The Conch Shell of Doom (7 page)

“Have a drink or eight. You’ll feel better.” Franklin climbed into El Cid. He was long gone before the police arrived.

Bailey sat in his car, staring at his house, legs bobbing up and down, and nibbling on his fingernails. He really didn’t want to go inside and face the music, firing squad, or whatever nightmarish torture his parents had in store. All the cars from the party were gone, but that didn’t mean anything. Those cars could’ve been moved around the corner. For all he knew, that nasty Mr. Lovell guy might still be inside the house. Worse, what if he appeared in the car seat next to Bailey?

Alexis made a lot of sense earlier, mostly because Bailey never felt compelled to disagree with her, but he wished he’d put up more of a fight. At best, in a few minutes Bailey would be grounded. At worst maybe his parents would cut out his eyes, or stab him seconds after the front door closed. Who knew?

Bailey closed his fingers around the car door handle. He took a deep breath and then opened it. The door stuck out in the street while he tried to compose himself. His grip on the handle tightened. A car honked as it passed by, making him yank the door shut on his knee. He cursed, knee stinging from the impact.

Get over yourself
.
Nothing’s going to happen.

Alexis was right. His parents wouldn’t do anything to him… Would they?

Only one way to find out.

He waited for an oncoming car to pass before getting out. His heart pounded as he forced one foot in front of the other. Standing at the end of the driveway, Bailey felt panic overtaking him, making his fingers twitch. If he only had some idea about what lurked on the other side of the front door. It was too much pressure. Bailey needed a moment to think. The bushes next to the mailbox shielded him from the house. He knelt behind them and dialed Alexis, who answered after the first ring.

“Hey,” she said. “Everything okay? Since you’re talking to me, I’m going to assume you haven’t been turned into a frog or anything.”

“Um.” Bailey tried to get his stammering under control. “I haven’t gone in yet. I can’t stop thinking I’m walking into a carnival of torture.”

Alexis sighed. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be there with you, but you’re going to be fine. These are your parents we’re talking about. They take care of you when you’re sick. They’re not going to do anything to you. And if they do, there are laws against that kind of thing. You could throw the book at them, maybe even knock one of their teeth out with it.”

Bailey snapped off a twig from the bush. “All right. But I want it noted for the record that I do this under protest.”

“Noted. Now, put on your big boy pants and go inside.”

“You have no idea how much I hate you right now.”

“You love me and you know it. Good luck.” Alexis ended the call.

Bailey peeked above the bushes toward his house. He didn’t see anyone through the windows, not even his parents. Maybe the party had cleared out. Only one way to know for sure.
 

“This sucks.”

Bailey walked to the front door, stopping only to make the sign of the cross before going inside, not that he thought the gesture would do a lot of good. His body tensed, expecting someone to choke slam him through the floor. Nobody did. Bailey thought about calling out to his parents, but thought better of it. They still hadn’t shown themselves as he entered the kitchen. Maybe they’d gone to bed, and the whole thing was much ado about nothing?

“We’re in the dining room, son,” his dad called out.

Then again, maybe they were in the dining room, waiting for the perfect moment to announce their presence like a villain hiding in the shadows.

Bailey’s heart turned to stone. It, along with the rest of his body, wanted to get as far from the dining room as possible. Despite the pleas from his body to run, Bailey forced himself to go into the dining room. The first thing that stood out to him was how spotless the room looked. Before parties, the room was covered in a thin layer of dust. After, his parents usually waited a day or two to clean up. Bailey found Wanda and Earl sitting at opposite ends of the table. Bailey sat down in the middle, making sure to keep an equal amount of distance from them. He prayed it would be a harmless conversation.

“Care to explain where you’ve been all night?” His father’s stern voice made Bailey’s spirits sink. Not even two seconds into the conversation, and it was getting ugly. “You’ve had your mother worried sick.”

His parents still wore their fancy party outfits. Dad, with his light blue sport coat and striped tie, and Mom with her red party dress that hung a little too low for Bailey’s comfort. He wondered why they didn’t bother to change. Based on the dining room’s cleanliness, the party ended a while ago.
 

Wait.

Could there be someone else there? His parents never cleaned in their nice clothes.
Shit, shit, big massive titty shit.

“Did everybody leave the party?” Bailey asked.

“Don’t change the subject,” his dad said. “But yes.”

“This was supposed to be a grown up party,” Wanda said. “You said you’d be with your friends all night.”

“Were we wrong to assume that?” Earl asked with a condescending tone. “To take you at your word?”

“No. I’m sorry,” Bailey said softly. Shame swallowed up his fear. He wished this night would hurry up and end. He looked up at a portrait of his parents on their wedding day hanging on the opposite wall, like an extra pair of eyes looming over him.

“What was that?” His dad leaned forward.

The way he asked the question snapped Bailey out of his shame.
Why rip my head off? I didn’t do anything wrong. I just wanted to pick up a stupid video game.
It pissed him off.

“Who was that guy at the party I saw?” Bailey’s anger fueled his courage. He wanted to bring up the whole teleportation bit as well, but one thing at a time. Besides, they’d probably lie about that.

Wanda politely laughed, humoring her son. “Mr. Lovell? Oh, we were just playing a party game. Anything we said, you heard out of context. Like, if I’d said, ‘I’m going to chop you to bits,’ and you didn’t realize I meant an onion. Context is everything, sweetie.”

“We hired him. He’s sort of a magician, entertainer.” Earl waved his hand about, as if the whole thing had been blown out of proportion.
 

“I guess,” Bailey said.
 

The problem for Bailey was Mr. Lovell didn’t look like someone his parents would associate with. And that bit about hiring him?
Please
. As if Wanda and Earl would go out and hire the adult equivalent of a clown for a kid’s birthday party. Besides, it wasn’t a sin to ask who Mr. Lovell was. And why did Bailey’s parents act like everything was his fault? He wanted to tell them so, using every curse word imaginable, but that would only make things worse. It was time to play the teleporting card. “What about Mr. Lovell appearing behind me out of thin air?”

“What?” Wanda asked.

Bailey knew he’d caught her off guard. She stammered, trying to come up with a good explanation for someone having the ability to teleport themselves somewhere without walking, driving, or flying.

“Mr. Lovell played a joke on you,” Earl said. “He ran around the other part of the house and snuck up behind you, then used some noisemaker.”

“Really.” Bailey didn’t buy that for a second.
 

“Yes!” His mom sounded all too eager to get behind her husband’s lie. “We even talked to him about that. He said he was sorry if he scared you, but it was all in good fun.”

“Okay.” Bailey wanted to believe the two of them. That innate genetic code that made someone unconditionally love their parents tried to convince Bailey to accept their word as truth and move on. Those genetics would’ve won out, if his instincts didn’t cry out
bullshit
.

Wanda got up from her chair and rushed over to Bailey, giving him a tight hug. “It’s okay. You’ve had a rough night. We’re just happy you’re home and in one piece.”

Bailey patted his mom’s arm. The hug was meant to be comforting, but it was anything but. “Thanks.”

“Do you want some tea?” Wanda asked. “I picked up this new kind at the store today. It’s guaranteed to make you feel better.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” His mom ignored him. “You might be surprised how much better you’ll feel. I’ll make some anyway, in case you change your mind.”

Bailey wanted to yell at Wanda, but she quickly disappeared into the kitchen. He’d said no to tea, so there was no point in making the stuff. He turned his attention to Earl. “Tell me more about Mr. Lovell.”

“We told you, he’s an entertainer,” Earl said. “Hell of a trickster. He had us in stitches. I’m honestly surprised you didn’t get a kick out of him. I’d have figured that magic stuff would be right up your alley.”

Bailey scanned his father’s face for any sign of a lie, be it glancing at the floor, rubbing his forehead, anything. With the exception of a little redness in his face, Earl didn’t tip his hand.
 

Why the charade? We both know he’s not some wannabe David Copperfield.

Wanda returned with the tea. She set it in front of Bailey, a huge smile on her face. Steam rose from the cup. It smelled like foot fungus.

“Go on,” she said eagerly. “Have a sip.”

“Fine. I’ll have some tea. Will that make you happy?” Bailey hoped it would at least shut her up about it. He held up the tea to take a sip, but the smell made him cringe. If it smelled like toxic waste, how awful would it taste? “What kind of tea is this?”

“You know, I don’t remember what it’s called. It has some Indian name. Drink up. It’s good for you.”

Bailey tried again to drink it, but the stench made him gag. He pushed the cup away. “Whatever it is, I can’t drink it. Thanks, but I think I’m just going to cash out for the night.”

“Not before you have some tea,” Earl said. “Your mother and I insist.”

“Do it for us, sweetie.” Wanda’s smile seemed exaggerated, like it was work to do it.
 

Odd.

“Why do you two care if I drink the tea? I’m fine, really.” What was the big deal about the tea? They’d already lied to Bailey, and the last thing he needed was to drink tea that probably smelled like Marshall’s dirty underwear. Bailey’s nerves were shot, and their pestering pushed him close to the breaking point. “Please. I’m asking nicely. Stop.”

“Be a good boy,” his mother cooed, laying her hands on his shoulders. “Do as we say.”

Wanda’s touch sent a jolt of terror through Bailey. His body wanted to break, give in to the anxiety, and lash out.

Not now. Please, not now.

“Guys, stand down. I’m seriously about to lose it.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
 

Earl rose from his chair and walked over to Bailey. His father wrapped his arms around him and squeezed, wrestling Bailey to the floor.

Bailey wiggled as hard as he could under Earl’s grip.

“Get him, Wanda!” Earl cried.

Bailey grunted, his muscles burning as they tried to break free. He only succeeded in rolling over, his dad now underneath him. “Let me go. What’s wrong with you two?”

“This is for your own good.” Wanda picked up the tea.

“Hurry up. I can only hold him for so long,” Earl struggled to say. His grip crushed Bailey’s chest, making it difficult to breathe. “Stop wiggling.”

“Pinch his nose.” Wanda brought the cup of tea down toward Bailey’s mouth.

Earl did as his wife suggested, forcing Bailey to open his mouth to breathe.

Bailey swung his head side to side to avoid the tea. “Don’t! I’m your son, for God’s sake!”

Wanda giggled. “This isn’t going to hurt you. We weren’t lying when we said this would make you feel better. Us too, for that matter.”

First honest thing they’ve said all night
, Bailey thought.

Wanda poured some of the tea, but she missed his mouth. Bailey cried out in pain as the hot tea scalded his cheek. His dad let out a little yelp too as some of it got on his hands.

“Damn it, woman!” Earl shouted.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Wanda,” Earl said. “Get your hind end on top of him.”

Wanda straddled them with her legs and then sat on Bailey’s stomach. The pressure of her weight made it almost impossible for him to move.

“Mom, don’t.”

“We’re doing this because we love you,” Earl said.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Take your medicine.” Wanda used a soothing, hypnotic voice. “Momma’s going to make it all better.”

Wanda poured the tea in Bailey’s mouth, burning his throat. The pain and the tea’s awful taste almost made him retch. His mom poured the last drop out of the cup and then gently set it on the table. Bailey felt tingly all over. His vision blurred. The sensation morphed into a serene, euphoric feeling. Bailey enjoyed the buzz but still knew something was wrong. He tried to move, but his body refused to respond. A cloud formed in his mind. Every thought became hazy. He felt himself drifting away. The panic disappeared. He had to admit it. The feeling was pretty awesome, even if it was his death.
 

Why hadn’t anyone tell him it would be so peaceful?

Mr. Lovell paced back and forth in his beachfront condo, listening to the ocean through the open patio door. The sound comforted both him and Trenton. Marshall’s parents, Ron and Christine Higgins, sat stiff and upright on the couch, their eyes following Mr. Lovell’s strides.

“I apologize for cutting the Southwicks’ party short.”

“Don’t be,” Ron said. His graying mustache did a terrible job of hiding a cleft palate. “We understand. The Southwick boy has always been a little bit of a handful.”

“Easily frightened, too,” Christine said.

“His parents have him under control.” Mr. Lovell’s pacing stopped. “But what about you, Mr. Higgins? Everything under control?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said. “My company handles all the cell phone towers in town. Starting the morning of the Awakening, nobody will be able to get a message in or out of here. Mooresville will be completely dark.”