Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  I'm still wondering about the article. So instead of more painful small talk, I launch the question like a unpinned grenade. "Have you ever heard of Stuart Algiers?"

  Poe stops. Her eyes stop blinking, her mouth stops chewing, her body goes rigid.

  "What?" I say.

  She swallows and scowls at me. "That supposed to be funny?"

  "What?"

  "Who told you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Did Rachel tell you? What'd she say?"

  "She didn't say anything. I just-I heard about him."

  "So you had to go there, huh?"

  "Go where?"

  "You really know how to make a good impression, huh, newbie?"

  "What did I say?" My curiosity is becoming frustration.

  "You don't have that many friends at this place, you know?"

  "Yeah, I've gathered that."

  "So why are you trying to make another enemy?"

  "By what? What are you talking about?"

  To add to my nightmare, I hear Rachel's laughter approaching.

  I know I'm on thin ice.

  Rachel sits down next to me with a grin and a greeting. Just as Jocelyn does the same across from us, Poe stands up.

  "Did you tell him?" she snaps at Rachel.

  "Tell him what?"

  "Tell him about Stu?"

  "She didn't say anything," I say again.

  Rachel looks as bewildered as I am.

  "Then how did he know?" Poe demands.

  "I don't know anything."

  "What happened?" Rachel says.

  "You know-I'm sick of this. I'm sick of this place and I'm sick of people like you butting into things you don't understand and never will." Poe storms away leaving me with Rachel and Jocelyn.

  Both of them look like they're attending a funeral.

  "What?"

  "What'd you say?" Rachel asks. "What just happened?"

  "All I asked was whether she's heard of Stuart Algiers."

  "Why would you do that?" Jocelyn asks.

  Oh, thanks for talking to me now.

  "I just-I was just curious."

  "But why? How do you know about Stuart?"

  "Joss," Rachel says.

  "Well, I want to know."

  "Someone showed me a newspaper clipping about him. He went missing last Christmas, right?"

  "But why'd you ask Poe?"

  "Why are you guys so defensive?" I ask. "I just asked a question."

  "There's no such thing as just a question," Jocelyn says.

  "Yes, there is," Rachel says.

  "Who showed you that clipping?"

  I scratch the back of my neck.

  Newt had made it clear this was a secret.

  "Who gave it to you?" Jocelyn asks again.

  "Why?" I ask. "What's the big deal?"

  "We can tell him," Rachel says.

  "No, we can't."

  "What's he going to do?"

  "Nobody knows."

  "A few people know."

  I'm watching Rachel and Jocelyn talk as if I'm not there.

  "It's not his business."

  I stand up, then lean in close so that nobody else can hear what I say. "Listen-if somebody doesn't tell me what's going on, I'm going to get up and leave and never sit at this table again."

  "Chris-please, just sit down," Rachel says, tugging at my arm.

  "It's fine with me," Jocelyn says.

  This girl wants me to go with her to the dance? This is the girl who, according to Rachel, likes me?

  "Chris, listen, just sit," Rachel says. "Please? Listen, Stuart. He was a junior last year-and only a few people know this. He was seeing Poe for a while."

  "Since the summer," Jocelyn adds.

  "And that's it?" I ask. "That's why she went ballistic?"

  "Nobody knows."

  "So? How was I supposed to know?"

  "They think that he died," Rachel says.

  Jocelyn laughs in disgust.

  "What do you guys think?"

  "I don't know," Rachel says.

  "He's gone," Jocelyn says. "And there's no point in bringing his name up. Especially around Poe."

  "She loved him."

  "No, she didn't," Jocelyn says. "Give me a break."

  "She did."

  "Sixteen-year-olds can't love."

  "Yes, they can."

  "Please."

  Again I feel like someone just watching from the sidelines.

  I want to ask how he disappeared and what people thought, but I decide to ask someone else.

  Thanks, Newt. Thanks forpushing me into hot, bubbling water and leaving me to tread water.

  "Maybe I should go find her," Jocelyn says.

  "No, let me," Rachel says, standing quickly. "You guys can talk about tomorrow night."

  Rachel smiles and leaves before Jocelyn can do the same.

  Suddenly I feel the weight of five hundred students looking at us.

  I'm not imagining this.

  I try to ignore them.

  "Look, I'm sorry for bringing up his name."

  "It's fine," she says. "You didn't know."

  "Maybe next time I can get the benefit of a shred of doubt."

  "And maybe next time you can just keep your mouth shut."

  Obviously something on my face shows how I'm feeling. The defiant look Jocelyn is showing suddenly deflates.

  "I'm sorry," she says.

  "It's all right."

  "No, I just-I'm sorry. Look, I can be-I sometimes need to watch my mouth."

  "I didn't know about Poe."

  "I know. It's just that it's been really hard for her, and for all of us. There's just ... just so much that could be said, but shouldn't."

  I want to ask her more, but I'm feeling a little shy.

  "Look-I know that Rachel talked with you, and I understand."

  "You understand what?" I ask.

  "About the dance. And it's cool. It's fine."

  "It's fine ... to go?"

  "Yeah. She explained things."

  I'm still a little lost.

  "Explained things," I repeat.

  "It's okay. I just hope-it's Harrington. It's North Carolina. There's not a lot of excitement at these things."

  "That's okay," I force myself to say.

  just shut up, Chris.

  "We should probably talk about logistics."

  "Yeah, sure."

  "When can I pick you up?" Jocelyn asks.

  "Do you mind?"

  "Of course not. Why should I?"

  "I don't know."

  "I can pick you up and we can meet Rachel and her date at school."

  "Is this a formal thing?"

  For a minute, Jocelyn thinks I'm joking. "Yeah, make sure you rent your tux and have a corsage for me."

  "No, I know it's not like prom or anything-

  "It's a dance at Harrington. It's fine. Wear whatever you want."

  "What time does it start?"

  "How about I swing by your house around seven? Nobody says we need to be right on time."

  "Yeah, okay."

  Those eyes hook me, make me melt, make me dizzy, make me consider agreeing to anything she might say next.

  "Chris?"

  "Yeah?"

  I'll jump off a mountain for you if you want me to.

  "Really-I'm sorry for-for chewing you out a few times."

  "It's fine."

  "No, it's really not. It's just-" She looks around and thinks for a minute.

  It's as if there's something she really needs to tell me. "I haven't always been like this," she says.

  "Like how?"

  "This-

  I thought she said something more, but I couldn't hear it.

  "I better go find the girls, okay? I'll see you a little later."

  "Sure."

  I gaze after her long figure in jeans and shirt as she leaves the cafeteria.

  It doesn't get old, watching her.

  Nor does it get old wondering exactly
how in the world I ended up going to a dance with her.

  Even if I do technically have a date to a dance tomorrow, I still find myself alone on a Friday night. I never used to be by myself on Friday nights. Back home there was always something to do. Someone having a party or going to see a movie or just hanging out.

  Here there's nobody around to hang out with.

  Nobody except a few groundhogs.

  The evening is still young, and I've just finished helping Mom with cleanup after dinner. She tried something new-fajitas. Strips of steak and chicken along with undercooked onions and peppers put in flour tortillas along with cheese and salsa. They were fine. They didn't taste as good as they do at a Mexican restaurant, especially the little one we used to go to back home, but that's fine. I know Mom's trying to re-create it.

  She's working on another large margarita when I tell her I'm going to go outside for a while.

  Good thing she doesn't see the flashlight I'm carrying.

  Even though the sky is still light, I know I'm going to need it.

  I haven't forgotten about the little cabin in the middle of nowhere.

  And I definitely haven't forgotten about the tunnel underneath.

  The only thing it seems I've forgotten is how to get there.

  I wander through the woods, going straight uphill behind my house, knowing it was this far up the mountain. But after twenty minutes of not finding it, I start heading right.

  With each step it seems to get darker.

  A clearing in the forest brush makes me stop for a moment. I discover a small trail with the leaves either gone or pressed down from use. It snakes alongside the mountain and heads in the direction I'm going.

  Though I know deep down that the little cabin is far back where I started, I keep heading down this trail. Maybe I'll uncover something else.

  Another ten minutes and I do.

  In the middle of the dense trees of the forest, a ten-foot stone wall stands blocking my direction.

  It heads straight up and down the mountain as far as I can see.

  I almost don't believe it's real, so I touch it. The stone is cool and hard. It's very real, very unmovable. Very Middle Ages.

  Who would build something like this?

  I walk up the hill, trying to find a way around it. There are no entryways, no small windows looking in, nothing that can let me pass. I reverse direction, heading down the slope of the hill along the stone barrier.

  I know who this belongs to.

  This is part of the gate surrounding Gus's house.

  Suddenly I really want to get over this wall.

  I want to see what the house behind it looks like.

  Who doesn't want to know what his neighbor's house looks like?

  The gate I came across on the road below was just to prevent vehicles from going any farther. This stone wall is to prevent anyone from getting onto the Staunch property. To prevent people like me from snooping.

  I decide not to go down the mountain too far. The closer to the road, the more likely I might run into someone. Or something.

  Like a camera.

  I head back uphill where I just came from, my legs getting a workout. It doesn't take me long before I come across a tree growing right next to the wall. I didn't notice it when I first passed. It's small enough to climb up, yet big enough to support my weight. Several branches jut out slightly over the top of the wall, which appears to be square and flat.

  This is going to be easy.

  Five minutes later, I land on the soft padding of the ground below.

  I never even had to set foot on the wall. I just edged out on a branch and dropped over it.

  As I look at the same scene facing me-just endless trees and bushes, now shrouded in dimming light-I have a not-so-great thought. How am I going to get back to the other side?

  I suddenly notice how cold it's become. Cold and dark.

  My arms are bare in my thin T-shirt. I shiver and move on down the hill, walking slowly, making sure I don't fall on a branch or crash into anything.

  Just in case someone is around.

  What if they have armed guards on their property?

  What if security cameras are watching me now?

  What if there are booby traps wired up somewhere?

  The animals in the forest have apparently all gone to sleep.

  A slight gust-invisible, almost unheard-brushes up against my skin. I try to hurry up to stop feeling so cold.

  I feel like eyes are bearing down on me. Not just from one direction, but from all around me.

  Whoever is turning the lights to dim is doing a fast job of it. I consider turning on my flashlight, then decide against it, knowing it would attract attention.

  There's a slight dip in the ground, and my foot plunges in, sending me falling. My face lands an inch away from a jutting tree limb. I know even in the growing darkness that the sharp edge could have done something nasty to my face. Especially my eye.

  I stand up and brush the leaves and dirt off my shirt. I find the flashlight I dropped.

  Better start trying to figure out a way over the wall before the night swallows me whole.

  I've been walking downhill close to the wall. So far, I haven't seen another tree growing against it like the one that got me in here.

  I stare downhill.

  Beyond the trees, I see a reddish glow seeping through.

  Maybe it's the Staunch house. The one they don't want people to either see or come inside.

  I feel a dread come over me. It's as if the ruby glimmer down below is starting to glide up toward me like a ghostly fog.

  I check alongside the wall for anything-an opening, something to stand on, another tree.

  Then I hear the sound.

  A slight rustling along the forest ground.

  I stop and listen.

  Then I hear something else.

  I hear the clink of a chain.

  A dog chain.

  I think of Gus's face and the sign that says No Trespassing.

  What kind of dog would Gus get?

  I think of a pit bull, like the one we used to have in our neighborhood that was always in the news because of his love of biting strangers. They eventually had to get rid of him, something that caused a unified celebration along our block.

  I hear a slight jingle and shine my light toward a group of trees nearby.

  Then I see them. Slivers of white.

  At first I think it's the dog's eyes. Then I realize that it's his teeth.

  His mouth is open, panting, the sharp teeth ready to attack.

  I back up, still facing toward the dog, moving slowly until I hit the stone wall.

  An an idiot, and this is what happens to idiots.

  I'm still holding the flashlight, but I don't think it will be much help in fighting off this dog.

  It moves slowly toward me.

  It's black or mostly black. I still can't see exactly what type of dog it is. I see its eyes. For a minute it seems as if ...

  They're not glowing those eyes are not glowing.

  I stumble over something and almost lose my footing.

  The dog growls.

  As if to warn me. As if to say, "You can try and run and I'll even give you a head start, but your hide is mine."

  Things like this don't happen back in Libertyville, Illinois.

  You don't get lost in the woods behind your house.

  You don't get trapped inside a fortress-like wall ten feet tall.

  You don't stumble upon demon dogs with glowing eyes.

  I'm walking downhill next to the wall, my hand rubbing its rough texture as I move in the darkness with my head turned back toward the dog.

  I swear that its eyes are glowing.

  And there's something else.

  Thats crazy. You're imagining it, just like the burning eyes.

  I smell something putrid. Something that makes my eyes water.

  Nothing smells like sulfur, thats just your crazy mind playing
games.

  But I believe it because the hairs in my nose are telling me.

  So far the big beast hasn't moved.

  I keep slipping down the slope.

  Then I hear a loud, gasping growl, a sound like something being shredded apart, like the top of a can being pried and popped open.

  It's followed by a clicking sound, as if something in the thing's mouth or throat is recoiling.

  You're crazy its not a thing its a dog and its probably as friendly as a Pixar movie.

  My breathing is ragged. I can't tell if it's my mouth sucking in air or the thumping of my heart.

  I hear the thudding of steps, which sounds like the hooves of a horse digging into the dirt.

  I run. And the thing behind me quickens its pace and launches itself.

  Something massive flails against the tree to my left. I hear the small tree bend and shift as whatever the thing is stumbles and rolls around in the leaves.

  I'm not just running now. I'm sprinting downhill next to the wall, trying to avoid anything in my way.

  If my old track coach, who told me I never applied myself, could only see me now.

  Whatever's beside me-the dog, the thing-is massive.

  It's a big, black, hulking mess.

  I hear it inhale in a high-pitched screech, then cough and start scrambling behind me.

  The leaves and dirt on the ground sound like they're being rooted out of the earth, spit out all over the back of the forest floor.

  The thing is breathing in and out like a hundred-year-old smoker with something sick and deathly in the back of its throat.

  The smell-the smell hovers just under my nose and my mouth. I can taste it.

  Your imagination you can taste and smell your imagination there's nothing behind you Chris nothing at all.

  And then I start to lose my balance.

  I'm going too fast and the slope is too steep and the darkness too black and I'm leaning a little too far in front.

  And I hit a black metal object.

  Something made of steel takes out both of my legs, cutting down my shins like a dirty kick might in soccer.

  Now I'm soaring through the air.

  I land on one shoulder and half my head, doing a somersault and then twisting and turning and landing in a half-buried rotting log that nearly swallows me as I finally come to a stop.

  The dog-or the thing-is behind me, a little ways up the hill.

  The eyes are now burning embers, fully on fire, enraged.

  It's massive, the size of a bull.