Hayley
I’d bet Peter thinks he’s the only one that suffered through this. Well, not just him, him and Danny. In fact, those are the exact words he said to me when I was in the hospital, even before shit really hit the fan. I suffered too, and I’m still suffering in a lot of ways. After I ran from the apartment, there weren’t many options. I’d had an open CPS case as well, something Peter would have learned if he just listened. In fact, if he would have listened to me…maybe that night would never have happened… Maybe I wouldn’t have been so desperate. Maybe I wouldn’t have wanted him dead.
We slept outside that night, Tristian and I, somewhere in the woods. I’ve never done anything like that before. I always thought I’d go camping someday, but not under those circumstances. Who knows if I was shaking from the cold, the fear, or the effects of the pills fading away, but I remember the chill of my bones rattling around underneath my skin. Tristian had come up with a plan about buying train tickets and traveling cross country starting from Ronkonkoma to Penn Station. He thought we could “escape to Mexico,” as fugitives, that we could finally stop running once we’d crossed the border. But I was done with his plans. They never made any sense. For once, I decided to make my own plans. I love that for me.
I’m lying in the dirt in silence. I can’t hear any cars pass by, we’re too far from the road. I don’t think about the bugs and spiders that could crawl in my hair. Normally I would, but I feel like a corpse. The dead aren’t afraid of anything, they can’t be, not even of the maggots that eat them. I’m being consumed, just like a corpse, not by insects, but by everything that’s brought me here today. Here lies Hayley, broken, addicted, pregnant, alone. No one attends this funeral, except for Tristian. I turn my face to look over at him sitting next to me, his back turned. He’s going to leave soon too. I tap him gently.
“No one’s come looking for us, no one. I bet they haven’t found him yet,” he whispers and stands up. “This buys us some time. We should keep moving.”
Tristian thinks it’s good that no one’s found Peter yet, but I don’t. That means he’s still laying there, and Danny is still tied up in his bedroom. The thought doesn’t comfort me at all.
“Let’s get going,” he says without looking at me. “Or are you going to fuck this up too?”
“Where are we going, Tristian?” I sit up and run my fingers through my hair slowly to brush away any sand and critters.
“Train station. We’re going to buy tickets to Penn, and from Penn… Well, I don’t know yet. Got any cash? We need to do all of our transactions in cash. I have some but not much, not enough to make it past the border.”
The border? Is he insane? I think I know the answer to that question… I can’t forget who he was last night. I’m not going anywhere with him. I feel so scared and so weak, but I’m going to do this, whatever this may be, homelessness, single-parenthood, prison…all alone.
I look up at the sky between the tree branches. It looks like it could rain. A parting gift from Peter?
“I’m not running, Tristian.”
“Then what are you going to do, bitch?!” He snaps and gets down on one knee, his face in mine. “What the fuck are you going to do, hm?” He grabs onto the collar of my shirt.
“I’m going to the DSS center. I have to.”
“You have to?! No one fucking has to go to DSS. Some people have fucking strength and priniciples.”
“Like you?” I ask emotionless, looking down at his hand. He releases his grip from my shirt.
“You know what? Good fucking luck.” He stands again and walks away. Within a couple of seconds, he quickly turns back around. “And don’t you dare think about turning me in. You hear me, cunt?! I will fuck you up just like I fucked him up and that is a fucking promise.” He hovers above me and points down. “Got it?”
“Right,” I say. I sniffle and twitch my nose. I pull my legs into my torso and give myself a hug.
He walks away, but then turns back again. “This is your last fucking chance to get up off the ground and come with me.”
I stand, looking away from him out into the distance. He grows closer again, but this time puts his hand on my shoulder. I think it’s supposed to be gentle and reassuring, but there’s something more sinister about it.
“We’re going to be just fine, but we have to move now. I’m sorry, OK? All that I just said, it was fucked up. Come on, let’s go.”
He gives my shoulder a squeeze, digging his fingernails into my skin. Then he walks away from me, confidently. He thinks I’m going to follow him. He’s done this before. Maybe not exactly this, but I can tell he’s been here. I can’t be the only one, the only broken woman that he’s manipulated like this, mind-fucked, abused.
I brush the dirt and ants from my clothing and in a split second I go from completely still to sprinting, absentmindedly running. I dart as fast as I can in the opposite direction of him, dodging by tree trunks and leaping over their roots.
“HAYLEY?!” He calls, then I hear him run in my direction. He’s going to kill me too, isn’t he? I don’t have time to think about it. My entire body was aching before, but now it’s numb. I have the energy to keep going.
I hear a thud. I think he fell. I hope he fell. I can’t look back. He’s going to stand up again and continue pursuing me.
“GOOD LUCK, YOU FUCKING STUPID BITCH! GOOD FUCKING LUCK!”
I think he may have given up. I’m not sure, but I’m not going to stop running. I can’t, not anytime soon. For the first time, I think about how I may never see Tristian again and feel relieved instead of sad. Maybe today is my birthday, and not my funeral.
Danny
I step out of the locker room after I’m dressed and ready for practice. Matt follows behind me, hopping on one foot, still putting his right sneaker on.
“Your brother is a good cook. You never told me that he bakes a lot of stuff. Are you free after practice today? Maybe I can eat dinner at your place again.”
I don’t answer, I just keep walking out onto the field. He can’t keep up, not without his shoe on. Honestly, he couldn’t keep up with me even with his shoe on. He shouldn’t be on this team. He didn’t make the cut, until he went home crying to mommy and she called the school and complained. He’s here out of pity, and all the guys know it too. It’s so embarrassing. The only reason I can’t tell him off is—well—he knows about the whole CPS thing. I don’t want him to tell the other guys. I wish we could just silently drift apart. Him not making the team was the perfect way for that to happen. Too bad.
I meet up with the rest of the guys and start stretching. I don’t talk to any of them. I reach all the way down to my feet and grab the tips of my sneakers. When the coach shows up, we’ll run a couple of times around the school to warm up. It’s my favorite part of the day. I’m faster than everyone else. It’s one thing that I really like to do and really am good at. It’s also very hard to think weird thoughts, like thoughts about even numbers and death, when all your brain can focus on is breathing and sweating.
“Did you hear about the party next weekend?” I overhear Preston say to Noah.
I stand up straight and look over at the guys. They haven't noticed yet. I look in the opposite direction real fast and cross one arm over the other, but I’m still listening.
“Reese’s party?” Noah asks.
“Yeah.”
Reese is having a party and didn’t invite me. He’s such a freaking jerk. I’m sure he didn’t invite Matt either, but that’s not the person I want to be in the same group as! Danny and Matt, come on, really? I still think it’s because of my skin. Reese hangs out with only white kids, he’s still the same racist asshole he’s always been. You’d think the guy would mature a little since middle school.
“Dude, I’m not going to that,” Noah answers.
My ears perk up and my head shoots their way. Preston notices, but quickly looks back at Noah.
“What? Why not?”
“His last party sucked. I’m not wasting my time.”
“It did kinda suck, actually,” Preston says real quietly.
“What was wrong with it?” I ask without thinking. They both look my way and I walk toward them.
“It was —just like it—" Preston mumble jumbles his words like he doesn’t want to say them to me. He doesn’t even look at my face.
“Dude, it was in his basement which was dark and freezing cold. His parents were upstairs and they kept opening the door and telling us to quiet down. Reese couldn’t even get beer, so we had to play ‘Punch Pong’ on a crappy fold up plastic table,” Noah answers.
Noah didn’t go to the same middle school as us. I wonder what the other guys have told him about me. Seems like he actually wants to talk to me.
“Wow, bro! That’s lame as fuck!” I say with a laugh.
Noah laughs too. Preston looks uncomfortable.
“Danny!” Matt calls. Shit, it took him so long to catch up with me that I forgot he was even coming.
“Danny, you missed it, Carla Schuman waved at me! The cheerleading squad is doing their warmups and I looked over and Carla waved AND smiled.”
“Did she laugh too?” Preston asks.
Noah looks down at the ground, trying to hide a grin. My eyes are bulging out of my head right now and my lips are tightly pressed shut. I can’t laugh, I can’t not laugh. What the fuck do I do? I pinch the skin on the side of my right leg four times to relieve my panic. That should do the trick. I exhale.
“She didn’t laugh! She wasn’t laughing!” Matt yells, looking over at me. I say nothing.
Coach blows his whistle, Thank God.
“Alright boys, get moving. Three laps around the building, let’s go!”
Noah and Preston start to run. I still don’t move. It’s OK if they have a head start. They need a head start when I’m in the race.
“Danny, why didn’t you say anything back to them?” Matt asks.
“Huh?”
“They were making fun of me!”
“Oh, uh, I didn’t see Carla wave at you.”
“Who cares?”
Now I start running. That’s all I can do right now because I need time to think of an answer to that question. I try to think about something else. I think about how many steps it might take to do three laps around the building, but soon enough, I forget about that too. Even though I can hardly breathe, I let out a big sigh of relief as I pass by Preston and Noah.
Peter
Before I walk inside, I take a deep breath…and some antacids. I take those too. It may just be the anxiety of asking for a job, but I’ve been having severe heartburn regularly. I chew on the chalky tablets and wash the aftertaste down with some Gatorade Zero.
It’s quite dark inside, which is strange for a bakery. You’d think he’d want his customers to be able to see the cakes and pastries. As I walk up to the counter, an old man stands from a stool behind the register. I’ve never seen anyone sit while working before. I heard they do that at Aldi, but I don’t shop there.
The man’s face is covered in wrinkles, but his blue eyes almost look young. A halo of gray hair surrounds the peak of his spotted bald head. He wears a striped apron over a button- up shirt, but as he stands, the apron comes untied. He grabs at the back of it and ties it up again.
He opens his mouth to speak, but instead covers it with one hand and clears his throat loudly multiple times. I stare at him, probably in a very rude way, I know I’m not good at hiding my thoughts.
“What can I get for you?” He finally asks, resting one hand on the counter.
“I saw the help wanted sign…and I uh—wanted to help?”
He looks at me with one eyebrow raised for at least ten seconds. I put my hands in my pockets. I want to look away from him, but I don’t break our stare. I feel my face turn red. Why is this so awkward? I blink rapidly. Maybe my fast blinking will speed this conversation up a wee bit.
“You know how to bake?” he asks.
“Yes, yeah, I do know how.”
“Any experience working in a bakery?”
“Yes, as a teenager.”
“Which bakery?”
“You definitely wouldn’t know it,” I say with a chuckle.
“I know all of the competition.”
“It was in Scotland. That’s where I’m from originally.”
“I see,” he says and turns away. He grabs a cane that leans against the wall. “Follow me,” he calls out with a wave.
“Uhm. OK. Sure.”
I walk behind the counter and follow him through the kitchen and into a small office space in the back of the bakery. He sits on a ripped-up office chair behind a desk and turns on a lamp with a small pull string. The light is yellow, not white. I watch as dust, flour I hope, spirals around in the air. I sit on a stool beside his workspace. He moves a small notepad in front of him and licks his pointer finger before turning to a blank page. Why do so many older men do that? Then, he picks up a pen. He scribbles in circles until the ink starts flowing. Next, he finds his glasses and rubs the lenses against his apron. Finally, he places them at the very tip of his nose.
“Availability?” He asks me, leaned over the desk, his eyes looking just above his glasses.
“Always.”
“Always?” he asks. “You don’t need any days off?”
“Not really,” I answer.
No time conflicts, he writes at the top of the sheet of paper.
“I forgot to ask you, what’s your name?”
“Peter.”
“Allen Vorhees.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vorhees.”
“When can you start?”
“I got the job already?” I ask. Wait, why am I questioning this, I need this job. I wish I could put the words back in my mouth.
“Well, what I really need is a manager, someone to run the bakery when I’m not around, but I’ll start you off at the counter. Getting up and down from that stool is getting old and tired… like me. I think I’ll do much better supervising from my desk.” He chuckles.
“OK. Yes, I can do that.”
“Can you start tomorrow?”
“I can, yes. I can start tomorrow.”
“OK. I’ll start you at fifteen dollars per hour, and depending on your performance, we’ll go up from there.”
“Sure,” I smile and put my hand out to shake his. He holds my hand with a very weak grip. His hands feel feeble and soft, unlike any baker I’ve ever met.
“Should I just see myself out, or do you want—”
“Before you go, can you take the tray of apple pies out of the oven for me?” Using one crooked finger, he points over to the ancient-looking industrial oven outside of his office.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
As I walk into the kitchen, I pick up a charred-up mitt hanging from the wall. I open the oven and get smacked in the face with a cloud of hot air. I grab hold of the tray and put it down on the metal table in the middle of the room. They smell great and look decent too. I guess the only reason he doesn’t have more customers is because of how decrepit this place is. It’s about two decades behind other bakeries I’ve seen in the area. I bet he had plenty of customers in the 90’s. Maybe they’re all dead now.
I wave goodbye to Mr. Vorhees and walk toward the door.
“Peter, one more thing, if you could?”
I stop in my tracks.
“Yes?” I ask as I stroll back to his desk.
“Can you put the pies in the display cases too?”
“Uh…Sure.”
I grab the pies one by one and bring them to the storefront. I arrange them neatly in a row, just as I used to many years ago. I put my hands on my hips and admire my work after I’m done. I notice the display cases could use some polishing. I do a quick glance around. Actually, this whole place could use some cleaning up. I walk toward the office again and stand in the doorway.
“Do you have any glass cleaner?”
“Pardon me?” he asks.
“Glass cleaner,” I repeat.
“Come again,” he says, this time cupping his ear.
“Right,” I clear my throat. “Glass. Cleaner,” I repeat, leaning in.
“You’re going to have to speak louder, Peter.”
Jesus Christ, Mary, and St. Joseph. I sit back down on the stool beside his desk.
“Glass. Cleaner,” I say, particularly loud. I motion in a circle with my hand as if I’m polishing the air.
“Oh! For the display cases?”
“Yes, yes exactly.”
“Those things are so old, they look like that no matter what you do to them,” he says with his hands held upward and a cheeky grin.
“Really? Let me give it a try, anyway.”
“If you insist, it’s in the storage closet in the back of the kitchen. Right across from the walk-in.”
“Got it.” I stand again, pushing up on my legs.
“While you’re there, can you grab milk from the walk-in? All the way in the back to the left. Oh, and a dozen eggs? I have to make a few sheet cakes. Do you know how to make those? It’ll be like your first test.” He laughs. “Once these old bones sit down in this chair, it’s hard to get them up and moving again. You’ll understand some day when you’re my age.”
I sigh and lean against the door frame. “Mr. Vorhees?”
“Yes?”
“How about I start today instead of tomorrow? “
“I think that’ll work out just fine.”
“Brilliant, me too.”
I head toward the back of the kitchen. As I do, I grab an extra apron I find hanging on the wall. It’s a wee bit dirty, like everything else here. I think I’ll take it home and wash it tonight.
Kara
He said 2:00, didn’t he? I look back at our Facebook exchanges. He did, I knew he did. I ring the bell multiple times and pound on the door. Still no answer. Is he for real? You know what? I don’t even want to live here anyway. Dickwad.
I shove my phone into my bag and crack my neck. I don’t need this shit. I really, really don’t. As I approach my car, my purse vibrates.
Like I’m really about to wait for him. I open the door and sit inside the car. As soon as I start the engine, Meghan Trainer blasts at full volume. NO just happens to make so much sense in this moment.
It’s Jess. I told her to check in on me in case I needed some sort of excuse to get the fuck out of here.
Suddenly, I’m startled by loud banging at my window. I fumble and drop my phone. As I look to my side, I see his face pressed against the glass. He looks out of breath, panting heavily and fogging my shit up. He waves and smiles. I shake my head and pull at the hair on the very top of my head before starting the car and rolling down the window.
“What the actual fuck?” I yell.
“So sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. So good to see you again. Come on, let’s go inside.” He taps the base of my car window with both hands.
“You told me 2:00. It’s 2:20.”
“I know, and I’m never late to anything,” he says while he leans into my car. I pull away from him, pushing my body into the center console. He either doesn’t care or just doesn’t notice. He continues his monologue. “Well, not that I’ve never been late before, I’m sure I’ve been late to something, but I swear to you I had every intention of being here on time. I just got this new job at a bakery, you know the one on 112 in Medford? Well, anyway, I told my boss I had to leave by 1:30 today to meet up with you, and he said that was fine, but he is—Oh man, he needs a lot of help, and one thing turned into another thing, and then I look at my—”
“It’s OK! It’s fine. Can I just like close my window now?”
He looks at me, wide-eyed. I’m starting to have flashbacks of our last encounter. I think he is too.
“If I back away from your car, are you going to drive away?” he asks slowly and emotionlessly.
“No. Why? Should I?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then no, just let me close the window.”
“Brilliant.”
He leans out of my car and walks to the sidewalk I’m parked in front of. After shutting the car off, I meet him at the door of his apartment.
“So, yes, I’m a working man once again!” he exclaims as he turns the key in the knob.
“What happened to that diner place you were working at in the mornings?” I ask as we walk up the stairs.
“Oh, I wasn’t making enough money there. I actually make more doing Door Dash. Plus, the chef there smelled like old onions sauteed in body odor, and he called me a stupid Mick.”
“OK then.”
He hangs his jacket and keys on a hook and switches on the lights when we reach the top of the steps.
“Impressive, huh?” He puts his arms out as if showing off a kingdom. He turns his head toward me with his chin down and raises his eyebrows up and down quickly. “Well worth $1200 per month. In fact, that’s a bargain. I can’t imagine anything better than this.”
I walk past him and into the living room. “I mean, I’ve seen it before. It’s pretty big. I’m not too concerned about like the living area though, I’m more worried about my bedroom, because for sure I’m spending most of my time there.”
“Well, little lady, you are in luck, because Hayley had the bigger room, and as a bonus, I will let you have it too.”
“Pretty sure I’ve told you not to call me little lady once before.”
“Right. Come now,” he says signaling to me as he walks down the hallway.
We enter the bedroom together. I’m surprised by how clean it is. I would have thought that psycho would have left some sort of mess. Maybe Peter cleaned it up. I walk around the room.
“Lots of light in this room, and we already have a bed, so you don’t even need to bring one!”
“I am one hundred percent bringing my own bed,” I say grimacing as I examine the sheets.
“Or you could bring your own bed, that’s also fine.”
I walk toward the closet.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I have a lot of clothes, I need to see how much space I’ll have.”
“Oh—well—I—you.”
I fling open the doors to find a closet filled with ugly clothing. I pull a tee shirt out. It reads Nobody likes a Douche Canoe. It’s decorated with a unicorn and a rainbow. What the fuck…The closet is still full of her clothes?
“Uhm…Tell me this is your shirt,” I say, holding it up to his face.
“Yes. That’s it. Not enough room in my closet, so I moved my douche canoe shirt in here.”
“I don’t know what’s more irritating, your lies, or your sarcasm. Why the fuck do you have all of her clothes? Is this like a weird shrine to her? Wait. Why the fuck would she just leave all her shit here. OH MY GOD, did you KILL HER?! Is her body in the fridge?!”
“NO! No. No. I didn’t kill her. She actually, uhm…”
“She what?”
“She ran away and didn’t come back.”
“Why the hell did she run away?”
I keep my eyes on him and back up slowly toward the door. Maybe I should text Jess, tell her to call 911.
“Kara, I didn’t hurt her, please, come off it. You want the truth? Here. There was an active CPS case against her for using drugs in our apartment while Danny was around. I told her to get the fuck out, and this is how she left, OK? I was holding her clothes, thinking maybe she’d come back for them, but for all I know she could be dead.”
Maybe he’s telling the truth. Maybe that’s the drama he was referring to before we broke up. I still don’t get why she’d leave everything here, it definitely seems like she was running from something. I look Peter up and down. He’s so unthreatening. I can’t imagine running from him. I know I’m missing part of this story, but I do believe he’s telling the truth, just leaving some important details out. Maybe she was running from the law…Maybe she was getting busted for those drugs he’s talking about…Oh my God, maybe she even went to jail! I bet you she’s in jail!
“So, she’s definitely not coming back?”
“I would be extremely surprised if she came back,” he responds. “Can’t rule it out completely though. She could come back some day.”
Yup, jail. I can read him like a book.
“Anyhow,” he continues. “I think maybe I’ll just pack some of it away for her, somewhere. Or I’ll just throw it out. She can buy new clothes. Although, that shirt you’re holding is very unique.”
“You could probably squeeze into it.”
“I would, but I just don’t think it suits me, seems to be more your style. Would you like it?”
“Nope,” I say as I chuck it into a garbage can across the room.
“Great. So…$1200 every month?”
“Only temporarily,” I answer. “I’ll be out of here in like six months at max.”
“Brilliant. I think this will work out perfectly, you’ll see.”
“I’m sure I will.” I exit the room and head toward the front door.
“Wait!” he yells.
“What?” I ask.
“When are you moving in? I have to add you to the lease.”
“I’ll let you know soon. Probably a little less than a month?”
“OK. Got it.”
I start walking down the stairs.
“One more thing!”
“What?”
“Do you want to see the kitchen? The fridge is so spacious. You could fit an entire body in there!”
“Shut the hell up.”
I walk out of the apartment and slam the door shut.
Danny
Our school has a small gym with weights and stuff, but they’re not very good. Peter said I could join Planet Fitness with Matt. We’ve been going after school when we don’t have lacrosse practice. Matt’s mom and Peter take turns dropping us off and picking us up. It’s in the same parking lot as Stop and Shop, so they just go grocery shopping while we work out. It would be so much better if I could just go to the gym alone, but I knew the only way Peter would have let me join is if I had a friend to go with. Peter doesn’t like me doing anything alone, which I kind of get, but really, he’s the one that shouldn’t do anything alone. I could defend myself, unlike him.
That’s why I convinced Matt to join the gym. I told him it would make him better at lacrosse if he buffed up a little bit. He agreed. Matt’s mom is just super happy that Matt has a friend, so we are kinda in the same boat with our parents. I guess I’m kinda using him, but so what? He’s using me too.
I’m much stronger now than I was last year. I look at myself in the mirror of the locker room while Matt gets changed. I’m much taller, but also my arms are bigger. I work out a lot. I tell Peter it’s because I want to earn a lacrosse scholarship. He’s so excited about that, but really I don’t want to go to college, I hate school. What I really care about is if Tristian ever tried to tie me to that desk again, he’d lose, and he’d lose badly. I imagine that situation over, and over again, but not in a bad way, it’s almost like a daydream. I hope that one day, I see him in a store or even just walking down the street. I want to do to him what he did to Peter, but way worse. I want him to die.
Matt exits the bathroom stall. I’m not sure why he gets changed in a stall when everyone else on the planet Earth just gets changed right by their locker, but who really cares?
“What kind of workout should we do today, Danny?” he asks.
“You can do whatever you want,” I say. I walk out of the locker room, and he follows behind me.
“Well, what I want to do is whatever you’re doing. I need to get stronger and better at lacrosse. I need you to be my trainer.”
“I told you, I am not your trainer.” I put my earbuds in and jump onto the treadmill. I set it to 6.5 MPH and start running.”
“I’ll do the treadmill too!” Matt yells. He jumps on the one next to me. I look over at his machine. It looks like he’s running, but his treadmill is set to 4.0…What the hell? I look forward and think about running after Tristian. I look down at the 6.5 displayed on the screen of my treadmill, I’ll never catch him this way. I press the speed button once more to make it 7.0, no weird decimals.
Who I am now is a weird kid. I was never weird, but suddenly I am. No matter how much I think about crushing Tristian with my muscles, it always comes back to crushing him with even numbers. That doesn’t even make sense. Can you kill someone with numbers? No, I don’t think so? But my brain tells me, Danny, if you don’t turn the light in the bathroom on and off four times, Tristian will come back and kill Peter, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Sometimes, I try to fight off these thoughts, but they just keep on returning until I run back into the bathroom just to switch the light on and off again. Imagine if I didn’t listen and something terrible did happen? Do I really have that power? Or am I powerless? Am I the same boy that was tied to the desk? Either way, I’m the bad guy if I don’t listen to the thoughts. If all I needed to do to save my brother’s life was as easy as flicking the bathroom lights, or setting my treadmill to 7.0, it’s crazy to think that I wouldn’t do it. Or is it crazy to think this way all around? It’s crazy, I’m crazy now. I run faster and faster. I set the speed on my treadmill higher and higher, until all I can think about is breathing and sweating. I’m in my happy place again.