Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (24 page)

80. Protection

When I hear the tiny bark, more of a little yelp than anything else, I almost start to cry.

“Midnight! Midnight, where are you?”

I yell out and run in the direction of the barking. My iPhone turns back on and says that it’s 2:25 a.m., which means I’ve been walking for over two hours. I might be in Chicago as far as I know.

Or maybe I’m going to encounter a big wheel, and once I turn it I’ll end up in the desert, and the town of Solitary will disappear.

If that’s the case, let me get a few people before it goes away.

My flashlight is working again, so it had to be the batteries. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. But with the phone not working and the sudden visit to Infernoland, I get the feeling it had nothing to do with batteries or electronics.

I jog toward the sound because I don’t want to trip and fall on the rocky floor. I stop and listen for Midnight. I know I heard her.

The bark comes again. “Midnight!” I stop and move my head, straining to hear. A woman’s scream pierces the darkness.

What the—

It’s an awful scream, and it just keeps going until I hear it stopped.

No, not stopped, but rather muffled. Like a hand going over a mouth.

I take a few steps, but suddenly I don’t want to go any farther. I don’t want to see anything else. I just want my dog and then I want to get out of here.

Something brushes by me—something or someone.

“Midnight!”

I flash the light ahead and see that the tunnel has ended in a door. An average door with an average handle. It doesn’t look like something that belongs down here in an ancient tunnel.

Don’t open it don’t Chris.

I wonder how many times I’ve heard that voice in my head and how many times in my life I’ve refused to do what it tells me to do. I know why. It’s because I’m stubborn and don’t like being told what to do. And because of that …

Jocelyn happened.

And because of that …

Jared happened. And Lily. And Kelsey. And not telling my parents. And trying to do it my own way.

It hasn’t worked out well. Yet I still find myself turning the handle and

When are you going to learn little boy little stupid ignorant boy?

I open the door and see a grim light in the corner of a bedroom revealing a grim scene.

A woman sits on the edge of her bed, crying and shaking. For a second I think it’s Heidi Marsh and the man standing over her is Jeremiah Marsh, but then I realize that the woman is dark-haired and I’ve never seen her before. At least not that I know of.

Even though she looks a bit familiar.

She’s got a round face and swollen eyes and one of them looks really swollen, like a boxer’s eye during a fight. There’s blood at the edge of her mouth. Her makeup is a mess, just like her hair. She’s wearing a jean jacket as if she’s ready to go out. Then I see a suitcase on the bed.

The man standing over her is saying something to her, but I can’t hear it. He’s whispering.

She starts to cry, and the man lashes out and slaps her in the face like he …

Literally swatted a fly.

I think back to Newt being slapped like that in the hallway by Gus on one of my first days at Harrington.

The woman shrinks down and weeps and holds her hands over her mouth as if to try to keep quiet, but it’s not working.

“I told you to shut up,” a strong Southern voice says. “You hear me, girl?”

I’m standing in their bedroom, and I realize that this is another vision or dream.

I don’t want to be here get me out please Lord.

I shut my eyes, but I still hear the voices.

I know.

I know who this is now.

It’s not Gus swatting Newt; it’s his father swatting his mother.

Whom I’ve never ever seen.

“I swear this is the last time you’re gonna back talk me ever, and I mean ever,” Staunch says to the woman. “No one in this house will ever—ever—disrespect me.”

My eyes are still shut, and then I hear the screams again.

I’m squinting, begging God to deliver me from this. But the screams keep coming.

They become howls. Awful, hurting howls.

I open my eyes and see Staunch with his right hand on her throat and his left hand over her mouth. Pressing her down on the bed while her body flails. Pressing. Pressing.

He’s suffocating her.

I look around and find a lamp, and I try to pick it up but I can’t. I can feel it but I can’t move it.

What are the rules of being in this nightmare? Tell me, God. Please.

For several minutes I hear the muffled sound of Mrs. Staunch trying to scream and then it stops. Just like her body stops. Just like her life stops.

Staunch doesn’t stop, however.

He just keeps holding her down, as if he’s trying to shove her through the mattress. He continues to mash her down, squeezing and squashing.

I start to cry, and I yell, “Stop it please stop it,” but of course he doesn’t.

Because of course this already happened.

Finally Staunch lets her go, but she’s been gone long before he does this.

He sits on the edge of the bed, facing me. He’s younger, but he looks the same.

He also looks possessed.

There is a blank look on his face. He doesn’t show any remorse or fear or surprise. Just utter emptiness.

Then it grows cold again, and I know what’s going to happen.

I see the figure walking next to me and then standing beside Staunch.

“It is done, my son,” Walter Kinner tells Staunch.

Kinner puts his hand on Staunch’s head the way a preacher might put his hand on a baby’s head during a baptism.

“I will protect you from this day on,” Kinner says.

I watch and wait.

The vision is going to go away. Surely it’s going to go away. Right?

He delivered me from my powerful enemies from those who hated me and were too strong for me.

I stand and remember now.

They attacked me at a moment when I was weakest but the Lord upheld me.

I stand and watch and breathe slowly.

He led me to a place of safety, He rescued me because He delights in me.

The tears are no longer falling down my face, but I’m still scared and sad.

“Hold me up, God.”

I say this over and over again.

“Lead me to a safe place.”

And then a blink turns to darkness, and I find myself back in the tunnel.

Back in the tunnel with something at my foot.

I know it’s going to be a hand now. It’s going to be Kinner’s decomposing body lying on the ground, grasping after me like one of the walking dead. I shine the light down, and instead of seeing anything scary, I see Midnight.

She wants me to pick her up. And you know—I don’t blame her.

“Come here, little thing—are you okay?”

I check her out and let her give me kisses, and she turns out to be fine.

Thank You, God. Thank You.

I’m holding her and kissing her, and I wish that someone would do the same for me.

But they already have, Chris, and you know it. You know it deep down, and that’s what makes you different from these monsters.

I feel a slight chill coming from in front of me. So I start walking, hoping that this is a good sign, hoping and praying for no more visions.

No more come on this night or early morning. Thank God.

The tunnel morphs into a mouth of a cave, the same one I stepped outside the first time I came down here.

The time Kelsey’s father picked me up and brought me back home.

I wonder if that was a coincidence. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. Kelsey’s father happened to be driving at night in the distance of Solitary, and he picked me up.

No big deal.

But it was Kelsey’s father.

Maybe God was controlling things back then, just like He’s controlling things now.

Then I realize there’s no maybe about it.

This is a comforting thought after the horrific scenes I just saw. It’s comforting just like Midnight is in my hands.

I’m still holding her, and I’m not going to let her go. Not until I bring her back to a safe place where I can make sure she’s okay.

81. Sweet Dreams

Others aren’t having this sort of life, so why are you?

Did God choose this for you? This path, this destination, this fate?

Did He pinpoint this place on the map to lead you to? To suffer and to shiver? To wonder deep in the night like now, listening to headphones and wondering why?

Will you break down and need Kinner to come and save you?

Will you unleash the gate under the bridge and let Aunt Alice roam with the wolves, or find yourself imprisoned in some little cell below?

Will the demon dog delight in your demise, or will Marsh take one too many trips to the falls?

Will this all feel like some brilliant, bewildering dream that you’ll wake up from ten years later in Chicago?

The questions have answers, but they won’t come now or tomorrow or maybe even the next day.

You want to believe God is in control, but if He is, then why? Why?

And why you?

Maybe some don’t get the sweet dreams after all. Maybe for some those are just in the pages of a story they read. Then they go to sleep and the nightmares come. And when they wake up, the nightmares are still there.

82. Monster Story

A little while later, after pulling off my headphones and turning off the music, as I lie in bed in a house that’s supposed to be safe and secure, I realize I need to talk to Kelsey. I need to see her. I miss her, but more than that I just need to see and feel and know she’s right there. I want to kiss her and escape in a warm glow of light that crushes this darkness.

I try and think how I’m going to do this.

I’m not supposed to.

But they don’t have to know, and they don’t have to see.

These are monsters, Chris.

Yes. But every monster story has a hero who slays them.

And every hero has his heroine.

And if he needs to save her at the end, so be it.

But the hero needs to see the heroine.

There’s no way of getting around that.

And yet, when the sun rises each morning, then sets each night …

I don’t do anything.

I don’t sneak away and meet with Kelsey. Nor do I contact her in any way.

I just wait.

I guess I’m learning.

Maybe. Possibly.

I don’t know.

83. Peace

“I want to go to church on Sunday.”

It’s weird to hear these words spoken by Mom. She’s been doing better, and not just with the whole not-drinking thing. It’s like she’s started to warm up and have more life in her, just like the spring outside. I don’t know exactly where she is personally with God, but then again, I’m not exactly sure where I’m at. It’s a little like putting your feet in the water but staring out at the vast ocean, knowing there’s a million miles left to go.

“Okay, sure.”

“I just thought—since Sunday is Easter. Maybe we should go.”

I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

“Do you still go to the New Beginnings Church?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No, not exactly.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to Springhill Baptist a few times with Kelsey.”

“Okay.”

Mom tells me to plan it and make sure I look up the right times. It doesn’t dawn on me until after I head for school that this might be against the rules, that the evil three might not like this. But I’ll just tell them that it’s part of my mom wanting something, and me going with the flow.

But deep down, if I’m to be honest, I really want to go.

I think it’ll be good for Mom. And yeah, for me, too.

It’s the second Sunday in April, and it’s warm outside with clear skies and the promise of a wonderful day. Mom looks pretty in a blue and yellow dress that I’ve never seen her wear. She tells me that she bought it recently with the Ann Taylor gift card I gave her on her birthday. I actually wear one of Uncle Robert’s ties along with khakis and a button-down shirt. It feels good to do this, to arrive at the small church and see a very surprised Kelsey along with her family before sitting down.

It feels good because it’s normal. It’s what other people do on Sundays.

But I think it also feels good because this is where we should be.

When the middle-aged balding preacher comes out and greets everybody, I find myself thankful that he doesn’t have highlighted hair and funky glasses. He’s got a nice Southern accent and a belly that looks like he enjoys Southern food.

“Jesus has risen!” he says in a way that doesn’t sound phony and doesn’t feel like he’s going to ask for money in the next breath.

We sing some songs and we pray and there’s a nice little portion of the service for kids. But it’s not until the preacher is almost finished that I suddenly become aware of something.

This whole thing. Easter and what it means.

I’ve heard it before. Dad sure made it a point that I heard it again and again after he found faith. This whole thing of Jesus rising from the dead, of the tomb being empty and all His desperate followers suddenly seeing the light again.

I feel a chill going through me when I hear the preacher talk about those people. How terrified they were. How lonely and abandoned they felt. How isolated.

How very Solitary.

This man they had believed in had died. And He didn’t die in some accidental way, but in an awful, brutal way in front of their very eyes.

Some of those closest to Him even denied they ever knew Him. Peter, the apostle Peter, cursed and swore he didn’t know Jesus.

Evil had won, right? The darkness suffocated the light, right?

Yet this day arrives, and the tomb is empty.

An angel tells the two Marys one simple thing. A simple thing that gives me goose bumps and makes me almost get teary-eyed.

“Don’t be afraid!”

Okay, maybe it does get me teary-eyed. The preacher says that the women were very frightened but filled with great joy.

He tells of Mary Magdalene crying and being asked who she’s crying about. Mary just thinks that it’s a gardener asking her, since she’s full of doubt and questions.

But then she finally opens her eyes to see.

It makes me think and wonder.

Who have I talked to before without fully seeing?

All these things that have happened in Solitary. To me and to others.

I’ve spent so much time running around trying to figure things out, and then trying to handle things on my own, and then trying to run away from everything. All while I could have just slowed down and opened my eyes to see.

Opened my eyes and heard the words “Peace be with you.”

That’s a phrase I’ve heard a bunch, but man—when I think of it now, it really sounds like something.

Peace.

There’s only one who can give you that.

I think of Uncle Robert and his anger.

Then I think of my father and his regret.

Both men have made their choices. But only one seems to have this peace that is talked about.

I believe this. I really honestly believe that the tomb was empty and these conversations happened. And that this peace is within my grasp.

As the preacher prays the final prayer and asks God to bless all of us, I pray my own little prayer silently.

Help me to see when You’re there helping me out even if I’m just too stupid or scared not to know. And help me to find peace. However I can, Jesus.