by Krystal Wade
“Were these people from nearby towns or different states or…?”
“Depends. The house next to me has been vacant three or four years now, but my girlfriend Mary Sue down the street has a few new people ‘round her. They bought up houses in need of repair, but one of ‘em doesn’t do anything. He just wastes his money.”
Could this possibly work? Could this woman lead Haley to Joce and Niles this easily? “Would you mind giving us her address so we can talk to her as well?”
The woman pushed her cigarette into an overfilled ashtray on a moldy plastic table on the porch. “One twenty-two. But maybe you could stop by the man’s house and ask him a few questions?”
Walter. This had to be Walter. “What would you like me to ask him?”
“Ask him if he ever plans to fix up that house. It’s an eyesore!”
And this wasn’t?
“Okay. Maybe we can work that into our research papers somehow. What’s his address?”
“One twenty.”
One twenty. Walter kept Joce and Niles at one twenty. Haley knew. She knew, and she could barely stop herself from running away from this sad woman to get there.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Chris said, extending his hand, but the woman didn’t take it. She stared as though he carried the plague, eyes narrowed and accusing. Maybe she thought all that coughing meant Chris was sick. Maybe she didn’t have insurance. Or maybe she didn’t want to touch him because he went to Deerfield Academy.
He shoved his hand in his pocket, and Haley patted the woman’s shoulder.
“I appreciate the time you took to speak with us,” she said, “We won’t take up any more.”
The woman smiled, revealing teeth stained dark yellow, and watched as Chris and Haley returned to the truck.
“I’m assuming our next stop is one twenty?” Chris helped Haley into the truck, face slightly pale, eyes still on the woman standing on her porch.
“Have a better idea?” Haley whispered.
“Not at the moment.”
Richard started the engine and moved the shifter to Reverse. “Where to?”
“Few houses to the west.” Chris took Haley’s hand and rubbed this thumb over hers, back and forth, fast, so fast. He was nervous. Why wasn’t Haley?
She had nothing to lose.
At a bend in the road, an eyesore worse than the one they’d just left sat tucked behind a cluster of pine: wood paneling battered from years of termite infestation; screened-in front porch with torn screens, its door hanging on its hinges; a banged up pick-up sitting in the rock-lined driveway carved with deep grooves from heavy rains. Haley glanced at the mailbox: one twenty.
“That’s it,” she shouted. “Why are you driving past it?”
Richard laughed, gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. “You don’t want me to pull into a psycho’s driveway, do you?”
Maybe.
Christine pointed at a for sale sign one house down. “Let’s park there. We can get out and watch from far away, far, far away.”
They left the car in the driveway of the next house, then peeked in the windows to make sure no one was home. Not a single piece of furniture sat inside. The owners abandoned their property.
The four of them walked the land, pretending to be interested in it all while keeping an eye on the dilapidated shack through the trees.
Not much of anything happened. No construction crews showed up. No hammering of nails echoed from inside. Silence, except for the pounding of Haley’s heart, the birds in the trees, and the occasional twerp of Chris’s phone—that he kept glancing and sighing at.
Two hours passed, three. Haley’s fingers turned blue with the setting of the sun.
Chris draped an arm around her shoulders. “Haley—”
“I’m not leaving.” She pulled her knees to her chest, hating how they ached from the cold. “Not until I see someone walk out of that house—or into it.” Haley couldn’t stand the slight frown on Chris’s face. She couldn’t stand the thought of him not having hope, or pitying her, or wanting to answer whoever kept texting him. “But if you guys want to leave, I understand. I’ll call you when I need a ride home.”
Chris jerked back as if Haley had slapped him.
“I may have sworn never to use physical force in your presence, Haley, but don’t tempt me.” Christine stood in front of Haley, hands on her hips. “We’re not leaving you here.”
“Harvey, keep watch.” Chris dragged Haley to her feet and off to a quiet corner along the side of the white house. “Do you really believe that I wanted to leave, or leave you here? By yourself?”
She couldn’t face Chris when his eyes were narrow. She couldn’t face him because he looked so hurt, so sad. Haley wanted to abuse herself for causing that. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I’m thinking.”
“God, Haley. You let your dad hit you for years, blindly protecting your sister. You took shit from her to honor your mom. I get it. I do. But are you fucking crazy? I’m not them. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to walk away from you. I actually care for you, Haley. The only thing I was going to say was that my dad’s texts are getting more and more urgent.”
They stared at each other, eyes shouting words their mouths were too afraid to say. She wanted to ask a million questions, questions she desperately needed the answers to, like how Chris saw Haley that way, as someone to cherish, when she barely cherished herself; how he could want to be here when he had everything.
And his gaze, it stole her breath away, the way his chest heaved with the weight of his confession—he cared, he cared—
The sound of wood banging against wood cut through Haley, and she froze. Chris did too. The slam drew the heat of the moment away. Chris broke eye contact first, then crouched low.
Haley peered through the trees and saw a man—tall, thin, with short, dark hair—descend the porch steps. From this distance and with the dim light of evening casting a gloomy glow on everything, knowing whether or not this was Walter/Todd/Officer Lyttle was almost impossible. But every nerve jittered with cold-hot intensity, Haley’s hands sweating, heart rate skyrocketing.
The man opened his truck door, the groan of the rusted metal hinges loud and horrifying, then slammed it. A few seconds later, he whipped the truck around and blew rocks from the back of his tires as he sped down the driveway and out onto Cross Road.
No time for breathing. “Let’s go.”
Chris grabbed Haley’s hand before she could get through the line of trees, careful to avoid touching any of the stitches. “You’re crazy. We have no idea when he’s coming back.”
“Then we have to move fast.” She gently shook free and waited for Christine and Richard to catch up, then kept moving. “You coming?”
“Yes.” Christine shoved her hands in her pockets, but she couldn’t hide the trembling from Haley. “But what if he’s just going for milk or something?”
“We hide, or run, or call the cops the second we hear his truck.” Haley pounded up the porch, the ache in her muscles nothing compared to the adrenaline coursing through her. She pulled open the screen door, Chris following close behind and checking the driveway, then darted to the front door covered in locks. Locks on the outside. Some required keys, others were sliding bars, but they all kept things in and out.
This was it. Had to be. “Look.”
Chris kicked the door, but it didn’t budge. He pressed his hand against his side again and sucked in a ragged breath.
Richard tried the door. Nothing.
They inspected the windows, but Walter had boarded them all up on the outside.
Haley searched for tools or something to pry off the wood. “I can’t find anything.”
“Me either.” Chris pulled a tarp off a pile of car parts. “Nothing but useless junk.”
“I could go back for the tire iron,” Christine said.
“Stay together,” Chris and Haley shouted.
They rooted around piles of split woo
d stacked beside the house, hoping to find an axe or maybe spot a window not boarded up.
“We need to call the police.” Chris kept searching, though his voice indicated defeat.
Can’t leave. Can’t leave. Can’t leave. Joce could be in there. She could be there, right there, waiting, crying, dying… dead. Haley shook her head. “Not yet.”
They rounded the back corner of the house and discovered cellar doors, also locked from the outside, but warped from weather and time. A small tug at one of the splits in the thin plywood and the door would break. Richard did just that, and the stench of feces and rotted, dead things hit Haley and nearly knocked her down.
“Oh God.” She covered her mouth with the bottom of her shirt, slowly descending the stairs behind Chris, using her other hand to search for a light.
Richard and Christine hovered somewhere behind.
“Found a string.” Chris stopped, and Haley bumped into him. He was stiff, tense, and glanced back. “Haley, whatever we see, don’t freak out. We have to stay calm.”
Calm. Stay calm. Need to breathe, need to breathe. No time. “Got it.”
Chris pulled the string and dim, yellow light filtered into the hallway. Damp, dark wooden walls surrounded them on either side. They moved forward and found another door, another locked door.
“Harvey, can you attack this thing?” Chris moved out of the way, hand still holding his side. A small crimson stain poked through his Henley.
“No problem.”
Haley leaned closer to Chris and put her hand over his. “You’re stitches must have busted. You’re bleeding.”
“I know.” Chris quickly turned and kissed her forehead. “If you can take it, so can I.”
Haley had asked for so much. Too much. And her heart just wanted more, more of Chris, more time with him, more picnics, more of his lips on her skin. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed but cut it off short and sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t be.”
“Stand back.” Richard backed up against the opposite wall and then ran at the door with his shoulder. He shattered the thick door, and there Jocelyn was…
On a metal table that kept her half-sitting up and half-lying down, wearing a stained hospital gown, a needle stuck in her thigh—her vein—as though Walter was in the middle of drugging her and forgot what he was doing. Blood drained into a white bucket from cuts along her wrist, dripping, dripping, dripping.
Haley’s heart stopped, and Chris grabbed her hand.
“We need to get them and get out of here. Now, Haley.”
But all she could do was stare. Jocelyn’s normally soft ivory skin was pallor, sickly gray and covered in sweat, eyes sunk in and dark beneath. Niles sat beside her on a table of his own, wrists and ankles secured with metal cuffs, skin rubbed raw and bleeding, bruises and swelling covering his face. They held hands, but neither of them moved.
Were they breathing?
Christine threw up in the back corner of the room while Richard stared at the scene in front of them and panted.
“Guys, snap out of it.” Chris squeezed Haley’s fingers. “You all have to snap out of it. Lingering isn’t healthy.”
“Are they… alive?” She took a step forward and gasped.
Christine threw up again.
“They won’t be if we don’t get them help soon.” Chris moved toward the tables, pulling Haley with him. He reached out with their entwined fingers and laid them on Jocelyn’s leg.
She was cold, so, so cold.
“Hal…” Joce’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, and her lips were dry and cracked.
But Joce was alive. Alive.
“Get Niles off that bed.” Haley jumped into action, shredding her shirt and tying it around Joce’s elbow. Slowly, and with a ton of pressure where the metal entered the vein, Haley pulled out the needle.
“He… he… lp.”
“I’m here, Jocey.” Haley caressed Joce’s cheek, dragging the back of her fingers along her clammy skin. “I’m here.”
“Got the cuffs off.” Chris looked back at Richard. “Oh shit. Shit.”
Haley couldn’t help but look. She wished she hadn’t.
TV screens hung on every wall on the opposite side of the room: Chris’s house, across the street from the remains of Haley’s, outside Berkshires, inside Berkshires, in half her classes at school, and the cemetery.
“Chris, I told you everything at the cemetery. Everything about my life. You told me about telling your dad. If Walter”—Haley gasped—“If Walter saw that, then he must be pissed. He’s psychotic—”
“Schizophrenic is the term the doctors use, I believe.” Walter Withe.
Christine screamed and ran at the man. She knocked him off guard and pounded her fists against his cheek. “You crazy old bastard.”
Walter threw a right hook and knocked her down, then braced himself for a fight, gaze flitting in all directions. He hadn’t shaved since yesterday; a layer of fine scruff grew around his mouth and up the sharp planes of his jaw line. Big, heavy bags rested under his gray eyes. He looked like hell, especially with the bright-red fist print Christine marked him up with. “Come on, Haley. You know you want to take out all your anger on me. Hit me like your daddy hits you. Oh, that was so much fun to watch—and I’ve watched you for so long, talking to your momma in the cemetery as though no one could hear you.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Chris pushed Haley behind his back.
“Even now, you’re afraid. You can’t stand up for yourself. You run, Haley. Do you enjoy it? Have you lived this way for so long it’s now the only thing you want? Your mother would be so ashamed of you. I’m ashamed for her.”
Chris took a step forward, and Walter shook his head. “No. Not you, my friend. This isn’t between us.”
“Like hell it isn’t. You threaten my family, attack Haley’s and threaten her.” Another step forward.
Richard mirrored each of Chris’s steps.
They worked together, moved together.
“No.” Walter stepped back. “You’re too good to call that man family. You’re too good to defend the pieces of shit Haley calls family.”
“Too good?” Chris balled his fist and took another step forward. “I’d be nothing without my dad and without my mom. You’re confused, twisted. You don’t even know me.”
In the blink of an eye, Walter pulled a revolver from behind his back and pointed it at Richard. “Don’t say that. I know you. I know all about you. From Haley, from watching you. She and I are friends—or were. We’ve been friends for the last year, almost two. Just think about what you would gain without your father standing in your way. Think of what you could give Hal—”
“Like what you’ve gained?”
The gun shook in Walter’s grasp. “No. My father fought for his family. He treated everyone with respect.”
Richard stepped to the side, inching away from the gun’s barrel. “Except himself.”
Walter released the safety. “Insult him again, Richard Harvey, and I’ll end your pathetic existence. Do you a favor. God knows you won’t amount to much, just like your father never amounted to much.”
Did Walter know everyone? Did he know that Richard was Frontier’s star quarterback, just like his father had been? Probably. Small towns and all that.
“Walter, look”—Chris held up his hands, surrendering—“What can I do to convince you to let us go? We can set up a meeting between you and my dad. You can clear the air?”
Walter shook harder and pointed the gun at Chris.
Haley stepped in front of him.
Walter smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Redefined the meaning of family, have I?”
“No, but you were right about one thing, Walter. You were right when you said you were helping me. Not about Dad and Joce so much, but getting me to open up about Chris. Of course, at first I thought that was advice from my sister. But thank you.”
“Love, then?” Walter smiled brighter and lowered the gun.
“I’ve helped Maggie’s daughter find love?”
Love. Was this love? Had they spent enough time together for that? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe eventually, after counseling, after finding a new place to live, after confessing to Joce and getting life back on track. Haley wouldn’t mind that with Chris: kissing, laughing, talking, holding, supporting each other. “Could be.”
“Then why the fuck won’t you help me?” He raised the gun and swung it toward Richard.
Fired.
alter’s bullet pierced straight through Richard’s shoulder and sunk into the wood on the other side of the room. Richard dropped to the stained concrete floor, gasping, hand pressed to his shoulder.
But he was alive.
“You’ve taken and taken and taken from me, Haley. Used my generosity up.” Walter stalked forward, gun in front of him, and pointed at Haley’s forehead. He pushed the barrel against her skull, pushed, pushed, pushed until she and Chris bumped against Jocelyn’s table. “You’re no better than his sleazy father. You take shit, and now you’ve turned into it, consumed so much that you’ve forgotten a world outside you exists, forgotten how to help others, forgotten how to be like your mother.”
“Walter,” Chris said, hands braced on Haley’s arms, keeping her rooted in reality, standing.
Her heart raced so quickly that her blood ran cold and her vision blurred.
Walter narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze to Chris. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t speak. Not until you’re ready to apologize for taking their sides.”
Apologize. Just apologize.
“I’m sorry.” Chris sighed, digging his fingertips into Haley’s skin. “You’re right. My dad wronged you and your family. I want to help.”
Richard dragged himself toward Christine, slowly, quietly, using the floor for leverage. Her eyes fluttered open, and she covered her mouth to no doubt hold back a scream. Christine got to her feet and slipped out the door.
Run. Run and don’t stop until you get the police.
Walter focused on Chris and Haley. Focused so hard he had no idea what went on behind him.
