Inferno Park

by JL Bryan

  Victoria talked about Detroit, how it used to be one of the most opulent cities in the country, and how living in a prosperous suburb of a dying metropolis was like sitting in a comfortable little life boat and watching a massive ship sink beneath the ocean. Carter learned about her family, too, and how her mother had once played violin in an orchestra, and then taught music, and now sat at their new house reading books, drinking wine, and going stir crazy. Victoria’s mother hadn’t wanted to move down to the Florida panhandle, far from any major cultural center, but the job heading up the new nursing-care facility had offered more money than her father could resist.

  Carter felt embarrassed to talk about his family and how things had crumbled after they lost their business. He spoke only vaguely and briefly about his mom’s alcoholism flaring out of control and prompting her to leave town with some random younger man. It all sounded a little trashy compared to her background.

  They also spent a lot of time silently working, and he would glance up at her while she was focused on her textbook, watching her eyes and her lips for a moment before going back to his own work.

  Jared’s adventures had brought him a small horde of new followers, mostly freshmen and sophomores. He asked Carter every day when they could go back to the park and look for Becca again. Carter kept telling him to wait, but he knew Jared wouldn’t listen to him forever.

  The news story about the search for missing kids in Starland was picked up as a filler item by a couple of national news channels, and out-of-towners were beginning to drift in to gawk at the old amusement park. A police car sat near the locked front gate all day to ward off trespassers.

  Carter grew increasingly nervous as Sunday drew closer, wondering what would happen when they met with Schopfer, and whether the man would be as dangerous as Emily seemed to think.

  Victoria called him on Saturday afternoon, as he was leaving the hospital in his dad’s truck, having completed his volunteer hours for the day.

  “This is so stupid,” she said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My parents. I happened to mention our road trip tomorrow, which should be no big deal, right? Now they want you to come over and meet them. They think we’re dating or something. Isn’t that crazy?”

  “Right,” Carter said.

  “Even though I told them we’re just friends. So, anyway, would it be at all possible for you to come over for dinner with us tonight? I’m sorry, it’s so embarrassing.”

  “That’s okay.” He felt instantly nervous at the idea. It would be all the fun of getting examined by a girl’s parents as if he were her new boyfriend, without all the hassle of later having a nice date and possibly making out with her. “What time?”

  “Seven? I can pick you up. I’m really sorry.”

  “Why? Is it going to involve torture?”

  “With my family, you never know,” she said.

  Carter spent much too long thinking about what to wear, and he didn’t text Victoria for advice because he didn’t want her to know he was worried at all. He finally erred on the side of dressing up, with full-length khakis and a blue shirt that was meant to be worn with a coat and tie, plus the brown loafers he never wore. The clothes were too hot for the weather. He usually wore shorts until December or January.

  When he climbed into Victoria’s car, she raised her eyebrows at him, then laughed.

  “I’ve never seen you dress like that,” she said. “Are we going to prom?”

  “Are you asking me to prom?”

  “I don’t know. I might have a boyfriend or something by then.” She smiled to herself as she drove out of his parking lot. “You don’t have to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.” He noticed he was drumming his fingers on the armrest and made himself stop.

  “You wearing that outfit screams nervous,” she said.

  “I can go back and change into a wife-beater.”

  “Do you actually own one?”

  “I own nine or ten, all different colors. The mesh really showcases my nipples,” he said.

  Victoria laughed so much that her eyes closed and she swerved into the next lane, nearly colliding with a motorcycle before she straightened the car out.

  “Don’t talk about your nipples when I’m driving,” she said, rubbing at her eyes.

  Carter felt nervous again as they entered her house. The interior was full of polished hardwood and sunlight from the tall windows. Bright splatters of abstract art hung on the walls, and a string quartet played over a stereo somewhere. The rooms were about twelve feet high, with some fancy-looking crown molding. He was glad he’d never brought Victoria into his narrow rat-trap of an apartment.

  He met Victoria’s father first. Mr. Samaris sat on the long gray couch in the living room, near the glass door to the sunroom, holding a glass of wine and reading a Smithsonian magazine. He had close-cropped, graying hair and large reading glasses, and dressed slightly more casually than Carter, in a short-sleeve collared shirt.

  “This is my dad,” Victoria said. “Dad, this is Carter.”

  “You’re the boy who’s taken up all her time lately?” He looked up, studying Carter with a little bit of suspicion in his eyes.

  “Thanks for inviting me over,” Carter said.

  “So what’s this the two of you are doing tomorrow? Tori explained it, but I still don’t understand the point.”

  “What’s hard to understand?” Victoria interrupted. “We’re going to meet the artist who created all the big attractions around town, all the stuff behind the fences.”

  “And?” her father asked.

  “He’s also created haunted houses and rides for carnivals and amusement parks all over the country,” Victoria added.

  “So what? Why do you want to meet him?”

  “It’s about chronicling the decline of a certain species of organic pop culture,” Victoria said. “These old roadside attractions are a kind of folk art. They represent the ‘highway’ era of American history before the ‘interstate’ era. I’ve explained all this already.” Victoria rolled her eyes.

  “So it’s a photography thing,” her dad said with a shrug. “It’s your Sunday, waste it how you like. Just be home by ten.”

  “But Monday is Labor Day,” Victoria said. “So my curfew should be midnight.”

  “Why does every kid suddenly turn into a lawyer when you bring up curfews and allowances?” he asked. “Carter, any thoughts on that?”

  “Um.” Carter cleared his throat, feeling anxious and unsure what to say. “Not really, sir.”

  “Tell this kid to stop chewing my ear off, Tori,” her dad said. “I can’t keep up with everything he’s saying.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Carter said.

  “Listen to that. ‘Sir,’” her dad repeated.

  “Carter’s a Southern gentleman.” Victoria smiled and touched Carter’s arm briefly. “So he says things like that.”

  “At least he’s still in high school. You are, aren’t you? I told Victoria no more college boys, she’s still too young.”

  “Dad, stop it.” Victoria blushed.

  “Yes, sir, I’m a senior,” Carter told him. He was trying not to look too surprised at the idea that she’d dated a college guy, or dismayed at the thought of trying to compete with such men for her attention.

  “Is Tori home with her boyfriend yet?” Victoria’s mom walked into the room holding a dangerously full glass of red wine in one hand. She looked a bit tipsy, but still seemed elegant to Carter—a polished silver necklace with little black opals, which Carter imagined was some kind of antique, plus lots of black clothing, with chunky high heels. Her eyes were large and dark, just like Victoria’s.

  “Carter, this is—” Victoria began.

  “There you are! Come help me set the outdoor table, Tori. We may as well try it out before the weather turns cold.”

  “Carter, this is my mom,” Victoria tried again, and her mom seemed to notice Carter standing there for the first tim
e.

  “Oh, yes! I’m Lucette. We’re so glad Tori brought you over.”

  “I’m so glad Tori invited me,” Carter said. He looked at Victoria, enjoying the use of her nickname for the first time, and she gave him a tiny scowl.

  “Come on, Tori, give me a hand.” She took Victoria’s arm and led her toward the kitchen. Victoria cast him an apologetic look over her shoulder.

  Carter was left stranded with her dad, awkwardly standing there since he hadn’t invited Carter to sit. Mr. Samaris sipped wine and looked at him. A rich, spicy aroma flowed out from the kitchen area.

  “So, that’s some great music,” Carter said. “What is it?”

  “Stravinsky. Tell me something, Carter. Do you actually share my daughter’s apparent passion for photographing roadside folk-pop-art, or whatever she calls these tourist traps, or are you just humoring her?”

  “Well, I grew up around all of that, so it’s interesting to learn about it. My parents had one of the little places on the strip, a go-kart place. Before the sinkhole ended most of the tourism.”

  “That must have been quite a blow to this town. I remember reading about it in the paper. ‘Inferno Park’ does sound like an unlucky name for an amusement park.”

  “It was actually called Starland,” Carter said. “The national news reported it wrong at first.”

  “What do they do now?” Mr. Samaris asked.

  “Who?”

  “Your parents.”

  “Oh. My dad’s a...he works with that national moving company. Moovin’ On.”

  “I imagine the logistics are complex.”

  “Yeah, logistics and stuff. My mom lives in Tampa. She’s a....bartender, I think.”

  “A colorful background,” he said, with a small nod. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

  “No, thank you, sir.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Victoria saved him by returning and announcing dinner was ready. He followed her through the kitchen and out through an open pair of glass doors.

  He sat across from her at a rectangular glass table, her parents at either end, on a brick patio overlooking a densely landscaped yard with a small swimming pool.

  “It’s really nice out here,” Carter said. “I’ve never been to this house before.”

  “Did you know that’s a hummingbird garden?” Mrs. Samaris asked. “Every flower is there to attract hummingbirds. It works, too. Just keep your eye out.”

  “San Pellegrino?” Victoria asked, tilting a green bottle toward the empty wine glass in front of Carter’s plate.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “It’s the strong stuff. Water and bubbles.” She poured for him, then filled up her own glass.

  They had a Greek salad with fresh cucumbers and tomatoes, some strong feta cheese and beets. The main course was baked lamb with a thick, heavy sauce. Not exactly his favorite.

  “Tori’s father comes from a Greek family,” Victoria’s mother said. “But I learned to cook from my grandmother, who was Québécois.”

  “That means French Canadian,” Victoria said.

  “I knew that,” Carter told her. “Je parle un pute le français.”

  Victoria and her mother both gaped at him for a second, then looked at each other and laughed.

  “What?” Carter asked. “I haven’t actually studied French since middle school.”

  “Um...” Victoria leaned closed to him and whispered. “I think you meant peu. Pute means...whore or bitch.”

  Carter felt his face turn bright red.

  “So what you’ll find here are Greek dishes with French-style sauces, or French food with far too many olives,” her mom continued, trying to salvage the moment.

  “It’s really good.” Carter’s words came out in a rapid rush, eager to move on to something besides his failed attempt at French. He didn’t actually like the food at all. He never ate lamb, which always tasted the way goats smelled, as far as he was concerned.

  “Thank you. Tori says you want to be a doctor, is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “‘Ma’am.’ He’s so cute, Tori,” Victoria’s mom said, and Victoria blushed crimson. She looked like she was dying of embarrassment.

  “Good luck with that,” Victoria’s father said. “That’s ten years of school, you know that? And then you’re just getting started.”

  “I’m taking a full load of advanced placement this year,” Carter said. “That’ll save some time and money in college.”

  “Somebody who believes in saving money! I knew there had to be a few of us left out there,” Victoria’s father said. “You won’t find enough of them in this family. Medicine, though. That’s a good, solid choice. Too many kids these days are getting degrees in Native Alaskan folk dancing, Romantic poetry, underwater basket-weaving...”

  “Dad, you already have a son in business school,” Victoria said.

  “It’s a good thing, too,” her dad told her. “If your actual grown-up plan is trying to make a living as a photographer, you’ll need a brother who can loan you money.”

  “Or maybe I’ll just marry a doctor,” Victoria shot back. She and Carter looked at each other, and she blushed dark red again. He’d never seen her blush before, and now she’d done it twice in less than an hour. “I mean, you know...some doctor. That I might meet.”

  For the rest of the meal, Carter was still nervous, but he thought he did a decent job of hiding it. On the inside, he felt a goofy, weird, warm glow.

  When it was finally over, Victoria led him to the back door.

  “Thanks for coming,” she whispered. “I think we convinced them you’re not some crazy kid who’s going to kidnap me tomorrow.”

  “So they fell for it?” He slowed and looked at a collection of pictures on the living room wall. “Are those the pyramids? Like the real ones?”

  “Yeah, like the real ones. That’s my brother.” She pointed to a teenage boy in the picture, standing next to her mom and a smaller version of Victoria with long black pigtails. The Great Pyramid and its two smaller companion pyramids loomed in the background

  “How old were you?” Carter asked.

  “Seven, I think.”

  “You’re a world traveler.” He looked among pictures of little Victoria smiling and waving at the gardens of Versailles and looking bored at Greek ruins on a grassy hillside.

  “We used to travel more before my brother went off to college,” she said. “Come on.”

  She led him down to her basement, where there was a den area with a couch, an old stereo with a turntable, and several cardboard boxes overflowing with old records. Victoria played one hissing, popping album after another, while telling him all about the history of punk and psychedelic music.

  As she drove him home a couple of hours later, Carter wondered whether he might be entirely underqualified to be her boyfriend.

  It doesn’t matter, he thought. Nothing will matter after I leave town for college. The whole past will just disappear behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Carter awoke on Sunday morning with a feeling of dread, remembering Emily Dorsnel’s warning about Schopfer. He and Victoria were going to visit the man today. He’d avoided thinking about it as long as possible, but there was no more time for denial.

  He flipped off his alarm, showered, and went out to the dark parking lot to wait for Victoria. The sun was just beginning to rise when she arrived.

  Victoria sat behind the wheel, wearing her vintage sunglasses, with “Rockaway Beach” blasting over her sound system. Carter couldn’t help smiling a little at the sight of her. At least he was getting out of town for a change, and he’d be spending the day with a girl he liked, who was maybe the only real friend he had left.

  “Ready?” she asked as he climbed inside.

  “You brought coffee?” He lifted one of two portable cups from her cup holders and sipped it. It tasted dark and strong. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Yes, one’s for
you,” Victoria said.

  “Thanks! When you’re on your way to ask a man why his amusement park is a trap for lost souls, it’s good to be wide awake first.”

  “That’s what I thought, too.”

  They drove east along the Gulf Coast Highway, passing the half-empty strip malls and the Moroccan facade of the Beach Ball and Sand Castle Museum, now closed. Carter felt a weight lift off him as they sped past the town limits and onto an open stretch of two-lane highway lined with high pine trees. Traces of white sand blew across the road, gathering in little piles around the roots of the tall pines.

  They reached Mexico Beach, with RV parks, campgrounds, and rental cottages on their left and a wide view of the blue Gulf water on their right, the sky clear and full of sunlight. Their windows were open, and the warm salty wind combined with the loud music made conversation difficult, consisting mostly of Victoria identifying some of the songs in her road-trip playlist, while he nodded along as though already familiar with her music.

  As she picked up speed, her hair streamed across her face in thin black ribbons, and she tucked some of them behind her ear. She noticed him looking at her and smiled, her eyes unreadable behind black glasses.

  He returned her smile before leaning back in his seat, looking at the long road ahead. A song called “Sunset City” by The Magnetic Fields played over the stereo, and though they were driving into sunrise rather than sunset, it was a perfect song about leaving and moving on, which had been all he’d ever thought about until Starland had crawled up out of his past like a monster from a dark pit.

  His hometown receded rapidly behind them. The highway would carry them along the panhandle beach for the next two hours, with little towns on the left and dark blue water of the bay on their right, stretching all the way to the far horizon.

  The land ended at Apalachicola, but the highway continued on across the bay. Victoria shook her head as they drove for miles across a bridge with nothing but water visible in any direction.

  “This is creepy,” she said. “This bridge could be a ride at the amusement park. You just need a couple of giant sharks and squids rising up from the water.”