Page 90 of Boundaries

The other medic, who had driven the ambulance, escorted me to where the waiting area was. She explained that a member of staff would be along shortly and that I was to wait there and give the doctors time to assess the situation. She briefly checked me over and suggested I rehydrate, pointing to the water cooler in the corner of the room.

I felt so lost and lonely, and there was a rushing sensation in my gut. The waiting area wasn’t overly busy; there must have been around a dozen people, all wearing that same haunted look I imagined I wore. I didn’t make eye contact; I just sat down, clutching the bag containing Mason’s personal items to my chest.

A million questions rolled around in my mind: would Mason be, OK? What if he didn’t wake up? Would he remember me? What if he couldn’t walk or move? Mason had fallen through the first floor; his injuries would certainly be significant, and he was still unconscious.

Misery flooded my insides. How on earth would I get through this nightmare on my own? Where was everyone else? Nixon said they’d follow in the car.

A variety of vicious outcomes continued to cloud my mind, and I knew I needed to distract myself and think about something else. No good could come from being so morbid and negative. There was every chance that he would be OK, wasn’t there?

Putting my face in my hands, I shuddered uncontrollably for a few seconds before managing to pull myself together.

I shuffled further back onto the hard, uncomfortable seating, staring down at Mason’s wallet through the see-through bag. There was a black cord hanging out of the folded leather.

I opened the bag, placed my hand inside, and retrieved it. The wallet was old and battered, and as I popped it open, my brow creased in confusion. As I flattened it out, there were a variety of bank cards in there and what appeared to be a necklace. The chain was a thin leather cord, like a shoelace, and as I tugged on it, a green stone appeared in the shape of a horn.

The horn of life?

My heart raced in my chest as I turned the necklace over in my hand, and recognition struck me. I remembered it from the past.

My father had brought it back from a trip to New Zealand one year. The stone was pure jade, and he’d said it would bring me luck.

My heartbeat started hammering erratically as memories of a moment in my childhood flashed through my mind.

The Past

“If you ever take the Duster out again boy, I’ll give you the hiding of your life,” Mitchell McKenna’s voice roared into my thoughts. He sounded angry. Crosser than Daddy when I’d spilt paint in front of the shed the other week.

I shuffled further back into my hiding place and peered through the wood panel I had come through moments before the noise had started. The slamming of doors and the sound of stuff breaking had forced me further under their house. My head was almost stuck between two beams.

“I wasn’t driving on the road, just in the yard. You let Nixon do it all the time.” I immediately recognised the voice of Mason McKenna, one of the older, annoying McKenna children. Wowzer, that boyish voice was full of sass. I’d never dared speak to my Daddy like that. The boy was a tough old dog. I grinned at my joke.

From my place under their house, I could only see their feet. Mr McKenna’s large clown-footed boots were covered in mud and Mason was wearing his usual scabby trainers.

“You’re not Nixon boy. He’s seventeen and a man now. You’re a thirteen-year-old little shit, and a pain in my fucking arse. You just don’t listen,” Mitchell boomed again. The fact that he swore at his son forced me to fist my fingers. How I’d have loved to have punched him in his big fat belly. My parents never swore at any of us.

“I can drive, I’ve done it before,” Mason defended himself, moodily, shuffling on his feet.

Mr McKenna started to pace backwards and forwards. That wasn’t good, I had seen him do that before the last time he’d chewed Mason out. Gave his son a black eye that time!

Their disagreement then kicked up a notch and they both started shouting at each other. The noise was terrifying and I rammed my hands over my ears to stop myself from hearing those horrible, angry words.

Then there was a scuffle and I saw Mitchell’s body shunt backwards before he leapt forward toward his son. The ugly sound of bone against bone reverberated around the crawlspace and I suddenly felt sick. I pushed my fist into my mouth to muffle my cry as I saw Mason drop to his knees. He was breathing heavily. His chest rapidly moved in and out and it looked like he was clutching his tummy. But from my position, I couldn’t quite see.

“Next time you won’t get off so lightly!” Mitchell boomed out before stomping back up the steps of their porch and into the house. The wooden door rattled angrily, echoing the mood between them.

I blinked several times, wishing I hadn’t heard it and how I’d like to un-see everything. I was cross that I had chosen today of all days to go there. I had seen fights between Mason and his dad before, but this one sounded much worse. Like his dad had snapped somehow. And why, because Mason had taken a drive in his truck?

Dragging in a deep breath, I shuffled out of the corner, my eyes searching beyond the panels of the house which covered the crawlspace.

Mason was on all fours now and was moving, inching further away from the house. I watched his movements with a pain in my chest. I wanted to go to him, check he was OK. I could see from how he moved that he was hurting. What had his daddy done to him this time?

I toyed with the idea of running home and getting my dad, but there would be hell to pay if he knew I’d been on McKenna land again. Plus, Daddy hated Mr and Mrs McKenna, including their kids. Dad said Mitchell was a bad apple; greedy and irrational and that his sons would grow up just like him.

Swishing my ponytail back, I rubbed my grubby hands on my jeans and followed Mason. Peeling back the loose bit of panelling which gave me access to my hidey-hole, I made my way toward the fallen boy. He had come to a stop in the longer grass, several yards away from the house and was now lying on his back, staring up at the sky.

As I got closer, I could see his lip was busted and my tummy got mushy inside. Maybe I could kiss it better? That’s what my mummy did with the scrapes on my knees?

I pushed on, using a crawl my brother had taught me which he’d learned from a video game. It was a grown up one and I was too young to play it at only seven years old.

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