Sticks and Stones (8 page)

Tommy rolled his eyes. “I’ve always been perfect.” Sandra gave a soft laugh, then flinched when her head roared with pain. She let her head fall forward onto the cafeteria table, glad that it was their free period and hardly any of the other students with an empty block had decided to stay inside.

“You are perfect,” she breathed into the laminate. Tommy patted the top of her hand.

“Chin up. We’re almost done the year. Only one more after that and we’re free.”

Sandra was glad her sad grin was hidden. Only one year left, but Jack would no longer be a part of it. Graduation was mere weeks away and he still didn’t do more than send her looks, crack jokes and glare at Tommy, no matter how many times she’d said that they were only friends.

Her headache multiplied threefold, almost-visions dancing behind her eyes.

“Maybe you should head home.”

“Huh?” The bell rung and Sandra nearly whimpered, eyes tearing up and squeezing closed. “Yeah,” Tommy said, “go home.”

“Can’t.”

“They’re going to find out sometime.” Tommy picked up his backpack and headed for the cafeteria doors.

They hadn’t for nearly over two years, ever since they’d moved to this town. As far as the Sloans knew, her headaches had gotten better after that initial burst of nosebleeds and clenched screams. And they had. She’d gotten better at suppressing, but not better at sleeping, dreaming in constant loops of nightmares.

She didn’t think they knew just how much concealer she used to cover up the dark circles under her eyes.

Pushing up, listening to the rising rumble of the hallway change, Sandra grabbed her bag and swayed toward the rear cafeteria door. The sun was too bright, but it was blessedly quiet except for the long in-between hum of slow-road traffic.

“Troubles with the boyfriend?”

Sandra spun around, nearly threw up, and stared at Jack, leaning against the side of the school’s brown brick wall. “Tommy’s hardly my boyfriend.”

“Could have fooled me.”

You had your chance
, she wanted to say. But Tommy really was just a friend, a good one, so it seemed pointless. Instead, Sandra turned to the wall, leaned without looking as though she needed the support and locked her shaking knees.

“Don’t you have class anyway?” she got out.

He just raised an eyebrow back at her.

“You have more to worry about,” she argued. It sounded like she was shouting in her own head. “It’s your graduating year.”

He scoffed. “Like I’ll do more than go into garage work like Daniel and Dad.”

“You could.”

“I don’t want to.”

His eyes were hard and Sandra shrugged lightly, watching the world swirl. “I don’t know what I want to do.”

“What can you do?”

There was something unnecessarily jagged and cruel in his tone and Sandra pressed her lips tight, staring straight at the ground where the grass didn’t move so much, not like the sky up above, blue and white weaving in and out in a rippling line.

“Can’t really do anything when you’re seeing things, can you?” he asked. “Wait. Except you aren’t, are you? You’re not seeing anything at all.” He breathed hard, and fast, and Sandra’s frown wasn’t only from the pain.

“Why are you so angry?”

Jack’s jaw was so tight it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack. “
Why
am I angry? WHY?” his hands clenched into fists. “You’ve been fighting this thing for
years
, Sandra. And it hasn’t helped. It hasn’t done shit!”

“I’m fine, Jack,” she said slowly. “I don’t even bleed anymore.”

“Sure you don’t,” he said and Sandra glared up at him. He stepped close, the bright day wrapping his face in shadow, towering over her. “You think we haven’t noticed? Have you looked at yourself?”

Swallowing thickly, bile in her throat, Sandra pushed one hand against Jack’s chest, refusing to be the one to back down, even feeling as horrible as she did.

“You’re making yourself weak.” Head leaning down, he breathed, right into her ear, “You’re making
us
weak.”

For a moment, Sandra wondered what that old saying was. Maybe it was the weak were left behind. Or perhaps it was that the weak were eaten. She breathed in, slow and deep. She glared and hissed, “You
know
what I see. You can’t make me do a damn thing.”

Jack snarled, “Can’t I?” Then his lips were on hers. He bit, pressed tight and shoved her back so hard that the bricks scraped clean through her clothes. Pushing her up, his fingers were vice-like on her sides and Sandra had to wrap her arms around him for balance. And still he didn’t stop. Breathing through his nose, he slicked his tongue against hers, pressing against her until she was sure her back was going to bear a permanent brick brand.

She wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but the world rushed faster than ever when he let go. Her knees nearly gave out and Jack snarled as he backed up, turning in a fast circle to stalk away. When he turned back toward her, he shoved at her shoulder, again pressing her to the wall and staring with fierce, wild eyes.

“That’s what you wanted, right?”

“What?” she whispered. Her lips felt burned, torn and bruised.

“You think I didn’t know how you felt about me?” His voice had that sharp edge still, and a sinking force pulled Sandra’s stomach deep, deep down. Nausea tasted sweet on her tongue. Swaying forward, his hot breath ghosted over her lips. “You wanted me, right?”

“Jack.” Her hand was back on his chest and this time he didn’t press forward, just let it rest there. His whole body vibrated.

“Do you even understand what you’re doing?” he grated out, furious rage making his eyes bright. “We’re not just supposed to keep you safe. You’re supposed to keep us safe, too.” Another shove at her shoulder, gentler this time, beat down and burned out. “You’re supposed to warn us, like you did with our dad. You’re supposed to tell us these things, San.”

Her throat was dry. Her mouth even more so.

“You’re supposed to know,” he repeated. “What’s the point if you don’t know?”

She felt sick, uneasy jitters in her spine. “What happened?”

Another flare of almost-anger, but Jack only turned away.

“Jack. Jack?” she repeated. “What happened?”

It took a moment for him to answer. “Danny got hurt at work.”

Sandra wanted to reach out, but every line in Jack’s body screamed for her to
not touch,
hackles up and pacing in place.

“Is he…” She couldn’t get the words out. The nausea was making her sway.

“No. No, he’ll be okay,” he finally sighed, resigned. “Come on. I’ve got the truck. Dad’s at the hospital.”

Sandra silently followed him to the curb. He didn’t look her way once the entire ride.

Chapter Eight

Lem sat
on the edge of a padded chair in the waiting room, shoulders slumped and staring at the brown flecks in the taupe-colored carpeting. He looked smaller than Sandra remembered and it scared her; scared her more when Jack kept ignoring her.

There was blood on Lem’s knuckles, hands hanging limp between his knees. The blood ran all the way down his fingers, embedded under his nails.

Jack sat across from him and Sandra sat next to Lem. “What happened?” she asked, and Jack’s eyes flicker-skipped over her, so she ducked her head and kept it down.

“There was this bit of metal,” Lem said slowly, like every word hurt to say. “He got skewered. Straight through the side.”

Sandra knew she looked horrified.

“They’ve put him in surgery … he’ll be alright.” Lem looked at the both of them, pale but strong. “He’s going to be alright.” Jack didn’t look completely convinced, but he straightened up and nodded just the same.

Sandra wanted to ask more. But Jack was barely tolerating her as it was and Lem was tired enough without adding to the drama.

Her head began to ache, and immediately Sandra pushed it back. Everything. All of it. Made it go away.

And then she paused.

Because Jack was right.

Danny could be dead
.

And she was doing nothing. Nothing – like her parents had done nothing. Like her schoolteachers and the neighbors and the other kids’ parents had done nothing. She didn’t ever want to be like them.

Jack glared at the foam-green walls, Lem stared at his hands, and Sandra closed her eyes.

She didn’t want to do this.
But she had to
.

Sandra fell.

It was dark, black all around, but she hurtled down, faster and faster. The hospital disappeared, a rushing roar of sound and smell. There was no bottom. The dark went on forever. Her head hurt. It pounded. But she kept going down. Down until Sandra didn’t know if she was moving at all.

Maybe she was tied down. Maybe it was cement on her cold back. Maybe she was back in that basement and she was dead and everything else was the dream. She was wishing and hoping and she couldn’t move because he was on her. He was on top of her and she was crying and he used his knife while he was inside because he liked how she screamed and twitched and Lydia screamed and Nikki screamed and Sandra screamed—

Eyes open and Sandra breathed deep. Her arms trembled. Her whole body shook and Jack was finally looking at her – still angry, but maybe a little bit less so.
Do you see what this does
to me?
she almost asked. Instead she closed her eyes and let herself fall again.

Nikki Trite and Lydia Barsowich and Sandra Daron bled and Mr. Murray—

Stop
.

Go somewhere
else
.

And she was in a hospital, but it wasn’t this one. The lights were brighter and the halls were noisier, more patients and more nurses and more doctors and visitors. Everything felt slanted, like she couldn’t keep her body up. Or maybe it was just her face. Her head kept tipping down, muzzy and woolen. But, no, not hers. And not Jack’s and not Lem’s or Daniel’s.

A flash of white and Sandra opened her eyes – green walls and a murmur of voices. Lem shifted next to her, leg jiggling twice, super-fast, stilling and settling again.
Somewhere else
. She closed her eyes and fell.

It went faster this time.

She wasn’t in a hospital, but it was this town.
Respite
, and the sign was at the corner of the road, a dark scar in the dusky sky. She walked and her throat hurt, dry and cracked. Her jeans were dusty, holes torn through, boots worn and heavy, with a bit of metal peeking through one toe. He’d come from far away. This wasn’t where he was heading, but it was somewhere to be, and he could use a rest. His pack was heavy. The last truck hadn’t taken him as far as the driver said he would, and it felt like his feet might just fall off if he had to go much further. Thank god he could see the town lights. They had to have a truck stop restaurant somewhere. Hopefully one that was open late – it wasn’t even seven yet.

But it was dark. And the car didn’t see him.

And then there was only pain, a rapid-burst, firefly lights beyond his temples, the hit, bouncing off the shoulder, off the ground, and the gravel grinding into his skin—

Sandra jerked, opened her eyes, clenched her jaw and closed them again.

Not right. Not yet.

Try again.

A man, a woman, a kiss, Edgar Syleck from high school, a boy shooting up, needle in his arm, Joan Ellens from the supermarket, a car that almost flipped, an aching neck, whiplash, a teen who talked back one too many times and the fist that shut her up, crying, tears, ninety-year-old Meara Tipper who was falling,
falling
just like Sandra and it was dark and cold and then warm and then
gone
.

She was gone.

Sandra woke up. Unclenched her hands. Closed her eyes.

Deeper.

Falling, falling, and then she was here, at the hospital, and it wasn’t her, but that was okay. She was walking. The hallways were short, but the hospital was small and she was further back, in a quieter place where ventilators shh-shhed and machines kept heartbeats. The doctor’s shoes squeaked against the tiled floor, and then they were turning into a room. But everything was fine. Danny was fine and he was laying there. He looked worn, pale and frail under the yellow light. He never said much, but he’d never seemed so small before. He never seemed small, ever. He was a mountain, enough mass to be a planet all his own, and she and Jack just orbited him.

But there he was, silent and unmoving, and Sandra wanted to take a longer look, make sure it was just the pain and the surgery making his skin pale, that his chest was still steady beneath that thin hospital gown, but the doctor walked forward. And that was good, too. Because that meant she was closer as well.

Danny’s lashes looked stark against his cheeks, jaw stubbled, thicker because he hadn’t shaved that morning, looking older than his twenty years. Sandra’s head felt thick, like she wanted to cry, but the doctor didn’t. The doctor was clinical, checking the readings and stats and—

Lem jostled her arm and Sandra came up, a long way, like waking up all over again. It felt late, time passing by, and her eyes ached in the dim light, head a little sore, but not like anything that had come before. The doctor was walking away.

“He’s okay,” she whispered, and Lem nodded.

Jack seemed to breathe easier.

“Go home,” Lem gently said, one hand scrubbing over his scruff, up through his cropped hair.

Jack shook his head, tousled hair getting into his eyes, leaning forward in his chair, “I want to—”

“I’ll stay,” Lem interrupted. “You get some sleep.”

“But—”

“Go home, Jack.”

Again with that mutinous glare, not directed at her this time, but Lem was iron steel. “He’s not awake yet,” Jack argued. Lem frowned and Jack snapped to his feet, growling out,
“Fine,”
simmering hot.

Sandra didn’t get a chance to make her proper goodbyes; Jack was already halfway down the hallway and she hurried after with Lem’s soft, “Go.”

She dogged him all the way out the door. He slammed into the driver’s side of the truck, engine rumbling to life and taking off as soon as she’d gotten inside. Careful to stare out her side of the truck, a blur of landscape and houses through her window, Sandra choked off the words she wanted to say. Jack wouldn’t want to hear it.

She was quiet all the way to the house, all the way to the shallow stoop and up inside. The world had gotten dark, long shadows stretched into the rooms and hallway, painting them blue and purple-gray. Her stomach felt achingly empty, but the thought of food turned it, that sweet taste back in her throat, and Jack must have felt the same because he went stomping toward his door.

“Jack,” she tried.

He froze in the dark hallway, vibrating bad energy, a moment away from snapping, and Sandra hadn’t been afraid of him like this in years. “Don’t,” he said, voice shuddering, and disappeared into his own room. The door closed fast and Sandra blinked at the glaring silence that was left behind.

She couldn’t hear Jack moving around.

She thought about following him in, just pushing her way inside and making Jack look at her, tell him she understood, tell him she was trying, she had
seen
and Danny was going to be perfectly alright, she’d felt it, the doctor was calm and… Jack would do something he’d regret if she did. She wasn’t Danny. She couldn’t let him hit her, scuffle around on the ground and have everything be alright again.

It tore at her.

Jack had never been this mad at her before.

It had been long coming. For both boys. For Lem too. She hadn’t been trying, and she’d promised. She hadn’t fixed her problems with her visions. She’d just run away. And she’d lied.

She had been lying for a very long time.

She had a feeling she hadn’t been as sneaky as she’d thought she’d been.

Jack hadn’t pressed her because he’d believed she would work it through – a whole year and a half and he’d still had faith in her.

And then Danny got a hole in his side.

The dark shadows of the house were stark and deep and, if Sandra stared too hard, they drew her in, drew her forward and down,
down
. The images and voices and cries lay just outside of her. They had so much to say, so much lost time to make up for.

Jack wasn’t there to hold her up.

Sandra went to her room, let the door click shut. The shadows turned the room into a cave. Three steps to the bed and Sandra laid herself down. Her head pounded and the black soared. She let her eyes close and let herself fall.

Go deeper
.

~

Sandra fixed eggs for breakfast.

There was bacon in the freezer and she made that, too. She could make a cold sandwich to bring to Lem later. Each move was precise and Sandra didn’t dare put too much thought into any step she took. She felt odd. Not fragile. Not hurt like before, either. She felt sort of empty. And full. Completely filled to the brim.

Feeling like she was moving in slow motion, Sandra crossed the narrow kitchen aisle, pulled a whisk out, and broke the eggs apart, quickly, before they cooked solid.

Toast. Slip the bread into the toaster.

Steps in the hall and Sandra didn’t turn. She could hear Jack stop at the entranceway. He didn’t say a word and that was okay. Sandra couldn’t say a word either. Her head was too full. Her lips were silent. There was this voice and that voice and a million voices all trapped inside.

They weren’t meant to get out.

They just wanted to be heard.

Sandra felt connected, and she swirled away from the fall of Jack’s heavy eyes. Jam out from the fridge. Eggs done. Bacon, too. Maybe a little too cold now. Get the knives and forks out. Plates on the table.

Jack moved in, still uncertain and he looked at her from beneath his hair and his blond lashes. He sat without having to speak, which was nice. Sandra plopped the plate full of toast in front him.

It was hard to sit down and stay still.

The earth turned beneath her.

There were wet, wide seas and green, wide plains and hot, dry deserts and moist, humid forests.

The air was bright. Alive.

She buttered a slice of toast, ate a crisp of bacon.

Somewhere a rainstorm was lashing. Someplace hail came down. Snow fell.

The sun shone.

Somewhere, a man with gnarled fingers and withered limbs died.

Somewhere else, a baby boy was born.

Across town, Manny Phillips proposed to Adelaide Thompson.

War raged between countries, a murder was solved and legislation against hate crimes was initiated.

Jack ate his eggs in silence. He looked at her. He was looking at her and didn’t look away.

Sandra finished up and rose to make Lem’s sandwich. Breakfast delivery. There was a thermos in the cupboard. She’d make coffee for him.

What she was feeling would fade, she knew. Like drowning, everything was too vivid. Being so full would make her raw. It wasn’t good or bad, she realized. It was just knowledge. This woman died, but her daughter became pregnant. There was a balance to it. This man did bad, but this girl did good.

This boy went blind.

But she
saw
, all this and more.

Sandra packed up the coffee and the sandwich, packed an apple and a granola bar. She’d seen Lem sneak those on the sly. He liked the chocolate, despite arguing about health and too much sugar and empty carbohydrates.

Jack piled his empty plate and cutlery in the sink, still staring.

They didn’t do the dishes.

Sandra felt the earth turn and turn.

They left the house and got into the truck.

The clouds moved across the sky.

~

“Thanks,” Lem said, taking the bag. He looked scruffy and jaded, dark fur growth on his face. His facial hair always came in fast. He looked like he’d been holed up for three days instead of only one. Sandra wasn’t sure he saw what the sandwich was before digging in. The coffee disappeared nearly as quickly; he looked more human after it, shoulders drawing back and that quiet strength rising through.

Jack stood, tension across his chest and back, making small circuits of the room. He kept looking toward the hallway as though he expected Danny to come walking down it, saying it was all okay – he was fine.

Lem gave her a long look over the granola bar. He forewent the grinning barb she could see on the tip of his tongue and ate it anyway. The apple stayed in the bag, but Sandra knew he’d eat it later. Unless he went home, but Sandra doubted he’d leave until Daniel was on his way out that door. His boys were his responsibility.
They
were his responsibility.

Sandra sunk back into her poorly cushioned chair, able to feel the sway of the world distant and far away, a slow turn of history and people. Pain and love. Life and death. Her fingers twisted through the hem of her shirt. A hole was starting there and she slowly worked it bigger as Jack paced round the room.