Poisoned

by JJ Liniger

  The front door thumped quietly behind me and I jogged the remaining few feet to the Xterra. Part of me felt like the creepiest thing out there was my father’s comatose body trapped inside the Town Hall. I didn’t want to risk being proved wrong. With the engine on and headlights shining, I weaved through the landmine of potholes of what was left of Becton.

  Maybe if I checked my emails, it’d bring some normalcy back to my life. I drove out of town, hoping my cell phone would work. Even on weekends, emails piled up. I could use it to return messages.

  After driving around the radius of the pathetic village, there wasn’t a signal. But I did find the Twin Oaks mall. The sign’s logo had two bushy trees, a bright yellow sun, and thick red letters in near perfect condition. It made me smile to see my father’s legacy clean and respected. Did the people know what was happening to him back at the Town Hall?

  My theory was that the abandoned businesses had shifted to this location and wanted to see if it was true. Leaving the SUV, I appreciated the ground lights illuminating the sign. The mall had a figure-eight design with sidewalks connecting the businesses, so shoppers could easily go to one store or leave if desired without visiting the others.

  On the left, I passed a hardware store. It had hours listed on the front and a witch sticker saying “Happy Halloween.” Merchandise lined the shelves as it did in the next three shops.

  Maybe things weren’t as bad for Becton as I had thought.

  No, something had to be wrong. If it wasn’t falling apart why stop sports and other activities at the school? That had to be a last resort.

  The moon shone brightly, allowing me to see the white letters of Tender Hearts. The jewelry store delighted women and girls lucky enough to receive a piece from their inventory. I had saved for weeks to purchase a gold necklace for my girlfriend. It was our second Valentine’s together. I remember how nervous I felt as Monica opened the heart-shaped box.

  Looking through the store’s window, I frowned at the emptiness inside. The “closed” sign appeared permanent, and the same could be said for the next five businesses. Clearly, things weren’t better at Twin Oaks than the rest of Becton.

  Was it the loss of my father’s leadership? How long had he been sick? I should’ve asked his doctor, but didn’t think of it at the time. I’d call her back tomorrow.

  Now what do I do? I could drive back to the Town Hall, but couldn’t sleep in there. My SUV wasn’t appealing. I sighed with it being after midnight.

  The last time I had been out this late, I was attending a conference in the famous Trump Tower. My co-workers and I arrived at the top level bar and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city landscape. Lights danced from all direction. Ironically, I’d gone from the city that never slept to the town that never fully awakened.

  Regardless of where I resided, one place would never change. The local bar. I’d only been to Colts once in my life. A month before my high school graduation, a couple of friends dared me to order a beer without being carded. Being the complete idiot I was back then, I thought I’d get away with it, despite my family being one of the most well-known in the community. Needless to say, the first attempt had failed dramatically.

  I turned to walk back to my SUV when something further caught my eye. It flapped when a random breeze found its way through the buildings. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I used a light to illuminate the area. Hundreds of flags flew throughout the courtyard.

  What on earth?

  Everyone knew Texans didn’t do things halfway, and this was no exception. Several thousand American and Texan flags hung limply on their pole until random gusts fluttered the material. It was beautiful and also excessive.

  What were these for?

  There were more flags than people I’d seen in Becton. Maybe someone at Colts would fill me in.

  Minutes later, my headlights shone on two old-fashioned revolvers carved out of wood with their barrels crossed. Everyone called the bar “Colts” and, not seeing another label, I assumed the owners simply let the sign speak for itself. Glowing neon Coors Light and Budweiser signs battled for attention, not to be out-done by Captain Morgan.

  The building had round wood siding and a shingled roof, giving it a cabin feel. Smoke rose from the cobblestone chimney, completing the illusion of a second home.

  My feet crunched against the rough gravel lot as I stepped from the SUV. Small towns had the advantage when it came to star population. Without a cloud in sight, it was like staring into a sea of diamonds. One of them took off, shooting across the black sky. I made a quick wish for answers, good health, and luck to come my way.

  I grabbed the knob, and the hinges moaned as I opened the door. It wouldn’t take much WD-40 to make for a smooth entrance, which led me to believe either the owners were lazy or liked being able to hear when someone entered the place.

  A man carrying a tray of bottles nodded at me. He dumped his armload into a large round barrel, and the glass clinked and clattered as the bottles fought for a place to land. Either it was the only trash can in the place or it had been a busy night. He returned to a wide wooden counter.

  I didn’t drink often. My first experience with excessive alcohol resulted in a complete blackout. I swore I’d never do that again. It started off fun, a party at Alex’s house. His parents were the cool kind who assumed kids would drink and thought it’d be safer if supervised at their home.

  An ocean of people crammed inside the two-story house. I needed the buzz the spiked punch provided and mixed it with shots to change it up. I had danced and was surprised that I wasn’t half bad at it. Feeling soft curves of the girl’s bodies pressed around me, it was awesome.

  Anything felt possible, even getting lucky. Apparently, the party hadn’t been great for my girlfriend, Monica Ortiz. I thought we were having a good time, but unfortunately couldn’t remember the specifics. She broke up with me the following morning, and I secretly wondered if I might’ve cheated on her. What I wouldn’t give to know what happened that night.

  I still missed her after all this time, but Monica’s family moved away shortly after graduation, making it unlikely I’d see her again.

  “Hey!” the bartender yelled with a glare, interrupting my thoughts. “Were ya raised in a barn? Get in and shut the door!”

  I slammed it closed and wished I hadn’t because it drew the attention of the guys in the back. It had been years since I had seen Randy and his gang. Interesting that they still hung out together. They thought they were a tough group of bad guys but, to the rest of the community, they were known as the Apple Dumplin’ Gang.

  Sauntering over to the bar, I plopped down on one of the stools.

  “What ya want?” His accent wasn’t as strong as those born and raised here which led me to believe he hadn’t been around long.

  “I’ll take, ah...” My eyes roamed over the bottle choices. “Rum and coke.” Through the years, I had learned a thing or two about ordering drinks. Apparently a mixed drink said more about a person than I first realized. Sweet, fruity, sour, dirty and straight-up weren’t drink options, they were character qualities.

  A filled glass slid across the counter and connected with my palm.

  “Thanks.” I handed him a ten. “Keep the change.”

  Despite the irritation in his eyes, he couldn’t help grinning from my tip. I’d forgotten how much cheaper things were here than New York. There, ten bucks barely paid the tab and most restaurant staff would’ve had to plaster on a fake smile and debate whether to spit in your next refill. Him being pleased was a nice contrast to the glares I’d received from everyone else.

  “I’m curious, I drove by Twin Oaks before coming here.”

  “Figures you’d go there,” he said.

  I studied him again, thinking he must be someone who knew me in high school, but he didn’t look familiar. “You seem to know me. How’s that?”

  “Everybody knows. You’re famous.” He laughed, but his face didn’t appear happy. “After
showin’ up at the stadium, well, don’t take long for the rest of the town to find out you’re here. The only thing faster than a rumor around here is a swirling dust storm.”

  “Great.” I sighed. “Have anything to eat?” I took a long drink and enjoyed the sweet and tangy liquid helping my parched throat.

  “This time of night?” The bartender shook his head. “Kitchen’s closed.”

  I nodded. Eight small round tables filled the middle of the room. Further to the back were two pool tables, one being used.

  The bartender handed me a bucket of nuts. I wondered how many other grimy hands had scooped inside before mine, but didn’t want to be the spoiled city kid. I cracked a few peanuts in half and ate the inside, washing them down with the last of my drink.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Shelly.” He set a pail on the counter and soapy water splashed over the side.

  A shocked chuckle escaped before I stopped it. It couldn’t be the first time someone had that response. He ignored my rudeness and washed a few glasses in the bucket’s solution and then rinsed them in the bar sink.

  “Uh, you don’t look like a Shelly.”

  “And you don’t look like an asshole.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I expected no less. It’s what they say.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t talking about me laughing at his name. He turned his back sliding glasses on their pegs. Then he washed another round. I should shut up and drink. I wanted to let it go, but my stupid brain wouldn’t drop it.

  I sighed. “Who’s ‘they’?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not for me to say.”

  “Then who should?”

  “Somebody ya don’t have to ask their name.”

  “Fair enough. How about a repeat of the same?” I slid my empty glass back to him and placed another ten on the counter.

  He nodded, refilled it and slid the drink back. Then he left to gather empty glasses from the deserted tables and wash them at the bar.

  “Do you know anything about the flags at Twin Oaks?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Don’t know nothin’, do you? ‘Splains why no one likes you.”

  I sighed, again wanting to know who “they” were, but decided I had said enough. I nursed the second drink without conversation. If it could erase tonight’s images from my mind, all would be perfect. Unfortunately, it would take too many rounds to accomplish that. I’d have to settle for a slight buzz which could only happen by draining it quickly. In three gulps, it was gone.

  As if the bartender read my mind, a shot glass appeared next to me slowly being filled. “On the house.”

  The drink’s slightly cloudy appearance made me curious. Something must’ve been in the shot glass before he poured. I nodded to Shelly, taking it in one quick swallow. A sour bomb exploded down my throat. “What the…” I coughed.

  “Big city guy can’t handle his liquor,” a man said, his voice low with anger.

  I tried to see straight and determine if the strange concoction I consumed was going to kill me rather than listen to the sounds of chuckling moving closer to me. A rough shove to my shoulder brought me face to face with four men I knew well, Randall Arnold, Nicholas Wright, Heath Hardy, and Jacob Mohr, the Apple Dumplin’ Gang.

  With another cough, I rolled my eyes and found my voice. “I’m fine, Randy. Just surprised. What was that?”

  Heath laughed loudly, alcohol adding humor to the scene before him.

  “A speciality of mine,” Randall boasted. A full brown beard covered his baby face and framed his angry eyes. Behind him, the bartender lifted vodka and lemon juice which gave it the cloudy appearance.

  “Delicious,” I mumbled and gave a final cough. I wished I hadn't finished my other drinks so quickly. I desperately needed a different taste in my mouth. Maybe for the first time one of his pranks had been successful. Normally, things didn’t go according to plan. He must’ve perfected the art over the years.

  “Didn’t mean to interrupt your game.” I nodded to the pool table.

  “You didn’t,” Randy said.

  Each an older version of their former selves and fatter, except for Jacob who’d always been overweight. He served as the token black person to prove to the world we weren’t a bunch of racist hicks. However, being raised by white parents, the color of his skin was the only difference between him and the dorks standing on either side.

  “Your problem started long before tonight,” Nicholas sneered, his blue eyes barely seen through his glare.

  He was the only member of the gang who might cause real harm. When he shoved me off the barstool, I had to keep my balance or I’d become his new punching bag. Playing linebacker allowed Nicholas to beef up like a tank and rub elbows with the most popular in Becton High. Yet, he remained an outsider.

  “Hey, guys, back off.” I stumbled. The wooden bar punched into my back.

  I stared into the furious eyes of a man who had over a decade of pent-up anger and frustration. It had simmered and was now ready to boil over. All on me!

  A deep cough shook Nicholas’s body, starting deep in his chest. Jacob and Heath glanced quickly at their friend and stepped back from him. The distraction gave me the opportunity to create space from them. I didn’t want to run, but I also didn’t want to fuel their crazy rage.

  “Chicken!” Randall laughed. “Big city boy forgot how to fight?” His lips curled and eyes squinted into menacing slits.

  “I didn’t come here to cause a problem,” I said.

  “It’s what ya do best,” Heath added. The red streaking through his irises confirmed my suspicions of his drunkenness. I watched Heath and tried to figure out what I should do to keep the situation from escalating.

  “I—”

  Nicholas’s meaty fist connected with my nose. Pain shot across my face as warmth dribbled over my lip. It became personal when my face got involved. Besides, they weren’t the only ones with liquid courage flowing through their blood.

  I took a second to wipe my nose before lunging at Randall, shoving him into Nicholas. Angry curses erupted from the two men who tangled together momentarily. A powerful elbow nailed my ribcage. Air expelled from my lungs and I turned, kicking Heath in the knee cap. He fell to the ground, yipping like a scared puppy. It gave Jacob time to grab my arm and pin it behind my back.

  I didn’t know what he did for a living, but the man had skills at keeping someone in place. Shifting my shoulder didn’t break his grip, so I stomped on his toe. My Nikes did nothing to his steel-reinforced boots. Wood scraped against wood as Randall dragged a barstool closer to me.

  “Not a chair, you idiot!” Nicholas yelled, balling his fists to indicate his weapon preference.

  Being stupid, Randall lifted the chair above his head and tossed the stool into a nearby table. The sound of the furniture crashing to the floor added to the tension inching its way up my shoulders.

  “Let me go!” I gave a useless attempt to get free from Jacob’s hold.

  “Look at me!” Randall demanded.

  I didn’t want to comply, but Heath grabbed hold of my hair, pointing my face to his leader. Maintaining direct eye contact, Randy’s fist connected with my face.

  The second punch was more painful than the first and my head threw back despite Heath holding it. I felt dizzy and nauseous, with my head too heavy to lift.

  I didn’t think it could get worse until, through the fog of pain and grunts, the sound of a bottle breaking rang behind me. The thought of Nicholas taking the serrated edges and slicing it through my skin made my blood freeze.

  He would kill me.

  CHAPTER 7

  FRIENDSHIP

  “Nobody move!”

  Someone cursed and pushed me to the floor. Apparently the drunks weren’t only violent, but also couldn’t follow directions. Not sure who, but someone besides me moved.

  Feet shuffled away, kicking up dust from the floor. I coughed a
nd moaned. Pain shot through my wounded body as I spat blood on the floor. My head slumped beside the spatter.

  Who broke the bottle?

  Maybe Shelly had enough blood spilled on his floor and didn’t want a dead body to contend with.

  “I said, don’t move,” the man commanded.

  The voice sounded familiar, but also deep, like he’d been awakened from sleep. Who would be responsible for lawlessness and violence? I didn’t know.

  “Thanks for callin,’ Sheldon. My truck’s out front. Drive these idiots home.”

  Mumbled curses and threats to finish this later didn’t give me much confidence. I gulped nervously, taking in more blood than spit.

  “Shut up, Randy! If this had been anyone else y’all wouldn’t be headin’ home.” His voice still seemed recognizable, but my befuddled mind couldn’t place it. I also didn’t care. He made them stop.

  Feet shuffled to the door, and I heard the jingle of keys changing hands. The metal door slammed behind them. A strong arm looped around my shoulders, helping me to a seated position on the floor. Ice thunked against plastic before being pressed to my face.

  I grimaced in response.

  “Jeez, Trev,” he mumbled. My brain focused, allowing me to discern the sleepy voice of my friend, Alex. That explained why he helped me, but not why the guys had attacked.

  He joined me on the floor, our backs against the wooden bar. He pressed the makeshift ice pack against my skin.

  The ice burned before numbing the area. After what felt like forever, the swelling decreased enough for me to open my left eye. Alex sat shaking his head, his lips turned in a frown. Closing my eye again, I relaxed against the wood, allowing the cold compress to work its magic.

  It felt embarrassing for him to see me so broken and bruised but, without his help, it would’ve been worse. I thought when I left Town Hall I had experienced the worse the night had to offer. I was wrong.

  “You’ve got to be careful,” Alex warned.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re here. That’s enough. What made ya come back?”