Chapter 6
The creaking ceiling fan provided Brendan’s only company again that night. Despite how gross he considered the idea of sleeping in his brother’s bed, he figured that all those dingy motel rooms he’d had to stay in over the years were probably way worse. His mom had probably bleached the sheets a thousand times, so he had nothing to worry about. Right?
He rolled over and stared at the wall. Not surprisingly, the sheetrock had no words of wisdom to bestow. Brendan took a few more deep breaths before giving up and dragging his pillow and sheets back down to the living room, where his couch awaited him as always.
Settling into his new bed
highlighted a few pain points in his legs, reminding him of his run with Marcus earlier in the day. He made a promise to himself that by the time he left, he’d beat Marcus in a sprint. Goals were important, otherwise he’d drive himself nuts with the monotony of civilian life.
He’d spent a boring day bumming around the house, reading a book, doing some yard wor
k, and then working out. Sure, that kind of lifestyle suited some people, but Brendan needed more action. He’d probably never again have a use for his more interesting skills, but after so many years of hurry-up-and-wait, he was tired of just waiting. There had to be a hurry-up portion to offset all the boredom of idleness.
Glass smashed nearby, far too close to be outside. Brendan leapt from the bed, shedding the sheets tangled in his legs. His hand automatically grabbed the poker from the fireplace as he slunk through the dark living room towards the front door.
An arm protruded through the broken stained glass to the right of the door, its hand probing for the deadbolt release.
Two swats from the iron poker sent someone screaming into the night. Brendan reached for the handle, a murderous rage ready to explode on this idiotic would-be burglar. His hand stopped when glass shattered in the back of the house.
Keeping to the shadows, Brendan caught movement ahead in the hallway crossing in front of him, towards the backdoor. The lights flared to life, revealing an old lady in curlers pointing a shotgun at him. Instinct drove him to ground as the gun boomed loudly in the enclosed space. Brendan rolled right and looked up to see his dad pointing his mom’s barrel to the ceiling. His mother just stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked.
Ears ringing and humming wildly, Brendan nodded to his dad and then
ran past his parents to the backdoor. The large glass pane occupying the top half of the door had been smashed in, but no one stood on the other side.
“Shotgun scared
those junkies off,” his dad said, standing right behind him. The voice sounded like they were all standing underwater. Brendan tried to shake the sensation out of his head. His blood was still boiling, but he had to keep his cool. His father’s voice must’ve knocked his mom out of her trance.
“
I’m so sorry,” his mother exclaimed, embracing him ardently. “I forgot you were here.”
“No problem.” He gently shrugged her off.
He exited through the backdoor and surveyed the empty yard. A dog barked a couple of houses down to his left, and his first instincts drove him to chase the sounds, but instead he reentered the house
and headed back to his couch. It wasn’t worth chasing delinquents into the night for some vigilante justice. At this point he’d have a hard time keeping out of trouble with the cops if he roughed up some punks on the other side of the neighborhood.
With his heart still pulsing like a nineties’ techno beat, Brendan sat
on the couch and turned on the lamp to see what damage his mother’s ill-advised shot had caused. Thankfully for everyone in the house, his dad’s TV still stood strong. The scatter from the shot had perforated the sheetrock in a jagged circle, but had missed the most precious appliance in the whole place. Life would go on. His parents were still standing in the doorway whispering to each other, and Brendan really didn’t want an invitation into that conversation, so he avoided eye contact and tried to put his bedding back together. On cue, his mother joined him on the couch.
“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?”
“Yes, I’m fine
.”
“Can I get you something?”
His father clomped into the room. “You can get him a brush and pan to sweep up the mess those meth addicts left.”
“Marcus mentioned the meth problem,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”
“Damn
junkies break into houses all the time to steal crap they can pawn for cash.”
“All the time, huh?”
“Oh yes,” his mother replied. “The police even think there’s a large factory nearby, or laboratory, or whatever they call those places. But they haven’t found it.”
“Probably those damn Mexicans
again,” his father added as he claimed his rightful place on his cracked leather throne. Apparently the old man wasn’t kidding about Brendan cleaning up the broken glass. “I figured they’d move on after they got their Spanish-speaking asses shot up out in the woods.”
Not caring to listen to the diatribe that was fixing to start, Brendan sought a distraction.
“Mom, why don’t you call the sheriff while I take care of the glass?”
She
nodded vigorously.
“Okay, that sounds good,” she said as they walked towards the back of the house. “It’s so nice to have you back in
town, Brendan.”
Brendan looked down at his mom and returned the smile.
When his dad clicked the TV on, Brendan resigned himself to a sleepless night in his brother’s bed,
after
he cleaned up the broken glass.
He retrieved a dustpan and brush and took to his new task, hoping it would lower his heart rate enough that sleep wasn’t completely out of the question. As he swept the bits of glass into the pan, he wondered if he’d brought this on himself when he complained of boredom. He yawned long and hard. Hopefully next time, the excitement would come during the day, after a solid night’s rest.
Chapter 7
Early morning sun streamed through the partially opened blinds in the kitchen. Brendan’s mom stood by the stove, frying a couple of sausages in a pan. She turned as Brendan walked to the fridge for a glass of water.
“Did you sleep well after all that excitement last night?” she asked cheerily.
“It was okay,” Brendan lied. When the morning had finally come, he’d expected to find two holes in the ceiling where his eyes had drilled into the drywall.
“I thought I’d be up all night, but I fe
ll right asleep when I lay down.” She poked at the sizzling sausages with a spatula. “Your father might be a bit grumpy, though, so watch out.”
Brendan took a gulp of water before putting the glass down on the island counter.
“Oh yeah? He stay up late watching TV?” His dad had kept the volume low enough that Brendan couldn’t use that as an excuse for his own insomnia.
“I couldn’t ev
en tell you when he came to bed.” His mom slid the pair of juicy sausages onto a plate with some scrambled eggs. “I was dead to the world.”
When Brendan made a move for the plate, his mother swiftly pulled it off the counter and wandered back to the bedroom, presumably where his dad was waiting for his breakfast. He made himself a plate with some of the leftover eggs and a piece of bread that he didn’t even feel like toasting. The glorious scent of cooked sausages still hung in the air. Brendan had half a mind to go eat his eggs outside to avoid it, but instead he just stood at the island and
inhaled his breakfast.
His mother returned as he rinsed his empty plate into the sink.
“Your father loves those sausages,” she said, carefully plucking the wet plate from his hands.
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re good.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, she added, “I don’t buy them but once a week, just to keep his cholesterol in check. He’s on medication, you know.”
“I didn’t know that. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, the doc says he’ll be fine, but he really needs to cut down on the fried foods.”
Considering the food usually served in this house, Brendan wondered if he needed to start making the funeral arrangements, or if Taryn or Grant would handle it. Thinking of his
older siblings brought up a question he had for his mom, one that needed to be asked out of his father’s earshot.
“Where does Taryn live now?”
His mother paused in the process of cleaning his plate.
“Why would you want to know that?” she asked, putting the immaculate plate on a drying rack.
“I haven’t seen her years. I figure it’s about time I checked up on my sister, see how’s she’s doing.”
His mom turned to face him.
“I know I probably shouldn’t, because I don’t see what good can come of this, but she is family and she’d probably love to see you.” She shot her bedroom door one more glance before continuing. “She always had a special place for you, especially after all that came between you and your brother.”
That was news to Brendan. His older sister had hardly been around at all while he was in high school. Having a family member who didn’t hate his guts at the time would’ve been nice.
“So where can I find her?”
“Don’t tell your father I told you this.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
His mom then wordlessly jotted down a small map with a house number on it. Brendan thanked her, but said he could’ve just looked it up on his phone if she’d told him the address.
“It’s more, uh, temporary living structures, more than anything,” she said awkwardly. “I’m not sure Google would be able to find it.”
“You mean it’s a trailer park?”
“Something like that, yes,” she said quietly. “Anyway, if that’s what you’re doing, you best be off before your father comes out here.”
He made for the door, grabbing his keys off the old dresser standing guard in the entryway. Seeing the busted-out window reminded him that he should probably go get some glass on the way back from his sister’s place. He was sure his old man had a glass cutting tool, so he could probably just get some surplus stock, at least as a temporary fix.
Once in his truck, Brendan reviewed his mom’s map, and then pulled the address up in the GPS app on his phone. Against all hope, the device pinpointed the location just off a side street on the outskirts of town. Armed with this information, he pulled out and headed into the seedier part of Shallow Creek.
Chapter 8
The town itself would be considered a small town in Texas, but that didn’t stop the sprawl that usually accompanied cheap land prices. Brendan cruised down the main street for some time before finding the
narrow gravel road he needed. After bumping his truck down a ways, he found the unmarked trailer park assembled on his right.
As he drifted slowly down what could loosely be defined as a street, Brendan wondered how on Earth a place like this warranted a street name, never mind the house numbers to go along with it.
Glancing at a numbered signpost in disbelief, Brendan stopped his truck in front of a dirty single wide mobile home.
An A/C unit hung precariously out of one window. Streaks of rusty brown ran down from improvised gutters running the length of the trailer. A couple of good-sized dents hinted that someone had taken a baseball bat to the siding.
And this was where Taryn had found a better life for herself.
Reluctantly he killed the engine and got out. His heart shifted up into his throat as he approached the door gracing the center of the home. He didn’t really know what to expect, or even what to say, but he didn’t have much time to plan before the door swung open. He hadn’t even knocked yet.
“What do you want?” growled a huge man with a shaved head. His accent was definitely Eastern European, but Brendan had a hard time discriminating between the different flavors.
“I’m Taryn’s brother.”
“There’s no Taryn here.” The man stepped back and started to close the flimsy door. Brendan shot up the two concrete steps and pushed against the door.
“Wait—” he started before the door flew open and meaty hands grabbed the front of his shirt.
Anger smoothly took control.
Brendan brought his arms up hard under his attacker’s. With the g
rip loosened, Brendan brought an elbow down into the bridge of the man’s nose. The satisfying pop didn’t distract Brendan as he hoisted the man around by one arm and spun him gracefully down the steps and onto his ass.
Brendan
descended the steps in a single bound, punched his assailant in the face for good measure, and then ripped him up by the shirt, slamming his back into the side of the trailer.
“Where
’s my sister, you little shit?”
The bigger man snarled, but did nothing more than stare back defiantly.
Brendan brought a knee up to the man’s gut and clocked him in the side of the head before rushing up into the trailer. He could hear the man roar behind him, but he didn’t care. Something wasn’t right here, and he needed to find his sister.
A noise to his left grabbed his attention. He darted through a cramped bathroom and found himself in a stark bedroom. On a mussed bed lay an incredibly attractive woman wearing nothing more than panties and a thin white tank-top. Brendan averted his eyes the instant he recognized his sister.
With a cloudy voice, she asked who he was. She seemed only vaguely worried that a strange guy had just burst into her bedroom.
“I’m Brendan,” he said, still staring at the floor. “Your brother.”
She shrieked joyfully as she flew from the bed and wrapped her arms around his neck. Not knowing what to do, he carefully pushed her hips back from his own and looked into her vacant, sunken eyes. These were not the eyes of someone so young. She’d lived some hard years. When she smiled, her yellow teeth looked rotten, and Brendan caught a whiff of something atrocious from her body.
Powerful arms wrapped around his chest from behind and plunged him backwards through the bathroom and into the living area. Brendan couldn’t regain his balance and his foe launched him backwards into a recliner, which flipped over with the impact, allowing Brendan to crack his head against the wall.
Before he could recover, the man lifted him up and slammed him against the wall. In the background, his sister’s screams arrested both men’s attention.
“Serge! Let him go!” she cried, pounding on the man’s back. “He’s my brother!”
Serge’s glare bored into Brendan’s eyes, and he didn’t dare blink.
“If I let you go, will you fight?”
Suppressing the burning desire to break this man’s face even more than he already had, Brendan shook his head. Serge slowly released him and backed away as Taryn lunged forward to embrace Brendan again. Without listening to whatever it was she was saying, Brendan eased her aside and stormed up to Serge.
“What the hell is wrong with her? What did you give her?” he demanded, pointing back at his confused sister.
“That’s not your business,” Serge said.
Now Taryn cautiously walked around next to Serge and clung to his giant tattooed arm.
“What do you mean, ‘What the hell is wrong with me?’” Anger creeped into her voice. “Just what the hell does
that
mean?”
“What is it? Coke? Meth?”
Brendan saw the slap unfurling both in his sister’s mind and then in her arm, but he made no move to stop the clumsy effort. She connected forcefully with his cheek before spitting on his shoes.
“Get the hell
out of here and don’t come back.” She pointed to the open door. “If I want to see my judgmental family, I’ll just go to Mom and Dad’s.”
“But—”
“But nothing,” Serge interrupted, easing Taryn away gently and leaving an open path to the door. “I suggest you leave now.”
Confused and bitter, Brendan saw no other option. He couldn’t even meet his sister’s disdainful glare as he skulked away with his tail between his legs.