“Lawrence?”
She closes her mouth and sneers up at me like an angry child caught doing something wrong.
“It was Lawrence Hopcroft who killed Dad?” I frown, waiting for her to tell me it’s a mistake.
“Yes, if you’re finally interested enough in knowing.”
“Oh come off it.”
It’s never been about interest. It’s self-preservation. If I don’t know what happened after I left. I don’t need to be blamed for any of it, or blame myself.
“What? You didn’t come back when I told you he was murdered. Didn’t come for the funeral. Didn’t come to hear what the medical examiner said about his death or try to help when the police told me they didn’t have the resources to continue looking into it for more than the first two weeks.” She picks her cigarette up again. “But now you care. Now you want to know.”
No. I don’t. And I doubt you really know, either.
“How do you know it was Lawrence?”
“I just know.”
“Did you tell the police that?”
“Yes, and they said they questioned him but didn’t find anything.”
“You didn’t answer me. How do you know it was Lawrence?”
Lawrence Hopcroft, one of the town drunks, has always been too incapacitated to hurt a fly. He stumbles from his house down the street, collecting alcohol cans and bottles to trade in for drinks while he’s laid off work, which is most of the time.
His wife is a nice-looking woman—other than a jagged scar across her face, running diagonally from her ear down to just above her lip—who supports the family, working at the hair salon in Arbordale. No one understands why she stays with him, but no one ever asks her either. Not that I know of, anyway. I think everyone assumes she’s self-conscious because of her scar and doesn’t think she can get a better man.
“I don’t have proof, if that’s what you mean.”
“Is he still with his wife?”
Mom frowns and shrugs. “T’hell if I know or care. All I know is, it was him.”
I close my eyes, trying to relieve them of the pain of an oncoming headache. “How am I supposed to believe you if you won’t tell me how you know?”
She shrugs and butts the ash off her cigarette. “Some things a daughter shouldn’t know about her Daddy.”
I frown. “What do you mean? You think I don’t know what he was up to? How he stepped out on you?”
She winces like I punched her.
More words I wish I could take back. That I’d never have said if I wasn’t here, in this town. I haven’t hurt anyone since leaving, and here I go, reverting to the old Sam again.
“So you know,” she muttered. “Fine, yeah. He did. You might as well know the rest. The Hutchings were out on the Baker’s porch, decoratin’ for Halloween last year. That was about the time your dad left the house.”
“No.” I shake my head, but I can’t leave. I can’t stop listening.
“Mitsy insisted on more pumpkins, so Ted went out to get some. Ended up following Craig across town down Main Street on the way to the pumpkin patch, and he turned into the Hopcroft’s driveway. Your dad had no reason bein’ there, except…”
“You think he was with Lawrence’s wife?”
She sniffled and stared at her cigarette. “Ted gets the pumpkins, and on the way back, your dad’s car’s not in the Hopcroft’s driveway anymore. Wasn’t more than twenty minutes.” She takes another puff, and as the smoke billows out of her mouth, her chin quivers. “Meanwhile, I hear Amelia scream outside. First I thought it was just the TV, and it took me a bit to get to the door, but that’s when I saw them all huddled around the car. They were looking up at me with horror all over their faces, and then looking back in the car. Cliff held me back.” She clears her throat and looks up at me. “Your Daddy was in the car, bleeding all over, and half-naked.”
I shake the image away, but questions come to me all at once. “Why wasn’t he wearing clothes?”
“We think he was with Lawrence’s wife when Lawrence came home, caught ‘em and then stabbed Craig in the back.” Her hand shakes as she brings the cigarette to her lips, taking a puff. “He must have been in shock, but he got away, got in the car, and got home. Then he was just sitting there. That’s when the neighbors went over to check it out and found him like that.”
“He was stabbed in the back?
“That’s right. The coward snuck up on ’im and stabbed him to death. He was just tryin’ta come home to me.” Her eyes glaze over again, but she puffs the tears away, coughing as she blows out the smoke.
“But how do you know it was Lawrence? It could have been his wife, or someone else on his way home?”
“Your dad looked at Ted Hutchings straight in the eye and said Lawrence’s name. Last word he said before he died.” She stares back down at her cigarette, the embers about to singe her fingers, before she taps it out in the dirty ashtray. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Sam. I’m tired.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. Tears slide down my cheeks, and I wipe them away quickly.
If I came back, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything, anyway. Another failure of mine in my dad’s eyes.
“Dad never cared for me,” I say, my voice shaking.
Why did I say that? As if she would think it’s a good enough reason to have left and a good enough excuse that I didn’t come back when he was killed. Am I trying to justify that choice to her?
“You reminded him of himself. That’s why.”
I nod. It’s a conversation we’ve had many times before, after each disappointment when he didn’t come to my sports games or school activities.
I’m the reason he felt like he couldn’t get anything right.
The reason he and Mom fought—punishing me for the bad things I did, even when Mom didn’t agree.
And now, I’d be the reason he died in my mom’s eyes. In the neighbor’s eyes. Because I wasn’t here. I left a weak link in the chain, and it broke.
I wipe the tears away again and clear my throat.
No, it’s not my fault. They stayed when they should have left.
“I’ll go with you,” she whispers, “’cause like you said, Craig would have wanted me to. If he knew Lawrence was driving by our houses, night after night…”
“Why would he be after any of you?”
She licks her lips and takes a deep, crackly breath. “Cliff and Ted went over there after the police told me there was nothin’ more they could do on the case. They just buried their best friend, saw what it did to me, and they went to Lawrence’s place. They dragged him outside and started beatin’ ’im. Neighbors stopped it, but they said they beat ’im within an inch of his life and apologized to me for not finishing the job. We never talked about it since, not until last week.”
“When Lawrence started driving by every night.”
“Mhmm. There was a time when I coulda taken care of myself, even if you and Craig hadn’t been here, but there’s no telling what he’ll try to do, and I can’t move like I used to.” She pushes her chair out from under the table. “I’m coming with ya, Sam. Will you stay with me tonight and take me with you tomorrow?” She pushes and pulls herself to her feet using the table. “I’m tired of this. All of it.”
Finally.
I lick my lips and nod, taking her arm in mine to steady her. I smell the vodka on her breath, and I should have known she’d be drunk, even if I didn’t see her drinking.
“I needed this, Sam. To talk with you. I want to sort it out with someone else who’s been here all along.” She takes a step forward and I lead her across the kitchen floor, toward the stairs.
This is what I need, too... a chance at a fresh start. Maybe we really can be better.
“I don’t sleep up there anymore. Not since your dad… Just over on the couch.”
I support some of her weight as she hobbles over, grunting with each step and landing, until she plunks herself down on the couch with a
blanket and pillow. A fuzzy pink robe covers a whole pile of wrinkled shirts on the armchair beside the couch. Her new make-shift wardrobe.
“You have most of your stuff down here?”
“Just a few things,” she huffs, catching her breath. “For the bad days. Like I said, most of what I need is upstairs.”
“I’m gonna grab my bag from the car.” I amble over to the front door, leaving her in the dark living room as I run through the rain.
It’s not coming down as heavily anymore, but I rush to grab my bag and get back inside. After locking the door behind me, I don’t see Mom sitting on the couch anymore. She’s lying down, her back turned to me with the covers draped over her awkwardly, like it took all the energy she had just to get there.
The people in the pictures on the wall stare at me again, even through the darkness, and I lean on the door knob to the basement as I study them again.
I can’t even look at Dad right now. Not after what she just told me…My chest aches as I try to look at him once more.
No. I can’t.
I bring my bag upstairs and stop in the doorframe to my old bedroom, pull the bottle of Tito’s out, and unscrew the top. Everything’s right where I left it. Unmade bed, nail polish spilled over my desk, and clothes on the floor.
I take a swig and wince as it burns my throat, but not enough, so I take another, sauntering toward the window. I peer down to the driveway.
Right where I parked.
That’s where Dad died.
I pour more vodka down my throat until tears spill from my eyes down the sides of my temples into my hair.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve and set the bottle down on the nightstand. I think I can see a stain on the driveway tar. An oil leak? Maybe. Or maybe it’s Dad’s blood.
He sat there, dying of stab wounds, bleeding out while the neighbors surrounded him. His partners in all the crimes they committed together. Intimidating others around town to get what they wanted. Doing only he knows what else while Mom was passed out drunk, leaving me alone.
“Were you trying to gather the strength to come in and see Mom one last time?” I whisper, pressing my finger against the window. I trace the outline of the stain, then let my finger fall away as I take a step back. “Did you think of me near the end? Wish things could have been different?”
I can’t look at it anymore.
The town took the last of the Tillmans on October thirteenth last year.
No more of our blood will be spilled.
I bend down next to my nightstand, open the drawer, and take out a blunt and lighter. I pull myself onto the bed and sit on the covers, lighting one up as fast as I can.
If I’m going to sleep, I’ll need a little help after the bedtime story Mom just told me.
“…the horror on their faces…Cliff held me back… bled to death.”
Pushing the words from my mind, I take a puff and let it burn before allowing it to escape through my nose.
Just a little more will do me. Never enough to take the pain away, but calming my nerves is all I need for tonight.
Tomorrow, we’ll leave before this town sinks its talons into me, no matter what.
“You don’t have anyone available until November?” I ask, pouring coffee into a mug I just washed out and pressing the phone back to my ear as it keeps slipping out from between my ear and shoulder.
“Not to come out to Crimson Falls, no.” The woman on the other end seems determined for me to give up. Don’t they want business out in Arbordale?
“Okay, fine. If you can’t put it up for sale, can someone come at the end of October and just appraise the house? Give us an estimate of what it’s worth so at least we know?”
“Not until November, ma’am. There really isn’t any point in trying to sell in October anyway.”
Because of the town.
“The anniversary?” I ask.
“The crime rates are higher than ever; the town looks a mess, and yes, everyone knows about the things that happen around the anniversary. We find it’s best to let the dust settle—”
“Yeah, I get it.” I take a sip of black coffee, warming my mouth and throat, easing the hangover away. “Fine. Tell me when someone can come in November.”
“I’ll check the schedule. Let’s see here. It looks like the second—”
Three knocks at the door interrupt the rest of her sentence.
“What was that?”
“I said the second week looks—” The knocks come again, quicker this time, and I hear mom groaning from the couch. “So they’ll come out with a contract to sign for represent—”
“I’ll have to call you back.” I slam the receiver down on its cradle and take a large gulp of coffee on my way to the door.
No matter who stands on that other side, I don’t want to see them, but the knocking won’t stop unless I do.
I swing the door open and Mitsy Hutchings, Will’s mom, stands on the other side. It’s the first time I’ve seen her blonde hair undone.
“Sammy?” She blinks rapidly, peering inside the door, then glancing back at my car. “I—I didn’t know you’d be home.”
Mitsy and her husband Ted never seemed to have a problem with me until my late teen years, as I began to lose myself to who the town wanted me to be. I wanted fun, fast, and easy. I sought pleasure, but what I really wanted was an escape. I just didn’t know it yet.
They saw Will as their special, innocent son, and me as a troublemaker he should stay away from.
They weren’t wrong.
Their dirty looks when my parents weren’t around grew into whispers behind my back. Never said any of it to my face until the day before I left town, when I tried to convince Will to bring Stacy and come with me. Mitsy finally let me know what she thought of me.
I don’t remember most of what she said, but I felt worse than ever as she passed her judgement on me, and for the first time, Will didn’t stick up for me. I remember the sinking feeling that his mom’s words were penetrating his thoughts, convincing him he was making the right decision by staying—and staying away from me.
“I got back last night, and—”
“Is Mary here?”
“I’m here,” Mom calls from the couch. “Well let her in, Sam. It’s cold out there.”
I step aside and take another sip of coffee as Mitsy walks in, stopping beside me. “Mary, it’s Stacy. She’s gone. We can’t find her.”
I choke on the coffee, covering my mouth as I cough.
“Gone?” Mom echoes, flinging the blankets off of her lap.
My chest aches as I try to understand what’s happening. She’s missing?
“Will and Stacy stayed over last night, and we all woke up this morning, and she was just—gone.” Her voice catches in her throat, and she turns to me. “Did you see her? Have either of you seen her? Did she come over here?”
Stacy’s only seven. She can’t be missing. She wouldn’t go anywhere on her own at night.
“No, no,” Mom says. “Not that I know of. Sam, did you see her?”
“No.” I shake my head as Mitsy continues to stare at me.
Does she think I’m lying, or is she just that shocked to see me here?
“The police are on their way over, but Ted, Will and I are checking with all the neighbors. Amelia and Cliff are driving around the new build.”
“I should come over to your place,” Mom says. “Someone should be there when she comes back, you know?”
Mitsy nods. “Yes, okay, yes. Take your time, okay? Thanks, Mare.”
“Of course,” Mom says, using the arm of the couch to push herself to her feet. “Sam, grab me my cane by the door, please.”
I turn, but Mitsy goes right to the corner, grabs it, and brings it to her.
“Listen, Mitsy, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. You know how Stacy loves to play outside, down in the ravine while she’s here.”
Mitsy nods, but she’s spaced out.
Stacy’s alone
out there. I picture her in her pajamas, stumbling around the ravine and falling into the creek. I have to do something, but I can’t think straight. I can’t even focus on what they are saying until Mom rests her hand on my arm, bringing me back to the present.
“You keep looking, Mitsy, and I’ll be there in a jiffy. I’ll put some coffee on, and I’ll have a hot chocolate ready for when Stacy’s back. How ‘bout that? Hmm?” Mom smiles, and a smile flashes across Mitsy’s face. She’s almost calming me, too, except I know it can’t be that simple. It never is here. She was a totally different person last night, but as usual, she puts on a better face for the rest of the world. “And, Sam, there’s a lot of area to cover at the ravine. You should go there first. You know it best. Well, you and Will. All the time you spent exploring down there.”
I nod, grab my coat, and follow Mitsy out the door, leaving my mom to fend for herself. Early morning fog disrupts a clear view of the neighborhood, and as I part ways with Mitsy, walking further along the street, I spot Ted at the fourth and last house, knocking on Toothy Talbot’s door. He’s their age, divorced, and lives alone. He comes to the door and stares at me. Ted turns to watch me, too, as I walk briskly down the street past them.
I turn my head away, pretending not to see them, and jog until I reach the foggy ravine. I want to holler out for Stacy, but I take the cue from my mom not to upset her family and wait until I’m further in. She puts on a phony act better than I ever could. I can’t stop shaking. Will must be losing his mind.
If Stacy went in here alone, she could be lost. Not much could hurt her in here except the creek. I have to check the creek.
Hopping over familiar logs and downed trees, branches scrape against me as I dart in and out of the thick brush until the familiar trickling gurgle of the creek directs me to the left.
“Staaacy?” I call.
That was stupid. No one could hear me.
“Stacy!” I shout louder, and again, “Staaacy!”
I stop just before the murky water and hop from pebbles to rocks, following the creek and squinting through the fog ahead.
All the Dark Corners Page 3