House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  “Baked, too. There’s cheesecake in there. All homemade.”

  “I bet her mom did all the work for her, just so she could take credit.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. “Well, she’s never cooked for me before that I can remember…”

  A pair of teenage boys turn enough to look at me. I’m sure they think they’re being subtle.

  “What the fuck you staring at?” I ask, emboldened by having Ty at my side.

  They turn around quickly and press in against each other. They’re whispering now.

  “That one was trying to look down my shirt,” Ty says. “Little perverts.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Ty adjusts her top and crosses her arms over her chest. “Hey,” she says. “I stood up for you. Return the favor, limp-dick.”

  Since I first met Tyler Mae, she’s sparked something deep within me. She’s made me so much more than I could have ever dreamed of. I was headed for normalcy, but she reached into the stale depths and dragged me out. And together, we’re fearless.

  I grab the boy on the left and wrench him around. He looks startled for a moment. I punch him in the face. It only takes one and he crumples to the ground. The once orderly line of fat fucks looking for a quick bite erupts into chaos.

  “His bitch friend is trying to get away!” Ty calls, pointing.

  I chase after the second teen. My legs churn and my hands hunger. I swipe at the air, trying to reach my prey. He rounds a corner. I follow after. Ty is close on my heels, yelling a war cry.

  Up ahead, the teen nearly runs over a uniformed state trooper just entering the food court. The teen frantically points at me as I continue to barrel down on him.

  “Oh, shit. Cop,” Ty says. She grabs my arm and yanks me off course.

  Together, we sprint down a side hallway, past bathrooms that can be smelled through closed doors, and out a side exit. It must be an emergency exit, for a high-pitched siren blares as we cut along the side of the building and dash into a wooded area behind the rest stop.

  In a particularly dense nest of bushes, we hide.

  After a while, the sound of the door alarm stops. It still echoes in my head, but beyond it is silence.

  “I just punched a kid,” I say, staring at my hands in wonder.

  “You were defending me. A noble action from a valiant man,” Ty says.

  We’re both kneeling in thick loam, leaves, vines, and thorny branches. It’s difficult to see anything beyond our sanctuary, but I don’t hear anyone hunting us. I look at Ty. Her hair is a tangled mess, her eyes wild. Filth covers us both. My suit, once more, is ruined. Something nags at me from some deep, forgotten recess of my untrustworthy mind.

  “No, that wasn’t right,” I say.

  “Oh, he’ll be fine. You just scared ‘em a bit. Maybe it’ll make ‘em think twice before eyeballing the shit out of another man’s woman.”

  “No, not that. You.”

  Ty leans against me and nuzzles my cheek. Her nose brushes my earlobe and sends shivers down my neck. “Shh,” she whispers.

  “Wait. No,” I say, gently extricating myself from her. I fall back onto my ass, braced against a tree. I hold up my hands as she advances on me again. There’s something I need to puzzle out, and I won’t be able to with her climbing all over me. Though there is little I want more right now.

  “That’s not you,” I say, finding what I’m searching for. “Back there. You wanted me to attack those boys. That’s not you. Wasn’t you. You were always sweet and caring, almost to a fault. You weren’t like this.”

  Ty sits back on her heels. She’s shrouded in greenery, looking like a feral beast come out from its burrow in search of flesh. “Of course that wasn’t me back there. I’m dead, remember?”

  “Fuck, I know. It’s just… Why?”

  She crawls toward me, over my lap, and presses her cheek to mine. “Maybe I was never what you wanted, either.”

  I shiver, but can’t be sure of the cause or meaning.

  Tick.

  “Motherfucker,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut and clamping my hands over my ears. Inadvertently, I lean forward into Ty. She cradles me.

  “Hey,” she says softly. “Look at me.”

  I force my eyes open and look into hers. Even in the gloom of the trees and quickly dying day, they shine like embers. Beacons.

  “Fuck that clock,” she says. “I got you.”

  With this, Ty presses me back onto the forest floor and slithers atop me, tongue already searching.

  It’s dark when I wake up. I’m still in the wooded area behind the rest stop. I know this because I see the constant stream of lights from the interstate. I remember Ty mounting me, ravaging me, leaving me exhausted. But little else.

  I sit up and find she’s gone. Not that she was ever really here in the first place. I know this, too. Even if it was fuzzy before, I still knew it on some level. But it was nice. For a time. But even the recreated version of Ty wasn’t right. It wasn’t her. More lies. Though what the fuck do I know? Yesterday, I had no idea who Tyler Mae Bridges even was.

  “Ty?” I whisper to the night.

  I listen intently. I feel lost without her. I don’t trust myself to be alone. I call her name again. When no one answers, I leave the woods. Every step is agony. My feet are torn up and my once proud suit is in tatters.

  I make it back to my car without being seen, as far as I can tell. Inside, I lock the doors and bury my head against the steering wheel. I don’t know what I need, but I know I need it desperately.

  Between my feet, I see my phone. It wasn’t Ty that thought I should call Joy and confess. It was me. I grab the phone and sit up straight. With a deep breath, I turn it on. As it boots up, I look at the empty passenger’s seat, wondering if Ty will show her face again. I shouldn’t, but I long to see her. What a twisted show this whole thing is.

  I have twenty-seven missed calls and a load of texts. I dismiss the notifications without looking at any of them. I thumb open my list of contacts. I stop on Joy, but scroll past. She already knows. She knew about Ty when I didn’t. I’ll need to face her eventually, but not yet. I halt the spinning list of names. It’s a gamble, but one I’d always bet on. I tap to call.

  Calling Paul…

  The call connects after just one ring.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Aza says.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “You still have your grandpa’s phone. Good.”

  “Grandfather’s phone. And I always have it. He doesn’t even know he has a phone anymore. Thinks he lost it. But it still works. He’s a rascal.”

  “Listen, Aza—”

  “Where are you, anyway? Everyone is going bonkers about you.”

  “What? Bonkers?”

  “Yeah, you know, crazy, bananas, off-your-rocker—”

  “What are they saying?”

  “I don’t know. They keep telling me to wait in the guest house. I bet they’re all in there, eating the leftover cheesecake. Pigs.”

  “Aza,” I say sharply. “I need you to focus. Who is there?”

  “Oh. It’s just Mom, Grandfather, Grandmother, and some doofus with a beard.”

  I gag and paw at the mess surrounding me, hoping to find something to drink. There’s nothing but waste. I can’t swallow. “Is the doofus a policeman?” I ask.

  “Uh-huh. I was playing a game with Grandfather before bed and the doofus came in yelling ‘bout you, asking ‘bout you, saying he needed to find you because some lady was dead. And he yelled at me! All I wanted to do was see his gun. I bet it’s not even real.”

  I slouch in my seat, hoping to slide into hell. They found Ty. Looking for me, no doubt, some hapless officers stumbled into a nightmare. Fuck. And now the great DS Anderson himself is after me. That arrogant prick thought he had me before. But now he knows he has me. The fucking clock is still ticking, but it’s a lie as well. My time’s run out.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Dad?”

  I gasp, not realizing
I’d been holding my breath. “Yeah?”

  “Is it true?”

  How is a father supposed to answer that question? “Is what true?”

  “That your friend died? Mom said I had to go to bed because your friend got hurt, but the doofus said dead. Was she your friend?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “I mean. I don’t know who she is. Shit. Yeah, Aza, she was my friend.”

  “Did she deserve it?” Aza asks.

  “What? No, of course not. No one deserves to…”

  “Dad?”

  I shake my head violently. I pinch my arm. Nothing changes. I pick out another pill from the center console and swallow it.

  “What?” I ask, knowing my voice is haggard and raised.

  “When are you coming home?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Won’t you come back for me? Please. Like you did after setting our house on fire. Save me?”

  Houston, we have a fucking problem. I want to deny it. I want to scream with all my worth that I’m innocent. But it’s a fucking lie and everyone knows it. I have no more idea what I am than before, but I know I can’t change. Change is just a bunch of bullshit spread to cover up lies. Lies wrapped in half-truths, buried in piss-poor intentions and downright vulgar sin. All to make us feel better about ourselves.

  “How do you know I set our house on fire?” I ask calmly. I know DS Anderson could be listening. It’s doubtful—Aza is a conniving son of a bitch—but I don’t care if he is.

  “I saw you,” she says. “I saw you put gas on everything. And I saw you at the front door with the lighter you use on the grill. You kept falling over.”

  I knew I’d heard something that night as I drenched my world in fuel. But how could I know it was any more real than half the shit I hear? Knowing you’re crazy does nothing to change it. You just invent more lies to tell yourself until that’s all that’s left. When everything is a lie, you accept it as truth.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. It was supposed to happen, so I just went back to bed.”

  “You saw me light the house on fire and you just went back to bed?”

  “Uh-huh. Aren’t you proud of me?”

  Aza once more leaves me speechless. I start tapping my foot and can’t stop. Tap, tap, tap, tap. My knees join in, bouncing against the bottom of the steering wheel.

  “Hello? Are you okay, Dad?”

  “I…yeah.” I rub my eyes and hope to see something new.

  “What’s going to happen?” Aza asks.

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” I say. I don’t know how much I have left. And I’m trying to explain things to an eight-year-old.

  “So, you’re coming to see me, then?”

  I look out at the sparsely populated parking lot. I’ve driven all day and feel as if I haven’t moved. Arson, attempted murder, and murder. My list of offenses starts there. I had it all. For just a moment. The look in Joy’s eyes after the fire. Paul and Ruthie treating me like an equal. Aza worshiping me as a hero. It’s over now, gone in a flash. But it was there. And it will have to be enough.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Really?” Aza asks excitedly. It sounds like she’s jumping on her bed again.

  “Yeah, but it won’t be until morning. And I need you to promise me something.”

  “Anything in the world.”

  “You can’t tell anyone I’m coming. Not your mother. Not your grandfather or grandmother. No one. Okay?”

  “Ooh, a secret mission. Roger!”

  “Aza, I’m serious. And it will only be for a bit. At six o’clock sharp, I need you to sneak out and go over to the little park across the street. Go to the back, near the tire swing. Got it?”

  “Six sharp, park, tire swing, tell no one. Got it!”

  This is a mistake. I sigh and lean against the steering wheel. But what hasn’t been? The least I can do is say goodbye. Even if she won’t understand. Aza has to be my priority. Joy will come later.

  “All right, Aza. Now, get some sleep, but don’t forget what I told you.”

  “You should sleep, too,” Aza asserts. “You get crabby when you’re sleepy, and I don’t want to see you if you’re crabby.”

  I nod against the steering wheel. I’m not sure I can move my head any more. “An eight-year-old giving me advice. You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll take a nap before driving to see you. I have time for that. I think.”

  “Shh, Daddy, just lay down and I’ll tell you a story to help you sleep.”

  How did my life get to this point?

  Aza begins whispering into the phone, so softly I can’t tell if she’s saying actual words or just mumbling nonsense for effect. I feel myself being dragged into slumber almost immediately. I have no right to rest, but my body isn’t respecting this fact. It’s oddly peaceful, if not entirely fucked up, to listen to Aza whisk me off to sleep after I spent the day fleeing from a gruesome murder I know I’m guilty of, but can’t explain. And though I’m convinced now it’s just nonsense Aza is whispering, it’s eerily familiar.

  “You’ve done this before…” I say sleepily.

  “A billion times,” Aza whispers. “It’s to make you dream things.”

  “What sort of things?”

  I lose my battle and drift off to sleep before I get a response.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Stabbing pain in my side rouses me.

  “Wakey, wakey,” Ty says from the passenger’s seat.

  She’s leaning across the center console, holding a small penknife against my ribs. It’s still dark out, but the light from a nearby lamppost reflects off the tiny blade.

  I look at it, then at Ty.

  “Where’d you get that?” I ask.

  “That’s your first question when you wake up to a knife in your belly?”

  I shrug and lean back in the seat, ignoring the weapon. I massage the back of my neck and rub at my forehead. What a shitty sleeping position. It’ll be some time before I can properly move again.

  “I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” I say. “You’ve just got a cruel sense of humor. Too much of me in you.”

  Ty smiles and withdraws the knife. She slides her seat all the way back, reclines the seat, and brings her bare feet up to rest on the dashboard. She spins the knife and sets to picking at her fingernails with it.

  “What time is it?” I ask, rooting around for my phone.

  “Knowing you, far later than you’d like it to be.”

  I find my phone on the floor. It’s dead.

  “You’re ornery this morning,” I say.

  “I’m fucking starving. We never ended up getting any dinner last night.”

  “What do you care? You’re not real,” I say.

  Ty sticks out her tongue.

  Fumbling, I find the keys still hanging from the ignition. I turn them and watch as the clock on the radio lights up. Four thirty.

  “Fuck!” I scream, turning the car on and throwing it into gear.

  Ty tips into my lap as I peel out of the parking lot and speed toward the on-ramp to the interstate.

  “Little warning would be nice,” she says from my crotch. “Hey, while I’m down here…”

  I push her away. “I don’t have time for this shit,” I say.

  Ty pouts at me, but I don’t give her anything, instead focusing on maintaining as much control over my vehicle as possible while simultaneously driving as fast as I can.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ty says. “You’re off to say your goodbyes. That’s so fucking cliché.”

  “God knows the damage I’ve done to that kid over the years,” I say. “I owe it to her to at least try and set things right.”

  Ty laughs. “There’s no right to any of this.”

  I scowl at her. She crosses her eyes and sticks her tongue out at me again. As distracted as I am, I can’t help but want to kiss her.

  I force my attention back to the road and swerve around a minivan.

&nbs
p; “Are you trying to alert every trooper on the highway?”

  I steer the car back into the right lane and slow down considerably. “Shit, you’re right. We have to get off this exit anyway and get going back toward home.”

  “Home.” Ty says it like it’s a foreign word.

  “Yes. Home.”

  I zip down the off-ramp and begin heading for the ramp leading back the other way. I let it pass us by and hang a left onto a secondary road.

  “You’ll never make it in time going this way,” Ty says.

  “We won’t make it in time anyway, but at least now we should have less chance of seeing a cop. They must be looking for me, right?”

  “I sure as hell hope so.”

  I look at her. She’s no longer smiling or pulling faces. She’s scowling. It does nothing to take away from her alluring beauty.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “Uh, hello, you taped me to my stairs and drowned me to death in vodka.”

  “Is that how you died?”

  “How should I know? I’m dead. Could be you killed me before stringing me up like some stuck pig. Maybe you just wanted to play with a dead body for a few days. See what that’s like.”

  TICK.

  The sound is louder than a gunshot. I swerve off the road. Ty laughs hysterically. I fight with the car and wrestle the wheel back under control. With a screech and a lurch, the tires find asphalt once more.

  I start scanning the roadside for a place to stop. My hands are shaking so badly I can’t keep them on the wheel.

  I turn onto a narrow country road that cuts into wooded hills. It’s takes everything I have to stay on the road, though I’m well below the speed limit.

  “Tick, tick,” Ty says.

  “Shut up,” I say. I can’t turn to look at her.

  “Why isn’t there ever a tock?” she asks. She doesn’t sound quite as menacing as she did a moment ago, but I know not to trust hallucinations.

  TICK. TICK.

  I moan in pain and squint against the thundering sounds of an invisible clock. I know it’s no more real than Ty, but both still exist.

  I gently accelerate. The houses become fewer and fewer, but I have to go further.