(Novel Preview)
By derrick Stahl
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The air picked up, moving the dust in circles around his feet. Tears ran down his face as he continued to scream up to the clouds. His life hung in the balance of his troubled mind. He yelled to the invisible force, which drove the wind so wildly around him. Someone, something had to be able to hear his plea. That was his only hope at least. That someone could hear.
***
No.
Let’s not start the story there. I have enough time and enough paper that we can back things up a bit. Besides, life is too short to tell a person’s story by starting at the end of it. So the only logical course of action is to back up the clock of time and start at the appropriate point.
I am here to tell you the story about a sad little boy, named Dain Winters. There was nothing really special about Dain. He didn’t have any magic powers, he couldn’t fly; he was normal. He was just as normal as you and I. Dain was born into this world just like anyone else, and he died just as normally. My job is to tell you about all of the troubles that cluttered Dain’s life between those two critical incidents. So without further obstructions, let me begin.
Here, there are no rules. There are no laws, no right or wrong, no set morals, and in majority … no sin. This planet is held together by its people’s well being. Everything you do is judged only by yourself, no one else. A person’s conscience is what determines his or her own personal rights and wrongs. If you feel bad after you’ve done something, it falls into the category of being wrong. If you feel fine afterward, then no one can judge you but yourself. The only consequence here on this planet is your own tormenting mind—that little voice most people like to call a conscience.
You would think that a planet full of no consequences would end up in total chaos. But that is not so--not yet anyway. There are people who are good, and there are people who are bad. But who is to determine what is bad and what is good? I try not to categorize people, but catch myself doing so sometimes--like just a second ago. Who am I to judge another’s actions? I can say that their conscience is not strong enough. Or on the other hand, I can say that mine is too strong. No one can really judge what is right and what is wrong, who is good and who is bad. It is all strictly up to one’s own opinion.
Sin plays no part on this planet. It’s brought up in a few of the people’s religions, but as an overall, sin does not exist. With nothing to discipline sin with, such as consequences for your actions, sin disappears. And with sin gone, the gods that accompany themselves with it seem to vanish as well.
But I’m starting to get off of the subject that was at hand. Let me get back on track and start again.
***
Dain stood in front of the dead girl’s body. He was holding a blood-covered knife in his left hand and was wiping sweat off of his forehead with his right. The girl’s body was hanging from a chain-linked fence, arms spread in a cross shape and tied down. Her feet dangled freely a few feet above the basketball court’s concrete surface. Dain backed up, tripping over a basketball that was sitting on the free-throw line. He landed on his back, throwing the knife off to the side so he wouldn’t cut himself. He lay there on the court, staring up at the dark storm clouds that were scheduled to completely cover his neighborhood later that night.
Breath was hard to find and didn’t come easily. His lungs scrambled back and forth, in and out, trying to grab onto any small gust of air Dain would let down his throat. His mind ran wild with unimaginable pictures and questions. The girl¾who was she? What happened? Dain tried to put his thought in order, but failed. He shut his eyes, taking deep breaths and let his mind slow down.
The rain started to fall, making tiny circles on Dain’s dark blue jeans and navy colored shirt. A few drops clung onto his hair, making it stick to his face. He slowly got up, now in control of his breathing. But his thoughts were nowhere near being domesticated. He kicked the basketball off to the side of the court next to the knife. They both lay by the sidelines next to each other.
Dain pulled his dark hair away from his eyes, supporting it behind his ears. The crucified girl’s dead, open eyes stared at him with fear and hate. Dried blood had formed a trail down the side of her face, from the bottom of her hairline to the top corner of her lips. She had two large bloodstains on her yellow, flowered dress, and a cut that zigzagged across her left temple. Dain took a step closer.
His mind started to run wild again. What was her name? He didn’t know. How old is she? She’s no age; she’s dead. Did he know her? No, he did not. What was he doing there?
Dain’s gaze shifted from the dead girl’s body to the fence’s gate on the other end of the basketball court and then back again. What was he doing here? Why not run off before someone saw him? Saw what he had done! And what if someone already had
But she’s only a girl. She has parents. An angry parent wouldn’t resist, not even for an instant, to pull a gun on their daughter’s murderer if they were given the chance.
Dain turned and started to run for the open gate. He left the girl, the knife, and the basketball behind as he ran home.
***
Maurice Boroughs came in through the back door and walked across the room, taking a seat next to Dain at the lunch table. Both of them meet here every school day to catch a ride on the bus. It’s a lot easier taking the bus than trying to drive over to school every day. Weekday traffic has gotten terrible, and the two boys value both their cars and their lives.
“What’s wrong with you?” Maurice asked. He flung his book bag up on the table, letting it land with a heavy bang. “Looks like you didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“I didn’t.” Dain sat there, not looking over at Maurice as he spoke. “Didn’t even go to bed last night, actually.”
“Why not?”
“Too much on my mind.”
“I know how that is,” Maurice said, pulling a test review out of his bag. He flipped through the first couple of pages and then started to read parts of it in a whisper to himself.
They still had fifteen minutes until the bus showed up. Dain sat there, unspeaking and unthinking. Maurice sat beside him, reading to himself and twisting his brain in knots, trying to remember everything for that day’s test.
“All right you two.” It was a woman’s voice. Dain looked up to see who it was. “The bus is here. Let’s get a move on.” It was the lady who watches the younger children. The kids’ parents drop them off here, pay the woman, and then leave for work. The childcare woman always takes the money--usually in the form of a check--with a huge smile and a thank you, and in return makes sure all of the kids get on their busses safely and on time. “Hurry, or the bus will leave you! I don’t know why you even come here. You both have cars!”
Dain got up, brushed past the woman, and headed for the door. Maurice packed up his book bag in a hurry, flung it over his shoulder, and then ran after Dain, catching up as they stepped outside. The storm had come in like it was supposed to, and a steady downpour washed the top of the dully yellow painted bus. The two teenagers sat down towards the back as the bus started to take off.
Dain sat by the window, Maurice right beside him. The bus was full, like always. Dain put his elbow up on the windowsill, leaning his head on the top half of his arm. He sat like that for almost a minute until he felt the cold wet spot on his sleeve. He let his arm drop down from the window. Part of his sleeve was soaked. A small crack in the window was letting rain drip in, forming a puddle on the windowpane. Dain slouched down in his seat, resting his arms between his legs.
He closed his eyes, letting his mind settle down again. He tried not to pay any attention to all of the noise coming from the other kids (most of them were a year or two younger than Dain), or to the fact that Maurice’s baggy coat sleeve was brushing up against his arm whenever the bus hit a bump in the road. He failed at not paying attention to either of them. The kids seemed to be louder today than ever, and if Maurice’s sleeve brushed him one more time¾how many bumps can there be on one road? Dain held his palm to his forehead, putting pressure where it hurt. He had one of the worst headaches of his life. He would kill for some aspirin. Kill again? Wasn’t the little girl at the basketball court enough?
The bus came to a stop. Dain looked over the top of the seats to the front windshield. A bright and glaring red light stared back at him. Cars started to pull out in front of the bus and across the intersection. It was taking forever to get to school today. And the leaking window, the loud kids, Maurice’s sleeve, and his headache were not helping the trip go any faster. He closed his eyes again, slouching even farther down into the seat. If the trip won’t go fast, at least he’ll get some sleep. He couldn’t believe he was actually looking forward to going to school today.
A scream came from the seat behind Dain and Maurice. It was ear piercing. Dain sat up, turned, and was about to yell at the kid to shut up, but stopped. The kid was staring out of the side window, mouth hanging wide open.
“What do you think happened?” another child asked.
Dain turned to look. The basketball court! The bus had come to a red light right beside the place Dain had been last night, the place where he held the bloody knife and tripped over the ball, the place with the dead girl’s body.
“I don’t know,” another child answered. “Do you think someone got killed over there?”
The owner of the basketball court had put up warning tape around the fence and the goal post. He also strung some of the tape in the circular shape, holding it up with orange cones, around the basketball and knife. There was no doubt he was just waiting for the city’s cleanup crew to come and dispose of the body.
“Look! Is that a person?” A girl on the other side of the bus came across the aisle of the bus and stood beside Maurice. Her eyes tried to focus on the patch of yellow that was hanging from the fence on the far side of the court.
“I think so!” a boy yelled. “It is! It is!”
The girl screamed, and Maurice pushed her back over to her side of the bus. All of the kids were in an uproar. Everyone was screaming: “It’s a body, it’s a body!”
Shut up! Dain’s head was about to explode. He took quick glances around the bus. His heart pounded in his chest, almost feeling like it was in his throat. He felt like all of the kids were staring and screaming at him. Forget the dead girl’s body, they were staring at him! He pulled his feet up onto the seat and buried his face into his knees.
Red turned to green and the bus started moving forward again. As the basketball court got out of sight, the children’s attentions eventually turned to other things, and their voices got quieter.
“You okay?” It was Maurice’s elbow, not his sleeve that brushed Dain’s arm this time.
Dain looked up. His eyes were red around the corners from holding back tears.
“What’s the matter? You’re acting like you killed her or something.”
They know! They all know!
Dain just stared at him, holding back the tears that were fighting to get out. One did, and it ran down his face, falling from his chin and onto his knee.
“Did you?” Maurice asked, lowing his voice.
Dain just sat there. Another tear rolled down from his eye, falling to his knee once again.
“This isn’t good.”
These pages were taken from the beginning of
The Untitled Book
By derrick Stahl
www.ForgottenRose.com
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