Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  I drank more that night than I had in years, maybe ever. Enough to kill me, I hoped. Enough to end it all.

  Nothing to live for. Not anymore. No chance of redemption, no hope of forgiveness. I didn’t even want it. I knew, on some level, that I had earned everything coming. I’d tied myself to the track and waited for the train to arrive. I wouldn’t escape. I wouldn’t even try. Just lay there, ropes cutting into my flesh as the roar of the engine hurled closer.

  I did deserve it, the ensuing train. But I couldn’t bear to watch, so I closed my eyes.

  15

  Little Rush

  (The Robbers)

  June stood with a pistol in hand, aiming it right at the sleeping man. She motioned to her comrades. With eager but anxious grins, Randy and Curtis stepped forward out of the shadows. Curtis held a metal bat in his right hand, while Randy gripped a cold knife. They glanced back at June, eyes wide, as all three approached the man asleep on the couch.

  “Go ahead,” she hissed.

  The sitting room around them held very few items of furniture. This couch, where their unwitting captive slept, and then a television on a cabinet across the room. June stood behind the coffee table, her back to the window, curtains drawn. The entire house waited in pitch darkness as they’d approached, snuck in, and finally crept into this room. From the first look around, it didn’t have much potential. No expensive watches or elaborate golden lamps. Not even a wallet on the table, stuffed with bills. But she held out hope.

  “Hey, you!” Randy shouted all of a sudden. His voice cracked the silence like an atomic bomb. He kicked Bruce in the ribs to ensure he woke up.

  Curtis flicked on the lights, blinding them all momentarily. Bruce groggily sat up, shielding his eyes, still half-closed. Like a corpse rising from the grave.

  “Get up!” Randy snarled, hitting him in the back lightly. “Get up, I said!”

  Bruce covered his face with a hand and began sobbing. She noticed that the back of his hands and forearms were caked in dried blood. His hair, an unruly and sweaty mess, hung in his eyes now. It was matted against his head in places, a real disgusting appearance. The tears rained with great, sniffling snot globs. Randy and Curtis both looked back at their leader, uncertain. June paused, her gun still trained on the old, frail man.

  She hadn’t expected Bruce to be… this. Just a year ago, he’d taken part in an action movie they’d all enjoyed. And now, simply an old man on the edge of the world, a fraction of his former self, a ghost.

  “Straighten up, you!” June snapped, unsure how angry to sound.

  Bruce glanced up in surprise at the woman’s voice. He fought back the crying and squawked, “What d-do you w-want from m-me?” He wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm and hugged himself. His eyes locked on the gun barrel, and his bottom lip started to quiver again.

  “Money, riches, everything you got.” June flicked the gun toward the bedroom. “Get us everything you have, or I’ll shoot you. Please try me.”

  Bruce bowed his head and stumbled in that direction. Curtis moved out of his way, holding the bat at ready in case the old man tried anything. Rather than fight back, Bruce held up his own hands in defense, starting to mumble again as he stumbled into the bedroom. When he disappeared into the dark room, they all three looked at each other.

  “What the hell?” Randy whispered to June. “What’s… his problem?”

  She shrugged and followed Bruce into the room, still holding her gun up. The other two copied. June couldn’t fight the nagging sensation that they’d made a mistake. If this man didn’t have any wealth here, it would all be for naught. What would they get, a single credit card? But maybe, just maybe, something in the bedroom would make it all worthwhile. She sure as hell hoped so.

  This next room, also furnished sparingly, only had a bed against one wall, a dresser next to it, and a desk across the room. This might have been the least-cluttered desk she’d ever seen. It looked almost completely unused, if not for the small box on top of it. The black square, a keyhole just visible on the side, was thick, compacted. Some kind of safe, maybe fireproof. June grinned at the sight of it. The answer to their prayers. Who knew what might be inside. Diamonds? Actual gold?

  Bruce fumbled in one of the desk drawers and pulled out a key. Glancing over his shoulder at them, he inserted it and twisted. The lid clicked, and he opened the box.

  “This’s all I got,” he said, voice shaky. He turned around, holding a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “It’s all I got, I swear.”

  “Go count ‘em,” June commanded. She motioned at Randy, who stepped forward to retrieve the money.

  As he counted, June kept her eyes on Bruce. The old man folded his arms and stared at the ground. He hadn’t quit sobbing, and every so often his body would shake violently. He looked like a man who had lost everything, only he didn’t seem to have much to lose. The entire house might have belonged to a poor man who tended the cemetery outside, if not for this mysterious black box.

  “Anything else in that box?” she questioned. She moved her gaze for just a second to the black box but couldn’t make out the answer.

  Bruce shook his head.

  “Sure is!” Curtis announced, shoving his way past Bruce.

  “No, stop!” Bruce lunged at Curtis, who eagerly swung his bat. It collided with Bruce’s knee. He screamed and toppled onto the ground, clutching at his leg. As he writhed on the ground, tears flowing, he watched helplessly.

  Curtis reached inside the box and extracted a photograph. Waving it back and forth, he grinned, clutching the black-and-white Polaroid print between his grubby fingers.

  Bruce lowered his head and clutched at his shirt, more distraught than ever. His crumpled frame on the ground, like an extra piece of furniture. Curtis handed June the image. With the gun still firm in her right hand, she held up the Polaroid with her left and frowned.

  It showed a young boy dressed in overalls and a patterned shirt. Next to him, standing beside a thick tree trunk, was an older man. He didn’t look too different from Bruce himself, just rougher at the edges. He had a thick beard and a carefree smile. His arms, wrapped around the boy, were traced with scars and patchy bruises, but his expression couldn’t have been happier. They were stuck like that forever, a moment in time, just the two of them. Posing next to a thick tree.

  June narrowed her eyes and looked down at Bruce.

  “Who is this?”

  Bruce’s body began to shake. He rubbed at his nose. “Nobody.”

  “Got about eight thousand dollars here, June.” Randy waved the money around, half in each hand. “Not bad for a night’s work, eh?”

  “Shut up,” she snapped at him. Her attention shifted back to Bruce. “Who is this?”

  “My…” Bruce collapsed on the floor again, wailing harder than ever. His tears soaked the carpet, formed a small pool in the fabric. His knees and arms were curled under him at uncomfortable angles. He managed to choke out, “My gr- grandpa.”

  The two men retreated and stood closer to June, almost fearfully. She lowered the gun and pocketed the money from Randy. There were no sounds in the house except for this old man, his sniffling and coughing and moaning. She held up the photograph, tried to see the connection between the little boy in the image and this wretched mess.

  “Let’s get outta here,” she snapped at the others, throwing the Polaroid.

  It fluttered to the ground inches away from Bruce’s face. He lifted his nose from the carpet just a moment to stare up at them. Like a dog who has been kicked and stabbed, left to die, he snatched the Polaroid and stuffed it into his pocket.

  “Real freak, huh?” Curtis chuckled, heading for the bedroom door.

  Bruce scuffled across the carpet, grabbing June’s wrist and bringing the gun to his forehead. She wanted to recoil but held her stance for fear of losing the weapon. His eyes were wild and face pale as he pressed the barrel to his wet skin

  “Kill me,” he whispered, making eye contact with her. “P
lease. Shoot me now.”

  She kicked him in the ribs hard enough that he fell back. The three of them moved toward the doorway. She raised the gun again, this time in self-defense. The other two were gone right away, hurrying out and tripping over each other. But she advanced slowly, almost reluctant to leave.

  “I won’t,” she said after a pause.

  “Now!” Bruce screamed, clawing at the walls. “Do it now, you bitch! Do it for him!”

  And then they were gone. The three of them riding into the night, eight-thousand dollars richer. They would soon read the stories, the truth about Bruce Michaels. As soon as they checked social media, it would all come rushing back. The cripple in the corner of the room. The way his body writhed and his voice begged for death.

  It didn’t even pay for a year of her mother’s insulin. It didn’t give her the normal life she’d been craving or the opportunity to settle into a regular job. In the end, Bruce Michaels was just another job for her, a small success. And still, she couldn’t shake that image.

  June never forgot the night they’d robbed Bruce Michaels. She never forgot the moment when she decided not to end his life right there and then. If only because of what happened next.

  16

  Willow

  His hands were the only warm thing around as we crested the bridge. Its elongated arc across the water rose high enough in the air that the winds would chip away at your bones. The drop to our right made me feel nauseous. Not that I felt surprised anymore. Nausea had become a part of my daily life. Pretty soon, the morning sickness would also show up.

  Mason grinned at me, his smile petrifyingly white. The sky overhead had turned a deep, endless color. There were no stars visible, no moon. Just a melancholy darkness. It couldn’t have been later than ten o’clock, but it didn’t matter. Night had gripped our sleepy town in a cold claw and wouldn’t let go.

  “I can’t wait to bring our baby up here,” I said, misty-eyed.

  Mason leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Me either.”

  Everything felt at ease in the world. The river hundreds of feet below us, moving gently through the foggy valley. That fog, only visible on the river’s surface, would soon rise up and cover the whole downtown. I would wake that next morning to its cool embrace and drink in the beautiful sight. A town meant to raise children in. A town that should be called home.

  My parents had both taken the news okay. Not as well as Mason’s, perhaps. His own were fully on board with the thing. Didn’t even ask questions, didn’t judge us. Then again, Mason suspected they were just playing it cool to try and reconcile their relationship with him. This certainly seemed the case for Jed. But my own parents, they were brutally honest. When I told my mom about the baby, her first words were, “That wasn’t too smart of you, huh?” Her and dad eventually came around. Accepted this new reality. But I was, truly, a little disappointed. I hoped that in time, my mom would support me fully in this part of my life. Would offer help and advice and wisdom. I hoped.

  “Look at that, baby.” I peered back over my shoulder toward Little Rush, down below us. “It’s beautiful.”

  Mason smiled and turned around to see. We stood there for a moment, gazing at the streets. The lights lining each side of the road, the downtown shops in their waning hours of business. Cars passing this way and that. Some of them climbing the hill, some descending. The whole city abuzz, but not in a big city kind of way. This place, alive, but peaceable. A city asleep but with vivid dreams.

  “I don’t think I wanna leave,” I said out loud for the first time.

  Mason wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against him. “Honey, I don’t want you to just—”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” I stopped him. I turned my chin up to gaze into his sparkling eyes. The city lights reflected in their smooth color. I couldn’t help but kiss him. When I pulled away, I said, “Maybe I’ll change my mind. But I just… I wanna have our baby here. I wanna… try it out. Give Little Rush a chance.”

  He embraced me fully in a hug and breathed into my ear, “I love you so much.”

  “I love you even more.”

  We turned to continue our walk across the bridge. On the other side, there was an old-fashioned Dairy Queen that stayed open late. It had always been a dream of mine to walk across the deep, dark river and then back, an ice cream in hand. Mason started to pull away from me, but I didn’t budge. He turned back, confused.

  “What’s up?”

  I held my phone now. One hand gripping the object, the other covering my mouth. The screen brightness hurt my eyes for a second, but I couldn’t turn away. I’d gotten a notification and clicked on it absent-mindedly. Somebody had shared an article with me on Twitter, one of the girls from school. But now that I read, the headline gripped me. This idea tore at my reality. When I shifted the phone so Mason could read it, he had a completely different reaction.

  “Oh my god.” His own eyes were as wide as mine. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up, and then looked back to me. “Hudson… Does Hudson know?”

  “Let’s head back,” I said at once, stuffing the phone in my pocket and starting off at a brisk walk the way we’d come.

  Mason hurried alongside me, muttering to himself. “No… no, no, no… Oh my god, Hudson…”

  I reached for his hand, but he pulled away, chewing on his nails in distress.

  “Babe, it’ll be okay,” I assured him. “I—”

  “No, it’s not.” He met my gaze with a serious expression. With one tiny movement, he shook his head. “He can’t handle this. He’ll…”

  The sentence died off, but I knew what he meant now.

  He’d almost done it when his parents were fighting. I still remembered those texts viscerally. And this… this could push him too far.

  Little Rush had never been a place where time moved fast. One of the best parts about life in those sleepy streets, really. High school dragged. The summer, even, took forever. But I had a feeling —as we raced across the bridge and back to the town we’d almost left— that things were about to change. This city, with the pause button forever stuck, had begun to fast forward. We were stuck, for now, in a place of passing moments.

  Part 4

  A Place of Profound Uncertainty

  1

  Bruce

  I’d never been in a truck so fast, felt wind smack me across the face quite like that. An exuberant, fourteen-year-old with an exuberant smile. I got the window seat, something that rarely happened with the three of us, and seized the chance. As the speedometer rose, I stuck my head farther out the window. The wind threatened to tear out my eyeballs, it rushed so hard. But I kept them open. Watery marbles that drank in every moment.

  Danny drove, like usual, only this time he had a death wish. I would say so, anyway. He fixated on those blurring yellow lines, biting his upper lip. His knuckles were white against the gray steering wheel. The engine thunderous, all around us. The truck seats vibrating, out of control. He pushed harder and harder on the gas. Pushed it to a breaking point.

  “Let’s fucking go!” yelled Jon, the boy in the middle. His long, straw-colored hair flew around like a tornado, sticking out from the back of his head. But Jon didn’t care, he just smacked me in the shoulder and hollered again. “Yessir, floor that motherfucker!”

  Danny, a seventeen-year-old, had him beat in age by a year, but not by excitement. Jon became a regular cheerleader anytime Danny did something cool. Like the time when he smacked a hot bikini girl’s ass just as she climbed out of the public swimming pool, still dripping wet. I’d watched in amazement. That’d been my second day hanging out with them, and already Danny left me dumbfounded.

  “Gettin’ there,” Danny growled, chewing as he did so. Danny had a nasty habit of taking a dip right before he did something like this. He also took it other times, but it caught my attention most in situations that were dangerous.

  I leaned back into the soft, foam seat and glimpsed at the speedometer. The arrow mo
ved farther across the dashboard than I’d ever imagined. Almost all the way now. His truck speedometer went up to 110, and we were inching closer. I held my breath as the speed ramped up, afraid to look forward now. All of a sudden, I wished Jon had taken the window seat and I could hide in between them.

  “This is so bad, dude!” Jon yelled, his voice barely audible over the shrill engine. That noise did not sound okay, but Jon covered it with a wild, hooting laughter. He thumped me on the back again. Apparently, neither of them noticed my fear.

  I forced myself to stare wide-eyed at the road. The lines were moving so fast, they became impossible to watch. It made me sick. Out the side window, fields of soybeans whooshed by so quickly that I didn’t wanna look there either. Instead, I planted my gaze on the hood of the truck. It rattled and shook with the force of Danny’s driving, but at least it didn’t scare me.

  “Hundred!” Danny hooted, smacking the dashboard with a palm. “Oh, baby!”

  My eyes wandered to the rearview window. The highway stretching out behind us, endless, going on for miles and miles. How long had it been since leaving Little Rush? How many miles were already back there? I only hoped that on the way home, Danny wouldn’t be so reckless.

  Any second, I expected a cop car to peel out from one of the side roads. Lights flashing, horn blaring, probably sirens too. But it never did. I almost wished for it. At least then, we’d have to stop. Or maybe not. Danny said he’d escaped the cops before. Whether this was truthful or not, I believed him.