Brightside - Mark Tullius (miss read books .TXT) š
- Author: Mark Tullius
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Book online Ā«Brightside - Mark Tullius (miss read books .TXT) šĀ». Author Mark Tullius
Dad was an only kid, just like me.
The stockās 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 werenāt here. I wondered if Dad had forgotten. Or if Iād 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 didnāt 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 grandfatherās final shot.
I pushed in the shotgunās 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.
Dadās 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, couldnāt hear Dadās 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. Couldnāt even kill himself.
The shotgun fell against my lap.
My fatherās one simple request and I couldnāt even do it.
I just ran.
DAY 100 AND IāM JUST trying to get to work. Walking down the sidewalk, the morning air so cold. The helicopter is still circling, which means they havenāt found Wayne. Thatās good, means the Boots are busy. Busy means they wonāt be checking my apartment, the closet.
Iām running the plan over in my head when I see a group of people outside Lodge Two. Theyāre watching guys in white coats wheeling someone out on a gurney. Thereās no hurry, because whoever it is isnāt moving under the black plastic bag. I know I should keep moving, get to work, look like everythingās normal, but I find myself getting closer.
I see Tommy, the nineteen-year-old punk with his bright orange Mohawk, and ask him whatās going on.
āAnother one bites the dust,ā he says.
I think about my closet, knowing itās just getting started.
Palmer, the only Boot I know by name, is taking statements. Heās got his aviator sunglasses and fuck you attitude. He catches me staring and I donāt blink. Palmerās 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.
āYouāre supposed to be at work, arenāt you, Joe?ā The way he says it, I know heās telling me to move along, but I ask who died.
āSheila Clark.ā
Sheila, the one who saw me with Krystal, the one who swore sheād never tell Rachel. Swore sheād never say a goddamn word.
Melvin wipes crumbs off his shirt. āYou know anything about it?ā
āNo.ā
āWhere were you last night?ā
āHome.ā
āPeople saw you running all over town. What were you doing?ā
āCouldnāt sleep.ā
āYou do some laundry?ā
āHuh?ā
Sheriff Melvin steps in, sniffs. āA lot of bleach.ā
āYeah, like I said, I couldnāt sleep.ā
Melvin takes off his sunglasses. I hadnāt really seen his eyes before, how they were so open, trying to look like hey, remember, Iām on your team.
Palmerās 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 scheduleās wide open.
Melvin thinks about reaching for his gun, shoving it in my face, yelling Iām one dumb son of a bitch. The sort of thing he used to do back in the real world.
āI should get to work,ā I say.
Melvin says thatās a good idea. He waits until Iām 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 CANāT TELL YOU WHERE I was running after Iād hung up on Mom. I just kept going, through the dark and desolate park and into the woods. Iād 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 wasnāt 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 Iād taken with Dad. The hikes Mom couldnāt 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, Michelleās name exād out at the bottom. Rachelās name, too.
The women Iād hurt, the pain Iād 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 Iād 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 wasnāt a mile.
With a lot of rope I could make it. Just not with this wind.
I hadnāt thought Iād 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 wasnāt perfect, but itād have to do. I only had ten minutes to be at my desk.
My pants were in decent shape and Iād 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 thatād 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. Itād been a while since Iād 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 couldnāt see the inside of it, but I knew Belindaās 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.
Thatās when I saw the orange jumpsuits coming with their shovels. I thought
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