Better Left Buried Page 20

  Sounds easy enough.

  She lightly pressed the accelerator and not so gently lifted her foot off the clutch. The Jeep bucked and lunged, shaking the car violently before stalling it.

  Jaxon put on his seatbelt and tightened it. “Okay. Let’s try that again. Harder on the gas, easier on the clutch.”

  Brea tightened her own seatbelt, restarted the Jeep, and tried again. She hit the gas harder as she felt the clutch grab and the Jeep shot forward a few feet. She jerked the wheel and Jaxon laughed.

  “Thank God the parking lot is empty. One more time.”

  Brea told herself third time was a charm, and to some extent it was. She’d managed to drive in first gear for about twenty feet, but stalled again when she couldn’t get into second.

  “I can’t do this,” she said.

  “Yes you can. It’s not hard. You just have to get the feel of the clutch. Try again. You feel that little kick at the end? That springiness?” She nodded. “When you feel that, press the gas.”

  She did what he said and this time, managed to shift to second. She kept her eye on the tachometer, watching the RPMs rise, and shifted into third around 3,000.

  “See, you’re getting it. Now stop and start back up again.”

  She took a lap around the abandoned senior lot. “I don’t want to.” First gear was her nemesis.

  “I can’t let you drive on the road if you can’t stop and go again.”

  Technically he shouldn’t let her drive on the road at all, but his was a loose interpretation of the laws of permits and licenses. She applied the brake and shifted back into first. The Jeep bucked and sputtered, but she saved it and managed another lap.

  Jaxon held his stomach, puffed out his cheeks like he was going to be sick, and laughed. “See. I told you that you could do it.” He made a circle in the air with his finger for her to go again. He gripped both sides of his seat for effect.

  She took a deep breath, emboldened by her increasing ability, and went again, only this time the shifter stuck and made a terrible noise when she tried to ease into second. She pressed the clutch again, then the brake, and the gas. Suddenly nothing made sense. She couldn’t remember how to shift, but kept trying anyway.

  Jaxon laughed, her panic apparently hilarious, and took his cell phone from the center console.

  His moving around was getting her flustered and she stalled out again. “What are you doing?”

  “Calling my father to tell him to let the mechanic know I’ll be in for a new clutch.” He was laughing so hard he was crying.

  She couldn’t be mad, not with him so hysterical. She applied the emergency brake and made a motion with her hands like an umpire calling “safe”. “That’s it. I give up. I’m done for today.”

  Jaxon set his hand on her bare leg and his attempt at a reassuring smile came off as a grimace. “But you were getting the hang of it.” His tone said she definitely wasn’t and the following burst of laughter sent her over the edge.

  “Okay, that’s it. I quit. I officially declare myself meant to drive an automatic.” She turned the key to “Off”. “And I’m making a new rule: one new thing a day. You got me?” She was trying to sound serious, but was laughing, too. His mood was contagious.

  “Oh, all right. You’re off the hook for now.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll take over this once, but next time you’re driving.”

  She smirked and kissed him back. “We’ll see about that.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Harmony replaced the master bedroom bedding with fresh sheets and blankets from the linen closet; ones which somehow managed to escape the dust, mold, and moisture, but smelled decidedly earthy. She should have done it earlier because whatever had been on the other ones irritated her nose and throat. She took some ancient expired cold medicine and fell asleep faster than she had in years.

  “Hurry, come on.” Her father waves for her to run to him.

  “Tom, I said ‘no’.” Her mother stands on the front porch with her hands on her hips. “She’s been a handful all day. The last thing she needs is sugar to rile her up.”

  “Pleeeeease.” She tugs at the hem of her mother’s sauce-stained apron, begging to go.

  The Camaro’s red paint sparkles in the sunlight, a cool breeze raining red and yellow leaves from the tree it sits parked under. The air smells of dirt and the garden overflows with mums. It’s fall. From the pumpkins carved on the porch, near Halloween.

  “What if I let you come, too?” Her father winks, his lewd expression and eyebrow wagging the closest a man might have to a ‘come hither’ stare.

  “Oh, you’ll ‘let’ me, huh?” Her mother throws his words back at him with a coy smile. “I have too much to do, Tom.”

  “Then let me take her. We don’t get nearly as much time together as I’d like.” Her father opens the passenger’s side door, pushing aside the straps of a pink booster seat. “It’s the last day of the ice cream year, hon. Let the kid have some sprinkles.”

  “Sprinkles! Sprinkles! Sprinkles!”

  “Fine, okay. But just a kiddie size, Tom. She needs to eat dinner.”

  Harmony couldn’t run to her father fast enough.

  Bang!

  A slamming door pulled her back from the first good dream she’d had in months. She looked around the dark room, wanting to be that happy little girl again instead of whatever dark thing she awoke as. The cold medicine magnified her temporary confusion about her unfamiliar surroundings.

  “Hello?” She fumbled with the box of strike anywhere matches on the nightstand and lit the nub of the emergency candle she’d been reading her mother’s journal by.

  Bang!

  Harmony hung her bare feet over the side of the bed, feeling for the slippers she had found in the closet and had been wearing ever since. Her big toe caught on the matted fur and as she maneuvered her foot into it, she knocked the left shoe under the bed.

  “Great.”

  She held the candle close to the ground, lifted the bed skirt, and quickly grabbed the slipper. There was nothing under the bed except for dust, hair, and a baseball bat on the other side. She scurried around the bed, grabbed the bat, and checked the time on her cell phone: 2:34.

  “Shit.”

  An intruder was the least of her problems.

  She set the bat against her shoulder, holding the candle in her other hand as she crept down the dark hallway.

  “Hello?” It had started raining again, the sound faint on the tarp that was already leaking. “Is somebody here?”

  The front door swung in on its hinges, having been boarded up only from the outside.

  Bang! Bang!

  She walked to the door, the floor giving more with each step, and slammed it shut.

  Bang!

  She wouldn’t believe it if she hadn’t seen the knob turn by itself. She sniffed the air, which smelled of burnt wood, like a camp fire, but that was impossible.

  There was nothing close by except razed land and construction.

  The sound of heavy breathing filled the air, louder than the rain on the tarp and loud enough to be heard over the banging door. Dust and mold swirled in the candle’s glow.

  “Hello?”

  A cloud-like apparition stormed through the front door and charged a second vague form standing in the kitchen. A third, much smaller ball of white light and outstretched hands, scurried down the hall fast enough that Harmony felt a breeze on the back of her legs.

  She couldn’t will herself to move.

  “Hello? Someone please answer me.”

  None of the three forms acknowledged her as the violent scene played out. She assigned roles to each ball of energy: Charity, Tom, and young Harmony.

  A struggle ensued, her mother fought off her father, clawing and scratching at his face. Little girl Harmony cowered in the corner, screaming into the wind.

  The clock on the wall said 2:34, the time the fight had broken out.

  Harmony set down the candle to cover her ears. “P
lease, no.”

  Her father moved forward, the pointed shape of a blade extending from his hand. He buried the knife into her mother’s side.

  “Stop!” Harmony’s screams meant nothing. She didn’t exist in their world.

  Her mother forced her father backward, pushing him far enough that Harmony could have reached out and touched him. The basement door swung open and several loud sounds followed. Her mother stood in the doorway, staring down into the darkness. The little girl clung to her, pleading. Harmony forced herself to move, standing behind the white energy and shining the candle light through them. Her father lay lifeless at the bottom of the stairs. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wept as she remembered the night she had forced herself to forget.

  “Mom, no.”

  There was no use protesting. Residual hauntings were unalterable; tragic energy played out on a never-ending loop. This particular night, no doubt, had replayed in that house for years, most likely why her mother had run from it.

  Her father twitched, rolled onto his knees, and crawled up the stairs. His face was clear, almost human.

  “Harmony.”

  The sadness in his eyes as he reached for her broke her heart.

  The whisper caused the candle flame to flicker.

  Her mother pulled something small and shiny from the kitchen drawer. She stood at the top of the stairs, hunched over to keep pressure on her wound, her hand trembling as she took aim.

  “No, please. No! Mommy, stop!” Little girl Harmony pulled at her mother’s arm, dragging her down to her level and narrowly missing snatching the gun from her hand.

  “I have to protect you.”

  The gun went off with a flash.

  A searing pain ripped through little girl Harmony’s hand and she recoiled, howling.

  The shadow of a bullet sailed through the air and into her father’s forehead.

  His body tumbled down the stairs.

  He was dead no matter how hard she had tried to stop it.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Brea rolled onto her side, breathing Jaxon’s smell through the t-shirt she couldn’t bring herself to take off. The green numbers on the digital alarm clock read 3:00 AM, three hours until she was supposed to get up for school. She glanced at her cell phone and sighed when she saw nothing but a handful of messages from Becky who had inserted herself as Brea’s replacement best friend.

  She fired off a text to Jaxon. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  “Miss me already?”

  She hadn’t expected an answer for hours. “What are you doing up?”

  “Same as you, I bet.” He punctuated his statement with a smiley face emoticon.

  “Thinking about earlier?” A grin spread across her face and she felt the faint blush of embarrassment. Some things were easier said under cover of night.

  “You sorry?”

  “For what?”

  “For nearly burning up my clutch. LOL.”

  For a minute she wondered if they were even on the same page.

  “I’m kidding,” he said after a long silence. “Obviously I meant the other thing. Any regrets?”

  “None.” She didn’t even have to think about it to answer.

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Sure.” Part of her was afraid to hear it.

  “I really like you.”

  She’d hoped as much, considering. “That’s good news.”

  “I mean, like REALLY like you.”

  His was the strangest profession of love she’d ever heard. “And I REALLY like you, too.” She mirrored his caps, smiling at the irony that the last person she expected to be talking to about how much she liked Jaxon was Jaxon.

  “You tell Harmony what happened?”

  “No. You tell Pete?”

  “Touché. LOL. Have you heard from her?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Figure that’s part of why you’re up. Okay to call?”

  She turned off her phone sounds before answering. “Sure.”

  The screen lit up: “Incoming call”.

  “Hey.” She pulled her blanket over her head and spoke softly.

  “Hey, yourself.” His voice sounded deep, sleepy.

  “I woke you up, didn’t I?”

  “No.”

  She could hear him yawning. “Would you tell me if I had?”

  “Nope.” There was a smile in his voice.

  “So, why’d you ask about Harmony?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.”

  “Because I’m worried she might try to talk you out of me.” His insecurity was as unexpected as it was flattering. “I think things are good. Better than good, but I keep wondering what happens when she comes back.”

  “Nothing changes.” Even as Brea said it, she knew it wasn’t true. There was no way to preserve her past and move forward the way she had been. Harmony being gone had made the transition easy.

  “You mean it?”

  “I absolutely do.” The car stunt was the last straw. “Harmony’s a security blanket I have to learn to let go of.” It was something her mother had been telling her for years and only now, falling in love for the first time, did she think it for herself.

  Their toxic co-dependent friendship had to end.

  The conversation stalled, turning heavy as she realized what she had to do.

  “You should probably get some sleep,” he said after a long silence.

  “You, too,” she said. “See you in a few hours?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

  “I’ll be here.” She hung up the phone to do what needed to be done. All it was going to take for her to give Harmony another chance was a single panicked phone call. The minute Harmony called pleading for help, she’d cave. She always did. There was only one way to stop it. She entered her phone’s device settings, opened her contacts, and blocked Harmony’s phone number.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Harmony sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands.

  “Why, why, WHY?”

  She slammed down her fists. The replay faded, bringing back repressed memories. She watched her father die all over again, but the pain of the past fourteen years, knowing how shitty her life had turned out, made the pain of losing him that much worse.

  What if she had been raised with at least one parent who loved her?

  What if her father had gotten help with his anger or drinking?

  What if he could have taken her away from the selfish thing her mother had become?

  Her mother’s problems with him weren’t hers. He had never laid a hand on her.

  She wiped away her tears.

  “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop her. I really, really tried.”

  Harmony’s hand had been next to the pistol when it went off. She traced the scar where the gun’s slide had cut her. Her mother made her wear a pair of pink mittens to hide the injury. Someone had tried to take them at the hospital but she refused to take them off until it healed.

  Only some things never do.

  The memories suffocated her with sadness.

  She emptied her purse, lining up the prescription bottles—morphine, fentanyl, sleeping pills, and codeine—and opened each one. Cutting her wrists had been painful, hard to do, but looking at the pills as she spilled them all into a pile on the table, the out seemed somehow easier. The truth was too much. Combined with the trouble she was facing, the bleak future of the Midtown Home, of losing Brea, and realizing Adam wasn’t the hero she always thought he was, the memories were the catalyst she needed to make the final decision. She walked to the sink, her resolve strengthening with each step, and turned on the faucet. The water ran rust red then cleared, the well still functioning after so many years.

  She took a cup down from the cabinet and chased the first few pills with a mouthful of cool water, catching sight of the tattoo on her wrist: Summerland.

  Some things were preordained.

  She th
ought about the fear she had felt when she’d sliced her wrists. The scars were a permanent reminder. Back then, she wasn’t afraid to die. Now, she worried about what came after. No matter. Stumbling through a dead end existence, slowly becoming her mother, was its own hell.

  She turned on her cell phone and a dozen new messages from Adam poured in.

  She didn’t need him.

  She needed Brea.

  Harmony dialed the familiar number, praying she’d answer.

  “I’m sorry, the person you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”

  Unavailable.

  It was as much a sign as she needed. She drew a deep breath, refilled the glass, and sat on the top basement step with a handful of pills.

  Moonlight shimmered on the still surface of the flooded basement where her father’s murder replayed a dozen times in her head. The nightmares and visions suddenly all made sense. Whether her father wanted to hurt her or not was up for debate—she might well have cut herself that night at Adam’s—but he clearly wanted her to remember. Everything led her back home, to him, and the closest thing to normal she’d ever had.

  The doctor’s words, said when her mother had overdosed, resonated; her failed suicide was due to the fact that the pills hadn’t digested. They had pumped her stomach to save her. Harmony refused to let that be an option. She tilted her head back and filled her mouth with as many pills as she could chew. The ground up pills filled the ridges of her teeth with a bitter paste that made her tongue feel numb and thick. She gagged, her body rejecting the poison she was force-feeding it. She took a swig of water, swishing the crushed pills loose before swallowing. The second handful went down easier and she listened to Adam’s voicemails while she waited for them to take hold.

  “Please call me back. I’m worried sick. Where are you? I love you.”

  She was sobbing uncontrollably by the time she finished listening to them. Her vision blurred and her fingers struggled to compose a final text message: “I love you, too, and I’m sorry. Goodbye.”