Archer's Voice

Archer's Voice Page 9

CHAPTER 9

Archer – Fourteen Years Old

I walked through the woods, stepping over the spots I knew by heart would twist my ankle, around the branches I knew would seemingly reach out and grab me if I got too close. I knew this land by heart. I hadn't left it in seven years now.

Irina meandered to the right of me, keeping my pace, but exploring the things that a dog's nose found interesting. I snapped my fingers or clapped my hands together if I needed to call her to catch up to me. She was an old dog, though, and only responded to me half the time–whether it was because she was hard of hearing, or just stubborn, I wasn’t sure.

I found the net trap uncle Nate had had me help him install a couple days before and began working to take it down. I could appreciate that this kind of thing helped quiet whatever voices Uncle Nate seemed to hear in his head, and I could even appreciate the fact that these types of projects kept me busy, but what I couldn't stand was hearing small animals get caught in them in the middle of the night. And so I went around the property disassembling what we had assembled only days before, and looking for the ones Nate had done on his own.

Just as I was finishing up, I heard voices, laughter, and water splashing coming from the lake. I set down the things that I had gathered up in my arms and tentatively walked toward the sounds of the people I heard playing on the shore.

As soon as I came to the edge of the trees, I spotted her. Amber Dalton. It felt like I groaned, but of course, no sound came out. She was in a black bikini, and she was coming out of the lake, soaking wet. I felt myself stiffen in my pants. Great. That seemed to happen all the damn time now, but somehow, it happening in response to Amber made me feel weird, ashamed.

Despite being mortified about the whole issue, I had tried to ask Uncle Nate about it last year when I turned thirteen, but he had just thrown some magazines at me that had naked women in them and gone off into the woods to set up more traps. The magazines didn't exactly explain a whole lot, but I liked looking at them. I probably spent too much time looking at them. And then I'd slide my hand into my pants and stroke myself until I sighed out in release. I didn't know if it was right or wrong, but it felt too good to stop.

I was staring so hard at Amber, watching her laugh and wring out her wet hair, that I didn't see him arrive. Suddenly, a loud, male voice said, "Look at that! There's some kind of freaky peeping Tom in the woods! Why don't you say something, Peeping Tom? Have anything to say?" And then he muttered under his breath, but just loud enough for me to hear, "F*cking freak."

Travis. My cousin. The last time I'd seen him had been right after I'd lost my voice. I had still been bedridden at Uncle Nate's when Travis and his mom, Aunt Tori, came to visit me. I knew she was there to see if I would say anything about what I'd found out that day. I wouldn't. It didn't matter anyway.

Travis had cheated at a Go Fish game and then whined to his mom that I was the one who had cheated. I was too tired and was hurting too much, in every way, to care. I had turned my head to the wall and pretended to sleep until they left.

And now, there he was on the beach with Amber Dalton. Hot shame filled my face at his mocking words. All eyes turned to me as I stood there, exposed and humiliated. I brought my hand up to my scar, covering it. I wasn't sure why, I just did. I didn't want them to see it–the proof that I was guilty and damaged–ugly.

Amber looked down at the ground, looking embarrassed herself, but then looked up a second later at Travis and said, "Come on, Trav, don't be mean. He's disabled. He can't even talk." The last sentence was practically whispered, as if what she was saying was some kind of secret. A few eyes looked at me with pity, skittering away when my own met theirs, and others glittered with excitement, watching to see what was going to happen next.

My entire face throbbed with humiliation as everyone continued to stare at me. I felt frozen to the spot. Blood was making a whooshing sound in my ears and I felt lightheaded.

Finally, Travis moved over to Amber and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her into him and kissing her wetly on the mouth. She seemed stiff, uncomfortable as he ground his face into hers, his eyes open, trained on me, standing behind her.

That was the catalyst that finally got my feet moving. I spun around, tripping over a small rock right behind me and sprawling on the ground. Pebbles under the pine needles dug into my hands and a branch scraped my cheek as I went down. Loud laughter exploded behind me and I scurried up, practically running back to the safety of my house. I was shaking with shame and anger and something that felt like grief. Although what I was grieving for in that moment, I wasn't exactly sure.

I was a freak. I was out here alone and isolated for a reason–I was to blame for so much tragedy, so much pain.

I was worthless.

I stomped through the woods and when tears sprung to my eyes, I let out a silent yell and picked up a rock and threw it at Irena who had never left my side since the people on the beach started making fun of me.

Irena yelped and hopped to the side as the small rock struck her hind flank and then immediately moved back next to me.

For some reason, that dumb dog returning to my side after I'd been cruel to her was the thing that made the tears start flowing relentlessly down my cheeks. My chest heaved and I swiped at the wetness falling from my eyes.

I fell to the ground and brought Irena into my arms, hugging her to me, petting her fur and saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, over and over in my mind, hoping dogs had mind reading power. It was all I had to offer her. I buried my head in her fur and hoped that she'd forgive me.

After a few minutes, my breathing started slowing, and my tears dried up. Irena continued to nuzzle my face, letting out small whines when I hesitated between pets.

I heard pine needles crunching behind me under the weight of someone's feet and knew it was Uncle Nate. I kept looking straight ahead as he sat down next to me, bringing his knees up, like mine.

For several long minutes, we both sat like that, not saying anything, just staring ahead, Irena's panting and occasional soft whines the only sounds amongst us.

After a few minutes, Uncle Nate reached over and took my hand in his, squeezing it. His hand felt rough, dry, but it was warm and I needed the contact.

"They don't know who you are, Archer. They have no idea. And they don't deserve to know. Don't let their judgment hurt you."

I took in his words, turning them over in my mind. I had to guess that he'd seen that exchange somehow. His words didn't make complete sense to me, Uncle Nate's words usually didn't, but somehow they comforted me anyway. He always seemed to be right on the border of something profound, but just falling short of anyone else but him understanding the depth of his own thought. I nodded to him without turning my head.

We sat there for a while longer, and then we got up and went inside for dinner and to bandage up my cut cheek.

The laughter and splashing in the distance grew fainter and fainter until it finally faded completely away.