The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 31

Mitch and James struggled to keep up with Dianna's vigorous pace. Finally, she stopped behind a group of bushes, allowing the boys to catch up. She scoured Mr. Moore's yard for the easiest way to get in, and pointed towards the backyard. They hurried across the yard in a smooth formation, mud splashing under their feet until they pressed up against the side of the house. Dianna signaled them to crouch. They slowly moved along till they came to one of the boarded windows.

James sighed, breaking the silence. "Gross, I just got these shoes the other day," he said, looking at the mud around his soaked shoes, "now there already ruined. And look at all these worms everywhere."

Dianna raised a finger to her lips, and crawled up to him. "Forget your shoes and the worms. Check if any of these boards are loose."

At first, James gave her the 'why me' look, languishing under the terrible prospect of being the first person to have to touch the house—who knew what was behind that window just waiting to snatch him up. But her stern glare quickly struck him with the proper motivation, and without any further protest, stood and tapped on the nearest board then proceeded to give a considerable push.

"They won't budge," he said crouching back down, wiping a long, slithering worm from the top of his shoe.

Dianna looked up towards the roof, and settled her sights on that same tiny broken window on the second floor. "That's it, hoist me up," she said, pointing to the window, "once I get in, I'll find my way to the back porch and open up the back door."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Mitch asked nervously yet admiring her bravery.

"Yes, just lift me up, already"

"It's really high up," James said, rubbing his arm as if he wasn't sure he had the muscle to perform such an olympic task.

Dianna grew impatient. "We have to try unless you think the front door is a better idea."

James shook his head and jumped into motion, locking his hands with Mitch to create a human-finger platform. The sound of a door opening came from the back porch.

Mitch and James disengaged, and fell flat against the house trying to make themselves invisible.

"What was that?" James said, whirling his head around towards the backyard.

"I dunno," Dianna replied, and began inching towards the backyard. "I'm gonna go take a look."

She tied her hair back and moved to the edge of the house, cautiously glancing up to the porch. An enormous black bird came from the open doorway, its wings flapping aggressively, as if it was agitated and looking for trouble. She jerked backwards, and fell into James. Her eyes wide.

"It's that giant black thing from my picture," she whispered, "the one I saw chasing Lucas."

James and Mitch peered around the corner, and quickly jerked back in similar fashion. Each sharing petrified expressions.

"That thing is huge," James said, his eyes bulging. "Let's get out of here."

Mitch dug into his backpack. "I got this," he said, pulling out the blowtorch. He cranked the valve and a thick stream of molting orange and blue flame burst out from the nozzle.

"That's our way in," he declared, "and that thing is in the way." He reached into the mud and scooped up one of the worms and crept slowly towards the porch and stopped once he was safely under the edge of the floor planks. He tossed the worm through the rail and watched it plop loudly, where it wiggled a desperate dance. He held his breath and waited for the large bird to approach.

The large bird whirled towards the worm.

~~~~~~~~~~

Adrienne pulled the shades closed in the living room windows before returning to the couch, sinking deeper than ever into the sofa pillows. A soap opera flickered on the television screen, a photo album of Lucas lay next to her. She'd been looking through photos to the point her fingertips began to crack. It was the only way she could touch him, and yet every time she flipped through the photos, it was her despair and crooked reflection she saw. No matter the television volume, it failed to provide adequate distraction as her fingers seemed to gravitate back to the album as if they wanted to subject her teary and burning eyes to more misery. She opened the book and continued to flip through the photos, forcing herself to confront again what she couldn't protect, what she lost—that smile, that hearty energetic innocent little boy, frozen in a flash. She stopped at a photo of Lucas dressed in his famous halloween ninja costume. Her chest sunk. Lucas insisted on that very same outfit, year after year, even if it the black nylon was worn out, the red headband torn across the seams, and worst of all it was beginning to take on the smell of a back alley dumpster no matter how well she washed it. But that never deterred him, and she didn't have the heart to toss it out. Ninja outfit, and that was final. A weak smile snuck out. That's just who he was—her stubborn, do-things-his-way-or-no-way boy. For a moment, she wondered, if he did return safely, would he grow out of that youthful stubbornness? Her half smile faded. Perhaps she didn't want that. Maybe what she mistook for stubbornness was his way of protecting whatever semblance of stability remained amid the calamity he'd been put through. A means of comfort, a certain consistency of control, given he couldn't fully depend on his parents.