Solitary: A Novel (25 page)

"Thanks, man."

"You're crazy, Buckley. That's all I gotta say."

I want to ask him why, but he's off before I can.

The driveway is nearly hidden beneath overgrown branches that create a mock doorway we drive through. It curves upward through woods until it stops just below a hill of grass and an unremarkable, faded yellow onestory house. It looks like an orphan left in the woods, its three windows gazing dully at me. A set of stairs juts out beneath the front door.

"Here's the castle," Ray says in a way that I can't tell is mocking or simply honest.

I climb out. "Thanks, man."

"She know you're coming?"

I shake my head and shut the car door.

Ray is still talking through the open window. "You met her step-uncle?"

"Yeah."

"Just-be careful with that. He's a bit-well, you saw him."

"Okay. Thanks."

Before I have time to reconsider, he pulls away.

I feel like I'm being watched. Either from the windows or from the woods.

I feel a chill. My thin denim jacket isn't a lot of warmth. I rub my arms as I walk toward the house.

It doesn't look old and abandoned-it simply looks empty. There are no signs of life. I don't see the jeep or any other vehicle. No garden tools or grill or garbage can. There's not even a welcome mat by the front door.

And no doorbell to ring.

I stand there for a moment, then knock.

I wait. Knock again, then wait. Try a third time.

Then I walk back down the wooden steps and wait.

As the sun fades away, a bit too quickly for my liking, I sit on those steps and shiver. I probably should get up and move around, but then I don't want to move.

I still feel watched.

I feel like someone's in the woods.

Someone ... or some thing.

My mind is working overtime.

It's closing in on eight. I've been here for several hours, just waiting. Killing time.

Doing absolutely nothing.

Occasionally I've gotten up and walked around the house, finding nothing.

What if Ray got it wrong?

What if she moved?

Or what if Ray is playing a practical joke?

As the darkness and cold settle in, I know I need to get going.

Maybe Jocelyn's on a trip and just didn't tell me about it.

Maybe she doesn't live here.

Maybe there was a family emergency.

I know that if she did suddenly show up, with or without her aunt and step-uncle, I'd look pretty creepy sitting on the steps of the house she never invited me to.

Nice surprise that'cl be.

I decide to walk back to town.

If I can find it, that is.

Halfway down the driveway, I see beams of light turning from the road below.

I dash off to one side of the driveway, heading toward some big trees that offer cover.

For a while I just lie with my back against the base of the tree, my body out of view. Then, when the lights move on up to the house, I sneak a peek.

I see the red glow of taillights from Jocelyn's Jeep.

The lights stay on as a figure emerges and cuts through them, heading to the front door.

The long dark hair gives her away.

Jocelyn walks slowly and carefully to the door and opens it.

Then the headlights go out.

Someone gets out of the driver's side. A tall figure.

Is that her aunt or step-uncle?

The way the person walks makes me think of the guy I saw on the street. I can still see him, can still remember his smell.

The figure walks into the house and closes the door.

I wait to see if anyone else emerges from the car.

If that's her step-uncle, then where's her aunt?

Maybe she's inside.

But I knocked several times; wouldn't she have let me in?

I stand behind the tree, staring at the shadowy structure in the trees. A panic fills me, and I don't know why. It's the same sort of feeling that I got when I was sitting in that church. A falling sensation, rising from my gut and bubbling throughout.

I want to run to the door and knock on it and let her know I'm there.

But it's nighttime. She'll wonder what I'm doing out here.

If this doesn't fit a stalker profile, I don't know what does.

I'm worried about her.

I'm worried about her being alone with her step-uncle.

I stay by that tree for what seems to be hours.

One plus about living around here: People driving down country roads pick up strangers.

I'm fortunate that I don't have to try and find my way back to Solitary. It's not the distance that concerns me. It's the risk of wandering the opposite way into South Carolina and having to backtrack two hours.

The other fortunate thing on that Friday night is finding Mom still at the restaurant. It's not a bad place. It's basically like one half restaurant and one half bar. When I enter the door, I see my mother laughing and talking with a woman behind the bar. It's good to see her joking around.

I make up some story about being dropped off, and Mom buys it.

I wait around for her for an hour. She gets the kitchen to make me a burger. Somehow she can tell I haven't eaten.

When we get back home, I check my emails.

Nothing.

I spend another hour debating and doubting and deciding.

Then I do it.

I type up another email and send it.

It's straight and to the point:

HEY JOCELYN.

EVERYTHING OKAY?

CHRIS

The bad thing with sending emails is that you expect replies.

Expecting can be a bad thing.

It certainly doesn't help sleep.

And it certainly doesn't get rid of the worry.

Thirteen hours later (but who's counting?) I get an email from her.

EVERYTHING'S FINE. PLEASE DON'T EMAIL ME AGAIN.

JOCELYN

I reread it to see if I'm missing something.

Seven words, that's all.

But is there some hidden code in it?

I act like the words are going to add up to something that says I love you so please rescue me. But I'm an idiot, because the words are what they are. They're simple and straightforward and to the point.

Everything's fine, so don't worry anymore, Chris.

And oh, yeah, I never asked you to email me, so stop it.

Back home if things like this happened, I'd ignore them and go on to the next important thing. Hanging out with friends. Going to see a movie. Going to a party. Going online to see the latest gossip and happenings and silliness. Going, going ...

Gone.

But here the only thing I want to do is go to her. Go back to her tiny little house and see what's happening.

What if that wasn't even from her? How do you know it wasn't her step-uncle? Or aunt?

I breathe in.

I need air.

How aboutgoing into the woods? How about a nice little stroll back there?

I feel claustrophobic, like I'm stuck in a tiny elevator. I feel like there's nowhere to go if I'm outside, nothing to do, no one to see.

Ignoring the voices that tell me to stop everything and turn around and get out, I reply to the email.

WHAT'S GOING ON?

It's a bad one. Even after sending it, I know I shouldn't have. It's too direct, too in her face, too much.

Once again, the hours tick by until I hear from her again.

When I do, the following evening, it's even more simple and direct than mine.

NOTHING.

That's all.

A great way to think about starting the next week.

On a whim, just before bed that rainy Sunday night, as I hear the drops doing a tap dance above me, I check my email again.

There's another message from Jocelyn, but from a different address.

JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW THINGS ARE FINE. I HAD SOME FAMILY DRAMA THIS WEEKEND AND WILL EXPLAIN IT TO YOU WHEN I'M ABLE. CAN'T BE SEEN ON THE COMPUTER-HE'LL FIND OUT. JUST TRUST ME. I'M SORRY FOR NOT TALKING-WANT/ NEED TO TELL YOU THINGS. JUST KNOW-YOU'VE BEEN WITH ME, CHRIS. THAT'S THE ONLY WAY I'M GETTING THROUGH THIS. SEE U TOMORROW.

I wish I had a car. I'd find her house and knock on the door and take her away.

No you wouldn't.

Maybe I would. Maybe I'd at least consider it.

Maybe I would at least drive out in the rain and park in front of her house, contemplating taking her away.

Her words calm me even though they prove that something's wrong.

Something has been wrong from the day I met this girl.

Why her?

Why Jocelyn?

The day can't end or the new school week begin soon enough.

I watch her coming up the steps to the school, and I make sure she sees me. Jocelyn doesn't walk the other way. She approaches me, and soon I understand.

"What happened?"

One long, sleek hand brushes over her eye, covering the bruise. Then she moves it and lets me see. There's a purple half-moon underneath the eye and rising up to her temple. It looks a few days old, with that slightly yellowish and faded look.

"Let's keep walking," she says.

We head down the hallway toward the lockers.

"Jocelyn-"

"Look, you can't email me. You can't do anything unless I okay it, you got that?"

"Who did that to you?"

"The guy you met that first weekend in town." She says this looking ahead, acting as if she's talking about the weather or the movie she saw this weekend.

"Your step-uncle."

"Yeah."

"Was that why you were out on Friday?"

She nods. "Looked a lot worse then."

"But what about-where's your aunt?"

"She's out of town. Nice little business trip."

"So then, how-what happened?"

She reaches her locker and opens it. I see a page from a magazine hanging up on the inside of the locker door showing a road heading into the woods. There's writing underneath that I can't make out.

"This isn't the first time, Chris."

"Yeah, well, maybe it needs to be the last."

"Listen, we can talk later-after school, okay? Not when others are around. Not with Poe and Rachel."

"Do they know?"

"Of course," Jocelyn says. "They're not idiots."

"Why would he do this?"

She laughs. "People do a lot of strange things when they're outof-their-mind drunk."

"Listen, if you want-"

"I want you to just calm down for the moment. You can't do anything here and now, okay? Wade would kill you. He's stupid and crazy."

"But you have to let someone-"

"No. We'll talk after school. He's gone tonight."

"When does your aunt come back home?"

"Wednesday. The day before Thanksgiving."

I've forgotten that Thanksgiving is this week.

Guess I haven't been thinking of many things to give thanks for.

Seeing the discoloration on her sweet, beautiful face, I don't feel like starting now.

"Don't," Jocelyn says.

"Don't what?"

"Don't get any crazy ideas. I can see it on your face. You're an open book, you know that?"

"You sure aren't"

"No, I'm like that book you're looking for in the library but that's always gone."

"That's always checked out?"

Jocelyn shakes her head. "No. More like stolen. See you in English."