by Matt Ryan
Copyright © 2015 by Matt Ryan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Cover: Regina Wamba
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Editor: Victoria Schmitz | Crimson Tide Editorial
Formatting: Inkstain Interior Book Designing
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“ARE THEY SAFE?” HARRIS ASKED.
“The kids? Yeah.” Tears absently fell from Minter’s puffy red eyes. The orange glow from the massive fire skittered across his face.
“I’m so sorry, Minter.”
“Karen’s alive.” He spoke as if reading from a dictionary. “I sent her and our baby to the storm shelter.”
Blankly staring at the town bar, Minter’s thoughts shifted to his friends, their dead bodies strategically placed in the raging inferno.
Harris sighed. “I don’t think he’ll come for the babies. All of our intel says Isaac acted alone. Marcus never knew.” He was obviously grasping for a positive.
“What in the hell do we do now?”
“You live. Find a way to move past this. You have a special kid to raise.” Harris put a hand on Minter’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll see me again, but know I’ll be watching.”
“He has his mother’s eyes.”
“Hmm?”
“Joey. Joey has Karen’s eyes. It’s what we named him.”
“That’s a good, solid name.”
“Promise me, Harris. Promise me they won’t come back and try to take him.”
“I can’t.”
JOEY SCANNED THROUGH THE PAPER and searched for his parents’ names.
“Look at this.” Samantha slid him a sheet of microfiche across the table.
He took it and scanned the headline, ‘Six Local Teens Pregnant.’ He’d read it before, they all had, but he skimmed through the sentences again—looking for any clue they might have missed. Peering around the reader, he stole a glance at Samantha while she was preoccupied. She eventually felt his attention and he quickly shifted his gaze back to the screen before she looked up.
“I’ve read this a hundred times,” Joey said. “But I just feel like we’re missing something.”
Samantha sighed and leaned back in the chair. “We’re never going to figure out what really happened.”
Joey set the sheet on the table, watching Samantha rub her eyes. He sympathized with her exhaustion; they had been searching through the town’s papers for a few hours.
The librarian walked by for what seemed like the umpteenth time. She slowed down, lingering on the numerous microfiche sheets spread across the table. “Make sure you put all of those back in chronological order,” she said with a sneer.
“Of course we will,” Samantha politely responded. Last time they hadn’t, and now they were red-flagged as troublemakers.
He waited for her to leave the area. “Let’s see the birthday article.”
Samantha’s eyes lit up and she rushed to the filing cabinet. Retrieving the sheet, she sat next to Joey and placed the paper on the lit table before them. The Preston Six Are Born read in bold across the top of the article.
“Look at your mom and dad.” She smiled and pointed to the picture. “They are so young.”
He slid the magnifier around to get a better look. All six sets of parents held their newborn babies. He loved that picture. It was a different time.
“Your parents looked so happy.” Joey pointed to her parents. Her mom held a baby Samantha in her arms.
Samantha sniffed. “I wonder what my dad would look like today?”
Joey didn’t answer. He kept quiet when the talk of dead parents came up. He was the only one of the six who still had both.
“Sometimes I think I can find clues in these pictures, like something is hidden in the background,” Joey said.
She gave him a questioning look and leaned closer to study the picture. It worked. Her hair brushed over his face as her shoulder pressed against his. He took in her scent, knowing she wasn’t going to find any clues; if there were something in it, he would have found it years ago. She shook her head and leaned back.
“I don’t see anything unusual.”
“Well, you never know. Sometimes we find things where we least expect it.” Joey felt the small, flat wrapped box in his jacket pocket and fought the urge to give it to her right then.
“You okay?”
He let go of the box. It wasn’t the right time. He had a plan for the party, later that night. “Yeah, why?”
“You’re just acting kind of strange today.”
“I don’t know, I guess I just get nervous around the big day.”
“You think he’ll show?”
“Yeah, Trip’s always at the birthday parties.”
“You think he’ll talk more about you know what?”
He looked at Trip’s picture, eighteen years younger, in the paper. He had become their best chance of finding out what really happened that night. He leaned across the table, pulled another sheet toward him and slid it into the viewer. Samantha slid her chair back and turned away. It wasn’t easy for Joey to look at it, but he had to find out what happened and he always felt this was the critical article.
“Tragedy” was the only headline, followed by a picture of a burning bar. A single stream of water landed on the roof. Fire bellowed from the front windows, reaching the Molly’s sign above. He forced his gaze to stay on the picture. If there was anything hidden, this would be the picture. After a minute, his mind only thought of the people in the bar, behind the flames.
After a few minutes, he turned the viewer off.
Samantha returned to his side, happy to find the screen black. She looked at him with a smirk. “Joey Foust, have I said ‘happy birthday’ yet?”
“Well, no you haven’t, Samantha Roslin.”
“Happy birthday.”
He bowed his head slightly. “And happy birthday to you as well.” Joey glanced at the clock—two hours until the party. He felt the box again and thought of the words he’d prepared to say to Samantha.
“You have a plan for getting Trip to talk tonight?” she asked.
“He hasn’t needed much encouragement in the past.”
Trip never came to the other events like Easter or Thanksgiving, but he had always come to the birthday parties; and after a few drinks, he liked to talk about the past.
She smiled. “We should make it a goal tonight to get the whole truth.”
“Done.” Joey dealt himself in, but he had another goal in mind. He rolled the box in his hand and couldn’t stop the smile spreading over his face. She was going to freak out when she saw what he found.
JOEY PUSHED THE WRAPPED BOX deeper into his pocket and knelt next to his bed. He searched under the blanket and pulled out a folder. It was a collection of documents from the library and internet; all forming the unbelievable picture of what their parents were telling them.
He flipped it open, turning the old pages and stopping on his handwritten notes from his previous birthdays, making it a third of the way down the page.
16th birthday: Trip talk
ed about telling us the truth before the other parents shut him up.
What truth? The bar fire?
How did they all get pregnant at the same time?
How did they all give birth the same day? Was it just a coincidence?
17th birthday: Trip tells the other parents to train us to defend ourselves, mentions the truth again. Tells the other parents that Harris would want us trained.
Who’s Harris?
Train us for what?
Joey slid the pen out of the back of the binder and wrote 18th birthday on the page. He tapped the pen on the paper. His first goal was simple, by the end of the night he wanted to have enough information to fill the page. The second involved a present for Samantha.
A light knock sounded at his door.
Had Hank already sent her up? Joey closed the folder and slid it under a blanket on his bed. He bounded to his bedroom door and opened it. Music and laughter spilled through the doorway around Samantha.
Her beauty swept over him and stilled the background noises.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Samantha asked.
“Yeah.” Joey made sure the small box was in his jacket pocket. “Can we go to the balcony?”
“Sure.” She shrugged.
Stepping out, he led her to the end of the hallway, where he held the balcony door open for her to exit. Joey took a deep breath of the cool night air. He searched for the package in his pocket and draped his hand around it as he took it out, making sure it stayed hidden in his hand. He looked over at her.
“You cold?” Joey asked.
“Yes.” Samantha nodded, scrubbing her arms fiercely.
He removed his jacket, slung it over her shoulders and pulled the lapels closer to her neck. A soft scent of vanilla washed over him as she pulled her long, brown hair out of the jacket. She adjusted glanced at him. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him. Did she still see a friend, or was it something more?
You can do this.
“I got you something.” Joey held out the gift.
She frowned and pointed her finger at him. “The six of us agreed a long time ago not to get each other birthday gifts.”
“We don’t have to tell the others.”
“You sure?” She said with a wicked smile. “Imagine how upset Lucas will be if he finds out I got a birthday gift and he didn’t?”
He shrugged. “I’ll just throw it away then.”
He pretended to throw it over the railing. She gasped, reaching for the box. Realizing the fake-out, she crossed her arms, scowling. He smiled as she held out her open hand, tapping her foot.
“It’s not so much a gift, as a memento of yours—something you lost.” He placed it in her hand.
Her eyes narrowed as she held the present close to her face. She glanced from him to the box, and peeled a corner of the paper off. With the corner of the flat, black velvet box revealed, she quickly removed the rest of the wrapping and let it fall to the deck.
“Jewelry?”
“Just open it.” He watched her face, waiting for a reaction as she opened it.
She covered her mouth with her free hand, tears building in her eyes. “Are these . . .?”
“Yes.”
“How did you find them?”
“I spent all summer at the lake looking for them. I wasn’t sure how to give them to you. It seemed like your birthday—”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him tight. His limp arms dangled in shock for a second, before hugging her back. His heart pounded against her chest, and his head swam in the soft scents of her hair and the warmth of her body. She let go and took a step back.
“Thank you,” she breathed, looking into the box. “They’re the only gift I received from my dad before he . . .” She trailed off, lost in the contents of the box. She smiled and turned the box so he could see the familiar silver teardrop earrings.
Just say it already.
“I’ve wanted to tell you something.” He cleared his throat.
She gazed at him in question and he looked away.
Joey grabbed the rails to steady himself. He could talk to her for hours about theories and possibilities, but when it came to talking about him and her, the words choked in his throat.
“You okay?” She moved closer, placing a hand on the back of his arm. Chills ran down his body from her touch. He turned to face her and she looked up at him. “You can tell me anything, what is it?”
Words failed him. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight. He moved close to her and moved his fingers through her soft hair.
She clasped her hand over his and smiled.
He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her face at the last second, his lips landing on her cheek. Moving back, he searched her face for an explanation.
She stared at him, her hand on her cheek, with a blank expression—as if someone had just asked her the square root of ninety-seven. Maybe he had been too forward, or misread their friendly interactions as flirting. As each silent second passed, he felt the air escaping him and the words clogged in his throat. Say something.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you were going to do that.”
“I’m—” he started to say as the balcony door opened.
“Well, well, well . . . what do we have here?” Lucas took one big step onto the balcony. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.” He grabbed Joey’s shoulder, shook him, and winked at Samantha.
Lucas Pratt wore a pointy birthday hat and an orange kazoo poked out if his shirt pocket.
Samantha crossed her arms as her lips thinned. “Lucas, sometimes you have the worst timing.” She took Joey’s hand in hers and looked into his eyes. “I want to talk about this later. Okay?”
Joey nodded.
She threw an irritated huff at Lucas and marched into the house.
“Well, happy birthday to you, too,” Lucas said to Samantha’s back. “Dang, Joey.” He plucked the kazoo from his pocket and stuck it into the corner of his mouth. “Samantha’s looking hot tonight.” The kazoo muffled his words.
Joey pushed Lucas’s hand off his shoulder. He wanted to get mad at Lucas, but how could he stay mad at him and his stupid pointy hat?
“You look ridiculous.” Joey almost thanked him for the interruption as he left the balcony, but he wanted to catch up with Samantha to have that ‘talk.’
“What?” Lucas followed him inside.
The sounds of the party grew louder as he walked down the stairs. Music played from his dad’s old CD player, mixed with several conversations going on at the same time. He found all of the parents huddled in small groups around the family and dining rooms.
Lucas brushed against his arm. “Hey, sorry if I messed with you guys up there.” Lucas paused and then with a wry smile asked, “Was there something going on?”
Joey shrugged as if nothing were amiss. Was there nothing? He needed to find Samantha. He scanned the room and met eyes with a few parents at the dining room table, but they quickly looked away and whispered to each other.
“The whole reason I came to find you is because Hank’s dad is drunk and startin’ to talk about stuff,” Lucas said, grinning and rubbing his hands together.
“Already?” He may have blown one goal with Samantha, but the other still had a chance of success. More than a chance.
“Oh yeah, he’s been pounding ‘em back.”
Joey stared at Trip across the family room, holding a small glass. Joey’s mom, Karen, stood next to him. She met Joey’s gaze before looking away quickly, returning her attention to Trip. Joey owed it to Samantha—to the rest of the six—to find out what happened.
“Let’s go find out what he’s saying,” Joey said.
JOEY HAD TAKEN THE STORIES their parents told at face value, until their sixteenth birthday. Trip had been drunk and made a few comments about the past that hadn’t quite added up to the stories told in the newspapers. Ever since then, the parents kept him under constant supervision.
Trip conversed with Karen, but Joey was too far away to hear the words. She cuddled a glass of water next to her face and sucked on the straw, glancing at the moms talking around the dining room table. With a nervous smile, she listened to whatever Trip was rambling on about, giving him intermittent nods and encouraging smiles.
“Told you.” Lucas couldn't contain his smug look, as he rubbed his hands together in excitement.
He wanted Samantha at his side when Trip inevitably spilled the information, but she was nowhere to be seen. Not wasting the chance, he got close to the action.
Keeping out of sight, he snuck up behind Trip’s large back. Like a hawk, his mom poked around and spotted his approach. She gulped down the water in her mouth and blurted out, “Yes, Trip. We do need to be careful. The dirt roads are awful right now.”
“What?” he asked, confused.
“Hey, Trip,” Joey said to his back.
The big man turned around, glazed eyes widening. “Happy Birthday, Joey.” An enormous arm enveloped him as he spoke. The hard liquor smell burned Joey’s nose and stung his eyes.
“Thanks,” Joey wheezed.
Trip’s hand clasped Joey’s shoulder. “Ha, it’s crazy to think I was just a little older than you when Hank was born.” Trip lowered his head, his smile turning to a blank stare at the brown carpet. “Well, you’re turning into a fine young man, Joey.”
“Thank you.” Joey attempted to regain some personal space, but Trip held him in place. Looking around for help, he found Lucas, but he just stood back, smiling at the encounter. Exasperated, he returned to Trip’s unblinking stare.
Joey felt a large hand on the back of his neck. He turned and saw Hank’s arm extended to him. Hank sighed and shook his head.
“Dad, I need to talk to Joey for a minute,” Hank said. “Let’s grab a drink in the kitchen.”
Trip released him and lifted his glass as Hank pulled him away. Joey staggered toward the kitchen, looking back at Trip.
The noise of the party diminished as they entered the kitchen. The smell of meatballs hung in the air. A birthday cake lay on the counter with each of their names written on it.
