Okay, I've done yet another rewrite of the preface and first chapter of the Love Note, due in large to people saying I jumped into the action too fast. So, here it is. Oh, and it's PG-13 for mild language.
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Preface, 1955:
A cry of surprised pain rose out over the crack of a gunshot. The scream broke off with a gurgling, choked sound as a boy in his late teens clutched his now-bloodied stomach and fell over backwards. As he hit the ground a petite girl about the same age detached herself from the shadows surrounding the edges of the forest clearing. She was wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, and her long tangles of curly, mousy-brown hair were pulled back into a ponytail. Flashes of moonlight glinted off her wire-rimmed glasses.
She walked almost silently over to the motionless body, the thick grass muffling the padding of her sneakers. Reaching him, she bent down awkwardly to check one wrist for a pulse, then straightened back up. The expression in her eyes was sad, almost anguished as she stared down at his face—frozen forever in an expression of surprise and pain; blood trickling from his parted lips, pooling on the grass below and seeping through his shoulder length dirty blond hair.
“I’m sorry Eddie," She whispered, sounding choked. "It wasn't my choice to make.” She turned and walked away, gun still in hand, not looking back as blood stained the grass around Eddie’s lifeless body. A moment later, another shot echoed through the still night air.
In a stand of bushed nearby, something moved. A branch twitched, revealing a face looking out at the clearing with shocked, wide eyes. His face was only illuminated for a moment before a thick cloud rolled over the moon, bathing everything in darkness, but not before the pain in the watching eyes had been replaced by guilt.
*****
Chapter 1, 2008:
The blessed end-of-year bell rang through the hallways of Southern Local High School. As the echoes faded out, throngs of students surged out into the hallways, breaking up into groups as they discussed plans for summer, vacations, and colleges. Towards the edge of one crowd, Brad Liftridge was walking with sophomore Ashley Grey. He had a muscular build, dirty blond hair, deep green eyes, and a nose a little bit too large for his face. Faint scars from his adolescent acne were still faintly visibly on his pale skin. Ashley shoved playfully at one of his arms, laughing.
From farther up the hallway, Brad heard the high, reedy voice of his friend Christian Rei rise above the clamor, announcing a party at his house Saturday at seven. Shawn Thompson, his voice also high, was the first to respond. “Who’re you invitin’, Christian?” Brad didn’t hear Christian’s response, and, wanting to know the answer himself, he quickly said good-bye to Ashley and pushed through the crowd, running into Shawn from behind just as Christian appeared directly in front of Shawn.
“Well Shawn,” Christian started, his voice hinting that after two years he was picking up on the Ohio accent. “I was gonna invite Ash, X, the guys from the team, Michaela and Keren…” He listen names for a few more seconds, and Shawn started to look disappointed. Catching his expression, Christian grinned demoniacally and added, “Oh, and Becca too, of course.”
Shawn grinned sheepishly and straightened up to his full, unimpressive height, but when he realized Christian and Brad had seen his reaction he became very interested in the floor. Speaking to his shoes he said, “Ain’t your parents goan be home by then?” Christian’s grin widened as he unconsciously scratched at the cast on his left forearm.
“Nope, they just called today. Dad’s meeting got postponed again, so they won’t be back for another month at least. Mom was in hysterics cause they couldn’t find a babysitter, but me an’ my dad convinced her I’d be fine alone. Gotta love the Old Man’s trust.”
Leaving Shawn to blush, Christian turned and pushed through the crown in the direction of his locker. Before the surging teenagers had completely blocked him from view, Brad saw him hit his cast, hard, on the back of a small freshman’s head. The papers the skinny little boy had been carrying went flying everywhere as he struggled to keep his balance.
“Shouldn’t that hurt?” Brad asked, hurrying to catch up with Christian.
“Naw, my arm’s fine. I’m getting’ the cast off Monday. It’s real hard though, so it hurts like hell if you get hit with it.” Christian chuckled to himself. “You comin’ to the party, right?”
“No clue. I gotta ask first. John’s all uptight lately, an’ he might not let me.”
“Eh. Come over later. We gotta plan, ‘kay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be there. Later,” Brad waved, turning to get to his own locker. A minute later he saw Christian leaving, a skateboard under his good arm. Before long the rest of the students left too, until only Brad was left, rummaging through his locker. He quickly dumped the assorted papers into his backpack and started to close the door, but something in the corner caught his eye. Bending down, he carefully pulled out a yellowed piece of paper wedged into the corner. Thinking of freedom waiting outside, he stuffed the paper into his back pocket and hurried out the school’s front doors.
He had to wait a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glaring sun outside before starting on his way. Most of the students had already driven off, but several blocks down the road Brad saw Christian walking with his good arm around the waist of a blonde Brad didn’t recognize, and just across the street was a small group of freshmen.
Brad scanned their faces, idly wondering if the skinny one Christian had hit was there. Brad didn’t recognize anyone, but when they saw him staring at them they hurried off in the opposite direction. “Ya know, next year we’ll be seniors, an’ they’ll really have to worry.” Brad jumped, hearing the voice spoken in his ear, and spun around to face two of his best friends. Kent Greenwood had bent to speak in Brad’s ear, and now he straightened up again in mock anger.
“Thought you was leaving without us, did ya?” Kent asked.
“It ain’t my fault. I thought ya’ll ditched. Wouldn’t be the first time. What was I supposed to do? Hang out in that hellhole all day jus’ to find out ya’ll went home early?” Brad asked, grinning.
The other boy there, Arik Johnson replied. “It’s like you don’t know us at all, Man. Do you really think that we would skip school and miss out on all the wonderful educational opportunities?”
Brad snorted. “Ri-ight. The only reason ya’ll even came today was to see the cheer squad give their end-of-the-year performance.”
“Alright,” Kent conceded. “We can’t argue with that. Anyways, Ms. Bitchacre held us late. Somethin’ about us not doin’ our homework last night—“ Mrs. Bisacre was their trigonometry teacher.
“It’s her own fault for makin’ homework due on the last day,” Arik cut in. “She has to expect some people not to do it.”
“And then somebody here tried to get us off the hook by asking her if she would really punish us for somethin’ we didn’t do, and somebody almost got us beat to death with her yard stick,” Kent continued, jerking his thumb at Arik every time he said, “Somebody.”
“Remind me again how this guy skipped a grade?” Brad teased.
“I guess he used to be smart. Wouldn’t know it lookin’ at him now though,” Kent laughed, and playfully shoved Arik to show he didn’t mean anything by his words. Both he and Brad knew that Arik was a lot smarter than he let on.
The three boys started walking down the road, which was curving slowly to the left, but before they had gone ten yards Kent happened to look over his shoulder and suddenly went rigid, like a dog on bird point. Curious, Brad followed his gaze to se Rebecca Mathews and Keren Kelga walking coming out of the school, still wearing the cheerleader uniforms. Arik, who stood neck and shoulders shorter than Brad, had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the tall shrubs is his way. He let out a low whistle when he saw them.
Brad, Kent, and Arik slowed their pace so Rebecca and Keren would have no choice but to catch up. When they did, Kent walked over and casually draped his arm over Keren shoulders; she was the only girl in the junior class close to his height. “So Keren, I had this idea, right—“
Rebecca cut him off. “You had an idea? Better tell us quick ‘fore it dies of loneliness.”
Kent ignored her and went on, unflustered. “Ya see, Christian’s havin’ this party tomorrow an’ I thought—“
Keren didn’t give him a chance to finish. Removing his arm from her shoulders, she turned and said, “Come on Becca. Let’s get out before they have any other ideas.” She tossed her long black hair and quickly crossed the road with Becca. The three boys followed them on the four minute walk to their houses on Clarks Mill Road, only admitting defeat when they saw Mr. Mathews sitting on his front porch swing drinking a Bud. Kent knew from personal experience the drunk would have a shotgun nearby, and they quickly hurried away.
Thanks to the detour, they had to face a ten minute walk in the hot Ohio summer sun to Christian’s house. The whole way there Kent swore he was going to start taking the need to save up for a car more seriously. Brad wished his Volvo could have gotten out of the shop a day sooner.
Brad’s original purpose of dropping off his bag at his house was a lost cause now, and it hung on his back, heavy with unused supplies and papers he would probably throw away the first chance he got. When they passed Southern Local again his back was definitely starting to get sore, and by the time they made down Christian’s long driveway and in the shade of the grand cedar trees spaced randomly throughout Christian’s yard Brad’s shoulders were throbbing tenderly.
They arrived at the front door just in time to see Christian disappearing into the garage. After a short moment and a loud crash he popped back out, grinning. “Hey guys. What’s up?”
“Where were you?” Arik asked. “You should’a been here ages ago.”
Christian’s grin grew wider. “I had to walk Kathlina home.”
“What about Michaela?” Kent wondered.
Christian shrugged. “She skipped today, an’ she lives way over Maple Street.”
“An’ what are you goan do if she finds out?” Kent pressed.
“Eh, she was getting’ old anyways. ‘Sides, when I was at that stupid business party thing with my dad I met this total babe. She’s comin’ to the party.”
“An’ Kathlina’s not? Plus, Michaela’s goan be there, too, ya know,” Brad pointed out.
“No, Kathlina’s comin’. An’ of course; if Michaela don’t come then Ash and Britney won’t either.” Christian just didn’t seem to be able to see the problem in having his current girlfriend, a girl he sometimes cheated on her with, and a new girl that he was interested in all in the same room at the same time. Brad shook his head, but couldn’t help admiring the fact that Christian could pull this off flawlessly. He felt bad for Michaela though, and a large amount of other girls. There would be a lot less heartbreak at Southern Local if Christian’s mom hadn’t preferred life in a small town over an outrageously expensive condo in the middle of a big city somewhere.
Christian ushered them into the house then, breaking Brad out of his thoughts. The whole house—all five bedroom, three bathroom, three stories and a basement of it—was lavishly decorated in Thai style furniture and rugs. Once inside, Brad sat on the long leather couch while Christian perched himself on a large ottoman and Arik chose his favorite overstuffed armchair. Kent disappeared into a kitchen twice the size of Brad’s bedroom.
“So this party…?” Arik prompted.
“Well, we got an ass load of people comin’, I got a radio an’ some cool speakers, Saturday we’re gonna move all this furniture out of the way. My dad has some six packs an’ a bottle of Jack Daniel’s locked up, but I found the key like, a week after we moved in. All we really need is food, I guess. There’s still a few hundred left in emergency money; think that’ll be enough?” Christian replied.
They laughed, though Arik—who was always broke—looked faintly jealous.
“Alright, so I’ll go get the money, you guys go wait outside,” Christian continued. “That includes you, Kent,” he added in a louder voice.
While Christian went to grab the money, Brad and Arik walked back outside. Kent joined them a second later, his mouth and one of his long hands full of Doritos. Even after growing up with him, Brad couldn’t get used to how much Kent ate, or understand his ability to eat his own weight in food and still have a flat stomach afterwards. When Christian came out, Brad was leaning on the hood of his black Chevy pick-up and Kent and Arik were both lounging in the bed.
It took longer than they expected to buy the food—it was payday, so the lines were all long—so when they got back to Christian’s house and Brad happened to look at the clock as he was getting gout of the car he immediately jumped up.
“Oh damn! I was s’possed to be home ten minutes ago. I gotta go! John’s goan kill me if he gets home ‘fore I do!”
“Oh calm down. Ya know your mom never really enforces your curfew. You could go home tomorrow an’ get away with it,” Kent complained.
“Yeah but John said if I’m late one more time I’m grounded. ‘Sides it’s like a ten minute walk.” Kent started to interrupt and Brad cut him off. “Look, I don’t have time right now. I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow, alright? Oh here,” he added, pulling off his bag. “I can’t run with this. Can you keep it ‘til tomorrow, Chris?”
“Whatever, dude. Jus’ throw it in the corner.”
“Thanks. Later ya’ll!” Brad flung his heavy backpack into the garage wall and took off running. Without the extra weight he could really run, and Brad made it to his house in just nine minutes. Sweat pouring down his face, he burst into the house, breathing a sigh of relief that his mother and John weren’t home yet. I gotta remember to thank Kent for talking me into joining track, Brad thought.
He kicked off his shoes on the mudroom and hurried into the kitchen. When he walked in, though, he almost turned around and walked right back out; his mom was a very unpredictable cook, she liked to experiment in the kitchen. Sometimes the food came out decent, but more often than not it would prove inedible. Today’s food was leaning towards the latter—in honor of Kamren’s new attempted vegetarianism, Brad’s mom had recently invented her own recipe for meatless meatloaf, or as she liked to called it: wheatloaf.
He hurried to the living room, planning to open the windows and aerate the house, and as he was walking he realized he had forgotten about his eight year old half-sister Kamren just as he walked into the room and saw her, sitting on their fall ottoman and playing on the computer. Shit! How could I forget about her, Brad thought, a second before Kamren spun around at the sound of his footsteps, and when she realized what was going on she beamed.
“Ooh! You came home late! I’m telling Mom and Dad!” She said, jumping up from the chair just as the sound of an engine being cut off in front of the house could be heard. Before Brad could move, Kamren had dashed past him, racing for the front door and gleefully chanting, “Brad came home late!”
Brad hesitated in the living room until he heard the sound of the screen door slamming. Better just get this over with, he thought, and trudged back into the mudroom.
John Smith’s coat hung on the antique rack and he was just straightening back up with Kamren in his arms when Brad came in. The soft look in his eyes reserved for Kamren and his wife were tempered by the icy glint that always seemed to be in it when he saw Brad. “Call it a hunch,” John started. “But I get the feeling you came home late?”
“Yeah I went to the store to buy food with the guys. The lines were huge,” Brad explained.
“An’ why was that?”
“I guess ‘cause it’s payday. The line is always long on—“
John cut him off. “I meant why were you in the store, Wiseass.” There was no more softness in his eyes. He seemed to have forgotten he was holding an eight year old.
“Oh. Well Christian’s havin’ a party tomorrow an’ he needed food.”
“An’ I’m sure you’ve already asked your mother for permission, because I certainly haven’t been informed.”
“I was goan ask when you guys got home. He only jus’ told us today he was havin’ a party,” Brad objected. This is useless. He’s never gonna let me go.
Throughout the last half of the conversation Brad’s mom Patricia Smith had been leaning against the door listening, unknown to Brad and John, and now she spoke up. “Aw let him go, Hon. Kamren’s going out anyways, there’s no point in making Brad stay home.”
“That’s different,” John objected, his voice rising angrily. “Kamren will be at a house with adult supervision and three eight year old girls. Brad would be at house with no adults at all and over thirty teenagers.”
“Are you saying I haven’t taught Brad enough that he won’t know right from wrong at this party? Or did you assume I raised my only son to be a wild animal?” Her voice was quiet and very falsely sweet.
“I’m sure you’ve taught him well, but you weren’t the only one teaching him things when he was a boy.” John's voice was loud and angry, and Kamren, still in his arms, looked scared.
“John!” Brad interrupted. “You do realize you’re holding an eight year girl while screaming at her mom about her big brother, right?”
John looked down, a hint of guilt in his eyes when he saw that Kamren was close to tears. “It’s okay, Sweetie. Mom and I aren’t fighting; we’re just having a discussion. Why don’t you go watch TV in your room, okay?” He set her down and she hurried to the stairs, looking back over her shoulder apprehensively once. John turned back to Brad.
“Fine you can go,” he conceded grudgingly. “But I expect you to use your head while you’re there. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yeah,” Brad sighed, glad that the worst was over. “I’m’a go call Christian an’ tell him.” He knew very well that John wasn’t happy, but he was determined not to let his step-dad’s transparent dislike of him get under his skin. Instead he just followed Kamren up the stairs and hurried into his room, grabbing the remote and wireless phone before plopping on his bed.
Christian answered on the fourth ring. “Hey Brad, ‘sup?”
“I jus’ asked. I can go”
“Okay, cool.”
“Did Kent and Arik call back yet?” Brad asked.
“They’re still here. But they called home — they can go.”
“’Kay. I’ll be there at like one. That way we can try out your new PS3 for a while ‘fore we have to start settin’ up.”
“Sounds good. Later.”
“Oh wait, no one invited Zach or Richie, right?”
“Those losers from Trig?” Christian’s voice was incredulous. “No way!”
“Good. Later.”
The line clicked off. Brad tossed the phone onto his nightstand and turned on the TV, switching from Disney Channel—Kamren had been in his room again—to HBO, where a horror movie was just starting. He pulled off his shirt and settled more comfortably to watch the movie, wishing they had an air conditioner or that at least a breeze would come in through the window.
It was just to the part where the screaming blonde girl hiding in the closet gets found by the messed up masked killer holding a grudge against her for some reason when Kamren burst into his room, announcing that dinner was ready. By the time Brad had stood up and made it to the hallway she was just starting down the stairs.
She must have heard him though, because she turned to look back at him, grimaced and mimed throwing up before whirling and running back down the stairs. Her dark brown hair, braided with a red ribbon, flew out behind her. Brad suddenly lost his appetite as he realized what must be for dinner, and sure enough, a concentrated scent of “wheatloaf” permeated the downstairs hallway and hung heavy in the kitchen.
Brad took his seat, muttering “Yum” as his mom dropped a chunk the stuff on his plate. She either hadn’t heard him or was determined to ignore their negativity; she just set the pot back on the table and sat down.
Trying to breath in as little of the scent as possible, Brad popped in a tiny chunk and managed to gag it down with a swig of Dr. Pepper. Kamren started talking about the end-of-year party they had had at school, and something about a shaving cream fight and four pieces of chocolate-on-chocolate cake. Brad noticed that between her sentences she was eating the corn; her portion of wheatloaf was untouched.
He managed to get down half of the wheatloaf before he gave up; spooning down his corn and chugging the remaining Dr. Pepper, he hurriedly got up and dumped the leftovers in the garbage disposal before his mom could tell him to save it. As he turned to walk back to the stairs, he looked over at Kamren. All her corn was gone and she was struggling with the wheatloaf—she had given up trying to eat it plain and was drowning it in ketchup, grimacing. Brad laughed at her silently from behind John’s back before continuing upstairs.
Still clammy from his afternoon exercise, he decided to take a quick shower, turned into the bathroom and locked the door. The penguin themed room greeted him—they didn’t have curtains, but the sliding glass wall had stick-on penguins on the corners; a ceramic penguin holding a limp fish with two toothbrushes coming out of the holes in its head perched on the counter; penguin wallpaper; his mom had even managed to find a penguin rug somewhere.
After stripping off his jeans he checked the pockets out of habit—he had never forgiven himself for washing that twenty dollar bill—and felt paper. He pulled out a crumpled dollar and the folded paper from his locker. I don’t remember ever using yellow paper. Must be from a while back. He started to throw it away, but then curiosity got the best of him and carefully opened it, trying not to rip it. Most of the ink had faded away with time and the crinkled paper made it hard to read, but he could still make out the elegant script:
My Dearest Eddie,
I do not know if you know this about me, or if you feel the same, but I feel I must tell you anyways, must tell you, or explode from the burden of keeping it hidden. I think you are the most amazing person I know. You’ve captivated me almost from the moment we met, and since then I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I’m sure if only you got to know me we could be so perfect together. I love you Eddie, as I have never loved another person before. If you would only be willing to spend time with me, I’m sure you could come to love me, too. I beg you Eddie; meet me behind the gym this Friday, even if you cannot feel the same, at least come to tell me so. I think we could at least be friends.
Always Yours,
Molly Graham
Someone has an admirer, Brad thought. Wonder who Eddie and Molly are. I’ve never heard of them. Must be old already, just look at the way she talked. I wonder if it worked out between them. Refolding the note, he placed it with the dollar beneath the mirrored medicine cabinet (framed with more dancing stick-on penguins, of course) and jumped into the shower.
He turned on only the cold water, something he would have done even if he hadn’t felt sweaty, because he really didn’t see the enjoyment other people seemed to find in hot showers, and let the cold water rinse away all the perspiration.
Just as he was about to shut off the water, though, he saw something just outside the glass shower wall. It looked like someone was standing in the bathroom, the glass made it hard to see clearly and the water running off his brows blurred his vision, but it definitely looked like something was there. Just a dark distortion, really. Brad might not have noticed it at all if it hadn’t appeared to be moving. He opened the door a crack and peered out, but his reflection in the medicine cabinet was the only life he could see. Shrugging, he closed the door and returned to his shower.
The shadow, or whatever it was, came back after only a minute. Again Brad slid open the door, and again he looked out into an empty bathroom. He shut off the water feeling a little frustrated, wondering if maybe it was one of Kamren’s dumb tricks. He dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and collected his clothes off of the floor. It wasn’t until he grabbed the dollar bill from under the mirror that he realized the mysterious love note was missing.
