Hurt: A Novel (Solitary Tales Series) (36 page)

129. Waiting to Exhale

I assume we’re just going to pack up our things and leave Solitary as planned. But life is never that simple.

Things are put on hold because of the whole pastor-trying-to-kill-us situation, which has left not just Solitary but the country mesmerized. I see reports on the evening news where reporters are talking in front of the burnt church or in downtown Solitary. People keep trying to interview Mom and me, but Mom thankfully keeps them away. I have to get rid of my Facebook page because of all the requests and comments.

All of this happens while Mom plans Uncle Robert’s funeral. Dad is driving down and will be here soon. I ask her if she really needs to have a funeral, considering everything, and she answers a big-time yes by ignoring my question.

Kelsey is back home, dealing with the same thing—a world knocking on her door after hearing that she was involved with Marsh and Staunch. The good thing is that she and I are both seventeen, so there are certain laws protecting our privacy.

So we keep going, and we start to …

You know what?

Enough.

All of that stuff, that outside stuff, that noise in the background—none of it matters.

I could go on and on about it, but it doesn’t matter a bit.

I unplug the headphones so I don’t hear any of it.

I turn down the volume and focus on Mom and Kelsey.

My mother just lost her brother and almost lost her son.

This girl who’s crazy about me finally discovered why I was a little worried about her hanging around with me. Yet she still doesn’t remember anything about her abduction.

The news makes for exciting headlines, but the reality is that I don’t want to be a story. I don’t want to be the face of a victim or the figure in the middle of it all.

I just count the seconds until I’m away from this place. Part of me keeps waiting for Staunch to break out of jail and come knocking on my door with some random object in his hand ready to strike out and kill.

The outside still seems to be hostile and threatening. It’s like a wild animal waiting for its moment, holding its breath in the darkness.

I won’t exhale until I’m finally gone.

130. True Faith

All these deaths, yet this is the first funeral I’ve been to.

We’re at a small church just outside of North Carolina, about half an hour away from Solitary. Mom said that her parents attended this church years ago, but really, I think she just wanted a church far away from this town. A church specifically out of North Carolina.

There’s only a handful of people here. There’s not much to say. Even Mom doesn’t want to say anything about her brother. I guess when things end up the way they did, there’s nothing to say. But there is a body to lay to rest.

Kelsey and her parents are by my side. Dad is here as well.

As we stand around the grave site, I stare at a tall figure in black who looks like a widow grieving her husband. Heidi Marsh is in fact grieving, but the tears on her face are for the wrong guy. At least, the wrong guy technically.

I can’t help but think of Jocelyn and the makeshift gravestone I made for her. She deserved so much more.

There are others I think of too. Lily, of course. Wild Lily who proved to be yet another sad surprise in this scary town. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Nobody does.

When the pastor prays his final prayer, I feel tears falling down my face. They’re not just for my uncle; they’re for all those who died. For what? For what purpose?

I remember Iris’s words:
There has been a great war going on. Over you, Chris. Not just with those you’ve been able to see. But with those whom you’ve just started to see.

When the last amen is uttered, I grip Kelsey’s hand.

I continue to thank God for her, for saving her life and sparing mine.

I never want to stop thanking Him, either.

“Chris?”

I stop and turn to see Heidi Marsh looking at me from behind large black sunglasses and a wide black hat. I know enough to know that no matter how big a hat or shades might be, they can’t keep out the hurt.

Heidi has got to be torn in pieces. Yet she still looks like the movie star she did when I first met her.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she says.

My loss?

I shake my head. “I don’t—I’m not—”

But my teenage tongue gets the best of me. After all this, some pretty lady still makes my mouth get all gooey.

“He spoke very highly of you and always did,” Heidi says. “You surprised him by being the man he was afraid to be.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Heidi takes off her shades to show bloodshot, swollen eyes.

“You made the night finally go away,” she tells me, her long hands holding onto my wrists. “You stood up for something good. You stood strong. You kept your faith.”

I fight tears.

No, not in front of her. I’m a man, I can take it, I can be strong.

“Don’t ever lose that part of you,” Heidi continues. “Your uncle … I think he was a lot like you, at least when he was younger. But he let it slip away. He let it get away, and he knew it. Because when he looked at you it was like looking in a mirror.”

The tears are falling again. I wipe them away but know I can’t hide them.

“Robert always wanted—always hoped—that one day I’d be able to leave this place. He’s finally getting his wish, thanks to you.”

I nod, feeling sad and full and unsure what to say.

Heidi gives me a hug, and I smell her flowery perfume. Then she walks away.

I catch up to Mom and Kelsey and the others. I peek at the figure in black walking back to her car.

I wonder how soon I’ll be following her out of this place.

131. Triumph

Mounds stops the minivan, which now smells like McDonald’s, right underneath dripping branches by a familiar path that leads into the woods.

He stopped by my house to talk about everything that had happened and then said he wanted to show me something. I explained how I really, truly didn’t want any more surprises.

“But this one’s kinda cool,” Mounds says in his twelve-year-old-boy kind of way.

Mom and Dad have gone to take Aunt Alice to the nut house. I can’t say that out loud because I already said it twice and angered Mom. But it’s true, that’s really where they’re taking her. She’s turned into a zombie since the whole church thing.

Guess that’s what happens when you stab your father to death.

These thoughts are borderline ridiculous, but they’re true. I’m not trying to be mean. Aunt Alice was the mean old lady.

I guess now groundhogs everywhere can breathe a sigh of relief.

“What’s so funny?” Mounds asks.

“I’m just being stupid,” I say.

I think I’m nervous because I know where we are.

At the bridge.

The bridge. The Indian Bridge, the one with the strange name I’ve already forgotten.

It’s a murky day and perfect to go see the creatures that live underneath. But it takes me just a few seconds to see what Mounds wanted to show me.

The bridge has collapsed.

It’s cracked at the middle and now looks like a giant V. There are stones and rubble all around the base. The archway at the bottom is gone.

“Can you believe this?” Mounds asks. “It’s like there was an earthquake here, you know? But there wasn’t any kind of earthquake.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have your equipment.”

“Oh, I already checked it out. Twice, actually. But nothing.”

“When did this happen?”

“I heard about it yesterday. But I think at least a couple of days ago.”

It’s been four days since everything happened at the church.

I step toward the edge of the caved-in bridge. It’s like a knife cut the bridge in half.

I feel a chill as drops of rain fall down from the towering trees above.

“Crazy,” I say.

“Yeah, no joke. This bridge has been here for a long time. There’s some insane stuff going on around here.”

For a second I stare down below and think I see something. No, not a doll or anything to do with a baby, thankfully.

No, it’s something silver. Almost like the engine on my motorcycle.

Suddenly I want to go down and check it out.

I see something else. A tire in the rubble. One that looks exactly like the kind that might have gone on my bike.

I keep looking below, squinting, to study it.

“Do you see that?” I ask Mounds.

“What?”

“The tire.”

“Yeah. I found this not far from the edge the other day.”

Mounds hands me the silver Triumph emblem that was on the gas tank of my bike. I shake my head and then peer back over at the mess below.

“Unless somebody else has the exact same kind of bike you had …” Mounds says, his voice trailing off.

“What happened to it?”

He just shrugs. “I figured you knew and were just playing around with me.”

“My bike’s been missing since everything happened the other night.”

“Maybe one of them crazy loony-tune cult guys decided to trash your bike because they didn’t like you.”

“Yeah.”

But I don’t believe that.

This bridge was an entryway to some other place. And the wonderful, magical “key” that Kinner had spoken about wasn’t one you could hold in your hand, but was someone.

Me.

I wonder if riding my bike through the woods had anything to do with my bike being down there below.

Could I have possibly traveled over this bridge on my way to Marsh Falls?

“What are you thinking?” Mounds asks.

I just shake my head. “Just more questions. Lots of them.”

“That’s what makes life interesting. It’d be boring if every single question we had got answered. You know?”

“Yeah.”

But I’m not sure.

I think it would make me feel a lot better if all of my questions were answered.

I toss the Triumph badge down below into the valley of stone and brick. It seems like one last heroic thing I can do.

Maybe just to prove one last point.

132. Asleep

This could be the last night Kelsey and I ever hang out together. Of course, leave it to me to think this. She’s cuddled up with me on the couch in her family room, acting like the last week and month and year haven’t been that big a deal. She’s content, watching television while I hold her.

There’s a lot to say. Tomorrow I’m leaving with Mom to head back to Illinois.

I had all these grand plans of stuff I wanted to say, stuff I wanted her to know. But leave it to me to not say them.

I want to believe she knows, and that holding her in my arms is enough.

But who knows.

Who knows if we’ll make it past midnight.

Who knows if she’ll be there to say good-bye.

Who knows.

Maybe I’ll blink and find her by my side, older but still beautiful, acting like the last few decades haven’t been that big a deal.

You’re a big deal to me, Kelsey. You always will be.

I wonder what would have happened if this quiet, shy blonde hadn’t chased me down.

I wonder where I’d be right now.

I’m glad I’m here. Right here.

One more night.

She peeks up at me staring at her. She doesn’t ask
What?
and doesn’t go back to watching television. She just smiles.

I kiss her.

I finally feel like I belong somewhere.

I just want to fall asleep and then wake up and see her next to me.

What will happen after I leave Solitary? What about later, when Kelsey comes up to Chicago to college? What about a year from now? Or when we get out of college?

I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore.

Yeah.

I hear a song playing in my head and in my heart. I guess there’s always some soundtrack playing somewhere.

And there’s always somebody who inspires it.

133. Just Like Heaven

I hear the sound of rocks crunching as the tires of Mom’s car roll over them. I can’t believe that I was able to find this place again, not to mention being able to make my way up the hill without sending the car over the edge. I get to the last turn in the road before it levels out and dead-ends into the place where the Crag’s Inn used to be hidden amidst the trees.

But when I turn the car and finally see it for the first time since it burned down, I have to stop since I’m out of breath with surprise.

I wonder if I took the wrong road and wound up somewhere else.

The open sky is the first thing I see. It’s like a light blue tablecloth stretched out over everything.

But that’s impossible, because there used to be trees here blocking most of the sky.

Everything else looks the same, so I know I’m at the right place. I coast the car past the point where the road ends, then I see something else strange. The ground I stop the car on is grass. Thick green grass, green like the kind the pros play golf on.

Then I see the flowers.

A thousand—no, a million flowers. Of all kinds and colors. A massive bed of flowers.

It’s like someone came in here and leveled off the top of the mountain, getting rid of the charred remains of the Crag’s Inn along with all the trees, then replaced it with flowers.

They’re all mixed together like some gigantic bouquet.

I hear birds, just like the first time I came here. There are still some trees on the edges surrounding this field of gold and pink and red and purple. But where I’m standing, right at the edge of these thick, lush flowers, the sky is immense and the sun is bright.

I stare around, seriously wondering if this is the same place Iris’s inn used to be.

Then I see it. The wooden sign with the emblem on it that I first passed. Except it looks like the emblem has been freshly cut and stained in the wood itself.

The image is of a pair of wings.

Maybe I would have noticed it the first time, but that bluebird was sitting on top of this sign. Like a watchdog. Watching me and biting at my finger.

So this is really the place.

I’m here not to get one last look at this hilltop, but to say good-bye. To leave some things behind.

I walk carefully to the middle of the field. The sweet scent is so strong my eyes start to water. There are flowers that have names I’m sure I’ve never even heard of. It’s impossible not to step on some as I walk into the center: a hundred different kinds of lilies.

I shake my head and laugh out loud because really, this is just as insane as everything else I’ve seen here. Except this is in a good and beautiful way. The lilies vary in color. Some are pink, white, yellow, bright gold. Some even have sides that are brown and purple.

The lilies seem to be staring at me, hands outstretched and waiting.

This is the perfect place.

I pull out the items I had carefully placed in my jean pocket. This time I’m grabbing them not out of desperation but out of thanks to God above. The first thing I find is the leather band that had to be cut off Kelsey’s wrist because it was tied too tight. A medic did this, and thankfully I had enough sense to ask for it back. I’m sure he thought I was crazy, but that’s fine. I am a little crazy.

I’m intending to dig a little hole and put the bracelet inside, but someone calling my name makes me stop.

I turn and see Jocelyn walking toward me.

I blink, then wipe my eyes, then look again. She’s still there, that dark hair still falling to her shoulders, those beautiful eyes still hypnotic in their glance. She smiles as she strolls over through the flowers.

She’s wearing a T-shirt and a light brown corduroy jacket with jeans. She’s not as dressed up as she used to be when I pictured her or had these kinds of visions, but she’s still older. In her twenties or thirties.

You stink when it comes to judging age, so don’t even try.

I stand there wondering if this is all some rosy-colored dream.

“No,” Jocelyn says with a smile. “I’m really here. And so are you.”

I nod as she stops just a few feet away from me.

I don’t know what to say.

“You don’t have to,” she answers again in that weird way. “You’ve said enough, Chris. You’ve done enough.”

“What are you—”

“Doing here?”

I nod.

“I came to see you one last time.”

“Why one last time?”

“Because you have a life to lead. That doesn’t mean forgetting me, but it means moving on. Like you’re doing this afternoon. Leaving Solitary. When you leave this place, you leave me, too.”

I’m not sure how to answer. There’s nothing more I want than to leave Solitary. But that doesn’t mean I want to never see her again.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you or to those around you,” Jocelyn says. “I just came here to see you.”

“To say good-bye,” I say, trying to do what she’s been doing and finishing her thought.

“No. To take that back.”

She opens up her hand, and for a second I’m not sure what she’s asking for. Then I realize it like a fool, and I give her the leather band. It still has bloodstains on it.

“I gave this to you because I knew it fit,” Jocelyn says. “Because I knew you fit me. And you did. You always will, Chris.”

“Maybe I should keep it then.”

Jocelyn shakes her head. “No. Your heart is only so big. I can no longer keep any of it.”

I want to tell her she has no choice. There’s always going to be a part of my heart that belongs to her.

“I know,” she says. “But what you don’t know is this, Chris. This world—this life is just a flicker of light. It’s just the tiny flutter of a bird’s wings. It’s so tiny compared to the vastness of … everything else.”

“That doesn’t change anything—”

“I say that because there are going to be days and nights when that same heart is troubled and burdened. When it feels broken and in need of mending. And you might long for others to help and heal. You might sometimes even long for me to come back in your dreams or memory or places like this. But no one—not me and not anybody else—will ever be able to fill that emptiness inside except God. The love you’ve felt inside that heart is but a drop in an endless ocean. The love you have is nothing compared to His love—it’s not even like one single petal in this entire field.”

I think I understand even though my heart is suddenly hurting. I want to say or do more.

“Remember the love that saved you, Chris. Keep it there as a reminder, the way you’ve kept this bracelet.”

“Okay.”

I think of all the things I want to say and thank her for, and then she says, “Give me your hand.”

I hesitate for a moment and then hold out my right hand. Jocelyn smiles as she touches my hand and then slightly bends over to kiss it.

Just as her lips touch my hand, she’s gone.

Just like that.

My hand is still held out, and I can still feel her soft touch. I can feel those lips against my skin.

Jocelyn …

I look around the field, but she’s gone.

I stare up at the clear sky.

A drop in an endless ocean.

“Thank You,” I tell God.

I think that sometimes that’s the only thing to say. Questions don’t have to be answered and wishes don’t have to be fulfilled. All you can do is thank God and move on.

I head back to my car, my head in a daze and my heart in a sling. I’m a bit breathless and probably will be until I’ve been in Illinois for a few days.

No, make that years.

I pass the sign again and then remember something else I was going to leave up here.

The necklace is still in my pocket. The one that used to belong to Aunt Alice, the one with the picture of her baby.

I look at it again and read the name out loud.

“Indigo Jadan Kinner.”

Some things in this world are too awful to even consider. Too wretched to think about.

I place the locket at the base of the sign, then glance at the wings etched into wood.

Yes, some things in this world are awful and wretched.

But some things are amazing and beautiful.

Like the stunning bluebird that flies out of nowhere and lands on the sign.

It’s the same one that I first saw here, the one that’s followed me around since. A brilliant coat of blue with a lighter shade on its belly. Black eyes and a black beak.

It moves its head like it’s wanting to say something.

If the bird starts talking, I might just pass out.

Then it moves as if it’s going to fly away.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.

It gets to the edge of the sign, then flutters down to the ground where I just laid the locket.

Then I see a bolt of blue streak back up, carrying the locket in its beak. I watch the bird soar up to the sky and then fly away.

I shake my head and laugh.

It’s only moments later when I start the car that something dawns on me.

Maybe it should have been obvious the first time I read that name.

Indigo Jadan Kinner.

Indigo. Jadan.

Blue. Jay.

Bluebird.

A chill washes over me, and I laugh again, shaking my head, not believing in what I think I’m believing in.

But another voice says
why not?

And yeah, I have no answer to that.

It’s a nice thought, the more I think of it.

That little bird.

That little bluebird following me around.