“All right then,” said Stephen. “It’s settled. You can ride your bike while Jacker, Alma, Rachel, and I take the van. That’ll be perfect.”
“Why do you seem so happy about it?” asked Paul. “Were you worried I’d be farting the whole trip or something?”
“I was,” said Jacker.
“No,” said Stephen. “Honestly, I had no clue how much shit my wife was planning on bringing.” He looked toward the bedroom where Rachel was still getting ready. “She’s got three bags full of shit. And I mean, big bags. I was worried we’d all be sitting on each other’s laps.”
“All you had to do was say something, man,” said Paul. “No need to try and manipulate the situation to get what you want.” Paul tapped his finger on the contract on the coffee table and winked at Stephen. “Know what I mean?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the Road
March 11th, 2012
They left the apartment shortly after ten, far later than Stephen had planned. Two hours later, when Jacker was complaining about wanting lunch, Stephen insisted that they make up for lost time and stay on the road. He paid for fast food, but Paul couldn’t eat while driving his motorcycle, so they had to stop for a few minutes. Afterward, Alma decided to ride with Paul for a few hours.
Illinois seemed endlessly flat, only adorned with the occasional rise and fall of small hills. It was a beautiful, sunny day and the bright green glow of spring stretched across the horizon as far as the eye could see. The road was smooth, newly paved, and it was an easy ride as opposed to some of the city streets they usually drove on.
She wrapped her arms around Paul’s waist and wished she wasn’t wearing a helmet so she could place her cheek against his back. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have had the courage to go on this trip. Having him along gave her the strength to face…
Widowsfield.
She’d avoided thinking of it the entire trip so far. Alma felt the familiar pang of fear sting her heart. They were headed to Widowsfield, and the horrors that she’d been trying to hide from all these years would suddenly be in front of her again.
314.
She closed her eyes and shivered, not from the spring air, but from the fear that welled within her. Alma thought of her mother, and her obsession with the number that she believed could lead them back to Ben.
314.
Alma recalled one night when she woke up to find her mother writing the number on her arm. She tried to pull away, but her mother held fast and screamed that they had to find Ben.
“Try to remember,” said her mother as she dug her nails into her daughter’s arm. “You have to look at the number. Okay, baby?”
“Stop it.” Alma had been crying as she tried to get away from her mother.
“No, Alma! Look at the number.” She was desperate and manic as she forced her daughter to look at the scrawling.
314 was written on Alma’s forearm in thick black marker. “I can’t remember anything, Mommy. Please stop.”
“You’re not trying hard enough. Alma, sweetie, I’m telling you this is going to work. All you have to do is try.”
“I have tried.”
Her mother slapped her hard across the cheek. “No you haven’t. You haven’t tried hard enough. You let your brother die. You and your father did something to him, and now you won’t tell me. You little bitch. You fucking little bitch.”
Alma writhed free and cowered against the wall. Her bed was pressed against the corner of the room, and she was trapped as her mother lurched over the other side of the mattress. “Mommy, please stop. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yes you did! I know you did. Don’t lie to me. I know what sort of things your father was doing. I’m not an idiot. I knew he had a whore up at the cabin, and I know you lied to me about it. Don’t look at me like that. Stop crying. I know what sort of things you all did.”
“I didn’t do anything, Mommy.”
“You lying little bitch. Your father turned you against me. I don’t know how he did it, but he turned you against me. I loved you and your brother so much. Stop humming! Why are you humming? Open your eyes and talk to me. Tell me what you did! I know you’re hiding something from me!”
Alma kept her eyes closed and hummed, like she always did when the world was too scary to face.
Her arms wrapped a little tighter around Paul’s waist as she recalled her mother’s insanity. She was humming as they drove, and hadn’t realized it.
They pulled into Branson a little after eight, and went straight to the hotel that Stephen had booked. It was a Holiday Inn on the outskirts of town, but was still surprisingly busy. Alma had never been to Branson, and was shocked by how bustling the town was. Rachel was anxious to go shopping, but no one else wanted to join her. Undeterred, she set off on her own, saying that she’d meet up with the rest of them in the morning.
Stephen wanted to get dinner, but Alma and Paul decided to get room service. Jacker opted to go with Stephen, and the group broke up as everyone went their separate ways.
When they got to their room, Paul sat down on the edge of the queen bed and pulled Alma down beside him. “What’s up, babe?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve been quiet — even quieter than normal. You okay?”
“Yeah, just tired, and a little sore from the ride.”
“You’re lying,” said Paul.
Alma thought of her mother, and she took her hand out of Paul’s. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s bugging you. What is it?”
“I guess I’m nervous. That’s all. I haven’t been back to Widowsfield since just before my mother killed herself. I swore I’d never come back.”
“You don’t have to. It’s not too late to turn around and go home.” He almost sounded insistent, as if he thought this trip was a bad idea.
“Why? Do you think I should?”
He put his hand on her knee and squeezed. “I think you should do whatever you want to do. Doesn’t matter what anyone else wants. I think it’s brave to go back there, but I wouldn’t think you were a coward if you just wanted to go home.”
“What do you think about Stephen and Rachel?” she asked.
“I like them,” said Paul confidently. He was a good judge of character, much better than Alma. “Stephen’s a bit of a snake, but not in a bad way. I think he’s just spent his life working in a shitty industry that’s filled with backstabbers. He picked up some bad habits, but I think he’s a good guy anyhow. Although I’d put good money on that tape of his, the one that got famous online, was faked.”
“You really think so?” asked Alma.
Paul nodded. “Definitely. Stephen’s not a bad guy, but he’s the type that will manipulate others to get what he wants. I bet he doctored that tape and didn’t tell Rachel.”
“What do you think of her?” asked Alma.
“Rachel is super nice, but she’s got to learn when to turn off the reporter thing. I like how she’s a straight to the point, no nonsense kind of girl, but she’s pretty brash too.”
“I agree,” said Alma. “I didn’t like them much at first, but now I’m coming around. I’m not like you. I don’t make friends easily. It takes me a while to get to know someone. Speaking of which, I like Jacker a lot. He’s just a big teddy bear.”
“There’s something you should know about him.”
Alma stiffened, familiar with Paul’s tone. He was about to reveal something that he was worried Alma would be mad about. “What?”