Mason (6 page)

You killed him. You're a murderer. If the cops come down on you for this, it won't be a handful of years for a drug charge. They won't care if he was a low-rent hick or not. You're eighteen. You'll be tried as an adult. No way around that.

But I didn't mean to do it.

But you did. You knew this was going to happen from the moment you slid on those gloves. Why else would you have put them on? Germ phobia? I don't think so. Premeditated.
That's what they'll say. And every damn thing you've ever worked for will be gone. Blown away with Dusty's last breath
.

Are you listening, Gene? Are you listening
?

“Burn it down,” he whispered to himself. A fire would destroy any evidence. They'd think Dusty just got too high while sparking another foil.

But what about his broken skull? Unless the roof comes down in exactly the right way, they'll know he was killed before the blaze and someone else started the fire. Besides, the place would be swarming with firemen in five minutes. The police would be right behind them
.

“So, hide the body. Hide the bat. Scrub the place down. Make it look like Dusty hit the road.”

Don't be an idiot. You'd never get the place clean enough. They have those blood lights that show spatter marks no matter how well you clean. And you didn't bring your car. What are you going to do, carry him on your shoulder
?

“Just leave,” he muttered. “No one knows Dusty was working for you.” No one except Hunter. More than likely, Hunter would be the prime suspect, and he's tight with an alibi. He's at the carnival.

Gene waited for his mind to counter this solution with some fresh bit of logic, but his mind only hummed. It must be the right answer.

“Good,” he said. Once the word left his lips, a rain of
confidence fell through him.

Gene left the hallway and walked into the bathroom. He turned on the light and checked himself in the mirror. His shirt had a few small drops of blood on it. Hardly noticeable. He searched his face and neck but found them clean. Gene looked at the gloves. They were a mess. Small trickles of crimson veined the ghostly pale latex. He would take them off outside and burn them when he got home. He'd burn all of his clothes. Even the shoes.

Footprints?

Gene hurried back to the bedroom and eased his way inside, checked the floor for any telltale marks. But he'd gotten lucky. Very lucky.

“Am I
supposed
to get away with this?” he wondered aloud.

He spent another five minutes in the house, thinking and looking. He tried to remember every cop show he'd ever seen to make sure he left no clues for the authorities. It would be days before anyone noticed a punk like Dusty was missing. It could be weeks before anyone found the body.

Just a bad drug deal, the police would think. They probably wouldn't spend more than a week checking into it.

Gene walked through Dusty's living room. He
carefully turned off the sound system and the overhead light. A lamp still burned in the corner. He'd leave that on so the place looked inhabited.

At the door, he did a final mental check and considered himself free and clear. The thrill of swinging the bat returned to him in a high electric wave.

The back door
, his mind told him.
Go out the back. Slip through the yards
.

“Yes. Excellent.”

But when Gene reached the back door and the window beside it, he saw the error of this plan. No fences separated Dusty's house from his neighbors'. A group of rednecks in trucker caps and jeans were having a cookout in the backyard of one of the houses. Gene looked at them angrily as if they'd planned their party to ruin his night. They were probably the only people in town who hadn't gone to the carnival. Bastards. The minute Gene opened the door, all heads would turn his direction. It would look suspicious, even to those Neanderthals.

Gene returned to the front of the house. He took a deep breath and opened the door. He walked out onto the porch casually as if just leaving from a friendly visit. He even waved at the opening as if saying good-bye before pulling the door closed behind him.

Perfect. Just visiting.

He turned to the street and stopped.

There, on the sidewalk, in front of the house on his left, was Rene Denton, his retard brother's little friend. She was walking alone and had barely paused, but she'd looked at the house. Had she seen him? Were the shadows of the porch enough to shield his identity?

Gene didn't know. But he wasn't going to take any chances.

Rene Denton was uneasy because she was embarrassed. Yesterday she'd invited Mason out for ice cream to make him feel better, and she'd kept her word, but now, sitting across the table from him at Frank's Grill, she hoped no one from school saw her. Especially Cassie.

And of course she felt bad for thinking such a thing.

Frank's was busy as usual. Strangers—folks from other parishes who were in town for the carnival—occupied most of the chrome stools and the booths with their red vinyl upholstery.

“This is really good,” Mason said, driving his spoon into the mushy ice cream.

“I'm glad you like it.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Rene said. She noticed a fat glob
of strawberry ice cream on the corner of his mouth. She reached out with her napkin and wiped it away.

Mason's cheeks turned bright red. He pulled back and scrubbed his face dramatically with his own napkin.

“I think I got it.”

“Thank you,” he repeated.

“Are you going back to the carnival tonight?” Rene asked. “Maybe Molly will take you out.”

Mason looked worried. He shook his head and shoveled more ice cream into his mouth.

“I'll bet that nasty woman won't be there tonight. Then you could pet the animals.”

Mason kept shaking his head. He swallowed his ice cream and put the spoon down. “Aunt Molly is making fried chicken, and she rented a movie for me. And she said it was a special night, so I have to be home for dinner. Dinner and a movie, she said. Her fried chicken isn't as good as Mama's, but it's good.”

“Do you remember your mother?”

“S'pose.”

“I bet you miss her,” Rene said.

“She went away,” Mason said sadly. “Everyone goes away. Gene told me so. Like Mama and Daddy and Lightning. One day Aunt Molly will go away too. And Gene. But that'll be okay, I think. I think it'll be okay if Gene goes away.”

He looked at her with concern, as if he thought
he'd just said something really terrible and expected Rene to be angry with him.

“I think so too,” she said. “I think Gene going away would be just fine.”

“I shouldn't-a said that. He's family. Family's all you got.”

“He's mean to you though, isn't he?”

“I never learn,” Mason mumbled, dropping his head. “Dumb as a doorknob.”

“No you're not,” Rene said. She reached across the table and touched his arm. “He has no right to say that to you. None. He's just doing it to be mean.”

“Gene wouldn't do that.”

“Mason, I know he's your brother…”

“Family's all you got.”

“…but you can't let him bully you like that. Okay? When he's doing that, you have to tell him to stop, or you have to leave the room. He has no right to call you dumb or to hurt you. None. If he does, you stand up to him and you tell him to stop it.”

Easier said than done, Rene knew. Gene wasn't some lame high-school bully. Damn that aunt of his for not doing anything. She had to know what was going on under her own roof. How could she not stop Gene's cruelty, unless she was as afraid of the boy as everyone else was?

They sat quietly for a bit. Rene kept her eyes on Mason. He looked confused and uncomfortable. He fidgeted with his napkin and shot quick glances out the window.

“I don't like being by myself,” he said quickly. “Gene says that if I don't learn, I'm going to be all alone, and I don't want to be all alone. It's like being in a box with no light. It's scary. No one to talk to or play with.” He lowered his head and plopped the spoon in his bowl. “I wish the ice cream wasn't melted.”

Rene laughed a bit and covered her mouth with a hand. Mason's sudden subject change took her off guard. There he was, talking about his fear of being alone, and then he laments something so simple as a scoop of melting ice cream.

She lifted her coffee cup for a sip and then paused. A dull ache rose in her belly when she realized he hadn't changed the subject at all. People leaving. Ice cream liquefying. It was all the same to him. She put down her coffee mug.

“You won't be alone,” Rene said. “One of these days, you're going to have a lot of friends. And you'll always have me.”

“S'pose.”

“Mason, you will.”

And though she suspected it was a lie, it seemed to
cheer him. Mason dipped his head—a quick nod—and a small smile touched the edges of his mouth. She continued, “And Frank's Grill will always have strawberry ice cream, so I think you're going to be just fine.”

“It's good,” Mason said, looking into his dish with its pool of pink liquid.

“Yes, it is,” Rene replied.

 

Three hours later, Gene stood at the urinal in the bathroom at Frank's. Hunter stood next to him, tapping on the wall.

“We have a problem.” Gene looked at his hands, felt certain he saw blood there, just between his thumb and index finger. He scrubbed the place with his fingers.

“Yeah? What problem?”

“You know Rene Denton? Lives out on Hyacinth?”

“Yeah. Total bitch. I'm slammin' her best friend.” Hunter Wallace laughed.

“Interesting.”

“What's the problem?”

“She's seen something that I'd like for her not to have seen.”

“You want me to put a scare into her?”

“I'm thinking of something a little more definitive.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“This isn't a vocabulary lesson. Just take care of it.”

“Cool.”

“Indeed. Cool.”

“You figure out what to do about Dusty yet?” Hunter asked.

“I have some ideas,” Gene replied, rubbing at the tender skin on his hand.

The carnival carried on in Riverfront Park through that warm autumn afternoon. Farmers and ranchers and families from the city descended on the town and mingled with the residents. As night fell, the noise and excitement of the midway grew.

The body of Dusty Smith still lay on the rumpled bloody sheets in a house at the center of the Ditch. His phone rang every hour or so—customers looking for a bit of the drug he used to provide them.

Only three blocks away in his bedroom, Mason Avrett looked at a series of pictures he'd drawn over the last two weeks—since the last time Gene visited his room and forced him to step up and take responsibility. In those days, his hand had scribbled one nightmare after another on the clean sketch-pad sheets.

A dog shrunken and disfigured in death, with dirty matted
fur and one eye dangling from a socket
…

A flock of gruesome birds with tattered black wings and chipped beaks…

A monster that looked like his brother Gene, only with long, apelike arms ending in knobby, blunt clubs
…

Other terrible things appeared on those pages, but these were the repeating images.

Now, with his aunt's fried chicken warming his tummy, he couldn't understand why he'd drawn them or what they meant. Mason thought the pictures were ugly. They weren't nice. So he stacked up the pages and put them in a drawer under a pile of shirts. When he returned to his bed, he thought about his fun afternoon with Rene. The ice cream was really good, and what Rene said had made him feel better, just like when his mama used to hold him and give him a cookie when Gene did mean things.

Maybe Gene wasn't trying to help him. Even though they were family, and family was all you got, maybe Gene was just hateful and bad.

And Rene Denton sat in a movie theater with Cassie Ferguson, who was telling her all about Eric Crawford, who'd actually asked for her digits last night when they ran into each other at the carnival. Cassie played it cool and said she might go out with him if he called, but Rene
knew
she would. There was no question.

Then you'll be busy all the time and I'll have to make new
friends
, Rene thought.
Or be alone
.

And beneath the arching arms of a willow tree near the river, away from the carnival that roared only a few dozen yards away, Lara stood in the shadows with Hunter Wallace, Ricky Langham, Lump Hawthorne, and his girlfriend, Tara Mae. Lara did a bump of crystal off the back of Hunter's hand, snorting the drug deep into her sinuses. She flipped her hair back and wiped at her nose, enjoying the burning sensation against the delicate membranes in her head.

Hunter smiled and nodded, handing a flask to her.

“Awesome,” Lara said, upending the metal container and washing the back of her throat with a shot of Wild Turkey.

The three other kids looked at them. Ricky wore his earpiece and had a blank, robotic look on his face as he always did, but Lump looked nervous. Tara Mae, who kept rubbing her rounded belly absently, just looked drunk.

This blows
, Lara thought. She wanted to laugh and party.

“What's up?” she asked. “You all look like we're going to a funeral.”

The comment brought a crooked grin to Ricky's face and Tara barked three short, high-pitched giggles. Lump just looked at his shoes.

Hunter took Lara's arm lightly and turned her away
from the others. He led her out from under the willow tree to a patch of grass near the river's edge. Behind him the carnival lights looked blurry, like chalk dots smeared by careless fingers.

“You're going to do something for me,” Hunter said.

“Don't I do everything for you?” Lara said with a giggle to make the question sound dirty.

“Yeah, whatever,” Hunter replied. “It's about that friend of yours. Rene.”

“God, don't even talk about her,” Lara said, her system thrumming now with the bump of crystal. “She's such a bitch.”

“She is,” Hunter said. “We need to teach her a lesson, right?”

Lara tried to process her boyfriend's words, but they got tangled in the Wild Turkey and meth. She didn't understand. “You're not going to hurt her, are you?”

“Do you care?”

“No,” Lara said. She laughed too loudly, feeling a strange mix of excitement and fear. Even though she was wasted and trying to impress her boyfriend, Lara wasn't sure. Part of her remembered what a good friend Rene was.

Yeah, she used to be cool. Now she's all like a parent or a cop or something
.

“Look, we just want to punk her for disrespecting us,” Hunter explained.

“Oh totally,” Lara said. “We could egg her house or leave dog crap on the stoop.”

“Yeah, right. Like that. Only I had something a little more creative in mind. Are you in?”

“Totally!”

“Cool. Here's what you're going to do.”