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Sixty-Six
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House of Sighs Sixty-Five
SIXTY-FIVEA tin-can whistle near his ear. Around him, a landmine of dirt blew into the sky. Peter breathed it in and coughed hard. He continued running.To the right.To the left.Straight.Trees.Another sound. It wasn’t him, but in him. Wetness in his ear, sloshing around. Peter touched the place where his ear should have been. Blood ran down his neck, the fibers of his shirt soaking it up.Sarah screamed at the boy. “Run and never stop!”She squinted; saw the blood running down his head in spurting jets. “Oh my God, he’s been shot.” Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh, sweet Jesus.”“Do we run? Do we go for it?” Julia asked her sister. “Do we go now?”Michael toppled back into his seat. “Shut up! Shut up!”In the aisle, Jack stepped over the body, his heel covered in brain matter. He watched the stupid kid running in circles dodging bullets. It was like a cartoon. Jack laughed, veins sticking out of his forehead. He’d planned on using the kid as a distraction for his own esc
House of Sighs Sixty-Four
SIXTY-FOURI’m bleeding! Oh God. Oh God. Mum! It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m running. Just keep running. It’s all I need to do. Every step is bringing me closer to—Impact. It was as though an asteroid fell from the sky and landed in his chest. Peter tumbled through the air. Time slowed to a crawl. His spinal cord severed by the time he hit the ground. He rolled onto his back and could feel nothing from the neck down. Unattainable breaths. Blood drained out of him. It was like being burned alive—a small glimpse of life in Hell. Wetness around him. A baptism. Peter began to drown.It’s not meant to be like this. It shouldn’t hurt.His eyes rolled up into his head; the white grew larger. He caught a glimpse of the upturned Christmas cutouts.Blood-streaked angels.The last thing Peter did was smile.
House of Sighs Sixty-Three
SIXTY-THREEWes knew a little something about fear. Or at least he thought he knew.Before age forced him off the field, he’d played half-back for a local football team. And he was good, too, real front-page-of-the-Bugle material. Everyone came to watch those games, and he was proud the members of his family were among their number.One winter, six-year-old Jed taught his father a lesson. Wes hadn’t been playing that day, a recurring knee injury having pulled him off the field. He cheered in the stands with the others. If there was something else Wes was learning about, albeit slowly, it was the fine art of being patient. More than anything, he wanted to be out there playing with his mates, to smell the churned grass and sweat.Reggie held his shoulder, her idea of comfort. He knew she pitied him and he loved her for it. Loved her too for her loyalty to the team. Football sparked something in her. When she got angry or excited as someone scored, or a referee made a imbecilic call,
House of Sighs Sixty-Two
SIXTY-TWOHollow wind.Reggie collapsed onto Liz, pulling at her. “Get up,” she yelled. “Into the house now!” Her fingers around Liz’s sweaty arms. Jed watched them fall over each other and thought of that old show his dad used to make them watch when they were kids, The Three Stooges. In his mind, he heard kazoos and a crackling laugh track. He could still remember laying on his stomach in front of the television watching monochrome images play out through a scrim of dust. Liz next to him on the shag, cross-legged, chin cupped in her hands. This tableau felt like another life from another world, idealized statuettes in a dry snow globe. Now, as Jed watched his mother and sister struggle out the front of their house, his face impassive and cold, he wondered if this memory was even real. Their snow globe was most certainly cracked.Wes picked up the gun and something snapped in him.Something in the dark.The weapon was his.Wes was never one to theorize about fate. He didn’t beli
House of Sighs Sixty-One
SIXTY-ONESaid animals were on the floor, huddled behind seats like chickens complacent within the confines of their cages. The bus stunk. They breathed into the crooks of their arms. The air twirled with upholstery dust and sheet metal rust from the bullets.Sarah moved.Staying put and dummying up struck her as the smarter option, but the situation had to be assessed. Every second counted. If they waited too long the cleaver would fall and off would come their heads.“Get down,” came a voice. She couldn’t tell from whom. A man. Jack. He ran forward and closed the bus doors. She knew he was scared, his confidence impotent in the face of this chaos. No more heroes or escapees here. And he seemed to sense this as he joined her, clicking his tongue. Together, they searched the driver’s hub for her keys.“Are they there?” she asked.Jack’s face was white. The driver must have put them into her pocket before stepping outside. Sarah watched him scramble with the radio, bang it in frus
House of Sighs Sixty
SIXTYSarah cried out—the glare from the son like a punch to her throat—and fell back into one of the seats. Nearby, Michael and Julia flinched. “Stay down,” Sarah told them.“What is—” Julia began. Stopped.Footsteps outside. Slow and deliberate.Wind blew across the bullet holes, whistling breath over the mouths of Coke bottles.Michael imagined running out the door and into the trees beyond the shed; and before he knew what he was doing, turned toward the front of the bus. Jack pounced out of nowhere and threw him to the ground.“Stay the fuck down,” Jack said, a fist raised.Michael blinked, confused, and felt a shadow crawl over his face. They both turned their panic-stricken faces to the window on their left.Julia screamed.The son peered in at them, a dark silhouette with burning, murderous eyes. The bus rocked. He must be standing on the wheel, Jack thought, rolling off the faggot beneath him until he could see the man outside. Jack had never seen eyes so crazy.Dian
House of Sighs Fifty-Nine
FIFTY-NINEI’ve seen you. I’ve seen all your faces, you fucks. I’ve seen your sharp teeth. You’ve all got ants for eyes.Half of his world was red. Jed wiped blood from his brow.Look what you did to me. You cut me.His scarlet fingers were the hands of someone who had shot and murdered. Past the fingers, he saw his sister. He’d never seen somebody so scared. All Jed wanted to do was get wet, to take a drag and dull the reality of the situation, but he knew this shouldn’t be diluted. No. A busload of strangers had turned Liz into a wreck, and he’d never felt more alert. He scanned the lawn to the dead teenager sprawled near last year’s Christmas cut-outs.Who are you? Why would you run if you’d done nothing wrong? I did the right thing. You ran because you were guilty, because you were a ringleader in Liz’s torture. And I’ve got no doubt the others had sat back and laughed as you did your thing. Now look where it got you? Dead. You first, and them next. I’m going to rip out their
House of Sighs Fifty-Eight
FIFTY-EIGHT“Help me! Get over here now!” Jack screamed to the others.Michael couldn’t move. It was as though all the weight he had lost had been piled back on his bones and it was pinning him to the floor. He couldn’t even muster words. All of it, gone.Jack had a hold on the door. The accordion opened inwards and he propped his knee against the vertical hinge. Every muscle in his body rioted against him—as did the young man on the other side of the glass. Jack held firm; he had to. Their lives depended on it, on his strength, on muscles he’d worked hard to sculpt. Pride would keep them safe. Sure, there was a significant part of him that was afraid of the madman getting into the bus, but his adrenalin numbed that emotion’s jagged edge. Jack’s real fire was for the kid on his side of the door. Despite all the chaos and confusion, there was something about that dark haired, pale skinned fella that bristled his nerves. The air of pussy on him—and not the good kind of pussy, mind you
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