by Jo Crow
“That’s the girl I know!” Amanda cheered. Her enthusiasm led me to believe she’d already started drinking. “Finish that thing off and we’ll get you set up with another one. Once you’ve got your second drink, we can talk.”
It was absurd, but it was Amanda, so I did as she asked. When at last I set the drink down, another one arrived. Amanda wasn’t wasting any time.
“So,” Amanda said. She had a drink of her own, and she twisted its straw between her fingers as she looked at me. “You said you wanted to talk?”
“Yeah…” Maybe it was better this way. With a few drinks in her, and in a familiar public setting, maybe the news wouldn’t hit her as hard. “I found out some things the other day that—”
Amanda’s head jerked to the side, and she stood up so abruptly I jumped back in fear. She shouted out cheerfully to someone across the bar and waved high over her head. It pained me I was so jumpy that every sudden outburst scared me, but after what I’d been through, anyone would have reacted the same. It was a somber reminder about just how unfair my circumstances were. I should have been more like Amanda—eager to meet up with old friends and excited for a night to myself.
But I was never alone. Fear and guilt traveled with me wherever I went, and they never left me a minute to myself.
Amanda settled back down and turned to face me, all smiles. She pointed at my drink. “You’re going to fall behind if you don’t start drinking. One is nowhere near enough. We’re about to sit in for a world class rock experience for free. In Hickory Hills, of all places. Can you believe it?”
“Amanda, I…” I trailed off. The news I’d so desperately wanted to share wasn’t suited for Amanda’s world—at least, not then, not there. Maybe in the morning, I decided, when she’d come down from the excitement and the alcohol fogging her mind had run its course—maybe then, I could tell her. At that moment, though, it was pointless.
She wouldn’t listen to me.
“What?” Amanda beamed. “You’re not going to tell me after all this time you finally realized you have a crush on me, are you? I don’t want to have to break your heart.”
“No.”
She wanted me to laugh and joke back, but humor was the furthest thing from my mind. The life I led wasn’t one that allowed me to kick back and have good times—not at that moment. There was too much on the line, and too much I still had to worry about.
“God, Clara, you’re a wet diaper tonight.” Amanda scrunched up her nose and sighed. “Maybe you just need to get laid. I heard Jack’s single. You guys hooked up once in senior year, right? You should try talking to him, see if he wants to get down and dirty with you after the show. You could land a rock star.”
I couldn’t remember if I’d hooked up with Jack or not. My time in Hickory Hills was a distant memory, made fuzzy by time and obscured by a want to forget. The nightmares, the hurt, and the need to get away were rooted in the town. I felt like I understood it. Maybe, subconsciously, I’d known all along the kind of man my father was. I’d never been able to explain where the darkness in me had come from, or why my need to rebel and act out spoke louder than my rational mind. But living with a murderer was enough to curse even the most charmed of existences.
What I needed wasn’t to hook up with Jack—what I needed was to get out before my old life swallowed me whole.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I admitted. “Listen, tonight really isn’t working so well for me, so I think I’ll just go home, okay?”
“Home?” Amanda grimaced. “You just got here. Don’t go home yet! My best friend is back in town, and that’s reason enough to celebrate! Besides, look who’s here! Maybe you two can finally start getting along.”
I was surprised when Detective Elkins set a palm on our table and leaned forward. He was dressed in civilian clothes, and clutched a pint of beer; despite his informality, his steely gaze was as unyielding as ever. “McNair.”
“D-Detective Elkins.” Heat burned my cheeks. I looked to Amanda. She winked at me. I wanted to get through to her, to the mature social worker I’d met when I returned, but it looked like the old Amanda was here for the night.
“Is this,” Detective Elkins gestured with his pint toward the drink on the table, and his gaze dipped to settle on my holster, “what you consider a threat these days?”
The heat spread, burning down my face to light my neck on fire. My skin felt clammy; I shifted uncomfortably. “I needed to talk to Amanda, and this was where she wanted us to meet.”
“I sure as hell hope that little boy you’ve been caring for isn’t on his own tonight.” Amanda scooted over, and Detective Elkins took the seat beside her. “Or is he used to an empty house, taking care of all this danger on his own?”
Amanda giggled. “You’re being mean, Tony. Clara is a good mother. Ask me how I know.”
“I’m not falling for this one again.”
I looked between them, from Amanda’s lust-lidded eyes to Detective Elkins’ posturing. The evening hadn’t gone as I’d planned, and I needed to get out before I could dig my grave any deeper. I could talk to Amanda another time.
“I should go. Detective Elkins is right—I’ve got James to worry about. I’m sorry, Amanda.”
“Isn’t he with a sitter?” Amanda slid my drink closer to me. “C’mon, Clara. For old times’ sake? One night isn’t going to kill you.”
I was afraid that was exactly what it was going to do.
If I let myself drink, I knew I’d get sloppy. The less in tune with my surroundings I was, the more likely it was someone would notice and take advantage of the situation, especially once I parted ways from the protection Detective Elkins imparted to the table. I couldn’t afford to be surprised again.
“I already had a drink. That’s it for me.” I smiled at her. “I’m actually feeling kind of buzzed already. I stopped drinking after I left here, so I’m not used to it.”
“Really?” Amanda’s eyes widened, then she laughed. “God, you’re a cheap date. Okay, well that’s fine, then.”
It was a small lie, but I was glad it got Amanda off my back. “I really need to go home, get James, and get to bed. I drank that way too fast.”
I laid it on thick, playing up the tingling in the back of my mind to make it seem like something much more. Driving wasn’t going to be an issue, and I was still alert, but Amanda didn’t need to know.
“You better not be driving, McNair,” Detective Elkins warned. “I’m off-duty, but I won’t hesitate to arrest your ass if you’re drinking and driving.”
“You gonna pass out already?” Amanda laughed again. “Oh my god. Remind me if you’re around for one of our birthdays I don’t have to worry about spending much money on you to get you hammered.”
“Yeah.” I slid out from the bench and stood, wobbling on purpose. If they thought I was drunk, I figured they were more likely to let me go without a fight. “Listen… we should meet up tomorrow, okay?”
“Whatever you say. I’m bummed you’re not going to stay tonight, but I guess I can’t chain you down. I don’t want you passing out on me.” Amanda winked. “Get your ass to bed and sleep it off, okay? It’ll all be over in the morning.”
“Night.” I waved to her, putting on a far-too-cheery smile I hoped came across as drunk. I felt bad lying, and I felt worse that I was leaving without telling Amanda what I’d found out, but there was no helping it. What she needed and what I needed weren’t the same thing, and until we could find common ground, I wasn’t going to force the revelation.
On my way to the door, a crowd destined for the bar blocked my way, and when they’d cleared, I was no longer alone. Two men I vaguely recognized from high school stood between me and the door.
I didn’t have time for their nonsense.
“Excuse me.” My voice barely made it over the music coming from the bar’s speakers. “I’m just passing through.”
“Off to ride some dick?” One of them—Ryan?—asked. “Bet the married men of Hicko
ry Hills are living it up now you’re back in town.”
“All the men,” the second man said with a cruel laugh. “Ryan and I were wondering if you could make our night that much more special. Come home with us.”
It was a demand, not a request. I took a step back. “No, thank you.”
“What’s wrong, Clara?” Ryan smirked. “Are we not old enough for you? Or maybe you only sleep with men whose homes you can wreck?”
“Guys, cut it out.” My hand twitched, inches away from my revolver, and it drew Ryan’s eye. He nudged his friend in the ribs and gestured, and that was all it took to have both of them back off. “I’m not the same Clara I was when I was a teenager, okay? Please leave me alone. We’re not stupid kids anymore.”
“Crazy bitch,” Ryan’s friend mumbled. “What they say about you is true, isn’t it? You’re psychotic.”
I hadn’t gone to the bar to be hit on and degraded by drunk high school classmates I couldn’t give a damn about. Ignoring the rude comment, I stepped around them and headed for the door. There was only one man I needed, and he was waiting for me at the Appleton house.
I resolved that no matter what they said, no matter what they did, and no matter how badly they wanted me gone, I would not give in to them.
Hickory Hills wouldn’t get the best of me.
I wouldn’t let it.
26
Darkness. Unending, eternal darkness.
I knew there was shape, and form, and light, but no matter how I tried to focus, I couldn’t make it out. It was like I was seeing through the tightly knit fibers of a face mask, stealing glimpses of reality while most of the world was blotted out.
All of it was so familiar. I’d been here before.
The sensation of hardwood beneath my feet. The smell of ozone on the air. The weight of something in my hands. The vibrations.
I couldn’t stop shaking.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t move my feet. The hardwood rose up around them, slatting across them like shoelaces until I wasn’t just standing there—I was a part of the floor.
I screamed, but there was no sound.
“Mommy?” I heard James wailing in the distance, and I felt him tugging at my shoulder. “Mommy!”
The darkness wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t see. I screamed again, tears welling in my eyes. What was happening to me? This unending, sluggish darkness wouldn’t let me be.
“Mommy!”
My eyes shot open. James was straddling my chest, snot running clear from his nose as he shook me. His little face was so scrunched up and red from crying I had a hard time telling if he was hurt, or if he was afraid. It didn’t matter—maternal instinct took over, and I took him into my arms and eased him down across my chest. He sobbed against my shoulder, his small body shaking.
“It’s okay, baby.” My voice was hoarse. I really had been screaming. “It’s okay. Mommy had a bad dream. She’s not hurt.”
James sobbed uncontrollably, like I’d hurt him. It broke my heart.
“I promise it’s okay, baby.” My arms tightened, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I held James to me. “I’m so sorry. Everyone has bad dreams sometimes, even mommies.”
“Mommy,” James whimpered. He wouldn’t lift his head. “Mommy…”
“I know, baby, I know.” Another nightmare. Another swirling, nebulous darkness my mind couldn’t escape. I held James close as the panic subsided and my pulse returned to normal.
Time passed. James’s sobs quieted down, and eventually turned into shuddering sighs. When he had nothing left in him, he curled up beside me and fell asleep holding my arm like a teddy bear. For a while, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling through the dark.
In California, the nightmares had almost gone away completely. There were still stretches of time where they flared up and bothered me—especially when the seasons shifted from winter to spring. Not even my degree in neuropsychology offered me insight into what caused them. There was a part of my brain so deeply infused with darkness I couldn’t see through it, and it frightened me. And now they were coming closer together.
My father, a murderer.
It was no wonder why sometimes the nightmares were all I knew.
Time passed me by. James let go of my arm and rolled over. His hitched sounds of sleep relaxed me and brought me back into the present.
I wasn’t stuck in the McNair house anymore. I wasn’t chained to a too-perfect family. I wasn’t a teenager with an undying need to rebel.
I was a mother. A warrior.
Right as I’d found peace of mind and closed my eyes to drift back off to sleep, there was a noise outside—like a heavy bucket falling on its side and hitting the siding of the house. My eyes opened, and I stared into the darkness, overly aware of the gun I’d left on top of the bookcase no more than a foot away from the bed. If I needed to, I could access it in a few seconds, but was I worried over nothing? The town was developed, and large wildlife didn’t bother us much, though there were possums, and foxes, and stray dogs that could have made that noise. The McNair estate was secluded enough it was very possible it was an animal.
This town really was starting to get to me. I released the air in my lungs slowly, pushing it between my teeth as I decompressed. The sooner we got filming wrapped up, the better. If the townspeople and the murderer weren’t going to get me, the paranoia would.
Still, I couldn’t sleep. My ears strained to pick up noise, but I heard none.
I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t shake the feeling. I knew it was anxiety, come back to bite me, but none of my techniques to calm myself down worked. At last, I got out of bed and left the room to get a glass of water. If I couldn’t calm down, I thought, I might as well be protected.
On my way out of the room, I grabbed the revolver from on top of the bookcase and took it along, just in case something untoward was happening outside.
In the dark, I made my way to the kitchen and opened the cabinet. Water ran. I passed a hand under it to test if it was cold, then filled the glass. The gun rested on the kitchen counter, gunmetal gleaming in pale moonlight.
I leaned against the counter and tilted the glass to my lips. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if the cosmos wasn’t punishing me for my father’s evil—a karmic debt passed on through generations. All my life, it had been one horrible situation after another. My only reprieve had been university but, even then, that period of peace had been short-lived.
Would I ever be able to atone for what my family had done?
Another noise jolted me from my thoughts, and I propped myself off the counter and turned toward the window. The moonlight didn’t reveal much—just wooded backyard.
This wasn’t California. There were noises at night. I knew it, and the sooner I got it through my head the better.
I sighed, but when I went to draw in more breath, something wasn’t right. I narrowed my eyes and breathed in deep again, trying to figure out if I was imagining what I smelled, or if it was real.
Rotten eggs. Skunk spray. Decay.
I gagged. The smell was horrendous, and not even pushing a clean dish towel against my nose helped. I definitely wasn’t imagining it. What the hell was it? A septic backup?
I grabbed the revolver from the kitchen counter and made my way to the bathroom. The smell didn’t seem to be originating from the kitchen sink, so it had to be coming from somewhere else. I flicked on the light to check the toilet, bathtub, and sink, only to find that the light wouldn’t turn on.
Weird.
I distinctly remembered the bulb was bright earlier that evening. It hadn’t flickered or dimmed since I’d replaced it after we’d arrived. Not even the small nightlight plugged into the wall was working. Was the power out?
A chill swept through me. I stepped into the hall and tested the light, but it was out, too.
What the hell was happening? The estate ran itself, so the electricity never shut off. If there was a power failure, it had certainly picked a
conveniently terrifying time to manifest.
The smell didn’t go away—it got worse.
Grimacing behind the dish towel, I noticed a new smell among the putrid odor.
Smoke.
There was no more time to wonder or second-guess myself. Without thinking, I ran from the bedroom, flung open the door, and threw the revolver aside so I could grab James. The gun hit the wall and fell to the floor, the sound loud enough that James woke up. It didn’t matter. I didn’t have time for apologies. As he stirred, I pushed the dish cloth to his face, swept him into my arms, and bolted from the room. I was barely out the front door when a blast of hot air pushed against my back and propelled me out of the house.
The first explosion shook the ground and rattled the windowpanes. The second hit so hard the glass shattered. I landed on my back outside the house, James in my arms, and instinctively rolled over so that I cushioned him against whatever might rain down on us. Fire crackled up the side of the house, feasting on whatever it could. It turned the night red and perfumed the air with acrid smoke.
James sobbed and clutched at me, but I couldn’t speak, not even to calm him down. The beating of my heart and the adrenaline coursing through my veins paralyzed me. It felt like if I moved I’d explode.
Just like the house.
“Mommy!” James cried. He clutched the front of my shirt and dragged it down until it bit into the back of my neck. “Mommy!”
I wanted to tell him everything was going to be all right, but it would have been a lie. Nothing was going to be all right. Not anymore. Not ever.
The rotten smell of decay? Gas. I’d been too addled to recognize it in the moment.
The noise outside? I didn’t think it was an animal anymore. It was no coincidence the power had been cut when a gas leak had started.
Someone had tried to kill us—to catch us when we were sleeping so we couldn’t escape. The realization hit me hard. I clutched James to my chest and rose, bleary-eyed, to trudge to the car. The doors were locked, and everything I owned was inside the house. My keys, my ID, my cellphone, my money…
