A False Facade

A Story by Kiara Reed

On a Friday afternoon, the sky was dark and the air was cruel and frigid. There was a boy, about 15, who stood on the side of a lonely Massachusetts freeway. It appeared as though had been abandoned.

On a Friday afternoon, the sky was dark and the air was cruel and frigid. There was a boy, about 15, who stood on the side of a lonely Massachusetts freeway. It appeared as though had been abandoned. His intense, green eyes sparkled with fear. He shifted his gaze uneasily from left to right. He looked vulnerable, naïve, and his pale face displayed disorientation. The teenager was tall with shiny light brown hair, green eyes, and perfect white teeth; it was a peculiar site to see him out in the chilly obscurity. A blue minivan pulled up to where the boy was standing, the driver, a blonde woman in her forties, looked concerned and inquisitive. She rolled down her window and said,

“Hey sweetie, where are your parents? Do you need a ride?”

“Umm no thanks, it’s my fault, I tried to run away from home” said the boy with a regretful tone.

“Well sweetie it’s incredibly late, I wouldn’t even let my own kids out at this time; the least I can do is give you a ride home,” The mother insisted.

The boy affirmed, entered the comfort of the woman’s vehicle, and told her his address. “So my name is Carolyn, what’s yours?” began the woman.

“Palmer,” the teenager said peering out the window.

“So why’d you run away from home?” asked Carolyn with curiosity.

“I-I don’t really wanna talk about it,” Palmer answered, with apparent unease.

There was an awkward silence as they drove through the still streets.

“Is this your house? It seems like no one’s home…” Carolyn asked as she bent over the wheel and strained to see his house in the dimness.

“Oh, well you can just drop me off here,” replied Palmer with despondence.

“I don’t feel right about leaving you here all alone, why don’t you wait at my house for a while, I’ll fix dinner and give your mother a call,” Carolyn offered.

“Are you sure? I guess that would be fine, I really appreciate your kindness ma’am,” answered Palmer.

When they arrived, Palmer saw that Carolyn had three children, a beautiful home, and no husband. Carolyn insisted that he make himself feel at home while she called his mother. Palmer got along well with the children and while they were in the middle of a game of freeze tag, Carolyn said, “Palmer, your mother isn’t picking up, but dinner’s almost ready.” As Carolyn began preparing dinner, the children reveled in their new guest while Palmer focused on something other than play. His green eyes were a game of Ping-Pong, moving up down to the “chop, chop!” of Carolyn’s butcher knife; he eyed the knife with disturbing content. Three hours flew by and Palmer’s mother had yet to call.

“You can stay overnight if you’d like, I’m sure your mom will be home in the morning,” said Carolyn with a genuine smile.

Palmer accepted her offer and followed her to the guest room where he would sleep.

“Palmer, I am sure your mom didn’t forget about you, she’s probably just busy, you never know,” Carolyn said with a hopeful smile. Palmer looked up at her and didn’t say a word.

The following morning was radiant, birds chirped wildly as if they were gossiping, and the sun shone brilliantly through Carolyn’s bedroom window. She awoke and sensed something was a little off; so she went downstairs to the living room where she witnessed a startling and staggering sight. Her children were knitted ruthlessly to their chairs with ropes, their mouths were ensconced with cloths, and their faces were saturated with incredible fear and peril. But Carolyn was an intelligent woman, instead of the expected cry and yelp; she constrained her feelings and behaved as if everything were perfectly normal. Palmer stood boldly with Carolyn’s jagged butcher knife at hand, and a malicious smirk planted upon on his, otherwise, charming face, as he approached callously toward the squirming little girl. “Palmer!” Carolyn interrupted, “why don’t I drive you home- I’m sure your mother is very worried, come on sweetie let’s get you home to your mother,” Carolyn said, successfully manipulating the teenager in order to get him to the car and away from her children. “My mother hates me, she doesn’t want me home, and you hate me too- admit it!” exclaimed Palmer as he stroked the pointed knife with his index finger, eyeing it carefully.

“No I don’t hate you Palmer, I think you’re a sweet kid who needs love and affection- maybe you’re just clouded by unpleasant experiences with your own mother,” replied Carolyn, struggling to contain Palmer- and herself, long enough to reach his address.

“You’re lying!” Palmer yelled with infuriation as he brushed the knife leisurely across her chin and watched her anxiety and trepidation begin to surface.

Carolyn’s mind was boggled with the horrifying notions of what might transpire if she would die, but at the same time, she was relieved when she saw the sight of Palmer’s home. “So here’s your stop Palmer, I can see that your mom is home,” Carolyn said trying to sound as positive as possible; she was anxious to get him out of her car and out of her life. A sharp cry sounded and blood stained the clean fabric of Carolyn’s blouse. “So you do hate me don’t you? You just want to get rid of me like my mother did when she abandoned me on that freeway!” Palmer yelled witlessly before realizing the new information he just emitted. Carolyn held her chest and shrieked in severe pain and frustration, she was weak but she managed to edge out of her van. She cried for help, found it useless, and resorted to another plan. Palmer inched toward her and let out a horrific laugh of pure amusement. Carolyn gathered her courage, pushed away her fears, and mustered what little strength she had to seize the knife from Palmer’s hand.

One last cry of anguish echoed through the barren streets that day as Carolyn pierced through the young boy’s chest. He fell with such grace and sorrow that, for a moment, she almost felt sympathy for him- but she was soon diverged due to her critical condition. She peered down at him lying there and could not help but to remember his misleading and persuasive vulnerability: his green eyes were afraid, he stood lost and alone, and he had such an air of innocence to him, that no one would have ever assumed him to be such a monstrosity.On a Friday afternoon, the sky was dark and the air was cruel and frigid. There was a boy, about 15, who stood on the side of a lonely Massachusetts freeway. It appeared as though had been abandoned. His intense, green eyes sparkled with fear. He shifted his gaze uneasily from left to right. He looked vulnerable, naïve, and his pale face displayed disorientation. The teenager was tall with shiny light brown hair, green eyes, and perfect white teeth; it was a peculiar site to see him out in the chilly obscurity. A blue minivan pulled up to where the boy was standing, the driver, a blonde woman in her forties, looked concerned and inquisitive. She rolled down her window and said,