Phantasos (11 page)

Nineteen

TWO AND A HALF HOURS AWAY, in Portland, Oregon, at 11:06 PM, a phone began to ring at Mr. and Mrs. Hudson’s house. Aaron Hudson, who had recently moved back in with his parents after an unfortunate bout of unemployment, picked up the phone, angered that someone would be calling so late at night.

“Hello?” Aaron said. “Who the hell is this? We don’t want to give any money to any—”

“Aaron,” a voice said, coolly. “It’s me. It’s Danny.”

Aaron, who had immediately recognized the voice, said, “Damn, Danny. What are you doing calling my folks house so late at night?”

“I know that, uh, Mrs. Hudson doesn’t like late night calls. I wouldn’t be phoning you if it wasn’t an emergency.”

“Emergency?” Aaron said.

“Yeah,” Danny said. “Have you been watching the news?”

“No, why? What happened?”

Danny took a long pause.

“Danny?” Aaron said. “Tell me what happened.”

“Todd passed away today—”

Aaron gasped. “I had no idea, Dan. What happened?”

Danny sighed. “It’s…well. No one knows for sure, but, uh. Well, the police are calling it a suicide.”

“How can they be unsure of whether or not it was a suicide?”

“Todd pulled his car onto some train tracks in North Grand Ridge. Went right underneath the crossing gate. He was the only car around for miles, and the engineer said he watched him drive out onto the tracks, so…”

“Mercy,” Aaron said. “I didn’t think in a million years that you’d be calling me with this kind of news. How are you?”

“I’m a mess,” Danny admitted. “A complete mess. It’s a lot going on all at once. I’ve been getting hammered with phone calls all evening asking me to do interviews. How morbid is that? My best friend just died, sure, let me hold a press conference about it. I’ve just wanted to be left alone.”

“I’m so sorry, Dan.”

“The crash was a mess. I mean, there’s nothing left—of him, of his car. It’s…it’s truly awful. I spoke to his parents earlier; they’re flying out for a memorial service. I mean—that’s what it’s got to be, a memorial service. There’s hardly anything left to have a proper funeral.”

“Danny…I’m at a loss for words. Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

Danny exhaled. “Actually, Aaron, that’s why I called you.”

“What’s up? What do you need?”

“Are you still unemployed?”

Aaron laughed. “Yeah.”

“How’s the job hunt going?”

“Not very well,” Aaron said. “It’s been a month now. I’m living with my folks again. Betty left me. It’s been a rough ride, to say the least.”

“Well, I was thinking. If things aren’t looking up for you, could you come out here for a while? To Grand Ridge? I’ve got extra room at my place, and, well…it’s the arcade. I’ve been left in charge of everything, and I just can’t handle it.”

There was a long pause, then Aaron groaned. “Danny,” Aaron said. “I hate to kick you when you’re down, and I know this is a terrible time, but…”

“But what?”

“The last time you and I talked, you said the arcade was coming up late on rent.”

“That’s true, things could be better. Things could
get
better.”

“I don’t know, Dan. You and I go way back; of course I’d love to help you out, but… It’s a dying industry, man. It’s not just Planet X in particular. Arcades are going the way of the dinosaurs. I’m just…eh…probably better off staying with my parents for a little bit.”

“Please,” Danny said. “Don’t make me beg. It was hard enough to call you in the first place.”

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Dan—”

“I’m not asking for money. I’m not asking for loans, or for handouts. I’m asking for someone to help me make cotton candy and keep an eye on the kids, to make sure they’re not using slugs in the machines or sticking gum in the quarter slots. Please, Aaron. We’re barely afloat, but we’re afloat. I can pay you, in cash, for your help. I’m not looking for charity.”

Aaron paused for a short while, considering the offer. It was tempting.

Just then, the door at the top of the basement stairs—beneath which, Aaron had spent the last three weeks sleeping—cracked open. A shrill voice hollered, “Aaron, is that you?”

Aaron whispered, “hold on a sec” into the mouthpiece of his phone, then cupped it with his hand. “What is it, mom?”

“Are you on the phone?”

“Yes,” Aaron hollered back. “Yes I am.”

“Who are you talking to at such an hour?”

“My friend, mom. I’m just talking to my friend. You remember Danny, right?”

“Danny? Is that a girl?”

“No, mom,” Aaron hollered. “Danny is a boy’s name, ma’—”

“Don’t get sassy with me,” Mrs. Hudson said. “It could be a nick name for Danielle, or Daniela…” Mrs. Hudson paused for a moment, then hollered down the stairs, “You’re not on one of those sex lines, are you?”

Aaron shouted back, “Jesus, mom, no—”

“Because you can’t afford it,” she continued, “and I don’t want the bill coming to the house.”

“Goodnight, mom,” Aaron said.

The basement door started to squeak close. “Get some sleep. I don’t want to find out you’ve been calling phone sex operators—”

“Goodnight. Mom.” Aaron repeated, more sternly this time.

“Fine, fine. Goodnight. Say goodnight to Donny for me.” And the basement door clicked shut.

Aaron removed his hand from the mouthpiece of the phone, said, “Hey—are you still there?”

“Yeah,” Danny said, snickering.

“How much of it did you hear?”

“Enough,” Danny said.

Aaron sighed. “What’s the earliest I can meet you in the morning?”

“I thought you’d come around. We normally open the arcade around three—can you make it by then?”

Danny and Aaron heard a click on the line, then a voice said, “Aaron, if you go out tomorrow, we need a few things for the house.”

“What is it, mom?”

“Milk. We need milk, and your father needs hemorrhoid ointment.”

“Okay. Fine.”

“Did you write that down?”

“No, but trust me, I’ll have no problem remembering it.”

“Okay then,”
click.

“Is she off the line?” Danny said.

Aaron said, “I think so. And, in regards to what you were saying before—three o’clock should be no problem. No problem at all. I’ll pack up the station wagon in the morning, and be over in a jiffy.”

“That’s great,” Danny said. “Just great. You have no idea how much this means to me. I’ll see you then.”

And he hung up the phone.

Twenty

ALLEY SNOOZED IN THE LIVING ROOM recliner as the clock approached midnight. Benji and Lauren sat on either end of the couch, both reaching towards the coffee table from time to time to pluck a cold, stale slice of pepperoni from a Pizza Hut box.

“How awful,” Lauren said, as images of the afternoon train wreck in North Grand Ridge flashed across the television screen. She slowly chewed her pizza as the camera panned across the wreckage. “That explains all fire trucks and ambulances we saw on Little Hollow today.”

“I can’t believe it happened to Todd, of all people.” Benji bit off a piece of pizza, frowned, and tossed the slice back in the box. “I hope the arcade doesn’t close down over this.”

“That’s kind of a selfish way of looking at it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t really know the guy. Should I have said something more personable?”

“Who cares about the stupid arcade? The man was hit by a train.”

“You used to really like that stupid arcade,” Benji said, and the front door of the Emerson’s home clicked open.

“Kids…kids…” Mrs. Emerson said, bustling through the door. “You shouldn’t be up so late, I’m sorry. Half the night crew called out. I wasn’t supposed to stay so late.” Mrs. Emerson untied her apron and hung it on a key rack beside the door.

“You could have at least called, mom,” Lauren said.

“Well, Lauren. I haven’t had five seconds to myself in the past six hours, so I apologize that I didn’t call.”

Lauren rolled her eyes. Alley didn’t stir.

“How’s he been?” Mrs. Emerson said.

“Out like a light,” Benji answered.

Lauren said, “There was a problem, earlier—”

“What kind of problem?” Mrs. Emerson blurted.

“He had a nightmare or something. He wasn’t making any sense. He kept saying that he saw you.”

Mrs. Emerson stood at the front of the living room, hands on hips, looking Alley up and down. She glided over to where he sat, curled up in a fetal position, sleeping, and gently brushed her palm over his forehead, sweeping away some stray hairs.

Alley opened one eye and grumbled, “Mom?”

“Long day, sleepy head?” Mrs. Emerson said.

Alley outstretched his arms, childlike, wrapped them around his mother and held tight.

Benji couldn’t help but notice how white Alley looked, ghost-like, and the way he turned into a puddle in his mother’s embrace; more a child sick with chickenpox than a young teenager.

“I’ll take him up to bed,” Mrs. Emerson said. “Did he eat?” and she nodded her head at the grease-stained box on the coffee table.

“A little,” Lauren said.

“Good. He can take his nightly dose, then.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Lauren said to Benji, and Mrs. Emerson guided her frail child up the flight of stairs behind them.

Benji and Lauren stood on the porch for a while, quietly. They leaned against the railing on the front of the deck, listening to the cicadas in the still, clear night. Shady Reach was quiet, save for the cicada’s droning hum, or the occasional passing car. The street was well lit, empty.

“Some day, huh?” Benji said, at last breaking the silence.

“You can say that again,” Lauren said, and she sighed.

“Some day. Huh.”

Lauren punched Benji on the shoulder, smiling reluctantly. “You’re such a dweeb.”

The two stood a while longer, watching the crescent moon that hung low in the sky, until Lauren said: “This isn’t how summer was supposed to start.”

“Sure isn’t,” Benji said. Always the eternal optimist, he added, “But we have the whole summer to turn it around.”

At that very moment the universe, the cosmic joker that it is, decided that Rodney Frye should pass by the front of the Emerson home on his bike. The sound of spinning spokes and tires cut the quiet night air, until Rodney glided to a stop on the sidewalk just beyond the house.

“Hey Bauer,” Rodney yelled. “Funny seeing you with a girl.”

“Buzz off,” Benji said. “I’m too tired for your shit tonight, Rodney.”

“Oh! The little puppy barks,” Rodney said, and he grinned a big, dumb, grin that stretched across his round face. “But does he bite?”

Benji shook his head and looked down at the lawn. Until this moment he had nearly forgotten Rodney Frye’s existence—it shouldn’t be too hard to ignore him for a little while longer.

“I’ve got a theory,” Rodney said, “why you’re hanging out with the female variety now.” Rodney put his hands together. “Your first boyfriend,”
clap
, “is road kill in North Grand Ridge. And your second boyfriend…” Rodney stood, bike between his legs, pantomiming being electrocuted, his whole body shaking, “is too far gone to stroke you off anymore.”

Lauren whispered, “Don’t let him get to you.” But, Benji was already puffing up his chest.

“Shouldn’t you be in a swamp right now, Rodney, visiting your dad for the first time this year?”

“I’m not visiting him this year, dickweed, and don’t you ever say a word about my father. Understand? My dad could own your dad in a—” and Rodney snapped his fingers.

“Yeah, well, at least my dad didn’t disown me,” Benji said.

Rodney threw his bike to the ground. “Get off that porch, Bauer. Don’t think I won’t go through twiggy if I have to.”

“You’re saying you’d hit a girl?” Benji said, looking at Lauren. “Even for you, that’s low. You’d think after all your mom and dad have been through, you’d learn a thing or two about what happens to men who hit women.”

Benji had never dared to taunt Rodney in such a way before. Everyone in town was aware of the Frye’s abusive marriage prior to their divorce, but it went politely unspoken. There were rules of war, even among teenagers. You could beat the hell out of one another, taunt one another, but there were some topics that simply went
too
far, and it was understood by all parties that they were never to be mentioned. If you hated someone’s guts, you didn’t make fun of them when their dog died or their dad got laid off from work. The same way you didn’t make light of someone being hit by a train, or someone being sick. But, hey, if Rodney wasn’t going to follow the rules, why should Benji?

Maybe it was how exhausted Benji was, or the overwhelming frustrations of the day, but he was tired of dodging confrontation with Rodney—especially if they’d have to spend the whole summer together in the same town. There’d been an animosity between the two simmering for years, long before the destruction of Rodney’s bicycle tire or Walkman. Rodney had taunted Benji since grade school, and perhaps Benji finally brought that confrontation from a simmer to a boil.

Except that, judging by the look on Rodney’s fast approaching face, it was less a cooking pot brought to a boil and more an activation of nuclear launch codes. Rodney was steaming angry, and he was marching towards the front porch of the Emerson’s home like a baboon, one arm swinging in front of the other, hunched forward.

“You’re going to get your ass beat,” Lauren whispered.

Benji said, “Thanks for believing in me.”

“He’s twice your size, Ben,” she said. “Let’s go inside—”

“The hell you just say about my parents?” Rodney demanded.

“You heard me, lard-ass,” Benji said, surprised by his own words. He was losing composure. He nearly stuttered the word “lard” and he thought of how embarrassing that would have been if his mouth had fumbled. His entire body felt warm and fuzzy, and his heart was beating faster, and faster, and faster, until—

Benji lost it. He charged from the steps of the front porch, a stampeding bull, his crosshairs locked on Rodney. Hell, even Rodney was surprised. The two collided, only the second most devastating collision in Grand Ridge that day, then tumbled into the front lawn together, a dizzying clump of teenage boy.

“Stop it!” Lauren screamed.

“I didn’t think you had the nads, Bauer,” Rodney said. “I’m still going to tear you a new one, but I have to admit—I’m a little impressed.”

“Fuck you,” Benji said, practically foaming at the mouth. The two were tossing end over end across the yard—Benji on top, then Rodney, then Benji again—until they finally came to a stop, Benji resting above Rodney’s gelatinous frame.

Benji reeled back a fist and landed it square on Rodney’s face. Rodney saw stars, then started wheezing for air. Benji brought both hands down around Rodney’s neck, struggling to grasp him through the meaty folds. Once he had a firm hold, Benji squeezed, and squeezed, and squeezed—all the while, Rodney’s arms flailing beside him.

“You asshole,” Benji shouted, and he almost cried—how humiliating that would have been—as five years of bottled up emotions flooded to the surface.

Benji squeezed harder, until he felt a hairy fist grab at his shirt collar and pull backwards, a lion picking up its cub.

A voice boomed, “Get in the house, Lauren,” then the hand swung Benji backward until he fell flat on his ass, disconnected from Rodney.

A six-foot-five behemoth stood on the front lawn between Benji and Rodney, a terrifying tower of a man silhouetted by streetlights and the night sky.

Mr. Emerson.

“You, get home. Now.” Mr. Emerson ordered, pointing a long, thick finger at Rodney and his bike. Rodney pulled himself to his feet, walked back to his Huffy, and yelled to Benji: “You fucking psychopath.”

“Now,” Mr. Emerson ordered again, his voice thundering on the quiet street as Rodney pedaled away.

Benji sat on the dewy grass, his body shivering from the adrenaline, still shocked by the situation.

“I have enough going on in my household already,” Mr. Emerson said, “to come home late from work and find this happening on my front lawn. I expected better from you, Benji.”

“I—I, uh…I…”

“Rodney Frye is a little shit,” Mr. Emerson said, “but that doesn’t give
you
an excuse to act like
him
. Not ever, and least of all with my daughter out here, understand?”

“I—I understand.”

“Good. Get home, Benji. Goodnight.”

Benji stuttered, “G-g-goodnight,” then ran across the street towards home.

Benji stretched out on his bed. No sooner had he pulled a cover over his head, three rapid blinks of a flashlight flickered into his room. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but Alley was probably curious about the confrontation, so he reached to his nightstand and picked up his walkie.

“What happened? Over.”

Benji paused. Thought about how to answer that.

“Rodney and I had a skirmish. Over.”

“That’s so rad,” Alley said. “Did you kick his ass? Over.”

“I don’t know. I guess. Over.”

“It’s been a long time coming between you two. I wish I could have seen it. Over.”

“No you don’t. It was wrong of me to act that way. Over.”

“I heard Lauren say you made fun of his parents, and he turned into the Incredible Hulk. Over.”

“Something like that, Alley. Over.” And his stomach turned sour for the first time all night—not from the fight, but from the thought of Lauren thinking less of him because of his behavior.

“My dad was pretty steamed. Over.”

“I know. I’m embarrassed. Over.”

“Don’t be. Rodney’s a douche. Over.”

“I should probably get some rest. Over.”

“I can’t sleep anymore. I’ve been sleeping all day. Over.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Al, but I’m exhausted. Over.”

“I wish we could play Mario. Over.”

“Me too. Over.”

“Lauren said you were only sticking up for me. She tried explaining that to dad. Over.”

“That’s good, I guess. I’m going to sleep, Alley. Over.”

“Goodnight. Over.”

“Goodnight. Over.”