by Jason Davis
Jason turned to Tina and motioned at the little hallway that lead back into the kitchen.
“I’ll be back there in just a minute,” he said. He kept his voice soft and tried to put on a soothing mask. He hoped it worked.
She nodded and lowered her head as she walked away. He wasn’t used to seeing his aunt like that. He knew his mom had. He had heard them in the kitchen before, Tina crying because of that asshole she was dating and his mom trying to comfort her. However, she had always been able to hide it whenever he or his sister were around.
Jason went back to the redneck and grabbed the glass, starting to fill it with the tapped keg that sat nearly in front of the man. Jason didn’t even look up at him. He just watched the gold-colored liquid fill the glass. He worked it like a true craftsman, keeping it tilted as the glass filled, then rotating it just right to keep just a little head on the beer. Just because he hated tending bar didn't mean he wasn’t good at it.
He set the glass back down in front of him and took the dollar from the pile the man had sitting on the bar. The man just nodded to him. Jason put it in the register before heading toward the hallway.
“Need anything?” Jason called down to Mr. Jones. He just shook his head, and Jason continued to the back.
He hadn't even entered the kitchen before she had her arms around him, her head buried in his chest. Jason was caught by surprise, his arms outstretched as he tried to comprehend what was going on. He could hear her crying, her tears flowing heavily. Great, he could already feel his t-shirt getting wet from her tears and snot.
He finally let his hands hold her; not trying to caress her, that would be just weird, but to try and comfort her and calm her down. He reached up and held her head to his chest, much like his mother had whenever he had come home crying.
“What happened?” he asked. He tried to keep his voice soft and soothing so as not to have anyone out front hear them. He was sure that whatever Tina had to say, it would be best kept private. They didn’t need any more gossip going around a town that already suffered from far too much of it.
“I killed him. I think I killed him. I’m pretty sure I killed him.”
He didn’t know how it was possible, but when she spoke, it seemed like the words were on top of each other. He could hear something about killing somebody. Who? He wasn’t sure. Did she get into a hit-and-run? Were the cops on their way to drag her off to jail?
He pushed her away in order to look into her blue eyes. They were dark, and tears continued to stream out the sides. She tried to wipe them away, but more seemed to appear just as fast as she reached her hands up.
“Who? Did you get into an accident?” he asked.
She sniffed and wiped her nose. He reached over to a napkin sitting on one of the counters and handed it to her. She wiped her face and shook her head.
“No. Vince,” she sobbed.
“Who’s Vince?”
She looked up at him in surprise. This was obviously supposed to be a name he should recognize, but he swore it was the first time he had ever heard it before. Then again, he wasn’t good at paying attention and would often ignore people’s names.
“My ex-boyfriend,” she said, backing away.
“Okay.” A memory tried to come back to him. Hadn’t his mom told him something about him? He wasn’t sure he had ever caught the guy’s name, but he was pretty sure she had. “It’s okay. I highly doubt that you killed him. You probably just knocked him out.”
Jason wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what would be the right thing, either. Should he call his mother, see what she said? He doubted that would do much good. He wasn’t even sure if he could get in touch with her. She was off having fun. More than likely, she didn’t even have her cell phone on. Even if she did, she was probably somewhere where there was no service.
Okay, that wasn't true. With how paranoid his mom was about her bar, he knew her cell phone was on and sitting right next to her. As to whether she had cell coverage or not, he guessed she did. Otherwise, he probably would have gotten a call from her every hour just to check in and make sure the bar hadn’t burned down. Not that she didn’t trust Jason with it, but the place had become her life. She was highly overprotective of it.
But she was also there to have fun. If he called her, he would not only be ruining her vacation, but he would also be ruining the trust she had put in him. She would never take another vacation. She was never able to get away from her problems or her sister’s drama. Did he really want to have her all upset when there was nothing she could do anyway? He knew it would tear her apart, and what purpose would that serve? She could give me advice, he thought. And that was true, but he wasn’t sure he needed her advice. Not yet.
Maybe he could figure this out on his own. That way, he wouldn’t have to call her and she could enjoy herself. She deserved it, being the sounding board for pretty much all the problems in the whole family. She needed it.
He could do this. Still, he felt the pull, that yearning to call her. He wanted to tell her all about it. Even if all she said was it would be okay, he wanted that reassurance. He wanted her to tell him everything would be just fine. That protectiveness she had for him, that caring, always being there for him… He wanted to just hear her voice and have her say those words.
He wasn’t going to call her, but he realized that was exactly what he needed to give to Tina. He had to give her those blanket words in order to comfort and relax her. It was up to him.
“It’s all going to be okay. Just tell me the details.” He spoke calmly, but in his mind raced the thought, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
Part 3
Infestation
Chapter 1
Hammond and its closest neighbor, Rosewood, have had a long existing rivalry that stretched back generations. It was not like many of the southern rivalries that often had to do with moonshine or some cousin sneaking into someone’s bed late at night back in the days of prohibition. No, this rivalry was simple. One that started so long ago, there might be a couple of old-timers around town that remembered how it started; however, even they might not remember much. But everyone knew it was from long ago and was more like a general dislike for each other rather than a hatred. A simple way to describe it was like how any self-respecting Chicago Bears fan learned long ago that nothing good came out of Green Bay. There was no reason for the “hate”, but it was known that you just couldn't trust a Fudgepacker.
Yeah, it was like that.
And, just like many rivalries, this one had more to do with the local teams than anything else. While many couldn’t remember how the rivalry started, everyone in town remembered the latest fiasco. Many were still angered with how those vicious devils from Rosewood Elementary had shamed everyone before last year’s basketball final. That just would not be tolerated.
What had they screamed? Hell, with how the old-timers had yelled when last year’s game had been canceled, outsiders would have thought there was murder in the streets. It was scandalous, them damn bastards, them crooks, all over the final elementary basketball game. The game that had been canceled because all the tires had been slashed on the Hammond school bus.
Yes, Rosewood was only twenty miles away, and yes, everyone could have driven over there. There were even other buses that were in reserve that could have been fueled up and taken. Well, there were two other buses that Hammond used, but one was down due to someone putting regular fuel instead of diesel into the tank. The third was running, but had been heavily tagged with graffiti and it had been obvious that it was more of Rosewood’s treachery. Who else would have covered the bus in eggs and chalked “Hammond Sucks” up and down the exterior. Yes, that bus still ran, but the principal, who made the final call, had said that it would be a cold day in hell before she allowed her team to show up in a bus that said they all “sucked”. So, the game had been canceled.
The entire town of Hammond felt that the game should have been considere
d a win. It wasn’t their good, respectable kids who defaced the property. Why should they suffer?
The school board, of course, did not see things that way. Since Hammond had a working bus and still chose not to attend the game, it was considered a forfeit. This allowed Rosewood to continue on and to go to state finals. Rosewood lost in the first round, but that didn’t matter. They had cheated.
And the good, God-fearing people of Hammond (however, never mention to these God-fearing people that they had a two-to-one ratio of bars to churches, and that the average age of the everyday churchgoer in town was in their fifties) had sent a petition to the school board, asking that the game be rescheduled. The board eventually gave in, but it had not been a short-lived fight. By then, school was out for summer, so the game was scheduled during summer break.
So, the Hammond Hogs would be squaring off against the Rosewood Daggers. Last time, it was supposed to be in Rosewood’s gym, but since the scoundrels had desecrated Hammond’s equipment, the game was in Hammond this time.
****
Nancy almost felt like she was a little kid. Not because she felt great and alive. She didn’t. No, it was because she just couldn't keep still as she sat on the hard-wooden bleachers. She couldn’t help herself as she continued to wiggle around.
She didn’t know what the hell it was, but she felt like there were little creatures walking all over her. Every couple seconds, she felt something moving through the hairs on her arm. When she’d look, ready to smack away whatever it was, there was never anything there. She felt them everywhere. She felt them crawling up her legs, up her arms, up the back of her neck, on her scalp. She even sneezed a few times when she felt a little tickle on the inside of her nose.
She didn’t know what was going on. She was constantly scratching. There were spots on her arms that quickly became very red and agitated because she just couldn’t leave them alone. She thought maybe it was dry skin and that the weather change had caused some type of irritation, but she had never felt dry skin flare up this badly. She didn’t even know if she could make it until she got home to put on some lotion. It just felt like bugs were attacking her from everywhere.
Damn, she hoped it wasn’t lice. Had the school had an infestation recently? No, couldn’t have been. It was the summer. The school was closed, other than the west wing, the only wing of the school with air conditioners, which was open for the few students doing summer school. Maybe one of those kids could have started an infestation, but would it have spread all the way to the gym on a Saturday? She had never had lice, but knew once they started to spread around a school, it meant a lot of trouble.
Around her, the crowd ignited just before the loud buzzer. She looked up to see that it was the end of the second quarter and one of her son’s friends had scored a three-point shot right before the buzzer had gone off. Well, that was good. At least the team was winning. It wasn’t like she was getting a chance to really enjoy the game, though.
She felt that phantom feeling again just outside her right ear. She reached up to swat at it, convinced it was a fly, but nothing was there. She looked around wondering if anyone else had noticed she was constantly twitching. Sure, she was vice president of the PTO and helped out on the organizing committee, but she knew her accomplishments alone wouldn’t keep the rumors from going around if she looked like she were on drugs.
Truth be told, she had been on the little white pills for most of her life. What was wrong with something to keep her going? How else was she supposed to be a mom nowadays? She had to work a full-time job, raise two kids, be a part of the PTO, help with Cub Scouts and Girl Scouts, and why? Because anything less and that asshole of an ex-husband would haul her back to court and try to get custody of the kids.
So she took her little pills and kept moving, keeping up with all the life that happened around her. And Jim did try to help us much as he could. Even though, in order to “keep up with the Joneses” and pay for their nice house, he had to work two jobs.
No rest for the righteous, right? Or was it supposed to be no rest for the wicked? No, that didn’t seem right. As far as she could see, the wicked were the ones who got to rest all the damn time. She never understood how they could cut it, being lazy, resting all the time. Who was she thinking of?
Mr. and Mrs. Loraine Feldson. That was who. Loraine, the one in charge of the PTO, even though Nancy had to do everything. Loraine, who was in charge of the cake bake, only to run out and buy cakes from the local grocery store. Loraine, who was in charge of putting together the sock hop, just to not even show up and had Nancy do all the last-minute preparations, which actually turned out to be nearly all of the preparations as Loraine had only reserved the gym. Loraine Feldson, the wicked. They rested and rode on the heels of the righteous and weary.
Nancy looked over at Loraine, trying not to let the blood rush to her face. She was only sitting a couple seats in front of Nancy, watching as her son…the “all-star”, as Loraine called him…rushed down the court, effortlessly dribbling the ball. However, Loraine wasn’t watching him, and she wasn’t sitting there smiling and sitting straight like she normally did. No, she was wriggling in her seat, as well.
Nancy looked around, noticing that many of the people sitting around her were twitching in their seats, swatting at their arms or legs. Tom, whose son just missed a layup, didn’t notice because he was busy running his hands along his legs, squeezing his pants, as though he was trying to find something under the fabric. Cynthia, whose son prepared to throw in a pass, had her arm up the sleeve of her blouse, scratching vigorously. Everyone around her acted as though they had been touched by itching powder.
Maybe they had. Maybe that was what was going on. It wouldn’t have been the first time an opposing team pulled a prank. Sure, it wasn’t common in fifth grade basketball, but she could see some overzealous parent doing it for a laugh.
Nancy noticed Lucy. She knew the girl had a crush on her son, and had probably come to the basketball game just to flirt with him. Not that kids didn’t like to come back to school on a Saturday to watch a game, but Lucy was one of the only students who was there without a parent. But that wasn’t what caught Nancy’s attention.
Lucy was also twitching, but she had more purpose to her actions. When Nancy swatted away one of the phantoms, she would look around for a brief second to see if anyone noticed her. When Lucy glanced around, though, the girl looked afraid, like she could see what she was swatting away. She looked up at Nancy, her eyes large, her lower lip showing a little blood because she had bitten it trying not to scream. She looked terrified. Then Lucy looked at Nancy’s arm.
Nancy looked down. She didn’t expect to see anything. She had started to get used to the feelings of the phantoms. She was shocked when she saw a spider quickly run up her arm, sending the little nerves on her skin ablaze with the motion. Its little legs danced across her skin. She quickly swatted it away, and looked down to see a couple more spiders on her bench. Where had they all come from?
Chapter 2
Amanda Clarks had watched smugly as the young man walked up the middle aisle toward her. He had been such an infuriating bastard when all she wanted was some questions answered. She hadn’t come there to be insulted, and she did not think it was too much to ask for him to pay her some attention when she had questions. It was his job to make her happy. All he had done was stand there and purposely make her feel as though she was so unimportant that he couldn’t even pay attention to her. What else did he have on his mind that was more important, the arrogant little shit? She was there as a customer, which made her right. His job was to be there to take care of her and to make sure she left the store happy. So few of today's stores tried to help people anymore. It was just another sign of how the whole world was going to hell in a hand-basket.
That's what happens when you start getting those people in the White House.
It all stemmed from that. It could always be traced back to who you had to represent you at the
upper levels. Look at their store manager. Sure, he was nice and was trying to help her, but just look at him. He was easily three hundred pounds. He was more than just a little overweight. The man was fat. He should hit the gym. She was always doing some kind of local charity work, but she still hit the gym five times a week and jogged every morning. If you had a good leader, people tended to follow in their footsteps.
Just what the hell was wrong with people? They all seemed to be on drugs. Legalize this, legalize that. Maybe that was the kid's problem. Maybe he was on drugs and needed help. Either way, she should not get treated like that. It was his job to make her happy and treat her right. It was his job to answer her questions. They sold the stuff. The people who worked here should know something about what they were selling. If not, then get rid of them and hire a staff that did know what they sold. Don't just hire some idiot off of the street. Have them be professional and know a thing or two. It just made for good customer service.
She was glad that the manager, Tom or Tim or whatever his name had been, was at least willing to try to get to the bottom of it. He had tried to speak kindly of the young man, saying he usually wasn’t that way and he would be the one who knew about the file cabinets. He would get to the bottom of it, and if the younger one couldn’t help her out, he would do his damnedest to do so. The man may have been rolls of fat, but at least he was professional, was trying to make her happy.
Tim or Tom stood at the service counter, his back to the young man as he walked up the center aisle, taking his time. He was walking as slowly as he could, which she wasn’t too surprised to see. Just like many young men, when they knew they were in trouble, they would walk slowly to face it, but he wasn’t doing the walk of shame. No, he had an ugly look on his face. She saw a burning hatred in his dark eyes, and she swore she saw a faint tip of a smile at the corner of his lips. The boy looked too proud and smug to be walking up to get a tongue-lashing.
