Brightside - Mark Tullius (miss read books .TXT) 📗

THE WIND CUTS ACROSS my face and makes my eyes water, so it looks like I’m crying as I walk through the Square. I have my headphones on and the people I pass think I’m on one of my strange walks, only now I’m apparently working out to music that makes me weep. I don’t care. I just need to get to Danny, need to tell him to talk some sense into his sister. He’s the only one who can get through to her. I’m sure he’s scared right now as Sara tells him she’s going to the Cabin. She’s probably telling him to be strong, that it’s the only way they can get through this.

Lodge Two is just up ahead. I start to slow my pace. There’s a car parked out front, and an ambulance. I’m too late. I start running. I can imagine Danny fighting off the Boots trying to protect his sister. I see the gun pressed to the side of his head, him screaming for Sara as they drag her from the room. I see the Boots crushing his ribs, kicking in his belly.

But as I rush in, there’s only one person in the hallway. Blue jeans and black windbreaker, cell phone to his ear. He’s pacing outside of a room near the stairs, the opposite end of Danny and Sara’s room.

I usually stay away from the Boots, but this guy’s young and doesn’t look that dangerous with his aw-shucks face. Plus, morbid curiosity is all I seem to be seeking these days.

I pass the elevator when he turns my way. He holds the phone to his chest and points over my shoulder. “You need to turn around.”

I’ve never seen him before, but it’s obvious he’s weirded out. Whatever is in the room isn’t good. I walk closer.

The guy tries to use his big boy voice. “Did you not hear me? I said turn around.”

I stop four feet from him, close enough to know he isn’t counting numbers or singing songs. He can’t get the image of the rope out of his head, the rope on the other side of the door. I nod past him. “Whose room is that?”

“None of your damn business.” He’s not good at this and thinks of Robert.

I reach for the door and he jumps back like I’m attacking. His right hand slips inside his jacket. “Stay back.” This poor kid’s shaking, has no idea what he’s doing. He’s scared, and it’s going to get me shot. Light reflects off his wedding band a few inches below the gun’s barrel. “D-d-don’t take another step.”

My voice gets real calm, like I’m trying to put him to sleep. “I know him,” I say. “You don’t need to point that at me.”

He starts counting to himself, just like they trained him, to keep us out of the loop. He realizes he looks like an idiot aiming at a shithead like me and his fear gets washed out by embarrassment. “Calm down, sir,” he says, even though I’m the calmest I’ve been in months.

“There’s a situation here,” he says, “and you don’t need to see this.”

I should’ve  kept my goddamn mouth shut, but still said, “I just saw Robert this morning.” There’s no reason for me to be here at all. I came here for Danny, not Robert.

The guy sees my nerves showing and tells me to wait. He says he’ll be right back, slips into Robert’s room. I think about running, but if I do, I might as well just run straight to the Cabin. I need to just stick, see whatever is behind that door, start crying, act like I’m getting sick, then leave.

The guy didn’t close the door behind him. I see a shadow swaying across the wall.

I hear a voice. “Who saw him?” It’s Palmer, the asshole who put the gun to my head, the fucker who wants to finish the job. I’m already turning, realize I’ve made a huge mistake, when Palmer’s dirty fingers grab the door, his face, those mirrored sunglasses pointed straight at me. “What’s this all about?”

I have no choice but to turn around. Palmer sees me and that creepy smile spreads across his acne-scarred cheeks.

“Can I help you?” he says.

“No. I just...” The truth. Just stick to the truth. “I saw Robert yesterday.”

“I thought you said this morning?”

“I did, but I meant yesterday.”

Palmer lowers his sunglasses, studies me. I’ve made such a swamp of shit and I keep diving deeper and deeper.

“Look,” I say, “Robert was talking about Wayne King. He said he was going to find him. He...”

The door opened a little more and the smell of actual shit hit me.

“Yeah, pretty nasty stuff.”

Palmer opened the door all the way. He wanted me to see. Wanted to look me in the eyes when I did.

The newbie stood a few feet from the window, the wooden chair lying across the kitchen floor, the giant square of plastic right in the center. The puddle of piss and shit on top of it. He was thinking Palmer was the coldest dude he’d ever worked with, worse than his uncle that used to show him snuff films.

I don’t know why, but I’m walking in the room. Robert must have learned from Belinda, who fell from the fan when it couldn’t hold her weight. He cut away a section of sheetrock in the ceiling. One end of the rope is wrapped around a two-by-four, the other around his black turtleneck, covering that hole in his throat. He’s swinging with his back to me. Palmer looks at me and pokes Robert in the ribs with his small baton, sends Robert swinging a few inches.

Kind of low, Palmer says, “So when did you see him last?”

“Yesterday. He was looking for Wayne.”

Robert’s black microphone is dangling off the kitchen counter, no final words from Robert.

“What do you know about Wayne King?” Palmer asks.

I quietly remembered the first time I saw Wayne. It was after Krystal had kicked me out and I was thinking about Mom.

Palmer’s smile somehow gets creepier. There’s no way a Boot could be one of us, but I wasn’t taking any chances. In case he was listening, I keep thinking about Wayne, about my mom, about Krystal. As disgusting as it is, it wasn’t going to get me in trouble.

Robert spins. His face is bigger than I remember, his skin all puffed out, tinged the lightest blue. Just like his eyes, wide open, squiggly red lines surrounding them. But it’s his tongue that paralyzes me. It’s so big, pushed out all the way, the tip halfway down his chin.

Palmer’s walkie-talkie goes off, but he keeps staring at me, waiting for me to slip.

“Palmer, where the hell are you?” a voice says. It sounds like Sheriff Melvin, but I can’t be sure.

Palmer’s jaw clenches, that muscle just below the ear flexing like a little tumor. Finally, he answers. “Investigating the Madison case.”  He wants me to know I’m not going anywhere. “I got Joe Nolan here.”

Melvin tells him they think they’ve got a location on Wayne King, that he needs to get his ass over to the Square.

Palmer’s still staring at me and I’m just humming, trying to plug the leaking boat I call a brain. I’m trying not to think about Melvin, Sharon, her fortunate few.

I close my eyes, breathe in the shit and piss puddle under Robert’s swinging feet.

The newbie runs over to Palmer and accidentally bumps Robert, sending him swinging again, spinning him like a giant marionette. This time another drop of piss lands on the floor, right next to my foot.

The newbie just wants to get out of there. He says I obviously didn’t do this, that they need to get to the Square.

Palmer extends his baton with a snap of his wrist. “You got five seconds to tell me what happened here,” he says to me.

I can’t look at Palmer anymore. I stare at Robert spinning. And I don’t know how in the hell I didn’t notice it before, the front of Robert’s briefs poking out, his little boner all that’s left to say hello.

“You really don’t know?” I ask, suddenly kind of cocky.

Palmer tilts his head, knows I’m hiding something, but Melvin is telling him to hurry. Palmer pokes me with the baton. “I’ll be seeing you real soon. Count on it.”

I keep humming, staring at Robert’s face, all big and blue.