LOST BOY

by Ker Dukey

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t watch the news. I have enough horror stories in my head.

  “A prison bus transferring thirteen convicts to the new prison in Ironport was hit by a truck yesterday. Three inmates escaped.”

  Thud.

  “And?”

  Silence…

  “Willis was among them.”

  Thud.

  “He doesn’t know where I am,” I say the words, assuring myself more than for his benefit.

  “All the same, a patrol car is going to be stopping by over the next few days until we apprehend him.”

  “How could this happen?” I whisper. My fingers squeeze the receiver, a knot twisting my stomach.

  “It shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, and I assure you we’re doing everything we can to find him.”

  Will you find him before he finds another victim?

  “Mrs. Langford?”

  That’s not my name.

  “I have to go, bye, Detective.”

  “Viv, who was that?” Kathy asks, following me over to the window where I watch our children racing around the yard.

  Kathy is my best friend and neighbor. She lost her husband in a friendly fire training exercise eight months into her pregnancy. We bonded over being single parents, our children only months apart in age. Kathy is a doting parent. It comes naturally to her. She’s warm, attentive, not hardened by evil.

  “Viv? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She turns me to face her, her pale green eyes searching.

  “Willis is out there,” I tell her, picking up the laundry basket and carrying it outside.

  “Your ex-husband? Out where!” she exclaims, following my hurried pace.

  “Help me with this?” I ask, handing her one corner of a sheet.

  “Viv, what happened?” She takes the material, pegging it in place.

  The laughter of our children sings through the air.

  Lizzy folds her body in the now-empty laundry basket, calling out, “Polo,” and giggling when she hears Jack’s returning, “Marco.”

  Their bond is so pure, innocent. Will he break her heart one day?

  A car sounds in the distance, drawing our attention.

  “You expecting someone?” Kathy frowns, holding a hand above her eyes to block out the offending sun. She doesn’t know all the details about Willis. I couldn’t bear to see the horror in her eyes.

  “Why are they coming at that speed?” she grinds out.

  No one comes here. Our properties are way out in the middle of nowhere.

  “They said a patrol car would be stopping by,” I croak out, wringing my hands.

  “That’s not a police car,” Kathy almost whispers. Thunder roars in my ears, my stomach dropping to the ground beneath my feet.

  Fate thickens the air.

  He found me.

  Us.

  Two

  Present

  August 9th, 2018

  Lizzy

  22 years old

  Clear skies make the sun burn so vivid, I have to squint to seek out Jack through its rays. The breeze makes my summer dress dance, and brings the giant trees surrounding our house to life, their leaves whispering as they sway, our audience as we play.

  Jack’s voice cuts through the air. “Marco.”

  A giggle bubbles in my tummy. “Polo,” I call out, climbing into the empty laundry basket.

  Thunder clouds eclipse the sun, plunging me into darkness

  You’re dreaming. Wake up.

  “Jack! Lizzy!” A startling cry makes my heart flutter in my chest.

  I feel an ache in my bones as I’m yanked from the basket. “Mama?” I cry. She’s running now, her hand squeezing mine. My feet drag through the dirt as I try to keep up with her. Her grip is so tight, she’ll leave a bruise.

  “Ow, mama!” I whine as her nails pinch my skin, breaking the flesh.

  Rain begins to pour from the sky. Only…it’s not raining. The drops are thick crimson splats.

  You’re dreaming. Wake up.

  We’re inside. Jack’s mom takes our hands and ushers us into the spare bedroom.

  “I need you to hide—hide and don’t come out for anyone but me,” she tells us, pulling us to our knees.

  A car screeches to a stop outside, the tires kicking up dirt, then the slam of a door.

  “Hide now,” she orders. Her voice shakes so much, it sounds like she’s someone else—a stranger.

  “I’m scared,” I cry out.

  “Stay together. Keep each other safe.” She nods her head, pushing us farther under before leaving us there.

  Jack grips my hand, pulling away from the edge. The warm trickle of my pee soaks my panties and dress when the sounds of the front door crashing open and raised voices reverberate outside the closed door.

  Fear suffocates me. I can’t breathe. I’m drowning in my tears seeping into the skin of Jack’s palm pushed firmly against my mouth.

  “It’s okay, Liz Wiz. It will be okay.” Jack clutches me to him. I can’t make my body stop trembling. I’m scared he will hear my bones rattling.

  Bang!

  “No…” I mumble against Jack’s palm, squeezing my eyes closed as tight as I can.

  Wake up! Wake up!

  “Where the fuck is my son, cunt?” Nasty words punch through the air as the door gives way and heavy feet pound inside. The bed dips under the weight of someone thrown down on top of it.

  I’m not sure if it’s my mom or Jack’s crying. Their pleas become muffled when Jack wraps his other arm around my head, blocking my ears.

  The mattress pushes down above us as we cower beneath the bed.

  Mama, mama, mama.

  Wake up.

  Fear is overwhelming me, my head feels dizzy. I want to run away and for this to be just a game. Marco…Polo…

  But it’s not. I know what this monster who invaded our happy day is doing to her on the bed we’re sheltered beneath.

  Jack’s voice sounds in my ear as the heat of his body shifts.

  “It’s going to be okay, Liz Wiz.” I latch my finger with his in a pinky promise.

  “Where is he!” the man roars, making my stomach twist. The gurgling sounds cause my head to swim. The room is darkening, the rain from outside now pouring inside, covering the carpet in red liquid.

  You’re dreaming.

  “Mama?” Jack cries out, and the room falls silent.

  The bed creaks with movement before two dirty black boots thud to the floor.

  Whoosh!

  My hand reaches out for Jack’s as he’s pulled from my grasp, his body sliding away from me. “Noooo!” we both cry out as he’s yanked from beneath the bed. Our eyes hold each other’s gaze.

  The earth shakes the foundations of my world.

  His startled eyes begin to tear up.

  “Jack!” I mime reaching out, willing my hands to go further…but he’s gone.

  Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

  A gasp escapes me, jolting me from sleep. My eyes struggle to open. I will my erratically beating heart to calm inside my chest, the dream fever still holding me hostage in its suffocating grip. “In, out. In, out. In, out,” I coach myself, sucking air into my restricted lungs.

  Swiping my hand over my head, I wipe the sweat dripping from my brow. My eyes peek open, and I try to focus. When the world floods in, I wish I could shut it all out again.

  I have a love-hate relationship with my dreams of Jack. It’s been so long, I’m not even sure which parts of the memory are real anymore, or what’s been embellished from the nights spent thinking of different outcomes.

  Wasted thoughts. Wasted life.

  Knowing Jack, being his friend, became the catalyst of my entire life.

  Thoughts of him wash through my mind like the tide receding after a hurricane, exposing debris and chaos in its wake. Shards of my world float around, damaged, unrecognizable, the destruction everlasting on my soul.

  Reality hits me full force with the sun beaming through
the drape-less window, heating my already warm room. I almost wished the memories of my lost boy would fade into nothing, dissipate with time, but he clings on, haunting me, and I seek those dreams out because, as painful as the idea of what happened to him is, the hurt reminds me he was real—is real.

  If I feel him, he lives. Right?

  Shrilling sounds from my cellphone, almost catapulting me across the room in fright. Kicking back the duvet, I jump up from the bed, which is just a mattress on the floor of my tiny bedroom in a rundown apartment I share with my best friend, Charlotte.

  My thoughts jumbled, still doused with sleep, my feet falter. The duvet gathers and restricts my legs, tangling me up like vines and propelling me forward face first.

  “Dammit!”

  I land with an unattractive thud, hitting the floor in a clump of too-long limbs and a mop of messy auburn hair.

  The ringing on my cell gets louder, filling the crappy apartment.

  Pushing the duvet from my feet, I pat the side of the mattress, then spot it sitting on the box stuffed with junk I never unpacked and now use as a bedside table.

  “Hello?” I croak into the receiver, pulling the lid from my keepsake tin, sifting through the news clippings.

  Notorious serial killer is now wanted in connection with the disappearance of school…

  “Hello, sweetie. I didn’t wake you, did I?” my aunt’s too chirpy voice greets me.

  You’re safe now. You can come out.

  “No. I’m up,” I tell her, slamming the lid closed and running a hand through my hair.

  “I just wanted to check in on you,” she murmurs, hesitant.

  Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart. Don’t look.

  “I’m fine.” I’m fine. I’m fine…

  “Okay…well, we’re here for you if you need anything. I know this day is a tough one. There’s no shame in taking time for yourself.”

  Silence…

  “We have potential buyers coming to view the house today,” she says, changing the subject.

  “That’s great.” I try to make my voice sound happy for them. I am happy for them.

  “We love you, sweetie.”

  I know she loves me, and I’m grateful for everything she’s done for me, but you can’t erase trauma no matter how many pancakes and trips to the zoo you force on a child.

  “You too. Bye,” I whisper.

  It’s just another day.

  No, it’s not. It’s the day the devil visited you and took everything.

  A groaning sound rumbles into my room, making my heart skip.

  I follow the noise to the vent attached to my room. My eyes travel up the small protruding column that runs parallel from floor to ceiling through three stories of apartments. Movement crashes above me. I must have a new neighbor. The groaning is so loud, it makes me wonder how well they can hear me. Your nightmares.

  My fingers brush against the tiny half-moon scars on my hand. They’re so faint now, they’re barely noticeable.

  “Hide.”

  Pulling my hair into a high ponytail, I dissect every inch of my face in the mirror, feeling the pit in my stomach open, jagged, raw. All I see is emptiness staring back at me through the hollow dark orbs of my eyes. Pale skin is a curse of living in a town that sees more rain than anything else.

  I pull the lid from a lipstick that came free on the front of a magazine and swipe the light shade of pink across my lips. My teeth grind. I hate the way it feels on my skin. Oily, thick, fake. It’s not me.

  Who are you?

  Loneliness blooms in my chest. My hands move to rub away the ache.

  “Lizzy, have you left yet?” Charlotte barks through the panel of my bedroom door. “No, I’m here,” I call back, scrubbing the lipstick off with a tissue before slipping into some jeans and a tee.

  She’s still in last night’s outfit eating cereal from a coffee mug when I make it into the kitchen. “There are bowls in the dishwasher.” I frown, dragging my eyes up her body. Charlotte is all curves stuffed tightly into a small, little compact body. I envied her curves and the confidence they gave her. She gave zero shits about fitting in or what people thought of her. It didn’t work for me, though, no matter how hard I tried to make it. I could be in a room full of people and the nagging presence of guilt, of sorrow, would saturate me in its misery, making me shrink into myself.

  It’s inescapable.

  “I couldn’t be bothered to look for them. Needed food to try to soak up the alcohol.” She grins over the lip, shoveling another spoonful into her mouth. Milk drips from the corners and off her chin.

  I study her more closely. Her makeup smeared under her eyes, giving her a smokey look most girls spend hours trying to perfect. Her hair is fused, the blonde locks tangled around her shoulders.

  “Are you doing the walk of shame?” I raise a brow. Usually, she brings her conquests here. Safer that way, according to her. Not to me. I wouldn’t say I like it when she brings strangers here.

  “I’m not ashamed. If you mean did I come straight from a guy’s apartment, then yes.” She grins. “Give me a second to put on a pair of panties and I’ll give you a ride to campus.”

  “Do I want to know why you came home without them?”

  “Men like to keep them. A badge of honor.” She taps my nose with her spoon on her way down the hall to her room.

  “It’s not a badge of honor if half the town is wearing it,” I call out, wiping my nose with a paper towel.

  She’s back in less than a minute, pulling a pair of black panties up her thighs as she walks, hopping on one leg.

  “Don’t be bitter,” she quips. “You could be doing this walk too if you just came out once in a while.”

  Ignoring that statement, I say, “We have time for you to change,” I gesture to her midriff showing from her shirt missing half its material. Her skirt barely reaches the lower part of her thighs.

  “Nah. We don’t. Gaby said the bakery dude gets there early on Mondays.”

  “His name is Paul,” I remind her, knowing full well she knows. “Why are you covering for Gaby anyway?” It’s not like her to volunteer for someone else’s shift.

  “She’s taking my Friday shift. I have a date.” She winks, biting her lip seductively for effect. “He has a friend?”

  “Pass,” I tell her, rolling my eyes.

  Charlotte’s the complete opposite of me. She’s a party girl, whereas I’m a loner. Despite our differences, she’s also my best friend.

  God knows how we ended up this way, but here we are.

  Tilting her head to study me, she stops at the front door, blocking my exit. My hand flies up to my neck. “What?” I ask, paranoia gripping me.

  “Nothing…I’ve just never seen you wear your hair up. It’s nice.”

  Her words don’t offer comfort. They confirm what I already feel: it’s not me.

  My hand brushes over my scalp, gripping the hairband and yanking it free, allowing my locks to fall loose around my face. My security blanket.

  “It’s fucking freezing,” Charlotte complains, blowing on her hands as soon as we settle in her piece of shit Nissan. The seats have holes and the air conditioning doesn’t work, but it’s dry and a ride.

  She tries the engine, kicking it over, making it choke. “Fuck. Come on, baby.” She pets the steering wheel like it’s a living entity. “Don’t die on me today.”

  “I can walk,” I offer, tugging on the stubborn seat belt.

  “Fuck that. It’s raining.” She scoffs.

  The engine kicks over, and she offers me a shit-eating grin. “He’s the only man who never lets me down,” she boasts.

  “Why does it have to be a man?” I mock, finally clicking my belt in place.

  “I only ride men,” she quips, clasping the gearshift and stroking it to get a rise out of me.

  “You’re shameless.”

  “Guilty.” She chuckles.

  Condensation fogs the windows, making it almost impossible to see through them
as she drives twenty miles per hour, squinting to see. “Should I crack a window?”

  “If you want to get wet.” She snorts, then flips on the radio and sings along to Harry Styles out of tune while I watch the drops of rain slide down the passenger side window like tears on the cheek of sorrow. The tinkering of rain pounding the metal of the car is soothing, lulling me into a light sleep.

  “Is there anyone else on the property?”

  “No one’s alive.”

  “Shit. What’s this?” Charlotte's voice slices through my memories. Blue flashing lights blur through the raindrops. She slows to a stop, swiping her arm down the windshield, trying to wipe the condensation away.

  “What do you think happened?” I ask, a nervous bubble popping in the depths of my stomach.

  “Car crash maybe?” She shrugs, gesturing to my window. “See if you can see anything.”

  A tremor rattles my hand as I wind down my window and instantly get pelted with side rain. The flashing lights transport me back to my dream.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can come out now.”

  “Lizzy?” Charlotte snaps, jarring me.

  “I can’t see anything. There’s a crowd of people and a police officer turning cars around,” I mumble.

  “Must be bad if they’re diverting traffic. I don’t know a way through to drop you on campus.”

  “I’ll walk from here,” I tell her, unbuckling my belt and grabbing my backpack from the backseat.

  “I have an umbrella in the trunk,” she offers.

  “I’ll be fine. See you later.” I open the door and step out into the torrent of rain, the puddles soaking my boots in rainwater.

  My heart pounds at the lights swirling, blinking over my face.

  “You’re safe now. Crawl toward my voice, sweetheart.”

  Flash.

  Flash.

  Flash.

  I don’t know how long I was under that bed. My pee had turned cold, stinging my thighs. The tears had dried against my cheeks, leaving them red and raw. Can you deplete your body of water just by crying?

  Flash.

  Flash.

  Flash.

  Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer with every shaking breath I took, then the house was alight with the whirling of those blue lights.