Yesterday's Gone | Novel | October's Gone

by Platt, Sean

  She walked fast. Trying not to think about what it meant that Anderson’s truck was still parked right by the cabin.

  She walked faster. Not exactly toward the lake, because she didn’t know where it was, but forward, away from the cabin, hopefully, closer to answers and solutions.

  But it was woods all around her and not a soul in sight. No other cabins or cars or people.

  Tendrils of fear slithered and expanded inside her.

  She tried to remember the drive up, beyond the syrup of emotions she’d been wading through, thinking about all the problems with Junior and Anderson, about how Colette had promised to help solve them all, about how she was probably right, and it really was finally time to believe her. Laughing at all of Anderson’s jokes and putting him at ease. Letting him put his hand on her knee, knowing that soon she would never have to let him inside her again. One more headache if he tried tonight or tomorrow, but then Monday morning, it would all be over.

  But she should have been paying more attention to her surroundings on the way up.

  Where was the lake?

  Where were the cabins she’d spotted on the way to theirs?

  Where had she seen that picnic area surrounded by lattice looped with bougainvillea?

  There was a small shop a mile or two up the road, but she felt (unreasonably) frightened to walk that far alone, even though she did more than that on the treadmill each day.

  “Anderson?” Liz yelled at the top of her lungs, only once, feeling like a fool. Her echo came back at her, but it sounded different, warped almost.

  It, like the light and the air, was not right. And that’s when she realized how eerily quiet it was. Not only did she not hear any mammals or insects, but she didn’t hear any birds. Upon arrival yesterday, their chatter had been loud. Now there was nothing. As if the heavy wind had shooed them all away.

  What’s going on?

  She turned in circles, wanting to walk farther, but she couldn’t afford to get lost, and the GPS on her phone wasn’t working. Hell, the thing was an overpriced brick at this point. She couldn’t even use the compass.

  Liz kept inspecting her surroundings on the way back, hoping to see someone or something that might put her at ease. Even an angry Anderson would make her feel better right now. But after a few hundred steps, she grew more desperate to hear, or see at least one bird.

  The woods went on and on for miles and miles. Anderson could be anywhere. But halfway to the cabin, Liz had developed a theory, then wondered what had taken her so long.

  There was a shed in back of the cabin, where the owners kept ladders and paint and all the various implements that Anderson always told Liz she didn’t need to give any mind. Liz remembered because the rental agent had said it like a selling point, even though the value barely seemed worth mentioning to her, and also because while ‘kidding around’ with Junior when they visited this same cabin last summer, Anderson had threatened to lock him up in what Junior had called ‘the tiny little house’ if he didn’t stop ‘getting on his goddamned nerves.’

  With the shed in mind, Liz found it easy to imagine what had happened.

  Anderson had been drinking after she and Junior retired. Exhausted after the long drive, Liz had been yearning for a comfortable mattress. Equally spent, Anderson was dying for a drink. He’d crawl into bed anywhere from one to three hours after her and choose from his inevitable menu:

  He would start snoring the second his drunk ass hit the sheets. Liz might or might not wake up from this.

  He would wake her up and demand his “husbandly rights,” always thinking he was being charming. It used to work on her, but these days it absolutely did not.

  He would respect that she was sleeping, or pretend to, but completely disrespect her humanity. Sometimes she felt it hit her skin or her nightgown, but more often, she woke to the liquid disrespect of his jerking off on her now crusted to her with the heavy regret that this was her life as she lived it.

  But instead of coming to bed after getting sauced last night, Anderson got a bug up his butt to make yet another attempt at turning their boy into a man.

  He’d probably yanked Andy out of bed and dragged him to the boat.

  After a few minutes, the asshole probably fell asleep.

  Junior made his way home and threw his mom into distress.

  Anderson eventually woke up and walked back still half-woozy, then probably thought Fuck the both of them and decided to sleep his remaining inebriation off in the shed.

  By the time Liz reached the tiny little house, she had little doubt that she’d find Anderson inside. But she couldn’t open the door because the shed was fixed with a chain and a lock.

  “I think he left,” Junior said, coming up behind her, silent like a snake through the grass.

  Liz nearly leaped out of her skin. She turned around. “Why would you say that? Did your father say something to give you that idea?”

  Junior shook his head. “No. But you guys aren’t happy. Being together makes you sad.”

  She blinked, disarmed yet again by his bluntness. This was new, and Liz didn’t yet know what to make of it. “We need to call the sheriff’s office so they can look for him.”

  Junior shook his head. “NO.”

  He wasn’t loud or exclamatory, just absurdly emphatic.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because Dad would get mad at you if you did that. He would be embarrassed that his wife called a goddamned search party on him. He’s a grown-ass man, after all.”

  Liz flinched. Swallowed hard. Then coughed like a stutter. Until a week ago, Junior had never sworn. The one time she’d heard him say “ass,” he was red-faced with shame and nearly cried as he apologized. Now the words rolled off his tongue like—

  An echo of Anderson’s typical bullshit like thunder in her head: I’m a grown-ass man, after all!

  A constant refrain Liz had to hear whenever she expressed her worries about him being out late or drinking and driving.

  Junior had gone from barely ever sounding like his father to unsettling his mother with an alarming number of eerie similarities.

  Why didn’t he want Liz to alert the authorities? Did he resent her like Anderson did? Had Junior done something and was now afraid that the police would discover what had happened?

  “Maybe you’re right.” She smiled. “We should sit tight and wait.”

  Again she tried to remember the trip in and the exact whereabouts of that tiny market. Anderson might have gone there.

  But why would he leave his truck?

  The truck!

  “Where are you going, Mommy?”

  Liz made an about-face and was already marching back to the house.

  Of course, the truck. Wherever he was, Liz could find him a lot faster behind the wheel than she ever could on foot.

  “I’m going to get your father’s keys.”

  “You can’t. Dad had them. And now he’s gone.”

  She didn’t turn around or answer him, hoping Junior was wrong.

  But he wasn’t. She looked everywhere in the cabin but couldn’t find Anderson’s keys. He really had taken them to the lake, even though he couldn’t possibly have needed them for anything. He’d brought the boat to the dock yesterday afternoon and left it there, so they’d walked to the lake late at night. Maybe he fell in the lake and drowned, taking his keys with him, along with her opportunity.

  She was annoyed with him and with herself. Even with Anderson missing, the asshole had apparently found a way to keep her from leaving him. And she was even more annoyed with herself for not thinking to hide his keys or bring a copy. Now her escape was dependent on walking out of this place or someone finding them.

  But maybe she had nothing to worry about. Anderson was lazy. So if he’d walked there at night, it had to be somewhere nearby. She’d rest a bit, then go back out and try again, striking out in a different direction. Maybe Junior was remembering wrong.

  For now, they were stuck. But so was Ande
rson if he was pulling a prank. He’d have to come back for his truck eventually.

  Assuming he wasn’t dead.

  The monsters must have gotten him.

  It wouldn’t be the worst thing if he didn’t come back, right?

  She tried her phone again, but the thing was still a worthless hunk of plastic and glass.

  Liz didn’t want to take another pill, but she might die of anxiety without one.

  She went into the kitchen to start another pot of coffee. Junior followed and began to make himself another sandwich while whistling the theme to Thomas & Friends. Even now, it still calmed him down. The show was a comfort, the only thing normal.

  He stared off in space while eating his sandwich.

  The comfort died when Junior turned to her and asked, “Did the trees get mad at you, Mommy?”

  Four

  Four years ago …

  Liz looked at her husband, sitting in the chair directly across from her, and tried again.

  “There’s something wrong with him,” she repeated, without any evidence to fuel the hope that Anderson might finally hear her this time.

  “Of course there’s something wrong with him! He acts like—”

  “Will you please keep your voice down?”

  “Are you kidding me? We can’t get E.T. to pay attention when he’s right in front of us half the time; he sure as hell ain’t giving a shit—”

  “I’ve asked you not to call him that.”

  “Maybe I’ll stop when he quits acting like a goddamned alien. Point is, the kid isn’t paying any mind to what we have to say while he’s staring up at that faggoty stupid train show.”

  “That’s another word that I’ve repeatedly asked you not to use. And what do you care if he likes a show that you think is stupid? You like plenty of dumb shows.”

  “Well, at least my shows aren’t teaching you to be a ‘useful’ fucking engine. No wonder he’s such a little bitch. He should be watching sports or wrestling, or maybe a normal cartoon.”

  “It’s a show that teaches kids to cooperate. Jesus, Anderson. Not everything is some insidious plot to twist the minds of our youths.” Liz clenched her fists, suddenly more pissed at Anderson than she already had been. Sick of his always either knowing more about everything and letting her know it, or acting like he did when he didn’t. “Have you even watched the show with him?”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Anderson scoffed. “Is that the kind of world you want to live in, Liz? Where engines have to be useful, or they’re sent to the scrapyard?” He scoffed again. “That doesn’t really line up with your politics as I understand them, so it’s just surprising to me that you’re letting our son watch shows reinforcing ideas you don’t agree with.”

  “I can’t even tell if you’re kidding right now.”

  “You bitch about any show I watch without enough female characters. How many girl engines you see in that show? If you don’t count the gigglers, the answer is zero.”

  “Can we get back to the point?” Liz lowered her voice. “Starting with, please don’t refer to our son as an alien, and please stop using the f-word.”

  “When did I say fuck?”

  “You’re being an asshole. You know what word I’m talking about.”

  “You remember our first date?” He tipped his chin and gave Liz his most charming smile. “You said I was ‘your kind of asshole.’”

  “It was our first date. Anderson, please. This is one of those times …”

  “One of which times?” But he knew.

  “One of the times when I need you to listen like you promised you would.”

  He took a breath and shifted in his seat. “I’m listening. What do you want me to hear?”

  “Like I’ve been saying, there’s something wrong with him.”

  “Isn’t it possible that you’re all hot and bothered because you just got back from a parent-teacher conference, and that Mrs. Marmalade—”

  “Maracome.”

  “—put a bunch of bullshit into your ear?”

  “No, Anderson. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve been saying this for years now. You’re just not listening. And Mrs. Maracome didn’t ‘put a bunch of bullshit in my ear.’ I was called in — we were called in — because Junior got in a fight. Again, Anderson. Our son is being bullied. Will you please start taking this situation more seriously?”

  “Did Junior say anything to provoke it?”

  Liz wanted to yell at him for that question. Instead, she said, “Mrs. Maracome doesn’t know why the fight started, and she hasn’t been able to get anything from any of the other kids.”

  “Kids?”

  “Yes, kids. Mrs. Maracome doesn’t know what happened or who hit him, or even how many kids were involved. But she does know that the other children have been making fun of him.”

  “What do they say?”

  “They tease him because he just sits there, not ever interacting with anyone, staring off into his own world.”

  “So … like he wants to phone home? What a shocker!”

  “You’re his father!”

  Anderson shook his head and stood from the bed. “You’re always on me about not hearing you, but you’re not hearing me right now. I’m not crazy here …” He mercifully lowered his voice. “Kids are making fun of him because he’s acting like an alien. Maybe the solution is to get him to act like a fucking human for once.“

  “I’m trying to help him!”

  “I thought we were supposed to keep it down.” His asshole smile was back, and dammit for looking so good on him.

  “He needs to talk with someone, a professional. You can’t ignore this anymore.”

  “I’m not ignoring it, Liz. I’m disagreeing with you. Shrinks are—”

  “Responsible for healing a lot of wounds and—”

  “Wounds?” He laughed. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. He’s only—”

  “It doesn’t matter how old he is, Anderson. Mrs. Maracome gave us the name of someone who can help us.”

  “Help us, how?” His voice dripped with suspicion.

  “We’ll start by running some tests.”

  “Running some tests?” He was up from his chair and pacing the room.

  Liz stood but didn’t move from her spot next to the chair. “To diagnose the problem.”

  “Problem diagnosed: the kid is weird. There, now let’s figure out how to fix it.”

  “That’s not how therapy works.”

  “Oh, I know how it works. Your credit card gets charged a couple of hundred bucks so you can have someone pretend to give a shit about your life for an hour. Remind me again, How is that different than prostitution?”

  “Therapists don’t ‘pretend to care.’ Their job is to listen, then teach their patients coping skills for whatever—”

  “My son isn’t a ‘patient.’”

  “It’s not a four-letter word, Anderson.”

  “I’m not letting anyone label my kid a freak for the rest of his life. Yeah, he’s a little bitch now, but he’ll grow out of it or get it pounded out of him before too long. But no way I’m letting them put him on drugs and shit. You know what happens when you put freaks on antidepressants and shit? They wind up shooting up a school or living in their parents’ basement all their lives, unable to function.”

  “Therapy doesn’t label him a freak, and isn’t it better for us to help him by—”

  “We both know the problem here, Liz. It sure would be easier to solve if you would get on the same page so we could solve it together.”

  She sighed, knowing exactly what was coming. “You mean your page.”

  “I mean the same page. We can agree that the both of you are on the weaker side. He’s a normal kid, just a bit slow. But you keep making that worse by babying him, which is the only way you know how to behave toward—”

  “I don’t—”

  “But you do, Liz. You just can’t see it. You might not wipe Junior’s ass for him, but it wouldn’t
be all that different for us if you did. Parents shouldn’t be so overprotective.”

  “It’s not overprotective to diagnose a problem and seek treatment.”

  “When did this happen? When did it get so that everyone needs a specialist and their own bespoke little cocktail of pharmaceuticals? Humanity got on just fine without therapy and pill-popping for millennium after millennium, but now—”

  “Just stop it.”

  “What is it you think I’m doing?” His asshole smile was there, but now there was nothing attractive about it.

  “You’re acting like we’re still talking about Junior when we both know you’re digging on me for needing medication for my anxiety.”

  “You mean drugs for your anxiety, Liz. Let’s call it what it is. These days people need drugs for everything. It’s a crutch for the weak. It’s for people too damned coddled to deal with their issues. That’s the real problem, and it’s a problem we’re passing on to our son by—”

  “Just one question, Anderson?”

  “I hope my answer can enlighten you.”

  “How is your medicine any different?”

  Anderson was suddenly inches from her face. “You watch yourself, Liz. That’s a bullshit thing to say, and you know it. Any and all conversation around my drinking should center around how I’ve effectively beaten it. You know I used to be a drunk. A few beers now and then isn’t even close to what I used to drink. And that amounts to all of dick when you factor in what I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis.”

  “You’re right. I guess everyone needs a little medicine.”

  It was too much, and Liz already regretted it. But after standing there expecting the worst, Anderson just gave her a three-second glare before making an about-face and marching from their bedroom into the living room.

  “Anderson, don’t.”

  He stomped to the T.V. and killed Junior’s show. “What happened at school today?”

  Junior looked up at him. Blinked three times but said nothing.

  “What happened, boy? You better tell me now.”

  “I got in a fight.”

  “Did you fight back?” Anderson asked.

  Junior shook his head. “No.”