Johnson
14
He Wanted the Voices to Stop
Another day at Pearson's, I thought, with an annoyed sigh. How fun. My job was excruciating. The store didn't have air conditioning, and when you're right next to a taunting lake in the middle of summer in California, you get pretty desperate. Sweltering, and sweating I fanned my face at an attempt of cooling down. All I wanted to do was jump into the beautiful Lake Tahoe, but no. I had to tend to all of the customers browsing the ancient records.
The only customers we got nowadays were forty year old men trying to relive their glory days and "hipster" girls who wanted to pretend they were quirky by hanging them on their wall. So basically, I twiddled my thumbs and hoped someone was lost and needed directions.
The only reason I took the job was because of my nagging mother. "You're sixteen! When I was your age, I was working seven hours a day!" she had screamed, the day after I finished school. Blah, blah, blah. She meant nothing to me, especially after making us move across the country because of her amazing career as a high school teacher. But, I needed the money and what else could I do?
With a heavy sigh, I leaned on the dusty counter, and just hoped that someone was idiotic enough to wander in. My phone buzzed beside me, and I glanced down uninterestedly.
(Sent 1:17) Evan: Hey, you at Pearson's?
Not only was he my best friend, he was my only friend. No one wanted to befriend the freaky chick from Boston, apparently, except for him. And I was okay with that. Who needed those fake preps that spent their days degrading others to feel better about them? Not me, that's for sure.
(Sent 1:19) Lola: Yeah, you should stop by. Though, it's really crowded in here. And if you come, I think it'll be the most people in the store at once we've ever had.
I smirked at my own wit. He was the only one who knew me; I didn't even let my parents enter the tightly enclosed area that I called my life.
Yeah, some might call me guarded. But I have good reasons, I really do. My parents don't trust me, they never have. Back in Boston, I was this wild child. Well, not really. I just went to a party, and got caught out. That's all. For my parents however, that was more than enough to make us pack our bags. They even considered sending me to some boarding school. It's actually quite annoying, their smarminess. It's like they want me to detest them.
(Sent 1:22) Evan: So two people will be there? I'm on my way
He replied, and I smiled to myself. Lately, he was the only one who could bring me to smile.
As I waited for him, I sifted through old records. The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, The Beatles, Nirvana, all were vintage vinyl that no one bothered to touch. It's quiet depressing, if I had the money I'd buy all of them. Of course, I'd need a record player first. If only, if only.
The bells above the glass door tingled, signaling someone's entrance. I stood on my tiptoes to peer over the tall filing cabinets. A curly blonde head of hair was barely visible, and a whisper of a smile ghosted over my lips.
Evan made his way over to the counter, and leaned on it like he owned the place. A smirk rested on his mouth as he glanced up at me.
"Hey, Lo. I heard you were bored," he stated monotonously, and stood to his full height. It was kind of annoying how tall he was.
"Oh no, I'm totally entertained. Can't you see the excitement radiating off my face?" I asked sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
"Totally," he muttered in agreement, and walked over to sift through the old, cardboard like racks. "Why do you even work here if you hate it so much?" Evan asked, lifting out an old Radiohead piece.
"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to. You're smarter than that," I answered nonchalantly, and made my way over to him. Snatching the set out of his hands, I looked over the cover and smiled to myself.
It was "The Bends", aka my favorite album ever. I've proclaimed my love for Thom Yorke many times around Evan, and he completely agreed with me. Sliding the record out of the cover, I put it on the ancient player we had at the back of the store. Electric guitars started blaring, and we both winced from the sudden noise.
I turned it down, and Thom Yorke's angelic voice started to sing in the background as we leaned on the counter.
"So…what are your plans for today?" Evan asked a slight hesitation to his voice. His awkwardness made me nervous, almost like he was going to ask me a big question.
I paused to chew on my finger, a habit I had been cursed with since childhood, and sank into one hip. "I dunno, I don't think anything important. I'm not scheduled to be leave here until three, and it's only one thirty. Why?" My head cocked slightly to the left, and I glimpsed up at him.
A grin spread to his lips, and confusion crossed my eyes. "Well, I heard about this abandoned, rumored haunted house up on Mount Rose, behind Tahoe. I think we should check it out. An adventure with Evan and Lo, sounds fun, right? Unless, you're too chicken," he teased, and crossed his arms.
I let an incredulous scoff escape my lips and crossed my arms to mimic him. "Please, I'm not scared of anything. An abandoned, haunted house, you say? Sounds absolutely awesome to me," I over exaggerated, trying to show my bravery. It was one of the few things I prided myself on.
"Well that's wonderful, Lo. I'm sure we'll have lots of fun. Come to my house after you ditch this place, alright?" He informed me, and turned away.
My eyes widened slightly, and I frowned. "Where are you going?" I asked, my voice too desperate. I hated sounding as vulnerable I did. Showing true emotions was dangerous, especially around people I like. People can twist around words, and toy with you, and stab you in the back. I guess there's another reason why I'm so guarded.
"Chill, I'm just going home…unless you want me to say," his tone was an annoying taunt, and he turned back to face me with a triumphant smirk on his face.
"No, its fine, I just thought that you might be going to house without me. To scope it out, maybe make sure there are no ghosts. But you can't do that, that's cheating." I lied quickly, hoping he didn't question my awkwardness.
He just nodded, accepting my hesitation without question. We've always had this sort of connection; we don't ask each other questions. It's like a silent pact.
"Actually, if you don't mind I'll stay. It's not like you'll get any customers anyways," he teased, sitting down on the ancient, mustard yellow couch next to the counter.
I rolled my eyes at him pointedly, and sat down next to him. "You're lucky you don't have to work. It's literally the worst thing I've ever done."
His dark eyes met mine somewhat longingly, and I kept his stare. "Why would I work if I didn't have to? Well, that came out obnoxiously. I meant, like, I don't need the money, or anything. It'd just be something to do in my spare time," he shrugged his shoulders casually, and started picking at the old threads of the couch.
I noticed something irked him; he was putting his walls up. Walls that I had learned how to break down. Trying to be reassuring, I put a shaky hand on his knee, and looked up at him with my big, blue eyes. "You know you can tell me everything, right? I have no right to judge you, and most likely I can relate. We're often in the same boat, Evan." I stated matter-of-factly, reminding him of the similarities we shared.
He let out an exasperated sigh, and looked down to my hand. "I know, it's just that…I don't like being like this, Lo. I don't like being the richest, or having the biggest house. As clichéd as it sounds, I wish I could be normal."
I bit my lip, not sure how to respond. Evan's wealth wasn't the reason we were friends, but it's why a lot of people wanted to be his friend. I can see how depressing that would seem. "It's not clichéd. Well, yeah it is, but not in a bad way. Everyone wants to be their definition of normal; it's just how we interpret it. Your normal is being middleclass, average. My normal is living back in Boston, in a familiar place." My hand scuttled off his leg, and a blush crept up to my cheeks.
I glanced over to him to see his reaction, and surprisingly he was nodding in agreement. "Y-you're really smart, that's a really intelligent thing to say. You could be an inspirational speaker, you know." Evan mumbled and peered back at me.
I shook my head, and laughed at the thought of me standing in front of huge crowds. "Oh god no. I'd rather keep this stupid job than be a public speaker. I can't talk to anyone completely truthfully unless they're my friend. And you happen to be my only friend." I replied, and playfully nudged him.
"That's comforting," he mocked me, and shot me a crooked smile. "I'm serious, Lo. You could be a psycho-analyzer or whatever your dad is."
"Psychologist," I corrected, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind being a shrink. But that also means I'd have to be around crazies all day." To be honest, I've no idea what I want to do when I grow up. I have no college plan, no talents, and no nothing. Basically, I'm screwed.
Evan got up from the couch, and paced in front of me slowly. "Sometimes the craziest of us are the sanest." He replied, his voice an attempt at nonchalance. It spooked me, because he was right.
"And sometimes the sanest are the craziest," I quirked an eyebrow at him, a smile playing on my lips.
The door tingled open, and my smile dropped. I ran to the counter, and tried to make it look like I had been there the whole time. Evan put on an act as a customer, browsing the oh-so interesting records.
I peeked over the divider, and saw a white cowboy hat, which could only mean one thing. Toby.
"Howdy, Lola," The tall, southern man greeted, and I tried not to roll my eyes."How're things goin'?" His accent was literally the worst thing I've ever heard.
"Oh, it's going," I retorted quietly, and licked my lips. Toby was my boss, and partially the reason I hated my job so much. He was creepy, serial killer-like and mysterious, and I didn't know too much about him.
All I knew is that his father was a huge record collector, and that he moved to Tahoe when he was a kid and founded this store. He's sold records ever since. Sounds pretty depressing to me.
Except, Toby didn't sell the records. He didn't spend hours on end behind the cash register, praying for someone to come in. Instead, he got to travel around the world and trade vinyl for vinyl. I have no clue where all the extra spending money is coming from, believe or not my wages are bare minimum. He often bragged about his voyages, and I tried my best not to get jealous. Just a couple of weeks ago, he got to go to Coachella. And the worst part is he didn't even know half of the bands playing!
There's nothing that pisses me off more than people who go to music festivals who know nothing about music. For some reason, they feel as though they are more educated after they go to one, and better than others for hearing a single song. The funny part is they couldn't even name three of the acts that went on.
Toby moseyed on over to the counter, and leaned on it in the way Evan had earlier. "Any sales yet?" He asked, taking off his dark sunglasses.
"Nope. But this young man," I gestured to Evan, and he glanced over at us, confused. "Was just telling me all about how he wanted a Radiohead vinyl. And I showed him "The Bends", and he said he really liked it. Would you like me to ring it up for you, sir?" Stifling my giggles, I put on a feigned helpful tone. Oh, how pissed he would be at me.
Evan uncomfortably shifted in his shoes, and gulped. "Y-yeah, that'd be great," he stuttered nervously, scratching the back of his neck.
"Awesome," I grinned, and went over to take the record off the player. Glancing up, I saw Evan making his "I'm going to kill you later" eyes at me, and I slid the record into its cover.
Evan walked over to the counter, and nervously drummed his fingers on the glass surface. He had no real reason to be mad at me; he had money flowing from his pockets. I just wanted to prove to my manager that I had some potential.
"That'll come to a total of seventeen dollars and twenty-four cents." I said robotically, and glimpsed at Toby for sign of appreciation. He discreetly gave me thumbs up, and I grinned.
Evan fumbled with his money, and I caught four fifty dollar bills lingering in his wallet. He took out a twenty and a quarter, and I quickly gave him the change. "Thanks for shopping at Pearson's!" I smiled, feigning cheeriness.
As Evan exited (and presumably waited outside for me), Toby turned to me. I could see the seriousness in his eyes. This wasn't good.
"Lola-"
"You can call me Lo, if you want," I cut him off nervously, and bit my lip.
"Okay, then. Lo, I've been observing y'ur work lately. I know that we don' have tons of customers like other, mainstream music stores, but from what I've a-seen, you're doing well with 'em. This is me commemorating y'ur work, and because of y'ur great customer associations, I'm gonna let you off early today. How's that sound?" His voice was softer, almost like he was earnest. I knew better than to trust him completely, but I still was pleased with myself.
"Thanks, Toby. That sounds great; it's been such an honor working here. I couldn't imagine working anywhere else." I drawled, hoping he couldn't detect the over exaggerated words.
"Well, git on now. I'm sure you have friends ter see, and places ter go. Have fun now, y'hear?"
A weak smile played on my lips, and I nodded. "Thanks again, Toby. See ya soon," I waved, and gathered my small belongings, leaving the southern man alone in the stifling room.
As soon as I got outside, I was greeted by a burst of fresh air, and a very angry Evan.
"What the heck was that for?" He growled at me, his eyes narrow with irritation. I didn't think he would be that annoyed, I mean it was just a joke.
"Calm down," I waved him off with my hands. "I was just joking around. No need to get worked up about it."
Evan's frown, annoyed and unforgiving, was still stitched on his face. "I'm not worked up. I don't think it was a very funny joke, personally. It seems as though you were using me just so you could seem better at your crappy job."
Now it was my turn to frown.
"Listen here, just because you have an easy life doesn't mean I do-"
"An easy life? You don't know anything," he interrupted, staring down at me.
"Please, I know basically everything about you," I retorted, rolling my eyes. Most would cower under the height disadvantage, but I stood my ground. This wasn't the first fight I had gotten in with Evan, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.
"You don't know anything," he repeated. "You don't know my favorite anything, or my hobbies, or my middle name, for god's sakes."
I sucked in my cheeks, and glared back at him. "Your favorite color is navy blue, your favorite subject is calculus, and your favorite food is Craft macaroni and cheese. You like to run, play video games, and watch T.V. and play on the computer. And, your name is Evan Thomas Hamilton. So yeah, I guess I know nothing about you." My voice was a cold sneer, and I saw the frown wiped off his face.
"I-I, um," he stammered, not being able to find the words to say. "I-I'm sorry; I know I'm not being fair. You're…you're the only person I've let in, and believe it or not, that's a little scary. I'm used to people trying, and then giving up. I just don't want you to give up." His voice was small, and I chewed on my lip until I tasted blood.
"I'm not going to give up; I'm in the same boat as you. People try to come into my life, see how screwed up it is, and then leave. A-and you're the only one that's trying, and I really appreciate that. I was being a jerk; I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you." I replied gently, and on impulse threw my hands around his neck for a hug.
We stood there, outside the old record store embraced in each other's arms for a minute or two, recollecting ourselves. The few tears that had been pooled in my eyes were absorbed into his shirt secretively, and his hands rubbed over the small of my back. We didn't usually have moments like this, and I cherished them. He was one of the only people I trusted enough to share my real problems. It was comforting, the simple hug, and just what we both needed.
I pulled away, and hastily rubbed my eyes to ensure that he wouldn't see my cry.
"So…do you want to go to that house now?" He asked awkwardly, avoiding my eye contact.
I grinned, and licked my lips. "Yeah, that sounds good. Do you have your car? My mom drove me here."
"Yeah, it's parked out back."
He led us to the parking lot, and I spotted the nearly brand new white Jeep parked next to dusty station wagons. Evan had asked me what was my favorite car, and I said a white Jeep Wrangler that had removable doors. The next day, he came to school with it.
I hopped into the passenger seat, the car open so that the wind could flow through my hair. Turning on the radio, I surpassed the usual radio pop crap, and put in a CD from my purse. I always carried around my own CD mixes, just in case I was put in a situation like this. But, there's probably already at least ten of my CDs scattered around that very car, I always lose them.
"Today" by the Smashing Pumpkins, started playing, and I drummed my fingers to the piano's beat. Evan slid in next to me, and put the key in the ignition. The car roared to life, and I grinned.
"Why do you love this car so much?" He asked, as he pulled out of Pearson's. Finally.
"Because it's the epitome of a summer California car. It's beautiful, free, and open, it's awesome." I answered, as the wind blew through my hair.
Evan chuckled, and teased, "It's a car, not a person. You talk about this thing like it's your child, and it's not even your car."
"Oh please, I love this thing more than you. I take care of this beauty."
"Oh really? Then would you like to clean it for me?" Evan offered, flashing me his pearly white teeth.
I rolled my eyes, and turned up the radio even more. We sang along together, our voices blending rhythmically with Billy Corgan's.
Today is the greatest, day I've ever known
Can't live for tomorrow
Tomorrow's much too long
As the song got progressively louder, we started sing-screaming along, and got many strange looks from the cars next to us. But we didn't care; we were just two teenagers enjoying our summer. There's no crime in having fun.
As Evan finished the song with an air guitar solo at a red light, we both burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. The cars beeped us to go forward, and with tears of happiness in his eyes, he stepped on the gas.
Pearson's is right at King's Beach, next to the Nevadan border. It only takes about twenty minutes to get to Rose from there, but I wasn't sure which part of the mountain he had intended on going to.
We sat the rest of the ride in silence, with Marina and the Diamonds as our background music. I glanced out the open window, and stared at the beautiful, sparkling blue lake in front of me. As much I hated to admit it, California was beautiful. As a child, bright-eyed and daisy fresh, I had vacationed here. I used to play in the water with my cousins, have picnics on the beach, and play Apples to Apples at night around the dinner table with a bowl of ice cream.
But my favorite memory was definitely parasailing. I had been eight years old, and I remember it so clearly. I did it solo, because everyone else was a coward. Being lifted into the clear, open sky was an awakening experience for me. I was a bird, carefree, flying away from everything. Then I was lowered back onto the boat, all that freedom taken away. I was a bird in an open-barred cage, able to see the freedom but never experience it.
I sighed at the memory, why did everything have to turn into something depressing?
Elbows hanging out of the window, I could taste sea salt in the air. Back in Massachusetts, we had beaches but they weren't anything compared to Tahoe. The deserted beach, white-sanded and the water refreshingly cool, was a sight for sore eyes. The waves were perfect for surfing, though I'm not the best at it.
I was awakened from my day dreams by Evan's blinker indicating we were turning right onto a rotary, and the lake vanished from sight. We got onto the highway, and he stepped on the gas pedal. Unsurprisingly, the ride was quick with Evan behind the wheel. He tended to surpass the speed limit, and I was certainly not complaining.
I twiddled my thumbs, not sure what to say or do. These are the times I hated my social awkwardness.
"So did you-"
"Have you heard-"
We started at the same time, and I blushed, while he laughed.
"You go first," he persuaded me, a smirk playing on his mouth.
"I-I was just going to ask if you saw the Angel's game last night. They were awful; they're an embarrassment to Los Angeles."
"No, I didn't get to catch the game, but I heard about it. Quite frankly, I'm not much of a baseball guy. But you're right; it is a complete embarrassment to lose to the freaking Ranger's." He replied, rolling his blue hues.
"What were you gonna say?" I asked, drumming my fingers on his dashboard.
"Oh, I, um, I was just going to ask if your parents made any plans for the rest of the summer."
"Probably not, they benignly neglect me anyways. No, you know what? My dad probably just bought tickets for some cruise for just him and my mom. It wouldn't surprise me if they did. Why do you ask?"
"Just curious. And hey, your parents aren't that bad." He reminded me, pulling into a wooded area.
The sun was still shining bright, but in the forest it didn't feel like it. Shadows danced around the car, and I saw some deer tracks on a trail beside us. Pine needles coated the dirt covered path, and I could smell the decadent trees from a mile away. Oh, how I loved nature.
"Yeah, but they still aren't like yours." I retorted. Evan's parents were amazing, his mother treated me like her own daughter, and his father was one of the funniest guys I've ever met.
A log, wooden cabin came into view and I smiled to myself. A diamond in the rough, a needle in a haystack. The house looked like a beauty.
"How'd you find this junker?" I asked, as he parked.
"It wasn't easy, sweetheart, but Google Maps is a great distraction when you have an AP US History exam to write." He answered coyly, shooting me a wink.
I grinned at him, and hopped out of the car, making my way to the front door. The door had a rather grand presence, it was adorned with a gold-like trim, and fancy bronze handles. Whoever owned this place must've been rich.
He went to open the door, but failed. It must've been locked or something, because it simply wouldn't budge. Seeing Evan ram into the door was pretty comical, but also depressing. He'd been so excited to show me!
"Maybe there's a back door, or some window we could crawl through?" I suggested, scoping the perimeter of the house. Dust and cobwebs coated the sides of the house, making Goosebumps rise on my skin. At night, it probably would've been scarier, but as the sun shone down on the clear, glass windows, all the darkness was illuminated.
"I think I found something!" called out Evan, from the other side of the rustic cabin.
I jogged over to him, to find him perched over a corroded green cellar door. A heavy padlock had been once placed between the two door handles, but Evan easily pulled it off. He ominously lifted the doors up, and peered into the darkness.
"Spooky," he mumbled to himself.
"Totally."
He took out his phone, and shone the flashlight, revealing a set of stone stairs. I, feeling courageous, took the first step down, and cascaded into the black void of the basement. Dank gusts of air breezed by us, making the hair on the nape of my neck stick up. I tried my best to contain a shudder from the cold, allowing myself to only slightly tremble.
"You scared or something?" Evan asked me, his voice taunting.
I stuck out my tongue at him, and ventured further into the darkness. "No way, I'm not scared of anything. It's just cold; I wish I brought my jacket."
"If you want I can go back to the car and get it for you," he offered.
"No!" My tone was harsh, a clear syllable making it obvious I didn't want him to leave. "I-uh, that's not necessary," I added sheepishly.
He just smirked at me, and I thanked god for the dimness that hid my blush.
Once we got to the floor of the basement, I rocked back and forth on my heels.
"I'll look for a light," he muttered, and walked around the outside edge of the room, looking for a source.
A horror story-like electric shock surged through the air, as Evan pulled up an ancient switch, like the one in Frankenstein. I licked my lips nervously, and turned to face him.
"Now what?"
"Well, we're alone in a house in the middle of the woods. What can we do other than a séance?" He had a devious smile on his face, his tone a soft purr.
"Okay, Nancy Drew, but who we would try to call up? Personally, I don't know anyone who's died in California, let alone this house." I dead panned, rolling my eyes.
He sat down on the concrete floor, and I soon followed. "Well…I do. I did some research, per se, and found that a mass murderer was executed here. His name was Timothy Webb, and he went on a murder spree after his wife was accidentally shot by the police. The worst thing is, was that he was only twenty-seven. He killed twelve people, including an eight year old boy."
"That's B.S." I called him out, sensing his bluff. "Tell me what actually happened."
"Come on, Lo, I was just trying to make things interesting." He whined, feigning petulance. "And the real thing that happened wasn't nearly as interesting as my story. Anyways, apparently this kid came here and did Satanic rituals of some sort, and killed himself as sacrifice. Boring, right?"
I groaned, and stared him down. "I'm serious, Evan. Stop making up stories. I don't believe a single word that's coming out of your mouth. Tell me the real story, please."
"Alright, this is the real story. His name actually was Timothy Webb, and he was slightly disturbed. And by slightly, I mean he had onset symptoms of schizophrenia and bouts of anxiety. Timothy was fifteen, and he said that he heard voices, voices that came from the house. This house," he paused for dramatic effect, seeing my reaction.
"His parents thought he was crazy. That he was making it all up, that it was all in his head. So, he got sent to an insane sanitarium. He spent three years there, three years of the same, monotonous day over and over again. Then, he started faking that he got better. He hid the pills they forced him under his tongue. Stayed awake at night, but kept his eyes closed so it looked like he was sleeping. He even made a few friends, and took up tennis. He was released in the summer of '86. Timothy came back to the house, and was seemingly cured. But then, in the middle of the night that he got released, something happened. He screamed, his parents came running down the stairs, and they found him with a knife impaled through his forehead. What they say is that he "just wanted to make the voices go away"." Evan concluded, his voice earnest this time.
I gulped rather loudly, and looked around nervously. I wasn't one for ghost stories, but this one irked me. It was so sad, yet so realistic, he had a problem and he made it go away.
"Wow." I stated simply, my voice on the urge of cracking.
"Schya," he agreed, widening his eyes slightly.
"How would we call him up? I mean…we don't have any Ouija boards. Unless you carry one around in your back pocket." My voice was an attempt at joking: an attempt to hide the shakiness his story had given me.
Evan pursed his lips, thinking. "Believe it or not, I don't have a Ouija board in my back pocket. But I bet there's one somewhere in this basement. I mean, it had a schitzo after all."
"Don't call him that, that's rude. He was probably suffering his entire life, and you're a jerk for saying that."
"Geez, Lo, take a joke."
"You don't just joke about mental illnesses,"
"Calm down! And help me look for-"
CLANG
Our heads whipped to the other side of the room, where the noise had come from. My eyes were wide with terror, and my breathing was becoming ragged. The air felt as though it dropped ten degrees, and I inched closer to Evan.
"W-what was that?" I asked, losing all perseverance to sound fearless.
"I don't know," he replied, and swallowed loudly.
"Is this some trick? Cause it isn't funny, Evan. Tell me this is just some prank," I pleaded.
He just shook his head violently, and started, "Not even I'm that mean-"
And the lights when out.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, and clambered around; searching for Evan's body. I collided with him, smelling his sweet cologne. He wrapped his arms around me, and I buried my head in his chest. He took several steps back, until our backs rammed into the stone of the basement wall.
"I want to go home," I whispered, barely audible.
Tears were pooling in my eyes, but I didn't let them fall. Whoever was behind all this wouldn't get the privilege of making me cry.
The lights horrifyingly flickered back on, and a person clad only in black was standing in the center of the room. Their hands were behind their back, and dark eyes glared at us from behind a ski mask.
The three of us stood in silence, not daring to make a move. Evan's hand found mine, and I embedded my fingernails in his skin. My breathing evened out, and I licked my lips: I had to do something.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice surprisingly strong.
The eyes, the two dark voids of darkness, stared back at me, unblinking. A hand reached out from behind the figure's back, clothed in shiny leather. Evan's grip on me tightened. A finger pointed to me, and Goosebumps rose on my skin. The finger curled, beckoning me forward.
Thoughts raced through my head, what do I do? I obviously could go, but that would mean potentially being murdered in an abandoned cabin, the only witness being Evan. And who knows, they would probably kill Evan, too.
I decided to shaked my hand, and breathed out, "No way, show your face. And then maybe I'll go over there."
Evan looked at me pointedly, raising his eyebrows at my defiance.
"What?" I hissed at him, so that the intruder couldn't hear. "What else could have I done?"
He shrugged at me, and licked his lips. The figure took a step towards us, and I tried to back up. But I couldn't, because the stupid wall was there. We were cornered, a serial-killer-look-a-like standing between us and the exit. It was like it was taken out of a movie script.
My breathing basically stopped at that point, and I waited patiently, until the person stood merely four feet away.
Their hand rose again, only to pull off the mask, and revealed the least expecting person of all.
Not Timothy, no. I wish. It was Evan's father.
"D-dad?" Evan stuttered, confusion and recognition spreading across his face. "Wh-why are you here? Did you follow me?"
His father let out an incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Don't worry, son. This isn't about you. It's about her. Your little Lola friend." He sneered my name, pointing at me.
I raised an eyebrow, perplexed. Robert had always been nice to me, what did I do to him?
"Mind explaining this to me? Because I'm drawing a blank at what I've ever done to you." I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
"You, you tainted my perfect boy. He was fine before you came here, and you got him into all this crap. All this ghost nonsense, and record players, and your angsty teenage garbage. It's all an act, isn't it? Your bravery, your hatred for the world, everything is fake. You're a fake."
His words stung, and words couldn't tumblr out of my mouth.
"You're kidding, right? You're trashing on a sixteen year old girl, a grown man? That makes me, sick. You're disgusting, and she didn't 'taint' me. I'm not your perfect son, and I never will be!" Evan screamed at him.
I was grateful that Evan stuck up for me, but the whole situation unfolding in front of me was bewildering me beyond belief. Now that I thought back on it, there had been times where Robert had showed his revulsion of me. During dinner at their house, he often deliberately ignored me. I had always thought it was just his awkwardness (it wouldn't surprise me that a forty-something year old man would be uncomfortable talking to a sixteen year old), but maybe it was deeper than that.
I was snapped back to reality when Evan was screaming again.
"That wasn't my fault it was moms-"
"Don't bring your mother into this-"
"It was all her fault though!"
"Shut up!" I yelled, above the both of them. They turned to look at me, and I licked my lips awkwardly. "What is even going on?"
"It's not important anymore, what's important is that you stay away from my son," Robert warned me, his eyes narrow with detest.
"Make me," I retorted, childishly.
"I will," he growled
"Yeah, how?"
"Here's how," he nearly screamed at me, and unsheathed a pocket knife.
Holy crap!
"T-there's no need for that," I stuttered, staring at the knife. "its fine, I-I just won't talk to Evan anymore, it's done. J-just put the knife away. There's no need for violence."
"Oh, there's perfect need, Miss Lo. I'd be doing the world a public service."
My lip trembled, and a tear cascaded down my cheek. A part of me said That's not true, but another, louder voice said, He's right.
I glanced up at Evan, speechless, and watched his reaction.
And then everything went in slow motion.
I was out of Evan's arms, staring at him as he charged his father. His father's mouth made a small "o" shape as he was tackled to the ground. Evan straddled his waist, and tossed the knife away from his hands. He took his head in his hands, and bashed it down onto the concrete.
Once. Twice. Three times.
And then he stopped. Robert wasn't moving.
"I-is he…?" I trailed off, not saying the word.
"No, he can't be. I think…I think I just knocked him out." Evan said, not a trace of regret in his voice.
His tone bothered me, how could he not care about hurting his father? Had he no conscience?
Evan got off his father, kicked him for good measure, and brushed off his hands. "Now what?"
"Now what? Are you kidding me? You just…you just almost killed your father for insulting me!" I shrieked at him, backing up against the wall again.
"I did it for you, he was insulting you!"
"So? I've had bullies before, you didn't need to hurt him!"
"I did, though. He had knife for god's sake!" He said, his brow furrowing. "I was just trying to help."
"And you thought hurting him would make me feel better?" I probed sarcastically. "Take me home. Now. Or I swear to god, I'll…"
"You'll what? Call the cops? I'd like to see you try," he scoffed, rolling his eyes.
At his words, I pulled out my phone and saw that I had no service. Evan's new attitude scared me- was he going through a psychotic episode?"
"Take me home, Evan." I repeated, my voice hard.
"As you wish, your majesty," he derided sardonically.
I bit the inside of my cheek agitatedly, and stormed up the rickety stairs, not waiting for him to follow. As
I stepped outside, I was greeted by a burst of fresh air, and a ray of sunshine. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and tried to get rid of the traumatizing images in my mind. A minute of peace was all I needed.
The stairs started to creak again, and I knew that Evan was coming back up. He stood in front of me, and gestured to his Jeep. We walked back to his car in silence, avoiding each other's attempted eye contact. I sighed as I got into the passenger seat, and stared at the tan carpeted floor.
"Lo, just lis-"
"Don't." I cut him off, not wanting to hear what he had to say. He exhaled heavily, and turned on the radio. I shut it back off, wanting quietness to think about what just happened.
"Um, okay."
"I said don't." I repeated, my voice strong with stern.
He sucked in his cheeks, and rolled his eyes.
"Don't you dare roll your eyes at me. What we just went through isn't normal, believe it or not. Most kids don't just go into the woods innocent, and out criminals. We could be arrested for this." I lectured him.
"Whatever you say, mom," mocked Evan, and finally turned onto the highway. Finally, out of the woods.
"I'm being serious, Evan. Stop acting like a child."
"Stop treating me like one! I'm older than you, I know better than you. He's my father, not yours. You don't know what he's done, he deserves this. And something told me, he won't be back. I finally stood up to him after years of him having the highest expectations of me. I'm the sole heir of his company, I have to be the perfect son." His voice was shaky, and the guilt poured over me.
"I-I never knew that, why didn't you tell me?" I asked, my own voice small. "I'm here for you, and always have been. We're best friends, you can tell me anything."
He stopped at a red light, and put his head in his hands. "This is why I didn't tell you, because you pity me now. I hate when people pity me."
I stayed silent, not sure how to respond to that. I did pity him, his father must've had astronomically high expectations for his son. The stress on Evan must've been unbearable.
"I'm sorry," was all I said.
He sniffed quietly, and continued driving. I let him turn the radio back on, and we listened to an old, acoustic cover of Nirvana's "Where Did You Sleep Last Night?".
Her husband, was a hardworking man,
Just about a mile from here,
His head was found in a driving wheel
But his body was never found
The music was oddly peaceful, through the dark undertones. It reminded me of the body lying in the cabin by the lake. I shuddered at the thought, and Evan pulled into my driveway.
I glanced at him, and just waited in his car. The music went on as we sat in silence. Neither of us had anything to say.
Out of the corner of my eye, I looked out the window. Kids were playing on the street, hopscotch courts outlined in chalk. A girl, six or seven, was hopping along, her pigtails bouncing as she jumped from square to square. Two other girls versed her, all laughing as they finished virtually at the same time. I desired their innocence, their obliviousness to the outside world.
They were daisy-fresh, and I hoped they stayed that way. Slim chance, though.
My thoughts were interrupted by the music suddenly stopping, and I cocked my head in wonder.
"Breaking news, a body was just found in an abandoned cabin, approximately ten miles from Lake Tahoe. An anonymous tip was called in merely half an hour ago, telling the police of the house and stating that they had "heard a disturbance". The man that was found was identified by a police officer as "Robert Hamilton", a wealthy business owner and resident of Tahoe. His wife has been informed, but son has yet to come home and be told of the fatality. The police have not confirmed any suspects, but we've been told there are clean prints all over the man and weapon found at the scene. More information to come later."
My jaw dropped at the newscast, and I raked my fingers through my hair. Evan killed him. Evan killed his father. I took a shuddering breath, and glanced over to the driver's seat, but to no avail.
The door was wide open. There was no trail, no evidence that someone had been in the seat minutes ago. I could still distinctively feel his arms protectively wrapped around me, shielding me from his father.
Evan was gone. And I knew he wasn't coming back.