by David Lubar
She shrugged. I fled. Something about her made my stomach feel like I’d swallowed razor blades dipped in acid.
I caught up with Greg in the hall and told him what she’d said. “Crazy, huh?” I asked.
“Maybe. But have you gotten any better advice?”
“Nope.”
“Then wait. See what pops out.”
“No way.”
I wasn’t going to wait. I had to get out of there. But I needed to make sure I didn’t get caught. My chance came sooner than I’d expected. Saturday, late in the afternoon, Dad’s wife went into labor. She was three weeks early. It was my perfect opportunity to split. They probably wouldn’t even notice I was gone until tomorrow. The moment they left for the hospital, I crammed clothes into a duffel bag and headed for Sawtooth Ridge. Lots of trains went through there. I could hop one for New York or Chicago. I just needed to know which way to go.
I pulled out my cell phone and called Greg. “I need a huge favor. Go to the hospital—okay? Wait at the place where they put the new babies. You know where I mean?”
“Yeah. I know. Are you really doing this?”
“I am. So help me out, okay?”
“All right. I’ll call when I have news.”
I hung up and went over to the tracks. The ridge was on a steep grade, so the trains slowed down a lot as they came through. I’d read books where people hopped trains. It didn’t sound hard, as long as you were careful. I wasn’t worried about getting hurt. Sheila said I’d go to New York or Chicago, so obviously I was going to survive the trip.
It was getting dark. There were no lights anywhere near the ridge. I didn’t like the idea of hopping a train when I couldn’t see what was going on. I called Greg again, but there was no answer. I figured I couldn’t count on him.
“Forget the stupid prediction,” I said. I decided I’d take the next train that came along.
About ten minutes later, an eastbound train came crawling up the ridge. “New York,” I said. That would be fine. I waited until the engine and the first couple of cars passed, then started jogging along. I had to be careful—the tracks were close together.
I saw a boxcar with a sliding door. I grabbed the handle and pulled myself toward it.
As I was dangling from the outside of the boxcar, my phone rang. It was stupid to try to answer it, but habits are hard to break. When phones ring, we grab them. I fumbled with one hand, got my phone out of my pocket, and flipped it open.
“Twins,” Greg said.
“What?”
“A boy and a girl.”
The words entered my brain and sat there like a foreign phrase. They didn’t seem to tell me what I needed to know. Before I could say anything to Greg, the train rocked as it entered a sharp curve at the bottom of the ridge. The phone slipped from my fingers. I leaned over to try to catch it, and lost my balance. As I started to fall, I panicked and hooked an arm through the boxcar door handle. My duffel bag, which I’d looped over my neck, swung out from my other shoulder.
The phone clattered to the ground. I didn’t care. Something else had my attention. Ahead, far too close, I saw a westbound train headed right for me. I tried to swing the duffel bag out of the way, but I couldn’t get any leverage.
As the other train reached me, I heard Sheila’s words.
“New York if she has a boy. Chicago if she has a girl.”
She’d had both. I felt a jolting pain when the duffel bag got snagged by the passing train. I tried to yank my arm free, but it was wedged in the door handle.
Sheila was right. I was going to New York and Chicago. As pain beyond anything I’d ever known ripped through my body, I remembered her first words.
“You’re going to split.”
Right.
Apparent Motives
I slunk into first period, my head down and my shoulders drooping as if someone had severed the muscles across my upper back. All the way to my desk, I felt the eyes checking me out. The air rippled with whispers. I sighed and sat, wondering who would be the first to intrude.
“Hey, what’s up?” Dylan Kean asked, leaning over from his seat on my left.
“Nothing.” I rested my chin on my hands and waited for the class to start. I tried not to sigh too often during the rest of the period.
After class, Dylan dogged me on the way out to the hall. “Come on, Stan. You look awful. Share the pain. What’s up?”
I turned to face him. “Can you keep this to yourself?” Dylan wasn’t known for his discretion. But I didn’t have any close friends in school, and I needed to tell someone. It might as well be him.
He nodded. “You bet.”
“My dad’s splitting,” I said.
“No kidding?” Dylan’s eyebrows rose and a brief half smile danced across his lips. I watched as he pulled his face into a mask of sympathy and concern. “That’s awful.”
“Yeah. It’s weird, too. He’s trying to hide everything, but I found all this stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s quitting his job. My PC was down, so I was using his to write a paper. You know how the file menu lists the last couple of documents that were opened?”
Dylan nodded again. “Sure.”
“There it was—a resignation letter. He didn’t even plan to give them two weeks’ notice.” I shook my head. “That job was his life. Now he’s walking away from it.”
“Hey, that doesn’t mean anything,” Dylan said. “My dad changed jobs last year. I could name a bunch of kids in our class whose folks changed jobs.” He started to mention some examples, but I cut him off.
“Did any of them buy a rail pass?” I asked. “I found the receipt in his desk drawer—he can ride the train anywhere he wants for sixty days.”
“People take vacations,” Dylan said.
“Do they bookmark websites about quick divorces or download stuff about abandonment laws? That’s probably the reason he didn’t split months ago—I just turned eighteen last week. If he’d left when I was a minor, the cops could go after him for support payments.” I listed the rest of the evidence: a newspaper article on the best places to live in Mexico, another article about Canada, ads for apartments in several cities, tons of other stuff. The conclusion was undeniable. “I mean, that must be why he’s going by train. The cars are in both their names, and he doesn’t want to take any chances.”
“That sucks,” Dylan said. “Does your mom know?”
“I doubt it. I’m not sure what would be worse—if she found out now, or if she found out after he disappeared. What do you think?”
The late bell rang before Dylan could give me his opinion. “Hey, thanks for listening,” I said. “I’m kind of glad I told someone.” I hurried down the hall to my next class, struggling to keep the sad expression on my face. It was tough. I really wanted to smile. But that would screw up everything.
Damn, this was working out perfectly. By the end of the day, it was obvious Dylan had broadcast the news to every ear he could borrow. Glances, whispers, and small acts of kindness were scattered across my path. A girl who’d never looked at me before gave me a sad smile in the hallway after third period. My chemistry teacher cut me some slack when I botched an experiment. Two people offered me a space at their table during lunch. The school knew.
Excellent. My bad fortune would spread like a virus, carried home by all those Dylan had infected. Once enough people accept a rumor, it becomes a truth. I’d give the process another day, just to make sure the story permeated far and deep enough to become real. The word was out—my dad was leaving my mom.
I watched him at dinner that evening, right after he got home from that job he pretended to love. He grunted when she put his food in front of him, then started eating without waiting for her to sit.
He took a bite of the string beans, then glared at her. “These aren’t cooked enough.”
She reached for his plate. “I’m sorry.”
“Leave it!” He grabbed a knife and sawed at his steak. �
�Why the hell did you buy this? It’s tough. Don’t you even know how to pick a decent cut of meat?”
“I can make something else.”
“Just shut up and let me eat,” he said. “Whatever else you make won’t be any better.”
I clenched my teeth and kept silent. I knew that if I went to her defense, he’d only make her suffer more later. I’d learned that the hard way. At least he pretty much ignored me, except when we were in public and he was playing the role of Super Dad. I’d happily trade places with her if I could, taking whatever he lashed out with if it meant she’d be spared. But I guess my heart wasn’t the one he needed to crush.
By the end of the meal, he’d found a dozen more faults. Little things. Small digs. But unending. The death of a thousand cuts. He disapproved of everything she did. Her friends. Her interests. Her enjoyment of life. I kept waiting for her to decide she’d suffered enough. I’d waited eighteen years, hoping she’d find the courage to leave the bastard. But nothing pushed her over the edge. She took it all.
She’d never leave him. I’d asked. I’d suggested and I’d begged. But she’d been raised to believe that marriage was for life. We argued so fiercely at times that I wanted to grab her and shake her. “Things aren’t so bad,” she’d say, her voice betraying the truth that things were awful. “I took a vow. Till death do us part.”
He’d never leave her, either. Their relationship was too convenient. She cooked and cleaned and absorbed his abuse with just the right amount of suffering to feed his sick needs. For every ounce of crap he swallowed at work, he came home and dumped a bucketful on her.
The worst part was how he hid that face from the world. Outside the house, he was Mr. Cheerful. The perfect family man. Hard worker. Friend to all. Great guy. Everyone’s pal. First to buy a round of drinks, and last to leave a party. A real charmer.
Since neither of them would end the marriage, it was up to me to get rid of him. Then Mom could finally have the life she deserved. But I knew that if he just disappeared, the police would search until they found an answer. There was no way I could defeat forensic science. I wasn’t arrogant enough to think I was smarter than the lab guys. So I decided to circumvent the problem. The hunt for fibers and DNA wouldn’t even begin. He’d vanish—but not without a trace. When the police uncovered a trail leading elsewhere, they’d nod knowingly and write it off as another man in search of a better deal. Sorry, ma’am, there’s not much we can do. He could be anywhere. Might even have left the country. You could file a missing person report, but to be honest, it’s probably not going to do much good.
He’d be gone, and we’d be fine. Mom had a degree in accounting. She wanted to work, but Dad refused to let her get a job. We’d be okay for the short term, too. Dad may have been a bastard, stuck in a job he hated, but he was a hell of a breadwinner. He never let Mom forget that he earned every penny that came into the house. Tomorrow night, he’d get something else he’d been earning for a long time. He was restoring an old Camaro in the garage. That was his hobby. It kept him out of the house, but not so far away that he couldn’t shout for Mom if he wanted something. Long ago, I’d thought about kicking out the jack when he was underneath the car. But that was no good. The jack wasn’t the kind that slipped easily. The base was large and solid. It would be too suspicious an accident.
But the garage itself was perfect for my plan. There was a tarp on the floor. I’d already selected the hammer. I’d wipe it clean just in case and leave it in the tarp when I wrapped him up. I knew where to take the body. Miller Road ran right along the south side of the landfill. Parts of the old fence had fallen down. If I put him in the right spot, he’d be bulldozed under a ton of garbage by the end of the day. He’d never be found. Of course, no one would bother looking. What would be the point? He’d obviously run off. Even the most inept detective would uncover some of the clues I’d planted. As for Dad—he wouldn’t notice anything. He rarely used his computer, even before he got wrapped up with that car. It reminded him too much of work. There was no reason for him to look at the bottom of the stack of papers in his lower left desk drawer or in a shoe box in the back of the closet. No reason for him to find anything.
Last month, when the plan had first flared through my mind, I wasn’t sure I could actually kill him. But each evening, my resolve strengthened as I watched him beat Mom down with words. Every angry jab he spoke was a nail in his own coffin. Not that there would ever be a coffin.
School was challenging the next day. I was eager to finish the plan I’d set in motion. But I also had to maintain the mood of despair. It helped to think about Mom’s old photo album. She’d been a different person before they were married. Happy. Fun loving. She’d gone water-skiing and rock climbing. She’d sung in a chorus in high school and spent one summer bicycling through Italy. She’d even seemed happy in the early photos of them together. But each turn of the page revealed less joy. The photos grew more posed and rigid. Her smile and the glow in her eyes gave way to the grim face of a prisoner serving a life sentence.
“You doing okay?” Dylan asked when I took my seat.
“Surviving,” I said. I could tell he was hoping for another gem to share with the world. But he’d already served his purpose.
The girl who’d smiled at me yesterday talked to me today. She even put her hand on my shoulder for a brief moment. There were definitely benefits to being the victim of a heartless parent.
That evening, after dinner, I followed Mom into the kitchen. “You all right?” I asked.
She glanced at me, her real despair far deeper than the mask I’d worn at school. “I’m fine.” It was barely a whisper.
Maybe he’d finally pushed her too far. He’d been nastier than ever at dinner, and she’d been even quieter, almost as if she’d made a decision. Though that was probably just wishful thinking on my part. If she left him, I’d be spared from having to commit murder. But I didn’t want that reprieve. Now that I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t bear the thought of him living. I waited for her to say something more, but she just shuddered and started scraping the plates. My plan wouldn’t be altered.
I took a long walk. My nerves were on edge, but only because I was finally close to my goal. It would be over soon. He’d be gone. Mom would be free. She’d be happy for the first time in ages. We’d be happy. When I’d waited long enough so I was sure he’d be in the garage, I headed back home.
I got to the house about the same time as the police.
Mom stopped me out front, at the bottom of the porch steps. “There’s been an accident.” Her face seemed deathly pale, even in the reflected wash of the amber and red emergency lights.
“What happened?”
“Your father was working on that car. The jack slipped.…”
I felt the universe take a sharp twist, throwing everything out of sequence. “Is he all right?”
She opened her mouth to speak, then squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in my chest.
I stayed by the porch, comforting her, letting the sense of relief sink in. It was over. And I hadn’t had to kill him. I’d been spared, after all. Not that I couldn’t have done it. I was willing to do it for her. But it was so much better this way.
“Ma’am,” a polite voice said.
I glanced toward the door. A policeman was standing on the porch, studying Mom.
“Yes?” she asked, moving to join him.
“Just a couple of questions.” He held up a receipt for the rail pass. “Did you know about this?” I could see other papers in his hand. Pieces of the trail I’d created.
“No,” Mom said. She froze halfway up the steps. “I’ve never seen it before. What is it?”
Oh, God. I could hear it in her voice. Mom was a terrible liar.
The policeman could hear it, too, I guess. “I think you might want to contact a lawyer,” he said.
As the policeman went back inside, I walked toward Mom. She scurried away and thrust a hand out, as if to hold me off. As if to
protect me from herself.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said.
She shook her head. “I did everything wrong.”
The truth caught in my throat. It wouldn’t set her free. It would just add to her misery.
One policeman stood by the sidewalk, watching us. All the other cops had gone inside. To look for more evidence, I guess. They’d find it. I’d made sure of that. There was a ton. Enough for anyone to discover, I realized. Even someone who hadn’t been looking.
Feelings
“Doesn’t it feel like it’s sucking you right in?” Don had to shout over the rumble of the westbound trucks that shot past us at speeds well above the limit.
“Yeah!” I shouted back. Even twenty feet away, the wind and force of those big semis were something to feel. I’d forgotten how powerful they were. I hadn’t taken the shortcut to the mall in ages. It was mostly used by kids who weren’t old enough to drive. Ever since Don had started dating Jennie, we really hadn’t done much of anything together. Maybe I was trying to recapture some of the old times by going this way instead of taking the car.
“Gets the blood pumping,” Don said. He stopped walking and turned toward the chain-link fence that ran along the top of the ridge.
I had no idea what he meant. Trucks and noise didn’t do anything for my blood. But I stopped, too. Another truck shot past, blowing my hair, catching at my shirt. Between the trucks, packs of cars and vans weaved across six lanes of black asphalt—three lanes eastbound, three westbound, with a low divider in the middle.
“Hard to believe all those people have somewhere they need to go,” I said. It wasn’t rush hour yet, but that didn’t matter on this stretch. The road was always busy.
“There’s a pattern,” Don said. He stepped closer to the fence. “See it?”
I watched the traffic for a minute. “Nope. I just see a lot of people going east, and a lot of others going west. What kind of pattern?”
Don didn’t answer.
Instead, he climbed the fence and hopped down on the other side.