by Dori Lavelle
“I’m not fuckin’ Miles. Now get out of my way.” Alvin moved faster up the stairs. Then he stopped, aimed the gun at Owen and Jim.
He fired.
***
My stomach clenched as Jim doubled over. I held my hand to my mouth to suppress the scream rising in my throat.
Owen continued holding on to Jim as a shield. Jim made noises as though he were trying to say something, but the words weren’t clear, as though they were drowning in water… or blood.
As my nightmare story came to a climax, the horrors of that night, the night I’d thought Alvin had died, returned to me with a vengeance. I heard all the sounds again: the impact of the car hitting Alvin, my friends’ crying, the car doors slamming, the rain beating down on the windshield. I heard the sound of my heart crashing and breaking, knowing it would never be repaired.
The next moment was a blur.
Clutching his bleeding stomach, Jim managed to push away from Owen and at the same time, drew Owen’s spare firearm from his waist. I shut my eyes, afraid to watch Owen die. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I saw my life flash before me. It would be all over soon.
No way would I be able to get to the boat. My only hope was Owen, and Jim was about to kill him.
Another shot exploded in the air. My eyes flew open.
Instead of Owen, Jim had shot at Alvin. I couldn’t be sure whether the bullet had hit him, but the shot sent him tumbling back, down the stairs into the depths of the yacht. As Alvin went down, a surge of energy shot through me.
I scrambled to my feet. I went down to Owen and Jim and wrapped my arms around Jim’s shoulders.
There was a lot I’d never be able to forgive myself for. Leaving Jim behind would not be one of my regrets.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The journey to the escape boat was painful and slow, but all three of us made it. Owen started rowing the small boat as soon as we were all on board. I kept glancing back at Alvin’s yacht. What if the bullet had missed him? He could come after us.
I sat at the bottom of the boat holding Jim as he bled. The color drained from his face and he trembled in my arms.
My tears mixed with his blood, but I held on tight to his body. I refused to think of him dying before we got him help. Whatever happened, we would stay by him. Until his last breath if it came to that.
“Hang in there,” Owen said without turning to look at us.
I wiped the sweat off Jim’s brow with the palm of my hand. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be fine.”
He said something to me, but I didn’t hear. I moved my ear closer to his mouth. “Talk to me, Jim, keep talking.”
“It’s too late. Don’t save me. Save yourselves.” The whisper caused his lips to tremble.
“No, it’s not,” I said with force, willing him to keep fighting. “It’s not too late. Please hang in there for a little while longer. Just a little while, you hear?”
He shook his head slowly. His eyelids drifted shut, then fluttered open again, suddenly alert. His eyes searched my face. There was strength in his words when he spoke. ”He knows the island well.” He took a shaky breath. “You need supplies… and… and a head start to survive.” His eyes misted. Was he crying? “My pocket… right side.”
I swallowed the lump inside my throat and reached into his pocket. My fingers closed around a set of keys. I pulled them out and studied them in the palm of my hand, which was covered with Jim’s blood.
“The… supply depot,” he stuttered. His voice had weakened.
“Be strong, Jim. You need to show us where the depot is.” I felt him slipping away, his body growing limp in my arms.
“You’ll find it. I won’t make it.” He gripped my hand. “I’m sorry... I’m sorry I let it go on. I was not man enough.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “Today… I didn’t lock the studio door. I left it open for you.”
“Shhh… Don’t think about that now. It’s okay. You did help in the end.”
“I’m a criminal. He... he helped me escape from prison, threatened to turn me in. If I didn’t do what he wanted.”
His eyelids lowered again. He turned his head away from me. As though in slow motion, he raised one of his hands, barely able to lift it. He straightened out a finger, pointing into the distance. I followed it with my gaze.
My breath froze.
Alvin was rowing another boat toward us.
Jim dropped his hand and it fell with a thud onto the floor of the boat. “Hurry, before you lose your lead.”
Those were the last words Jim Cantor said before his eyes shut forever.
I wept for him the rest of the way to the island.
We made it to the island before Alvin caught up with us. Since he was still quite a distance away, Owen took my arm, trying to hold me upright as we moved forward. I was still sobbing, and glancing back every few seconds at the boat where Jim lay dead, gone because of me.
My guilt shredded me, but I couldn’t let it stop me now. My life hung on the line. Jim had given his life to save me, so I would live.
We found the supply depot easily, and didn’t speak as we grabbed everything we could, stuffing it into a burlap sack we’d found in a corner.
Among the supplies was a pair of men’s pants and a shirt. Not caring that Owen was seeing me naked again, I threw off the bloody robe and changed, tying the belt of the robe tightly around my waist so the pants would stay on. Even though the sandals I found were too big for me, Owen convinced me to wear them. It would be hard to move through the jungle barefoot.
Owen flung the burlap sack over his shoulder and wrapped his other arm around me. “Hold on.”
I nodded and wiped my eyes. Together we ran out of the supply depot and headed for the jungle. As we stumbled through it, my mind raced.
“I’m so sorry, Owen,” I said between rushed breaths. “Sorry you had to get caught up in all this.”
He waved away my words. “Don’t think about that now. Let’s get you back to Boca Raton. Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Thirty
13 years ago
Alvin Jones was five minutes late on purpose. Being the last person to walk through the door meant he’d miss the few minutes before class convened, before the teacher arrived. The time his classmates flung insults at him, to remind him that—with his secondhand clothes and unkempt appearance—he was way out of their league.
On Saturdays, Alvin worked at Barry’s Meat Corner. Each time he entered the walk-in freezer, the chill in the air reminded him of being inside a Misty High classroom. The same kind of cold assailed his skin, and cut through it to freeze his flesh.
Today was no different. The moment he entered Mrs. Carmichael’s geography class, the cold enveloped him, sank into his skin. But this time, the temperature was several degrees lower. He breathed it in, and it instantly solidified inside his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
His hooded gaze swept the room, took in the maps on the walls, the atlas on Mrs. Carmichael’s desk, the bulletin board, the sad plants on the windowsill, and finally the desks occupied by students with curled lips and wrinkled noses. They never hid the fact that his mere presence revolted them.
He was one of the unlucky ones, despised for simply existing.
All eyes were on him, lingering longer on his face than usual.
Something’s up.
Even pregnant Mrs. Carmichael’s gaze shifted from the open attendance book to Alvin.
Their eyes locked, and Alvin watched in amazement as color flooded her normally pale cheeks.
Rob Jennings, the school’s math whiz, whispered something into lanky Jaden Reece’s ear, his eyes never leaving Alvin.
What the hell?
Alvin shoved a hand through his greasy hair, pushed down the anger burning the back of his throat. He made his way through smells of hairspray, lip-gloss, and stale cigarettes.
“No way.” Michael Simpson’s chair scraped the floor as he moved away from Alvin, who shared a desk with him.
> Big deal. Alvin was used to people not wanting to touch him, as though he was some kind of slug.
“Jerk,” Alvin mumbled under his breath.
Ignoring the daggers shot his way, he dropped his backpack on the desk and pushed back his chair, sank into it. His head barely moved as his gaze roamed the room again.
Then he saw it.
The folded school paper traveled like an illegal drug from one hand to the next.
His chest fluttered with curiosity. But since no one would pass it on to him, he’d have to wait to get a copy from the school library.
Mrs. Carmichael rose from her chair, and waddled down the short aisle to Alvin’s desk.
She placed a hand on her round stomach and whispered, “Mr. Daniels asked to see you in his office.”
“Why?”
She cleared her throat. “He wants to discuss what happened.”
“What happened?” Alvin avoided long sentences. He’d long figured out that a few well-chosen words got the message across just fine. Why waste his breath?
Mrs. Carmichael’s throat moved as she swallowed. She had the largest Adam’s apple he’d ever seen on a woman. “Mr. Daniels will tell you everything. Go ahead and take your things with you.”
Alvin knew from experience that when someone is sent to the principal’s office, and told to take their belongings, it often meant they would be sent home for one reason or another.
He could have asked Mrs. Carmichael more questions, but her face had gone pale again. Instead, he picked up his backpack and rose, walked out of the classroom without another word.
He was surprised to find Kelly Pearson sitting on the leather couch outside Mr. Daniels’s office, her forehead resting on her knees, her black hair spilling down her legs.
“Um…Hi,” he said. He didn’t expect to get an answer.
She wasn’t different from the rest. She ignored him just as they did. But that didn’t stop him from liking her, wanting her. He longed to run his fingers through her silky hair, to drown in the blue of her eyes.
Alone in his room he entertained dirty thoughts of her. He’d never been with a girl before, never even kissed one. But inside his dreams, Kelly belonged to him. He tasted her, buried himself deep into her pussy, wishing he could get lost in her.
A couple of weeks ago his dreams almost became reality. She’d asked him out on a date, suggested a movie night at his house. He’d bought his first pack of condoms, dressed up, and cooked her dinner. But the date ended in disaster, when she’d left in the middle of it. No explanation. No goodbye. He never managed to get her alone again. Until today.
“Do you know why we’re here?” he asked, “Are we in some kind of trouble...or something?”
She looked up at him.
His throat ached at the sight of her red eyes, the streaks of mascara on her cheeks.
“Are you okay?”
Her pink lips parted, but before she could speak, the principal’s door swung open. Mr. Daniels and his goatee appeared.
“I’ll see you first, Kelly,” he said.
Kelly dabbed her cheeks with her fingertips, and stood. Before she disappeared through the door, her eyes met Alvin’s. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
The door closed before Alvin could ask what she was sorry for. He figured it had to do with their failed date. After weeks of silence, she’d finally talked to him. He’d have to find a way to get her alone later.
Mr. Daniels’s voice boomed through the wall.
Alvin’s hands curled into fists as he tried to find meaning in the muffled words that came from the other side of the wall. He failed.
Ten minutes later, Kelly walked out of the office, her sad face broken beyond recognition.
She didn’t glance his way as she ran past, long hair trailing behind her like a scarf carried on the wings of the wind.
“You can come in now, Alvin,” Mr. Daniels called out.
Alvin glanced at the glass door separating the principal’s office from the rest of the school. Kelly was gone, leaving behind traces of her jasmine perfume.
He took a sharp breath and entered Mr. Daniels’s office. He didn’t bother to sit. “Why am I here?”
“Take a seat, Alvin. Let’s talk.”
“I did nothing wrong.” Alvin sat, his expression tight.
Mr. Daniels folded his arms on the glass-topped desk, leaned forward. “Haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?” What weren’t they telling him?
Mr. Daniels leaned back and opened a drawer. He pulled out the school paper and handed it to Alvin. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way.”
Alvin leafed through it, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking for.
Mr. Daniels cleared his throat. “Go to the StudeX column.”
Alvin turned the pages in silence, a hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Prom announcements, upcoming charity events, sports, and finally the StudeX column.
He read the headline, and a sudden coldness hit his core.
Mr. Daniels said something, but Alvin failed to hear him over the sound of blood pounding in his ears.
Alvin Jones has a secret.
The words jumped up from the page, slamming into his face, slicing his heart open. As he scanned the page, his jaw ached from clenching his teeth too tight.
Everyone has a secret. Have you ever wondered what Alvin’s is? I bet you don’t. I don’t blame you.
Alvin is one of those quiet guys you’ve seen wondering the school hallways for years, but don’t really know. He says little, smiles even less, and eats alone in the cafeteria. He’s the guy you look at and wonder what he’s hiding behind his dark eyes.
Well, after today, you’ll know him a little better. The secret I’m about to tell you, will blow your minds. Brace yourselves.
Alvin Jones’s mother is HIV positive. How do I know? I’ll keep that my own little secret.
Alvin dropped the paper to the floor, and his forehead hit the desk.
I’ll keep that my own little secret.
The bitch had never felt a thing for him. The only reason she’d asked him on a date was to find dirt for the stupid paper.
“Alvin,” Mr. Daniels’s voice came from a distant place. “Should I get you a glass of water?”
Alvin didn’t respond. He closed his damp eyes and thought of his mother, the only person who loved him unconditionally. How would she react when she heard the news? Did she already know? Word traveled fast in a small town.
After a few deep breaths, he raised his pounding head, fixed his furious gaze on Mr. Daniels’s face.
He blamed him for what happened, all of them. Bullying was against the rules, and yet the teachers and principal did nothing to stop it. The stupid StudeX column should have been banned from the get-go. It should have been killed before it came to life, before it opened doors that could never be closed again. Now it was too late.
“You’re upset, and that’s understandable,” Mr. Daniels said. “We’re all horrified by Kelly’s actions. Be assured that appropriate measures have been taken to ensure nothing like this happens again.” He swiped a hand over his forehead.
His words infuriated Alvin, who leaned forward, teeth bared. “Whatever measures you took don’t do shit for me.”
“I think it’s best you take the day off.” Mr. Daniels’s nostrils flared. “Go home to your mother until...”
“Until what?” Alvin shot back. “Are you afraid I’ll make others uncomfortable? No, that’s not it, is it? You’re afraid I’ll infect them.” He tilted his head to the side. “Or maybe, what terrifies you most is the thought of parents pulling their kids out of this school.” Alvin stood, and planted his hands on the desk. “You know what? Fuck this school. And fuck you.”
He’d spent years allowing himself to be insulted, shoved into walls, and laughed at. The resentment he’d bottled up inside him over the years now poured out, refusing to be contained.
Mr. Daniels shot to his feet, a trembling
finger pointed at Alvin. “Be careful, young man. Such language is not tolerated in this school.”
“Isn’t it?” Alvin shrugged. “Well, that’s not a problem. I’m no longer part of this school. I can use any language I damn well choose.”
“Get out.” Mr. Daniels’s mustache bristled with rage. “Get your things and leave. Your diploma will be sent to your home.”
“I’d be happy to.” Alvin grabbed his bag and walked out the door.
He stumbled blindly down the empty school hallways, until he reached his locker, emptied it, and slammed the door shut.
Outside the school gates, he hopped onto his bike, images of Kelly filling his mind.
Falling in love with her had been a foolish mistake, one he had to correct.
Chapter Thirty-One
A bag of groceries lay on its side next to the coat rack, its contents spilling out. A broken egg. A carton of milk that had burst open. A runaway apple that went to rest near Alvin’s gym bag.
Alvin rubbed the sweat off the top of his lip, and stepped over the mess of milk and eggs. “Ma? Are you home?”
Silence.
He dropped his backpack to the floor, and stumbled to the kitchen.
The smell of alcohol hit his nostrils first, then he saw the empty bottle of gin in the kitchen sink.
His mother didn’t drink, and they rarely got guests.
He dashed out of the kitchen, his throat constricting with each step that brought him closer to his mother’s bedroom. By the time he reached it, worry had snatched the air from his lungs.
It was locked. He knew she was home. He’d seen her purse on the kitchen table. She never went anywhere without it. Never.
He pressed his ear to the door. “Ma, please open up. I need to talk to you.”
“It’s okay, baby. I’m okay.” He detected a slur in her faint voice. “I just want to be alone. I need to rest.”
He continued begging her to open the door. He needed to see for himself if she was telling the truth. Her eyes never lied.