by A E Faulkner
Tears trailing down my cheeks, I nod numbly.
“Quinn,” she says into my hair. “Do you want to know what I dream about?” Unwilling to use what I expect would be a wavering voice, I nod into her shoulder again.
“Well,” she starts. “Since everything happened, my dreams have been filled with memories. Wonderful memories. And I love it. I love seeing them again and remembering the happy times.”
“Doesn’t it make you sad knowing that those things can’t happen ever again?” I ask, pushing my voice to work through the tears.
“As much as that part sucks, memories are all we’ve got now. And I don’t ever want to forget them, so I love dreaming about them, allowing my mind to go back to those places.” She pauses for a moment. “I think you’ll start to feel that way too, Quinn. Just try to focus on the good as much as you can, even though the bad is pretty much reigning over everything at this point.”
“Thanks, Riley,” I say genuinely. “I’ll try. I really will.” With that we share weak smiles.
“You wanna try to get some more sleep?” she asks. When I nod, she rises and ambles back to her bed, tugging on the flimsy blanket.
I lay still, listening for the moment when Riley’s breathing slows and steadies. Flopping from one side to the other until I can’t stand it any longer, I check my watch. It’s 2:33 a.m.
Quietly climbing out of bed, I tiptoe to the kitchen window. The street lights throughout the park illuminate the area. Grabbing a bottle of water from the counter, I untwist the cap and take a swig. Our remaining four bottles stand like soldiers at attention, although they make a puny army. Glancing back out the window, a quiet calm settles over the trailer park. With nothing to do out here, I set the water bottle back on the counter and replace the cap. Just as I turn back toward the bedroom, movement outside the window catches my eye.
I instinctively duck below the window, slowly creeping up to expose as little of myself as possible. A man darts through the shadows. My eyes follow his path as he zig-zags from porch to bush to shed. He takes cover as he moves swiftly and deftly from home to home. I’m so busy watching him that I almost miss the face that pops up at the kitchen window. The one I’m hovering just below. I freeze in place, but I know I’m visible from his vantage point. I’m sure of it because our eyes lock in that split second.
Chapter 7
My temporary paralysis thaws as recognition dawns across both of our faces. It’s Aidan! The guy who was filling water jugs at the cat house. He’s not exactly a friend, but I don’t believe he is a threat either. Although, he is slinking around the trailer park in the middle of the night. What the hell?
I maintain eye contact with him between windows as I scramble to the door. I quietly unlock it and slip outside. Aidan strides across the porch with light steps and meets me. His blue eyes are wide. “Scratch, is that you?” What? Narrowing my eyes, I cross my arms. He glances at my bandaged limb and awkwardly points to it. “Um, Quinn, right? You got scratched by a cat the other day when we met, right?”
Oooohhh. Well, if he’s going to give me a nickname, “Yeah, it’s me. How are you, Jugs?”
“Jugs?” a male voice barks out from behind me before it evaporates into laughter. “Who the hell is Jugs?” he asks between snickers.
It’s too dark to tell, but I wonder if Aidan’s face flushes red. He speaks while I stare at the newcomer. “Jeff, this is Quinn. I met her a few days ago when I was out getting water,” he explains. “She got a nasty scratch from a cat that day, so I thought Scratch would be a good nickname for her. I guess since she saw me filling the water jugs, she’s apparently taken to calling me Jugs.”
I smirk and extend my hand to Jeff. “Nice to meet you. And I prefer to be called Quinn, by the way.” He returns my grin and shakes my hand. His muscular arms practically jump out of his short sleeves.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Quinn. I’m Jeff. Please don’t judge me by the company I keep.” He barely finishes speaking before he chuckles again. His demeanor puts me at ease immediately. Comfortable enough to ask the question burning in my mind.
“So, Jeff, Aidan, what the hell are you doing sneaking around here in the middle of the night?” Jeff’s smile slides off his face. They glance at each other, shifting as if they are uncomfortable in their own skin. Aidan speaks first. “Well, Quinn, we’re kind of looking for things. Things that people aren’t using anymore so that we can…borrow them.” Jeff nods quickly in support.
“Oh, I understand,” I say, my arms sliding down to rest on my hips. “You’re here to steal stuff.”
The guys nervously glance at each other. Jeff points to the trailer door. “Is this your place? Maybe we should go inside, and we can explain.” Um, not a chance I’m inviting two near-strangers into our only sanctuary while my sister is getting some much-needed sleep.
“That arrangement isn’t going to work,” I say sternly. As Aidan steps toward me, words spill from his mouth. “Look, Quinn, we’re not bad people. We’re just stuck. There was a bad accident and our car was wrecked. We’re trying to make it down to Virginia and…we’re just stuck.” His eyes skim the ground dejectedly.
Oh my gosh. They got caught in that Route One accident, too. My doubts about them dissolve as my heart seizes in response to our similar circumstances. I reach out and place my hand on Aidan’s arm. “I was in that accident, too. Our car was totaled,” I say, my eyes misting. Please don’t let me start crying right now.
“Aidan, man, we should probably get going soon,” Jeff says, pulling me away from the threatening spiral of memories. His interruption is a welcome distraction.
“You’re right,” Aidan says, his eyes locked with mine. “But before we go, Quinn, you need to know, you’re not safe here. Do you have somewhere else to go?”
“What are you talking about?” My head volleys back and forth between the guys. Jeff runs a hand through his short brown hair and exhales a sigh. He leans in conspiratorially and says in a hushed voice, “Look, we’ve been checking out the unoccupied homes around here. You know, just borrowing things to help us get by. But one of the trailers we went to, we thought it was empty…”
Aidan finishes for him. “Quinn, one of your neighbors is dead. We thought the trailer was vacant, so we went inside. We grabbed some canned food and other stuff from the kitchen and then we went to the bedroom to see if there were any blankets and pillows.”
Tag-teaming again, Jeff continues. “We thought the smell was some food rotting. But… we found her just lying there on the bed, lifeless. Looked like she was stabbed. There was blood on the sheets and blanket.” He pauses momentarily before breaking the silence. “We would have helped her if we could, but she was gone.”
I raise a hand to cover my gaping mouth. The scream I heard the other night. That must have been it. Why didn’t I think to go see what was happening? Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I could have stopped it.
“Guys, which trailer? Where did you see this?” I don’t know many of the permanent residents, and if it was someone who is only here for vacations, there’s no chance I know her.
Aidan steps to the edge of the porch and points, “Two homes down in that direction. The one with the wishing well in the front yard.” I wrap my arms around myself to contain the shiver running through me. The guys exchange a look and I know what’s coming next.
“Look, we gotta go,” Aidan says. “How about we check on you tomorrow? Would that be okay? Just make sure you’re alright.” Before I can filter my thoughts, they escape my lips. “That would be really nice. Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Okay,” Jeff says, nodding. The guys eye each other, silently communicating. They hesitate for just a moment and then Aidan speaks again. “Quinn, just keep a low profile, okay? Try to keep yourself hidden. We’ll come back tomorrow night after it gets dark and we can talk more then.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or, today I guess.” The guys watch me head inside the trailer. I lock t
he door and peer out the window, watching them leave. I barely know them, but I sense they’re like me and Riley—good people trying to navigate their way through a bad situation.
As I tiptoe back to the bedroom and settle under the covers, I vow to tell Riley everything. She deserves to know we could be in danger here and she needs to meet Aidan and Jeff. Maybe they are our ticket out of here.
Chapter 8
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Riley calls in a sing-song voice that immediately grates on my nerves.
I pull a pillow over my head and burrow under the blankets. “Go away, Riley. I’m tired.”
A knock on the door startles us both. Are Aidan and Jeff back already? Did Benny come to talk? Riley jumps up and rushes to the door. Paranoia speeds through my brain like a race car. If it is Aidan and Jeff, she’ll freak out. I forgot to tell her about meeting Aidan on my run. She has no idea yet that two guys know where I’m staying and plan to come back.
Panicked, I jump out of bed and rush toward the door. Riley’s already there, and as she slowly opens the door, Slim Jim crowds the threshold trying to look casual, leaning one arm against the doorjamb.
I release an uncontrollable, audible sigh. Okay, I’d much rather see Aidan, Jeff, and Benny all at the same time if it meant Jim wasn’t here. Plopping on the couch, I fold my arms, impatiently waiting for him to turn around and march himself out.
“Oh, hey, Quinn,” he says, clearly disappointed by my presence, as usual. “Hi, Jim,” I reply sternly. Riley cuts through the tension. “What’s up, Jim?” she asks. After a quick glance my way, Jim leans conspiratorially toward Riley and paints a goofy smile on his face. “I just thought you and I could talk for a minute. Maybe step outside with me?” He bows a hand, motioning out the door, as if he’s presenting her with a magical castle.
A small giggle escapes her. It quickly dissolves when her eyes slide over to my glowering glare. “Sure, Jim, I can talk for a minute. I’ll be right back, Quinn,” she calls.
Okay, I guess she’s not so worried about keeping a low profile now. I might as well grab a shower. If she wants to talk to Jim alone, that’s fine. She can have it. I’ll just lose myself in the soap and steam.
When I twist the squeaky shower handle off, the trailer is silent. Jim better be gone. I leisurely dry off and dress. We definitely need to figure out this laundry thing. I hate putting on worn clothes after a nice hot shower.
Returning to the bedroom to ditch my dirty clothes, I spy Riley curled up in her bed. She glances up from a book just as I toss my rank pajamas in the ever-growing mountain of laundry in the corner. “So, what did Jim want?” I ask.
Riley answers, keeping her eyes glued to the pages of her book. “Um, just wanted to invite us to dinner.” She cringes as soon as the words escape her mouth.
“Why on earth would we want to have dinner with him and his moron brother? I’d rather offer up my good hand to Tiger, the little demon that tried to claw my arm off,” I say.
Riley closes her book, tosses it on the bed, and rushes over to me. Words spill out of her, matching her body’s pace. “I know. I’m sorry. I told him we’d be there at six.”
I look at her incredulously, waiting for an explanation. I don’t have to wait long. “Okay, look, he keeps stopping by to check on us and asking questions about Mom and Dad. Let’s just get this over with. Besides, we need to figure out if we’re going to the base or not. We’re running out of supplies. We can’t stay here by ourselves forever.”
She’s right. We haven’t quite figured out much beyond right here, right now. I’ve been waiting out the storm inside my head, but in reality, we have no idea what tomorrow will bring. We have to stop living as if we’re already dead.
“You’re right.” I surprise us both by agreeing with her. “We have to figure out what we’re gonna do. No one’s coming to rescue us. Mom and Dad are gone and we’re not little kids anymore. We need to take care of ourselves.”
With that, Riley leans forward and wraps her arms around me. I reciprocate, savoring the instant comfort a simple hug can bring.
Our stomachs guiding us, Riley and I search the kitchen cabinets for breakfast. We take seats at the booth-style table and split the last pack of strawberry Pop-Tarts. After devouring every last crumb on the plate, I exhale a calming breath. “Riley, we need to talk,” I say. She rushes to respond, “I know, we need to figure out what to tell Benny.”
“No, Riley, it’s more than that,” I explain. “You know how I went for my run yesterday?” She nods in acknowledgement, watching me intently. “Well, I got scratched by that cat, you know, but I wasn’t the only one there.” Her eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”
As I explain meeting Aidan and our early morning reunion, as well as my introduction to Jeff, she absorbs every word. She folds her hands as if in prayer when I tell her about the body Aidan and Jeff say they discovered. Before I even finish, she starts wringing her hands and firing questions at me. “Do you think they were telling the truth? Who would do something like that? Should we tell someone?”
Scooting closer, I take her hands in mine. “I don’t know. I think Aidan and Jeff are good guys, but I’m not ready to trust everything they say. I think maybe we should make sure they’re telling the truth.”
Her eyes open wider. “You want to go find the body?” Her voice rises with each word. She starts shaking her head back and forth, her body slightly trembling. “I don’t want to see that. Maybe we should tell Jim and Dan. They’re in charge of the park; it’s their job, not ours.”
I gently rub Riley’s arm. “I need to see this for myself. I need to know if we can trust these guys or not,” I explain. “You don’t have to go inside. Just come with me and be my lookout in case anyone shows up.”
She nods her head quickly, keeping her eyes downcast. “Let’s get this over with,” she says.
Chapter 9
Paranoia consumes the trailer as we prepare to investigate a murder. Worried that someone will see us breaking into the neighbor’s home, and maybe accuse us of hurting her—if what Aidan and Jeff say is true, we take every caution before venturing outside.
Starting at opposite ends of the trailer, Riley and I slink along the walls, peering out each window. As we work our way toward each other, we quietly call out status updates.
“No movement out there.”
“I don’t see anyone.”
“Nothing happening outside.”
When we reach the living room, facing each other, our eyes lock. I give Riley one curt nod, silently saying let’s do this. I lead the way outside and to the neighbor’s. My thankfulness for the deserted park dissolves as I realize how wrong it feels. I have never seen this place so desolate. I miss the sounds of music playing, kids laughing, and dogs barking. Now I would be surprised to see anyone around. I’ve got to ask Benny where everyone is.
The walk to the trailer is short. A rickety wishing well adorns the front yard, confirming we’re in the right place. Moving quickly, we focus on the canary-yellow front door. Each step that brings us closer to the entrance also answers how we’ll get inside. The door is barely pulled shut. A strong breeze could push it open. Maybe Aidan and Jeff jimmied the lock and now it hangs on its hinges with no ability to hold shut.
Riley slithers down the porch wall, propping herself up next to the door. When I slowly push it open, the putrid scent of rot bombards us. Riley wrinkles her nose as I step inside. The door opens into the living room, which is cloaked in darkness. Curtains shroud the windows, blocking the sun’s rays. I pinch my nostrils closed and force my feet farther into the uninviting home.
While there’s no sense in wandering around, my brain wrestles with my body. I want to get this over with, but fear hampers every movement. Deathly silence hovers in the air. Even in the dimness, I can tell that the layout mirrors Aunt Grace’s trailer. My feet slowly amble down a hallway opposite the kitchen. I’m betting it leads to the bedroom.
The first door I pass is a bath
room. Nothing looks amiss in the pink room with no curtains. The white mini-blinds are closed but the bright glow of sunlight behind them breaches the otherwise dim interior. Towels hang neatly on a rack, and a soap dish rests on the sink. Unfortunately, any fragrance the pastel seashell-shaped soaps may emit is overpowered by the aroma of decay.
The next door opens to a bedroom. Once again, the curtains are closed, and I can only make out the outlines of a dresser, bed, and nightstand. I exhale with short-lived relief. If the guys are telling the truth, and my nose is accurately corroborating, there is another bedroom waiting for me.
The door at the end of the hallway stands at attention, sealing me from whatever secrets it holds. Raising my hand to knock, I pause before slowly dropping my arm back to my side. Silence and darkness permeate this space. I can’t imagine anything alive awaiting me on the other side of the door. I reach for the handle and turn it in what feels like slow motion.
The rotting stench slaps me in the face when I swing the door open. My hands fly to my face, equally trying to cover my gasp and my breathing passages. This room is dark, but my eyes quickly adjust to the dim light and hone-in on the lump on the bed, fully covered by a white sheet stained with dark splotches. I’ve come this far. I can’t stop now.
My lead-filled shoes resist each shaky step. Leaning toward the top of the bed, I gingerly grasp the sheet between my thumb and pointer finger. Slowly, I drag the sheet down to reveal exactly what Aidan and Jeff described. A thin woman with shoulder-length gray hair lies stiffly on the bed. Her skin bears an unhealthy gray pallor. Her wounds, which once erupted red, look black in contrast with the white sheet.
She’s definitely gone. She must have been the one I heard scream the other night. I gently replace the sheet and walk backward toward the door, keeping my eyes on the woman, as if she might suddenly snap back to life. I leave the door open and turn on my heel in the hallway.