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“I don’t know how much Tiffany told you, but I was getting myself into a shitload of trouble in New Orleans. Going down the wrong paths. Ru
“What’s fu
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Haley said, realizing that her sentiment sounded hopelessly empty, but not knowing what else to say. She stared in front of her, seeing nothing.
The two sat together in silence for a long while. Inside the house, the icemaker in the kitchen released cubes of ice, and Haley could hear them clink into their plastic tray.
Her eyelids began to droop.
Charles leaned forward and the chains that supported the swing protested. “Want to know why I came here tonight?” he asked.
Haley turned to him, her eyes glassy.
“Because no matter if no one else in the world does, I need for you to believe me. To believe I would never, ever hurt Tiffany. You were her best friend, Haley. I need that from you.”
Chapter 51
LATER THAT EVENING, he was having one of his headaches. There were too many thoughts in his head and they were all competing for his attention. They beat at the soft, fragile walls of his mind, pounding so forcefully his skull felt as though it were changing shape. His mother kept screaming at him. More and more each day, and he wasn’t far from coming apart at the seams.
He’d bought new magazines and couldn’t tear the pages quickly enough. Grabbing as many of the glossy pages as he could, he ripped them from their binding: pictorials, advertisements, cartoons, ads for cologne. He ripped until the binding was completely bare.
He picked up another magazine and began shredding it. Images of red lipped, doe-eyed, filthy women littered his floor, their faces and bodies torn to pieces. They peered up at him with dull stares; they had the eyes of the dead. When his hands began to cramp, he stopped and lay against the wall opposite his bed. He tried to remember being inside the Anderson’s and how nice it had felt. But he couldn’t. His mother was screaming too loudly.
There was scratching above his head. The window. Ian. He squeezed his eyes shut. The urges had become undeniable. He’d felt so calm after Tiffany, so calm after his mother. After their deaths, his headaches and nightmares had quieted. . . for a while. He’d felt almost normal.
But he wasn’t normal. He’d never be normal.
He’d begun losing it on the outside, his mask slowly slipping away. The woman’s daughter had seen him in the woods. An oak had stood between them and he’d seen half of her face. It was dark, and he hoped she didn’t get a good look at him before she ran off. But it was possible she had.
Tiffany had begun screaming too. Every night from the pond, her cries so loud he could hear them from his bedroom. They were trying to get him in trouble. And they would. After all, it wouldn’t be too long until they figured out for sure just who he was. They probably already had a good idea.
The small room was cramped and its mustiness suffocated him. Ignoring Ian, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. Then he moved to the living room. Hoping the beer would calm him, he gulped it down.
The pipes clanked in the walls. Allie was home. He would have to leave. He lunged for his truck keys, but it was too late. Allie’s footsteps sounded behind him and a blaring odor filled the room. She’d sprayed on perfume. He tried to stifle a sneeze but it came out anyway.
“May God bless you,” she said, sweetly. She walked around the couch and was now standing in front of him, obstructing the television. A blue towel speckled with motor oil stains was draped loosely around her. Her hair was dripping, and she had on bright red lipstick.
She pursed her lips. “So,” she teased, “Think your little girlfriend has a better body than me?”
He wouldn’t look at her. Ian had followed him to the front of the house and was now perched outside the living room window, scraping a flea-ridden paw against the smudged glass.
Her tone turned chilly. “I asked you a question.”
“Stop it.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
He was silent.
“I’m only doing you a favor, you know. It’s because I feel sorry for you. Mama was right. You’re pathetic.”
He shot a quick glance at her and saw that she was gri
She used to follow him out to the pond, and into the woods. She used to be his little admirer. But that was so long ago. That Allie was dead and gone.
“Look, this is for you. All of it.” The towel fell before he could look away and he took in her naked body. Her bare breasts, full and taut. Her tiny waist and flat, smooth stomach. “You can have this, you know,” she said. “It’ll be the best you’ll ever have.”
For a long moment, his eyes were glued to her and he couldn’t breathe.
She was. . . beautiful.
The beer quickly soured in his stomach. “Christ!” he yelled, hurling his beer across the room. The bottle smashed into the living room window and glass shattered.
She screwed up her face. “I know you want me!” she shouted. “Everyone wants me, don’t you know that?”
Fighting the urge to shake her naked body until she could no longer breathe, he lunged from the recliner and shot out the front door. He had to get away. Far, far away from. . . everything.
***
BRANCHES SNAPPED AS he snaked through the dank woods. Owls screeched above him. He cursed the owls and the voices from the pond.
“How can I hear you way out here?” he screamed into the night. “Leave me alone, you fucking bitches!”
They’d been screaming so much, too much. His mother was angrier than ever. She wanted to be found. She wanted to get her revenge. Tiffany was frightened. She kept shrieking, asking where she was. She cried that she needed to go home.
Sometimes, rare times, he was able to smile at their pain. Pain, something they’d never known before. But he wasn’t smiling now. He picked up a pine cone and hurled it into the air in a vain attempt to quiet the owls’ screeching.
Something rustled behind him. He turned and crouched, prepared to twist Ian’s neck if he had followed him. But he’d left without his flashlight and the brush was so dense, the night too dark for him to even see his own hands.
He waited for a long while and heard nothing, so he moved forward again, his jaw clenched.
If only Allie knew what he was capable of. If only she knew how close he was to doing something unspeakable to her. Something he’d never forgive himself for.
Fifteen minutes later, he was at the opening. His heart fluttered beneath all the noise in his head. The Anderson’s house was lit, and someone was in the living room. Just what he’d hoped.
It was frustrating when they went to bed early. And when they were away from the house. He needed them, didn’t they know that? He needed them to be close.
He crab walked past the swing set. The father was in the living room, talking to someone. They were standing, facing each other.
He lowered himself to the ground, the night earth cool against his t-shirt. He watched as they embraced and then–-.
His body tensed. Rage ripped through his skull, and the thoughts rushed back, everything twisting inside his head. He sprung up.