Dark Inside (8 page)

Diefenbaker Park was dark and silent. Normally there would be dozens of cars filled with teenagers drinking beers and having a good time. There would be couples parked in the lot that overlooked the river, sharing intimate moments before curfews called them home. Mason came here often with his friends; it seemed natural to him to be there now, and that’s why he’d pointed the car in its direction. He hadn’t even realized it until he pulled through the gates. Good thing his subconscious was paying attention to the roads. At least he’d put on his seat belt. His life might be over, and everyone he knew might be dead, but at least he didn’t seem to have a desire to join them yet.

That had to be a good sign. Right?

He parked the car over by the train bridge and turned the key. The silence filled the car. He had to roll down the window to let some of it out. Is this what going insane felt like?

Eventually his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the outlines of the trees became less blurry. He wished he had something to drink; something strong that would burn a hole in his stomach and shut down his brain. Back at the house he knew where his mother kept a bottle of whiskey. Why hadn’t he thought to bring it with him? It’s not like he had to worry about her catching him anymore.

Freeing himself from the seat belt, he got out of the car, slamming the door behind him as hard as he could. The noise echoed across the park, and in the distance an owl hooted.

A few feet away from the car was a garbage can. Mason approached it and kicked it hard. It toppled over, lid rolling away, trash flying. He kicked it again, sending it pivoting, lopsided, into the middle of the parking lot. Again and again his foot met with plastic, leaving scuff marks and dents against the smooth surface. It emptied quickly, and cans, chocolate wrappers, and bags of dog crap scattered across the ground. He stomped on the cans, crushing them underneath his shoes, spreading bits of gravel, and creating dust clouds.

When he was finished he looked around at the clutter and destruction he’d created but it didn’t make him feel better. His car was a few feet away, silent and dark against the night. He moved over toward it and kicked a tire several times in rapid succession. White heat flared through his leg and into his brain. But the pain didn’t work the way he wanted it to.

The numbness was still there.

He wanted to feel. Something. Anything. The emptiness inside was worse than anything he’d ever experienced.

He could almost hear Tom’s voice taunting him about turning emo. How he wished his friend were there to share his grief, but he was also thankful he was alone. Telling people his mother was dead would make it real. He could almost pretend it wasn’t so if he didn’t say it out loud.

Gravel crunched behind him and he spun around, half expecting to see a police car. Would they arrest him for destroying the trash can? He’d never vandalized anything before. Sorry, Officer—didn’t mean for all that destruction, but my mother and all my friends died today. Isn’t that worth a Get Out of Jail Free card?

But it wasn’t a cop, just some guy walking across the parking lot toward him. Normally Mason would have turned back to his car without giving the guy a second glance. A lot of people walked throughout Diefenbaker Park late at night, and even the homeless people sometimes curled up on the benches.

But the guy was carrying a baseball bat, and that made Mason take notice.

And he was coming straight for him.

He didn’t have time to react properly. The guy crossed the remaining few feet in three strides, raised the bat, and brought it down toward Mason’s head. Luckily, Mason instinctively stepped backward, the weapon missing him by inches.

“What the hell?”

The stranger didn’t answer. His response was to raise the bat again. Mason took a good look at his face. His lips curled and his eyes burned with hatred, although Mason was positive he’d never seen this person before. Why on earth was he trying to bash in his brains?

Mason moved again but not as quickly. The bat met with his shoulder, the impact vibrating through his entire body. Endorphins flooded to his brain, sending waves of nausea straight to his stomach. All rational thought died. The edge of his vision went blurry and then dark. His arm went instantly limp, dangling uselessly at his side as he swallowed twice, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat and pouring from his lips.

Mason’s knees hit the ground and the stranger raised the bat again. Thoughts jumped through his brain, popping out at him between the pain and dizziness. He was going to die. The nut job with the baseball bat was going to take him down in a matter of seconds and it would be over.

The thought sobered him enough to make him push forward on his legs and slam his body into his opponent. The baseball guy grunted, the first sound he’d made since the attack started, and he took a few steps backward before the weight of Mason’s body brought him down. He didn’t let go of the weapon, though, and he brought it back up in the air as the two of them struggled.

Mason picked up a handful of dirt and threw it in the guy’s eyes. It didn’t even make him blink. Using his good hand, Mason reached out and grabbed hold of the baseball bat, desperately trying to keep the guy from using it. A second blow and he’d be done, especially if he took a shot to the head. Shoving forward, he tried to get the upper hand by pressing all his body weight on top of the guy’s arm. If he could get him to drop the bat, he’d have a better chance. His car was just five feet away. All he needed to do was get inside and lock the doors. A tiny bit of hope quelled the queasiness in his stomach. He might just get through this.

He didn’t want to die.

He was a little surprised to realize this.

But the guy wasn’t letting go of the bat without a fight. Mason shifted his leg over until his foot pressed up against the guy’s wrist. He managed to bring himself up to his knees and press all his body weight against it, but the weapon stayed firm in the stranger’s hand. It was an awkward position, and in a matter of seconds the guy bucked Mason off himself. Falling backward, Mason hit his shoulder against the pavement and white stars filled his vision, bringing with them a wave of dizziness. Rolling over onto his back, he gazed at the guy as he straightened, bat in hand, and situated himself right beside Mason’s head.

“What do you want?” Mason mumbled.

The guy didn’t say a word. Instead he brought the bat down.

Mason rolled to the left, grabbing the guy’s ankle and dragging him down a second time. This time the guy dropped the bat and it bounced against the pavement, making a hollow sound as the aluminum hit the rocky surface. It didn’t roll far enough away, though; it was still within reach. Mason managed to bring up his leg and kick out wildly. His foot met with the stranger’s nose, and he could actually feel the cartilage breaking beneath his shoe.

Grabbing hold of the guy’s jean jacket, Mason pulled himself up against him, like climbing a sideways ladder. His hands caught hair and he didn’t stop to think.

He reacted.

The vibration spread up his fingers and into his arms as the head met with concrete. The guy immediately stopped moving.

Mason shoved himself off the body and crab walked backward, stumbling and falling when he tried to put weight on his bad arm. He shuffled along the ground until his head met with his car. Leaning against the smooth metal, he waited apprehensively for the man’s body to move.

It didn’t.

He lasted about ten seconds before the bile in his stomach pushed its way to the surface. Crawling to his knees, Mason heaved into the dirt. As he puked helplessly, his body tensed, waiting for the moment when the baseball bat would crack against his skull.

Nothing happened.

When it was over and his head had cleared enough to look, he saw that the man was still lying on the ground. Even through the darkness Mason could see the pool of blood spreading from underneath his head.

Had he killed him? Using the car as a crutch, Mason
managed to climb to his feet and stumble the few feet back until he was standing over the stranger. The man faced the sky and his eyes were closed. Mason couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not, and he didn’t want to lean in closer to get a better look. Picking up the baseball bat, he tossed it as hard as he could. It cleared the parking lot and landed a few feet away in the bushes.

He staggered back to his car and got in. Starting the engine, he winced as he placed his injured arm on the steering wheel. He backed out carefully. Even if the guy was dead, he didn’t want to drive over him.

He made it only to the edge of the park before he had to pull over. His hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold on to the wheel. Turning off the car, he waited for the panic to subside.

Had he really just killed a man? Was he a murderer? No, it was done in self-defense. There’s no way any court would convict him. But he’d left the scene of the crime. Should he have kept the baseball bat as proof that the guy had a weapon? What if someone came along and took it? A small cry escaped his lips. A man might be dead and the only thing that worried him was whether or not he was going to be arrested?

Shouldn’t he be worried about the stranger’s family? Should he try and find them? Wouldn’t they be worried?

He realized he didn’t care. There was no empathy in his brain.

Was he that dead inside?

He knew he should go to the police, but it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. He made sure the doors were locked before he closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

He’d be better once he slept for a bit.

There had been screams.

Begging. Pleading.

Agony.

Then silence.

Around four in the morning the gunshots finally ended. Shortly after that the screaming winded down and soon there was silence. No more voices. The only sounds were the crickets and wind echoing through the rafters.

Clementine was hiding in the barn. She had run the mile to her house, but when she’d arrived, she’d known immediately it wasn’t safe. Whatever had happened to her parents and the folks at the town hall was happening to all the citizens of Glenmore. And Sam let her go free. He warned her specifically not to go home. Her house would be the first place they’d search if they came for her.

Scratch that.
When
they came for her.

It was just a matter of time.

Dear Heath, I promised myself I wouldn’t think about them until I’m safe. Help me find a way out of this and then I’ll allow myself to fall apart.

She had stood outside her house wondering what to do. It didn’t take long to decide to hide in the barn. She had plenty of time afterward to regret that decision. She could have grabbed her cell phone and called someone. She should have taken the keys to the truck. If she had done that she’d be on the road and halfway to Des Moines by now. She could have gotten help. She could have run into the fields and taken cover in the corn. It would have provided better shelter in the long run.

Because she knew that the second they finished searching the house they’d come and check the barn.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

She was trapped. The time to run had been hours ago while they were still busy at the town hall. Her parents’ farm was right on the edge of town. They’d be getting close by now.

How many of them were there? She’d been too panicky to count. There had to be at least a dozen, maybe more. These were people she’d grown up with. Sam. He’d helped her dad repair a fence less than a week ago. He’d been in a good mood and she’d given him lemonade and some of her mother’s cookies.

All these people she thought she knew. There were memories attached to all of them. Good memories. What happened to change them into killers?

She needed to get into the house. She didn’t even have to go that far. The keys were in the fruit basket on the kitchen table, ten feet from the back door. She could be in and out in less than thirty seconds.

But every time she tried to convince her brain of the logic of moving, her legs refused to participate.

Dear Heath, remember last summer, before you went off to college? You told me if there was ever an issue with guys I could call you and you’d come instantly and rough them up. Well, I’ve got some problems
and could use a bodyguard right about now. Your tough baby sister isn’t as strong as she thought she was. In fact, she’s turning out to be quite the marshmallow. People keep telling her to run and she goes the distance. Should have signed up for cross-country this year. I’d be heading for the Olympics in no time. Do they have a gold medal for being cowardly?

If only telepathy worked.

What was that stupid mantra that Imogene was always chanting?
I’m a strong and beautiful woman. Everything I touch will turn to gold.

Yeah, and
I must, I must, I must increase my bust.

A cracking noise outside the barn, and her heart instantly doubled up. Someone was standing outside the doors. They’d found her.

No, they hadn’t found her.
Stop overreacting
. She needed to get control of herself; otherwise she’d jump up the minute they walked through. Hey! Here I am! Over here!

Remain calm. Count backward from twenty to try to slow her breathing. Push her heart back down her throat and force it into submission. She could do this. Her hiding spot in the corner was good. She’d managed to cover herself adequately with hay and an old horse blanket. On first glance she probably looked like a big lump of nothing. Didn’t the heroine always go up into the rafters in the horror movies? Staying on the ground would give her leverage. When the killer went up to search the dead end, she would slip quietly out the door. She would run into the house and grab the keys and be on her way before the killer even knew she was gone. She’d go to the police in Des Moines and they’d send out the army or the FBI, and Sam, Henry, James, and the rest of the not-so-God-fearing nutcases of Glenmore would be arrested.

And for Christmas she’d get a pony and a Porsche.

They had guns. She may be fast, but there was no way she could outrun a bullet.