Temptation: A Novel (29 page)

“You’re still a kid. I’ve never met a seventeen-year-old so sharp, but you still are a teen.”

“You have no idea,” I say.

“I don’t. But I do know this.”

“What?”

“You’re sweet,” Lily says.

“I don’t want to be sweet.”

“But you are. And you’re special. Something big is going to happen sometime down the road. It involves Staunch and that icky pastor and it involves you. That’s all I know.”

I close my eyes while she’s still standing there, holding onto my hands, squeezing them now.

“Chris, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying. It’s been—it’s grown far too easy for me. But no more lies, okay? I promise you. I’ll tell you anything and do anything. I just—I’m afraid something bad might happen if they feel I’m no longer doing my job. I mean—you won’t even talk to me since Kurt came around.”

I sigh. I’m angry, but I’m also confused and tired.

Yet I know I’m not going to do anything that manages to get her hurt or killed. I just won’t.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask her.

“Forgive me.”

She hugs me, and I finally manage to put my arms around her. But everything about her and about this is different.

I’ve been so stupid for what—how many months? Since June, right?

What do you guys want with me? And why send someone in to simply get my mind off things?

I have this scary thought. This sick thought.

All of this—everything bad that’s happened—has come after my run-in with Marsh and my dare to God to come and hunt me down.

Maybe God decided I wasn’t worth it anymore and took His ball and went back home.

Leaving me in the dark with liars and thieves and murderers.

Leaving me in the dark.

86. Temptation Remix

At the place where the dirt road leading to our cabin starts, I tell Lily to drop me off. She tells me to be in touch. I just nod and get out of the car and then begin walking back home in the dark.

It’s a short walk, but it feels like the longest walk of my life.

I’m still too shocked—bewildered—freaked out—to shed a tear. I don’t want to shed a tear for Lily.

Yet my own thoughts and actions betray me as well.

Would you have “fallen” so hard if she had weighed two hundred pounds and had pimples?

I want to be angry, but I fell for a fantasy.

They wanted me to fall for another Jocelyn.

They
knew
I’d fall for another gorgeous girl.

You’re an idiot to have thought it could happen twice.

Maybe I’ll keep walking past my cabin and up to Staunch’s place. I’ll just wave my hands and tell him to take me, the joke’s over, the game is done, he’s won.

Take me and then what?

Is there some special, secret throne I need to sit on? Where the rats will come nibble on my legs and take turns gnawing on my face and then I’ll slowly grow crazy like that possessed king in
The Two Towers
?

I start to wonder about everything else that’s happened.

Can I trust Mom? And Dad?

What about people like Harris? Or Brick? Or that whole sham of a summer school?

All I can think of is one person who I feel I can trust.

The same person I danced with tonight, a dance that made me forget.

I look at the moon and wish and hope that Kelsey is thinking of me.

If only she knew what kind of jackass I am.

Maybe she already does. But maybe she’s okay with that.

Lily said that if things continue to appear like it’s over between us—and if Staunch decides she’s not worth keeping around—then she’s in trouble. I wonder if someone like Kelsey could be in trouble as well.

Lies, lies, and more lies.

That’s all I’ve gotten since coming to this cursed place. This cursed and damned and demented place.

Now I have to play their game. I have to suddenly start lying myself. Maybe that will be the only way I’ll find out what their grand plan is. And how I can escape it.

Dad is up when I get back home. He’s got his reading glasses on, but the book in his lap is closed. He greets me with a tired “Hi, Chris.”

I say hi and then go to the fridge to get something to drink. I’m sweaty even though it’s not hot outside.

Suddenly I have an urge to ask Dad something, so I go and sit across from him.

“Can I ask you a question?” I say, just to make sure I have his attention.

“Yes.”

“Have you ever lied to me? Like—ever? About anything?”

Dad looks confused but immediately shakes his head. “No.”

“No, look—I’m serious. Like recently—with Mom and the whole faith thing and North Carolina and your job. Have you ever once lied to me? About anything?”

“No.”

“Do you swear?”

“Chris, I promise you. I haven’t lied. I don’t know what I’d lie to you about. Where’s this coming from?”

I nod and stand up. “It’s nothing—just life. Just this dark creepy place we live in.”

“Who lied to you?”

“Everyone. At least that’s what it seems.”

“You know you can trust me. At least I hope you know that.”

I nod and say yeah.

I know that now.

87. Clean Slate

The next morning I notice something on my desk. Something I look at every day for some reason. That picture that I discovered in my locker, the one of me smiling and looking carefree, the one that I never remember being taken. I almost threw it away because it was so faded. It looked more like a snapshot of the clouds than of me. But on this morning, the first day of November, I see the picture and then pick it up.

I examine it closely.

Good thing reality is continuing to be as foggy as ever.

I see the outline of my head and shoulders in the picture. It’s still blurry and faded, but it actually seems to have come back into focus. Just a bit.

I’m imagining that.

But I know I’m not.

This picture means something. I know it.

Everything that’s a bit off and abnormal means something.

Maybe it has to do with the bigger picture of what I know. Maybe the more I know, the more in focus the picture will become.

That’s a nice thought. But who knows?

All I know is that I’m still aching from the deep cut I got from Lily.

I wish I could say that last night was a dream. But what I realized instead was that Chris & Lily—that was the dream and the fantasy.

Too good to be true.

As always.

RU OK?

I don’t want to answer the text, but I do anyway.
YEAH, I’M FINE.

Lily wants to know if I’m okay. That’s so sweet of her. I don’t want to tell her the dreams I had last night, the ones that involved me finding her with other men. I don’t want to tell her that I don’t think I’ll ever be “fine,” nor will I ever fully trust another female in my life.

SO EVERYTHING’S COOL?

I think back to Jocelyn. How she eventually told me what was going to happen, and how I didn’t believe it until it was too late.

I don’t want to be too late. Even if what Lily did was wrong. Not just wrong, but wretched. For no explainable reason.

YEAH, EVERYTHING’S COOL.

Lily looks like a New York runway model when I see her. And why shouldn’t she? She’s twenty-four stinking years old. She’s probably exactly the age for a runway model. And she looks it in her long boots and skirt and top. But everything about her has changed. Everything.

When she sees me she tries to give me a hug, but I move out of it. Nobody sees it. It’s just I don’t want her hugging me or even touching me.

“Chris—”

“It’s fine.”

“Come on—let’s laugh about things, okay?”

I let out a mock laugh that’s a bit too loud and a bit too mocking. She stares at me with an intense look.

“I told you I’d do this,” I say in a whisper. “But the more I think about things, the worse they are.”

“I’m not going to spend the rest of this year begging you for forgiveness.”

I chuckle. “You don’t have to. Because it ain’t gonna come.”

She stares at me, and then we hear the warning bell for first period.

“Can you just act like we finally made up, and put on a good show for everybody?” Lily asks.

“I’ll try. But I’m not as good an actor as you are.”

But I’m proven wrong.

As we walk down the hallway, with Lily unexpectedly grabbing my hand and holding it, we pass by Kelsey.

And once again, Chris Buckley has managed to crush her bright spirit and possibly break that blossoming heart.

I’m in trigonometry, and I find myself wishing Mr. Taggart was here. Make
him
take this test. Make
him
sit and try to understand this. He wouldn’t have the first clue. So if he doesn’t, why should we be expected to know all of this?

For some reason, I find myself thinking of, well, everything. But especially what my father recently told me about Mom. I wonder how she is, and despite all my anger and my attitude toward her recently, I miss her. I feel guilty, thinking I didn’t do enough, thinking I should have tried harder to be a good son. But no, I was busy chasing some girl—no, some woman—hired to lure me into her trap.

I feel so weak.

Your passion and your strength.

I hear Iris’s voice saying that. Saying that about me.

So it’s easy to believe in the darkness, but not in the light.

It’s strange how I remember this, but I do.

It’s strange how she’s right, how I can so easily believe in the darkness but I can’t believe in that hopeful light.

Take heart and be strong.

I stare at the test, knowing I’m not going to do well on it. I stare at the pencil and the students around me and the clock on the wall and the dark chalkboard. I focus on that chalkboard that’s usually so full of numbers and equations and explanations but now is just empty.

A clean slate.

I like the sound of that.

A year later, is it possible to be like that chalkboard, ready for things to eventually be written down on it?

Is it really possible to accept that light as easily as I can accept the darkness?

Can I actually, finally be ready to know what my place is in Solitary? What I’m supposed to do and why so many are so interested?

I want to pick up the chalk and start writing.

Start writing and not stop.

Guess I’m not the only one wanting a clean slate.

The lady who gets out of the car surely wants one. I see her from my window, and I can feel my heart beating, and feel this wonderful misery inside of me. I don’t want to see her and don’t want to greet her, yet I’ve missed her more than words can say. Maybe one day I’ll learn to write out all these thousand thoughts in my head because God knows I can’t actually speak them aloud.

She looks pretty.

So many pretty women in my life.

I hurry down the stairs and open the front door. Then I head down the wooden steps.

Mom stands there with her suitcase, looking younger in one way and older in another. She has tears in her eyes, and she smiles at me.

Then she hugs me, or I hug her—I don’t know because we both go to hug each other at the same time.

There’s a lot I want to say and ask her, but for the moment, it’s enough that Mom is back.

That’s a good thing. Especially around a place where people don’t always come back.

88. Exchanging Information

I pull up to the little house I was starting to doubt I’d find. For a while I thought Aunt Alice’s one-story rundown shack had gone bye-bye just like the Crag’s Inn. But it’s still there, still creepy-looking and hopefully still occupied by the living.

I park my bike a little ways down the drive so I don’t startle her by driving up to the door. As I walk toward the house, the stench of death is all around me. But this time I don’t have to wonder why. I see the outline of hairy clumps on the driveway and as I get closer can tell that they’re dead dogs. Three of them, maybe fifty feet away from her door.

Last time a headless groundhog in her driveway, now this.

I don’t want to examine the dogs very thoroughly, but they’re dead, all right. If one suddenly jumps up and bites me, my heart will stop. Just plain and simple.

I wonder where the dogs came from and why.

But that’s why I’m here. To get answers to some of the whys.

Mom and Dad don’t know I’m here, of course. It’s after school, and I’ve come with specific questions. I’ve come to learn a few things about my family. About
our
family.

Before I can knock on the door, it opens for me. And there she stands, a hobbit-like figure leaning against a cane, wild curly strands of thinning hair sticking up.

“Bobby, that you?” her ancient voice says in its deep Southern drawl.

“It’s Chris.”

“Who?”

“Chris—Tara’s son.”

“That’s Bobby’s bike.”

“I know.”

Her eyes seem to sharpen, and she appears suspicious.

“What’re you doing with it?’

“I’m, uh, borrowing it.”

She scowls at me. Her pet crow seems to caw in response, welcoming me in the same way.

I feel a shiver go through me.

“What do you want?”

I have a feeling she’d beat me over the head with that cane without a second thought. Maybe that’s what happened to the dogs on her driveway. They sniffed by her doorway and got a big whack in response.

“Can I talk with you for a few minutes?”

“Think that’s what we’re doin’.”

I nod, smile politely, continue to keep the cane in my view. “Yes, but I was wondering if we could go inside.”

“I’m not for entertaining today.”

“No, you don’t have to go to any trouble. I just want to ask you some questions. About Walter Robert Kinner.”

Her eyes somehow tighten even more, as if she’s making a wish after blowing out a birthday candle. Obviously the name registers.

“What does he want now?”

“Do you know him?”

“My own poppa?”

Question number one already answered.

“Please, can I come in?”

Now maybe she knows why I want to come inside. Someone might be watching, or listening. Like they always are.

Plus, I want to get away from those dead dogs.

The place is the same. The black crow in the corner. Some weird mannequins. Candles.

The same stuff as before. Until I spot something on the coffee table.

One of those cards. The creepy cards that I saw at Ray’s party.

Sure enough, next to the card is a flat dish with ashes in it.

The card has a long blade on it.

Oh that’s just awesome. Where is the blood to go with it?

“I don’t have anything to eat,” Aunt Alice says.

“It’s fine, thanks.”

She hobbles to a chair near the crow and then sits down, urging me to do the same. I sit on a hard couch.

At this point, I just can’t resist.

“What happened to those dogs?”

“They died.”

Her reply isn’t meant to be witty or smug. She says it in a matter-of-fact way, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.

“But why are they in your driveway—lined up?”

“To keep away the spirits.”

I nod. “Dead animals, uh, keep away the spirits?”

“You see ’em, don’t you? I know you do. You’re a boy, so of course you do. A Kinner boy. Oh, how my poppa wanted a boy. He got us girls. Didn’t know what to do with my sister—your grandma—but sure knew what to do with me.”

She rocks back and forth a bit in the chair. If I just saw her I’d think that she was surely senile. But the way she talks—she’s all there.

“Doesn’t always work, but it helps. Other things do too, but you’re young and you haven’t been here long.”

“Other things?”

“Bobby used to tell me that he’d smoke that special stuff just to be able to get some sleep and not see them in the blackness of his dreams.”

I think of Mom drinking herself to oblivion and about my own experience the night I did the same at the cabin. No nightmares that night.

“Have you seen Uncle Robert?”

“He found love. That’s what did it. I could see the cloud around ’im. Every time he’d come around. This black cloud of death. Told him he was a fool. But he didn’t listen to me. Kinner boys don’t ever listen. They gotta do what they gotta do.”

“What happened to him?”

“Don’t know. Do you? You got his bike.”

I shake my head.

She’s answering these questions more than I thought she would.

“Does Mom know about Walter Kinner being alive?”

“Her grandpoppa? How would she?”

I shrug. “Well—you told me.”

She smiles, and I see a yellow set of teeth that have got to be fake. “’Cause you know. You seen ’im, haven’t you? They tried getting to Bobby, but Bobby wouldn’t do it. Poor tortured soul of a boy. Thought he’d be all noble and save the girl. But there’s no saving anybody anymore. There’s just death. That’s what you’ll learn, if you haven’t already.”

“What’d they want Uncle Robert—Bobby—for?”

“The same reason they want you. The last male pups left in the litter. Can’t let you get away, can they? Their women they discard like those dogs out there. But not the men. Oh no.”

I breathe in and feel like we’re being watched or listened to. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe they’re fine with me finally knowing.

“Why do they want me?” I ask.

I’m here to confirm and compare what I know and what I’ve heard.

It’s the only way I can do what Lily wants me to do: get proof.

“You do what they’ve always done. You take what you need and you leave nothing in return.”

Her words seem like an ominous warning.

“But I just—what about the males—why the males?”

“You’re their last great hope. Bobby was a lost cause. There was another hope, but I put an end to that. No son of mine would ever grow up black as that bird.”

Son of mine?

I’m about to ask her about that, but Aunt Alice continues.

“All they want is for you to continue the sick, twisted bloodline. And you’ll get whatever you want, son.
Whatever.
All for exchanging a small and simple thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Your soul.”