by Bryan Smith
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They watched television. The late news played like a series of reports from the front lines of some new war. It was crazy. All this shocking news coming out of the formerly sleepy community of Rockville, Tennessee. In addition to the police station massacre—a story that had even made the national news—sketchy reports were coming in of yet another mass killing in Rockville, this one in an affluent neighborhood called Oakdale. One channel showed a live scene from a helicopter—police cars and ambulances with flashing lights jammed the street in front of an opulent home.
Trey groaned. “Jesus.”
Jake glanced sideways at him. “What’s wrong?”
Trey’s face twisted with worry. “I know that house. One of my best friends lives there. Will Mackeson. Fuck.”
Jake watched the footage of sheet-covered bodies on stretchers being loaded into ambulances with increasing dread. The names of the dead hadn’t been released yet, but things didn’t look good for Trey’s friend. One of the reporters said, “According to a police source, there is no one alive in the residence.” The reporter’s permed blonde hair shifted minutely in a stiff evening breeze. “Very grim news, indeed, for a town that’s already endured so much tragedy this evening.”
The brothers flinched when the phone rang. Again. It had been ringing all night, and Jake was tired of answering calls from scoop-hungry reporters. What part of “No comment” didn’t these piranhas understand? This time, he stayed where he was. The ringing continued until the answering machine picked up, and yet another reporter left a message and a string of phone numbers.
Jake pushed a button and the television screen went black. He set the remote on an end table and turned to face Trey, whose limp posture made him resemble a rag doll at the other end of the sofa. Trey’s eyes were red and his eyelids hovered at half-mast.
“Why don’t you go on to bed? You can take Stu’s room. Come on.” He got to his feet. “I’ll show you where everything is. We’ll crash and start dealing with all this shit tomorrow.”
Trey’s posture changed in an instant. He sat up straight and scooted to the edge of the sofa. He stared up at Jake, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Not yet, okay? I have to tell you some things. You won’t believe any of it, but please listen. There’s this girl—”
Then some kind of seizure rippled through him, distending his jaw and making his eyes and veins bulge and his body shake. The fit lasted just a moment. All at once, Trey’s limbs stopped jerking and awareness returned to his eyes. As he looked at Jake, his eyes were brimming with tears. “She’s back!” He gave his head several emphatic shakes and wailed like a baby.
Then he screamed.
Jake was scared shitless. What had he just seen? Trey was too coherent for that to have been an actual seizure. Probably it was just a delayed reaction to all the day’s trauma. But was Jake really prepared to care for someone as obviously disturbed as his half brother? He wanted to do it. It felt right to do it. But maybe this was a job for professionals. Maybe the kid should be under observation somewhere for a few days, until his mental condition stabilized. It didn’t sound unreasonable, but just thinking it made Jake feel guilty. He had a duty, a solemn obligation, here. He was all the kid had left.
“Trey…are you okay?”
Trey sniffled. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I think I’ll be all right.”
“You sure? You mentioned a girl. Who—”
“Nothing.” Trey stood and tried on a smile that looked false. “You shouldn’t listen to me right now. You’re right. I am tired. I need to sleep.”
Jake eyed him suspiciously, but said, “Fine, we’ll let it go for now. But tomorrow I want you to tell me about Myra. Okay?”
Trey flinched at the mention of her name. He shrugged. “Okay.” His gaze went to the floor, and for a moment his demeanor reminded Jake of the way he’d been at Jolene’s house this afternoon. “I guess.”
Jake wondered whether he should change his mind about waiting till tomorrow. It was easy to put difficult things off. Too easy. He had a lot of personal experience in that regard. It was one thing to make bad choices in his own life. It used to be, he wasn’t hurting anybody but himself if he decided to take a drink. That wasn’t the case anymore. Whether he liked it or not, he had responsibilities and he was determined to live up to them. Still, he couldn’t see any harm in letting the poor bastard have some rest before being made to deal with the hard stuff.
“Look at me, Trey.”
Trey shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then, as if it took tremendous focus, he raised his head, very slowly, and looked Jake in the eye.
Jake nodded. “Good. You and I are going to talk about some serious things tomorrow, and that includes your girlfriend. Got it?”
Trey shrugged. “Sure.”
“Great. Let’s go get you settled.”
Jake returned to the living room a few minutes later. He was relieved to have his brother out of the way for the rest of the evening. He needed some time to decompress, to finally step down from crisis mode. A beer would hit the spot right about now. He considered going into the kitchen to fetch one, but, instead, he settled into a recliner, aimed the remote at the television, and watched some more of the news.
Two black-and-white photos, probably yearbook pictures, filled the screen. At the bottom of the screen, the words, ARMED AND DANGEROUS. A reporter was speaking: “The suspects are Kelsey Hargrove, age seventeen, and William Mackeson, also age seventeen. Police are advising citizens not to approach the boys, but to call police immediately if they are sighted.”
“Fuck.” Jake was very glad that Trey wasn’t awake to see this. “The world has gone insane.”
The latest revelation turned his thoughts again to alcohol. Alcohol was good in these situations. It eliminated problems by blotting them from consciousness. The effect was temporary, of course, but that rarely swayed him. He imagined the taste of cold beer filling his mouth, and the shivery sensation of anticipated pleasure almost sent him to the kitchen to fetch a bottle.
But he stayed where he was. He stared some more at the television. The sensational coverage brought to mind previous tragedies, the mass killings at Columbine and Virginia Tech, and he was struck by how surreal it was to have a personal connection to one of these televised real-life dramas. And he thought some more about his responsibilities to Trey. For the first time since arriving in Rockville, he allowed himself to think about the year of sobriety he’d flushed down the drain. He thought of AA meetings. He remembered reciting the Serenity Prayer while holding hands in a circle. And he recalled the new sense of confidence and peace that had come into his life during that year.
Gone, now.
The most important accomplishment of his adult life and he’d trashed it, surrendering himself to the darkness again with hardly a struggle.
Two days had elapsed.
Two drops in a very large bucket.
Nothing, really.
He could reverse the damage. He could get back on track. He was sober, right now, and he could stay that way if he so chose. If he had the strength.
He heard a door slam somewhere in the house, then a jangle of keys, and he turned toward the kitchen.
“I’m home!”
Jake smiled.
Kristen.
Just knowing she was here made him feel better. He looked forward to holding her again. To kissing her. To, yes, making love with her. He felt a twinge of guilt, but this time it had little power. There was nothing wrong with the way she made him feel. Nothing wrong at all with how much he desired her. Not really. They’d known each other only a very short time, true, but the intense, instant chemistry between them rendered that meaningless. And Kristen was right. There was nothing wrong in giving yourself over to passion. And losing yourself in a new romance was certainly a better way to escape reality than booze.
He called out to her: “I’m in the living room!”
<
br /> She came into the room through the archway behind him. The faint whiff of perfume that preceded her intensified his desire for her. She leaned over the recliner, kissed his cheek, and said, “I missed you.”
Jake smiled. “I missed you, too.”
Kristen’s mouth went to his ear. Her warm breath felt good on his skin. “I have a present for you.”
Jake turned to look at her, his smile growing wider. “Yeah?”
There was a hint of mischief in her smile. She placed a beer can in his hand, popping the tab for him. “I made it just for you.” She laughed.
Jake’s smile stayed frozen in place a moment, then it slowly faded. He eyed the can with the wariness of a soldier preparing to pull the pin on a grenade for the first time. He opened his mouth, intending to tell her he didn’t feel like drinking to night, that he was too tired. A lame excuse, yes. A way of biding time. Jake recognized this as slippery-slope thinking, a strong indication that his newfound conviction wasn’t really a conviction at all—it was just a fleeting, insubstantial fancy, an illusion of strength. It was ludicrous, really. His whole life served as a vivid illustration of how little mental toughness he possessed.
He closed his mouth without saying anything.
Kristen slid into the recliner with him, slipping an arm around his neck and curling her legs up on his lap. There was another open can of beer in her left hand. She took a swig from it, seemed to savor the beer a moment, then swallowed it with a sound of pleasure. She smiled. “What do you say we get drunk and screw all night?”
Jake managed a strained chuckle. “To paraphrase Jimmy Buffet, that great American poet.”
Kristen giggled and swallowed some more beer. “Let’s waste away again in Rockville!”
Jake looked into her dark eyes and immediately felt again that erotic hunger that had been there before. He ran a hand through her raven black hair. “You are so beautiful, Kristen.”
She rolled her eyes. “Gee, haven’t heard that one before.”
His fingertips glided along her delicate jawline. “You’re like something out of a dream. Like something that can’t be real. An angel come to life.”
Her expression grew more solemn. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Wow.” She spoke in an awed whisper, and there was a glimmer of moisture in her eyes. “That’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Her face darkened a little. “Please tell me that’s not a rehearsed speech you give every girl.”
“No. It’s just for you.”
“Jake…”
“Yes?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
She kissed him. Jake wouldn’t have thought it possible, but this clinch was more intense, more passionate, than every previous kiss they’d shared. The pleasure seemed to touch every nerve ending in his body. He knew he could lose himself in this girl. Completely. Forever.
Kristen broke the kiss off and knocked back another swallow of beer. She disengaged herself from Jake and got to her feet. She stood before him and finished off her beer. “Drink.” The word was a command, not a request. “Drink, then ravage me.”
She laughed.
Jake looked at the beer can he was holding. He had almost forgotten about it. He looked again at Kristen, who was unbuttoning her blouse. She tugged the blouse open, and his heart raced a little at the sight of the smooth, flat expanse of her belly. Then his gaze went to her full breasts, displayed to devastating effect in a pretty, frilly black bra. She shot a pointed glance at his still-full beer, then pooched out her lower lip and pouted.
“Don’t you want me, Jake?”
Jake swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
The beer can came to his mouth. He turned it up, and his throat bobbed several times as he swallowed the can’s entire contents.
Kristen’s pout became a smile. “Good boy.” She crooked a finger at him. “Now, get over here.”
Jake put the empty can down and shakily got to his feet.
Kristen pulled him into an embrace. She bit his lower lip and drew it into her mouth for a moment. “Mmm.” She dipped a hand into his jeans, gripped his growing erection. She made a sound like a growl low in her throat. “I’ve waited long enough.” Her upper lip curled in a way that made Jake shiver. “And now I’m gonna eat you alive.”
Outside, a crow was perched on a windowsill.
It studied Kristen’s unsubtle seduction of Jake through a blind slat bent crooked.
After a time, it flapped its wings, rose away from the house, and flew into the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I want to kill her.”
Zack Bishop, Rockville High’s starting quarterback and prom king, set down the issue of Maxim he’d been reading and looked at his girlfriend. “You shouldn’t talk that way, Cin. People might think you’re serious, then you’d be in even more trouble.”
Cindy Wells stood in front of the mirror above Zack’s desk, regarding with disgust the imperfect image reflected there. The bandage affixed to her nose marred an otherwise flawless countenance. She had a beautiful face. A model’s face, as so many had told her, with high cheekbones, big blue eyes, a graceful jawline, and imminently kissable lips. Until this morning, her nose had been perfect. Narrow and graceful. Now it was a bent, broken thing, a boxer’s nose.
The rest of her still looked wonderful. Her clothes, a sleeveless, lime green top and a sleek miniskirt, showed off her svelte body to stunning effect. She had a long, slender neck (which her mother variously described as “swanlike” or “like Audrey Hepburn”), long, shapely legs, and a perfectly contoured figure. All topped off by a flowing mane of lustrous blonde hair. She’d been the school’s reigning beauty.
But not anymore.
Now I’m a beast, she thought.
Until now, Cindy had never considered herself shallow. She was self-aware enough to know she was exceptionally beautiful, but she’d accepted this as a simple fact of her existence, an asset, certainly, but not a thing that elevated her above other people. She took more pride in her intelligence and academic achievements. Her GPA was a rock-solid 4.0. She was gifted in math and science. She also had a passion for literature, and she’d displayed talent as a writer of fiction. She had long been torn between, on the one hand, accepting a scholarship at a school renowned for its science programs and, on the other hand, attending a school known for producing accomplished artists and writers.
None of these things mattered at the moment.
She applied the tip of a finger to her damaged nose and winced. Her upper lip curled, further marring the image of beauty. Anger flared inside her again. And the real thing, not just teenage petulance. Raw, burning fury. She imagined her hands wrapped around Myra Lewis’s scrawny neck and she clenched her fists. She could almost feel that fragile flesh collapsing beneath the force of her righteous wrath. This frightened her, mostly because giving herself over to anger was such a new and strange thing for her, but she was close to embracing it.
She glanced at the stacks of Maxim magazines next to Zack’s bed. She’d always regarded the beautiful, busty women on the covers with a mixture of pity and disgust. Women who displayed their bodies for profit, whether they were Parisian supermodels or porno “actresses,” were little better than whores. Or so Cindy had always believed.
Beauty is power, she thought.
The truth of it struck her hard. Her looks had made her special. They had made her better than all the other girls. And they had granted her some degree of power over nearly everyone she had ever encountered. Extra-special emphasis on the past tense, however, because fucking Myra Lewis had ruined much of that power with one blow.
She turned away from the mirror. “I mean it.” She stalked over to the bed and stood glaring down at Zack. “I want to kill the bitch.”
Zack frowned. “You’re scaring me a little, Cin.” He sat up, clasped hands with Cindy, and drew her near. He sighed. “This isn’t easy to say, but…look, I know you told me you didn’t provoke Myr
a in any way, and I want to believe you, but it just doesn’t make any sense. I can’t believe you’d get a suspension for no good reason.”
Cindy fumed. It took all her willpower not to strike Zack. “What are you accusing me of, Zack? Are you saying I’m a liar?”
Zack flinched. “No. I’m just…well, not exactly.”
“What!?”
Zack swallowed a lump in his throat. Cindy thought she saw fear in his eyes. A part of her, she was stunned to discover, enjoyed seeing it. It made her feel powerful again. It was particularly gratifying that the man in question was Rockville High’s king stud. She wondered how he’d react to a backhand across the face. The thought stunned her—but only for a moment.
And Zack sensed the hostility. He let go of her hands and scooted backward on the bed, putting some distance between them. “Jesus, Cin, relax. Obviously I’m not calling you a liar.” He shrugged, and looked at her with a helpless expression. “Maybe…I’m sorry, I know I’m not saying this right. But maybe you offended her in some way you don’t know about. Some offhanded comment she took to heart, maybe.”
Cindy sneered. “Are you fucking serious? You dick. You’re calling me thoughtless.”
“No, I’m not.” Zack seemed to become a little more sure of himself. “And I’m really about done talking about this. You’re in some weird kind of denial, Cin. I think you did say something to that girl, maybe something really out of character for you, something mean. And maybe you feel so guilty about it you can’t acknowledge the truth. Christ, Cindy, girls like you don’t get suspended without a really good reason. And now this crazy talk about wanting to kill Myra. It scares me.” His voice had grown solemn. “I think we shouldn’t see each other for a few days. Just until you’ve had some time to really think and deal with all this.”
Cindy gaped at him, unable to believe what she’d just heard. Sudden tears welled in her eyes. “Zack, no…”
He looked away from her. “I’m sorry, Cindy. But it has to be this way. Please leave. Now.”