Why am I doing this again? I think to myself as I walk my way home.
You're doing this because you know you have to. I reply to myself.
But is it really necessary though? I ask.
Yes, it is, obviously. In case you're blind, she needs you in this. Plus you know you want to know what happened.
Fair enough.
After what I said, Sophie went back to her house – with her car. She'll get in trouble for taking it but she said she'll just tell them a friend of hers was running late and wanted a lift. She insisted that she can drop me home but I denied every time. I like to walk. And also, I don't want to be with her any more than I have to. After this, we're done. Cause all that time when she was talking I kept wondering: It could be Skylar.
What if she killed?
What is she was the one who was watching us? She probably came back to the town.
What if Sophie did see who it was and just didn't want to tell?
That can happen. I'm probably sounding like a jerk but anything is possible right?
I frustratingly kick at a stone on my way, remembering that I should text Mom I'm coming. She's definitely freaking out right now.
I sigh and take out my phone, assuring her that I'm coming in ten minutes and that I'm starving. That will keep her busy for a while.
That's true. Haven't eaten since morning and now I'm feeling nausea as if I'll throw up the churning acids in my stomach any second.
But there's another thought stuck in my head that's making me feel queasy. And I know I should have told Sophie about it but I didn't have the heart to.
Or maybe, you still feel a little skeptical and don't want to trust her, typical of the stupid piece of crap that you are. I burn at myself.
I sigh. What else could I do? I don't know how to tell her everything. I'm just not ready. For some reason, it feels like I'll give in if I do.
And we're already messed up with this gnawing confusion so should I really add another worry in an already growing pile.
Should I really tell her what Ander said?
Because he knows what I've been doing too. But I don't think he feels like helping me out about it.
I groan, closing my eyes for a minute as I stop in front of my house. Man, I'm exhausted. All I want is to eat some food and sleep. Not too much to ask for.
I ring the door-bell, several times before it finally opens. And – no surprise, there – it's Mom. I don't enter, looking at her, trying to tell if she was relieved or angry. I think it's both. She's blocking the door so I can't come inside which is pretty awkward.
"Hi, Mom." I say, sheepishly, "You're probably wondering why I'm late. Well, funny story actually-"
She interrupts with a deep breath to calm herself as she says, "You know you can't go around without telling me. I thought I made it clear." Her voice is as sinister as ever.
I peek over her shoulder, trying to find the one who can save me.
"Oh, your father's coming late.�� She reads my mind, "I made sure of that."
I look behind me, still standing in the night cold. I turn back to her and say, "Can we talk about this inside?"
She shakes her head, her hands in the air as she mocks, "Oh no, of course not. Since you like to stay outside without even thinking about how worried I'll get, why don't you stand here for some more? Won't hurt you."
I open my mouth at that. What does that mean?
I smile of disbelief crosses my lips as I say, "You wouldn't."
She tilts her head, challengingly. "Wouldn't I, Luke?"
Now that I think about it. Oh she will.
And just like that, the door closes on my face. I blink as I hear the click of the door locking and I'm baffled.
I quickly gather myself and start pounding on the door, "Ok, ok!" I yell, "I should have told you and I'm sorry, alright? I just got hung up in the store, that's all. I promise I won't do it again." And I'm on the verge of laughing my head off. Because if she thinks I'll freak out than I might as well remind her that I'm not a six-year-old.
I can still feel her presence on the other side of the door, so I say, "Come on Mom, open up!"
But of course. She's as stubborn as me. That means she doesn't open the door, plain and simple.
"Mom!" I call out in a fierce whisper, "You gotta open the door!"
"I'll open it as soon as you reflect on your selfishness." She replies, calmly as ever, "All I want is that you think about it."
"Here's an idea," I say sarcastically but with meaning, "How about I think about what you said inside?"
She scoffs, "Nice try. But you're not going to fool me this time."
My eyes wide, "I never did fool you! This is my first time I came this late."
"Don't make me count all those other incidents, Jesse-"
I freeze from head to toe and it's not because it's cold here. I can hear Mom breathing hard now as she realizes her mistake. I don't say anything. I just watch the cracks on the door, my head thumping.
She never took her name. Not after she died. Now that she said, it sounded rough and… metallic, rolling out of her mouth.
And suddenly I don't hear her anymore.
"Mom?" I say in a cracking tone, gently knocking the wooden plank. "You… uh... You there?"
But if she's still standing, she ignores me. It makes me anxious so I rap my hand harder on the front entrance again.
"Mom?"
She's not answering. Why isn't she answering?
I'm just about to shout out to her when something stops me. She barely whispers it but I hear it well enough.
"Jesse…" Mom says in a thick voice, as if it's a mourn, breaking my heart into two, my throat clenching.
I can't stand it anymore. She needs to let me in now.
"Mom, that's enough. I want you to open up and let me in, now!" The last part I yell.
She finally opens the door in a second. I burst inside as she's halfway to opening it but before I can even enter, she turns her face way from me and walks upstairs. Which is good. I don't want to console anyone right now.
I sigh and take off my coat, throwing it on the ground. Closing the front door and firmly locking it, I go up to the living room and turn on the TV, too weary to eat for the moment. I choose a random channel with a random old movie from the eighties. I sit down on Dad's armchair, resting my head against it.
My mind's spinning with thoughts I don't want. I'm wondering about the stalker guy and Ander and Jesse and Mom so much that nothings coming out of it instead confusing mush. I can't explain why I feel frustrated or why my heart's feeling trapped all of a sudden. I don't even get time to think about all of this because before I even know it, I'm sleeping.
I wake up with a jolt, as someone shakes me. At first perplexed and not understanding where I am. But all the memories rush in and… oh yeah, all of that happened.
I look up at the person who woke me, seeing Dad standing there, frowning,
"When did you start watching TV in the middle of the night?" He asks.
I roll my eyes, stretching out my arms, "I was tired and fell asleep."
He musters a 'huh', considering this. Patting me on the arm he says, "Get up. This is my chair."
Sometimes, he's just so childish about the littlest things. But I stand anyway, watching him gingerly throw his suitcase on the table and taking a deep breath as he sits.
"I'm starving Luke. Your mother made something to eat?" He says.
Now that he mentions it, I remember I'm hungry too.
"I'll check." I reply, walking to the kitchen, Dad grabbing the remote for himself.
I open the fridge and grin to see some egg sandwiches in a plate. At least there's something to eat, even if they're not my favorite.
"Hurry up!" Dad calls out.
I quickly take the plate and go back to the living room. I take one for myself and let him have the rest, sitting on the couch with my legs crossed – something Mom would have raged about if she was here. Speaking of which…
I shake my head. I'll tell him in a minute.
I keep reminding myself to chew slowly cause I know how a stomach ache feels like when you swallow the whole thing.
"Why did you come so late?" I say, mid-chew.
He shakes his head, looking at the TV show he always watch.
"Had some hella work to do."
I nod, still staring at him. Should I tell him what happened with mom? I mean-
"Brenda told me you didn't arrive on time." He mutters. "Can I know the reason?"
I scoff, "Nothing much. I had some work to do finish up too." The lie so frequently spoken that it rolls out smoothly from my tongue. "Last days are hectic."
"Let me guess," His words dripping in sarcasm, "That Marsh kept you busy, didn't he?"
I laugh, softly, "More or less."
He nods, rubbing his hands together, finally asking something he knows I don't want him to ask.
"Summer camp starts on Monday. You packed your things?"
I look down at my almost finished sandwich, "No. But I'll get started tomorrow."
He puts own the plate and sighs, "We're gonna move after that."
"I know."
"And while you'll be at your program, we'll get everything ready to go."
"I know that too." I reply quietly.
There's a little sinking feeling inside me as the room silences. Dad focusing on his food, and I'm just wondering: Will these be my final days in New Jean? A town that hates me but for some reason I was never able to feel the same about it? Why do I keep feeling myself clench and churn whenever they mention about changing? Why, even after all that's happened? Is it because I thought I'd never leave for such a reason? Or are my memories keeping me from leaving? Drawing me close to them every time I think about escaping them.
If Sophie wants to figure everything out, she better do it quick.
"Something wrong?"
His sudden concerned voice makes me jerk back.
I stare at him briefly.
Can't tell him what I feel. But I think I should tell him something else that'll interest him.
"You noticed something different about Mom's behavior?"
He narrows is eyes, "different? What sorta difference?"
I shrug, "I just think she's changed. In many ways."
Dad lets out a deep breath through his mouth, "I've noticed, Luke."
I frown, "Don't you think it's weird though? Doesn't it worry you?"
"Why are you so eager to know all of a sudden?" Dad asks.
I don't say anything at first, trying to make out the proper words to explain it to him.
"I…" I don't know how to say it.
"Yes?" And he seems more interested than usual.
"When I came back home…I don't know why but she locked the door and said I've always come home late and that she was fed up about it…" I'm not really meeting his eyes.
"What is it, Lukas?" Dad says, all worried.
I hesitate, "At first I thought it was a joke or something but… something weird happened."
I look at him, "She thought I was Jesse. She actually thought that it was Jesse standing in front of the door."
We don't say anything for a while.
"I've noticed that a long time ago. Luke." Dad finally says, pinching between his eyebrows, wearily.
My lips part and my eyes widen in shock as I say, "What?"
But it's not that kind of what to make him repeat what he said. It's the what that shows bafflement.
He frowns, in deep thought, "Yeah. You see, son, we're not just moving because of you. It's not just that. What I want is for all of us to be how we were. And I know it's going to be hard without her, without New Jean, but it's not like it's going to get any better if we stay. You may not want to leave but we don't have any choice. And your ma's conditions aren't getting any better. You understand me?"
I take in a deep breath, "I know you're doing this for us. I won't argue with it."
Dad sighs, turning off the TV, "Well, good. Now you got big days coming ahead of you so you might as well rest."
I pause, realizing how I'll miss this town. "It's just, I'll miss this place so much. I don't even know why."
Dad shakes his head, "New Jean's got a sad history. It's best that you don't go anywhere near it." His voice is stern but shaken.
Then there it is. That same horrified face which he made back in the car. I want to ask him what's wrong. What sort of history is he talking about but he leaves.
And he didn't finish the conversation.
Which only makes me wonder more,
What kind of sad history?
But before I could do anything, my phone starts ringing.
I take it out of my pants pocket and frown a little. Who the hell's calling this time at the night?
The number isn't saved in my contact so it's unknown.
I gulp.
Why would someone call me right now?
The back of me head's screaming: It's him! The killer! Hang up! Hang up, don't pick the call.
And I really want to listen to my doubts.
It could be him. It could be.
And maybe I'll be able to recognize his voice? I want to know so bad. Damn my curiosity.
Without thinking next, I pick up the call. Only to gasp at what I did.
Did I-?
"We got your money, Wells."
I frown for a minute. Money?
"Who's this?" Though the voice is familiar.
The person scoffs, "It's me Marcus."
Suddenly, all the memories come flooding in my head, remembering what happened at the store.
It feels like a million years ago.
I sigh, "Oh, right."
"You might as well come outside and take it. I'm waiting."
At cue, he knocks at the door.
"Alright."
I hang up and quietly walk towards the door, not sure if Dad's asleep. I open the door cautiously and there he is with Aaron huffing by his side.
I grin. "What brings you two here?"
Aaron rolls his eyes, muttering, "Whatever."
Marcus shoves a bag he's holding to me, "Take 'em. But don't forget your end of the bargain."
I smile, slyly, "Like I said, you have my word."
Aaron scoffs, "You're lucky you had that idea in that hallow brain of yours."
That would have put me at edge before, but now, I just don't care, saying curtly, "I'm not lucky, just ninety-nine percent smarter than you three. Which is frankly disappointing, because I expected a challenge."
"Oh, you'll get a challenge when Ander sees you." He hisses.
I scowl at him, but Marcus stops him before he could argue anymore.
"What took you so long anyway?" I demand.
Marcus sighs, "It was bloody hard to convince him, man."
"He's mad as anything." Aaron adds, gritting his teeth.
"Well, it's about time he feels helpless, for a change." I snap a bit. "Remind him that if he tries anything, I won't wait a second to-"
"We know, we know." Marcus mutters.
"Why do you think Ander isn't here?" Aaron glares.
I smirk as they look at each other, remembering how Ander was raging probably.
"Thanks for the money." I say, shattering they're thoughts, "Now get lost before I change my mind."
And with that, they take of in the cold night.
Man, it feels good to be in charge.