know I won’t be able to go back to sleep.

I sit in a strange kind of daze, thinking back to the first time Mom and I were here trying to start a fire. The first few times I attempted cutting wood with an ax. Our first few meals here in this remote, isolated, lonely place.

I could almost hear Mom’s thoughts out loud.

What are we doing here?

Yet Mom remained determined to make it.

Despite dealing with all the craziness going on inside of her.

And around her.

I count up how many months we’ve been here. Or scratch that—how many months
I’ve
been here.

Sixteen.

It feels like so much longer.

Sixteen feels like twenty-six, the same way seventeen years old feels like twenty-seven.

The crackling of the wood is a pleasant sound. Anything other than a howling scream or a booing ghost is a pleasant sound.

I think of Jocelyn again, and I wish that whatever it was that happened after she died—the dreams or visions or whatever I was experiencing—could happen again. Even if it was a silly dream where I was running around school naked and she suddenly popped up, I’d not let her go. I’d tell her the things I wished I could have said.

But you told her to go away, didn’t you?

I tried to do things myself. In some ways, I’m still trying to do things myself.

Playing along with Staunch and Marsh.

I think back to sitting in the pew with Kelsey and her parents. The thing that stood out the most was when Kelsey reached over and held my hand.

It was such a natural, simple thing.

But it made me want to break down because it felt so good.

I didn’t let go of her until we stood up for a final song.

I didn’t really pay attention to the preacher, but I remember one thing.

He said we live each day by faith. What does that even mean?

I stare at the fire, which is burning well now, and I try to make sense of the words.

Live by faith.

The praying thing—I’m figuring that out. But the other stuff he talked about, like reading the Bible and spending time with other Christians—well, that’s kind of a problem.

I tossed my Bible, and I don’t exactly have tons of shining examples of believers to be around, huh?

There’s a voice that tells me that is all foolish, that I got scared and needed help but that this isn’t really what I’m needing or wanting. This isn’t real and definitely isn’t cool.

Just get over this faith thing and figure out what to do.

But that voice sounds stupid to me. I’ve tried that out, and it’s gotten me nowhere.

The pastor said to stick it out, like running a long marathon and not giving up. I’ve only just started to run, and I’m already sucking in air and wondering whether to stop.

“Just stick with it and survive,” the pastor said.

I guess that’s what living by faith means. And I think I can start to figure out how to do that.

But the reality is that while I’m figuring that out, I also have to look out for my mom. And for Kelsey. And for others around me. So I can’t be stupid.

Eventually something’s going to break.

I just hope and pray it’s not me.

29. The Ticking Clock

“Can I talk to you?”

I’m still not completely used to Newt’s mouselike voice or the way he can just slip up on me at the locker. He’d make a perfect spy except for his fear of pretty much everything. And spies are supposed to get the girls, right? Well, strike two against Double-Oh-Newt.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

He looks around and then talks in a voice barely above a whisper. “Did an FBI lady come around to talk to you?”

“A black woman. Pretty hot, pretty tough? Yep.”

“What’d you tell her?”

“Nothing,” I say. “She’s not FBI. Come on.”

“She said that Poe gave her information on Jocelyn.”

“Yeah, what—like a year later? No way. She’s just another person trying to get information. What’d you tell her?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing I could tell her.”

“Sure there is,” I say to Newt.

“What if she’s real?”

“Then she’s real. And she’ll find out that there are lots of bad people around here.”

“Things happen to people who ask questions.”

One glance at the scar that’s always a bit extra shiny underneath the cold lights of the hallway reminds me that Newt’s right.

“They wouldn’t do anything to someone like that. A real FBI agent. Or a real cop. They just have people like Sheriff Wells who doesn’t do anything.”

“I’m afraid.”

I can see the fear on his face.

I try to do something I haven’t done much of in the past.

“It’s going to be fine, okay?” I tell him in my best impression of a leading hero voice. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“But you do,” Newt says.

Gee, thanks. I didn’t know that.

“Look—there are things—big things—to talk about. But not here. Not now.”

Newt nods and looks around the hallway through his big spectacles. “Okay. Keep me posted.”

I half expect him to say “Over and out,” but he just leaves.

Newt is a spy in training. A wannabe spy. It would be funny watching him if I didn’t know the horrible truth behind all of this.

The kid is going to have to know more of the story sooner or later. Because he’s one of the few people around here I trust.

And because I need as much help as I can possibly get.

Before lunch, I decide that I actually need Newt’s help with something right away. I know I’ll be sitting with Kelsey and her friends at lunch as usual, so on the way to the cafeteria I ask Newt a question that’s been on my mind all morning.

“Do you know anything about a haunted bridge around Solitary?”

He just looks at me and goes a bit pale. “What do you mean?”

I thought my question was pretty obvious, but I ask again. “Do you know of any kind of bridge around here that’s supposed to be haunted?”

“The Indian Bridge.”

“The what?” I ask.

“Indian Bridge. That’s the name.”

“Seriously?”

He nods. “Yeah. That’s just the nickname. It’s got a real Indian name that I forget.”

“And it’s around Solitary? Kind of in the woods?”

“Have you been there?” Newt asks.

“I think so.”

Newt’s eyes grow wide. “They say if you go there around midnight you can see ghosts of the Indians who were killed building the bridge. And there are animals that guard the bottom—it’s impossible to walk through the bottom part of the bridge.”

“So it’s like an urban legend, right?”

Newt shrugs. “If you’re wanting me to go check it out with you, you’re crazy.”

“No, it’s fine. I need you for the haunted house.”

“The what?” He suddenly looks even paler, if that’s possible.

I pat him on the back. “I’m just kidding.”

“It’s not funny.”

He has a point. Around Solitary, joking about ghosts is not a good idea.

When I get home that afternoon, there’s a package in the mailbox addressed to me. It’s square and white and feels light. I open it and find bubble wrap around something. I undo it and find another white envelope marked
Chris
.

Part of me doesn’t want to open this.

Things have a way of just showing up around here.

I think of the cell phone that just appeared one day on our kitchen table.

As I open the envelope, I can see my hands shaking.

Stop it, Chris.

I pull out a note and a wad of money that looks like the kind you see on cop shows after they bust a drug deal. It’s a stack of twenties.

For a long time, I just stare at the money that’s bound together with a rubber band.

Something tells me it isn’t an early graduation gift from Dad. Finally I open the note.

Chris:

This money is for you to use while your mother is at rehab. If everything goes the way it should, she should be coming home any day.

The bills that have been previously paid for by your mother are being taken care of as well.

Mr. Kinner wants to see you this Friday evening at six. Show up promptly at my house.

Make sure you’re there, Chris.

Staunch

I let go of the note and feel a dread inside of me.

No matter how often I see Kelsey and how much time I spend around her, I still have this to deal with.

No matter how I try to live my day “by faith,” I still have this filling my soul.

I shudder and look at the money.

It only makes me angry.

I wonder how many people Staunch has bought off in the past.

People like Lily …

Friday is four days from now.

And Memorial Day is four months from now.

The clock is ticking.

What will happen when the alarm goes off? Where will you be, Chris?

I really don’t want to know.