by Jason Parent
With one speaker buried in her right ear and the other lolling over her shoulder so she could hear Father coming, she hummed the tune so softly that it sounded like a bee was buzzing around in her head. Father didn’t approve of modern music, or any music really.
She couldn’t concentrate on homework until he was asleep. While Father was awake, Tessa wasn’t safe. While he was awake, she made no noise, spoke only when spoken to, and stayed out of his sight as much as she could. Her only relief from anxiety came when he slept. With her own dreams plagued by nightmarish memories, Tessa didn’t find any relief in sleep.
Father expected her to answer the door, another one of his inexplicable rules, something about being a proper lady. It made her feel more like a butler. But with the way he whipped her for the slightest infraction, maybe “slave” was the better term for her position in their household.
Father wouldn’t care if she’d truly been concentrating on homework. Tessa would upset him if she allowed the doorbell to ring a second time. She sprang from her bed and hustled down the stairs, keeping her footsteps as light as possible. No stomping down the stairs. Violating that rule had once earned her the punishment of having her hand pressed against the stove burner. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Tessa was reaching for the knob when the doorbell rang a second time. Terror washed over her. Father sat in his chair in the living room, not more than ten feet away. He was staring at the Fall River Herald as though trying to decipher a hidden code within one of the articles. He must have heard the doorbell, yet he didn’t stir, even though Tessa never had visitors.
Tessa opened the door. Michael and Robbie. Her heart thumped harder, and she tried to keep the fear from showing. She had to get rid of them. She stepped outside and carefully closed the door behind her.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Since we were in the neighborhood, we thought we would come by and see if you wanted to come out and hang with us, maybe go down to the park.” Michael spoke way too loudly, obviously trying to be heard by Father, but she had no idea why.
“Yeah,” Robbie said, playing along but not well. “We were gonna toss around the football at the park.”
“Neither of you are holding a football,” she said, still whispering. “Please leave and don’t come back.” She stepped back and pushed open the door.
Before she could get inside, Michael said, “We came to warn you. We’ve got to get you out of here before somebody ends up dead. The police know about Ms. Jackson.”
Tessa gasped but then caught herself. She was immediately skeptical. If the police knew about Ms. Jackson, they would be at the door instead of two boys she hardly knew. Maybe Michael had another vision? She still didn’t know what he’d seen in the first one. Tessa remembered how he’d stormed off, leaving her desperate and lonely. She had already gone to him once for help and had been shot down, left to fend for herself until Father finally killed her.
“Oh yeah?” she said. She glanced back and forth between the boys and Father, who was still sitting in his chair. She was surprised he hadn’t come over to see who was at the door, but she knew she didn’t have much longer. Blood pumped into her head so fast, she thought she might faint. She slid out onto the front steps and closed the door again. “What happened to Ms. Jackson?”
“He killed her.” Michael said it so confidently, so matter-of-factly, Tessa was certain they had been found out.
She looked out at the street, fully expecting to see a police car, maybe even a SWAT team. But the street was the same old quiet place it always was. She glanced back at Michael. Perhaps he was wearing a wire, trying to trick her into confessing. Father had done the killing, but she had been right there beside him, whether she’d wanted to be or not.
“We can talk about that later,” Michael said, tugging on her sleeve. “Right now, we’ve got to get you away from him.”
“Wait a minute.” Robbie held up his hand. “Did you just say what I think you said? No one said anything about anyone killing anybody!”
“Could you keep your voice down, genius?” Michael glared up at Robbie. “I told you she was in trouble. What did you think I was talking about?”
She suddenly realized how strange it was to see the two of them together, much less on her front porch. She was pretty sure Robbie had been at least partly responsible for dipping Michael into a toilet.
Robbie shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought maybe some ex-boyfriend was harassing her, and you needed my help to make him back off or something like that. I didn’t know her father was a serial killer.”
Michael sighed. “No one said he was a serial killer. Can we focus on why we came here?”
The two boys were arguing as if Tessa were invisible. Their voices grew louder. They would soon disturb Father, if they hadn’t already. Even if they didn’t, Father would come looking for her soon.
“Shut up!” Tessa blurted. They did. “You guys need to get out of here.” Her voice conveyed urgency, but the message was too late.
“Nonsense,” said Father from behind her. Like an assassin, he had a way of slinking around without a sound.
Tessa wondered how long he’d been there. She hadn’t even heard the door open. She shivered. The hairs on her neck stood on end.
“Well,” Father said, “aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Robbie and Michael stood gaping. Tessa stammered but was unable to form anything that resembled a coherent response.
Father nudged her aside and approached the boys. He looked as though he were sizing them up. “Please forgive my daughter. She has a lot to learn about manners.” His lips formed a sickly, wry smile.
Tessa’s stomach fluttered, full of butterflies looking for an escape. The boys stared at Father as if mesmerized by him.
“Christopher Masterson,” Father said, extending his hand.
“M-Michael. Michael Tur-colgate.” Tessa almost snickered. On the spot, the best Michael could come up with was toothpaste? “Michael Turcolgate,” he said again, as if repeating it would make it sound more convincing.
“Elijah Wood,” Robbie said, shaking Father’s hand and smiling.
Tessa wondered if he was really that proud of his pseudonym. She shook her head, part in fear and part in disgust. This will not end well. The only chance they have is if they refuse to enter the house. Her eyes blurred. And me, I have no chance.
“Well, Michael and Elijah,” Father said, his own smile big and phony, “come in. It’s far too cold to be outside. You boys look like you’re chilled right through. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
Behind Father, Tessa shook her head side to side as fast as she could. Still, Michael and Robbie entered the house but remained only inches from the door. Father disappeared into the kitchen. Tessa was doomed by their uninvited appearance, but she thought she could still save them. In stepping away, Father had given them a chance to flee. They would not likely get another.
“Are you two stupid?” Tessa hissed. “Why aren’t you running?”
“You asked for my help,” Michael said. “I’m giving it to you now. We came here for you, and we’re not leaving here without you.”
Tessa almost smiled. She was touched by Michael’s innocence and courage, but all they really amounted to was stupidity, the kind that would get him hurt, or worse. He and his double-stuffed friend had stumbled into a situation they couldn’t possibly understand. A lion’s den might have been the better of the two choices.
“I don’t know,” Robbie said. “Maybe we should listen to her.”
“Don’t be such a wuss,” Michael scoffed. “You’re easily three times that guy’s size.”
“You should listen to him, Michael,” Tessa said. “You’re not safe here. And anyway, I don’t want you here. Go. Leave now.”
The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Soo
n, hot chocolate would be on its way. But unlike most social visits, drinks at Father’s house were never followed by friendly conversation.
Michael reached for her hand. “You have to trust me.”
She didn’t pull away, but he must have lost his nerve because he did.
He straightened. “You’re not safe here, either. We all need to go.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Tessa had to fight back tears. “Do you have any idea how much worse you’ve made things for me?”
“Then come with us. You can stay with me until everything’s okay. I’m sure my foster parents won’t mind.”
“How do you think things will ever be okay? Will the police come and take Father away? Will they find me a new life and a new home? I wish things were that simple. He’ll never let me leave. He’ll hunt me, and when he finds me, he’ll make me wish I never left. A few days free of him, even a few months, are not worth what Father will do once he gets his hands on me again.”
Tessa felt hopeless. The sincerity she saw in Michael’s eyes only made her hurt more. He truly wanted to help her. She wanted him to have the strength to take her away from Father. But if Michael thought she could just walk away, or even run, without always having to worry and look over her shoulder, then he didn’t really know anything. He certainly didn’t know the monster that hid behind Father’s face.
“Go,” she said, sobbing. “I don’t want what’s going to happen to me to happen to you two.”
“Here’s hot chocolate,” Father said, emerging from the kitchen. He sounded like a dad in a ’70s sitcom.
He handed a piping hot mug to Robbie and another to Michael. Tessa didn’t get one, nor did he have a mug for himself. “Careful,” he said. “It’s hot.”
He moved between the boys and the door then ushered them over to the couch. “Sit down. Relax. Friends of Tessa are always welcome.” He bared his teeth in a grin.
Michael sat at the end of the couch closest to the door, which wasn’t very close at all, and stared suspiciously at his mug. Robbie sat beside him, almost on his lap. Tessa perched on the edge of the chair closest to the boys. Father remained standing. He was the only person in the room who appeared comfortable.
Apparently not sharing Michael’s intuition, Robbie raised his mug. Tessa noticed Michael nudging Robbie’s arm, but the big lug didn’t pay any attention.
Robbie poured half his hot chocolate down his throat. “Ouch!” He dribbled some of the liquid back into the mug. “That is hot!” He took another enormous gulp.
“Then why do you keep drinking it?” Michael asked. “Why don’t you wait until it cools?”
“Because it’s so good.” Robbie licked his lips. “Damn, I already got that crud hanging from the roof of my mouth.”
Michael shook his head. “Do you mean burned skin?” He rolled his eyes, glanced over at Tessa, then reached out to put his mug on the coffee table.
Tessa quickly intervened. “Wait! Uh, you can’t put that there.” She grabbed a coaster and placed it on the table in front of him. “Here. Please use this.”
“Thank you.” Michael plopped his mug on the coaster.
“Relax, Tessa,” Father said. “They’re our guests.” His smile never wavered. He slapped his thighs. “So, boys, what brings you to see my daughter?”
“Um, we were at the park,” Michael said, “the one on President Avenue, at the top of the hill. We thought we would come by and see if she wanted to… um… hang out. Oh, and to tell her happy Thanksgiving.”
Father frowned. “Tessa and I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. Neither of us have anything to be thankful for.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I—”
“Nah, I’m just busting your balls, Michael.” Father chuckled.
The boys let out some forced laughter. Tessa didn’t know whether hearing the word “balls” from an adult had made them uncomfortable or if they were finally realizing that Father was a little off. Both of them began to fidget. She wondered how much more they would need before they decided to run… and leave her behind.
Father turned to Robbie with a grin. “What about you, fat boy? Is that the excuse you want to use, too?”
Robbie seemed confused by the question. “Uh… I-I…” He looked at Tessa. “Uh, excuse for what?”
Father chuckled. “Come on.” His laughter stopped, and his expression turned sour. “Enough games. Let’s hear it. Which one of you is fucking my daughter?”
Tessa moaned as her face heated. Even she hadn’t expected that. Things had just gone from bad to worse. She couldn’t tell whether Father really believed it or if he was just messing with the guys’ heads.
Maybe it’s a good thing. If that was all Father suspected, if he hadn’t figured out the real reason for Michael and Robbie’s visit, the boys might yet survive the encounter. They might, but she wouldn’t. Premarital sex was a cardinal sin in Father’s household. Not that he would ever let her get married, anyway.
Robbie and Michael looked at each other with wide eyes, speechless. Tessa could only guess at what was going through their minds. And if she couldn’t tell whether Father was joking or not, she was pretty sure they couldn’t.
“I asked you a question.” Father scowled and took a step closer to the couch. “Which one of you boys is fucking my precious little daughter? Or is Tessa such a whore that she’s doing both of you?”
Michael shrank back into the cushions, his face reddening. “Neither of us are having sex with Tessa.”
“What about the Michelin Man over here? I want to hear what he has to say.”
“I’ve never had sex with your daughter, sir,” Robbie said, his lips quivering. “I swear it. Tell him, Tessa.”
Tessa looked away. It didn’t matter what she said. Speaking would only make things worse. Father would never believe her, even if she could somehow show him her unbroken hymen. He’d already drawn his conclusion. Right or wrong, Father would stick by it.
Michael stood, tugging Robbie by the arm. “We should probably get going.”
Robbie got to his feet and allowed Michael to pull him toward the door. They did a kind of side-shuffle around Father, never taking their eyes off him.
So much for help. Tessa remained in her seat. He’s no hero. There are no heroes.
As the boys got to the door, Michael blurted, “Tessa, you should come with us.”
Big mistake.
“That whore isn’t going anywhere with the likes of you,” Father said, clenching his fists.
Tessa couldn’t will her legs to stand. She could not oppose Father. Robbie reached for the doorknob.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Father charged over and grabbed Michael by the back of his collar, his knuckles brushing the back of Michael’s neck.
Michael fell to the floor.
Chapter 20
Michael tries to suck in some air. Cold sears his lungs. His legs are in motion.
Am I running? Michael chokes up. Am I being chased?
His feet pound the sidewalk, one after the other, over and over again. He can hear himself wheezing. He wants to stop, but something compels him forward. Even in the freezing night air, he’s sweating. He has no idea how long he’s been running, but his legs are starting to cramp. His sprint turns into a limping gallop.
A vision of my own future? It has to be. He feels it, interacts with it. That happened only once before, when he saw Jimmy Rafferty shooting Glenn Rodrigues. He can stop running, but then he might not make it to wherever it is he’s supposed to be running toward.
In a vision of his own future, Michael knows he has more control. He can alter whatever it is he’s meant to see. Maybe he can use the vision as a sort of virtual reality training area. In life, people don’t get do-overs, but with everything Michael sees now, he’ll get a second chance to do it better, what his foster dad calls a mulligan.
Or I could foul things up even worse.
But first, Michael has to figure out what needs fixing. He lets his legs carry him where they will. As he rounds a corner, he spots Sam a couple of blocks away. She’s standing beside her black Toyota Camry. Her car is double-parked at the edge of a small parking lot. A short distance behind her, a big blue tarp with “ICE” printed on it is affixed to the wall of a building. Large overhead lights blur his view, and his eyes are slow to adjust. Oblong shadows of Sam and her car extend toward Michael like black holes longing to suck him into darkness. He tries to sprint, but he can’t make his legs move any faster.
Sam opens the passenger door and reaches into her car. She appears to be talking to someone.
“Sam!” Michael is now crossing a grassy field. He leaps over a drainage ditch, wincing as he lands on the other side. Waving and calling her name, he keeps going. He has to reach Sam. He has something he needs to tell her, and it is urgent. But what he plans on saying remains a mystery.
Sam looks up at him. He’s almost there, now so close that a glimmer of hope sparks in the despair eating away at his insides. Sam leans over the open car door and smiles at him as though she hasn’t a care in the world.
Michael, on the other hand, is overrun with fear. His stomach churns, and he’s afraid he might have to stop to vomit. Someone moves from the shadow of the building and walks up behind Sam. Michael clenches his fists. His thighs burn, but he lengthens his stride. He has to reach her. The urge is stronger than ever, though he doesn’t yet understand why.
As the person moves swiftly toward Sam, a man’s face becomes clearer. There is no mistaking that face. He saw it no more than a few minutes ago. And now Christopher Masterson is right behind Sam.