Mile Marker 87

Mile Marker 87

             He had a scar.  One large and grotesque on his face, three more similar at the core of his soul. 

         Emily and Jerry were typical siblings, from a home and neighborhood of the same sort.  Jerry, always looking for something thrilling to fill his time, Emily, attempting to pass Sophomore year.  One mid-June night, Jerry got his wish.

         “Here, hun, it's Bruce.” Said Paula, Jerry and Emily's mother.  She was in a hurry to finish after dinner cleanup, and was a bit aggravated that she had to stop the production to answer the telephone.
         “Thanks, Mom.”  Jerry said, feeling hopeful that Bruce would have something better to do in mind than what Jerry had been doing prior to his phone call; lounging like a wet blanket on the couch as his father flipped through various news shows.
         “Jerry!”  Exclaimed Bruce.  “Get this, man!  There's an abandoned shack around mile marker 87 on Long Walk Highway in Middleburg.  You and Em have to see it!”
         “Be there in an hour!”  Jerry shot back excitedly.
         “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”  Emily asked Jerry as he walked at a rather brisk pace toward the living room.
         “For a drive.  Wanna come along?  Bruce said something about an abandoned shack in the woods.  Might end up being a decent party spot.”  He said in a hushed tone, as to not alert their parents.
         “Sure.”  Emily replied, with a “as long as it's not here” sound to her voice, and matching look upon her face.
After saying their goodbyes to their parents and agreeing on a time to be home, Emily and and Jerry loaded into the beat up '87 Chevy truck, and headed outward. 

         They barely talked during the forty- five minute ride to Middleburg.  The only words uttered between them were in relation to the radio station.  Emily sat on the passenger's side of her brother's truck, picking her fingernails, and wondering to herself what her brother would do if she simply reached over and changed the station.  Soon enough after that thought passed she realized that the truck had slowed considerably, and they were sitting beside a mile marker.  Jerry threw the rusty beast into park, and cut the engine.
         “Here we are!”  Jerry said, with either a note of excitement, or sarcasm in his voice.  Em couldn't decide which.  They both exited the truck and headed for the woods.  Again, they didn't talk very much on their way through the woods.  They never had.  For siblings, they got along well enough, but only due to an unspoken understanding that siblings get along.  No excuses.
         “Where is this place, anyway”  Emily couldn't help but sound concerned.
Jerry chuckled at her.
         “Don't worry yourself, it's gotta be close.”
At this point, they both saw Bruce in a small clearing.
         “Hey guys.”  Bruce said, almost sounding relieved and disappointed at the same time, with a touch of worry and fear in this eyes.  “I don't know about this now.  I thought I saw some weirdo lurking around.  He seemed a bit off.”
         “So... lead us to it!”  Jerry instructed as he raised an eyebrow at Bruce and shook his head.  Though Bruce protested, he led them closer to the ramshackle homestead.
         “I just don't know guys.  I don't have a very good feeling about this.”  Bruce now sounded a bit shaky in his speech.
         “Dude, dramatic much?” Jerry shot back.  “See, there it is!”


         All three of them stopped in awe of the trashed home. 
         “Nervous?” Jerry checked with Emily.
         “No.”  She said with a sneer.  “Kid stuff.”
They all forged ahead toward the entry, which no longer had a door attached to it's hinges.  A smell of rot encircled the dwelling with a putrid thickness one could only associate with death.  The siblings stepped lightly into the shack, brows furrowed in protest to the odor.  Bruce casually and swiftly bypassed them and stood, stick still in the doorway to the kitchen.
         “Hey Jerry, check the fridge.  I'm gonna use the can.”  Bruce said with an almost jaunty tune in his voice. 
Jerry entered the kitchen and headed toward the refrigerator as Emily slowly followed.  They stopped and stared in shock at the horror they found.  There at the table, slumped over a chair in a most lifeless fashion was a middle aged bald man, rotting.

         Bruce quickly appeared behind Jerry and Emily with a small yet foreboding handgun in tow.
         “I had to, guys.”  Bruce said sincerely with tears in his eyes, pleading for understanding with his short four words.  Suddenly his expression and tone changed from desperately saddened to maddeningly enraged.  “I told you we should turn back!”  He screamed.  Before either sibling could wriggle free of the shock enough to figure out what to do next, Emily was down with one bullet in the forehead, Jerry as well with a wound in this right temple.  Before thought had a moments chance to form, Bruce put the cold metal barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

         Bruce miraculously lived to see another day, though only through the bars of his cell at the Sunny Horizons Mental Rehabilitation Center.  Bruce was scarred from head to soul, destined to never heal.