by Tess Oliver
“Do you think Frank will come after us?” she asked drowsily.
“We’re his tickets to prison,” Julian muttered from beneath the brim of his cap.
Sugar looked at me for confirmation.
I nodded. “But once we get to Julian’s, we’ll let his dad know what we witnessed. We’ll be out of danger soon.”
She relaxed against me again. “Tommy,” she said quietly, “back there, at Green Willow, you traded your life for mine.” With that she wrapped her hand around my arm and closed her eyes.
Chapter 14
“Bloomington,” the bus driver shouted.
My neck felt stiff as I lifted my head off the seat and opened my eyes. I shaded them from the harsh morning sun forcing its way through the cloudy bus windows. Sugar lifted her head from my shoulder and glanced around like a confused little girl trying to figure out where the hell she was. Then her shoulders dropped. The ugly night came back to her. Julian was staring out the window. I wondered if he’d slept all. His pale skin was pulled tight over his face, and he looked anxious.
I hauled myself out of the seat, and they followed me down the narrow bus aisle. We stepped out onto the sidewalk. The humid air smelled of grass and cows. A small line of one-story buildings lined both sides of what I supposed was the town’s main street. The only signs of life on the street were a woman on a bicycle with a little white dog in the front basket, a man leaning against an old truck smoking a pipe and two dogs sniffing around a trash can. Having grown up in California, these quaint small towns seemed completely foreign, the settings for books and movies. While the small line of shops could easily have been a movie set in one of the Hollywood studios, it was all too real. Just like the night we’d endured, it was all too real.
The aroma of bacon lured us straight to a diner that was nestled between a dry cleaner and an abandoned store front. We had a six mile trek to Julian’s house, and there was no way we were going to make it without food. Two doors down was a liquor store. Several cars were parked out front. It seemed completely logical in a town like this, where each quiet day blended into the next, that booze would be a hot commodity.
I stopped for a second and gazed longingly at the liquor store. It was painted blue and black and its windows were plastered with faded ads for beer and chewing tobacco. I hadn’t had a drink since I’d entered Green Willow. The tattered posters on the front windows might as well have been signs that said ‘we’ve got what you’re looking for inside, Tommy’.
We were out on the streets again, a place where both Sugar and I had had a hard time coping without the security of alcohol and drugs. Now there were no padlocks on the drugs, and a bottle of whiskey could be bought with a smile and a ten dollar bill. There was no one, only our own willpower, to remind us that we didn’t need the stuff. And after what we’d just gone through, I craved a beer more than the bacon.
The black and white tile floor of the diner had faded to chalky gray and ivory. A few men sat at the counter with their coffees and newspapers, and a younger couple, who looked as if they’d been coming there for chicken fried steak too often, sat in one of the four booths. A television, with a weather girl in a tight red dress waving her arm in front of a virtual map, played over the window where a cook was handing out two plates to the one server. The server was dressed in jeans and a yellow blouse. The only thing about her that reminded me of the typical diner waitress you’d see in a movie was the pencil stuck behind her ear.
“Sit anywhere you’d like,” she called as she carried the plates of food to the couple.
We looked like a trio of mismatched, bone weary, slightly lost travelers as we slid into the red vinyl seats of the booth. Sugar sat next to me, and Julian, who hadn’t spoken yet, sat across. He put his computer on the seat next to him, the first time he’d taken his hands off of the thing. He was shifting his jaw from side to side, something I’d never seen him do before.
I leaned forward. “Hey, Jules, don’t worry about it. We’ll be at your house soon and get you whatever you need.”
The mention of his house seemed to make his jaw twitch more. Sugar glanced my direction. We exchanged a worried look. Sugar and I had been sent to Green Willow to rid ourselves of drugs. Julian had been there to keep his drug level well-regulated. Now his schedule had been thrown out of whack. My ignorance in thinking that he’d be fine as long as he was with us, his two closest friends, was proving to be just that, pure and utter ignorance.
The woman brought over three waters and menus. “We’re out of maple syrup, just so you know. But we have raspberry and blueberry.”
Her nametag said Linda. “Hey, Linda, is there a payphone nearby?” I asked.
“Uh huh,” she said. “Right on the corner in front of the liquor store.” She chuckled. “Doesn’t get used much anymore, what with everyone having a cell phone and all.” She glanced at each of us. Her attention stayed on Julian just long enough to make him uneasy. He lifted the menu up and opened it in front of his face.
“Thanks,” Sugar said. “By the way, do I need a key for the restroom?”
The woman looked at her with confusion. “A key? What’s the good of having a restroom if it’s locked? I’ll give you some time to look at the menu. The skillet scramble with cheddar cheese is really tasty.” She walked away.
“Hey, Jules,” I spoke to the back of his laminated menu, “do you think they have wi-fi in this place?” Looking at his computer was like a drug for him. I thought it might help.
He snorted. “Doubt they even have computers.” That was all the response I got.
“After we eat, we should probably make some calls,” I said.
“The police?” Sugar asked.
“No, actually, I was thinking you should call your mom. I’m assuming we’ve all been reported missing. She might be worried.”
“She won’t care.” She picked up the menu and used it to shield her face just like Julian had.
“Sure she will. She might—”
Sugar slammed the menu on the table. “I’m not calling her.” She slid out of the booth.
“What are you so pissed about? Where are you going?”
She ignored both questions but answered one by heading toward the restrooms.
“Shit.” I looked at Julian. “What the hell was that about?”
He folded up the menu and placed it down on the table. “Sugar’s mom has basically cut her out of her life. On the day she visited, she told Sugar she was moving to Florida and that she’d help Sugar find her own place, preferably far away from Florida.”
“Fuck. I didn’t know.” I leaned back against the hard seat. “She told you though, apparently.” I thought back to that day when a summer storm drifted in, and Sugar had run to my arms, upset after her mom’s visit. But she’d never said why she’d been so upset. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Julian took hold of his fork and inspected it. “She was too embarrassed to admit it.”
“Embarrassed? Why the hell was she embarrassed?”
Julian picked up his napkin and began rubbing the fork. “The reason her mom told her not to follow her to Florida was because she was tired of Sugar,” he looked up, “quote here,” he added, still polishing that damn fork, “spreading her legs for her mom’s boyfriends.” He looked at the fork and continued to clean it, even though you could see a reflection in it now.
“Jesus,” I muttered. The restroom door opened. Sugar came out. She’d made a quick braid of her long hair, and it seemed she’d washed her face.
She slid back into the booth. I decided not to bring up anything about her mom. Some subjects were better left untouched. I’d learned long ago, for sanity sake, even though I’d never considered myself sane, some fucking subjects were just better left untouched.
I wasn’t sure if the cheddar skillet was delicious or if it was just
because I was so hungry, dry cereal would have tasted good. After the night we’d been through, the food and knowing that we were now far away from Frank, settled a quiet but sad sense of relief over us. Soon this whole damn thing would be over. We’d give our statements and they’d arrest Frank and his accomplice, if he’d survived, and Sugar, Julian and I would deal with our own shit again.
I stuffed the last bite of egg into my mouth just as I heard my name from somewhere in the diner. It was a voice I’d never heard before. It was a reporter standing in front of Green Willow, with a channel five microphone in front of her face. Beneath the reporter, black letters on a yellow banner said ‘Breaking News, Homicide at Green Willow Recovery Center’. There was a flurry of activity behind her, including the flashing lights of an ambulance and what looked like a shitload of police cars. Julian and Sugar had heard my name as well.
We all stared at the slightly fuzzy picture on the television perched high on the wall. Everyone else inside the diner went on with their work and their breakfasts. Linda was chatting with the men at the counter, refilling their coffee cups completely oblivious to the breaking news flash above her head.
I felt the entire damn cheddar skillet, hash browns and all, rise up in my throat as we listened.
“The patients— uh, residents, here are in shock, John. I can tell you that,” the reporter said to the news anchor in the studio. “A grisly murder scene met them as they stumbled from their beds, woken by what most have described as a single gunshot followed by the terrified yell of one of the ward assistants. The man didn’t want to be interviewed on television because the killer is still at large. He stated that at approximately two in the morning, he heard a struggle coming from one of the offices. That was when the ward assistant stumbled upon a horrifying scene. Dr. Shirley Kirkendall had been stabbed to death, and a visiting friend,” the reporter looked down at a notepad, “a man named Bill, was being beaten by the killer.”
“Holy shit.” I took a sip of water to wash away the dryness in my throat.
The reporter, with her all-important expression and bright pink lipstick, looked at the camera. “And, John— I caught a glimpse of the man named Bill, a man who fought bravely to save the life of his dear friend, Dr. Kirkendall. Let me just say it was a horrifying sight. I’d never seen anyone beaten so badly. It was a miracle that the man was still conscious. Another victim who was taken to the hospital was pronounced dead on arrival. She was a nurse at the facility but her name is being withheld until the next of kin are notified.”
Sugar shrank back against the seat and covered her face. Julian’s jaw was twitching back and forth, but there was no other emotion in his expression. He looked like a robot with a malfunctioning jaw, mechanical and not the slightest bit human.
The news anchor, John, I supposed, spoke up from behind the camera. Didn’t even get to see the fucker as he said my name. “Nancy, we now have a photo of the alleged killer. Again, the police are looking for Thomas Jameson Junior.” My picture popped up on screen. I scooted down in my seat.
Sugar grabbed my hand.
“Jameson has a history of violence, and he is, as some of the tweets coming into the studio have mentioned, the heir to Jameson Enterprises, a fortune five hundred company based in California.” John went on, even though, now, it was just my face staring down from the grease covered screen. My picture, a school picture, maybe. Wherever it was from, I looked pissed like I was posing for a damn mug shot. I guess I might as well have been. I didn’t even recognize the thing, but it was definitely me. It was definitely Thomas Jameson, silver spoon brat with a bad ass temper and now, homicidal maniac.
“Police are looking for Jameson. He is six-foot-two and a hundred-eighty pounds with long black hair, and we’re told he has a large tattoo of a scorpion on his back. He is traveling with two other residents from the center, but it isn’t known if they went with him willingly or if he took them as hostages. Names are being withheld.”
“Fuck, I guess Frank isn’t as dumb as he looks.” Julian spoke up suddenly. I’d never heard him cuss before. Everything about him seemed different. As the drugs in his system dwindled, it seemed we’d find out what the real Julian was like. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing.
Linda glanced up toward the television for just a second and then went back to her chat.
I reached over and grabbed Julian’s hat off his head and stuck it on my own. The look he gave me made it seem as if I’d reached across the table and yanked the nose off his face.
I lifted my hands. “What? I’m the one with the mug shot being broadcast around the world.” His expression didn’t change. “Fuck.” I yanked the hat off and threw it at him. He looked at it as if it had cooties.
“What are we going to do?” Sugar asked.
I pulled my wallet out, fished out forty bucks and tossed it on the table. When my dad had delivered me to Green Willow, a day of full humiliation for the man who hated to admit that his son had a drug and alcohol problem, he’d handed me three hundred dollars just in case. Instead of saying thanks, I’d asked him what the hell I would need it for in rehab. Turned out I did need it. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going to walk to the payphone and call my dad, let him know what the hell is going on. This is so fucking typical, it doesn’t even surprise me.”
Sugar scooted out and I slid past her and kept my face down as I hurried through the diner and out the door.
While I was pretty sure most small town residents didn’t spend much time keeping their eyes out for a killer, it was impossible to fade into the crowd. Mostly because there was no crowd and strangers were especially noticeable. The hat would have been nice, but one thing I’d discovered about Julian in these past months, he could be totally reasonable one minute and unreasonable, almost childish, the next.
I stuck my hands deep in my pockets and kept my face low. One minute, I was in my room at Green Willow, thinking about how badly I want to kiss Sugar, and the next, I’m a fucking fugitive on the run.
My hands were shaking with anger as I picked up the phone. Somebody had left an old sandwich on top. It had to be days old and it stank like shit. A line of ants crawled up along the sides of the phone to the moldy feast. In California, public phones had gone the way of the dinosaur, and this one, it seemed, had survived only because it was sitting in the middle of nowhere. There was even a phonebook and a pen sitting neatly on the ledge beneath the phone.
I had no change, so I dialed the operator, like I’d seen people do in movies, and was almost surprised when a helpful voice came on. “Yes, I’d like to make a collect call.” I gave her the number.
“Who is this call from?” she asked. I hesitated. I hadn’t given any thought yet to what might be happening at home. Had the police swarmed the place looking for me or for clues to my whereabouts? My gut knotted into a ball of ice, and I was regretting scarfing down my breakfast.
“Uh, the name is Tommy.”
The phone rang. I closed my eyes almost hoping they wouldn’t answer. But I needed to clear this up before things got completely out of control.
My dad’s voice bursting through the phone.
“I have a collect call from Tommy,” the operator said politely.
“Yes, yes,” Dad said sharply. “Tommy, what the hell has happened? The police just left here.”
“Dad, w-w-wait.” The words were stuck. My dad had learned how to take advantage of my speech flaw, another source of disappointment, and talk right over me.
“Have you lost your mind, Tommy? Have you lost your fucking mind?” I could hear my mom crying in the background. “My god, I knew that explosive temper of yours would be the ruin of you, but—”
“Dad! I didn’t fucking k-k-k-” I pulled the phone from my ear and smacked it on the ledge twice. I took a deep breath and brought the phone back to my ear. My dad was still ranting.
&nbs
p; “I’ve already talked to my lawyers, but I don’t know what we’re going to do. You’ve ruined this family’s name, and frankly, maybe jail is where you belong.”
“I fucking— didn’t do— it.” The words drifted out haltingly, quietly, like someone in surrender. I was sure he couldn’t hear me over the explosion of rage in his head. There were seconds during our last phone conversation when I’d thought he was coming around. The health scare had made him rethink his life and our relationship, but the man on the other side of the phone was having his usual one-sided conversation and ignoring everything his horrible, rotten son was trying to tell him.
“Your mother is falling apart, Thomas. Now do the right thing, and turn yourself in.”
“I didn’t fucking do it.” My throat tightened as I said the words again, but I knew he wasn’t listening to me. He never had before, why should he start now? Especially when all of his predictions for my future, a life behind bars, were coming true. He’d probably actually feel vindicated for being so right about his son. My eyes burned. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cried. Even with all the shit that had happened to me, I never cried.
I lowered the phone away from my ear. I could still hear his voice as I stared down at it. It looked so old-fashioned, with an earpiece, a handle and a place to talk. Like something you’d see in a museum. I hadn’t really needed the mouthpiece. My own voice had once again been silenced by the words getting jammed in my mouth and the person on the other end putting on his usual stone ears.
“Tommy,” I could still hear his voice. He’d finally stopped with his rant long enough to realize I was no longer listening. How does that feel, Dad? How does that fucking feel to be ignored? I smacked the phone on the ledge again. Then again. And again. The earpiece flew off and I smacked it again, over and over again, pulverizing the thick plastic casing just like I’d pulverized the face of the real killer.
