"Just the place?" spat Nigel in disgust. "You call this the place? That collection of old tissues and half-chewed tic-tacs in your skull you laughably refer to as a 'brain' have really done it this time, Andrew!"
Dave pulled his trench coat tighter around him. It was cold and bleak and unfriendly. Trees stretched up into a drizzly mist and it was hard to tell if it was day or night. "Where are we? This isn't Lawndale?"
"No, no, no," said the burly singleted figure. "This is quite a way out of Lawndale actually. The sort of place you lose under the staples in a map. I love those places. Sort of like midnight - not quite one day or the other. The uncertainty of it!"
"Because we're drowning in uncontested facts to start with," Nigel grumbled. "What's the year?"
"Well, it's a standard unit of measurement for one full orbit of a planet around it's sun."
"Oh don't piss about, Andrew!" Dave fumed, teeth chattering. "What is the year we're currently in?"
"The year is 1422," explained Andrew with exaggerated patience.
"What? You mean before Columbus?" Nigel exclaimed.
"No, no, we're a long time after that."
"I thought Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492," said Dave with a frown.
"Oh!" Andrew realized, eyes wide with amazement. "I thought we were using the Islamic Calendar! Are we not?"
"No, you over-folicled 1970s disco reject," sneered Nigel, "we're not using the Islamic Calendar."
"Sorry. Then the year is 5771."
"By what calendar?"
Andrew smiled embarrassedly. "Hebrew?"
"How about the Christian one?" Dave fumed. "Guy with the beard nailed to the tree?"
"Right. Anno Domini." Andrew was about to answer, then stopped. "Gregorian or Julian?" Seeing their looks, he held up his hands in apparent surrender. "Alright, by that particular system we're in 2002. Give or take."
"2002," Nigel mused. "So we've missed the good stuff then?"
"That remains a matter of opinion," mused Andrew, crouching down to brush dew off some ferns.
"2002? Everyone interesting has graduated by now," Dave protested. "Daria and Jane are off in Boston by now. Assuming this is a destiny-line they graduated at all, or even knew each other. It's just one long slog until everyone comes back and has kids. What are we doing here?"
"You did ask for nowhere special," Andrew reasonably. "I had a passing fancy and instead of passing, I stopped."
"So what is the appeal?" Nigel demanded. "We're slightly left of the middle of nowhere, with no one of any interest of concern to occupy us..."
Andrew did his I'm-going-go-for-your-neck grin. "Half right." He held a hand to his ear. "Oh hark!"
Dave mirrored the pose. "Do you hear a voice like velvet through the night sky?" he wondered. "Do you hear the fickle hand of fate at my side? And all those that god has sinned with hope in his stride?"
"And watch out!" Andrew agreed, waving them off the path and into the bushes. "Watch for them camouflaged and crouched in the shadows - though they couldn't hold a candle up to you but they stand as tall as you, in broad daylight too!"
"Oh hark..." yawned Nigel, about as unimpressed as it was possible for it to be.
A very battered and beaten-looking blue Plymouth rumbled down the dirt road that snaked through the trees. The three observers, so unimportant as not to be there, turned their heads to watch the car drive past them and into the depths of the woods. They saw the driver, a spindly young man with a tan complexion, wild black hair and goatee, grimly gazing directly as he drove. In the passenger seat beside him was a young girl with long orange-red hair wearing a long-sleeve pink shirt with a yellow butterfly on the chest. Her expression was as subdued as the driver.
The car disappeared through the trees, exhaust fumes mingling with the wet mist.
"Well, they didn't look very pleased," Andrew observed, managing a kind of shrug using only his face.
"What the hell is Quinn doing driving off into the woods with Trent?" Dave demanded.
"I haven't the faintest idea," Andrew admitted.
"It'd be your family motto if you had a family," Nigel tutted. "I suppose we'll have to see what they're up to."
"And that means following them," said Dave with a lack of enthusiasm.
"At our own pace," Andrew pointed out. "And that is a very interesting pace indeed..."
The trio moved off into the mist, and in moments there was no irrefutable evidence that they'd ever been there.
Chapter 1
Neither Trent nor Quinn had spoken much during the journey from Lawndale. They had little to say to each other at the best of times, after all, and you could describe it as companionable silence - among two rather unhappy companions, but companionable nonetheless. The road branching off through the trees had decayed into a dirt track barely wide enough to allow the Plymouth through them. The radio was playing "Iris" by the Goo-Goo Dolls, but was starting to hiss with static as the signal began to distort and disperse.
Trent didn't look at his passenger. "You know," he said in his usual purr, "I can stop and turn around if you like."
"Just keep driving," Quinn said firmly. "I'm not going back without you."
Trent shrugged with his free arm as he steered them onward through the woods.
"I'm not hugely sure what lies at the end of the road," he mused. "Mmm. That'd be a good title for a song."
"It's a bit long. You'd need brackets around some of it."
"Mmm. Guess so."
They drove on in silence.
***
The Fashion Club had been dissolved last year and though all four members had vowed to remain friends they had drifted apart notably since then. Stacy was getting interested in racing cars for some reason, Tiffany was getting extra tuition so she stood a chance of graduating and Sandi was trying to keep a low profile after all the rumors circulating that she'd caught herpes off some boy during the summer vacation.
Quinn wouldn't have minded the extra time away from the other club-members except that she couldn't find anything to fill up that time with. As a senior, all the boys at school weren't willing to go on a date with her unless she put out, and her dating circle had shrunk down to near zero. Only the three Jays were willing to go out with her now, and it was clear even they weren't going to be fobbed off with (if they were lucky) a kiss on the cheek.
Her mother and father had rather bluntly hinted that this new spare time should be spent studying, all the better to get into Pepperhill University when she graduated at the end of the year. But that was easier said than done; cracking the books and learning all the stupid and over-complicated facts was one thing, but doing it in an empty house was something else. Helen Morgendorffer was building up to finally reminding the rest of the lawyers who was really keeping their firm afloat, while Jake Morgendorffer had decided to write a recipe book for some publishers gullible enough to think it was a good idea. Quinn was now on her own for most of the day, and more than that - lonely.
It seemed bizarre that she was missing Daria so much, but she was. She'd never before not had her unimpressed older sister as an unwilling audience to her popularity and fashion stylings. Now she was performing to no one, justifying herself to no one. Daria was long gone, happily ensconced at college and on the knife's edge of never wanting to return. She had promised their parents to ring every day, then every week, then once a month. Her roommate was the one who answered the phone and while Daria did respond to their calls, it was clear to Quinn at least she wasn't missing her family.
Maybe Quinn would find that same happiness at Pepperhill. And pigs might fly.
After weeks of stopping by the door to Daria's bedroom, of finding the TV stubbornly not switched on and tuned to "Sick, Sad World", of having empty silences following her proclamations, Quinn had reached what felt like her wit's end. Maybe if someone cared enough to mock or insult her or challenge her, she'd actually felt like she still mattered. She'd expected her parents would smother with affection once Daria was gone, but no - apparently they were so desperate not to do that, they'd retreated to the point they might as well be random commuters on public transport.
Quinn wasn't equipped to deal with loneliness.
Which was why she ended up that day standing outside a house not her own. The Lane household, a place that Daria had probably spent as much time at as her own home - and often made clear she felt more welcome there than anywhere else her family had lived. Quinn had been to Casa Lane before, and remembered it felt oddly safe there. She imagined Daria lurking around, lying on Jane's bed while she painted, talking and listening and making smart ass jokes. She imagined Daria there, happy.
So Quinn walked into the house. The front door was not locked and there didn't seem to be anyone around. Only Jane, Trent and sometimes their mother actually lived at the house, the rest of the family scattered to however-many-corners of the Earth there were (did a sphere have corners?). The lack of washing up and the filthy coffee maker showed it had been occupied at least fairly recently. "Uh, hello?" Quinn called.
No answer was the stern reply. That was something she'd heard Daria say a couple of times, and presumably it either made sense to her or was funny precisely because it didn't make sense (how could a stern reply have no answer, huh?). But it certainly summed up how Quinn felt. She wasn't even unwelcome in this house, denied even that importance.
As Quinn climbed the creaking steps to the second floor, she heard someone singing. It wasn't a CD or record player, it was a real person singing. It was the soft, raspy voice of Jane's brother and he sounded sad. Without the rest of his band, he sounded pretty good. It wasn't a rehearsal either, that only ever happened in the basement.
"But it's too late say you're sorry.
How would I know? Why should I care?
Please don't bother trying to find her
She's not there..."
It was coming from Jane's room. Quinn poked her head around the door and saw it was a lot tidier than she remembered it. No clothes covered the floor, the painting supplies and newspapers were missing, there was no easel. Trent was lying on the bed, hugging his bass guitar to his chest like a teddy bear, eyes closed and looking miserable.
"Well let me tell about the way she looked,
The way the acted, the colour of her fair,
Her voice was soft and cool,
Her eyes were clear and bright
But she's not there!"
His head slumped forward, as if he didn't have the strength to keep it upright anymore.
"Um, hey," said Quinn, when she couldn't bear the silence any longer.
Trent opened his eyes slowly, glanced across at her, then closed them again. "Hey," he said.
"I hope I'm not interrupting."
"Nah. It's cool. I got nothing else happening."
"Oh." Quinn realized that Jane would have gone off to college herself in the last month or so. She'd left it too late for this wander down memory lane. "I was just passing, I thought I'd come in and..."
"Yeah," said Trent quietly. "I get it."
"How're you coping?"
"Pretty bad," came the casual advice. "The band's kind of split up. Max wants a vasectomy coz he thinks that will mean no groupies can get him for child support, but he went to a really dodgy friend of Axl's to get it done and it scared Nick so much he's run off to become a monk. Jesse's busy looking for replacements, but last I heard he joined another band who think he'd really help them break into the big time."
"And he just dumped you?" Quinn exclaimed, offended.
"A gig's a gig," Trent shrugged. "So it's just me left. Mom's off at a commune trying to make fractal pottery and Janey's gone too. Not even Summer's kids come by any more." He glanced up at Quinn again. "Kinda surprised you showed up."
"You don't look surprised."
"I guess I'm too happy for company to look surprised," he said in the same dull voice.
"Oh," said Quinn. "Well, I guess you could always ask mom and dad to come round for dinner. They kinda like you."
"Nah," Trent sighed. "It'd be weird. I'd say the wrong thing, without Daria and Janey to help me out. Your mom would think I'm a useless bum and your dad would get all envious that I'm a musician and he isn't. And then I'd just have to come back here anyway and then it'd be worse than before."
"I know how you feel," Quinn sighed, sitting on the bed. "I miss Daria."
"I miss her too, but I think I miss Janey more."
"At least we know they're all right," said Quinn, trying to be positive.
"Yeah. I bet they're having lots of fun," Trent agreed.
A pause.
"Without us."
Another pause.
"Yeah," Quinn sighed. "Makes you wonder if we were the ones making them miserable."
"I don't wonder," Trent mused. "I know."
Quinn considered trying to argue the point, but sighed again, defeated. "And they were the ones who made us happy," she reflected, gazing at an emptied-out closet. "They always say you don't know what you've got till it's gone."
"I knew what I had before it was gone," Trent rasped. "I knew for years. It didn't help me at all now she's gone."
"I'm sure she'll come back," Quinn lied.
"Yeah," Trent nodded. "She won't. Not if she has a choice."
"Well, when Daria comes back I'm sure Jane will come with her!"
"Yeah. Maybe. Are you sure Daria will come back? Or will you go to her in Boston?"
"I, er..." Quinn could imagine Daria dropping by for a day or so, maybe at Thanksgiving or Christmas, but no more. She'd be gone before the dust could settle. "I hope so."
"Uh-huh."
Quinn flopped back onto the bed, air venting out of her lungs. "I'm sure they'd come back if we needed them too," she said, gazing up at the cracked paint on the ceiling.
"But we don't need them," she heard Trent reply. "We don't have a good enough reason to ask them back."
"No," Quinn agreed sadly. "You know, I think i was actually happier before I came here."
"Sorry."
"Not your fault."
"Makes a change," said Trent, laughing then coughing painfully. "Are you gonna go home?"
"Eventually," Quinn replied. "It's pretty lonely there when it's just me."
"Yeah."
After a while, Trent started to strum his guitar.
"I gave you the warning, but you never heeded it.
How can you say you miss my loving, when you never needed it?
You didn't re-a-lize, you didn't re-a-lize,
You didn't re=a=lize, you didn't re-a-lize,
Oh, you're gonna miss me, baby! You're gonna miss me, baby!"
***
And at some point that was all there was to it. Whenever Quinn had some free time, and there was plenty of it, she'd go to la Casa Lane and keep Trent company. Sometimes he was fast asleep, mostly he sat in Jane's room playing sad songs. Quinn listened, occasionally chiming in with her own comments. After a few weeks she started insisting he start looking after himself better; he wasn't eating properly and looked painfully thin. He stank to high heaven and his skin was so dirty his Maori tattoo was barely visible. His goatee had turned to a scruffy beard, and his breath could cut through bank vaults.
It didn't take too much cajoling to get Trent to attend to himself, Quinn realized. He had nothing else to distract him now Mystik Spiral had spiraled out. Quinn found a brand new notebook by the landline phone, the one that looked like a duck, and saw nothing had been written on it. There had been no phone calls, from anyone. She checked the phone and listened to the dialtone. The phone hadn't been disconnected.
Quinn called Daria to ask about her and Jane. Daria's roommate said Daria was fine and promised to pass the message on, but after three days there was no reply. Whatever Daria knew about Jane, she was not divulging to annoying little sisters. Quinn called again, heavily implying Daria get Jane to call her brother but since there wasn't any emergency, the roommate could only pass on the suggestion.
Trent had washed and shaved. He'd also got his Plymouth a decent overhaul from a mechanic which set him back a fair few hundred quid which he paid by pawning two of his three guitars. Quinn was shocked to hear that, but Trent had shrugged. "It's not like anyone's here to listen to it," he mused.
"I listen to it!"
"Well, you don't need to now. Isn't that better?"
Quinn didn't have an answer to that. "What are you going to do now?" she said, changing the subject.
Trent turned on the spot, gazing at the house and then at the horizons to all sides. "Pick a direction."
"What for?"
"I'll go that way."
"How far that way?"
"Till I find something worth stopping for."
"And if you don't?"
"Then I won't stop." He hummed to himself as he went inside to prepare for his trip.
Quinn recognized the tune. She remembered it being sung at daycare and pre-school. It went something like...
Three little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away
Mother duck said "Quack-quack-quack-quack!" but only two little ducks came back
Two little ducks went out one day, over the hills and far away
Mother duck said "Quack-quack-quack-quack!" but only one little duck came back
One little duck went out one day, over the hills and far away
Mother duck said "Quack-quack-quack-quack!" but none of the three little ducks came back
And it occurred to her that Trent wasn't intending to return from this road trip any time soon - if at all.
***
"Heads up," Trent said, breaking the quiet. Through the windscreen, they could see that the mist was thinning out. A second dirt track crossed the first and lead out onto a rough but more modern-looking road. "Guess it wasn't a dead end after all. Cool."
"And if it had been?" asked Quinn warily.
"Then we wouldn't be here," Trent replied simply.
After few more violent bumps, the Trentmobile was traveling smoothly down the road again.
"Any idea where we are now?" Quinn asked.
"Your guess is as good as mine. Better, probably, since you can read a map." He pressed down on the accelerator slightly as the road widened out. "But wherever we go, there we are."
***
"Quinn, honey, are you sure about this?" asked Helen, giving a skeptical look at Trent sitting behind the wheel of his car. "You don't even know where you're going!"
"That's part of the fun, mom," lied Quinn with a shrug. "It's just a little adventure for the weekend."
"I'm not convinced, though. Trent's a nice enough young man, but I'm not sure he'd be reliable in an emergency situation. What if you break down in the middle of nowhere? You know how poor the phone service is in these parts, you could be stuck out there for ages..."
"Mo-ommm," Quinn whined. "I'll make sure Trent doesn't do anything stupid."
"Mmm," her mother replied. "Is that what this is all about? You're worried about Trent?"
"He's not happy now Jane's gone."
"Well, I sympathize, Quinn, but the fact is, Trent is not your problem. You've got your own life to worry about, and with exams coming up in the next few months..."
"Then who's going to keep an eye on Trent? Who's going to tell Daria and Jane what happened to him because we thought he wasn't our problem?" Quinn demanded, hands on her hips. "And if those two thought about anyone except themselves for once, maybe he wouldn't be in such a state!"
Helen regarded her daughter for a moment. Like all women in the family, they could not be dissuaded from something if they thought it was morally right. Quinn might back down from asking for an extra shopping allowance or going on a date, but she looked utterly fearless and determined at the present.
"Can I trust you not to take any stupid risks, Quinn?" she asked at last.
"I don't want anything bad to happen," she said. "Plus, if I'm there, I can get him driving in a big circle and bring him back home. Come on, mom, you know I don't want to get stuck in the woods all night."
"Maybe," Helen conceded. "But you really don't need to be responsible for Trent's actions..."
"He's upset, mom. I know how he feels."
"Oh? And how does he feel?"
Quinn met her gaze with unflinching sadness. "Lonely."
***
At long last, the road split into a Y shape offering two different paths. At the fork stood a corroded metal road sign whose information or instructions had been worn away by the elements a long time ago. Trent pulled the car to a rest at the junction and waited for Quinn to check the roadmap.
"So, any clue as to where we are?" he asked calmly, gazing across the trees.
"We're still in this weird kind of void between towns," Quinn confessed. "If I knew what these roads were called..."
"Oh well," Trent shrugged. "Which way now? Your call."
"Uh... left," Quinn decided. That direction seemed to head back towards their starting point and hopefully circle back onto the main highway. If the worse came to the worst, they could simply turn around and go directly back the way they came. She hoped she wouldn't have to resort to that, given that Trent seemed really cheered up by the journey.
Trent gunned the engine and they set off down the unnamed left-hand road.
After a few minutes of silence, without even the radio to break the monotony, Quinn found herself trying to tell a joke. It seemed a lot funnier in her head before she said it, and she remembered it was a little dialogue Daria had once done to annoy one of their grandmothers about two dead-voiced people arguing.
"...so the guy asks the other guy why he's so upset and he goes 'Oh, you'll laugh!' and the first guy says 'Aw, no, of course I won't!' and the second guy goes 'Yes, you will! You'll laugh!' 'Why would I laugh?' the first guy asks, and the second guy says 'Because today my dog was run over by a steamroller!' and the first guy almost laughs. But he doesn't mean to and he says, 'Sorry to hear that, buddy, why don't you try some of these pills I'm taking? They really take the edge off.' The second guy is all suspicious because, like, those pills could be anything! And the first guy reads all the ingredient on the pill bottle and he says 'Look, it's perfectly safe. You can even operate heavy machinery!' and the other guy is all, 'Seriously?' and he says 'Seriously! And I couldn't even operate heavy machinery BEFORE I started taking them!' and the guy who lost his dog gets all suspicious and asks 'Hey, how did you even get here without your car?' and he says 'Hey, since I could operate heavy machinery, I decided to drive a steamroller here!'"
Trent didn't laugh. Or even respond.
"See, he was so stoned on pills, he ran over his friend's dog with a steamroller and didn't even notice?" Quinn explained, wondering whether she'd missed out some vital element or if it was just funnier the way Daria told it. "I mean, it's just a joke, no dogs got actually run over in real life or anything..."
"Uh, Quinn?" Trent interrupted.
"What?"
"That dog is definitely dead."
"Well, the one in the joke is, yeah, I don't know many dogs you could run a steamroller over..."
"No, not that dog. That dog."
Quinn followed his gaze through the windscreen and saw the twisted, mangled shape in the middle of the road ahead of them. It was a dog all right, one of those bigger dogs with long fur, skinny bodies and smiling faces. It was lying on its back, body twisted and fur matted with dried blood. It did not look like it had tried to cross the road at the wrong time, more that it had exploded.
Quinn let out a horrified noise and focused all her efforts on not throwing up in Trent's car.
Trent stopped the car, opened the door and cautiously got out. A few strides later and he was standing over what was left of the dog. It was in a real mess, nastier than anyone would put on an album cover or one of those horror gore magazines that seemed obsessed with such things. All he could think of was the dog had been fleeing across the road when whatever had happened to it, happened to it.
Trying not to think about the third Alien film (didn't a dog explode in that? or was it a cow?), Trent looked around through the murk to find out where the poor canine had come from. He saw someone standing in the gloom under the trees, staring directly out at Trent.
The dim daylight glinted off the handgun they carried in their right hand.
Chapter 2
Quinn had climbed out of the car but not left its side. She wasn't sure she could get any closer to that poor dog without throwing up; she hated cruelty to animals at the best of times and seeing a dead dog in real life turned her stomach. And then she saw Trent slowly turn around and put his hands in the air.
"Trent?" she called worriedly. "What is it? What's wrong?"
A pudgy, potato-shaped man in the wide-brimmed hat and beige uniform of a town sheriff emerged from the treeline. He had three stripes on each sleeves and weird tufty attempt at a beard on his lower lip, like an upside down mustache. "Stay right there, ma'am," drawled the sergeant, the gun in his hand aimed at Trent.
"Er, I guess something's the matter, officer?" asked Trent calmly.
"I think poor Fido at your feet there would agree with you on that score, son," said the sergeant. "Can't say I recognize you or your little girl here. You from out of town?"
"We're from Lawndale," said Quinn quickly, trying to move closer without alarming the cop. "We were just on a drive, took a wrong turning and here we are, sir."
The sergeant looked from the scruffy goateed young man with the black hair to the shorter teenager with waist-length ginger hair. "On a drive, huh? You must be a long way from Lover's Lane."
"She's not my girlfriend, officer," Trent said.
"He's my big brother," said Quinn with a dazzling smile.
"Brother, huh?" The sergeant was unconvinced.
"In-law," said Quinn smoothly.
"Adopted," said Trent at the same time, just as smoothly.
"He's part of the family, and we're not together," Quinn concluded. "And given we only just got here, I don't see how this is any of your business anyway. What happened to that poor little dog?"
"Gator," said the sergeant, sounding rather rude. "It happens."
"Gators?" Trent frowned. "Is there a swamp around here or something?"
"You some kind of reptile expert, son?" demanded the sergeant suddenly, anger in his voice.
"Can I see your badge?" asked Quinn, putting her hands behind her back to look extra girly and vulnerable.
The sergeant did not appreciate her request, but reached in his pocket and took out an ID wallet and handed it over. Quinn flipped it open. SERGEANT MAXIMILIAN MCTEAL, it read and there was an ID photo of the pudgy man with the upside-down mustache on his upper chin. He seemed a lot happier and friendlier in the photo. A driver's license and some other ID also confirmed that if this guy was an imposter, he'd stolen the identity of his identical twin at the very least.
"Thanks," she said, sounding more innocent and clueless than before. "So there's a gator on the loose round here?"
"Probably gone to ground," McTeal said, pocketing his wallet. "You two stay in your car, go back home, you should be fine. What are you names, anyway?"
"I'm Quinn Morgendorffer, and this is Trent."
"Trent Lane," Trent supplied. "I'm with Mystik Spiral."
"Never heard of you," McTeal said, unimpressed.
"Then you probably like us more than folk who have," said Trent quietly.
"Trent," said Quinn firmly. "Don't beat yourself up."
"I guess that's what cops are for," Trent said, glowering at McTeal.
"You got a problem with me, son?" growled the sergeant.
"Trent's just having a bad day," said Quinn quickly. "That's why we were on a drive, to you know, cheer ourselves up."
"Yeah," Trent agreed. "Instead we find a dead dog and some sheriff who won't tell us the truth. You had your gun out already, like you were expecting to find someone to shoot - not just some passing gator. And it makes me think that this poor dog has an owner, so where are they right now?"
McTeal narrowed his piggy eyes. "Real sleuth, huh, Mr. Lane?" he sneered.
"Uh, that is a good point," Quinn interjected. "Have you talked to the owners?"
"Nope, and I'm not going to without an ouiji board. Gator got her too." He gritted his teeth. "Grocer boy goes to her place once a week, found what was left of her by the shore of the creek. Her dog's missing. I go and look for it and find it with you two standing over it."
"You know we didn't do anything!" Quinn protested.
"I know nothing of the kind, Miss Morgendorffer. I know it is likely you two are just what you say and just wandering around, but that's not to say it's the truth."
"What?" the redhead scoffed. "You think some wandering psycho serial killer is on the loose?"
The sergeant stared at them, not speaking.
"We're not serial killers," said Trent, starting to sound board. "And how we could kill that dog without covering ourselves in blood? Do you really think we're worth your time?"
"Oh, you're telling me how to run my investigation now?"
"Only if you're asking for help," came the smooth reply.
"Uh, but if you're not asking for help, we'll be on our way, sir," Quinn said, her bright smile visibly forced. She took Trent's arm in hers and said "Come along, brother dear, and let's leave the nice policeman to get on with his work." Her tone was positively frosty.
Trent allowed himself to be led back into the Plymouth. Sergeant McTeal watched them from the side of the road.
"God damn it, Trent!" exploded Quinn once the doors were shut. "Were you trying to get yourself shot out there? Or, or, beaten up or arrested? You might as well have spat on him!"
Trent was, of course unconcerned. "I don't like it when people lie to me," he said simply.
"Oh, wow, you're really alone in that?" Quinn retorted. "No one else in the whole world feels that way!"
"That sergeant coulda just not answered our questions. He lied to us, Quinn. Maybe he was scared. I don't care, he should have been straight with me."
"He had a loaded gun and you were trying to start a fight! You could've got yourself killed!"
"Chill, Quinn. I wasn't going to get myself killed."
Quinn felt a surge of relief. "Really?" she asked hopefully.
"Course not. I've got to get you back home, first." So saying, Trent started the engine and - pausing only one last ironic and insincere wave through the windscreen at Sergeant McTeal - began to reverse the Plymouth back down the road the way they had come. "Gators, my ass."
"Hey," Quinn interrupted, "what do you mean 'first'?"
"I don't mean anything, Quinn," lied Trent, checking the rear view mirror as he curved the car around the corner.
"Oh no you don't, this is actually what I'm worried about!"
"I didn't ask you to worry about anything."
"I know you didn't ask me," fumed Quinn, "but I'm still worried."
"You should really listen to your mom," Trent muttered.
"What? What do you mean?"
"I'm not your problem, Quinn."
"What?!" spluttered Quinn. "How do you know what she told me?"
"She told me," Trent said and as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
"She told you I shouldn't worry about you?" Quinn exclaimed.
"Pretty much. She said she didn't want me putting any of my crap on you like I did with Daria and how while I was really nice and all, she really hates it when I make her daughters unhappy. She really loves you two. I wish I really was adopted, and she was my mom sometimes. Still, too late now."
"Wait a darn-tooting cotton-polyester-blending minute," Quinn snapped, "you're telling me mom knows how upset and lonely you are and the only thing she cares about is you don't bother me?"
"Guess so." Trent was already bored discussing it. "She's your mom, of course you're more important to her."
"And what about your mom?" Quinn demanded. "Why isn't she looking out for you?"
"She thinks it's better this way. Plus no one's ever stayed around to tell her she's wrong. She'll be really happy now she's got the house to herself."
"But you're going back home, right?"
"It's just a house, Quinn. It's just a building. Who cares if I ever go back to one building?"
"Jane and Daria and me would!"
A rare flash of anger sliced across Trent's normally-serene features. "What did I tell you about lying to me?" he shouted angrily at Quinn, who recoiled into her seat from the sudden outburst.
And that was when the car went off the side of the road and backed into a muddy ditch full of weeds, brambles and broken sticks. There was a horrible wet crunch as the back of the Plymouth dropped into the bog, the front end jack-knifing up and slamming back down with enough force to remind both occupants that seat-belts were there for a reason.
For a moment both were silent.
"Okay, Mr. Johnston, can I try the three-point-turn again?" asked Trent.
Quinn stared at him.
"Joke. My driving instructor was Mr. Johnston. Nice guy. He hated me." He blinked. "I get that a lot."
So saying, Trent opened his door and clambered out. His black shoes sank into the mud slightly, but he'd stood in worse. He crouched down and peered at the rear of his vehicle. There was a lot of mud splashed over the blue paintwork, but no obvious damage. The rear wheels were more than half-way out of the mud. Could've been worse.
"Life in a nutshell," he muttered to himself and straightened up. "Hey, Quinn, reach over and floor the accelerator when I say, okay?"
The redhead shimmied across to the driver's seat while Trent braced himself against the open driver-side door.
"Right. On three. One. Two. Three."
The engine revved, the wheels spun and the Plymouth managed to move about an inch forward as globs of mud were kicked up and sprayed backwards. Trent threw his weight against the door, trying to help force the car forwards until Quinn finally gave up. "We're stuck. And it's not the handbrake, before you ask."
"I know, I know," Trent grumbled as he moved around to check the other side of the car.
The problem was obvious. The vines and roots and branches had somehow wrapped themselves around the rear right-side tire, like candyfloss gathering around a stick. The attempt to spin the wheels had wound the vegetation even tighter and despite the muddy ground, the roots were deep enough to pull back the entire Plymouth.
Trent sighed and ducked into the passenger seat and opened the glove box. A few sweets, some paperwork that lyrics had been scribbled over and a depleted pack of cigarettes Nick had left. Nothing ideal for cutting through branches and vines and mud. He closed his eyes, trying to think what to do next.
Quinn's voice cut through his tired thoughts. "What was that all about?"
"Hmm?"
"You shouted at me. I didn't even know you could shout."
"Sorry," Trent said simply. "Kinda tense. Not your fault."
"You said I was lying to you."
"Guess I did."
Quinn huffed. "I wasn't lying to you!"
"If you say so."
"What do you mean, if I say so?!" Quinn exploded. "You accused me of lying to you! How dare you!"
"I said sorry," Trent pointed out.
"Don't be sorry! Be better! What the hell made you think I was lying to you? What did I ever say that could be a lie?"
"You said you, Daria and Jane would miss me."
"It's true!"
"It's not true. You know it's not true. I told Jane how much I'd miss her and Jane promised she'd be in touch. I guess for the first two months, it mighta slipped her mind. After that, well, I get the message. Especially if she doesn't send it."
"Did you try calling her?" asked Quinn, frowning.
"I don't know what her number is. She was supposed to call me first and tell me that."
"Well, you could just go to BFAC and find out..."
"Why bother? Quinn, if she doesn't want me to be a part of her life anymore, what's the point?" He gazed into the open glove box as if into the coals of a burning fire. "It's not like she's the first sister who's walked out on me and never come back. Penny and Summer were just the same. Everyone is happier apart than together."
"Trent..."
"You knew Jane for less than three years, Quinn. I knew her her entire life." He turned his gaze to look at her. "She's out of Lawndale and she's not coming back, definitely not for me. I wouldn't have minded, but she said she wouldn't just forget about me. She got my hopes up. She lied. And I don't like it when people lie to me."
"I... Look, even if Jane really is such a bad sister, that doesn't mean..."
"Daria isn't coming back for me either. She didn't even say goodbye."
"Well, I do!" Quinn fumed. "I care! You're the only person I can talk to nowadays! You're... you're the only one who knows what it's like to miss their sister."
"Yeah. But Daria will come back for you, at least for birthdays and Christmas and stuff. I'll only see Jane again if something goes real bad and she needs somewhere to hide from the cops."
Quinn was about to speak then stopped. "When did you stop calling Jane 'Janey'?" she asked.
"When she stopped being my sister," Trent said quietly. "Look, the back wheels are all tangled. I need to cut through them, so if you pop the boot I can see if there's anything in there..."
"Trent, please. I'm worried about you. And I'm not lying."
"I know you're not lying, Quinn. But I can't help you. I know you're thinking about how Daria's gone and you're asking if you deserve this or not. Well, maybe you don't. Maybe Daria's being unfair. I don't know. But I know why Jane's doing what she's doing. And I deserve it. So..."
"Trent, shut up."
"Fine, just pop the boot and..."
"No, seriously!" Quinn hissed. "Shut up!"
Trent fell silent in time to hear a faint crunch drift through the open doors.
"It sounds like someone's walking around out here," whispered Quinn, already-pale skin white with fear.
Trent looked between the review mirrors and the ones on the door. "I can't see anyone out there," he said softly.
Another crunch, the sound of a body-weight splitting a branch under its foot.
"What do you think it is?" Quinn whispered, frightened.
"No idea, but I know what it isn't," Trent murmured. "It isn't a gator."
"Hey, amiga, over here!" Jane called at the top of her voice over the music filling the bar.
The establishment was packed with under-thirties as students from the nearby universities sought entertainment and escapism for the weekend. Drinks were drunk and so were the patrons, even though there was still a splash of daylight still visible against the infinite dome of the sky.
Daria waved in response and forced her way through the rabble towards her best friend. Jane was still getting used to her friend's new look - half-framed spectacles, a green turtleneck sweater and functional black jeans which neither hid nor overly-emphasized her female curvy form. The unimpressed, contemptuous expression was unchanged, though.
"Good table," she observed, her monotone sounding strange as she raised her voice over the music. Jane was fairly sure Daria had put more inflection and friendliness into her voice to deal with other people at college, but she was still herself around her friend during the now-rationed time they could spend with each other.
"Good? I had to kill three people for this spot," Jane chided her.
"That was just a side-benefit and you know it," Daria replied. "Just who are the Beatle tribute band trying to drown out their music with the noise it makes?"
Jane eyed the brightly-coloured Sgt. Pepper-era marching-band-attired quartet on stage. Despite the copious drooping mustaches, they were an all-girl band. "They're the Electrodes," she said, nodding her head with non-existent wisdom. "That's Muff, Fuzz, Snatch and Euphemism," she went on, indicating each one in turn. "Apparently their gimmick is they're trying to do as many gigs they can before their ex-manager can blow them up with dynamite."
"So we know the ex-manager can appreciate proper music if nothing else."
Jane pushed the cola towards her friend. "But apparently he has no clue when it comes to TNT. Shameful."
Daria sipped her straw. She made no further comment. Anyone other than Jane might not have realized she was upset.
"OK, what's wrong?" she asked. "We have less than 48 hours together with our exciting event-filled lives, so I don't want to waste any longer than necessary on your innumerable deep-set emotional problems. I have a life outside of you now, Daria, so don't push it. What's up?"
Daria took a deep breath. "I got a call from Elsie today?"
"Huh?" Jane cupped a hand around her ear. "Elsie who?"
"Elsie Sloane. Tom's sister?"
Jane pretended to hock a throatfull of phlegm on the floor. "Tom who?"
Daria didn't smile. Ever since she and Tom had broken up, Jane had decided the best way to deal with Tom was to consider him pure evil they were both better off without and speak of him with nothing but hatred. She wasn't really vindictive, of course, just trying to make light of the end of Daria's first serious relationship with a guy.
"He tried to kill himself."
Jane was silent long enough for the Electrodes to be booed out of another chorus.
"Excuse me?"
"Took an overdose of pills, washed them down with vodka, which made him throw them up and his roommate found him lying in his own vomit. It's a miracle he's still alive."
"Sounds like a dumb accident to me," Jane said with nowhere near the confidence she needed. "He was probably taking study-drugs and it all got out of hand."
"That's what his parents think happen. Elsie doesn't."
"Well," Jane sighed. "That sucks. But he's alive, he's getting treatment. Is it really any reason for us to be upset?"
Daria arched an eyebrow over one of her lenses. "You don't care if Tom is dead or not?"
"Of course I care! But he's not, and everyone knows near-overdoses build character. Does he want us to gather round his bedside and wail like wives at an Arabian funeral or something?"
"Right now, I think he wants to die."
"Well, his parents won't let him, will they?" Jane sighed. "Look, Daria, it's crappy news and no mistake but what are we supposed to do? Rush over to Bromwell? How exactly are we gonna help? Do you think Tom'll feel better with us circling his bed like vultures? Just keep in touch and if he needs anything, he can tell us."
"I think that might be the problem, though," Daria replied, twirling her ice with a straw.
"No cryptics, just say what you mean, Morgendorffer," Jane insisted.
"I promised to stick in touch with him when college started," Dara admitted. "I guess I let it slide a little."
"And that, obviously would drive Tom to suicide?" Jane tutted. "You really believe that? He didn't throw himself off a bridge after you dumped him before graduation, though, did he? Give the guy a little testicular fortitude, Daria! If he was being driven to take his own life, I can't imagine a phone call from your sultry and seductive tones would have done much."
"I just feel guilty," Daria said glumly. "I said I'd stay in touch, but I didn't."
"Daria, you're getting into college. The dust has yet to settle! Things have to sort themselves out! Besides, you've rung your mom often enough, haven't you?"
"I have been leaving it later and later..."
"So? If it's a big deal, they'll ring you!"
"Like Elsie ringing me to tell me her brother tried to commit suicide shortly after I dumped him?"
"Daria, Tom's not your problem," Jane said firmly. "Start fussing about everyone else and college is all over. The age of Daria the Appreciated has begun, remember? People actually care about your opinion and intellect? You don't want to go backwards so soon, surely?"
"Guess not." Daria sounded anything but convinced. "I mean, mom wouldn't let me go five seconds without letting me know if Quinn or Dad were in trouble. I suppose there's nothing to worry about."
"Exactly. Now let's just watch the pub band set back feminist respect a good thirty years and enjoy ourselves, huh?"
"You stay in touch with Trent, though, right?"
"Uh. Yeah."
Daria's brow furrowed. "Jane."
"Look, I admit I don't call him every day. But I do ring up every so often. Not my fault no one answers."
"Trent's not answering the phone?"
"Daria, he's a narcoleptic musician. If he's not busy at a gig, he's passed out on the bed. I'd be more worried if he did answer." Jane scowled. "What??"
"Has he answered even once?"
Jane blew out her cheeks. "OK, no, not once. But he's fine. He hasn't tried to ring me. I do check that stuff."
"So he knows your number?"
"I..." Jane sighed and let her head roll back on her shoulders. "This is Friday night taken out the back and shot, isn't it?"
***
Daria punched the number for la Casa Lane into the dorm room telephone and listened to the reciever. A vague, drawn-out engaged signal. She smacked the cradle, breaking the call, and dialed Schloss Morgendorffer. The same result. She hung up and carefully pressed all ten digits, one after the other. There were only nine responding beeps.
"Your phone is broken," Daria announced grimly. "I take it you don't normally call anyone with a 5 in their number?"
Jane scratched the back of her neck. "Now you come to mention it, my room mate tends to monopolize the phone and I go out for pizza..."
Daria took the cell phone for her pocket. She only used it for emergencies and the exorbitant cost of long-distance calls kept her on the straight and narrow. She dialed the number for Jane's house and it rang out. She tried again. The same result. She dialed her own home.
"Hullo?"
"Dad?"
"Aw, hey, kiddo!"
Jane was one of the few people who could spot the genuine delight on Daria's seemingly-impassive face. She was still glad that her father had a pet name for his firstborn daughter and no one else, and only ever spoke it with genuine delight.
"Dad, sorry to call like this, but I need some help."
"Sure thing, Daria! What's happened? It's not boys, is it?"
"No. Look, Jane's been trying to call Trent at home but her phone's not working. Have you heard from him?"
"Trent..."
"Dad?" asked Daria, concerned. She had been fully-prepared to explain at length precisely who the guitar-playing guy Jane hung around with was, and even who Jane was if necessary. But Jake was not drawing out the name trying to recall who it referred to. He knew who Trent was. He didn't want to answer the question.
Jane sensed her friend tense. "What is it?" she asked, completely seriously. "Daria?"
"Dad, has something happened to Trent?" Daria demanded.
"Huh? Oh, no, kiddo. No. Not that I know of, no. He was fine, last I heard."
"And when was that?"
"Uh... yesterday? Maybe this morning?"
"You saw him today?" Daria frowned, puzzled. "What was he doing?"
"Uh... maybe I should get your mother. Hold on, Daria."
"Daria, what's happening?" Jane asked loudly.
"I don't know!" Daria snapped. "Maybe if you tried dialing from another phone you'd know by now already!"
"Hey, don't put this on me..."
"Daria?" Helen Morgendorffer's melodic voice filtered through the cell phone speaker.
Daria hit the speaker-phone key. "Mom, it's me. I'm with Jane. Her phone's broken and she can't get through to anyone and we were wondering if you'd seen Trent recently?"
"Really? And when did Jane's phone stop working?"
"Mrs. M," Jane blurted out, "do you know what's happened to Trent?"
"Yes, Jane. I do. Now when did you discover your phone wasn't working?"
"Just now. Is it important?"
Helen's voice was clipped and... unfriendly. "Just now? And it was working for the last few months? Because Trent has become quite worried given your abject refusal to call him. He didn't even have a number to contact you."
"What?" Jane exclaimed. "If... why didn't he do something?"
"Such as?" Helen retorted.
"Ask you to help find me! Didn't it occur to him there must have been a problem at my end?"
"Oh, he worked that out all right," Helen sighed. "Jane, your brother is convinced you want nothing more to do with him and is quite depressed at the moment."
"Trent can't be depressed!" scoffed Jane. "He doesn't have the attention span!"
"Well, it shows just how well you know him, Jane. Since you severed all contact with him, his band's fallen apart, he's sold all his guitars and is apparently going to leave town."
Jane didn't know what to say. She looked helplessly at the cell phone, then at Daria, as if struck speechless.
"Mom," Daria said. "Have you tried helping him?"
"And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Daria? Things are busy at the moment, Trent's always been very taciturn and what were we going to tell him? We barely hear from you every four weeks and what we do know about your life up there would fit on the back of a stamp and leave room to spare!" snapped Helen. "Your sister has been getting very worried about Trent, and frankly it's distracting her from her studies. She's insisted on spending the whole weekend keeping an eye on Trent so he doesn't drive off over a cliff or something! Quinn doesn't need to be burdened with the fact you and Jane aren't interested in her brother anymore..."
"Hey!" shouted Jane. "I care about Trent, and a lot more than you do if all you're worried about is Quinn's SAT scores!"
"Quinn is my responsibility, Jane, Trent is not!" Helen snapped. "He's convinced you've washed your hands of him and no one here has any reason to argue with him - I notice it's Daria ringing to check up on him, not you. Now, Trent and Quinn should be back by Sunday afternoon. Maybe if you can tear yourselves away from all the important college events, you can find a moment to call up. But don't worry, Trent's not expecting you to call. Frankly, neither am I."
"Mrs. M..." began Jane.
"Mom, please, we genuinely are worried about him..."
"Well, you should be. I've told you all I know about Trent's current status, Daria, and I doubt you have rung for any other reason on a Friday night. Or am I wrong?" Helen was quiet for a while. "You're always welcome to call, Daria, but it would be nice knowing you actually wanted to talk to us instead of out of some misplaced guilt. I'll let you two get back to whatever it is that's occupying your time and I'll talk to you on Sunday. If you call."
Helen hung up.
"Wow," said Daria quietly. "Mom's always normally so happy to waffle on over the phone lines."
"Trent thinks I've ditched him?" Jane said, wonderingly. "I mean, after all the pep talks and hugs and promises, he thought I was lying and actually never wanted to see him again?"
"Guess he was lonelier than he let on," said Daria, cradling the cell phone in her hand as though unsure of what to do with it. "And since he never got any calls from you, he thought the worst."
"He's known me my whole life! How could he think I was only pretending to care about him?!" Jane shouted angrily. "Frankly, I'm amazed he's been conscious long enough to even realize I'm not there! And of course it couldn't be me actually trying to get out of nowheresville and make something of my life, it was because I hated him and wanted to be anywhere else! I couldn't have any other motive! What a selfish jerk! I'll never speak to him again!"
Silence.
"He is gonna be all right isn't he, Daria?" asked Jane in a small voice.
"Guess we'll find out on Sunday," she said pocketing the phone.
"Daria. You know I haven't ditched Trent, right?" Jane asked plaintively. "I mean, just cause it's only now I thought he might be in trouble... I..."
"I guess he thought he wasn't your problem," said Daria tiredly. "After all, we have to put ourselves first. College life."
"That's not funny, Daria."
"Wasn't meant to be."
"This isn't fair. Just because I don't spend every second pining after Trent people think I don't care if he lives or dies?"
"Yes. And, apparently, yes. I suppose it really is all-or-nothing nowadays, and long-distant relationships don't work."
"We can't live our lives terrified one missed phone call might drive guys to kill themselves!"
"Well, not with that attitude." Daria's voice was dull and empty. "Still, we've cunningly ensured there are few - very few - people we care about to start with. At this rate, by the end of next year they'll all have ended their miserable lives and freed us from any or all concern or responsibility. Go us. Yay."
"This is not really cheering me up," said Jane in the same hollow tone.
"Sorry. You wanna go back to see the Electrodes Live and Unplugged?"
"Oddly enough, the knowledge my casual phone negligence has driven my brother to suicide has kind of put a crimp into my usual easy-going fun-loving temperament."
"Come on. You don't know he's suicidal."
"I know he wanted to take cyanide if Mystik Spiral wasn't a success before he was thirty, and since the band is gone, he's sold his guitars, his only company is Princess Quinn and he is now showing all the signs of acting like James Dean after recording a don't drink and drive campaign."
"Hey, I got into an emotional state and crashed my car. Where was all your concern then?"
"It wasn't my fault then."
"Oh. Yeah. Good point."
Silence.
"We'll call on Sunday," Daria said. "Trent will drop back Quinn and we can talk over the phone about what a huge misunderstanding this all was, laugh about it and then have a phone-conference while we eat pizza at both ends. This'll be a wacky anecdote for us to embarrass small children with in years to come."
"Yeah. Because Trent will be fine. There definitely won't be little bambinos asking whatever happened to Uncle Trent and why we weren't there when we needed him, and how they could ever trust us to look after them when we let Trent down so bad he thought we wanted him dead."
"Don't be ridiculous. We'll have lots of fancy future digital technology to distract them by then."
"Yeah. They won't even know Trent existed. They'll live lives without one knowing there ever was a Trent Lane."
"This daycare plan for the as-yet-unborn is getting a bit grim, Jane."
Jane said nothing. She just cried softly, staring down at her lap. Tears dripped into her leggings.
Daria got to her feet, crossed to the other bed in the dorm room and embraced her friend as she cried.
The establishment was packed with under-thirties as students from the nearby universities sought entertainment and escapism for the weekend. Drinks were drunk and so were the patrons, even though there was still a splash of daylight still visible against the infinite dome of the sky.
Daria waved in response and forced her way through the rabble towards her best friend. Jane was still getting used to her friend's new look - half-framed spectacles, a green turtleneck sweater and functional black jeans which neither hid nor overly-emphasized her female curvy form. The unimpressed, contemptuous expression was unchanged, though.
"Good table," she observed, her monotone sounding strange as she raised her voice over the music. Jane was fairly sure Daria had put more inflection and friendliness into her voice to deal with other people at college, but she was still herself around her friend during the now-rationed time they could spend with each other.
"Good? I had to kill three people for this spot," Jane chided her.
"That was just a side-benefit and you know it," Daria replied. "Just who are the Beatle tribute band trying to drown out their music with the noise it makes?"
Jane eyed the brightly-coloured Sgt. Pepper-era marching-band-attired quartet on stage. Despite the copious drooping mustaches, they were an all-girl band. "They're the Electrodes," she said, nodding her head with non-existent wisdom. "That's Muff, Fuzz, Snatch and Euphemism," she went on, indicating each one in turn. "Apparently their gimmick is they're trying to do as many gigs they can before their ex-manager can blow them up with dynamite."
"So we know the ex-manager can appreciate proper music if nothing else."
Jane pushed the cola towards her friend. "But apparently he has no clue when it comes to TNT. Shameful."
Daria sipped her straw. She made no further comment. Anyone other than Jane might not have realized she was upset.
"OK, what's wrong?" she asked. "We have less than 48 hours together with our exciting event-filled lives, so I don't want to waste any longer than necessary on your innumerable deep-set emotional problems. I have a life outside of you now, Daria, so don't push it. What's up?"
Daria took a deep breath. "I got a call from Elsie today?"
"Huh?" Jane cupped a hand around her ear. "Elsie who?"
"Elsie Sloane. Tom's sister?"
Jane pretended to hock a throatfull of phlegm on the floor. "Tom who?"
Daria didn't smile. Ever since she and Tom had broken up, Jane had decided the best way to deal with Tom was to consider him pure evil they were both better off without and speak of him with nothing but hatred. She wasn't really vindictive, of course, just trying to make light of the end of Daria's first serious relationship with a guy.
"He tried to kill himself."
Jane was silent long enough for the Electrodes to be booed out of another chorus.
"Excuse me?"
"Took an overdose of pills, washed them down with vodka, which made him throw them up and his roommate found him lying in his own vomit. It's a miracle he's still alive."
"Sounds like a dumb accident to me," Jane said with nowhere near the confidence she needed. "He was probably taking study-drugs and it all got out of hand."
"That's what his parents think happen. Elsie doesn't."
"Well," Jane sighed. "That sucks. But he's alive, he's getting treatment. Is it really any reason for us to be upset?"
Daria arched an eyebrow over one of her lenses. "You don't care if Tom is dead or not?"
"Of course I care! But he's not, and everyone knows near-overdoses build character. Does he want us to gather round his bedside and wail like wives at an Arabian funeral or something?"
"Right now, I think he wants to die."
"Well, his parents won't let him, will they?" Jane sighed. "Look, Daria, it's crappy news and no mistake but what are we supposed to do? Rush over to Bromwell? How exactly are we gonna help? Do you think Tom'll feel better with us circling his bed like vultures? Just keep in touch and if he needs anything, he can tell us."
"I think that might be the problem, though," Daria replied, twirling her ice with a straw.
"No cryptics, just say what you mean, Morgendorffer," Jane insisted.
"I promised to stick in touch with him when college started," Dara admitted. "I guess I let it slide a little."
"And that, obviously would drive Tom to suicide?" Jane tutted. "You really believe that? He didn't throw himself off a bridge after you dumped him before graduation, though, did he? Give the guy a little testicular fortitude, Daria! If he was being driven to take his own life, I can't imagine a phone call from your sultry and seductive tones would have done much."
"I just feel guilty," Daria said glumly. "I said I'd stay in touch, but I didn't."
"Daria, you're getting into college. The dust has yet to settle! Things have to sort themselves out! Besides, you've rung your mom often enough, haven't you?"
"I have been leaving it later and later..."
"So? If it's a big deal, they'll ring you!"
"Like Elsie ringing me to tell me her brother tried to commit suicide shortly after I dumped him?"
"Daria, Tom's not your problem," Jane said firmly. "Start fussing about everyone else and college is all over. The age of Daria the Appreciated has begun, remember? People actually care about your opinion and intellect? You don't want to go backwards so soon, surely?"
"Guess not." Daria sounded anything but convinced. "I mean, mom wouldn't let me go five seconds without letting me know if Quinn or Dad were in trouble. I suppose there's nothing to worry about."
"Exactly. Now let's just watch the pub band set back feminist respect a good thirty years and enjoy ourselves, huh?"
"You stay in touch with Trent, though, right?"
"Uh. Yeah."
Daria's brow furrowed. "Jane."
"Look, I admit I don't call him every day. But I do ring up every so often. Not my fault no one answers."
"Trent's not answering the phone?"
"Daria, he's a narcoleptic musician. If he's not busy at a gig, he's passed out on the bed. I'd be more worried if he did answer." Jane scowled. "What??"
"Has he answered even once?"
Jane blew out her cheeks. "OK, no, not once. But he's fine. He hasn't tried to ring me. I do check that stuff."
"So he knows your number?"
"I..." Jane sighed and let her head roll back on her shoulders. "This is Friday night taken out the back and shot, isn't it?"
***
Daria punched the number for la Casa Lane into the dorm room telephone and listened to the reciever. A vague, drawn-out engaged signal. She smacked the cradle, breaking the call, and dialed Schloss Morgendorffer. The same result. She hung up and carefully pressed all ten digits, one after the other. There were only nine responding beeps.
"Your phone is broken," Daria announced grimly. "I take it you don't normally call anyone with a 5 in their number?"
Jane scratched the back of her neck. "Now you come to mention it, my room mate tends to monopolize the phone and I go out for pizza..."
Daria took the cell phone for her pocket. She only used it for emergencies and the exorbitant cost of long-distance calls kept her on the straight and narrow. She dialed the number for Jane's house and it rang out. She tried again. The same result. She dialed her own home.
"Hullo?"
"Dad?"
"Aw, hey, kiddo!"
Jane was one of the few people who could spot the genuine delight on Daria's seemingly-impassive face. She was still glad that her father had a pet name for his firstborn daughter and no one else, and only ever spoke it with genuine delight.
"Dad, sorry to call like this, but I need some help."
"Sure thing, Daria! What's happened? It's not boys, is it?"
"No. Look, Jane's been trying to call Trent at home but her phone's not working. Have you heard from him?"
"Trent..."
"Dad?" asked Daria, concerned. She had been fully-prepared to explain at length precisely who the guitar-playing guy Jane hung around with was, and even who Jane was if necessary. But Jake was not drawing out the name trying to recall who it referred to. He knew who Trent was. He didn't want to answer the question.
Jane sensed her friend tense. "What is it?" she asked, completely seriously. "Daria?"
"Dad, has something happened to Trent?" Daria demanded.
"Huh? Oh, no, kiddo. No. Not that I know of, no. He was fine, last I heard."
"And when was that?"
"Uh... yesterday? Maybe this morning?"
"You saw him today?" Daria frowned, puzzled. "What was he doing?"
"Uh... maybe I should get your mother. Hold on, Daria."
"Daria, what's happening?" Jane asked loudly.
"I don't know!" Daria snapped. "Maybe if you tried dialing from another phone you'd know by now already!"
"Hey, don't put this on me..."
"Daria?" Helen Morgendorffer's melodic voice filtered through the cell phone speaker.
Daria hit the speaker-phone key. "Mom, it's me. I'm with Jane. Her phone's broken and she can't get through to anyone and we were wondering if you'd seen Trent recently?"
"Really? And when did Jane's phone stop working?"
"Mrs. M," Jane blurted out, "do you know what's happened to Trent?"
"Yes, Jane. I do. Now when did you discover your phone wasn't working?"
"Just now. Is it important?"
Helen's voice was clipped and... unfriendly. "Just now? And it was working for the last few months? Because Trent has become quite worried given your abject refusal to call him. He didn't even have a number to contact you."
"What?" Jane exclaimed. "If... why didn't he do something?"
"Such as?" Helen retorted.
"Ask you to help find me! Didn't it occur to him there must have been a problem at my end?"
"Oh, he worked that out all right," Helen sighed. "Jane, your brother is convinced you want nothing more to do with him and is quite depressed at the moment."
"Trent can't be depressed!" scoffed Jane. "He doesn't have the attention span!"
"Well, it shows just how well you know him, Jane. Since you severed all contact with him, his band's fallen apart, he's sold all his guitars and is apparently going to leave town."
Jane didn't know what to say. She looked helplessly at the cell phone, then at Daria, as if struck speechless.
"Mom," Daria said. "Have you tried helping him?"
"And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Daria? Things are busy at the moment, Trent's always been very taciturn and what were we going to tell him? We barely hear from you every four weeks and what we do know about your life up there would fit on the back of a stamp and leave room to spare!" snapped Helen. "Your sister has been getting very worried about Trent, and frankly it's distracting her from her studies. She's insisted on spending the whole weekend keeping an eye on Trent so he doesn't drive off over a cliff or something! Quinn doesn't need to be burdened with the fact you and Jane aren't interested in her brother anymore..."
"Hey!" shouted Jane. "I care about Trent, and a lot more than you do if all you're worried about is Quinn's SAT scores!"
"Quinn is my responsibility, Jane, Trent is not!" Helen snapped. "He's convinced you've washed your hands of him and no one here has any reason to argue with him - I notice it's Daria ringing to check up on him, not you. Now, Trent and Quinn should be back by Sunday afternoon. Maybe if you can tear yourselves away from all the important college events, you can find a moment to call up. But don't worry, Trent's not expecting you to call. Frankly, neither am I."
"Mrs. M..." began Jane.
"Mom, please, we genuinely are worried about him..."
"Well, you should be. I've told you all I know about Trent's current status, Daria, and I doubt you have rung for any other reason on a Friday night. Or am I wrong?" Helen was quiet for a while. "You're always welcome to call, Daria, but it would be nice knowing you actually wanted to talk to us instead of out of some misplaced guilt. I'll let you two get back to whatever it is that's occupying your time and I'll talk to you on Sunday. If you call."
Helen hung up.
"Wow," said Daria quietly. "Mom's always normally so happy to waffle on over the phone lines."
"Trent thinks I've ditched him?" Jane said, wonderingly. "I mean, after all the pep talks and hugs and promises, he thought I was lying and actually never wanted to see him again?"
"Guess he was lonelier than he let on," said Daria, cradling the cell phone in her hand as though unsure of what to do with it. "And since he never got any calls from you, he thought the worst."
"He's known me my whole life! How could he think I was only pretending to care about him?!" Jane shouted angrily. "Frankly, I'm amazed he's been conscious long enough to even realize I'm not there! And of course it couldn't be me actually trying to get out of nowheresville and make something of my life, it was because I hated him and wanted to be anywhere else! I couldn't have any other motive! What a selfish jerk! I'll never speak to him again!"
Silence.
"He is gonna be all right isn't he, Daria?" asked Jane in a small voice.
"Guess we'll find out on Sunday," she said pocketing the phone.
"Daria. You know I haven't ditched Trent, right?" Jane asked plaintively. "I mean, just cause it's only now I thought he might be in trouble... I..."
"I guess he thought he wasn't your problem," said Daria tiredly. "After all, we have to put ourselves first. College life."
"That's not funny, Daria."
"Wasn't meant to be."
"This isn't fair. Just because I don't spend every second pining after Trent people think I don't care if he lives or dies?"
"Yes. And, apparently, yes. I suppose it really is all-or-nothing nowadays, and long-distant relationships don't work."
"We can't live our lives terrified one missed phone call might drive guys to kill themselves!"
"Well, not with that attitude." Daria's voice was dull and empty. "Still, we've cunningly ensured there are few - very few - people we care about to start with. At this rate, by the end of next year they'll all have ended their miserable lives and freed us from any or all concern or responsibility. Go us. Yay."
"This is not really cheering me up," said Jane in the same hollow tone.
"Sorry. You wanna go back to see the Electrodes Live and Unplugged?"
"Oddly enough, the knowledge my casual phone negligence has driven my brother to suicide has kind of put a crimp into my usual easy-going fun-loving temperament."
"Come on. You don't know he's suicidal."
"I know he wanted to take cyanide if Mystik Spiral wasn't a success before he was thirty, and since the band is gone, he's sold his guitars, his only company is Princess Quinn and he is now showing all the signs of acting like James Dean after recording a don't drink and drive campaign."
"Hey, I got into an emotional state and crashed my car. Where was all your concern then?"
"It wasn't my fault then."
"Oh. Yeah. Good point."
Silence.
"We'll call on Sunday," Daria said. "Trent will drop back Quinn and we can talk over the phone about what a huge misunderstanding this all was, laugh about it and then have a phone-conference while we eat pizza at both ends. This'll be a wacky anecdote for us to embarrass small children with in years to come."
"Yeah. Because Trent will be fine. There definitely won't be little bambinos asking whatever happened to Uncle Trent and why we weren't there when we needed him, and how they could ever trust us to look after them when we let Trent down so bad he thought we wanted him dead."
"Don't be ridiculous. We'll have lots of fancy future digital technology to distract them by then."
"Yeah. They won't even know Trent existed. They'll live lives without one knowing there ever was a Trent Lane."
"This daycare plan for the as-yet-unborn is getting a bit grim, Jane."
Jane said nothing. She just cried softly, staring down at her lap. Tears dripped into her leggings.
Daria got to her feet, crossed to the other bed in the dorm room and embraced her friend as she cried.
Chapter 3
Quinn hadn't been frightened very often in her life. Sure, there'd been the shock scares of loud noises and unexpected appearances to make her 'eep' in surprise, but she'd only been scared three times before.
Proper scared. Proper I-can-breathe, I am going to die now, please god help me scared. The sort of fear that makes you consider the improved speed and ballast of an empty bladder and doesn't care who knows it. The this-is-why-cavemen-were-scared-of-the-dark fear.
The first time she barely remembered, but she understood a time when her father had apparently abandoned the whole family and driven off in the middle night after an argument about Daria. She'd been certain he'd never come back, she'd heard her mother crying, and Quinn had vowed she'd always fit in and be popular after that. Anything to stop her daddy running away from them.
The second time was the glitter berries incident where she'd been in the woods and her mother had become depressed, saying she was too old and tired to go on and sat on a rock saying she was going to die. Then she closed her eyes and went still. Quinn still had bad dreams about that, remembering her desperate screams and no reply.
Then when her dad had a heart attack and collapsed face-first in the guacamole. Her fear had turned straight to self-hatred for letting it happen and she'd vowed to become an expert at medicine to keep her daddy safe. The knowledge that he'd recovered soon after and she'd never learned anything useful didn't cheer her up.
And now there was a fourth time she was frightened. Right now.
Someone or something was moving through the wet misty gloom around the back of Trent's car. She had no idea who it was or what they wanted, bar the gut certainty she couldn't stop them. Was this how it ended? Was she going to end up like that poor dog, to be found by a fat sheriff with a weird chin mustache? Were these last seconds all she had left? And most frightening of all the tiny part of her that welcomed it, this final release from the exhaustion of being alive.
Trent of course reacted like there was no problem.
He thumbed a cassette into the car radio and turned up the volume. There was a faint crackle from the speakers and then a lonely-sounding banjo started to strum out a single descending chord, again and again, getting louder and more complicated.
"The Eagles," said Trent casually. "Journey of the Sorcerer."
Quinn frowned. "It's the music from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."
"Is it?"
"Daria watched it on TV. Apparently it's supposed to be really funny. Just made me sad." She blinked in confusion. "Why the hell am I talking about that stupid TV show? Trent, what are you doing?"
"Rocking the beat," said Trent, and immediately the building music dialed back down to a single strumming note. "Goes for nearly seven minutes this track," he added.
"I'm incredibly happy to hear that," Quinn hissed. "How does this help with the non-gator?"
Trent bobbed his head to the determined-sounding chorus. When it died away with a banshee wail, he opened his eyes. "Quinn, that thing was out there when we went off the road, right?"
"Right."
"So its heard us, if not seen us. It would also have heard us trying to drive off and then heard us talking, right?"
"Right."
"So if we go quiet, what's it going to think? It's gonna think we've twigged it's out there and it's gonna be on its guard. Right now, we're listening to music. We're harmless. At least it thinks that." He tapped his sharp nose with a fingertip. "Which means we have the advantage, right?"
"Riiiiiighht." Quinn had to admit Trent's logic made sense, but she definitely didn't feel like they had the upper hand.
"Okay, so, while the sorcerer is journeying. You got anything in your make-up kit that can cut through vines or anything?"
"Uh, I think so, yeah." Quinn grabbed her satchel from behind the seat and rummaged through it. "I've got some cuticle scissors, pretty sharp, and a nail file, that could help."
"Cool. So if you went out to the back wheel, you could cut us free?"
"In the mud?" Quinn grimaced. She would rather a ruined pair of jeans than being stuck out here, but she would also rather being alive than being exploded like a desperate dog.
"In the mud," Trent confirmed. "Once all the roots are cut loose, we can drive out of here, no problem. Go and keep going. Don't stop for anyone or anything until you're back home at Lawndale, right?"
Quinn shook her head. "Uh-uh, I'm not going without you."
"Hey, I'm kind of hoping to be with you. This is just in case."
"No just in case, Trent. I am not going to leave you to be monster chow or whatever that psycho is!"
"I bet your mom and dad would be real happy to know that."
"Screw them!" fumed Quinn, her cheeks as pink as her shirt. "You think I can go home, go to school, do anything, knowing I left you behind?"
"I'm not your problem, Quinn."
"I never said you were a problem!" Quinn fumed. "You're my friend! At least, you're someone I care about! I'll never forgive myself if you get hurt and it's all my fault."
"It's not your fault," Trent shrugged. "Just stuff that happens."
"Trent, I like you!"
"Thanks, but we both know that out of the two of us, you're the one that matters more. If one of us gets out of this, it's got to be you. No one's going to be happy if I make it and you don't."
Quinn stared at him. "And you think they'll be happy if you don't?"
"I don't think they'll be happy if I do," Trent replied. "Quinn, just... just listen. I've got a plan to get us out of this mess. If it works, I'll be right back with you and nothing bad will happen to me. But I need you to be okay whatever happens." He reached out and with one cool, callused hand, stroked her cheek. "You're a sweet kid, Quinn. It'd break a lot of hearts if you didn't come home."
"And if you don't come home?"
"Everyone will count their blessings that you did, red," said Trent gently. "Now, are we gonna whine about which of us is more important, or are you gonna listen to my cunning plan?"
"Go on," said Quinn meekly.
"OK. Let's assume this is the thing that went after the old lady and her dog. What do we know?"
"We know it's a psycho who doesn't care if it kills dogs and old ladies," Quinn replied, before forcing herself to concentrate. "But it chased the dog, so it must like hunting things. And if you go running really quick, it'll be attracted to you."
"Uh-huh," Trent said, impressed.
"But you can't run fast!"
"Yeah I can. Not for long, yeah, but for a little bit." He laughed and coughed. "Damn asthma. But that's where my cunning plan comes in. You open your window and scream like you've never screamed before."
"So it's attracted to me?" Quinn checked.
"It's gotta choose between something it can see running away or something it can hear." It all seemed very sensible to Trent. "If it goes after me, you cut the car free, gun the engines and I'll try and catch up. Maybe you can run it over or something."
"And what if it comes after me?"
"Then it will have it's back to me. If the monster hurts you, I'm the one who has to face your mom, Quinn. So I'm not gonna let that happen."
"And what if you get eaten?" Quinn asked plaintively.
"Then... I dunno. Name your first boy after me or something. Getting eaten by a monster saving a pretty girl? Isn't that, what, like guys were invented for in the first place?"
"What do I tell Jane and Daria?"
"Whatever you want." Trent looked deep into her eyes. "They won't blame you, Quinn. And they won't miss me."
"They will!"
"You know I can't remember a single time Jane said anything nice to me?" Trent asked thoughtfully. "Not once. It's always an insult, about how useless I am and how bad my music is. She says it so she doesn't sound mean. I like that. She's funny about it, but as long as she's been around, she's been looking after me. Little sister being the grown-up. And I had the nerve to try and keep her around? I don't forgive myself for that. I know she can't. But it's cool, Quinn. I love Jane... Janey. If she's better of without me, I won't complain. She's got her art and college and Daria and everything. She doesn't need me any more, because, hey, she never did. No one did."
"That's not true!" Quinn pleaded.
"It's not nice, but it's true. Now, are you ready for this?" A violin had joined the banjo and the tune had become a kind of wistful barn dance. "When the music stops, you scream, I run. Improv from there."
"Only if you promise you'll come back, that you'll get me home to mom and dad and not take the easy way out." She glared up at him. "Pinky-promise!" she demanded.
Staring at her long enough to make her wonder if he knew what the hell she was talking about, he reached out with his right hand. His hand was curled in a loose fist, but his little finger was extended.
Quinn slipped her own pinkie, tiny and smooth, around Trent's.
"Promise," he said solemnly. "Here we go."
The barn dance was fading away, quieter and quieter.
A horrible, dreadful silence.
Quinn turned to face the open doorway of the car and screamed out into the woods with the loudest, most ear-piecing, nails-down-a-chalkboard screech she could manage. She poured every fear and frustration into the scream, every passive-aggressive conflict with Stacy, every insult from Daria, every time she left Trent and feared she would never see him again. She screamed and screamed until she simply couldn't breathe any more and could only let out pathetic sob-like howls.
Beside her, Trent bolted from the car and through the bushes out onto the road, sprinting back down the road in the direction of Sergeant McTeal and the unfortunate dog. He flung one foot in front of the other, feeling weightless and the world flashing past.
This was how Janey and Penny and the other runners must feel, Trent knew. Apparently if you ran fast enough and long enough, your brain blew a fuse and flooded your body with endorphins. That was never going to happen to Trent, though.
He struck and invisible wall and his body suddenly weighed three times more than normal, and his lungs were suddenly crammed full of broken glass. Momentum carried him forward three or four more steps as his muscles turned to cement and crushed his ribs inside him.
With one last burst of strength, Trent hurled himself sideways directly through the treeline beside the road. He barely felt the impact and lay there, dizzy and empty-headed, unsure of what he was doing or where he was. Sharp branches, blunt stones and more dug into his back. He was too weak to even move.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Someone was approaching.
Quinn? McTeal?
No, Trent wasn't that lucky. It was the non-gator.
Not moving his heard, he squinted through the mist and leaves blocking the clear view of the road. Something was crunching past and although he was unable to get a good look, Trent saw a tall figure walking on two legs as it passed.
It wasn't a gator.
And nor was it human. Not even remotely.
Trent was glad he didn't have the breath or else he might have screamed.
Quinn hadn't been frightened very often in her life. Sure, there'd been the shock scares of loud noises and unexpected appearances to make her 'eep' in surprise, but she'd only been scared three times before.
Proper scared. Proper I-can-breathe, I am going to die now, please god help me scared. The sort of fear that makes you consider the improved speed and ballast of an empty bladder and doesn't care who knows it. The this-is-why-cavemen-were-scared-of-the-dark fear.
The first time she barely remembered, but she understood a time when her father had apparently abandoned the whole family and driven off in the middle night after an argument about Daria. She'd been certain he'd never come back, she'd heard her mother crying, and Quinn had vowed she'd always fit in and be popular after that. Anything to stop her daddy running away from them.
The second time was the glitter berries incident where she'd been in the woods and her mother had become depressed, saying she was too old and tired to go on and sat on a rock saying she was going to die. Then she closed her eyes and went still. Quinn still had bad dreams about that, remembering her desperate screams and no reply.
Then when her dad had a heart attack and collapsed face-first in the guacamole. Her fear had turned straight to self-hatred for letting it happen and she'd vowed to become an expert at medicine to keep her daddy safe. The knowledge that he'd recovered soon after and she'd never learned anything useful didn't cheer her up.
And now there was a fourth time she was frightened. Right now.
Someone or something was moving through the wet misty gloom around the back of Trent's car. She had no idea who it was or what they wanted, bar the gut certainty she couldn't stop them. Was this how it ended? Was she going to end up like that poor dog, to be found by a fat sheriff with a weird chin mustache? Were these last seconds all she had left? And most frightening of all the tiny part of her that welcomed it, this final release from the exhaustion of being alive.
Trent of course reacted like there was no problem.
He thumbed a cassette into the car radio and turned up the volume. There was a faint crackle from the speakers and then a lonely-sounding banjo started to strum out a single descending chord, again and again, getting louder and more complicated.
"The Eagles," said Trent casually. "Journey of the Sorcerer."
Quinn frowned. "It's the music from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy."
"Is it?"
"Daria watched it on TV. Apparently it's supposed to be really funny. Just made me sad." She blinked in confusion. "Why the hell am I talking about that stupid TV show? Trent, what are you doing?"
"Rocking the beat," said Trent, and immediately the building music dialed back down to a single strumming note. "Goes for nearly seven minutes this track," he added.
"I'm incredibly happy to hear that," Quinn hissed. "How does this help with the non-gator?"
Trent bobbed his head to the determined-sounding chorus. When it died away with a banshee wail, he opened his eyes. "Quinn, that thing was out there when we went off the road, right?"
"Right."
"So its heard us, if not seen us. It would also have heard us trying to drive off and then heard us talking, right?"
"Right."
"So if we go quiet, what's it going to think? It's gonna think we've twigged it's out there and it's gonna be on its guard. Right now, we're listening to music. We're harmless. At least it thinks that." He tapped his sharp nose with a fingertip. "Which means we have the advantage, right?"
"Riiiiiighht." Quinn had to admit Trent's logic made sense, but she definitely didn't feel like they had the upper hand.
"Okay, so, while the sorcerer is journeying. You got anything in your make-up kit that can cut through vines or anything?"
"Uh, I think so, yeah." Quinn grabbed her satchel from behind the seat and rummaged through it. "I've got some cuticle scissors, pretty sharp, and a nail file, that could help."
"Cool. So if you went out to the back wheel, you could cut us free?"
"In the mud?" Quinn grimaced. She would rather a ruined pair of jeans than being stuck out here, but she would also rather being alive than being exploded like a desperate dog.
"In the mud," Trent confirmed. "Once all the roots are cut loose, we can drive out of here, no problem. Go and keep going. Don't stop for anyone or anything until you're back home at Lawndale, right?"
Quinn shook her head. "Uh-uh, I'm not going without you."
"Hey, I'm kind of hoping to be with you. This is just in case."
"No just in case, Trent. I am not going to leave you to be monster chow or whatever that psycho is!"
"I bet your mom and dad would be real happy to know that."
"Screw them!" fumed Quinn, her cheeks as pink as her shirt. "You think I can go home, go to school, do anything, knowing I left you behind?"
"I'm not your problem, Quinn."
"I never said you were a problem!" Quinn fumed. "You're my friend! At least, you're someone I care about! I'll never forgive myself if you get hurt and it's all my fault."
"It's not your fault," Trent shrugged. "Just stuff that happens."
"Trent, I like you!"
"Thanks, but we both know that out of the two of us, you're the one that matters more. If one of us gets out of this, it's got to be you. No one's going to be happy if I make it and you don't."
Quinn stared at him. "And you think they'll be happy if you don't?"
"I don't think they'll be happy if I do," Trent replied. "Quinn, just... just listen. I've got a plan to get us out of this mess. If it works, I'll be right back with you and nothing bad will happen to me. But I need you to be okay whatever happens." He reached out and with one cool, callused hand, stroked her cheek. "You're a sweet kid, Quinn. It'd break a lot of hearts if you didn't come home."
"And if you don't come home?"
"Everyone will count their blessings that you did, red," said Trent gently. "Now, are we gonna whine about which of us is more important, or are you gonna listen to my cunning plan?"
"Go on," said Quinn meekly.
"OK. Let's assume this is the thing that went after the old lady and her dog. What do we know?"
"We know it's a psycho who doesn't care if it kills dogs and old ladies," Quinn replied, before forcing herself to concentrate. "But it chased the dog, so it must like hunting things. And if you go running really quick, it'll be attracted to you."
"Uh-huh," Trent said, impressed.
"But you can't run fast!"
"Yeah I can. Not for long, yeah, but for a little bit." He laughed and coughed. "Damn asthma. But that's where my cunning plan comes in. You open your window and scream like you've never screamed before."
"So it's attracted to me?" Quinn checked.
"It's gotta choose between something it can see running away or something it can hear." It all seemed very sensible to Trent. "If it goes after me, you cut the car free, gun the engines and I'll try and catch up. Maybe you can run it over or something."
"And what if it comes after me?"
"Then it will have it's back to me. If the monster hurts you, I'm the one who has to face your mom, Quinn. So I'm not gonna let that happen."
"And what if you get eaten?" Quinn asked plaintively.
"Then... I dunno. Name your first boy after me or something. Getting eaten by a monster saving a pretty girl? Isn't that, what, like guys were invented for in the first place?"
"What do I tell Jane and Daria?"
"Whatever you want." Trent looked deep into her eyes. "They won't blame you, Quinn. And they won't miss me."
"They will!"
"You know I can't remember a single time Jane said anything nice to me?" Trent asked thoughtfully. "Not once. It's always an insult, about how useless I am and how bad my music is. She says it so she doesn't sound mean. I like that. She's funny about it, but as long as she's been around, she's been looking after me. Little sister being the grown-up. And I had the nerve to try and keep her around? I don't forgive myself for that. I know she can't. But it's cool, Quinn. I love Jane... Janey. If she's better of without me, I won't complain. She's got her art and college and Daria and everything. She doesn't need me any more, because, hey, she never did. No one did."
"That's not true!" Quinn pleaded.
"It's not nice, but it's true. Now, are you ready for this?" A violin had joined the banjo and the tune had become a kind of wistful barn dance. "When the music stops, you scream, I run. Improv from there."
"Only if you promise you'll come back, that you'll get me home to mom and dad and not take the easy way out." She glared up at him. "Pinky-promise!" she demanded.
Staring at her long enough to make her wonder if he knew what the hell she was talking about, he reached out with his right hand. His hand was curled in a loose fist, but his little finger was extended.
Quinn slipped her own pinkie, tiny and smooth, around Trent's.
"Promise," he said solemnly. "Here we go."
The barn dance was fading away, quieter and quieter.
A horrible, dreadful silence.
Quinn turned to face the open doorway of the car and screamed out into the woods with the loudest, most ear-piecing, nails-down-a-chalkboard screech she could manage. She poured every fear and frustration into the scream, every passive-aggressive conflict with Stacy, every insult from Daria, every time she left Trent and feared she would never see him again. She screamed and screamed until she simply couldn't breathe any more and could only let out pathetic sob-like howls.
Beside her, Trent bolted from the car and through the bushes out onto the road, sprinting back down the road in the direction of Sergeant McTeal and the unfortunate dog. He flung one foot in front of the other, feeling weightless and the world flashing past.
This was how Janey and Penny and the other runners must feel, Trent knew. Apparently if you ran fast enough and long enough, your brain blew a fuse and flooded your body with endorphins. That was never going to happen to Trent, though.
He struck and invisible wall and his body suddenly weighed three times more than normal, and his lungs were suddenly crammed full of broken glass. Momentum carried him forward three or four more steps as his muscles turned to cement and crushed his ribs inside him.
With one last burst of strength, Trent hurled himself sideways directly through the treeline beside the road. He barely felt the impact and lay there, dizzy and empty-headed, unsure of what he was doing or where he was. Sharp branches, blunt stones and more dug into his back. He was too weak to even move.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Someone was approaching.
Quinn? McTeal?
No, Trent wasn't that lucky. It was the non-gator.
Not moving his heard, he squinted through the mist and leaves blocking the clear view of the road. Something was crunching past and although he was unable to get a good look, Trent saw a tall figure walking on two legs as it passed.
It wasn't a gator.
And nor was it human. Not even remotely.
Trent was glad he didn't have the breath or else he might have screamed.
Chapter 4
Once she was unable to scream any more, Quinn scrambled back across the passenger seat, through the open door and out of the car. True, she was leaving any protection the Plymouth could provide, but at least she couldn't be trapped inside the vehicle.
Keeping low, she scrambled forward towards the rear wheel. The soft mud teased her that it could support her weight, then gave way with a revolting slurp that engulfed her knees and thighs. Whatever happened now, these jeans were beyond salvation.
Holding her purse in one hand, Quinn groped around the wheel arch to feel for the tangled roots and vines. Pulling them taut, she tugged the purse zipper open with her teeth and pulled out some nail scissors. She started to slice through the fronds and branches, but it was far from easy - the vegetation was moist and soft, bending rather than breaking.
Quinn squeezed the scissors closed and yanked on the vine, hoping to shred the wretched thing, but to no avail. Twisting the vine around her hand to get more purchase, she hauled again and only succeeded in crushing her hand until her knuckles popped. What was this stuff?
Then there was a crashing sound coming towards her. It was the crunching footsteps of the not-gator, but now closer and closer. Whatever it was was moving slowly but purposefully, and Quinn could somehow tell that it was limping.
Quinn curled up close to the car, praying to her guardian angel (who she only ever bothered for real important things these days) that whatever it was would not spot her. She closed her eyes and bit down a yelp of fright as the dark murk suddenly became darker.
Something very big was blocking out the daylight over her.
The crunching footsteps continued and after a moment, the darkness receded slightly. Quinn risked opening her eyes and turned her neck to something tall and gnarled moving at the edge of her vision.
She didn't get a clear look at it, but she didn't need to. Somehow, deep in her guts she knew she was not looking at anything human. In fact, she wasn't sure what she was looking at. A million possible comparisons flashed through her brain, but none matched.
What she saw she did not recognize as something of this Earth.
Of course, she'd said something similar about Liberace's cowboy outfit.
It was taller than a man, even an NBA hotshot, and hunched over. Its body was a twisted coiled mass of... tentacles? Roots? Tubes? It looked grown, the way a tumor is grown. It had arms with long twisted fingers, but Quinn couldn't see its legs. Its upper body was like a backwards question mark, the curved neck drooping down and fusing with a blunt head that could have been a broken tree trunk.
It was also purple, like a bruise on the arm of a fresh corpse.
Quinn watched it go, and the tiny part of her mind that proved she was Daria's sister analyzed what she saw. Monster, animal, man in suit, whatever it was it acted like it owned these woods. It was not trying to hide itself or conceal its movements. This thing was not used to being challenged on its own turf. Which mean either the natives never tried to harm it, or simply never encountered it before.
So it was confident, maybe arrogant. It was hunting Trent, but why? Was it hungry? Was it defending its territory? Was it just scary looking and actually wanting to be a friend? There was no evidence saying that this thing was responsible for the dead old lady and her poor dog - just the sheer unlikelihood of two threats being in the same area.
It was moving slowly, though. Was that its top speed? Was it just not hurrying because it was confident it'd catch Trent with ease? Or was it perhaps sick? Tired? Diseased? If it had just killed an old woman and her dog and gone on the run, it could be exhausted.
The thing - she would think of a name later - lumbered out of sight.
Quinn returned her attention to the vines and roots. They almost looked like they had deliberately grown around the wheel to cripple the car, but she dismissed that thought. They would have grown around her hands by now if that monster was controlling the roots. And could they be so fast-growing in so little sunlight?
Quinn grabbed her nail file from her purse, and drove the sharpened end into the rough tear the scissors had made. Stabbing the vine again and again, Quinn twisted the file and then attacked with the scissors once more. The vine split in two but still clung on to the wheel like it had a grudge. Quinn wrenched again and this time the root came free.
The rest of the reeds were thin and easily severed with a few cuts from the scissors, but there were so many of them it seemed to take ages. Quinn kept working, because this wasn't the hard part. What the hell was she going to do once the car was free?
***
Trent decided the worst thing about the monster he could see through the foliage was the noise it made. It was a hideous inhuman... breathing noise, an inhale and exhale that was accompanied by a dry rattlesnake-like clatter of membranes slapping together. Like Satan sucking up the last of a thickshake through a straw.
The mottled purple figure slowly swung its curved upper body from left to right, clearly scanning the area in front of it. Were there eyes there, or a face? Trent couldn't tell. All he knew was, if he saw this thing on an album cover, he wouldn't have bought the record.
All his creative and musical senses told him whatever-it-was was impatient and hungry. It needed something and was sick of looking for it, but hadn't found it yet.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The thing lurched and limped until Trent could see it no longer.
Trent remained where he was, exhausted and frightened. He wasn't sure if he could slip away from that creature if it spotted him, but he was certain he'd be doomed if there was more of them around.
The good thing was it had come after him, so Quinn might be safe.
Unless there were more of them.
Chest heaving, still winded from the run, Trent climbed to his feet. He held a tree for balance, but the moist bark creeped him out - it was like the wooden-looking flesh of the beast, only not purple. A monster in the woods? Or a monster of the woods?
Trent shook his head as his imagination began to come up with song lyrics. The time for composing was over but hopefully the time for decomposing was a long way away.
Carefully he leaned out through the treeline onto the road, he could still hear the steady crunching. The thing was heading down towards the crime scene. If Sergeant McTeal was still around, he'd have a very unwelcome visitor.
Trent considered his options.
He chose to go after Quinn.
***
Quinn shook her legs but the mud had dried too much. She wasn't sure what to do now - could she get the car out of the bog on her own? Someone needed to hit the accelerator and someone had to add their brute strength. It was a two person job.
Wasn't it?
Deciding she had nothing to lose by trying, she climbed into the driver's seat. The cold mud squelched beneath her backside and legs and she whimpered softly in disgust. Wincing, she forced herself to suck it up and closed both doors of the car. She checked the handbrake and then floored the petal to the metal.
The engine roared like a sleepy lion, and the Plymouth bobbed up and down like a rubber duck when the bath was emptied. Quinn put all her weight onto her foot and the engine roared again and the car jerked, wobbled and then exploded free.
The released wheels spun faster and faster and Quinn was suddenly hurtling noisily down the road at top speed. Yelping in alarm, she spun the wheel to follow the curve of the path and took her foot off the accelerator, but the mud-encrusted pedal remained where it was.
Quinn gulped, and tried to kick down the brake to no avail. The car was still picking up speed and she couldn't stop it. Quinn glanced down at the pedals, wondering what had got wrong. Then then Quinn looked up and saw Trent standing in the middle of the road a little way ahead.
And she was hurtling straight towards him!
Once she was unable to scream any more, Quinn scrambled back across the passenger seat, through the open door and out of the car. True, she was leaving any protection the Plymouth could provide, but at least she couldn't be trapped inside the vehicle.
Keeping low, she scrambled forward towards the rear wheel. The soft mud teased her that it could support her weight, then gave way with a revolting slurp that engulfed her knees and thighs. Whatever happened now, these jeans were beyond salvation.
Holding her purse in one hand, Quinn groped around the wheel arch to feel for the tangled roots and vines. Pulling them taut, she tugged the purse zipper open with her teeth and pulled out some nail scissors. She started to slice through the fronds and branches, but it was far from easy - the vegetation was moist and soft, bending rather than breaking.
Quinn squeezed the scissors closed and yanked on the vine, hoping to shred the wretched thing, but to no avail. Twisting the vine around her hand to get more purchase, she hauled again and only succeeded in crushing her hand until her knuckles popped. What was this stuff?
Then there was a crashing sound coming towards her. It was the crunching footsteps of the not-gator, but now closer and closer. Whatever it was was moving slowly but purposefully, and Quinn could somehow tell that it was limping.
Quinn curled up close to the car, praying to her guardian angel (who she only ever bothered for real important things these days) that whatever it was would not spot her. She closed her eyes and bit down a yelp of fright as the dark murk suddenly became darker.
Something very big was blocking out the daylight over her.
The crunching footsteps continued and after a moment, the darkness receded slightly. Quinn risked opening her eyes and turned her neck to something tall and gnarled moving at the edge of her vision.
She didn't get a clear look at it, but she didn't need to. Somehow, deep in her guts she knew she was not looking at anything human. In fact, she wasn't sure what she was looking at. A million possible comparisons flashed through her brain, but none matched.
What she saw she did not recognize as something of this Earth.
Of course, she'd said something similar about Liberace's cowboy outfit.
It was taller than a man, even an NBA hotshot, and hunched over. Its body was a twisted coiled mass of... tentacles? Roots? Tubes? It looked grown, the way a tumor is grown. It had arms with long twisted fingers, but Quinn couldn't see its legs. Its upper body was like a backwards question mark, the curved neck drooping down and fusing with a blunt head that could have been a broken tree trunk.
It was also purple, like a bruise on the arm of a fresh corpse.
Quinn watched it go, and the tiny part of her mind that proved she was Daria's sister analyzed what she saw. Monster, animal, man in suit, whatever it was it acted like it owned these woods. It was not trying to hide itself or conceal its movements. This thing was not used to being challenged on its own turf. Which mean either the natives never tried to harm it, or simply never encountered it before.
So it was confident, maybe arrogant. It was hunting Trent, but why? Was it hungry? Was it defending its territory? Was it just scary looking and actually wanting to be a friend? There was no evidence saying that this thing was responsible for the dead old lady and her poor dog - just the sheer unlikelihood of two threats being in the same area.
It was moving slowly, though. Was that its top speed? Was it just not hurrying because it was confident it'd catch Trent with ease? Or was it perhaps sick? Tired? Diseased? If it had just killed an old woman and her dog and gone on the run, it could be exhausted.
The thing - she would think of a name later - lumbered out of sight.
Quinn returned her attention to the vines and roots. They almost looked like they had deliberately grown around the wheel to cripple the car, but she dismissed that thought. They would have grown around her hands by now if that monster was controlling the roots. And could they be so fast-growing in so little sunlight?
Quinn grabbed her nail file from her purse, and drove the sharpened end into the rough tear the scissors had made. Stabbing the vine again and again, Quinn twisted the file and then attacked with the scissors once more. The vine split in two but still clung on to the wheel like it had a grudge. Quinn wrenched again and this time the root came free.
The rest of the reeds were thin and easily severed with a few cuts from the scissors, but there were so many of them it seemed to take ages. Quinn kept working, because this wasn't the hard part. What the hell was she going to do once the car was free?
***
Trent decided the worst thing about the monster he could see through the foliage was the noise it made. It was a hideous inhuman... breathing noise, an inhale and exhale that was accompanied by a dry rattlesnake-like clatter of membranes slapping together. Like Satan sucking up the last of a thickshake through a straw.
The mottled purple figure slowly swung its curved upper body from left to right, clearly scanning the area in front of it. Were there eyes there, or a face? Trent couldn't tell. All he knew was, if he saw this thing on an album cover, he wouldn't have bought the record.
All his creative and musical senses told him whatever-it-was was impatient and hungry. It needed something and was sick of looking for it, but hadn't found it yet.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The thing lurched and limped until Trent could see it no longer.
Trent remained where he was, exhausted and frightened. He wasn't sure if he could slip away from that creature if it spotted him, but he was certain he'd be doomed if there was more of them around.
The good thing was it had come after him, so Quinn might be safe.
Unless there were more of them.
Chest heaving, still winded from the run, Trent climbed to his feet. He held a tree for balance, but the moist bark creeped him out - it was like the wooden-looking flesh of the beast, only not purple. A monster in the woods? Or a monster of the woods?
Trent shook his head as his imagination began to come up with song lyrics. The time for composing was over but hopefully the time for decomposing was a long way away.
Carefully he leaned out through the treeline onto the road, he could still hear the steady crunching. The thing was heading down towards the crime scene. If Sergeant McTeal was still around, he'd have a very unwelcome visitor.
Trent considered his options.
He chose to go after Quinn.
***
Quinn shook her legs but the mud had dried too much. She wasn't sure what to do now - could she get the car out of the bog on her own? Someone needed to hit the accelerator and someone had to add their brute strength. It was a two person job.
Wasn't it?
Deciding she had nothing to lose by trying, she climbed into the driver's seat. The cold mud squelched beneath her backside and legs and she whimpered softly in disgust. Wincing, she forced herself to suck it up and closed both doors of the car. She checked the handbrake and then floored the petal to the metal.
The engine roared like a sleepy lion, and the Plymouth bobbed up and down like a rubber duck when the bath was emptied. Quinn put all her weight onto her foot and the engine roared again and the car jerked, wobbled and then exploded free.
The released wheels spun faster and faster and Quinn was suddenly hurtling noisily down the road at top speed. Yelping in alarm, she spun the wheel to follow the curve of the path and took her foot off the accelerator, but the mud-encrusted pedal remained where it was.
Quinn gulped, and tried to kick down the brake to no avail. The car was still picking up speed and she couldn't stop it. Quinn glanced down at the pedals, wondering what had got wrong. Then then Quinn looked up and saw Trent standing in the middle of the road a little way ahead.
And she was hurtling straight towards him!
Chapter 5
Trent saw his own Plymouth screaming towards him at half the speed of sound and tried to find the energy and will power to dive out of the way. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion, yet Trent's body seemed to equally sluggish and delayed.
The car expanded to fill his vision, so large it seemed to fill the sky and all horizons. He could see a terrified, mud-spattered Quinn at the wheel, clearly not in control of the runaway car.
Trent didn't want to just stand there and be run down, yet he knew at the same time there was no chance of escaping. It was either die doing nothing or take the slimmest of slimmest chance of survival.
And he had, after all, made a promise to Quinn.
So, even though it was completely hopeless, Trent jumped for safety.
***
What would Daria do?
Quinn decided to give herself the next three seconds to work out what to do as the car flew towards Trent with gathering speed. It wasn't long, but it was all she could afford. She had to think.
OK, the car won't slow down or stop. Why is this a problem? Because it's going to hit Trent. So it doesn't matter if I can't slow the car down or stop it, just as long as it doesn't hit Trent. So, what can I do to this car apart from slowing down or stopping?
Quinn wrenched back the handbrake and twisted the steering wheel over and over until it wouldn't turn any further. She narrowed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and let out a growl of utter desperation.
The car swung around to the right. Sixteen degrees, twenty-five degrees, forty, sixty. There was a hideous screech of tires on asphalt, the stink of burning rubber as the wheels locked, the kinetic energy of the momentum slammed through Quinn.
She was barely aware of Trent leaping out of the way.
***
Trent let out a breathless moan. This was the second time in the last five minutes he'd flung himself to the ground and he wasn't getting any better at it. His right side was glowing with dull heat from impact and all real dull bruises were forming on his arm and leg.
Before him, the Plymouth had screeched around in a painful howling U-turn and ground to a halt aimed north-westernly back up the road. Hot fumes of burnt rubber wafted up from the muddy tires.
"Quinn!" Trent rasped, getting to his feet. He felt weaker than a new-born giraffe as he stumbled feebly towards the Plymouth. "Quinn?" he croaked, opening the passenger-side door.
Quinn was white as a sheet, panting like she'd run a marathon and trembling in the driver's seat. "Are you okay?" she asked, still looking blindly and shivering.
"Yeah," Trent sighed. "What was that about?"
"Accelerator jammed. Couldn't stop otherwise."
Trent nodded, reached across the underside of the steering column and brought his fist up sharply. There was a loud clunk as the pedals popped loose once again. "That happens sometimes."
"I thought you gave this piece of crap a full work-over!" Quinn squealed, trying to pull her hands away from the wheel. "Why didn't you get that fixed too?"
"Why would I need it fixed? You just bang it like that and it works."
Quinn wrenched her hands free and glared at him. "And to think you worry people find you irritating," she grumbled, trying to manage her paralyzed hands back into life. "Did you see that thing?"
"Uh-huh," Trent agreed. "Ugly. It's heading back down the road."
"You think it'll find that sergeant?"
Trent took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"We really ought to help him."
"Yeah, we should. I'll go the driving this time."
Quinn managed to wobble out of the car, her bones soft spaghetti surrounded by muscles of unset jelly. Trent took her arm and led her back to the passenger seat and then buckled her in. Quinn glanced around nervously, checking they were alone.
"Quick thinking, swerving like that," Trent said.
"Quick but hardly smart," Quinn shivered. "I thought you were just going to stand there and let me run you over."
"It was an option," Trent agreed, climbing into the driving seat and easing the over-taxed automobile into a three-point turn. "Don't worry, though. I'm getting you home safe and sound first."
"Please, Trent. Tell me you won't..."
"We should keep an eye out for that purple dude," Trent interrupted as the Plymouth started to chug along down the road. "I don't know what it is, and it might not know what we are."
"You mean, it doesn't get what a car is?"
"Yeah. It'll think of us as either a threat it has to kill, food it can eat or something it can get giggy with. Hopefully only one of those at a time. Or maybe it'll be scared and self-conscious and run away."
"OK," said Quinn breathlessly, scanning the trees on either side. It certainly seemed that they were alone. "But what is it?"
"Not a gator."
"Duh, Trent. But I can't even tell if it's an animal or a plant or what!" Quinn shook her head. "I mean, if things like that lived in the forests, how come we don't know about it?"
"Why should we?" said Trent, spotting the dead dog in the distance. "We know more about what's on the surface on the moon than the bottom of our own oceans. Just last century people found out that wood people were actually mountain gorillas and the fire-breathing dinosaurs were just komodo dragons. New species get found all the time, Quinn. And old ones too."
"Old ones?" asked Quinn nervously. That sounded sinister.
"Uh-huh. Coelacanths, you ever heard them? Big eels, basically. Nothing special about them except everyone they thought they died out with the dinosaurs. They started being spotted in Papu New Guinea. Penny saw one overturn a fisherman's boat once."
Quinn tried to avoid looking at the dog as they circled the corpse. There was no sign of any sheriff or the big purple people-eater (which may not actually eat people). They moved on down the road and there was still no sign of anything dangerous.
"So we could have found an undiscovered species?" she asked.
"I think the old lady and her dog were the ones that discovered it," Trent said grimly. "And look what happened to them."
"Why do you think it killed them?"
"Maybe it was scared or confused or hungry," Trent shrugged. "Or maybe it's just a big asshole. Some animals do stuff just to be jerks."
"Right." Quinn nodded. "So what's our plan now?"
"Go the end of this road. If we can't find anything, we head back to Lawndale and chalk this one down to experience. Unless you have a better idea?" Trent asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No one would believe us if we told them," Quinn pointed out.
"Who cares if they believe us? Let's care we're alive to be disbelieved."
They drove on in silence for several minutes. The road curved back on itself, the trees getting denser and denser until the treetops starting to merge together into a single canopy. It make things even darker.
"Still no sign of the big guy," Trent said.
"Maybe he's wandered off into the woods?" Quinn wondered. "Or, you know, Sergeant McTeal scared it off."
"Mmm." Trent was as non-committal as ever. "Looks like the track's winding up. Hope there's enough room to turn around."
"What am I going to tell Daria?" asked Quinn suddenly.
Trent said nothing.
"When she asks about you and I say you're... you're gone. How is she going to take that?"
"You know her better than I do."
"She loved you."
"Past tense."
Quinn's face grew hot with anger. "Till you broke her heart! You went off with that Monique floozy when you were supposed to be staying with us and you broke her heart!"
"Yeah," Trent grunted. "I thought that's what happened."
"Don't you feel guilty?"
"Daria was jail-bait. I couldn't be with her. I thought we could be friends, but we couldn't. I totally let her down with some stupid school project. She and Janey said they'd never forgive me for that. Guess it wasn't an idle threat."
"You think they'd shut you out over some school essay?" Quinn boggled.
"That's what they said they'd do. Janey swore she never speak to me again. Took her a while, but she got there in the end. Daria decided she could never see things the way I did. So, no, I don't think she'll be cut up if you told her I'm gone. I'd be surprised if she asks."
"And what about your family, huh?"
"What about my family?" Trent replied. "I've seen my dad twice in the last five years. My brother and sisters haven't been around full time since I was ten. My mom barely speaks to me. They're doing pretty good at the moment not missing me. It's not exactly going to take much away." He blew out his cheeks, looking very tired. "I wouldn't be thinking about this if I thought anyone would be hurt, Quinn."
"I'd be hurt!" Quinn pleaded.
"What's my middle name?" asked Trent suddenly. "When's my birthday? Which was the first song I wrote? Who are my musical influences? Why do you think we're such close buddies?"
"Okay, okay, gee, we're not BFFs, but that doesn't mean I hate you! And it doesn't mean I'd be happy if you... went."
"How am I making you happy as I stay?" Trent wondered. "If it weren't for me, you'd be safe and sound in Lawndale now."
"Yeah, if you just did what I said, you'd be safe and sound in Lawndale too! All this bad stuff is down to you not listening to me!" Quinn huffed. "That's what you're saying, Trent! You're saying you should be doing what I tell you and not, not wallowing! I could've left you, Trent, but I didn't! I want you home and safe! Who cares if Jane's being a bitch or Daria thinks you're useless! I care about you!"
"I'm not your problem."
"I'm MAKING you my problem, Trent! You don't get a say in it!"
Trent wasn't sure what to say.
And then he caught a glimpse of something in the rear view mirror.
Something purple.
"Aw crap," said Trent, who now knew what to say.
The monster was shuffling deep through the trees, head down and moving side to sound like a sniffer dog hunting a scent, and it was already moving out onto the road and blocking the car's retreat.
It was twenty yards away. Then seventeen. Fifteen.
Quinn saw the monster approaching.
"What do we do?" asked Trent, mouth dry.
"We don't panic in the face of adversity," said Quinn, mind racing furiously. "We face it together."
Ten yards. Nine. Eight.
"And what are we going to do as we face it together?"
Five yards.
Quinn took a deep breath. "...run!"
Trent saw his own Plymouth screaming towards him at half the speed of sound and tried to find the energy and will power to dive out of the way. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion, yet Trent's body seemed to equally sluggish and delayed.
The car expanded to fill his vision, so large it seemed to fill the sky and all horizons. He could see a terrified, mud-spattered Quinn at the wheel, clearly not in control of the runaway car.
Trent didn't want to just stand there and be run down, yet he knew at the same time there was no chance of escaping. It was either die doing nothing or take the slimmest of slimmest chance of survival.
And he had, after all, made a promise to Quinn.
So, even though it was completely hopeless, Trent jumped for safety.
***
What would Daria do?
Quinn decided to give herself the next three seconds to work out what to do as the car flew towards Trent with gathering speed. It wasn't long, but it was all she could afford. She had to think.
OK, the car won't slow down or stop. Why is this a problem? Because it's going to hit Trent. So it doesn't matter if I can't slow the car down or stop it, just as long as it doesn't hit Trent. So, what can I do to this car apart from slowing down or stopping?
Quinn wrenched back the handbrake and twisted the steering wheel over and over until it wouldn't turn any further. She narrowed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and let out a growl of utter desperation.
The car swung around to the right. Sixteen degrees, twenty-five degrees, forty, sixty. There was a hideous screech of tires on asphalt, the stink of burning rubber as the wheels locked, the kinetic energy of the momentum slammed through Quinn.
She was barely aware of Trent leaping out of the way.
***
Trent let out a breathless moan. This was the second time in the last five minutes he'd flung himself to the ground and he wasn't getting any better at it. His right side was glowing with dull heat from impact and all real dull bruises were forming on his arm and leg.
Before him, the Plymouth had screeched around in a painful howling U-turn and ground to a halt aimed north-westernly back up the road. Hot fumes of burnt rubber wafted up from the muddy tires.
"Quinn!" Trent rasped, getting to his feet. He felt weaker than a new-born giraffe as he stumbled feebly towards the Plymouth. "Quinn?" he croaked, opening the passenger-side door.
Quinn was white as a sheet, panting like she'd run a marathon and trembling in the driver's seat. "Are you okay?" she asked, still looking blindly and shivering.
"Yeah," Trent sighed. "What was that about?"
"Accelerator jammed. Couldn't stop otherwise."
Trent nodded, reached across the underside of the steering column and brought his fist up sharply. There was a loud clunk as the pedals popped loose once again. "That happens sometimes."
"I thought you gave this piece of crap a full work-over!" Quinn squealed, trying to pull her hands away from the wheel. "Why didn't you get that fixed too?"
"Why would I need it fixed? You just bang it like that and it works."
Quinn wrenched her hands free and glared at him. "And to think you worry people find you irritating," she grumbled, trying to manage her paralyzed hands back into life. "Did you see that thing?"
"Uh-huh," Trent agreed. "Ugly. It's heading back down the road."
"You think it'll find that sergeant?"
Trent took a deep breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"We really ought to help him."
"Yeah, we should. I'll go the driving this time."
Quinn managed to wobble out of the car, her bones soft spaghetti surrounded by muscles of unset jelly. Trent took her arm and led her back to the passenger seat and then buckled her in. Quinn glanced around nervously, checking they were alone.
"Quick thinking, swerving like that," Trent said.
"Quick but hardly smart," Quinn shivered. "I thought you were just going to stand there and let me run you over."
"It was an option," Trent agreed, climbing into the driving seat and easing the over-taxed automobile into a three-point turn. "Don't worry, though. I'm getting you home safe and sound first."
"Please, Trent. Tell me you won't..."
"We should keep an eye out for that purple dude," Trent interrupted as the Plymouth started to chug along down the road. "I don't know what it is, and it might not know what we are."
"You mean, it doesn't get what a car is?"
"Yeah. It'll think of us as either a threat it has to kill, food it can eat or something it can get giggy with. Hopefully only one of those at a time. Or maybe it'll be scared and self-conscious and run away."
"OK," said Quinn breathlessly, scanning the trees on either side. It certainly seemed that they were alone. "But what is it?"
"Not a gator."
"Duh, Trent. But I can't even tell if it's an animal or a plant or what!" Quinn shook her head. "I mean, if things like that lived in the forests, how come we don't know about it?"
"Why should we?" said Trent, spotting the dead dog in the distance. "We know more about what's on the surface on the moon than the bottom of our own oceans. Just last century people found out that wood people were actually mountain gorillas and the fire-breathing dinosaurs were just komodo dragons. New species get found all the time, Quinn. And old ones too."
"Old ones?" asked Quinn nervously. That sounded sinister.
"Uh-huh. Coelacanths, you ever heard them? Big eels, basically. Nothing special about them except everyone they thought they died out with the dinosaurs. They started being spotted in Papu New Guinea. Penny saw one overturn a fisherman's boat once."
Quinn tried to avoid looking at the dog as they circled the corpse. There was no sign of any sheriff or the big purple people-eater (which may not actually eat people). They moved on down the road and there was still no sign of anything dangerous.
"So we could have found an undiscovered species?" she asked.
"I think the old lady and her dog were the ones that discovered it," Trent said grimly. "And look what happened to them."
"Why do you think it killed them?"
"Maybe it was scared or confused or hungry," Trent shrugged. "Or maybe it's just a big asshole. Some animals do stuff just to be jerks."
"Right." Quinn nodded. "So what's our plan now?"
"Go the end of this road. If we can't find anything, we head back to Lawndale and chalk this one down to experience. Unless you have a better idea?" Trent asked, arching an eyebrow.
"No one would believe us if we told them," Quinn pointed out.
"Who cares if they believe us? Let's care we're alive to be disbelieved."
They drove on in silence for several minutes. The road curved back on itself, the trees getting denser and denser until the treetops starting to merge together into a single canopy. It make things even darker.
"Still no sign of the big guy," Trent said.
"Maybe he's wandered off into the woods?" Quinn wondered. "Or, you know, Sergeant McTeal scared it off."
"Mmm." Trent was as non-committal as ever. "Looks like the track's winding up. Hope there's enough room to turn around."
"What am I going to tell Daria?" asked Quinn suddenly.
Trent said nothing.
"When she asks about you and I say you're... you're gone. How is she going to take that?"
"You know her better than I do."
"She loved you."
"Past tense."
Quinn's face grew hot with anger. "Till you broke her heart! You went off with that Monique floozy when you were supposed to be staying with us and you broke her heart!"
"Yeah," Trent grunted. "I thought that's what happened."
"Don't you feel guilty?"
"Daria was jail-bait. I couldn't be with her. I thought we could be friends, but we couldn't. I totally let her down with some stupid school project. She and Janey said they'd never forgive me for that. Guess it wasn't an idle threat."
"You think they'd shut you out over some school essay?" Quinn boggled.
"That's what they said they'd do. Janey swore she never speak to me again. Took her a while, but she got there in the end. Daria decided she could never see things the way I did. So, no, I don't think she'll be cut up if you told her I'm gone. I'd be surprised if she asks."
"And what about your family, huh?"
"What about my family?" Trent replied. "I've seen my dad twice in the last five years. My brother and sisters haven't been around full time since I was ten. My mom barely speaks to me. They're doing pretty good at the moment not missing me. It's not exactly going to take much away." He blew out his cheeks, looking very tired. "I wouldn't be thinking about this if I thought anyone would be hurt, Quinn."
"I'd be hurt!" Quinn pleaded.
"What's my middle name?" asked Trent suddenly. "When's my birthday? Which was the first song I wrote? Who are my musical influences? Why do you think we're such close buddies?"
"Okay, okay, gee, we're not BFFs, but that doesn't mean I hate you! And it doesn't mean I'd be happy if you... went."
"How am I making you happy as I stay?" Trent wondered. "If it weren't for me, you'd be safe and sound in Lawndale now."
"Yeah, if you just did what I said, you'd be safe and sound in Lawndale too! All this bad stuff is down to you not listening to me!" Quinn huffed. "That's what you're saying, Trent! You're saying you should be doing what I tell you and not, not wallowing! I could've left you, Trent, but I didn't! I want you home and safe! Who cares if Jane's being a bitch or Daria thinks you're useless! I care about you!"
"I'm not your problem."
"I'm MAKING you my problem, Trent! You don't get a say in it!"
Trent wasn't sure what to say.
And then he caught a glimpse of something in the rear view mirror.
Something purple.
"Aw crap," said Trent, who now knew what to say.
The monster was shuffling deep through the trees, head down and moving side to sound like a sniffer dog hunting a scent, and it was already moving out onto the road and blocking the car's retreat.
It was twenty yards away. Then seventeen. Fifteen.
Quinn saw the monster approaching.
"What do we do?" asked Trent, mouth dry.
"We don't panic in the face of adversity," said Quinn, mind racing furiously. "We face it together."
Ten yards. Nine. Eight.
"And what are we going to do as we face it together?"
Five yards.
Quinn took a deep breath. "...run!"
Chapter 6
Quinn and Trent burst from either side of the Plymouth and, in step, raced ahead. Any observer would have thought it looked like the start of some 1970s cop show, but probably without the giant purple abomination slurping and snarling with hunger.
"Up the tree!" Quinn squeaked as she saw directly ahead of them was a large tree that was large and tough enough that looked strong enough and tall enough for them to climb to safety.
Trent didn't argue. They didn't have time to argue or even think of other options. Quinn was smart and wanted to live, so her decisions were the ones to be relied upon.
He leapt for one of the lower branches and grabbed hold. It creaked under his weight but didn't give way, so he managed to scrabble upwards and haul himself up the trunk. Above was another branch and Trent did the same thing, again and again and again.
But Trent was no athlete, and he'd done more exercise today than he had in months. Adrenaline ebbed and his lungs seemed to shrink to a fifth of their original size. There wasn't enough oxygen, it was as simple as that. When the next branch up was out of easy reach, it was all Trent could do not to merely fall out of the tree.
Quinn meanwhile was forced to jump further and further gaps. She wasn't as tall as Trent and the branches were increasingly out of reach. Finally she realized that she could climb no further, and was on more or less the same level where Trent was slumped, grey-faced, wheezing and clinging onto the trunk.
"Trent?" she gasped worriedly.
Trent gulped down enough air to shake his head. "Can't... go... on..."
"Well, neither can I," she said, trying to smile reassuringly. "Still, we're safe up here. That thing can't climb trees, huh?"
Trent didn't have the breath to reply. Apart from his pained gasps, it was eerily silent up in this tree. Quinn's own racing heartbeat was thumping into the back of her skull and her hair was sticking to the back of her sweaty neck. Eww.
She risked a glance down and saw the monster had reached the trunk of the tree and seemed bewildered by their disappearance. It had slowed down, as if assuming that them not moving forwards meant they would still be one spot. That was good. Something that didn't get the concept of vertical movement was by definition so stupid even Kevin Thompson could outwit them.
The crooked downward-curving head tapped and rattled against the tree trunk. Was it blindly bumping into the tree? Was it trying to knock the tree down? If so, it was rubbish - it didn't have the mass to even shake their branches at this distances.
Quinn let out a shuddering sigh, as her body told her things were no longer quite so dangerous. "I think we've got it beat," she wheezed.
"Yeah, we're definitely not the ones trapped up here," Trent croaked, eyes closed and face dripping with sweat.
"Look, we're using a lot of energy, right?" Quinn snapped, still out of breath. "So that thing must be, too, to keep up with us. And it doesn't even have a car. So it's using its energy faster than we are."
"What, you hoping it'll just pass out of something?"
"It might. A smart creature knows there's a point when you've wasted more energy hunting something than you'd get back from eating it. A dumb creature just keeps chasing until it collapses."
"Oh, so not only does it want to kill us, it's going die trying no matter what we do?" Trent groaned. "Just our luck to get the swamp monster equivalent of Wile E Coyote!"
"Well, on the bright side we know it'll still be hungry after it eats us!" said Quinn with a weak smile. It faded. "Sorry. I just thought that's what Daria would say right now."
"And what now?" Trent said, tightening his grip around the trunk as exhaustion turned his limbs to lead. "What do we do now?"
"Uh... wait?"
"Wait."
"Yeah, wait."
"Great."
Quinn looked down at the monster bumping mindlessly at the base of the trunk, almost like an affectionate pet nudging an owner's leg for some attention. She thought of the poor dog and banished any sympathy she had for that creature.
"That sheriff might get help. Even if it got to him, someone will come looking. We can last a while up here. Waif says the average human can survive three weeks on body fat... so I guess you and me could make a fortnight at least. As long as we keep hydrated and sleep well."
"You're saying we live up this tree for two weeks?" Trent asked.
"Hey, it's an option!" Quinn huffed. "I don't see you coming up with a plan!" Before he could speak, she interrupted him. "Because, obviously, when the thing gets bored we climb back down, get into the car and drive out of here like a bat out of hell."
"I hope it's not too long," Trent sighed. "I left the engine running."
"Well, let's just wait and see," Quinn sighed.
"Uh, Quinn?"
"What?"
Trent sounded like he was fighting off sleep. "Thanks, for you know, having a plan to survive. I was fresh out of ideas."
"Heh. Tell your mom I saved your life."
Trent weakly opened his eyes. "Wha?" he grunted. "Is that a song or something?"
"It's something my dad said soldiers did when he was at the academy," Quinn sighed. "If you save someone's life, they have to tell their mom. Then their mom will owe you big time, and whatever happens, you'll always have a mom to turn to for help."
"Guess so. I don't expect my mom will be much good to you, though."
"Your mom's nice."
"My mom's the nicest person in the world, but I don't think she's the best mom in the world. Your mom is way better at being a mom," Trent sighed. "Did I tell you one time I wanted attention, so I said I was going to live in the front yard? My mom didn't do anything. She left me out there for six months. I didn't even see her."
Quinn's brow creased in sympathy. "She... didn't care you were out there?" she asked, finding it hard to believe.
"Nope. I mean, she just thinks I know what if I want. If I wanted to live in the front yard in a tent, then that's my right and she didn't want to get the way. She's real scared if she tries to get involved in our lives it'll end really bad. She thinks we're all butterflies who'll die if she holds on tight."
"Well... at least she means well," Quinn said lamely.
"Yeah, she loves us," Trent agreed firmly. "And we love her too. She's just not good at being a mom. Her own family were really strict and mean to her. Really cruel. They kicked her out when she was a teenager and disowned her. They wouldn't even answer her phone calls. She was a flower child and they hated that. They even... hurt her."
"I'm sorry," Quinn sighed.
"She was on the street when she met my dad. He helped her out, even though she was pregnant with another guy's kid. The other guy didn't know about it, though. Mom's family made sure none of her letters got through, so he thought she'd dumped him and never wanted to see him again. Dad looked after Mom, he didn't even mind the kid wasn't his, because the kid was hers and he loved her."
"Wow. Sweet. Um... which...?"
"Wind. You probably haven't seen him. He doesn't take after the rest of us, because he's only a half-brother. Not that we care, he's family. Dad always puts an effort in to be good to him, which is a lot more than the rest of us get. Last time he called, he actually got Janey's name wrong, you know?" Trent sighed. "That really hurt Janey. I said, hey, sometimes you just say the wrong name... but that's not good enough. Would your dad ever, EVER get your name wrong?"
"No," said Quinn without hesitation. "Won't Wind miss you?"
"Wind misses everyone. He falls in love all the time, so he spends his whole life heartbroken. He's the eldest brother but I think we've been looking after him more than anyone else. Even Janey trusts me more to look after myself than Wind."
"And your sisters?"
"Penny doesn't want anything to do with the whole family. She's still angry about what happened with Coach Morris. Summer's put microchips in her kids... or at least, she told them that's what she did. They believe her. She came round a bit, but only to find her kids, so I don't know if she'd ever come back for another reason."
"But your mom will miss you!"
"No, she won't. Not if she thinks I'm pursuing my dreams like all the others, she won't even notice I'm gone." Trent sighed. "I've given this a bit of thought, Quinn. Honest."
"So... what? We get out of this, you take me home then drive into a lake or something? Is that it?"
"Something like that."
"And I get to know for the rest of my life I let you kill yourself?"
Trent's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Did you ever tell your mom I saved your life?" he demanded.
"What? Gawd, Trent, let me get home first..."
"Not today. The other time."
Quinn suddenly felt more uncomfortable than she had hiding in mud from a monster in the forest. "What other time?" she said nervously.
"The time you got wasted and collapsed on my front lawn, begging me to 'let it end' because you were 'nothing'. That time. The time I picked you up and got you to Janey and Daria to look over."
Quinn gazed at the bark of the tree trunk, suddenly fascinated by the patterns in the wood. "Um, sorry," she said. "I was out of it. I should have thanked you for helping me."
"If I hadn't, you might have hurt yourself. Because when you came round, you ran into traffic screaming you wanted to kill yourself."
"Well, it was the first time I had a hangover..."
"Yeah, that was definitely the only reason."
"Why are we talking about this?" Quinn demanded suddenly.
"Just that you know how it feels," Trent said. There was something to his tone, something... remorseless. Quinn suddenly felt scared of what he was going to say neck. "You know how much you suck, how much you make everyone's life hell, how you would give anything to stop feeling this bad. So, remind me, why do you get to tell me it's so freaking wonderful to stay alive and suffer, Quinn?"
Quinn wanted to run away. Even though she was up a tree with a brain-dead monster headbutting the trunk. This was something else.
"Because," she said, throat tight, "because... because it is!"
"Wow. Deep." Trent had never sounded crueler or colder.
"Look, I feel like that every day, all right? I still feel like the world would be better off without me! Every single day I feel that! But it doesn't mean it's true. It's a feeling, like, when you get dizzy or a fever or an anesthetic. It's just that. A feeling." Quinn's desperation turned to anger. "You think you've got problems cause your family's crazy? Your parents are hands-off hippie freaks, but they didn't spend your whole life telling you how much you sucked, did they? That you weren't as important as your sister, that she was the one they were worried about, the one who mattered, the one that made them argue all night. You think Jane complains about you? She didn't learn whole bits of Shakespeare to make you look stupid and ugly in public. She didn't appear on every home movie saying on camera she hated you, you were stupid and wished you were never born. You had to let Jane down before she got angry. I just had to exist."
Trent was silent for a while.
"That day? That day I tried to end it all? Well, I woke up and pretended it didn't happen. And Daria pretended too, coz, what else could we do? But she told me that she never realized how bad she made me feel. That she never wanted me to hurt myself. That she'd never, ever forgive herself if I killed myself. That she was ashamed for ever making me feel that bad. She didn't stop, though. I... I don't know if she could. But she cut it down. She encouraged me. She told me I was doing stupid, pointless things, but she never said I was stupid ever again. She never said I deserved to be unhappy. She never said she would be better off being an only child. And she said if I ever needed to talk, she would listen. And she did."
Silence.
Quinn felt sick and tired all of a sudden. "Daria screwed me up when I was little. I don't know if I'll ever get over it, but I know she didn't mean to. See, she was a baby when I was born. She didn't want a sister. No one wants a sister at that age, or a brother. They have temper tantrums. Daria was like any kid, except she didn't just cry and whine. She said things. On camera. Any kid with her vocab would have done that. And part of the reason she got so angry was I wasn't like her. I made her feel more like a freak."
"That's not your problem," said Trent bluntly.
"No. I know that, but I still feel like..." Quinn gulped down some more air. "You know what Daria said when we first met, the day I was born? Mom and Dad brought me home, cause Daria was at home being looked after by Aunt Amy. And they come in with me and said to Daria 'Hey, kiddo, look what we brought back from the hospital! What do you think?'. And she looked me up and down and said 'She's okay. You can take her back now.'" Quinn let out a deep sigh. "They weren't sure to be upset, but then they thought it was a joke."
"Kids say the darnedest things, huh?" Trent mused.
"Yeah. But I never thought it was a joke. It wasn't. Daria didn't think I was a baby sister to love and look after. She just didn't get that whole idea. She didn't get Mom was pregnant, she just thought Mom was sick and went to the hospital with a stomach bug. Bringing me back home was like when they let you have your tonsils or your appendix to take home. I was a stomach tumor in nappies."
"But you know better now?"
"She knows better now," Quinn said firmly. "We promised ourselves, really promised we'd not end up like our aunts, all lonely and sad and angry. I miss Daria, I wish she was still home. But I know if I need her, she'll come running. If she needs me, I'll come running."
"So why are you so upset?"
"Because I feel like she ditched me like a bucket of cold vomit and ran to the hills!" snapped Quinn. "I feel like she's been waiting all my life to get the hell out of there, and she's never been happier than when I'm not around, and she'll never talk to me again! I feel that every second but it's - not - true! My gut says she hates me, but I am more than my guts. My head tells me she loves me, my reason tells me, my heart tells me..." She closed her eyes. "If I killed myself Trent, it would destroy my parents and it would destroy Daria. I can't do that to them. If there's nothing else to keep me alive, there's the knowledge I'm not hurting them."
"And that's enough?" Trent wondered.
"If I kill myself will I go to heaven? Hell? Is there anything else? I don't even know for sure that my family will even miss me. But I can't take that chance. I won't. If I have to suffer for the rest of my life, well, then at least I know I'm not hurting Mom and Dad and Daria. And that's enough. That's why I'm not letting that monster eat me and that's why I'm not letting it get you - because I know, I GODDAMN KNOW that Daria cares about you. You made her smile. You still can. And if you die, it'll destroy Jane. And without Jane, Daria won't cope. So you tell me, Trent, how much does your life suck that you're happy to make your little sister and her best friend miserable? What gives you the right to hurt them? Do you hate them, Trent? Is that it?"
Trent was silent for a moment. "I love Janey. And... I guess I love Daria too. Not as a girlfriend. Like I love Janey." He let out a weak chuckle. "I guess the way I love you, Quinn."
Quinn gazed at him, a small smile on her face. "I thought your brother was the one who keeps falling in love?"
"I never said he didn't get that from mom," Trent smiled. "She loves everyone. She just, you know, shows it differently." His smile faded. "You make a lot of sense, Quinn. But it doesn't change things. I can't go on like this, Quinn."
Quinn sighed. "Aw come on, Trent, give me a break between speeches, at least?" she said with a weak laugh.
Then there was the slurping, rattling roar from below.
The monster's neck had curved up like a brontosaurus (or whatever it was called by fancy dinosaur experts called it these days) and its woody, mossy face was staring up at them. The whole gnarled body twisted, rearing up and lunged at the tree.
It clung to the bark of the trunk and then, with deliberation and care showing it was just as intelligent as any quarterback, the creature began to climb up the tree towards them.
Chapter 7
Current depressive episode aside, Trent had always known his life would be cut short the moment he took up his first guitar. All the best musicians died young rather than faded away, after all. He wasn't sure which classic scenario would end his mortal coil - the traditional unfortunate transport accident, perhaps? Shot by a psycho fan? The timeless accidental-overdose-on-drugs-leading-to-choking-on-your-own-vomit-in-a-hotel-room-while-on-tour?
It was safe to say being disemboweled by a prehistoric purple plant from hell while being stuck halfway up a redwood in a patch of woodland found under the staples of a roadmap had not really been an option Trent had considered for the sheer lack of groupies alone...
"This just plain sucks," he said at last, as there didn't seem to be anything else worth saying at present.
Quinn looked down at the beast crawling up the trunk. It still had that same lop-sided, painful slowness as if it wasn't quite strong enough to support its own weight. "If we're lucky, it'll lose its grip and fall off," she said, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"Yeah, how lucky have be we been so far today?" Trent wondered.
"We're still alive, aren't we?"
"So you're saying we've used up all the luck?"
"Not helping, Lane!" said Quinn with a scowl.
The monster was two branches below them, one twisted limb hooked into the trunk while it reached up with the other foreleg. It wasn't long enough to reach them, and its yellow talons tapped against bark as it rattled and burped hungrily.
"It's not passing out any time soon," Trent said.
"Well, uh, we just need to think laterally," said Quinn, uncomfortably aware she seemed to have used up all her sideways-thinking skills getting this far. "OK, we can't go up because the branches won't take our weight. We can't go down because of the bog monster. And we can't go away because there are no other trees close enough."
"Yep, that sums it up, Sherlock!"
"So, since we can't go anywhere else... we have to stay here!"
"And people say Daria's the smart one in the family!"
"Shut up! We just have to work out how staying here can help us, that's all! We've got to have some advantage here, once we find it, we use it, it's as simple as that..."
The creature's foreleg dug into the bark, supporting its weight as it released its other claw and hauled itself up the tree. The bark of the tree splintered and fell to the forest floor far below.
"OK, Trent, can you reach the branch above you? Tear off that little branch, snap it off!"
Pressing himself hard to the trunk, the ex-musician managed to rise to his feet. The shifting weight caused the branch below him to creak and groan alarmingly. Reaching out with his right hand, he grabbed a smaller outgrowth off at the root. The rough wood dug into his palm and he hissed with pain.
"So, what? We throw it and tell it to go fetch?"
"That's Plan B," said Quinn, reaching around the tree to take the branch.
"Plan B?" boggled Trent. "You mean we're only on Plan B? I thought we were way further down the alphabet than that..."
Knowing that rushing carelessly was the worst thing to do, Quinn dropped to her knees on the branch and bent down to get as close to the approaching monster as she could. Given a choice, no one in their right mind would do this. But then, Quinn didn't have a choice, did she? And the "right mind" thing was still up for debate as well.
As the monster loosened its claw and began to grope upwards towards Quinn, she swung the branch down as hard as she could and struck it on the vulnerable-looking wood-flesh between its claws. The foreleg jerked back and spasmed, but it was impossible to tell if she'd hurt it. The creature concentrated on reaffirming its grip on the trunk.
"Bad dog," Trent breathed, the altitude making his dizziness even worse. "Hit it with a stick. Let me get this straight - your first plan was run away, your second plan was climb a tree and now your plan is to hit with a stick?"
"Keep it simple," Quinn shrugged. "A lot less to go wrong that way."
"You gotta point there," Trent agreed.
"We can't go up anymore, then this thing can't either," Quinn reasoned.
"So it's either going to wait us out or give up?"
"Maybe it's like a goldfish and will forget us?" Quinn shrugged again. "I mean, this thing doesn't look like it has a long-term memory."
"It also doesn't look like anything Darwin ever dreamed of," Trent grumbled. "Either way, how long is it going to take?"
"We're being hunted vertically up an uncharted forest by a bog monster, Trent, there isn't a ten dos and don'ts article in Waif about this sort of life crisis!"
"Then that is a shameful omission by the editors!" said Trent angrily, but he was smiling and when Quinn saw it, she laughed. Trent could do a lot of damage in the world with a smile like his, if he chose to.
"I wonder what that thing eats when it doesn't have tourists to chase?" Quinn asked. "Maybe it's chasing us because we're the only thing to eat?"
"Then it's definitely not going to give up. But maybe it's not hungry and just wants to kill us for being on its territory or something?"
"Oh." Quinn's face fell. "I didn't think of that."
The creature was resuming its climb higher, slower and more careful but just as relentless. Then a huge chunk of outer bark peeled free and the monster had to scrabble to keep its balance.
"Looks like someone's reached their weight limit," Trent observed, his spirits starting to return. "You're too big to go on this ride, buster. Why don't you go back to the cake stalls and try and win a stuffed bear?"
The purple abomination seemed distinctly unamused at that. A chunk of its head seemed to fall away, or maybe a powerful jaw was opening to reveal something dark and glistening within. It stank of acid.
"OK, we got breathing space," Trent said. "Over to you, red."
"Well, I guess trying to reason with it won't help?" Quinn asked, biting her lower lip. "But hungry or not, this thing's used a long of energy to chase us and it hasn't stopped to eat. And hanging around up here is going to keep using up its strength."
"So, back to whacking it with a stick until it falls off?"
"It's a long way down. You think this thing can survive it?"
"I keep telling you, I don't know what this thing is. It could be Chuck Norris in drag for all I know!"
"It falls down, it either dies or has to climb up again. We just knock it down until it can't get up again! Anti-Chumbawamba!"
"Good one, Quinn," grinned Trent, before another painful cough struck him and he nearly lost his balance.
Quinn swallowed. Whatever state the monster was in, Trent wasn't much better. He really wasn't cut out for this life, and no wonder he spent so much time asleep. Still, as long as he wasn't deliberately trying to get him killed, there was no way in hell Jake Morgendorffer's baby girl was going to let anything happen to him.
"Hey!" she yelled down at the abhorrent monster. "Hey, you! Yeah, you! The actual ugly stick! Go back to where you came from and tell them you met Quinn Morgendorffer! Your friends won't believe you, if you have any you big purple loser!"
The creature seemed to flex as if testing its hold on the tree trunk, but clearly was unsatisfied. No stupid risks would be taken for this.
Quinn swung the branch in her hand using some old baton routines from an afternoon in a marching band she barely remembered. "Chasing an ill man and a little girl up a tree, you big brave monster! Oh, we're so really impressed by that! Ooh-ma-ma, you're so scary! Buster, I've had neck zits that are scarier than you!"
The creature did not react.
"You're probably so dumb you think we're trapped up here, don't you?"
"Sure as hell what it looks like from down here," came a voice from the bottom of the tree.
It was Sergeant McTeal, along with some other Sheriff Department folk who only had one stripe apiece on their sleeves. They all held pump-action shotguns with long barrels.
The hook-like head and neck of the creature twisted around like rotting wood to peer down at the intruders.
Then, deciding it had one last chance to get its prey, raised itself up towards Quinn and Trent, wrenching chunks of wood in its wake as it scrabbled with both forelegs at them. If it had a face, then it was twisted in absolute fury...
There was a shockingly loud crashing, like a twenty-one gun salute all at once. A horrible brown-yellow pus punched out of the gnarled and wrinkled torso, like a flea popping in the grasp of a tweezer. The beast swung forward, then backward from the impact. Another volley of blasts ripped through it and then it fell back to the ground with a horrible wet crunch.
The Sheriffs men lowered and reloaded their guns. McTeal called up to them. "I guess it'd be too much to hope you two could get down on your own without help?" he asked impatiently.
***
Getting to the bottom of the tree was difficult. Both Quinn and Trent were exhausted, shaking, and without the adrenaline boost of climbing for their lives, were slow and clumsy. More than twice Trent had an asthma attack on the way down.
At last they reached the ground.
A van had arrived and some more nameless officials had arrived to put the remains of the monster on a stretcher and carry it away. The impact had split the thing virtually in two and through the splintered wood and sap were what appeared to be large pink grubs burrowed into the core, as well as what looked like human bones.
Had this thing once been human? Quinn wondered, nauseating.
McTeal emptied the last round of his gun into the creature's head before they took it away. He would rather a badly-damaged corpse than an intact survivor, that was obvious. "Some stupid idiot will want a live one of these to study, well screw him," he said.
"Live one?" repeated Trent. "You mean there are more?"
"You don't know what I mean and I ain't gonna correct you, son," McTeal growled at them, his upside-down mustache twitching angrily. "Sorry you had to get caught in this, but you two are alive, so sorry is all you'll get. The both of you, go back home and don't come back."
"Don't we need to, like, make a statement or something?" asked Quinn. In truth, the idea of spending the afternoon in the police station (and the inevitable awkward conversation with her mother) did not appeal. But she didn't want to get on the wrong side of this weird, X-Files style idiocy either. "About what happened?"
"Monster chased you up a tree, we shot the monster," said McTeal flatly. "You got any details you need to add to that?"
"How do we know we'll be safe going home?" Trent asked.
The sergeant sighed impatiently. "Tomorrow's promised to nobody, son. But this thing with the monster... just take my word for it, this is a one-off. Go home, don't bother yourself with it."
"But that thing..." Quinn began, before running out of words. "What is it? An alien? What?"
"Just think of it as a gator, miss. It came out of the river, ate whatever it wanted and chased you for food. Just like a gator would. Everything else is just splitting hairs."
"If you say so," said Trent, suddenly bored. "Let's go, Quinn."
They shakily got into the Plymouth, closed the doors and Trent carefully reversed them down the path until they could turn around. They drove past McTeal's four-wheeler, the van and up the road, past the spot the dog had died, past the bog they'd been caught into, through the bumpy no-man's land and then onto the dirt road that lead onto the freeway that would take them straight to Lawndale.
"Now what?" asked Quinn as they approached the town.
Trent said nothing. He just kept driving.
Current depressive episode aside, Trent had always known his life would be cut short the moment he took up his first guitar. All the best musicians died young rather than faded away, after all. He wasn't sure which classic scenario would end his mortal coil - the traditional unfortunate transport accident, perhaps? Shot by a psycho fan? The timeless accidental-overdose-on-drugs-leading-to-choking-on-your-own-vomit-in-a-hotel-room-while-on-tour?
It was safe to say being disemboweled by a prehistoric purple plant from hell while being stuck halfway up a redwood in a patch of woodland found under the staples of a roadmap had not really been an option Trent had considered for the sheer lack of groupies alone...
"This just plain sucks," he said at last, as there didn't seem to be anything else worth saying at present.
Quinn looked down at the beast crawling up the trunk. It still had that same lop-sided, painful slowness as if it wasn't quite strong enough to support its own weight. "If we're lucky, it'll lose its grip and fall off," she said, trying not to sound too hopeful.
"Yeah, how lucky have be we been so far today?" Trent wondered.
"We're still alive, aren't we?"
"So you're saying we've used up all the luck?"
"Not helping, Lane!" said Quinn with a scowl.
The monster was two branches below them, one twisted limb hooked into the trunk while it reached up with the other foreleg. It wasn't long enough to reach them, and its yellow talons tapped against bark as it rattled and burped hungrily.
"It's not passing out any time soon," Trent said.
"Well, uh, we just need to think laterally," said Quinn, uncomfortably aware she seemed to have used up all her sideways-thinking skills getting this far. "OK, we can't go up because the branches won't take our weight. We can't go down because of the bog monster. And we can't go away because there are no other trees close enough."
"Yep, that sums it up, Sherlock!"
"So, since we can't go anywhere else... we have to stay here!"
"And people say Daria's the smart one in the family!"
"Shut up! We just have to work out how staying here can help us, that's all! We've got to have some advantage here, once we find it, we use it, it's as simple as that..."
The creature's foreleg dug into the bark, supporting its weight as it released its other claw and hauled itself up the tree. The bark of the tree splintered and fell to the forest floor far below.
"OK, Trent, can you reach the branch above you? Tear off that little branch, snap it off!"
Pressing himself hard to the trunk, the ex-musician managed to rise to his feet. The shifting weight caused the branch below him to creak and groan alarmingly. Reaching out with his right hand, he grabbed a smaller outgrowth off at the root. The rough wood dug into his palm and he hissed with pain.
"So, what? We throw it and tell it to go fetch?"
"That's Plan B," said Quinn, reaching around the tree to take the branch.
"Plan B?" boggled Trent. "You mean we're only on Plan B? I thought we were way further down the alphabet than that..."
Knowing that rushing carelessly was the worst thing to do, Quinn dropped to her knees on the branch and bent down to get as close to the approaching monster as she could. Given a choice, no one in their right mind would do this. But then, Quinn didn't have a choice, did she? And the "right mind" thing was still up for debate as well.
As the monster loosened its claw and began to grope upwards towards Quinn, she swung the branch down as hard as she could and struck it on the vulnerable-looking wood-flesh between its claws. The foreleg jerked back and spasmed, but it was impossible to tell if she'd hurt it. The creature concentrated on reaffirming its grip on the trunk.
"Bad dog," Trent breathed, the altitude making his dizziness even worse. "Hit it with a stick. Let me get this straight - your first plan was run away, your second plan was climb a tree and now your plan is to hit with a stick?"
"Keep it simple," Quinn shrugged. "A lot less to go wrong that way."
"You gotta point there," Trent agreed.
"We can't go up anymore, then this thing can't either," Quinn reasoned.
"So it's either going to wait us out or give up?"
"Maybe it's like a goldfish and will forget us?" Quinn shrugged again. "I mean, this thing doesn't look like it has a long-term memory."
"It also doesn't look like anything Darwin ever dreamed of," Trent grumbled. "Either way, how long is it going to take?"
"We're being hunted vertically up an uncharted forest by a bog monster, Trent, there isn't a ten dos and don'ts article in Waif about this sort of life crisis!"
"Then that is a shameful omission by the editors!" said Trent angrily, but he was smiling and when Quinn saw it, she laughed. Trent could do a lot of damage in the world with a smile like his, if he chose to.
"I wonder what that thing eats when it doesn't have tourists to chase?" Quinn asked. "Maybe it's chasing us because we're the only thing to eat?"
"Then it's definitely not going to give up. But maybe it's not hungry and just wants to kill us for being on its territory or something?"
"Oh." Quinn's face fell. "I didn't think of that."
The creature was resuming its climb higher, slower and more careful but just as relentless. Then a huge chunk of outer bark peeled free and the monster had to scrabble to keep its balance.
"Looks like someone's reached their weight limit," Trent observed, his spirits starting to return. "You're too big to go on this ride, buster. Why don't you go back to the cake stalls and try and win a stuffed bear?"
The purple abomination seemed distinctly unamused at that. A chunk of its head seemed to fall away, or maybe a powerful jaw was opening to reveal something dark and glistening within. It stank of acid.
"OK, we got breathing space," Trent said. "Over to you, red."
"Well, I guess trying to reason with it won't help?" Quinn asked, biting her lower lip. "But hungry or not, this thing's used a long of energy to chase us and it hasn't stopped to eat. And hanging around up here is going to keep using up its strength."
"So, back to whacking it with a stick until it falls off?"
"It's a long way down. You think this thing can survive it?"
"I keep telling you, I don't know what this thing is. It could be Chuck Norris in drag for all I know!"
"It falls down, it either dies or has to climb up again. We just knock it down until it can't get up again! Anti-Chumbawamba!"
"Good one, Quinn," grinned Trent, before another painful cough struck him and he nearly lost his balance.
Quinn swallowed. Whatever state the monster was in, Trent wasn't much better. He really wasn't cut out for this life, and no wonder he spent so much time asleep. Still, as long as he wasn't deliberately trying to get him killed, there was no way in hell Jake Morgendorffer's baby girl was going to let anything happen to him.
"Hey!" she yelled down at the abhorrent monster. "Hey, you! Yeah, you! The actual ugly stick! Go back to where you came from and tell them you met Quinn Morgendorffer! Your friends won't believe you, if you have any you big purple loser!"
The creature seemed to flex as if testing its hold on the tree trunk, but clearly was unsatisfied. No stupid risks would be taken for this.
Quinn swung the branch in her hand using some old baton routines from an afternoon in a marching band she barely remembered. "Chasing an ill man and a little girl up a tree, you big brave monster! Oh, we're so really impressed by that! Ooh-ma-ma, you're so scary! Buster, I've had neck zits that are scarier than you!"
The creature did not react.
"You're probably so dumb you think we're trapped up here, don't you?"
"Sure as hell what it looks like from down here," came a voice from the bottom of the tree.
It was Sergeant McTeal, along with some other Sheriff Department folk who only had one stripe apiece on their sleeves. They all held pump-action shotguns with long barrels.
The hook-like head and neck of the creature twisted around like rotting wood to peer down at the intruders.
Then, deciding it had one last chance to get its prey, raised itself up towards Quinn and Trent, wrenching chunks of wood in its wake as it scrabbled with both forelegs at them. If it had a face, then it was twisted in absolute fury...
There was a shockingly loud crashing, like a twenty-one gun salute all at once. A horrible brown-yellow pus punched out of the gnarled and wrinkled torso, like a flea popping in the grasp of a tweezer. The beast swung forward, then backward from the impact. Another volley of blasts ripped through it and then it fell back to the ground with a horrible wet crunch.
The Sheriffs men lowered and reloaded their guns. McTeal called up to them. "I guess it'd be too much to hope you two could get down on your own without help?" he asked impatiently.
***
Getting to the bottom of the tree was difficult. Both Quinn and Trent were exhausted, shaking, and without the adrenaline boost of climbing for their lives, were slow and clumsy. More than twice Trent had an asthma attack on the way down.
At last they reached the ground.
A van had arrived and some more nameless officials had arrived to put the remains of the monster on a stretcher and carry it away. The impact had split the thing virtually in two and through the splintered wood and sap were what appeared to be large pink grubs burrowed into the core, as well as what looked like human bones.
Had this thing once been human? Quinn wondered, nauseating.
McTeal emptied the last round of his gun into the creature's head before they took it away. He would rather a badly-damaged corpse than an intact survivor, that was obvious. "Some stupid idiot will want a live one of these to study, well screw him," he said.
"Live one?" repeated Trent. "You mean there are more?"
"You don't know what I mean and I ain't gonna correct you, son," McTeal growled at them, his upside-down mustache twitching angrily. "Sorry you had to get caught in this, but you two are alive, so sorry is all you'll get. The both of you, go back home and don't come back."
"Don't we need to, like, make a statement or something?" asked Quinn. In truth, the idea of spending the afternoon in the police station (and the inevitable awkward conversation with her mother) did not appeal. But she didn't want to get on the wrong side of this weird, X-Files style idiocy either. "About what happened?"
"Monster chased you up a tree, we shot the monster," said McTeal flatly. "You got any details you need to add to that?"
"How do we know we'll be safe going home?" Trent asked.
The sergeant sighed impatiently. "Tomorrow's promised to nobody, son. But this thing with the monster... just take my word for it, this is a one-off. Go home, don't bother yourself with it."
"But that thing..." Quinn began, before running out of words. "What is it? An alien? What?"
"Just think of it as a gator, miss. It came out of the river, ate whatever it wanted and chased you for food. Just like a gator would. Everything else is just splitting hairs."
"If you say so," said Trent, suddenly bored. "Let's go, Quinn."
They shakily got into the Plymouth, closed the doors and Trent carefully reversed them down the path until they could turn around. They drove past McTeal's four-wheeler, the van and up the road, past the spot the dog had died, past the bog they'd been caught into, through the bumpy no-man's land and then onto the dirt road that lead onto the freeway that would take them straight to Lawndale.
"Now what?" asked Quinn as they approached the town.
Trent said nothing. He just kept driving.
Chapter 8
"What do you think it was?" Quinn asked, trying to break the silence.
"Something nasty," Trent replied. "Something that the locals know about but hasn't really bothered them till lately. I dunno if it was an animal or a plant or a man dressed up. Could've been. Enough mud and wood and mushrooms and you could look like a real monster."
"I wonder what they'd do if this was The X-Files."
"Well, if this was The X-Files, I'd be staring into the distance trying to convince everyone I couldn't act. And you'd be standing on a box trying to convince everyone you were as tall as me. And then you'd tell me nothing weird was happening despite meeting aliens and monsters and wizards every single day for the last eight years."
Quinn smirked. "Yeah, I don't really like the show either."
"I like Angel. The music's cool. Lots of cellos."
"Uh-huh. So, uh," Quinn went on, taking a chance, "you'll, what, drop me home and then drive off never to be seen again until the cops find this car in a lake or something?"
"Or something?"
Silence fell. In the distance, a giant strawberry became visible as Lawndale city limits drew closer.
Quinn licked her dry lips. "Sandi once told me 'nobody cares until it's too late.' That's not true. But it is, too. I guess. Nobody cares enough, nobody says enough, nobody does enough. Whatever happens, it's never enough."
Trent gave a noise to make it clear that he was listening.
"I can't talk to my mom and dad, Trent. They'd blame themselves, even though it's not their fault. They wouldn't be able to help me. It'd just make it worse. I don't even tell Daria it all, because she can't help. You know what she's like. She's a genius in everything except what I'd need. That's the worst part, Trent. My family can't help. The only people I know would want to help can't help."
"What about your girlfriends?" he said vaguely.
"Believe it or not, I think I'm the happiest and well-adjusted of the Fashion Club. Sandi hurts more than you'd ever know. Stacy is a nervous wreck. Tiffany... well, your guess is as good as mine. If telling my family is a bad idea, telling them is setting off an atom bomb."
"Is that why you started wearing long sleeves?" asked Trent suddenly.
"Huh?"
"You used to wear T-shirts. Now we can't see your arms."
Quinn laughed sadly and rolled up her sleeve to show her unblemished arm. "I'm not cutting myself, if that's what you mean. I decided to cover up more when, you know, I developed." She waved a hand to her chest. "Cute T-shirts on a girl look slutty on older girls."
"Guess it makes sense. They say cutting is a cry for attention. You've never needed that, huh?"
"Good one, Trent." Quinn's genuine smile faded soon. "Sometimes I wonder about, you know, calling some therapist or other. Some helpline. But they'll laugh at me."
"Aren't they paid not to?"
"Maybe. But how could anyone... I mean, what is my problem? I'm the cutest girl in Lawndale. My grades are okay. I'm hugely popular and my misery chick sister is out of the picture. All the boys want me and I can twist them around my little finger. My parents don't bother me and my allowance could keep third world countries going. Why the hell do I feel so unhappy? I don't have the DAMN RIGHT!" She slammed her fists down on the dashboard with sudden fury. "I DON'T DESERVE TO BE UNHAPPY, SO WHY THE HELL AM I MISERABLE! HOW SELFISH CAN YOU BE!"
She was punching the dashboard again and again. She was actually denting it.
"Quinn..."
"WHERE THE HELL DO I GET OFF!" Quinn screamed. "There are people in hospitals and fighting wars who would beg to be where I am, so what's so freaking AWFUL I CAN'T BEAR IT? I should be happy! How come I'm not, huh? WHAT THE FREAKING HELL IS WRONG WITH ME!"
"You're gonna break your hands if you keep hitting my car, for a start!" Trent said, raising his voice. "Quinn..."
"You have problems!" Quinn shouted at him. "You have BIG PROBLEMS! People have hurt you! No one hurts me! I don't have a right to be unhappy, I don't deserve to ask for help! You do!" She let out an inarticulate, frightening shrieking and bashed her hands against the dashboard again and again and again.
Trent flung his free arm out and pressed Quinn back against the chair. She kept ranting and raving, shrieking, tears streaming down her cheeks. He pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped the engine. Quinn barely noticed.
Trent unbuckled his belt and pulled Quinn into an embrace. She sobbed and wailed like a baby, making incoherent sounds. She shuddered violently. He wondered just how much of this was was a reaction to their recent near death experiences, or perhaps it was because she'd survived. "Quinn, come on, it's okay," he said softly, over and over again until they were meaningless noises.
"If you go, I can't go on," she sniffed brokenly. "It hurts too much."
"It shouldn't," Trent insisted, holding her tight. "You've done nothing wrong, Red. You're suffering depression. It's just sickness. It's like a broken leg. It's not because you're a bad person. You deserve to get better. And people can help you."
"Then why can't they help you?" Quinn wept. "Why can't they help you?"
"I don't know." Trent said sadly. He felt something on his cheek and realized he was crying as well. "I haven't asked for help. I've got no one to ask for help. Janey doesn't want me any more. But I know your mom and your dad and Daria and your aunts and your friends want you. It's not your fault, it's not their fault. So Daria won't know how to help you? She'll know how to find someone who can. What did you tell me? If you needed her, she'd come running."
"What if she doesn't?" croaked Quinn through fresh tears. "What if she puts the phone down? What if she says, 'Go ahead, kill yourself, I never wanted you here!'"
"She won't!" Trent shouted, voice tight.
"Why not? Why shouldn't she? She was happy before I was born! She's happy at college now I'm not there! What if I'm the problem, Trent? What if it will never get better because it's my fault! I've only every made people miserable, Trent! I've made people fight and argue and hate themselves! I've done nothing good in my life, Trent! Not one thing!"
"Then why are you trying to help me?!" Trent pleaded. "Why did Daria help you all those times? Why do your parents want to be around to see you grow up, and graduate and look after you? Why would they all blame themselves for not helping you unless you were worth it?"
"I can't even help you..."
"Help me?" Trent almost laughed through his tears. "You saved me from a freaking swamp monster, Quinn! Twice! You're the only person who's tried to help me, Quinn, the ONLY PERSON! How can you have done that and not be a good person? You can't help yourself, so you help someone else? Isn't that the kindest thing anyone can do?"
"I just want to close my eyes," said Quinn in a quiet, broken voice. "Go to sleep and never wake up. It hurts too much. I can't go on, Trent. I thought if I was with you, I could... but I can't..."
Trent knew the feeling. It was drowning him as well.
"If I promise not to hurt myself," he said at last, "will you promise not to hurt yourself? I'll stay alive for you, and you stay alive for me. Like up that tree. We survive for each other, even if it's not for ourselves. Will you promise me that?"
He could barely hear her reply. "When did my promises mean anything?"
"When you came to rescue me instead of driving off. No one would have blamed you. No one would have have known."
"I'd have known."
"So if you can drive an out-of-control Plymouth through monster-infested crime scenes to keep me safe, how hard can it be for you to get some help? Because that'll keep me safe. You're my responsibility, Quinn. You're my problem. I'll stay alive to help you, but only if you stay alive to help me. Deal?"
Quinn was curled up on his chest. How did she get so tiny?
"Deal," she said softly. "Trent?"
"Yeah."
"I... I love you."
"Don't tell your mom, she will skin me alive if she thinks I seduced you on this trip, monsters or no monsters."
Quinn let out a tiny chuckle. Trent had probably heard more beautiful sounds, but he sure as hell couldn't think of any right now.
"I love you too, red," he said softly, kissing her head the way he did with Janey after she'd get upset or have a nightmare. "And I'm not alone in that. A lot of people love you. And they're right to."
They both knew Trent couldn't say the same. But he was used to having only one person in the world that loved him. He'd survived with just Jane by his side. He could survive with just Quinn.
Couldn't he?
"You know, Quinn, I knew a guy once. He said one day he had enough. He wanted to end it all. He lived in a lonely house on a cliff beside the sea. He thought no one loved him, that everyone would be happier when he was dead. So he took all the pills he could. But then he thought, hey, this is taking too long. So he made a noose and tried to hang himself from a tree in the backyard. But that didn't work either. There are some nooses that are safe to hang you from, did you know? The biggest risk is starving to death waiting to be cut down."
A little, tired but amused noise from Quinn.
"The guy had a gun. He didn't want to shoot himself, but there he was, hanging from a noose from a tree on the edge of a cliff, and still nowhere near dying. So he pulls out and gun, aims it at his head, and he fires. And guess what? He misses. He misses a lot. The bullet goes through the rope of the noose. It snaps and he falls down and then he just falls over the edge of the cliff. As he falls towards the sea, he thinks 'Oh well, this will do!'"
"And?" Quinn croaked.
"Well, a huge wave washed him away from the cliff down to the beach in one go. He tried to drown himself and opened his mouth, and got his lungs full of sea water. And he ended up on the beach, throwing up all the pills he'd taken. He spent all day trying to kill himself and he ended up with nothing but a wet T-shirt."
Trent took a deep breath.
"So, red, what do you reckon the moral of that story is?" he asked. "I wasn't sure what it was. And he told me, that at the end of the story he was still going to die. One day, you know, when he was old and in bed. Why was he trying to die now? It's not like he was going to live forever. So why waste time trying to kill yourself? It took nine months of a million lucky strikes for you just to be alive. You're allowed to have a bad day, huh? But you're allowed to have a good one, too."
"Do you really believe that?" asked Quinn.
"Hey. I met you, didn't I?"
"What do you think it was?" Quinn asked, trying to break the silence.
"Something nasty," Trent replied. "Something that the locals know about but hasn't really bothered them till lately. I dunno if it was an animal or a plant or a man dressed up. Could've been. Enough mud and wood and mushrooms and you could look like a real monster."
"I wonder what they'd do if this was The X-Files."
"Well, if this was The X-Files, I'd be staring into the distance trying to convince everyone I couldn't act. And you'd be standing on a box trying to convince everyone you were as tall as me. And then you'd tell me nothing weird was happening despite meeting aliens and monsters and wizards every single day for the last eight years."
Quinn smirked. "Yeah, I don't really like the show either."
"I like Angel. The music's cool. Lots of cellos."
"Uh-huh. So, uh," Quinn went on, taking a chance, "you'll, what, drop me home and then drive off never to be seen again until the cops find this car in a lake or something?"
"Or something?"
Silence fell. In the distance, a giant strawberry became visible as Lawndale city limits drew closer.
Quinn licked her dry lips. "Sandi once told me 'nobody cares until it's too late.' That's not true. But it is, too. I guess. Nobody cares enough, nobody says enough, nobody does enough. Whatever happens, it's never enough."
Trent gave a noise to make it clear that he was listening.
"I can't talk to my mom and dad, Trent. They'd blame themselves, even though it's not their fault. They wouldn't be able to help me. It'd just make it worse. I don't even tell Daria it all, because she can't help. You know what she's like. She's a genius in everything except what I'd need. That's the worst part, Trent. My family can't help. The only people I know would want to help can't help."
"What about your girlfriends?" he said vaguely.
"Believe it or not, I think I'm the happiest and well-adjusted of the Fashion Club. Sandi hurts more than you'd ever know. Stacy is a nervous wreck. Tiffany... well, your guess is as good as mine. If telling my family is a bad idea, telling them is setting off an atom bomb."
"Is that why you started wearing long sleeves?" asked Trent suddenly.
"Huh?"
"You used to wear T-shirts. Now we can't see your arms."
Quinn laughed sadly and rolled up her sleeve to show her unblemished arm. "I'm not cutting myself, if that's what you mean. I decided to cover up more when, you know, I developed." She waved a hand to her chest. "Cute T-shirts on a girl look slutty on older girls."
"Guess it makes sense. They say cutting is a cry for attention. You've never needed that, huh?"
"Good one, Trent." Quinn's genuine smile faded soon. "Sometimes I wonder about, you know, calling some therapist or other. Some helpline. But they'll laugh at me."
"Aren't they paid not to?"
"Maybe. But how could anyone... I mean, what is my problem? I'm the cutest girl in Lawndale. My grades are okay. I'm hugely popular and my misery chick sister is out of the picture. All the boys want me and I can twist them around my little finger. My parents don't bother me and my allowance could keep third world countries going. Why the hell do I feel so unhappy? I don't have the DAMN RIGHT!" She slammed her fists down on the dashboard with sudden fury. "I DON'T DESERVE TO BE UNHAPPY, SO WHY THE HELL AM I MISERABLE! HOW SELFISH CAN YOU BE!"
She was punching the dashboard again and again. She was actually denting it.
"Quinn..."
"WHERE THE HELL DO I GET OFF!" Quinn screamed. "There are people in hospitals and fighting wars who would beg to be where I am, so what's so freaking AWFUL I CAN'T BEAR IT? I should be happy! How come I'm not, huh? WHAT THE FREAKING HELL IS WRONG WITH ME!"
"You're gonna break your hands if you keep hitting my car, for a start!" Trent said, raising his voice. "Quinn..."
"You have problems!" Quinn shouted at him. "You have BIG PROBLEMS! People have hurt you! No one hurts me! I don't have a right to be unhappy, I don't deserve to ask for help! You do!" She let out an inarticulate, frightening shrieking and bashed her hands against the dashboard again and again and again.
Trent flung his free arm out and pressed Quinn back against the chair. She kept ranting and raving, shrieking, tears streaming down her cheeks. He pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped the engine. Quinn barely noticed.
Trent unbuckled his belt and pulled Quinn into an embrace. She sobbed and wailed like a baby, making incoherent sounds. She shuddered violently. He wondered just how much of this was was a reaction to their recent near death experiences, or perhaps it was because she'd survived. "Quinn, come on, it's okay," he said softly, over and over again until they were meaningless noises.
"If you go, I can't go on," she sniffed brokenly. "It hurts too much."
"It shouldn't," Trent insisted, holding her tight. "You've done nothing wrong, Red. You're suffering depression. It's just sickness. It's like a broken leg. It's not because you're a bad person. You deserve to get better. And people can help you."
"Then why can't they help you?" Quinn wept. "Why can't they help you?"
"I don't know." Trent said sadly. He felt something on his cheek and realized he was crying as well. "I haven't asked for help. I've got no one to ask for help. Janey doesn't want me any more. But I know your mom and your dad and Daria and your aunts and your friends want you. It's not your fault, it's not their fault. So Daria won't know how to help you? She'll know how to find someone who can. What did you tell me? If you needed her, she'd come running."
"What if she doesn't?" croaked Quinn through fresh tears. "What if she puts the phone down? What if she says, 'Go ahead, kill yourself, I never wanted you here!'"
"She won't!" Trent shouted, voice tight.
"Why not? Why shouldn't she? She was happy before I was born! She's happy at college now I'm not there! What if I'm the problem, Trent? What if it will never get better because it's my fault! I've only every made people miserable, Trent! I've made people fight and argue and hate themselves! I've done nothing good in my life, Trent! Not one thing!"
"Then why are you trying to help me?!" Trent pleaded. "Why did Daria help you all those times? Why do your parents want to be around to see you grow up, and graduate and look after you? Why would they all blame themselves for not helping you unless you were worth it?"
"I can't even help you..."
"Help me?" Trent almost laughed through his tears. "You saved me from a freaking swamp monster, Quinn! Twice! You're the only person who's tried to help me, Quinn, the ONLY PERSON! How can you have done that and not be a good person? You can't help yourself, so you help someone else? Isn't that the kindest thing anyone can do?"
"I just want to close my eyes," said Quinn in a quiet, broken voice. "Go to sleep and never wake up. It hurts too much. I can't go on, Trent. I thought if I was with you, I could... but I can't..."
Trent knew the feeling. It was drowning him as well.
"If I promise not to hurt myself," he said at last, "will you promise not to hurt yourself? I'll stay alive for you, and you stay alive for me. Like up that tree. We survive for each other, even if it's not for ourselves. Will you promise me that?"
He could barely hear her reply. "When did my promises mean anything?"
"When you came to rescue me instead of driving off. No one would have blamed you. No one would have have known."
"I'd have known."
"So if you can drive an out-of-control Plymouth through monster-infested crime scenes to keep me safe, how hard can it be for you to get some help? Because that'll keep me safe. You're my responsibility, Quinn. You're my problem. I'll stay alive to help you, but only if you stay alive to help me. Deal?"
Quinn was curled up on his chest. How did she get so tiny?
"Deal," she said softly. "Trent?"
"Yeah."
"I... I love you."
"Don't tell your mom, she will skin me alive if she thinks I seduced you on this trip, monsters or no monsters."
Quinn let out a tiny chuckle. Trent had probably heard more beautiful sounds, but he sure as hell couldn't think of any right now.
"I love you too, red," he said softly, kissing her head the way he did with Janey after she'd get upset or have a nightmare. "And I'm not alone in that. A lot of people love you. And they're right to."
They both knew Trent couldn't say the same. But he was used to having only one person in the world that loved him. He'd survived with just Jane by his side. He could survive with just Quinn.
Couldn't he?
"You know, Quinn, I knew a guy once. He said one day he had enough. He wanted to end it all. He lived in a lonely house on a cliff beside the sea. He thought no one loved him, that everyone would be happier when he was dead. So he took all the pills he could. But then he thought, hey, this is taking too long. So he made a noose and tried to hang himself from a tree in the backyard. But that didn't work either. There are some nooses that are safe to hang you from, did you know? The biggest risk is starving to death waiting to be cut down."
A little, tired but amused noise from Quinn.
"The guy had a gun. He didn't want to shoot himself, but there he was, hanging from a noose from a tree on the edge of a cliff, and still nowhere near dying. So he pulls out and gun, aims it at his head, and he fires. And guess what? He misses. He misses a lot. The bullet goes through the rope of the noose. It snaps and he falls down and then he just falls over the edge of the cliff. As he falls towards the sea, he thinks 'Oh well, this will do!'"
"And?" Quinn croaked.
"Well, a huge wave washed him away from the cliff down to the beach in one go. He tried to drown himself and opened his mouth, and got his lungs full of sea water. And he ended up on the beach, throwing up all the pills he'd taken. He spent all day trying to kill himself and he ended up with nothing but a wet T-shirt."
Trent took a deep breath.
"So, red, what do you reckon the moral of that story is?" he asked. "I wasn't sure what it was. And he told me, that at the end of the story he was still going to die. One day, you know, when he was old and in bed. Why was he trying to die now? It's not like he was going to live forever. So why waste time trying to kill yourself? It took nine months of a million lucky strikes for you just to be alive. You're allowed to have a bad day, huh? But you're allowed to have a good one, too."
"Do you really believe that?" asked Quinn.
"Hey. I met you, didn't I?"
Jesse hummed happily to
himself as he drove the Tank through Lawndale. It was a nice afternoon,
with lots of pretty colours as the sun set through all the clouds. The
weekend would be nice too. Things were looking up a lot now - they'd
been pretty down when it looked like Mystik Spiral had broken up a few
weeks ago.
Max's failed vasectomy had led to what they called "reconstructive surgery" and he was very happy with the result, even after the swelling went down and the stitches came out. Nick had found the Bible full of cool names and lines for song lyrics and he'd fallen back in love with criminale music more than ever. On top of that, Jesse's jam sessions had got them interested by a record producer who was still singing "Freaking Friends" to himself after two days. There was plenty of other legal stuff that Jesse wasn't interested in or smart enough to deal with, but hey, it was more good news for Trent.
Jesse was a little worried about Trent. His friend got sad a lot more than he liked to admit, but ever since Janey had left he was getting to be a real bummer. He wasn't sure if Janey really was refusing to talk to him or something else, but it was really hurting Trent. Jesse couldn't remember the last time they'd got beers and he'd managed to drink his own bottle before Trent got to it first. He was drinking so much he didn't even write songs any more.
But that didn't matter. Trent would be really happy with the good news.
The Tank pulled up outside Trent's place (he still hadn't learned the address) and Jesse climbed up. He went up to the front door and knocked on it. No one answered, so he opened it and went inside. "Trent?" he called, wandering through the kitchen towards the basement. "Hey, Trent? You up yet?"
It was still pretty early on a Friday night, so maybe his friend was still asleep?
Jesse was about to head upstairs to check Trent's bedroom when he heard a noise from the basement. With a vague shrug of his bare shoulders, Jesse trotted down the stairs and into the basement. He frowned as he saw that none of the music equipment was there. Of course, most of it was in the Tank, but where were Trent's guitars? Had he got a gig at the Zon, perhaps? Or another cheerleader's birthday party?
That noise he heard happened again. It was a lady crying.
Jesse turned and saw a small woman with grey-blonde hair in a turtle-neck sleeveless jumper, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red from crying but where a shade of grey halfway between Trent's brown and Janey's blue. It took Jesse a moment to recognize who it was, because he'd never seen her not smiling before.
"Oh, hey, Mrs. Lane," said Jesse. He thought it was smart to call her that, rather than Amanda, since she seemed to be upset. "I came to see Trent. Is he here?"
Trent's mom shook her head.
"Oh, okay. So what's wrong, Mrs. L?" he asked and sat down next to her on the big travel chest.
"I got home today and... I... I found this," she said. She sounded really old when she was sad. She looked old too, because Jesse always felt she was younger than him. She always had so much energy and life and smiles, and he never noticed her wrinkles, just laughter lines.
Jesse realized she was holding up a letter. He picked it up. It was a message in Trent's handwriting.
DEAR MOM, DAD, PENNY, WIND, SUMMER, JESSE OR ANYONE ELSE I FORGOT (SORRY)
IT'S STOPPED BEING FUN. I CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS. YOU WON'T SEE ME AGAIN.
I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS, BUT YOU PROBABLY WON'T ANYWAY.
GIVE MY LOVE TO JANE. I REALLY HOPE EVERYONE DOES REALLY WELL.
DON'T GRIEVE FOR ME. HA. GOOD ONE, HUH? LIKE THAT'D HAPPEN.
GOODBYE,
TRENTON ALARIC LANE
Jesse read it twice. It didn't make him feel any better.
"I didn't know his middle name was Alaric," he said lamely.
Trent's mom sniffed. "It's the name of the king who brought down Rome. Vincent thought it would remind him he could always change the world and make a difference. I called him Trent, because it means born of a flood. It rained the week before he was born and the week after. He was a gift of water. He was a gift to us." She cried again. "Why did he think we didn't want him? Why would my child feel unloved?"
Jesse put his arm around her, but was careful because he was sure his arm weighed more than Trent's mom did. "I don't know," he lied. "You made sure he always felt loved, right? You made sure you and your husband were always here when he needed you, right? You kept an eye on him to make sure he was happy?"
Trent's mom didn't say anything.
Jesse decided he'd made his body. "You never meant to hurt him. He knows that. He doesn't hate you."
"He never said he was unhappy," said Trent's mom softly.
"I know," said Jesse softly. "Maybe he didn't want to make you unhappy?"
"My baby," sobbed Mrs. Lane. "I thought he was happy. I thought he knew how much we loved him. Why didn't he tell us? Why didn't Jane tell us? Or Wind or any of the others?"
Jesse realized they were talking about Trent like he was dead. And that he might actually be.
"We don't know if anything bad's happened to him, Mrs. L," he said calmly. "Maybe he's just gone traveling like the rest of his family? He's probably out having cool adventures and stuff. The open road. Stuff like that."
"He should have gone because he wanted to!" Trent's mom cried. "Not because he felt he was unwelcome here! And I don't have anyone left to talk to! I can't get in touch with Vincent! Or Jane! None of the others are answering the phone! It's just me left, Jesse, just me... I'm the only one who knows he's gone... and it's my fault..."
She buried her head in his shoulder. Her tears would get into his hair, but he didn't mind.
"Sitting down here isn't going to help," said Jesse softly. "Maybe your friend can help. You know, Daria's mom?"
"Helen?" Trent's mom whispered. "What will she think of me?"
Jesse shrugged. "That you're scared and you're worried and you need a friend?" he suggested. "Come on, Mrs. L. Whatever's happened, Trent won't want you upset. He said so. Come on, let's go. Daria's really smart, and she always talks to her mom when she needs help."
He gently stood up, and Trent's mom clung to him like a baby monkey. She weighed nothing.
"It's my fault."
"It's not your fault, Amanda," said Jesse firmly.
"Then who's fault is it?" screamed Trent's mum, angry and scared and guilt all at one.
"Not yours," Jesse said. He never once even hinted that it was Jane's fault. That she was the one who could have seen Trent and helped him and it was her blanking him that broke his heart. Trent's mom was just Trent's mom, always giving what she gave and never promising anything else. Jesse knew Trent wouldn't blame his mom, and Jesse wouldn't blame her either. And he wouldn't say it was Jane's fault. That wouldn't help anyone.
Even if it was true.
Max's failed vasectomy had led to what they called "reconstructive surgery" and he was very happy with the result, even after the swelling went down and the stitches came out. Nick had found the Bible full of cool names and lines for song lyrics and he'd fallen back in love with criminale music more than ever. On top of that, Jesse's jam sessions had got them interested by a record producer who was still singing "Freaking Friends" to himself after two days. There was plenty of other legal stuff that Jesse wasn't interested in or smart enough to deal with, but hey, it was more good news for Trent.
Jesse was a little worried about Trent. His friend got sad a lot more than he liked to admit, but ever since Janey had left he was getting to be a real bummer. He wasn't sure if Janey really was refusing to talk to him or something else, but it was really hurting Trent. Jesse couldn't remember the last time they'd got beers and he'd managed to drink his own bottle before Trent got to it first. He was drinking so much he didn't even write songs any more.
But that didn't matter. Trent would be really happy with the good news.
The Tank pulled up outside Trent's place (he still hadn't learned the address) and Jesse climbed up. He went up to the front door and knocked on it. No one answered, so he opened it and went inside. "Trent?" he called, wandering through the kitchen towards the basement. "Hey, Trent? You up yet?"
It was still pretty early on a Friday night, so maybe his friend was still asleep?
Jesse was about to head upstairs to check Trent's bedroom when he heard a noise from the basement. With a vague shrug of his bare shoulders, Jesse trotted down the stairs and into the basement. He frowned as he saw that none of the music equipment was there. Of course, most of it was in the Tank, but where were Trent's guitars? Had he got a gig at the Zon, perhaps? Or another cheerleader's birthday party?
That noise he heard happened again. It was a lady crying.
Jesse turned and saw a small woman with grey-blonde hair in a turtle-neck sleeveless jumper, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes were red from crying but where a shade of grey halfway between Trent's brown and Janey's blue. It took Jesse a moment to recognize who it was, because he'd never seen her not smiling before.
"Oh, hey, Mrs. Lane," said Jesse. He thought it was smart to call her that, rather than Amanda, since she seemed to be upset. "I came to see Trent. Is he here?"
Trent's mom shook her head.
"Oh, okay. So what's wrong, Mrs. L?" he asked and sat down next to her on the big travel chest.
"I got home today and... I... I found this," she said. She sounded really old when she was sad. She looked old too, because Jesse always felt she was younger than him. She always had so much energy and life and smiles, and he never noticed her wrinkles, just laughter lines.
Jesse realized she was holding up a letter. He picked it up. It was a message in Trent's handwriting.
DEAR MOM, DAD, PENNY, WIND, SUMMER, JESSE OR ANYONE ELSE I FORGOT (SORRY)
IT'S STOPPED BEING FUN. I CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS. YOU WON'T SEE ME AGAIN.
I DON'T WANT YOU TO FEEL BAD ABOUT THIS, BUT YOU PROBABLY WON'T ANYWAY.
GIVE MY LOVE TO JANE. I REALLY HOPE EVERYONE DOES REALLY WELL.
DON'T GRIEVE FOR ME. HA. GOOD ONE, HUH? LIKE THAT'D HAPPEN.
GOODBYE,
TRENTON ALARIC LANE
Jesse read it twice. It didn't make him feel any better.
"I didn't know his middle name was Alaric," he said lamely.
Trent's mom sniffed. "It's the name of the king who brought down Rome. Vincent thought it would remind him he could always change the world and make a difference. I called him Trent, because it means born of a flood. It rained the week before he was born and the week after. He was a gift of water. He was a gift to us." She cried again. "Why did he think we didn't want him? Why would my child feel unloved?"
Jesse put his arm around her, but was careful because he was sure his arm weighed more than Trent's mom did. "I don't know," he lied. "You made sure he always felt loved, right? You made sure you and your husband were always here when he needed you, right? You kept an eye on him to make sure he was happy?"
Trent's mom didn't say anything.
Jesse decided he'd made his body. "You never meant to hurt him. He knows that. He doesn't hate you."
"He never said he was unhappy," said Trent's mom softly.
"I know," said Jesse softly. "Maybe he didn't want to make you unhappy?"
"My baby," sobbed Mrs. Lane. "I thought he was happy. I thought he knew how much we loved him. Why didn't he tell us? Why didn't Jane tell us? Or Wind or any of the others?"
Jesse realized they were talking about Trent like he was dead. And that he might actually be.
"We don't know if anything bad's happened to him, Mrs. L," he said calmly. "Maybe he's just gone traveling like the rest of his family? He's probably out having cool adventures and stuff. The open road. Stuff like that."
"He should have gone because he wanted to!" Trent's mom cried. "Not because he felt he was unwelcome here! And I don't have anyone left to talk to! I can't get in touch with Vincent! Or Jane! None of the others are answering the phone! It's just me left, Jesse, just me... I'm the only one who knows he's gone... and it's my fault..."
She buried her head in his shoulder. Her tears would get into his hair, but he didn't mind.
"Sitting down here isn't going to help," said Jesse softly. "Maybe your friend can help. You know, Daria's mom?"
"Helen?" Trent's mom whispered. "What will she think of me?"
Jesse shrugged. "That you're scared and you're worried and you need a friend?" he suggested. "Come on, Mrs. L. Whatever's happened, Trent won't want you upset. He said so. Come on, let's go. Daria's really smart, and she always talks to her mom when she needs help."
He gently stood up, and Trent's mom clung to him like a baby monkey. She weighed nothing.
"It's my fault."
"It's not your fault, Amanda," said Jesse firmly.
"Then who's fault is it?" screamed Trent's mum, angry and scared and guilt all at one.
"Not yours," Jesse said. He never once even hinted that it was Jane's fault. That she was the one who could have seen Trent and helped him and it was her blanking him that broke his heart. Trent's mom was just Trent's mom, always giving what she gave and never promising anything else. Jesse knew Trent wouldn't blame his mom, and Jesse wouldn't blame her either. And he wouldn't say it was Jane's fault. That wouldn't help anyone.
Even if it was true.
Postlude
It was somewhere between dusk and actual evening. The Plymouth had been parked outside Schloss Morgendorffer for several minutes while driver and passenger had talked. Really, properly talked.
"I don't like this," said Quinn at last. She was drained and tired in every way, on the knife's edge of collapse.
"Didn't think you would, red," Trent said, hands behind his head. "I'm not really happy about it either. But it's got to be done."
"You promised me..."
"I know what I promised, Quinn. And I'm going to keep my promise. I'm going to stay alive. No matter how bad I feel, no matter how lonely it gets, no matter how worthless it seems. I am not going to kill myself for anything. I stay alive for you, you stay alive for me."
"But you're going to leave!"
Trent sighed. "I can't go on, Quinn. Not if I stay here. Lawndale... it's not home anymore. It's a place that I am that Janey isn't. Everything reminds me of her. Everything hurts me here."
"Even me?"
"A little," Trent shrugged. "But I forgive you. But I can't stay here, in that house, knowing everyone else has left me behind. It's kinda scary at night, you know. So, I've got this car, I've got a hundred bucks in the bank. Why not go for a real road trip this time?"
"Where will you go?" asked Quinn in a small voice.
"Somewhere else," Trent said confidently. "Maybe Sergeant McTeal needs a bit more help with the local X-File stuff. Maybe there's a town out there that needs a rogue samurai to defend them from bandits. I know that there's a roadside place somewhere where they made the first ever hamburger in the whole world. I always wanted to go there. I bet it tastes real crap, too..."
"How are you going to live, though?"
"I dunno. I could always bar-tend or something. Maybe join a house-band. Maybe I'll find a cute girl hitchhiking who'll turn out to be a princess and really rich. No idea."
Quin looked up at him with red eyes that had run out tears. "And what about me? How do I cope without you?"
"You've only needed me for a month, red."
"That's long enough."
Trent nodded quietly. "Yeah. I guess it is. Look, red, how about this? I promise to ring you every time the day has an 'R' in it?"
Quinn blinked. "So you'll ring me tomorrow?"
"Yep. And next Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You can ring me every time there's a day with an 'N' in it."
"Monday, Wednesday and Sunday?"
"Yeah, why not? That gives us Tuesdays off."
"What if I need to call you?" Quinn asked.
"Then you call me, Quinn. Always call me if you need you. Hell, you can call me if you don't. Your voice is really nice when you calm down."
Quinn shook her head. "But how can I call you? You don't have a phone?"
Trent blinked. "Ohhhh," he said at last.
Quinn reached into her filthy purse and pulled out her cell-phone. "Here, you take this. I'll get another one and pay for both. That way I know you have a phone on you and you can always call the house."
Trent regarded the baby-pink little phone in his hand. It wasn't very manly, but Daria once told him that pink used to be the colour of boys and blue was for girls. That was why the Virgin Mary always wore blue. Besides, who cared if it looked girly? Quinn was giving him a literal lifeline. Who complained a life belt looked effeminate when they were drowning, anyway?
He looked at Quinn, gave a firm nod and put it in his pocket.
A thought occurred to him. "What's the ringtone?"
"Uh..." Quinn smiled hopefully. "It's a love song from Tracy Ullman. It's called 'They Don't Know'."
"Huh," said Trent. "Paul McCartney wrote that, you know? He was in a band called the Beatles..."
"Duh! I know who the Beatles are, Trent!"
"I bet they'd be happy to know that," Trent smirked. "Cool. I don't mind that as a ringtone."
"I'll probably ring you all the time, you know?" Quinn warned. "If I think it looks like it might rain or anything, I'll get worried and ring you. Even if you're working or with a girl or whatever. You're going to be forever known as the guy who gets phone calls all the time, and everyone will make fun of you."
"Let them. They're just jealous no one cares about them that much. I can always say you're a recording manager or something begging me to sign up with your label."
"Will you?"
"Nah. I'll probably just tell them it's my little sister ringing."
Quinn smiled sadly. "I sometimes wish I had a big brother. Can you be my big brother, Trent?"
"Your mom and dad won't like that."
"Let them," she said, flinging her arms around him. Her composure cracked. "I don't want you to go. Please."
"You gotta, Quinn. Like you said, you don't have anything to be upset about. But you're really depressed. So, you need some help. I'm sure your parents know someone who can help."
"What? Like all those shrinks they sent Daria to?"
"They'd probably be relieved to meet someone who had a genuine problem, huh?" Trent smirked, hugging her back. "Come on, red. We both know there's no help I can give you in person I can't give you over the phone. There are way better cars driven by boys your own age. And people who will listen you without swamp monsters chasing them."
After a moment, he let go of her and got out of the car.
Wearily, Quinn did likewise and they approached the front door.
"Will you ever come back?" she asked him.
"To Lawndale? Maybe. If I'm ever passing through, you'll know about it," Trent promised. "Maybe in a few years, it won't hurt so much and I can swing by, see how Monique and Jesse are. And you."
"So I might never see your face again?"
"No way, get stuffed, fuc--" Trent's eyes widened and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, force of habit," he said, almost blushing. "Um, who knows. Maybe you'll see me in the paper. Trent Lane, Swamp Monster Hunter Extraordinaire?" He struck an impressive pose. "With sword of truth I turn to fight the satanic powers of the night!"
Quinn giggled. "You are photogenic, I'll give you that." Her face hardened. "I'm not sure I'll ever forgive Jane for abandoning you, though, for making you feel so bad."
Trent sighed. "I have, Quinn. You should try, too. Hate is a lot of work to waste on someone you don't like." He knocked on the door, then remembered there was a doorbell and rang that. He looked down at Quinn with affection. "And remember, act natural."
Quinn wondered if anyone had ever asked her to do something so utterly impossible before, but she nodded anyway.
Just enough time passed for them to consider letting themselves in before the door was wrenched open. Helen Morgendorffer stood on the threshold in a silken dressing gown that had been hastily thrown on, her hair was a mess, she was flushed and slightly out of breath.
"Sorry about that," she said hastily, "I was just... in the shower."
Quinn was fairly certain there were tribes in the deepest darkest parts of Africa, tribes who had never encountered any other human civilization, who could still tell Helen was lying and they'd accidentally interrupted one of her horrifying weekend-long marathon sex sessions with her husband Jake.
Trent worked it out just as quickly and for a moment they both looked back at being chased up a tree by a bloodthirsty hell-beast with nostalgic affection.
"What are you two doing back so soon?" Helen asked, frowning as she registered her daughter was utterly exhausted and splattered with mud. "Did you have an accident or something?"
"Uh, yeah," said Trent, rubbing his neck in fake embarrassment. "We, uh, ran over an alligator that came out of nowhere. Quinn's kinda choked up about it, because she likes animals. So I thought I'd bring her back home. For, you know, help."
Quinn avoided her mother's gaze.
"Is that true, Quinn?" Helen asked.
"Yeah. I'm... I'm pretty traumatized." She put on her best smile. "But Trent was really kind and looked after me."
"By taking you through some gator-infested swamp?" Helen exclaimed. "I think that kind of looking after you can avoid, Quinn! Especially if you're traumatized! I think I know a therapist..."
"I, uh, better go. Goodbye, Mrs. Morgendorffer."
Trent smiled at her, but his eyes were on Quinn's anguished look.
"Expect me when you see me," he said, then turned and headed back to the waiting Plymouth as if there was nothing wrong with the world.
Suddenly the front door was closing, and Quinn couldn't see Trent anymore. She stared at the closed door as her mother fussed about with her address book and shouted up at the ceiling that Quinn was back early. Jake Morgendorffer's unhappy groan wasn't quite inaudible.
Quinn ignored it as she heard the Plymouth's engine rev up and then fade away into silence. She refused to go to a window to watch it leave because Trent wasn't leaving-leaving. Not like Daria and Jane. He would ring her tomorrow like he promised and she would be there like she promised.
Trent was still with her in all the way that counted.
"Oh, damn it," Helen swore to herself in the next room. "I forgot to tell him about Daria and Jane calling. Oh well, they'll call again on Sunday. No hurry. It's not as if it's my problem anyway..."
***
Trent wasn't driving at top speed. It was as if something was trying to stop him from driving away from Quinn's house and by extension his own house and Lawndale and the ruins of the life he'd lived.
He still didn't know where he was going, he supposed.
Suddenly, unbidden, a memory came back to him. Something he hadn't thought about in ages. He remembered being in a train with his mom and dad, going somewhere. Penny was there too. They were in a train passing a meadow with a scarecrow standing in the middle, facing them.
As the train went past, Trent had looked out the window at the scarecrow and he was sure that the scarecrow had lifted its straw-filled head to look at him. Right at him, like the scarecrow wasn't just looking at a passing train but the little boy in that window.
Was that just a dream? Some TV show he miss-remembered?
Well, thought Trent, if there are purple monsters in the woods, why not friendly scarecrows by the railway line? Something to check out, at least. Good a reason to start as any.
Trent thought for a moment the quickest way to the Lawndale railway station and which direction to follow. And nothing stopped him as the Plymouth accelerated down the road.
For a moment, Trent thought he saw three guys standing on the street corner watching him leave, but it must have just been a trick of the light. He didn't give it another thought.
***
"Well, I don't call that closure, do you?" said Nigel, folding his arms as he watched Trent drive off into the night.
"Closure was invented by Spielberg to make cinema-goers happy," Andrew said reprovingly. "You're going to trust someone who thinks you can survive a thirty-megaton nuclear blast by hiding in a fridge? You sicken me sometimes, Nigel."
"Whereas you sicken me continually, Andrew."
"Least I'm consistent, you wishy-washy hipster git..."
"Guys, come on," Dave sighed. "We're done here. I know we asked for nowhere special but I wasn't expecting tree-monsters and exploded dogs. That's really outside my comfort zone."
"But anthropomorphic holidays, ghosts and close-harmony singing are fine?" Nigel scoffed.
"Yes!" said Dave simply. "And frankly, I've had enough angst. Let's go somewhere the poets aren't opening their wrists and people can crack a smile once in a while without a nervous breakdown."
"He doesn't ask for much, does he?" Nigel asked, rolling his eyes at Andrew. "All right, but this time, I'm driving, okay?"
***
If there had been anyone on the corner watching Trent's Plymouth driving off, they certainly weren't there now. And no one saw, a few minutes later, the Tank approaching the Morgendorffer household driven by Jesse Moreno with a heartbroken Amanda Lane in the front seat.
***
You've been around for such a long time now
Oh maybe I could leave you, but I don't know how
And why should I be lonely every night
When I can be with you? Oh yes, you make it right!
And I don't listen to the guys who say
That you're bad for me and I should turn you away
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
I get a feeling when I look at you
Wherever you go now, I want to be there too
They say we're crazy but I just don't care
And if they keep on talking, still they get nowhere
So I don't mind if they don't understand
When I look at you and you hold my hand
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
BABY! There's no need for living in the past
Now I've found good loving gonna make it last
I tell the others "Don't bother me!"
Cause when they look at you, they don't see what I see!
No, I don't listen to their wasted lines
Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
It was somewhere between dusk and actual evening. The Plymouth had been parked outside Schloss Morgendorffer for several minutes while driver and passenger had talked. Really, properly talked.
"I don't like this," said Quinn at last. She was drained and tired in every way, on the knife's edge of collapse.
"Didn't think you would, red," Trent said, hands behind his head. "I'm not really happy about it either. But it's got to be done."
"You promised me..."
"I know what I promised, Quinn. And I'm going to keep my promise. I'm going to stay alive. No matter how bad I feel, no matter how lonely it gets, no matter how worthless it seems. I am not going to kill myself for anything. I stay alive for you, you stay alive for me."
"But you're going to leave!"
Trent sighed. "I can't go on, Quinn. Not if I stay here. Lawndale... it's not home anymore. It's a place that I am that Janey isn't. Everything reminds me of her. Everything hurts me here."
"Even me?"
"A little," Trent shrugged. "But I forgive you. But I can't stay here, in that house, knowing everyone else has left me behind. It's kinda scary at night, you know. So, I've got this car, I've got a hundred bucks in the bank. Why not go for a real road trip this time?"
"Where will you go?" asked Quinn in a small voice.
"Somewhere else," Trent said confidently. "Maybe Sergeant McTeal needs a bit more help with the local X-File stuff. Maybe there's a town out there that needs a rogue samurai to defend them from bandits. I know that there's a roadside place somewhere where they made the first ever hamburger in the whole world. I always wanted to go there. I bet it tastes real crap, too..."
"How are you going to live, though?"
"I dunno. I could always bar-tend or something. Maybe join a house-band. Maybe I'll find a cute girl hitchhiking who'll turn out to be a princess and really rich. No idea."
Quin looked up at him with red eyes that had run out tears. "And what about me? How do I cope without you?"
"You've only needed me for a month, red."
"That's long enough."
Trent nodded quietly. "Yeah. I guess it is. Look, red, how about this? I promise to ring you every time the day has an 'R' in it?"
Quinn blinked. "So you'll ring me tomorrow?"
"Yep. And next Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You can ring me every time there's a day with an 'N' in it."
"Monday, Wednesday and Sunday?"
"Yeah, why not? That gives us Tuesdays off."
"What if I need to call you?" Quinn asked.
"Then you call me, Quinn. Always call me if you need you. Hell, you can call me if you don't. Your voice is really nice when you calm down."
Quinn shook her head. "But how can I call you? You don't have a phone?"
Trent blinked. "Ohhhh," he said at last.
Quinn reached into her filthy purse and pulled out her cell-phone. "Here, you take this. I'll get another one and pay for both. That way I know you have a phone on you and you can always call the house."
Trent regarded the baby-pink little phone in his hand. It wasn't very manly, but Daria once told him that pink used to be the colour of boys and blue was for girls. That was why the Virgin Mary always wore blue. Besides, who cared if it looked girly? Quinn was giving him a literal lifeline. Who complained a life belt looked effeminate when they were drowning, anyway?
He looked at Quinn, gave a firm nod and put it in his pocket.
A thought occurred to him. "What's the ringtone?"
"Uh..." Quinn smiled hopefully. "It's a love song from Tracy Ullman. It's called 'They Don't Know'."
"Huh," said Trent. "Paul McCartney wrote that, you know? He was in a band called the Beatles..."
"Duh! I know who the Beatles are, Trent!"
"I bet they'd be happy to know that," Trent smirked. "Cool. I don't mind that as a ringtone."
"I'll probably ring you all the time, you know?" Quinn warned. "If I think it looks like it might rain or anything, I'll get worried and ring you. Even if you're working or with a girl or whatever. You're going to be forever known as the guy who gets phone calls all the time, and everyone will make fun of you."
"Let them. They're just jealous no one cares about them that much. I can always say you're a recording manager or something begging me to sign up with your label."
"Will you?"
"Nah. I'll probably just tell them it's my little sister ringing."
Quinn smiled sadly. "I sometimes wish I had a big brother. Can you be my big brother, Trent?"
"Your mom and dad won't like that."
"Let them," she said, flinging her arms around him. Her composure cracked. "I don't want you to go. Please."
"You gotta, Quinn. Like you said, you don't have anything to be upset about. But you're really depressed. So, you need some help. I'm sure your parents know someone who can help."
"What? Like all those shrinks they sent Daria to?"
"They'd probably be relieved to meet someone who had a genuine problem, huh?" Trent smirked, hugging her back. "Come on, red. We both know there's no help I can give you in person I can't give you over the phone. There are way better cars driven by boys your own age. And people who will listen you without swamp monsters chasing them."
After a moment, he let go of her and got out of the car.
Wearily, Quinn did likewise and they approached the front door.
"Will you ever come back?" she asked him.
"To Lawndale? Maybe. If I'm ever passing through, you'll know about it," Trent promised. "Maybe in a few years, it won't hurt so much and I can swing by, see how Monique and Jesse are. And you."
"So I might never see your face again?"
"No way, get stuffed, fuc--" Trent's eyes widened and he clamped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, force of habit," he said, almost blushing. "Um, who knows. Maybe you'll see me in the paper. Trent Lane, Swamp Monster Hunter Extraordinaire?" He struck an impressive pose. "With sword of truth I turn to fight the satanic powers of the night!"
Quinn giggled. "You are photogenic, I'll give you that." Her face hardened. "I'm not sure I'll ever forgive Jane for abandoning you, though, for making you feel so bad."
Trent sighed. "I have, Quinn. You should try, too. Hate is a lot of work to waste on someone you don't like." He knocked on the door, then remembered there was a doorbell and rang that. He looked down at Quinn with affection. "And remember, act natural."
Quinn wondered if anyone had ever asked her to do something so utterly impossible before, but she nodded anyway.
Just enough time passed for them to consider letting themselves in before the door was wrenched open. Helen Morgendorffer stood on the threshold in a silken dressing gown that had been hastily thrown on, her hair was a mess, she was flushed and slightly out of breath.
"Sorry about that," she said hastily, "I was just... in the shower."
Quinn was fairly certain there were tribes in the deepest darkest parts of Africa, tribes who had never encountered any other human civilization, who could still tell Helen was lying and they'd accidentally interrupted one of her horrifying weekend-long marathon sex sessions with her husband Jake.
Trent worked it out just as quickly and for a moment they both looked back at being chased up a tree by a bloodthirsty hell-beast with nostalgic affection.
"What are you two doing back so soon?" Helen asked, frowning as she registered her daughter was utterly exhausted and splattered with mud. "Did you have an accident or something?"
"Uh, yeah," said Trent, rubbing his neck in fake embarrassment. "We, uh, ran over an alligator that came out of nowhere. Quinn's kinda choked up about it, because she likes animals. So I thought I'd bring her back home. For, you know, help."
Quinn avoided her mother's gaze.
"Is that true, Quinn?" Helen asked.
"Yeah. I'm... I'm pretty traumatized." She put on her best smile. "But Trent was really kind and looked after me."
"By taking you through some gator-infested swamp?" Helen exclaimed. "I think that kind of looking after you can avoid, Quinn! Especially if you're traumatized! I think I know a therapist..."
"I, uh, better go. Goodbye, Mrs. Morgendorffer."
Trent smiled at her, but his eyes were on Quinn's anguished look.
"Expect me when you see me," he said, then turned and headed back to the waiting Plymouth as if there was nothing wrong with the world.
Suddenly the front door was closing, and Quinn couldn't see Trent anymore. She stared at the closed door as her mother fussed about with her address book and shouted up at the ceiling that Quinn was back early. Jake Morgendorffer's unhappy groan wasn't quite inaudible.
Quinn ignored it as she heard the Plymouth's engine rev up and then fade away into silence. She refused to go to a window to watch it leave because Trent wasn't leaving-leaving. Not like Daria and Jane. He would ring her tomorrow like he promised and she would be there like she promised.
Trent was still with her in all the way that counted.
"Oh, damn it," Helen swore to herself in the next room. "I forgot to tell him about Daria and Jane calling. Oh well, they'll call again on Sunday. No hurry. It's not as if it's my problem anyway..."
***
Trent wasn't driving at top speed. It was as if something was trying to stop him from driving away from Quinn's house and by extension his own house and Lawndale and the ruins of the life he'd lived.
He still didn't know where he was going, he supposed.
Suddenly, unbidden, a memory came back to him. Something he hadn't thought about in ages. He remembered being in a train with his mom and dad, going somewhere. Penny was there too. They were in a train passing a meadow with a scarecrow standing in the middle, facing them.
As the train went past, Trent had looked out the window at the scarecrow and he was sure that the scarecrow had lifted its straw-filled head to look at him. Right at him, like the scarecrow wasn't just looking at a passing train but the little boy in that window.
Was that just a dream? Some TV show he miss-remembered?
Well, thought Trent, if there are purple monsters in the woods, why not friendly scarecrows by the railway line? Something to check out, at least. Good a reason to start as any.
Trent thought for a moment the quickest way to the Lawndale railway station and which direction to follow. And nothing stopped him as the Plymouth accelerated down the road.
For a moment, Trent thought he saw three guys standing on the street corner watching him leave, but it must have just been a trick of the light. He didn't give it another thought.
***
"Well, I don't call that closure, do you?" said Nigel, folding his arms as he watched Trent drive off into the night.
"Closure was invented by Spielberg to make cinema-goers happy," Andrew said reprovingly. "You're going to trust someone who thinks you can survive a thirty-megaton nuclear blast by hiding in a fridge? You sicken me sometimes, Nigel."
"Whereas you sicken me continually, Andrew."
"Least I'm consistent, you wishy-washy hipster git..."
"Guys, come on," Dave sighed. "We're done here. I know we asked for nowhere special but I wasn't expecting tree-monsters and exploded dogs. That's really outside my comfort zone."
"But anthropomorphic holidays, ghosts and close-harmony singing are fine?" Nigel scoffed.
"Yes!" said Dave simply. "And frankly, I've had enough angst. Let's go somewhere the poets aren't opening their wrists and people can crack a smile once in a while without a nervous breakdown."
"He doesn't ask for much, does he?" Nigel asked, rolling his eyes at Andrew. "All right, but this time, I'm driving, okay?"
***
If there had been anyone on the corner watching Trent's Plymouth driving off, they certainly weren't there now. And no one saw, a few minutes later, the Tank approaching the Morgendorffer household driven by Jesse Moreno with a heartbroken Amanda Lane in the front seat.
***
You've been around for such a long time now
Oh maybe I could leave you, but I don't know how
And why should I be lonely every night
When I can be with you? Oh yes, you make it right!
And I don't listen to the guys who say
That you're bad for me and I should turn you away
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
I get a feeling when I look at you
Wherever you go now, I want to be there too
They say we're crazy but I just don't care
And if they keep on talking, still they get nowhere
So I don't mind if they don't understand
When I look at you and you hold my hand
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
BABY! There's no need for living in the past
Now I've found good loving gonna make it last
I tell the others "Don't bother me!"
Cause when they look at you, they don't see what I see!
No, I don't listen to their wasted lines
Got my eyes wide open and I see the signs
Cause they don't know about us and they've never heard of love!
No comments:
Post a Comment