Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series)

by Thrasher, Travis

  Will you break down and need Kinner to come and save you?

  Will you unleash the gate under the bridge and let Aunt Alice roam with the wolves, or find yourself imprisoned in some little cell below?

  Will the demon dog delight in your demise, or will Marsh take one too many trips to the falls?

  Will this all feel like some brilliant, bewildering dream that you’ll wake up from ten years later in Chicago?

  The questions have answers, but they won’t come now or tomorrow or maybe even the next day.

  You want to believe God is in control, but if He is, then why? Why?

  And why you?

  Maybe some don’t get the sweet dreams after all. Maybe for some those are just in the pages of a story they read. Then they go to sleep and the nightmares come. And when they wake up, the nightmares are still there.

  82. Monster Story

  A little while later, after pulling off my headphones and turning off the music, as I lie in bed in a house that’s supposed to be safe and secure, I realize I need to talk to Kelsey. I need to see her. I miss her, but more than that I just need to see and feel and know she’s right there. I want to kiss her and escape in a warm glow of light that crushes this darkness.

  I try and think how I’m going to do this.

  I’m not supposed to.

  But they don’t have to know, and they don’t have to see.

  These are monsters, Chris.

  Yes. But every monster story has a hero who slays them.

  And every hero has his heroine.

  And if he needs to save her at the end, so be it.

  But the hero needs to see the heroine.

  There’s no way of getting around that.

  And yet, when the sun rises each morning, then sets each night …

  I don’t do anything.

  I don’t sneak away and meet with Kelsey. Nor do I contact her in any way.

  I just wait.

  I guess I’m learning.

  Maybe. Possibly.

  I don’t know.

  83. Peace

  “I want to go to church on Sunday.”

  It’s weird to hear these words spoken by Mom. She’s been doing better, and not just with the whole not-drinking thing. It’s like she’s started to warm up and have more life in her, just like the spring outside. I don’t know exactly where she is personally with God, but then again, I’m not exactly sure where I’m at. It’s a little like putting your feet in the water but staring out at the vast ocean, knowing there’s a million miles left to go.

  “Okay, sure.”

  “I just thought—since Sunday is Easter. Maybe we should go.”

  I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Do you still go to the New Beginnings Church?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “No, not exactly.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve gone to Springhill Baptist a few times with Kelsey.”

  “Okay.”

  Mom tells me to plan it and make sure I look up the right times. It doesn’t dawn on me until after I head for school that this might be against the rules, that the evil three might not like this. But I’ll just tell them that it’s part of my mom wanting something, and me going with the flow.

  But deep down, if I’m to be honest, I really want to go.

  I think it’ll be good for Mom. And yeah, for me, too.

  It’s the second Sunday in April, and it’s warm outside with clear skies and the promise of a wonderful day. Mom looks pretty in a blue and yellow dress that I’ve never seen her wear. She tells me that she bought it recently with the Ann Taylor gift card I gave her on her birthday. I actually wear one of Uncle Robert’s ties along with khakis and a button-down shirt. It feels good to do this, to arrive at the small church and see a very surprised Kelsey along with her family before sitting down.

  It feels good because it’s normal. It’s what other people do on Sundays.

  But I think it also feels good because this is where we should be.

  When the middle-aged balding preacher comes out and greets everybody, I find myself thankful that he doesn’t have highlighted hair and funky glasses. He’s got a nice Southern accent and a belly that looks like he enjoys Southern food.

  “Jesus has risen!” he says in a way that doesn’t sound phony and doesn’t feel like he’s going to ask for money in the next breath.

  We sing some songs and we pray and there’s a nice little portion of the service for kids. But it’s not until the preacher is almost finished that I suddenly become aware of something.

  This whole thing. Easter and what it means.

  I’ve heard it before. Dad sure made it a point that I heard it again and again after he found faith. This whole thing of Jesus rising from the dead, of the tomb being empty and all His desperate followers suddenly seeing the light again.

  I feel a chill going through me when I hear the preacher talk about those people. How terrified they were. How lonely and abandoned they felt. How isolated.

  How very Solitary.

  This man they had believed in had died. And He didn’t die in some accidental way, but in an awful, brutal way in front of their very eyes.

  Some of those closest to Him even denied they ever knew Him. Peter, the apostle Peter, cursed and swore he didn’t know Jesus.

  Evil had won, right? The darkness suffocated the light, right?

  Yet this day arrives, and the tomb is empty.

  An angel tells the two Marys one simple thing. A simple thing that gives me goose bumps and makes me almost get teary-eyed.

  “Don’t be afraid!”

  Okay, maybe it does get me teary-eyed. The preacher says that the women were very frightened but filled with great joy.

  He tells of Mary Magdalene crying and being asked who she’s crying about. Mary just thinks that it’s a gardener asking her, since she’s full of doubt and questions.

  But then she finally opens her eyes to see.

  It makes me think and wonder.

  Who have I talked to before without fully seeing?

  All these things that have happened in Solitary. To me and to others.

  I’ve spent so much time running around trying to figure things out, and then trying to handle things on my own, and then trying to run away from everything. All while I could have just slowed down and opened my eyes to see.

  Opened my eyes and heard the words “Peace be with you.”

  That’s a phrase I’ve heard a bunch, but man—when I think of it now, it really sounds like something.

  Peace.

  There’s only one who can give you that.

  I think of Uncle Robert and his anger.

  Then I think of my father and his regret.

  Both men have made their choices. But only one seems to have this peace that is talked about.

  I believe this. I really honestly believe that the tomb was empty and these conversations happened. And that this peace is within my grasp.

  As the preacher prays the final prayer and asks God to bless all of us, I pray my own little prayer silently.

  Help me to see when You’re there helping me out even if I’m just too stupid or scared not to know. And help me to find peace. However I can, Jesus.

  84. Lovely

  What I really want to say is I’ve missed you so incredibly much, but instead I mutter a “Hi.”

  What Kelsey probably wants to ask is Why haven’t you spoken or contacted me these past few weeks and what’s going on to make you avoid me? but instead she says “Hi” back.

  My mom talks with her parents. They know each other from Thanksgiving, which we spent at their house, and Kelsey’s parents even invite us over, but Mom politely declines.

  I want to say Do you mi
nd if I just borrow Kelsey for a week or two? but instead I just listen to the parents talk.

  Kelsey possibly wants to say You’re an idiot if you think I’m going to wait around much longer for a moron like you, but instead she does the same thing I do.

  I want to hug her and tell her it’s okay, but I don’t know how to do it in this context. I’m already a bit disoriented from sitting in the church pew, feeling overwhelmed and both happy and sad. Now I only feel sad. Now Kelsey just reminds me that not all prayers are answered in the way you hope they will be.

  Then Kelsey and her parents are saying good-bye.

  There’s one moment.

  Just one.

  I go to say something, and then Kelsey looks at me and smiles and nods and says, “Bye.”

  What does that mean?

  Is she saying good-bye to us? Is she through?

  But the smile—it was a sweet smile.

  Does she have any other kind?

  Has she moved on without my knowing?

  She’d still be her sweet, adorable Kelsey self, right?

  I leave church a bit confused but knowing that I can’t do anything to threaten her life. Well, to allow it to be any more threatened than it already is.

  “She’s a lovely girl, Chris,” Mom says as we’re in the car driving back home.

  “Yeah.”

  Maybe Mom wants to say more about Kelsey, to ask where things are or make some suggestions, but she doesn’t. Which I appreciate, because I couldn’t even begin to try and explain where I’m standing with the pretty blonde.

  Yeah, we’re a couple, kind of, but then again, who knows what’s going to happen these last few weeks of school and after graduation?

  I just keep reminding myself of the pastor’s message, and of the words of hope I heard.

  I keep reminding myself because I know eventually the reminders will fade away like they always seem to do around this place.

  85. The Third Passage

  Now that it’s warmer, I sometimes ride my bike around, trying to find the road that led to the Crag’s Inn. I still haven’t managed to find it; it’s as if it’s gone, just like those visions I used to have of Jocelyn.

  One evening after trying to look for the road and coming up empty, I decide to look at something I haven’t bothered to check out for a while.

  The laptop that Iris gave me.

  Something always seemed wrong about using it. Somehow I don’t mind using the old motorcycle she gave me, since it had belonged to Uncle Robert, but this MacBook never really belonged to me. It was part of the project I did while working with Iris, the project about the history of the Crag’s Inn.

  I open the laptop and start it up. I’m nervous; I feel like something’s going to happen, like Iris is going to be talking to me from the dead or wherever she might be. Or maybe a long-haired creepy girl will walk right out of the screen like she did in The Ring.

  No no go back you’re in the wrong story!

  I’m on the computer for five minutes when I finally start to relax. Creepy witch girl must be sleeping in a nearby well. I go to open the document I was looking for when I discover other files on my computer. Ones that I know I didn’t create.

  One is called A. Bridge.

  Adahy Bridge?

  I open it up and find a page of information just like it might appear on Wikipedia.

  THE THIRD PASSAGE

  THE SOUTHERN UNITED STATES

  VERIFIED 1787 BY CHIEF SHANNAKIAK

  CONFIRMED 1804 CALVIN JEFFERSON WALKER

  AUTHENTICATED 1882 BY HAROLD ELLIS MARTIN

  UPDATED 2000 BY IRIS

  The Adahy Bridge

  The word Adahy in Cherokee means “lives in the woods.” The bridge that was built back in 1820 was part of a road from Asheville, North Carolina, to Greenville, South Carolina. It is a stone bridge with a gothic arch that stands over the Little Dogwood Creek.

  Activity at the bridge is high, steady, and somehow growing. Even with the stability of the inn nearby, the balance is still one-sided toward the darkness.

  The resurgence began after the incident with Alice Kinner back in 1958. It has intensified with the arrival of Jeremiah Marsh in 1998.

  By all accounts this could be one of the strongest passages in the country due to its secrecy and remote location.

  I reread this just to make sure I understand everything. The whole “verified and confirmed” stuff seems formal and weird, like someone in the government wrote it. Then a simple Updated by Iris.

  But the thing that really sticks out is the Alice Kinner “incident.”

  I think back to my visit to the bridge and the sound of the …

  Don’t go there. Just forget about it.

  Maybe I need to pay Aunt Alice another visit.

  This makes it seem like there are more of these “passages” out there.

  I look back at the file names and try to open them, but I can’t. Along with A. Bridge, there are H. Caves, S. Quarry, and V. Ridge. The last two file names are identified simply with numbers, 6 and 7.

  If there’re seven files, why do I only see six?

  Part of me wonders if Iris put this on my computer on purpose, knowing or at least hoping that I’d open it up one day. I wonder what the other files say and if there’s more info on them.

  I hear Mom calling for me, so I shut off my laptop and go downstairs.

  I was hoping the days of discovering cryptic information were over, but I have to remember that I’m still in this crazy place called Solitary. I’m sure the weird info is going to keep coming until I’m finally (hopefully) leaving this place.

  86. Driver’s Test

  “Okay—start it up.”

  I look at Mr. Taggart sitting in the old Subaru wagon that unfortunately is stick shift.

  “You work here?” I ask.

  “What? Disappointed to see me?”

  Uh, yeah.

  “I didn’t know—”

  “That I gotta get other jobs?” He curses and shrugs. “Yeah, that’s what happens when you’re no longer the coach.”

  My former summer school teacher—still looking like he just came back from a spring break gone bad—hunches over as he looks at me. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “I’m not the best with a clutch.”

  “Whatever. It’s my car, and it drives fine.”

  I start it up and back it out of the spot and realize the car and the clutch are a lot like its owner. Worn and broken and difficult.

  This is my driving test. I’m finally getting my license. Or so I thought until Mr. Taggart got in the car.

  I mean, come on.

  Seriously.

  It’s a license.

  I’m doomed to never get my license.

  “Come on, we don’t got all day,” he yells, even though I’m driving through the town at the speed limit.

  I do as he says and wonder if he’s even going to care how I drive or what I do.

  Mr. Taggart leads me through Solitary to do some parking and various exercises. I do fine. Then he tells me to go on the winding side streets outside of town.

  Suddenly I spot it.

  The road leading to the Crag’s Inn. Or what’s left of it.

  Without even asking, I turn the car and head up the hill. He doesn’t say anything. I don’t think he even notices. Sometimes he just stares ahead as if he’s on a beach, looking at the ocean, daydreaming, or sleeping.

  We’re almost up to the top—almost—when Mr. Taggart tells me to turn around.

  “How about I just—”

  “Turn around.”

  “Okay,” I say. “There’s a place where—”

  “Here. Right here. Turn it around.”

 
We’re on a narrow stretch of the road where the hill juts upward on our right side and then drops almost straight down on the other side. Woods are on both sides, thick dense woods I remember from coming up here every weekend.

  I slow the car down, drive it as far as it can go toward the ditch on our right side, then I turn. I don’t want to get stuck in the ditch, of course, but I don’t want to topple over on the other side. I turn, then back up, then turn a little more, then back up a little more.

  I do an awful job. The stick shift keeps getting stuck, then grinding, then I’m nervous at wrecking his car, so I’m trying harder and sweating, and Mr. Taggart isn’t saying anything but looking at me like I just got off the stupid boat.

  I have the Subaru wagon directly facing the edge of the sharp dropoff when I accidentally press the gas and send us jerking forward. Mr. Taggart lets out a curse and whips up the emergency brake, but that doesn’t really do anything except make him curse more. I jam on the brakes.

  The front two tires of the car are nearly over. Nearly. Like inches or centimeters.

  “Back it up.”

  I start to, but the car is facing downward and it starts to lean forward.

  “Come on, Chris.”

  I try to control my breathing and my nervousness.

  You can do this. Look at all you’ve gone through. You went soaring off a cliff and you survived while your driver didn’t. Come on, man. Get a grip.

  I let go of the brake pedal while pressing the gas. But the thing is so dang slow. It starts inching forward again.

  Mr. Taggart looks at me.

  “Come on,” he says. “Just lay on the gas before letting go of the brake.”

  “The stick keeps—”

  “Shut it. No excuses. Come on.”

  Okay, fine. This is it. Joke’s over. It’s time to grow up and be a man and stop being so afraid.

  So I do as I’m told and am the man that I need to be. I give it gas as I gently take my foot off the brake. More gas. More. More.

  “What the—brake! Put the—stop!”

  I hear Mr. Taggart screaming as the Subaru slowly drives off the road and down the hill.

  He’s screaming faster than the car is going. Because really, there’s a slight incline and then a bunch of thick bushes that look like they have blackberries on them. We land on top of them not with a crash or a boom but rather like someone trying to slide into home plate but instead slowing down to a rather anticlimactic stop.