Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (18 page)

60. Strength

Sleep is impossible.

All I keep thinking about is what I’m going to do. What I need to say to Marsh when I go see him tomorrow. What I should tell Kelsey. If I should say anything to anybody.

Round and around it goes.

I toss and turn, then toss and turn a little more.

Then it finally dawns on me. I mean—I keep forgetting.

Just pray.

So I do that.

But as the words come out, they don’t make sense.

How could God let stuff like this happen? How could He allow someone like Kelsey to be in danger?

What about Jocelyn and Lily and all the others?

I know that bad things happen to good people, even people who believe.

Then I remember Jocelyn’s words.

Ephesians six. Ten through twenty.

I climb out of bed and turn on the light.

I’d forgotten about that. I didn’t forget about seeing Jocelyn, but I had forgotten about this.

I read the verses. They’re not just a nice little story about Moses or Peter or Jesus. I look back at the beginning of Ephesians and see that it’s a letter written by the apostle Paul—from prison.

He talks about getting ready for battle. About fighting a war.

About putting on God’s armor to stand against the Devil.

One verse that reminds me of Iris.

“For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.”

The unseen world, the dark world, the evil spirits.

But I can see into that world and see those spirits.

I don’t quite get things like the belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness. It sounds nice, but I just don’t get it.

But then I read this.

“Pray in the Spirit at all times and on every occasion. Stay alert and be persistent in your prayers for all believers everywhere.”

I think about it.

At all times.

On every occasion.

And the apostle Paul can talk—he’s in chains and still preaching as “God’s ambassador.”

“So pray that I will keep on speaking boldly for him, as I should.”

Shouldn’t he be praying for release?

I guess that’s faith. That’s the real deal.

What I have is kindergarten-level belief.

It’d be cool to have that kind of strength.

So that’s what I ask God for. Not to be released from this prison. But for strength like the writer of those words.

Strength to know what to do.

Strength to one day speak boldly and to know what I need to say.

61. Serious

I’m here at New Beginnings Church because Mr. Meiners told me it would be too soon to come to their Sunday service. He said he’ll be in touch.

That’s what everybody says these days.

I’ll be in touch.

Cue the menacing “Muahaha!”

I’m here sitting in a chair and listening to music in order to see Pastor Marsh afterward.

That means I have to stomach another one of his twenty-minute talks.

Today he’s talking about taking control of your life. A nice self-help pep talk that he probably copied from Dr. Phil.

Yeah, I watch television too.

But as Marsh talks and sounds so sickeningly sincere, I figure something out.

This guy wants one thing and one thing only.

Control.

And the fact that he grew up around here and then came back means that he figured out he could have a little control in a little place for a little man. He couldn’t find it out in the big bad world so he decided to come back to this little bad town.

And he wants me because he thinks he can control me.

Marsh can’t control Kinner. He probably doesn’t even have a clue who and what Kinner really is. But little old Chris Buckley—there’s someone he can control. Just like his little old wife.

So make him believe he can control me. That will be the trade-off.

His control—the idea that he is in control—versus making sure that Kelsey is okay.

Making sure that Kelsey stays okay.

When the music starts playing to signal the end of the service, I already know exactly what I’m going to say to the good old pastor.

“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

He’s got his smug politician’s smirk on his face and doesn’t seem to blink at my comment. “It’s good to see you, Chris. As always.”

“I’m serious.”

“You always are.”

“I just want to make sure that one thing happens.”

He glances around and keeps smiling. Marsh definitely has a better way of being a fake around other people than someone like Staunch does.

Then again, everybody is scared of Staunch. People aren’t supposed to be afraid of the pastor.

“Perhaps we can talk about this at another time?”

“I want you to protect her.”

His face grows grim for a second as he seems to slip to another place. But that’s just for a second. Someone comes up and talks to him, and I just wait. I stand there and wait and don’t even think about leaving. When the pastor is finished he stares at me again.

“I will do my best.”

“No,” I say. “No, I need to know that she is going to be okay. I’m sorry, but I don’t think your best means anything.”

“Some things are out of my control, Chris.”

“Really? Even if I’m there to help?”

He laughs for a minute, as if I’m an idiotic teenage boy who doesn’t quite get what he’s talking about.

Which, in fact, I am.

“She will be fine.”

“For real?” I ask.

“Yes. For real.”

I’m ready to leave, but then Marsh calls my name. I turn around.

“Just remember. It’s okay to play around. But don’t make any serious commitments.”

“What? With Kelsey?”

Marsh shakes his head, glances around, then grows scary serious again. “No. With God.”

62. A Mess

“Want a smoke?”

Brick asks me this as we’re standing at the top of the steps of Harrington High braving the cold and the on-and-off-again drizzle.

“Are you always going to ask me if I want a cigarette even though I’ve said no a hundred times?”

“Seems the right thing to do.”

I laugh. “Well, thanks, but no. I need something stronger than a smoke.”

“Seriously?”

I shake my head. “Just kidding.”

“’Cause you know—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.”

Occasionally I’ll hang around with skinhead here because he makes me laugh and because I don’t feel the need to be anybody else for this guy. He doesn’t have a set group of friends. Rather, Brick is a loner who everybody knows and pretty much likes.

I wonder what will happen to him when he’s no longer at Harrington High.

“What are you going to do after graduation?” I ask.

“Didn’t you hear? I’m deciding between Princeton and Yale.”

“No, thanks,” I say. “You know how hard it is to get a job after college.”

“Yeah. And that’s now. In another four years we’ll be in a depression.”

“Don’t joke about it,” I say.

“Who says I’m joking?” He takes a drag and looks out to the road below. “Nah, I’m staying around here. Figure someone will always need a mechanic, you know? Especially if everybody’s broke and driving around broken-down cars.”

“So you don’t mind this place?”

He looks at me as if he’s wondering why I’m asking. “Remember—people leave people like me alone.”

“Yeah.”

“Any more stuff going on with Staunch?” Brick asks. “I know you and the hot chick asked me all about the dirt on him not long ago.”

“Nothing going on. Nothing now.”

“You ever check out what I told you about?”

I think of the pit in the woods not far from the Staunch house. I think of the remains of the hand I found in the woods.

“Yeah. But they got rid of whatever you saw.”

“A lot to get rid of,” Brick says.

“They burned it.”

Brick goes “Hmm.”

“Hey—if I needed your help sometime, would that be cool?” I ask.

“What kind of help?”

“Just—actually, I don’t know. Just help—maybe watching my back or something like that.”

“Yeah. From who? Gus?”

“No—he’s laid off. Ever since his father attacked him with a serving spoon in front of the town. Just from other people.”

“Yeah, sure. You just tell me when.”

How about Memorial Day weekend when something big is going to happen?

“Thanks,” I tell Brick.

At least I know someone who is willing to help with no questions asked.

But Brick does surprise me with a question.

“You ever think of Lily?”

I’m not sure what to say at first. So I just tell him the truth. “Yeah. Pretty much every day.”

“Man, she was fine, wasn’t she?”

I nod.

She probably didn’t realize how fine she was.

“It’s just a mess, isn’t it?” Brick says.

“What?”

“This world.”

Maybe this is a chance for me to share some hope and inspiration with Brick. But I have no idea where to start without sounding lame.

“Yeah, it is” is all I can say.

The world is a mess. Doesn’t mean it’s God’s fault.

But it does mean that He can save us from it. And from ourselves.

I’m heading back to class when I see a tall guy walking down a hallway all alone.

I stop for a second and feel a weird sense of déjà vu.

A tall kid walking in sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

He turns to look at me, and I see what I didn’t want to see.

It’s him. It’s the guy again.

I saw him last summer at school. The same exact kid. He has a bloody neck and cheek, as if they’ve been eaten away by something.

Or shot.

I almost put my hand in front of my face, but I can’t stop looking. The guy just turns and looks at me, then he keeps walking toward the end of the hallway.

I look around me, but nobody else saw him.

I bolt down the hallway just to make sure that there’s not really some guy there who’s shot and wandering.

I go into the room at the end of the hallway; it’s dark and I quickly turn on the lights. It’s cold in here, and I know that any second he’s going to jump out and make me give him a big kiss on his missing cheek.

But no.

The room is empty and silent.

Like my head. Like my sanity.

I’m going to leave, but then I glance at the chalkboard. It’s not empty.

The writing is large.

In big, thick letters, the message is pretty clear.

Marsh killed me and killed Jocelyn and will kill Kelsey too so be careful

I look around the room again and then sneak a peek back outside the hallway. Nobody is around.

Even after everything that’s happened, I still feel like someone’s playing a prank on me.

Surprise! This whole last year has just been one big reality television show trying to freak you out!

The kid I saw …

Was that Stuart Algiers?

I’m going to ask, but I have a feeling what the answer will be.

I go to the chalkboard to wipe the message away. I touch it, expecting the chalk not to be there, but it is. It’s very real.

It takes me five minutes to erase it all.

As I’m heading out of the classroom, I see Miss Harking waiting for me in the hallway. Almost standing at attention, her narrow eyes and face judging me in an instant.

“Do you need help, Chris?”

The way she asks this isn’t like someone asking another person if they need assistance. This is more like someone who thinks the person is trying to hide something.

“No, I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

I see her eyes staring at me with guilt and judgment.

“No. But thanks.”

I smile and then walk away.

I have to hide the fact that I want to take off in a sprint. My back feels watched by the rigid lady.

When I’m finally seated in my next class, I can’t get the message out of my head.

It’s not so much that I question whether Marsh is bad or not.

But does this mean he was the one to physically kill Jocelyn and Stuart and others?

Is he planning to do the same to me maybe? Or is he using Kelsey as bait?

This is the reason I’m not doing particularly well in my classes. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re contemplating a message a ghost sent you about how he died.

63. The Sun and the Rainfall

Things must change.

This seventeen-year-old stuck in this cabin glancing at an image of a pretty blonde on the computer screen while
A Broken Frame
by Depeche Mode plays.

This cabin stuck on this road stuck in this town stuck in this nightmare.

He looks at the pictures and knows he has to save her.

If it wasn’t for you don’t know what I’d do.

He breathes in and wonders about the darkness. He wonders if the light can force the darkness to go away. He wonders what doors there are to open to let the light in.

Things must change.

He’s supposed to be doing homework, but he can’t.

He’s just thinking how to save her.

What comes next?

He tries the Zippo lighter, but it refuses to ignite. He plays with the leather band he still doesn’t want to wear around his wrist. His eyes wander to the picture of himself smiling in the sunlight. Then they find the image of the road in the woods with the handwritten quote from the poem underneath.

Random pieces of an unfinished picture. The real true broken frame is me.

The rain falls on the roof, and he longs for spring and sun and light and hope.

He prays.

And deep down, he believes.

We must rearrange them.

So the song says and so he believes.

Shuffle the deck and let them suffer.

What if he’s able to open the door and bring light back into this town?

But how?

Things must change.

The Crag’s Inn is gone.

But maybe there’s another doorway. Another lock and key. Another bridge to go over or under.

Another way.

Iris isn’t there to ask. So who else can he ask?

Mr. Meiners might know.