My brother goes white when he sees the blood. “You’re infected?”
Little white spots twinkle when I shake my head. “I fell.” I don’t think I can stand anymore. Jack runs to my side and catches me before I hit the ground. I go limp in his arms, my legs no longer able to hold me up. Jack stumbles a bit and we both slam into the side of the well.
I let out a scream. My wound took the brunt of the impact. Jack reaches up and puts his hand over my mouth. “Shhhhh. You’re too loud,” he whispers. “Be quiet. Shhhhh.”
I nod.
He slowly takes his hand away, but continues to grasp me tightly with his other. “It looks like you’ve lost a lot of blood, Jill.”
I nod.
“I don’t know how to fix your leg,” he says flatly.
I nod.
He exhales into my face and nods along with me. I can smell the sweet crowberries on his breath. “You know what I have to do right?” He smiles and gently moves the hair out of my eyes.
I stop in mid-nod. I didn’t know. Why was I nodding? “Help me back to the house.”
His lips tighten and his nostrils flare. He shakes his head. Slowly.
“Jack, I can make it.”
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I don’t want you to make it.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What are you talking about? Help me down.”
“You won’t…” his voice trails off. He looks over at the well. “Dad. You can be with Dad. You always visit him anyway.”
My brother has broken with reality. Lost his mind. Snapped.
I twist from his grip and hang my head over the lip of the well. A loose stone breaks free and lands at my feet. My father’s skull stares up at me. I don’t want to die.
Jack yanks me back by my hair, and I cry out in pain. We land in a tangled heap. My blood is now smeared up and down his arms.
“Jack! Stop! What are you doing?” I shriek. His grip on me is firm. I can’t break free. “You’re hurting me.”
My brother has madness in his eyes.
“Help!” As soon as the word leaves my lips, he laughs.
Through clenched teeth he says, “There is no one to help us, Jill. No. One.”
“You want to live alone? Be by yourself? That’s crazy, Jack.” My chest heaves, yet I’m breathless. “What about Nan?” I didn’t even know what my question meant. What about Nan? What did our dead grandmother have to do with anything right now?
But this gives my brother pause, and he releases his hold on me just a little. “Nan? Nan?” he murmurs. With every ounce of energy I have left, I roll out from underneath him and scurry away on my hands and knees. Jack is on his back, his arms crossed over his face, and he’s sobbing.
“I was g-going to be an architect, Nan,” Jack chokes. “You told me I was your prince. Everything’s ruined, Nan. It’s over.”
Bile shoots up my throat. I gag and vomit into the grass. The flies descend. I watch them crawl through my pile of goo, and I retch again. My leg throbs. I just want to get off of this hill and lie down on the sofa. “Jack, I have to stop the bleeding. I need your help. I can’t make it down without you.”
He uses the heels of his hands to wipe away his tears, and he sits up. We watch each other. Tears roll down my cheeks. I’m in agony. “Please,” I say. Jack shows no reaction to my tears or my begging. Instead, he tilts his head and stares through me.
“I don’t want to die up here, Jack. You have to help me down.”
Like a spring, he hops to his feet, and he gets me standing without saying a word.
“I’m sorry,” I say. He wraps his arm around my waist and leads me to the lip of the hill. “Go slow, okay?”
Jack ignores me.
I look up at him, but he continues staring down toward the bottom of the hill. “Jack?” I tug on his shirt. “Go slow.”
“I know you blame me for our parents’ deaths,” he says. “You are a bad person, Jill. A very bad person. You’re twisted and… and…” He goes quiet.
My heart should be pounding and thudding, but it’s not. Most of my blood has left my body, sliding down my thigh and saturating my sock. My knees fail and I take hold of my brother’s shirt. Jack grabs my shoulders and squeezes me so hard that I feel his fingernails pierce my skin. “You have always hated me!” he shouts in my face.
My eyes cloud over and I can feel myself collapsing. I must get him off me. If he loses his footing, he’ll drag me down with him.
I smash my head into his chest to surprise him. He lets me go. And with all of my might, I push my brother backward.
His body folds in half as he reaches for something to grab onto.
I instinctively take a step back.
I watch him bounce and smash down the hill. His head takes the brunt of his landing. Blood shoots from his skull in slow motion.
“Jaaaaaack!” I cry out. Oh my God, what have I done? What have I done? What have I done?
I suspect that Jack is dead. The unnatural angle of his leg makes me cringe. His body is as still as stone.
“Jack. Jack. Jack.” I moan.
I stumble to the well. My blood is everywhere. How I’m not dead already is a miracle.
“Daddy, I-I’ve killed Jack,” I whisper down to his bones. “What do I do?”
I have the clawing urge to dive into the well. To crush my skull. To land in a tangled heap on top of my father’s remains. Pain on top of pain.
I try to lift myself over, and my legs give way. I slide to my knees. “I’m sorry, Jack. Daddy, please help me.” Pleading to my dead father feels right, so I repeat myself.
The flies have reached a swarming level, and I don’t have the energy to swat them away anymore. They crawl over my eyes, buzz in my ears.
I need to see if Jack is alive. Maybe he didn’t die. Maybe he needs my help down there. Since I’m unable to stand, I roll, as if I’m on fire, and make it to the edge. I lift my head to try and spot my brother. The hill is too steep, and I’m too low to the ground to see down to the bottom. “Jack?” I shout. Well, I’m shouting it in my mind, anyway. There is no volume to my voice. My throat is only able to produce a low groan.
I turn over onto my back. Tears slide down my temples and into my hairline. I choke on my sobs. The sky looks fake, too perfect. The clouds too fluffy. The blue too blue.
I push off with my hand and set myself in motion.
Downhill.
– The End –
The Wish
Suzanne Young
Star Light Star bright,
The first star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.
– Mother Goose
I lean my elbows on the railing of the deck, the sound of the party loud on the other side of the sliding glass doors. I stare up at the sky, navy blue streaked with the dark gray of hidden clouds. It’s serene out here: the soft wind, the half-moon hanging low. If I could forget that I’m at a party with my boyfriend—sorry, ex-boyfriend—and the new girl he’s dating, life would seem almost peaceful.
But that would be a lie.
Aaron has been gone for two weeks. Not truly. No, I can turn and see him through the glass doors if I want. He’ll still be slow dancing in the middle of a rowdy party, holding Rachel close, murmuring in her ear. But witnessing that would tear me apart—expose every last inch of my pain, fear, and loneliness. So I came outside to the quiet night. Just me, the sky, and one lone star.
I smile sadly, remembering the rhyme from when I was a child. “Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight,” I whisper. “I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” I debate a minute, trying to narrow down all of my hopes and dreams to just one thought. But I’m still broken with heartache. Heartache that will never heal.
“I wish I were dead,” I say, and lower my head into my hands. It’s all so hopeless, even if I know that sounds trivial. But Aaron is only one of the pieces of my shattered life—
albeit the biggest and most jagged shard.
The tears have barely escaped my eyes when I hear a soft laugh.
“Wow. That was pathetic.”
I gasp and turn to see a stranger leaning against the house. His eyes are bright green even in the shadows, his skin pale and smooth. My first reaction is to cuss him out, embarrassed that he heard me reciting a stupid nursery rhyme. But I try my best to hold on to any appearance of sanity.
“Not as pathetic as creeping up on unsuspecting victims,” I reply.
“Ouch,” he says, touching his chest. “You make me sound like a serial killer.” When he smiles his dimples deepen, and in that instant I think he’s possibly the most attractive guy I’ve ever seen. Then again, I once thought the same thing about Aaron.
“Until you ruined it,” the stranger continues, “this was a really good night. But now you’ve made me so sad, I might just leap from this deck.”
I laugh, his morbid humor fitting my mood exactly. “I won’t stop you.” I step aside, giving him a clear path to the railing. He shakes his head, refusing my offer, and walks out from the shadows.
“I’d rather not,” he says, taking a spot next to me on the deck.
“I’m Lauren,” I tell him. “And you are?”
“Peter.”
“Really? Not something trendy or cool?”
“Nope. Just Peter.”
We grow quiet, staring toward the glass doors leading into the party. I notice Aaron in the crowd, his blond hair damp from sweat, his arms draped over Rachel’s shoulders. The familiar sense of loss overwhelms me, and I lower my eyes.
“I don’t do this every day,” I tell Peter.
“Talk to handsome strangers?”
I look sideways. “Well, that. And wish myself dead. It’s just been that sort of night.”
Peter nods. “I know those nights well.”
Somehow, I doubt that. With his looks and his apparent charm, I find it hard to believe that Peter has found himself on the short end of the dumping stick very often. I, on the other hand, have been whacked with it.
Aaron and I had dated for two years, even though the last three months had grown a little cold—at least on his end. To deal with the breakup, I tried to convince myself that I never really loved him at all; that maybe I just liked having a boyfriend. Other times, I thought I’d die if I never heard him whisper that he loved me again. My confusion was only solidified when he started dating Rachel in the open—a sophomore. A cheerleader. A goddamn stranger to him.
It’s only been two weeks and he brought her here—to Rex Lively’s graduation party. Flaunting her in front of everyone. In front of me.
I think again, I wish I were dead.
“Are you hungry?” Peter asks, brushing his fingers across the bare skin of my arm as he tries to get my attention. His touch is ice-cold, but at the same time, completely refreshing. Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve let anyone get this close to me.
“Not really,” I respond. “I don’t think I have much of an appetite right now.”
Peter nods at this and then slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I take a moment to glance over him, his dark hair, his plaid button-down shirt, and the black string he has tied around his wrist. I wonder what it means, and I think to ask him, but he lifts his gaze to meet mine.
“We could just go talk,” he says. “After all, you’ve ruined my night. At least entertain me.”
I laugh. “And why would I want to do that? I don’t owe you anything.”
His easy expression slips away. “No, you really don’t. But I won’t leave a suicidal girl at the railing of a third-story deck all alone. This just seemed like the easier way to get you inside.”
At the thought of going back into the party, my stomach twists. “I can’t do that,” I say. “There are people in there I don’t want to see.”
“I could raid the linen closet and knot some bed sheets together so we can shimmy down.”
I peer over the railing, but then shake my head. “Maybe we’ll just rush the front door.” I slip off my heels to let him know I’m serious. He looks more than a little entertained.
“We could make him jealous,” he offers.
I freeze. “What?”
“Your ex-boyfriend.” He points toward the house. “That’s who we’re fleeing, right?”
“How did you know that?” I can’t keep the humiliation out of my voice.
“I just did.” He shrugs. “So how about it? One slow dance to rule them all.” He grins, the darkness behind it mischievous, even a little sexy. It’s petty and stupid to try and make Aaron jealous, especially when he doesn’t care.
So I’m surprised when I say yes and slip my shoes back on before taking Peter’s hand to pull him forward.
***
A new song starts to play the minute we get inside. The beat is fast, the thumping of the bass drowning out most of the words. It’s hardly a slow song, but Peter takes my arm and spins me until I’m pressed against him. I can feel the stares of the people around us, even hear a girl murmur, “Who’s Lauren with?” Just being noticed is enough to make me smile. I’ve felt invisible at school—as if Aaron had taken more than my heart when he broke up with me. As if he’d taken my entire existence.
Now I’m real. Here with Peter, I’m someone to see. And when he leans forward to whisper, his breath cool on my ear, a shiver runs down my back and I think that I don’t have to be so sad anymore. That maybe tonight I can start over and let go of Aaron. Let go of my past before it crushes me.
“Now dance,” Peter murmurs. I close my eyes as he wraps one arm around my waist, his other hand sliding into my hair to rest protectively on the back of my neck. We’re so close—not even really dancing, just… being.
The song drifts away, the people drift away. For a moment, there’s peace. Peter is a sense of calm that I haven’t felt in so long. It’s like I’m finally safe with him, whoever he is.
“My parents are getting divorced,” I say softly, keeping my eyes closed so I don’t shatter the illusion of us being alone. “And they’re so angry all the time. They’re so angry at each other that they don’t even see me anymore.”
“Shh…” Peter soothes, his fingers gliding over the skin of my collarbone. When I open my eyes to look at him, he’s there—beautiful, even in this crowded, sweaty mass of people. His dimples deepen. “Do you have a car?” he asks.
***
Peter asks if he can drive, and since I’m still feeling slightly heady after our dance, I toss him the keys. A soft smile plays on his lips the entire trip down the freeway, and it isn’t until we pull onto the city street that he looks over at me.
“I’m a good dancer,” he says with a smirk.
“So good.”
“If that party hadn’t been horrible, I would have kept you there all night. Maybe until they kicked us out. You were being sweet.”
“I can be sweet,” I tell him, slapping his shoulder.
He feigns shock. “This from the girl who said she wouldn’t stop me from taking a dive off the balcony?”
“I do believe you called me pathetic.”
His expression falters slightly, and he turns back to the road. “I didn’t mean that. I just get sick of hearing people complain sometimes. I don’t think you’re pathetic now.” He rubs absently at the black string tied around his wrist, and I furrow my brow.
“What’s that bracelet for?” I ask.
He glances at it, as if surprised it’s there. “To remind me of something I have to do later. I’m forgetful sometimes.” He turns to me and smiles. “Get caught up in the moment.”
“Am I distracting you?”
“Oh, Lauren.” His voice is low and gravelly. “You have no idea.”
Tingles spread over my body, and I almost lean over and kiss him. But before I even notice we’ve stopped, he’s unhooking his seatbelt. “Let’s go dance some more,” he says, and gets out of the car.
I’m laughing as I clim
b out of the passenger side to meet up with him, but I freeze when I see where we are. “The cemetery?” I ask in disbelief.
Peter turns back to look at me, standing under the iron archway of the historic cemetery in Old Town. Most of the headstones have been reduced to unreadable stumps of marble, weeping willows bent and crying over the graves. It isn’t scary, not really. I’ve been coming here for years—actually sat under the tree by the mausoleum to write my college admittance essay. I’m just stunned that Peter would bring me here. This place was my secret.
“Are you afraid?” he asks, putting his hands on his hips like he’s challenging me. “I swear they won’t bother us. They’re a pretty quiet group.” He grins, and I roll my eyes in return.
“How are we going to dance without music?” I ask, walking toward him. “Unless you plan to hum the entire time?”
Peter widens his eyes. “Now that would be weird.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and clicks through his song selections until one starts to play. He waits to see if I’ll argue, and when I don’t, he holds out his arm for me to take.
We walk under the archway of the cemetery to the curved tree near the mausoleum. Peter sets his phone on a nearby grave and once again sweeps me into his arms, more playful than he’d been at the party.
“I love it here,” he says. He twirls me around, and then puts his hand on my back to dip me low. “I come here sometimes to write.”
“No way,” I tell him as we settle into a gentle sway. “You don’t strike me as a writer.”
“I am. Depressing stuff, mostly. I tend to fall in love with tragic things.” He smiles. “Go figure.”
I tilt my head, meeting his vulnerable gaze. So he has experienced heartbreak before. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. When the song finishes, Peter takes his arms from around me to scroll again through his phone, finding something with a faster beat.
“It was more than an ex-boyfriend,” I say to his turned back. “Aaron by himself isn’t a reason for anything, let alone death.”
At the word, Peter turns to face me. “Then why?” he asks.
I shrug. “My parent’s divorce—the fear of how it will change things. They’re different people now, and my childhood, it’s as if they’re saying it was all a mistake. Sometimes I wonder if I was the mistake.” I shut my eyes, the feelings tight and heavy in my chest. “Then there’s college,” I continue. “I worked my ass off to get into Albany.” I look at Peter again. “The same school as Aaron. And now… I don’t even want to go. It would be awful. Nothing’s going right. Nothing is working out the way it was supposed to.”
Two and Twenty Dark Tales Page 24