Brightside, Mark Tullius [philippa perry book .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mark Tullius
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Book online «Brightside, Mark Tullius [philippa perry book .TXT] 📗». Author Mark Tullius
Dad was an only kid, just like me.
The stock’s been rubbed smooth, the last bit of sun shining on the wood, bouncing off the steel.
Dad used to say an empty gun was useless.
I searched under the bed, gathered everything, but they weren’t here. I wondered if Dad had forgotten. Or if I’d have to wait until his next gift.
But there on the shelf, I had my answer. I walked over and picked up the D-Cell batteries, the ones that didn’t fit Billy Bass, the ones too light in my hands. I began peeling the label, saw the plastic red shell. Under an inch. Thirty-eight grams. Eight tiny balls to cause so much damage.
The shell slipped into the receiver with a soft click like it was meant to be. It was the first time I loaded this thing without Dad over my shoulder.
I heard his voice in my head:
Never be afraid when you pull the trigger.
Is this what he wanted? All these stupid gifts to give me a way out?
My hand ran over the stock, smoothed shiny from years of handling. It was a piece of history to be passed on, the history of my grandfather’s final shot.
I pushed in the shotgun’s safety then popped it back. The little circle was so red. Red like the sun. Like the rage eating at my mind, making me want to scream.
I raised the shotgun, liked how it felt. Something real. Something solid.
Dad’s voice still in my head:
Be a man and deal with it.
I looked back at the sun, my eyes hurting, chest hurting, everything fucking hurting. I wanted it to end.
I racked the shotgun, couldn’t hear Dad’s voice anymore. The man who was supposed to take care of me. The man that was supposed to be there, to love me no matter what.
I guided the barrel into place, the metal cool under my skin. I put my thumb on the trigger guard. The barrel pressed against my chin, keeping it up like Mom always said.
Head high. Eyes straight ahead. My last sunset. Seeing only red.
Everything yelling at me to just fucking do it. Like Belinda. Like Grandpa. Like all the other Brightsiders. The ones smart enough to escape.
But then I pictured Paul breathing into that tube to make his electric chair roll. I pictured my mangled face, some nurse cleaning the shit out of my pants.
I pictured Danny pushing me through the Square, everyone thinking, What a fucking dumbshit. Couldn’t even kill himself.
The shotgun fell against my lap.
My father’s one simple request and I couldn’t even do it.
I just ran.
CHAPTER TEN
DAY 100 AND I’M JUST trying to get to work. Walking down the sidewalk, the morning air so cold. The helicopter is still circling, which means they haven’t found Wayne. That’s good, means the Boots are busy. Busy means they won’t be checking my apartment, the closet.
I’m running the plan over in my head when I see a group of people outside Lodge Two. They’re watching guys in white coats wheeling someone out on a gurney. There’s no hurry, because whoever it is isn’t moving under the black plastic bag. I know I should keep moving, get to work, look like everything’s normal, but I find myself getting closer.
I see Tommy, the nineteen-year-old punk with his bright orange Mohawk, and ask him what’s going on.
“Another one bites the dust,” he says.
I think about my closet, knowing it’s just getting started.
Palmer, the only Boot I know by name, is taking statements. He’s got his aviator sunglasses and fuck you attitude. He catches me staring and I don’t blink. Palmer’s the Boot who almost put a bullet in my head, the day I thought Michelle was coming to save me, when I ran out in the street waving my arms like an idiot.
Someone grabs my arm. Sheriff Melvin and that bushy white mustache.
“You’re supposed to be at work, aren’t you, Joe?” The way he says it, I know he’s telling me to move along, but I ask who died.
“Sheila Clark.”
Sheila, the one who saw me with Krystal, the one who swore she’d never tell Rachel. Swore she’d never say a goddamn word.
Melvin wipes crumbs off his shirt. “You know anything about it?”
“No.”
“Where were you last night?”
“Home.”
“People saw you running all over town. What were you doing?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“You do some laundry?”
“Huh?”
Sheriff Melvin steps in, sniffs. “A lot of bleach.”
“Yeah, like I said, I couldn’t sleep.”
Melvin takes off his sunglasses. I hadn’t really seen his eyes before, how they were so open, trying to look like hey, remember, I’m on your team.
Palmer’s staring at me, smiling all smug, wanting me to know when this is over he might finish the job. I give him a nod to say my schedule’s wide open.
Melvin thinks about reaching for his gun, shoving it in my face, yelling I’m one dumb son of a bitch. The sort of thing he used to do back in the real world.
“I should get to work,” I say.
Melvin says that’s a good idea. He waits until I’m crossing the street before he heads back into the crowd.
So I keep walking, not running like Day 66, after I found out my father was the one who turned me in.
* * *
I CAN’T TELL YOU WHERE I was running after I’d hung up on Mom. I just kept going, through the dark and desolate park and into the woods. I’d made it three steps when my foot sank into the snow, cold rising over my shoe, seeping through my sock. I yanked my foot right out of my shoe, bent over and pulled it out with a loud shhhlopp. There wasn’t any grass nearby so I took off my sock and wiped down my shoe, cleaned it out as best I could.
With both shoes back on, I continued up the trail and looked for signs of someone else, kept an eye out for deep snow. The sweet smell took me back to a time I had hope. Back to all the hikes I’d taken with Dad. The hikes Mom couldn’t go on because her knees were acting up. How we all pretended it had nothing to do with how much time she spent on them.
Then I pictured Dad on the phone, telling someone to arrest his son.
It took me a few minutes to get to the thick pine where it looked like the trail ended but really just whipped around to the right. I was back at the tree. A rough heart carved into the bark with my name on top, a small heart beneath it, Michelle’s name ex’d out at the bottom. Rachel’s name, too.
The women I’d hurt, the pain I’d caused.
I kept walking for hours, paying just enough attention to stay away from the fence line. The wind doing its best to knock me over.
Suddenly, a huge cracking sound filled the air.
I spun and watched as a huge tree slowly toppled to the earth. It landed with a thud and bounced right past me, knocked over two small trees before coming to a stop.
One boulder, then two, rolled down the mountain and nestled up against the fallen pine. Several other large rocks were scattered up above. I made my way to them and stood in front of a half-covered cave someone had been hiding.
The fence line was up another couple hundred feet, but sometimes Rangers roamed. I looked around. The woods were silent, no one in sight.
Danny had given me a flashlight keychain and I flicked it on. Wood beams braced the rough walls carved out with a pick. Little metal tracks snaked into the darkness. I followed them, my feet crunching over the dirt. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and I started to fear another tree toppling, crashing into the cave, trapping me in there forever. But I pressed on, continued down the steep slope, needing to know where this led.
I must have gone half a mile before I finally saw light, that full moon shining at the end of the shaft. My heart pumped and I thought about all those island getaways I’d been selling, pictured myself on the beach drinking something cold as the waves crashed and spread up to my toes.
But then I got to the end of the shaft, a tiny outcrop on the edge of the cliff. My heart stopped. The bridge that had once connected Brightside to the next peak had been destroyed. Two hundred feet down. I threw myself against the ground, shut my eyes. My stomach flopping around. Every inch of me pouring sweat.
But two hundred feet wasn’t a mile.
With a lot of rope I could make it. Just not with this wind.
I hadn’t thought I’d been up there that long, but my watch showed I had two hours to get to work. As quick as I could I made my way back up the shaft. There was no way I was leaving my new secret exposed so I gathered rocks and piled them in front of the entrance. I swept huge mounds of snow over it as the sun peeked over the horizon. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do. I only had ten minutes to be at my desk.
My pants were in decent shape and I’d clean off my shoes better at the office. My jacket was a mess so I stripped it off and wadded it into a ball, walked over to the wall of rocks. Real quick and quiet, I moved a boulder near the top and tossed the jacket into the darkness.
When I stepped out of the woods, it was light enough for me to put on my sunglasses. I cut across the wet grass and headed for the southern archway. That last part of the park was always the hardest for me. the Cabin up the pebbled path on the left. The dog park to my right. The one that’d make me start thinking about Sunny and Lily.
I got on the sidewalk, Super Pawn directly ahead, a name too big for the one tiny window. It’d been a while since I’d looked inside. I usually avoided the store because Robert was always hanging out front, playing with his voice box, trying to get someone to talk to him, make him feel like a person.
The display had a little of everything, mostly rings. The tennis bracelet was on its own, center stage. I couldn’t see the inside of it, but I knew Belinda’s initials were engraved there.
I was wondering how Robert got the diamonds so sparkly when I walked right into the payphone. My shoulder smacked the glass dome hard enough to turn me toward the beauty salon and dry cleaners across the street, no one in either place to see what an idiot I was.
That’s when I saw the orange jumpsuits coming with their shovels. I thought
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