by Meg Jackson
The car picked up speed again and I directed him to a deserted country road. The Clamhouse was about twenty miles or so down the road, which was potholed and bumpy. We rode in silence, watching the suburbs give way to forest as the houses grew fewer and far between. Finally, we arrived at the shuttered, boarded-up farmhouse. There was another car parked out front. My heart skipped a beat; fuck, I thought, this better just be some teenagers.
“Who else knows about this place?” Boon said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. While I couldn’t say I blamed him, it also hurt me a little bit to hear that hesitation to trust me.
“Just kids, I think. I mean, maybe the cops know, but they never come out here. Kids just use it for parties and…and stuff,” I said as Boon parked and unplugged the wires, killing the engine. I got out, slamming the door loudly.
“Wait, Samantha, are you sure it’s safe?” Boon asked, leaning out the open door but not getting out of the car.
“Well, unless someone in your gang drives a Kia Sentra and knows that this is where teenagers go to have sex, then yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s safe,” I said over my shoulder as I approached the front of the house. There was a broken window that people usually used to get in. I heard the car door slam as Boon got out, then felt his presence behind me. I peered through the window; it was dark inside, too dark to see anything.
“Let me go first,” Boon said. I heard a swishing sound; turning to him, I saw he’d pulled a switchblade and had it open, ready to go if the situation called for it. Seeing the blade reminded me of just what sort of shit we were in. There are murderous bikers ransacking my house, I stole a car, and now I’m breaking into the Clamhouse to hide, I thought, tallying up the unbelievable chain of events that had led me there. I’m Samantha Perkins, I’m 18, and I start school in September. I work at an ice-cream shop. I’m not a virgin anymore. I own fourteen snow globes.
For a bunch of things that were true, none of those thoughts made any sense when put next to each other. This couldn’t really be my life.
I was snapped out of my reverie by the sound of Boon hoisting himself through the broken window. He disappeared then reappeared on the other side, and I watched him walk into the darkness. My heart sped up once more as I tried to make out his figure amongst the shadows. There was the sound of movement, then a banging noise.
“Get the fuck out,” Boon’s voice came, loud and strained, from inside. It made me jump in place. Seconds later, there was the sound of footsteps, and before I could even move out of the way I was knocked over by someone vaulting themselves out of the broken window.
“Ooof! Fuck! Get the fuck outta here, there’s a guy with a knife! Jesus, hurry up, Ginny!” The person who had landed on top of me scrambled to his feet; he was wearing only a t-shirt and pair of boxers and was already halfway to the car before his companion, a short brunette wrapped in a sheet, fell out of the window behind him, squealing.
I lay on the ground, trying to get my mind together, listening the Kia’s doors slam shut as the engine turned on. I leaned up onto my elbows and watched the car screech away down the dirt road, bobbing up and down and back and forth on the road. It all would have been comical under different circumstances. Boon’s head popped back through the window. He nodded, beckoning me inside.
I stood up, brushing dirt from my dress and crawling in after him. Once inside, you could see a little clearer. Light streamed in from spaces between the boards in the windows. There was a dingy looking mattress in the corner, and some blankets and sheets strewn about it. I shivered; it was much colder inside than the sunny day outside.
Being inside, I felt safe but depressed. All the panic and anxiety had faded to a low hum of sadness. Being in the Clamhouse was depressing. Knowing that boys took girls here to screw on the dirty mattress was depressing. Not knowing what was going to happen was depressing. I wanted to leave, to go outside and go home and hug my parents and call my friends.
Boon came close to me, reaching his arms around me and pulling me into an embrace. I breathed deeply, his smell my only solace. Everything was going wrong, but being in his arms felt so right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that I finally found him, that we finally found each other, and that it had to happen alongside all this mess. But I was so tired…too tired to be really angry about it. Too tired to feel anything, really, but lost and sad. I let him rock me back and forth gently, slowly. Looking up, his eyes were on mine. They were full of their own sadness.
“I’m so sorry, Samantha. I’m so, so sorry,” he said. I dropped my head again, pressing it against his firm chest, feeling his heart beat. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but I knew it was. It was his fault, and my fault, and my father’s fault, and his father’s fault.
You’ve really done it this time, Samantha. Good luck good-girling your way out of this.
26
We sat on the dirty mattress and watched the light change. We didn’t speak much, just held each other. Or, more appropriately, Boon held me. He held me and listened to me waver between demanding to leave and crying and bemoaning my future. I’ll give him that: he was way more patient than he needed to be with me. He just held me, his presence constant and reassuring.
When the light started to fade and the shadows grew longer, I felt my stomach rumble. I was, in the midst of everything else, hungry. That’s the least of your worries, I thought to myself, but Boon had heard it, too.
“We should have brought some food,” he said, his voice low.
“It’s okay. I mean, we can leave soon, you think, right? When can we leave?” I’d asked before, but he hadn’t given me any sort of useful answer. Now, I hoped, with a concrete reason to leave, he would share his thoughts.
“I don’t know,” he said. I felt my irritation flaring up.
“Well, we’re not just going to sit in this crappy old house forever. I mean, my parents are probably filling out a police report right now, and if your dad’s not in cuffs already…”
I was interrupted by a mechanical sound. At the same time the sound buzzed through the air, I felt the pocket of Boon’s pants vibrating behind me.
“You have your phone?” I said, louder than I meant to. I whipped around to face him, staring at his pocket as it buzzed. He looked at me, eyes wide with fright. “Take it out, dammit! Answer it! Jesus Christ, why didn’t you tell me you had a phone?!”
“He doesn’t know I have it, it can’t be him, this is just a burner I picked up on the road! It can’t be traced to me!” He said, rising to his feet. I followed suit, confused.
“What the hell does that have to do with anything? Give it to me, I need to call…”
“No way. We have no idea who’s calling! And who are you going to call?”
“Uh, my parents? My friends? They’ll be wondering where I am! They’ll be sick out of their minds!” I reached for Boon, grabbing his jeans by the belt loop. He struggled, pulling back, but I was quick. I reached into his pocket and grabbed the phone. Glancing at the cover, I nearly threw the phone onto the mattress. The caller ID had my name.
“It’s me. It’s my phone,” I said, looking at Boon, incredulous. It meant that someone had found my phone and found Boon’s number in my contacts. But it could be anyone. It could be the police, it could be his father, it could be my father. And if I picked up…
“If you pick up and it’s someone we don’t want to talk to, they could trace the call,” Boon said, finishing my own thought before I could even think it.
“But if it’s someone we want to talk to….”
It was too late. The phone stopped buzzing. I waited, staring at the phone, to see if anyone would leave a voicemail. After a minute with no indication, I looked back up at Boon.
“I have to call my Dad,” I said, pointedly, wanting to invite no argument. He looked at me, his eyes full of fear. I knew what he was afraid of. Any sort of truce that could have existed between him and my father was probably broken now. And if his father and gang had been rounded up already, he
could be facing serious charges alongside them. But we couldn’t just stay in hiding, and I reminded him of that.
“We’re going to have to leave sometime,” I said, reaching out to stroke his arm, hoping to give him some of the comfort that he always managed to give me just with his touch. I don’t think it worked.
“We could go to Mexico,” he said, desperation in his voice. “Samantha, I don’t want to go to jail.”
“I know, but you won’t. I mean…I don’t think you will. I mean…I don’t know, Boon.”
“Samantha, you don’t understand. The last job we did before Vegas I…I didn’t want to but…he made it impossible!” His voice was frantic now, and he was stuttering over his words. I felt, for the first time, the extent of the trouble he could be in.
“What did you do, Boon? What did he make you do?”
There was silence between us. Whatever it was, it was big. He didn’t want to tell me. We were, essentially, fugitives together, hiding out in an abandoned farmhouse, and yet there was something so horrible that he still couldn’t tell me. I took a step closer to him, my hand gripping his arm, my eyes looking into his. Trust me, I thought, trying to telepathically send him the message.
“I killed someone,” he blurted out. My heart froze, my blood stopping mid-pump, my brain skipping like a record.
“What?” I knew what he’d said. I’d heard him just fine. I just didn’t believe it. Boon, a murderer? I’d known he’d done some bad things but…
And I’d let him…
And I’d trusted him…
And he hadn’t told me…
“Well, I didn’t kill him. I swear, Samantha, it wasn’t me that killed him. I just…I didn’t stop them. So I might as well have killed him. I might as well have delivered the last blow…and he was just an innocent old man…he never threatened us, we didn’t need to…”
Boon’s head hung low as he spoke, his shoulders slumped. My hand dropped from his arm as I processed everything he was saying.
“He was just an old man, Samantha. He was working at a gas station. He couldn’t have hurt us. He wasn’t doing anything…he was just there. We could have left him alone. He was nearly pissing his pants he was so afraid. He wouldn’t have done anything, and it wouldn’t have mattered. But Dad…he’s…I told you, Samantha, he’s gone fucking crazy!”
“Boon, you didn’t kill that man. What could you have done? What would they have done to you if you’d stepped in? You can’t…”
“I fucking CAN, Samantha. I watched them do it, and I didn’t say a damn thing, didn’t even lift a finger. We never…we never…not like that. Maybe a dealer who screwed us, maybe a crooked cop, maybe even a double-dealing banker, but not just an innocent old man. Not someone who didn’t ask for it, one way or another. I mean, I know, it’s messed up no matter who it is, but some asshole dealer selling smack to kids, you kinda feel justified. But he was just…so defenseless, Samantha….”
I moved forward, this time being the one to take Boon in my arms. I wished he’d had a different life. I wished he didn’t have to struggle with this. I wished for so many things. But it didn’t change the fact that I couldn’t just go to Mexico with him. I couldn’t hide him. I couldn’t protect him.
We had to leave, to come out of hiding, go to the police…and that’s what I told him as we embraced, the words slightly muffled as I spoke into his neck. The phone was still in my hand. I pulled back and began to dial my father’s number. Boon grabbed my hand, trying to pull the phone away. I backed up further, looking at him and shaking my head.
“I have to,” I said, my voice breaking. “I have to.”
There was silence again as we looked at each other, each fighting our own demons. Finally, Boon sighed and closed his eyes.
“Can you call someone else first? Just…not your father. Not him first,” Boon said, sounding defeated. I nodded. I could call Alicia or Becky first; if anything, they would at least have some idea of what was going on. I quickly dialed Becky’s number, needing her good sense and clear thinking.
The phone rang three times before she picked up, saying “hello” curiously. She wouldn’t have known the number that came up on caller ID. I turned away from Boon as I spoke.
“Becky, it’s Samantha,” I said, whispering for no reason.
“Sammy! Oh holy fuck, holy fuck, Alicia, it’s Sammy!” Becky said the last part away from the phone, and I realized they were together. I could also tell, by the tone of her voice, that they did, in fact, know what was going on. “Sammy, where are you? Are you safe? Are you with…them?”
There was the sound of a struggle on the other end of the line, and before I could respond I heard Alicia’s voice coming through.
“If this is a hostage thing and they’re making you talk, say ‘everything is swell’,” she said. I rolled my eyes and smiled, despite myself. One too many horror movies, Alicia, I thought. As though, if I were kidnapped, my kidnappers wouldn’t be listening to every word on the other end of the line, and wouldn’t think it strange if I used the term “swell”.
“I’m not kidnapped, Alicia, I’m with Boon. We saw his gang pull up outside the house and booked it. Guys…we’re in trouble. We…we stole a car…and….what’s happening? Are Mom and Dad okay? Please say they’re okay,” I said, eyes shut tight, praying for a quick response.
My prayer went unanswered. The longer the silence on the other end of the line, the more my heart fell.
“Sammy, it’s bad,” Becky said, apparently having taken the phone back from Alicia. “You need to come home, now. Your dad…your dad’s okay, he’s okay, Sammy, but you need to come home. He’s in the hospital. You need to go see him. He’s okay, though, he’ll be fine.”
“What about Mom? What about my mom? Becky, is Mom okay?” My voice broke as I spoke; my father in the hospital? Because of me. Because of me and Boon. He’d probably been shot trying to save me while I was on the highway getting myself to safety…it was all my fault…tears began to spill down my cheeks.
“You just…you need to come home,” Becky said, her voice like she was trying to hold back tears herself.
“Becky, you tell me right fucking now what’s wrong. Where is my mom? Did they…oh God, Becky, did they…fuck, Becky, please,” I knew my voice was growing louder and higher with each word as panic struck me. Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why wouldn’t she just tell me that Mom was okay?
There was more scuffling sounds, and Alicia’s voice came through.
“Sammy, your mom is with them. She’s with the club. They took her. She’s alive, we think, but they’re holding her hostage,” Alicia said, serious for once. I dropped the phone and fell to my knees, a wail escaping my throat.
“Samantha! Sammy, come home! Don’t….” I could hear, faintly, Alicia’s voice coming from the phone. It didn’t mean anything to me. Neither did Boon’s hands on my shoulders. Neither did the wood that dug into my bare knees. Neither did the raw pain in my throat. Nothing got in, and the only thing that got out was screaming.
My beautiful, happy, kind, generous mother…with them. What were they doing to her, right then? Were they hurting her? Jesus Christ, were they raping her? They could kill her any minute…
“Samantha, you need to get up,” Boon’s voice cut through my breakdown like a saber. He grabbed me by my armpits, pulling me off the ground like a ragdoll. I heaved with sobs, watching him lean down and pick the phone up off the ground. He tried to hand it to me but I only flailed my arms and cried harder. Instead, he brought the phone to his own ear.
“Which of you is this?” he asked, then listened for a moment.
“Did they shoot him?”…. “And they don’t know where they’re keeping her?” … “No, I don’t know…I can’t take her…because I can’t!” … “I know, I know” …. “Well then one of you come and get her! And don’t tell anyone I’m here, please!” … “Yeah, I know, I want myself to fuck off, too, but that’s not the important thing right now” …. “I don’t know, she said
something about clams or crabs or....” … “Yes, yes, the Clamhouse, yeah, that sounds right” …. “Well, okay, fine, then just be quick, please” …. “I KNOW, I KNOW I’m a shithead, okay? Just get here!”
Hearing only one end of the conversation was one impediment to knowing what was actually going on; the other impediment was that I was an absolute wreck. I couldn’t think straight to save my life. I just kept seeing my mother tied up, scared, bloody…and worse. Boon flipped the phone shut and rushed to my side, holding me once more. This time, though, it wasn’t enough to calm me down. I pushed him away, tears and snot running down my face, hair a mess, dress dirty: I looked exactly how I felt.
“Your friends are coming to get you, Samantha. I’m so sorry. I should never have brought you here. I just needed to know you were safe…”
“Safe? Safe? SAFE? Who cares if I’m safe?! They have my mother, Boon! They have her and they’re…they’re…they’re going to do awful things to her! And I’m fucking safe, so what? So what, Boon? This is all my fault, all my fault!”
“None of this is your fault. It’s me, I did all this. You’re going to go home now, and the cops will find your mother, and she’ll get home safe. I know these guys, Samantha, they wouldn’t hurt a woman like that,” Boon said, trying to catch me as I paced from corner to corner, arms flailing wildly, meaninglessly.
“Oh, right, yeah, they’ll treat her like a QUEEN, huh? You just told me they killed some poor old man, and now they have MY MOTHER, Boon! All because…because…goddammit, I should never have…goddammit! Mommy…” I finally collapsed again, on the mattress, tears flowing like a waterfall down my face. I was exhausted and angry and so upset I thought I might actually break my teeth off from grinding them so hard. Boon came to me, settling down next to me, hand on my side. I barely felt it. Anything that had existed between us seemed to have disappeared. All I wanted then was my mother.