The Tramp (The Bound Chronicles #1) (3 page)

She dropped it with a start. “Oh my god.”

The doll’s forehead was broken, most of its delicate face gone, and someone had stuffed the hollow porcelain head with ground meat. The meat had begun to rot and was seething with maggots. The doll lay on the ground staring up at her with one lolling eye, the putrid meat spilling out onto the sidewalk like ruined toy brains. The maggots roiled, in panic, worming into the blood-encrusted plastic hair. Shannon clapped a hand to her mouth, then realized she had touched the vile thing and shook out her hands with a groan.

“What is that, Mommy?”

“Honey, go with your brother. Braden, take your sister with you.”

She was satisfied that the sharpness in her tone was not lost on her son, by the look on his face. “Okay. Come ‘ere, Maddie,” he said at once, waving her over to him. He led his little sister away, keeping her talking about coins and wishes, and Shannon’s heart swelled.

Kevin approached, looking concerned. “What’s up, babe?”

“Why did it have to be hamburger meat?” she asked her husband in a hushed voice, pointing to the horrid mess. “Maddie has a baby doll just like that.”

“Ugh. Yeah, that’d give her nightmares. I think it might give me nightmares, come to that,” Kevin admitted, holding his hand over his nose and mouth. “Let’s kick it into the bushes, so she doesn’t see it when we come back through here.”

“Who would smash a little girl’s doll and stuff it with hamburger meat?”

Kevin sighed, probably wishing she’d just drop it. “Look, Brady and I spotted a grocery and maybe a restaurant down that side of the hill. Seems like there’s more going on down there, why don’t you and the kids go investigate while I peek in at that bait and tackle store? It might be open, I saw someone inside.”

“Okay.” Shannon hauled in air to calm her nerves and caught a whiff of decomposing meat. She pulled hand sanitizer out of her purse and doused herself with it up to her elbows, then headed for the opposite corner of the square. Stepping down the wide tiers and rounding the fountain, she found the kids playing in the shade of camellia trees. Maddie was smelling fat country roses planted in a huge whiskey barrel.

Certainly much nicer in this quadrant.
She drew nearer and the trees cleared in front of her.
Oh yes. There’s my blue sky.

Madison balanced on a wooden bench next to the courtyard wall. “Hello, Mommy. This is Mr. Brave.” She jumped down and skipped over to a brightly painted statue of a Native American chief, with a feathered headdress sprouting high above his brow and flowing clear to his moccasins. He stood next to a carved wooden gate and as Shannon approached and looked down, she found the gaily-painted buildings that had first coaxed them to stop.

“Now this is more what we were looking for, right guys?” Shannon pushed open the gate, which advertised, “Welcome to Big Joe’s,” in every color of the rainbow. Big Joe’s sat crouched below the surface of the walled terrace like a living thing. Climbing stairways and threading passageways connected a network of cribs and cubbyholes, each painted in constant fiesta. While the rest of the plaza was ringed in muffled shade and stifling air, Big Joe’s rolled down the hillside in the sunshine and opened onto fresh breeze and a roaring river below. “Why, I never even realized there was a river along there, did you guys? What a surprise—let’s check it out.”

“I hope there’s food.”

“Oh Brady, can’t you see there’s a grocery there? Of course there’s food.” Shannon swatted him on the rear, her spirits soaring with the sweet wind and the promise of shopping. She ushered the kids forward to begin their descent. “Careful, you guys, it’s steep. Madison, hold onto the railing.”

The first building in the cascading array of stores was a restaurant. Considering Braden, Shannon figured that was the best place to start. But the doors were locked.

Shit.

Madison raced ahead with exclamations of delight, barreling down a cobbled path shaded by hanging flowerpots. Braden voiced his habitual displeasure and the vision of a braying donkey danced in Shannon’s head.

“Hold on, I think I see someone inside.” Shannon waved to a portly older woman in a kitchen apron who walked past the front door, but the woman sidled by without recognition. She continued towards the back of the room, her long braid swinging back and forth over her sizable rump. Shannon could clearly make out dining tables set for customers, and she rapped on the glass doors, but the woman disappeared. “Well, I never.”

“Mommy, there’s somebody out here,” Madison called from around the corner.

Following her daughter’s summons, a splendid multi-level patio came into view, its timber floor flanking at least a third of the restaurant and offering a panoramic view of the river. A young man was sitting in a chair near the outside railing, his feet propped up and his arm cradling the sketchbook in his lap. Shannon could see her daughter had interrupted his drawing, but he was turned toward her with one elbow cocked on the back of his chair, smiling and squinting into the sun.

Wow, a friendly face.
“Hello, there. We’re sorry to disturb you.”

He shrugged without comment, shaded his eyes, and winked at Madison. He looked maybe a few years older than Braden, though his eyes seemed to tell a different story, somehow wiser than his age.

“We were hoping to get something to eat around here. Will the restaurant open soon?”

“Not until dinner.” His voice was deeper than she expected. Deep and arresting.

Shannon cleared her throat and looked at her watch. “Darn, it’s only half past two.”

He glanced towards the restaurant, his face unreadable. “Pretty big crowd at dinnertime, though.”

Was he joking? “It
is
quiet around here,” Shannon said. Not wanting to insult the locals, she added, “But quite beautiful. Are you from around here?”

Repugnant: “From Shirley? No.”

Thought I heard a Northern clip.
Shannon was grateful for a respite from the local twang that garbled most conversation. “Is that what this town is called? Shirley? We didn’t see a name on the map.”

“Hey, there you guys are.”

“Daddy!” Maddie ran to Kevin like she hadn’t seen him in weeks.

Turning to find her husband staggering towards them with an unruly armload of fishing gear, Shannon pulled a nylon bag from her purse and stuffed Kevin’s smaller purchases in. The young man returned to his sketchbook, his dark hair hanging over his face to block out their presence.

“So, let’s hit that grocery and move on,” Shannon said, suddenly feeling ridiculous and unwelcome.

“You meet a local?” Kevin boomed. “Hi there, how’s it going? Put ‘er there.”

“Hello.” The artist offered his hand, looking rueful at his charcoal-stained fingers, but Kevin grabbed them in a hearty shake.

“I’m Kevin, and this is my wife Shannon,” Kevin pushed her forward to shake hands, “and my munchkins, Brady and Maddie.”

“Nice to meet you.” He didn’t add his own name.

Braden nodded curtly, but Madison bounded towards the stranger and strangled him in a neck-hug. He held his sooty hands clear and returned her squeeze with his elbows, glancing at her father in question.

Kevin nodded towards the river. “Good fishin’ here?”

“You wouldn’t want to fish in that beast.” He shook his head, looking out over the rushing water. “Class V rapids. Plenty of people have died trying to run those.” He tapped a charcoal pencil against his thigh. “Unless you’re a grizzly bear…I wouldn’t go in for salmon, no matter how pink the flesh.”

The young man gazed across the river, careless of the pall he had cast with his bizarre reflections. Shannon looked closer at his drawing in progress. She might have chosen bright blues and greens—maybe some earthy reds and browns—for the gorgeous vista across the rapids. Yet, he opted for stark black, capturing the ferocity of the river and ignoring its beauty.

They all watched the rapids for several heartbeats.

Kevin spoke first, “The bait and tackle staff wasn’t too helpful, but the counter girl gave me this map. What kind of smaller off-shoots are there from the river—lakes or creeks—for the newbie?”

The young man accepted Kevin’s map and spread it out on his lap to get his bearings. “Most of the best fishing spots in Shirley are privately owned, so I wouldn’t bother with those unless you want to lose an ear.” Braden stiffened but Madison, oblivious to the unsettling remark, gawked at the side of the stranger’s face where his strong jaw-line met a dangling silver hoop earring.

Oh God, tell me I don’t have to worry about boy-craziness just yet.

Kevin pointed to a green splotch below the valley. “How about down south there? That’s technically wilderness, so no one can own that land. Government preserves, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t be expecting strawberry jam.”

“That’s a good one.” Kevin thumped the kid on the shoulder, producing a dumbfounded cough as he steadied his drawing pad. “But, I can fish there legally, if I have a license.”

“Probably. I don’t fish.”

“Well, let’s do it, babe,” Kevin exclaimed, turning towards Shannon with a face full of adventure. “I have a license; we have all our camping gear in the Durango. We’re prepared for anything. Let’s get off the beaten path.”

“Pretty far off.” The young man raised his eyebrows, dubious. With a lazy shoulder shrug, he returned his attention to the river.

Shannon felt embarrassed, for no reason she could see. “But the cabin, Kev.”

“We can be back at the cabin tomorrow, we’ve paid for the whole week in advance. Let’s just do it.”

Shannon looked to her kids. They were busy finding debris that had blown onto the deck and chucking it over the rail. She examined the map. The wilderness area didn’t seem too far south. If things didn’t pan out, they could always retrace their steps and at least the tiny town was civilization. There was that inn up in the courtyard that couldn’t be too booked. “Okay. But let’s make sure to stock up on groceries before we leave.”

“Great,” Kevin cheered, smothering her with kisses as Braden gagged behind them.

“Good luck,” Shannon heard the young man mumble, quiet in a way that set her nerves on edge. She glanced over to see compassion for a split second, before mossy green eyes found his drawing again.

“Yay, let’s get out of Buffalo Square,” muttered Braden.

“Come on, troops.” The kids followed him away from the river.

Shannon lingered. “What is it? Don’t think we tourists can handle a little wilderness?”

He shrugged, working the charcoal into the paper with his fingers. “You seem like nice people.” He kept his eyes on the opposite bank, then picked up his pencil again to fill in the details of his drawing with abstract swirls and tangled edges. “Shirley’s not a nice place.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“It doesn’t like strangers. I should know.”

“It?” Shannon felt like an intruder since she arrived, even though this kid was the first person she had actually spoken with so far. “You mean the local folks?”

“Well…” He rested his pencil on his lap and scratched the back of his neck with his other hand, leaving a powdery black smudge on clean skin. “Them, too. But I didn’t mean the people—”

“Yo, Sam! Happy hour ain’t gonna get too happy ‘til we drop our load, man. The Buffalo’s got her legs spread and waitin’ for—” A man, who had sent his lewd announcement ahead of him around the side of the restaurant, stopped short as soon as he saw Shannon. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Sam.
“Don’t worry about me, I could use a happy hour myself right about now.”

“Oh, no happy hour in Shirley County, ma’am. But, we’re always happy around here, right Sam?” The guy displayed a condescending grin, the kind her dad called: “Shit-eating.”

Shannon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

“Break’s over, pal.”

“Yeah I know.” Sam was already gathering his things, stuffing a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket and dusting his hands on his jeans, no longer willing to meet Shannon’s gaze.

“Well, thank you for your advice, Sam,” she ventured.

But his eyes never returned to hers as he joined his colleague. They clumped across the deck towards the back of the restaurant.

Almost helpful….
Shannon let out an exasperated breath and decided to forget the cryptic remarks, well acquainted with the moodiness of teenagers; if he was a teenager.

She turned towards the stairs, jogged down, and forced pep into her stride. “Oh well. Kids.”

Her mind fixed on picking out ice cream flavors, she went to find the others, peering down little alleys and niches between the tiny buildings. A woman was leaning from around a corner straight ahead, but she ducked out of sight when she saw Shannon.

“Um, excuse me? Can you please tell me where the ice cream…” Shannon trailed away, seeing that she was talking to thin air once she rounded the corner. It was an empty dead end. No door. No window. No exit.
I know I saw a woman here. With black hair to her waist. So exotic, in such a Podunk little town—

“Go away.” It was a whisper on the wind, barely audible. But Shannon whirled around as if that woman had screamed it. There was no one behind her.

“I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream, you scream…”

Shannon jumped and grabbed her chest, then chuckled at her reaction to her daughter’s song.

“Well, at least I know where Maddie is.” Her laugh came out as a nervous titter. She hurried toward the cheerful sound, looking over her shoulder at nothing.

chapter two

Madison was standing in front of a small bungalow with a candied pink and yellow door and an unlit neon sign in the window, encouraging passersby to, “Have a sip. Take a lick.” Feeling a little dirty, in a kiddie-porn sort of way, Shannon pushed the door open to venture inside.

“Dad’s looking for the shop person. There’s no one here,” Braden called over his shoulder. He stalked off down the path, kicking stones and bending down now and again to grab one and peg a bird. An indignant crow hopped away from him, squawking.

The store was at least cooler, air-conditioner dry, and Shannon filled her lungs in relief. She smelled burnt coffee, old leather, and books. The place was part ice cream parlor and coffee shop, part library and game room. Two walls were lined with bookshelves that met in the corner, the store separated by a wide hutch crammed with board games. One side was a festival of overstuffed chairs parked next to marble and iron ice cream tables The other was strewn with beanbag chairs mostly hidden from Shannon’s view. She wouldn’t have minded crashing on a beanbag with an ice cream cone, but she had a feeling the place was closed. Just like everyplace else.

Why bother having a shopping area where the stores are always closed? Small towns drive me insane.
She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned all around, her hair frizzed and her patience gone. “Kevin, where are you?”

Behind the shop counter, she could see a fancy cappuccino press—unmanned, of course. A faded silkscreen print claimed that, “Joe’s swirl will blow your whirl,” next to a lonely soft-serve machine and tubs of ice cream under frosted glass. Kevin appeared from behind the counter, apparently having cased the back room unsuccessfully, his hands raised in surrender. Shannon banged the counter bell, wincing, as the action stung her fingers to the bone.

“This is the rudest little shithole I’ve ever had the misfortune of ‘discovering.’” She was embarrassed by her air-quotes. It was so very Braden of her.

“That’s a pottymouth, Shan.”

“Let’s get the hell out of here before I say a worse one, then.”

A teenage girl snorted and bit down on her knuckle to stifle her laugh. Her companion raised a finger to his lips, barely daring to breath in their covert location behind the hutch. The two had been absorbed in their game, she on her belly, knees bent with her feet in the air as he sat cross-legged opposite a chessboard—concealed, when the tourists bustled in with self-righteous demands.

“The grocery was definitely functioning and staffed when I passed it,” Kevin said as he opened the door. “Let’s just get some supplies and hit the road.”

“Fine.”

The door banged shut behind them, the whines of children and their strained parents fading into the summer heat.

“Was that rude of me not to spring up and fulfill their every desire?” the girl asked in mock innocence.

“No, but you’re definitely a sugar-honey-iced-tea hole.”

“You’re disgusting, Louis. How would you know, anyway?”

“Touché, Candy, my dear.”

“Are you gonna move, or not?”

“Yes, Snappy Snapstress. Give me a minute here.”

She had already given him at least twenty and she could tell he wasn’t going to figure a way out of her trap. “Your knight is growing mold on it.”

“Don’t help me.”

“I’m trying to help myself.” Candy rifled her shaggy red hair in frustration, and rolled onto her back. She squinted her eyes at the cracks in the ceiling, transforming them into a network of roads on an old yellowed map, and began composing a story in her head to entertain herself. The bell banged on the front door again and she heard the conversation-in-progress between two men pour into the store.

“…not saying the prohibition is a bad idea, Greg. I’m just wondering if you’re fighting a losing battle. I mean, where is it getting us?”

Great, who’s that?
Candy scooted her sneakers in closer to her butt to make sure they were still hidden from the latest intruders.

“I’m weary of the rhetoric, Dave…”

“It’s Pastor Dave,” she whispered to Louis upside down, worried when she saw her friend’s enthusiastic nod. “I’m gettin’ the hell out of here.”

“What? What about our game?”

The baritone voice went on in the other room, “… and there is something rotten growing here, my friend. Alcohol feeds it like an evil nectar. We have to stand united against it. Don’t tell me you’re turning away from the calling.”

Ew, Mr. Davis, too?
She finally recognized the second voice as that belonging to her and Louis’s high school guidance counselor. Greg Davis was definitely someone she had no interest in chatting up. There were still two weeks before school started and Candy intended to relish them. “You win,” she said and handed Louis her king.

She flipped over on all fours and crawled over to spy around the side of the hutch. The two men had their backs to her. Candy ignored her friend’s disapproving pout, blew him a kiss, and donned her backpack.

“Turning from that particular law is not turning from God, Greg, and I think we’d all do well to remember the difference. It’s the people of Shirley who are my concern, not the politics.”

“Explain to me the difference, Dave.”

She didn’t care who she was abandoning; she wasn’t hanging around to hear more of that. Feeling like a naughty puppy dog, she scuttled past the narrow opening and into the back room. Louis swatted her on the butt as he rose to greet the newcomers and Candy almost stood up to kick him in the balls.

“Hi, Pastor Dave,” she heard him call as she slipped out the backdoor.

“Whew. Escaped the shepherd-longing-for-a-lost-sheep look,” Candy sang to herself. The kid who was working the counter frowned at her over his cigarette. “You got customers, Chris.”

“Aw man…” He stubbed his butt out in the dirt. “Alright, alright.”

“See ya later.” She headed for the restaurant with spirits soaring on adrenaline.
Bye-bye, Pastor Chipmunk.

Her smile faded as soon as she thought it; the youth pastor’s friendly round face and slightly bucked teeth filled her with guilt. She heard other kids using that nickname for him but it was crappy and he didn’t deserve that. She liked him and his youth group actually was fun. But. She just didn’t think she believed in all that church stuff anymore. As soon as she had turned sixteen, she excused herself from the Wednesday night youth group carpool. She told her dad she could drive herself, but of course she never drove to church.

“Better stuff to do…” Having conquered the stairs and mounted the patio deck outside Big Joe’s restaurant, she surveyed the area from her superior vantage point. The grounds were empty. Inside, she could see Mrs. Mendez wiping down the dining tables for the dinner hour. Otherwise, it was a ghost town: only one car in the parking lot and no delivery truck to signal Sam’s presence. She had hoped to run into him, but apparently there was no shipment scheduled. She saw a chair pulled close to the railing overlooking the river and, in a sudden gloom, she plopped down on it. She kicked up her feet and wondered how she would fill the rest of her afternoon, since a rendezvous with her new favorite person seemed unlikely.

‘Oh, poo,” she mimicked Louis, in wholehearted agreement with his earlier sentiment. “Sam, where are you?”

She met him earlier that summer, not long after the last day of school; he was part of the crew hired by her Grandma Catherine for refurbishments on the old McBride homestead. Sam was one of the painters. Candy wandered into her grandma’s kitchen one afternoon and found him lying on his side, one elbow on the floor, his head turned nearly upside down. A silver earring lay against his five o’clock shadow and one arm was arched over his head to pull out a delicate, unwavering corner edge of paint. She fell in love right there. Or, at least she fell in love with his painter’s hands, and his biceps were hard not to notice. He was concentrating hard, chomping gum and rocking out to his iPod, so he didn’t know she was there. She made sure to hang around pretending to be busy, though, hoping he would notice her at the close of the workday.

He did, and that’s when she noticed his eyes. Green. So green and they darted away from hers whenever green locked with black. She worked up her courage in Grandma Catherine’s downstairs bathroom, pinched her cheeks and rubbed her lips to make them cherry red. When she finally sidled over and casually asked Sam if he ever painted anything else, besides walls, he had turned adorably awkward, admitting to drawing: “mostly weird stuff from my imagination.” Candy recognized a budding artist when she saw one and she encouraged him to talk about his drawings. He just smiled and asked her for her phone number. She was confused, yet happy to supply it.

Later that night, she got his text, “some of my stuff”.

She gasped as she clicked through the attached files; there were half a dozen photos of his bedroom wall, adorned with some of the most passionate, honest, horribly beautiful drawings she had ever seen.

When she saw Sam the next day, she presented him with a gift box of charcoals and asked him to meet her at the gas station; there was only one in town and it happened to also be her dad’s mechanic shop. About a twenty-minute walk, in the mountains south of the shop, there was an ancient rotting one-room cabin. Her twin brothers, Simon and David, had discovered it their sophomore year of high school, one day when they skipped class, and they used it as a party hideout until they graduated. When they left for college, they passed on the secret location to their younger brother Max. Max told Candy about it the previous summer, right before he took off himself. She had been using it for a place to get away and write poetry, or read, preferring solitude over a party. She had a feeling Sam might like it, too.

She had led Sam in through the sagging doorway, sweeping her arm wide and grinning, “I would be honored if you’d decorate my walls in the artistic tradition of your bedroom.”

He had stepped in behind her, ducking under the low arch and investigating the moldering room with a wry smile. “This palace is all yours?”

“Honestly, I think it belongs to the forest now.” There was a tree branch growing through a gaping hole in the ceiling. “But they let me stay here a lot.”

Sam sat down on the old resident loveseat and leaned back, crossing his ankles in front of him and watching her, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You know what that’s gonna cost you? Hiring a master artist like myself?”

“I’ll be happy to pay it.”

Her brothers always called the hideout The Shack but she and Sam called it The Palace. They started meeting there to make art, trading walls back and forth in collaborative paintings. Candy loved what she called, “battling with paint.” Especially with Sam.

She sighed and glanced around the restaurant grounds once more for any sign of Sam.

“Nope.”

Leaning back in her chair, she settled in for a daydream instead of the real thing, more disappointed than ever to be sitting alone on the deck of Big Joe’s.