Rebel Angels

by James Michael Rice

  Impulsively, he bent over and opened the bottom drawer of his nightstand and removed a handful of the photographs that resided there. As he flipped through the various pictures, there was one in particular which captured his attention. It was a picture Mike had taken of Rick, Lori, and Kevin leaning against the front of Mike's T-bird. Lori was in the middle, an arm around each of their shoulders. Lori, with her cute shoulder-length hair, her squinty, carefree eyes, and her winning smile stealing the scene. Rick, with his dark hair wild, blowing in the breeze, and his brilliant eyes gleaming. And he, Kevin, with his wiffle-style haircut, and his drunken grimace. Friends forever.

  Still holding the photograph, with the perfumed summer breeze wafting in through his bedroom window, he closed his eyes, and the recollection of that day surfaced in his mind with astonishing clarity. Suddenly he was there, if not in body then in mind, watching the memory as it unfolded before him, no longer a participant, as he'd originally been, but a spectator watching someone else's life.

  “...I'd wish for...shit, I don't know,” he (the memory Kevin) was saying. “I'll pass for now. What would you wish for, Mike?”

  Leaning against the hood of his car, Mike sighed dramatically, tilting his head back to the sky. “I guess I'd wish for wisdom,” he'd replied after a pause. “Everything depends on the decisions we make. The roads we decide to follow, the thousands of possibilities that we pass by every day. I never want to feel like I'm missing out on life. I never want to feel regret…for anything. Wisdom helps you choose the right path; I guess that's my wish…”

  “Now that's a respectable answer,” Rick had interjected before anyone else. “None of that 'I'd wish for a million dollars' bullshit.’”

  “What about you, sweetie?” Lori wanted to know. She gave Rick a playful nudge with her elbow. “What would you wish for?”

  “I'd wish for time to stand still,” Rick said simply. He looked at each of his friends. “So that we'd always be friends, and we'd always be young, and we'd never die. I want us to always be together. I never want the good times to end.”

  “I second that wish,” Lori responded with her winning smile, running her fingers through Rick's long hair. It was obvious, by the way she had looked at him, that she would love him forever.

  “Well, I know a way we can save at least one moment,” Mike told them with a sly grin. He vanished inside his car, rummaging noisily and muttering to himself, and returned a few moments later with a disposable camera.

  “Alright, everyone move in closer,” he ordered.

  “What should we say?” asked Kevin, with a goofy smile.

  “Don't say anything,” Mike had whispered. “Just think about the moment.”

  The entire moment, frozen on a simple piece of film.

  As Kevin stared at the photograph that stared back at him, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

  I miss you, Lori, he thought. Why'd you have to die? Rick was so wild, so funny, so alive, before you left us. We were all so close then, just like a family. We were gonna take on this whole fucking world together.

  Together.

  He looked at her smile. Stared at that smile.

  There was no such thing as together anymore.

  He wiped a teardrop from his face with the back of one hand, and it occurred to him that he hadn't looked at any of her photographs since the accident. Once again, Kevin wished he was with his friends.

  “I won't forget,” he murmured, and tossed the pile of pictures back into the open drawer, where they scattered like playing cards. He closed his eyes to hold back the many tears that would soon follow the first. He thought of being alone. He thought of the precious time wasted within the walls of the Mount Hope Rehabilitation Center. Time that could've been spent working, or just hanging out with his friends. He thought of how one night he was at the beach, partying with six of the best friends he had ever had, and how the next day there were only five.

  Why is it so easy to die, and so hard to live?

  He could remember everything; it was all there when he closed his eyes, like clips of an old home-movie. Elementary School: playing baseball in the park. Pretending they were soldiers on hot summer afternoons in the forest near Rick's house. Building forts to hang out in, tearing them down to make way for new ones. Going on field trips to Plimouth Plantation in both first and second grade. The night his father died, and how it was beyond his comprehension that he would never see the man again. Junior High: scooping on girls at the local mall. Sneaking beers when Max's father had passed out for the evening. Riding their bikes everywhere, not a care in the world. High School: greeting each other in the halls between and during classes. Playing hooky together to get high in the Cherry Street pits. Throwing popcorn at each other in the darkness of the Futawam Theater. Cruising Main Street in Mike's car while the younger kids looked on with envy and admiration. Kicking ass when someone started trouble with one of their own. Smiling faces, sad faces, laughter, and angry words, all swimming through his mind. He could practically smell those hot summer days—the preternatural scent of honeysuckle, pollen, and morning dew—just as easily as he could recall the clinking of their bicycle chains as they explored their little corner of the world.

  He only wished he'd realized then, just how precious those moments were. But, like most kids, he'd thought they would last forever. He never saw time creeping up on them like a serpent in the garden of their lives, all the while waiting to sink its teeth into the delicate flesh of their innocence, filling them with poison, robbing them of their childhood dreams, making them sick with age and change. He never imagined the reality of losing one of their own, never saw Death waiting to slam Lori Shawnessy's car headlong into a telephone pole, robbing her of that winning smile forever.

  Finally, thinking of all of these things, he let himself go. Through stinging tears of pain, he thought of his life, and the mistakes he had made. Until now, Kevin Chapman, the World Class Fuck-Up, had kept his feelings locked inside. And at that very moment, while lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling through watering eyes, he realized why Rick had changed so dramatically after the accident, because he had learned the horrible truth before the rest of them: That life was little more than a roller coaster ride into nowhere, and that the ride could end at any given time without warning. There was no slowing down. No turning back. No second rides. No refunds. Kevin Chapman understood that now.

  Deep sleep had nearly pulled him under when he heard his mother's voice calling him from the parlor.

  “Kevin, are you awake? There's someone here to see you.”

  Kevin jumped up from his bed and quickly began to wipe his tear-streaked face. “I'll be there in a minute!”

  His hopes began to rise. It was Mike and the others. They came back for him! They came to take him out of this place, out of loneliness.

  Don't get your hopes up, Kevin told himself. It was probably one of his friend's parents, coming to demand some answers. Maybe they had recognized his voice when he called. Or maybe it's that cop, Bailey, and that FBI guy, whatever his name was, coming to interrogate him again.

  After taking a minute or two to compose himself, Kevin left his room. As he walked down the hallway, hoping for good news, preparing for bad news, he could see his mother standing in the parlor, her arms folded across her chest. She had that worried look on her face once again, causing her to look much older than her true age, and with each step Kevin wished he hadn't answered his mother. She would have told whoever was out there that he was asleep, and to come back some other time.

  He didn't feel like dealing with his own mother right now, let alone Mike's, or Rick's, or Karen's parents. He especially didn't feel like dealing with the cops again.

  As he came within a few steps of the parlor, he could see a single dark shadow stretching across the floor, just off to the right of where his mother was standing. Judging by the size of the shadow, Kevin knew it had to be Rick's father who was waiting to see him. Rick's father was a big guy. He'd once been in
the Army, as Kevin recalled. Before Rick was even born, his father had risked his life to serve his country. Rick had always been so proud of that fact.

  Looking at the unusually large shadow, Kevin suddenly felt about three feet tall. If it was Mr. Hunter, what would Kevin possibly say to the man? Could he really be expected to lie to the man's face? But then again, how could he break the trust that Mike and the others had bestowed upon him? How could he tell the truth?

  This could get ugly.

  This is gonna be a shittier day than I thought, Kevin mused, nearing the end of the hallway.

  ~Thirty-Four~

  In many ways, the days that followed Lou's nightmare were no different than the ones that preceded it. Karen and Stacey passed the time by chatting on the porch steps, tanning on blankets by the riverside, and painting each other's nails, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of normality while the outside world continued without them. Lou mostly kept his nose buried in the magazines and books his brother had brought back from the store, losing himself in an imaginary world of video games, sports, and science fiction novels. Fascinated by the prospect of living off the land, as Mike had put it, Max spent the days hunting worms, then walking up and down the river in search of the perfect fishing hole. Although he claimed to have hooked a large rainbow trout and a smallmouth bass, he had yet to supply his friends with any tangible evidence that would support his fish stories. Nevertheless, it seemed as though he'd finally discovered a harmless occupation, and for that they were all grateful.

  Meanwhile, Rick secluded himself as often as possible, sometimes wandering the forest for hours at a time, refusing to tell the others where he’d been and what he'd been doing. And Mike, as always, continued to play the selfless host (and sometimes referee), bouncing from one person to the next, trying to keep everyone happy at the same time.

  At night, they all gathered around their riverside firepit; Max repeating the same old jokes; Stacey and Rick playing hide-and-seek with their eyes as they stole glances at one another from across the fire; Mike wondering if he'd made the right decision; and so on. But a dark cloud hovered over those peaceful evenings, sometimes bringing them a silence they could not ignore.

  The silence spoke of all the things that lingered in the back of their minds, things no one, including Mike, wanted to talk about. The dead girl. Stacey's abduction. The police. Their parents. How long before the money ran out?

  As each day passed, Mike wondered how much longer they could keep these thoughts at bay before the dark cloud they had left behind in Hevven finally descended upon them.

  In a tight red half-shirt and faded jean shorts, Karen Sloan sat on the front steps of the cabin, wiggling her bare toes as she gazed at the river, quietly humming the lines of a Sheryl Crow song. She was just starting to get into it, bobbing her head and mouthing the words, when she heard a creaking noise behind her. Feeling slightly embarrassed, she quickly stopped humming and turned around.

  Mike was standing in the doorway, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of black swim trunks. Sleep had given volume to his wavy brown hair; it curled back from his forehead and rose like a pompadour. He looked at her and smiled.

  “Nice hair,” Karen said as he stepped out onto the porch. “Where's your brother?”

  “He's gonna sleep in, I think.” His muscles rippled as he yawned. He sat down beside her on the steps, knees bending slowly, like a tired old man.

  She put an arm around his waist and leaned against him. “Again? Is he okay?”

  He brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the forehead. “Yeah, he should be. I don’t think he's been sleeping too well. I think he's still pretty shaken from that nightmare.”

  “That was what? Three days ago?” Rick interrupted from behind, and they turned their heads to look at him. He was wearing a wrinkled Calvin Klein T-shirt and a pair of Scooby-Doo boxer shorts. His black, medium-length hair was plastered against his head, and his mysterious hazel-green eyes were half-closed as he squinted in the bright sunlight.

  Stacey was standing beside him in the doorway, rubbing her eyes. Once again she had tied her fiery auburn hair into a ponytail, and she looked just as sweet and innocent as a schoolgirl. She offered a tired smile and waved her hand to greet them, baby-blues glowing with that thoughtful intensity of which they had all grown fond.

  “Four,” Karen corrected him. “How're you two crazy kids doing this morning?”

  “I feel like I could sleep the entire day away,” Stacey answered for the both of them, and Rick nodded in agreement.

  “Where's Max?” asked Mike.

  “He's upstairs changing,” Rick said, running his fingers through his long, dark hair. “I'm starving. What's left for food?”

  “Well,” Mike said, wrinkling his brow as he struggled to remember, “we got some potato chips, a box of cookies, half a loaf of bread, some peanut butter. I think there's half a box of Wheat Thins…”

  Karen wrinkled her nose. “All the healthy stuff,” she snickered, rolling her eyes at Stacey with a What-Do-You-Expect-From-Men? look.

  Stacey shook her head with a crooked grin, understanding and agreeing with Karen's none-too-subtle message.

  “…a few apples, a few oranges.” He stopped to think, pretending not to notice Karen's sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, and a leftover pack of hot dogs that we should eat before they go bad.”

  “Water,” Rick said. “I need water.”

  “There's some Gatorade in the cooler.”

  “That'll do.”

  For the next twenty minutes the four of them sat side by side, content with being in the presence of nature. They watched the red-hot sun change positions in the sky, drinking Gatorades and sweet summer breezes. Birds circled around them, squawking and tweeting as they searched the meadow for food. Stacey thought she had never felt more at ease in her entire life.

  A little while later the serenity was broken as Max came stomping down the stairs, a towel over one shoulder, and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. “Hey,” he said to no one in particular. They were being so quiet, he felt as though he had just stumbled into a funeral with a cowbell tied around his neck.

  “What's up?” asked Mike. “Is Lou still asleep?”

  “No, he's up,” Max said, casually scratching his ass. “He should be down in a few minutes. So, what's going on? How come everyone's so quiet?”

  “We're just tired,” answered Karen.

  Nodding, Max went over to the side of the porch and leaned against the railing. From there, he took in the increasingly familiar view: the mountains draped with mist, the delicate pinkish hue of the sky, the river glowing like quicksilver in the morning light, beckoning him to come and play. Max was also tired, but he didn't want to sleep. He was hungry, too, but he figured he could wait a few more hours before he really needed to eat. God had given them another beautiful day, and it seemed like such a waste not to enjoy it.

  “Well, I'm going for a swim,” he announced. He hurdled the railing and began down the meadow. “See you guys later.”

  By noon, the others had joined Max at the river, where they frolicked for nearly two hours until hunger set in. Mike and Karen walked back to the cabin, still dripping in their bathing suits, and returned a few minutes later with a box of Wheat Thins, a box of Oreos, a leftover package of hot dogs, six rolls, six bottles of water, and a deck of playing cards.

  “I'm starvin',” Max said, rubbing his stomach.

  “Oh,” Karen said. Eyes glowing, she reached into the back of her jeans pocket and removed a small bottle of reddish liquid. “I almost forgot. Mike got you a present from the store.”

  “Dumb Ass Hot Sauce!” Max said, reading the label. “Cool!”

  “Great,” Lou muttered. He turned to Mike. “You should've gotten him an air freshener instead. Our room reeks of the brown ghost.”

  Rick smirked. “Brown ghost?”

  Lou rolled his eyes. “Don't ask. You're just lucky you don't have to share a room with him.”

 
After lunch, they settled down on the beach for a game of cards.

  “Scat!” Max howled, flipping his cards down on the sand so everyone could see he was telling the truth.

  “You piece of shit,” Mike said in dismay, gathering up the cards. It was his turn to deal. “Are you cheating?”

  “I'm not cheating,” Max said indignantly as he comped down an Oreo. “I'm just good, that's all.”

  Mike shuffled the cards and dealt them quickly. Then he placed the remainder of the deck in the middle of their circle, and flipped over the top card. It was a 10 of Diamonds. He scooped up his own cards and rearranged them from the highest to the lowest, winking at Karen as he did so. “Okay,” he said when he was ready. “Let's play. You go first, Lou.”

  Lou glanced long and hard at his cards, cupping them defensively so no one else could see them. Taking a sip of water, he looked thoughtfully at the 10 of Diamonds, then at his own cards, and then at the 10 of Diamonds again.

  “Sometime today would be nice,” Max groaned. He lit a cigarette and started humming the Final Jeopardy theme. He was tapping his bare foot anxiously, unaware that he was signaling the others that he had a good hand.

  Lou discarded a 7 of Diamonds and picked up the 10, trying to maintain a solemn poker face. “Can you pass the Wheat Thins?”

  Max grabbed the box and tossed it across the playing circle, his foot still tapping away.

  Way off in the distance a car passed over the bridge, moving toward the next town, Potter's Bluff. Sunlight gleamed from its windows and chrome, and the sound of its engine droned throughout the valley.