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Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

Page 26

by Brooke Skipstone


  Jazz expected her mother to have a bottle or two in her suitcase. They’d have to deal with that later.

  After they drank their shots, they’d kissed each other’s scars, softly, knowing the pain behind each one, knowing how things would’ve been different if they’d been together then like they were now. Hunter had told her everything he saw and heard and felt earlier that day. They’d drunk each other’s tears and formed a bond of empathy no two teens should ever need.

  Now, this morning, Jazz looked out the window as they drove. “I wish green-up would come early this year,” said Jazz. “I keep searching for any sign of leaves. I can’t wait for the first lupine to pop out of the ground. There’s a place on the edge of my gravel driveway that I always see the first lupine. And the bluebells come in about a week later. And then the roses. I love the roses! What’s your favorite color of primrose? I like the fuscia best.”

  “I’ve never seen them. I got here last July, and the roses were all gone by then. Just fireweed.”

  “Once the fireweed blooms, I worry about winter coming, especially when the bottom petals start falling off. Winter is too damn long. Spring and summer are longer at MawMaw’s and PawPaw’s.”

  “You still want to go back there?”

  “Yes. I’d really like to move away from here. But only if you come with me.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  He pulled off the Mitchell Freeway onto South Cushman toward the rehab center.

  “Over there,” said Jazz.

  He turned into the parking lot and headed toward the building.

  “Shit! She’s sitting over there with a man, just like I thought. I’m going to be a badass to him, so don’t be shocked.”

  “You? Badass? Why would that shock me?”

  She smiled at him then growled.

  Hunter pulled against the curb near the bench where Claire and the man were sitting, both smoking cigarettes. The middle-aged man wore a beret and leather jacket and sported a ragged goatee. Claire looked like a thinner Jazz in bright blue leggings. Jazz leaped from the truck and confronted the guy.

  “Are you the asshole who gave my mother booze?”

  “Jazz, he just needs a ride,” said Claire.

  “He can find his own ride.” Jazz jabbed her finger into the man’s chest. “Pick up your pack, asshole, and walk away from here. Now!”

  “Look, Jasmine, my name is—”

  “I don’t give a shit what your name is because I’ll never need it. My mother came here to get off booze, not to have some slimy counselor give her booze for what, a blow-job? Is that the going rate for you? How many girls and women have you ruined in there before you were caught?”

  The man picked up his pack and started backing away from a raging Jazz, who continued to scream at him.

  Hunter picked up Claire’s bag. “Hello, Claire. My name is Hunter. Your daughter is very special to me.”

  Claire tried to get the man’s attention but gave up, threw down her cigarette, and stomped on it. “She can be the biggest bitch. You better hope she never gets angry at you.”

  “She’s just trying to take care of you. Listen, I need to explain something to you real fast while Jazz is away.” Hunter saw Claire’s green eyes, slightly lighter than Jazz’s, lock onto his. “Jazz doesn’t remember anything about being raped by Micah or her killing him.” Her eyes widened. “I took those memories away, so please don’t say anything about him to her.”

  “What do you mean you took those memories?”

  A scene flashed in Hunter’s mind.

  “Are you OK, Jazz?”

  “Sure, Mom. I’m fine.”

  “Is Micah treating you OK?”

  She’d heard noises last night coming from the other end of the mobile home. She’d gotten up to investigate, then decided she didn’t need more trouble with Micah, so she went back to bed.

  “You knew,” said Hunter with utter shock. “You knew Micah was raping her.”

  Claire’s brows scrunched together as her face reddened. “I didn’t know. I swear.”

  “Let’s get in the truck, Mom,” said Jazz as she walked back toward them. “I want to get out of here before he comes outside.” She laughed. “He ran inside the building saying he was going to call the police.”

  Hunter and Claire stared at each other wide-eyed, barely breathing.

  “What’s wrong with you two?” asked Jazz.

  “Nothing,” said Hunter. He picked up her bag and put it in the truck bed.

  “Mom, this is Hunter—”

  “He already introduced himself. He seems like a very fine young man.” She continued to eye Hunter warily. “He says you’re very special to him.”

  Jazz grabbed him from behind and kissed his cheek. “He’s the best.” She opened the passenger door for her mother. “You’re in the back. We need to go to Fred’s for some groceries.”

  Claire climbed into the truck, as did Hunter and Jazz.

  As Hunter drove out of the parking lot, Claire said, “That man’s name is Robert. He was a patient, not the counselor. He wanted a ride to his daughter’s house.”

  Jazz turned toward the back seat. “Well, now he can call Uber or a cab.” She turned back around. “You know, that felt good. I enjoyed that! What’d you think of my badass routine, Hunter?”

  Hunter kept replaying the scene in his head, wondering why Claire hadn’t pressed Jazz harder for answers.

  “What’s wrong?” Jazz touched his arm.

  “I’m sorry. Just had a flashback. I’m OK.” He turned his head and smiled at her. “You’re a helluva badass. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

  “Anywhere close to me is my good side for you. Mom, Hunter moved in with me at our place.”

  “OK. Maybe you’d like to tell me a little more?”

  On the short ride back to the Fred Meyer store on Airport Drive, Jazz told her mother about Hunter having no memories of his past until recently and what led up to him taking her memory of throwing Leon out of the house.

  “You do realize how strange all this sounds, don’t you?” asked Claire.

  “Yeah, but I’ve seen and felt it happen many times. He took so many of my bad memories, Mom, and I feel incredibly better now. He can do the same for you.”

  Hunter looked in his rearview mirror and saw Claire’s eyes fixed on him.

  “Could you do that for me Hunter?”

  “Do you have memories you’d like to forget?” asked Hunter, still watching her in the mirror, still wondering how she could have been so blind to what had happened to Jazz.

  “I think you already know the answer.” Claire averted her eyes outside.

  The parking lot was crowded at Fred’s, typical for a Saturday. This was the first store travelers encountered when driving to Fairbanks from the west. Besides groceries, the store carried clothes, as well as home, garden, and sporting goods. As a result, many shoppers came from out of town.

  They entered the store, grabbed a basket, and followed Jazz’s list she’d made on the drive up. For a few moments while Jazz looked for fresh meat, Claire and Hunter were alone.

  “Was Micah Rosie’s father?” asked Hunter. “I haven’t been able to ask Jazz because she doesn’t remember him.”

  “No. It was another asshole, as Jazz likes to call them. Micah didn’t know I was pregnant when we hooked up. I had no money and no job, as usual. When he found out about the baby, he was pissed and threatened to leave. He had no desire to raise someone else’s kid. I suspected he might be bothering her, but Jazz denied it. I . . . just didn’t want to know bad enough. I’m a shitty mother, Hunter. You might as well know that up front.”

  “My mother seduced me when I was thirteen before she killed herself, pregnant with our . . . mistake. We all have regrets, Claire. You need to find a way to make it up to her. I’d probably be a mental case, trying to cut myself again without Jazz. Have you seen her scars?”


  A look of horror flashed across her face. “Scars? From Micah?”

  “Figuratively, I guess, but she made them herself. I have some, too, but not as many as she has.”

  Claire covered her mouth with her hand and reached out to hold Hunter’s hand with the other. “You must hate me.” Her eyes brimmed.

  “No. We both need to support Jazz. There’s already too much hate and abuse in the world. I don’t want to add to it.”

  Claire hugged Hunter. “Thank you for being with her.”

  Jazz came back with packages of chicken and hamburger meat. She saw the hug and cocked her eyebrows. “Something I missed?” She smiled and dropped the packages into the cart.

  “Something I’ve missed,” said Claire, reaching around Jazz to include her in the hug. “Jazz, you’re a good girl. I haven’t told you that enough. I’m sorry.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Hunter spotted a familiar form. His jaw dropped as he turned to see Wesley push his cart toward the bread section. His stomach swirling, he walked a few steps away in a daze, not believing what he was seeing.

  “Hunter?” asked Jazz. “What’s wrong?”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Everything else in the aisle disappeared in Hunter’s eyes except for the saggy pants and ponytail of the rapist and pornographer stopping to grab a few loaves of bread. Hunter could’ve tackled him, even strangled him. His skin flushed with hatred as he fixed his gaze on evil, every muscle taut.

  Wesley bent down to grab some hamburger buns, and Hunter saw the pistol shoved into his belt.

  Then Hunter realized the girls were alone. They needed to get into the truck and leave. Now.

  He turned around and found Jazz with their basket.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Hunter moved closer. “Behind me. That guy by the bread shelf is Wesley.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. We need to leave and get to his house before he does.”

  Jazz nodded and pushed the basket up the pet food aisle toward the front of the store.

  “Where’s your mom?” asked Hunter in a panic. She had disappeared.

  “Shampoo and conditioner,” Jazz yelled back to him. “I’ll get in line.”

  Hunter raced past the meat and frozen sections until he reached the clothes area and took a left. Claire was holding a bottle of shampoo reading the label. “We have to go.” He grabbed her arm.

  “What?”

  “Now.” He pulled her up the aisle toward the front. “Jazz is in line.”

  “Why?”

  “Because two girls are going to die if we don’t.”

  Hunter found long lines at every register and couldn’t see Jazz. He moved back toward the produce section and found her waiting for a self-serve checkout station.

  “I thought this would be quicker,” Jazz said as she moved forward to claim a station. They both scanned items quickly until the voice from the scanner said to remove the last item. Then “Help is on the way.”

  Hunter looked around for a customer service agent and saw him helping a woman with children. Hunter walked over and tapped his shoulder. “When you’re done, I need some help.” The man nodded.

  When Hunter turned around to return to their basket, he saw Wesley walking toward them from the produce section. “We need to leave.”

  “Why?” asked Jazz.

  Hunter jerked his head toward Wesley. Jazz saw him and turned around. “Shit!”

  Hunter’s heart skipped as he watched Wesley turn his cart into the other self-checkout aisle and find a station directly across from them. The store employee walked to Hunter and scanned his card.

  “There you go,” he said.

  “Thanks,” said Hunter as he grabbed Jazz and Claire’s arms and pushed them toward the exit.

  “Hey!” yelled the employee. “What about your stuff?”

  Hunter turned around. “Forgot my wallet.” He saw Wesley look at him before he turned and pushed his friends out of the store.

  “What’s going on?” asked Claire.

  “That man who was across from Hunter has two girls in a cage at his house,” said Jazz. “We need to rescue them while he’s in town.”

  Hunter started the truck. “Shit, I need gas,” growled Hunter. He drove toward the pumps at the side of the store parking lot. “Jazz, keep an eye out for him coming out of the store.”

  “OK.” Jazz got out of the truck and watched for Wesley.

  After Hunter inserted the nozzle into his tank, he pulled out his phone and called Eric. The call went to voicemail. “Eric, this is Hunter. You need to call me. Wesley’s in Fairbanks. We can get the girls.” He disconnected and returned the gas nozzle to the pump.

  Soon they were on the road heading back toward Jazz’s house. Wesley’s house was farther south, but Hunter didn’t know the mile marker for the road leading toward the girls.

  While Hunter drove, Jazz told Claire about Wesley and the girls. He tried calling Eric again, but all he got was voicemail.

  Then he remembered Stanley. He checked his contacts and found the number. After a few rings, Stanley answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Stanley, this is Hunter. The man who has those girls is in town right now. I just saw him, so there’s no one at his house. I’m heading there to get the girls. Can you help?”

  “Where is his house located?”

  “Somewhere near the Nenana River, probably close to the Coghill Bridge. I’m not sure of the mile marker yet, but I should know more in a while. I can call you back later. Can you send troopers to help?”

  “What’s the man’s name?”

  “Wesley. I don’t know his last name.”

  “Let me check around, and I’ll get back to you. And I will send help. Wait for us, Hunter. Please.”

  The truck was silent as Hunter sped through the curves in the hills. Hunter kept glancing in his mirror to see if anyone was behind him. He tried to recall what kind of vehicle was parked near Wesley’s house during Eric’s memory, but all he could see in his mind was the trampoline and platform.

  Hunter’s phone rang. He swiped to accept. “Yeah?”

  “Hunter,” said Eric. “Are you sure you saw Wesley?”

  “Yes, silver tooth and all. He hadn’t exited the store by the time we drove away. What’s the mile marker for his exit?”

  “Just south of 274. There’s a red strip of cloth tied to a tree on the right side. Even if he’s not there, he’s going to see you at his gate. His phone will buzz when anyone pushes the gate button.”

  “So, what? We try different variations of 673 until the gate opens.”

  “I’m sure he can shut down the gate.”

  “The gate just crosses the road. We can walk around it through the trees and disable the satellite dish. Then he won’t see us take the girls.”

  “The camera will see you anywhere on the road in front of the gate.”

  “What else can he do except yell at us through his phone while we get to the house? He’s not there, Eric. I can bust through the gate with the truck. Look, I’m going in to get the girls. If you’re concerned about what’s on his computer or flash drives, then you need to be there to look for that stuff.”

  “What are you going to do with the girls?”

  “Take them to Jazz’s house and do what I did for you!”

  “He’ll hunt you down.”

  “Who’s going to tell him where they are, Eric? You? Besides, he’ll be in jail by then. I’m leaving Nenana now, so I should be there in thirty minutes. Are you coming or not?”

  “Shit! OK, I’ll be there. I should get there before you.”

  “Bring a gun.” Hunter disconnected. “Jazz, you do have your pistol, don’t you?”

  “Always.” She held up her pack.

  “Are you going to drop me off first?” asked Claire. “This sounds dangerous.”

  “We don’t have time
, Mom.”

  Hunter punched in Stanley’s number. “Hello?” answered Stanley.

  “The mile marker is 274. There’s a strip of red cloth around a tree where the road leaves the highway. We’re about thirty minutes away.”

  “OK. There’s a trooper coming from McKinley Park. She left ten minutes ago, so she should arrive just after you do. I’m in a helicopter. We’re about ten minutes out of Fairbanks. We’re almost there. Wait for us, Hunter.”

  “I’m in a blue truck with a suitcase in the back. I have no idea what Wesley’s driving.”

  “Call me when you get close to his house.”

  They disconnected. Hunter pressed the accelerator.

  After another twenty-five minutes, Hunter crossed the Coghill Bridge over the Nenana River then slowed and pulled onto the shoulder.

  “Look for a red strip around a tree,” he said.

  “There’s Eric’s truck,” said Jazz.

  Hunter pulled up next to him and rolled down Jazz’s window. Eric had attached a Boss snowplow to the front of his rig.

  “Did you put that on just now?”

  “No, I’ve been clearing snow from driveways. It was already on. Wesley’s gate is heavy. I think it would ruin your truck if you tried to knock it down.”

  “What’s the plan?” yelled Hunter.

  “You’ll follow me until we get to the last curve before his gate. I’ll move ahead and punch the button. If he answers, I’ll tell him I want a session with the girls and try to persuade him to let me in. I can find out how far away he is from the house. If he doesn’t let me in, I’ll ram through the gate and call you to follow me.”

  “Lead the way,” said Hunter.

  Eric moved ahead with Hunter close behind. After five minutes, Eric stopped, stuck his arm out the window and signaled for them to stay there. Eric moved on. After a few more minutes, they all heard the sound of ripping metal and knew that Eric had plowed through the gate.

  Eric called. “He’s about twenty minutes behind, so we need to hurry!”

  Hunter moved forward as he called Stanley. “We’re going through the gate. Wesley is ten minutes behind us. When can you get here?”

  “The trooper got delayed because of a wreck on the highway. I’m probably ten minutes away. Wait for us!”

 

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