“I wanted to talk to Lily,” Quinn said.
The minster took his arms, his jolly face turning concerned.
“She’s already gone home. Is everything alright?”
Quinn blushed and shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I found a shadow box in the house I’m staying in.”
Dan shrugged.
“It happens a lot around here I understand. Though I personally have never had the pleasure.”
“I’m not so sure you want the experience.”
“Was it something frightening?”
“Well, pretty mundane, actually,” Quinn said. “Just the bedroom I’m sleeping in. It was more about the feeling. It was there, on a windowsill, and then it was gone.”
“That’s how she works, as I understand it,” Dan said. “Fleeting. You see a hint of what’s to come but it fades away until she’s finished.”
Quinn breathed in deep. His hands trembled.
“I’m just not sure… I have the worst feeling about the thing.”
Dan patted his shoulder. They walked slowly toward the museum room as they talked.
“I can understand that completely, after the stories I’ve been told,” he said. “But just keep in mind, however frightening her methods, sometimes she brings happy news. You just have to hold onto that hope, Quinn.”
Quinn shook his head as Dan opened the door to the shadow box room, flipping on the light.
“I just can’t shake that darkness,” he said. “I felt like I was on the brink of something but I couldn’t quite make it out. There was something on the bed. I wish I could’ve seen what it was. I have a feeling that was vital. And I missed it.”
“Just try to keep happy thoughts, Quinn. It might be nothing at all.” Dan squeezed his shoulder. “Do you have something special coming up for you or for someone in your family?”
Quinn stared at the boxes, blinking. Flute music drifted into his head.
“My daughter Angela. She has a concert on Tuesday. One that could change her life.”
“Then there you go,” Dan said.
“There was a ribbon covered in music notes in the back of it.”
“See? Then it might turn out to be very good news. We can only pray and wait,” Dan said. He reached out and touched one of the boxes. “I haven’t been here very long, but I’ve already seen a number of happy occurrences with these boxes. I even witnessed one telling a couple their child was to be a boy. They already knew, thanks to ultrasound and all the technology we have these days, but it was a blessing, in any case, seeing something Miranda tried to tell us not be about something tragic.”
“I understand most are just that.”
“Yes,” Dan said. “Unfortunately. But she’s only trying to help us, I think. She warns. And then you need to decipher her clues. Though most of the time they’re a bold slice of the person’s life. Like this one.”
Dan walked him to the left, pointing at the fourth one on the second row.
“You see the men, standing there side by side, and the fire behind them. Both are holding lilies. Father and son.”
“Not the coal mine?”
“Oh no, no. This was a long time back though. See the Ford Model A in the background there. Accident at a garage. Explosion and fire. Killed the man and his son. You can visit their graves in the Nock cemetery.” He sighed. “But the story goes that the car appeared first, the son, then the father, then a few other things of relative insignificance. Only the lilies had appeared a week or two before. The fire didn’t show until the moments before the accident. One of the other men working that day saw it. He lost an eye and had burns over most of his body, but managed to survive. They took it to mean the boy would follow in his father’s footsteps. Instead, well…”
“Killed,” Quinn said, frowning. “Both of them.”
Dan nodded.
“Which I guess is why I’m so nervous about this,” Quinn said. “Lily and I have been discussing them, and I guess all that talk of tragedy is getting to me.”
Dan patted his back.
“She carries her own sad stories with her as well,” he said. “She hides her pain behind work. Sadly, I think she never truly healed because of it.”
“I can see that,” Quinn said. “She carries an air of melancholy.”
“She’s not the only one,” Dan said. “There’s a number of families here with sad tales to tell. Even the Christmases.”
Quinn turned to him.
“But Rosie said she’s been fortunate-”
“She and her sons are the only blood left in the entire family,” Dan said. “Miranda left a box for every other member. Parents, brothers, aunts and uncles, even distant cousins. She and her boys have somehow never drawn any attention from Miranda. And they don’t want her to start now.”
“I have to agree.”
“Just keep in mind, they aren’t all bad. I have heard of them popping up before marriage proposals, unexpected pregnancies, surprise reunions, and even a willing lottery ticket.” He leaned in close. “Though that’s considered one of the fake ones.”
“Is it possible it could be a living person doing this?” Quinn asked. “Someone pretending to be her, just very observant and not really able to tell anyone any other way?”
“You have someone in mind?”
Quinn nodded. He rubbed his finger under his lip as he paced a moment.
“The neighbor across the street from me,” he said. “She’s an odd old gal. Sings. Chants the same words over and over.”
“Mary Bitters. Mike is her husband. They go to a different church, the Holy Assembly on the other side of town, but I have heard about it. Another sad story. Both of them elderly, and Mary suffering from an odd type of dementia.” Dan shook his head. “She’s clear as a bell. She remembers things all the way back to her childhood, but she sees things. She talks to someone at all hours that only she sees. Mike used to try taking her out with him but now has a caregiver come to help him manage her. He’s nearly a hundred years old. She dances in the rain, I understand-”
“She does.”
“Amongst other things. Both of them are deeply superstitious.”
“I believe everyone in this town is superstitious,” Quinn said. He waved a hand around. “Look at this room alone.”
“The blue paint,” Dan said. “The prayers. The horseshoe.”
“I see it all over town.” Quinn nodded. “Bottle trees. Haint blue. Signs of the cross, Saint Christopher medals-”
“Pouches of protective herbs,” Dan said, nodding. “I’ve seen it too.”
“That boy with the tattoos at the store even,” Quinn said. “The entire town. They’re all afraid of the house I’m staying in. All afraid of these shadow boxes.”
“All afraid of Miranda Wilder,” Dan said. “When she never did a single thing to hurt any of them.”
“She’s just observing and reporting,” Quinn said, his voice fading away.
They stared in silence a few quiet moments, looking at each of the boxes.
“I thought at first it might have been the old woman,” Quinn said. “Trying to spook me. Get me to leave. She didn’t seem to want me to be there. But now I think it’s possible she’s seeing something the rest of us don’t see.”
“You believe in the supernatural?”
“Honestly, Dan, before I set foot in this town, no. I didn’t. But now…” He motioned to the boxes, shrugging. “Now I’m just at a loss.”
***
Quinn left the church with a heavy feeling in his chest. Too tired to cook, he pulled in at the only restaurant in town.
“Nock Grill and Bakery.”
A cartoon pig in a chef’s hat holding a cake to his open mouth filled more than half of the sign along the roof. The parking lot was packed and slow to maneuver. He parked and checked himself in the reflection of the window before jogging to the doors. He found himself standing at the end of a short line. The hostess walked to him, smiling, her bottle
-blond hair looking tired, lifeless. She smiled, flashing huge whitened teeth and an extraordinary amount of gums. She wore so much makeup he felt his inner self switch off any attraction and instead turned to look at the room.
“How many?” She asked in a surprisingly sultry voice. He gazed back at her but again felt repulsed.
“Just one,” he said.
She gave him that southern ‘awe’ look of pity. He breathed in deep and ignored it.
“It’ll be just a few minutes then.”
“Is it always this busy?”
“Oh yes, sir. It certainly is.”
“I didn’t think there where this many people living in Nock.”
“Oh, well, we get a lot in from the city on Thursday nights. T-day specials. The ‘almost weekend’ menu. They love the Nock Grill homestyle cooking. I’ll be back in a bit to take you to your table.”
She turned away, meandering back into the room, disappearing from view.
He watched what he could see of the people inside, the voices and chatter becoming a constant low roar in the back of his head. A face or two he recognized from the store and the church, but for the most part, all of them were strangers.
Odd.
He waited as the large group was seated in front of him, another two groups standing in line behind him. The hostess greeted them and turned to him with a faint smile each time she passed. Behind her, across the way, he saw a long horizontal window to the kitchen. Inside the bustling staff zipped all around, cooking and chopping and pouring. Behind them, he saw a long shelf in the back of the room. On the shelf, he spotted three familiar shaped boxes. A chill made him shudder. He frowned.
A short while more and the hostess returned, carrying a menu.
“If you’ll come with me…”
He followed her through the busy dining room to a more private table for two in the back by a window. While he couldn’t see into the kitchen from there directly, he could view it in the reflection of the window. The three shadow boxes sat there like dots on a line. He shook himself away from them and read the menu.
A middle-aged woman approached the table, wearing a weak smile and large gold earrings. She took his order and walked back as he watched, stopping at two other tables along the way. He turned to the window and saw her enter the kitchen. She stepped back closer to the head chef, talking to him as if pleading. He threw up his hands and made a motion to the stove. He said something else and she turned and stomped away. He shook his head threw up his hands again, saying something else to himself.
Each time she passed close enough, waiting on other diners, he examined her. She was a little pudgy, with a typical middle-aged spread, her long hair pulled back in a ponytail for work, mostly gray with ancient bits of dyed blond growing away on the frayed ends. She had a tan, beginning to fade, the skin around her watchband occasionally revealing the paleness beneath. She wore three gold bracelets, a wedding band, and a large diamond. Like Tamara, her nails were manicured and painted pale pink with glitter, but unlike Tamara, the makeup she wore on her face was minimal. Eyeliner, mascara and just a little touch of lipstick. Her natural beauty shined in a humble way, as if she instinctively knew not to over paint herself, in spite of her low self-esteem.
He watched as she kept going back and forth to the kitchen. Each time the two of them would argue, her and the chef. Eventually, when she brought him his food, he studied her face up close. Her brown eyes were red and puffy, the wrinkles around them more defined. He reached out and touched her hand, leaning forward to speak in a soft voice.
“Are you alright?”
She stared into his eyes with a pale, shocked expression. A tear rolled down her cheek.
“No,” she whispered.
He shook his head and borrowed her pen, writing his number and the words ‘text me’ on a napkin. He handed them back to her.
“I’m just concerned,” he said, patting her hand again and letting it linger.
She stared down at it a long moment and looked into his eyes as she shoved the note in her pocket. She nodded.
He watched as she walked away, glancing back at him twice. She went back into the kitchen.
Another heated argument rose between the two of them. They kept it quiet, though if he saw it so clearly certainly others did too. He watched the hostess go to speak to them. Both of them turned to her, talking together, all the anger hidden away.
Partners. Maybe brother and sister? Or husband and wife?
He continued to eat, completely enthralled in the goings-on in the reflection until he finished his meal. He left her an enormous tip and headed home.
***
He pulled in at the house and got out, still thinking deeply about the woman at the restaurant. With hesitant steps, he climbed up and fumbled in his pocket for the keys.
“You saw it.”
The old woman across the street whispered, mumbling to herself, the creak of her rocker echoing like a wild creature in the night. The horse made a few small noises with her.
“Quinn…”
He nearly had a heart attack. He shouted and jumped at the door as it opened, spinning on his heel. Kate sat in the swing in the shadows. She stood and stumbled a little into the light. Her right eye was swollen and bruised, a long scratch cutting across her lips. His mouth dropped open. She grabbed his arms.
“Oh, Quinn…”
He helped her inside and locked the door, shutting off the porch light.
“What happened?”
“Jack,” she said with a sad sigh. Her other eye was puffy from crying.
“I thought he left.”
“He came back,” she said. “He decided he can’t live without me. I guess serving those papers on him was a bad idea after all.” She smiled weakly.
Quinn walked her back to his bedroom helping her sit on his bed as he went and got bandages, alcohol and a warm wet cloth. He knelt in front of her and began patting away the blood. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He helped her to stay upright.
“You drove all the way here, like this?”
“He’s chasing me, Quinn,” she said. “He was right behind me when I left.”
“How long have you been here?”
She shrugged.
“Maybe ten minutes?”
“Does he know you came here?”
“He suspects. I told him I slept with you.”
“What?”
Quinn rubbed his face with his hands and paced back and forth in the small space.
“You need to go somewhere he can’t find you,” he said. “Here. I’ll give you some money. Go hide in a hotel.”
He fumbled in his wallet pulling out a small folded clip with several hundred dollar bills.
“I always carry a little cash with me just in case,” he said. “Take this and go to the next town. Find a hotel. Park in a different parking lot, not the one at the hotel. If possible, pick a hotel where there’s more than one close by.”
“But, Quinn…” Her voice broke. She burst into tears. “I wanted to stay here with you.”
“No, Kate… Oh my god.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “Look, do as I said, okay? Go to a hotel. When he gets here I’ll stall him and try to talk him into going back.”
She closed her eyes and nodded, holding a tissue to her face.
“It’s getting pretty dark outside, so you’ve got cover. Just hurry and text me when you get there.”
He helped her to her feet and ushered her to the front door, shoving the money in her hand and squeezing it.
“Let me know when you get there,” he said. “Don’t tell me where you are, just in case, alright?”
He hugged her close and kissed her cheek and lips before letting her go and walking her down to her car. She had parked on the other side of the house, hidden by the tall grass. He kissed her again and watched as she pulled out, finally turning the curve over the northern train track.
He stood there a moment after she had turned the corner, hands on his hips.
The old woman was whispering something he couldn’t make out, but right that moment he didn’t care what she had to say. He burst into the house, slamming the door behind him and sitting hard at the kitchen table, everything shuddering. He dropped his head to his arms.
“Maybe this is what Miranda was trying to show me. Maybe this is it. Jack Weller comes to kill me because he’s a tyrant to his wife.” He groaned. “All I can do now is try to keep calm.”
He stood and paced all around the house, mumbling to himself. After a bit of this, he stopped, letting his arms drop loose, swinging at his sides, his chin on his chest.
“I sound like the crazy bat across the street.”
A knock boomed at the front door. He tensed, gripping his hands into fists.
“I know you’re in there Tilman. Where is she?”
Quinn took a deep breath and opened the door, peering out. Jack stood there holding a large flashlight. Quinn flipped on the porch light.
Jack stood nearly seven feet tall, his head shaved, his shoulders wider than the door. There were times Quinn wondered if the man took steroids.
“If you’re talking about Kate, I have no idea. But now, if you talking about Rita,” he said. “I can make a few suggestions.”
“You fuck,” Jack said. He gripped the handle of the screen door.
“If you break it, you pay for it. This is a rental house,” Quinn said.
“I know she’s got a thing for you Tilman. You slept with her. You slept with my wife.”
“You mean the woman you left six months ago?”
Jack snarled, turning away, his thick brows low.
“Don’t matter. On paper, we’re still married.”
“And did Kate get to tell that to Rita?”
Jack glared at him, wrapping his massive hand around the door handle again. He gave it a light, little tug. The hook and loop lock held.
“Where the fuck is she? I know good and damned well she’d come running to you. She ain’t got anywhere else to go.”
“And why is that? Hmm? Her family’s all gone and you ran off all her friends. You’re a brute, Jack. You really need to learn to relax.”
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