Someone To Kiss My Scars: A Teen Thriller

by Brooke Skipstone

  Joe turned toward her, stabbing at her with his finger as he moved closer. “You’re either going to jail or to a psychiatric ward. Or to both. And then straight to hell. Either way you’ll be out of my life and the boys’ lives forever. So if you’d rather kill yourself, then by all means, kill yourself.”

  Savannah stood, her eyes wide open and quivering as she clutched the knife. She removed her robe, standing naked in front of him. “Look at me! Please look at me!”

  Joe’s eyes widened as he stared at her. He hadn’t seen her body for months. Blood dripped down her left arm, which she held out to him. She wiped her bloody hand across her stomach, as if to clean it, then held it to him again. “Please, Joe.”

  “No one wants to look at you, Savannah. No one.”

  She shuddered and pulled her hand to her mouth, her eyes pleading with him. She shook her head as Joe made no effort to hide his disgust with her.

  She whimpered, “Goodbye,” then ran down the hall.

  The ball pounded again.

  “Shit!” Joe ran toward the front door, ripped it open, and yelled. “Stop hitting the house!” He ran down the stairs and fell.

  Later he found Hunter in the bathroom, shivering on the floor, covered in his own blood. He had slashed his arms with the same knife Savannah had used to slit her wrists.

  For weeks afterward, Joe had blamed himself for caring more about being with Stanley than tending to his family and trying to get help for Savannah. He never told anyone the real topic of his last conversation with Savannah. Or about his relationship with Stanley. Or that he hated Hunter and blamed him for Savannah and Frankie’s deaths and condemning him to years of having to deal with a crazed son, screaming and cutting himself repeatedly.

  But that wasn’t the worst thing Joe had done. The rest is what he never wanted Hunter to know under any circumstances.

  A black Ford Explorer pulled up into Joe’s driveway—Stanley’s. Joe stood and tried to clear his mind of Hunter and Savannah. He wanted to enjoy this reunion. He hoped Stanley had brought a suitcase.

  *****

  Hunter stared out the windshield as Jazz drove south along the highway. He kept replaying his final memories with his mother in his mind, searching for something he may have missed, some detail that might explain why she killed herself. He held the sheathed knife in his hand.

  Why would Dad keep this knife? Was it his or hers, or maybe Hunter’s?

  And why would his mother use it to kill herself? Had she already decided to commit suicide before his father returned? Had she slashed her arm to see if she could slit her wrists? She had told him that the pain was something she could deal with rather than what was wrong inside. The same reason Jazz had given him to explain her cuts. If so, the cuts wouldn’t be a prelude. They would be preventative.

  What had she and Dad talked about when he was outside? Obviously, Dad hadn’t comforted her. As soon as he ran outside, she must’ve gone back to the bathroom. How much time had elapsed between when Dad fell down the stairs and when Hunter went inside?

  Mom said she called him, but he hadn’t come. What had she wanted? If he had come sooner, would she have died?

  And then he remembered that his dad had told him to check on his mother rather than go down to the road. Why? Because he knew she was suicidal? What other reason would there be? Why hadn’t he expected her to come outside?

  His whole body tingled in realization—he knew she was killing herself. He had to know! And he’d let her do it.

  He opened his computer and started typing.

  “What’s going on in your head?” asked Jazz.

  “Dad knew Mom was suicidal, yet he left the house anyway. He told me to check on her after Frankie was killed. He knew.”

  “Why wouldn’t he stop her?”

  “Because he wanted her dead.”

  “Why?”

  “She was pregnant with my child. He didn’t want to deal with that.”

  “She could’ve aborted it.”

  “He didn’t want her.”

  “Was there someone else?”

  They both saw the second car in front of Joe’s house as Jazz drove down the road toward his driveway.

  “Maybe,” said Hunter. His heart pounded as Jazz parked her truck. He knew he would soon learn the truth.

  Joe opened his front door and walked outside. “Couldn’t you have texted you were coming over?”

  “Why? Got something or someone to hide?” sneered Hunter as he moved toward the door.

  Joe threw his arm across the jamb. “Not now, Hunter.”

  Hunter held the sheathed knife in front of his father’s face. “Recognize the knife?”

  Joe’s eyes bulged, and his mouth dropped open.

  “I’m curious why you kept this. Out of all the triggers you burned, this is the one you kept. Why?”

  Joe stared at the knife, his breathing quickening.

  “We need to talk,” said Hunter.

  Joe’s eyes darted from Hunter to Jazz then back to Hunter.

  “Joe,” said Jazz. “You knew Savannah was going to kill herself. Hunter can help you.”

  Joe slowly moved his arm away. Hunter jerked the door open and walked inside where he saw a man standing by the sink, drinking a beer.

  Joe closed the door after Jazz entered. “This is Detective Stanley Collins, a friend of mine. Stanley, this is my son, Hunter, and his girlfriend, Jazz.”

  Stanley smiled and offered his hand to Hunter, who made no attempt to shake it. “How long have you and Dad known each other?”

  Stanley looked to Joe.

  Hunter pulled the knife from the sheath. “Don’t lie to me because I’m going to see your memories, Dad.” He held the sheath with the open end toward his father. “Did you know there’s blood inside? Is it Mom’s? Or mine? Or both?”

  Joe moved toward his son. “Hunter, you need to leave. This is not a good time for this.”

  Hunter held the knife toward his father. “Back off! I’m going to tell what I know, Dad, until you can’t help thinking about that day. Then I’ll know the truth. Stanley, did he tell you how his wife died?”

  Stanley cleared his throat. “She committed suicide.”

  “Yes! With this knife. And when did he tell you this? Recently, or four years ago?”

  This time Stanley locked his gaze onto Hunter’s eyes. “Years ago.”

  Joe pulled out a chair and slumped into it.

  “But did he tell you he knew she would do it and didn’t try to stop her?”

  Joe grabbed his head. “How do you know . . . ?”

  This time, Hunter did not hear pounding. Just the voices of his parents yelling at each other while a ball slammed against the house. He saw his father jabbing his finger at her, then his mother drop her robe, cry, and stagger out of the room.

  Through Joe’s eyes, Hunter saw himself slumped onto the bathroom floor, his arms bleeding. His mother lay dead in the bathtub.

  His father didn’t scream at seeing Savannah. He glanced at her once. Joe kneeled and reached for Hunter’s neck, placing his fingers against his carotid artery. When he felt a faint heartbeat, he said, “Shit!”

  He stood and wiped his hand on a towel. His father debated with himself about leaving the house so Hunter would bleed out. Who would know? Just when he was about to exit the bathroom, Hunter moaned and moved his head. His eyes opened and saw Joe.

  “Jesus. Were you trying to kill yourself, or just make a mess?”

  “Mr. Williams? Hello, Mr. Williams?” The voice came from the living room. “I’m Trooper Lawrence. I’d like to speak with you.”

  Shit, thought Joe. “I’m in here!” He yelled, cracking his voice. “I have an emergency!” He threw towels on the floor, saw the gauze and tape on the counter, grabbed them and kneeled to cover Hunter’s wounds.

  Joe heard footsteps. “Where are you?”

  “In the bathroom. Go through the bedroom.”

/>   After a few seconds, the trooper appeared at the bathroom door. “Oh, my God.” He radioed for an ambulance.

  Joe wiped his eyes with his arm. “She slit her wrists, probably forty-five minutes ago. The boy found her twenty minutes ago, and I just came inside to find them both.”

  After a few more minutes, Joe and the trooper had bandaged all the cuts. He helped Hunter sit up and gave him some water.

  “Can you walk?” asked Joe. “I’d really like to get out of this room.”

  Hunter nodded. Both men helped him stand and walk to the kitchen where they sat him in a chair.

  “What happened?” asked the trooper.

  Joe, breathing heavily, took the man outside on the porch. “I just got home an hour ago. The boys were playing outside, and my wife told me what Hunter had been doing to her for the past several weeks. She was very drunk. Hunter has had a porn problem. We thought it was licked, but he never stopped, evidently. He told her he would complain to child protective services about her abusing him if she wouldn’t have sex with him. He raped her and threatened to do it again. She always drank, but she hit the bottle really hard when all this started happening. He forced her to have sex with him until he got her pregnant. I think that’s why she killed herself.

  “She’d begun to cut herself. She’d just shown me a couple of cuts on her arm when I heard a crash outside. So I ran out of the house and found Frankie had been killed.” He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and whimpered. “Hunter never even walked down the driveway to see his brother. Hunter must’ve disappeared into the house. I found him on the floor, bloody and barely conscious.

  “The boy is sick. I think he purposely rolled the basketball into the road so Frankie would try to get it. He just destroyed my entire family.” Joe broke down sobbing.

  The trooper squeezed his shoulder and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Hunter opened his eyes and found himself slumped on the floor being held by Jazz. He raised his head and saw his father. Rage surged through his veins, released by a scream. He leapt up, held the knife above his head, and charged after Joe.

  “I’ll kill you!” Hunter yelled.

  “Hunter!” Jazz screamed.

  Stanley moved quickly and grabbed Hunter’s arm, twisting it behind his back until he could take the knife from his hand. Hunter lunged after Joe again.

  Jazz raced toward Hunter, trying to pull him away from Joe. Both Stanley and Jazz held Hunter.

  “Hunter. Please. Calm down,” begged Jazz.

  Joe removed his phone from his back pocket, punched the home button and swiped, then moved toward Hunter holding the phone away from him.

  “Hold him, Stanley.”

  “What are you doing?” yelled Jazz.

  “What I should have done yesterday.”

  Hunter struggled against Stanley’s arms.

  “Nooo!” Jazz flew toward Joe, pushing him and shoving him.

  Joe slung her to the ground then gave the phone to Stanley who had a tight grip on Hunter. “Hold that to his right ear.”

  Stanley took the phone and held it against the side of his head. Jazz jumped up, screaming, trying to get to Hunter, but Joe held her off.

  Hunter heard a strange rhythmic beat repeated several times. After a few seconds, he felt calm. His muscles felt heavy, and his breathing slowed. He slumped into Stanley’s arms.

  “What did you do?” cried Jazz.

  “What Dr. Ru told me to do. I reset his chip.”

  Stanley sat Hunter in a chair.

  Deep in his mind, Hunter heard a voice telling him what to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hunter gazed at Jazz as he reached into his back pocket for his phone. He punched in the numbers he heard in his mind and waited.

  “Who is this?” asked a very nervous Dr. Ru.

  Hunter recognized the friendly voice. “Hello, Dr. Ru. This is Hunter Williams.”

  Joe’s face turned pale as he leaned against the wall.

  “Thank you for calling, Hunter. How are you? And where are you?”

  Hunter stood and moved across the room, farther away from Joe and Stanley. Jazz followed him.

  “I’m in Alaska. I think my father thought he was resetting my chip that would wipe out all my memories again. He didn’t want me to see what really happened four years ago.”

  “I lied to your father about the chip. I’m sorry. At the end of your treatment, I used hypnosis and planted a deep suggestion in your mind to calm down and call me if you heard a specific musical sequence. You don’t have a chip in your brain, Hunter.”

  “Dr. Ru, I’m going to put you on speaker now.” He pushed the button. “I never had an implant?”

  Joe sat up in his chair, his face slack and his mouth open.

  “No. And I never mentioned the chip to your father until he called me yesterday. I wanted to speak with you, but I think he was afraid your memories would return if you heard my voice.”

  “And now I know why he was so worried about that happening. Did he tell you I had raped my mother?”

  Ru hesitated. “Yes, he did, Hunter.”

  Stanley looked at Joe with a quizzical expression. Joe stared back and shook his head slowly.

  “Did you believe him?”

  “At first, but that’s not what you described to me during our sessions.”

  “Did he tell you I was addicted to pornography and forced my mother to have sex by threatening to call Child Protective Services?”

  Resignedly, he answered, “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you he told my mother to kill herself and left the house when he knew that’s what she intended to do? And that when he found me bleeding on the floor in the bathroom, he wanted me to die?”

  Everyone stared at Joe who looked confused.

  “No, Hunter. How do you know this?”

  “Because I saw his memories. And now he doesn’t remember what he said or thought during those moments.”

  Ru’s voice turned more urgent. “Explain please. Joe told me you saw memories, but he said nothing about deleting them.”

  “When I see a memory, the person thinking about that memory forgets it. Always. I’ve taken bad memories away from my girlfriend, Jazz. And from two students at school.”

  “Did they know you were doing this?”

  “Yes, they wanted me to. They think about the event, I write it down as I see it, and afterward they don’t remember the rape or the abuse or whatever the event was.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like this, Hunter. There was another boy who had a treatment similar to yours. His parents told me that he started hearing voices. Maybe he was seeing memories, too.”

  Jazz took the phone from Hunter. “Dr. Ru, my name is Jazz. Hunter took many of my memories. He saved me, and I can never thank him enough. I want to ask you about the shooter in Washington, if that’s OK? The news reports have made you out to be a villain.”

  “Yes, they have. The parents are suing me. The press is after me. Some are trying to blame the boy’s murders on me.”

  Jazz glanced at Hunter. “Did you tell his parents you’d given him an implant?”

  “Yes. I was desperate to speak to the boy. But the parents wouldn’t allow it. I had implanted a hypnotic suggestion, similar to Hunter’s.” He paused, breathing deeply and rapidly. “I’m sorry. I keep thinking about that poor kid shooting his friends. I know if I had been able to speak to him, I could’ve stopped it.”

  Jazz looked at Hunter then lifted the phone closer to her mouth. “The media said he was traumatized by an incident at his grandfather’s. They mentioned a coyote attack. Is that what happened, or was he abused?”

  Ru cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t speak about another patient. If Hunter had talked to the boy, I’m sure he would still be alive, as well as so many other children.”

  Stanley moved toward Jazz and directed his words to the phone. “Dr. Ru, my name is Stanly Collin
s. I’m a detective with the Fairbanks Police Department. Are you withholding information from the police in Bremerton?”

  Hunter felt his muscles tense. He shared a grimace with Jazz. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ru. I should have told you there was a detective in the room.”

  “That’s OK, Hunter. No, Detective Collins, but I needed to hire a lawyer before speaking with them. Since you’ve evidently witnessed Hunter’s abilities, you can help me. The shooter’s memories were erased using electroconvulsive therapy, similar to what I did for Hunter. The boy’s memories must have started to come back, but unlike Hunter’s, they were of physical violence to him and his pets. He may not have recognized them as his own memories and thought he was going crazy. Or perhaps he saw memories of violence from others. I wish I could’ve spoken with the boy. I have no idea why or how Hunter or that boy would tap into other people’s memories.”

  Hunter took the phone from Jazz. “Jazz has a theory, Dr. Ru. She can text you or call you later if you want.”

  “Yes, please,” said Ru. “Hunter, do you want to keep deleting memories?”

  “Yes,” answered Hunter. “At first I wanted them to stop, but now that I know how much others have suffered, like Jazz, I want to help as many as I can. There are two girls nearby who have been sex slaves for several years, forced to live in a cage since they were twelve or younger. I haven’t met them yet, but I want to save them then delete all they’ve experienced.”

  “Sex slaves?” asked Stanley.

  “Yes. I’ve seen them twice in a friend’s memories, but I don’t know where they are.”

  “Hunter,” said Ru, “you have a very good heart, despite all that’s happened to you. Your mother abused you, Hunter. You did nothing wrong, despite what your father wanted you to believe. And all the others that you’ve helped and plan to help did nothing wrong, either. They are children who’ve been forced to live in their own hell, most often by selfish adults. Sometimes I can barely get to sleep thinking about all the stories I’ve heard.”

  “Hunter and I know how that feels,” said Jazz, holding Hunter’s arm, “but we do better together.”

  “Yes, I don’t know how I could cope without my husband.”