Sticks and Stones

by Angèle Gougeon

  She watched the green town sign fade away and fell asleep somewhere outside the limits, radio crooning Willy Nelson and Johnny Cash and disappearing inside her ears. She was tired but slept poorly, bundled between the boys and resting on Jack’s shoulder. They pulled into a rough-looking motel at quarter to eight, letters and lights missing from the sign. She felt pretty horrible and the boys stayed in the truck with her until Lem got a room, and then waited again until an old, creaky cot was brought in.

  The room smelled of mildew and old cigarettes and the overhead lamp was weak, barely lighting the walls and carpets and blankets. The entire room was dark, dusky shadows and deep colors that turned gray and brown and black.

  The bathroom was bright, though. Too bright. And the mirror was too clean. Sandra could see all the invisible scars underneath her skin – bruises under her eyes and along her wrists and on her back and her stomach and her hips where he’d held her down. Sandra climbed into the shower, scrubbing hard until she was bleeding again. “Doesn’t matter,” she told herself. Everything would be better now. A sob caught behind her teeth, strong and burning.

  She cleaned the blood before she left the bathroom, used the antiseptics and bandages from the kit the boys had brought in.

  Then she crawled into the cot and shook for a long time before falling asleep, where she lived the nightmare all over again.

  ~

  They found a house in a sleepy little town named Rustic. It had a population of one thousand, a single-screen movie theater, two small schools, and a four-bedroom house waiting just for them. It was brown and bigger than it looked from the outside.

  They slept in the hotel just north of town for one night before gaining ownership. Lem had them enrolled in the local school, paperwork all done up right, and they had what furnishings they’d brought unloaded and found enough second-hand furniture to all have beds and a kitchen table and chairs.

  Sandra remembered the quiet arrival of the Sloans a year and a half earlier, their father’s strong-bear attitude and his two wolf-cub boys, powerful and bright and feeling like the sun.

  This time she was with them, standing shoulder to shoulder, but it didn’t feel the same.

  She kept hearing screams, kept feeling hands and cold-cement grit under her legs. She kept opening her eyes to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She didn’t think she could bear waking up to those basement walls.

  She preferred to have her lights off now. There were no shadows. He wouldn’t walk out from behind corners, or down stairs, come to touch her again, cut and push in and—

  Stop.

  Sandra rolled out of bed and was down the hall past the living room and filling up a glass in the kitchen before she even breathed. She didn’t turn the lights on, didn’t want any of the boys knowing she wasn’t okay. Even if she wasn’t. She stood in the dark, thinking that this was a new start.

  She just didn’t know if she liked the new her.

  Sandra ran her hands down her face and wished she knew how to put herself back together again.

  When she went to bed, everything turned red inside her dreams. Then she woke, and everything still kept turning red.

  ~

  School was different.

  No one knew her here.

  Jack and Daniel were used to being the new kids – they’d moved around so much that it was old hat for them. But they liked people a whole lot less than her, which was saying a lot. Here, she didn’t have the stigma of being an oddity, a freak, Strange Sandra. She was a little quiet and withdrawn but the kids thought she’d lost her dad. They thought he’d been an old family friend of the Sloans. They thought they’d taken her in. The kids didn’t know that sometimes she saw their lives when they touched her, and that she sometimes dreamed of death and blood and car crashes.

  She was just Sandra Casey, no longer Sandra Daron, and she slowly learned not to listen for another name, not to worry so much when she zoned out in class, trailed off in the middle of a conversation, or flinched when someone touched her. The classes were small and the kids strangely understood. There were only thirty-three grade-niners in the entire school.

  Lem’s rusting black truck remained a familiar sight at the end of the day, though the plates were changed and it was slowly being fixed up at Lem’s new job. He’d found work at the smallest garage Sandra had ever seen. It was run by a man named Max Taylor, who had long, gray hair and a handlebar mustache. He seemed alright and always let Lem off early to get to the school. The girls in Sandra’s class giggled over Jack and Danny every afternoon, sometimes the mornings, too. Rather than be annoyed, Sandra felt special that she was the only one Jack and Danny would smile for.

  The boys in her class were just as nice, but Tommy Madison was the nicest of all. He had a head full of brown bed-head hair and weird eyes. He’d been born with one brown one and one blue. Heterochromia iridum, he told her. She thought it was pretty neat, except he kept trying to carry her books and get her to talk and even asked her out to the movies one afternoon. Sandra had shaken her head, but smiled shyly, the thought of being alone with anyone other than the boys making her sweat.

  Tommy’s smile didn’t droop for long. He was stubborn. Persistent, Lem would’ve said. The next day he was offering to hold her backpack all over again. Lem and the boys were sometimes late after school, the high school two whole blocks away, and Tommy waited with her, putting her at ease despite her sweating palms and churning stomach.

  Tommy wasn’t very big and Sandra was sure she could kick him hard enough to get away if he tried something.

  They were sitting on the weather-worn bench by the road and the sidewalk when Lem’s truck pulled up. Tommy gave a sigh of disappointment when she stood, gazing forlornly after her in a way that made her feel bad even as she walked away, trying not to make a face at his second hurried, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

  “Who the fuck was that?” Jack asked when she crawled inside, pressed tight to the truck door and pretty much half on his lap as the engine rumbled and they pulled from the curb. They were all too big to fit inside now.

  “Language,” Lem warned and Jack threw him a look, a little attitude and disbelief all rolled into one. Lem threw him a look right back, and even though it didn’t work as well these days, Jack sat a little taller and had the grace to look at least a bit apologetic.

  “He’s just a boy from class,” Sandra said, figuring it was best to interrupt before Jack said something that would get them all into trouble. Lem never had this problem with Danny. Jack had an itch beneath his skin that it seemed none of them could quench or figure out.

  “Huh,” Jack tried to scratch his nose and nearly bumped her in the head, eyes narrowed down and over at her. “And does this kid have a name?” Sandra rolled her eyes, but Danny and Lem seemed just as interested, so she just sighed, put-out, and answered.

  “Tommy Madison.”

  Jack grumbled something.

  “Leave him alone. He’s nice.”

  “I bet, with those moon eyes he was making at you.”

  Danny’s quiet chuckle broke in. “You sound jealous.”

  Jack’s eyes went wide. He seemed to realize any further argument was going to make that look true so he snapped his mouth shut with a glare and a poke that made Danny elbow his dad. Sandra was just glad Lem that was in the truck with them – the last place she wanted to be was on the fringes of a fistfight.

  “I’m not jealous,” he whispered to her as they were getting out of the truck. Lem and Daniel had already exited the other side.

  “I know,” she smiled, and pretended her stomach hadn’t just fallen.

  Jack’s answering grin seemed too relieved, and Sandra turned away fast so he didn’t have to watch her face crumple.

  Her dreams haunted her. As Sandra slept, a bridge fell down. A cashier was murdered, gunshot to the chest. A drug runner was stabbed and a fourteen–
year-old girl overdosed. Nikki and Lydia still screamed as Sandra was raped and bled.

  She woke, breathing hard and rising from the bed to pat cool water over her face in the bathroom. Visions kept tumbling around inside her head.

  Richard Matherson was going to have a stroke. Ruth Milton was pregnant and Delaney Emsey was going to get kicked out of her home and sleep two nights in an abandoned hunting shack. She’d get tetanus and never go to the doctor.

  Sandra clenched her eyes, curled her fingers around the worn enamel of the sink’s counter and pushed.

  Everything went quiet.

  She felt exhausted. Something wet slid down her chin. Sandra raised her hands, tasting blood and seeing the smear of red in the bathroom mirror. It got on her fingers. The toilet paper she held to her nose soaked through fast. It took fifteen minutes for the bleeding to stop.

  The visions didn’t come back.

  They were gone.

  Chapter Six

  The soft knock didn’t startle her.

  “Can I talk to you?” Lem said.

  Sandra stared at him, studied him back, because Lem had a habit of demanding and not asking for anything. “Sure.” She sat up on her bed, shoved her book to the side and sat cross-legged, twisting her hands together.

  He hesitated before stepping into the room. He stared around, like she first had when Danny had invited her into his bedroom. She figured Lem didn’t go into girls’ rooms too often. She’d never seen him with a woman. It made her curious about the boys’ mother. Clearing his throat, Lem stopped at the window. He’d seemed a little off ever since he’d called them into the kitchen that first day, explaining how Sandra Daron was now Sandra Casey and just why the school thought he had guardianship over her and they’d all better get their stories straight so that the police didn’t come. Daniel had accepted his soda pop from his father’s hand before stepping close to Jack and Sandra at the table, an invisible line drawn that Lem had clearly registered by the flicker in his gaze. He’d kept shoving his hand into his hair and Sandra couldn’t stop remembering how he’d looked covered in blood.

  Lem went over to her window, tapping a finger at the aged windowsill. The paint was faded, but it didn’t flake. “Does it bother you?” he said. “I never asked what you thought about having to change your name.”

  “My first’s still the same.” Sandra shrugged, tugged her ankles closer and wrapped her fingers around them, squeezing a little hard. Jack and Danny weren’t at home and Sandra wasn’t scared of Lem, but sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe the air when he was in the room. He was so big, and Jack and Danny were so careful with him now, like they didn’t know him at all. Daniel had once said something about how Lem had used his knife once, and then used his hands, and then Sandra hadn’t wanted to hear anything more.

  She was just glad Mr. Murray was gone.

  Slowly, watching Lem, she admitted, “I would’ve preferred Sandra Sloan.”

  Lem turned, surprised, and a bit pleased. He’d gotten her a dresser the other day and he leaned against it. The wood was a pale pine, and she could see the knots through the thin stain. It trembled a bit, rickety but good enough to use. She didn’t have many clothes anyway.

  “Do you think the police will find us?” she asked, testing the waters.

  Lem look startled, then he got this narrow-eyed look on his face, shaking his head hard. “No. They won’t take you away from us.” Sandra blinked, because she hadn’t even thought of that. Sure, she’d lie to the school and the kids and the town, but no one had ever bothered to take her away from her old home. Why would anyone bother now that she was almost happy?

  “I wanted to ask…” he faltered again, words stopping before going, and Sandra frowned at him. He chuckled, ran his fingers through his graying hair and then pushed his hands in front of himself, laced together where he could stare at his scarred knuckles. “You haven’t had many visions lately, have you?”

  He wasn’t looking at her, so she got away with licking her lips, shifting uneasily, lying. “Guess there hasn’t been much to see.”

  “Good.” Lem frowned some more, fingers twisted into stillness. “You can always talk to me. You know that, don’t you?” He looked at her and Sandra nodded. “And if there are any problems, you tell me and I’ll take care of them.”

  He was still staring, almost not blinking, and Sandra had to think for a moment, because his voice was something hard. Something sure. Her entire body felt frozen, even her lungs, and she had to force them to keep drawing in air.

  She didn’t say, You mean like you did with Mr. Murray.

  “Yeah,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie, because she would tell him, except there was nothing to say. She didn’t see. She wouldn’t see, and Lem would never have to get blood on his hands again.

  “Good,” he said again. “That’s good.” Then, he said, “I’m glad the boys have you,” and something swooped in her stomach. Something that could’ve been a vision, if she’d let it. The sensation left her tongue feeling thick, her mouth sweet and throat dry. Scared.

  “They have you,” she said.

  “They won’t always.”

  Lem’s face was serious, like stone, and Sandra got up off the bed and patted Lem on the shoulder, because he was scaring her in a completely new way. “Yes, they will,” she said.

  He grinned, sad and very tired, and pulled her into a hug instead.

  “I still trust you,” she said. Because everyone should be told that once in a while, and because his boys didn’t. He didn’t say thank you. But she hadn’t expected that, either. He didn’t say anything else at all, not for a long time, and Sandra was surprised to learn Lem got words stuck in his throat just like she did.

  “You protect them,” he said before he left, and it was the finality that scared her the most.

  ~

  Three weeks later, she almost kissed Jack.

  He stood over the couch, glaring at her.

  Sandra kept stealing his t-shirts. She couldn’t help it, though. They were big and comfortable. She hadn’t slept well in weeks. She was tired and cold and she would’ve stolen Daniel’s canvas jacket, but he usually wore it and the loss of a jacket was a little bit more noticeable than the loss of a shirt.

  “Would you stop it?” he said. “I’m running out of them.”

  “Do your laundry then,” she said and he huffed, threw himself over the side and made the whole couch squeak and wobble. Her legs got trapped behind him and he complained until she pulled them free, accidentally kicking him in the side. They were both left staring at the wall where the television set should’ve been.

  His eyes kept flickering over her stomach, where her shirt had ridden high. Sandra didn’t notice right away, not until his hands tightened over her ankles. His jaw was tight, forehead creased and throat clicking with a swallow. His grip made her shiver.

  And then she sat up and Jack’s fingers were on her skin, on her stomach and the faint scars hiding there, and she was there, leaning into him. He didn’t move when she leaned in. It took her a moment to curl her fingers around his shirt collar and move her face close.

  Jack pulled away fast.

  He breathed hard. Eyes wide, he swung his feet down, weight on the floor, not touching. “Sandra, I can’t,” he said, voice gravel-rough. He rubbed a hand over the corner of his mouth. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Sorry,” he said again, and then he was gone.

  The front door slammed shut.

  The house was quiet the next few days.

  Lem shot them disquieted, questioning looks and Daniel just stared. Sandra thought he knew. He always seemed to know. Jack wouldn’t look at her and she felt horrible.

  She felt worse that he didn’t feel the same.

  It got better around Christmas. That is, before it got worse. They didn’t get a tree. They didn’t even bother putting up lig
hts. But they had cheap presents and someone had snuck a clip of plastic mistletoe above the kitchen doorway. Lem nearly tore it down when he walked into it that morning and got a pointy plastic leaf in his eye, but then he smiled and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Daniel was closer to Lem than she was, but Sandra didn’t think any of the boys were going to be kissing each other. Daniel only smirked and grabbed her before she could sneak away, pressing a soft peck to her lips before moving into the kitchen and leaving Jack glaring at his back from the hallway.

  Stunned, Sandra was still in the doorway when Jack passed through.

  “Uh uh,” Daniel warned, pointing up when his brother only pushed Sandra to get her moving.

  Jack gave him a horribly mean expression and turned around with a black glare.

  “That’s alright,” Sandra said quickly, moving forward before Daniel could say anything else to ruin the morning. Lem muttered over his first cup of coffee, aware and watching even if he looked like he’d only gotten four hours of sleep.

  Daniel shook his head in disgust, saying, “Missed your chance,” and Jack picked a mug off the counter and threw it at his head.

  Lem put a stop to that fast. He made Daniel take down the mistletoe. And made Jack clean ceramic shards up off the kitchen floor.

  Sandra hid in the living room and waited for her cheeks to stop burning.

  “Didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Daniel said when he entered.

  “You didn’t,” she said, a little too quickly, and he smirked. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just—”

  “Jack’s always been slow.”

  Sandra’s cheeks lit right back up. “He doesn’t like me that way.” She bit her lip to stop her wagging tongue and fiddled with the ties on her pajama bottoms.

  “He’ll notice you,” he assured her quietly. Pieces of the mug dumped into the bin inside the kitchen. The garbage can lid slammed down extra loud.

  “Why would he?” she whispered.

  “Because I have.”

  Her lungs locked up. She looked at him, just to make sure he wasn’t joking. Her smile felt brittle and she didn’t know why. “Thanks.”