Church isn’t about the building, Chris.
Dad once told me that. I’m sure I heard it from someone else too.
I do my best that morning to make sure nobody is watching me when I’m in downtown Solitary. I park my bike and then go into the Corner Nook as I’ve been doing lately to see if there’s anything different or weird that I can spot. Just like always, there’s nothing strange about the bookstore and coffee shop. I order an iced tea, since I’m not a coffee fan, and then casually walk across the street.
Nobody sees me, and nobody follows.
I’m walking down the tracks, remembering that this is where I saw that haunted creepy boxcar. But it’s not there.
Did I ever see it to begin with?
I don’t know how this works. I really don’t. Seeing something one minute and not seeing it the next.
What are the rules and logic to how this “gift” works?
Rules? Logic? Yeah right.
I get to the point where I stop and go into the woods, still checking behind me every few minutes to see if anybody is watching. The barn is there like always, an old and abandoned building at the end of a dirt road.
Just a few cars are parked there. Maybe the people carpool to this hidden church in the woods.
Mr. Meiners greets me when I enter the barn. It’s light enough outside that there’s no need for lights inside the barn. It’s shadowy, but we can see decently enough.
Over the next ten or fifteen minutes, I’m introduced to half a dozen people.
There’s an elderly couple with the last name of Franklin, who supposedly have lived here for years. I wonder what kind of stories they could tell. Then there’s a woman named Tracy who’s older and heavyset and very nervous-looking.
Then someone calls me by name.
“Hi, Chris.”
The dark-haired guy looks familiar and says his name is Jim, but that doesn’t mean anything.
“Mr. Charleton,” he says, adding, “from summer school.”
“Oh yeah,” I say. “Breakfast Club guy.”
He laughs. He seems the same—upbeat and friendly and totally positive.
Of course someone like that is going to show up here. Instead of, say, Mr. Taggart.
“Glad to see you here.”
The last couple I meet turn out to be Oli’s parents.
Oli, or as Sheriff Wells told me last summer, Oliver Mateja. His father is Hispanic and greets me with an accent, but his mother doesn’t appear to be. She’s dark-haired but looks more Italian. They both seem to know me and even seem to be expecting me. Mrs. Mateja gives me a hug and leaves me smelling like her perfume.
I suddenly wish I hadn’t come.
I feel guilty being around Oli’s parents. I know I didn’t cause his death, but still I feel somehow like it had something to do with me.
We meet in the open area at the back of the barn. There are some folding chairs in a circle. Mr. Meiners starts off with a prayer, and then we sing some songs. It’s very casual—a bit too much so. I feel stupid during the singing since I don’t know any of the songs.
“I want to thank Chris for coming today,” Mr. Meiners says after the singing is over. “Chris—this is usually the time we share what’s going on with our lives and things we can be praying about.”
“Okay,” I say in a hushed voice.
They wait to hear what my prayer requests are.
It’s odd to think that I can share concerns or whatever with complete strangers.
Will the prayers even be heard? Will they carry more weight? Are they going to make me pray for them?
“I guess just, uh, prayer for my mom. She’s had a rough time since coming back here. And yeah—prayer for me. Just cause, uh, I can sure use it.”
Understatement of the century.
During the prayer something happens. These strangers all share something that is going on in their lives. But when Mr. Mateja prays, in his thick accent where it’s hard to make out the words, something inside me just snaps.
I feel tears coming to my eyes. But it’s not because of the grief that he’s sharing, about their sad days of missing their son.
No.
It’s because Mr. Mateja is praising Jesus and thanking Him for life and for breath and for health. He’s thankful.
He’s not asking for anything; he’s thanking God for all He’s done.
And it makes me feel awful and joyous at the same time.
Awful because I’m so not that way, but joyous because someone is like that.
Someone who lost his son.
But doesn’t God get that? Doesn’t He understand that?
I wipe my tears and stare at the ground below me to try and comprehend what’s happening inside of me.
I feel better. Safer.
I feel like I belong.
And for the first time since praying to God on that train and giving my life over to Him in the flawed way that I probably did, I feel like I get it.
These people around me seem to get it, and they’re showing me.
After prayers, Mr. Meiners starts talking again.
He talks about the prodigal son. He reads a bit of the Bible and then talks about a father loving and wanting the best for his son, even when he does dumb things.
I’m listening, but then I seem to jerk when Mr. Meiners says my name.
“And, Chris, this is something that we know, but that I thought I’d share since you’re here. I hope you don’t mind.”
I shake my head.
Is he going to use me as an example?
“I got to know Oli during his sophomore year. I was his guidance counselor, and that was the year when he was getting into a lot of trouble. His parents know all of this, but I wanted to share it with you. There were some run-ins with the law. He got busted for having drugs. He was involved in a fight and arrested after he beat up a kid.”
Beat up a kid.
That kid could have been me.
“I started to get to know him, and God worked in his heart that year. He was much like that son we were just talking about. He gave his life to Christ and began to mend his ways. I was fortunate to help him, and to help the Matejas, too, in their faith.”
I still remember Oli sticking up for Kelsey and me when Gus confronted us in the art room.
“He was trying to learn what to do with that faith and how to live by it,” Mr. Meiners said. “It wasn’t always easy for him. He still had his friends, and he couldn’t figure out how to tell them. At least at first. But eventually he did.”
I wait for more, but Mr. Meiners doesn’t say anything more about Oli.
So is that why he died? He found faith, and Gus and his father didn’t like it?
“Real, authentic faith isn’t welcome around here, Chris. But it is alive. It is real. And Jesus said, ‘For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them.’ God is with us, right here in this barn. It doesn’t matter what point you’re at in life. God wants you to serve Him no matter what. Oliver did this—he was starting to do it before he died. But as we all know—even though we have grieved his loss—he is in a better place right now.”
I can’t help thinking of Jocelyn.
Same could be said of her, too. Right?
“Faith isn’t just believing in something, but it’s putting that faith in action.”
I nod and get what he’s saying.
Never in a million years did I ever imagine myself nodding at something like this in a deserted barn in the middle of a creepy Southern town.
I guess God had to bring me here in order for me to finally believe.
Now I wonder how exactly I’m supposed to show that faith in action.
Maybe I can do so with a sword and a spear. A
literal sword and spear.
Because something tells me that Marsh and the others aren’t going to be happy knowing about this faith thing of mine. It’s real and it’s there and I can do something with it.
68. The Balloon
Oli’s parents give me hugs before I leave.
I feel I know and trust them even though I’ve only been around them for an hour.
I thank Mr. Meiners, then head out of the barn and back toward the tracks. I feel lighter, like a balloon full of helium. Except instead of helium, it’s hope.
The light almost seems to drip through the treetops in these woods. The leaves and the color are coming back now. It’s nice to see and hear the life filling back in.
I almost walk right by him.
Almost.
But I stop and dart my head and eyes toward the thing that’s out of place.
It’s not the object but the color.
Something orange.
Then I see a figure move behind a tree.
“Hey,” I call out.
That’s when he runs.
Whoever it is, he starts heading to the tracks.
I hesitate for a second until I see the face look back at me.
Jared.
The guy who told me he was my cousin, only to take advantage of me. I take off after him.
He’s running fast, but so am I. He looks back at me, and I see that he’s got a faint beard and mustache, and for some reason that reminds me of something.
New Year’s Eve.
Spying on the group of hooded men out to make a sacrifice. Hiding in the trees and then being found by one of them.
Fighting with him and taking off his hood.
It’s the same guy.
The same guy I wrestled with and shot. The one with the boyish look and the attempt at a mustache and a beard.
But if I shot him, then how—-
The Falls.
Maybe they made him better the same way they made me better. Maybe Kinner helped save him or heal him.
I keep running now, even more angry and intent on catching up with him.
He’s fast, but I’m faster.
He’s strong, but I’m stronger.
Jared breaks into daylight by the train.
Where’s a train when you need it?
I’m only seconds behind him.
I’ve been waiting to see him. Waiting to let him know exactly what I think about his lies and about him burning down the Crag’s Inn.
Soon I’m close enough to launch myself and tackle him. We both go tumbling down the embankment to the railroad tracks.
I hear his heavy breathing as I grab his arms, then his neck, and then see him cover his face as if I’m going to punch him.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask.
He launches an elbow that makes me curl up breathless. Then I feel another elbow crack over my cheek. Jared shoves me away and gets back on his feet.
From somewhere he produces a gun, pointing it directly at my forehead.
“Lay off, or I swear I’ll put a bullet in you that counts.”
I’m sucking in air and wincing from the blows. Jared spits, then curses.
“You’re so stupid, you know that?” he says.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m spying on you. That’s what I’m doing. Follow me anymore and I’ll shoot you.”
“Why are you spying on me?”
“You just don’t learn, do you? You don’t get it.”
“You’re a liar,” I tell him.
Jared laughs. “And you’re a sucker.”
He looks around and then wipes his mouth. “It’s so easy with you. I swear. I think they’re wrong about you. You’re not special.” He slides the gun back in his belt. “You touch me again and I’ll kill you.”
Not if I kill you first.
He starts walking away slowly, without a care. It makes me wonder why he bothered to run in the first place.
When I’m finally back on my feet, I no longer feel like a balloon. Unless it’s one of those that’s come back down to earth and gotten tangled up and torn in tree branches.
Jared’s time will come.
I know that.
69. Stuck
I sit on a bench on the sidewalk lining Sable Road and the buildings behind me, between Brennan’s where Mom used to work and the sheriff’s office.
If lava suddenly began to spill out onto the road, I wouldn’t really be surprised.
Or if that giant boulder chasing down Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark suddenly came zipping by, I wouldn’t be surprised by that either.
At this point nothing surprises me.
Nothing.
I sip on a soda and think about what just happened.
I guess I hadn’t really thought what would happen if I actually caught Jared. What was I going to do?
But I know what he will be doing. The same thing he’s been doing ever since I got to town. Spying. Staying in the shadows. Seeing what I’m up to. And sharing all his little notes with Marsh and Staunch.
Since it’s the start of spring break, there’s no way to tell Mr. Meiners about being spotted. I’ll figure out how to find him this week.
They’ll have to come up with another place to meet.
Well, Chris, we ran out of places, so how about your cabin?
A few cars pass as I sit here. I don’t bother looking to see if someone’s glaring out of them. Maybe Aunt Alice is driving a tiny car, looking for another mannequin for her house.
I sigh and rub my cheek and jaw. They feel swollen.
It’s spring break.
And this is where I’m stuck.
70. The Memories You Try to Bury
Seeing Jared is a sign.
No, make that an omen.
Any minute now that little dark-haired boy is going to come around the corner and the screeching violins are going to start playing and things are going to get really bad.
They aren’t already?
It’s 1:24 a.m., and I’m wide awake.
I’m wide awake because someone is screaming outside our cabin.
It’s been going on for ten minutes or so.
I’m waiting for Mom to hear it and come upstairs. But so far I haven’t heard anything below.
Midnight is sitting up on my bed, looking at me every time another howl sounds.
I used to watch horror movies all the time on cable back at home. Mom and Dad didn’t really pay much attention. Sometimes I’d watch them at Brady’s house because his parents definitely didn’t pay any attention.
Brady. There’s a name from yesteryear.
That sound outside is from one of those movies. A werewolf movie.
Could this be the demon dog howling in the night?
I slip out of bed. Mom has got to be awake. There’s no way to not hear those screams outside.
It’s so black downstairs, I might as well have my eyes closed.
You have to hear those sounds, Mom. Don’t you?
But her door never opens, and I never hear her feet shuffling on the floor.
I crawl back into bed.
Eventually the howling stops.
I can only imagine what’s next.
Mom is waiting for me when I walk downstairs the next morning. “Can we talk?” she asks.
She looks like she’s been up for a while; she’s dressed and ready for the day. Though what that means I don’t know.
“Sure.”
“Want me to make you anything for breakfast?”
I shake my head and get my usual bowl of Raisin Nut Bran and then sit across from Mom at the round table. She’s got a big mug of coffee in her han
ds.
“Did you hear that last night?” she asks.
Even made up and not drinking anymore (at least not that I know of), Mom’s face still looks hard. Not just the lines, but the look. It’s heavy.
Wonder if mine’s starting to look that way too.
I let out a chuckle that says Uh, yeah and then nod. My mouth is full, so I don’t say anything.
Mom sighs, takes a sip of her coffee.
Is this the moment she’s going to tell me she’s a vampire?
“I should have never brought us back to this evil place, Chris. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve put you through.”
“You’ve already apologized,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“Listen to me. It’s too close to your graduation for us to leave. I can’t do that to you.”
No, Mom, you can. And should.
“But right after graduation we’re going back to Illinois,” she continues.
“For real?”
“Yes. What? Why does that surprise you?”
“I didn’t think you ever wanted to go there again.”
She swallows and gives me that heavy, hard look. “I learned something in rehab, Chris. Something about myself that’s not so flattering. It’s not about my drinking. But it’s why I drink. The other day when you walked in on us arguing I was telling Robert this. Of course, he doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to keep it buried just like I have all these years.”
“Keep what buried?”
“The facts about our parents. About my mom—your grandmother. I told you she passed away when I was young, but I’ve never told you how.”
I have a feeling the how isn’t going to be so good.
“Louise—that was your grandmother’s name. She was Aunt Alice’s younger sister.”
I really don’t think I want to hear this. I finish my bowl of cereal and have a hard time looking Mom straight in her face.
“They killed her,” Mom says. “I was ten years old and remember it like it was yesterday. It’s strange the memories that you try to bury. They never really go away. Not totally. I realized that while getting help these last few months.”
I shift in the chair that I suddenly realize is really uncomfortable.
Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) Page 20
