Charming

by Krystal Wade

  “You’ve reached Chris Charming. Leave a message.”

  Walking it is.

  Breath clouded before Haley’s face. An occasional car approached, slowed, then kept going. Who would pick up a shoeless girl off the side of the road? She’d be lucky to make it back to South Deerfield without being arrested.

  Twenty minutes passed. Thirty. Haley’s fingers turned blue, and every bone ached, screamed with pain, and her stomach twisted as she dry-heaved several times. Weak, shaking uncontrollably, she tried Christine again, Chris… finger hovered over Gran’s number…

  Not that desperate.

  Leaves crunched under the weight of Haley’s steps and stuck to the bottom of her socks. Dogs barked out warnings as she stumbled too close to houses. An hour, or maybe two, later, Haley entered an older part of town without sidewalks and had to squeeze between the road and thick bushes lining it.

  Haley dry-heaved again and collapsed on the grass, her head too heavy to hold up. She could sleep here, die here.

  Brakes squeaked, a car honked, and the motor of a window hummed. “Need help?”

  She half-heartedly lifted her middle finger, then dropped her hand back to the freezing grass. “Fuck off.”

  This man didn’t deserve anger, but anger welled within and sought release. She needed Christine or Chris—not some stranger on the side of the street—but, apparently, they were too busy to answer their phones.

  “Really, Miss Tremaine?”

  Haley peered through her lashes. A light-gold Honda Civic idled at the curb. “Who are you?”

  “Let me turn on the light for you.” He did, and Haley crawled to her knees. “That better?”

  “Todd. I mean, Officer Lyttle.” She worked to stand, ready to run if necessary—if possible. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

  “Don’t be. I imagine you’ve taken quite a bit of abuse from other drivers, given the state of their frantic calls to 9-1-1.” Officer Lyttle laughed, then leaned over and opened the door. “Get in. You must be in a ton of pain, runner.”

  Get in and be taken back to the hospital, to caseworkers and misery and things Haley wasn’t ready to face yet, or keep walking, keep running? Keep playing the role of victim perfectly? Except, she wasn’t anymore. This was taking charge. She had to get the evidence to police. Had to.

  “Look, I won’t call you in or take you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

  Warnings shot off in her belly, threatening to return Haley to her knees, vomiting. “Why?”

  Todd was tall and thin and had light skin. He could be the psycho. He could—oh, great, Haley, that about describes every man in Deerfield, and you’ve known Todd for years.

  “Because no one will ever be able to help you until you’re ready to help yourself.”

  A car pulled up behind the Civic, and the driver laid on the horn. Officer Lyttle stuck his hand out the window and waved the driver around.

  He pointed at the seat. “Get in before you freeze to death.”

  “You promise not to take me in?” Haley chewed at the swelling on her bottom lip. “I have things I need to take care of.”

  “I promise. But will you promise me something?”

  Step closer to the car. Try not to fall. “Maybe.”

  “Promise me that when whatever you’re going through is all over that you’ll surround yourself with people who know what it means to be family, people who won’t take easy ways out and leave you alone.”

  Haley sunk into the seat, moaning from the comforting warmth of heated leather, and tried not to let Officer Lyttle’s request freak her out. Could she do it? If they all miraculously survived this, could Haley leave Dad? Could she come clean with Joce and ever wear a smile again after tearing her family apart? Haley glanced at the stitches running the length of her arms and knew no matter what the future held, it would be full of change. “I promise.”

  “Thank you, for choosing yourself over others. It’s a tough lesson to learn. Sometimes it takes tragedy to make us realize how important we are, how we can’t allow others to hurt us, control our lives, or steal our happiness with callous decisions. I take it your father—”

  “Please don’t.”

  “I’m giving you a ride, free of charge and imprisonment. Hear me out?”

  “Fine.” No way would Haley get out and walk again. No freaking way.

  “Any time someone hurts you—directly or indirectly—defend yourself. I’m not talking about physical confrontations, more like payback.”

  “An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind, or don’t you believe that?” Haley smiled.

  “Maybe when I was younger and foolish. Not now.” Todd turned on his blinker and cast a sideways glance at Haley. “One more thing?”

  Would he take no for an answer? “Sure.”

  “Don’t ever allow him to hit you again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Then I’m done talking.”

  He remained quiet—thank God—the rest of the trip home, music soft and gentle, classical-type stuff, and even when he pulled in front of Haley’s house fifteen minutes later, the man refrained from dishing any more unwanted advice.

  “Here you are.” Todd stared straight ahead, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

  Haley glanced out the window at her little white house with crumbling concrete steps, the house without any lights on, with no one inside. Not home. Not even close. But she’d be okay. She had to. “Yes. Do you want to come in? I could give you the evidence now so you can start looking for my family.”

  “I’m off-duty. If I enter the house with you, drive you to the station, let you speak with the federal investigators who’ve just arrived in town, there will be too many questions about my involvement. Especially since I helped you escape the horrors of the, ahh, wonderful caseworker.”

  “I understand.” Have to do this alone.

  “Get some rest, then come first thing in the morning.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Before Officer Lyttle drove away, Haley noticed his bumper sticker, one of those things that say Jesus, but in weird block letters so you have to really pay attention. She committed the car and its sticker to memory. No room for trust in anyone. She opened the front door and stopped, then gasped and lost her balance. She used the frame for support.

  Glass littered the floor. Blood stained the rug at Haley’s feet. Sounds penetrated her thoughts, memories of skin and bones colliding with skin and bones. Dad tried to kill Haley.

  Kill.

  For Joce.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  She couldn’t go inside. She couldn’t be here. Anywhere but here.

  Haley grabbed black work shoes from a pile of shoes near the door, poured glass from them, put them on, then headed for Mom. Mom was safe. Normal was safe. Grief… safe. Hope got Haley into this. If she’d suspected Joce’s actions with the dress, with the bi-polar behavior, Haley wouldn’t be here.

  Hope sucks.

  The normal short trip to the cemetery took over half an hour and everything Haley had within. Shivering with her back propped on Mom’s grave, she closed her eyes and gave in. Gave up. For one night.

  Done.

  “Haley.”

  She’d only slept for two seconds, three max, but bright rays of late fall sunshine blinded Haley when she opened her eyes. A man stood above, hovering, features blacked out from the light behind his head.

  “Haley, it’s me.”

  “Chris?” Haley shielded her eyes. “Can you come lower where I can see you?”

  Chris knelt beside Haley, glaring, that same stupid muscle tense in his jaw. No more anger. No more violence.

  “Why are you here? If you’re so dead set on hating me, why don’t you just fucking go away?”

  “Haley—”

  “Do you want me to beg and plead and tell you how sorry I am that I couldn’t do more for you—or right by you?”

  “Hal—”

 
“No, that can’t be it. You just want to gloat and watch me suffer, just like every other piece of shit in my life. But I’d rather lie here forever than see someone look at me with that much hatred.” Haley closed her eyes and held back a scream of rage—or pain from her throbbing ribs. “Just go.”

  “I’m so, so sorry, Haley.” Chris took her hand and ran his thumb over the remnants of tape from the IV, then sighed. “I’m mad at myself, not at you, and seeing you this way makes me want to do terrible, awful things to your dad.”

  Haley didn’t have the energy to face Chris, so she listened, breathing harder, ragged.

  “How long has this been going on? How long has that asshole done this to you?”

  “Shortly after he fell off a crane.” Tears slid down her cheeks. “Why do you care?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe me when I just left you like that, but I promise I care. And I promise to never make you question that again.”

  She opened her eyes; the hatred had fallen away from Chris’s features.

  “Do you remember the accident?” she asked. “It was all over the news.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” He stared at the ground, head hanging low, one hand gently squeezing hers, the other balled into a fist in his lap.

  “I was twelve. The day after the Fall Father Daughter Dance at Bement, Dad went to work like any other day. There was a storm, a bad one, and all the construction workers evacuated the work site. All of them except for Dad. He stepped outside the door and slipped, hit the ground after bouncing off the metal stairs. Did some pretty hefty damage to his back and hip, enough to earn him a spot on the permanent disability list.”

  “Why do all my girls look so sad?” Daddy lay in his hospital bed, smiling despite everything, hooked up to pain relievers and machines and covered in bruises.

  “You scared us, Daddy.” Joce hugged Daddy’s arm, careful not to disturb the cluster of tubes connected to his hand.

  “But I’ll be okay.”

  Mom chewed her lip, grabbed his chart and read it over, redness attacking her cheeks. “Bradley, can we speak in private?”

  “Uh oh, girls. Mom just called me Bradley. I think I’m in trouble.”

  “Hope you survive.” Haley grabbed Joce and led her into the hall, keeping an ear pressed to the wall.

  “What’s she yelling at Daddy about?” Joce bounced on her toes and pressed her ear to the wall but couldn’t hold still long enough to hear anything.

  “Nothing.”

  “Might never walk again.” Mom.

  “Survivor.” Dad.

  “Multiple surgeries.” Mom.

  “Will get through.” Dad.

  “He was never the same. Never pulled through. The surgeries took their toll.”

  Chris growled, meeting Haley’s gaze with ferocity, eyes wide and still, fists clenched. “He took out his lacking self-worth on you from the time you were twelve?”

  Haley shook her head. “Not twelve. Thirteen. He wasn’t quite miserable enough when I was twelve. Mom had theories that the euphoria he experienced from all the pain meds is what led him down the same destructive path as my grandfather, to the bottle, and once on the bottle, he never got off. He didn’t get angry until he was ready to return to work and medically denied to operate the crane. That’s when life got… bad. Dad didn’t want to be a stay at home dad. He yelled at her so much about that, said he couldn’t take it, that he needed to get out. Jocelyn was at a friend’s one night, and Dad went on a rampage at the dinner table. Mom suggested he join some sort of clubs, like book clubs or something. That was her mistake. Dad slapped her right in front of me, threatened me for looking at him with ‘such accusing eyes.’”

  “I want to fucking kill him.”

  More violence. “Please don’t say that—or anything like it.”

  Chris pounded the dirt, Mom’s grave, lost in his rage. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone or ask for help. How could you not ask for help?”

  “I’m a runner,” Haley whispered, glancing across the headstones, out at the naked trees surrounding the cemetery. “Apparently.”

  “This is my fault.” Chris ghosted a finger across her cheek, tracing the width of the bruise around Haley’s eye, avoiding the row of stitches above her brow. “And this… this is unbearable. Look at me. Please.”

  She looked.

  “I told my dad everything, in private, and he hired body guards. The cops know.”

  “Great.” Tears blinded Haley. “You’ll be safe.”

  “Dad told me I was an idiot for leaving you alone.” Chris wrapped an arm around Haley’s shoulder and pulled her face to his chest. “And he was so right. If I’d stayed with you… instead of running off and being angry, your dad wouldn’t have put a finger on you, Haley. And he never will again. Ever. I won’t tell you what I’ll do to him if he tries. But just know: he is not safe in your presence.”

  Haley soaked in Chris’s fresh scent of soap and fabric softener, and cried. She needed this, this relief that came from other people knowing her secret, her pain. But crying only hurt the broken rib, only made breathing more difficult.

  “What about your sister? Does she know? Does he hurt her too?”

  “No. There are so many things Jocelyn doesn’t know, things I’ve protected her from. I only recently told Joce that Mom and I were coming to get her from her friend’s house the night of the accident. But I didn’t tell her that we were going to get help, that Dad abused Mom and me and we couldn’t take it anymore. I just… I couldn’t, Chris. Dad treats her so well. And he’s all she has left of our parents. And she always defended him, his bad moods, his drinking, his stupid self-worth. Mom asked me to keep Joce in the dark. Mom thought if she knew, she’d look at Dad differently and he’d hurt her too. All these years, Chris, and I’ve been so afraid of what he might one day do to her. All these years, I took every slap, every alcohol-induced argument for her. I was afraid if I disappeared, she’d be the only one left to hit.”

  Words flowed out of Haley, truth, confessions. “And he loves her so much more than he loves me that he was willing to kill me to protect her, to save her.”

  Chris stood and helped Haley to her feet. He stared through the cuts and bruises, straight into the wounded soul chained to an invisible concrete wall. He sunk his hand into her hair, drew closer, bit his bottom lip. Even though every part of Haley was covered in disgusting purple bruises and stitched up cuts, Chris wanted to be with her, to hold her close. “No one will ever hurt you again, not like this.”

  His timing couldn’t be worse.

  “I have to find Joce and Niles.”

  “We will.” Chris pulled away, not removing his fingers from Haley’s, and guided her to his car. “But let’s go grab some of your things from your house and then go talk to my parents.”

  “How’d you know where to find me?” she asked as they drove the short distance between the cemetery and her house, so much faster in a car.

  Chris smiled and parked by the curb a few houses down, probably trying to stay out of the psycho’s range. “You know that idiot who always cat-calls to you when I pull up and try to talk, you know, right before you run away?”

  Haley growled. “Yeah, Richard Harvey, the ass who sings Niles’s Cecilia to me, like I’m a whore. The jerk overheard me telling Christine about it and hasn’t stopped.”

  “That’s the guy. He doesn’t have a filter. Well, he lives up the street from you. I saw you walking this way a lot. Wasn’t too hard to figure out what you’d be doing in a cemetery.”

  Chris opened the door and helped Haley out. She stepped onto the concrete and walked along the street. They paused next to Dad’s truck, and she stared at the unassuming house she shared with her broken family.

  One step.

  Boom.

  The house exploded.

  he force of the explosion knocked Chris and Haley against Dad’s truck and the air right out of her lungs. She opened her mouth and screamed but couldn’t hear anythin
g other than ringing. Heat singed her lashes and radiated through her clothes.

  Chris slid down to the asphalt, staring at nothing. Flames flickered in his eyes—mirroring what went on behind Haley, what she refused to see—and he stuck his fingers in his ears, jiggling.

  They had to move. Quick. One glance back at the fire…

  The fire. Her house. Her house. The psycho knew what she said to the police. Had he found out about Christine? Oh God. Christine.

  Haley had to make sure she was okay. “Chris, we have to check on Christine.”

  No response.

  “Chris?”

  His head sagged.

  Haley knelt beside him and touched his shoulder.

  He glanced up, mouth open, gasping, pupils dilated, clenching his hands, unclenching his hands, clenching, unclenching.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  A three-inch piece of wood had lodged itself in the side of Chris’s gut—three inches Haley could see. Who knew how much of it cut through his insides?

  “It looks bad, I know.” Chris wrapped his palm around the wood. “But it’s not that deep. I’m going to pull it out.”

  Don’t shake. Don’t show fear. Haley placed her hand over Chris’s. “Don’t. That could be a really bad decision, and one better left to a doctor.”

  Sirens blared in the distance. Dogs barked. Car alarms beeped out horrendous noises. Sounds she couldn’t hear a moment ago, sounds that meant this was real, her house really blew up. Legs heavy, Haley couldn’t hold her weight anymore and slid beside Chris, tears trailing down her cheeks as every stupid possession, every horrible memory, every glorious picture, and Mom’s clothes turned to ash, melted, died.

  “All the evidence… everything I promised Officer Lyttle I’d deliver to the police this morning. It’s all gone.”

  Gone. Gone. Gone.

  “Officer Lyttle?”

  Neighbors ran into their yards and stared with mouths agape. Several people rushed toward them. They needed to move. Cops would come. They’d want Haley to speak with a caseworker and probably charge her for the explosion—assume the act was payback for what Dad did. They’d want to know about Joce and Niles and blame Haley for all the horrible incidents.