chapter TEN
“Come on, guys. Hurry up!” Steve shouted.
We all followed him deeper into the woods, stumbling down the dark road.
It was Friday night, the night before the “big game,” and I was out with the guys. My first time, unless you counted the night I killed Chris, which I didn’t.
I wasn’t going to go at first. Amber was with her friends, so I didn’t see any point in it. But I also didn’t want to leave Echo home alone. I mean, I wasn’t too worried—Barry hadn’t seemed particularly distraught when he stumbled into the kitchen this morning and read Sheila’s note. He just crumpled it up and pitched it toward the garbage bin like it was a losing lottery ticket or something. At first I thought that maybe he was too ashamed after what had happened last night to get upset, but it was probably that he was just too hungover to care.
No, I wasn’t as worried about Echo as I had been last night, but I didn’t want to take a chance, either. It was Friday, after all, and who knew what he’d come home like. So I decided to stay behind. You know, to keep an eye on things. But when I got home from practice, there was a message on the machine from Echo—she was going over to her friend Zoë Simon’s house for a sleepover. Said she might be there all weekend. Just as well, I thought. That’s when I decided to go out. Maybe some time alone in the house was what Barry needed.
Steve and Josh picked me up before Barry got home, and the three of us went out for pizza. After dinner we went to the park in the center of town, where a few hundred kids had gathered for the pep rally. People cheered for us, and everyone gave speeches. You’d think we’d already won the game.
“Going out with the guys” basically meant piling into a couple cars afterward and just driving around, drinking a few beers. Actually, it was kind of fun. Everyone was all pumped up for the game with Springfield, and there was a nervous sort of excitement in the air. Even I felt it. It wasn’t like the party I’d been to the weekend before. Sure, we had beers with us, but nobody got stupid—everyone looked out for one another, and even if they hadn’t been, guys knew better than to get too wasted and risk letting everyone down. Still, there was a lot of energy hanging around, and even before we headed into the woods, I knew it had to go somewhere.
At first a few guys suggested we go down the tracks, which was the last place I wanted to go. It wasn’t so much that I had bad memories of the place—even though I did—I just didn’t know what kind of shape Chris would be in. I’d wrapped him up pretty tight in that plastic the night I killed him, but I still didn’t know what to expect. I mean, what if we went out there and he was stinking the whole place up? I’d started to feel a little uneasy about the whole body situation in general these last couple days, but there was so much other stuff going on, it wasn’t at the forefront of my mind. Until now.
“We just went there last week—there’s nothing down there. Let’s go somewhere else,” I said.
They all kind of looked at one another for a minute before Steve piped up.
“How about Parson Woods?” he said. Even though I was supposed to be sort of the ringleader, he was the quarterback and was used to making decisions.
“Sounds good,” I shouted. I didn’t know where Parson Woods was, but it beat the tracks.
Some of us jumped into Steve’s crappy Ford Escort, a few others into a Pontiac that belonged to another guy’s father, and we headed off.
We took our time driving around, weaving in and around town, honking when we saw someone we knew, even yelling stuff out the windows once or twice and squealing our tires. Steve and the other kid took turns in the lead, passing each other back and forth. Apparently there weren’t any police in this town. Either that or they decided not to bother us the night before the Springfield game. I just sat in the backseat plugging my ears as discreetly as I could against the blasting music and wishing I were with Amber.
I’d caught a glimpse of her an hour ago at the pep rally. She and her pals were all dressed up in their outfits, shaking their pom-poms and short skirts around and getting everyone in the “spirit.” That was the big word of the night, after all.
“We’ve got spirit, yes we do. We’ve got spirit, how ’bout you? SPIRIT!”
I don’t think she saw me, but I didn’t care. It was enough to watch her twirl in the middle of her pack. Just like at the party last weekend, she stood alone in the crowd. It’s like she was on fire or something. It’s funny how when you realize you’re in love with someone, they seem totally different all of a sudden, like they even look different. And all you want to do is just be around them and stare and notice how strange and wonderful they are even though they’re just the same person they always were and it’s really you who is different.
“Where’s the flashlight?” Josh asked as the trees rose on both sides.
“Forget it,” another kid said. “We don’t need it.”
It was sort of true. The moon wasn’t quite full yet, but it was getting close. From its spot above us, enough light came down so that the road shone, and all the white stripes and numbers on our jerseys made us glow like a pack of dancing skeletons.
A bunch of guys started running, hooting and hollering down the road, disembodied voices chasing shapes in the moonlight. Pretty soon everyone had joined them, including me. It was kind of liberating in a weird sort of way, like we were all together, but still each one alone. In fact, I got so caught up in it, I practically ran right into Josh, who had stopped along with everybody else. Then I saw it too.
“What’s that doing all the way out here?” Steve asked.
The station wagon gleamed where it sat off to one side of the road. It was a white Subaru Legacy, an older model. Everyone sort of walked around it for a minute, wondering where it had come from, wondering what it was doing out here, wondering if the owner was coming back anytime soon.
Everyone but me. I’d seen that car before—they’d shown a picture of it on TV, or one just like it. Apparently none of the other guys watched the news. Seeing it shining there under the moon, I felt all prickly. Suddenly I wanted to get out of there, and fast.
“Come on, guys, let’s head back,” I said.
No one seemed to hear me. They were all pumped up from the night and started walking around it, looking in the windows, kicking the tires and laughing, then kicking the doors, then things really started to get out of hand.
Crash!
One of kids had taken his beer bottle and thrown it at the passenger’s side window. The window cracked but didn’t break. Everyone laughed, as if the sound of smashing glass was hilarious.
Then crash! And crash, crash! Three more bottles hit the window, and this time it broke to cheers from all the guys. Then:
Boom!
Steve had taken a rock almost the size of a football and managed to heave it through the windshield. This brought even bigger cheers, and before you knew it, they were all going crazy, scratching the door panels with stones and pieces of glass, slashing the tires, snapping off the antenna. I just stood back and watched in awe as they transformed the wagon into a broken-down husk. I wondered what the police were going to think when they finally found the car. If they ever found it.
When they’d finally exhausted themselves on the car, they all stepped back, still giggling. Then Josh turned to me.
“What’s the matter, Parker, a little property damage too much for you?”
Actually, I didn’t really see the point in the whole thing, but I wasn’t about to tell them that.
“I was just having too much fun watching you guys,” I said.
They all hooted at that one, and before long we were heading down the road back to the cars. Before we left, I took one last look back at the station wagon. I didn’t know why it had been left there of all places, but I didn’t like it. All I knew was that the one who’d left it there probably wasn’t coming back for it. The only question was—where was that person now?
“All right, you Sallies, get your asses out there!”
That was Coach in his usual lovable game-time persona, which didn’t actually differ much from his off-the-field persona.
The air had changed. It was a cold day, and clouds had moved in over the early morning hours, turning the sky into a single dark, angry bruise. I knew that because I hadn’t really slept much last night after the guys brought me home. When I came in, Barry was passed out in front of the blaring TV. I turned it off and left him snoring on the couch. I was pretty tired myself, but after I got into bed, I suddenly started thinking about the game, and pretty soon I was wide awake again. I was nervous as hell, which pissed me off. Why should I care about this game, just because everyone else seemed to?
As the hours drifted by, I just looked out the window, watching the moon sink farther into the sky before the clouds rolled in and ate it up. And pretty soon the sky lightened a little and it was dawn, and there I was, still awake.
The funny thing was, I wasn’t tired now as I ran out onto the field with the other guys. I don’t know if it was the cold air or the nervousness twitching through me or the shouting and cheering coming from the packed stands, but I was pumped. Who knows, maybe it was that partially incoherent speech Coach had given before game time—the one where he sounded like a cartoon bulldog who’d swallowed an air horn—that had me revved. I’d understood only about half of it, but he’d yowled with such conviction I had to believe he meant every word.
The game had just started. Springfield, the visiting team, had won the coin toss and had gotten the ball first. They’d run it up to their thirty-yard line on the kickoff, and our defense, of which I was supposedly the starring member, was out there to stop them. I knew enough by now to know where I was supposed to line up, and I also knew what my job as linebacker was—I was there to take out whoever had the ball. If the running back or some other back got it, my job was to tackle him. Otherwise, I went after the quarterback.
The first play was terrible. It’s one thing to tackle in practice; it’s another thing altogether to do it for real. The noise was what got me the most—all those helmets and pads cracking together and everyone yelling and grunting and crying out. I pretty much froze up and barely managed to get a hand out to brush the running back as he took off by me down the field for twenty yards before a safety brought him down.
The next play wasn’t much better. As the quarterback dropped back to pass, the left tackle moved up to block me. I sort of slapped at him a few times, but I didn’t go anywhere. The pass was caught. Touchdown.
Coach had an earful ready for me as I came off the field.
“What the hell was that out there?” he screamed as I headed for the bench. I was already pretty tired and just wanted to sit down, and here this guy was yelling so loud I could feel my eardrums rattle.
“I don’t know,” I snapped. “They just got by us, I guess.”
“I’ll say they did,” he screamed. Then he launched into a tirade about how I was this miserable failure and he’d been wrong to think I was ever going to be a big star someday and how I was an embarrassment to the team. It was like my mother and Barry rolled into one, and listening to him, I could feel myself getting madder and madder.
He finished chewing me out just in time to turn and see our halfback fumble the ball near the fifty.
“Goddamit!” he cried, and threw his hat down on the ground. He turned back to me and grabbed me by the face mask. “All right, you useless piece of crap—get back out there and try it again.”
He hurled me in the direction of the ball. As I ran out there, I just kept thinking, I’ll show that creep. He wants a tackle, I’ll give him a tackle. I’ll prove him wrong.
Of course, in the back of my mind I knew that’s exactly what he wanted me to think, but I didn’t care. I was so pissed off at this point that I just wanted someone to pay.
“Hut, hut, hike!”
The quarterback took the snap and handed off to the running back. This time I had it picked up from the start. Before the runner had a chance to get back to the line of scrimmage, I’d flipped the right guard aside and was into the backfield, flying through the air.
Crack!
I could feel the poor kid collapse under me as we hit the ground, like he was hollow or something. I’d nailed him so hard he never even had time to make a sound other than a little grunt as all the air blew out of him. I’m sure he never saw the ball go flying out of his arms and start skittering across the field into the hands of one of our players, who picked it up and ran it down the field into the end zone. I barely saw it, I was so distracted by what had just happened.
The next thing I knew, there were like five guys lifting me up off the ground and jumping up and down and hollering for joy and slapping me on the butt while in the background a steady roar rose from the people in the stands.
As for the running back, he was still on the ground. I guess I’d knocked the poor kid for a loop. It didn’t take long for him to come to, but he had to be carried off the field. We all knew he’d be out for the remainder of the game.
The rest of the half went like that. With every play, I got bolder, more aggressive, getting closer and closer to the quarterback, knocking down the ball as it left his hands, knocking down the players. After a while I could see it in their eyes as we lined up across from each other—that fear that I was coming after them. I forgot about everything else and just focused on how good it felt to push everyone around. It wasn’t that hard—doppelgangers are strong, stronger than we look. In fact, if you ever tangle with one, don’t ever try to wrestle it or anything. The best thing to do is to go for the eyes, then run like hell. It’s probably your only chance.
Anyway, I ended the half with a big sack, nailing the quarterback from behind. I could hear his arm snap as we came down. The next thing I knew, he was pleading for me to get off him. I jumped up, and a second later he started crying. I felt pretty bad—he looked like he was in a lot of pain—but before I could say anything to him, the horn sounded to mark the end of the first half. My teammates grabbed me and ushered me toward the sideline to a chorus of cheers. Coach was waiting for me with a big smile on his face. He gave me a big slap on the helmet as I went by.
“That’s the stuff!” he said, and we all turned and headed to the locker room for halftime.
We gathered around the benches, all of us sweating, some bleeding, a few limping, forming a circle around Coach. He blew his whistle and everyone went silent.
“All right, ladies, we’re up by seven. Not bad. But we need to step it up. Offense, you need to get serious and stop wasting time. Most of all, I need all of you to be more like this guy right here….”
He reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder pads and hauled me into the center. Suddenly all eyes were on me.
“You see this guy right here?” he said, shaking me. “This guy is a goddam killer. That’s what he is. Did you see him out there? It was like someone unleashed an animal in this kid—a predator taking down his prey with no mercy. That’s what I want all of you girls to do out there. Be the killer!”
The guys all started cheering and shaking their fists in the air, but I didn’t join them. All I could think about was what the coach had just said, about how he’d called me out, revealing me to everyone, mostly to myself. The adrenaline still running through me now mingled with the feeling of that running back crumpling under me, the sound of the quarterback’s arm breaking and him crying, crying for me to get off him, to have mercy. It was that same sort of giddy sickness I’d felt after killing Chris, and I hated it. Worst of all, I was the big hero because of it.
Coach went on blabbing for a few minutes, talking about strategy and plays, but I didn’t really hear what he was saying. To be honest, I didn’t really care anymore, about any of it. All I knew was that I’d lost control out there on the field, just like at the fire with Chris, and people had gotten hurt. I’d been reduced to nothing more than an animal, and I hated that feeling more than anything.
As the adrenaline faded and the sick sweetness filtered away, and everyone starting scuttling out of the locker room, I suddenly realized what I had to do.
“Parker, get up,” Coach barked from the doorway as the last of the players headed out to the field.
I got up, went over to my locker, opened it, and started taking off my jersey.
“What the hell are you doing?” he hollered, and strode over to me.
I didn’t say anything. I just kept taking off my shirt.
Coach shook his head. “I don’t have time for this crap. Now come on, we got a whole second half to play.”
“Not me,” I said. “I’m finished.” I threw my helmet in the locker and tossed my jersey on the floor.
Coach made a kind of choked noise that sounded halfway between a groan and a growl. I could tell he was about to lose it, but at that point I didn’t care anymore.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you these last couple of weeks. I sure as hell don’t like it, but we’ll deal with it later. Now, for the last time, let’s go.”
“Sorry, Coach,” I said, continuing to undress. “I said I’m finished. Done. As in, I quit.”
He grabbed me by the shoulder pads, slammed me back against a locker, and held me there.
“You can’t quit,” he shouted, stabbing a finger toward my face. He was so close I could see every white whisker on his chin. More than anything I wanted to grab him right back. I wanted to do to him what I’d done to those Springfield players.
But I didn’t. I just looked him straight in the eyes, looked through his eyes, into his brain, and right on out the back, and after a few seconds, he let go. He seemed tired all of a sudden.
“Chris, think about what you’re about to do to everyone. Forget about me. Think about your teammates, think about the town, think about your father,” he said. As soon as he mentioned Barry, I made a face. I couldn’t help it. “Then think about yourself,” he said. “Think about your future, how you’re hurting it.”
“I don’t have a future,” I murmured.
He took off his baseball cap and sighed. “Chris, you’re an angry young man. I can see it in your eyes—for whatever reason you’re pissed off at the world. I know what it’s like. I was there, too, once. But that’s why you can’t quit. Because you know you can go out there and let it all out. You need this, Chris. Just like I needed it when I was your age.”
“That’s not who I want to be,” I said. “Not anymore.”
Before he could respond, Coach Ballard poked his head in the door.
“Coach?” he said. “We’re starting.”
“Dammit,” Coach muttered. He gave me one last look and walked away.
“We’ll win it without you, then,” he hollered back as he marched out the door. Ballard looked at me for a moment in surprise, then turned and followed Coach.
“Good,” I said. I actually hoped they would win. For their sake as well as mine.
Just as I turned back to the locker, I felt the twitch in my eye. It had been a while. I glanced into the little mirror hanging in the locker and, sure enough, there they were—those doppelganger orbs, swollen against Chris’s face, leering at me as if they had a mind of their own.
“Go away,” I said.
The slitted pupils—cold, reptilian—narrowed for a moment before fading away. Soon Chris’s eyes were back, looking as dark and forlorn as ever.
“And don’t come back.”
I changed, emptied out my locker, and walked out.
“Echo?” I called from the doorway.
The house was empty. She was still at her friend’s.
I went into the kitchen and checked the answering machine. Sheila still hadn’t called. Big surprise. Then I flipped through the numbers on the phone’s caller ID, like I’d seen Sheila do, until I found the number Echo had called from yesterday. I dialed it, and a woman answered.
“Hi…Mrs. Simon?” I said. I was a little nervous. I’d never used a phone before.
“Yes?” she said.
“Is Echo there? This is her brother, Chris.”
“Oh, hello, Chris. The girls are upstairs. I’ll get her.”
There was a clunking noise and then a long pause. A minute later Echo’s voice came on.
“Yeah?” she said.
“This is Chris,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“Oh, okay. Listen,” I said, “I was wondering if you wanted to stay another night. I mean, it might be good for you to stay another night. Think they’ll let you?”
“Probably,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, really,” I said. I wasn’t sure how Barry would deal with my quitting the team, but judging by how he’d reacted when I got benched, I wasn’t taking any chances, at least not by having Echo around. “It’s just that things might be better if you came back tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said. Her voice sounded so small on the phone.
“Good,” I said. “See you later, then.”
“Bye,” she said, and hung up.
I knew Barry was still at the game along with everyone else—probably wondering why I wasn’t out there—and he wouldn’t be back for a while, so I took a long shower and washed all the sweat and grime off me, scrubbing until my skin was raw and tingly. It felt good to be clean, to feel clean, if just for a little while. I even shaved afterward, something I hated to do because it meant I had to look at Chris in the mirror for more than a few seconds.
“Sorry, Chris,” I said as I finished the last few strokes. Even though I figured he would have been upset about my quitting, I felt a lot better. Like I was doing it for both of us.
Barry got home not long after that. I came out of my room as soon as I heard him walk in. I decided to get it over with now and not wait. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have started drinking at this point—not much, anyway.
Seeing me standing down at the end of the hall, he stopped and leaned against the wall near the kitchen doorway. He took a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it.
“I quit,” I said.
He snorted. “Yeah, I know. I found out after I chewed the stupid coach out for ten minutes for benching you in the second half.” He took another drag. “You made me look like an a*shole, Chris.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Me too,” he said. He shook his head. “That’s it, you know. Forget the scholarships, forget college, because we sure as hell can’t afford to send you on our own. Not that I’d pay for you anyway. Not now. Not for a quitter.”
“That’s okay,” I said. I didn’t mean to sound nonchalant. I mean, I knew why it wasn’t a big deal whether Chris got a scholarship or not.
But Barry didn’t. He turned and slammed the wall with his fist, punching a hole right through the Sheetrock.
“Stupid shit!” he shouted, shaking his hand. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or to himself. Probably both.
I could see his knuckles were bleeding. He took another drag, tightened his fist again with a grimace, and turned into the kitchen.
A second later the phone rang. I heard Barry pick up.
“Yeah,” he snapped. There was a moment of silence. I wondered who it was. Echo, maybe? Sheila, at last?
“Sorry, Amber. He can’t come to the phone right now,” Barry said, then hung up. He came back out into the hallway and stared over at me for a second. Even from where I was, I could see the look on his face. He looked just like Chris, just like the real Chris had the night I’d killed him.
He shook his head again in disgust and looked at the hole in the wall. “What a perfect week,” he said. He went back into the kitchen to make himself a drink.
“So who won?” I called down the hallway.
He didn’t answer.