Shadow of the Past Page 16

  “I’ve wondered what this would look like,” Christine said, as he came up the steps. She was standing on the far side of the room, where the ceiling was the highest, turning slowly in place.

  “I hope it’s not too disappointing.”

  “No, this is cool,” she said. “The house we had before the last one had a big attic for storage, but my folks wouldn’t let us even play up there.”

  “Well,” he said, “it’s not much, but it’s mine.”

  “You make it sound like your own sovereign nation,” she said, turning back to face him and putting her arms around his neck.

  “In a way, it works like that. My uncle and I don’t do a lot of family time.”

  “Really?” she said with mock surprise. “I never would have guessed. I mean, given the positively glowing way you’ve mentioned him in the past--”

  He cut her off with a kiss, and within a couple of seconds Mark had found they had drifted over to the edge of the bed. “Whoops,” he muttered, and then the two of them toppled sideways down onto it.

  “Whoops indeed,” she said, rolling over on top of him, and before Mark could warn her, she sat up and bumped her head on the low, sloping ceiling. The head of the bed was right up against the wall where the ceiling was at its lowest, giving only about two feet of head room.

  “Ow,” she whined, rubbing her head. “I bet that happens a lot.”

  “No, I don’t get a lot of girls bumping their heads in my bed,” he said.

  “I find that hard to believe,” she said, leaning down closer to him.

  “No, it’s true, I . . . well, this is really embarrassing, but I’ve never really done anything like this before.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s no different than being in the park. Just more comfortable. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, leaning up to kiss her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I love you,” he said, kissing her hair.

  She kissed his bare chest, but she knew she wasn’t going to get off the hook that easily. As the seconds stretched on, she could feel the arms around her tense up, and she knew she was going to have to say something.

  “Mark,” she said, lifting her head, “I really, really care about you, and,” she paused, seeing the sudden flash of hurt in his eyes, “I could definitely love you too.”

  “But you don’t.” He looked away.

  “Hey,” she said, using her finger to turn his face back towards her. “Maybe not yet, but I just need a little bit more time before I say that, okay?”

  “I understand,” he said, the glum slowly creeping away.

  “I hope so, Mr. ‘I’ve-never-done-this-before.’ What kind of line was that?”

  That did the trick, and he looked away, blushing this time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means,” she said, leaning down to nibble at his ear (which she had discovered made him squirm and make the cutest little “squeaking” noises), “that either you were just messing with me or you’re just naturally gifted.”

  “Now you’re just teasing me,” he said, pushing her away with a smile.

  It was more exaggeration than teasing, but frankly it was a relief to be with a boy who wasn’t pushing her head down or strategically guiding her hand every ten seconds. He’d gotten her down to her underwear, but he hadn’t pressed the issue any further.

  “Did you mean that?” Mark said, pulling back from her.

  “About what?”

  “About me being . . . well, ‘loveable,’ I guess.”

  “Mark,” she said, trying to keep her rising exasperation out of her voice, “I mean everything I say to you. You’re special to me, and I could see myself getting only closer to you. I don’t want to just say, ‘I love you’ back just because, y’know?”

  “I know. I just--” Mark started, and she placed her finger over his lips again.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “you’re the best thing in my life right now, and you make me very, very happy.”

  He smiled and kissed her finger. “That does help.”

  “Good,” she said, and then glanced over at the alarm clock, “because if I don’t get home in fifteen minutes this’ll be the last time we get to do this before the end of the year. Where did you throw my pants?”

  “I didn’t throw them. They’re right over there.” She got up and picked them up, and as she did she made the small pile of books they were resting on fall over.

  “Sorry. I’ll get it,” she said. She started picking up books and setting them all together in a pile when one of them caught her eye.

  “What was that?” Mark said, pulling his shirt over his head. “Oh, hey! That’s okay, I can get that later!”

  The book was old and brown, and the gold leaf on the book read “Bizarre Crimes of Northern New Jersey.” There was a pen stuck in the middle of it, and she opened it to the pages it marked. “What’s the big deal?” She playfully pulled the book from him. “This looks wild!”

  “Hey, wait! Wait!” Mark said, scrambling over her shoulder to grab the book from her. Before he grabbed it from her, she could see the chapter heading. “Cedar Ridge Slayings” leapt out at her as the pages whizzed past her face.

  “Whoa,” she said. “What’s the big deal?”

  “Nothing,” he said, backing away and flushing deeper than he had in the entire time they’d been in the attic. “It’s nothing, I just . . . it’s just something stupid. For school. I didn’t want it to get, uh, damaged.”

  “Oh really,” she said, putting her pants on. “You didn’t want it to get damaged so you snatched it from my hands? That said ‘Cedar Ridge Slayings,’ didn’t it? And who’s Corwin?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, tossing the book under the bed. “It’s just something I was reading, okay? It’s not a big deal!”

  “Mark,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I’m not making it a big deal. You are. If you don’t want to talk about it for some reason that’s fine, but don’t go ape-shit on me okay?”

  He took a deep breath, and after a couple of seconds walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re right. I just thought with everything that’s happened you’d be weirded out.”

  “So it doesn’t have anything to do with Clara, or Ms. Kennedy?”

  “No, of course not,” he lied to her.

  “Okay,” she said kissing him quickly and then walking over to get her shirt. “That’s fine, because I didn’t even think that it might be, but since it’s not then there’s no big deal.” If Mark wanted to look in to old crimes in the area for some reason that was his business, especially if it helped him deal with Clara and Ms. Kennedy’s deaths.

  “Oh,” he said. He could feel the flush coming back. “Good. I’m sorry, really.”

  “I know. Now c’mon. We don’t want to be late.”

  Their kiss in her driveway was too brief, but Mark was desperate to make sure that she forgave his panic over the book. She pulled away quickly, inclining her head slightly towards the lighted window on the second floor. “I don’t think you want them to notice your wardrobe change.”

  “Okay. Tonight was great, and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to ruin it by being such a spaz.”

  “It’s okay,” she kissed him again. “It’s no big deal. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

  He drove off, not wanting to go home at all. He knew that if he wasn’t there when Joe got home, nights like this were never going to happen again. He’d had no idea that they were going to end up nearly naked and making out in his bed and he didn’t want to do anything that was going to jeopardize the chances of that happening again.

  Yeah, if only you hadn’t freaked out on her over a library book. You had a nearly naked girl in your bed for the first, and now probably last, time and what do you do? You get pissed that she touches your library book! Too bad that was all she wanted to touch.

  His own internal berating distracted him so much that he didn’t hear the
sudden rev of a car engine or see the glare of headlights reflecting back at him in his mirrors until the impact threw him forward, hurtling the scooter towards the curb.

  He desperately tried to get control back while slowing and pulling over to the side but he was hit again, harder this time. The front tire of the V slammed into the curb, and Mark was flew over the handlebars, rolling across asphalt and grass and into the park he and Christine had spent so much time in.

  He propped himself up onto his knees, pain flaring in his wrist. He tried to figure out what had happened. Were his lights off? Had he slowed down suddenly? He could only imagine Joe freaking out on him for getting into an accident, not to mention getting sued by some yuppie bastard who hadn’t even noticed he was in the road.

  He reached up with his uninjured wrist to take off his helmet when there was a rustle of movement from behind him. Before he could turn to see what it was, something crashed into the back of his helmet, knocking him forward and onto his injured wrist. He rolled over, trying to get to his feet when he was kicked in the side, knocking out his breath and rolling him over onto his back.

  Through the dirt on the helmet’s plastic faceplate he saw Jack standing over him, a baseball bat in hand and sanity or restraint nowhere to be found.

  Mark scrambled backwards, moving out of the way just in time to watch the bat swing past so close he could see the pattern of the wood grain on its tip. He tried to move faster, but his feet were losing traction on the wet leaves and grass. When the next swing came he had just enough time to roll with the impact. It flipped him back over onto his stomach and impact on the helmet echoed through his skull.

  Mark couldn’t see anything and for a second he thought he’d been struck blind, but realized the blow had been so hard that the plastic in the visor and cracked almost completely, reducing everything to out of focus spider webs. There was wetness all over the side of his face and he couldn’t tell if what was rattling around in the helmet was shattered plastic or skull.

  He crawled forward with one hand, holding the injured one up to his chest. He couldn’t see where he was going, but before he could make any long-term plans another blow from the bat fell straight across his back, driving him into to the ground.

  All his air was gone, and he was gasping for breath so hard it felt like he was going to vomit up dinner in order to make more breathing room. It’ll choke you to death. You’ll die re-tasting some steak and mushroom thing you didn’t like the first time and couldn’t even pronounce.

  Jack kicked him again, rolling him onto his back. Standing over him, Jack was a cracked, blurry phantom and for a second he was Justin Corwin’s smoke covered form, eyes on fire and darkness around him writhing with life.

  But then the second was gone, and Jack swung the bat down again, smashed squarely down on top of the helmet. Mark’s entire body jerked uncontrollably for a moment, as he felt shards of plastic dig down into his skull. The wetness on the side of his face spread over his whole head. Mark flopped flat onto his back, unable and unwilling to move. It was over, and if Jack was going to keep swinging there wasn’t much helmet left for him to beat his way through.

  Over the ringing in his ears, Mark thought he heard voices yelling, but he couldn’t be sure. A glob of spit landed on the shattered visor, and then Jack backed away. There was a squeal of tires and an engine revved away into the night. After three ragged breaths, Mark convinced himself that Jack was gone. After a dozen more he actually believed it.

  This was fine, though. Mark resigned himself to never moving again. He knew he should try, that he needed to get the helmet off and see what kind of damage Jack had done, but the shame and pain and fear were coiled around his body like weights, tighter and heavier than they had ever had been before.

  All he wanted to do was lie there and wait for someone to finish the job Jack had started.

  “That looks like it hurts.”

  The bored resident stitching up Mark’s scalp didn’t even glance over at Detective Prescott, who had poked his head around the ER’s totally misnamed privacy curtain. “My patient will be ready in a few minutes, Detective.”

  “Of course,” the Detective said, waving an apology but holding his ground.

  At the park, when Mark had finally gotten to his feet and managed to get the helmet-remains off his head, he staggered towards the stalled out V, having decided if he was going to bleed to death he was going to do it in his own bed. He made it about five feet before he toppled back to the ground. Thankfully, it was just in time for a college girl coming home from a date to see him. She pulled over, and after a sudden freak out at Mark’s blood covered face, she insisted that she was going to take him to the hospital.

  The hospital wait was minimal, but Mark had time enough to call the house and leave a message for Joe about what happened. Clearly, he realized later, he had sustained massive amounts of head trauma.

  They were cleaning Mark up when Joe arrived, not nearly drunk as Mark had feared but drunk enough for him to be a raging dick to the girl that picked him up. Mark could only sit in the exam room listening in embarrassment as they checked him over. Despite what Mark thought was a spot-on diagnosis, his skull was not crushed and he was far from bleeding to death. In fact, all he had was a mild concussion, a sprained wrist and a single cut that would require stitches.

  Four of them even.

  Way to go, drama queen. “Oh, oh, I’m dying! I give up, the bad men win!”

  When the resident finished his stitching, he droned a lecture to Mark about not exerting himself, keeping the stitches clean and how they would dissolve out when the healing was done. For once, Mark hoped Joe had been there but he'd disappeared from earshot after his shouting match with Mark’s good Samaritan, probably to arrange the pickup of Mark’s abandoned scooter.

  “So what’s the deal?” the Detective asked as the resident passed him on the way out of the faux-cubicle.

  “I got into an accident. What’s the deal with you? You like hanging out in hospitals?”

  “One of the uniforms settled down your Uncle earlier, and he knew I had an interest in what’s going on with you so he gave me a buzz.”

  “That’s good to know. I’ve got some papers due soon, my teachers going to send you my grades?”

  “C’mon, Mark,” Detective Prescott said. “You’re a smart kid. You know I’ve got to keep an eye on what’s happening with you. Plus, I actually detect things for a living, and that tells me this was more than just some accident. Unless you’ve got some nitrous stowed away in that scooter of yours.”

  “No, I don’t. I just got unlucky. Spoiler alert: It’s kind of my specialty.”

  “Let me help you, Mark. I think you’re not telling me something. Nothing really bad, but something that you might know that can help me find out who hurt Clara and Ms. Kennedy. Maybe even stop who’s trying to hurt you.”

  “Jesus, will you let it go!” Mark got up and stuck his head out the curtain, desperate for Joe’s bellowing interference. “Can I go? The guy didn’t say if I can go. Do I stay here or what?”

  “Mark, c’mon,” David said, putting a hand n his shoulder. “Let me help, before something else happens to you. Or someone else.”

  Mark shrugged the hand off, forcefully enough that it made him dizzy for a second. “No! Fuck, this was nothing, okay? I got unlucky, I made a mistake, and then WHAM! It has nothing to do with Clara or Ms. Kennedy or Cor--”

  “What the hell is this?”

  Drunken aggression to the rescue!

  “Mr. Nelson, I just wanted to ask your nephew a questions about his accident, and--”

  “What the hell for? He was screwing around and he got into an accident. End of story. I don’t know why he has to have you pestering him over it.”

  “I just want to make sure he’s safe.”

  “Oh, and I don’t? C’mon, Mark. Let’s get out of here.”

  Mark tried leaning his head against the glass of the window on the way home, but every bump of the
road rattled his brain so much it made him want to throw up. After the sexual high, the savage beating that came after and interminable hospital wait and exam, he was thoroughly spent.

  Hey, maybe if we’re lucky you’ll turn into one of those weird sex perverts that can only get sexual satisfaction if he gets the shit kicked out of him after fooling around. That’d make life pretty interesting, at least.

  When the car stopped in the driveway, Joe just sat staring out at the garage. Mark waited a few moments, but when no explanation came, he went to leave. Joe’s hand clamped down on his arm, holding him in place.

  “I know I give you a hard time,” Joe said still looking straight ahead. His voice was something Mark had never heard from him before: calm. “I do it because I have to look out for you. Because no one else will. But I’m also not dumb enough to think that this was from some accident.”

  Mark opened his mouth to say something, but Joe gave his arm a squeeze that let Mark know that he wasn’t interested in what he had to say.

  “I know you never wanted to be here, especially after your Aunt died, but we’re all each other has. It’s a pain in the ass, but that’s the way it is. And right now, whatever is going on with you, you just need to settle it down, okay? I’m at the end of my rope with you.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Mark said. “I was just driving, and there was a--”

  Joe slammed a fist down on the steering wheel. “Goddamnit! I am trying my damnedest not to think about the fact that that is a hospital bill we cannot afford, or the fact you’re going to be bugging me for money to fix the damage to your little scooter, or even the fact that you could have been killed, so don’t fucking lie to me! You give me this attitude all the time, you start spending time with this girl, you start getting into fights, I have to talk to the police, and now this? I don’t expect you to tell me what’s going on, but I want it to stop! You better just stop it, because the one way I know how to make you I promised your Aunt I wouldn’t use. I swear to God, Mark, she’d be begging me to smack you around by now if she were still with us.”