Cote Smith - Hurt People

A shadow streaked in front of the car. A flash of black. Before I could doubt what I’d seen, another flew by. Two shadows, flying through the headlights and back into the night. I grabbed the police radio, like my brother told me, and waited for the next thing to happen. Whatever it would be. But the shadows didn’t return. They stayed in their shadow world, and the only sound I heard was the dispatch lady reporting another possible break-in, this one off Tenth and Limit, not far from where we lived. Where our mom was if she wasn’t with Rick. Still, the thought of another criminal gave me comfort. For some reason, I found it hard to imagine two criminals at the same time. If the danger was on Limit Street, I thought, then we should be safe.

I heard a gunshot.

That sick pop. I closed my eyes. I imagined the sound of the shot bouncing off every empty room in the battery factory. I imagined the bullet finding its target, and could only hope that whatever shadow it sank into, it was the right shadow. It was the bad ghost, not the good. I put my hands together and prayed. Or I wished. I opened my eyes and realized I never understood the difference.

When neither shadow returned, standing tall and triumphant, or sinking low and clutching its gut, I decided to get out of the car. I couldn’t breathe, so I wormed my way out like my brother.

The air didn’t smell of smoke, like it did at the range. It smelled of mildew, of the river nearby. At I first I stayed next to the car. I walked around but made a deal that at all times I must keep a finger on the cruiser. I pretended it was a space shuttle and this was my first trip outside the ship. My first space walk after months of space crawl. But when I made it to the front, the lights were too bright, and without thinking I backed away. I floated out and someone cut my tether. I felt exposed, to the dangers and coldness of space. The universe was infinite and any part of it could get me.

I heard footsteps. I heard something being dragged on the ground. My mind made an axe, a sword, a maniac or monster lugging its deformed foot around. I saw a shadow drawing near, the bottom half of its outline like nothing I’d seen. Multiple legs, inkblot limbs limping toward me. I turned and ran, like I always swore I wouldn’t if I was in this situation. I ran around the side of the factory and found a door propped open by a brick. I ducked inside, where it wasn’t as dark as I’d thought. A big moon speckled its way through the dirty windows, shining a light on the grimy floor. There were no rooms in the factory. All the walls had been torn down, leaving one enormous open space, where huge pieces of abandoned machinery waited for someone to spark them to life. A mad scientist. A deranged professor. If my brother made it this far, his imagination would have unfolded like a flower, blooming with possibilities. It was the type of place I imagined Chris would take him, if they kept taking their trips. It was the type of place where the Stranger would hide, make a home, until the cops gave up on the search. It was the type of place my brother would use for every story he ever told when playing with our Joes. The battery factory, with all its machines and secrets, was the perfect hideout for every bad guy my brother ever knew.

I accidentally kicked an empty bottle, sending a ting into the farthest corners of the building. I froze, remembering where I was, the shadows I was supposed to be running from. The bottle found a wall or a machine and knocked up against it, spinning loudly like a flicked quarter waiting to settle.

The side door lurched open behind me. I turned around and saw a shadow standing in the doorway. Normal-shaped, not the monster I’d seen before. But I couldn’t make it match the bodies of anyone I knew. Not with my mind in its terrified state. I made the shadow the worst. I made it Chris with my brother in the woods. I made it Rick after discovering what we’d done to his course. I made it into the Stranger. I put myself in the tape.

“It’s over,” the shadow said.

I tried to run, but couldn’t. I thought of my brother’s phone call to the golf course: Please … Send help … We’re dying .

The shadow floated toward me, drawing nearer and nearer. “C’mon,” it said. “It’s done. I’ve got your brother.”

“No,” I said. “Please, no. Leave my family alone.”

“It’s OK,” the shadow said. “It’s going to be OK.”

It reached out toward me.

“Don’t,” I said. “We didn’t do anything bad. You did. You hurt that woman. Not us.”

The shadow didn’t respond. Its hand came at me, like my mother’s in the rain. So I let it have me, and told myself to think of my mother. Whatever happens, wherever it takes you.

“Ow,” I said. The shadow’s hand hooked itself under my arm and raised me to the shadow’s face. The shadow’s mustache.

“What the hell are you doing?” my dad said. “What did I tell you?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He started dragging me to the door, to the car. My dad threw me in the back, next to my brother, and when he released me I felt the immediate burn where his hand had hooked me hard.

“Buckle your goddamn seat belts,” our dad said, and when my brother didn’t move fast enough, our dad threw his hand to my brother’s throat. He clasped his hook around my brother’s neck and squeezed, until my brother’s mouth opened involuntarily, begging for air. “Do not test me, son.”

“Dad,” I said, but he told me to shut up. Stay out of it. He held on to my brother for another long second, watching him struggle, clasp at my dad’s wrist, before releasing him with the same violence he’d used to throw me in the car.

“Now,” our dad said. “Seat belts.”

* * *

Our dad would have to write a report. Not about the trespassing. There hadn’t been one, or if there was, they were long gone by the time we arrived. There was no Stranger. No Chris. No shadowy monsters stalking me in the night. There was only my dad, my brother. There was only me. But every time an officer’s weapon was discharged, my dad explained, a report had to be filed, detailing when and where and, of course, why. That last part was the one my dad said he would catch hell for. How could he explain what had just happened at the battery factory?

I cobbled together a hazy picture from the different things my dad shouted on the drive home: What the hell were you thinking? After what I told you! After you promised to stay put!

But my brother had not stayed put. That much I already knew. What I didn’t know was that after my brother snuck out the window, he followed my dad. He pretended he was my dad’s backup, his secret partner. He crept around, his finger the shape of a gun, slicing this pie, slicing that. How long was it before my dad noticed he was being followed? How long before he turned on my brother and beamed his flashlight in my brother’s face? My brother would have put his hands up, instinctively, and pleaded his case. I just wanted to see, he would say. I just wanted to help. And maybe part of my dad forgave him. Maybe my dad lowered his flashlight and said, Well, that’s OK. But this is no place for boys. Only trained professionals. Go back to your brother. I’ve got it covered.

What about your gun? my brother would say.

What about it?

Aren’t you going to use it?

My dad would frown. We’ve been over this, he would say. Go to the car. Wait for me there.

I wasn’t sure how my brother did what he did next. How he got the jump on our dad. I imagined after he was told to head back to the cruiser, he pretended to do so. He took a few steps, yes, but only enough to fool our dad. Now, as he followed him, my brother was more careful. He matched his pace to my dad’s, so the crunch of their shoes canceled each other out. When my dad found the entrance to the battery factory, my brother waited a full minute before following. He had to be patient. He had to wait for the perfect opportunity, when my dad’s mind was elsewhere, to sneak up on him. To, with one motion, pop the button snap on my dad’s holster and swipe his gun.