by P. J. Post
She runs her hands through her hair and presses on her temples like she’s try to force the memories out.
“Uncle brought me back home the next day, but I couldn’t stay in the house. The fear was too much and I couldn’t even look in my room.” She laughs sourly. “I was just happy Francine, my teddy bear was downstairs. You know, Teddy?”
She glances back again and all I can do is nod again.
“Uncle grabbed some clothes for me, tossed them in a duffle and then took me out east to my grandmother’s farm.
“And that was that, as far as my dad knew.”
I’m paralyzed. I have no idea what to say or do.
“That’s how I know he’s not bluffing, Connor. If he’d do that to me, you’re nothing,” she says flatly. “I think I want to stop there, I don’t want to relive this anymore, not tonight.”
“There’s more?” I ask softly.
She holds up her arms so that I can see the scars on her wrists. “There’s a sequel. The one where I don’t go to college. The one where my gymnastics career ends. You never found me that summer because I spent the next four months under observation in a mental ward.”
Jesus Christ.
“But why?” I finally ask. “Why does he care about what you’re doing now?”
She turns and faces me. “It’s not fatherly concern or anything like that. Once we began to get some success, some notoriety, then people started to talk, the Sterling Hills people, the political people. They were talking about what happened at the laundry with your ex by the next morning — gossip.
“It was one thing when I had faded from the discussion after graduation. They just assumed I was off at college. No one knew about what happened to me, what they did to me. But now I wasn’t maintaining appearances anymore. People started to talk.
“I’m a goddamn embarrassment, Connor. It’s just that simple. I’m not living up to the Warner Legacy and that simply won’t do, not at all.”
“Shit, he’d destroy your life and mine over reputations?”
“Everything matters with his business and friends. I need to be a good little girl and go to college and get out of the spotlight. Dad’s really involved with politics, influence and power — the stink rubs off, especially with his conservative friends, the big campaign contributors. That’s what he said, by the way — I’m the stink.”
I gently rest one hand on her shoulder, trying to be comforting. But inside, my rage is pounding against my own temples, focusing. And I never want to forget this memory — the time is coming for an accounting. I can’t undo what’s happened, but there’s always fucking retribution.
She reaches up and lays her hand on mine and tries to offer up a smile, but doesn’t quite make it. “When he finds out I’m back, finds out we’re together — we’re fucked.”
I step around the Jeep and take her in my arms, stroking her hair. “Everything is going to work out. No one is going to get fucked.”
She looks up at me unconvinced. “I just want to go home and take a shower.”
“You can’t really do that,” I say cautiously.
“What do you mean?”
I let her go. “We got evicted. I’m guessing it was your dad’s doing.”
“Shit. Is my van there?” she asks angrily.
“Yeah, but Curtis Ray knows it. We shouldn’t be driving it.”
“I still don’t want to leave it at the Garage. Can you drive?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think so, but why?” I’m still taking the painkillers more often than I probably should, but I think I can manage to drive the van.
“We might need it. We can bring it back here and park it.”
She looks back out to the sunset and shakes her head and screams in frustration.
She walks around the Jeep to the driver’s side. “So, we’re homeless, is that it?” she asks disgustedly and begins cursing under her breath as she gets in.
I slide in next to her to hear the cursing continue.
Her sorrow has been replaced with deep seeded anger.
“We’re not homeless, we can stay at Shauna’s,” I say.
“With your ex-girlfriend?” she glares at me and I have to say, I kind of like the jealousy. How fucked up is that?
“Jealous?” I ask.
She just scowls at me. Even that’s cute.
“Speaking of jealousy, what’s up with Trevor?” I ask.
The scowl turns into a glare and then a frown.
“It’s a fair question,” I say.
Beth fires up the Jeep and slips it into reverse, easing us out of the parking spot. She dumps the clutch and lays rubber down the aisle. Driving stick isn’t new for her.
She stops at the parking lot exit and takes a deep breath.
“He was in on it from beginning. He’s friends with Bradford, so he knew some of what happened with me and definitely knows my dad. He didn’t want to do it at first, but I explained what dad had planned and he changed his mind. He really likes and respects you, Connor. He hated lying to you.”
“Peggy and Todd told me you only cozied up to him when I was around, so that’s why?”
“Yeah, the charade wasn’t for them. I had to do something,” Beth says defensively.
She pulls out into traffic, one hand on the wheel and the other on the shifter.
I reach over and squeeze her thigh as she runs the gears. “You’re mostly forgiven.”
She ignores me, but she’s grinning just the same.
I relax a little as we drive across town in silence. We both have a lot to think about. But even through the silence, I feel more connected to her with every passing mile.
We’re on Main Street and getting close to the industrial park when we see an orange reflection in the darkening sky, behind the grocery store.
We look at each other with concern. It’s a fire and the Garage is behind the grocery store.
Beth accelerates down the street and turns into the industrial park entrance but is immediately stopped by police cars blocking the road. We can see the fire trucks at the end of the road.
I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
The police direct us down a side road that connects back with the grocery store parking lot, but Beth turns left and drives down the back alley behind the warehouses.
She slams on the brakes when we hit the railroad tracks. She hops out immediately, but it takes me a little longer. She races ahead along the side of the last warehouse next to the tracks and I try to jog after her. When I catch up, she’s standing at the corner of the building, and we can see the Garage across the street, beyond the fire trucks.
It’s engulfed in flames, along with Beth’s van.
The firemen have protected the nearby buildings, but it’s clear that the Garage is a total loss.
“Oh, Connor,” Beth says and leans back into me.
I hold her as we watch the flames.
My first thought is of Curtis Ray, but there’s no way he could have found us this quick.
“Must have been an accident, electric fire or maybe even kids messing around,” I say quietly as I wrap my arms around her.
“No, look at my van, this was deliberate,” she says logically.
I think about it and she’s right. Having the van go up too is odd, because it’s not parked that close to the Garage.
Everything we had, everything we were is turning to char across the street while we helplessly watch.
Beth looks up to me. “I told you what he was like. It’s my father.”
“You don’t know that, Beth. It could be anything,” I say.
“No,” she says and then walks along the side of the building toward the street.
I follow her until we can feel the heat.
“Arson is serious. I doubt your dad would get involved with burning down a rental,” I say.
“He didn’t just pay the rent, he owned the building,” Beth says.
“But arson?” I ask.
“He probably
set the whole thing up and is planning to collect the insurance money. A little for the police, a little for the Fire Inspector, a little for his goddamn goons and he keeps the rest,” she says flatly.
“A conspiracy?” I ask skeptically.
“You don’t know his world. They play by different rules. This is nothing,” Beth says. “He wants to make sure I have nothing to come back to. Cold-blooded, son of a bitch.”
“I think…” I begin.
“Connor, you’re sweet and I love you, but you don’t have a clue what we‘re up against,” Beth says.
She turns back toward me, the fire reflecting in those big brown eyes, and I can see the wheels turning, but I have no idea what she’s thinking.
She turns back and takes a few more steps toward the street. She’s silhouetted against the fire, her hair flying out round her face in the wind. She shoves her hands in her pockets and shrugs. “He knows.”
Thus ends Scar, Book Two of the Punk Series
Look for Book Three of the Punk Series, Heal in summer of 2014
Read Punk from the beginning:
Ache, Book 1
Clay, Book 1.5
Scar, Book 2
For more information about P.J. Post and the Punk Series, please visit:
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P.J. Post's Web Site
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, bands, clubs, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
