Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (16 page)

52. Strong

Later that night, after staying up late to see if Mom is going to wake up and need anything, I check on her and see her still sleeping like a rock. I double-check to make sure the doors are locked, turn off the lights, then head upstairs.

It’s weird to feel this alone even though Mom is downstairs.

I brush my teeth and wash my face, and then I think of Uncle Robert living here by himself.

Fighting the demons all by himself.

Then just giving up and going into hiding.

Not telling anybody, just closing himself off and shutting down.

I don’t want to do that. I can’t do that.

I’m the kid and they’re the grown-ups, but I guess I have to do what brother and sister cannot do.

Be strong. And stay strong.

Then I think of someone else I need to stay strong for.

Someone I haven’t heard from in a while.

I forget about everything else, and I get my iPhone to send a text.

I type it as quickly as I can.

I just want you to know that I’m thinking about you. And that I’m not about to lose you. Especially for some stupid thing that I did or tried to do. You’re not going to get away so easily.

I turn off the lights and am climbing into bed when my phone buzzes.

I’m the one sorry for doing something stupid. For being so lame.

I read and reread her text and then I think I get it.

She’s been avoiding me because she feels stupid and silly.

I laugh out loud and start typing again.

You’re like the only person around here who stands for something and remains strong. You know that? Good for you. That makes me only realize even more that I’m supposed to be with you.

She doesn’t text me back so I ask if she’s still there.

W
ow
, she writes.

What?

Do you really mean that?

Of course I do.

Even with it being senior year—with college and all that down the road?

I’m staying by your side
, I write to her.
As long as you’ll let me.

It’s a deal.

Good night. Hope to see you in my dreams.

Me too.

53. Soon, My Friend

February seems to be a forgotten month, like a stepchild who nobody really talks to. Its cold and snow come in bits and pieces, but nothing big enough to get excited about. Everything is just cold and gray and endless.

It dawns on me soon after Mom’s arrival that the timing was no accident. Marsh wanted me to do something, and I did it. I went down underneath the dreary bridge and got the baby/doll and brought it to him. Without hesitation. Without telling anybody else.

Maybe he thinks that means I’ll do more for him and Staunch. And yeah, I’ll play along. I’ll go for the ride until we reach the end and I open my door and jump out.

Mom’s mood doesn’t really change. She seems shell-shocked, like someone who just got back from something terrifying.

Every night is the same—leading her to bed and tucking her in like a child. One night it gets me really down, and I go upstairs and cry like a big baby. I get it out of my system. That’s what I tell myself.
Just get rid of the tears once and for all.
And as I’m crying, I open my Bible up and find some psalms.

They really do the trick.

So the next night I ask Mom if I can read to her.

A year or even six months ago, my mom would have said “Yeah, right” and laughed. But she’s different now.

So am I.

I read one psalm to her at night. I guess if they made me feel better, they might make Mom feel better too.

This is sorta like being in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night stuck in the middle of a tent with only one little flashlight.

A light in the darkness.

This doesn’t feel normal to me. What feels normal is sitting in a room by myself listening to music and trying to forget about life outside that door. But that particular kind of thing isn’t working.

Not anymore.

And the guy who sat on that train in Chicago did something. Or maybe it’s more like God did something to that boy sitting on the train, the one asking for help and forgiveness and hope.

Hope.

These parts of the Bible I’m reading are the only kind of hope I know.

Kelsey remains the bright spot in my day.

I try and figure out where her happiness comes from. Are her parents mixing it in with her cereal in the morning? Is it because she knows she’s getting out of here in a few months?

Or maybe it’s you, Chris.

But it’s not me. It’s something deeper, something more meaningful.

Even in the drab month of February, the promise of springtime is there every time I see her.

Things are back to normal, but the normal that was when Kelsey and I were just friends.

For some reason, it’s suddenly become less, well, intense.

Less hot and heavy.

Which is good. And safe.

I don’t want to blow things with her again.

Not with everything that’s coming up in my near future.

A future that doesn’t look as shiny and sweet as hers.

An outcome that will be here sooner than I think.

54. More to Say

One Saturday morning near the end of February, Sheriff Wells pays Mom and me a visit. Perhaps he’ll manage to get a little more out of her than I have. Any attempt of mine to ask how she’s doing or feeling or what exactly happened when she was gone goes nowhere.

I’m just thankful she’s alive. Maybe, hopefully, being able to move away from Solitary after school is over will finally make her be her old self again.

I’ve gone out on a couple more ghost hunts with Mounds. He’s paid me, and a little extra money is all I need.

I still have the wad of money Staunch gave me. Part of me wants to use it to buy Mom something, but I can’t get myself to do that.

I’m not taking anything from that guy. Never again.

The sheriff looks older, even though it’s only been a few months since I’ve seen him.

Maybe that’s what this town does to you. It turns you into an old person before your time.

He’s lost weight, and his goatee looks grayer and his hair looks thinner. He doesn’t have the swagger that he had when I first met him.

Maybe that’s what guilt does to you. Guilt over letting an innocent girl like Jocelyn die on his watch, then refusing to believe it until it’s way too late.

“You folks have a few minutes?” he asks before Mom invites him inside.

She asks if he’d like anything to drink and gets him to have a cup of tea. It takes a couple of minutes before he has his cup and he’s sitting on the couch across from us, holding it.

“I want to formally apologize to you folks,” Wells says as the wrinkles on his face seem to tighten up.

Mom still has her tired, slow-mo thing going, but it also seems like having a visitor has made her wake up a little.

“I don’t understand,” she says in a polite way.

“I’ve been, uh, relieved of my duties. Not that I’ve been doing even half of them. But it’s, well—it’s time to go.”

“You got fired?” I can’t help but ask.

“Not quite,” Wells says. “Doesn’t work that way. Officially I resigned. Unofficially, I got canned.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mom says.

“No … Ms. Buckley, I’m the one who’s sorry. I have not done right by you and especially not by Chris. When you were attacked in town and someone knocked you out, I should’ve done more. I just—I couldn’t. After the things that happened with Wade and Jocelyn, again, I could’ve done more. But I didn’t until it was too late.”

Mom doesn’t react, and I suddenly hope and pray that Wells doesn’t say more about Jocelyn. I never told Mom. And while I might sometime in the future, I don’t think she’s in much of a mood to hear about Jocelyn’s death.

“The stuff going on—stuff Chris came to me about—I didn’t do my part. I didn’t step up. And I’m sorry. Chris—I let you down. As a sheriff. And as a man.”

Mom glances at me and then looks back at Wells. “Thank you for saying that. But are we—is Chris in danger?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he slowly but surely says. “And he has been for some time.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“I’m not leaving yet,” Wells says. “And whatever I can do, I will do. It’s just—there’s been a development that recently came to a head. It’s one of the reasons I’m stepping down.”

I have no idea what he’s going to mention. Perhaps Wade’s death? Or Lily’s?

“An FBI agent has been around here asking questions. You met her, didn’t you?”

So she
was
legit?

I nod at Wells.

“That started the avalanche. And there are those who just don’t like any snow whatsoever, if you know what I mean.”

Mom doesn’t seem to get it, but she sips her tea and keeps listening.

“That’s still an area of concern,” Wells says.

“For us? For Chris?” Mom is the most alert she’s been since coming back, even though that alertness is more like worry.

“The concern is about secrets coming out, ma’am. And when that happens—if that happens—then the people who are keeping them will be very unhappy. And that means you two will be in danger.”

“I didn’t say anything to the FBI agent,” I say. “I didn’t think she was even real.”

“Of course not,” Wells says, rubbing his goatee. “How could you? I’m surprised you thought I was real. Really, I’ve just been a grown-up man dressed in this costume. It’s been Halloween for the last ten years around here.”

Wells is talking more to himself than to us. He refocuses and stares at me.

“I came here to tell you I’m sorry, and I’ve done that. You listen to me, Chris. You be careful. About everyone and everything. But know this—there’s some good around these parts. You wouldn’t know it if it suddenly showed up and slapped you across the face, but there are some good folks. I know that. I know that ’cause I’ve seen them. They have hope, and they believe in the power of good, Chris. They’re not going away. And neither am I. At least not for a while.”

He tells me this in a way that seems to say
I’ve got your back.

I nod and then watch as Wells goes to the door.

He looks as if he could say more, but then again so could everyone else around this place.

There’s always more to say.

Always.

55. Messed Up

I’m walking in the freezing woods over dead leaves and past bare trees. It’s night, and I can barely see anything and the wind feels like it’s blowing right through me. I glance down to look at my feet, but I don’t see anything. Then I reach to touch my arms and don’t feel anything either.

I’m a ghost.

No, you’re not. You’re dreaming.

But this doesn’t feel like a dream.

This feels different somehow.

I see the outline of a small house. Some kind of glow flickering in the window. I check the door and it’s locked, but that doesn’t matter because doors don’t hold back wandering, dreaming visitors.

I see that it’s a cabin much like the one behind our house. Except this one isn’t abandoned with a gaping hole in the middle.

This one has a set of candles in a couple of places that eerily light up the room. The small, rustic kitchen looks like it’s been in use. There’s a table with bowls and plates on it. An old rocking chair. A bed in the corner.

With someone lying on it shaking and screaming and jerking to get out.

It’s a woman.

No, it’s a girl.

And one of her arms and legs are shackled to the wall.

You remember seeing those shackles, don’t you, Chris?

I want to close my eyes, but I can’t.

I want to get away from here, but I don’t.

The screams are suddenly louder and her jerking is suddenly more crazy.

Then I see why.

There’s a round hole in the center of the room.

Sticking out of the hole is someone’s head.

A smiling, sick man who slips up out of the hole and moves toward the girl.

I try to scream. I try to do something. I try to do anything.

Please don’t please let her be please let me get out of here.

I tighten up every muscle I have in my body, and I force this picture and nightmare to go away.

I awaken in my own bed with my heart pounding and my face and neck sweaty as if I’ve been running.

I think about the scene that just unfolded in my mind.

That really happened.

I don’t know why, or when, or who that girl was. She was young, a lot younger than me.

The underground passages. The old mansion that belonged to the Solitaire family.

And what about that nightmarish boxcar full of dead people?

I feel sick to my stomach. I sit up and then put a hand on the window. It’s so cold outside. The room is chilled, but nothing like outside.

The more I seem to discover about this town, whether it’s from being told or from being shown or from whatever these visions seem to be, the more I realize the evil that’s been going on for some time around here.

And Kinner wants that evil to move on into other places.

It makes me sick to think I come from this.

It makes me want—no, it makes me
vow
to put an end to this messed-up bloodline.

Either I’ll do something about it or I’ll die trying.

56. Help

It’s a Tuesday after the last period of the day, and I’m about ready to head to driver’s ed when Mr. Meiners comes up to my locker.

“Hey Chris. Ready to go for a drive?”

“I thought Mr. Mason would be doing that,” I say.

“Sometimes I help out with the actual driving. I taught driver’s ed for ten years, so I know a little something about it.”

“Okay.”

I follow him outside to the parking lot, where we get into a Honda Civic that’s seen better days. I go through the motions of listening to his instructions.

We head down the main drag of Solitary, and then Mr. Meiners tells me to take a country road out of town. I’m driving more slowly than I normally would, nervous about doing something stupid, when we pass a deserted gas station and Mr. Meiners tells me to pull into the empty lot.

“Want me to parallel park?”

It’s getting dark outside, and the headlights are on. Mr. Meiners shakes his head and just tells me to pull up beside the building.

For a few moments, there’s only silence in the car. Mr. Meiners studies the outside, then clears his throat and looks over at me.

“I don’t know what to do about you, Chris.”

For a second I’m wondering what I did wrong. “Did I miss a stop sign or something?”

I can see the amused look behind his beard and glasses. “No. I’m talking about you. The situation you’re in.”

I don’t answer.

I’m in several different situations, to be honest. None of them is any good.

“Chris, I know about your family. Your mother and your uncle. About Staunch and Marsh looking after you.”

“Looking after?”

“Sheltering you.”

I let out a grim laugh, because that’s crazy. “I’m not sure I’d say that.”

“I would. For now. They’ve had tabs on you ever since you and your mom came driving in to town. Anybody who’s gotten close—well, they’ve either been forced to go away or they’ve had situations.”

“How do you know this?”

“I know.”

His eyes and tone of voice say he’s being serious.

“How?”

“Chris, you have to trust me.”

“I’m not trusting anybody anymore. I’ve had a bad habit of seeing it not work out so well.”

“Why do you think I’ve never managed to get close to you? They have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“What about now?”

“This car was just donated, and I just told Mason I’d help out. There’s no way anybody can hear this conversation.”

“So you know? Like everything?” I ask.

“I know enough. Enough to know that any slight slip-up means I might die. Or someone in my family might die. I’ve tried to reach out. I’ve sent notes to you before.”

“That was you?”

“Yes. But Chris—the thing you have to know is that there is something very powerful and very, very real going on here.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Mr. Meiners asks quickly. “Do you really understand?”

“Well, no, not everything. But I know there are—bad things going on.”

Bad things going on?

That’s all I can manage to say. Because anything else is going to sound ludicrous.

“It’s a spiritual war, Chris. A battle over your soul. And the souls of the many who are here.”

I nod and shake my head. “I think—yeah. I’m kinda getting that.”

Mr. Meiners shifts in his seat and sighs. Once again he looks out around us. I stare at him and wonder if I can trust him.

“I’m not one of them,” he says. “I promise you. I only became a believer five years ago. I spent most of my life not believing much of anything. But around here, you’re forced to pick a side.”

“I know.”

“Do you, Chris?”

I nod.

I want to tell him that I tried to do it on my own but couldn’t. I want to say that in the only way possible I tried to give my life over to God.

But I still don’t know.

I still don’t know anything.

“Chris, you came to me wanting help. What were you asking for?”

“This—all of this, I guess. Stuff about God and Jesus and the Devil. I don’t quite know what’s what. You know?”

Mr. Meiners tells me he understands.

“My father became a Christian—had a real life conversion and all that. Mom didn’t accept it—was actually furious about it. I guess now I see the sort of baggage she might have toward religion and God.”

“What did you think of your father’s decision?”

“I thought he was crazy. But—I get it now. I think I do anyway. I just—I open the Bible, and it seems like another language. But I don’t know what questions to ask or who to ask.”

“This is good to hear, Chris.”

“What?”

“All of this. That you’re wanting to learn.”

“It’s probably because I’m freaked out by everything.”

“That’s okay. Many people come to faith through extenuating circumstances. Jocelyn was one of them, you know?”

I swallow and think carefully about Jocelyn’s last few weeks.

“Did you help her?” I ask Mr. Meiners.

“Yes. I was there when she’d given up and didn’t know what to do. I was there when she prayed to God for help. It was amazing.”

“They killed her.”

“I know.”

“Why can’t we—why can’t
you
do something?”

“Chris, I have tried. I’ve tried moving. I’ve tried reaching out and talking to others. But I don’t know who all is involved with Marsh and Staunch. I have my ideas. But getting help—I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I have a family. Everything changed when you got here. That was right when I began to suspect the worst. Jocelyn confided in me. I’ve heard from Poe. But Chris—they cannot know that I’m a believer. They cannot know that I believe in the power of Christ. To them, that is the ultimate sacrilege.”

“Marsh says I need to reject the name of Jesus. That there’s going to be some ceremony on Memorial Day. Something to do with my great-grandfather.”

A car passes, and Mr. Meiners looks at it carefully while it drives off down the road.

“We need to keep going.”

“Does that mean I pass my driver’s test?”

“You’ll have to drive a few more times with me.”

“Okay.”

I start driving down the road back to the high school.

“I want you to come to our meeting this Sunday,” Mr. Meiners says.

“The one that used to meet at the falls?”

“Yes.”

“I always wondered who was a part of that.”

“It’s just a handful. They end up finding you out and getting rid of you. That’s what happened to Oli.”

I slow down, and the car veers off the road toward the ditch. Mr. Meiners grabs the wheel and corrects our path.

“Pay attention.”

“Are you saying Oli was going to your meetings? The secret meetings under the falls?”

“Yes.”

“But what—how? I mean, what happened with him?”

“I’ll tell you Oli’s story. It’s like Jocelyn’s. Beautiful and amazing in its own way. They are both martyrs, Chris. In a world that seems to believe that there are no more of them. But this place is farther removed from the rest of the world than you might even realize.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how. Nor do I know why. I just know—I know that God has put me on this earth to help out people like Oli and Jocelyn. And now you.”

Perhaps this should be comforting. Perhaps I should find some peace knowing Oli and Jocelyn both found faith.

But both of them died.

I’m not so sure I really want Mr. Meiner’s help if that’s the outcome.