Sticks and Stones (16 page)

“You don’t let anybody close. Not ever.” Danny bent and retrieved his jacket, using the clean sleeve to wipe the worst from his face. Sandra wanted to tell him about Jonah Miles, about how he and Jack didn’t know everything, but she couldn’t read Danny, couldn’t really think, and confusion made her stumble as he pushed her closer to the door, reached past her to get it open, letting in a fast rush of cool air.

“But the room—” she protested.

“We’ll never get it clean.”

He left her on the lot corner, hiding in the shadows and body beginning to ache as Daniel fetched the car. He wrapped his jacket around him to hide most of the blood, loping off fast through the dark. Sandra’s hands were shaking by the time he returned. Sliding into the car, she tucked her hands between her knees, keeping her eyes away from him and the bloody fingers on the steering wheel. He’d tried to clean them, rub them off on the grass meridian and a blade had stuck to his right knuckle.

Sandra could feel the blood drying on her cheeks.

She wanted to scratch her skin right off.

The radio wasn’t on and the silence enveloped them horribly until the tires rumbled with the change of pavement to gravel. Her body hurt. Her cheek felt swollen and her throat was raw, aching every time she swallowed.

Danny looked better, at least from the face up.

The drive leading up to the house held huge ruts, mud and gravel pushed up from tractor tires and their own car from when it had rained a week earlier. Sandra bit her lip, didn’t let herself moan, and held on tight to her knees. Daniel stopped the car, turned the key and stepped out. Slowly, Sandra climbed free, using the siding of the house to steady herself when she was close enough. Danny had waited at the milk crates and she was glad, because lifting her foot made her thighs and foot burn. She swayed and Daniel steadied her.

They made it up the front steps and into the main landing. Almost immediately, Danny let her go and began to climb the stairs leading to the second floor.

She wanted to call him back, apologize, say,
I’m so sorry
.

Danny had killed a man. For her.

“What the hell happened?” Jack was out of his room, sounding horrified and voice so loud that Sandra flinched, trying not to look at Danny and the red smear behind his left ear. He slammed into the bathroom and she didn’t look forward to going in there after, bucket full of pink, trying to scrub skin clean that would
never
be.

“Sandra?” Jack asked, voice a little panicked. He flew down the steps, feet slapping hard and threatening to send the whole staircase through the floor. He grabbed her shoulders, let go when she gasped and winced, and took hold of her face again. It was too like Danny and she had to close her eyes. She felt his fingers trace her cheeks anyway, run over the flaking blood and find the bruise there. She wondered if her neck looked just as bad. Maybe all the damage was on the inside.

“What happened?” he asked.

Shaking her head, she gestured to the stairs instead, got him to help her. Leaning against his side, they slowly made it to her room, then her bed. Jack carefully climbed up beside her, trying not to jostle the mattress as he lay one arm loose across her chest, his hand tracing down her ribs and studying the bruises rising up strong underneath her skin. Slowly, Sandra rolled onto her side, leaning close to hide her face in his shirt, soft and warm and smelling of him.

“Sandra,” he whispered. “What happened? Did Danny—?”

“No,” Sandra cut him off quickly. Her lips tasted like blood. “You know he would never… I was dumb,” she said. “I was just dumb.” Jack’s hand pressed to the back of her head and she choked on a sigh. “So, so dumb.”

“Shhh,” he said. She had to take a moment, breathe deep.

“There was a man and he – he’d killed women. He was going to kill more. I saw them a-and he came into the bar…” She couldn’t finish. “Danny followed me. The man, h-his fingers were around my throat, but Danny came in and—” and she couldn’t say the words, but by the way Jack hissed and held her close she imagined he had figured it out.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jack’s fingers wound deep into her hair. “You should’ve told us.”

“Can’t tell the police, right? And then what would we have done?” She was breathing hard and Jack pressed his lips tight.

“I’ve been an asshole,” he said, as though it was an excuse as to why she’d kept it to herself. Maybe it was. Sandra didn’t agree, but she didn’t say no either, just laid still and quiet. Jack’s fingers gripped her chin, made her look at him. “I know I haven’t been here. But you
can’t
– you… You’re not alone. You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

Yes I do,
she thought, thinking of them and Lem and the future.

Jack bundled her up inside his arms and held on until it hurt.

The truth of it was Danny had scared her. But she’d scared herself even more.

Chapter Sixteen

Sandra was
alone the next morning.

She woke stiff, barely able to turn. Her skin felt dirty, branded, despite commandeering the bathroom the night before not long after Danny, washing twice and using most of the stored water. She kept waking during the night, sure her skin was still covered in blood. She dreamed Daniel crept into her room and ran dripping fingers down her cheeks. She dreamed Aaron wasn’t really dead and crawled through her window. She dreamed of Thomas asking
why didn’t you save me, too
?

The room was cold, autumn on its way, and there was no electricity for heat, colder without the worn quilt, and it took a while to get the courage to leave the bed. The wooden floor seared ice into her soles, shivers traveling all the way to her aching bones and through her bruised skin.

Her ribs twinged as she inched down the stairs. Daniel sat in the kitchen, and Sandra nearly turned back. But there were circles under his eyes, face pale like she’d only seen in the hospital, layered in shirts and sweaters and sitting at the table with his hands resting between his knees. With his head down he didn’t see her, shoulders so slumped that she would’ve thought he was sleeping if not for his opened eyes.

His head didn’t rise when she stepped close, not even when he saw her stocking feet. The floor was hard on her knees, made everything protest all over again, but she didn’t regret it, didn’t try to get back up as she pulled Danny’s face down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. His whole body shuddered, and he didn’t make a sound, but he leaned into her, one arm coming up and fitting around her neck until he pressed too much on her bruises and she had to move away. “I’m sorry,” she said. Such inadequate words, but he seemed to understand.

“I know.”

It wasn’t enough. But almost. Almost.

Sandra sat back on her heels. Her whole body creaked, joints and knees popping. Danny’s hand followed her shoulder like he was trying to keep her steady, even though he looked likely to fall over himself, even sitting down. He seemed different, and not just because he so obviously hadn’t slept.

His gray eyes didn’t look any darker, though Sandra wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell until they’d gone dark like Lem’s. Danny’s hands shook as he returned them to his knees. His nails were clean, hands a little chapped and raw, and she wondered how long he’d spent scrubbing. It had taken a long time for him to finish in the bathroom yesterday. Maybe he’d gone back in after her, imagining all the spots on his skin she was sure she could still feel on hers.

Bruised knuckles and a cut on his cheek – probably from Aaron’s ring. It matched hers, less puffy with a lighter bruise. She didn’t know what Daniel looked like underneath his shirt, but she was sure he didn’t feel good. “Did you get any sleep at all?” she asked.

Flat eyes flickered and Sandra sighed, rising with difficulty to her feet. Daniel met her halfway, gripping her wrists to pull her and keeping her close even when she was upright. He stood near, a warm line of heat that made her pulse pound in all the wrong places.

“It’s still early,” she said, turning her wrists face-up so that she could grab his hands. He let her lead him up the stairs, to his room. His bed was wider than hers and she made him get in first, carefully setting herself down on the edge before sliding underneath the covers. He hadn’t taken off his jeans and they scratched her legs through her thin cotton bottoms. It was hard work to roll over and get her arm around his side, but she managed, ending up with her shirt bunched up underneath her, deep creases digging uncomfortably into her skin.

Things were going to be uncomfortable for a while, in all manner of things.

“Think you can sleep?” she asked, even though all she wanted to say was sorry again. Say it until it maybe became real. Danny closed his eyes, breathed out through his nose, and didn’t say a thing.

It took two hours for Jack to slip inside the room. There wasn’t space for him on the bed so he sat on the floor. His hand left a warm spot on her back, just between her shoulder blades and a little to the left. It felt like years ago, clambering onto a bed all together, legs hanging over the side and feeling safe for the first time in months.

~

They headed west. There wasn’t much to mark their presence in the abandoned house. They’d tossed the milk crates into the bushes at the side. The house was maybe cleaner than before, a few loose boards nailed down and an old table and several chairs left in a house where they’d never belonged. They’d taken all the blankets and quilts, had made sure not to leave anything behind that would give them away or lead the blood in the motel back to them. Even so, it had been nice, if only for a little while, to have a steady home to return to. Sandra would miss it, even with the lack of proper plumbing. Inns and motels weren’t the same, taking up too much money and smelling of people and cleaning supplies and sometimes of sweat and sex.

Jack hadn’t been seen that night at the bar and so he paid for the rooms as they worked far west, then slowly roamed south, breathing in air that turned dry and dusty. It didn’t rain, and the world sandblasted grit up against the windows, sounding like dust storms, the dust settling in the bottom of the car and getting on their skin. The boys didn’t go out as often anymore, but they didn’t always stay in and Sandra didn’t begrudge them that. She went out, too. Mostly trying to stay away from the places the boys went. Even this far away, she worried that someone would see her and Danny together, place their faces to another bar, and remember she’d walked out the door with a dead man.

Lady luck had often turned her back on them.

Sometimes Jack still came home with blood on his knuckles. Daniel still fleeced poor, unsuspecting fools, and wasn’t taken kindly to. In the motels, the boys would climb into bed with her to sleep, one or the other, like old times, and Sandra didn’t know if it was because they had to, or because they wanted to, but she couldn’t ever smell other women on them.

Danny had trouble sleeping most nights. Sometimes Sandra would wake and both brothers would be up. Sometimes it would be her keeping silent vigil, up against the headboard and her shoulder touching his.

They never talked about it. Maybe that was where they went wrong.

It was another night and Daniel jerked awake, shin skittering against hers and jolting her upright, watching as he turned his head away, staring at the faded patch of light streaming from beneath the paisley curtain. They were right under the outdoor motel sign and it felt like they had a spotlight shining into their room.

Danny’s shirt was bundled up around his arms, collar stretched loose and blankets hanging around his boxer-waist. Even through the shadows, Sandra could see the circles under his eyes.
I’m sorry
, she wanted to say for what seemed the thousandth time.
I’m so sorry, Danny
. It had been her burden. Not his.

Sandra wrapped one hand around Danny’s bent arm, the knuckles of his own left hand digging hard above his eyelids. The clock between the beds said it was quarter past three and Sandra was glad to be awake – away from her half remembered, senseless dream of charred earth and black eyes, bruised knuckles and blood-damp skin. Her throat felt thick and she pulled herself up, moved her pillow and dragged her heavy body against the headboard. Danny followed, keeping his pillow in his arms. Jack wasn’t awake and Sandra wasn’t going to make fun if he wanted to hold onto something. She felt like holding onto something herself.

They sat and Danny stared blankly at the television set. The sign’s light made their reflections visible in dark, cold, monochromatic shades. Sandra’s fingers found the remote and fumbled with the buttons until she got the television on, just to wipe their reflections away. There were five channels. The highest channel showed infomercials and repeats of the news and she and Danny watched until their eyes began to close. Danny’s tired eyes gleamed in the flickering light and Sandra leaned into him, waiting until she slept.

The world was on fire. They were burning.

Awake again, and it was Danny twisting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close.

The next evening Sandra was amazed they hadn’t killed each other. They’d been stuck inside the same tiny room for twelve hours. Jack lay on the bed, legs swinging over the edge and watching some sitcom that was supposed to be funny but so far wasn’t. The room smelled like the pizza they’d ordered and Danny had managed to catch a few winks in between their showers and the obsessive cleaning of their weapons. Sandra’s gun lay hidden in the bottom of her duffel bag even though the boys disapproved.

“Going out tonight?” Jack finally asked, and she figured it was aimed more at his brother than her, but his eyes met hers, too, and she shrugged, moving in sync with Danny. It made Jack smile.

“We should all go out,” he said.

“Still too young,” Sandra said, because she was pretty sure he didn’t remember things like that.

He made a dismissive sound. “Like they’ll look. I’ll buy for you.”

Lem would never
have allowed that
, she thought. She could tell it was on Daniel’s mind, but he merely shrugged, said, tiredly, “You sure that’s a good idea, us all being seen together?”

“We’re ages away.” Jack had a pocket full of cash from the night before. Sandra didn’t know how he’d gotten it; he’d never been as good at pool as his brother, but he hadn’t come back covered in blood, either.

“Never far enough,” Danny said and Jack made a disgusted noise, throwing the pillow over his head hard, looking pleased when it bounced off Danny’s and knocked the empty pizza box onto the floor.

“You need to get drunk. And possibly laid.” Jack swung his feet to the floor and sat, clapping his palms down onto his legs. His jeans were old, bleached along the top of his thighs with holes all over the place. They made him look a little like a rock star.

Danny shrugged and it was as close to a yes either of them were going to get.

At half past eight, they found a small, crowded pub with a pool table and good beer. Jack bought the first round. Sandra sipped hers while Jack and Danny made their way onto their third. She figured it was a good thing that they hadn’t driven. None of them spoke much, but it was nice to just sit with them without worrying someone was about to say something stupid and start a fight. A group of veterans near the back were telling raucous stories about the good old days. The group at the pool table looked just about to quit and Sandra knew the boys were itching to try, kept ragging on each other about who was the better payer, even if they already knew. Danny looked better. He took another swig, half the new bottle gone, and grinned easily as Jack wagered bet after bet – looser buys the beer, looser cleans all the guns, looser streaks through the bar naked.

Daniel threw back his head and laughed.

Jack sent her a wink.

“C’mon,” he said, slapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and pushed up fast before someone else could claim their game. They took their beers, using the edge of the pool table as coasters as they gathered the balls and lined up their shots. Jack was all talk and Danny was quiet contemplation, thinking ahead to his next move and making Jack buy the next two rounds in a row.

Neither was going to go streaking, it seemed.

It was a little hard to keep an eye on them, too many people in too small a space, but just as Sandra contemplated getting up, a mug slapped down across from her. The man who slid into the chair was young, Danny or Jack’s age maybe. He had floppy brown hair and smiling blue eyes and Sandra didn’t really want him there.

“I hope you’re not going to give me some really lame pick-up line,” she said.

His smile wilted. “Not anymore.”

In spite of herself, Sandra’s lips twitched. Danny and Jack still hadn’t noticed her visitor, and Daniel was drunk enough to laugh somewhat obnoxiously as Jack missed his next shot. The smile encouraged him.

“My name’s Nathaniel.” Sandra wanted to tell him she wasn’t interested, but instead she reached out to shake his grasping hand, getting a slow tingle of heat and moist-palmed flesh and nothing else.

“Hey.” His grin only got wider when she didn’t say her name.

“Look,” she told him, “It’s nice that you’re interested and I appreciate you coming all the way over here to let me know, but this isn’t a good idea.”

“Yeah?” he asked. “Why’s that?” His hair curled out behind his right ear a little, like he’d slept on it and hadn’t taken the time to brush it out. He had freckles, she noticed, lightly dusting across his nose and cheeks. She figured it made him look younger than he actually was.

“I’m here with my brothers.” The lie came easier and easier every time she used it.

“So it’s best not to talk to you? They’ll beat me up?” His brow quirked and he wasn’t disregarding the idea, but he was definitely making fun.

“Maybe knock you around a bit.” It made him smile. And it surprised her to find herself smiling back.

“I’ve been through worse. Besides, you’ve got your own say in it, haven’t you?”

Sandra pushed her hair back behind her ears, pointed out, “I didn’t ask you to sit down.”

“Oh ho,” he chuckled, and Sandra had to snort because he sounded ridiculous. “See?” he smiled. “You like me.”

When Daniel and Jack walked up, their expressions were dark, standing tall with their shoulders back and looking big. Sandra wanted to call them on it, but Danny’s face was asking,
is this another one? Do we have to
kill him, too
? And everything in Sandra’s stomach went flat. It wasn’t amusing anymore.

Nathaniel caught the sudden shift in mood, eyebrows rising and fingers tightening around his full mug of draft. The boys towered over them, standing at the table’s edge and looking more menacing than they had any right to. Jack did, in any case. Daniel looked tired, like he was remembering all of his nightmares all over again.

No
, she tried to say, met his eyes and didn’t look away. She shook her head, subtle as she could.