Chapter Nineteen
Kane
Eleven Years Ago
I had to pass through the same stretch of highway we’d fled the gas station on to get home. It was remote, and it winded darkly through the forested hills outside of town. My heart pounded as I drove, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out if it was dread to be going home or dread that I would be passing by the old gas station. I didn’t ever want to see that place again.
As I neared the Sleepaway motel, I glanced toward it. The same room that had been lit by the dim lamp less than forty-five minutes before was still illuminated. But the curtains were pulled farther closed … or maybe they weren’t… I couldn’t recall. But a light was still on somewhere inside the room. Oddly, though, there were still no cars parked in the lot, and I gawked as I drove past.
Where had the stranger come from? He’d not driven to the gas station, so he’d walked from somewhere. It could have been Sleepaway. But if it was, that would mean the man was without a car at all. It was a couple miles to the nearest heavily traveled interstate. He could have easily just walked from there—from one of the truck stops maybe.
I shivered as I drove by the strip of motel rooms, and seconds later as I passed the dark and deserted gas station, I avoided looking at all. I felt sick to my stomach, and my head was pounding. The second I pulled off the highway to the smaller country road that would take me home, I pulled over and threw up as I leaned out the door.
“Fuck,” I muttered. But then I looked around at the dark woods surrounding me, and a chill ran up my spine. I closed the door quickly, throwing my truck back in drive. I wasn’t prone to the willies, or the heebie-jeebies. I didn’t spook easily at all, but I was scared fucking shitless at the moment. I sped the rest of the way home, slowing down only when I pulled into our driveway that led a short ways into the woods before ending at my front porch.
The lights were on. Shit.
I stood at the base of the porch steps, staring at the house for a moment. The man inside had no idea what had happened to his son on this night, and I doubted he’d understand if I told him, much less care. How could I tell him this? Helene, whose family loved her the way a family should, hadn’t made any move to reach her parents. She’d washed away the evidence of what I’d done to her. She’d washed me off of and out of her body. She’d been desperate too. I could see it in her expression, and the moment her eyes begged me to let her, begged me to be okay with it, I put away the idea that we’d ever share this secret with anyone.
And I’d been relieved.
“Where the fuck you been?” my dad asked the second I stepped through the door.
I glanced down at the floor. “I had to take Helene home. Something… I had to help—”
“It’s after midnight!” he yelled. “And what the hell is that?” He was staring at my shirt.
I looked down, panicking as I saw the blood that had seeped through the cotton. There was a lot of blood. Why the fuck hadn’t I thought to clean up at Helene’s house?
“Dad, I—”
“You been fighting again?”
I gaped at him. The irony was, I hadn’t fought back at all. I hadn’t even considered it. “No, Dad, it’s not—”
“Goddamn motherfucker!” he yelled as he stood up. He knocked his beer over that had been sitting on the end table next to him, and he marched toward me.
I stumbled back, tripping over a shoe he’d left at the entryway, but I managed to stay upright. I held my hands up. “Dad!” I shouted. “You don’t understand!”
“You have been fighting, you little fucker! You think I need this shit? Kid who can’t fucking figure out how to behave.”
He grabbed my shirt sleeve, shoving me toward the door. I fell into it, but he reached around in front of me, yanking it open.
“Fuck!” I yelled.
But he didn’t give a shit. He shoved me out the front door, kicking my ass with the sole of his shoe as I stumbled and fell to the ground.
“Get out of my fucking house, you little bitch. I don’t need the Goddamn social workers showing up again.”
I rolled to my side, looking back at him as he glared down at me. On any other night I wouldn’t care that my dad had kicked me out. He’d certainly done it plenty. Hell, on any other night I’d see it as permission to go sneak Helene out of her house and get drunk in the park. But this wasn’t any other night. This was the worst night of my entire life.
I pushed myself off the porch floor, anger and hurt coursing through me and blocking out the pain in my side. I could barely see through the tears as I stared back at him, my lips pulled back in a deranged snarl. “I hate you,” I spit out venomously as a tear ran down my cheek.
He scoffed. It was a cruel, heartless look on his face. “Fucking cry baby,” he said as he laughed, and then he slammed the door in my face.
I stared at the door in front of me, my fists clenched tight at my sides. My body was a knot of muscles that didn’t seem to know how to release the tension, and my jaw tensed so hard my teeth hurt. I climbed back in my truck, and my tires squealed as I backed out. I was speeding again, and when I passed the gas station on my way back to town, I wasn’t afraid to look. I looked, glaring in fury at the place.
“Fuck,” I screamed as I punched the dashboard.
And then I neared the Sleepaway, and I slowed down.