by Amy Cross
Looking out the window, I see Debs arguing with Luke. I swear, those two are always veering between two states: they're either sickeningly in love, or they're on the verge of killing one another. I don't actually care what they eventually decide, but I do wish they'd just pick an option. I hate uncertainty, but uncertainties all that I've got left now.
My god died tonight. I can try to fool myself, but that won't work forever. The truth is, the chipper was on its last legs for a while, and tonight it finally gave up the ghost. I could try to find a manual, or a mechanic, but somehow deep down I already know that there's nothing I can do. There must be a message here somewhere, a message from the chipper, but my head is spinning and I just can't figure anything out. All I know is that the chipper is broken, and I'm all alone again.
That wood chipper – that god – was my only friend.
My phone beeps, and I look down to see that – miracle of miracles – my other phone has been detected. I swipe to bring up the map, and then I tilt the phone a little as I try to figure out what I'm seeing. I was hoping that Richard might still be in the forest, but he seems to be somewhere on the outskirts of town. I zoom in a little, and the map is starting to look familiar, but it takes a moment before I spot the name of the building he seems to be in.
Macready's Diner.
I freeze, and then I realize that – out of the corner of my eye – I can see someone staring at me from the next booth. I tell myself that this is impossible, but then slowly I raise my gaze, only to see that it's true.
Richard is sitting in the booth opposite. Somehow I didn't see him as I sat down, but now we're staring at one another. He's holding a towel against the side of his head, no doubt to stop blood gushing from his severed ear, and he looks utterly shocked to see me.
“Oh crap,” I stammer, as I realize that I need a new plan. Fast. “Oh -”
NO
Chapter Fourteen
Richard
Today...
“No,” I say, before I really have a chance to think of what to say to her. “I mean... no, thank you.”
“No?” She stares at me, and she seems slightly amused. “What's your name?” she asks.
“Richard.”
“Richard.” She pauses, and then she holds a hand out toward me. “My name's Milly.”
“Hello,” I say as we shake hands, but I'm already regretting the fact that I turned her down. Still, I don't want to seem indecisive, and I guess my subconscious mind probably made the right choice.
“Has anyone seen a ferret?” a voice shouts in the corridor. “My ferret got loose! Has anyone seen Elmo?”
I peer past Milly, wondering why there's a ferret at the party in the first place.
“You have such soft hands,” Milly says, and I look at her again. “Seriously,” she continues, “I don't want to sound weird, but I really like a guy with smooth hands. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to take a wild guess that you're not into manual labor.”
“Uh... I guess not,” I tell her.
She's still holding my hand, which seems a little weird.
“So where do you work?” she asks after a moment.
“Oh. At the gas station, the one out on the edge of town.”
“You don't mean the one by the cemetery, do you?” she asks.
I nod.
“Wow. That's so cool. It must be really spooky out there, even during the day.”
“I work nights.”
“Even better! So come on, then, you must have some really cool stories.”
“Not really,” I reply. “You get some weird people out there sometimes.” I try to think of something funny or cool that has happened to me, something I could spin into a story that might make her laugh, but there's really nothing. “There was a guy once who I really think was on meth,” I managed finally. “He, uh, came in and started talking to the frozen meals. I had to ask him to leave.”
“And did he?”
“Yeah. He was pretty polite about it.”
There's an uncomfortable pause, and then she lets go of my hand.
“So,” she says after a moment, “let me try one more time. It's late, and this party is lame, so do you wanna hit the road and walk home with me? It'd be pretty chivalrous of you to walk a lady home through the cold, dark streets of Sobolton.”
“Um...”
I should.
I really should.
It's just... I'm trying to be good, and I don't think I'd be good if I ended up alone in the dark with this Milly girl.
“I think I'm just gonna hang here for a while,” I tell her, and I feel a rush of relief as I realize that I've made the right decision. “You know, just chill and see what happens with the party. I mean, apparently there's a ferret on the loose, which is pretty cool.”
“Great,” she replies, “you're choosing a ferret over me.”
“No!” I blurt out. “I -”
“Relax,” she says, “I get it. I haven't seen you around, are you new to Sobolton?”
“I've been here a while,” I tell her, as I try to remember which cover story I've been telling the people who invited me to the party. Sometimes it's really hard to keep all these balls in the air without dropping one. “I moved here after my parents died in a car accident.”
Okay, maybe I went too big there.
Maybe I should have gone for something less dramatic.
“Oh,” she says, not seeming particularly upset or shocked, “well, I hope you're liking it so far.”
That's not the response I was expecting.
“So, I've got to get going,” she continues, taking a step back. “Sorry you can't walk with me, Richard. I might even have shown you a cool, spooky shortcut through the forest, but maybe fate just isn't on our side tonight. I hope we bump into each other again soon, though. And next time, I'm going to be way less willing to take 'no' for an answer, do you understand?”
“Sure,” I reply, although I'm not really sure whether or not she was joking. Is she actually annoyed.
“Seeya,” she adds, before turning and heading out into the corridor.
Why did I do that? An attractive, fun girl asked me to walk her home, and I declined. What's wrong with me? Turning, I place my forehead against the front of the fridge and close my eyes, and I try to figure out why I always make the wrong choices. If I'd just agreed to go with her, we'd be leaving the party by now and maybe I'd have a chance to take her out toward the cemetery. Instead, I'm just left standing here all alone, and I'll most likely spend the rest of the party alone before eventually wandering off into the night. I'm so stupid.
Or am I?
I open my eyes.
I can still go after her. This might actually turn out to be the perfect opportunity. My mind races as I try to work out which way she'll be walking, and I quickly realize that – if she's going out toward Eden Hills – she'll probably go past the turning that leads toward the cemetery. That means that I still have a chance. If I'd agreed to walk with her, I'd have struggled to know when to make my move, I'd probably have chickened out. This way, however, it'll be just like it was when I was younger, and she won't know I'm coming until I'm right behind her. I might have accidentally stumbled into an absolutely genius move.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “You will do this.”
Turning, I set my drink down and head toward the door. At that moment, however, there's a sudden scream and I look down just in time to see a ferret racing past. Shocked, I look along the corridor and see a guy hugging a girl. She's sobbing, and after a moment I realize that there's blood on her nose. I look around, wondering exactly what I should do, and then I figure that I really don't have much time. I start making my way along the corridor, while hoping that the guy and the girl won't really notice me.
“Are you okay, Debs?” the guy is saying as I slip past them. “That ferret was crazy!”
“My nose!” she sobs. “Luke, you saved my life!”
“It's okay,”
he says. “It was instinct.”
“What about my nose?” she whimpers. “Is it bad? Am I going to be scarred for life?”
I hurry down the stairs, not really wanting to hear any more of that inane conversation. People in Sobolton are just like people everywhere else I've been; they're all caught up in their petty, meaningless lives, and there's nothing anyone can do to help them. Of course, they all think they're fascinating and unique and special, and I guess that kind of illusion helps them get through their days, but deep down they must realize that they're completely pointless. There are very few people in the world who have a special, higher purpose. I guess I shouldn't judge, though. I'm one of the rare people with a higher purpose, and that's a responsibility that I take very seriously.
As soon as I'm outside, I look around, but there's no sign of Milly. I start to worry that maybe I've missed my chance here, that she might already be gone, and when I head out to the street and look both ways, there's still no sign of her. I briefly consider racing off through the night and trying to track her down, but then I realize that it's too late for any of that. I had my chance, and I screwed it up by saying 'no' when she asked me to go with her. And now I guess I'll probably never see that Milly girl again.
The beast on the train tracks is gonna be so mad at me.
Chapter Fifteen
Richard
Five years ago...
“You dumb little runt!”
The cane swings down again, cracking against my back with such force that I swear I feel my skin splitting open from the shoulder to the waist. I finally cry out and fall forward, which I know is a sign of weakness, but I can't help myself. Sobbing as the pain burns across my back, I tell myself that the cuts and bruises are never quite as bad as they feel, at least not at first.
I just have to be strong.
“I should give you five more for dropping like that,” Dad says behind me. “Be grateful that I don't. Now get up and go clean yourself off in the bathroom, and don't let me ever hear you talking nonsense again, do you understand?”
I hesitate for a moment, before slowly getting to my feet. I hate the fact that I'm trembling, and I hate the fact that there are tears in my eyes and my bottom lip is shaking, and I hate the fact that I can feel a bead of blood running down the small of my back. I reach out to steady myself against the side of the armchair, but I know I only have a couple of seconds at most before Dad gets angry again.
“Well?” he asks. “What are you waiting for?”
“N... nothing,” I stammer, but I still don't turn and walk through to the hallway. The truth is, I think my knees would buckle, and that would just make things even worse.
“A teacher,” he sneers. “Are you serious? You want to be a teacher?”
“It was just...”
My voice trails off. I knew I shouldn't have raised the subject tonight, I knew Dad would fly off into another of his rages, but I guess I'm just stupid.
“No son of mine is going to be a teacher,” he continues. “You're going to the same college that I went to, and you're going to study law, just as I did. There's no debate here, son. Your associates at school might be allowed to make their own decisions in this regard, but you just wait a few years and see how that turns out for them. The mind of a teenager is a messy, confused thing, and you're liable to ruin your whole life. Trust me, Richard, one day you'll be so very grateful to me for the discipline I've instilled in you. Now go and wash your back and put a shirt on. Your mother will have dinner ready soon.”
“Yes,” I manage to say, and then I turn and start shuffling toward the door. Every step is painful, and I feel certain that I'm going to collapse, but somehow I make it all the way out into the hallway.
I can smell Mom's stew already, and a moment later I hear the sound of a metal spoon hitting the edge of the pan. Mom always focuses on her cooking when I'm being disciplined, it's as if she disappears into a whole other world where she doesn't have to be aware of anything else. I hesitate, listening to the sound of her pottering around in there, and then I go and make my way toward the stairs.
As I start heading up to the landing, I feel another bead of blood running down my back.
***
“You'll be pleased to know,” Dad says as we sit at the dining table a short while later, “that the boy has dropped his ridiculous claim that he wants to be a teacher. He's back on track and I'll be discussing his college plans with Paul and Dorothy at the next cheese night.”
“Oh, that's nice,” Mum says with a smile, while carefully not making eye contact with me. “I'm glad you two had a little talk to clear the air.”
A little talk?
She was two rooms away while Dad was giving me the cane, she knows damn well that we didn't have a 'talk'. Then again, when have things ever been different? I used to think that Mom always rushed to get something on the stove when she realized I was about to be disciplined, but now I figure that things are a little more complicated than that. Dad always seems to get angry at me right before dinner, and I think maybe he and Mom have this unspoken pact. That's cool, I guess. They have something that works for them.
“You'll make a fine lawyer, son,” Dad continues. “You'll thank me one day, when you're a successful man of the world and you have a wife and family of your own.”
“Just like you?” I reply, barely able to conceal my disgust.
“Just like me,” he says, and it's clear that he thinks I like the idea. I don't think there's any end to his conceit and self-importance. “There's nothing wrong with a boy seeing his father as a role-model, Richard. That's what fathers are there for, if you think about it.”
“And I'm supposed to spend my evenings doing the kind of things you do?” I ask. “Watching TV, reading books on military history, cleaning a bunch of guns, and getting drunk?”
I see a flicker of anger in his eyes, and I know I'm sailing a little close to the wind here. At the same time, I also know that he'd never use the cane on me twice in one day. In some ways, then, it's good that he punished me earlier, because now I'm more or less immune for the rest of the evening. Even my insane, psychotic father knows that caning me twice like that would make it impossible for the wounds to remain hidden, and he's no fool. He's a lot of things, but he's definitely not an idiot.
“There's nothing wrong with having a routine, dear,” Mom says meekly.
Looking over at her, I can see the fear in her eyes. She's desperately hoping that I don't pick a fight with Dad, and I don't know whether to pity her or hate her. She's been married to this monster for nearly thirty years, and I don't think she's ever stood up to him once. At least Dad can claim that he thinks he's doing the right thing, but Mom knows this whole situation is wrong and she still keeps her mouth shut.
“Finish your dinner,” she continues, before looking back down at her food. I think she senses my disgust. “It's stew.”
“I know what it is,” I reply, as I turn and see that Dad is focused squarely on his own meal. “I'm just not very hungry.”
“Then you may be excused,” Dad says. “There's no point in you sitting here like this, if you're just going to bring down the tone.”
“Fine.” Setting my knife and fork aside, I get to my feet. “I'll be in my room. Now the pair of you can sit happily in silence. That's what you want, isn't it?”
“Go to your room!” Dad barks.
“'I'm already on my way.”
With that, I turn and hurry to the stairs, and I refuse to look back. The atmosphere down here is stifling, and I feel as if I'm going to suffocate in the airlessness.
Reaching my room, I slam the door shut and throw myself onto the bed. I feel like a goddamn child, even though I'm eighteen. The problem is, I have no way to get out of this household. Dad won't let me get a job, because he thinks I need to focus on my studies, and without a job I can't go anywhere. I swear, it's like I'm a prisoner in this house, and I honestly don't see a way out. I roll onto my back, and then I let out a pained
gasp as I sit up. The cuts on my back are hurting more than ever, and it's as if the pain is starting to radiate into my thoughts.
I can't take this any longer. I need to find a way out.
Chapter Sixteen
Richard
Today...
This road seems to go on forever.
After leaving the party to look for Milly, I briefly considered going back inside but then I realized that there was really no point. I'm just really not in the mood to try talking to people, so I guess my best option is just to head home. Of course, there was a part of me that hoped I might bump into Milly anyway but I already know that the chances of that are basically zero. So now here I am, wandering along all alone on a road that runs past the edge of the forest.
I can't help glancing over at the trees every few minutes. I've been in Sobolton for long enough to know that the forest is huge, and that it seems to exert this massive influence on the people who live here. That's not to say that they all go wandering out there; quite the contrary, actually, since most people seem to give the forest a wide berth. I guess they just sense that something's not right, but they don't even talk about it much. I mean, they don't even like mentioning the railroad that runs straight through the forest, or the fact that when it leaves the forest the railroad goes straight into a -
My phone starts ringing. I stop and search for it in my pockets, and then I sigh as I see that Vince is trying to get hold of me. He's the last person I want to hear from right now, but I figure I'd better check what's up so I accept the call.
“Dude, where are you?” he gasps, sounding utterly desperate.
“Just heading home,” I reply. “Why, are -”