I decide to head down the street to the Staunch house around six. I take my bike just in case I want to leave quickly (or have to escape for some reason). I like the security of the motorcycle even if the drive is only a few minutes.
Maybe that’s why Iris gave it to you.
I hate thinking of Iris because I have no idea what happened to her. I hate not knowing.
I find the gate opened and see a hundred people roaming around outside the Staunch residence. Nobody’s wearing a robe or carrying a machete.
Turns out, half of Solitary seems to be at the Labor Day gathering. All standing on the lawn, holding plates of food or drinks like some kind of church picnic.
I see Sheriff Wells. And his deputy who hates me, Kevin Ross. Principal Harking is there talking to some people (probably parents). My track coach, Mr. Brinks, sees me and shouts out a big “Chicago!” He comes over and feels my arms and stomach to make sure I’m not getting flabby.
Ah, feels just like home.
Then I see a couple walking down the slight hill hand in hand. A strangely attractive couple, smiling and looking polished like a pair of fancy shoes.
Jeremiah Marsh spots me and starts to guide his wife, Heidi, toward me.
This is the first time I’ve ever really seen her in public. She’s a stunning figure, but not because she’s good-looking. She’s older and looks almost—regal or something. She’s white as a ghost, but I think that’s on purpose. Like some of those movie stars or models who look pale.
Maybe it’s because she’s kept inside her house locked up.
I wonder if she’s going to act like she recognizes me, but when Marsh comes up and shakes my hand, Heidi only smiles at me.
“Chris, I don’t know if you’ve had the pleasure,” Marsh says in a more distinct Southern drawl, as if he’s trying to show off. “This is my beloved wife, Heidi.”
She has blonde, almost white, hair that seems to hover around her head and glide onto her shoulders. A sleek hand brushes it away from her face right before she reaches out to shake my hand.
Her hand feels like cold silk.
“Hello, Chris.”
Up close, I no longer think of her as some movie star. She resembles one of the elves in Lord of the Rings, striking but also a bit—otherworldly.
This is the same lady who screamed at you in her house and looked like a maniac.
“Do you live near here?” she asks me.
I’m not sure if she’s acting and already knows or if she doesn’t remember me. I tell her where I live.
Her blue-green eyes seem to change shape like some kind of expensive crystal in the sunlight.
This is the same woman who sent you to try and save Jocelyn.
Maybe she really is an actress, because she’s certainly fooling me by acting like she doesn’t know me.
“I’ve always loved this property,” she says in a high-class sort of Southern drawl as well. “The creek and the sprawling lawn and the beautiful house. I told Ike that we’d buy his property if we had the money.”
Ike?
Is that short for Ichor?
As we talk—or mainly as I listen while Jeremiah and Heidi talk to me—I notice that the pastor never stops holding her hand. At one point he laughs at something she says and then puts his other hand on her bare arm to stroke it. But it’s kinda weird how he does it.
Like the way someone strokes a cat or something.
“Well, Chris, you certainly must have some of that delicious brisket they’re serving,” Heidi tells me.
“Sure.”
“Not that she would know,” Marsh says. “It takes a lot of willpower to look this beautiful.”
“I had my three bites, thank you very much.”
Marsh looks at her and seems to momentarily forget about me. He smiles and makes some weird face at her, then pecks her on the cheek.
“Oh, Chris, be sure and see the host before you leave.”
Those beady eyes stare at me from behind those sleek glasses. I nod and watch them walk away. Still hand in hand, as if she might try to escape if he let go.
It’s really weird. Not seeing them—well, it’s always weird seeing Marsh—and not just seeing Heidi act like she doesn’t recognize me.
It’s weird seeing Marsh around his wife.
He really acts like he loves her.
But in a weird, sick kind of way.
I have my full plate of food—beef brisket, corn on the cob, baked beans, corn bread, coleslaw—when I hear a curse and then feel something ram into my back. My entire plate of food gets smashed into my chest before spilling all over the rest of my clothes. I turn around, but I’ve already recognized the voice.
There he is. The big, fat face I’ve missed so much this summer.
“What do you think you’re doin’ here?” Gus demands as if stunned that I’m walking on his lawn.
I’m wiping my clothes off. “I got a personal invitation.”
“You get out of here or your face is gonna look like that shirt of yours.”
I’m glad I wore a white T-shirt. Makes the stains stand out all the more.
I see the crowd around us watching and I decide I don’t need this.
“You know, school hasn’t even—”
I stop as I see something rushing toward us from the corner of my eye. Then I see Ichor Staunch come up beside Gus with one of the large metal serving spoons that I’d just used for my plate and whack him over the head several times. I’m startled and move back as Gus crumbles to the grass with his hands over his head, as he screams for his father to stop.
Then Mr. Staunch takes his free hand and grabs Gus’s neck.
“I have warned you, boy, and you do not listen to me.”
He swats the metal spoon against Gus’s thick jaw, laying him out over the lawn. The sound makes me sick.
Then I hear another sound.
Gus is crying, his hands covering his face as he lies curled up like some baby on the grass.
I suddenly feel sorry for the big guy.
Everybody is now watching in silence, but nobody is doing a thing. Teachers and cops and mothers and fathers.
Nobody does a thing.
It’s almost as if they’ve seen stuff like this before.
Or they’re too afraid to do something against a man who will be this crazy.
Staunch looks around and raises a hand. “Sorry about that, folks. Don’t let Gus here ruin our party.”
And that’s that.
It’s like someone just had a heart attack and everybody around him is going on talking and eating and minding their own business.
One man can’t have this kind of control.
Staunch comes over to me and shakes his head as he looks at my messy shirt and pants.
“I’m truly sorry about that, Chris.”
And you thought your father sucked.
I just nod. Others around us have seemed to get a clue and are now talking again.
“Come on up to the house,” he tells me. “I wanted to talk with you in private anyway. I guess that moron of a son of mine actually made that happen.”
Gus is now sitting up, but he still has his face in his hands and is whimpering.
“You coming?” Staunch asks me. He’s still holding the spoon.
I’d hate to see this man with an actual weapon in his hand.
I nod and follow him.
I’m sad, but not just for poor Gus.
I mean, it was his fault.
But no. I’m sad because I really wanted to have some of that brisket.