A Small Victory Excerpt

A SMALL VICTORY

Excerpt

The teenage girl kept turning her head around all evening to the guy sitting alone four empty stands above her and her friends. He appeared to be sleeping with his eyes opened while reclining against the guard rail, gazing at the football field with a blank stare, looking past the line of players and into an unknown reality. His body had not moved an inch since the start of the pep rally—almost one hour ago. There did not even appear to be the slightest rising motion coming from his chest. The girl was two seconds away from freaking out.

She knew Turner Kingston from several of her classes, but she never bothered to speak to him. No one did. It was just the way things were for him at Victorycrest High. He was an outsider.

As Turner shifted his eyes in the direction of the girl for the first time, she quickly turned back around, pretending to had never looked his way.

He had a more important matter to worry about. Turner had a new girlfriend, Dana Singleton, one of the most popular girls in the school, and she had just stood him up for the fourth consecutive date.

It didn’t surprise him, yet he had trouble accepting the harsh truth—princesses did not date outcasts, only in the movies. He assumed she was hiding from him amongst the crowd in the stands. She had to be. No one would miss the most important event in school history—the opening of the new stadium and the introduction of the school’s first football team, the Tiger Sharks. The only reason Turner decided to go was to be with Dana; the one in the relationship who made the arrangement for them to meet; the one who asked him to be her boyfriend. Now he had missed the new episode of Criminal Minds, and his butt was sore from sitting on the hard, steel bleacher for an hour.

“YOU’RE ALL A BUNCH OF MINDLESS SHEEP!” he shouted in frustration to the crowd of screaming students. The announcer had just called out the name of the team’s promising star player, Terry Gallip, who had zipped out of the tunnel, flaunting his black and orange football jersey. When he arrived at his position, the audience chanted his name, “TERRY! TERRY!” as he pumped his fist in the air.

No one heard Turner—not even the girl who had kept staring at him. Or maybe she did but was too afraid to turn around. Nevertheless, he had finally had enough of the mind torture and decided to go home.

The chants ended as he stepped into a dark and deserted vestibule where even the concession stand was closed. He made his way to the front gate where he and Dana were supposed to meet. There he took out his smartphone from his pocket and prepared to call her.

After a lifetime of rings, Dana’s voice came in loud and clear through the tiny speaker.

Hey, it’s Dana. You know the drill. Wait for the beep; leave a message; yada, yada, yada. (giggling) GO TIGER SHARKS! (beep)

“You bitch.”

Short and to the point was the way he wanted it this time—not another plea to call him back. He imagined smashing the phone against one of the two brick structures that supported the gate. But that would only make her laugh, he thought. Instead, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed to the parking lot.

The crowd noise faded to a whisper as he entered the crushed granite lot where his old yellow Volkswagen Beetle stood two rows back. Immediately he noticed a folded piece of paper strapped under the rusty windshield wiper closest to the driver’s side. Two theories entered his mind: it was either a note from one of his immature peers reminding him that he owned an ugly car, or it was a breakup note from Dana. He believed it to be the latter. He thought about ripping the note into a million pieces without reading it, so when he breaks up with her the next morning, she would not savor the satisfaction of believing that she made the first move. Of course, he could not help himself. He had to find out what was inside the folds whether it was good or bad.

Looking for Dana?

Come to the junkyard alone and I will tell you everything.

At first, he could not comprehend its meaning. It was as if each word was a fragment to a puzzle in which he had to piece together to reveal the big picture.

A moment later, his head jerked to the bursting sounds of fireworks shooting through the black sky from behind, signifying that the pep rally was ending. The alarming noise awakened him to the realization that someone knew of Dana’s whereabouts and finding out was now his number one priority.

Turner was on Black Stone Road in a matter of seconds, driving at a blazing speed. The darkness due to the absence of streetlights could not stop him from slowing down. Luckily, there were no other cars on the road.

So many questions boggled his mind. Who sent the note? Was Dana in some kind of danger? Why meet at the junkyard? His intuition continued to warn him that there was a deeper meaning behind the note, a hidden purpose for meeting the sender other than to learn of Dana’s whereabouts. At one point he invented the notion that Dana was being kidnapped. With that in mind, waves of guilt fluctuated inside his head as he thought about the insulting message he delivered to her voice mail, believing that she had deliberately stood him up just to bring him down. It never once occurred to him that the girl he loved could be in danger. Not because the thought sounded unlikely, but because he refused to consider it a possibility. Each second that passed by caused the knot inside his stomach to tighten.

Coleman’s Junkyard was bordered by a wooden picket fence. Turner arrived in just under five minutes. He parked on the curb in front of the entrance and crept out with his flashlight in hand. The door to the junkyard was cracked opened. Lying in front of it was a pile of chain that once kept it locked. As he slowly opened the door, he became ensnared into a physical world of near-complete darkness. He turned on his flashlight and could see various salvageable items piled outside the dirt path.

A short distance later, he found himself at an intersection where an old shack stood on the right side.

“HELLO! I’M HERE!” he shouted. His call seemed to have deepened the silence.

He walked up to the wooden stairs leading to the shack to try to open the door. It was locked. Not knowing why, he banged on the door and waited a few seconds for a response. He then realized the pointlessness of letting the inviter know he had arrived. Whoever sent the note was in control of the game. He or she would find Turner.

As he turned around to proceed with his search, he found himself face to face with another person who seemed to appear out of thin air.

Turner let out a loud gasp as he jerked backwards, falling against the side of the building. Staring back at him was a tall teenage boy with a ghostly-white face and wearing thick, wide, black-rimmed glasses. His hair was black and appeared to be in the shape of a bowl hairstyle that covered his forehead and ears. The rest of his outfit from the chin down was clad in black.

“Good to see you made it,” said the stranger, speaking with a friendly Australian accent. He extended his hand out for Turner to shake it. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

“Who are you?” said Turner, refusing to shake his hand.

“Ratliff. Charlie Ratliff.”

“Where’s Dana?”

“Business before proper formalities, eh? Alright then. I’ll let it slide. Follow me.”

They took the left path of the intersection which led them deeper into the junkyard. Turner followed from behind and stayed on guard as he switched the light of his flashlight from the back of Charlie to the junk surrounding them. He noticed that Charlie was also wearing a black turtleneck sweater, black twill pants, and black boots. He felt dumfounded. He was so focused on meeting the messenger, but he never expected to meet a Goth-like teenager who blended so well with the night. They stayed quiet the entire time. Charlie never turned around to check on him. He appeared calm and in control of the game.

They soon arrived at a wide-open area surrounded by a circular wall of scrap metal compacted into large squares stacked twenty feet high.

“Over here,” said Charlie as he pointed to an old Cadillac sitting in the middle. “Get in.”

Turner climbed into the passenger side while keeping both eyes on Charlie, noticing the feel of leather as he sat down.

After Charlie took his place in the driver’s seat, he flipped a switch from the ceiling and the inside of the car lit up. The light revealed more of Charlie’s face. His skin was albino without a hint of undertone color. His hair was jet black. He also possessed thin lips, which at the moment displayed a devious smile.

“So, Kingston, how ya been?”

Another display of politeness caused Turner to wonder whether this guy was serious or playing some twisted game.

“What did you do to Dana?”

“I didn’t do anything to her.”

“Then where is she?”

“I don’t exactly know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t exactly know? Do you remember this?” Turner shoved the note in Charlie’s face and let it fall into his lap. “You wrote this, right?”

“That I did.”

“You told me to come here alone. Well, I’m here. Where’s Dana? If you’ve hurt her…”

“Oh come off it! You planning on beating me to a pulp? Chill out, Turner. The note was part bait to lure you here. And it worked perfectly, if I do say so myself.”

“What are you saying? You didn’t kidnap Dana?”

“Where on this piece of paper does it say that I kidnapped Dana? Huh? Where?”

“Okay, fine. But you said you knew where she was tonight. So I did what you asked; I came here alone.

Now tell me what I need to know?”

“Wow. I can tell you really care for her. My poor, dear boy. I don’t think you’re ready for the truth yet.”