Sully Messed Up

by Stephanie Simpson McLellan

  “You might want to change before we knock.” He pointed to Sully’s backpack.

  The screen door squeaked on its way closed, before the wind grabbed it again, flinging it wide to reveal the front door half-open, politely parted as if in the middle of a sentence.

  “Strange weather to keep your door open in,” said Morsixx.

  “You knock while I go change.” Sully started toward the wood.

  “Wait,” said Morsixx. “Do you hear that?”

  As the wind took a breath, a low moan traveled down the driveway, chased by some heaving gasps. The screen door smacked the outside of the house again, and a shadow slumped across the open frame of the inside door.

  “Something’s not right,” said Morsixx.

  “Blossom?” called Sully.

  The pair crossed the barren lawn and crept up the stairs, as the moan leaked through the open door.

  Morsixx’s knock pushed the door inward to reveal a grizzled, middle-aged man sprawled in the hallway. Dressed only in boxers, some socks, and a stained, sleeveless undershirt, he slumped in a corner with a bottle clutched in one hand. His white skin was puffy and jaundiced. Deep pockets crouched under his bloodshot eyes.

  “Sir?” said Morsixx. “Is Blossom here?”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” said Sully.

  “Sir.” Morsixx took a step inside. “We’re here to see Blossom.”

  The man turned his unsteady gaze to look at Morsixx.

  “Are you Blossom’s father?” Sully asked.

  “Where’s Blossom?” Morsixx demanded.

  The man turned his face to the wall. His shoulders shook and a knot formed in Sully’s stomach as he realized Blossom’s father was weeping.

  “Blossom?” Morsixx and Sully shouted the name together.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” her father said between sobs. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Where is she?” Morsixx said. “Tell us where she is.”

  “I don’t know,” said her father. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. Tell her I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll search the house,” Morsixx stepped over Blossom’s father and pushed into the kitchen. “You look outside.”

  Sully backed out of the house.

  He circled the dilapidated house and then ventured off the driveway, remembering Blossom’s stash of markers just inside the forest. Stumbling from rock to rock, he finally spied the flat rock he recognized as the lid to her secrets.

  In the half-light, the contents looked unremarkable. Orderly, even. Lined up in perfect formation, her markers were tied together with a black ribbon. A small box held some photographs of a beautiful black woman—some of her alone, some with a younger, unpainted version of Blossom—beside which was a small glass bottle with a lock of dark hair in it. Underneath the bundle of markers was the hand mirror Sully had seen Blossom use. A crack down the middle fractured his image, but it was only when he read the words on the outside of a small white envelope propped against the box that he yelled for Morsixx.

  CHAPTER 52

  “Open it, Dude. Give it to me.”

  “I’m opening it,” Sully’s hand trembled. “It’s addressed to both of us.”

  Inside was a single sheet of paper containing a dozen or so lines of poetry.

  On either side my doorway lies

  A different world with separate skies.

  The bottle drinks his desperate cries;

  The flowers are my thin disguise;

  Her shadow was our light.

  In place of memory only sorrow,

  Yesterday’s light too dim to borrow.

  Four gray walls haunt each tomorrow.

  Her knight became the night.

  My magic web with colors gay

  Was meant to chase the dark away;

  To give him space to find his way,

  But ugly night claimed every day.

  Her shadow stole all light.

  With dangerous fists he’d challenge why;

  I can no longer keep the lie.

  I am full-sick of shadows, I

  Surrender to the night.

  “This is part of the poem we did our paper on, I think,” said Sully. “But different.”

  “I don’t like this, Dude. Something’s really wrong.”

  Both of them looked up at the house through the pale-yellow woods.

  “We have to find her,” said Sully.

  “The rail bridge,” said Morsixx. “Remember what she said about that place? Like it was out of a poem?”

  “Okay, yah,” said Sully. “But I’m also thinking of Mr. C.’s fence. She said that was like a story, too.”

  “We have to pick,” said Morsixx. “If we’re thinking the same thing, we don’t have time for a mistake.”

  “Or we split up,” said Sully. “I’ll take the fence.”

  “You know they may be out there looking for you.”

  “Don’t even say that,” said Sully.

  “I won’t say it, then, but you know it’s true,” said Morsixx.

  “I’m going to have to risk it,” Sully said. “I think Blossom might be in more trouble than I am. And I don’t have time to change.”

  The rain stung his thighs as Sully cut across several backyards en route to Perdu. His hair, now loose from the ponytail, whipped forward with the wind. It lashed his eyes, which took cover beneath his nose.

  “Did you find it?” The Purse Lady appeared out of nowhere. She grabbed his arm and searched his face.

  “I’m sorry.” Sully wrenched his arm away and dodged a car in his race for True Street. “I’m in a hurry.”

  The top rail of the fence, dislodged by the wind, speared the earth at a forty-five-degree angle. Darth Vader, Goyle, and The Riddler remained upright, perched near the end, as if ready to leap. Mud sucked at the other figurines, which were scattered like casualties on a battlefield. Sleeping Beauty floated toward the sidewalk crevice on a rivulet of rainwater.

  Sully scanned the yard and across the street, at the sloping bank that crawled toward the black water of Fairy Lake. He looked back toward Perdu where the Purse Lady slumped against a streetlight, and then back at the chaos of the fence.

  His eyes crept out from beneath his nose and pulled his gaze back to the lake. As he crossed over True Street, he squinted through the branches of the quivering aspens, and beyond the broad branches of the towering oaks. As his feet reached the shore, his eyes bolted to the back of his neck and spied something mere yards behind him that caused him to duck and double back toward the house.

  CHAPTER 53

  It was Sully’s long hair that ultimately betrayed him. For the last ten seconds, he had actually felt something like hope burning through his hammering fear. Tank was huge, but Sully’s feet had managed impressive speed, thanks to all the walking he’d done over the last few weeks.

  The sharp yank on his scalp instantly extinguished his fleeting belief in escape. At thirteen seconds, True Street cartwheeled over his head, as his neck snapped back and his feet became airborne.

  At eighteen seconds, Tank’s forehead inched into view, upside down and unfurrowing, as his eyes transitioned from anger to triumph. A combination of spit and sweat accelerated down his brow toward Sully’s open mouth, which dodged behind his ears to avoid the inevitable.

  Tank’s beefy hand grabbed Sully’s shoulder at twenty-two seconds, and spun him, so Sully now had a full vertical view of the last person he would see before he died.

  CHAPTER 54

  “Show time,” said Tank.

  Sully swung one fist and then the other, connecting with the side of Tank’s skull on the third try. The hit succeeded only in causing Tank to narrow his eyes and frown.

  “You’re pathetic, Sally.” He tossed Sully to the ground. “Almost not worth the e
ffort.”

  Sully landed face down and clawed the mud in front of him. He managed half a yard before Tank’s knee skewered him in place.

  Sully’s right cheek pressed against the cold earth, trapping his lips. In a narrow escape, his ears scuttled loose and climbed the other side of his face in time to feel Tank’s hot breath as he pinned Sully’s arms and leaned forward.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go,” Tank said.

  Sully jack-knifed backward and his temple cracked back against Tank’s face.

  Owing to the fact that his eyes still sat on the back of his neck, he saw the spurt of blood from Tank’s nose. He also saw Tank’s fist rocket toward him in reaction, which enabled him to shift his head just enough to evade the blow.

  “I can’t do this right now,” Sully said. “You have to let me go.”

  Tank laughed. “Not a convenient time for you?”

  “No.” said Sully. For once, his voice didn’t roller-coaster out of control. “It’s not. My friend’s in trouble.”

  “Well, you two have something in common.”

  “I’m serious,” said Sully. “We can’t do this right now. You have to let me go.”

  “I’m serious, too,” said Tank.

  Sully’s right fist still clenched the mud he’d grabbed in his first attempt at escape, as Tank dragged him to his feet. He opened his hand with the thought of flinging the mud at Tank’s face, but realized something was lodged inside the dirt. As Tank dragged him across the street, Sully spread his fingers and watched the rain wash away the muck to reveal a small rainbow ball in the palm of his hand.

  CHAPTER 55

  Holding Sully with a single hand, Tank pulled out his phone with the other and pressed the screen.

  “Where are you two idiots?” he said.

  While Tank yelled various insults and commands into the phone, Sully tossed the little ball to the side and watched it roll between the roots of an ancient oak by the side of the lake.

  “Move it,” Tank said, before jamming the phone back in his pocket.

  Sully twisted sideways and managed to squeeze out of Tank’s headlock. He jabbed the bully with an elbow before lighting off down the slope toward the lake. He squinted through the rain, and tried to make sense of the object floating a dozen yards upstream, where Fairy Lake gentled around a curve.

  “Let go of me,” said Sully, as Tank grabbed the back of the skimpy cheerleader t-shirt he still wore, the letters wfhs emblazoned across his chest.

  “Shut up.” Tank twisted Sully’s arm behind his back.

  “Ow!”

  “I said, shut up.” Tank grabbed Sully’s other arm and tied his wrists together behind his back.

  “Blossom needs me.” Sully struggled as Tank dragged him back to the oak tree. “Let me go.”

  “Your begging is pathetic.” Tank tossed Sully to the ground, so he could free a rope that was tied to a branch overhead.

  “I’m not begging,” said Sully. “I’m demanding you let me go right now. Just stop this.”

  Without the use of his arms, Sully stumbled to standing. Before he could take a step, Tank kicked his feet out from under him. The side of his head slammed into the ground, cutting his lip and bruising his cheek.

  Hauled to his feet again, Sully swivelled sideways and then back, trying for a roundhouse kick to Tank’s groin, but he succeeded only in landing on the ground again.

  “Untie me!” Sully pushed to his knees again. “I mean it!”

  “Do you want to know why I picked you, Sally?” Tank grabbed the front of Sully’s shirt and ripped it up the middle. The taut neckline resisted and bit into Sully’s neck until Tank slid a jackknife underneath to slice it open.

  Cold rain pricked against Sully’s bare chest. On his knees again, he coughed from the t-shirt’s choke hold, and lifted a battered knee in another attempt to stand.

  “I picked you because you’re weak,” said Tank.

  Tank’s face didn’t hold amusement or even triumph. Sully struggled to name the emotion it held. Resignation? Frustration? Duty? Almost as if this were a chore he had to complete.

  “So weak that you don’t even know, yourself, who you are,” said Tank. He flicked up his wrist so the knife split Sully’s t-shirt at the shoulders, where it fell to the ground.

  “None of that is important right now,” said Sully.

  “ . . . and even though you’d do anything to save your pathetic self—”

  “You’re not listening to me! Blossom needs my help.”

  “ . . . grovel in front of your enemies and betray your friends—”

  “I get it. I’m worthless. But this isn’t about me right now.”

  “Just shut up.” Tank pushed Sully to the ground again. “The Niner is a public service. Weakness needs to be exposed, as my dear old dad is fond of saying. You chose yourself, Sally. You caused this.”

  As Tank wound the rope around his ankles, Sully lunged forward. He sunk his teeth into Tank’s calf which earned him a kick in the head before he found himself dragged backward through the leaves.

  “Now, let’s get on with this.” Tank pulled on the rope, so Sully was lifted upside down a foot above the ground.

  He arched his back and thrashed forward in a futile attempt to knock Tank off his feet. “Let me go! My—”

  “Quiet now, Sally.” Tank placed his finger on Sully’s lips.

  As Sully swung from the branch, his skirt fell away from his legs to reveal his underwear.

  Tank smiled. “I almost want to leave the skirt, Sally.”

  “Stop,” Sully protested.

  Tank slipped the tip of the knife under the waistband of Sully’s underwear. As his arm flexed for the upward motion that would slice the garment up one side, Tank’s face slackened and, for a few seconds, it was as if he were suspended in a pickling jar before he crumpled to the ground under Sully’s head.

  CHAPTER 56

  “Go!” Mr. C. extended his flat palm level with Sully’s eyes. Sleeping Beauty lay face down on Mr. C.’s hand, half-immersed in mud.

  Looking down at Tank, Sully saw one of the green walnut pods lying inches from where he’d landed.

  “Now, tuck and roll,” said Mr. C.

  “What?” said Sully.

  Mr. C. pulled the bind off Sully’s wrists and then sliced at the rope with the knife he’d fished out of Tank’s slack hand. “I said, tuck and roll.”

  Gravity kicked in before Sully could react.

  “I could have broken my neck!” He pushed himself up from Tank’s solid girth, which had broken his fall.

  “You could be hanging naked, stupid boy. Now go. You don’t have much time.”

  Sully raced to the water’s edge and squinted upstream through the sleet. He wiped blood from his eyes, startled to find them two-thirds of the way up his face, exactly where they should be. Even on the right sides.

  A flimsy rubber raft floated toward him from half a dozen yards away. The long white dress of its passenger trailed loosely, left and right, in the dark water. Sully didn’t have to see her face to know it was Blossom. Her hands were folded like a corpse across her chest, and her long multi-colored hair hung lifelessly, rendered uniformly dark by the rain.

  Sully shivered. The putrid smell of decaying vegetation stuck in his throat as he stepped into the lake. Icy brown water chewed at his ankles. The lake bottom sucked at his feet. While the river trundled moderately at this point, still two dozen yards from the falls, the raft halved the distance between them before Sully took a second step.

  Another few steps and the tiny cheerleader skirt spread like petals around his waist. Picking up speed, the raft threatened to pass him if he didn’t hurry.

  Sully plunged forward and kept his eyes on Blossom, as the mucky bottom fell away. His mouth floated sideways from his cheek to land just above his ch
in as cold water gripped him round the middle and stole his breath.

  The lake slapped Sully’s face as a gust of wind plucked the raft out of reach. Foul water drove his nose up the middle of his face, dodging his mouth before settling.

  Spluttering, gasping, dragging in breath, Sully kicked hard with his legs to make one last push. He grabbed the end of the raft and pulled himself even with Blossom’s face, as the current tugged them forward.

  Washed clean of gardens, her earth-brown complexion glowed in the dull light. Instead of flowers, ugly bruises bloomed on her face and arms. Her left eye bulged with swelling, and dried blood darkened the split on her lower lip.

  Sully’s ears sprinted to either side of his head and picked up the roar of the falls, now ten yards away. Using the raft as a flutter-board, he kicked hard for shore, but the wind and the current joined forces against him and tossed him backward. As the raft unbalanced, Blossom slipped into the water. Her head lolled sideways as her dress strained for the bottom of the lake.

  Sully wrapped one arm around her waist and pushed her face above water. He pulled toward shore but, despite his best effort, lost three feet of distance toward the falls for every one he moved across the lake.

  Eight yards from the drop, Sully spied a metal pipe sticking a few inches above the water, which he knew to be anchored in place to spurt a decorative fountain on summer days. Since the wind buffeted him in that direction anyway, Sully gave in to the force, intent on grabbing the pipe to anchor them until they could be rescued.

  The wind shoved him one way and then the other, causing Blossom’s face to submerge. As Sully struggled to reorient himself, the wind yanked him back. The sharp metal sliced across his scalp and a wave of nausea seized him as he lifted Blossom’s face above water and focused his eyes on the shore again.

  Six yards from the falls, a distant voice reached him.

  “Dude! Sully! Grab the rope!”

  Four yards from the falls, Sully looked up to see Morsixx lying on the overhanging branch of the last enormous tree before the drop. His coal black hair hung over his face, and a noose dangled from his outstretched hand.