“Where you going?” Trent asked when she rushed past them. “We’re about to go in.”
“I know,” she said, not breaking stride. “I’d rather not see this.”
“Mom?” Jake said, his voice straining. “You’re not staying?”
Ignoring her son, she continued down the trail.
Trent lowered himself to the muddy creek bank and tried to breathe. His chest felt hollow, as if there were nothing in there to push the air from his lungs. Beside him, Jake took a knee at the edge of the bend and huffed like a sprinter who couldn’t finish the race. Trent rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“Take your time,” he said. “Get a feel for it if you have to.”
Jake poked a nervous finger into the water. “It’s really cold, Dad.”
“It’s only for two seconds.” Trent hugged him long and hard, as if to squeeze the fear out of Jake like juice from a lemon. “Two seconds, champ. Then I’ll dry you off, and you’ll be able watch me fix my leg.”
Jake swallowed hard.
Ash knelt beside him and rubbed his tiny back.
“Ash?” he asked. “Was it scary?”
“My trade? Nah. You’ll feel a pull—” She yanked him backward to demonstrate. He squawked with surprise, then laughed. “Relax. Don’t fight it. Let it take you.”
He nodded.
“You’ll be fine,” Trent said, forcing conviction into his tone. “Like Ash said, relax.”
“I hate water, Dad.”
“I know.”
“Last time—”
“Last time you lost your eyes. Now you’ll get them back.” Trent cupped a hand behind Jake’s neck. His tiny shoulders vibrated from his quick, heavy breaths. “I’ll be with you every step of the way. From now to when your face hits the water to every moment after.”
“Okay.” Jake swallowed. “I want…”
Trent shut his eyes.
“I want to trade…”
“Go on.”
“I want to trade my eyes.”
For a moment nobody moved. Trent applied slight pressure to Jake’s neck, tipping him forward.
The creek did the rest.
Jake’s face met the water. Trent squeezed his hand and listened carefully, picturing his son bravely enduring that cold, mucky water. Blindly, Trent reached for a towel. He pulled it into his free arm, and then Jake was upright, gasping.
“Champ! Can you see?”
Jake blinked.
“It’s all black. I see black.”
“What?” Trent waved a hand in front of his face. “How many fingers?”
“I’m still blind! Nothing changed!”
Ash grabbed his elbow. “Jake? Did you—”
“I did everything you said!”
“Did you feel a pull on your eyes?”
He paused. Shook his head.
“Goddammit!” Trent punched the ground so hard his knuckles popped. “Ash, what’d we do wrong?” A horrible thought struck him. “You think Jake can’t trade because he can’t see his reflection in the water?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Snare wants ruined eyes. They don’t get any worse than his.”
“Can you talk to the thing?”
“Yeah, look away.”
When Trent turned, he noticed something glinting beside the duffle bag. At first he thought it was a tiny puddle. Then he noticed the shape. A perfect oval. When he leaned closer, his heart sank.
“No… No, no, no!”
“What?” Ash said.
Trent lifted the eyeglasses from the dirt. He’d recognize them anywhere. He saw the same pair every day. They normally sat on his wife’s nose. The fact that they weren’t there now could only mean one thing.
Trent shot to his feet and hobbled as fast as his bum leg could carry him.
59
Trent and Ash hopped down the trail together like a three-legged circus act. Clumsy as the arrangement was, he needed to keep his right leg off the ground. With his arm around her shoulders and her arm around his waist, they raced to catch Lauren before it was too late. Dad, Berke, and Narducci called after them, but Trent refused to explain—partly because he felt humiliated but mostly because of how he planned to rectify the situation. Things would soon get ugly, and he didn’t want any pushback, like with Cheeto.
Before long, Trent and Ash developed a rhythmic three-legged stride. Their pace forced him to overexert himself, however, and strain shot through his left side. Rather than slowing, he set his jaw and pushed harder with his good leg. Had they been indoors, they might’ve caught Lauren in no time, but the clumpy terrain slowed them in some spots, tripped them in others. On one occasion he had no choice but to plant his bad leg for balance. The muscles seethed and throbbed. It felt like he was wearing a boot lined with razors.
“I see her,” Ash said. “Faster!”
Trent didn’t see anyone until they reached the hill overlooking the parking lot. Lauren hunched against a dead birch near the bottom of the slope. Bent at the waist, she panted hard. Like Trent, she didn’t get out much, and the round trip through the woods had winded her.
“Get her, Ash!” he ordered, releasing his sister’s shoulders. “Before she gets to the car. If she drives off, we’re fucked.”
Ash raced downhill. She cut through a patch of dead reeds and closed the distance before she stumbled, tripped, and then vanished from sight.
Lauren lifted her head, alerted by the noise, and darted for the parking lot. Her Subaru was double-parked beside the van along the edge of the snowy grass. It wasn’t far.
“Ash!” Trent yelled, smacking his cane off a tree trunk. “Hurry, get up!”
Her head poked above the reeds. Ash picked herself up and scrambled downhill.
Below, Lauren flung herself toward the Subaru. She fumbled with her keys and managed to open the driver’s door. She climbed inside. The door slammed with a thud that sent a deadening echo through Trent’s heart.
Trent, now hobbling downhill, grabbed at low branches to steady himself. Even then, he had to keep pausing to reset his feet. At this rate he’d reach the parking lot by New Year’s.
The Subaru’s engine growled to life. Lauren pulled away from the van and hooked a U-turn between the grass and the rear wall of the banquet building. She aligned the tires toward town. The motor hummed and the wheels spun.
Ash sprinted across the blacktop in front of the car. Rubber squealed as Lauren braked to avoid hitting her. For a moment neither moved. Then Lauren reversed the Subaru, stopped, and steered left. Ash raced to block her path, guarding the exit route like LeBron guarding the paint.
Trent reached the pavement despite his suffocating leg muscles. With every push of his cane, he grew more livid at his wife. Adrenaline bitched through his veins, soothing his leg. The pain didn’t bother him anymore. He reached the stopped car with a clumsy stride and thumped the hood with his cane.
Behind the windshield, Lauren blinked at him, an anxious look in her eyes—the eyes she stole from their son.
“Ash, stay here,” he said, patting the hood. Soon as she came over, he rounded toward the driver’s door. “Get outta the car!”
Lauren stared resolutely ahead, ignoring him.
Trent slammed his cane against the window.
She turned to him, watching as he lifted the cane again.
“Window down. Now.”
Lauren shook her head, her expression not defiant, as if pleading with him. He barked at her again. The window dropped.
“Trent, I—”
“You stole the eyes! Stole them right outta Jake’s sockets! You have no idea the shit Ash and I went through to make them available.”
“Trent, I—I panicked. That creek demon, it could be Satan. It could kill our son. His soul, it could—”
Trent jabbed his cane through the open window, jamming the rubber tip against her throat. Fire rolled through him now, an angry blaze that urged him to keep pushing until her throat was dented like a crushed soda can
.
“Unlock the trunk,” he snarled.
She whimpered.
“Unlock the goddamned trunk!”
Slowly, her arm reached for the lever. The trunk popped.
“Now open the door.”
Whimpering, she lifted the door latch. The interior lights flickered and she pushed the door open.
“Now step out.”
Trent lifted the cane from her throat. Without taking his eyes away, he backed up. Lauren sobbed as she stepped out onto the snowy blacktop.
“Don’t start crying,” he said, feeling zero pity for her. “Not with Jake’s eyes.”
“I did what I thought was right.”
“I don’t care.” Trent grabbed her arm and hauled her away from the car, his uncharacteristic strength surprising him. “Get in the trunk!”
“No!”
“Now, Lauren!” He shoved her against the back door. “Not saying it again.”
“Trent, wait!” Ash said, rushing to his side. “Stop!”
“Don’t get all moral on me, Ash.”
“I’m not—someone’s coming!”
Trent turned and saw an old red BMW speeding toward them. His gut dropped. The driver must’ve seen him manhandling Lauren. If anyone called the cops, he’d be in a world of shit.
The BMW parked, claiming a spot near the uphill trail. The driver’s door opened, and Bill Werner stepped out. He stared at them, his face a slab of hard, solid flesh. No doubt he’d gone home and seen Rosita.
And now he’s here to settle the score, Trent thought, his dread a solid lump in his throat.
But surprisingly, Werner turned away. He climbed uphill without a word.
Shaking with relief, Trent turned to his wife. “Get in the trunk.”
“No!” She twisted in his grasp. “I’m protecting our son!”
“Ash, give me a hand!”
Together they dragged Lauren toward the trunk and tipped her over the rim. She didn’t go easily. Even halfway in, she kicked her feet, nailing Trent in the nuts with a heel. He winced but fought through the nausea, tucked her legs inside, and slammed the lid.
Ignoring her thumps and cries, he approached the driver’s door.
Ash caught his elbow. “Trent, you can’t. You gotta trade your leg. There’s no time.”
He checked his phone. 3:55. A little more than forty minutes till sunset. Ash is right. There wasn’t enough time to make a roundtrip to Clarks Summit and hike back to the creek.
She climbed behind the wheel.
“Wait, Ash,” he said. “You can’t either.”
“Why the hell not? I just drove up there with Rosita.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Then you traded your ribs.”
60
Karl grabbed a towel and joined his grandson at the creek bend. The little fella was getting awfully upset, shouting at the top of his lungs and begging for new eyes. Bad as he wanted them, he didn’t get them. When he started dunking his head again, Karl took his arm and dragged him away kicking and screaming. Much as it pained Karl to do it, he had to. Shivering out here wasn’t good for anyone, especially a boy of his size.
They exited the clearing and sat on a tree stump over by Berke and Narducci, who were watching the trail in case Candace returned to cause trouble. As Karl toweled his grandson’s hair, the sky darkened. He never noticed an oncoming sunset like he did now. Nightfall soaked the highest skies and spilled downward, staining the clouds, burying the horizon. He could smell it, that damp nighttime smell. According to the National Weather Service, sunset would strike at 4:36 pm. Won’t be long now.
“Grampa?” Jake shook free of the towel. “You done?”
“Not yet, little fella. Want you completely dry.” What Karl also wanted was to know why Trent and Ashlee had run off so abruptly. One minute they were in the clearing ready to make trades, then they left without explanation. Without cluing him in.
His phone buzzed. He hoped it was one of his kids. Instead, the display flashed the name Donnie Adler. Their skin trade candidate. Karl had left him a voicemail earlier, explaining the situation. Though he should’ve been relieved to hear back from him, Karl only felt disappointment as he accepted the call.
“Cutting it close, Mr. Adler. You on your way?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know, Karl.” He sighed. “I’m on the fence. I just… I’m not sure it’s worth the risk. I mean, it’s only skin.”
Karl stood there, the phone screen frozen to his cheek. What he should’ve done was reassure Alder. Talk him into fixing that burned face of his. Instead, Karl cleared his throat and said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“Well, shit, that’s a relief.” Alder chuckled. “Here I was thinking you’d hunt me down if I didn’t show.”
“Not too late to find a replacement.”
“You sure?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Adler.”
Karl hung up.
“Replacement?” Berke asked. She and Gina looked anxious. “Was that the skin guy? Did he bail?”
“Yeah. We’ll be fine, though.”
“Because of Ash? She mentioned trading her tattoos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that can work,” Karl said, although that wasn’t what he had in mind. Time was running short. Something had to be done. “Let me check the creek real quick. You and Gina mind watching my grandson?”
With Jake in their care, Karl took a deep breath. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do.
As he entered the clearing, a lifetime’s worth of moments flashed through his mind. He remembered things. Recent things. Like Candace calling their relationship an “arrangement.” That, and what she’d said at the storage unit, the comment about never loving him. That he was available, like cheap eats on a fast-food menu. Whether she was hiding her true feelings or not, he knew why she’d said it, especially with other people around.
He remembered further back. The countless looks he’d endured while out in public with his kids. Like the time in ’95 when he’d taken Ashlee to the mall in Scranton. That day he’d parked in the underground lot, and they’d walked to the elevator hand-in-hand, father and daughter. When the metal doors had rumbled open, a security guard arrested him for child kidnapping. It took two hours and a background check before they accepted that he hadn’t abducted her—he’d adopted her.
Then he remembered thirty-one years ago. His last day as a patrol cop in Pittsburgh. He had entered an abandoned train yard with his partner. Shots went off. The suspect fled. A footrace ensued. Karl ran his hardest, chasing the suspect into a nearby warehouse and tackling him from behind. But while he cuffed the fella, two others showed up with guns. One mentioned how fast Karl was. The other said Karl wouldn’t be so fast without those nigger knees of his.
Karl remembered many things as he shrugged off his clothes and exposed his body to the subfreezing air. Gooseflesh streaked his arms and back. His throat tightened. His nose dripped.
He knelt in the mud wearing nothing but the bandage covering his neck wound. For the first time in three decades, he dared to look upon the bend alone. In the pre-dusk darkness, he observed his watery reflection. It both sickened and mesmerized him.
He saw a shade of skin that wouldn’t have been kneecapped on the job. A shade that wouldn’t have been mistaken for his own daughter’s kidnapper. A shade that Candace could love.
God, he couldn’t believe he was doing this.
He peeled the bandage off.
“I’d…like to trade my skin.”
He felt nothing. No pull.
It seemed his neck wound wasn’t enough for Snare.
Karl reached up and snapped a branch from a nearby pine. Pale, spiky wood poked from the broken end, resembling a paintbrush. He touched the jagged edge to his shoulder, breathed deep, and ripped it across his chest. It left a red trail.
He grunted.
“I want to trade my skin.”
Nothing.
He scraped his arm from shoulder to elbow.
“I want to trade.”
Still nothing.
Again and again, he scraped.
Both arms.
Both thighs.
His belly.
Everywhere.
He stretched the branch behind him like a backscratcher. Tore up both shoulder blades. When the creek denied him again, he scraped his feet and hands, his shins and ankles, even his knees. Cold air nipped his wounds. He went woozy. Fear sank through him. What if scratches weren’t severe enough? Or what if every inch of his skin needed to be damaged?
He heard Berke and Narducci shout, voices wild with panic. Something was happening outside the clearing.
He needed to check. As he rose, his flesh burned all over. He could barely move. The thought of tugging his dry clothes over his bleeding scrapes was too much.
“I want to trade.”
Still nothing.
Berke shouted for his help.
Leaning backward, Karl grabbed a tactical knife from his duty belt. Heart ramming, he unfolded the blade. Weak sunlight caught it. He yanked the sharp edge across his forehead and winced as the skin broke. Blood trickled down his nose. On the creek’s surface, his forehead appeared smooth and uncut.
Blood dripped into the water, rippling the image away.
“I want to trade my skin.”
The creek pulled him. He smacked the surface with an icy rush. Burning pain became a freezing ache. His lower body wagged like a fishtail until he was completely submerged.
Then he felt it. Just like thirty years ago. For an instant his skin disappeared, blanketing him with a coldness he’d never known, not even in the worst winters. It might’ve lasted a moment; it might’ve lasted a lifetime. Then came a heavenly sensation as new skin hugged him with cozy, merciful warmth.
The sensation only lasted so long before the icy waters welcomed him back to reality. He splashed free of the creek and flopped onto the muddy bank. Shuddering, he lifted an arm in front of his eyes. In the fading sunlight he saw the cuts were gone.
But his skin tone hadn’t changed.
A nauseating mix of relief and disgust swirled within him. He hated to think he’d gone that far, that he’d lost himself like that, that he’d given into Snare and her twisted, empty promises.
Bad Parts Page 21