A Dark Road

by Amanda Lance

  “You are such a girl.”

  “No, sister. I’m realistic. And everyone knows that spiders are evil. That’s why half of the chick spiders eat the dudes when they’re done mating.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe the dude spiders deserved it? Maybe they just get sick of being referred to as chick spiders.”

  “Just inspect this corner before I become an entrée, will you?”

  I took my flashlight and shone it in the area. Sure enough, a few webs, both fresh and faded, lingered there with some eggs.

  “See!” Simon pointed. “You would have that kill me in my sleep!”

  I rolled my eyes then used the mini crowbar to scatter the webs. “You’re a real hero, Simon. A real man’s man.”

  He swore but went back to throwing pieces of wood out the basement door. I made a mental note to myself to stick insect strips in the basement at an interval when it could be aired out properly.

  “So, ah—speaking of being killed in your sleep…” Simon tried to throw a dusty sofa cushion in my face, but I caught it just in time. “I saw you talking to McKay today.”

  I shrugged. If I acted like it wasn’t a big deal then maybe I could make him believe that, too. Yet the fact of the matter was that Simon knew and could read me better than anyone else, and if he had the inkling that I liked James McKay, he would tease me about it until the end of time.

  “You know that guy is bad news, right? I think he’s being nominated for most likely to shoot up the workplace.”

  “Come on, Simon, didn’t you pay any attention to that assembly last year about bullying and gossiping?” I scoffed at him and sprayed Windex in his direction. “And here I thought you were so much more mature than that.” I breathed in until the dust choked me.

  “I’m serious, Hads.” And for a second his voice was serious. Not as my twin and friend, but as my brother and protector. “I know it for a fact; he’s not a good guy, okay? Don’t hang out with him.”

  The mirror I tried to pick up without shattering collapsed in my hands. Underneath I could see the artificial gold frame come apart from rust. I watched the glass fall into large pieces to the bottom of the cold floor. They didn’t make a sound, as they had already been broken, they were just waiting for an incentive.

  “We’ve only been here a week, you don’t know him. You don’t know anyone here.” I was trying to poke around the subject of Simon’s obvious love interest with this new girl. Since lecturing him before had never worked, there didn’t seem to be a point in doing it again. But why did I sound so defensive?

  Simon laughed. “Neither do you.”

  I saw my dismantled image in the broken glass, a glimmer amongst the wreckage.

  For some reason, boxes of piping in every shape, size, and quality were lining the back shelves of the basement. There were also milk cartons that were light enough to carry out but were covered with mold on the bottoms. Not to mention a barrel of old clothes, a couple of life jackets, chains, a broken chandelier rusted tools, street signs, and a few crates of newspapers…

  It was well after dark by the time Mom got home and we weren’t even finished. Simon, who wasn’t used to heavy labor, was complaining throughout the final hour and I was about ready to hit him over the head with a rusted shovel and tell Mom and Dad a ghost must have done it. Luckily for him though, Mom saved us from that awkwardness with dinner and freed us from the chore.

  “You shouldn’t have given them that project, Steve. They should be out with their new friends.” Mom’s punishment for Dad consisted of making him pick out colors for the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom. This way if Mom was unhappy with the color in any way, she could blame Dad for the rest of their lives.

  “Yeah, Steve,” Simon mocked “Just look at poor Hadley, now she’s stuck reading a book on a Friday night. Imagine the scandal.”

  Dad bit his knuckles and stifled a pretend cry. “It’s a father’s worst fear, that his children would b-be reading!”

  “Harlots of the written word!”

  “Street trash junkies of the imagination!”

  Mom sipped at her wine while Simon and Dad collapsed into each other’s arms, their fake cries droning from the kitchen into the next county.

  I picked up my dinner and scraped the remains in the garbage. “I hate you guys.”

  Dad and Simon laughed while Dostoyevsky and I stomped upstairs. I heard Mom giggle and I just stomped harder.

  Once I was safely in my room I let myself think about James. I had placed our conversation in the reserve spot of my mind where I usually memorized strategies and opponent weaknesses so I could savor it later, like delayed gratification. Now I laid on my bed and tried to analyze his smiles and the shakes of his head. I attempted to correlate the change in his tone with the words he said, with the words he didn’t say. Now maybe it was just me, the stress of the move, or my loneliness from missing my friends, but I thought that maybe despite his words and actions, he did want to see me again.

  I got the impression that there were more things unsaid in the silence. That’s what made it heavy or awkward, giving it all of those characterizations that people didn’t want to feel or think about. It’s possible that’s why they do their best to fill it with ceaseless chatter, talk about others, noises even they can’t seem to stand…I liked that James didn’t feel the need to drone on like other boys. He said what needed to be said and that’s the end of it. Or was it? During our brief interactions together, I got the distinct feeling that he wanted to hang out with me, to be my friend, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t.

  I decided I would see him and Dog again. Whether he wanted me to or not.

  Chapter 16

  McKay

  When I was a kid I used to dream that monsters with red eyes would come out to get me after my parents went to sleep. If I wasn’t asleep by the time I couldn’t hear my Mom and Frank’s voices anymore, or the TV (whichever came first), then I’d freak out and cry until Mom came in to calm me down. Usually she’d just laugh, curl my hair around one of her fingers, and remind me that the blinking red light was just the smoke detector.

  “It’s watching out for you,” she’d say. “Protecting you, not out to get you.”

  But I’d never believe her. And the next night we’d do it again.

  After awhile this became one of the topics she and Frank argued about on a semi-regular basis, along with the cable bill, how much makeup she wore, and my stutter. Mom, whose patience seemed endless, settled a sort of compromise. To argue less about money, she got a job at an all night diner, and to help me alleviate my fears about the red-eyed monsters, she took me to the animal shelter to get me a more conventional protector.

  “Go ahead and pick out a friend to take home with us. You can only get one, but I promise he’ll help keep you safe. That’s what all good friends are for.”

  I don’t remember much else about that day—Mom laughing with the shelter attendant, the smell of her perfume combined the smell of dog pee—but when we were led down that long corridor to the puppies, who were barely old enough to live away from their own mom, I knelt straight away next to the dopiest looking one in the group.

  “What should we call him?” Mom asked me.

  When I didn’t know I kept silent, it was better than stuttering, which more often than not led to getting made fun of.

  “Okay,” she said after awhile. “When you think of something, you let me know.”

  I never did think of anything to name the dog.

  Chapter 17

  Hadley

  I awoke early Saturday afternoon in the same clothes I had worn the day before with Dostoyevsky finished and laying across me. I had every intention of going out again after everyone was asleep and looking for James and Dog. Yet Mom and Dad stayed up in the living room watching TV and I read for hours trying to wait them out. It was hard to tell exactly when I fell asleep, but it must have been long after midnight, and once I reached the book’s ending, I couldn’t fight my blurry e
yes.

  “Damn.” Would James have been looking for me on the pathway? I brushed the hair from my face and stretched. Of course not, that was ridiculous. James McKay clearly had his pick of girls, girls who were probably easy and older, more worldly and experienced. Girls who weren’t really girls at all but women…I gagged on the thought. Simon might have had a point here; maybe it was better to stay away from James. In the long run, a bad boy probably wasn’t nearly worth the work and time that was required. Relationships, after all, are an investment, and I didn’t want to be the one walking away with a loss.

  I went downstairs quickly and was surprised to find the house empty. A note from Mom indicated she had to go to work, while another from Dad said he was going to inquire about gym memberships. The Bull was gone, so Simon could have been just about anywhere. It was a little eerie, and suddenly I felt strange in the old farm house. It was the first time I had been alone there. The first time I had seen the house was during a virtual tour, and being as how I had instantly decided I would hate Pennsylvania and everything about it, this house was no exception. But now that it was quiet and a soft September light was coming through the windows, it didn’t seem nearly as bad.

  Still, however, it was lonely. This was only the third Saturday in the last five years that I hadn’t woken up at seven AM during fencing season to work out. In the off season I’d sleep in until ten. But I felt like I was betraying my body. At least last Saturday had been filled with moving boxes and piling Mom’s random knick-knacks, running up and down the stairs for bins and bags…the Saturday before that had been the same thing in reverse order.

  I thought reminiscing might make me feel better, so I shot Jordan a quick e-mail. I couldn’t deal with Ian though, so the e-mail I sent him was much shorter. I also e-mailed my nana a picture of the house and told her how much I love school.

  None of those things made me feel any better.

  I put on a pair of running shorts and old t-shirt before pulling up my hair. It didn’t matter that it was bumpy or that I had missed spots shaving my legs the night before, I just wanted to get out, feel the lengthy stretch of a run in my legs before it was too late.

  There was no point in starting out slow. I made a full out run from the front door and went down the dead-end road and back before quickening my pace. I crossed over the highway and slowed to a steady jog to keep my pace. Each time my sneakers hit the asphalt I counted a different beat and shifted my breath. I pretended in my head that I was back on the mat, preparing for a jab, defending a lunge, taking or making a point. And with each breath I went a little bit further, dug deeper, and wanted more.

  I got back to the beginning of the dirt road just as the burn of my lungs screamed at me. Though it was still early and I had been warned against it, I found my feet wandering towards the lowly field and James’ house. As the wind blew I could see the Bull and Mom’s BMW in the driveway, but I wasn’t quite ready to go home just yet.

  I saw fresh tire tracks in the road. As my lungs stretched to accommodate the exercise, I rested my arms on my head and walked a little farther. I saw a house in the distance, it was even more beaten up than ours. A putrid smell was coming from its direction, making my stomach heave just a little. I noticed there was a semi-trailer parked in the field and what looked like a miniature junkyard beside the house, along with mounds of garbage. An animal was leaning against a sofa on the patio and I realized it was Dog. I wanted to smile and call him over, but as I squinted, I could see he was chained. Someone hollered something and I ran back down the road to my house, not brave enough to look back, and too fast to be chased.

  The rest of the day was spent in silent contemplation. I heard my phone make noises around five in the afternoon and then again an hour later. After that it was a steady stream of text messaging and ignored phone calls.

  “Hadley?” Mom knocked on my door by clicking it with her nails, a habit I’d hated since childhood.

  “It’s open.”

  Mom was wearing a track suit and a minimal amount of makeup. She also had her short blonde hair pinned up to avoid her hanging bangs.

  “What are you up to? You’ve been cooped up in here all day.”

  I closed out of my search and did an elaborate spin in my desk chair. “Oh, just doing drugs, selling pornographic videos of myself, and pirating music. You know, the usual.”

  “Well, if you want a break from all of that, do you want to check out the gym your Dad signed us up for? I hear they have tanning beds…”

  Cancer in a box, how delightful. “Next time, Mom, okay? I think I’m just going to hang out tonight.”

  “Simon is meeting some of his friends for a movie later. Why don’t you join them?”

  In truth, I had been invited to the very same movie by some of the same people. But the idea of watching another trendy zombie horror flick and paying twenty dollars to do it wasn’t my idea of a good time.

  “Um, I’ll think about it.”

  I saw Mom’s frown line form before I even got the sentence out. I could tell she was worried about me, but in all honesty what else did she expect? I didn’t just jump into things like Simon did. Maybe it would be easier if the school had a fencing team. And maybe it would be easier if this wasn’t my senior year, but those were all ‘ifs’ and none were a part of the reality that Mom had dragged us into.

  “Okay.” She sighed. “Make sure you eat something decent for dinner, okay?”

  I reopened the Internet browser and stared back into the screen. “Gummy worms and Oreos, got it.”

  Mom sighed again, but thankfully closed the door on her way out.

  Chapter 18

  McKay

  No chemist in the world could have asked for better working conditions. It was sunny, but not too sunny, with no wind and of course, no humidity. I had to take advantage, perfect methamphetamine advantage.

  I got up early and removed the hose from the washer to connect it to the basin sink in the basement. I wondered if Hadley Grayson’s house had an old-time basement like mine.

  No. Stop that. Bad McKay. Bad.

  Not only did I open the windows, but I took the screens out and put in the window fans. Dog was all about being outside, but since he ran off with Hadley the other night (not that I can’t blame him), I found some rope from behind the house and tied him to the side where the mailbox used to be.

  The work was quick even though I didn’t have any music. It’s one more reason to hate Hadley Grayson. Because I’ve got to be extra careful now, I don’t want to listen with the speakers blared up. If someone came knocking and I didn’t hear it, I’d be screwed. So I listen to the drips instead and the hissing of the burner. I guess though it’s kind of better, I can hear Dog barking and whistling and whining when squirrels jump by. I know he wants to go after them, but I can’t risk him running off when I’m synthesizing, so I make a promise to make it up to him later.

  I’m waiting for a batch to crystallize so I can break it up and sell it. To multitask, I’m scrubbing out one of the barrels outside. But I get stupid and forget why I had to be careful in the first place. I see a glimmer of shoulder-length brown hair, and perfect hands on top of a perfect head. I want to run but she does it before I get the chance.

  Chapter 19

  Hadley

  It was close to midnight when I noticed Simon still wasn’t home. Luckily for him, Mom and Dad had gone to bed early after having two whole glasses of wine each after their big workout. If either of them woke up and noticed the Bull was still gone almost an hour after our curfew was up, there would be hell to pay. I groaned and stuck my head back into my book, thinking back to the few times I had run interference for Simon when he went a little crazy with his friends. They weren’t exactly hardened criminals, but the occasional incident of skinny dipping with girls home from college or underage drinking did not go unnoticed by me as it did by my parents. I did what I could, but if Simon did get in trouble, I told myself it wasn’t my fault, that I was only taking advan
tage of the situation. He was the one who was screwing up.

  Still, I felt obligated and guilty for not helping my brother cover up his crime.

  But he was responsible for his own mistakes. Anyway, he had only been here for a week, what kind of trouble could he possibly get into?

  I closed my book and beat the hardback into my forehead.

  I left the house no more quiet than usual. My parents snored on, the first week in the new house having got the better of them as well, I imagined. The sound of the rain gently doing its pitter-patter dance from the broken gutters and pine trees gave me the creeps at first, and I found myself shivering even though it wasn’t particularly cold. For a minute I questioned whether or not I should be going back inside but then resolved to continue, to at least see if my curiosity had a worthy subject.

  I trailed up the dirt road, which was less dirt and more mud at this point. But with the rain boots it still wasn’t too bad. The only really bad aspect was the humidity had brought on a shaded fog that made it more difficult to see, so even though I had a powerful flashlight, it wasn’t doing much good. I would just wait on the porch for Simon to stumble on home. I had my phone with me and began texting him, first threats and then inquiries about his general location. Even when there was no response I didn’t worry. On more than one occasion, Simon had lost, broken, or had his phone stolen during one of his many misadventures, although more likely, he just forgot to charge the thing.

  As I waited, I lolled my head against the pillar that supported the porch roof. Being out here at night made me think of James and our first meeting. I remembered what he said about his Dad and about being out here so frequently when he couldn’t sleep. What if he was out here again tonight? I shivered with the prospect of him being so close, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.