Solitary: A Novel (28 page)

"Faith gives me a headache," I say.

"It shouldn't. It should set you free. At least that's what somebody keeps telling me."

"Who's that?"

"Just someone-someone who believes. A very strong Christian who's been reaching out-probably trying to save my poor, wretched soul."

"I don't think you have a poor, wretched soul."

"Oh, I do," Jocelyn says.

I study her face to see if she's joking, but she's not.

"I think we all do," she says.

"Hey, speak for yourself."

She slides over and finds my hand, taking it in both of hers. She studies it for a long time. Outside the sun has disappeared behind storm clouds. I see the light of the burning fire flickering over her face.

"What are you thinking?"

"Chris-I don't want you falling for me, okay?"

I start to ask what she's talking about, but she continues.

"Just-I want you-I want things to be like this, okay?"

"Okay. Me too."

"No, just like this. Like friends. Like really close friends you can tell anything. Or almost anything."

"That's cool."

"No, you don't understand. I don't-I've told you this. I don't want you getting hurt."

"You planning on leaving anytime soon?"

She smiles a beautiful, sad smile and grips my hands harder.

"You know the one thing about faith that makes it look-well, that makes it seem so appealing?" she asks.

"What?"

"It's this idea that we're not alone. That someone is up there who knows."

"Yeah, but does that mean He is looking out for us?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think it always works out that way."

"I don't either."

"But someone knowing everything-to me that's a pretty cool thought."

"Why?"

"Because then you know you're not totally alone."

"You're not alone, Jocelyn."

She looks at me, those hazel eyes so full.

"I think we're all alone. No matter who we are, we're alone."

Jocelyn's been gone for a couple of hours, and I can't stop thinking about her.

I can still see her hazel eyes looking up at me.

I can still smell her slight perfume.

I can still feel the kiss on the edge of my cheek before she left.

I can hear the sound of her engine starting, my face and hands and heart all feeling a warm kind of numbness.

I forget how quickly time passes as I check my email a hundred times. I forget that my mother's late. I forget to take out the stuff I should take out for dinner.

When the door opens and my mom comes in, I'm upstairs and suddenly realize what I've forgotten to do.

I tear down the stairs, but instead of seeing Mom I see the same cop who was drilling me about the gun in Principal Harking's office.

I try to stop halfway on the stairs, but my momentum causes me to stumble on the last few steps and fall on my butt.

An annoyed look stares down at me.

The door opens behind the cop, and my mother comes in, her face white and her eyes red and swollen.

"You okay, Mom?" I ask.

Another cop, this one probably twice the age of the first, with a thick, gray goatee, walks in behind her. I don't see any weapons in hand, nor do I see handcuffs or anything like that.

For a moment I have a strange thought.

The gun upstairs. They're going to search the house and find the gun upstairs.

Mom gives me a hug and tells me in a not-very-convincing voice that everything's fine. She walks over to the couch and sits down.

The first guy, the one I met at school, casually walks through the house and looks around.

"Hey, Kev, get the lady something to drink," the older guy says in a way that sounds like he's used to giving orders.

"Mom?"

"I'm Sheriff Wells," the goateed guy says as he shakes my hand. "You're Chris, right?"

I nod.

"Your mother had an incident downtown after work, but she's fine. We just thought it might be in her best interest to bring her home."

The other guy brings her a bottled water. He doesn't seem very interested in introducing himself.

"That's Kevin, a deputy with poor manners, but he sure does what he's told."

"I'm fine, really. It's okay." Mom sips her water.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Mom?"

"Someone wanted to scare your mother-that's what we think happened," the sheriff says. "Someone was waiting for her when she got off work."

"Who? Where?"

I feel like I'm on my bike riding downhill without brakes.

"We don't know. Someone was waiting in her car and drugged her."

"What?"

"She's okay. Someone doused a rag or something with chloroform. It's harmless, just knocked her out for a few minutes."

"Did anything happen-"

"I'm fine."

"They didn't take anything that we know of," Sheriff Wells says. "We brought her to the doctor. She wasn't harmed. We don't really know why someone did this."

"Looks like you guys are having a bad start to your stay in Solitary," the cop named Kevin says in a Southern drawl. It sounds mocking.

"Shut up, Kev. Listen, Chris, do you know of anybody who would do something like this?"

I shake my head.

"Nobody at all? Any other run-ins you've had recently?"

"Just-what I mentioned when I went into the principal's office. Gus Staunch at school has been after me."

The sheriff cursed, then slowly shook his head. "Gus wouldn't do something like this. His father would tear his hide. No. Wasn't Gus. That I know for certain."

The way he said that makes me think the sheriff knows Gus, and knows him well.

"Anybody else?"

The only person that comes to mind is Jocelyn's step-uncle.

But why would he do something like that?

I shake my head.

Mom looks to be in a daze. I don't know what to say or do.

The sheriff asks me a few more questions, then stops when he sees Kevin walking up the stairs.

"Where're you going?"

"Just taking a look around."

He curses at the guy and tells him to get back down. Kevin follows like some trained, expressionless dog.

"Look, Chris, you keep a watch on your mother, okay? Here's my card-that's got my cell phone on it. Anything funny happensanything-you call me, okay?"

I nod.

"Never heard of something like this happening around here, so can't understand if it's some locals Navin' fun or if it's something else. So you keep me in the loop, you got it?"

Once they leave, I ask Mom to tell me what happened, but she tells me just as much as the sheriff did.

"One minute I was sitting in the car, and the next I was lying sprawled out on the passenger seat, my head throbbing. I must have been out only a few minutes, but I had no idea what happened."

"You didn't see anybody?"

"No. I just-I could feel something warm. Like-I don't know. I don't remember."

But I think she does remember and just doesn't want to tell me.

I go over to the door and make sure it's locked.

"Maybe we pass on dinner tonight?" Mom says.

"I can make you something. Anything."

"Maybe soup."

I nod.

"It's okay," she tries to convince me.

"Uh-huh."

"Come over here and sit by me."

When I sit down, Mom puts an arm around me. We watch television for a long time, not saying anything.

I can't tell which one of us is more scared.

The email is waiting for me like a coiled snake ready to bite.

Even before opening it, I know.

As I awaken my computer it's almost like something else is awakened inside of me.

Something in the far reaches of my soul that I've never known or felt or even touched.

The email doesn't have a sender, just like the other.

It's simple, just like the other.

But this one is different.

Everything is different.

CHRIS:

THAT WAS JUST A WARNING TODAY. WORSE THINGS

WILL HAPPEN IF YOU DON'T LET THINGS GO. STAY AWAY FROM THE GIRL AND WE'LL STAY

AWAY FROM MOMMY. WE WON'T SAY THIS AGAIN.

I glance over it several times.

Words like warning and worse and will and won't stir something deep inside.

I tremble. Not out of fear but out of anger.

I want to see the sender, want to see his face. I want to look at the "we" behind this.

I was going to send Jocelyn an email, but I don't.

Not out of fear.

I'm too angry to do anything else right now.

And maybe, just maybe, that anger is covering this deep ocean of fear my little paddleboat is drifting over. Maybe. I don't know.

I know I have to calm down.

And then come up with a plan.

Be smart, Chris.

Because they're watching. Whoever they are.

They're watching, and they know.

It's Friday, and there's no way that Jocelyn has any idea of how Thanksgiving turned out for me. I awaken that morning too early for anyone's good and can't stop thinking of Jocelyn and my mother and this place. I hope that the rest of Jocelyn's holiday was uneventful.

I vow to find out and find out soon.

I know that someone is watching me. One person, several people-I don't know.

I think of the email I got and consider again telling Mom or the cops. I think of Sheriff Wells's words: "Anything funny happensanything-you call me, okay?"

Would I call the email funny? How about freaky? How about a quarter past frightening?

I don't know if I can trust the sheriff. I know that withholding information in the movies usually ends up getting a character in hot water, but I just don't know if I can afford to tell him. Something might happen to Mom, and I can't risk that. No way.

Then there's the issue of telling Mom.

I don't want her to worry.

Yeah, I know I'm the son and I'm sixteen and I can't do everything. I don't even have my license. But I don't want her worrying, and I'm still a bit nervous that whoever sent me this email will really do something bad.

I try to figure out how they might be watching, whoever they are.

Cameras in the house? Bugs that can hear everything we say? How about spies in the woods? It would be more than easy to hide out and remain concealed in the trees.

And what about those footprints on the deck?

If someone knows my email, then maybe they're monitoring that.

Same way with the phone.

I'm not a techie, and neither am I James Bond. No need to go crazy or obsessed or overboard.

But someone drugged Mom to make a point.

I change clothes quietly.

Point taken, thank you very much.

I spend an hour searching my room for anything that might be funny. Anything.

I find nothing.

I decide to write a note to Mom saying where I'll be when she wakes up later.

The sun isn't even up, so she certainly isn't.

I can get out of here and take a little bike ride.

The morning breathes cool air against my face as I ride in the fog.

It might be spooky or haunting, but it really looks beautiful.

I understand why they call these the Smoky Mountains. I'm literally riding through a thick mist.