CHAPTER TWO
Allen Porter had never felt comfortable in his own skin. He had never been able to shake the wrongness of his life; the inexplicable doubt that he wasn't where he was meant to be. But tonight it was the strongest it had been in a while.
It had been just yesterday that he'd felt lively and bright, but with hours alone, the light had fizzled into darkness.
He knew if his mother could hear his thoughts, she'd scold him; he had it all. He lived in an idyllic town in the north of Washington. While it was small, the schoolhouse at the top of the hill offered a fantastic education, and most importantly, it was safe. He could leave the house and walk to the strip of shops that bordered the sloping landscape of their town without worry. Besides, everyone knew everyone—if something did happen they'd be to the bottom of it in a jiffy.
That had always been her argument until he'd finally stopped confiding in her.
But even though he didn't speak it, it didn't go away. It was this unshakable funk that sometimes pushed him into depressive states or pushed him to the brink of insanity, and he never knew which. It was like being here was infecting him. He knew he could destined for something great, but here anything great felt out of reach.
And it wasn't just his own life; it was the town as well. Everything seemed too perfect; too happy; too everything. Nothing in life was so clean, was it? It was almost as if he was waiting for someone to drop the curtain and say, "Cut. That's a wrap."
But that very same night that he sat alone in his room, strumming chords on his guitar mindlessly, questioning his place there, he would get the excitement he was looking for; the fateful night of August twenty-eighth would change everything.
The night drew to a close with crisp autumn air—weather that was so different than the day before one would almost think it was a different town—and Allen had been in his room since he'd woken up. A song possibility had riddled his mind all day, and now he was finally able to work on it in peace. By the time his mother called him for dinner, he'd figured out the chords and had pumped out all of the lyrics. The melody wasn't solidified, but he was pretty sure it was almost there.
"What're you working on?" his mother asked him. He eyed her warily.
"A new song," he muttered as he started to eat.
"Oh," she said. He didn't miss the small frown on her face and the disdain in her voice. Nor did he care.
"I think it'll fit really well with all of the other songs I've been working on," he explained. "It doesn't fit perfectly, but its vibes are similar enough."
"That's nice," she answered. "Are you, uh, still hoping to be able to get a record deal?"
He knew she was trying to slide it in casually, but he wasn't fooled.
"Yes, I am, and if you want to try to talk me out of it again, you can do it tomorrow because I'm not in the mood today," he said curtly, unwilling to entertain the possibility of hearing the same spiel he'd heard a thousand times. He knew what it was she wanted: the same thing everyone else did in this damn town. Graduate high school, get a job locally, possibly even start his own business. Make enough money to buy a house here. Get married here. Have kids here. Retire here. Die here.
They'd been through it over and over again, but he refused. He refused to fall into the meaningless cycle everyone else did. He had dreams and he wanted to follow them. He was fortunate enough to have found his best friend, Justine, who felt the same way about things. She was about the only solace he could find; the only curves in a line of monotony.
"All right, we can talk in the morning," his mother said.
He remained quiet, his eyes averted to his food. It wasn't exactly the response he'd hoped for, but at least he wouldn't have to fight with her now.
"So," she filled in awkwardly, "how was your day at school?"
Allen fought a laugh. Great job mother, he thought. It's been the best part of my day—school is always a joy. You really know how to get at the deep things.
"It was fine," he said, despite the sarcasm that ran through his head.
"That's good. Did you have any tests?"
"One," he replied solemnly.
"And?" she prompted.
"It went fine."
"What subject was it in?"
"Physics," Allen answered.
"What grade do you think you got?"
"Probably an A," he said, still watching his food. He never struggled with school despite his interests lying elsewhere, though his cheeks still flushed red when asked about his grades. He wasn't necessarily embarrassed by them, he just didn't want any extra attention for something he didn't work hard at.
"You can't give me anything else?" His mother's eyes were pleading and he just sighed.
"Nothing else happened!" He was so sick of hearing that from his mother. It was like she thought a circus showed up at school, a piece of the ceiling fell and almost killed one of his classmates, and a cake flew through the window before the first hour had passed.
"Nothing else?" she pressed. "What did you learn today?"
"Just more of the same." He knew he was being unnecessarily terse, but she also knew he hated mundanity.
She opened her mouth to ask her next question when they heard what sounded like a scream. The shrill call tore through their walls and sent a shiver down Allen's back. Even though it was faint, it resonated with such clarity that it electrified the air around them.
"What was that?" his mother asked. Her face had turned pale, but the sound didn't stop.
"I don't know!" Allen quickly said, raking his mind for an explanation for the noise. Anything other than what he was thinking now.
The sound had stopped by now, but the silence replacing it felt unnatural; eerie. It was a silence that seemed to boil the air.
"We have to check," his mother said quietly. He regarded her with an air of consternation before nodding.
She stood and walked toward the door. A light rain fell, dampening the streets in soft bursts. As she flung open the door, the smell of wet pavement floated into the house, followed by something else; something foul that churned Allen's stomach.
To their right, light flooded out of their neighbor's open door, a figure kneeling toward the edge of it, nothing more than a silhouette in the night. The stone walkway dusted with leaves, but it was in far too neat a line for that to be the case.
Allen and his mother locked eyes before they lurched straight toward the Parker household.
He knew his mother's thoughts were on whether or not Mrs. Parker was okay, but Allen's were on his best friend. What if something had happened to Justine? How would he live with himself after that?
"This could be anything," he reminded himself under his breath as they made their way toward her. It wasn't a long walk, but the scream had touched something inside of him; had changed something so that every second felt like a minute. He knew Mrs. Parker wasn't a crier, so there had to be something more to this.
"Or maybe she's not crying, you dumbo," he muttered to himself, cursing his paranoia but still wallowing in it. The circumstance was too bizarre. Something had to have happened, but did that mean it had to have been bad? No.
His mother was now far ahead of him and he quickened his pace, pulling himself out of his thoughts.
By the time he reached them, his heart was pounding. His mother was knelt beside Mrs. Parker and she was speaking softly to her, but Allen could make out the words just fine.
"What happened? Are you okay?" She practically sang them, her face transitioning into a mother-like expression; calm, collected, yet still warm and inviting.
It was obvious now that Mrs. Parker was crying. At such a close distance, her shaking shoulders and huddled mass was a clear indication. She seemed to be stuttering, as if trying to answer his mother's questions, but not being able to muster up enough energy to get the words out.
Despite all his efforts, Allen felt his dark imagination creeping up on him again. What if something had happened to Justine? What if she'd been killed? What if her mother found her body mangled in her room?
No. Allen wouldn't go there. Not right now. Not before he had any information. But as her response finally came, he felt his mind go numb.
"J- J- Justine," she stammered. Her voice was shaky and as she looked up at Allen's mother, her eyes leaked even more. "J- Justine's gone."
"Penelope, I'm so sorry," my mother cooed, and she wrapper her into a hug. Despite her best efforts, I could see her shaking hands as she watched me.
"You need to call the police," his mother said. Her voice was firm, but her desperate eyes betrayed any facade of equanimity.
Allen heard her, but it seemed to be through a tunnel. Justine, gone? How could it be? She had to be mistaken? And if she really was gone, what could have happened? This town hadn't experienced crime in years!
"Allen!" his mother shouted, her voice cracking this time. "You need to call the police."
Slowly, he nodded, and ran back toward their house. His legs felt like jelly, and his fingers fumbled as he dialed the 9-1-1. As the receiver picked up, the familiar voice of his classmate's mother flooded the line.
Instead of trying to explain the jumble in his mind, he told her where they were and to get there as soon as possible. She told him they'd have people coming, and just a few seconds later, he could hear sirens spring to life. As the blaring burst through the air, he exited his house again. His legs trembled, as if trying to stop him in his tracks, but he needed to know what happened to his best friend.
He pushed forward, where his mother stood. More neighbors had noticed the commotion, and he was sure that with the siren going, the whole town would be here soon, craning to see what it was that needed the police for the first time in years.
Allen had barely reached the scene again, his mind racing and his emotions numbed as the first police car pulled up.
He turned to find his mother watching him, her eyes full and penitent. Despite the flurry of motion around him, he felt himself freeze. What had her so guilty? Why did she looked like she'd done something?
The cop jumped out of the car, hurrying over to his mother and Mrs. Parker. Allen could hear him ask a few rudimentary questions before asking them to take a few steps back.
"Allen, could you please move back?" the cop asked politely. Allen nodded, his mind still in a haze. He couldn't seem to process or feel anything, as if his brain was trying to trick him into thinking this wasn't real; that his best friend's mother wasn't crying in the middle of the street, claiming Justine had been kidnapped.
It was as two more police cars arrived and more people were drawn to the scene that Allen noticed something along the doorstep. A glint caught his eye where he'd previously thought leaves had fallen.
He felt his stomach drop as he saw the stream of crimson. He couldn't see it very well from his position, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was blood that dirtied the whitewashed doorstep.
Now, as he looked at their one-story cottage once more, it didn't seem peaceful and innocent as it had before. The dandelion yellow shingles no longer seemed to hold happiness; it seemed to hold crime; house the dirty evidence of an abduction. The perfectly manicured lawn, the short walkway; it was all one big, tainted mess now.
The blood made everything seem more real, and as Allen stepped back to let the police officers rope off the scene, he felt overwhelmed by emotion, as if his body couldn't possibly handle all of this at once. He was overcome with the darkness of the moment; the grim reality that his best friend was gone. He was torn apart to see so many people's shocked faces and worried eyes that no doubt reflected his own. And the worst of all was the fear that gripped him in a death hold. What if his friend didn't come back? What if he wasn't okay? What if Allen would be alone again? Who would understand his anxiety? Who would keep him positive when his mother put down his dreams again?
All he could remember was the bubbling happiness he'd felt just yesterday as Justine sauntered off bathed in sunlight; their laughing as they'd laid by the pool at Lorrel's Edge. Where had it all gone? How could it be taken so quickly?
Around Allen a crowd was forming of mostly adults of Bellum, their mouths open in horror. Some exchanged looks with one another that he wasn't quite understanding, and others just watched with pale skin and shallow breaths.
"Some other officers will be coming soon," the officer who'd answered Allen's call announced. She had gloves on and was inspecting something on the ground as she said it. "It'll probably be about another half hour until they get here because they're coming from so far away. I understand all of you have concerns, but we need to investigate and confer with them before we can say anything definitive. It would be really helpful if we could have privacy. We don't know whether or not news stations will catch wind of this, but if we could have this time to look without people here, it would be valuable."
Understanding the message, most trooped off. A few people remained for longer than others, watching with an intense horror. Allen was one of them, his body a war of emotions.
The two other officers who'd responded eyed them with exasperation, but went back to their work quickly. In the end, no one could really blame them for watching.
After a few moments of silence, Allen's mother tugged on his arm.
"You heard her," she said softly. Her voice was hesitant, as if she wasn't sure whether he would fall into her arms or punch her. "We need to give them their space."
Part of Allen knew what she was saying was true, and if anything was going to be discovered, he should leave, but he couldn't tear his body away. He was in such disbelief, he thought that if he stood there long enough he would be able to bring Justine back and reverse what happened.
Seeing his situation, Allen's mother lightly grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the scene. They remained quiet as they entered their home. His mother watched him like a shaken can of soda on the verge of exploding. Multiple times she opened her mouth, but closed it quickly after.
"Did she tell you anything else?" Allen croaked when they entered their kitchen. Their dog came barreling up to them, his tongue hanging out of his mouth idly, but both ignored him entirely.
"No," his mother answered, but bit her lip and looked to the ground suddenly.
"You don't sound too sure of that." Allen's eyes narrowed as he regarded his mother. Would she truly keep information from him?
"Seriously, she just repeated what she'd said the first time," his mother answered. The words still didn't feel very strong, but Allen was out of energy to question it. His mind was still spinning, his hands still shaking in denial.
"So, uh, how are you feeling?" His mother asked awkwardly, and Allen took a steadying breath. What was he supposed to say to that?
"Ignore that question," she amended quickly as she saw his brows creased and his chocolate brown eyes filled with distress.
"I'm gonna go to my room," Allen declared and his mother watched him, pulling at her long blonde hair with uncertainty, but as he left the kitchen and ascended the stairs, she didn't say anything to stop him.
The moment he opened the door, he flung himself onto the bed, his mind eating at him like a deadly disease.
All he wanted was to fall asleep, and wash away the day; the emotions, but with such a busy mind, there was no way he could relax enough to drift into sleep.
Instead he laid, staring at the ceiling, a swirling mess of anger and confusion and distress and loneliness.
By the time he felt as if he would wither away if he laid there any longer, he pulled out his guitar and began transposing the emotions into a song, trying desperately to tune out Justine's kidnapping even though he knew it would still be painfully present by the time he was done.