THE Haverbrook Harvest took place on a warm day, the kind where the sky is so bright and artificially blue it seems too picturesque to be real. The flower fields peeled into bloom,and the houses along the suburbs were all opened up, the smell of corn and sweet apples wafting through unbolted windows.
The streets were packed. Festivities and stalls lined where cars usually cruised through, the community event bringing members of government and folk bands; families browsing through local produce, all rich orange and golden with ripeness.
Rudy made us go through the plan again. We would make our expected appearances - in case of rousing suspicions, then return to the empty house and grab our belongings, packing only what we could spare to take. Finally, Sam would bring Sherri to the back of the church graveyard a half an hour before the fireworks began.
"And I guess we figure it out from there," Rudy finished.
I asked him, repeatedly, whether he was really okay with what was going to happen. He'd betrayed Arabella in several ways already.
But cutting her from his life? It would be the ultimate treason.
His overcast eyes, as grey as the moodiest of storm clouds, did not shift. Who could have known, an academic overachiever - with everything, his cotton and cashmere - had a streak of defiance that could not be killed.
"It's not me you should be worried about."
And that made me even more nervous.
I got ready, dressed up in a white dress that made my skin look like sour milk. Either that or it enunciated the delicate veins popping from my papery skin, lines of purple and blue underneath the surface. The mirror made my body appear distorted, or maybe it was my mind playing tricks.
By four o'clock, we were due to walk down.
We wouldn't have time to linger later on in the night. As shoes were being put on and the sound of keys jangling came from downstairs, I found my feet coming to a stop. The Dollhouse's peculiar appearance had made quite the impression on my former self, and now I knew every harrowing inch of each story. The creepy tree in the yard that scratched against the window of my bland bedroom, the old piano and the smiling doll collection, not to mention the hidden relics in the depths of the basement.
The sugar pink and mint green didn't scream perfection. It wasn't the American dream. I could no longer feel anything but disgust.
Violet came down the stairs slowly. She, too, probably sensed the invisible force that chained us to this place, where we had gone through our own versions of emotional pain. Then she smiled and she was Violet again, red lipstick and a figure-hugging sweater dress that made her look as alive with feminine energy as she had always been.
So we walked down the streets, a dysfunctional family of five. Children with candy ran past screaming, the smell of fertilizer coming from a table of potted plants, and then we were truly in the thick of it. The very same road I walked down in winter, wrapped up with strings of Christmas lights had glowed like fireflies. Now, Arabella joined the other woman at the bake sale, and Edgar was soon distracted with the open auction at the church.
My attention was diverted by a couple of Amish woman wandering past, bonnets covering their plain hair. When they saw me staring their eyes dropped down to the ground in modesty. It was rare occurrence to see Amish folk wander in to town - and brave of them to do so, because I knew some neighbors had voiced distaste towards their solitude.
Betsy and Lorna were leaning against two sides of an apple cart, shielding their eyes from the sinking afternoon sun.
"The cops have been patrolling around like they're expecting a riot," Lorna started, as we got close enough to them. She was pretending not to notice a few teenagers laughing and pointing at her from behind the stalls. With a jolt, I recognized the sharply vivacious girl from somewhere before.
"Where's your friend?" said Betsy.
Joyce and Marcus weren't even on my radar tonight. I didn't care, and if that was cruel then so be it. A crumpled can bounced off the apple cart, and I heard a devilish laugh. And it was that rotten boy, who was sore over Lorna's indifference.
There was nothing particularly entertaining about the Harvest; time ticked by considerably slowly as we wandered through the crowds and food vans, with people trying to make us sniff soil or buy flowers. Nick came running up to us after eventually, and without talking he slipped his hand in mine.
Time went very slow, then very fast. All I could remember was that I was in the thick of it, then suddenly Nick and I were hidden away behind the back of food van. He kissed me.
Two patches of color had appeared on his cheeks.
"Do you even know what you're about to do - where you're going to go?" Nick's face was etched with an emotion I couldn't read.
I sighed. "At this point, I don't even care."
Tentatively, he placed his hands on my waist.
"I don't know, it gives me a bad, bad feeling. There seems to be a curse upon everyone we seem to know lately."
We stood there for a few more moments, but before I could open my mouth again, Joyce rounded the corner into us.
There came some cartoonish element of surprise seeing her appear in front of us as if by magic. But when I saw her face, a wonderful thought burst into my mind like angels were singing it with their own heavenly trumpets. Oh, how could I have ever underestimated her? My oldest, most reliable friend!
"You have a car."
Joyce blinked bewilderingly. "Yes?"
"Oh, Joyce - God, I would owe you one big time - could we please borrow it? Tonight? I swear Sam will drop it back later - within the hour, even -"
"Well... you'll have to ask Marcus."
"Couldn't you tell him it's important? Scratch that, an emergency. I promise I'll explain everything to you later -"
"I'm sorry," she said firmly. "The car is my brother's responsibility."
Maybe she was annoyed that I hadn't bothered to greet her, and just jumped into pleading to borrow her aunt's ride. Heart beating wildly, there was no way that I could let the golden opportunity slip through my fingers.
Nick was staring between to two of us like he was watching a riveting play act out in front of him. With the carnival of laughter floating eerily in the backdrop, I sealed the deal in my mind.
"Okay, where can I find him?"
"Marcus is helping get the auction ready at the church," she said. There was an almost flat, baritone quality to her voice, as if she was put-out by my suggestion. Joyce was very reminiscent of the old days of when we only relied on each other, and as she looked between Nick and I, it was like my true colors had been unmasked to her.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I did just take advantage of people to suit my own agenda. Then again, maybe I was so desperate I was willing to exploit anybody.
We made the weak decision to get corn dogs to pass the time. Nervous sweat trickled down my back, and even through the afternoon was warm and the wind gusty, it wasn't hot. When the server handed me my snack, I nearly dropped it - for in the distant crowd, I spied Father Edgar marching up the street up towards the direction of the Hollow.
"Shit!" I said. "What is he doing, slipping home?"
"He forgot something?" Nick shrugged.
He couldn't comprehend my stress. My step-uncle had the ability to butcher our whole plan! "I've got to tell Violet and Rudy - he can't come across us cramming our suitcases!"
There was no mistake in thinking the clergyman was heading towards the houses. I saw the black sweep of his clothing flash down the lane which forked down towards the suburbia that was the Lane I had grown to resent. He had no other place to be tonight - no errands, no stop-offs, no visits to friends. The trees bent and shook, the new leaves shaking in the wind.
The crowd had grown larger in its hundreds flooding every crevice of the street. I abandoned my train of thought, fighting against the crowd with an urgent, urgent sinking feeling coursing through me.
He had the ability to jeopardize what I had believed would be my last night under that roof. Another suddenly seemed so unbearable, from the quiet claustrophobia of the night and the walking on eggshells of baby pink and mint green, the scars, the invisible bruises, the blood and the agony.
We needed that car.
"Why don't you try and find everyone?" Nick yelled, struggling to keep up with me. "I can go to the church and ask Marcus -"
"We need that car, Nick!" I yelled back, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Go find Betsy and whoever and just warn them, please!"
"Wait, what about you?"
"I might be able to convince him better than you can!"
My mouth seemed to be moving quicker than the brain that fed it. The brilliant lucid thought enveloped me that if we could drive away into the sunset, untraceable, untouchable - that anything was worth the price to escape the prison that was my life.
I needed a way out before our plan failed, and we would never see the daylight again. I needed a way out before Rudy and Violet left without me, unable to take it anymore. I needed a way out before we faced the same fate as Sherri - or worse, until there was another suicide I could have prevented.
I could've let Nick go. I should've let Nick go.
Because the night of the Haverbook Harvest ended up being one of the most disturbing nights of my young, foolish life. And not for the obvious reasons one may expect - not the crippling suffering that still visited me in nightmares years later, nor the torture that I had been subjected to over the year I had been incarcerated.
Maybe time had killed me. I wasn't even crying when I made my way towards the church. Who knew why he enjoyed loitering in there while music and laughter lit up the streets outside.
Tonight I would have to do the hardest thing the world had ever requested of me - more cruel that being choked by the sickening foam of bar soap, hearing my sister's screams pierce through the walls, or even see my own mother dead after the anguish I had put her through.
I felt selfish, but my fists hardened like iron.