Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  I wait another ten minutes, then leave the library.

  I ignore the scowls of the ladies behind the desk.

  It's quiet. A little too quiet for the locker room this time of the day. It's like everybody's been sent home.

  Or everybody else has been told to get out.

  When I hear the swinging door to the room blast open, I know my time is due.

  I quickly claw my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, then turn to see who made the noise.

  Gus is standing there, a baseball bat in his hand, Burt and Riley behind him.

  There's no Oli.

  Surely Oli's around somewhere.

  "You ever been hit by a bat?" Gus asks.

  I swallow and bend over to slip on my tennis shoe. "Can't say I have," I say, quickly tying the laces.

  "You know what one of these can do to your side? To your back? Nobody will even have to know. You can take out a rib pretty easily."

  His face, his eyes, his walk-everything is amped up. Like he's on something. Maybe he's just flying on adrenaline and pent-up anger. All I know is that this is real and that bat is real and I'm not going to be so lucky this time.

  A map of the room plays out in my head. There's a long row of lockers that feeds into the bathroom. No exit out that way. To my right is the entrance to the room, which Gus and his boys are blocking. To my left is the small hallway leading to the gym and field.

  Something tells me that door is blocked too.

  Gus curses at me. "You know something, I don't care if I get suspended. Not for this. You've been a pain ever since you stepped foot in this school. I'm sick of you making me look stupid."

  He steps closer.

  Talking isn't going to do anything. I know I have to run.

  I nod, smile, then bend over and pick up somebody's bag with some football cleats in it.

  "Look, man," I start to say, then whip the bag toward Gus as I sprint to my left and head to the hallway.

  I'm sure he'll just swat the bag away like an annoying insect, but I don't look back to see.

  The small hall makes a ninety-degree turn that leads to the door.

  I slip and pound against the cement wall as I turn the corner.

  To see Oli.

  He's standing there, blocking the closed door, looking irritated and ready.

  And then ...

  "Man, you gotta be a little smarter, Chris," he says in a whisper that I hear but don't understand.

  Why's he whispering, and why's he opening the door?

  "Keep your mouth shut about this, okay? You got it?"

  The door is opened and I don't get it, but I nod and I sprint through it toward the gymnasium.

  The door shuts behind me.

  As I run through the gym, I try to think how this happened.

  Oli just opened the door.

  He just let me go.

  I think back to the other times they've tried to grab me.

  Once was in the bathroom, where I caught Oli off guard and tore out of the stall. The other was in this same locker room, where I managed to get by the big guy.

  I replay the scenes in my head, now wondering if I was really so crafty or if Oli might have let me go each time.

  I can outrun Gus, and those other two guys are wimps, but Oli's the real deal.

  As I reach the hallway to the high school, I wonder if I might have a secret ally

  It's not like I'm unaware of my lack of connection. Even here at this high school in the middle of nowhere, I see kids walking around with their phones, typing and texting and connecting. It's no different from back home. Kids are kids. The fact that I finally just got Internet at home doesn't escape me.

  My problem is that the more I feel I connect, the more trouble I get in.

  Connection now comes the old-fashioned way. Just like it has all along since I've been here.

  The sheet of paper, the handwritten note.

  Good old-fashioned communication.

  Nondetectable communication.

  Rachel comes up to me on Wednesday as I'm walking away from lunch and slips me a note.

  "How are you doing?" she asks.

  Since I've been banned from Jocelyn by someone or some people I don't even know, I haven't had much connection with Rachel or Poe either.

  "Fine."

  "That's good to hear."

  "I can guess who this is from."

  She shakes her head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just wanted to say hi. I miss having you around at lunch."

  "Yeah, me too."

  "Crazy place, huh?" Rachel says.

  "Yep."

  "Don't let it get you down."

  "How's Lee?"

  "He's not."

  I nod.

  "Watch your back," Rachel says in a matter that I can't tell is joking or serious.

  I am watching my back. Every moment of every day.

  I take the note into the bathroom, making sure Gus or his buddies aren't around to follow me, then read it.

  The only thing on it are directions.

  That and a time. Five p.m. today.

  The intrigue continues.

  The old railroad signal stands like a rusty relic from the past, one eye staring out under a round tube, unused for many years now. This is where I'm supposed to stop and head into the woods.

  I glance at my watch and can barely make out that it's five thirty. The sun is already far below the trees, and I know that any daylight will soon be gone. I didn't realize how long it would take me to get here. I'm walking with my backpack over my shoulder.

  I hope Jocelyn will still be there.

  I head into woods that instantly seem to get darker. In her note, she says to simply turn right at the railroad signal. That I can't miss it. I walk as straight as possible.

  What can't I miss? A big hole in the middle of the earth? A dark, haunted prison? How about a field full of the walking dead, all coming at me?

  But ten minutes later, if that, the woods open up, and I see a large, square, two-story building.

  It's a big barn in the middle of nowhere.

  A light flickers inside a window (or the empty hole that used to be a window).

  Either Jocelyn is there or I'm about to be really freaked out.

  As I get closer, I see that the large mouth of an opening no longer has a door. I enter and feel chilled and look for the source of the light.

  "Chris?" a hushed voice calls out.

  A beam from a flashlight causes me to squint and hold up my hand. The light goes back out.

  "Come here," she says.

  I walk past several stalls that probably held horses or cattle at one point. There's only dirt on the ground as I walk through cobwebs and brush them off my face. I reach the open door where the light came from.

  It pops on again, and I see her face. Hovering in the darkness, a white angelic portrait of perfection.

  "You're late," she says.

  "I didn't realize how long it would take."

  "I'm sorry-it's a long haul, walking."

  "What are we doing here?" I ask.

  "Come here. Look."

  I stand by her and smell her sweet strawberry smell. The flashlight points at a corner in the stall. I see a box of some kind on its side-then something black and furry pops its head out.

  "What is that?" I ask. For some reason I think of one of those creatures from Return of the jedi, an Ewok.

  "It's a puppy."

  "What?" I ask, laughing and kneeling down to see it.

  Sure enough, the black and white ball of fur is a puppy. I pick it up, and it reaches my face and starts to lick me.

  "Where'd you find him?"

  "It's a her, actually. A neighbor gave it to me. Wade threatened to kill her-and I've seen him run over dogs. I know he'd do it. So I brought her out here."

  "What is this place? How'd you find it?"

  "Just an old barn that hasn't been used in years. Probably because the trains don't run through town anymore. You pr
obably didn't see it, but there's a road right behind the barn. Kinda hard to get to-you have to use four-wheel drive-but it only takes about ten minutes from downtown."

  I'm petting the puppy as I look around.

  "Nobody is watching this place," Jocelyn continues. "I like to imagine that it's mine."

  "Not sure what it looks like in the daytime, but it sure doesn't seem very homey."

  "You ever see It's a Wonderful Life?"

  "Yeah, think so. Bits at least."

  "Bits? Come on."

  "It's an old movie," I tell her.

  "And what's that mean? There's the scene where they're looking at this old house, and Donna Reed makes a wish to be living there one day. I've done that with this old place."

  "What's the puppy's name?" I ask.

  "Midnight."

  I can feel Midnight licking my cheek again. She's so light, like I'm holding a fur glove in my hand.

  "So she just stays here? You don't worry about her?"

  "Nah. This stall opens up to another-I close the doors, but she's got plenty of room to run around. That keeps out any animals that might look at her like an evening meal."

  "More like an appetizer."

  Jocelyn chuckles. "I come here once a day to check on her and just hang out. I like to imagine what it would be like to live here. This place, this freedom, being able to call it my life." She takes the puppy from my hands. "Sometimes I can't wait to see Midnight. Sometimes that's what gets me through the day."

  "Sounds poetic," I say.

  "It's a lot more than that. It's hope. It's a wonderful thing, hope."

  "I love you."

  The words seem to come out of nowhere, and I half wonder who said them.

  She looks at me, and in the beam of the light shining down on the ground, her face is accented and shadowed and glorious. She gives me her usual sweet, sad smile.

  "Sorry, that just-that just came out."

  "That's the best kind, then."

  Jocelyn puts Midnight back on the blanket in the box and takes my hand. She closes the door to the stall and then leads me to the back of the barn. She tells me to hold the light as she climbs an old wooden ladder, then beckons me to follow.

  Sometimes I feel like Midnight must feel, following this girl everywhere she goes.

  Soon we're sitting on the ledge of an opening at the top of the barn where there used to be either a large door or window. I can still see the edges of the smoldering sun in the distant horizon.

  She leans against me and holds my hand. "I'm not scared anymore, Chris."

  "About what?"

  "About anything."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't have a reason to be."

  "That's good, right?" I say, not sure why she doesn't have a reason to be but not wanting to break the mood.

  For a long time we sit there, Jocelyn pressed up against me with the rest of the world far away.

  "I meant what I said," I tell her as I gaze into the dark forest in front of us.

  "I know you did."

  Just as I'm wondering if she feels the same way-if she's going to tell me how she feels Jocelyn answers my wandering thoughts.

  "You can't imagine what your kindness has meant, Chris."

  "I'm not being kind. I'm just-I'm just wanting to be with you."

  "I know. Wanting to be with me versus wanting me-there's a difference, you know."

  "I'm not saying that I don't want you," I say.

  "I know. I'm not an idiot."

  "Yeah."

  "You're a good guy, Chris. Don't ever forget that."

  She moves her head to look up at mine. I slowly move down to kiss her.

  We stay there for a long time.

  The howling outside the house sounds like it comes from some possessed animal. A werewolf or something. I hear it and scramble out of bed, noting my alarm clock reading two in the morning. I look out my window but see nothing but darkness. There's a faint tapping of hard snow as if it's trying to get inside for warmth.

  A storm's coming. I don't need a forecaster to tell me that.

  I hear the scream again, and this time it jerks me completely awake. I grab for any kind of clothes I can find on the floor and tear down the stairs.

  Forget werewolves.

  I know that sound, and I know I have to get outside.

  My hands shake as I slip on my winter coat and try to zip it but can't. I put on the shoes I left by the front door and don't find it surprising that the door is already opened a crack.

  I think about the muddy prints I saw on the deck. About the eyes that watch me. That watch us.

  That watch my mother, who's outside right now, who's having a nightmare and screaming.

  If thats why she's screaming.

  I turn on the outside light and step onto the deck. Wind whips against my face and neck. I round the deck and head to the back of the woods.

  Should've brought a flashlight.

  But sometimes it's better to stay in the dark. Sometimes it's better not to know exactly what you're going to find.

  The screech comes again. It's directly in front of me.

  Then I see it. A ghost in the middle of the woods. A specter floating and haunting these woods.

  It's Mom, wearing nothing more than a long white nightgown.

  "Mom," I call out, but my voice seems to wilt in the wind and the woods.

  She's just standing there, her hands over her eyes.

  I wonder if I'm the one dreaming.

  This can't be real, can it?

  "Mom," I say as I reach her.

  I see her hands move and her eyes look out at me.

  Then they grow larger.

  The scream she lets out scares me.

  I reach her just as her eyes are rolling back in their sockets and her body is starting to collapse.

  My mother balls her hand to try and stop the shaking. She's got a couple of blankets over her, a cup of hot tea in the other hand, a face pale and distressed.

  I'm sitting across from her like a parent with his child.

  I'm not ready for this kind of responsibility.

  I need to go out to a party and drive a car into a tree or something.

  Mom sighs, takes a sip of tea.

  So far we haven't exactly spoken.

  "I don't know what to say," she says as if reading my mind.

  "It's okay."

  "I just-I keep things from you because I don't want to alarm you. It was so much easier when all of us were together."

  I nod. She doesn't need to say anymore. Three is better than two any day.

  "I've been having nightmares. Ever since coming here. That's why I've been acting so crazy. I don't know what to do."

  I see her eyes tear up, and I feel absolutely and positively helpless.

  My body seizes up, even though it wants to go around the table and put my arms around her.

  That's not the cool thing to do. But more than that, I don't want to show how utterly sad and scared I am.

  "I don't know what to do," she says again.

  "What are you dreaming about?" I can't help but ask.

  She shakes her head, looks away.

  "Mom?"

  "Nothing. Just-nothing good."

  She sips her coffee and looks out the dark window.

  Part of me wonders what haunts her.

  Yet another part of me prefers not to know.

  Like I said, sometimes it's better to stay in the dark.

  That way you won't know what's hiding inside it.

  I'm thinking of her when she calls.

  It's Saturday afternoon, a few days after the incident with my mom. She's in the laundry room, not working today. It's snowing again, just like it's been doing on and off for the last few days.

  When I hear Jocelyn's voice, I just know.

  I know it's time.

  I know that something's up and that something's wrong.

  All by the way she says "Chris."

  "Hey."


  Panic streaks through her voice. "You have to come. I'm scaredhe won't let me leave-"

  "What-whoa-hold on. What-who are you talking about?"

  "Wade. My aunt's gone, and he's been drinking all day. He went out to his truck for something, but I know he'll be back and-"

  "You can't get to your Jeep?"

  "He took my keys, Chris. He said my days of teasing him were done, that he was finally going to do something about it, about me."

  I think of what Newt told me, about what guys said about Jocelyn and Wade at school.

  "Jocelyn-just wait, okay? I'll be there."

  "Chris-"

  "Listen to me. Everything's going to be okay. My mom is home, and I'll get there right away."

  I pause for a minute.

  "Jocelyn?"

  I don't hear anything. I repeat her name and realize the other end is dead.

  I curse and hang up the phone and start to run to the laundry room to ask my mom if I can borrow the car.

  Then I realize that's crazy.

  She's not going to let me borrow the car when I don't have my license and can barely drive.

  Instead I sprint up the stairs.

  I take the gun out of hiding.

  I slip it in the back of my pants and suddenly worry about it going off and shearing a portion of my backside.

  I walk a little more slowly down the stairs. I yell out to my mom that I'm heading out, then I take her keys with me.

  The drive-if what I'm doing can actually be considered drivingseems eternal. It's like a motion picture of memories hits the windshield as I'm heading to Jocelyn's as fast as I can.

  As many friends as I had back home, I never had someone that I cared about this much.

  That I loved.

  Never someone I felt as open and honest around.

  So now I find her, and she's a troubled soul. A troubled soul in a troubled life. And I'm heading there now, driving toward trouble.

  The gun resting on the passenger seat is heading for trouble too.

  I think of everything that's happened since I've come to Solitary. All the warnings and the threats and the dark signs and the omens and the nightmares.

  I wonder why I'm here, and if there's some gargantuan conspiracy against me. Or against Jocelyn and me. Or against my mother.

  Or maybe against all of us.

  Light snow is falling, and I can feel the slippery road underneath making it more difficult to speed.