Shine

by Lauren Myracle

  At eleven forty-five, they pulled up at the Come ’n’ Go, where Patrick was finishing up his shift. Patrick wasn’t quite ready to close up, but he put off his closing duties, knowing he could return and finish them later. Everyone piled into Bailee-Ann’s pickup, they dropped off Robert at Patrick’s insistence, and then they drove into the forest. By foot, they made their way to Suicide Rock, where Dupree and Bailee-Ann got loopy on some old-timer’s herbal remedy while the others had a talk with Beef.

  He must have felt cornered. He must have been furious.

  At around one, the party wound down, and Beef drove everyone back down the mountain in Bailee-Ann’s pickup truck. Beef dropped the others off. Then he took Patrick back to the gas station so that Patrick could finish stocking the napkins or whatever. But Beef himself didn’t turn in for the night.

  Maybe he cruised by Wally’s. If he scored a fix, he’d have been amped within minutes. He’d have felt like Superman. Or if Wally didn’t give him a hookup, then his rage would have escalated to a new level.

  I might not ever know that part. What I did know was that instead of going home, he drove back to the Come ’n’ Go.

  Maybe he and Patrick talked. I was purely speculating, but maybe Beef just wanted Patrick to hear his side of the story, while Patrick just wanted Beef to stop lying to himself and get clean.

  Somehow things turned ugly. Patrick might have given Beef an ultimatum, like stop using or I’ll tell Roy, or I’ll break up with you, or I’ll turn you in, or whatever. And then, because Bailee-Ann’s truck was there . . .

  I refused to believe that Beef set off that night planning to hurt Patrick. No and no. But people in the country always had stuff in the backs of their trucks. Tarps for spreading on wet ground, rope for lashing stuff down when there was hauling to be done, a container of gas for refueling on isolated mountain roads. In Bailee-Ann’s case, apparently one of Robert’s baseball bats.

  So Beef, most likely high on meth, had gone with what the opportunity gave him. He bashed in Patrick’s skull with Robert’s baseball bat and strung him to a gas pump. Afterward, realizing what he’d done, he’d hosed down Bailee-Ann’s truck from top to bottom.

  Beef made sure my truck was back in my driveway by the time I woke up, Bailee-Ann had said. He even washed it for me. Wasn’t that sweet?”

  “We have to go to the police,” Jason said. “What if he does something else crazy? Goes after someone else?

  “I know.” I was twitching my foot like a scared rabbit. “But no one’s in danger this very second, right?”

  “They have a cop outside Patrick’s hospital room, so Patrick should be safe,” Jason said, as if he was thinking out loud. “Beef’s a loose cannon, but unless something sets him off, I don’t guess I see him lashing out at someone for no good reason.” He glanced at me. “Do you?”

  “All I know is that he pretty much hates me right now.” The gift he left on my pillow made that abundantly clear. He’d hitched himself over my window while Christian was with Tommy, or possibly earlier, since I was out and about most of the day. Stop flapping your tongue, or I’ll cut yours out, too.

  “Yeah, and that’s why you need to stay away from him,” Jason said. “When we get into town, we go straight to the police. Deal?”

  I flopped back against the seat, knowing he was right. Was that enough, or did I need to do something now? What if I didn’t, and someone else got hurt?

  “What about Bailee-Ann?” I said. “If Beef finds out she’s cheating on him with Tommy . . . and he could, because Robert knows all about it, and he could say anything at anytime. For that matter, what about Robert?”

  I thought about the bus trip together, and how he smelled my hair. How he waggled his eyebrows at the ice-cream shop, when I told him he was a big boy and could wipe his own mouth.

  “He acted strange that day in Toomsboro,” I told Jason. “Like . . . sexual, in a weird way.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Eleven, same as your sister.”

  “Well, not to be crude, but . . .” He broke off, his neck turning red. “Guys are interested in girls by then. Even at eleven.”

  “This was different,” I insisted. Robert had been . . . courting me, almost, as if he’d learned that acting like that got him attention. Then, after I bought him ice cream and actually gave him attention—in a normal way, a talking-and-listening way—he went back to being a kid. He was still Robert, don’t get me wrong. He was still squirmy and annoying and yet somehow slightly adorable. But he’d stopped pretending to be something he wasn’t.

  “What if . . .” I stopped, not wanting to put it in words.

  “Go on and say it,” Jason said. The car swerved out of the lane as we rounded a curve, and he overcorrected to pull us back. The engine protested with a high-pitched whine. “Might as well lay it all out.”

  “In school, Beef always stood up for Patrick. Beef was a jock. Patrick was nerdy and got picked on.” I quickly added, “I didn’t know anything else was going on between them.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “So . . . Patrick really looked up to him. And more than that, obviously. But then things changed, and Patrick was constantly on Beef’s case, and then finally Beef just . . .”

  My stomach turned over as I substituted Robert for Patrick. Being gay didn’t make a person dangerous. Being lonely and depressed enough to groom a little kid into worshipping him was a different story. Add meth to the picture, and Beef’s mood swings and Robert’s absolute inability to tone himself down when toning down was called for . . .

  Jason dug his phone out of his pocket. “Call her. Call Bailee-Ann.”

  “I could be wrong,” I said.

  “Or you could be right,” Jason said. With only one hand on the wheel, he took another curve too fast, this time coming perilously close to flying off the side of the road. Five feet to my right, the mountain dropped sharply off.

  “Oh God,” I whimpered. “I’m really bad with heights.”

  “Sorry,” Jason said. He tried to be less lurchy. “Tell her about Beef. If you’re wrong, no harm done. But if you are right . . .”

  I accepted the phone and felt its slimness in my hand. Bailee-Ann’s cell phone number was in Jason’s call history from when I’d borrowed her phone to ask him to come get me. I called it, but it went to voicemail.

  “Bailee-Ann, this is Cat,” I said. “Um, we need to talk, okay? It’s about—“

  I was cut off by a high-pitched electronic whine, followed by a nonexistent woman saying, “If you’re satisfied with your message, hit one. If you are finished with your call, hit zero, or simply hang up.”

  Aaag. Cheap throwaway cell phone.

  Her home number still lived in memory and probably would forever, since in middle school we called each other ten times a day. I punched the buttons and put the phone to my ear.

  “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chanted under my breath.

  “Tell her to keep Robert away from Beef, no matter what,” Jason coached.

  I got their answering machine. I groaned. I didn’t want to leave a message, but as I listened to Bailee-Ann’s mother’s prerecorded voice, I decided I better, just in case. If Bailee-Ann wasn’t the first to hear it, well, the news would be out soon anyway.

  At the beep, “Bailee-Ann, it’s Cat. So, listen. Those matches you gave me? You were right about where they were from. And the thing is, I think Beef is that same way. As Patrick.”

  I gripped the phone, knowing I had to do better. “I think Beef and Patrick were . . . more than friends . . . and I think he’s the one who attacked Patrick at the Come ’n’ Go. I hope I’m wrong. I really hope I’m wrong, but keep clear of him, okay? He’s not himself. And keep Robert away from him, too. Don’t let Robert go off with him. Don’t let—“

  Beep. My time was up. I lowered Jason’s phone, feeling sure I had totally screwed up. And yet, I was glad I had done it.

  “Was that okay?” I asked Jason. “Do you think she’ll u
nderstand? Do you think she’ll listen?” I hit my knee. “Aghh. I should have left your number. I didn’t leave your number.”

  “Caller ID,” Jason said.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh yeah,” Jason said, because we weren’t talking about the newish landlines at Toomsboro Community College. Bailee-Ann lived in Black Creek, and unlike most of the the rest of the country, people in Black Creek didn’t have caller ID.

  “She’ll have it on her cell,” he said.

  “If she thinks to check,” I said. “I’m going to leave it anyway.”

  I redialed her home number. Again, the answering machine picked up, and I said, “Me again. I’m on a friend’s phone if you want to call me. His number is—“

  Jason started to supply it for me, but I said it without his help, making his eyebrows rise. I blushed and pretended not to notice and said to Bailee-Ann, “So call me as soon as you get this, okay? And don’t let Robert go off with Beef. Don’t tell him why, just—“

  I was interrupted by scratchiness and a squeal of feedback. Someone had picked up.

  “Hey, Cat,” Robert said.

  “Robert!” I said, relief making me feel weightless. “Is Bailee-Ann there? Or your mother?”

  “The phone’s never for me, so that’s why I didn’t pick up the first time,” he said. “No one ever calls me. It’s always some boring person selling something, or some boring person wanting Mama to trade shifts with her, and when I forget to write it down, Mama gets mad, so that’s why.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “Just put me on with Bailee-Ann.”

  “She ain’t here, but I’m sure glad I am. Your message was real interesting, for once.”

  I was no longer weightless. In fact, my limbs felt like dead wood dragging me down.

  Robert laughed gleefully, the laugh of knowing he had something juicy to hold over someone’s head. “Is that true that Beef’s a faggot, just the same as those fags he’s always railing on?”

  “No, Robert. And I don’t want you saying that.”

  “Does that mean he did those thing fags do? Love on other guys and stuff? ’Cause that’s nasty.”

  I checked my watch. We were forty minutes from Black Creek. We could be at Bailee-Ann’s house in thirty-five, but I wanted someone there now. Because Beef had called Robert special, and then Beef had dropped him cold. Because Robert was a master eavesdropper, and I’d just told him the best, most powerful secret ever. It wouldn’t be long before he realized it.

  “Robert, tell me where your sister is,” I commanded.

  “Was Patrick really his boyfriend? Is that what you meant by more than normal friends? Did he kiss him, like how boys kiss girls?” His hilarity dropped a notch. “Aw, you’re just messing with me, ain’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I was messing around, and it was a bad idea, and I’m sorry.”

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” he said. “I said Beef beat up Patrick, and he said no he didn’t.”

  “Okay, but we don’t know that he did. Not for sure.”

  “He lied to me,” Robert marveled.

  Tilting the phone, I said, “Go faster, Jason. Oh God, I don’t care if we fly off the mountain. Go as fast as you fucking can.”

  Jason looked at me, perhaps shocked by my language, and flexed his thigh muscle to press down on the accelerator.

  “He’s a liar and a faggot, and he hurt his friend, too,” Robert said. “Why would he hurt his friend?”

  “Robert . . .”

  His voice changed. “I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him. I’m gonna ride my bike to Huskers right now. Ooo, he’s going to be in so much trouble!”

  “Robert, no,” I begged.

  “What’s he saying?” Jason said.

  “Do not go to Huskers, Robert. Do you hear me?”

  There was a whole lot of nothing.

  “Robert!”

  It was no good. The line was dead.

  “No!” I cried.

  “Call Huskers and see if Bailee-Ann is there, or even Dupree,” Jason instructed. “Use 411 to get the number.”

  So I did. Beef answered lazily, saying, “Huskers, best sammies around. What can I do you for?”

  I hung up. I felt cold even in the no-air-conditioning Malibu.

  “All right, then call Tommy,” Jason said.

  “Tommy?”

  “He’s the one who got his friends together to talk to him, right? So he’ll understand.” He banged the steering wheel, not understanding my reluctance. “Call him, Cat.”

  His insistence pulled me out of my stupor. I punched in 411 again because I sure as heck didn’t have Tommy’s number memorized. I asked for Ronald Lawson, and computer lady said to hold on. As the call went through, sweat popped out under my arms. My heart hammered crazily in my chest.

  “Yo, wassup?” Tommy said. I would recognize that voice anywhere.

  “Hello?” he said.

  I couldn’t form words.

  “Hello? If you’re there, say something. Otherwise I’m outta here.”

  I hated Tommy more than anyone in the world, and for three years I’d grasped onto that as my whole identity. For three years, I’d stopped talking because of him, and now, if I didn’t talk, he was going to hang up.

  “Tommy, it’s Cat,” I managed. “I need your help.”

  I JUMPED OUT OF THE CAR AS SOON AS WE GOT to Huskers, with Jason close on my heels. Tommy was inside, along with an anxious Bailee-Ann. Dupree, hovering near the counter, pulled a dishcloth back and forth through his hands.

  “Robert’s with Beef,” Bailee-Ann said.

  “What? No.” I shook my head, trying to corral my thoughts. “How do you know?”

  Tommy jerked his head at Dupree. “Says Robert showed up here, and then he went off with Beef on his motorcycle. Says there didn’t seem to be anything bad going on.”

  “Nothing at all, man,” Dupree said. “Robert came in, and he and Beef took off, leaving me to take care of the store all by myself.” He gestured at the sandwich shop, empty except for us. “But that’s what buddies do. They cover for each other, right?”

  “I don’t know. Do they?” I snapped.

  “Whoa,” he said. “Don’t jump on me, man. You’re getting worked up over nothing.” His Bob Marley shirt had ketchup on it, and he looked stoned as always. And yet he kept dragging that dishcloth through his hands.

  “Did you know that your buddy left a cow tongue on Cat’s pillow yesterday night?” Jason asked.

  Dupree noticed Jason and blinked. “Bro. Who are you?”

  “He’s with me,” I said, stepping closer to him. It felt better being near him. “Did you know that, Dupree? Did Beef get it from the walk-in or something?”

  “Hey, Cat, chill,” Dupree said. “I saw him wrap it up in newspaper, but he told me it was a joke. He didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “He left it on top a note,” I informed him. “It said, ‘Stop flapping your tongue, or I’ll cut yours out, too.’”

  Bailee-Ann made a small sound. Tommy pulled her close.

  “Uh . . . he didn’t mention a note,” Dupree said, looking less sure. “But it was supposed to be funny, for real.”

  Beef had Robert. We didn’t have time for this.

  “Dupree, did Robert say anything when he came in?” I asked. “Did either of them say where they were going?”

  “Uh, jeez, lemme think,” Dupree said. “Well, Robert rode up on his bike, and goddamn does he have skinny legs. Little cricket legs inside those fluffy shorts he’s always wearing. We laughed at that, me and Beef.”

  “Not that part,” Bailee-Ann said impatiently. “Tell them the rest.” Without giving him a chance, she told us herself. “Dupree said Robert was hyper—“

  “Per usual,” Dupree interrupted.

  “And that he was dancing around saying, ‘See? I called it, didn’t I? I so burned you, dude.’ And more, like how Beef couldn’t lie to him anymore because of how he was onto him.” Bailee-An
n’s eyes were huge. “I’m scared, Cat.”

  So was I, and if Robert was here, I’d have shaken him for being so dumb. What was he thinking, that taunting Beef would make Beef pay attention to him again?

  My throat tightened.

  “How did Beef respond?” Jason asked him.

  “He was fine with it, bro,” Dupree said, holding up both hands like he was swearing in front of a judge. The gray dishcloth, dangling limp and soiled, made me think of dead things. “He shot me a look like, Get a load of this nut job, huh? But he wasn’t mean to him or nothin’.”

  His gaze went to each of us in turn, and it seemed to me he was trying a little too hard to convince us. “Beef’s never mean to him, although there’ve been times I’ve wanted to jerk a knot in his tail.” He focused on Bailee-Ann. “Uh, no offense. He was squirmier than a dog with two dicks, that’s all.”

  Bailee-Ann looked like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or spit. I tried to get him back on track.

  “Was Beef high?” I asked.

  Dupree’s heavy-lidded eyes opened wider than they probably had in years. Then he went back to fooling with that dang dishcloth. “Well, uh, that’s maybe none of y’all’s business.”

  “Maybe it is,” Tommy said, stepping closer. Tommy could be menacing when he chose to be, as I well knew. He chose to be now.

  Dupree stepped back and bumped into the counter. “What the hell? We all party. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Was Beef high, today, when Robert came in?” Tommy demanded.

  “Listen,” Dupree said. His eyes got slippery. “Just listen. He mighta been, but it was a good high. He was singing and attacking the dishes like there was no tomorrow. We were having fun.”

  “Meth?” Tommy said.

  Dupree gave Tommy a wounded look. “What, is it my turn now to be intervened with?”

  Bailee-Ann gave up on Dupree. She clutched my arm and said, “Cat, we have to find him.” Her brown eyes shone. “He’s so little, and he’s always showing off, and . . .” Her desperation made it hard for her to talk. “Please?”

  I searched my brain for where Beef would have taken him. Asheville? Unlikely, unless he planned on bashing in Robert’s skull with one of those stone woodland creatures the rich folks put in the gardens of their mountain homes.