by Krystal Wade
“You’re right. Drugs are a fantastic way to mask the truth.”
“Hateful bitch.” Laughing, Christine took another hit. “But whatever. I know what I do. I accept it. Let’s hope the lasting side-effects aren’t as bad as your dad’s alchy problem.”
“I heard that shit blackens your lungs much faster than cigarettes.”
“Myth.” She exhaled right in Haley’s face, a prize-winning smile lighting her face.
“Ever do that again and I might take back my ‘no violence’ pledge.”
Christine held up her hands in surrender. “But it—”
“Smells like a dead skunk on the highway.”
“Oooh. Fine.” Making the sign of the cross, Christine continued, “Anyway, I suggest you stop trying to figure out what’s wrong with Joce and just accept all the kindness she throws your way. You’ve kept things from her; maybe she’s kept things from you too. Maybe she really is trying and it’s taking every ounce of nice juice she has in her skinny little body. But whatever the case, she owes you big time for all the shit you’ve taken for her, whether she knows it or not. Just enjoy your sister for a while, Haley-loo-boo.”
“You think so?” Haley glanced up and saw Joce sitting on the steps of the front porch.
“Yes, ma’am. And now’s your chance.” Christine took off toward her house without saying goodbye, leaving Haley next to the curb with a thousand thoughts and the crushing weight of doubt.
“You skipped school?”
Looking down the street, Joce shrugged and handed over a small paper shopping bag. “Bought you this. Thought you could wear it if you hang out with Chris again. You seeing him today?”
“Not today.” Haley accepted the present and went inside to start on her homework and chores. “Can we spend some time together, being sisters? We’ll figure out what to do about Dad not being here. Maybe we can drive around town, call the local hospitals and bars?”
“I have better things to do than hang out with my pothead sister,” Jocelyn said, still standing outside on the porch. “You can look for Dad. I’m going back to Amanda’s.”
Definitely bipolar.
No way could Haley focus on Mr. Thompson’s latest ‘I hate you’ assignment. No way could she scrub toilets, cook dinner for people who wouldn’t show up, or go to work when all she could do was worry.
Haley grabbed her jean jacket from her bag and headed to the cemetery; the little orange tabby followed and meowed every few steps, probably wondering where dinner was. But then, a couple blocks down the street, the cat turned and ran the other direction.
No one wanted to be around her.
If Mom were here, she’d know what to do, what to say, and Haley would have no issues asking. Now, the only person she could go to was Gran, but Haley wouldn’t dump these problems on her. Gran lived in an old folks’ home and taught knitting lessons. Missing dads and bi-polar Joces would be too much. What if Dad had been murdered?
Haley shook her head and pushed the thoughts away as she entered the empty cemetery. None of the usual mourners were spending time at the graves of their loved ones, not even Todd or any of the other groundskeepers were around. Haley had to be the most pathetic human being on the face of the planet, the only person who refused to let go, to move on. But how could she?
“Mom, I’m worried. Dad’s missing. I don’t know what I’ll do if something’s happened to him. It’ll destroy Jocelyn. I think something’s already destroying her. Like maybe she thinks he’s dead. And if he is, as horrible as he’s been to me, Mom, his death will destroy me. He’s the only parent I have.” Haley sighed. “Do you think I have issues? Do you think me coming here and confessing all my problems to you is weird? Even the parents of the little girl next to you don’t come here anymore. The flowers by her headstone are at least a week old.”
Awkwardly alone in the cemetery for the first time ever, Haley looked around, hoping, praying that at least one other person would be there.
No one walking the street or passing by on the rock paths in front of each row of headstones, no one digging holes for fresh plants or laying carnations that would die in a matter of days, the stupid kind of flowers wrapped in plastic bags.
Maybe Haley was the one with problems. Maybe everyone on earth was born with the ability to let go, everyone except her.
She returned home feeling even worse than before she left. Haley sat at the kitchen table with her homework, staring at the writing assignment and begging for the words to come, for the creativity to spark, to fill her with words to put on the page, but nothing. Haley felt no love for the assignment, Why I Blank Out in Class. Resting her cheek on her forearm, she closed her eyes.
Just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt.
A gust of air washed over Haley, and the sound of a door closing jolted her upright. She looked at the clock, 2:00 a.m., and noticed a thick, pink envelope stuck to the fridge with a giant Poison Control magnet.
“Jocelyn?”
No answer.
Haley crept down the hall and poked her head into Dad’s room, but his blankets and pillows were all still arranged the way he’d left them: a mess. She moved onto Joce’s room and found it empty as well. Haley returned to the kitchen and tugged the envelope from under the magnet, then pulled out the paper and read aloud, “You should have listened. I tried to help you, but you refused to do what I need. Now your sister will pay.”
Oh God.
Stomach lurching, Haley looked inside the envelope: a finger, a finger with Dad’s wedding band, a pasty, pale, round finger tattooed with Don’t Call the Police.
Haley screamed.
lancing at the fat envelope containing Dad’s finger, Haley hugged the toilet and threw up for the fifth time in three hours. Ice. She had to put Dad’s finger on ice if she ever hoped to save it, if she ever hoped doctors could put it back on when she saved him, but every time she moved, a wave of nausea hit her, or mind-numbing fear that rendered her jelly legs useless. Who would do this? What did the letter mean by ‘your sister will pay’?
Get control. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Barely able to stand, Haley grabbed the envelope and slowly made her way to the kitchen, using the sink, the wall, the counters, the table for support along the way. She opened the freezer, tossed the envelope inside¸ then just missed the trash can when everything in her stomach—maybe even her stomach—crawled out of her esophagus.
Clean that later. Or never.
Don’t call the police. “Fuck you.”
Haley picked up the phone, finger hovering above the nine, but she couldn’t do it. What would this psycho do to Joce? What if the psycho was Joce?
Oh God. Shut up, brain. The psycho isn’t Joce.
Haley figured she had a connection to the town murderer, a connection even the police didn’t know about.
This had to have something to do with the Charmings. Had to. Someone tried breaking in while Chris followed her home. Joce—at the psychotic killer’s demand probably—wrote notes and did nice things for Haley, things that should have immediately been suspect. But if someone was determined to get to the Charmings, why use her? Why hurt Joce?
Every note, every interaction with shaky Joce, urged, practically forced, Haley to get Chris out of the house, take him out to eat, get him away from the party. Someone was pissed. The rumors about him were terrible. Maybe Mr. Callahan wanted revenge for losing so many cattle in the fire? Maybe someone Chris beat in street racing wanted to kill him for… what? What happened in street racing? Maybe the brother or parent of a girl at DA, who he supposedly wooed into bed then dumped the next day—there was, like, a laundry list of those—wanted to beat him senseless for stealing her innocence? Maybe they thought Chris liked Haley? Maybe they were taking revenge on her too, because Chris was paying attention to her? There were too many possibilities clouding her mind. Too many things to wonder about. What was the connection? And how many stories were true? How many were stories Chris never bothered to deny because he was af
raid to be himself?
Had to do with Chris. Why else would this maniac send Haley to the Charmings, buy her outfits to go on dates with, make Jocelyn—God, he hurt Jocelyn.
Haley screamed and ran into the den. She kicked over a plant stand with a wilted, dead thing on it in the corner. For so many years, she’d protected Joce from Dad, but now, Haley was powerless, lost, confused.
Helpless.
Who did she have to protect Joce from? And why drag Haley and her family into something that had nothing to do with them?
Haley picked up the phone to involve Chris, to fight. Let this asshole threaten, she’d tell everyone and they’d find him so fast that he wouldn’t have time to hurt Joce.
No dial tone.
“Hello?”
“Breaking the rules so soon?” a garbled voice said. Man? Woman? Haley couldn’t be sure with the scrambler distorting everything. “Do I need to give you incentive?”
Screaming blared through the receiver. Jocelyn’s screaming, deep, horrible, calling Haley’s name, Daddy, and help.
“Please don’t hurt her.” Haley bit her lip and held her stomach. The room spun and swirled. “Please.”
“Tell anyone, act out of character, and she dies, though I don’t know why you’d care given the way she treats you. She’s nothing like her. Nothing. But you, Haley, you are so much like your mother. So deserving of good things. And these people? These horrible, awful people…”
No amount of breathing techniques for anxiety could help now. No amount of support provided by an ugly piece of furniture. No one. Nothing. “What do you want?”
Laughter, laughter that sent a thrill of hysteria through Haley’s bloodstream. “I want to help you. And I want for you to help me. Let’s say we’re trading favors. You date Chris Charming, keep him out of the house so I can pay his sleazy father a visit, and I teach your piece of shit dad and sister a little thing or two about family.”
He knew. This man—assumption—knew the way Dad and Jocelyn treated Haley. He knew… too much. She hung up and grabbed Dad’s keys off the kitchen counter, fleeing the house for Chris’s. Haley floored the gas pedal and sped down back roads, but tears made driving almost impossible. And what would she say when she showed up? The truth would get her family killed, murdered—they were already in pain. What if this psycho cut off Joce’s finger like he had Dad’s? What if they were both bleeding and left to die somewhere?
What if Dad was already dead?
Haley pulled over and threw open the truck door just in time to dry heave, the cool night air slapping her cheeks, infiltrating the sweat and making her shiver uncontrollably. She closed the door, cranked up the heat, then laid her head on the steering wheel, sobbing.
Tap, tap.
“What the… Niles?” Haley rolled down the window, even though her ex-boyfriend, her first, stood on the other side, sneering, his lip curled up in such a Dad-like way. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re the one sitting on the side of the road, Haley. Thought maybe something was wrong with your Dad’s truck, but you’re crying?” His hard features softened, his frown lifted, turned more into a look of frustration, and his eyes, which were so narrow and accusing only a second ago, now looked sad. “Has Chris Charming already broken your heart?”
His words stole what little air she had left in her lungs. Haley gasped, then gasped again, and again.
Niles sunk his hand into her hair and turned her face toward his. He was so warm, so familiar; he calmed her breathing. “My God, Haley. What has he done to you?”
She leaned back, away, out of reach, the cracked leather seats squeaking out a protest. “What are you talking about, Niles?”
An approaching car slowed as it neared. The driver rolled down the window, stuck out his head, looking up and down the length of the truck. “You kids okay here? Having car trouble?”
Waving, Niles said, “No. Just a girl with a broken heart. Trying to help her out, sir, but we appreciate you stopping. We’ll be moving again momentarily.”
“Be safe.”
“Thank you. Have a good night.” Niles returned his attention to Haley the second the man drove off. He reached for her but missed.
“I do not have a broken heart.” But will, if something happens to Joce.
“Look, Hales, everyone’s talking about what happened with you and Chris at the party, about his hands all over you, about you disappearing with him—and you not fighting him off like you have every other guy… including your boyfriend.” Niles chose this moment to stare off into the trees, anywhere but at her, and swallow hard.
“Niles?” Heart pounding out of control, stomach seconds away from dry heaving again, she gripped the steering wheel with both hands and squeezed the hell out of it. “You’re not my boyfriend and haven’t been for almost a year.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened and he glared, not breaking eye contact, breathing slow, even, probably composing the right words to say. But he was just wasting her time, time Joce and Dad didn’t have. “I know.”
He’s not jealous. He can’t be. Niles would never understand this new life she lived. Haley didn’t possess a single thing that could make him want.
“And it’s none of your business who has their hands on me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Hales.” Niles opened the door and slid into the seat next to her, unlocking her fingers one by one from the steering wheel. “You are my business. You may have stopped loving me, may have tossed me aside like trash, but that doesn’t mean I can’t check up on you. That doesn’t mean I don’t still care. You’ve shut out everyone. But you let him in? Chris Charming? The only thing he charms is girls’ panties. How many times has he slid yours off?”
“Get out, Niles. You have no fucking clue what you’re talking about. Get out. Get out. Get out.” Haley shoved him out the door, ignoring the second driver to pull up and ask if they were okay. By this time tomorrow, everyone at school would somehow know Haley Tremaine and Niles Hemingway had fought along Route 116. Stupid small towns.
He stood there, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “You really have changed. I’m sorry you can’t see it. And I’m sorry you’re going to let yourself be used by someone as rotten as Chris. He lights farmers’ fields on fire.”
Haley threw the truck in drive and drove off as fast as she could, heading home. She needed time to figure out what to do. Maybe she could write a note and give it to Chris to give the police? Maybe she could go on a couple dates; the maniac only said he wanted to pay Mr. Charming a visit.
Holy crap. How could she say that? It’s not true. No one would go through this much trouble just to ‘pay someone a visit.’ Besides, that would be the easy way out, and Mom raised Haley better than taking the easy way out.
The Charmings were good people, and Chris somehow broke through every wall Haley put up, made her feel things again, not pain, not loss, not loneliness, but made Haley feel like a teenager again, weightless… happy.
She’d made such a huge mistake when judging his character, and she could not let his family down, or hers.
But how could she save both?
“Haley, help me.” Jocelyn cried, handcuffed to a mold-covered concrete wall, cuts and bruises covering every inch of her skin, blood dying her hair bright red. “Why won’t you save me?”
“She’ll never save you, Jocey. Your sister’s too selfish.” Dad turned around, a baseball bat in his grip, black with old blood. “Aren’t you, Haley?”
Haley rushed forward, but she couldn’t get any closer; she couldn’t move a foot. The ground fell out from beneath her, and when she looked up again, she’d taken Jocelyn’s place. Fire burned through her hand, up her arm. Haley’s right forefinger had been cut off.
“Too focused on boys and her dead mother to even notice us missing, Jocey.”
Dad and Joce stood over Haley, lips raised over sharp teeth. They laughed, stalked forward, swung their bats, and hit Haley in the skull.
She couldn’t defend herself with her arms chained to the wall.
Bolting upright in bed, Haley held back a scream. “Just a dream. Just a dream.”
So many bloody nightmares plagued her sleep last night. Most of them ended with her death, not Dad or Joce’s. In none had Haley seen Mom, not like the dreams she usually had.
Haley crawled out of bed and headed for Joce’s room, careful to avoid looking out any windows. What if he was watching? What if he’d been watching for a while? “Joce? Dad? Anyone home?”
The only thing that answered was deafening silence.
She stopped at the bathroom and stared longingly at the shower, but the thought of removing her clothes sent chills along her spine.
Must not act out of character.
Covering the window and mirror with towels, then double and triple checking that the door was locked, Haley undressed and stood under the stream of hot water, allowing the bathroom to fill with thick fog. The water ran so long, washing away some of the tears and vomit from yesterday, that it lost some of its warmth, and she stepped out to get ready for school.
School. How could she? How could she leave Joce and Dad in the hands of a psycho to go to out and act ‘normal?’
Haley returned to her room and stopped as soon as she stepped one foot into the plain space. The window was wide open and an envelope sat on her unmade bed, once again with her name in Jocelyn’s handwriting. Trembling, Haley rushed over to the window, closed and locked it, then picked up the note. She lifted the flap and pulled out the paper: Go to school, idiot.
At least Jocelyn still had fingers and could write. Unless he made her write this before chopping them off.
Haley ran back to the bathroom and threw up, nothing but acids. Again. She brushed her teeth and stared in the mirror, then poked at the dark circles under her eyes, sizing herself up for a fight. “You can do this. You have to do this.”
