“Now go outside. You and Frankie have to be outside while I talk to your father.”
“Are you going to tell him to leave?”
“Sure, Hunter. That’s what we need to talk about.”
Hunter got up.
“Take the boom box and play some music. I don’t want you two to hear what we’re saying.”
Hunter backed out of the bathroom, still nervous about leaving her alone.
She smiled at him. “Go on. I’ve got to get dressed.”
Hunter turned around, grabbed the CD player off her dresser, and left her room. Frankie and Joe were just entering the house when Hunter walked into the kitchen.
“Hunter slept with Mom a lot,” said Frankie. “Probably every night.”
Frankie saw Hunter’s glare and froze.
Joe squinted at Hunter as he walked through the front door. “Is that true?”
Hunter directed his gaze firmly at his father. “Had a few nightmares. So did Frankie. We watched a bunch of scary movies.”
“Uh huh! Liar!” yelled Frankie.
Hunter moved toward his brother. “We need to go outside, Frankie.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom and Dad need to talk.”
“We do?” asked Joe.
“Take it up with her,” said Hunter. “She told me to take Frankie outside.”
“Go outside, boys,” said Savannah from the hallway.
They all looked at her, trying to tie her robe sash as she carried a glass of vodka in one hand, her hair a mess, moving slowly and unsteadily toward the kitchen. Hunter could see a little blood oozing into her left sleeve. He started to move toward her, but she shooed him away. “Go. Out. Side.”
Hunter turned, grabbed Frankie’s arm, and pulled him toward the front door.
“You don’t need to pull me!” He jerked his arm away from his brother.
The door slammed shut behind them as they walked to the driveway.
Hunter pushed his brother’s back. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Frankie? I told you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Dad asked me if anything strange happened while he was gone, anything unusual between you and Mom, so I told him. What the hell you doing in her room all the time, anyway?”
“I’ll kick your ass later. Get the ball.” Hunter set the player on the edge of the fake water well in the front yard and punched the play button. “Whole Lotta Love” roared from the speakers as Hunter turned the volume all the way up. Frankie shot three free throws, making one. Hunter shot two in a row, so he was the first shooter in their game of HORSE.
He kept staring at the front door, wondering what was going on inside. He launched a long shot from straight on which hit the backboard hard, bounced off the rim and rolled down the driveway toward the road. Their house sat fifty yards back from a two-lane state highway on a little rise a quarter mile from the nearest house. Frankie took off after the ball as it bounced and rolled, stopping against the chain link fence pole on one side of the driveway . Frankie picked it up as a car sped by about thirty feet away.
Frankie trotted back. “Pretty crappy shot.” He launched one from the corner of the key and made it. Hunter matched him.
Hunter wondered what they were saying inside, whether he would soon see his dad leave the house, never to return. He couldn’t stand to think of the alternative—his father sleeping with his mother that night.
“Shoot or give up your turn,” shouted Frankie.
Even if Dad left, Hunter would still have Frankie spying on him. Such a little shit. Hunter would still have to sneak into her room. He and Mom could have so much more fun if Frankie were gone. Maybe Dad could take Frankie when they divorced.
Hunter spun the ball in his hands. “Why’d you have to say anything to Dad? It’s none of your business where I sleep. Dad doesn’t care about Mom at all. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, and he won’t even look at her.”
He threw the ball as hard as could at the backboard. The ball bounced back to his hands. He threw it again, smacking against the wall above the garage door. Hunter caught it.
“Hey, you already took your turn!” yelled Frankie.
Hunter slammed it harder against the house. Then again. Frankie tried to intercept the return, but Hunter grabbed it.
“You want it?” taunted Hunter as he threw the ball again then caught it.
“It’s my turn!”
Hunter threw it again then moved away so the ball bounded down the driveway. Frankie took off after it.
Joe barged out the front door. “Stop hitting the house! Hunter! What’s going on?”
Hunter pointed at Frankie chasing the ball, which would not stop before rolling onto the road. Hunter laughed.
“Frankie!” shouted Joe as he raced down the stairs off the porch. He caught his heel on a step and fell onto the ground. “Frankie! Hunter, stop Frankie!”
“You stop him!”
Joe tried to stand, but his knee gave way. He grimaced and sat on the step. “Hunter, run down there and stop him!”
Hunter saw Frankie racing after the ball as a truck rolled around the corner, about to cross in front of their house. Another car was approaching from the other direction.
“Hunter!” screamed Joe.
“He’s not an idiot!” screamed Hunter at his father.
The ball rolled into the highway. The truck blew its horn and raced by. Frankie stopped on the shoulder about ten feet from the road. The ball rolled into the far lane and was hit by the car.
The ball rose into the air flying across the lane diagonally toward the house when it hit the driver’s-side windshield of the car following the truck. The driver slammed on his brakes and swerved off the road, heading straight for Frankie.
The boy screamed and tried to run back up the driveway, but the car plowed into Frankie’s ribcage and drove him into and through the chain link fence before he disappeared under the car, its horn blaring continuously. Other cars slowed down and pulled off the side.
“No!” shouted Joe as he tried to hobble toward the road.
Hunter stared at the scene, his muscles locking tight. He couldn’t breathe as his insides froze. He didn’t expect this. Surely, he didn’t.
His head felt so heavy he couldn’t hold it up.
Joe stumbled past him, crying Frankie’s name.
Hunter tried to follow, but he couldn’t feel his feet touch the ground.
He gasped, bent over, and puked on his shoes.
Joe stopped, turned, and yelled at Hunter. “Go check on your mother.”
Hunter tried to straighten up, swallowing bile. He held his ears. The horn plus the looping song assaulted his brain. He turned and stumbled back toward the house.
Just as he reached the steps, his adrenaline kicked in, and he bounded up onto the porch.
“Mom!” he yelled as he opened the door. Seeing no one in the kitchen he raced back toward her bedroom. “Mom!”
He opened her door. The room was empty. “Mom?”
He heard a moan from inside the bathroom. He walked toward the door and opened it. He didn’t see her, but he heard a small splash.”
“Mom?”
“Hunter.” The sound barely separated from her mouth.
He saw her nude body lying in blood-red water, her head leaned back against the wall. The bloody Mount Rainier knife had fallen to the tile floor underneath her right wrist, gashed and bleeding.
He collapsed onto his knees, sobbing.
Her eyes stared blankly from her pale face, barely moving her mouth as she struggled to speak. “Why didn’t you come? I . . . c-called for you.” She shivered.
“Mom. Why? Why did you do this?”
“Because . . . you got me p-pregnant, Hunter.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“You shouldn’t have, Baby. You shouldn’t have . . .”
Her head slowly turned toward him, her eyes fixed on nothin
g.
“Mom?” He clutched his legs to his chest and rocked. “Mom?”
His lips curled back from his teeth as the pain in his heart forced his mouth open. The screams that pierced his brain would echo in his head for the next three years until Dr. Ru shocked his memories into oblivion.
“Hunter?” The bathroom door burst open. “Hunter!” shouted Jazz as she pulled him to her. “I’m here. Come out of the nightmare, Hunter. I’m with you.”
Hunter opened his eyes. He was naked on the floor, hugging his legs, facing the bathtub as the water ran into the drain.
He still saw the bloody water and her lifeless eyes. “She killed herself because I got her pregnant. She sliced her wrists in the bathtub. She told me I shouldn’t have, like I had raped her.”
“No, Hunter. She didn’t know what she was saying. Her body was shutting down.”
“I caused Frankie’s death. He told Dad I had slept with Mom, and I didn’t want him bothering us anymore. We were outside while Mom and Dad talked. I rolled the ball into the road. They’re both dead because of me.”
“No, Hunter. Your father’s hiding something he did. You still don’t know the full story.”
“I killed them.” He wept and buried his head beneath his arms. “They’d both be alive if I hadn’t raped Mom. I’m no better than Wesley.”
“Hunter, look at me. You were thirteen. You didn’t decide on your own to have sex with your mother. Getting mad at your little brother doesn’t mean you killed him. We need to see your dad. You need to find out what Joe said to your mom.” She stood and turned off the bath.
She bent down and helped him stand then held his face in her hands. “Hunter, you are not to blame for any of this. Your parents made mistakes. Your mother took advantage of you. Now you’re saving others. You can’t save Danielle and Destiny if you’re beating yourself up.”
“You read the stories?”
“Yeah. I will personally shoot Wesley if I have the opportunity.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Joe sat outside drinking a beer, thinking about his conversation with Jazz. Should he trust Ru? Was there a chip he could reset, or was that a lie? He wanted to believe in Ru because he had saved Hunter’s life a year ago. But the shooter in Washington made him replay all his conversations with Ru. Joe knew he wouldn’t have forgotten an implant in Hunter’s brain. If reset weren’t an option, then what? Hope that Hunter stayed with Jazz, away from Joe’s memories?
There were many times he’d almost abandoned Hunter, leaving him trapped inside one of the psychiatric hospitals they’d tried. But he couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t abandon Savannah when she told him she was pregnant. He would never have married that girl otherwise.
He met her during a Friday night happy hour at Hooters’ where she waitressed. The guys dared him to hit on her. After several drinks he did, and she took him to her apartment after work. She liked having sex. A lot. He’d always been a little shy around girls and never impressed the few he’d dated with his lovemaking skills. But Savannah took charge and created her perfect lover, one who always said yes to whatever crazy scenario she imagined. For a time, he thought his life was a blast. None of his friends could match Joe’s stories of his sex life with Savannah.
During one of the few times they actually talked to each other, he’d learned that she’d left her family in California. Her parents had laughed at her when she accused her brothers of raping her multiple times. So she ran away at seventeen, lied about her age, found work as a stripper and never looked back. She made porn videos on the side, bragging that she came up with many of the plot lines herself. She claimed she’d acted nearly every role—sister, mother, daughter, lesbian, master, slave—in every combination imaginable. Plus live chats, which was what Joe caught her doing the day he came home from the factory with his pink slip.
He’d planned to break up with her the day she told him about being pregnant. But he couldn’t. They’d made a baby, and she wanted to keep it. Maybe she’d hoped having a baby would give her something else to obsess over than sex and her body and making men horny. She’d told him once that knowing hundreds or thousands of men beat off watching her in a film gave her more pleasure than an orgasm.
For a while, caring for Hunter changed her life for the better. Then Frankie’s entrance recharged her batteries and filled her days, and nights, with purpose. But the thrill of motherhood waned as she worried she was getting old and fat, and Joe didn’t show the same interest in her as before. She secretly got back into porn until Joe lost his job.
They moved to the middle of nowhere where Joe could do odd jobs for cash and Savannah had to raise the boys full time. Money was tight until he found work at Prudhoe Bay. Then his lengthy absences began to erode their relationship even more.
He’d thought many times about his decision to marry her. He should have walked away, but he felt guilty about leaving his baby. He’d worried about the kind of life Hunter would’ve had without a father. The irony of that concern now punched him in the gut. How could Hunter’s life have been any worse than it’d turned out to be? And Frankie wouldn’t have lived just to be killed by a car.
He’d pretended to be straight, he’d pretended to be in love with his wife, and now he was pretending to worry about Hunter’s memories returning, when he was really worried about Hunter acquiring new ones.
He desperately wanted to stop pretending—to be honest and open for once in his life.
He sipped his beer, gazing down the road, waiting for Stanley to arrive. They hadn’t actually been together since the morning he drove home four years ago. He’d spent the night at Stanley’s house in Fairbanks then caught a morning flight to Seattle. Joe had known there would be an argument with Savannah when he came home. He’d already consulted with an attorney about gaining custody of the boys, had already checked job options in Fairbanks. But he hadn’t been ready for what met him that day.
Once the boys were outside in the driveway, Savannah pulled a piece of paper out of her robe pocket. “Stanley Collins. Detective with the Fairbanks Police Department. Thirty-eight years old. I also have his picture. Nice looking man. According to the private investigator I hired, you’ve spent the night several times with him.”
Joe didn’t expect that. His face burned as a tingle swept up his neck.
“Which explains why you lost interest in me months ago. You’re a fag.” She sneered. “Wait until the boys find out.”
Joe tightened his stomach, trying to keep fear from drowning him. He couldn’t let her shame him in front of the boys. “There is no law against homosexuality. There are, however, laws against incest and sexual abuse. You’re going to jail, Savannah.”
She pulled her robe tighter and lifted her chin higher. She shook her head and moaned.
Joe flinched when the ball hit the house.
“Oh, really?” She moved toward the front door. “Boys! Come inside. I have something to tell you.”
Joe walked in front of her and pushed her shoulders. “How long have you been screwing Hunter?”
Savannah winced and grabbed her left forearm. “What are you talking about, you pervert.”
“The first thing Frankie told me when I drove up is that Hunter has been sleeping with you. He also said he’s heard lots of sounds coming from your room when Hunter is in there. He told me some of the words he’s heard—’Oh yes, Hunter.’ And ‘Fuck me, Hunter.’”
She’d waved her right hand in dismissal. “What an imagination he has.” She then noticed blood on her palm and brought it closer to her eyes.
“Frankie’s too young to make that stuff up . . . “ Joe too noticed the blood seeping through her sleeve.
Savannah stared at her bloodied hand, breathing heavily.
Joe pointed at her arm “Why are you bleeding?”
The ball slammed into the house again.
She staggered to the table and plopped into a chair. “I had an accident in the bathr
oom.” She pulled back her sleeve to reveal the bloody gauze then chugged the rest of her drink. “Actually, I cut myself on purpose.” She pulled out the Rainier knife from her robe pocket. “Remember this knife? You bought it for me on our first camping trip together.” She removed the blade from the scabbard. “You screwed me at least six times on that trip. I was impressed.”
She pulled the blade slowly against her skin above the other cuts, hardly changing expression. The blood dripped off both sides of her arm onto the floor. “Now you screw Stanley instead.” She sliced her skin again, whimpering a little. “It’s your fault I’m pregnant.”
Joe’s stomach locked as his head spun. Bile burned in his throat. “You’re pregnant? From Hunter?”
The ball hit the house.
She sneered. “I think Hunter’s mad I’m talking to you alone. He’s jealous.” She laughed. “Haven’t had anyone jealous of me in a long time.”
Joe had suspected for weeks that she was acting inappropriately with Hunter, but he had never thought they were actually screwing each other until Frankie told him what he had heard. He placed his hands on the table across from her, his muscles tight with anger. “Do you realize what you’ve done to that boy?”
“Yeah, I made him happy. He made me happy.”
“So happy you’re cutting yourself. You’re nothing but a drunken pedophile. A child abuser! Look at you! Drunk. Bloody. And pregnant with you son’s child!”
Her tears brimmed over her eyelashes and ran down her cheeks. “I was so lonely. You wouldn’t touch me.”
“Don’t justify your disgusting behavior by blaming me. Hunter is thirteen, barely old enough to know what sex is. And you’ve ruined him! Forever!”
Savannah wailed. “I want to die!”
The ball pounded against the house.
He threw up his hands and barked, “Then die! That would be the best thing for you and the boys.”
The ball slammed against the wall again.
“Dammit! What’s wrong with them?” He looked out the window.
Savannah stood up, gripping her knife.
“You want me to die? You don’t care?”
Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller Page 23
