by S. E. Green
THANKS AGAIN FOR coming over, wade texts me the next morning.
That came in about thirty minutes ago, and I’ve been staring at it ever since. He’s thanking me? What do I even say to that? I should be thanking him. He was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time. I wanted to escape, to forget, to lose myself in anything other than reality, and he helped me do that. If I’d have known sex could be that great, I would’ve started having it much sooner.
Yet . . . I’m glad my first time was with Wade. I honestly don’t think a first time could’ve been any better. I don’t know if it’s the fact I’ve known him my entire life, or if it’s because he knew what he was doing, or the emotional state I was in, or a combination of all of it, but I hope he wants to do it again. Because I do.
“What are you smiling at?” Kevin grumbles as he walks into the kitchen.
Smiling? I didn’t realize I was. “Nothing.” AND THANK YOU, I text back, stare at it a second, erase it, retype, then end up just sending a corny ANYTIME.
Dad comes in next, and he doesn’t make eye contact with me and Kevin. Instead he walks over to the Keurig machine and makes a coffee. I haven’t seen him since Uncle Jerry disappeared into the garage to—what I assume—was to have it out with him. I glance out the kitchen window and don’t see Uncle Jerry’s car. Wait a minute, Mom’s SUV is still gone. Did she not come home last night?
Travis emerges next, and immediately I glance away. I can’t look at him, not after what I saw yesterday with him and Honey and that other couple. I wonder how he would react if he knew. Would he be embarrassed, too, or more angry? Would he explain what exactly was going on, especially with that man watching them and the candles and the weird music? I don’t know if I should bring it up or not, but I’m inclined not to. It’s all just so strange. Honey and Travis, the “it” couple. I would’ve never guessed this side of them.
PaPaw walks in our front door, and I straighten up. He doesn’t normally come by in the mornings. I look at my dad then, really look at him, and notice not only the bruising from his fight with Mark but also his face. Right now he looks older than I think I’ve ever seen before.
“Good,” Dad tiredly says. “We’re all here. I have a lot to say and I would appreciate it if you would stay quiet until I get it out.” He gives his forehead a quick rub, like he needs one more second of strength before he begins. “Michelle was my daughter, though I think the three of you know this by now.” He points to his bruised cheek. “I went over to Bee-Bee’s to talk to her about it, and unbeknownst to me, Mark was watching her house. He confronted me and we fought. A neighbor called the cops, which is why I got picked up for questioning.”
“Your mother, understandably, is very upset. She left yesterday and I don’t know where she is, but she is your mother and she will be back. She’s just mad and needs some time to cool off. Your Uncle Jerry, too, is angry with me. I know you three don’t know this, but he and Bee-Bee were seeing each other, and needless to say, he’s not very happy with me right now either. He’s temporarily moved in with your PaPaw.”
“And finally, last night Mark walked right into the police station and agreed to fully cooperate.” Dad looks at me. “He admitted to threatening you in the woods, threatening both of you,” Dad looks at Travis, “with a shot gun when you went to his place. He has apologized and promised to stay away from our family as he grieves the loss of his daughter. Also, he produced an alibi for the night of Michelle’s murder. An alibi that has been corroborated. That accompanied with evidence, or rather lack thereof, collected from his home has cleared him of any connection to all of this.”
“What?” Travis gasps.
“When did they search his home?” I demand. “He could’ve had time to clean it out.”
“They searched his home the same night they searched ours.”
“Who was his alibi?” I ask.
“Edwin, Honey’s brother. Apparently, they were out night fishing. Just the two of them.”
“Well, that’s awful convenient,” I mumble and Travis rolls me a look. Just because he’s dating Honey doesn’t mean he has to get defensive about Edwin. But more importantly—Edwin and Mark are friendly. No, more than friendly. They must be good friends if they’re going night fishing together.
Dad gives us all an exhausted look. “Now I know you probably want to blame me for Mom leaving and it’s okay, you can. It is my fault. But please know your dad, well, I’m only human, and I made a mistake.” His eyes brim with tears. “A mistake I sorely regret.”
Turning away, he dashes his fingers across his eyes and no one in the kitchen says a word. I’ve seen my dad cry a few times, but it’s just not something any of us generally witness. I understand Mom needs some space, but she needs to come home.
I DIAL MOM’S number, and just like the last two times I dialed it, she doesn’t pick up. This time I leave a voice mail. “Mom,” I sigh. “Where are you? I know Dad screwed up, but we really need you right now. Please, please come home.”
I hang up and toss my phone on the bed and spend the next few seconds pacing. I think about the conversation I had with Dad in the garage and how he thinks that now that Michelle’s body is in the ground, all of this will die down. How he thinks the person who did this is long gone.
Mark comes to my mind next, and yes he’s odd and strange, but my gut tells me he knows something. He may not know who did this, but he does know something.
“Did you know that stars are fairies?” Michelle asks me.
I smile at her. “No. How’d you learn that?”
She smiles back. “Daddy told me.”
She talked about her daddy a lot. She adored him, and by the stories she told, he adored her, too. He was good to her. In all that’s happened since her death, that simple fact is easy to forget. I never really saw it, though. All the times I went over there to babysit, it was just me and Michelle, and Bee-Bee coming and going.
I think then of the two times I’ve come across him since Michelle’s murder. Yes, he was threatening and intimidating, but that was him lashing out. I probably would do the same if the roles were reversed. If someone killed a member of my family, I would stop at nothing until justice was done.
With that thought, realization settles through me. Someone did kill a member of my family. Michelle was my little sister. We’ve all had each other through this, and Bee-Bee’s had us, too. But what about Mark? Has anyone expressed their sorrow to him? I know I haven’t. Both times I saw him, I was scared. But I’m not scared of him anymore. Not really. I more want justice than anything.
And questions answered. I’m going to see Mark.
Quickly, I scribble a note to my family: ran to town, be back in a few. I haven’t ridden my dirt bike since the murder, so when I snap on my helmet and climb on, this spurt of freedom bubbles through me and makes me smile.
I go the long way around into town, and it’s still light out as I bump over the railroad tracks and hang a right into Mark Doughtery’s trailer park. I motor all the way to the end and cut my engine.
Mark is here, puttering under the hood of his old car. I watch him for a few seconds as he mumbles something, shakes his head, and mumbles some more. It reminds me of this super smart kid I went to elementary school with who used to talk to himself all the time. Come to think of it, he had a nervous tick, too. He did this thing with his fingers where he’d rub them together real quick. What was that kid’s name? Richard, that’s right. Last I heard he was in some private school for the gifted.
Mark stops talking to himself and turns abruptly to face me. I take my helmet off and kick the stand down on my bike. A wave of nerves unexpectedly hit me, and suddenly I’m not so sure about this decision to come see him.
“What do you want?” he demands.
I don’t approach him. I stay right where I am. On the ride over her I thought about everything I wanted to say, everything I wanted to ask—New Satanic Empire, Ultimate Sacrifice, the burning cross, the pentagram emblem, and o
n and on—but decide instead, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Sadness creeps across his eyes, and my momentary hesitation about coming here vanishes. I’m glad I did. “I loved her very much,” I tell him.
He clears he throat. “I know you did. She used to talk about you a lot.”
Something wonderful lights me up from the inside, and I smile. “She did?”
Mark nods and lifts his two fingers to start tapping his forehead. I wonder if nerves make him do that. “She talked about you, too,” I tell him, and watch as his expression goes from sadness to gentleness.
I climb off my bike and take a step toward him. “I want to find out who did this, too. I thought maybe we could work together,” I hesitantly suggest, not even sure if that really makes sense. “Or at minimum maybe you can answer some questions because I think you know more than people give you credit for.”
In the shade of the trailer park trees, he stares at me for a couple of long seconds and I try not to fidget. I hope he can see how honest I’m being, how confused I am, and how much I truly want to help.
He stops tapping his forehead, and his eyes flick beyond me, around me, around the trailer park, like he’s checking to see if anyone is listening. I take another step closer and lower my voice and decide to be completely honest. “What you said about how one of us might be next, it really scared me.”
He doesn’t respond to that, but he does bring his eyes to mine.
“Why would you say that?” I prompt.
“Because it’s part of the prophecy. The New Satanic Empire is built around the belief that through a series of rituals involving chosen ones, Satan will enter our world and rule.”
A distinct shiver grazes across my arms, and I resist the urge to rub at them. “Did you, or,” I swallow, “do you belong to this Empire? Is that how you know this?”
He doesn’t answer, and I take that to mean yes—either past tense or present, but yes. Then it occurs to me, “You had no idea Michelle was part of the prophecy.”
Mark turns his back to me as he grabs a rag and starts scrubbing at grease smeared on his fingers. He mumbles something and shakes his head and I get the impression he’s about to close me off.
“Through a series of rituals,” I repeat his words, hoping to bring him back, and also slowly putting together the pieces. “Killing Michelle was…?”
“The initial offering,” he answers.
“The pentagram emblem on her grave…?”
“A talisman meant to channel the child’s soul to hell.”
“The burning cross…?”
“To intimidate lingering good forces.”
I swallow. “And the Ultimate Sacrifice…?”
“The final offering to complete the prophecy.” Mark glances up at me. “It must be completed on the second Sunday from the original offering.”
Quickly, I calculate that would mean in seven days.
“It must also be somebody blood related to Michelle.”
Blood related.
Everything around me goes mute—the kids playing in the distance, music coming from one of the trailers, an air conditioner that just cranked on—blood related. That would mean Bee-Bee, of course, and now every member of my family, too, except for Mom.
I try to speak, but my mouth is so dry I have to work my tongue around the inside of it first. “My dad thinks whoever did this is long gone. He thinks all of this will die down soon and life will go back to normal.”
Mark huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “Want my advice?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Don’t trust anyone.” He nods to the luggage that I just now notice is loaded into his car. “And run. Run far.”
LATE THAT NIGHT I sit cross legged on our front porch, staring out at a drizzly evening. It’s the first rain we’ve had since Michelle’s murder. Finally, the blood stained dirt and leaves will wash clean.
I turn my attention up to the sky and the millions of stars. An hour ago we were blanketed in storm clouds, but now it’s blown past bringing in a summer breeze that hasn’t seemed to be present since Michelle.
My thoughts move to Mark next and everything that he said. It all seems too unreal. How is it possible that any of this even exists and that I’m half way convinced that it does? Satan entering this world? It sounds like a crazy cult theory that only cracked people would buy into. So am I losing my mind then now that I’m hallway convinced that it exists?
I’d like to talk to somebody about my visit with Mark and my mom is the first person I think of. Even though I suspect she won’t answer, I dial her number again anyway. One ring, two, three, and it goes to voice mail. “Mom,” I bite off, not even hiding the irritation in my tone. “Be mad at Dad, sure, but answer your freaking phone!” I cram my finger on END and toss it aside.
Off in the distance headlights flash and a car emerges around the curve on County Line Road. When it reaches our property, it slows, and then comes to a stop. I watch it, waiting, thinking it’s a reporter or someone here to pray but nothing happens. God help me if it’s another burning cross or some such thing.
The car honks and over to the left a shadow emerges from a clump of trees. I watch as the shadow races across the corner of our property, climbs the fence out, and sprints to the car. Whoever is inside flings open the passenger door, sending out a trickle of music and voices and illuminating the crowded interior. The shadow ducks in, catching a glint of light, and revealing my brother, Kevin. The door closes then, and the car zips away.
I’m not even surprised, and with a sigh, I get up and head inside. My stupid, stupid brother.
Dad, PaPaw, and Travis are watching a baseball game. If Uncle Jerry and my dad weren’t fighting, he would typically be here on a night like this. It’s times like these when all the guys go off camping or sit around and watch sports, that I’m happy to have Mom. Except I don’t have Mom. She left.
“Where’s Kevin?” I ask, though of course I already know the answer.
Dad nods down the hall. “In his room.”
“Oh.” They have no clue he snuck out. A week ago I probably would have nonchalantly took Travis aside, told him about Kevin, and together we would’ve gone off to get our little brother. Then again a week ago Kevin wouldn’t have been sneaking out. Or maybe he was. He could’ve been sneaking out for years and I had no clue.
Yeah, a week ago I would’ve pulled Travis aside, but now as I stand here in our living room, I don’t want to tell any of them anything. I don’t know if it’s because I’m irritated. Or if it’s that I don’t want to get Kevin in trouble even more than he already is. I don’t know if it’s because everyone seems to be having a normal night and this Kevin thing will just upset it. I don’t know, but I don’t say a word.
Instead I pick up my phone and text Wade:ARE YOU BUSY? I NEED YOUR HELP.
WHAT’S UP? He texts back almost immediately.
KEVIN SNUCK OUT AND I DON’T WANT TO TELL MY FAMILY.
OH . . . GIVE ME 10 MINUTES. I’LL PICK YOU UP.
I slide my phone into my back pocket and announce to the living room, “I’m going out with Wade. I’ll be back by midnight.”
All three pairs of matching hazel eyes turn from the game to look at me. My shoulders tighten with tension and I try not to let them see how nervous that announcement just made me. I know they like Wade, they trust Wade, they just don’t want me to date Wade. I could play the whole thing off as friends going out. I could throw in another name to make it seem like there’s a group of us getting together. I could do any number of things, instead I continue standing, staring, letting them draw whatever conclusion they want. I’m almost eighteen. If I want to date a black guy, I’m going to date a black guy.
Dad clears his throat. “Where are you two going?”
I shrug. “Out.”
He glances at PaPaw and they exchange a silent look. Honestly, it didn’t occur to me they would refuse to let me go. I can’t let that happen, so quickly, even though a secon
d ago I didn’t want to, I say, “There’re several of us who are going to meet up. I’ll be home before curfew.” Then I turn and walk to my room, holding my breath the whole way. I check my face in the mirror, throw on some lip gloss, grab my purse, and without another glance toward the living room, I beeline it out the front door.
Wade is pulling up and I hurry across the gravel and inside his car before my dad can come out and call me back. Wade gives me a curious look when I shut the door and nervously I glance up to our front porch.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, can you just go?”
“O-kay.” He turns around in our gravel driveway and slowly pulls away. “So I did some checking around and I located several parties. I think our best bet is to hit those to find Kevin.”
I slide the seatbelt across my chest and buckle myself in. “Let’s go.”
WE FIND KEVIN at the second party we visit. It’s being held at a house in town and by the amount of kids in the yard and packed into the home, I highly doubt the parents are anywhere nearby. By kids, I do mean kids. I recognize many of their faces. They’re all freshmen at our high school, just like Kevin.
When Wade walks in the front door, everyone stares in shock and excitement. Wade, the big baseball star, is here at their party.
There’s alcohol and cigarettes and from somewhere in the house I catch the hint of pot. The music is loud and thumping, filling the air with a level of energy and aggression that makes me uneasy. I know a neighbor will call the cops on this. I need to get Kevin out of here.
Someone tells us he’s in the back yard, and I head that way. I stand for a second on the back porch, searching all the faces, and slowly I begin to realize everyone is wearing the same beaded green necklace with a large sparkly pentagram hanging from the end. Like a party favor or something.
