Gateway

by David C. Cassidy

“You ready to go?”

  Judd didn’t answer. His eyes grew glossy.

  “Judd?”

  “In a minute.” He kept his eye on the falls. “It’s almost like music. Ya know?”

  “What is?”

  “Listen.” Judd shifted over and made room on the rock.

  Jared sat with him. “Judd—”

  “Just listen, wouldja?”

  They sat silently for a time, taking in the soft sound of the rushing water below. It was Judd who spoke first.

  “Gonna miss this place.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Judd hesitated. “Nothin’.”

  “Look,” Jared said. “I’m sorry we fought. But we could come out here once in a while. I’ve got some things I need to take care of, but if—”

  Judd shook his head.

  “Sorry,” Jared said. “I just thought—”

  “I know what’cha thought.”

  “Do you hate me that much?”

  Again Judd shook his head. He tousled Jared’s hair. “I love you, Little Brother. Always have.”

  “Can’t we … can’t we start over?”

  Judd looked ahead soberly. “I wish we could.”

  ~ 132

  Time seemed to stand still, for when Jared asked Judd what he meant—that he wished they could start over—the response didn’t really register; it was just a simple word, uttered by a simple man. Judd could have said buckwheat or trombone and it would have made more sense. But not cancer.

  He felt as if Judd had struck him with those rock-hard fists again. The roar of the falls seemed to rise all around him, just as the rain had seemed to swallow him as his dying father had whispered to him so long ago.

  He stared deeply into his brother’s eyes, eyes that looked so cold suddenly. “What … what did you say?”

  Judd didn’t stir. His gaze drifted across the river.

  “Come on, Judd,” Jared said. He did not like the fear in his voice. “This isn’t funny. It isn’t. It’s—”

  Judd put a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Little Brother. It’s gonna be all right.”

  Jared turned away and faced the falls. He figured if he sat quietly, it would go away. It would all go away.

  “Ya just can’t face stuff,” Judd said. “Ya never could.”

  Jared took it in the spirit intended. Not criticism; just fact. He agreed with a nod.

  “It’s my pancreas,” Judd said. “It’s bad.”

  Jared turned to him, undone. “I can get you the best doctors there are. We can get through this together. I’ll make the calls tomorrow—”

  Judd said nothing.

  “How long?” Jared said, realizing.

  “Six months. That was four months ago.”

  “Jesus. Why didn’t you call?”

  Judd sighed softly. “I could ask you the same.”

  “And there’s nothing they can do?”

  “Nothin’. I lost about twenty pounds in the last month or so. I don’t eat much. Can’t eat much. Doc Vogel says I got three tumors eatin’ plenty, though. Organs and shit.”

  “Jesus fuck,” Jared said. “Why didn’t you call?”

  “You gotta relax, okay? I’m good with it. It’s not like I deserve better. All those years in a bottle finally caught up with me. You get what I’m tellin’ you, Little Brother?”

  “No. I don’t. But I don’t think it’s got anything to do with me quitting smoking.”

  “Not so zany brainy after all,” Judd said. He closed his eyes for just a moment, as if consuming those soothing sounds of the falls again. “I get it ya don’t wanna tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s your cross. But there’s some whacked-out shit goin’ on. A lotta good people are gettin’ hurt. If you’re mixed up in this like I think ya are, then ya gotta do what’s right. Take a stand.”

  “It’s just that … it’s just not that simple.”

  “Shut up and listen,” Judd said. “You say I always got the girl. Maybe I did. But now you got the girl. She’s a good woman, Marisa. But she’s scared. She’s scared, and she’s alone. Ya can’t just cut and run.”

  ~ 133

  As Jared inched his way along an old rope bridge above the Boone River, Marisa inched her way along the cookie aisle in the Thrifty Mart. She didn’t need any cookies, but yes, damn it, she did. She plucked a bag of Chips Ahoy! chocolate chip cookies from a shelf and tossed it into the cart next to her didn’t-need-did-need Haagen-Dazs.

  “You okay, Mom?” Kit asked. He had insisted on pushing the cart.

  “Yes, why?”

  Kit stared at the comfort food. “You only eat cherry vanilla when you’re really upset.”

  She smiled and gave him a hug. “That’s for noticing.” She kissed him on the cap of his head. “That’s for caring.”

  They carried on across the aisles until she had everything on her list. At the checkout Kit helped her empty the cart, and she didn’t imagine the looks she was getting—from just about everyone in the place.

  “What?” she said to the clerk. She turned around and faced the others one by one. “What?”

  Embarrassed, the looky-loos went about their business. Marisa turned back to the clerk. The girl scanned and packed the items quickly, and Marisa paid the bill. She helped Kit push the cart out the front doors, and they made it to the car. She emptied the cart into the hatchback’s cargo area, shut it, then unlocked the doors with the key-fob remote.

  “Mom!”

  Marisa went around to the passenger side. “What is it—”

  The side of the car had been keyed, front to back.

  “Who did this, Mom?”

  “I don’t know,” Marisa said. She scanned the parking lot, and did a double-take when she saw a candy-apple Camaro parked near the far end of the lot. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Mom?”

  “Just get in the car.”

  “Mom?”

  “Get in the car.”

  Kit got in, and Marisa stormed over to the Camaro. The car was idling, and she stood, arms akimbo in front of it. Deep-tinted glass hid the driver. All she saw was a dark shape behind the wheel.

  She folded her arms. “Well? Are you man enough to climb out of your penis-mobile?”

  Bobby Duncan got out. He shut the door with a thunk and staggered a bit. He eyed Marisa’s hatchback and gave her a grin. “Looks like ya might need some work there, Mar.”

  “Don’t call me that.” She stepped around the side of the car but kept her distance. “How’s the knee?” she said mockingly.

  “Never better. But go ahead. Try that one again and see what happens.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Bobby?”

  Again he eyed the hatchback. “How’s your boy, Marisa? Mine’s a worm feast. In case you forgot.”

  “Look. I’m sorry about Kyle. Everyone is. What do you want from me?”

  “You owe me some answers.”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing. Just leave me alone.”

  “Where is he, Marisa? Where the fuck is Jared?”

  “He left. Back to New York.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Just like that.”

  “You’re a lying cunt, you know that?”

  “Is that cunt with a K, asshole? No wonder Deb left you for a cousin-fuck.”

  “You bitch!”

  Bobby charged and swung a backhand at her. The liquor in him set him off balance, but he landed a stinging slap to her cheek. She backed off, and he staggered to stay vertical.

  Bobby drove a fist into her side. She groaned. As he lunged for her throat, she managed to drive a knee into his groin. He dropped to the pavement, and she kicked him.

  “You fucking cunt!”

  Bobby got to all fours, and she bolted for the hatchback. She fumbled with the door handle and dropped her keys. They struck her leg and rolled under the car.

  Bobby was up now and heading her way. He didn’t look drunk—he looked insane with rage. She scramb
led for the keys, and just as she scooped them up, Bobby snared her by the hair and yanked her up. She drove an elbow into his gut, and he growled. His grip held as she struggled to free herself. And that’s when he started to shriek.

  Bobby let go and Marisa turned. Kit was attached to Bobby’s left wrist by the teeth. Bobby shoved him to the ground, and Kit’s head struck the pavement. His glasses flipped off.

  “You little shit,” Bobby said. “Stay outta this. Or you’ll end up like my boy.”

  “Stay away from him!” Marisa landed a solid kick to Bobby’s knee and took him down. “Kit! Get in the car! Now!”

  Kit scooped up his glasses and scrambled into the car. Marisa got in and locked the doors. She started the engine as Bobby Duncan smashed a fist into her side window.

  “You bitch!”

  Marisa threw the car into reverse and backed out without looking. She nearly struck the cart corral, and the tires squealed as she headed for the exit. In her rear-view mirror she saw Bobby Duncan rushing to his Camaro. And as she raced onto the street, all she saw was a candy-apple streak speeding her way.

  ~ 134

  “Mom!” Kit screamed. “He’s coming!”

  “Put your seat belt on! Hurry!”

  Kit clicked his seat belt closed. Marisa raced down the street. As she hit the brakes to turn onto Leslie Avenue, she caught a glimpse of the charging Camaro. It was gaining.

  “Are you all right?” she said. “How’s your head?”

  Kit gave her a thumbs-up.

  The Camaro closed on her. She hit the gas, but it wasn’t enough to prevent Bobby from speeding up and nudging the back of her car on the passenger side. The hatchback fishtailed, and she nearly lost control.

  “Hang on, Kit!” Marisa hit the gas and guided the car straight. The Camaro nudged the bumper again, and again the car nearly spun out of control.

  Marisa pumped the brakes, hoping Bobby would back off. But the Camaro charged ahead, ramming the hatchback. Her head shot back against the headrest.

  “Mom! Look out!”

  Marisa swerved into the other lane, nearly running down Julie Jacobs’ beagle. Julie screamed as the hatchback raced by, yanking her dog’s chain as she darted back for the curb. She screamed again when Bobby Duncan mowed down her dog and kept right on going.

  “Jesus,” Marisa moaned in disbelief. She squealed through the stop and raced onto Front Street, hoping she could beat Bobby to the end of it. It would be a short jaunt to Elm from there, but she wasn’t sure that getting her and Kit home in one piece would be enough. Bobby was out of control, and she doubted her front door would stop him.

  Her mind raced. Why was he doing this? Of course he’d snapped; the death of his boy had finally been too much to bear. But why attack her? And then it struck her. In Bobby’s mind, Jared had hurt him—and now, one way or the other, he was going to even the score.

  The street was clear of other cars, but a group of cyclists—the very same that had caused Kit’s seizure at the park—turned onto the street up past the Conoco. She looked into her rear-view and saw the Camaro growing larger in the mirror. She was well past the speed limit, and just as she pounded the gas pedal, Bobby Duncan rammed her again. The hatchback spun wildly, and she and Kit screamed.

  Marisa got the car under control, and instead of hitting the gas, looked over at her son. “Kit! Hang on!”

  Kit gripped the seat with both hands. Marisa hit the brakes hard, and the Camaro rammed into her car. The hatchback spun sideways, then back, and she barely kept the car from riding up on the sidewalk. She straightened out and saw that she’d gained some distance from the Camaro.

  Bobby Duncan gunned it. He raced up beside her as they approached the gas station. He swung the wheel right and smashed into the hatchback. Marisa and Kit rocked inside the car.

  “Mom! Mom!”

  Marisa hit the brakes as the cyclists tried to steer clear. Bobby veered left trying to avoid the group, but the Camaro struck two of them, each of them flying up over the hood and the top of the car. One died on impact; the other snapped his spine when he slammed the pavement. Another cyclist crossed in front of the hatchback, but Marisa avoided a collision by bouncing up on the sidewalk and rocking to a stop.

  The Camaro barreled into the Conoco lot and crashed into pump two. The pump exploded and flames engulfed the car. The driver door opened, and Bobby got out, his entire body on fire. He was screaming, his arms flailing, but when his Camaro exploded, there was nothing left but the sickening stench of gasoline and torched human flesh.

  ~ 135

  “Bye, Mom,” Marisa said into her cellphone. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too,” Catherine Judge said.

  “Mom? Thanks for coming over tonight. Today was just … just crazy. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you guys.”

  “That’s what we’re here for, Pink. You call us for anything. Any time. I mean that. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You get some rest now. You sound so tired.”

  “I am. Thanks, Mom. Goodnight.”

  Catherine said goodbye and they hung up.

  Marisa set her tea cup on the coffee table and slumped down on her living room sofa. She turned on the accent lamp and glanced at the clock. In her exhaustion, she could scarcely believe it was almost midnight.

  After she’d dealt with the police and all of their endless questions, she’d had to deal with the emotional fallout. With nearly every thought, all she could see in her mind was the image of Bobby Duncan engulfed in flames. Even now, she could still smell the rancid stench of burning flesh.

  She supposed she was lucky to be alive—Kit as well. He seemed none the worse for wear, rolling with all of it as he usually did. How she envied his strength. She felt as if the walls in her world were closing in, about to crush her to death.

  Trying to call Jared earlier, all she got was voice mail. She had considered calling Judd, only to give her head a shake. He didn’t want to talk to her any more than she wanted to talk to him.

  She tried calling Jared again. Tossed the phone beside her.

  As she brought her cup to her lips, she paused. She thought she heard a noise upstairs. It sounded like Kit’s door. She listened for his footsteps to the bathroom, but instead heard him coming down the stairs.

  Kit stopped at the third step from the bottom. He stood silently in the shadows. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him a ghost. All she could see was his bare feet below a thin pair of pajamas that faded into the darkness.

  “Kit, honey?”

  He made no sound.

  “Kit?”

  He took the next step and stopped. She could see the thin hemline of his pajama top. A hint of his small hands.

  “Baby?”

  He took another step. She saw a slim outline of his face now. He whispered something.

  He’s asleep, she thought. Dreaming.

  She set down her cup, careful not to make a sound. The last thing he needed was to be startled awake. She rose slowly, and stopped when he took the last step.

  Kit stepped into the living room with his arms at his sides. He didn’t have his glasses, and the soft amber glow from the lamp caught the clouds in his eyes.

  Marisa took a step to the side of the coffee table. “Kit,” she whispered. “Can you hear me, baby?”

  He stared blankly into space. He mumbled again.

  She couldn’t have heard right. “Kit—?”

  Slowly, he raised his right hand, shoulder-high. He stood stock-still for a moment, and then he looked up at her. His hazy eyes seemed blind and dead.

  Kit positioned his hand at the side of his head. His fingers moved slowly, folding to the shape of a gun. He pointed his index finger to his temple.

  “Kit? Kit?”

  “Weather the storm.”

  He pulled an imaginary trigger; pulled it again and again. He began to tremble.

  “Kit!”

  Marisa moved to catch him, but it was t
oo late. He crumpled to the floor. His eyes rolled. His lips curled into a misshapen grin. Saliva dribbled from them.

  She got down beside him. She could do nothing—could only wait it out. Tears threatened to undo her as she tried to tell herself it was all right, it was just a bad dream, it was all just a bad, bad dream. But when that word slipped from her child’s lips and went on like a broken record, her will broke. He lay there, trembling, drooling. All she could do was sit by, helpless, and when it was over, after she had tucked Kit into bed and lay in her own under the blanket of darkness, all she could hear above her own sobs was one word.

  Pistola.

  ~ 136

  Jared stood on his deck, his arms resting on the railing. The moon hovered above the river like a golden eye. Thin, wispy clouds stretched across the sky, drifting slowly with the current of the slim breeze. His watch told him it was ten to midnight, but his fatigue fooled him, insisting it was much later. Were it not for that lingering sensation of being watched, he felt he could drop to the deck and be fast asleep before he struck it.

  He turned quickly, certain he had heard a sound behind him. His steps traced one end of the deck to the other, yet he heard no one. He saw no one.

  Leaning on the railing again, he checked over his shoulder once more. He turned, stiffening at his shortness of breath. His pulse quickened. Something was there, lurking. The sensation of that vile presence was stronger than ever. As if the monster were right inside of him.

  But no. It wasn’t inside of him, not in the physical sense, he was sure. It wasn’t a part of him. This thing, this invisible monster that seemed to be growing every day, was more like some unearthly parasite that had latched onto him like a leech. It was sucking the life from him, he merely a host, trapped in a noxious relationship of all give and no take. He wondered how much give he still had.

  A deep breath helped him settle his jumpy nerves. In his mind he heard the soothing rush of the falls, the hearty sound of Judd’s infectious laughter. For a moment it brought some comfort, yet in the next, he feared he would never hear that laughter again.