I pray, and I don’t stop.
I don’t know how this works—I really don’t. But I know that I have to do something and I have to do it now.
And eventually all I can hear is my own voice, praying. The other voice is gone.
I’m rinsing out my cereal bowl and glance at the half-opened laundry door. I wonder for a moment if I left it that way, then I sigh and walk toward it.
If I could bet, I’d put good money on the mannequin being gone. But the creepy thing is still there, lying facedown on the floor. The curly long hair looks just like Lily’s.
Oh man.
That’s not the best way to start a day after the last day and a half I’ve had. I stare at the lifelike figure and see the back of its shirt pulled up, revealing the cream-colored “skin.” I wonder what these mannequins are made of—certainly not plastic. As I’m wondering this, I see some writing on the dummy.
Up close, I see it’s a business name and an address.
GRAFFIC NATURE
1947 Zebulon Lane
Solitary, North Carolina
It’s wonderful to see that whoever bought this mannequin and brought it to my cabin is supporting local business. Or artists. Or freaks.
Before leaving for school, I drag the Lily look-alike out the back door and leave her there. I hope she finally gets the hint and runs away.
On the way to school I think about my midnight prayers and know that I need help. Not just help with finding Mom and trying to keep Staunch satisfied, but help in trying to figure out what to do next with this whole faith thing. Maybe I’ll go to church, but the nearest church … oh, right.
There are those around who have real faith.
I remember what Jocelyn showed me so long ago, the group of people who used to have church under Marsh Falls. If I could find someone there and try to reach out—maybe it would be someone I could trust. Someone I could get a little help from.
Someone who can help me figure out a few things.
I think back to the beginning of last summer when I decided to avoid everything, including people like Poe who had recently moved. I never did reply to any of her emails. She eventually stopped sending them, which was what I had hoped.
What did she say that one time?
Before heading into school, I find the letter Poe left in my locker. I’ve kept it tucked away in a desk drawer.
I sent this to the only person I could think of who I know has your back and used to have mine. Hint, it’s not a she. And boy does he love his M&Ms.
I never did try to find out who this person was because—well, frankly, I didn’t really care. That was when I had decided to do things on my own.
And when I was going gaga over Lily.
Looking back on that, I can see why they did what they did. It was a perfect setup. I had decided I’d had enough and had told God and the rest of the world to go take a hike. Then into my wrecked life walks this goddess that any guy would be crazy for.
Thinking of Lily hurts. But it’s different from thinking of Jocelyn.
Both died. But only one died with hope in her heart.
I walk up those stairs to the entrance to Harrington, wondering what this final semester will bring. My mind is going over Poe’s words.
Has your back … Not a she … love his M&Ms.
The last bit is a clue, of course.
I haven’t even reached my locker when I finally realize how not-so-subtle that clue is.
I figure this out when my history teacher passes me by with a smile and a “Welcome back, Chris.”
I just say hi to Mr. Meiners like always and keep heading to my locker.
M&Ms.
Then I stop.
Mr. Meiners.
I wonder if it’s that easy.
Suddenly things fall into place.
The time I saw Mr. Meiners holding a crying Jocelyn in his arms. A crying yet laughing Jocelyn.
Was this because she had gone to him for answers? Was this because she’d started finding some?
Then I think of him grabbing me in the hallway after a run-in with Gus. His telling me to see the bigger picture, saying that I’m not some stupid kid, that I’m different.
But how does he know?
I know that I have to contact Poe, first to apologize for not responding to any of her emails.
Then to ask for her help.
10. When You Smile
These students who don’t have a clue move through hallways that are long bored with them, and in the middle of them I see Kelsey. Walking toward me, smiling.
And like that, I know.
This is my reason here, my meaning and my motive.
I have to do the one thing I haven’t been able to do so far.
I have to be her hero.
I have to save her.
For Jocelyn, it was too late.
For Lily, it was too late.
For my mother, the verdict is still out.
But Kelsey is still there, still smiling, still hopeful.
Don’t you dare let that hope die, Kelsey.
I want to box it up with her and mail it to a place with no forwarding address.
“Hi, Chris.”
I want to save that hi and be able to hear it many mornings from now when I can do something with it.
“Hi,” I say back.
I’m not letting you go or giving up or being stupid or being nonchalant.
Kelsey is not going to get away.
No way.
Not this time.
11. In the End
I don’t go home after school. Instead, I ride my motorcycle to Jeremiah Marsh’s house.
It’s a Monday afternoon. If he’s not home, then I’ll wait for him. Maybe Heidi will be there and will let me in. Maybe she’ll serve me poisoned lemonade or drugged cider.
Maybe you should pass on a beverage.
The house looks more ominous somehow in the disappearing sunlight. My face and hands are numb from riding on the bike in the January chill. I need to get some gloves, maybe a ski mask. Then I can start robbing banks and have a nice quick getaway.
I knock on the door, not expecting it to open. But it does, quickly, and standing at the doorway as if he could read my mind is Pastor Marsh.
For a moment he looks at me as if confused.
“Are you, uh, busy?” I ask.
I still feel the need to be polite. I mean, he’s still an adult and I still have manners and maybe I’m interrupting something like a goat sacrifice or a moose-head stuffing.
“You look well,” he says. “A bit too well.”
I’m not really following what he’s saying. My heart is beating hard, and I’m feeling like I might turn around and sprint back to my motorcycle any second.
“Staunch told me what happened. He said he left you in a mess.”
“I heal quickly.”
Marsh raises his eyes. “So you do. Please, come on in.”
The place is the same. Spotless and looking like a model house that nobody lives in.
Marsh looks a lot like the house. He’s wearing dark pants and a sweater with a shirt underneath. All matching and new like a mannequin in the window of a clothing store.
Or like the one in the storage room in the church basement.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Hungry?”
“Where’s my mom?”
“She’s fine,” he says.
No surprise at my question. No hesitation at his answer.
“She’s fine where?”
“Why don’t you have a seat?” Marsh asks.
“I’ll do what you want, but I want my mother back.”
He looks serious as he takes off his glasses, wipe
s them, and slips them back on. He looks at me.
“She’s at another rehabilitation center.”
“Don’t lie,” I say.
“I’m not lying. I have no reason to lie to you, Chris. This is not my doing. It’s out of my hands. But I do know she’s in rehab, thinking she needs to be there. Trapped. Going out of her mind. All on purpose, of course.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to relax. Please. Nothing is going to happen to your mother.”
“That’s not what Staunch said.”
“Of course not. And that’s why—listen to me, okay?—just listen. But sit. You’re making me nervous standing there.”
I sit down on a couch, and he sits across from me. For a second he seems to look at me as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Or what brand my shirt is. Or whether I’m wearing cologne (and no, I’m not).
“I told you when we first met that I’m only here to help, Chris. To help you find your way.”
“I just want my mom back.”
“She’ll be back around soon.”
“You take orders from Staunch. Who takes orders from that …”
I can’t say what I’m thinking and feeling. There’s really no word to describe my great-grandfather.
That old man who turned into a monster before my eyes.
“Do what I say, and you’ll end up very happy. They don’t want your mother. They don’t want anything other than you, Chris. You.”
“But why?”
“Because it’s time. It’s been time for a while, but soon he won’t be here.”
“You mean Walter Kinner?”
I’m tired of saying great-grandfather. I don’t want to claim him.
“Yes.”
“So is there a crown and a ceremony? Do we have to kill a cow?”
Marsh laughs. “That’s funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“I can’t answer that, Chris. I don’t know.”
“But I’m supposed to just—take his place? What place is there to take? What does he do?”
Marsh’s eyes shift downward, as if thinking about something. Maybe whether to tell me the truth. Or what lie he needs to tell next.
He rubs his hands together, then leans over with his elbows on his legs.
“This gift of sight that you have is useful to them. That’s—that’s all I know.”
“Oh, okay,” I say. “That explains everything.”
“Which way do you want it then? Tell me.”
He curses, then stands up and heads back over to the kitchen. I stay on the couch while he grabs a couple of waters out of the fridge. He tosses one over to me.
“I can make up lies that sound nice and easy to you. Or I can do what you’re wanting—what you’ve been asking for ever since you came here. To get answers. To know the truth. But listen—the truth isn’t nice and isn’t easy, and I don’t think you’re going to want to hear it.”
“The truth about what?”
“About everything. We tell you things bit by bit, and I can just see your mind reeling. You don’t understand. That’s why I feel it’s better to show than tell. Like Marsh Falls. I could have told you that, but you would have never believed. Even now I bet there’s a part of you that doesn’t believe. It’s too surreal. Too crazy. Right?”
I sigh and nod. Marsh opens his bottled water and takes a short sip.
“There are those who come to Solitary, those who do business here. They do business with Kinner and always have. He takes care of them.”
“How? Who are they?”
“You will meet them soon enough.”
“And do what?”
“That—that I do not know. It’s being a—a guardian of sorts. A caretaker. At least that’s what I think. But I might be wrong.”
I’m sitting there wondering how a scrawny seventeen-year-old is going to be anybody’s guardian.
“So how—” I start to ask.
“You do what you’re supposed to do. You go to school. You study. You pass your classes. You be an ordinary student and just get through.”
“Until what?”
“When the time comes, you will find out. All I know is that it will be Memorial Day. That’s at the end of May.”
“What’s the significance of Memorial Day?”
“There are a lot fewer families around to be suspicious.”
“Suspicious of what?”
“Chris, listen, and listen well. The people you care for will only end up hurting you in the end. So the less you care, the less painful it will be. Because in the end, everybody dies. Do you understand? Everybody.”
12. The Joker
I hold the Zippo lighter in my hand, an old relic that supposedly belonged to dear old great-grandpa, who my mom thinks died in World War I.
Who turns to a rotting corpse before your very eyes if you wait around long enough.
I went into a store in Asheville to fill it with fluid, but it still doesn’t work. The guy told me it was too old to ignite. Yet I keep flicking it, trying. Flicking it to see if anything comes, even the slightest spark.
As I do I can’t stop thinking of something.
I never had a chance to tell Lily good-bye.
With Jocelyn, it was different. She knew how I felt, and she also knew what was coming. But Lily’s death was somehow, in a strange way, more shocking. Not the how but the why. The suddenness of it. One minute I’m sitting right next to her, and the next she’s gone.
Because in the end, everybody dies. Everybody.
Marsh might not be right about many things, but he’s certainly right about that.
I’m in my cabin thinking of everything but mostly thinking of Lily. I recall what she said about heaven.
If heaven is real, I don’t want to go. Because it’s probably bright and sunny, and I won’t belong there.
In this cabin, stuck in this dark town that’s terrorized by evil people and hidden secrets, I want to believe in that bright and sunny place. A place of hope. A place of second chances.
I tried. I tried to do it on my own and I failed. Badly.
I want to tell Lily that. I want to tell her how sorry I am that after everything that happened, it had to end so fast.
Boom.
For some reason, I think of the Joker. It’s stupid, but it’s just me and my thoughts so I can let them be as lame as I want. So I think of the Joker from The Dark Knight. No, I take that back. I think of Heath Ledger, who played him in an insane role that could never be duplicated.
Then …
Boom.
Just like that, he’s gone. And he’s immortalized and will forever live on.
He was so young, with so much potential and promise. But like all of us, he wasn’t guaranteed tomorrow.
I wish I had that Bible that Dad gave me. I’m thinking that maybe somewhere inside I could find some wisdom or encouragement. Anything.
Maybe that’s too simplistic a notion. That this rule book of sorts will give me some answers. But I need something. And watching The Dark Knight for the millionth time probably won’t help me much.
Heath Ledger didn’t get a chance for another act. But I’m still here, and still in the story and ready for another act. Perhaps a final act for Solitary.
If that’s the case, I need to do everything I can to be the hero I’m able to be.
That maybe I’ve always been destined to be.
13. Vessel
The maps app on my iPhone doesn’t work that well around these spiraling roads and rolling hills. Still, I finally am able to find Zebulon Lane not because of my GPS but because I’m stopping at every road off this side street of a side street of Sable Road. And because I see
the sign.
The road reminds me a bit of the one leading up to the Crag’s Inn, yet this one looks even worse with deep ruts in the road and even a few dead tree limbs stretched out over it. It doesn’t look like anybody’s driven here for a while.
Maybe the address on the mannequin is an old one. Maybe there won’t be anything or anybody at 1947 Zebulon Lane.
I slow down at a driveway dropping from the road. I look down and see a modern-looking house on the side of the mountain. Half of the house is propped up by beams, and a long deck circles that part. This isn’t a cabin at all, but looks like some kind of funky house designed by a famous architect.
Like those Frank Lloyd Wright houses my mom would point out back in Chicagoland.
I coast down the driveway and then get off the bike, wondering if anybody lives here. There are abandoned houses all around these parts. Like Jocelyn’s old house. Empty and silent.
Perhaps this is one of those.
When the door opens without my knocking on it, I jolt and almost tear back to my bike. Yet the man at the door doesn’t appear threatening.
Then again, appearances don’t mean a thing. Not around Solitary.
“Hello, Chris,” he says without any hint of surprise at seeing me.
“You know me?”
“Of course. Would you like to come in?”
The windows in his modern-styled house looked dark and hidden.
“How do you know me?”
He smiles, and several lines of wrinkles form on his forehead. He looks sixty- or seventysomething, with white hair that’s slicked back, at least what hair he has on his half-bald head. He wears wide glasses that hide more wrinkles underneath them.
“I can explain. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”
“Do you know my mom?”
The man is quite tall, a couple of inches taller than I am, and he just stands there next to the opened door, waiting for me to come in. I nod and walk inside.
I almost bump into a woman with long blonde hair standing in the hallway. I step back and blurt out an “excuse me” before noticing that her eyes look a little dead.
“That’s Fiona,” the man says as he closes the door behind me. “Lovely, isn’t she?”
Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) Page 4
