Some Laneys Died: A Skipping Sideways Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  I propped my bike against a tree and moved into the forest. I heard voices then saw Dad . . . holding a woman. They kissed and laughed. Her hands moved to the button on his shorts; his moved to the buttons on her cut-off shirt.

  My chest pounded as I watched them undress each other, giggling like kids. His back was to me when she kneeled down in front of him. He groaned. “Think we should get into the tent.” He gasped.

  “Why do we have to hide? No one’s looking.”

  He groaned some more. “Gibbs! Please. The tent.” He panted.

  She stood and licked his ear. “But you’re so close.”

  “So is the tent.”

  My arms squeezed my body as it shook. I almost ran back to my bike and screamed, “Dad, where are you?”

  In one version of the story, I did. He yelled back then a minute later came out of the trees, claiming he’d had to pee. No tent. No Gibbs. Just a quick hike back to Mom, both of us talking about the weather and how hungry we were.

  But I didn’t. I watched them crawl into the tent then listened as they screwed each other. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I walked up to the tent, kicked the sides, and started screaming.

  * * *

  “Laney?” Mom calls from the bed. “You drifted off somewhere.”

  “Yeah. Just thinking about what happened that day.” It had been a long time since I’d thought about the real event, without changes or happier endings.

  Something gnaws at the back of my mind.

  Mom leans forward, holding her glass in both hands. “You’re going to have a hard time reestablishing a relationship with your father if you can’t stop reliving the past. You have to move on, Delaney.”

  I turn around with a jerk and move my fingers over my keyboard. I search for July Fourth, Original Version, find it then scroll through the first two pages. Something is missing. Something I’d just seen in my head.

  After riding through the loops, I saw the bike trail through the woods and decided to take a look. I followed the trail until I saw the camouflaged tent off to the left.

  No mention of the boy. Or the crash.

  Where is the boy on the bike?

  I check version two and three. No boy with curly hair and freckles. No staring at my crotch.

  Where did he come from? How could I have forgotten him?

  5

  I’m staring at my computer, my elbows propping my head over my desk, when I notice Mom’s hand place a slip of paper next to me.

  “Here’s his phone number. Remember his time is three hours earlier than ours. When do you plan to call him?”

  I keep staring at my computer screen.

  “What’s wrong, Delaney?” Mom holds my shoulders.

  I lean back in my chair and let my arms flop to my side as bile rises in my chest. “When you said I knew the rest of the story, scenes from that day played in my head. But this time I saw another person before I found Dad and Gibbs.” I turn to see her bite her lip. “I’ve never written about this person before, not in any version of the story. He just appeared. What’s with that?”

  Mom wrings her hands. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I rub my face. “This has happened all day, and I don’t understand why.” I suddenly sit up. “The boy asked me something, and I said no, which means—assuming he was real—that in one universe I said yes.” I snap my face toward hers. “But why would he not exist in all of my versions? Why did he just pop into existence? Can that happen?”

  Mom’s looking at me the same way she did before sending me to Dr. Feelings. She rubs my shoulder as her lip trembles. “Can what happen?”

  “Can something pop into existence? Just appear?”

  She tries to smile. “The universe did. The state of nothing doesn’t exist. There’s always the potential for something.”

  I jump up. “Why is everything so complicated?”

  “I’m sorry, Delaney. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you about choices and universes splitting.”

  I turn around, running my hands through my hair, and watch her lift the folded newspaper from my chair. I must have been sitting on it.

  She holds the paper closer. “When did this happen?” She points at the headline I’ve circled.

  “The bones were discovered last Thursday.”

  She reads through part of the article and shakes her head. “So sad.”

  “I bet they were abducted in the woods.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because that’s what happens to girls all the time.”

  Mom’s face blanches. I don’t know why I snapped at her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just tense.”

  “Why did you save this article?”

  “You know, that’s the funny thing. I don’t know. It seems important.”

  Mom stares at me, puzzled. “Why does this story bother you so much?”

  “Because they found the remains near where I found Dad and Gibbs. The girls probably died three years ago.”

  Mom’s face sags. I can tell she’s worried. Hell, I’m worried. If I keep freaking her out, she’ll never let me see Dad. I’ll definitely spend the holidays in a hospital. So I need to diffuse this. Now.

  I chuckle and stand. “I’m probably not getting enough sleep.”

  She reaches for my hands. “Delaney, are you using drugs?”

  She looks old, worn, and beaten. I grasp her to me. “No, Mom. I promise. No drugs or alcohol. I swear.”

  She hugs me back. “Please don’t. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I know.” Mom’s brother died of an overdose in his teens. She’s told me his story many times and made me swear to never use. And I haven’t. “I’m not sure why but what happened that day with Dad is haunting me. My mind is racing around in circles, thinking crazy things. I need to see him and sort it out. Maybe if we can talk and forgive each other, I can leave that day behind.”

  I try to smile. “I know I’ve been freaking you out lately. I don’t want to, especially when you’re so happy about Fermilab.”

  “When would you go?”

  “Over the holidays would be a good time because I have a break.” I take a breath and let it out slowly. How will she react about this next part? “And maybe January, if he’ll have me.”

  “Did something happen between you and Khannan?” Her eyes do their back and forth dance as she looks at me.

  Shit! Did he say something? I feel like I’m at the summit on the roller coaster, ready to crash down. “Why do you ask?”

  “He was excited about all of us going to Chicago, but when I told him about working through January and him having to stay home with you, his mood changed.”

  Bet I know why. How would either of us explain this afternoon? “So what happened was I was looking for the ropes I had seen on the kitchen chair at lunch and found them in your sex toy drawer where I borrowed one of your vibrators. Khannan caught me so everything’s weird between us. Not to mention the hooker he may or may not have hired or the possible close-to-incest going on between me and Eddie.” Yeah, that would go well. Maybe in another universe.

  Hah. Where it will surely occur because I just chose not to tell her. God, this is getting so confusing.

  “Khannan has always been kind and polite with me,” I say, “but I think we’d both feel awkward being alone with each other.”

  Mom slumps.

  I need to cheer her up. “Hey, how about this? If Dad won’t take me, I could stay with you at Fermilab. We’d have fun.” I flash a big smile.

  “What about school?”

  “For as much as you pay in tuition to that place, the teachers should be able to give me assignments in advance. I could do a special presentation on Fermilab when I get back. They’d love it.”

  “I’m not sure you need more exposure to multiverses and quantum theory. Think I’ve done enough damage.”

  “No damage, Mom.” I hug her. In her own way, she’s always supported me. I don’t want her to blame herself. After what I’ve felt
the past three years, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. “I think I need to talk to Dad.”

  “OK. I’ll leave now so you can call him. Let me know how it goes.”

  I hug her again, my chin resting on the top of her head, smelling the oatmeal and honey shampoo she uses.

  She squeezes me again then holds me back. “When did you get so tall? And your figure!” She looks at my breasts. “You surely didn’t get those from me.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank Dad for the boobs.” And we both laugh. Something we haven’t done in a long time, not since Dad lived here.

  She holds my hands and lifts my arms. “You’re a beautiful girl, Delaney.”

  Instinctively, I pull my arms together. “My arms are too long.” I never lift my arms in public.

  “No, they’re not,” she tries to reassure me.

  “Let your arm hang by your side and look where your fingertips reach on your leg.” Mom does as I ask. “Now look where mine reach.” I swear my tips almost touch my knee.

  “You should try fencing or basketball. Those arms would work to your advantage.”

  “Then everyone would notice how long they are.”

  She shakes her head and purses her lips. “We live in a very sexist world. Long arms are prized by boys. Why shouldn’t they be by girls? You are very pretty, arms included.”

  I smile. She squeezes my hand and leaves.

  I face the mirror and hold my arms out to my sides. My wingspan is 75 inches while my height is 70. Mom’s wingspan has to be shorter than her height because her hands are so small. The only similarity between Mom and me is our eyes—big. Dad’s are kind of beady. Otherwise, I’m a more feminine version of him.

  I find the paper with his phone number. Maybe I should write down what I want to say? I smile and think of another Laney hunched over her keyboard, typing not only her words but what Dad says back. Then starting over with another version. And another. I let that universe fly away and punch his number into my phone.

  Which rings. Several times. Then I hear his voice.

  “Can’t talk right now. You know what to do.” Click, then a mellow woman’s voice says, “Leave your message now.”

  I can hear myself breathe into the phone. I swallow. “Hello, Dad? This is Laney. Your daughter. Look, I really need to talk to you. I know our separation is all my fault, and I’m sorry. Really sorry. I need my dad. I need to talk to you and . . . come see you, if you’ll let me. And I know when you wanted to see me, I screamed at you and drove you away, so you have every right to do the same to me. But . . . I’m desperate.” Tears flood my eyes. My throat aches so much I can barely speak. “My mind’s not in a good place right now. Please call me back . . . any time. Doesn’t matter how late. I probably won’t sleep tonight anyway until I hear your voice. And . . . I know you won’t believe me, and you have every reason not to, but . . . I love you. And I hope you can still love me.”

  I punch the end call button and fall onto my bed, burying my face into my sheets, and cry myself to sleep.

  * * *

  I have bad dreams, though I can’t remember them entirely. Just flashes of emotion and light. Sounds emerging from darkness. Is someone gagged? I have trouble breathing.

  Marissa and Kaitlyn blow smoke into a sploofy, giggling, as we walk barefoot in the grass. I see the blue light of a swimming pool as I swing around tree trunks. They hold the joint out for me to take. Marissa’s shirt is open. I take the J and somehow I’m walking down a driveway alone, stoned, barefoot. I find a gate and see cars racing down the road. I run back and hide behind the trees.

  My sheets are sticky wet. I have a headache, and my neck is stiff. I push myself up and try to stand. I have to pee.

  The kitchen is empty and the lights are off. I run to the bathroom, but it’s locked. Why? This is supposed to be for me only. I knock.

  “Just a minute,” Eddie says.

  What the hell is he doing in my bathroom? I bang on the door. “Eddie, get out of there! Please!” I bang on the door again. I’m about to explode.

  He opens the door, wearing a towel, his hair wet and mussed. I notice a purple birthmark above his belly button and the bulge below his waist. I push my way past him, yanking down my pants, barely moving my butt over the toilet before I erupt. My head flops back, and all my muscles relax, the pee whooshing into the bowl.

  “Feels good when you can finally let it go,” says Eddie. “I know the feeling.”

  I hear the door click closed and Eddie laughing outside.

  * * *

  My phone vibrates. I open my eyes and reach into my back pocket. I’m in my bed. I sit up and see a message from Garrett. Are we on for 2?

  My head sways above my shoulders as I stand and stretch. Crazy-ass dreams! It’s dark outside and I check the time—11:30. I’m starving, so I go to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. I find a wrapped plate with a note: We didn’t want to wake you. Enjoy, Khannan.

  I shove the plate in the microwave and answer Garrett. Sure! I fell asleep hours ago and just woke up. Can’t wait to see the meteor shower.

  He responds. Cool. I’ll be in my truck outside your house at 2.

  I’ll be there. I send him the entry code.

  The food is scrumptious. Khannan made my favorite—chicken marsala with mushrooms over polenta with asparagus. Maybe he was feeling guilty and wanted to apologize. He makes this meal about once a month. I shove bites into my mouth, barely chewing before gulping them into my stomach.

  “Does it still taste OK?”

  I nearly jump out of my seat.

  Khannan comes into the kitchen dressed in pajamas and a robe. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I can’t sleep, so I came to get a glass of wine. Is the food good?”

  “Very. Thanks. Wish I could’ve eaten it fresh, but it’s still yummy.”

  He pours a glass of wine. “Would you like a little?”

  Mom permits me to drink some wine during dinner, depending on the meal. “Yes, please.” Did he just happen to wander in here, or was he waiting for me to fetch my plate?

  He gives me the glass and sits at the other end of the table.

  “Thanks.” I take a few sips.

  “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable this afternoon. That was a surprising situation, and I wasn’t prepared for it.”

  “And I was?” Another sip. Another bite.

  He raises one brow. “I don’t believe Hannah would tell you to borrow . . . that. She’s much too reserved about such things.”

  I nearly choke. “She has ropes, handcuffs, and ball gags in her drawer. How is that reserved?”

  His eyes widen slightly. “In private, not so much, but I think you would faint if she actually told you to rummage through her drawer and take one of her . . .”

  “Vibrators. They’re called vibrators.”

  He smiles. “Yes. So my point is you were in there for some other reason and just happened to find her toys. I don’t know why you were there, and that’s your business. I don’t need to know, and neither does she.”

  I see his big, dark eyes looking almost too sincere. “Thank you, Khannan.”

  He nods and clears his throat. “Hannah told me you’re not comfortable staying with Eddie and me during January. I’m sorry you feel that way, but if that helps you restore your relationship with your father, then I’ll be happy for you. You shouldn’t go through life without knowing your father. I’m sure he misses you.”

  “I hope so. I left him a message. Maybe he’ll call back.”

  He leans forward. “If he doesn’t, then try again tomorrow. Or even tonight. Maybe he wants to make sure you didn’t call on a whim. He doesn’t want to be rejected again.”

  “Has Mom told you . . .”

  “Yes, but I’m sure not all of it.” He sips his wine. “Learning about your parents’ sexuality is always difficult. Especially when it’s outside the marriage.”

  I realize I wasn’t shocked that Mom had a sex life, but that I’d found the ropes in her draw
er, the very ones I had seen on the chair. I still don’t understand that. Or why I grabbed the vibrator.

  I take another bite and drink the last of my wine. “I think seeing them naked and hearing them made it worse. I’ve often thought if I’d ridden by just a few minutes later, I’d never have known where he was or what he was doing. So many choices made at just the right time resulted in my parents’ separation. One little change, and they’d still be together. That bothers me.”

  “Of course, your father made the biggest choice, not you. And from what your mother tells me, they had been having problems before that day.”

  This surprises me. I don’t remember hearing them fight or argue about Gibbs. I’d never heard her name until that afternoon. But Khannan could be lying. In fact, he has to be. I saw how he responded to Mom’s kiss this morning. And the girl. And the chair.

  But now I’m not sure any of that happened. I just had dreams about pissing in front of Eddie and smoking weed with Marissa and Kaitlyn, girls I barely know. And the boy on a bike just popped into my memory about that day when I’ve done nothing but think about those events for the past three years. Where has he been? What’s going on in my head? I’m angry and need answers.

  Khannan stands. “I hope you and your father have a good conversation. Good night.” He turns to leave.

  I stand. “Are you happy they split up?” I know I’m glaring at him, but I can’t help it.

  He stops and faces me. “I’m not happy either one of you had to go through that, but I am happy I met your mother.”

  “Would you ever cheat on her? Have you? Do you two have any problems I’m unaware of?” I fire each question from a closer range. He shudders and frowns, and I see a little fear in his eyes. Dammit, I need the truth! “Were you or Eddie home today during lunch? One of you had to be.” I can feel the blood swelling my neck and face.

  “No. What is wrong, Delaney? What’s bothering you?”

  Another step closer. “Would your answer change if I threatened to tell Mom you offered me her vibrator before she came home?” Even in the dim light I can see his hands shake. Please tell me you were home today.