Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series)

by Thrasher, Travis

“Robert and I were at our house when Daddy came home and got his rifle. All he said is that something happened to Momma. He told Robert to take care of me. There were some neighbors at the time just a couple houses down, and Daddy told Robert to take me there. I remember walking to the house scared out of my mind—it was still light out ’cause it was summertime. I spent the night there, but Robert got out. I never knew this until the other night. He didn’t spend the night at the Carsons’ house.”

  I nod, waiting to hear. The cabin feels warm as morning sunlight splashes over the room.

  “He went back home to wait and hear what happened, but he hid because he knew Daddy would beat him if he disobeyed an order. And he saw your grandfather come home covered in blood. No rifle, no Momma. And Robert told me he just—”

  Mom tears up, and her voice suddenly begins to shake.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m okay—it’s just—” She wipes her eyes and nose. “Robert heard our father weep. He didn’t think anybody was home—he was too tough to cry in front of anybody else. Especially his children. But Robert had to hear that.”

  “What happened?”

  “Daddy told us it was a driving accident, but Robert knew it wasn’t true. All he ever got out of our father was that it had something to do with our mom’s sister, Alice, and their father. But Chris—they killed her. The evil in this town killed her. I know that now. Just like they killed your grandfather.”

  And just like they killed Jocelyn.

  I almost say this.

  But I can’t.

  Mom is sitting across from me, weeping softly in her hands. I go over and sit beside her and then hug her.

  I will tell her about Jocelyn. But not now.

  I don’t want to add fire to the flames.

  “Chris—I—it just—” She can’t talk for a while. I hold her and wait for the tears to stop.

  When they do, Mom grabs a Kleenex and then sits back down with another sigh.

  “My parents were God-fearing people, Chris. That was why my grandfather didn’t want to have anything to do with them. And that’s why—that’s what happened.”

  “Why they got killed?” I ask.

  “Yes. But also—that’s what happened to Robert and me. Why we grew up—at least why I started to hate God. All this time I’ve been angry, Chris. I didn’t even know it. Not really. But what happened with your father scared me, because it made me think of my own parents and their faith and the faith I once had. A faith I thought was real until my mother died and I was forced to live a completely new life. That’s when my resentment began. So when your father showed up saying he had been born again, I didn’t want to hear any of it. But deep down—deep down I was afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “That the same thing that happened to my parents might happen to your father. Or to you. And I just—”

  She begins to cry again.

  If only you knew the rest of the story, Mom.

  “We’re going to be fine,” I tell her.

  She nods, but I can tell she thinks this is her son trying to say anything just to make her feel better.

  “No, Mom, listen. We are going to be fine. We are going to get out of here. God will take care of us.”

  For the first time in my life, I see Mom as someone else. Not an old, broken-down lady, and not the person trying to take care of me and raise me.

  No. I see a girl just like Jocelyn and Lily and Kelsey and any other girl. Just a little rougher around the edges.

  A girl with the same fears and frustrations that any of us might have.

  “We gotta believe that, you know?” I ask. “It’s either that or we let the howling wolves get to us.”

  She shakes her head and starts crying again. “I just don’t—I don’t know what those things are—they’re chasing me. They’ve been chasing me my whole life. I thought … I really believed coming back here meant they’d stop coming after me. I didn’t know all this time that that’s what they wanted.”

  “What?”

  Mom wipes her cheeks. “For me to come back here with the thing I love the most.”

  I feel an ache deep inside my gut. I give her another hug.

  Maybe they’ve been chasing her all her life. But it’s almost time to make a stand and fight back.

  I know how much longer we have, and I know what they ultimately want.

  When the moment comes, I’ll be ready. For whatever happens.

  71. Uh Huh

  “So do you know a lot of the urban myths and all that for Solitary?” I ask.

  Mounds has a jumbo-sized thing of soda in his hand. “I hate that term, ‘urban myths.’ That’s a way to cover up genuine ghost stories. And this town is full of them, my friend.”

  “Do any of them involve werewolves?”

  We’re sitting at a McDonald’s after visiting a cemetery over by Hendersonville. We didn’t find anything there, not like the stuff we’ve found in Solitary.

  “Why?” Mounds asks through a mouth full of Big Mac and fries. “You seen some horror movies recently?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Yeah, but why werewolves?

  “Am I right?”

  He picks up six fries and slides them down across the glob of ketchup, then rams them into his mouth.

  “I don’t know anything about werewolves, like people turning into them. Not around here. But a lot of people say there’s a pack of wolves that’s haunted. Or cursed or possessed. One of those.”

  “Why?”

  “You saw those wolves at the old burnt-down church, right? This place is full of wildlife roaming around. People say they’ve seen glowing wolves or black wolves standing at their door. Doesn’t mean they’re werewolves.”

  “Ever heard them howling in the night?”

  Mounds shakes his head, and I notice his three chins. “You hear one?”

  I nod.

  “I’m telling you, Chris. You could make a fortune out of ghost hunting. Start a television show, become a brand. You’ve got the knack.”

  “A knack for finding ghosts?”

  He chuckles. “No—it’s more like they find you.”

  “You think I heard some kind of ghost?”

  He nods. “I think it might have been a wolf that got killed years ago. Or one looking for the rest of its clan.”

  “Seriously?” I can’t believe he’s accepting my brief story as fact.

  “We can check it out if you want to. Not today. I’m tired.”

  It’s only two in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

  “Sure,” I say. “Anytime.”

  He slips the rest of his second Big Mac into his mouth, then wipes his hands. “I got something for you. Hold on.”

  His faded backpack where he carries everything important is sitting next to him. Mounds digs around in there and pulls out a camera.

  “I bought that online,” Mounds says. “It’s supposed to take pictures of dead people. Like The Sixth Sense camera. Takes an idiot like me to fall for it. Got two packs of special ‘sixth-sense film.’ Nothing more than a Polaroid.”

  The camera is white and black and has a special star sticker on it. It’s lightweight and snaps open and shut.

  “It’s yours,” he says. “I’m hoping that perhaps with your abilities you’ll be able to actually get some shots of ghosts. Who knows?”

  “Why don’t you get your money back?”

  “I tried. The number’s disconnected and the website is gone. Guess I can understand why.”

  He grabs the two rolls of film, square blocks that look like large candy bars.

  “Knock yourself out,” he tells me.

  With my luck, I probably will.

  Later that day, I load the camera and try
to take a picture of Midnight. The camera makes some weird catching sound and then does nothing. I play around with it for thirty minutes until I decide that Mounds was sold a hunk of junk.

  I’m in my room, listening to albums and playing around on the Internet. Facebook just overwhelms me when I go to it. I still don’t like seeing what my old friends are up to, because if they only knew what I was up to …

  Hey, Brady, I’m battling dark supernatural forces, but other than that things are fine.

  Yeah. No thanks.

  I like going on iTunes and discovering new groups or old albums or stuff I’d never in a million years discover without listening to a sample.

  So yeah, this is my spring break.

  Sometime around dinnertime Kelsey texts me.

  How’s it going?

  I can’t help smiling. It’s nice hearing from someone. Especially her.

  Sorry—can’t text. Super busy.

  I can’t help teasing either.

  Really? she asks.

  Oh, sure.

  I miss you.

  Okay, when she goes and says stuff like that, I can’t joke around anymore.

  I text, I probably miss you more.

  Any job prospects?

  I already have one!

  A real job.

  Should I be looking? I ask.

  What about college?

  Should I be looking?

  We keep texting. I don’t worry about the time or whether we have unlimited texting or about eating or about the wolves that might be howling at my door.

  We talk about her time seeing her brother and her time with her parents. She loves them, but they drive her crazy sometimes. She says that they tend to put her brother on a pedestal while they baby her. I tell her I don’t know what either feels like.

  Then we lighten things up and talk music. I share bands I’ve discovered, and she shares stuff she likes. A lot of the music Kelsey enjoys is from Christian bands I’ve never heard of. She tells me to check them out, and I say I will. She says it’s good to listen to some songs about hope.

  I look at the time and see we’ve been texting for almost an hour.

  I decide to call her. “You know how long we’ve been texting?”

  “Not really,” Kelsey says. “Hello.”

  “Hello.”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just—figured I’d talk to someone live and in person.”

  “Okay.”

  She’s suddenly less verbal.

  “Wait, let me guess. Are your parents nearby?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Same room?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Now I get why you were texting me.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  “Uh huh.”

  We both laugh.

  “You think that Chris Buckley is like the most amazing, cool guy you’ve ever known.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And every day you wonder whether to steal your parents’ car and drive to Mexico with him.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You’re searching for a really cool gift to buy Chris since he was left alone on spring break.”

  “Huh?”

  We laugh again.

  “Well, it’s nice hearing your voice. Even if you’re not saying much.”

  “You too,” Kelsey says.

  I hear Mom calling me downstairs. “I think we’re having dinner. Or Mom is making me eat something.”

  “You need your carbs. You know what Coach Brinks says.”

  “Don’t remind me,” I say. “I’ll text you later, okay? Will you be around?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Will you be thinking about me and how cool I am sitting in my little room in my cabin?”

  She laughs. “Uh huh.”

  “You’re just totally crazy for me, right?”

  “Yeah, Chris. I am.”

  Nice.

  I say good-bye and head downstairs.

  Sometimes I think that the girls have all been pretty distractions from the ugliness around here. I focus on them and temporarily forget about the mess around me.

  But the ugly mess always comes back.

  The night arrives, and I find myself wondering when the mess is going to slip back into my room.

  I know it’s only a matter of time.

  So I pray for God to keep the darkness and the ugliness away for a while. As long as possible. To bring a little light during this boring spring break.

  72. Weird and Surprising

  The next day I go to the high school to practice at the track.

  It’s not like I’m so dedicated. I’m just bored. And I figure if I keep in shape, then when I get back to school the practices won’t be as hard. They’ll still be bad, because Coach Brinks will want to work off the flab and the laziness from spring break.

  As I pull back into the driveway on my bike, I see Dad’s SUV.

  Something’s gone bad.

  I fly up the steps to the deck and fling the door open.

  Dad and Mom are sitting in the family room on the couches.

  I’m out of breath. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hi, Chris.”

  Dad smiles, and Mom doesn’t look dead.

  Okay, I guess that’s a good sign.

  “Everything is fine,” Mom tells me.

  “How was the workout?” Dad asks.

  “Good,” I say.

  “I didn’t tell you I was coming because I wasn’t sure until the last minute whether I’d be able to. I wanted to surprise you.”

  I nod and sigh. “Yeah. You surprised me.”

  AKA freaked me out.

  “I’m like you—no classes this week,” he says. “Go clean up. We’re going out for dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  I think of my prayer yesterday and wonder if this is the answer. A year ago I wouldn’t have seen it that way. But I do now.

  A lot can change in a year. Around you.

  And inside your heart.

  Dad looks different.

  Then again, so does Mom.

  I don’t pick this up at first. Or when we sit down at the table at the Olive Garden. Or when we order drinks.

  But then I seem to notice it.

  Those lines on my father’s forehead and the scowl that seemed to always be there aren’t as noticeable. In fact, he smiles a lot.

  And Mom doesn’t look as hard anymore. Sure, not drinking every night and slogging through the day probably helps a person look a little healthier. But it’s more than that. She’s got makeup on, and she looks younger, brighter.

  She’s smiling a lot too.

  This is an answer to prayer that I could not have dreamed of. Both my parents sitting at the table looking like—well, looking like friends.

  Am I dreaming?

  Soon enough Dad seems to get that I’m watching both of them with curiosity and questions.

  “Chris, I wanted to be here—both of us wanted me to be here—to tell you something.”

  The last time Dad said something like this was when they told me they were getting a divorce. I saw that coming miles away.

  I don’t see this one coming.

  “Your father and I have been talking a lot lately,” Mom says.

  That’s news to me.

  Then both of them start to say something, and then they both pause and look at each other in a weird way as if …

  What is going on?

  I blush because I feel utterly out of my body sitting here. I’m not used to them looking at each other unless they are glaring. Even years ago, wh
en I was a kid, it was never like this. Not like this scene in front of me.

  Who drugged my parents, and where can I find their supplier to get what they have?

  “Go ahead,” Mom tells Dad.

  “We want to let you know—and I know this is going to surprise you—that we’re trying to work things out.”

  A server comes to bring us breadsticks and salad. I want to just start stuffing my face to get away from the awkward feeling I have in my gut.

  “I know I told you we would be going back to Chicago,” Mom says. “We’re going to be staying with your father.”

  I look at Mom, then at Dad. I’m not sure whether I should be angry or happy or confused. I mean, this was what I wanted once, until I decided it was exactly what I didn’t want. Until—

  “Okay,” I say.

  I know they’re probably thinking and expecting more. But I don’t know what to say.

  Did You really do this, God?

  Mom clears her throat. “Some of the feelings I’ve had, Chris—well, we’re working through those. And we can’t—we’re not going to promise anything. But it’s a start.”

  I want to laugh.

  There was a time in my life when I wanted so badly to hear this. When my parents were still together but not really together. When they were married but not really living in any kind of marriage.

  Then it changed when Dad found faith and Mom found anger. I took the side of Mom and her anger and moved away to Solitary.

  Little did I know I’d go back home and find faith.

  I know they both want to ask what I’m thinking and feeling. But I can’t tell them that I halfway doubt I’ll see the summer. I can’t share with them that I’m a bit happy and a bit sad but mostly I’m totally terrified. They’re back together or at least trying to be, but I won’t be around to see it happen.

  “That’s cool,” I say.

  It is cool. It’s just—unexpected.

  Nothing in the last year and a half has been expected, has it?

  “I knew you were on break, too,” Dad says. “I figured I could come down and stay a couple of days. Is that—cool with you?”

  I laugh. Dad is trying. I appreciate that.

  “Yeah.”

  We focus on eating, and there’s no more weird, surprising talk. Yet as we eat, I realize I’m not the only person who seems to be surprised here. Both Mom and Dad seem quieter than usual, more hesitant to say something, more—