“What?”
“Sticking up for our own.”
I shake my head and rest my hands on my hips. “Did you see Lawrence drive by?”
She plunks herself down in a chair by the window. “Just like I told you, but usually it’s at night. I think he knew we’d all be out here, looking for her.”
“You think he has her?”
“I don’t know where she is, but if someone took her, it’s him.”
If the police won’t let anyone make a personal visit to Lawrence, I will. I step back out the door, and before I leave, Mom says something.
Be careful?
As I speed down the street, passing the Hutchings’, Mom’s watching me, and she knows exactly where I’m going.
I park on the road in front of Lawrence’s shitty house, forgetting exactly how I got here, and grab the bottle, pulling it onto my lap. I unscrew the cap and take a swig. His pick up’s in the driveway, and there’s no reason I shouldn’t go knock on his door. Confront him about driving up and down our street.
About Stacy.
About Dad.
I take another swig, and the burn scolds me: Be smart, Sam.
I go up to his door, confront him, and what? He lets me into his basement and shows me where he’s keeping Stacy? Gives her to me free and clear? No.
I get out of the car and cross the street, staying by the side of his property line, out of view of his front window, and run up the side of the house. Just one window, but the blinds block my view. I stay low, moving across the postage stamp backyard, stopping before a large window. I peek around into a dark, empty living room. I round the final corner, skirting along the side of the house with two windows by the ground.
I kneel beside the first and cup my hands around my eyes to block the light as I squint inside, trying to make out any figures in the basement. A big room with a worn couch and TV. That’s it.
I dart to the next window. Same room. Different angle.
“Can I come in?” a faint voice asks from the front of the house.
I freeze.
“Not a good time,” a deeper voice says from inside the house.
“This is in regards to a missing child,” the other voice says.
The officer from before. I creep around the side to get a look at anything I can.
“The Hutchings girl. I know.”
So he knew she was missing.
“Have you seen her?” I take a peek around the corner, but I can’t see anything, and it’s too risky to go any further.
“Nope.”
“Did you drive by their house today?”
“Sure did. On my way to the scrapyard in Arbordale with some copper.”
“You have a lot of that?”
“No, but I search around for it. Strip it down and trade it in. Hey, it’s an honest living.”
“Where were you last night? Anytime after eleven.”
“Here with the wife. Now if you don’t mind—”
“Can I speak to your wife?”
“She’s not here right now.”
“When will she be back?”
“Later tonight.”
“I’ll be back to talk to her. If you see or hear anything before then, give me a call, alright?”
That’s all he’s going to do?
“Sure thing.”
Remaining close to the wall, I inch toward the backyard, snapping a branch beneath my feet.
The door creaks closed, and footsteps across crunching leaves get louder. I scurry to the back of the house as some branches crackle beneath someone’s feet. I hold my breath and wait until the crunching starts again.
Is it coming my way?
Is it the officer? Lawrence?
Which is worse?
The crunching begins again and a snap from further away makes me flinch. I remain still until a
car starts up in the driveway, and I exhale, sucking in a deep breath of autumn air. After the engine rumbles away into the distance, I stay close to the bushes around the other side and sprint to my car, hopping in and leaning back against the seat.
I turn back to the house, expecting Lawrence to be right behind me, but no one’s outside.
What am I doing?
He drives down Cherry Street because it’s a shortcut to the scrapyard. No children in his basement. I’m losing it. The town’s circling above me, cornering me, ready to swoop in. It turns people against each other. Raises levels of paranoia.
Makes people do things they wouldn’t otherwise…like the night I went to jail.
I shake the thought from my head and take another swig of Tito’s, letting the last drops land on my tongue as I tip it all the way up above my head.
I need more. Something else to block out the memories, like my hands did to the light against the basement windows.
And I’m not driving drunk. No, the town can try, but I’m not here long, and it’ll never get me again.
I toss the bottle into the back seat, grab my bag, and get out. Striding down Main Street, signs with Stacy’s picture adorn each phone pole. I should be helping, but Will doesn’t want me to. Doesn’t want me anywhere near his daughter, even if it means I could bring her back to him.
That’s hate. He hates me for leaving him here alone with her. For abandoning our families and doing something selfish. Something he promised he wouldn’t do again after Stacy was born.
To him, to Mom and the rest, I’m the weak link in the chain.
But that’s what he doesn’t understand. Him, Stacy, and me. We weren’t a real family. I wasn’t her mom, and I had no say in the thing that mattered most—her safety.
Mom’s wrong about me. I didn’t run away from my problems. I’m strong enough to face ‘em, but smart enough to know when to fold.
I walk past The Crooked Crow, only bar in town, and I want to go in, but I can’t.
Perry could be in there, and I can’t chance running into him. He loaned me the money to go to college, and I haven’t paid him back. Never planned to, either.
Don’t need to take the chance of running into him. No, I’ll be out of here soon. I can’t risk it. Maybe if I hadn’t burned every bridge I had on the way outta here, it wouldn’t be so hard to get a damn drink.
“Sammy!”
Who now?
I turn back to The Crooked Crow, and Albert steps out the door. “What are the chances we meet again? Hey, you lied about leaving. You didn’t do that just to get out of coming to my party, did ya?”
I brush past him and head back to my car. I don’t need another drink. I need to get out of here. A throbbing pain infiltrates my forehead and the spots just behind my eyes.
“Where ya goin’?” he calls after me.
Every cell in my body tells me to get away—far away. I pick up the pace, and smacks against the pavement behind me follow.
“Sammy, I just wanna catch up. Shoot the shit. How about a drink on me? Jameson? Tito’s? Any of your favourites. On me.”
“Not gonna happen,” I say and walk faster.
“I don’t remember you being such a buzzkill,” he shouted. “In fact, now you’re just hurtin’ my feelings, Sammy. But you like to hurt me, don’tcha?”
People are probably staring, but I don’t care. I cross the street, and the slapping follows me. I shove my hands in my pockets, grab my car keys in the right, and stick them between my fingers.
Turn around, Sammy.
The slapping gets louder, and I turn around to face a large man walking a tiny dog. “S’cuse,” he says and pushes past me.
I lower my shoulders and look farther behind. Albert’s gone and I’m here, rattled, ready to fight him off.
“You like to hurt me, don’tcha?”
Ready to hurt him like he hurt me when he left me that night I went to jail.
I see a vision of Al, standing before me at the top of the waterfall, smiling. He smiles before pushing me over, and I’m falling.
I blink, rubbing my temples as I look around the str
eet. Is he watching me? Is he thinking about how it ended with us?
How we went skinny dipping by the falls, and he had me chase him up to the top, just to push me over the waterfall. He took my clothes with him and left me there at the bottom of it, in shock from what he’d done.
How did I forget that?
He used my Pontiac to get away with my clothes, crashed it into the phone pole, and left. I found it on my way back, naked, shivering, drunk, and angrier than I’ve ever been, ready to break up with him. But the police came. Found me behind the wheel with the car on, trying to get warm and put my clothes back on.
They thought I had the accident, driving drunk and high.
No one believed me.
They took me out of my car and put me in the back of theirs, still dripping wet and cold…
I reach my car and stick the key in the ignition, step on the gas, and peel away from the curb.
Pain sears behind my eyes as I drive back to Mom’s, and it’s all I can do to park the car, run inside without locking it, and scramble upstairs to the bathroom.
I rummage through the medicine cabinet, checking bottle after bottle until I find Perc’s.
Just what the doctor ordered.
I push the pills down my dry throat as tears fall down my cheeks.
He left me with one of his messes for the last time. My parents bailed me out of jail, but they didn’t believe I didn’t do it. No one did.
I got to school that Monday, and he was making out with another girl at my locker. Like what he’d already done wasn’t enough. He had to rub it in.
I rub the tears off my cheeks as my headache subsides, and a lighter feeling relieves me bit by bit. I stumble to my room and flop down on the bed, gripping my pillow in both fists.
Why’s he following me?
I’ll never be left alone as long as I’m here. It’ll always be something or someone, trying to tear me apart. Making me hurt them like I hurt him…The blood on Albert’s face… The way his eyes focused on the knife in my hand…
I slip into a beautiful, soft white light that magically cleans the blood away, and I’m floating.
Floating away from Crimson Falls.
The hazy morning light makes the throbbing pain behind my eyes worse. I squeeze them shut, wishing I could disappear into oblivion until I remember where I am.
“Listen up,” a familiar male voice calls from outside the window. “Remain within sight of the person to your right and left. We are covering a lot of ground today, beginning with the ravine…”
I push myself up out of bed and stumble over to the window.
All the neighbors, plus some people from the new build, stand outside in a circle around the policeman. “If you see something, say something…”
Everyone’s there, except Mom.
“Then, we’ll meet by Red Woods and pair up with the same people in an effort to bring Stacy home.”
I go downstairs straight to the coffee pot, and she clears her throat by the front window. I jump a bit and watch her outline. I think she’s staring back at me, but the cool light at her back blocks her features.
“Coffee?” I ask.
“I should be out there,” she says, a puff of cigarette smoke escaping her lips.
“Well, you can’t exactly go searching down in the ravine,” I say, pouring myself a cup.
“If I had your legs and that mind of yours, I’d be out there searching.”
She’s trying to guilt me like yesterday, but it won’t work today.
Today, I’m leaving.
“After you left,” she says so low I can barely hear her, “Stacy wouldn’t go outside to play for weeks.”
I sip my coffee and turn away from her, staring out the back window at the fields of gold. The swing set that used to be mine stands alone in the Hutchings’ backyard, weathered and smaller than I remembered.
“You used to push her on the swing and be there at the bottom of the slide damn near every time she went down. You were her safety net. Her soft place to fall.”
And I loved it. Being there for her, knowing I was the mother figure in her life. Her tiny smile and open arms, whizzing down the slide into mine. There was no better feeling. No higher high I’ve ever felt. No one else I’ve ever been with. He trusted me with her, and she trusted me.
Even after what happened at the waterfall with Albert and being thrown in jail.
My head throbs, and I rub at my temple to push the pain away.
That’s why I left. That’s why I should have kept the promise to myself to never come back.
I don’t need these memories haunting me, constant reminders of my past mistakes. The pills and alcohol aren’t enough anymore. They can’t keep the pain away long enough while I’m here.
“She waited by the door for you every Sunday night for…I don’t even know how long it must have been—”
“I’m going to stop you there.” I turn around to face her. “There’s nothing you can say or do to make me stay here. If Stacy couldn’t, no one can.”
“Why?” she asks. “Why did you leave her? Why did you leave all of us?”
Like you don’t already know.
I shake my head. “I was never going to have a chance here at a normal life. I did things I would do anything to forget. I hurt people. I would have hurt her—”
“Well, you did—”
“Worse. Worse than leaving. I had no business being a parent, and although you don’t seem to understand this, I was never her mom. I’ve never been a role model for a kid to look up to. Bad things happen here. Bad people live here, and the town makes them that way—”
“That’s ridiculous! The town doesn’t have control—we do. We make choices, and we have to own them. Be responsible for ourselves. Come together as a strong chain that no one can infiltrate.”
“I own my choices. It was me who did all those terrible things, but I never would have if I weren’t living here. I can prove it. Since I left here, I haven’t hurt a single person. Not one person’s life has been made worse by me, and that’s the best I could hope for coming from a place like this.”
“You mean people like this,” she says, and that’s true. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but we all make mistakes. No one’s perfect. No such thing as a perfect parent, Sam, or a parent who’s ready to be one. We learn as we go. You stick around, even when times are tough. You meant so much to Stacy—”
I don’t need the reminder.
I slam my coffee cup down and storm into the living room, stopping as Mom’s face comes into view. “But she wasn’t mine.” I press my lips together because I don’t want to say anything else. Not like this, while she’s out there somewhere.
“But she was,” Mom says, and I keep shaking my head. “Will counted on you with her.”
And I tried.
“He trusted you with his daughter.”
But not enough to trust that they should come with me.
“You were a pillar of strength for Stacy—”
“And if I’d been here, this never would have happened!”
“I—I didn’t say that.”
“You’re trying to make me feel guilty, but it won’t work, because I did my best—my very best—to make them come with me.”
Her eyes widen in shock at me, and her mouth hangs slightly agape.
“You think I feel bad about this? Like it’s my fault? No! If they’d just come with me when I left, we could all be safe. Stacy could be safe, but she’s out there, and it’s his fault! Him and his parents!”
“Sam!”
I stomp upstairs, grab my bag, and rush back down. For some reason, I expect to see my old mom at the door, blocking me from leaving like she did the day I thought I was leaving for good. But my mom can’t move that fast anymore, and she doesn’t have the physical strength to match mine, so she sits in her chair and watches as I march to the door.
“Even if it is Will’s fault, Stacy’s out there somewhere,” her voice breaks on the last wo
rd. “If blaming someone makes you feel better, then blame him, but don’t take it out on her.”
She’s right—and I hate it.
I stride out the door, slamming it behind me. The search group is long gone, in the ravine by now.
Even if just right now, I’m here, and she’s here somewhere, I have to find her before something really bad happens—even if only because I still feel her out there.
I covered the ravine already. She won’t be there, but she could be in woods.
Pulling a u-ey, I pass the center of town again, and before I know it, I’m standing beside my car in Red Woods.
I haven’t lost time like that since I drove to Lawrence’s, and before then…after the waterfall with Albert. I push it all deep down inside me, and when it creeps up, I push it down with pills and alcohol again, but these time lapses—blackouts—are worse since I’ve been back here.
One minute, I’m driving through town, and the next, I’m here. I don’t even remember parking my car.
Burnt-coloured leaves twist on nearly naked branches in the wind as I lock my car and venture down the path where residents hike year-round. Crunching gravel behind me sends me into hypervigilant mode, and I glance over my shoulder, but no one’s there.
I’m sober and still hearing things now.
“Stacy!” I holler.
A rustling from the bushes ahead catches my attention, but a pit bull comes bursting out with a big smile on his face. The owners follow close behind, shooting me a quick look as they pass.
If she were in here, surely someone would have seen her by now. At least on the paths.
I step off the path and continue through the woods. I’ll keep going until I hit another path, follow it further along, and take a look off the path again.
“Stacy!”
No answer.
My hair blows in the wind, and the cold bites at my nose. I zip my jacket up all the way. Stacy wasn’t wearing her jacket.
She must have been cold that night…
A musky, cinnamon fragrance dances on the wind, and my stomach churns as branches snap behind me. I turn over my shoulder again, and Albert follows me, step by step, keeping up the pace.
“What are you doing here?” I call. “Where did you come from?”
All the Dark Corners Page 5
