by Jackson, Meg
“Boon, wait, stop, my dad, my phone, we…”
“No time! There’s no fucking time, Samantha! They’re not here to fucking negotiate, they’re here to fuck us up!” Boon said, propelling me through the house at a neck-breaking speed. We reached the glass doors that led to the backyard and I thought, foolishly, that Boon was going to run straight through them. He stopped and fumbled with the handle. It was locked, but in his panic Boon was just pulling at it.
“Wait,” I said, moving in front of him and unlocking the door, letting it slide open. I turned to him, blocking the exit, clarity starting to bleed into my frenzied thoughts. “We need to stop and call someone. We can’t outrun them or…”
“Samantha, I swear to God, if you never trusted me before, you need to trust me now. There’s no time.” I heard knocking on the front door: a very, very, very loud and violent knocking. “You don’t know my father. Now we have to GO!”
With that, he grabbed my hand again, pushing past me into the backyard, dragging me along the manicured lawn as I stared back into my house, hearing the knocking become a banging. This is a safe neighborhood, I thought to myself, vaguely, as Boon pulled me through the backyard. They can’t hurt me here. They can’t hurt us in my home.
Just as Boon was pulling me through the hedges that acted as a fence around our backyard, I saw shadowy figures in the hallway, rushing towards us. And then we were in the next yard over, my heart racing, my mind still foggy, Boon still pulling me along. I couldn’t see the house anymore after that.
“Jesus, Samantha, you gotta hurry up, baby, please,” he said, his voice desperate and fast. I turned back, facing forward now and trying to walk as quickly as Boon was dragging me. We came out the other side of my neighbor’s house; the street here seemed so quiet, so still and normal. But Boon kept pulling me away.
He led me across the street to a car, grabbing the handle and pushing me towards the front.
“Get in on the other side,” he said; the driver’s door must have been unlocked, because he slid into the front seat and leaned over, unlocking the passenger side. I stood in front of the car, looking at him incredulously.
“I’m not going to get into a stolen car with you,” I said, loudly.
“Well, consider it borrowing, then, Samantha, but get the fuck in,” Boon said before his head disappeared; he was leaning under the steering wheel, presumably preparing to hotwire the car. I slammed my hands down on the hood. His head jerked back up.
“I’m. Not. Stealing. A. Car. We just have to go into any of these houses, someone will be home and we can call the cops,” I said.
“The cops? Samantha, my dad eats cops for breakfast. And anything they can pin on him, they can pin on me. I can’t call the cops on them, Samantha, I just can’t. They’ll gang up and it’ll be my ass in a cell for seventy years. Please, please, just get in the car,” Boon said, leaning out of the window and looking at me with a mix of fear and determination in his eyes.
I turned back to the house whose yard we had just cut through and nearly pissed myself when I saw motion in the hedges; a tall, leather-clad figure emerged, running across the lawn, and my mind was made up. There really wasn’t time to go door-to-door looking for help. I raced across the car to the passenger side and threw myself in, locking the door.
“Go, go, go,” I screamed. Boon held a bundle of wires in his hand and I watched him match some up; the engine roared to life and Boon grabbed the wheel, one foot pressed against the pedal. We skidded off down the street and, turning around, I saw one, two, three, five, seven huge figures run out into the street after us. We skidded around a corner, then another; I had no idea where we were going and neither, presumably, did Boon.
“Where are we going?” I asked, my breath shallow, adrenaline coursing through me.
“Somewhere safe. Any ideas? This is your town, where can we go?” Boon said, glancing at me quickly. His knuckles were white from clutching the steering wheel, his eyes dancing between the road and me. My mind was racing, but it seemed like I was thinking in gibberish. Nothing really made any sense. I felt tears begin to roll down my face.
I thought, suddenly, inexplicably, that I wished I’d been wearing panties. They were still balled up on my bedroom floor. In my house. Which had been broken into. And probably trashed. Maybe they were in my room right now, tearing my curtains, breaking my picture frames, going through my clothes, they’d see my panties right there on the ground…
The tears began to turn to sobs as my poor little brain began to process the last five minutes. Those five minutes, when I looked back on them, felt like hours.
“Samantha! Focus! Where can we go? There has to be somewhere!” Boon yelled, reaching out one hand and grabbing my shoulder, squeezing it. Despite everything else, the weight of his hand on me felt calming, sturdy. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes.
My first thought was my aunt’s farmhouse, where my cow and chickens lived, but if the club had been able to find my address, they could certainly find my aunt’s house.
“The Clamhouse,” I suddenly said, speaking even before the thought was fully formed in my head. “We can go to the Clamhouse.”
“Okay, okay, what is that, and where is it?” Boon said, squeezing my shoulder again. The Clamhouse was what we all called an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of town. It was a place where people would sometimes throw parties or bonfires. The origins of the name were murky, but it was common belief that it was called “the Clamhouse” because it was someplace boys took their girlfriends to have sex. In a fairly conservative town where you couldn’t get a hotel room if you were under 18 and most fathers had shotguns locked in their desk, sometimes you needed someplace to get a little privacy.
Of course, I’d never been taken to the Clamhouse for anything other than a post-football game party, but I knew there were mattresses and blankets and things inside, and that it would be – probably – the best place to hide out. We were driving aimlessly, and quickly, through my neighborhood. I tried to make my brain work enough to figure out the directions.
“Take a left here,” I said, knowing that we needed to get on the highway. Boon followed my directions and soon we were zooming through the city, headed towards the country. I looked out the window (the stolen window) and felt tears returning, pressing against the backs of my eyes.
“I need to call my parents,” I whispered, turning to Boon. “This is bad. I stole a car and…and…”
“You didn’t steal a car, I stole a car,” Boon said, not making eye contact.
“Well, then I assisted you in stealing a car,” I snapped back, my nerves raw. “And my dad is the goddam sheriff, and I’m about to start college, and…and…shit!”
“I know, Samantha, I know. Don’t you think I feel guilty enough? Goddammit, I knew I shouldn’t have done this….I shouldn’t have come here! I’m such a fuck up! And now I’ve got you involved…” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, his shoulders practically next to his ears with all the tension in his body.
I softened, realizing he was just as unhappy about the situation as I was. And, frankly, he had a lot more to lose; I wasn’t going to get in real trouble, but if Boon got involved with the law…I didn’t know exactly how many skeletons he had in his closet, but I imagined there were quite a few. Reaching out, I gripped one of his hands in mine. His shoulders slowly began to fall, his breathing getting even.
“It’s okay, Boon. You’re not…it’s going to be okay. I mean, this is bad, yeah, I mean…really bad. But it’s not your fault. I don’t…I don’t blame you. But…” I trailed off, knowing exactly what I wanted to say but also knowing that saying it would only make Boon angry again.
I still wanted to go to the cops. It might be risky for Boon, but I thought it was a much better option than trying to hide away at the Clamhouse for who knows how long. I mean, it’s not like the gang was just going to give up so quickly. They’d found him once, and they’d find him again. So what, really, was the point
in hiding?
I considered, for a moment, giving Boon the wrong directions. I could lead him straight to my father’s office. He would have left for the day by then, but everyone there knew me, they’d all want to help.
It was this thought that brought to my attention something I hadn’t considered before in the frenzy of our escape: my parents. They should be getting home right about now, maybe a little bit later. Would the whole club be there, waiting for them? They’d come home and see the front door broken in and…
and a tribe of murderous biker dudes in their living room, I thought, the idea bringing a new batch of panic to my heart. If Dad got home first, it might be okay, but Mom…but they’d have to see all the bikes out front and know better than to go inside, right? I mean, they weren’t stupid. But what if they hid the bikes? What if Dad decided to be a hero? What if…
“We have to go back. Or to the police,” I said, backtracking on the comfort I’d just tried to provide Boon. There wasn’t time for comfort. I had to get back to my parents. I had to let them know I was okay, and go straight to the police.
“Dammit, Samantha, we can’t!” Boon said, as rigid and stressed as ever. He sped up slightly on the highway.
“But my parents!”
“They’ll be fine on their own, Samantha! They’re adults. I mean, your dad is the damn sheriff! He’ll have the police there in a heartbeat, and it’ll all be over soon, and then we can come back. I swear, Samantha, just trust me on this,” he said, clearly trying to sound calm in a categorically un-calm situation. I shook my head at him, wide-eyed.
“What the hell are you talking about? Then let’s just go to the police station! I mean, if they’re going to get involved anyway…”
“Samantha, I can’t go to the police, okay? I mean, first off, you’re right, this is a stolen fucking car. And second off, I don’t want to rot in a jail cell for the rest of my life. Trust me, these guys are slick, they have ways of throwing you under the bus when they need to. If anyone found out it was me…well, I’m pretty fucked as it is, but I’d just be more fucked after that.”
I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes and trying to still my racing heart. I needed a minute. I needed an hour. Several hours. I needed to think. Everything Boon was saying made sense…sort of. In some ways, he was right. In other ways, I didn’t think he could be more wrong. Opening my eyes again, I saw we were nearing the exit that led to the Clamhouse. Or, I could let him drive a few more miles down and turn off at the section of town where the police headquarters were…
“You want the next exit,” I muttered, barely loud enough to be heard. After everything, I figured I could at least give Boon the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he really did know what he was doing. Maybe if we just hid out there for a few hours, a day at most, we could come home and his dad would be in jail and it would all be behind us…maybe we could explain the car...return it to the owners…it was kind of a life-or-death situation, after all, and as long as we brought it back…
And, I mean, my father was the sheriff. It wasn’t like you could just break into the sheriff’s house and not have every cop in a hundred-mile radius on your tail. And Dad wouldn’t play the hero, I knew. I hoped. And Mom would see the bikes and just drive right on by and call the police herself and…
I looked at Boon, studying his profile. Is he worth all this shit? The thought surprised me. Of course, he wasn’t, really, was he? I mean, he was a great bed buddy, and I still found myself consumed by desire for him, and he was really funny and smart, and the way he looked at me sometimes made me feel so…so precious. Cared for. Understood. But was he worth grand theft auto, and a gang of marauding bikers chasing you?
Was any boy worth that?
Alicia would say that he absolutely was worth it, and that once this all blew over it would make a fantastic story. She’d probably enjoy it while it was happening, anyway. She’d love to be speeding down the road in a stolen car with a heartthrob like Boon, on the run. Becky, of course, would slap me across the face and drag me home by my ear. I sighed. I wished they were in the backseat. I wished I could just call them. I thought of my phone sitting on the kitchen counter, where I’d left it.
Panic gripped my heart again. If those guys found it…it had all my contact info inside, including Becky and Alicia’s numbers and addresses. What if they went after them? The more I thought of all the things that could possibly happen, the more I felt my heart crawling up towards my throat, anxiety flooding my nerves. I was shaking again.
Boon looked over at me, and noticed how my hands were trembling. He slowed the car and placed one hand over mine. It was so big compared to my little hands…it felt safe, but in my mind I had to wonder how safe I could really be. I mean, Boon was clearly as afraid of his father as I was…if not more.
“I’m sorry, Samantha. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to drag you into this. I…fuck! I’ll never have a single goddam good thing. He’ll make sure of it. Until he’s buried in the ground, he’ll never let me have anything good,” Boon said, his grip on my hand tightening. “You don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”
The car was slowing more and more as he spoke.
“Don’t stop, Boon. Let’s just get there and get safe and we can figure it out,” I said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. He looked pained. Genuinely hurt. I knew I cared about him, then, because I would have done or said anything to take that look off his face. It hurt me to see.
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 vaultin
g 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.