Vestige (2 page)

Micah followed the dog’s eyes to a tall, dark-haired man standing on the opposite corner. The man seemed to be looking back at Micah. Why was the dog barking at him? He looked normal enough; he looked as if he were on his way to work, wearing a suit and tie. But after a couple minutes, Micah started to feel uneasy. The man was still there, standing and looking. The dog continued to bark, but the man wouldn’t move. What was he doing?

In a flash, all the other people disappeared. Only Micah, the dog, and the stranger remained.

“Weirdo...why is he staring at me?” Micah muttered.

Micah looked at the dog. The dog stopped barking and looked at Micah. It seemed to understand what he had said. When Micah looked back towards the corner, the man’s mouth began to move, but no sound came out.

“
What? I can’t hear you.” Micah stepped off the curb and into the street. But before he could go any farther, the dog grabbed Micah’s hand with his teeth and pulled him back onto the curb.

The man opened his mouth wide and screamed like a woman.

Micah snapped awake to the sound of his mother’s screams. He immediately forgot about his dream as he tried to understand the wailing coming from the other side of his bedroom door. He sat motionless. Jesus, what did he do this time? Did he forget to lock the door last night? Did he leave the milk out on the counter? Did his parents find his weed? After several seconds, Micah threw back his covers and jumped out of bed. No matter what he did or didn’t do, a scream like that meant trouble. He needed to get out of the house quick, or he’d have to endure the wrath of his parents.

Micah sifted through the carpet of clothing on his bedroom floor, looking for something clean to throw on. Within seconds, he found a wrinkled Slipknot t-shirt and a pair of old jeans. He slipped on his beat-up black Converse without undoing the laces, picked up his fake leather jacket, and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. He checked his pocket for his phone and without hesitation, climbed out of his second-story bedroom window onto a large branch. He inched his way across the massive oak until he reached the tree house. When his family first moved to LaGrange, his dad had built this tree house for Micah. But Micah never liked it much, not until he discovered that it made a handy escape route.

After he stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder into the yard, he ran along the side of the house and down the driveway but paused when he reached the front yard. An empty police car sat at the curb, and he could still hear his mother’s muffled cries. Whatever he had done this time was big. He took off as fast as he could run.

Once Micah was a couple of blocks away, he stopped to catch his breath. Needing his morning dose of nicotine, he pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. As he watched the black tip of the cigarette turn red, guilt took hold. He hated himself for upsetting his mom, but at the same time, maybe she deserved it.

Sure, his mom tried to be normal, and she tried to make their family life normal. But how could she be normal after growing up on a survivalist compound? Despite her efforts, his family was still a freak show. As far as Micah was concerned, he was the only sane person in the house. His dad and Owen embraced her nonsense, playing along with her drills and contributing to her conspiracy theories. Yeah sure, Owen was just a kid, and maybe someday, he’d grow out of it. But what was his dad’s excuse? He should be a voice of reason. He should be able to control the crazy.

At least he felt normal when he hung out with Cody, Dustin, and the girls. Like him, they understood crazy. They all had insane families too. When he was with them, he didn’t have to cover for his parents or make excuses because no one ever talked about family. Yeah, sure, Cody and Dustin gave him a hard time about other things like his clothes or his sex life but never about his parents.

Micah comforted himself knowing that in less than a year he’d turn eighteen. Then, he could leave that asylum and get a place with Cody and Dustin. It would be so awesome. They could do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. And he would finally get some quality alone time with Jess.

The thought of being alone with her without having to worry about who was going to walk in on them excited Micah. Once he had his own place, they could be together whenever they felt like it. Amber and Cody were always screwing around. They had been for years. Both of their houses were empty almost all the time. But Micah and Jess weren’t as lucky as their friends were. His stupid mom was always home, and Jess was the oldest of five kids.

As Micah felt the first effects of nicotine, he started to walk. After what had happened with the homeless guy yesterday, he didn’t want to see Cody this morning. Cody would definitely give him shit for yesterday, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. Micah saw the fear in that homeless guy’s face, and he couldn’t just stand there and watch Cody take advantage of him. He would have been okay with Cody asking someone to buy them beer. He could have even looked the other way if Cody and Dustin stole it. But intimidating a crazy homeless guy wasn’t cool. They might as well have asked a little kid to do it.

So instead of meeting his friends at the park as he usually did, Micah headed straight to school. Besides, he was already in trouble with his mom for...whatever. He didn’t need to get in trouble for being late too.

Micah did have one problem though—Jess. She would probably be mad at him for not meeting up before school. She hated being around Dustin without Micah. Dustin hit on Jess right in front of Micah, so what was he like when Micah wasn’t around? At least, Jess didn’t hold a grudge. If she had a good morning, she might even forget all about him ditching her by lunch.

When he reached the gas station, he looked for the homeless guy, but didn’t see him. He did see the cardboard sign in the middle of the street, covered with tire tracks. That poor guy was probably too scared to come back to this corner.

Micah took a final drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt toward the curb. Since there were no cars, he walked out into the street and retrieved the sign. As he looked at it, he remembered his dream. He looked across the intersection and pictured the man in the suit. Goose bumps covered his arms. He tossed the sign back into the street.

Huh, still no cars…. For the first time that morning, Micah noticed the emptiness. On weekdays, this corner was busy but not today. A few commuters walked toward the train, but that was it—no parents, no kids, and no cars. Was it a holiday or something?

He continued his walk to school. As he approached a large red brick bungalow along his route, he noticed a woman standing on the porch. She wore flannel pajamas covered with pictures of puppies. Her short hair stuck up in all directions, and her makeup smeared into a black mess under her eyes. A ginger cat sat on the top step next to her. It stared at Micah and flicked the tip of its tail up and down. The woman yelled the name Charlie, over and over. When she saw Micah, she stopped. “Excuse me...Have you seen a large yellow lab?”

Micah looked around to make sure she was talking to him. Adults didn’t normally do that. “Sorry...no.” For a moment, he considered helping her look for the dog, but that cat gave him the creeps. As he passed the house, the woman resumed her yelling. “Charlie…Charlie…”

After walking several more blocks, Micah reached the junior high. Usually, the playground overflowed with kids. He always thought that from a distance, the kids looked like ants, marching around in constant motion. But today, not a single kid, the playground was empty.

A police car sat outside the school. Micah couldn’t resist this opportunity to entertain himself with outrageous theories. Had there been a bomb threat? Or maybe a shooting? Maybe his mother’s outburst had something to do with this…. Maybe Owen had been shot…. Or maybe Owen was the shooter. All the conspiracy theories and doomsday talk finally drove his little brother over the edge.

He lit up another cigarette and leaned on the chain link fence in the corner of the lot. Maybe if he waited long enough, something would happen. Micah hung around the school for about ten minutes before a car pulled in and parked. He walked towards it. One of his old teachers stepped out but paused when she saw him approaching.

“Hey, where are all the kids? Is it a holiday?” Micah asked.

“No. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here. Get to school, or better yet, go home.” The woman turned and walked toward the building.

“What a bitch,” he muttered under his breath. He retreated to his fence corner and finished his cigarette. When it became clear that nothing good was going to happen, Micah moved on.

When he finally reached the high school, the grounds were empty. Great, he skipped the park, and he was still late. He hurried towards the entrance, and as he pulled the door open, the bell rang. He ran the rest of the way to his locker, hoping to beat the hall sweep. He didn’t want to spend the afternoon in detention even though Cody and Dustin would probably be there. He had promised Jess that he’d help her babysit after school. Spending time with those little kids beat detention any day as long as he was with her.

*****

As the clock struck 5:30 a.m., an incessant buzzing filled the hollowness. Clarke lifted her hand from under her blanket and slammed the off-button. She opened her eyes long enough to register the time.

Every morning for the past three years, Clarke recited the same prayer to herself before rising. “Dear God, please let this be the day that my life returns to normal. Please let this be the day my troubles disappear. Please let this be the day that I start to feel happy again.”

At last, Clarke sat up and scooted to the edge of her bed. She scanned her room and cringed—the pink walls, the shelves lined with American Girl dolls and Taekwondo trophies—all relics. Slivers of light tried to filter through the pink vinyl blinds, but the window coverings did their job, concealing the gloom from the hope of a new day. This room was nothing more than a tomb.

She stood, crossed the room, and grabbed Samantha off the shelf. She gathered the dolls long, brown hair into a ponytail. With one hand, she held its hair in place. With the other, she opened the desk drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. In one chop, Clarke cut the ponytail off, and the doll fell to the desk. She left Samantha facedown, threw the hair in the trashcan, and returned the scissors to the drawer.

Realizing that her act of vandalism didn’t improve her mood, Clarke summoned the courage to move forward with her morning ritual. She had already wasted enough time. Her dad was probably awake and waiting for her. If she didn’t get in there soon, he would try to get out of bed by himself, always a dangerous prospect.

Since she would have to change again before she left for school, Clarke threw on her clothes from yesterday and hurried down the hall. When she entered her dad’s bedroom, the smell of urine and bleach filled her nose. In the beginning, she used to gag at this toxic cocktail of scents. But now, she found the smell ordinary like coffee in the morning, fresh wood chips in the spring, or burning leaves in the fall.

“Dad...Dad.... Are you awake yet?”

There was no answer.

Clarke walked over to the window and opened the blinds. “Come on, Dad…it’s time to wake up.” The daylight poured into the room, and the dust danced in the stale air. When Clarke turned back around, she gasped. The bed was empty.

She marched over to the bed and threw the covers onto the floor. “Dad?” Annoyance began to bubble up. On her way to the bathroom, she yelled, “Dad! You know that you shouldn’t be doing that alone. What if you fall? Dad?”

He didn’t respond.

Clarke paused and took a deep breath before she opened the bathroom door. It was empty. She ran out of the bedroom and down the stairs, her heart racing. She never thought he’d be able to get down these stairs by himself.

Once on the first floor, she searched every room but couldn’t find him, so she flew out the back door. As she scanned the yard, her eyes stopped on the in-ground pool. “Oh God, no…no, no, no…” She raced to the edge. Gazing into the brownish-green muck, she struggled to see through to the bottom, so she quickly retrieved the skimmer from the garage and used it to remove the debris. Convinced he wasn’t in the pool, she returned the skimmer, gave the garage a thorough once-over, and headed around the house to the front porch.

Where could he have gone? Out of options, Clarke went back inside and picked up the phone. She dialed Mary’s number first. Clarke’s dad hired Mary three years ago to help care for him. But Mary was much more than a home-health aide. She was the housekeeper, the cook, and Clarke’s only friend. He had to be with her. Maybe he had an early doctor’s appointment. That was the only explanation.

The phone rang several times before the call went to Mary’s voicemail. “Mary, I don’t know where my dad is. I’m hoping he’s with you. Did you come by early? And if he’s not with you...then I don’t know what to do. Should I call the police? Can you call me either way?”

Warily, she moved her thumb to the switch hook and disconnected the call. She stared at the dial pad for a moment. Slowly, she moved her thumb to the 9, and then the 1, and then she stopped. He had to be with Mary or maybe…. No, God didn’t operate that way, did he? Clarke hung up the phone and walked back up the stairs to her room. The morning was hers.

First, she would indulge in a long shower and relish every drop of water that touched her pale skin. Usually, she was grateful to have a few extra minutes to rinse off the vomit, urine, and feces. But today, she would stay in that shower until all the hot water ran cold.

Once Clarke was dressed, she spent the next twenty minutes trying to do her makeup. She didn’t have much experience with makeup application, nor did she have her own supplies. She didn’t even own a tube of lip-gloss, so she had to use the old stuff that her mom left behind. Clarke knew that wearing three-year-old makeup was bad for her skin, but for once in her life, she wanted to look like all the other high school girls.