Marvelous

by Travis Thrasher

  Cut up with the remains of her body found along river. Remains. They said “remains.”

  Nothing about this interests me. For a moment I think of my father with the gun in his lap. It’s an awful thought.

  I think there’s a serial killer around here, Devon texts.

  I think it’s time to move, I text back. And I’m not joking, either. I want to get out of this house and this place. And I want to take Marvel with me.

  I see Mom later in the day. So far I haven’t spoken that much to Alex and Carter about the accident and about Dad. I don’t talk with them about much anyway, so I sure don’t want to talk to them about that. It turns out Mom has just been with him.

  “He’s going to be staying away from the house for a while and getting some help.”

  I’m not sure I understand what she means. “Some help? For what?”

  “For his drinking.”

  I’d like to ask if he’s also getting help for his anger and abuse issues. And maybe also for being a total psycho. But I don’t say anything.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks me.

  “Okay. Did you hear they found someone else in the river?”

  Mom shakes her head and tightens her lips. “Anyone you know?”

  “No. Some girl from St. Charles.”

  She lets out a long sigh. “You have to make sure you always—always—stay around with your friends. And you watch out for your brothers, Brandon. You hear me?”

  Chances are a lot better I won’t be hurt now that Dad’s gone.

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean it, Brandon. Pay a little more attention to them than you usually do.”

  “Okay.”

  “This is an evil world we live in,” Mom tells me.

  Yeah.

  She doesn’t need to say it out loud for me to know this.

  It’s late at night, and Frankie, Devon, Barton, and I are all in my basement. The television is low and we’re talking about death. All of us seem bummed and a bit freaked out, even the usually full-of-nonsense Barton. I think with the accident last night and the news about the girl today, we all just want to talk out feelings we’re not even sure we have.

  “What’s up with the river?” Barton asks. “He’s probably going to be known as the Fox River Killer or something like that.”

  “I already saw that in the news,” Frankie says.

  “There are news trucks everywhere,” Devon says. “Everybody loves a good story.”

  “I kinda want school to start now,” Barton says. “I’m tired of all this boogeyman-in-the-night stuff.”

  “What if the killer is someone we know?” Devon asks.

  I instantly think of my father. I know I have to stop doing this. But how can I not?

  “That’s a nice thought,” Frankie says, tossing a pillow toward Devon.

  “I’m telling you. They normally look like ordinary people.”

  “They normally look like people like you,” Barton jokes.

  “You feel okay?” Frankie asks me.

  “Yeah. Just tired.”

  “We can leave,” he says.

  “I’m not going home after all this freaky talk,” Barton says.

  “Any of you can spend the night,” I tell them.

  “I can’t wait to be interviewed again by some detective about someone I don’t even know,” Devon says.

  “You never did go see a cop about anything, did you?”

  He shakes his head. Barton doesn’t catch the comment, but Frankie does and asks about it.

  Devon says in a very matter-of-fact way, “I’ve just noticed some strange things happening around our little town.”

  “The body was found in St. Charles,” Barton says. “And just so you know, the river flows toward us.”

  “Thanks. Didn’t realize that, Sherlock.”

  “I hated those movies.”

  “There are books those were based on,” Devon says. “Oh, wait, you don’t read.”

  “Not unless it has pictures in it.”

  I think of the comic book Seth gave me and wonder again what’s going to happen with him once school starts. I began the summer not wondering about anything. I was content to just go to work and earn some money and make it through, and then it seemed like everything just changed.

  “I think there’s been enough drama for twenty-four hours,” Devon says. “Don’t you think?”

  He’s looking at me. I just nod and don’t say anything.

  I get this feeling that this is only the beginning of something really awful. Maybe that’s Marvel getting inside of my head, but I can feel it. Well, I can feel the meds I’m taking and they’re making me a bit loopy, but I swear I can feel something. Something heavy and weird and not so good.

  I hope whatever I feel is dealt with as quickly as possible. I hope it doesn’t linger, because this isn’t a good feeling. It feels suffocating.

  Scary thing is that it also feels like it’s just starting.

  There’s no way I could have said no to mowing the Duncans’ grass when Harry asked. Artie surely was the one who used to do it, and now a variety of people are helping out. Harry asks me if I can mow it on a weekly basis. I say of course.

  I don’t knock on the door and don’t see anybody around the house. It looks like a normal house just like ours and so many others. But everything about this feels different.

  Their son died.

  I notice the sidewalk in front of their house. The small walkway leading up to their front door. I bet a lot of people have been through that door this summer. But now it looks almost abandoned.

  I know there’s got to be a lot of pain inside those doors. Just like the doors to our house.

  Just like the doors to a lot of houses.

  I’m trying to finish fast when I notice a figure at the window. It’s Mrs. Duncan. She’s looking out at me, so I wave, but she doesn’t wave back. I can see her face clearly. She looks lost and teary.

  I don’t look that way again for a few moments, feeling awkward and unsure what to do. When I finally look at the window again, it’s empty.

  All I want to do is finish the job and leave. I have no kind of hope to offer here. No way to help them out in the least. I’m still struggling to make sense of everything myself. I haven’t even started to.

  I’ve just finished mowing the Duncans’ lawn when I see Marvel rushing across the grass toward me. It’s been a few days since I saw her (barely) in the hospital. She looks upset. I’m about to say something when she plows into me like the car that hit us the other night. I almost fall over, but she helps me stay balanced. She wraps her arms around me in the way I’ve hoped she would all summer long.

  “Are you kidding me, Brandon Jeffrey?”

  “What? What’d I do? What’s wrong?”

  I see a car parked on the street. It must be her aunt.

  “Nothing is wrong. Everything is right. You are insane, you know that?”

  Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks like the perfect sort of girl you’d meet on the perfect sort of a summer afternoon. She beams like the sun above us.

  “You’ve been working for free all summer? Are you kidding?”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “Brandon, that’s crazy. Especially since you have a car to pay off.”

  “Harry told you.”

  “Yes, Harry told me.”

  “How?” I ask. “Or why?”

  “He felt awful for what happened and told me that if I don’t realize the kind of guy you are, I’m crazy.”

  “He said that?”

  “Yeah.”

  I laugh. “He could’ve just paid me.”

  “He plans to. Brandon, what were you thinking?”

  “Well, I was hoping—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking, really. I just enjoyed being with you. Plus, Harry doesn’t pay that much anyway.”

  She looks at the car and back at me. “My aunt is waiting for me. I had to track you down here.”

 
; “How’d you do that?”

  “I went by your house. Met—who is your younger brother? Blond and really cute?”

  “That’d be Carter. Just don’t tell him that. He already has a big head for a twelve-year-old.”

  “Brandon, why would you do something like that for me?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just—it felt like the right thing to do. Even after you said you couldn’t and you shouldn’t and blah blah blah.”

  She smiles. “Blah blah blah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I sorta am crazy about this blah blah blah.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I say.

  I can tell she’s nervous about keeping her aunt waiting.

  “Listen, Brandon. It’s time, okay. It’s just—it’s time, but I can’t now.”

  “You want to elope to Vegas?”

  She laughs. “No. But I have some things to tell you.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No. I want to—I need to tell you the truth. Everything.”

  “Is it going to hurt?”

  She wipes more tears away. The sunny, good kind of tears, the sort I kinda like to see.

  “Yeah,” she says. “It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt to tell you, but you’ll understand why. Finally. You will think I’m crazy, but that’s okay because you’re sorta crazy too.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So—just—I’ll text you later. Maybe we can—I don’t know. Later today. Or tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  Those almond-shaped eyes give me a hopeful, happy, knowing look. There’s so much behind it.

  “Brandon, I just . . .”

  “Blah blah blah,” I finish. “Your aunt is waiting. Call me later. When I’m not so sweaty and smelly.”

  “Okay.”

  The girl with the yellow shirt and those bright brown eyes is my summer girl. She tells me good-bye and takes off.

  I don’t wonder about what she’s going to tell me. Whatever it is, I’ll listen and try to understand. What I wonder is how I’ll move into fall with the summer girl. How school and the changing season will change things with us. For better or for worse.

  Marvel looks back at me before she goes.

  I have to believe it’ll be for the better. I choose to believe it’s for the better.

  With school coming up and my schedule about to get really busy, I decide to tell Harry I can’t work at the record store anymore. Not that I’ve really been working here the last couple of months. And not that I’ve really gotten paid, either. It’s time, as much as I love being here.

  But when I come in I see only Phil, sitting on his stool behind the counter like he always does, listening to Led Zeppelin.

  “School starting soon?” he asks me in his slow, cool vibe.

  “Yeah.”

  “Staying out of trouble this summer?”

  “Yeah,” I say.

  He looks at me and one eye squints. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “It’s been a weird summer.”

  “Yeah.” The music keeps cranking on the six speakers that surround us. “Hear about the girl they just found in the river?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s weird, huh?”

  He’s got a thick beard and sometimes I think it actually muffles his voice.

  “You still hanging around with Marvel?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Good choice. She’s a keeper if you ask me. I’d stay with her.”

  Just then, Harry rushes out of the back room and sees me. It’s kinda funny, the way he’s always rushing and running around, yet this place stays dead half the time.

  “Brandon,” he shouts. “You working today?”

  “No, I just came to talk to you about that.”

  “Cool.”

  Robert Plant is wailing as if he’s in pain. I’ve gotten used to it, but sometimes it still sounds kinda crazy.

  “Marvel’s not here, you know,” Harry says.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to talk about my schedule with school coming up.”

  Harry holds up a hand as if to stop me from saying more. “Listen, just—hold on a minute, okay? I got something to show you.”

  This is already hard enough, telling him I won’t be working this fall. Not that he really needs me, but I think Harry likes having me around. He takes me out the side door. There’s a red SUV parked in the spot Harry usually takes.

  “So, I’ve been thinking long and hard about this. Feeling bad about the whole Marvel thing this summer.”

  “I know you told her,” I say.

  “I had to. She needed to know.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Harry stands next to the car, a Honda Pilot. “Okay, so here’s the thing. You still need a vehicle, right? And I want to pay you for your work this summer, even though it’s been a bad summer.”

  “It’s fine, Harry.”

  “Could you see yourself driving this sucker?”

  I look at the SUV. “What? That?”

  He smiles and nods. “Yep.”

  “You’re gonna give it to me?”

  “No. But. What if you gave me a hundred bucks for it?”

  I laugh. “What? Does it not have an engine or something?”

  “No. I got it for a steal. Long story involving my cousin and helping him out. It’s almost ten years old and has 150,000 miles on it. But—it’s a good vehicle. Has a third row for all your friends.”

  “For a hundred bucks?”

  Harry nods.

  “Why?”

  “Consider it payment for working here. And for bringing Marvel here. Or I guess I should say for hiring her. She’s pretty remarkable.”

  “Yeah.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I obviously can’t quit now, now that he’s basically giving me this Honda.

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  “Listen, Brandon.” He glances around, then looks back at me. “I’ve got three boys. They’re young, but I only hope and pray they turn out to be like you. You’ve got a head on your shoulders. And I know—there’s been a lot of stuff going on this summer. When I heard about the accident I just, I got afraid. Afraid something might’ve happened to you and wondering if I could’ve done more.”

  I nod and look away because I know the direction he’s heading.

  “And, hey, listen. It’s not my business, but then again, it’s totally my business. The stuff going on around here is crazy and I just—I want to look out for you. This—I was able to help my cousin out and I’m also able to help you and your family out. I’m assuming you’re down a car for a while, right?”

  “Yeah. Dad’s car got pretty trashed.”

  Just like Dad.

  “This is our family helping out. No big deal. No strings attached and no weird feelings accompanying it. Okay?”

  Yeah, no way I’m quitting today.

  “Thanks.”

  “Give me a few days to get the title, and I’ll sign it over to you when you pay me. And maybe—who knows? Maybe you can take Marvel out in it next weekend.”

  I laugh. Harry the matchmaker.

  “Man, that’s really cool,” I tell him.

  “That’s me,” Harry says. “Really cool. Next time you see Sarah, you remind her, okay?”

  “Promise.”

  So it looks like I’ve got a car for my senior year. And it’s a step up from the Nissan Barton is still paying me for.

  Hopefully this car won’t end up crashed. But considering my life, the odds don’t look so great.

  It’s been raining all day Thursday. I’ve spoken with Marvel on and off, and I can tell she’s been waiting on seeing me. It’s about eight o’clock when I get a text from her.

  Can you come to the store? she asks.

  When?

  Now?

  I’m just watching television with my brothers. Yes.

  I don’t have the Honda Pilot from Harry yet, so I’m forced to ride my bike. But I don’t care. She wants to see
me and is ready to talk, so fine. I’ve been ready for the last two months.

  When I arrive at Fascination Street Records, I’m soaked. Marvel has the door open and is waiting for me with a towel.

  “Where’d you find that?” I ask her.

  “In the back.”

  I glance around the store as I’m drying off and brushing back my hair.

  “You alone?”

  “Harry had to go home. I figured—with the rain and being by myself—it’d be a good time to talk.”

  She’s right. Nobody’s going to come in. Not while it’s coming down like this.

  She looks anxious. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “No,” she says quickly. “But that’s okay. I just need to get this off my chest and I’ll be better. Well, maybe or maybe not.”

  “Let’s get away from the front, okay? In case someone does come.”

  We move toward the back of the record store where we sell T-shirts and there are a couple of comfortable chairs.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, sitting down across from her. “I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

  “I’ve never told anybody the story. Not all of it. I’ve told people I blacked out when my family got killed. But I didn’t. I know everything that happened, Brandon. Everything.”

  She’s shaking. I reach over to touch her, but she jerks away. Then she shakes her head.

  “No, just—just let me tell you. Let me tell you before I don’t tell you because I don’t want to and I might not.”

  “Okay.”

  The rain keeps coming down outside, as if it’s brought reinforcements and wants to drown out Marvel’s voice. For a second the power flickers off, then comes back on. I see the shadowy outline of her face, those eyes glassy but determined.

  “I heard my father downstairs when he came in. My mom screamed, and I heard the sound of him hitting her. But this time something was different. I heard some kind of commotion—it was my mother fighting back. She had pulled a knife on him and stabbed him in the arm. That was when he went crazy.”

  I think I’m shaking now, listening. A part of me doesn’t want to hear this story, not the full story. A part of me hovers over myself as if I’m watching the two of us talking.

  Just pretend like you’re listening but don’t fully listen because you don’t want to hear what she has to say don’t do it Brandon don’t.