One house left, p.6
One House Left, page 6
Three stony faces stare at me in the half-light and I’m suddenly certain that none of them snuck anything into my locker.
It doesn’t help. But it makes one thing clear. I’m sticking close to them for as long as necessary, because someone is messing with me, and I might need all the friends I can get.
19
That afternoon, I do my homework at the dining table while Hazel paces the room above me, the ceiling creaking under the weight of her frantic footsteps.
Every few minutes, Mom stares at the cracked plaster overhead, her entire body deflating before she finds the energy to go again.
I don’t ask Mom if my sister will be okay, because, unlike Rowan, she won’t lie. Instead, we pretend in silence. That everyone is happy. That none of us is broken.
When the front door opens, Mom’s shoulders tense. And they stay tensed when Dad and Rowan walk in and dump overflowing bags of groceries on the countertops.
Our brother tosses his wallet and keys on the sideboard, then sits next to me with an exaggerated groan, the arms he holds behind his head covered in bruises.
“We got everything you requested,” Dad says, wrapping his own arms around Mom’s waist and only moving when she nudges him aside.
“Thank you,” she mumbles, quickly emptying the bags and adding even more stuff to our already crammed cupboards.
After a couple of weeks in a new place, there are no more empty spaces.
The bruise around Rowan’s eye has turned from a single shade of brown to a mess of purples and reds and black, the skin nearest his cheek engorged like a misshapen water balloon. When I look closer, I see that scabs and cuts cover his lips.
“What?” Rowan says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“It’s just … you usually win easily.”
Mom laughs and, without turning, mutters, “Do you want to tell him?”
“Stop it,” Dad says. “Please.”
But Rowan’s button has already been pushed. Again. I have no idea what’s going on but it can’t be good.
Mom faces us, rage flickering in the corners of her mouth. “Your brother didn’t get those injuries at a boxing club or a dojo. He doesn’t do that anymore, do you, Rowan?”
When he doesn’t reply, our mother snatches his wallet and empties the contents on the table.
Twenty- and fifty-dollar bills splay across the stained wood like playing cards—more money than I have ever seen in my life.
Mom’s stare burns into the top of Rowan’s head as she says, “You’re doing it again.”
“What’s happening?” I ask.
Dad stands behind me, his hand heavy on my shoulder. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not ‘nothing,’” Mom replies. “Your brother fights for money. There’s no boxing anymore, Nate. No coaches, no competitions, no trophies. Just brute violence. Last person standing.”
“It’s still me,” Rowan says, the remains of a smirk on his busted lips. “I still win.”
“Look at you,” Mom whispers. “If that’s what it takes to win … you shouldn’t be playing.”
“Really?” My brother’s voice suddenly fills the room. “If that’s what it takes.”
“Stop!” Dad shouts. “That’s enough.”
“Forgive me if I don’t want our son getting the shit beat out of him.”
Rowan stands, the veins in his arms pulsing through his skin. “I know you care. Really. I know. But I’m not going to stop.”
Mom watches him leave, and then Dad removes his hand and hurries over.
“I’m fine,” she says, walking out before he reaches her.
He stands awkwardly for a few seconds, then follows her upstairs.
Even if I wanted to tell my family about the notes and the newspaper clipping, I couldn’t. Not with everything else that’s going on.
I can’t stay in this house when no one even tries to pretend. I need to get out of here; to block out the horrible thoughts that creep in when I’m alone for too long.
I’ve already agreed to meet Max and the others tonight. And any doubts I had have been snuffed out by a family with more fuses and flames than I can count.
20
I wait alone on Main Street, the stores all lit by separate lampposts, their window displays beckoning like a stranger’s curling finger.
Compared to the last place we lived this town feels like a Hallmark movie. Everything feels neat and tidy and, most important, real.
Belleview tried to be perfect, but only to throw a sheet over the morbid history of Murder Road.
There’s a lightness to Montgomery-Oakes that I’m growing less suspicious of every day.
When people smile at you, they mean it. When they stop to chat with their neighbors, there’s no half-hidden desire to escape. And sitting here, the sunset painting pink and orange swirls across the sky, I feel strangely, wonderfully content.
I wait on a bench dedicated to Iris Lowe. The plaque says she was a grandmother, mother, sister, daughter, and friend. That’s a lot of things for one person to be.
A dog sniffs my sneakers, its leash too long to comply with my rules on personal space.
The owner grins and says, “Sorry,” and I hold back the urge to kick it.
It was Rowan who told me about the rage. He said you can’t live that close to all those murders and not breathe some of them in.
I didn’t understand immediately. But then I saw him at a tae kwon do tournament, his pupils like pinpricks and the anger coming off him in waves.
It was channeled. It was allowed. But it still scared me, because that wasn’t the brother I knew.
The Rowan I’d grown up with was gentle. He probably hurt a few flies but that was as bad as it got. Until he became angry.
Now I have it too. When it comes, it’s quick. As though someone has crept up behind me and taken control, like I’m the tool of a vengeful puppeteer.
My parents don’t have it. At least, not that I’ve ever seen. But the rest of us do. Rowan the worst, Hazel now and again, and me, more often than I’d like to admit.
Is it guilt? Living so close to death? Escaping a place so many didn’t? Or is our brother right, and the worst moments really do spread like mushroom clouds, scarring some, merely touching others?
I feel stupid for not knowing where Rowan goes every night, then guilty that he has no choice.
I close my eyes and try to picture an underground fight club—a ring of cheering bodies splattered by other people’s blood.
I wish it was still enough for Rowan to win a trophy and yet, if I’m honest, it never was. The gold or silver glistening in his hands at the end of every competition was a bonus he had no desire to revel in.
For him, it’s always been about the violence. If he can make some money out of it now that he’s no longer in school, why not?
A bell rings behind me and, when I turn, I see an old man closing up. It’s a candy store, and hundreds of childhood memories race back as I look through the glass.
That’s all there is here. No shutters, no bars, only glass.
Every store on the street is just a brick or a kick away from losing everything. But the man isn’t thinking like that. He only sees the good in people.
“Evening,” he says, nodding as he walks slowly past.
“Hi.”
He stops at the corner, touches the street sign, then vanishes into the black.
I could sit here every night, because this is my kind of calm. Not quite silent, the buzz of the streetlights and the whir of the distant highway nestling in my ears.
It softens everything—the rage and the fear and the uncertainty. And it makes me hope, no matter how foolishly, that we can have a home here.
“Yo! Yo!” Max yells from the other side of the square. “He actually made it.”
My sense of calm vanishes in an instant. “Where are the others?”
“Seb parked around the corner. They didn’t believe you’d be here so they refused to get out of the car.”
I laugh but Max shrugs like she’s not kidding. Then she looks past me, smiling at the storefronts. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It’s certainly got character.”
“When I was little, this place was the center of my universe. My mom and I would spend every Saturday morning here. We hardly ever bought anything but that didn’t matter. She called it ‘window shopping,’ which is a nice way of saying we were dirt poor.”
Max walks to the candy store and rests one palm against the glass.
“This was my paradise. Mr. Taylor runs it and he’d always sneak me some candy when Mom wasn’t looking.”
“I think I saw him,” I say. “He just closed up.”
“You’ll meet him properly soon,” Max says, walking back across the square before I can ask what she means. “Come on. The boys will wonder where I am.”
I run to catch up, crossing a pristine patch of grass with a sign that reads NO BALL GAMES.
Tyler is leaning out the passenger window, relief washing over his face when he sees us. And I realize something. What if they’re scared of me? What if it’s only strength in numbers, or Max’s blind faith, that is stopping them from doing what I did the other night?
Max gets in the back and I do the same on the other side.
“Hey,” I say, and Max hits the back of Seb’s seat and says, “I told you he’d come.”
Seb doesn’t reply. He just puts the car in drive and slowly pulls away.
“Where are we going?” I’m trying to silence my panic, because Seb isn’t driving to the same spot as last time. We’re way past that, heading toward the highway and the smaller towns scattered left and right like unwatered seeds.
“The middle of nowhere,” Tyler says. “I thought you knew that.”
Only, this is a different nowhere, one I haven’t researched. If things go south, there will be no easy escape.
Max smiles and I copy, unsure if either of us means it. Then I stare out of the window, thinking of all the times people made decisions that only proved to be bad once it was too late.
Eventually, Tyler mumbles, “Here,” and Seb crawls down a narrow lane for five drawn-out minutes, then kills the engine.
Max gets out and the boys look at each other, then follow.
The breath they need for their silly legend creeps out of me, its tendrils narrowing to nothing. Then there’s a tap on the window and Max grins through the glass.
“Come on!” she shouts.
I step into the darkness as the three of them disappear between the trees. Max is chattering excitedly, but that’s not the noise I’m drawn to. It’s the sound of something else that pulls me into the gloom then quickly out the other side.
The call of the water.
Waves lap gently below us, the lights from the shoreline of the bay sprinkled like glitter from a toddler’s hand. I step closer to the cliff edge and rest my palms on the rails.
“It’s beautiful, right?” Seb says.
It takes me a moment to realize why he looks different. He’s smiling.
Tyler takes a stone from the ground and throws it into the darkness. There’s no splash, no telling where it lands, but he looks satisfied.
“Montgomery-Oakes is surrounded by a lot of crappy places,” he says. “But it’s also got some hidden gems.”
I’ve always loved water, especially the ocean—its sounds, its size, its sense of infinite calm. That’s strange, I guess. That something so wild can feel so restful? But that’s the beauty of it. I could listen to the waves for hours. It’s the only thing that wins every time, a universal weapon against my fears—a rock, paper, and scissors all rolled into one.
I stare across the water, wondering what this place looks like to the people on the other side. Do they watch us with the same reverence? Because so many things look perfect from a distance. It’s only when you get closer that you notice what’s not quite hidden.
We stand there for a long time—silent and happy—and then Tyler sighs and says, “We should do this. If it doesn’t work, we’ll come back and enjoy the view some more.”
“What if it does work?” Max replies, mischief in her smile.
“Then we don’t leave the car until we’re home.”
“We could always just…”
“Chicken out?” Seb says.
He glances at me then away.
“I saw a couple of empty-looking places on the way over here,” Tyler says with a grin. “Who’s up for stopping off and summoning the Hiding Boy before we head home? Two legends for the price of one.”
Max stares at me while she shakes her head. “Let’s see if this one works first.”
Tyler nods and follows Seb back to the car, but Max’s eyes are fixed firmly on the distant lights across the water.
“I have two brothers and a sister over there,” she says. “Well, half siblings. The half that doesn’t give a shit.”
I look where she’s looking, trying to imagine the strangers she’s got in her head.
“What’s your family situation?” Max asks.
“One brother, one sister, two parents.”
“That must be nice.”
“Not always.”
She turns to me, the distant reflections like jewels in her eyes.
“I read that no two kids have the same parents,” she says, “even if they’re siblings. The first kid has the parents who are figuring everything out for the first time. The second one has the parents who’ve learned from their mistakes but are also caught up in raising two kids. The third one has the parents who have two already and have all this experience and are like, sure, climb everything, you’ll be fine. Which one are you?”
“I’m the baby,” I say.
“So, you don’t see your parents the way your brother and sister do. Three kids. Three totally different experiences. To me, my dad’s an asshole, because he left when I was three. But to the people who live over there, he’s a legend, because he chose to love them.”
“I’m sure he…”
“He doesn’t. And I don’t need you to make me feel better. I’m just telling you a story.”
“Okay.”
I guess this isn’t everyone’s perfect view after all. But I can relate to that. If you didn’t know the history of where I came from, you’d only notice its beauty. Once you’ve seen through a facade, you can’t redraw the curtain.
Max and I walk to the car, and the boys offer her uncertain smiles that she widens with a grin of her own.
When we’re all inside, the car locks slam down with a jolt that makes me jump, and Max giggles. “You okay, Nate? That isn’t the scary part.”
I nod, then watch as the three of them hold their fingers to their mouths.
Eleven minutes of silence. That’s how this starts. So, I close my eyes and wait.
Max’s breathing slows and, when I glance over, she looks so peaceful. Her lips are slightly parted, wisps of life snaking through the car.
Seb’s stare fills the rearview. I try to smile but what comes out is fragile and incomplete.
I retreat into my darkness, fighting off some memories and welcoming others. I want to be back by the water, not playing silly games.
That’s the kind of distraction I need—one that makes me forget, if only for an hour or two, that someone in this town knows what we’re running from.
Respite normally comes in the few fragile months before we start hearing the distant thrum of its footsteps. But now, because of the notes and the newspaper clipping, I don’t even have that.
Heat prickles the skin under my jeans while goose bumps cluster on my neck. Then I risk a second look at Seb, who is still staring, unblinking, before he leans toward his window and softly blows.
The others copy, so I do the same, filling the glass on my side with hot breath. I quickly glance at Max’s then draw my own circle, careful to keep it unfinished. Two silent stabs for eyes. One swift slash for a mouth.
Our voices shatter the silence. Seven words—even when whispered—somehow bigger as they are spoken in unison.
“I see the Face in the Glass.”
I stare past the shape I drew, into a darkness so removed from the beauty just around the corner. I can’t wait to see that bay again. It may remind Max of a life she didn’t get to live, of people who got the dad she’d never recognize, but, to me, it’s spectacular.
It’s proof that my parents may have got it right this time; that they have brought us to somewhere worth fighting for.
When tonight is over, I’ll ask Tyler about the other hidden gems, the places I can go where nothing matters except the moment. But for now …
“What was that?” Tyler says.
Max leans forward and looks out of his window. “I don’t see anything.”
“I swear,” he whispers, “something moved.”
“Animals,” Seb says under his breath. “It’s always animals.”
I watch them as they stare out of their windows and can’t help but smile. This is how to escape my family and my fate; to bury our awkward dinner-table moments in something harmless and fun; to try to forget one urban legend by pretending I care about another.
“Are you okay?” Max asks. “What’s happening to your lips?”
“He’s smiling,” Tyler says. “That’s a first.” He waits a few seconds, then adds, “So we have seen something unimaginable tonight, even if the Face in the Glass proves as elusive as ever.”
Seb snorts as I hold one hand over my mouth.
“It’s okay to enjoy yourself,” Max whispers.
She touches my arm and I fight against my flinch. It feels nice, her weight on mine.
“How long until we call it?” Tyler asks.
“That depends on how brave you’re feeling,” Max replies.
She hasn’t moved her hand and I wonder if she likes that fact as much as I do.
“We failed,” Seb says, squeezing his door handle just enough for it to click.
“The abandoned house it is,” Tyler sings and, all at once, the three of us say, “No!”
