The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (22 page)

“
Energy
,” she replied. “
Liquid gold and dandelions
.”

Chapter 29

When I was ten, I received a letter from my dad. The only one my mom ever let me read, because I am sure my dad sent many more. I keep it in my dresser, in a drawer where I store all the things that I would save if the apartment caught fire.

What happened that night, no one but me and him and Jack know.

The letter explained in great detail what happened,
why Jack really lost his life
. How he forfeited his life the minute he stepped into the bar. My dad wasn’t drunk, although he was portrayed as being so at the time of the murder. I know he wasn’t because he told me in the letter, and he was getting me a Coke, like I asked for. There wasn’t enough time for him to have absorbed much alcohol into his system.

Dad was minding his own business, asking the bartender for a Coke with a lid and straw, for me. When Jack walked up to the bar for some whiskey, upon seeing my dad ordering a Coke, he made a comment.

“What are ya’, some kind of queer?” he asked, as the bartender handed him the soda that was intended for me.

“It’s for my little girl,” he said.

“Yeah? I don’t see a little girl around here. Just a bunch of men, do they turn you on?” he said, squeezing my dad’s shoulders.

“
Get your hands off me
,” Dad had said, fighting the urge to strike the man down.

“Oh, you don’t think I’m hot?” Jack had said satirically, shoving Dad into a bar stool. The stool tipped, and my dad crashed to the ground.

“Where’s your little girl now, huh? She could probably fight me better.”

“Don’t you talk about my daughter!” he yelled, and socked Jack in the mouth.

“Take it outside boys!” the bartender barked.

“Oh, we’ll take it outside alright,” Jack said, lifting his chin up.

Dad stormed from the bar, but not before grabbing me. He was hoping that he could get outside, into his truck, and drive home for the night. But that was not to be, Jack had different ideas swarming inside his intoxicated head. He followed Dad outside, and the real fighting began.

A few swings, that’s what my dad was hoping for.
Hit him a few times, and get out of here, because my daughter is watching
. When my dad hit the three-punch mark, he was ready to go, to get the heck out of there and pretend it never happened.

I kept thinking about your mom and you,
he wrote. Just as he was picking himself off of Jack, a knife was pulled. Dad’s blood pumped like liquid steel, he needed to keep that knife away from himself,
away from me
. He stared into Jack’s milky blue eyes, reflecting the malice and determination on his face, and with one swift blow to the temple, he, ultimately killed Jack. It wasn’t self-defense, it was daughter-defense. Dad would never take a man’s life over his own, but how else could he ensure my safety?

A Hawaiian girl in a hula skirt bobbles on the dashboard. This should be the first sign that Trenton is no good:
what kinds of people have bobble heads in their cars?
Serial killers
.

The head bobbing in rhythm with the flow of the car, and bumps of the road, signifies that I shouldn’t be in his car, and I shouldn’t be driving with him to his house.

“My family isn’t home,” he says.

The hula girl smiles at me, a forced turning up of the mouth that warns me, “
Don’t go any farther with this guy, he is a lunatic
.”

“So, have you heard from Ashten lately? Seeing as you two are buddy-buddy and all.”

“Yes,” I say. “We were at the same hospital.”

“I figured. And, uh, what did you guys talk about?”

“Stuff,” I say.

“Like?”

“Like, what do you care what we talked about?”

“Sheesh, I was just asking,” he says.

We pull into his driveway, the car lurching forward and coming to a sudden halt, hula girl crashing off the dashboard.

This is a mistake
, I think.

“I took the liberty of getting the couch set up for us,” Trenton says, putting his keys in a tray on a side table.

“So we could sit?” I ask dumbfounded.

“No?” he says. “You do know why I invited you over, right?”

I shake my head no.

His house is furnished in Ikea furniture, cream and beige is the color scheme of his living room. On the side table there are a group of family photos, all in crystal picture frames: Trenton as a little boy, him at his first baseball game, his little sister at her ballet dance recital, and
Jack
. I would know the face anywhere.

The beard is flesh colored,
just like Jack’s
, and his eyes are milky blue,
just like Jack’s
, and his lips are thin, and his face is chiseled.
Just. Like. Jack’s
.

“Who is this man?” I ask, pointing to the picture.

“He is my dad,” Trenton says, and the room tilts, and the floor rises tossing me face down into it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his hand raising my arm and lifting me to my feet.

“What was his name?” I ask not wanting to hear the answer.

“Jack,” he says.

“Let’s step outside,” I say as Jack did on his last night.

“Why?” Trenton asks.

“I have to tell you something, and after I do, you aren’t going to want me in your house.”

We sit on the steps.

Where do I begin? I know you tried killing Ashten, and oh yeah; my dad killed your dad.

“I saw your dad die,” I say.

“That’s not funny, Bailey,” he says.

“I know it’s not, he’s been haunting me since the night my dad killed him to protect me.”

“No,” he says.

“Yes,” I say.

“You are the little girl?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“What is your father’s name?” he says, beginning to make the connection.

“Angel.”

He thinks about this. His eyes grow huge.

“Sykes,” he hisses. “Angel Sykes. I am a fucking retard. You have the same last name as him, and I never put two and two together!” he says. “I’m trying to hook up with the daughter of a murderer!”

“He did it in self-defense! Your dad had a knife!”

Trenton slugs me in the jaw. “My dad was a good man, a good father! He was beaten to death, because your dad was a drunken prick!” he sobs.

“Well you are not any better!” I yell back at him, and wipe the blood from my mouth.

“Yeah, how come? Enlighten me,” he says.

“
Because you also tried to kill somebody
. Ashten told me, she knows you tried to kill her at the bonfire! You won’t get away with it. You will never lead the Allie. Her brother will make sure of that.”

He looks combustible, his body quivering.

“She told you about the Allie? Then, you have to join now. Join or die.” he says, his voice so calm it chills me.

I hold my breath, as his body relaxes, and he seems to be wrapped up in deep thoughts.

“It is simple, Bailey, you either become an Allie, or we will have to kill you for refusing membership.”

“
Then kill me
,” I say like a snake, and get up from the step. “
Maybe you can avenge your dad by killing me.”

I start off for the long walk home, irate, and cursing under my breath.
Join or die?
Is the Allie a secret society, or a gang? I’ve never heard of a gang that forces membership. Well, let him think he can kill me. He won’t ever get the chance, because he has just made it onto the Bullet List.

It’s a small world
I think.
So small that the boy I kissed could end up being the son of Jack, so small that a gang, and Miemah could both be out to kill me
.
So small that I could have a list made out, and a gun at my disposal, to kill every one of them before they get ahold of me.

“Did you have fun at your friend’s house?” Mom asks when I enter the apartment.

“Loads,” I say without enthusiasm, and go straight to my room.

“Why don’t you come watch a movie with me in the living room?” she asks. “I made popcorn.”

I stare at the bowl of popcorn in her hand as she shakes it, like I am Angel, and she is holding my favorite treat.

“A gang wants to kill me,” I say, “No, I don’t want popcorn, or to watch a movie.”

I shut my door.

Angel is asleep underneath my bed, and I lie on the floor, so that I can pet him while I try to fall asleep too.

Surprisingly, the thought of the Allie seeking me out doesn’t weigh too heavily on my mind. Miemah is more daunting than any gang, she has always been there, and with the gang I don’t know what I’m up against so I have nothing to fear, or not fear.

From the window, the moon shines down on my face. I want sleep, but it doesn’t come. My mind is sluggish and my head aches. Through the night, I stare at the popcorn ceiling discerning outlines of pigs and hot air balloons, until the moon retires, and the sun takes its place in the sky.

Mom tells me to get dressed, and I mechanically put a shirt over my head and pull a pair of jeans over my legs. I don’t know if what I’m wearing even matches, but it doesn’t matter. I have reached the lowest point in my life.
Let it all end
, I think.
Let the world come crashing down around me so I can finally pick up the pieces and move on.

I write a poem on a sheet of paper and tape it to the door of the janitor’s closet so I can read it while I rest on the cot.

I will live.

I will survive.

I will just get by.

I will not make it.

I will die.

I am dead.

Where are the letters?
I think to myself. The letters that my father wrote me, because I know he had time to kill sitting in his ten by ten-by-ten cell, sleeping on a one-inch thick mattress, and going to the bathroom in full view of his cell mate.

It still makes my heart ache when I think of him, and how I have been cut off from him, severed like an umbilical cord. Somebody raps against the door, and I detach myself from the comfort of the cot to open it. Cecil pokes her head in, but I leave the door open only enough so that her voice can reach me.

“What?” I ask harshly.

“I got the tape,” she says, pushing it into my hands. “But Bailey, Miemah, is – she, is, well I think-” she stutters.

“Well what is it?”

“Miemah is going to
kill
me.”

“So, she wants to kill everyone, what’s new?”

“I mean it, Bailey! I’m, I’m scared.”

“Serves you right,” I say, and push her head from the door, so I can close it.

She knocks again, and I sit on the cot, trying to ignore her. The knocking continues, so I take another sheet of paper out and write:

Knock. Knock.

Who’s there?

Miemah is going to kill

Miemah is going to kill who?

You.

And I slip it under the door to her. I hear her gasp, and crumple it up.

You made me like this
, I think. You created me, a monster in disguise. I huddle in my lair, breathing heavily, and waiting for my next victim.

Minutes pass, hours pass, and no one else comes to the door. The last bell warns me that I should get the hell out of here before I can be trampled on by hundreds of feet, all equally as eager as I am to end their day at this little piece of crap school.

I stumble into the brightly lit hall, my arm shielding my eyes. I usually leave through the back staircase, because I am terrified of being caught by Miemah. However, this is no longer an issue for me, and I don’t fear her any more than I fear a kitten.

I turn down the main hallway and scope out Miemah, who is chatting with Cecil.
Wants to kill you? More like wants to be friends with you
. Maybe it was just a ploy, maybe this isn’t the real tape sitting in my pocket. I walk past them, training my ears on their conversation.

“Miemah, I’m sorry, please forgive me. I’ll do anything. I’ll get the tape back, I’ll beat her up,” I hear Cecil beg Miemah.

“No that is my job,” Miemah says, cleaning dirt from her nails, unfazed by Cecil’s pleas.

I am turning my back when my name is called.

“Bailey,” Miemah says. “What do you think we should do with Cecil? She is a dirty lying thief. You don’t like her, so what should we administer? Brass knuckles? Maybe we could pull her teeth out one by one with pliers.” She grabs Cecil’s arm tightly and forces her to face me.

“I don’t care what you do with her, just leave me out of it,” I say, and stare at Cecil’s feet because her eyes are too horrified to look into.

“Bailey, please!” Cecil cries. “Don’t let them hurt me! I got the tape for you; doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“I’m no match for Miemah,” I say, pretending she is not standing a couple of feet away from me. “You know that.”

Leave, Bailey,
I think. If I stay any longer Cecil’s cries will convince me to help her. I turn on my heel, and take slow steps forward.

“Bailey, remember how you felt in the locker room? All alone and in pain? You weren’t alone though, because behind that camera I was dying inside too, as I watched it all happen through the lens. But I was disconnected. I could have helped you. Please don’t make the same mistake I did.”

I sigh, and pound my fist into my casted hand.

Do I really want Cecil’s blood on my hands? Seeping into my already traumatized mind? I could turn away now, leave, and go home. Abandon Cecil to fend for herself, like she left me in the locker room.

“She don’t give a damn ‘bout you,” Miemah says. “No one cares a bit for your sorry ass.”

I clench my hands into fists, and turn back around. Cecil is shaking in Miemah’s hands, and for a minute I see myself in her. “
Be a wrecking ball
,” Clad’s words surface.

I swing my cast with force at Miemah’s nose, and dark red blood comes squirting out. She lets go of her grip on Cecil to cup her hands over her blood-gushing nose.

“Oh God,” she cries out. “You bitch! It’s broken!” She tilts her head back, trying to coax the blood back into her nose.