Cricket Hunters

by Jeremy Hepler

  By the beginning of summer, the fate of Abby Powell had been relegated to a footnote in Oak Mott gossip. And after Oak Mott’s Prom King/All-State Quarterback Jack Henning died in a car accident two days after graduation, and a Texas Highway Patrol Officer, Oak Mott High graduate Betsy Fellows, was shot and nearly killed just south of town during a traffic stop a month later, Abby was erased from conversations altogether.

  The passage of time resumed a more normal, steady course for Cel the less she heard Abby’s name. The Cricket Hunters still hung out but stopped hunting and venturing out to Hunter’s Haven. After a while, even they rarely mentioned Abby by name. There were looks sometimes, feelings of sadness or awkwardness that passed between them when something came up that reminded them of Abby, but no more long conversations, no more speculation about her fate, no more tears.

  With each passing day, each new experience, each new smile and laugh and change, the memory of Abby’s death and questions as to what had happened to her were buried deeper and deeper inside Cel. Eventually, she went weeks at a time without thinking about the mystery surrounding Abby. Then months. Then years. She’d made a mistake murdering her friend, sure, she hadn’t needed to go that far, but she’d been attacked and she was sorry and she wanted to move on. Everyone else was.

  The last time she heard Abby’s name mentioned in Oak Mott by anyone other than a Cricket Hunter was almost a year to the day after Abby disappeared. At her locker at school one morning, she overheard two kids talking about how Sheila, Abby’s mom, had died from an apparent heroin overdose three nights earlier, and that her son, Abby’s little brother, Jeff, had been sent to live with relatives in Idaho or Iowa, somewhere starting with an I.

  SEPTEMBER 2013

  Chapter 38 - Cel

  Cel woke slowly, groggily. Her eyes fluttered, closed for a couple of seconds, fluttered, closed for a minute or more, then finally fully opened. As her vision cleared and her sluggish thoughts centered, a bolt of realization zapped her heart. She’d been drugged, kidnapped. Her infinity necklace.

  She was lying on her side, her cheek mashed into rough carpet, hands tied behind her back. The air was heavy with a damp, stale scent that rose from unseen water leaks and festering mold. She lifted her head and scanned the room. White walls, nicked and scarred from years of neglect. A hole-ridden ceiling with a fan in the center, missing three of four blades, one of its two bulbs burning bright. Brown shag carpet from wall to wall, 70’s style. A single window covered with aluminum foil. A new door hung on new, shiny brass hinges with a new, shiny brass knob.

  She maneuvered her legs where she could leverage herself into a sitting position. When she craned her neck to see behind her, her breath caught in her throat. A woman with brunette hair parted down the middle and dark eyes big enough to eclipse the sun was sitting in the shallow closet to her left, watching her. The woman had a gag in her mouth, hands behind her back, knees drawn up to her chest, ankles tied together. A bruised cheek, crusted blood on her temple. She wore an oversized T-shirt and underwear. No socks or shoes. Oil greased her hair. Cel’s eyes swelled with realization as the woman began scooting forward, squealing into her gag, pleading with her eyes. The woman was not just any woman. She was Lauren Page. Missing Lauren Page. Miss Mentee. Sammy’s mom. The Abby look-alike.

  Cel rose to her knees and was trying to stand when the door swung open. She froze and watched a man saunter a few feet into the room. His brunette, shoulder-length hair was parted down the middle, his dark eyes hard on Cel, seemingly happy to find her awake. He had slim, toned arms and legs, knobby shoulders and smooth, pale skin. He was barefoot and wore a dress—a blue and yellow summer dress—that fit him tightly everywhere except the stretched-out chest. He had a black handgun in his right hand.

  Except for a bulging chest and the shadow of whiskers above his upper lip, Jeff Powell could’ve passed for Abby’s twin had Abby been alive. They had the same round eyes, same full lips, same bushy eyebrows, same cowlick on the left side of their parted hair. They even stood the same, with their left hip cocked out, right shoulder slightly dipped.

  “Jeff?” Cel managed weakly.

  His mouth bloomed into a smile—the smile Cel saw when they’d stepped off the Zipper all those years ago—that brightened his dark eyes even more. “I knew you’d remember me.” He pointed the gun at her. “I’ve waited for this day for a long time.” He extended his hand as if to help her stand. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

  Cel stared at the hand for a moment, then glanced at Lauren who’d pushed herself into the corner of the closet and had quit squealing.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Jeff said, walking toward the closet. He shut and locked the door, which Cel now noticed also had a new, shiny brass knob. “We can deal with that later. Now come on. First things first.” When Cel remained as stiff as a statue, he took her by the back of the arm, helped her to her feet, and ushered her forward.

  As she moved through the threshold into the hallway, she glanced left, then right, and immediately recognized the place. The empty living room to her left, the layout of doors dotting the hall to her right. This was Abby’s and Jeff’s childhood home. Yes, she’d awoken on the floor of Jeff’s room. She’d avoided driving by the house for fifteen years. Hell, she hadn’t driven down the street in ten or more. The small three-bedroom home had sat empty for four or five years after the Powells left town until a local lawyer bought it and added it to his long list of rental properties. In a casual conversation about a year earlier, Natalie had told her the lawyer had retired and moved to Austin and all of his Oak Mott properties were back on the market.

  “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Jeff asked.

  Cel looked back at him. Their faces were inches apart. She could smell menthol smoke on his breath, see pride in his smile.

  “Renters fucked it up pretty good over the years, but I got a great deal on it.”

  The moment spooled. She held his gaze. Eventually, his proud smile faded, and he gestured at the door at the end of the hall that led into the garage. “Let’s head that way.”

  “Why?” Cel asked. The word came out weak and strained, sickly, as if she was suffering from laryngitis.

  “Just go.” Jeff nudged her in the back with the barrel of the gun before closing and locking the bedroom door behind him.

  Cel stopped in front of the weathered door at the end of the hall. It not only had a new, shiny brass knob that matched the others, but also a shiny brass chain and deadbolt. Jeff stopped behind her, his slim gut up against her tied hands. She could feel his breath on her neck, heard him sniff the scent of her deep into his lungs, taking a part of her for himself.

  “I know what you did to my sister,” he whispered into her ear.

  Her blood froze. She slowly turned around and locked eyes with him.

  He studied her face, seemingly relishing her reaction, absorbing the moment like a sponge. Like he’d been fantasizing about this moment for a lifetime. “I was there. I followed her to your house that night, on this exact date, September 29th, and I watched you kill her with your cricket stick.”

  An image of Abby’s one-eyed, mouth-open-in-a-scream, dead-face expression materialized in Cel’s mind. She hadn’t seen the face in years, never wanted to see it again. She closed her eyes and shook her head, as though her head were an Etch-A-Sketch and she could erase the image if she shook hard enough. When she opened her eyes, they were filled with tears. She looked Jeff’s blue and yellow dress up and down. Abby’s dress, the one she’d died in. Been murdered in. Holy-fucking-shit. Cel met eyes with Jeff.

  “Jeff, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Stop!” Jeff said, shaking his head in apparent disappointment. “I don’t want to hear lies. Enough lies. You’re better than that.”

  Cel gulped. Long seconds ticked.

  Jeff reached over her shoulder, unbolted, unchained, and unlocked the door. “Go. To the basement.”

  A corset of fear cinched around Cel’s c
hest. “Jeff, you don’t—”

  He grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. “Go!”

  A bright glow shot out of an opening in the floor in the corner of the garage, lighting a path between dressers and tables and chairs in front of Cel. She shuffled toward the opening, the barrel of the gun a knife in the center of her back, Jeff’s bare feet occasionally bumping into her own. She stopped at the opening, glanced at the coffin-shaped door propped against the wall, looked down the narrow wooden staircase. She thought about Parker, Lauren. “What’s down there?”

  Jeff beamed a joyous grin, and an odd recognition hit Cel. Jeff had grown into his man teeth. They were no longer too large for his mouth like when she’d last seen him all those years ago.

  “Did you kidnap Parker?”

  His grin grew impossibly wide. Like the Joker’s exaggerated, painted maw.

  “Is he down there? Is he alive, or did you…” She looked down the stairs, leaned forward at the waist, and hollered Parker’s name. “Are you down there?”

  She turned her head sideways, angling her ear to catch even the faintest response. When a muffled moan seeped up the stairway, a desperate hope jolted her and she hurried down the stairs, her bare feet slapping the cold wood as she went, calling Parker’s name again. The room reeked of old piss. The lightbulb overhead buzzed with effort.

  Parker was lying on a bare mattress, gagged, hands and legs hogtied behind him. His red boxers were twisted askew, his hair a mess. Dark stubble carpeted his usually clean-shaven face. Though it had only been four days since Cel had seen him, he appeared to have aged four years. His skin was sallow, loose on his frame, and his eyes had sunk deeper into the sockets. Pounds of gut flab had vanished. Cel scurried to the edge of the mattress and dropped to her knees, straddling a chain anchored to the floor. She lowered her face close to Parker’s, could hear the air whistling in and out of his nose.

  He briefly met eyes with her, then looked up over her head as footfalls approached.

  Jeff stopped behind Cel, lording over her, legs spread wide, and pointed the gun at her. “Move back.” When she didn’t obey, he pressed the gun to Parker’s forehead. “I said, get up. And step back.”

  Cel hesitated but followed the instructions.

  Jeff removed the gag from Parker’s mouth and tossed it aside.

  Eyeing Jeff, Parker coughed, then swallowed huge gulps of air.

  “You don’t have to do this, Jeff,” Cel pled. “Just let us go. We won’t say anything.”

  “Jeff?” Parker said, scrutinizing Jeff from head to toe. “Jeff Powell?” His eyes flitted back and forth from Cel to Jeff.

  Jeff looked at Cel, a sparkle in his eyes, an upturn to the corners of his mouth. “He doesn’t know, does he?”

  Parker coughed. “Know what?” He met eyes with Cel. “Know what?”

  Cel took a step toward Jeff. “Listen, I understand you hate me for what I did. And I understand what it’s like to want revenge. But you don’t…” She trailed off when Jeff shook his head in disappointment, as if her words had stung him, and then his gaze fell to the floor for a moment.

  When he looked up, his eyes had changed. They were thick with sincerity. “I don’t hate you for what you did. I could never hate you. Don’t you get it? Don’t you feel it? I love you for what you did. I admire you.”

  Flabbergasted, Cel backed up until her bound hands touched the cement wall.

  “That’s why I’ve done everything I’ve done.”

  The statement washed over Cel, bringing the last few days’ oddities to the surface of her mind. “You…put the picture in the closet? And the crickets in the sink? But how…”

  Jeff watched her, delighted at her amazement.

  “And in Hunter’s Haven that night…” she continued. “But how did you…” She brought her hand to her throat to touch the memory of her infinity necklace, a necklace lost to time, and her eyes flared when her fingers actually touched cold metal. He must’ve put it on her while she was unconscious. She lifted the infinity symbol and stared at the only tangible evidence her mother ever existed as if it were about to swallow her.

  Jeff reached for the necklace clasp nestled up against the symbol, touched it to Cel’s lips, then spun it to the back of her neck. “But…I do know about you. All about you. I’ve been watching you for a long time, on and off for years, and we’re more alike than you could ever imagine.” He winked. “I have ways of getting keys to other people’s houses, too.” Jeff glanced at Parker, who hadn’t budged, and looked back at Cel. “Just like you, I spent a lot of years lying to myself about my past. Lying to myself about who I was, what I’d done, what had happened to my sister. I made myself forget. But at some point, I had to face the truth, embrace it, and I needed you to do the same before we reconnected. I’ve talked to enough psychiatrists over the years to know some people need help breaking free from the lies they tell themselves, and I wanted to be that help for you. I wanted you to stop lying to yourself. I want you to be as proud of your truth as I am.”

  Cel held Jeff’s gaze, the humming lightbulb seemingly growing louder and louder.

  “So, it was you I chased through the woods?” Parker asked.

  Jeff shot him a quick grin and ran his hand down the side of his dress as if presenting a one-of-a-kind anomaly. “Pretty convincing, huh? I didn’t know how far into Hunter’s Haven you’d driven that day, and when you saw my truck and I had to back out of there, I thought I’d screwed up and you’d leave.” He looked at Cel. “But I guess fate was on our side.”

  “Truck,” Cel whispered, the previous days’ events blasting through her head like a tornado. “You were at Lauren’s apartment, watching me.”

  “I was also the one who honked outside your house when Jennifer was about to beat the shit out of you.” Jeff spoke with an air of confidence, cockiness. Heroism.

  Cel pointed at the stairs. “But Lauren doesn’t have anything to do with Abby. Why did you take—”

  Jeff threw up his free hand, shushing her. “After I saw you guys fight that day, I was scared you might go back and hurt her, and I couldn’t risk you getting into trouble and possibly going to jail before I had proven myself to you.” He shot Parker with a sharp look. “Helped you embrace the truth.”

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” Parker asked. “What truth?”

  Jeff looked at Cel expectantly. “You want to tell him, or should I?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Cel’s stomach lurched. She swallowed slowly to block the bitter bile creeping up her throat from reaching her tongue. She watched Parker watching her. Her knees turned weak, wobbly, as if the weight of the memory of Abby was too much to hold afloat. She looked at Jeff, pleading with him with her eyes. Don’t make me tell him. A fat tear trickled from her left eye, made a path across the skin blemish below it on its way to falling off her cheek. She began mentally reciting her go-to calming spell. Over and over and over.

  “Fine.” Jeff sucked in the corners of his mouth, lifted his eyebrows, and gave awe-shucks, okay, whatever shrug. “I’ll do it.” He spun toward Parker eagerly, like a dancer who’d had his back to the audience when the curtain rose and was excited to face the crowd for the first time. “Cel—”

  “I killed Abby,” Cel blurted out, bringing a satisfied expression to Jeff’s face as he eyed Parker expectantly.

  The moment stretched. No one moved. No one spoke. The buzzing light grew impossibly loud. Cel didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Parker stared at her. She studied him. She could see the gears in his mind grinding, processing her confession, shooting him back in time to the fall of 1998.

  “You killed her?”

  Cel hustled to the mattress, fell to her knees, and apologized. With a string of words that ran together in an endless chain of sentences, she tried to explain herself, rationalize her actions. She told him how it had happened, when, where, then apologized again. She told him how she’d seen him and Abby together in Abby’s living room the night before, ho
w she’d carved TITS on Jose’s car in a fit of anger, she’d planned on confessing, accepting the blame and consequences, but…then she apologized again, told him she loved him, was so very sorry. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve trusted—”

  “Stop the lies!” Jeff yelled, the words ricocheting off the cement walls, stinging Cel’s ears. “I watched you. You enjoyed ramming that stick into her eye. You enjoyed shutting her up by shoving it down her throat.”

  Cel cut her eyes at Jeff. “I did not.” She met eyes with Parker. Her heart rattled inside her chest as his eyes filled with horror, the mental image, the same one Cel had blocked out all these years, surely forming inside his head. His disappointment and disgust were as readable on his face as the giant words on Yesenia’s grimoires. “Parker…please…”

  He dismissed her with a headshake, as if she were an unknown, unwanted solicitor begging for something she didn’t deserve.

  Jeff touched her shoulder, and she jerked away. “You need to stop lying to yourself. You weren’t sorry then, and you don’t have to be now. Abby fucking deserved what she got. I was there. She attacked you. She’d been jealous of you and fucking with you for years. She made fun of you all the time when you weren’t around. She called your abuela and Dillo backwood spics. She mocked your magic spells. She called you an idiot and a dyke and a lowlife.” He pointed the gun at Parker. “And he knew. And he kept it from you. Hell, he partook in the ridicule. And then…” Jeff licked his lips. “And then he fucked her the night before you killed her. She never liked you, much less respected you. And she was a bitch to both of us. She never got you like I did. Or wanted to. And neither does he.” Tension and anger vibrated off of Jeff like bass from a giant amplifier. “He cheated on you and lied to you just as much as Abby did.” A glance at Parker accompanied by a fuck-you smirk. “And he’s been doing it ever since. Right?”

  Jeff walked to the staircase and slid a laptop out from under the bottom step. As he made his way back to Parker and Cel, strutting with a slick air of arrogance, he unfolded it and the screen lit up. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Parker’s feet and held the laptop where Cel and Parker could both see the screen. “I’m sure you’ll recognize all these women, Parker,” he said, and then moved his eyes to Cel. “But you’ll probably only recognize one or two.” He cued up a video. A young woman with dark hair and dark eyes looked into a camera. He pushed play.