We Came Back

by Patrick Lacey

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On Halloween morning, after yet another sleepless night, Frank groaned as he got out of bed. His joints were stiff and he didn’t move as quickly anymore. He wasn’t an old fart just yet, but he was certainly on his way.

  Mona woke from the movement. “You’re up early.”

  “More like I never actually slept. Why start now?”

  “Want me to make some breakfast?”

  He brushed the hair from her eyes and kissed her forehead. She had a bad case of bed head and her morning breath was toxic, but he found himself never wanting to let go. “No, that’s okay. Go back to sleep. Maybe I’ll make you breakfast for once when you get up.”

  “That would be a first.” She stretched and yawned.

  “I’ve made you plenty of morning meals if I recall.”

  “Cereal doesn’t count, dear.”

  He smirked and stretched, wincing at the pain in his lower back. He must have lifted something the wrong way and was paying for it now. Another sign of the slow but sure aging process.

  She touched his arm. “She’ll come around, you know. She always does.”

  He nodded, kissed her once more, and changed into his clothes. He tiptoed into the hall, easing the door shut behind him. Before going downstairs, he opened Alyssa’s door as quietly as he could manage.

  His heart stopped for a moment and his chest burned at the sight of the empty bed.

  She was gone. Of course she was. She’d slipped off in the middle of the night to be with Busty, to join his ranks and become a vamp. Frank had failed her after all.

  Something moved on the bed and he saw now that her head was under the blankets. His pulse slowly returned to normal and he stepped into the room. He pulled the blanket down so that her face was revealed. He was shocked to see how old she looked. He’d always thought of her as a little girl. In his mind, she’d been eternally ten years old, but now, for the first time, he saw her for the woman she was becoming. She had Mona’s eyes and nose and Frank’s chin, not to mention his stubbornness.

  He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. It was the closest he’d gotten since their argument. Not for the first time, he recalled the picture of Jeremy as it soared across the room and shattered along with a piece of his heart. He watched her sleep for a few more moments before closing the door behind him. The air felt stale and heavy and his mind was on edge.

  He knew something was coming.

  It may have seemed irrational but Justin was right. Had been all along. The vamps were planning something and his family, no matter how much he would’ve liked to believe otherwise, were all part of it. He gritted his teeth.

  If you come within walking distance of my daughter, I will rip those smirks from your pale little faces.

  If provoked, he would kill to protect Alyssa and Mona. He was not a violent man, did not enjoy watching others in pain. Yesterday’s fight had been a prime example of that. But if the need arose, he would not think twice before ending a life if it meant his family would avoid harm. He took some solace in the thought.

  And hoped it would never come to that.

  ●●●

  On the way to the graveyard, Frank didn’t see another car on the road, not even a taxi or police cruiser. Sure, it was early on a weekend morning but the silence felt wrong somehow, like everyone had packed their bags overnight and skipped town on account of the vamps. Maybe they could feel it too, could sense something approaching just like Frank. In which case, they were all much smarter than him for getting out while they could.

  While they could?

  He didn’t like the analogy, yet it felt right in his mind.

  He pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-through and ordered a large black coffee and a dozen doughnuts. He’d eat a few himself—doctor’s orders to watch his fat intake be damned—and bring the rest home to Alyssa and Mona. Some breakfast, he could hear them saying now.

  The girl working the drive-through told him to pull up. She was a normal teenager, with long blonde hair and a shirt that was perhaps too low cut for the work place, but he’d take that any day over jet black clothes and hair and a ghost-like face that made his bones grow cold.

  He handed her the money. As she reached out the window her hands fumbled and she dropped the change.

  “Shoot,” she said. “I’m sorry about that.”

  He waved her off. “It’s no problem. I’ve got more.” He reached into his pocket.

  “Are you sure? I can come around and pick it up after. It’s not a big deal.” She shook badly, looked on edge from lack of sleep and perhaps riding high on something—or coming back down. He’d smoked more than a few joints in high school, but now kids were into much more advanced things. He still wasn’t sure who the hell Molly was but she was certainly popular. As the girl took the change and smiled, he realized he’d been wrong. She was just scared.

  He saw only one other employee inside. Usually the place was packed. He nodded toward the counter. “You guys short-staffed or something?”

  She put the change into the register. “That’s an understatement. Last week, we had six more. Now it’s me and Maria. And between you and me, Maria is useless.”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t. Everyone quit on you?”

  She laughed, handed him the doughnuts. “More like they all decided to join that little cult. It’s not just them either, you know? Even some of my friends joined up. I heard they’re all living at the old school. Sleeping there. I don’t know about you but you couldn’t pay me to step foot in there.”

  He thought about his last years teaching there, how the place had started to fall apart, how it felt haunted long before the doors closed for good. Not to mention what had taken place in the cafeteria on That Day. “Yeah,” he said. “I know what you mean.”

  She handed him his coffee and thanked him. Before he drove away he touched her hand. “Listen, can you do me a favor? It’s nothing major. When your shift is over, why don’t you go home and stay in for the night?”

  “But it’s Halloween.”

  He nodded. “Which means everyone will be dressed up.”

  She looked at him for a long time before she seemed to catch his meaning. “Which means it’ll be easy to blend in—if you wanted.”

  “My point exactly. Maybe tell your friends while you’re at it. Hand out candy and watch some old crappy horror movies. Seems safer if you ask me.”

  “I guess you’re right. Do you…know something I don’t?”

  No, it’s just a feeling in my gut that something bad is on the verge of happening.

  “Call it a hunch. Remember what I said.”

  She nodded as he drove out of the parking lot. In the rearview, he expected to see a line of cars but there was nothing.

  ●●●

  When he arrived at the cemetery, he thought about turning back. A thick fog had rolled in overnight. It made seeing nearly impossible. He parked and stepped into the chilly morning. He hadn’t tended to Jeremy’s flowers in weeks now. Of course he had a decent excuse, dealing with a crisis at home and another at school, but he still felt heavy with guilt. He grabbed the watering can from the backseat and made his way to the grave. The fog made it tough, made his walk disorienting, but he knew the way by heart.

  He stopped at the nearest hose and filled the can up, then he made his way to Jeremy’s grave, sighing when he saw the wilted mess. He’d expected the flowers to be thirsty but not dead. What had once been colorful bulbs were now brown and rotting.

  “Son of a bitch.” He wound back and tossed the watering can. It collided with another stone and was swallowed up in the mist.

  He’d prepared himself to find the miniature garden in disarray, but it hurt much worse than he’d expected. The flowers usually held on until around Thanksgiving. They’d perished a whole month earlier this year. He kneeled down and pulled a brittle stem from the ground, twirling it in his hands.

  He closed his eyes and the
cemetery receded into the background so that he was back in the old pickup truck, a Ford that had been on its last legs the day Jeremy was killed. The engine was rough, not unlike Busty’s car, and Jeremy used to joke that it sounded more like a jet plane. He would pretend he was flying in the cockpit, an assistant pilot operating alongside the world’s top aviation expert.

  But you weren’t an expert that day, were you?

  He tried to silence his mind.

  It wasn’t my fault. Everyone knows that by now.

  His throat felt tight. He touched the flesh and swallowed, hoping for relief.

  Maybe not, but you were driving, and you went through that intersection at that precise moment in time. If you hadn’t been there, your boy would still be here today.

  He heard the screeching breaks, the crunching metal, the shattering glass, the cries from Jeremy, the sirens in the distance, the screaming of rubberneckers, the blaring horn of the eighteen-wheeler that had blasted through the red light without looking, but most of all he heard the silence, the overwhelming, all-encompassing silence as he looked to the passenger seat and saw what was left of his son.

  His hands tightened, the skin growing pearl white. He hadn’t had a flashback in months now. The shrinks had told them they were completely normal, all part of the grieving process. He supposed they were right but he’d expected them to stop eventually. It had been a decade and they still haunted him every few months.

  He wasn’t any closer to closure now than he had been then. Why else would he have glove compartments and drawers and secret tin boxes filled with pictures of Jeremy like he was still alive, like he was just playing an expert game of hide and go seek?

  Eventually, the flashback passed and so did his panic attack. He wanted to drive back home and lock the doors behind him, wait things out with his family, even if the air would be filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a machete. At least that way he could protect them from whatever was coming.

  He retrieved the watering can, told Jeremy he loved him dearly, and headed back to the car. Just before he got in, he noticed he was still clutching the dead flower. He let it go and the wind picked it up, carried it away into the thick fog so that it disappeared.

  ●●●

  Justin woke to the sound of ringing. For a moment, he thought it was his alarm clock, time playing a cruel trick on him. He’d slept through the entire weekend and now it was time to go back to that hellhole for the week, where the vamps were running the show.

  He reached for his clock, pressed the button, but the ringing persisted. He groaned, yawned, and picked up his phone. His arm ached badly. He’d lifted for hours the night before, hoping to get his mind off things. He’d tried watching through the window but the fog was too thick. Maybe that was a sign he ought to give up.

  Or a sign of what was to come, whatever that meant.

  He pressed accept on the screen of his cell phone. “Hello?”

  “Guess who?”

  He sighed at the sound of Art’s voice. “It better be Megan Fox or I’m hanging up.”

  Art raised his voice to a mock-female’s timbre. “It sure is, big fella. How about I come over there and you can show me how you work those big muscles of yours? Or better yet, maybe we can join up with the vamps and have an orgy. I’ve always wanted to try out the whole goth thing.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Wait, wait. I was only busting your balls.”

  “That’s what you do best.” He yawned again. “What the hell time is it?”

  “It’s almost noon. Are you really just getting up?”

  Justin’s eyes widened and he jumped up from bed, looking at his clock. He’d thought his friend was pulling his chain but it really was just before noon. He’d managed to sleep the entire morning away. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I needed to catch up on sleep.”

  “It’s going to take a lot more than that. How much do you sleep, three hours a night? You’re too busy playing stalker most of the time.”

  “I really don’t feel like taking your shit today.”

  “Fine, okay. Listen, I’m calling because it’s Halloween and it’s a weekend and you really need to get out of the house.”

  “What did you have in mind, trick-or-treating?”

  “No, but it’s the next best thing. I’m having a party.”

  “A party? How?” Art’s house was a ranch half the size of Justin’s, which wasn’t all that large either. His friend’s room was barely big enough to fit more than a bed and a TV. The living room wasn’t much bigger.

  “My mom decided last minute to have a girls’ weekend up in New Hampshire. Told me not to have a party but I could tell she knew I would anyway. Which is practically like giving me the go ahead.”

  “Where do you plan on having this party?”

  “We’ll make it work. We’ve got at least four rooms inside and we can have the rest hang outside on the patio and in the garage.”

  “Who’s going to said party?”

  “You mean besides Megan Fox?”

  “I mean actual real human beings. No offense, but you’re not exactly prom king.”

  “Thanks, asshole. You’re not doing so well in the friend department either if you haven’t noticed.” There was a long pause. “I’m sorry. That was kind of shitty. All I’m saying is tensions have been running high. We’re all stressed about what’s been going on. You more so than others. So let’s have some fun and unwind. In case you don’t remember, we’re teenagers and that’s kind of what we’re supposed to do.”

  Justin sighed. “I don’t know. I feel like staying in tonight.”

  More like you’re worried you’ll get staked to a door if you leave.

  “So you can get even more jacked and watch your princess from your tower? Or is it the vamps that have got you sheltering in place? Isn’t that, like, letting the terrorists win?”

  He opened his mouth but Art cut him off. He was good at that too. “Just come over for a few hours. I sent an invite on Facebook and people are already RSVP’ing. I’m telling you, it’ll be fun.”

  Don’t do it. It’s safer in here.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Art said. “See you around seven. Oh, and bring a costume.”

  He hung up before Justin could protest.

  ●●●

  Justin made his way downstairs. The air smelled of bacon and coffee. In the kitchen, his mother wore her robe. The radio was on and she hummed to some tune he didn’t recognize as she swept the floor. There were cans and boxes of food scattered along the counters and a trash bag filled with junk. He hadn’t seen her cleaning since the week his father had been diagnosed. It seemed almost as strange as Tom Parkins knocking out Murray.

  She caught him staring and turned down the radio. “There he is. I thought you might be dead. I was going to check on you in an hour if you didn’t rise from the grave.”

  “I’m still kicking. Must’ve just needed the extra sleep.” Her humor was just as much of a shock. His father had always been the jokester of the family, hence the store he’d owned. This side of his mother was news to Justin.

  He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, noticed the contents were in perfect order, and poured himself a cup of coffee. He winced at the bitterness. The batch he’d made yesterday had been water compared to this. He added a generous amount of sugar and milk into the cup and it became almost drinkable.

  “When did you start drinking coffee?” his mother said, the broom back in her hand.

  “Around the time I stopped sleeping. Aside from last night.”

  She sighed. “Still playing the stalker game?”

  “Sounds like you’ve been spending too much time with Art.”

  She smiled and dumped the pile of dirt into the trashcan. “I’m sorry. Just trying to lighten up the mood.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said under his breath as he sipped the burnt coffee.

  “Any plans for the holiday?”

  He shrugged. “Art’s
having a party. I’m not sure if I’m going or not.”

  “I think you should. Might be fun. You could use a night off, you know?”

  “Says the woman who works double shifts every chance she can get.” He was shocked at his own words, wished he could take them back. “Sorry about that. I’m still a little groggy.” He thought for a moment she would yell at him, that they’d get into the argument of their lifetime with no one to stop them now that his father was gone.

  But to his surprise, she laughed. “No apologies necessary. Look, I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t been the greatest mom on the planet. I could say I’ve been breaking my back at work to pay off some of those chemo and hospice bills but it would only be half true.”

  “And the other half?”

  She held her hands up, pointed to the kitchen. “It’s this place. It’s like a tomb, you know?”

  “I might have noticed.”

  “After he passed, I didn’t want to touch anything, didn’t want to move a single item. Because then it would’ve made it all real. If I left it like a museum, with everything in the exact spot it had been when he was alive, I could’ve at least pretended it was all a bad dream. It worked for a while but the illusion wore off. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not exactly an expert at letting things go either.”

  “Does that mean we’re both crazy?”

  He smiled for perhaps the first time in days. “I think it does.”

  “Well, crazy isn’t always a bad thing. Go check out the living room.”

  He set his cup down, entered the room he hated the most, his father’s final resting place, and gasped. Gone were the medical supplies and the hospice bed and the stacks of magazines that his father had been too doped up to read. Gone were the tubes and nozzles and every other reminder of what had taken place.

  “I noticed the oxygen tanks in the garbage yesterday,” his mother said. “Bad move on your part by the way. Those were technically rented. We would’ve had to pay a fortune had it been trash day but I called the company this morning and they picked up everything.”