Page 11

The clouds rolled in the moment we turned off the highway, draping the already depressive landscape in drab shadows.

We make a few turns, passing a worn-down gas station and a junk yard with dozens of rows of rusty, broken cars and farm equipment, before we arrive at the entrance to a fenced-in lot.

The front gate is wide open, so we drive through, and I’m surprised there is no sign out front to let people know where they are.

“Welcome to the Sliver,” Max groans as he takes the first right turn. “They call this kind of place a trailer park.”

I take it all in. The houses all look the same for the most part.

Long skinny rectangles, with a small porch, and a narrow patch of grass between each one.

Some have collections of mechanical parts and tools, in piles surrounding their homes.

And some yards are littered with kids' toys. Glancing over at Max, I am confused by his expression. His brow is furrowed and his jaw clenched. I wonder if coming home is harder than he lets on. It doesn’t seem so bad to me.

“It must have been fun growing up so close to the neighbors,” I say, in an effort to lift his mood.

He cocks his eyebrow and smirks at me. “This place is a dump. And it's okay if you think so too. You aren’t going to hurt my feelings.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s a dump,” I retort. “From what I understand, and I know my knowledge is limited, is that a lot of people struggle to get ahead, and many don’t even have a place to live. This seems like a good option to me.”

“You make me sound like a snob,” he says as he visibly deflates. “There are many wonderful communities like this. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with living in a trailer park. But this one in particular is the absolute pits.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the people here are mostly drug addicts and alcoholics. And the kids who grow up here don’t have a chance to get out of this cycle of shit they’re born into. There is no room for dreams in this place. There is no way to get out.”

“But you did,” I whisper softly, as he turns into the parking spot in front of the last house on the right, a weather-worn, robin egg blue, older home, by the looks of it.

He turns off the engine and takes a deep breath. “I would never have made it out of here without Garrett. I’m no different than anyone else here. No better.”

“So, this was his house then?”

He nods, “Yup. And mine was the tan beast across the street.”

I don’t turn around to look at it. I have a feeling that he doesn’t want me to. “Shall we head in to see Garrett’s mom then?”

A slight smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Let’s do this.”

His shift in mood makes me nervously intrigued about meeting this woman, and I keep a few paces behind him as we make our way up the few steps to the front door.

It’s strange how I feel protected with him in front of me.

But at the same time, I don’t understand why I need to feel protected from a little old lady.

The conflicting emotions are tiring me out.

I fight the urge to go back to the car as he knocks.

As the door creaks open a few inches, I lean over to sneak a peek around Max, but can only see darkness within the house.

A throaty, deep, and faceless voice calls out from inside. “Maxy? That you?”

“It sure is, Lulu,” he says. “Who else were you expecting?”

My heart jumps as the door flies open and a frail, wrinkled, and stringy gray-haired woman flies out and wraps her arms around him, shrieking in delight. She’s quite a sight in bright purple threadbare pajamas and dirty pink bunny slippers. Definitely not what I was expecting.

She loosens her grip on him and, with a big grin, leans back to examine his face. “I was worried you were Big Tom, here for the lot rent. I won’t have it until Wednesday, so I’m hiding out for a while. Glad as hell it’s you instead. Get in here before someone sees you and tips off the jackass.”

Max reaches a hand back and pulls me inside behind them, talking as we go. “I don’t get it, Lulu. Didn’t Garrett leave you a bunch of money?”

“Sure did, but it will be six months before I see any of it. Stuck in probate or some shit like that,” she says, but her eyes suddenly widen as if she is noticing me for the first time. “Who the hell is this?”

Max steps to the side, providing a direct line between her and me. “Lulu, this is my friend, Daphne. She wanted to see the place I grew up.”

She is staring at me up and down, and a chill runs through my whole body as I mumble a soft hello.

“You smell like sulfur,” she says, cocking her head sideways at me and I’m unsure how I should react.

Max, thankfully, jumps in to rescue me. “You’re nuts, Lulu. You are mistaking cinnamon for sulfur. I guess you don’t bake those tasty snickerdoodles anymore.”

Her eyes don’t leave me. “Maybe. Why don’t you two sit down, and I’ll fetch us all some tea.”

She scurries off, and Max leads me in through the dark room, and we sit down on a brown, flowery couch that smells of cats and stale cigarette smoke.

The air is heavy, and as I take in the space, my guts burn with anxiety.

There’s an old clock on the opposite wall, ticking in pace with the drumming in my chest. The shaggy green carpet is layered in dust and hair, and empty liquor bottles are strewn about the room.

The walls are covered in dark paneling, and the windows are darkened with smoke-stained, bent, and crooked mini-blinds.

The only other furniture in the room is a table with a large box-shaped television and a chair with lumps and scratch marks running down the two front legs. There's a small table beside the chair with a framed photo of a young man in it, but it's too dark to make out any detail.

A tall glass of brown liquid is now inches from my nose, and I gasp, before taking the glass and mumbling my thanks.

“That picture there,” she says, handing Max his glass, “is my Garrett. But I imagine you knew that already.”

I nod and take a tiny sip from my glass. The beverage is so sour and sweet at the same time that I want to spit it out, but force myself to swallow it and hope my face doesn’t give my disgust away.

She sits in the small chair and takes a slug from her glass before turning to Max. “So, I know you didn’t come all this way to show your friend here, our cute little neighborhood. Why are you really here, Max?”

Max chuckles. “No foolin’ you, Lulu. I wanted to check on you. Make sure you are doing all right after losing…

“After my boy was stolen from me?” She is glaring at me now, and my veins feel like they might shatter. I feel like she knows something. But how could she?

Max shakes his head. “Lulu, He took his own life.”

“Bullshit,” she snaps, scowling at both of us. “You know damn well he would never do that.”

“But, Lulu…

“But nothing,” she interrupts and points at me, my heart now about to break out of my throat. “And I think I know exactly what happened to him. And you had something to do with it.”

Panicked, I jump to my feet. “Why would you think that?” I want to leave, but Max isn’t moving. I bent down and take his hand, but he doesn’t budge. He is just staring at her with his mouth wide open.

“I’ll tell you why, so sit your ass down.”

Without any other viable option, I obey and cautiously take my seat again.

“Every night for the past month, I’ve had the same dream. And you, my dear, have been in every single one of them.”

“What?” Max says, looking frantically between us. “That’s crazy, Lulu. You must be mistaken.”

“I suppose I could be,” she says, but her tone is sarcastic, so I don’t believe she thinks so. “There is something very different about you in the dreams.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, not really wanting the answer.

She lowers her face and speaks in a creepy deep growl. “Your eyes are black in my dreams, and I think I know what you are.”

“That’s enough, Lulu,” Max shouts. “I can’t believe you are being so rude to my…

“Demon?” Lulu shouts back, standing and pointing at me again, as the air plummets out of my lungs. None of this makes any sense at all.

I think I’m going to be sick.