Chapter 4
I let Mama yammer on the whole drive home.
She yaps in her lazy drawl, going on and on about town gossip, her new boyfriend Earl, and the Halloween fair.
She talks about people as if she expects me to know who they are.
I let her ramble over the rattling engine of her pickup truck while I try to comb my damaged brain for any inkling of my life.
“Your old friends will be surprised to see ya, Rox. You haven’t been back home since you got in all that trouble.” She lights up a long skinny cigarette and takes a puff before rolling down the window.
I try not to gag. “What kind of trouble?”
She snickers. “I guess it’s a good thing you don’t remember stabbing Hank. But his daddy sure does. Good thing he ain’t the sheriff no more.”
My stomach clenches. “Oh my god. Did I kill Hank?”
She coughs as she blows out a blast of smoke. “Nah. Some sick fucks broke into the trailer when I was pulling my overnight shift at the casino. Robbed us blind and cut off all his fingers. Listen, the police looked into you, though, just to make sure.”
What the fuck? Nausea creeps up my chest. I pinch my eyes shut. “And?”
“Your ID was scanned at some nightclub called Push back in Lavender Heights. You must’ve been throwing back shots right around the time my poor Hank was meeting his maker.
God bless his soul.” She stubs her cigarette out into the ashtray that’s wedged between the seats.
It’s one of those glass ones that probably has the name of the casino she works at etched underneath the mountain of ash and butts.
I let out a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She bursts out laughing. “Damn, you really did hit your head hard. Or maybe that uppity town you live in has done a real number on you. The Roxy Luna I raised don’t have a polite bone in her body.”
I’m a stranger to myself. She speaks about me as if I died. Like I’m not sitting directly next to her in these cracked vinyl seats, choking on every word she says. I feel like I’m suffocating. “Well, people change, I guess.”
She side-eyes me, then shakes her head. “That there they do.”
The Crimson Valley sign on the side of the road tells me that the population is an abysmal 227 people. A thick red line of spray paint is slashed through the Valley part with the word hell scribbled above it.
Fuck. Me.
I roll down the window and stick my head out, breathing in the warm autumn breeze. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
As we pull into town, I take stock of everything and realize it’s much worse. The streets are lined with trash, rusty lampposts, and rotting trees. Most of the storefronts are boarded up and abandoned. I can’t imagine growing up here.
We pass a pumpkin patch in front of a rickety white house that’s on the verge of collapsing.
A sign with an arrow pointed away from us reads “Haunted Corn Maze.” For some reason, I feel like this is my favorite time of year.
It stirs something familiar in the pit of my stomach.
Something that reminds me of old books, pumpkin spice, and bundling up under thick sweaters on a crisp October night.
These are the things I feel in my bones. Emotions I can’t find an explanation for. I wonder if the body inherently remembers these things when the mind forgets.
Like Punk.
I shudder when I recall his texts. But I don’t dare pull out my phone to look at them again. Not in front of Mama. Why have I been living with a man who says such horrible things? I’m confused as to why I get butterflies every time I think of him.
I can’t remember his face, but earlier, when I dozed off in the car, I think I dreamed of him.
He had a hood over his head and a glowing mask concealing his face.
His hand was around my throat, and my entire body came alive with need.
I begged him to touch me. But he just kept squeezing the air from my lungs.
I woke up coughing in a sea of Mama’s cigarette smoke.
There aren’t any photos of him on my phone. No other texts from him except the ones he sent me last night. I’m tempted to text him back but if Mama finds out, she’ll have him arrested. Maybe that would be a good thing but I don’t trust her either.
I don’t even trust myself.
My attention turns toward a house up on a hill in the distance. A No Trespassing sign hangs on the rusted iron gates that lead up to it. My entire body revolts, shuddering. “Have I been up there before?”
Mama scrunches her nose. “I hope not. That’s the damn murder house. Way you used to be though… wouldn’t surprise me. You were too curious for your own good.”
Shivers race up my back. Murder house? “Who the hell lives there?”
She snatches a half-smoked butt from the ashtray and relights it. “Nobody who has any damn sense. That place has sat empty for years.”
I pull my arms in, hugging myself. “What happened there?”
A light mist falls on the windshield. The wipers are so old that all they do is smear the dirt across the window, so we can barely see out.
“Bad things, Rox. The boys they found there had to be identified by their damn dental records because their fingertips were missing. It’s a shame they never found out who did it. ”
My breath hitches. I scan the streets, my heart racing, as if the killer is going to suddenly jump out and come for us. “That’s horrible.”
She snickers again. “You sure have changed. You used to love that type of shit.”
The more I talk with her, the less certain I am of anything. But if I am all those things she claims, it doesn’t seem as unbelievable to think I’d be living with a man who sends me cryptic texts. Maybe I was into that type of shit too.
When we pass an old trailer park, Mama makes the sign of the cross and kisses her fingers before pressing them to the driver’s side window. “Rest in peace, baby.”
I shudder again. It feels like there’s a dark cloud hanging over that place too. I want to get as far away from it as possible. “How much farther?”
She glares back at me. “Why? You got somewhere special to be?”
I shrink back into my seat. “No, ma’am. I just need to lie down. Sorry.”
Her face softens. She shakes her head. “It’s up ahead. Your room’s ready for you. When you’re done napping, I’ll fix ya something to eat.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I need to get my hands on my discharge paperwork. Whether my memories come back or not, I need to find a way to get out of this town and far away from this woman.
My bedroom looks like it’s straight out of a creepy dollhouse. I sit on the edge of the bed, on top of the musty pink comforter, and sob into my hands.
A ping from my phone snaps me out of it. My fingers tremble as I open my messages.
Hey, bitch. You make it back home okay? Sorry, this is Juniper.
I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful it’s not from Punk. I message her back, wanting to tell her everything but unsure of who to trust. She says she’s my best friend, but so far, the people who claim to be closest to me make me feel like running away.
Yeah, thanks for checking. I’m… settling in.
Juniper replies back with lightning speed. You, okay? I can come up there if you need me.
I have to remind myself that even though I can’t remember, I’m still her best friend. I snap a pic of the three porcelain dolls that are propped against my pillows and send it to her. Why when I have them to keep me company?
She sends me back three scared face emojis. Holy fuck, Roxy. Your mom is DELULU… You should sneak them into her room while she’s sleeping. See if she likes waking up next to fucking Annabelle.
I snort laugh out loud. It feels good. I’m literally living in Children of the Corn. I reply with a row of knife emojis.
She sends me three laughing faces before a knock at my bedroom door distracts me. Gotta go for now.
Talk to you soon, bestie.
I shove my phone into my pocket before answering the door. Mama stands on the other side holding a paper plate loaded with chips and a sandwich. “Thought you might be hungry. Sorry it ain’t any of that organic shit you’re used to.” There’s enough sarcasm in her tone to threaten whiplash.
I take the plate from her. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m kind of starting to miss your foul mouth. This etiquette shit is freaking me out.”
I lower my head, biting my lip to hold back a sob. I don’t know what the fuck she wants from me. I have fucking brain damage. “Sorry,” I whisper.
She sighs. “I’m just giving you shit. Relax. You been through a lot, Rox.”
Probably more than anyone’s even telling me.
“It’s okay. I know this must be hard on you too.” I don’t know how else to get this woman to back off.
She nods, her lips pursed. “Cherry came by earlier. I told her you were sleeping. But you should call her later. Might do you some good to get out of the house. If you’re feeling up to it, of course.”
“Cherry?” I’m getting sick of her dropping names like I’m supposed to know who she’s talking about.
She laughs. “Right. I keep forgetting. Oops, wrong choice of words. She was your best friend in high school. You two freaks were joined at the fucking hip.”
Nice. Real fucking nice. “Ah, ok. Yeah, I’ll send her a text.” I assume her number’s still in my phone.
Mama lingers in the doorway, eyeballing me like I have two heads for what seems like the longest three minutes of my life before she finally leaves. I shut the door and plop down onto the bed.
I almost gag on the first bite of my sandwich. “What the fuck?” I peel the bread apart to find a huge glop of mayonnaise soaked between two pieces of thick, fatty ham and a slice of cheddar that’s so hard I could knock someone out with it.
Fuck. Am I a vegan? According to Juniper, I haven’t spoken to my mama in years, so it wouldn’t be a stretch for her to not know that if I am. She probably wouldn’t care anyway.