Chapter 10

Mark's flight from town when things got bad is coming back to haunt him in this chapter.

E4, Chapter 10

“So, you sank the rustmobile in Mill Road Swamp?” Jeff asked.

Mark thought with regret about the oxidized orange Karmann Ghia that had transported him everywhere since high school and sighed.

“Yeah, she’s gone, man,” Mark told his old friend as they flipped through their menus. “That swamp just ate her up. Thanks for letting me wash up in your shower, by the way. It’s the only option I have since Mom and Dad left town.”

“Oh, no problem,” Jeff said absently.

Mark was worried about his friend’s appearance. Jeff was a couple years older than him, but looked like he had gone forty years without sleep. Perhaps it was the light, but it looked like there were some white specks in Jeff’s black mop of hair. He had put on some weight, too, and was sucking down Menthols like they were being recalled. Mark wasn’t about to tell him about his recent adventures lest it turn his hair color completely.

Jeff had not seemed surprised to see Mark when he knocked on his door. He hadn’t even said much; the two just slipped into their old routine of getting a meal at the Lone Penguin Diner. Mark liked how no matter how long he and Jeff were away from each other, their friendship picked up from where it left off.

There was only one sore spot in their friendship and Mark knew he had to dig for more information on Samantha’s murder at some point. In the meantime, he was more concerned for his living friend.

Jeff folded up his menu and Mark wondered why he even bothered looking. Jeff always ordered the Chicken Parm.

“I thought you might never come home again,” Jeff, said, reclining in his chair. “It’s been three years. What brings you back now?”

Mark folded his arms. “As much as a place changes,” he admitted, glancing out the window, “it’s still home. I mean, Carolina is nice, warm, and the people are...nice.” Mark realized he was staring at his fork and forced himself to look into Jeff’s bloodshot eyes. His friend looked to be patiently disbelieving him.

“The phone call from my mother had nothing to do with it?” asked Jeff.

Mark sighed and lowered his voice. “She said that you’d been really down.”

“She was telling people I was going to drown myself in alcohol,’” Jeff calmly corrected. “And worse.”

Mark frowned. “Alright, she did. But you’ve never been the kind to...I just didn’t believe it. I know she meant well by calling.” Jeff began to retort, but Mark rushed his defense. “I knew you’d be pissed that I was coming back to check on you. And that you were frustrated that I hadn’t visited since the trial. But damn, man, I had to see how you were doing. You tell me nothing over the phone or online, but did you ever, really?” It was true; Mark was only able to have a decent conversation with Jeff in person. “I feel bad,” admitted Mark. “It’s no excuse, but coming home hasn’t been the easiest thing.”

Jeff shrugged. “I know what you mean.”

The waitress, a brunette one, brought water and Mark rested his hand against the condensation on his glass. “We both do,” he muttered after the waitress left. “Things aren’t the same now that she’s gone.” They both were lost into reflection for a few moments.

“So, tell me,” Mark asked in an attempt to change the subject, “What have you been up to?” He took a sip of his water.

Jeff frowned. “I’m still teaching, even if the occasional parent doesn’t want her kid in my class. Other than that, I’m getting by. How was the season?”

Mark shrugged. “For the team, we did okay. They’re talking about giving me some time in the majors, though.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows. “Oh, that’s great. Way to go, Mark.”

Mark politely nodded. “Thank you.” He tapped his fingers against the table and leaned in. “But you know...Remember that game we had back in the summer, years ago, when I batted that tennis ball across the horse field and right through Ms. McCafferey’s shed window? Or the evening we ended up starting a bonfire in the trash barrels and playing on into the night in those abandoned corn fields across the street?”

“Yeah,” said Jeff, thinking back to many nights that were like those and would never come again. He had a rare laugh.

Mark pointed a finger toward the past and sadly grinned, the glint of a jukebox refracting off of his eyes. “It’s nothing like that.”

Jeff nodded. “So, it’s like a job.”

Mark reclined. “Something like that.” He paused, giving himself a mental stab of courage before asking the next question. “Be straight with me, Jeff. Why did your mother call me?”

Jeff recoiled and looked ready to squirm from his chair, but the waitress returned for the save. Mark, annoyed at the break in pace, quickly ordered an omelet. Jeff ordered, to Mark’s hurt surprise, a burger. Things weren’t right.

“I’m just tired and unhappy,” Jeff brusquely explained after she left. “I don’t know what I want. There used to be a plan. Back when Samantha was still…here,” Jeff trailed off.

God, how Mark wanted to tell him that he might be able to change things. Mark decided he had to ask. “Jeff,” he stammered, with a mixture of curtailed enthusiasm and fear to talk, “I know we never talked about the day she died…But if you can tell me anything you might not have said, I might have a way of figuring out what happened to her.”

Jeff shrunk back and Mark realized there was no smooth way of bringing this up with Jeff. He opened his mouth to rephrase the question but noticed a pair of frosty blue eyes glaring at them from a nearby booth. Mark recognized them as belonging to Hugh O’Connor, a fiery, argumentative jerk that he had graduated with. Hugh had been sitting alone, a half-finished plate of roast beef and potatoes in front of him. Maybe Hugh wasn’t a horrible person, but he had once made the mistake of trying to win the love of Jeff’s life away from him. With his dishonest charm, he had almost succeeded.

“Ah, geez,” Mark groaned as he saw Hugh, dressed in denim with a baseball cap covering his red curls, rise from his booth and swagger over to them. “Hugh O’Connor’s coming over here.” Jeff fixed his eyes on the table upon hearing the name and didn’t bother looking behind him.

“Hey, Marcus Vox,” spat Hugh, using his full name, which Mark loathed. “I thought you had split town for good.” Hugh stepped closer and leaned over Jeff.

Mark eyed Hugh defiantly, but decided to remain civil for the moment. With some years between them, he held hope that Hugh had grown up. So far, it wasn’t looking swell. “Hey, Hugh,” said Mark. “I was just telling Jeff I have to come home sometimes. How are you?”

Hugh bit one of his thin lips and disregarded the last question. “What are you doing with the killer?” he asked, pressing a thumb into Jeff’s shoulder. “It’s bad enough you saved his ass on the stand.”

Mark sat up. “Hugh, Jeff was hanging out with me on the night she was killed. I swore to it then and I swear to it now.”

“Nah,” said Hugh, shaking his head. “The evidence led right to him. You missed something. Or were lying.”

Mark wanted to slug Hugh, but maintained his composure. Jeff stayed silent, staring at the table.

“We all miss her,” Mark said. “Jeff didn’t kill Sam.” Mark wanted to believe, and almost did, that Hugh was angry because he missed her, too.

Hugh snickered. “I just want to see this bastard brought to justice. Samantha? Slut had it coming to her.”

Mark’s calm expression snapped, his eyes glazed, and he rose from his seat. He stepped closer and stared down Hugh, not giving one damn that the obnoxious son-of-a-bitch was bigger than he. “What was that?” he hissed.

“Mark,” muttered Jeff, without looking up. “Let it go. I hear it all the time.”

Mark ignored Jeff and felt his rage swelling. Not much set him off, but the slander, the arrogance, was spiraling him into overwhelming anger. His top lip recoiled. “Hugh, not another word.”

Hugh grinned at Mark, mocking him with his expression.

“That’s it,” Mark growled, “you piece of-”

Hugh immediately reacted at Mark’s daring to return his insults. He grabbed a hold of Mark’s baseball shirt and spat words into his face. “You talking about me, punk? Huh?! I’ll kick another hole in your ass right now!”

Mark had enough. His initial blast of anger receding, Mark thought coolly about how to get Hugh to remove his hands and went with his first idea. He swung a free arm at the table, grabbed his fork and plunged it into one of Hugh’s beefy hands. Jeff’s eyes went wide when he saw this. As the fork fell, Hugh grabbed his hand and howled like a coyote whose paw had been run over by a train. Mark shoved him away and pointed a finger at the door. “Get lost, Hugh!”

Hugh, still yelling curses and holding his hand, retreated out of the diner’s main door. Mark looked around at the stunned patrons and waitresses. He had forgotten their existence for a few moments. “Man,” he said to Jeff, running his fingers through his hair. “Do you believe that guy? No one talks about her like that.”

Jeff turned and stared in silence at the door Hugh had exited.

Hugh suddenly burst back through, enraged. “I’ll take down both of you!” he yelled. “And you, Jeff, just sitting there knowing what a sick fuck you are! Everyone in Tempest knows you killed her! Why don’t you take your ass somewhere else?!”

Mark began to yell at Hugh to lay off, but stopped as a blur erupted from his table and slammed into Hugh. Jeff’s motionless demeanor had cracked. He knocked Hugh to the floor and slammed a fist against his ear. “You never let it go. You never let me be!” Jeff growled. He repeated it into incoherency as he shoved Hugh’s jaw to the floor. Hugh struggled to get Jeff off of his back and kept punching backwards at his ribs, but it had no effect.

The other patrons gathered around, but no one was jumping in to stop the scuffle. Mark, who had been stunned for a moment, overheard one of the waitresses tell another to call the police.

“Hey, hold on!” Mark hollered to the waitress, desperately wanting to keep the police out of this. She paused and he rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Jeff. “Ease off, Jeff, ease off!” he grunted. Jeff struggled to shake him, and was doing pretty well since he was larger. Mark was strong, though, and bodily pulled Jeff away from Hugh.

“Dammit, Mark!” Jeff hissed. Mark lugged Jeff back and dropped him into a booth. Jeff was ready to pounce away, but Mark blocked his friend. “Hey,” he said to Jeff, who was still eyeing Hugh. “I said, ‘Hey,’” repeated Mark. Jeff grudgingly looked at him. “You made your point,” Mark assured him. “Don’t get arrested.”

“Fuckin’ murderer!” shouted Hugh.

Mark angrily turned toward him. “Shut up, Hugh!”

Hugh picked himself off of the floor and brushed off his butt. “I’ll see you two later. Watch your back,” he warned and barged through the diner’s rear exit. Mark made an obscene gesture at Hugh as he left, slamming his right elbow against his left hand.

Jeff was thankfully starting to settle down. Whew, Mark though, disaster averted. Then he heard the same waitress from before whisper to the other one to call the cops.

Mark leapt at the older waitress, waving his hands. She looked petrified. “Wait a minute,” he demanded. “The situation is over; I took care of it. Just let it be at that.”

“No,” stated the waitress, “I think we need to call the police.”

Mark’s expression went dark as he looked into her defiant eyes. “I said there’s no need,” he hissed. “Now get off your god-damned authority trip and go back to carrying trays.” Seeing the worried expression that formed on her face, Mark realized that he needed to calm down and be diplomatic. “Okay,” he apologized, “I’m sorry we disrupted things here. For what it’s worth, Hugh started it.”

The waitress crossed her varicose arms and remained cold. “Just get out, the both of you. Now.”

Mark raised his hands to the side and acquiesced. “Okay,” he agreed, moving back and pointing to Jeff. “Let me just get my friend and we’ll leave.” As the waitress glared, he urged Jeff toward the front entrance and out to the main parking lot.

Outside, Jeff walked away from Mark and stared for a few minutes at a lamppost. Mark stood behind him, frustrated as hell that he didn’t know what to say. “Jeff,” he eventually began, deciding that awkward talk was worse than silence, “they were going to call the police. And Lord knows you don’t need that. I know Hugh has always been an a-hole, but has he been messing with you lately?”

Jeff nodded his head and looked at the gravel driveway of the diner. “It’s not just him. With Samantha’s murder being unsolved, everybody wants to blame somebody. And after I was the strongest suspect, they just assumed that I got away with it. It’s a small town, Mark, with small opinions.”

Mark put his hands in his pockets. “Why don’t you leave, Jeff?”

Jeff turned around, shaking his head with disapproval. “You mean like you did?” Mark frowned. He knew his leaving wasn’t the same, but he wasn’t going to say anything at that moment.

“No, this is my home. I’m not going to run,” stated Jeff. “They’re always going to think I killed her if I leave. I stay and it proves to them that I loved her.”

Mark stepped closer to Jeff. “Sometimes I think you’d be happier elsewhere,” he said, “but I guess I know what you mean. There’s a lot of nostalgia here.” He looked up at the diner, at its aluminum walls and the scarfed penguin on its sign. “Take this place, for example,” he said. Jeff was listening, but Mark couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“Do you remember that blonde waitress, Cassie, that worked here?” he reminisced. “I thought she was the cutest thing but I never had the balls to ask her out for some reason. It didn’t stop you from constantly prodding me, though.” Mark laughed. “Does she still work here?”

“I haven’t seen her in a long time,” Jeff responded.

Mark scratched his ear for a second and thought of telling Jeff about what had been happening over the last few days. “You know, I actually did get a chance to talk with her not so long ago,” he began.

Jeff snorted. “You know, Mark, you keep doing that.”

“Keep doing what?”

“You keep referring to this in the past, to that in the past,” Jeff said, frustrated. “Since you left, everything for you is a fond memory that you want to go back to.” Jeff waved dismissively at the diner. “I’ve been here, Mark. It’s not so great. The reality of all those times we had was that they were in a petty town filled with judgmental people.”

Mark flinched. Whatever happened recently, their youth had been pretty good. “You’ve only felt that way since Samantha died.” He saw Jeff’s eyes flare and Mark immediately regretted saying that.

“That’s why I needed to ask you about her,” Mark desperately began.

“No, no, maybe you’re right,” Jeff hotly stated, bulldozing over Mark’s attempt to ask about Samantha. “Maybe I do need this town behind me. And maybe I should start with you.” He stared at Mark, who was too hurt to know what to say, and stormed off into his gray pick-up truck without a further word. He tossed Mark his bookbag and bat out the window and sped out of the diner parking lot before Mark could even attempt an apology.

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, stared at the ground and hissed. “Damn!” He and Jeff, in all their years of friendship, had never had a confrontation like that. With them being like brothers, the thought of losing Jeff as a friend was unthinkable. Mark sighed and tapped his bat against the lamppost.

Behind him, he heard the diner’s front door open and a man say, “No, there’s no need to call more police, ma’m. I’m enough to take care of it.” Mark groaned as the door closed and the man that had been talking walked up behind him. Mark didn’t realize there had been an officer within the diner. The footsteps halted right behind him and he heard the man issue a snide chuckle.

“That’s women for ya,” said the man. “They’ll come between friends. Even the dead ones.”

Mark turned around angrily and stopped in shock when he saw who was before him - Detective Harry Shot.