Poisoned

by JJ Liniger

  “You’re right, I don’t.”

  Shelly didn’t want to tell me and he had a valid point that I should talk to someone I knew. Though Tiffany wouldn’t be my first choice, at this point my options felt limited.

  “Care to fill me in?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  I wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t like we ever got along, but the expansion of time had been too long to remember the details. Of course, we were competitive with each other on an academic level, but nothing that should’ve risen to the point of enemy status. Especially to have her turn the community against me. I thought of the stadium and how they responded to her words.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because I don’t care what you know or don’t know. You’ve done enough and now it’s time to go.” Once she rinsed the dishes, she placed them on a rack to dry and grabbed a towel for her hands.

  “I can’t, Tiff. I have my parents to take care of.”

  She frowned, the angry spark lifting from her eyes. I think she hated that I had a valid reason for staying. Shaking her head, she tried to storm past me, but I stopped her by grabbing her hand.

  “Any hope for him?” His doctor’s diagnosis confused me, giving hope and at the same time saying there was none. I wanted another opinion.

  Her glare softened. “No.” She shook my hand from her, but didn’t move away.

  “I didn’t think so. My mother believes he’ll wake up.”

  “Carole is an amazing woman, but when it comes to your father, she’s completely delusional. She can’t see it.”

  “Alex said it’s been years.”

  “It has. She’s so consumed that she can’t see how bad it is. I don’t know how you felt, but when I’m there, it makes my skin crawl.” Tiffany rubbed her hand along her arm where goosebumps pricked her skin. “So, it’s all on Alex. He deserves better.”

  “I agree.”

  Her lips curled into a smile, and for a moment, I experienced a glimpse into what Alex saw in his lovely wife. She sighed and her hand came up and rubbed her neck. It was a nervous habit she wasn’t aware of. While she still appeared beautiful, the same stress edged on her as on the rest of the community.

  My father’s debilitated condition affecting my mother’s features made sense. Matthew Porter was a man of influence. However, I didn’t believe his medical condition or lack of leadership had caused the city to crumble. So, what could it be? Some mysterious illness that plagued people throughout history?

  CHAPTER 8

  TAKEN

  “At least you two didn’t kill each other,” Alex said as he strode through the front door. “That’s great.”

  “You’re a brave man leaving us alone,” I said.

  Tiffany gave a tired sigh and walked to her husband.

  Alex folded his arms around her. “Naw, she’s a harmless pussy cat.”

  “Not with me.”

  “Nobody’s harmless when it comes to you,” Tiffany mumbled.

  “I’ve noticed.” I sighed.

  Alex hugged his wife. It pained me to admit they looked good together. She giggled and blushed before kissing his lips.

  Their connection reminded me of my parents. As a kid, I hated seeing them kiss and groaned in complaint but, honestly, I liked that their honeymoon phase never ended. It made sense that thirty-five years later Mom spent her nights in prayer by her husband.

  Thoughts of my parents brought me back to the matter at hand. I had to do something, like figure out how to bring Dad back to life or help Mom let him go.

  “Trev, ready?” Alex asked.

  I stood from the table. “Yeah…”

  Glancing at Tiffany, I thought about telling her I appreciated our chat and the progress made, but her silent irritation made me think better of it. I could add it to the list of things that wasn’t going to change.

  Tiffany released a deep breath.

  I followed Alex to his tank of a truck and climbed inside.

  “You look better than I thought you would,” Alex said.

  “Thanks. It still hurts, but it’s all right. You’ve been good to me. Is the Mrs. going to be pissed?”

  “Maybe, but she’ll get over it.”

  He backed out of the driveway. The neighborhood had several homes with yellow bricks and spacious yards. On a large wooden platform rested a raised garden. Wouldn’t placing it in the fertile soil be easier?

  “Alex, what’s going on here? Why’s everyone so angry?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, some type of poison.”

  The truck thumped into a pothole. He could’ve avoided it easily. Did me knowing the truth trouble him?

  “Yes, 7-15-4, it’s a curse.”

  I nodded, pretending to know what that meant to keep Alex talking.

  Alex continued. “I can’t believe you’ve known all these years and chose to stay away. She deserves to hate you.”

  I could defend myself, but then I’d have to admit I was clueless. Would he tell me everything if he knew the truth? Probably not, better he not know. Neither of us said anything.

  After a few minutes, his tires crunched against the gravel lot of Colts before coming to a stop next to my rented Xterra.

  “See ya.” I waved and hopped from the truck to my SUV.

  My stomach growled. My breakfast of table scraps wore off hours ago. The dash clock glowed at me. Seriously? Almost noon? No wonder I was so hungry.

  When I first arrived, I craved the pizza by which I measured all other pizza. Maybe, by some miracle, Game Zone had survived Becton’s devastation.

  The sun baked the dry air, but scattered clouds kept it cooler than the previous day. With the window rolled down, the wind blew across my arm.

  After passing one boarded-up business after another, I lost hope. Driving down Roots Street, I had either lost my mind, or I smelled the smoke and sweetness from a brick oven. Was it possible?

  The barn-style building was in perfect condition with bright red paint and white boards framing each window. I parked next to a cluster of vehicles. For the first time since returning home, my spirits lifted. One of my favorite places on the planet had survived.

  Opening the front door, the smell of spicy deliciousness and the sounds of classic arcade games assaulted my senses. Other than at the football stadium, it was the largest number of people gathered in one place. Families and friends smiled and laughed together. Why didn’t I come here first, like I’d wanted to?

  “Have a seat anywhere you’d like,” said a kid. Considering he worked here, he likely wasn’t as young as he looked. Made me feel old.

  I found a table close to the window. Brown parchment paper covered the table and a small vase of crayons rested in the middle.

  “Dang, you had a rough night.” The same kid nodded to my face.

  “Not one of my finer moments.”

  “I should see the other guy, right?” He chuckled, making conversation like good waiters do.

  “Unfortunately, I was outnumbered.”

  “Man…” He shook his head. “Oh yeah, my name’s Chris.” He grabbed a crayon and scribbled his name upside down so I could read it. “What can I get ya?”

  The menu was almost the same with specialty pizzas whose names were associated with Becton. I debated between Twin Oaks, Bec-Champs, and The Lady because I had never tasted the latter. With pesto sauce and spinach, it seemed a little green for my taste.

  “Take your time. I don’t mean to rush ya. We don’t get many new people.”

  “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” I replied.

  “What brings you here?”

  If I told him who I was, would he immediately give me the cold shoulder like so many others? He was too young to remember me.

  “Just passing through and saw the sign.”

  “Awesome! That billboard’s old, but it gets the job done. I’ll give you a few minutes.” He turned to a nearby table, spoke to the family, and
refilled their drinks.

  Someone besides my mother and best friend treated me well, and it felt great. Closing the menu, I hoped it sent the same message here as in New York and the kid would return to take my order.

  It might’ve worked if he was around to see it. Instead, he returned five minutes later carrying bubbling cheese which appeared as scalding as I remembered. Chris approached the table in front of mine and started to set down the pizza when the man coughed.

  The waiter took a dramatic step back. He must’ve been a germaphobe because one measly cough didn’t seem like a big deal to me.

  The man gestured to Chris and mumbled “I’m fine,” in a Texan drawl.

  After dropping off the pizza, he stepped closer to me with a smile only restaurant employees can get away with and still be called nice. “Do you know what ya want?”

  “Yeah. The Twin Oaks and a Cherry Coke.” I couldn’t resist giving tribute to Dad and his business success. Alex and Tiffany knew about his condition. How much did the rest of the community know?

  “Great choice,” he responded, and probably would’ve said that regardless of which decision I made.

  Trolling for additional information, I asked. “There were signs for a Twin Oaks Mall, as well. Do you know what the hours are?”

  “No. It pretty much went to pot after Mayor Porter killed himself.”

  Until that moment, I didn’t realize it choking on air was possible. I gasped and coughed, garnering stares from those in the room. Did everyone think my father had killed himself? Did they not know about his frail body still hung on inside the Town Hall?

  My hacking drew more attention than I wanted. Maybe my battered face would prevent them from recognizing me. It was strange to feel that I should hide from everyone like a lonely hermit.

  By the time I composed myself, Chris was not in sight. At least he had been gracious enough to leave my Cherry Coke on the corner of the table. I drank until the straw gurgled and became surrounded by only ice.

  Did everyone think my father was dead? And by suicide no less? That was more information than my mind could handle.

  I needed a distraction and stood from my table, walking to the arcade. This place used to be covered with bright lights, and bells and whistles rang from every direction. In the corner there used to be an air hockey table once lit by an overhead black light. If patrons wanted to eat their pizza, they had to do so standing up or take it home because of having no place to sit.

  Now, someone replaced most of the games with tables, leaving only three options left to play. A pinball machine displayed Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Terminator and randomly spat out quotes from the movie. A hunting game sat next to it with bucks, moose, and rabbits scattered across the screen and one bright orange gun.

  Pac-man sat to the side. Unfortunately, a tattered sheet of paper covered the screen that read: Out of Order. It looked like it had been retaped multiple times. Even broken, it would be worth a pretty penny to a collector. The owner must’ve held on to the game for nostalgic reasons.

  I ran my fingers over the keys and around the black knob. Each sensation brought a flood of childhood memories. If it worked, I wondered if “PORTER” stood on the top of the leaderboard.

  As a kid, I spent every weekend here and occasionally after school. I remembered being surrounded by friends as it was the place to go after Friday night games. It was a family friendly version of the TV show Cheers where everybody knew my name. I guess now they still did, but maybe it would be better if they didn’t. Who wanted to be associated with a suicidal father and mentally unstable mother?

  Hearing somebody clear their throat, I thought it might be Chris to tell me my pizza was ready. Instead, my eyes found Nicholas Wright sitting in the booth in front of mine. Wasn’t getting beaten up the night before enough bad luck? Why did I end up right next to the guy again?

  Considering our distance from each other, what I heard must’ve been his cough. Once again, his shoulders shook, and he used a napkin to cover his mouth. I noticed a vague streaking of red and assumed he had smeared pizza sauce on it.

  Chris carried a pizza from the kitchen and nodded to me, indicating it was mine. He placed the pizza on the table behind the one I originally sat at, relocating me to a safer distance from Nicholas. He included a fresh Cherry Coke. The evidence suggested he must’ve hated germs or something.

  I sat at the table. The pizza smelled so delicious I wanted to dive into it. Pepperoni and sausage hugged the side of the bubbly cheese pizza while Canadian bacon and pineapple shared the other half. The split gave the pizza a twin-esque look to represent my father’s greatest accomplishment, the Twin Oaks Mall.

  Steam rose from the slice as I brought it to my mouth which should’ve been a warning that taking a bite would be a bad idea. I didn’t care. The spicy sauce and simmering cheese contrasted heaven and hell perfectly. As always, Cherry Coke squelched the burn. The entire experience was exactly as I remembered.

  Chris gave the guy in front of me his check and asked if I needed anything. I told him as long as my glass stayed full, everything was right with my world.

  “Hey! I asked for a to-go box!” yelled Nicholas. He turned in his seat.

  How had I not noticed his pale and sickly face before? Oh right, he had half his face covered up by a napkin. If it had been that way the night before, I was too preoccupied to notice.

  I continued eating, hoping he would ignore me. New Yorkers claimed to have the best pizza in the world, but they were wrong. It was right here in Becton. My stomach gurgled happily as I consumed most of my meal. The only problem was my Cherry Coke had gone dry and Nicholas still hadn’t received his takeout box.

  Both were problems, especially when Nicholas noticed me. Irritation shot from his eyes like daggers. If he felt remorse for the damage he had contributed to my body, he didn’t show it.

  “Never mind, I don’t need it,” Nicholas mumbled.

  “Give me a minute. I’ll bring it right to you,” Chris promised, delivering a pizza to a table.

  Nicholas nodded, his foot thumping against the leg of a nearby chair. He seemed anxious or bored.

  The chime over the door rang, welcoming customers. Nicholas’s eyes widened with terror.

  I turned in my seat to look over my shoulder and saw three men. Shiny black shoes, dark gray suit pants along with white collared shirts and black ties composed matching uniforms. Their hands balled under their white coats which billowed from their brisk movements. They walked with military precision in perfect step with one another. It looked like a scene better played out in Roswell, New Mexico, or Area 51 than in Becton, Texas.

  I took a bite of my pizza, but was the only one still eating. Everyone’s attention fixated on the men. As they traveled past the first table, those seated released deep breaths and their shoulders relaxed. Apparently, I wasn’t the only person in town the locals had an odd reaction to.

  The three men’s dark eyes never darted to the left or right and their mouths remained clamped shut. Whatever they did for a living, I didn’t want their job. They turned and marched my direction. My heart rate peaked and my eyes searched for the exit. I needed to escape.

  Seriously, why couldn’t these people leave me alone?

  To my surprise, they walked past my table. Two kept going forward, and the third circled to face his partners. I glanced around and the customers had looked away. Mothers and fathers had their arms around their children, keeping them close. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.

  “Mr. Nicholas Wright, we need you to come with us,” said the slightly taller one in the middle.

  “No!” Nicholas yelled.

  I jumped, not expecting such a harsh reaction from him. If anyone could handle a fight, it was Nicholas.

  “You know it’s useless to resist,” the same one spoke.

  “I’m not infected!” Nicholas countered.

  “A report has been made saying otherwise.”

  “She’s
lying.” He pointed out the window to my mother.

  My eyes widened. How long had she been standing there? How was she involved in this?

  “Randy roughed up her son last night, and I’m the one being punished!” Nicholas lunged toward me and the two white-coated men grabbed his arms. Both wore latex gloves.

  “That’s not true. She doesn’t know about that,” I said, defending her.

  “Ha! She knows everything!” Nicholas yelled. The two men shifted his arms to his back like arresting. “No! I swear, I’m not. I’m not infected. I’m not!” He continued to repeat himself.

  I’d forgotten about the third man until he stepped from behind. Out of the front pocket of his white jacket, his gloved hand pulled out silver forceps. He squeezed the handle and the circular clamp opened. Nicholas continued to yell and squirm to get out of the grasp of the other two men.

  It reminded me of the same hold Jacob used on me the other night. No matter how hard I tried, his grip didn’t budge.

  From Nicholas’s pocket the man pulled out a napkin and used the forceps to open the paper. Apparently, Chris wasn’t the only person paranoid when it came to germs.

  Smeared across the paper were multiple patches of red, too brown to be marinara sauce. After I’d spent the morning washing blood from my body, I had no doubt that was what I saw. The third man placed the evidence in a clear sack and used a marker to write on the outside like documentation of a crime.

  It didn’t take a medical degree to know coughing up blood was never good, but his health seemed to be the last thing on Nicholas’s mind. His hate-filled eyes found mine.

  “This is all your fault! Yours!” he screamed. “You will pay for this!” Like the linebacker he’d been, he slammed into the shortest of the uniformed men. The man’s arm jerked back. His elbow collided with my glass sending melted ice directly on my pizza, ruining its perfection.

  The man didn’t apologize, but tightened his grip on Nicholas, who mixed in cursing and threats at me to prove he had a larger vocabulary than only four letter words. Literally kicking and screaming, the men forcibly removed him from the restaurant.