by Jackson, Meg
“Well, this is a hell of a nice surprise, pumpkin,” Tank said, leaning down in front of me and taking my chin in his hands. I closed my eyes, revolted by his face, his hot breath, the feel of his skin on mine. “This is really, really, just…man, I couldn’t ask for anything better.”
He released me then, moving over to my mother. I opened my eyes again but wished I hadn’t; he was stroking her hair, his massive hands pulling roughly at her soft hair. I wanted to kill him for laying a single hand on her.
“My boy showed up an hour ago saying he wanted to come back. Come home to Papa. But, of course, there’s gotta be consequences. There’re always consequences. You can’t let your kids just run around doing whatever the hell they wanna do. Right, Buzz?”
The other man in the room nodded gravely, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. Outside, sirens wailed and I heard the screech of tires.
“Here’s hoping he wakes up soon. I gave him a hell of a knock. Don’t know my own strength sometimes,” Tank said, now moving to the window and peeking out.
“WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD,” a voice came through the air from a bullhorn. Tank turned back to me, a grin on his face.
“Cute, ain’t they? Thinkin’ it’ll be that easy. But now I got the sheriff’s wife and daughter. They can’t do a damn thing,” he said. “Now, the only question is: who gets shot, and who comes with us? We need one of you alive to secure the getaway. But which one? Got any ideas, Buzz?”
The man shook his head.
“Me either. I think maybe we’ll let Boon decide when he wakes up. He’s gonna be the one to do the dirty work, anyway. He’s gotta prove his loyalty again. You can’t just run off on your family, you know, and expect to come home just like nothin’. You gotta prove you’re worth taking back.”
Just as Tank finished speaking, Boon stirred. He didn’t wake up, but his arm moved slightly. Tank walked towards his son.
“Wakey wakey,” he said, kicking at Boon’s legs where they lay hanging off the bed. He looked back at me.
“Screw it. I’ll have him kill her first. Then he’ll get to spend a little more time with you before we drop you off in the nearest ditch, with some souvenir bullets in your pretty little head. Plus, he’ll get to see the way you look at him after you watch him slit her tender little throat,” Tank said with an evil grin. My heart was icy cold, my head pounding, my breathing ragged and frantic. This isn’t happening, I told myself. But it was.
“Hey, you little fuck,” Tank suddenly screamed, leaning down and yelling right into Boon’s ear. His body twitched. “Wake the fuck up. I don’t got all fucking night.”
Slowly, Boon seemed to come back to life. First his feet, then his legs, then his arms, moved slowly. Finally, his head rose from the comforter. He turned his face towards Tank, and I saw for the first time the bright purple mark that seemed to cover most of the left side of his face. It made me wince just to see it.
“Dad?” Boon said, his voice low, confused.
“Damn fucking straight, now get the fuck up,” Tank said, kicking at Boon’s legs once more. Boon’s eyes seemed to focus as he rose and looked around the room; they fell on me and immediately widened, panic and fear taking over.
“Samantha, no,” he said, his voice still no more than a whisper.
“Samantha yes,” Tank said snidely. “Now, you ungrateful little prick, let’s get this show on the road, huh? You come back here to me, want to come back where you belong? Well, let’s see how much you mean that.”
Tank reached behind him into his back pocket and pulled out a switchblade, much like the one that Boon had used to threaten the kids at the Clamhouse. It could even have been the same one. The sound of the blade sliding out seemed to drop the temperature in the room. The sparse light glinted off the edge. He threw the opened knife onto the bed before Boon, and then drew a gun from his belt. He aimed the gun at Boon.
“Kill the mother,” he said, his voice no longer sarcastic or sardonically playful.
“Dad, fuck, no,” Boon said, rising to his feet and looking first at the gun, then at the knife on the bed, then at his father.
“You’re gonna have to start learning this shit sometime, son. You can’t stand on the sidelines anymore. And this is how you’re gonna earn your way back into my heart and into my club.”
“We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do any of this. We can…”
“We can’t, and even if we could, we wouldn’t. We’re the bad guys, Boon. The sooner you get that through your stupid, thick skull, the better. Now pick up that fucking knife and slit that whore’s throat.”
“Why, Dad? Why?” Boon seemed to be at a loss for words as he stared at his father, hands rising in supplication.
“Because this fucking town, this police force, killed your fucking mother. So why not give a little back? Or did you forget about that?”
There was silence in the room.
“Of course I couldn’t forget that,” Boon said, his eyes slowly narrowing as he stared at his father. His face was growing cold, angry, hateful, an expression I’d never seen on him before. A scary expression. My heart slowed, my mind slowed, everything slowed, as I saw a look come over him that could only be described with one word: murderous.
He’s actually going to do it. He’s going to kill my mother. Because that cop killed HIS mother. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, I thought, barely able to believe it. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d told me he loved me. But that look on his face…it told a totally different story. A story of a boy who was going to avenge his mother.
“I didn’t think you could,” Tank said. Boon leaned over, grabbing the knife from the bed without breaking eye contact with his father.
“No, I remember, Dad. I remember perfectly. I remember everything,” he said, taking a few steps forward, towards my mother. My heart kicked back up into high gear; this was happening. I was going to watch Boon kill my mother. This was happening, and it was happening to me, not to someone in a movie. Tears ran down my eyes in a constant stream. I made a strangled sound against the gag, my body coming alive, my legs kicking wildly as I struggled against the binds holding my arms together. Across from me, my mother just looked at me, her eyes wide.
“I remember the cop shooting her. I remember why he shot her. I remember lots of things. Like, maybe you’ve forgotten, but I remember her eyes. I remember how there was nothing left in them at the end. Because you took away everything that was good in her. You did that, Dad,” Boon said, his voice raising as he took another step towards my mother, his head turned so that he didn’t break eye contact. Tank followed Boon, his arm outstretched, gun shaking slightly.
“You shut your fucking mouth,” he growled. Beads of sweat began to stand out on his wide neck.
“You want me to avenge my mother’s death? You want me to kill someone else’s mom so I feel better?” Boon was only a few steps from Mom at that point, the knife stretched out in her direction. “Well, fuck you.”
“You better think real clear about what you’re doing right now, you little fuck,” Tank said through gritted teeth. He cocked the gun, the sound seeming to fill the room. Boon dropped his eyes, lowering the hand that held the knife. He held it in two hands, then, staring down at it. He didn’t seem to care at all that, for the second time in a week, he was on the wrong end of a gun. His eyes darted back up to his father’s. What I saw in them then…well, it was clarity. Or something like clarity.
“You’re right, Dad. I should avenge my mother’s death,” Boon said slowly.
“Damn right you should,” Tank said, his voice starting to sound strained.
All I saw of what happened, then, was a blur of pink flesh and the glint of the knife. All I heard was a screech of pain and a gunshot. And then another. My ears rang with the sound, so loud it hurt. I was vaguely aware of screaming against the gag, my eyes shut tight. There was a thud, then another, then a gigantic crash and the sound of many foots
teps and garbled shouting.
I opened my eyes slowly; the room was coated in police officers, all with guns drawn. Boon was standing, arms up, knife laying on the ground next to him. Someone was struggling with the binds holding my arms back; another cop was untying my mother. Two cops had their guns drawn at a figure on the floor that I recognized, after a moment, as Tank. He was hunched over on his knees, holding his wrist in one hand. Blood was dripping from his arm.
The gun was laying on the ground. I blinked. Everything changed. My arms were suddenly free, and I scratched at the gag, taking a deep, gasping breath as I freed myself. My mother was in front of me, racing across the room, arms out. I met her with my own embrace and we sobbed together in the middle of the room as chaos continued. I breathed in deeply, never wanting to forget the way she smelled. Everyone was shouting and stomping around but I was in a globe of perfect serenity. My mother was okay. She was alive and okay and in my arms.
And that was the only thing I needed or cared about, in that moment.
The last thing I concretely remember from that night was stepping outside and watching as Boon was thrown into the back of a squad car. His face turned to the window and our eyes met. He grinned at me. That fucking grin.
“Wait, wait, not him! He didn’t do anything! It wasn’t him!” I remember crying out, detaching myself from my mother to rush towards the car. It wasn’t fair. He’d saved us, and now he was in handcuffs in the back of a car. A cop intercepted me, blocking me from getting all the way to the car as it began to pull away. I struggled against the cop, swatting at his chest.
“Get out of the way! Move! Stop! Don’t take him!” Hands pulled at me from behind; turning, swatting blindly, I saw Kevin’s face in front of mine. “You have to make them stop! He saved us!”
“Samantha, stop. Stop. They’re taking him down for processing, but the deal stands. He’ll be okay. It’s just procedure until we get all the details ironed out. Trust me, he’s going to be okay,” Kevin said, holding my arms in his hands as fresh tears streamed down my face.
“You don’t know that! He could be there for years!” I cried, wanting to collapse. Hadn’t I been through enough that day? Couldn’t I get a single fucking break?
“Samantha, stop, you need to stop. You need to calm down. You’ve had a tough day…”
“A tough day? A tough fucking day? I want to see him! Take me to see Boon right now!”
“I can’t do that, Samantha, you need to trust me, it’s going to be okay. Your father is the sheriff, you know he’ll take care of everything,” Kevin said, making total sense but infuriating the shit out of me nonetheless. Regardless, I was growing tired. I mean, I’d already been tired. Now I was…empty. I stopped struggling, letting my body grow limp as exhaustion washed over me. I let myself be led, docile, into the back of another squad car. My mother was already there and I leaned in close to her, lying my head on her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry…” I murmured, already falling myself slipping away as my head rose up and down with each of her breaths.
“It’s okay, Sammy, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
~ 30 ~
When I woke up, it was morning. I blinked, dazed, as I looked around. I knew, immediately, that I was in Becky’s room. I let my eyes drift around the room, seeing all the familiar decorations. Where’s Mom, I thought, panic gripping my heart again like a clutched fist. Becky’s face suddenly appeared around the door and she entered, holding a glass of water.
“You’re up,” she said, simply, before setting the water down and wrapping me in a hug. Alicia appeared soon after.
“What happened?” I asked. I’d thought that the first time I woke up in a friend’s bed with no idea of how I got there I’d be drunk.
“Your boyfriend saved the day, your mom and dad are both at the hospital, and my dad had to carry you up here last night,” Becky said, making room for Alicia on the bed.
“Oh,” I said, the only thing I could really think of. I felt like my head was full of cotton instead of brain.
“Here, drink,” Alicia said, grabbing the water and handing it to me. I guzzled it down, not realizing how thirsty I was until the contents of the glass had disappeared in a few gulps.
“Can…man…can I go see Mom and Dad?” I asked, my priorities very specific.
“You don’t have to. Alicia just got off the phone with your mom. They’re coming here to pick you up in a few hours. You’re gonna stay at a hotel until they get the house fixed,” Becky said.
“Is Boon…is he still….”
Becky and Alicia exchanged a look that told me as much as anything they could have said.
“He’s still in processing,” Alicia said finally. My head drooped. I’d slept for hours, but I still felt exhausted.
“Do you know…I mean…what’s happening?”
“They’re trying to get him off, I guess. I don’t know, they’re talking to the people whose car you…uh…borrowed. And some other DA’s from other states. It might be awhile, Samantha,” Becky said, reaching out for my hand. I nodded. I should have expected as much.
“Can I see him?” I asked, not sure why Alicia and Becky would know that. Alicia shrugged, looking at Becky, who threw her hands up.
“You’re gonna have to ask the po-po that,” Alicia said. I had to smile a little bit; she was just so damn silly all the time. I counted my blessings in that moment: my Mom and Dad were fine, and my best friends were there with me. I could count myself as lucky. I just hoped that Boon would find himself lucky, too…
~ 31 ~
On the third day after everything went down, we moved back into our house. The damage hadn’t been very substantial, so it hadn’t taken long to get it back to normal. We’d also installed a security system. My father still had a cast on his arm, and my mother was still jumping at every strange noise, but things were starting to feel more normal again.
But I hadn’t heard anything about Boon, or his ultimate fate. My father wasn’t allowed to go back to his job for a week, under strict orders from the doctor, and even though it seemed like he spent hours on the phone trying to figure out what was going on, no one could give him a straight answer.
We were all over the news. There were editorials about us. Camera crews surrounded the house at all hours, though by the time we moved back in much of the hype had begun to dissipate. There were calls for interviews, weird looks on the street, the whole deal. This wasn’t the sort of fame anyone asked for or wanted, and it was wearing on me, to say the least. Between not knowing what was happening to Boon and being pestered by journalists all the time, I was still experiencing intense anxiety.
Which was normal, and to be expected. So said my new therapist, at least, who I’d agree to see only upon my parent’s urging. They wanted to make sure I wasn’t totally scarred from the experience. My mother was also seeing someone. It helped to talk to someone, but the one thing I really wanted, more than anything, was to talk to Boon.
So you can imagine what happened to my little heart when I got a text on that third day.
Tag, you’re it.
From Boon’s phone. And of course it was him. The picture attached was almost similar to the first time he’d ever texted me that challenge: a city skyline. This time, though, I knew exactly where he was. It was someplace I’d been before, many times.
When you live in the mountains, there’s no shortage of scenic overlooks. I nudged my little car slowly up the mountain, wary of the dips and sharp turns that made the drive harrowing during the day, never mind at night. As I pulled up to the overlook area, I saw the glint of metal as a motorcycle came into view in my headlights.
Shutting the engine and getting out, my heart was pounding in my ears. I was excited and nervous all at once. I looked around, feeling my heightened emotions playing with my mind, searching for him. I didn’t see him anywhere.
And then I felt him. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me backwards. I twisted in his embrace, our
eyes meeting. And then it was gone: the nervousness, the anxiety, everything that I’d been feeling since my life had crashed so spectacularly to the ground. He was here. He was holding me.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
“Hello, stranger,” I whispered back. “When’d they let you out?”
“Couple hours. Thank your dad for me. I got community service, parole. I gotta stay in this dumpy city for a few years, I guess. Don’t know what I’ll do with myself,” he said, leaning in close, his stubble tickling my cheek. I pulled away, wanting to see him from head to toe. When I did, he grew concerned. “How are you? Are you…okay?”