by Law, Adriana
“Oh, bullshit!” Brooke countered.
“No, really. I’m serious. They said when a person is in pain their body naturally fights to survive, to heal. Supposedly letting go is tough. And they were right. Grandpa looked over at me sitting in the chair, he wasn’t just staring off in a daze, he really looked at me, same way he’d always looked at me. He was still in there, I could tell.” David touched the corner of his eye. “A single tear rolled out Grandpa’s eye, and then he just went. No pain.” David shoved his hands in his pockets, his face consumed with sadness. “Grandpa just went peacefully. The way it should be. No pain.”
The need to comfort David was overwhelming, but Clay did it for us all. He set a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, man.”
“It’s okay,” David said. “That’s why I give you so much hell about smoking. We’re friends, right?”
Clay nodded. “Well, that’s what friends do. They look out for one another. You need to quit.”
Silence settled around us.
“Ah, how sweet. Are you two going to kiss?” Brooke asked.
“But hey, it’s your life,” David told Clay, his cheeks exploding with red. “I ain’t gonna tell you how to live it. Want to kill yourself. Go for it.”
We moved along in silence. I listened to every sound played in those woods: our footfall, our breathing, tree frogs and crickets, a snap of a twig, dried leaves brushing together. I was getting thirsty, too. My spit was thick and it was difficult to swallow.
“These woods are extra creepy,” Evie said, eventually.
“Dark, dense,” Emily added. “Too many shadows. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” I agreed. “What time you think it is?”
“Anybody got a watch?” Emily announced. No one replied. “Damn cell phones. Don’t people wear watches anymore?”
Brooke snorted. “Not unless they complete your outfit.”
“You’re so superficial,” David said. “Maybe if you try wearing a watch for something other than a fashion statement Clay won’t have to complain about you never being ready on time.”
I didn’t miss the fact David used present tense instead of past.
Brooke’s eyes focused on Clay. “What the hell? I’m the one who always has to wait on you to finish feeding your stupid brother.”
“I told you,” Clay’s jaw went rigid. “Stop saying crap about him. You never even took the time to get to know Mason or you wouldn’t be saying that shit.”
“You act so concerned about your brother, but that’s all it is, Clay, an act.”
“Shut up!” He jabbed a finger in Brooke’s direction. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you to come. You’re a manipulating bitch, and I can’t stand your ass.”
Brooke snorted. “You love my ass. You said so many times, remember?”
“I mean it,” he growled, “not another damn word.”
David squinted up at the sky, ignoring the argument. I was sick of hearing them, too. I was sick of the woods and being stranded. I was sick because it was supposed to be my chance with Clay and nothing was going as planned.
“Looks like it’s about seven maybe,” David said. He studied the road ahead. “But it doesn’t matter anyway.” He stopped in the center of the road. “We’ve reached our final destination, folks.”
Chapter Five
There was one road leading into the Keller property. It was long and pockmarked with puddles. Finally, we found our mud. Heavy woods surrounded the area; trees keeping big, bad secrets. We were silent as we walked down that road, there to ask for help, but I wasn’t sure if any of us would find a voice to do so.
The house hid in the lush green of the forest. It was an old, single-story place, weather-beaten and unloved. Smoke rolled from a crooked chimney. Red mud stained what I could see of the brick foundation that wasn’t shrouded by diseased bushes. There was a front porch that was all gray wood and rotting, and a front door that once may have been painted, but no longer. Deer antlers hung above it. Smoke from the chimney hung even higher.
Normally, I liked fires in fireplaces and the smell of smoke. But the idea of this wood fire burning didn’t leave me comforted; I didn’t think it could be warm enough to drive the shiver from my body, a shiver that didn’t come from the cold, but from the place. The smell was equally unnerving; underneath was the undeniable stench of shit.
Catty-cornered to the house was another building, what looked like the original homestead, now too much in decay to shelter anyone, and abandoned. It was two-storied with old wood siding that was black with mold where it wasn’t gray. Its foundation was rock-pillar instead of brick. The roof was partially caved-in; gangly rhododendrons hid the first floor windows. Windows on the second-level glared at us like a pair of eyes, a sentinel.
Just off into the woods was an outhouse with a crescent moon cut in its weathered wood door. I couldn’t imagine ever using it. I’d rather take my chances squatting in the woods.
Reclaimed by tall grass and bramble, and scattered around what once may have been a yard, was rusty tractor parts, coils of barbed wire, metal piping, and unidentified junk. A beaten path snaked its way through this dump toward the front door, toward the antlers.
Emily was standing motionless, hands resting against hips. David curled a protective arm around her and kissed a cheek. “Antlers, Em. No big deal. If you want to eat, you got to hunt.” His voice was no longer confident but strained and hushed, as if he struggled to get the words out, not wanting to disturb the quiet of this place and awaken something that should remain asleep.
Emily cleared her throat. “Except most people buy meat from the grocery store,” she replied in a tone matching his.
Without using one word, I knew Emily was trying to tell us the antlers were not about eating, hunting, or buying groceries. The antlers were about what we saw in the woods up the old logging road, the pile of bones, an animal massacre.
David shook his head, but didn’t argue the point. None of us felt like talking much. We were being watched, heard; by what, I don’t think any of us could say.
“Let’s turn around, please. While there’s still time.” Emily looked from Clay to David, and then she even looked at me. If they would have said the word, I would have grabbed Evie by the hand and run out of there as fast as her legs could move. I would have stayed all night in the woods, waiting for someone to rescue us. But I stood mute.
“Relax.” David kissed the tip of her nose. “We use the phone, we leave. Simple.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Clay said.
Without another word from any of us, we followed him.
Our silence was soon met by a sound that made my heart and my legs stand still. The clearing was suddenly alive with noise. I retreated a step, feeling Evie walk into me and grunt. “What’s that sound?”
David turned around, his hand gripping Emily’s. “Dogs?”
“Yeah, but they’re inside,” David pointed out, pulling Emily to a halt alongside him. “They’re not going to hurt anyone, Millie.”
Regardless, I pulled Evie closer, searching the yard for movement. “What if there are outside dogs too?”
“We’d already be kibble,” David told me, impatiently.
“Are you sure?”
Emily held up a finger. “Yeah, what if there’s a whole pack just off in the woods…killing something?” Emily’s finger wilted and she folded her arms over her chest. Her cheeks were white as if all the blood had drained to the soles of her feet.
“Girls, please.” David rubbed his face. I don’t think he liked the thoughts we were probably putting in his girlfriend's head. “Chill with the overactive imagination.”
“It’s probably best if I just go.” Clay was standing a little further up the trail. His head was tilted back as he took in what lay immediately before us. Brooke was next to him.
“Fine by me.” Emily twisted away from David and stood behind Evie.
“I’ll go with you,” David offered. He joined Clay,
giving him a quick slap on the shoulder. Brooke stood to the side of the path and watched them continue forward.
They climbed up the porch steps. I thought I could hear the old wood creak, but knew that was impossible through the snarling of the dogs.
Two rockers sat still on the narrow porch. I wondered how long it had been since anything but the wind moved them. An old, plaid couch was pushed against the siding opposite the chairs on the other side of the door. It sagged more deeply than the roof line and was coated by muddy paw prints. Dirty, like everything about this place.
Clay opened the rusty screen door and knocked.
Thump! The door suddenly bulged, the hinges rattled. The boys jumped back. So did we. The dogs had charged us from inside the house, so enraged by our presence they cared little about what protected us from them. The barking took on a new tone, deeper, snarling, wild.
Over and over the door shuddered as it was hit by the dogs. When it failed to open, paws and noses appeared in the window, pushing yellowed shades aside, smearing the glass with dog spit and mud. I saw teeth, bared.
“It’s a pack,” I murmured.
“Yeah, and that pack of dogs isn’t too happy about us being here,” said Emily.
“Probably all got rabies,” Brooke added.
“Can we go now?” Evie tugged at me. “Nobody’s home but bad dogs.”
“Soon. Promise.”
“How much longer you two going to take?” Emily found her voice, and was asking the question foremost on my mind.
A dog’s head struck the window. A Border collie, maybe, or German Shepherd.
Emily screamed.
More heads appeared, slamming against the window; teeth, sharp and shiny, straining to bite, to kill; eyes like shark’s eyes, encircled in white, filled with rage, searching for one thing only, the kill.
“Stop messing around up there,” Brooke told the boys.
“Patience, oh damsel in distress.” David leaned into the glass, knocked on it, and started to bark. The glass shuddered. David leapt backward and laughed. “Shit, they’re ripping the shades down!”
“STOP PISSING THEM OFF!” Emily raged.
Evie yanked on my sleeve. “Can they get out?”
“No. It will be okay.” I ran a hand down the length of her hair, gathering it in a ponytail and then letting it fall free.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Brooke said.
Something zipped past us. In the fading light it was difficult to see; a bat, some corpse-eating bird? Emily clutched her head and squealed, squeezing her eyes shut. Brooke ran. She was halfway down the path before she realized we weren’t being attacked.
“What the hell?” She picked a plastic flower from the ground and held it in the air for everyone to see. “Real funny, guys. Why don’t you two try acting your age for once?”
“Couldn’t help it. You girls looked so intense.” David pretended to shiver and mimicked a feminine voice, “Oh no, Cujo is going to bust out and eat us!” He held up a hand and waved us closer. “Come on. The dogs are inside. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“You saying that makes me afraid,” Emily returned.
None of us came any closer.
“Fine. Mock your protector.”
“Can we go now?!” Emily called out.
“Nobody’s home.” Clay stepped from the porch, his stride more determined the closer he drew to us. David was right behind him.
“What now?” I asked. “We came all that way for nothing.”
“Not exactly. Be right back.” Clay walked around to the side of the house, reappearing with a blade of grass between his lips. “There’s several old junkers at the back of the property. Bet there’s a hose on one that might temporarily fix Brownie.”
“Great, we’re going to steal what we need?” said Emily
“You suddenly have a conscience?” David said to her, taking a step back, just avoiding the punch coming for him.
“I always have a conscience,” Emily argued.
“Of course you do. Let’s think of this as borrowing. I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
“What about that simple phone call?” Emily bumped against her boyfriend, and he launched into a meaningless babble about phone service in the mountains.
Something touched my arm. I looked down. Clay’s fingers held my wrist loosely. I lifted my eyes to his. He smiled. I smiled back. I never felt so warm inside as I did at that moment.
“Millie and I are going to look for something to fix the truck. You all stay here. If anyone comes by, give a whistle,” Clay told the others.
“Sure, I’ll stay here and watch the girls,” David agreed. “Make sure no more flowers attack.”
“Funny.” Brooke rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know how Emily puts up with you.”
“She loves me, flaws and all, ain’t that right, babe?”
Clay gave my hand a tug. “I should stay,” I told him. Evie looked more miserable by the moment, and scared. I didn’t think David would do such a good job of comforting her.
“David won’t let anything happen to her.”
I should have said no. So many times that day I should have said no. But saying that word to Clay was impossible.
“Think I’ll go too,” Brooke announced. “I’m tired of standing around doing nothing.”
“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying right here where I can keep a close eye on you. Clay doesn’t need any more mouth helping him look for a hose,” David told her.
To my surprise, Brooke didn’t argue. I wasn’t sure why, whether it was the way David grabbed her arm and cradled it, the way Clay’s back was to her, uninterested, or the pack of rabid dogs that snarled between us and the possibility of help that stopped her. Whatever it was, I was glad for it.
It was my chance, finally, to be with Clay alone.
Clay’s hand slid into mine. I looked down at our fingers intertwined. And I let him lead me away.
***
Out back, there was a barn. Deer hides were stapled to the warped boards that held its slanted roof aloft, what Clay called buckskins.
There were rabbit and dog pens. The doors on the dog pens were open; the pens were a muddy mess and fly infested. The air smelled weighted with parasites, filthy, like if you inhaled deeply you would come down with some incurable disease.
Blue barrels were turned on their sides. A small garden was guarded by a scarecrow and tin pie plates.
“Do you think maybe the Addams family lives here?” I asked Clay.
He laughed. “Maybe. You scared?”
I shook my head. “Not scared.” I paused, considering how I did feel, other than happy to be at his side despite the situation. “It feels wrong, being on somebody else’s property, looking through what belongs to them.” I rubbed my arms together, trying to keep away the chill of night approaching.
There were a dozen broken down vehicles surrounding the back and sides of the barn. Tall weeds climbed through and choked their ancient, rusted forms.
Clay dropped his backpack and popped a squeaky hood. I held it high enough so he could stick his head under as he looked for that rubber hose that would save us.
“So,” I began, wanting to make conversation. “Why didn’t you run track this year?”
Clay straightened up and faced me, wiping his hands on his jeans. Black grease stained his fingertips. The corner of his mouth lifted. He shook out a cigarette and lit up. “Didn’t know you were paying attention.”
I felt my face get hot. It was a little hard not to pay attention to Clay Emerson.
He shrugged and leaned a hip against the truck. His cigarette smoke rose and lingered with smoke from the chimney, the air in the clearing as motionless as if it were settled on the inside of a buried coffin.
“My mom got a new job. She needed someone to stay with Mason on the days she worked.” Clay glanced at me. “My younger brother. The school made us practice every day, so I quit.” He rolled the cigarette around in his
fingers. “Wish I could quit these that easily.”
“How old is your brother?”
“Ten. He goes to school with Evie. I doubt she’s ever mentioned him.”
“My sister doesn’t tell me about her friends.” Truth was, I never asked.
“They wouldn’t be friends.”
“Why not friends?”
He pinched the filter between a thumb and finger, dragging the other hand through his hair. “I’m amazed. I thought everyone knew. Mason has Down’s. He views the world differently. Kinder. Gentler. Truth is if I could pick a different brother…I wouldn’t. I’m happy with the one I have. He’s pretty cool.” Clay set the cigarette on the side of the truck engine and started digging for parts. “I’ve already said enough. You’re probably wishing I would just shut up and work on getting you home.”
“Actually, I’m glad you invited me.” I slid my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and glanced around. “Even if this place is kind of creepy, I’m still glad I came.”
“Good.” He smiled. “My dad is like this big-time hunter. I guess that’s why this place doesn’t seem too weird to me. Everything is camo and guns with him. Gutting and prepping for the freezer. We don’t let Mason know. Killing an animal would traumatize him. He’s a huge animal lover.”
“Evie too.”
He laughed. “My dad….” Clay shook his fist. “Be strong. Be a real Man. The strong don’t pause…they get it done.” He let his fist drop and paused as if it were deliberate. A small act of defiance against his father. “If I had to choose who I wanted to be like, my father or Mason,” he said, “I would choose Mason.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, wishing this conversation was occurring hand-in-hand walking alongside a creek. Not here, covered in grease and stink.
Clay pulled the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it on the ground, and snubbed it out with the toe of his boot. I let the hood of the truck go, cringing at the sound of metal against metal disturbing the still air.
“There’s nothing here that will work. Let’s try this one over here.”
I trailed along behind him as we moved to the next truck. This one did not have a hood, so I leaned over the engine and watched him at work, looking for a hose, our salvation, our ticket home.
