by Hamel, B. B.
“You got that right. I heard you were back in town, man.”
“Yeah, sure am.” I sip my coffee, assuming that Mitch told him. “How are things with you?”
“Things are good. Why don’t we hang out and catch up?”
I hesitate. I’ve been avoiding meetings like this. Not that I have anything against my old friends, it’s just that I haven’t wanted to get too tangled up in the damn local politics. Still, I’m here for at least another week, so I might as well give it a try.
And I liked Reggie. He was quiet, a little pudgy, wore glasses. The kind of kid that people would have picked on, but fortunately he was also really kind and pretty funny, so most people liked him. Part of me is a little surprised that he’s still living in Mason. He’s one of the guys I would have guessed got out, but apparently not.
“Yeah, okay,” I type back to him. “Where and when? I’m not in town for too long.”
“How about today then? I got nothing going on.”
I glance up at Cora. She’s busy staring off into space, idly eating her breakfast.
“Okay, I can do that,” I type back. “Meet me at the Great American for lunch?”
“That’d be great, except I don’t have a ride out there. I know it’s a little weird but would you mind picking me up?”
I hesitate a second. “From where?” I ask him.
“My place,” he says. “I’m in a dumpy little trailer out by the 309.”
“Sure,” I say, not happy about this, but whatever. “I’ll get you around one.” I send him my number and tell him to text me the address. My phone buzzes a minute later.
“What’s that?” Cora asks me.
“Remember Reggie Wheeler?”
“Sure,” she says. “My brother said he was a big dork, but he always seemed nice to me.”
I laugh a little. “Yeah, Atticus didn’t get along with him back then.”
“You hanging out with him?”
I nod. “Yeah, just for a bit this afternoon. Want to come?”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay.”
“You sure? We’re just having lunch right here.”
“I’m sure. I’ll see how my mom’s doing.”
“That works for me,” I say, and we change the subject, talking about logistical stuff. Now that I’m staying in Mason longer, I need to buy more clothes, more toiletries, those sort of things. We make plans to go to Wal-Mart after I drop Reggie back off at his place after lunch.
We head back to the motel after that. I drop off my computer and kill a little time taking a quick shower. I keep imagining what Cora’s doing over in her room, but I have to keep pushing those thoughts away. Having her so close complicates things a lot, although her mom kind of tempers all that.
I want to go next door and taste Cora, the way I’ve been craving her ever since she moved into this motel with her mom, but I know I shouldn’t. I have to head out and pick up Reggie, and plus, her mom is only a couple doors down. She’s not right next door, thankfully, but still. I don’t want to push something on Cora that she might not be comfortable with.
So instead of doing what my whole body craves, I get dressed and head out in my crappy rental.
Reggie lives in one of many trailer parks. This one’s tucked into a neighborhood with a stream on one side and the 309 Bypass on the other. It’s probably noisy as hell, but most folks don’t always get to choose where they live, and as far as parks go, this one’s not half bad.
Although I’m surprised Reggie ended up here. He was always a good student and a nice kid, always seemed like the type to get out of Mason and escape these endless trailers.
I park my car near a small trailer at the end of a little street. It’s in decent shape, and although small, it looks pretty sturdy. I’ve seen much worse, and clearly Reggie keeps his place nice, which is respectable. I feel bad, judging him for living in a trailer. A lot of good folks live in trailers, and I can already tell that my time living in the city has shifted my perspective and maybe made me more judgmental.
As I climb out of the car, I make a mental note not to let my prejudices get in the way. I have to remember that I came from this town, too. There’s nothing wrong with living in a trailer, and there’s a lot wrong with judging people like an asshole.
I head up to the door and knock. Reggie answers a minute later, grinning that old grin I remember, though he’s definitely grown up.
“Reggie,” I say as he opens the door. “How are you, man?”
“I’m great!” He ignores my handshake and wraps me in a huge hug, lifting me up off the ground. I’m a big man, muscular and heavy, and Reggie’s at least my size, if not a little taller. He used to be shorter and pudgier, but clearly the kid hit a growth spurt later in life, because he’s enormous now.
He lets me go and I laugh. “Holy shit, look at you.”
He grins and shrugs. “Guess you haven’t seen me in a while.” He flexes a little bit, “Not the nerd you remember, huh?”
“Not at all.” He’s dressed in jeans and a tight shirt. He steps out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Let’s roll.”
We go over to my car and climb inside. Reggie leans back, a smile on his face.
“Look at you, Wyatt Reap, come home.”
“Came here for Atticus,” I say to him.
Reggie nods. “Shame about that.”
I’m surprised to note that he does actually seem unhappy. “I thought you hated Atticus?”
He shrugs. “We made up after school. You know high school ends, right?”
I laugh softly. “I guess so.” We head out and I can’t help but feel a little surprised. Reggie really hated Atticus back then, and Atticus didn’t exactly hold back in his incessant mockery of him. It didn’t seem like the kind of relationship that can be repaired.
Then again, Reggie’s enormous now, so I guess anything’s possible.
We head back toward the Great American. It’s a ten-minute drive, more or less a straight shot, and we chat for the first few minutes, just catching up.
Suddenly Reggie leans forward. “Shit, man!” he says. “Can we pull off here?”
“What?” I ask him.
“Right there, turn right,” he says, pointing ahead.
Although it’s not the way toward the Great American, I follow his directions. “Where are we going?” I ask him.
“I just need to pick something up. It’s not a big deal, it’ll just take a second.”
“What do you need to get?” I have a weird feeling as we pull down a side street. There are trees on either side of the car, and I vaguely recognize the place as one far end of the nature preserve.
“It’s just ahead,” he says. The car bumps over some stones and the pavement turns into gravel.
“What could you possibly need here?” I ask him.
“Just up there, I swear this’ll only take a second.”
I turn around a bend, and I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly afraid. I pull the car over, ready to turn around and get the fuck out of here, but before I can there’s a gun pressed against my side.
“Why’d you stop?” Reggie asks me softly.
“What the fuck?” I say, shocked.
Reggie’s grin is huge. “I told you, it’s just ahead.
“What are you doing?”
He leans toward me. “You’ve been a bad boy, Wyatt.”
“What the fuck?”
He shoves the gun harder against my ribs. “Drive or I kill you.”
I start driving again, mind racing. Why the fuck is Reggie doing this shit? Is he getting revenge for something I did in high school, or is he just trying to rob me?
And then the answer becomes obvious: he’s a fucking Niner.
Of course he is. That’s why he lives in a trailer, that’s why he’s still in Mason. That’s why he made up with Atticus.
I’m such an idiot. I should have done more research on him,
at least checked to see who he was friends with on Facebook. Instead, I just blindly accepted that he’s the guy he used to be back in school.
They knew I’d do that, or at least he probably guessed. He knew I’d let him get close to me like this, and now I’m alone with the fucker, and he’s got a gun on my goddamn ribs.
Fear spikes, but I have to keep it at bay. I can’t let fear destroy my mind right now. I’m going to need it if I can get through this.
Unbidden, Cora’s face flashes through my mind as I come up to a clearing. “Park up there,” Reggie says.
Cora’s face, smiling at me, as I pull the car next to some trees.
“Get out,” Reggie says. “Slowly.”
I open my door and climb out. Reggie keeps the gun trained on me before slowly climbing out his side.
And I know it’s my only chance. I turn and sprint off into the trees. I briefly hear Reggie curse, and I brace myself for the gunshot, but he doesn’t pull the trigger.
I crash through the underbrush. I can hear him coming after me, but I have a good head start. I jump a fallen log and wind my way through trees, getting into denser and denser forest.
“Wyatt! Stop, motherfucker!” Reggie yells. He sounds out of breath.
I don’t slow down. I curse myself for not bringing my fucking gun, but I can’t do anything about that now. I keep pushing myself, running as hard as I can, my breath coming in ragged. I know I can’t keep running forever, but I need some space between me and Reggie.
I crash through a dense bush, right into the center of a small ring of trees. Instead, of going forward, I step to the side and press myself up against one of the trunks, my back against it. Reggie couldn’t have seen my move, and I’m hoping he’s running hard to just keep pace.
I hear him blundering closer. He curses and pushes in through the bushes, trotting after me. He goes past and I step out behind him, catching him by the neck on his shirt, yanking it back as hard as I can.
It catches on his throat, pulling him backward. He’s surprised, not expecting that, and he drops back. I slam him onto the ground and he makes an awful gagging sound as I drop on top of him, slamming my knee into the wrist of his gun hand. He releases the weapon as I slam the heel of my hand into his face, smashing his nose. I feel and hear the bone break.
“Fuck!” he screams. I grab the gun from the ground and get off him, rolling to the side and standing. “Oh fucking shit, you broke my nose.”
I level the gun at him. “You’re lucky that’s all I did.”
He snorts blood onto the ground and sits up, staring at me with these wide, wild eyes. “You should go back to the city, Wyatt,” he says.
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“Because what happened to Atticus is going to happen to you.”
I step closer, gun held straight and steady at his skull. “What happened to him?”
He laughs. “I’d rather take a bullet than fucking tell you, pig.”
Anger rages through me. “We used to be friends.”
He sneers at me. “Friends? I was just some fucking nerd you pitied.”
“No,” I say softly.
“The Niners are the only people that ever cared about me.”
I stare at him, completely horrified. He looks like a monster, a shadow of the guy I used to know. I grip the gun and for a second, I picture what it would be like to kill him. Part of me wants to do it. This bastard is destroying this city, along with his gang friends, but it’s more than that. For me, it’s fucking personal.
I really did think we were friends. I trusted him, wanted to see him again, and he wanted to murder me. All for this fucking gang. I grip the gun, hand shaking.
He grins at me, eyes wide. “Do it, Reap,” he says. “I wouldn’t have hesitated.”
I relax my grip and shake my head. I pull my phone out of my pants and quickly pull a number up. I keep my eyes on Reggie as the phone rings.
“Hey, Wyatt,” Mitch says.
“Do you remember Reggie?”
“Shit, yeah, I do,” Mitch answers quickly. “Listen, Wyatt, he’s not the same guy you knew back in high school—“
“I have him here at gunpoint,” I say. “He tried to kill me.”
Mitch is silent for a second. “Where are you?”
I explain the best I can. “You’ll see my car.”
“I think I know the spot. You hang tight. We’ll be there soon.”
“Got it.” I hang up and Reggie starts laughing.
“Who the fuck was that?” he asks me.
“That was the end for you,” I say to him softly. “I really did think we were friends.”
His laugh cracks through the air, sending chills down my spine.
21
Cora
My mom doesn’t look at me when she opens a second bottle of wine. I don’t say anything, but the room’s tense anyway.
Some old Western movie is on TV. Mom sits on the bed, propped up with pillows, drinking. I lean back in my chair by the table, stretching my legs.
“This shouldn’t last much longer,” I say, breaking the silence. I’ve been here for maybe ten minutes and we’ve barely been talking.
“Yeah, I know,” she says, not looking at me.
“Mom, come on.”
“What?” She drinks her wine. “I can’t have a drink to loosen up?”
“Not what I mean,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” She glares at me. “You think I have a problem.”
“You admitted it yourself.”
She shakes her head. “I was just stressed. I didn’t mean it. I’m fine.”
“Mom,” I say softly. “Come on. We both know you’re an alcoholic.”
“No,” she snaps at me. “I’m stuck in this hotel room with nothing to do, so why not drink?”
“You’d be drinking this much at home too,” I say.
“No way,” she answers, shaking her head. “One glass, maybe two. No more than two per day, sometimes three if it’s been a tough day, but no more.”
I sigh. She can’t even see her own hypocrisy. I shouldn’t be surprised. Wyatt said she’d need time, and I’m trying to give it to her, but still… it’s frustrating.
I look out the window and glance at my watch. It’s around three in the afternoon. I expected to hear from Wyatt by now, but he hasn’t called or texted. I thought he was just having lunch with that guy from school, but I guess it’s taking longer than he expected. I was in my room for a while, but I got bored enough to come check on my mom again, which of course I’m regretting.
It’s hard to watch her drink herself to death. I want to help her, but it’s hard. Wyatt seems so patient, but I don’t know if I have that patience. I’ll have to ask him for more help. I think if anyone can help, he can.
I sigh and lean back in my chair. I watch TV with my mom, not really paying attention to what we’re staring at. She drinks steadily, not even bothering to offer me any, since she knows I’d turn it down anyway. We’ve gone through this little charade enough times at this point that she knows how the game’s played.
A half hour slips past and I’m starting to worry. I glance at my phone, but there aren’t any messages. I have full bars, so I should get any calls or texts. I know Wyatt doesn’t have to check in with me or anything like that, but with everything that’s happening, I just thought he would.
As we’re sitting there, I suddenly hear someone banging on a door near here. I don’t think anything of it until I hear more banging, and this time someone shouts my name.
I stand up as my mom looks at me sharply. “Don’t,” she says.
“That could be about Wyatt.” I walk to the door, fear spiking through my chest.
“Cora,” Mom snaps. “Don’t.”
I put my hand on the doorknob. I hear more knocking, and someone yells my name again. It’s a man’s voice, though I don’t recognize it. I glance back at my mother and I can see the fear in her eyes. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help myself.
If something’s happening with Wyatt, I have to know. I push the door open and look out.
Jaxson Moyer is standing outside of my room’s door. He looks over sharply and our eyes meet. A creepy grin spreads across his face.
“There you are,” he says.
I duck back into the room and slam the door. I slap the locks shut and run back to my phone.
“What is it?” Mom says.
“It’s him,” I answer. “It’s the guy.”
“Cora!” Jaxson yells my name from outside the room. “Cora, Cora, Cora!”
He slams against the door. The locks hold but I don’t know how long they’ll last.
“What did you do?” Mom hisses.
I grab my phone, ignoring her, and call Wyatt. He doesn’t pick up, so I call again and again, all the while Jaxson’s yelling my name and slamming against the door. The wood’s starting to buckle, and I can see the screws in the lock starting to twist and pull. Obviously this motel didn’t bother to install real security, because it shouldn’t be breaking this easily.
I give up on Wyatt and start calling the police. But before I can connect, the door smashes open, wood splinters kicking along the carpet. Jaxson steps into the room, a manic grin on his face.
“Cora, Cora, Cora,” he says, walking toward me.
I want to scream. I back up, staring at him with wide eyes.
His smile is so sickening, so starkly gross, that I can feel nausea bubbling up in my gut. I suddenly know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this man killed my brother, and he’ll kill me next. He murdered Atticus in a horrible and brutal way, an unnecessarily bloody and gruesome way, and he’s about to do that to me.
He stops just inside the room, his smile enormous, swallowing his whole face. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, and he slowly pulls a gun from his waistband.
I’m shocked when my mom suddenly moves. I didn’t realize she had gotten out of bed, wine bottle clutched in her hand. She brings it down on Jaxson’s head, coming at him from the side. He clearly was too fixated on me to notice her. She smashes the bottle down hard, green glass cracking and breaking, and he crumbles down to the floor.
“Run!” my mom screams.
