The Mason List

by S. D. Hendrickson

  The

  Mason List

  A Novel By

  S.D. Hendrickson

  The Mason List Copyright © 2015 by Stacy Dawn Hendrickson (S.D. Hendrickson)

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  For more information visit www.sdhendrickson.com

  Cover Image Copyright ©Anna Ismagilova and used under license from Shutterstock, Inc.

  For John,

  My own dark haired boy, who believed I could write a novel before I typed the words.

  Contents

  Chapter 1: Today, 8:15 p.m.

  Chapter 2: When I was six

  Chapter 3: Today, 8:42 p.m.

  Chapter 4: When I was eight

  Chapter 5: When I was eight

  Chapter 6: When I was eight

  Chapter 7: When I was eight

  Chapter 8: When I was eight

  Chapter 9: When I was eight

  Chapter 10: Today, 9:37 p.m.

  Chapter 11: When I was ten

  Chapter 12: When I was ten

  Chapter 13: Today, 10:35 p.m.

  Chapter 14: When I was twelve

  Chapter 15: Today, 10:52 p.m.

  Chapter 16: When I was fourteen

  Chapter 17: Today, 11:08 p.m.

  Chapter 18: When I was sixteen

  Chapter 19: When I was sixteen

  Chapter 20: When I was sixteen

  Chapter 21: When I was sixteen

  Chapter 22: When I was sixteen

  Chapter 23: Today, 12:13 p.m.

  Chapter 24: When I was eighteen

  Chapter 25: When I was eighteen

  Chapter 26: Today, 1:33 a.m.

  Chapter 27: When I was nineteen

  Chapter 28: Today, 2:27 a.m.

  Chapter 29: When I was nineteen

  Chapter 30: When I was nineteen

  Chapter 31: When I was nineteen

  Chapter 32: When I was twenty

  Chapter 33: Today, 3:37 a.m.

  Chapter 34: When I was twenty

  Chapter 35: When I was twenty-one

  Chapter 36: Today, 4:20 a.m.

  Chapter 37: When I was twenty-two

  Chapter 38: When I was twenty-two

  Chapter 39: When I was twenty-two

  Chapter 40: Today, 5:36 a.m.

  Chapter 41: When I was twenty-four

  Chapter 42: When I was twenty-five

  Chapter 43: Today, 5:45 a.m.

  Chapter 44: When I was twenty-five

  Chapter 45: When I was twenty-five

  Chapter 46: When I was twenty-five

  Chapter 47: When I was twenty-five

  Chapter 48: When I was twenty-six

  Chapter 49: When I was twenty-six

  Chapter 50: Yesterday, 11:34 a.m.

  Chapter 51: Today, 7:05 a.m.

  Chapter 52: Eight days later

  Chapter 53: Fifteen days later

  Chapter 54: Nineteen days later

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Today, 8:15 p.m.

  I see the bloodstains around my nails. I scrub and scrub at the dark places. I scratch until my skin turns red with fresh, oxygen-infused spurts from my own body. Grabbing a paper towel, I wrap my fingers to hide the marks. A set of haunting eyes stare back from the mirror with a jagged, swollen cut above the right one.

  I fight the urge to drive a fist right into the reflection. I need to hear the crisp smash of the glass. I need to feel the release if only for a moment before the waves crash down again in my heart.

  Leaving the hospital bathroom, I walk down the hall hearing the soles of my shoes squeak. A nurse stares as she passes by pushing an empty wheelchair. I know what she is thinking. Her pudgy legs can’t walk fast enough back to the station to tell the others. I saw that girl. The sneer of her intruding smile makes me want to scream in her face.

  Trailing aimless past the rooms, I search for a vacant space away from the crowds. I knew these halls very well. Better than I ever wanted to know them. On a lone bench, I collapse far away from everyone else. I can’t stand to see any of them. I am so incredibly tired of the stupid thoughts that should stay inside their stupid brains.

  I hurt. I hurt so damn bad and nothing would make it better. Tucking my knees to my chest, I curl into a tiny ball. I squeeze tight, feeling the bones crush into my lungs. Tighter and tighter, feeling the pain. I can’t breathe. I try to draw in a gasp of air, but nothing can escape through the pressure. The endless, suffocating pressure.

  This is what it felt like for him as time ticked by in the distance. Struggling. Gasping. My feet dangle from my legs, exposing my gray shoes covered in dried blood, just like my hands. His blood. My blood. Her blood. Who the hell even knows anymore. I yank them off and jump from the bench.

  Throwing the first one, I see the stain glass vibrate and the gray canvas fall to the ground. I beat the second one over and over again, begging the multi-colored panels to crack. Picking up the small potted plant, I toss it up, making contact. A violent explosion sends shards in every direction. A sliver of relief sparks the cells of my skin.

  I collapse onto the cold floor, feeling the cuts from the daggers of glass. I let the tears fall down my cheeks as I choke on my own spit. The bile rises up and vomit trickles down my neck into a pool around my head. The world spins around much like a tilt-a-whirl. I feel nothing inside my cold, numb body.

  “Is she dead, Momma?” I hear the tiny voice of an angel.

  “No, baby.”

  A soft hand brushes the hair away from my forehead. I feel a towel dab at my cheek and across the trail of stench seeping into the neck of my shirt. Opening my eyes, I look into a face of a beauty queen. A smaller version with silky blonde hair touches my hand.

  “She’s got blood on her clothes, Momma.”

  I saw the blood. It was everywhere. The body so still. The flesh covered in red, like someone dumped a bucket of paint all over it; the skin hanging off in clumps.

  I can’t handle the images. So I fall…deeper and deeper. The world spins in perfect rhythm beneath the halls of the hospital that transform into the sting of the meadow sun. Turning and spinning as the girl screams. She screams and screams echoing shrill and loud in my head.

  “Alex, stop…”

  The voices turn to whispers. The voices try to take me away. I fight. I scream. I hit and I kick them away. The arms wrap over my body like a cage. The screams turn to sobs. Every face blurs into a rain cloud of tears. The beauty queen tells me it will be ok very soon. I feel a pinch in my arm.

  The lights blink on and off.

  On and off.

  On and off.

  The angel, with blue eyes, leans over close to my face. She is beautiful with a halo of light behind her long, glossy hair. The wallpaper crackles and the lights dim. Her blond hair turns to black. The face of the angel turns into one so familiar. His blue eyes smile. He pushes the strands of dark hair off his forehead, just like a hundred other times. The angel was the boy, or the boy was the angel. It hurt to breathe. A voice whispers in the distance.

  I need to tell you something.

  My throat scratches on the words. I dry heave against th
e shoulder of the beauty queen. The blue eyes fizzle into nothing. He was gone.

  Wait. Come back.

  I beg his sweet face. My lips taste heavy. I reach toward the wall. I reach to where his face disappeared. My fingers grasp at nothing until the world grows black from the ashes in the wind. I let the breeze take me away to a place that is happy. A place that existed before my life dissolved into this pain.

  Chapter 2

  When I was six…

  Sitting high in the tree, I watched the sky full of large, cotton candy-shaped clouds, twisting and changing into the shapes of dragons and dinosaurs. My arm reached out and grabbed a piece of the white fluff, seeing it dissolve into an iridescent fairy dust in the palm of my small hand. I sprinkled it over my entire body. The fairy magic transformed me into a red bird sitting on a limb. I lifted my wings out into the wind, feeling it toss my crimson feathers around against my skin.

  "Alex Tanner! You get down from that tree!" My mother yelled up to where I sat perched on the branch. I opened my eyes to the blinding sun and scanned the rooftops of the houses scattered below my dangling feet. My gaze stopped on my mother, who was standing on the porch looking very unhappy. Her red hair glowed against the garden backdrop. I would be in trouble again.

  "Aw, Momma, it's not that high,” I protested as my feet slipped a little on the bark. I made my way down from the oak, careful not to rip my pink, fluffy princess dress with sparkling jewels. I liked the jewels; they were the best part. The jewels had to stay on there. With a dramatic jump to save my dress, I landed with a solid thud on my butt in the flower garden.

  We lived in Dallas in Snow White’s cottage. I knew it wasn’t really her house, but it was close to the one in my stories. We had a flower garden on the south side of the house with lots of trees, surrounded by a white fence covered in green ivy. My mother did not like it when I climbed high into the branches of the trees. She said it was dangerous. I climbed up there anyway.

  “Alex, I’ve told you not to go up there. You have enough to do in the yard without falling out of a tree.” My mother, Anna Tanner, glanced down with a stern look that needed a little more anger to be convincing. I knew she couldn’t be mad at me for long.

  “I know Momma, but it’s so cool seeing everything from up there. I can see the top of our house. And guess what!” I could barely contain myself as I giggled up at her. “I could see into Mr. Wilson’s yard. He was outside sweeping his porch in just pink shorts and white socks.”

  I saw the disapproving shake of her red head. She tried to hide a laugh at the thought of mean old Mr. Wilson in pink shorts. He really didn’t like us very much.

  “Come on, Alex. Let’s leave Mr. Wilson alone.” I followed on her heels up the path to the porch. I heard a scramble and turned to see a furry blur coming from one of the bushes. The brown streak went around my legs and came to a halt on the porch steps. Slobber dripped off of a pink tongue surrounded by a face caked in mud.

  “Digger, you got dirty,” I giggled as my arms went around his little body. Digger slimed my face with mud and drool. He was a little, curly mutt picked from a cage of other mutts at the dog pound two years ago. From the day we brought him home, Digger never left my side.

  If I was outside, he was lurking under the bushes, pouncing on bugs, or chasing me around the trees. Everyone who met Digger loved him. Well, everyone but Mr. Wilson. One area of the fence had a hole just big enough for Digger to wiggle into Mr. Wilson’s yard. He didn’t find it funny that Digger was named for his worst habit; digging in roses.

  “Put Digger down. We have to clean you up. It’s time for your lessons.” Momma didn’t like me spending the whole summer up in a tree like a monkey.

  “Aw, rats! Can we color please?” I begged, looking up at her tall frame with pleading eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist, leaving dirty hand prints on the back of her white t-shirt. It wasn’t nice, but I knew one hug from me and I could have her mind changed. My mother looked down at my freckled face and I smiled back, exposing my missing front tooth. I knew that would seal the deal.

  “Ok, Alex,” She signed, shaking her head. “You can color today, but you aren’t getting out of practicing your letters tomorrow, deal?” I nodded with excitement. My mother stuck out her hand to shake in agreement.

  “Deal!” I said, bouncing off into the house. “Come on Digger.” I scooped him up in my arms as I went inside to wash off the mud. The rest of the afternoon, I scattered drawings all across the wooden kitchen table. I had aliens in three shades of green and purple spotted giraffes with two heads.

  My mother stopped by to check on my pictures. She rested a hand on each shoulder, laughing at my colorful characters and agreed it was the scariest space creature she’d ever seen. The afternoon faded into evening and I heard the front door open. I took off in a sprint to find my father.

  “Daddy!” I jumped into his arms as he carried me to the living room couch.

  “Ok, Pumpkin, what do you have for me tonight? Another picture for my office?” He smiled as we settled down on the couch. He had called me Pumpkin since I was a baby because my hair was the color of an orange jack-o-lantern. As I described my picture, he smiled in a way that made his face really happy. My father, Henry Tanner, always liked my pictures.

  I didn’t understand what my father did at work every day. My mother said he made sure grocery stores had all the items they needed, like broccoli. My eyes always crinkled up in confusion at the details. Why would my father buy everyone broccoli?

  Sitting me down, I watched my father grab my mother for a lingering hug then slip an arm around her waist. He kissed her on the lips. I knew my father and mother loved each other very much. He always looked at her the way the Prince did when he danced with Snow White.

  That night, after two stories and a glass of milk, my father gave me a big kiss right on the top of my head. “Good night, Pumpkin.”

  “Night, Daddy.”

  Turning off the light, my mother whispered next to my cheek, “I love you, Alex, more than all the leaves on the trees.”

  “Love you too, Momma,” I said over a muffled a yawn.

  With the sheets pulled up tight, little Digger jumped on the bed to get settled in for the night. The little brown ball of fur stretched out at the foot of my bed, covering the tips of my toes. I drifted off to sleep dreaming of flying horses.

  Chapter 3

  Today, 8:42 p.m.

  Beep.

  The happy place disappears; the happy place with my mother. The words slice through as my first thought in the headache induced confusion. She failed to haunt my dreams for some time now.

  Beep.

  I will my eyes to open. Something nags in the back of my thoughts just beneath the banging noise in my head. It was Saturday. No, it wasn’t Saturday. I drove from Dallas on Saturday. I try hard to remember the day.

  Beep.

  My hand feels around for the bedside alarm buttons to kill the incessant beeping. The more I tug, the more my wrist feels caught. The realization hurt my chest more than the pain in my head. I am not in my bed. I am tied to a hospital bed.

  Beep.

  Panic kicks in as I struggle to move. The slits of my pale blue eyes move just enough to take in my surroundings. The lights glow with halos around each bulb. The beauty queen stares back at me. I want to scream at the sight of her face.

  Beep.

  “Alex, can you hear me? Just try to be still. I’m sorry. I tried to keep them from usin’ the restraints but they were afraid you’d do somethin’ again.”

  Beep.

  “Make it stop. Please…please!” I can’t stand it anymore. The sound jabs at me. It jabs in my brain like a knife. I pull at the band on my wrists. I try to kick free. I yank with every muscle, feeling the joints pull in my hands.

  “Alex, please don’t make it worse.”

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I scream. I feel the images again, those terrible pictures searing through my gut. They hurt my mind. They hur
t my heart. A needle goes into a bag dangling above my head. The sounds become lost in a gentle swoosh, lulling me back down into the depths of my dreams; back to the where it all began.

  Chapter 4

  When I was eight…

  Sitting in my tree, I watched the people in our yard. Anger burned deep inside of me. They were all just vultures, digging and tossing our stuff around without a care in the world. I had the perfect view as they picked apart everything in their sight. None of them were concerned that it was my whole life sitting out on the lawn. It was just another sale to them. It meant nothing to the vultures; no memories or stories.

  I watched two men secure our couch to the back of a truck. Their hands fiddled with the ropes, making them so tight, the fabric split open and stuffing blew out across the grass. A man and his wife knocked our table against the trailer and the leg fell off in the street. They had the nerve to ask my father for a discount because it was damaged before it even left our house. My sad father just handed back a few dollars to the mean couple who broke our table.

  I hated the vultures. I hated them all!

  “Pumpkin? I need you to come down from there and help put the rest of the stuff back in the house,” my father yelled. Without a word, I climbed down into the garden and followed him to the front yard.

  I shoved a yellow vase into a box with some old glasses and carried it back into the living room. Dropping the cardboard on the hard wood, I heard the glasses bang against each other. I picked the box up and dropped it a little harder, feeling the prickly anticipation for the sound. The vase vibrated a little harder this time. I continued with another try, putting my arm strength into the throw. A crackling smash came from inside of the box.

  Feeling the warm tingle of satisfaction, I looked around the room. The house was empty. According the foreclosure notice, we had until tomorrow morning to be out of the only place I had ever called home. It was hard to grasp how much our lives had changed in a year.