The Folds

by Clint Townsend

  The truck driver went down to the vehicle to offer his assistance but could get nowhere near it due to the downed electrical lines.

  “Oh, Jess! Jess!” Danny tearfully said. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  “Hey, baby. It’s okay,” she said, trying to smile. “Go on and help Daddy.” Danny shook his head fervently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I’ll be okay. Go and help Daddy.”

  “No! No! I don’t want to leave you! I have to—”

  “Shhhh…now. Baby, please, for me,” she lightly insisted. “Go help Daddy?”

  “Jessica!” Mr. Holder again shouted.

  “Okay, but I’ll be right back!” Danny reluctantly promised. “I love you!” he chocked, then embraced Jessica. “I love you, Jess! I love you!”

  Jessica grinned slightly and blinked her eyes slowly. She looked up at Danny and whispered, “You know I’ve always…”

  Danny waited for her to finish her statement as he stared at her open eyes and frozen expression “Jess? Jess!” Shaking her shoulders, he whimpered, “No! No! Jess! Oh, God! Oh, God! Jess!” He pulled the love of his life close to him for the last time, rocking her dead body in his arms.

  “Jessica! Jessica help me!” Mr. Holder screamed. “Get me out! I smell gas!”

  Danny gently removed Jessica’s head from his lap and laid her down easily in the wet grass. He stood, took one final look at her body, then dashed to the crippled vehicle with Mr. Holder still trapped inside. Like the truck driver, Danny couldn’t get close to the car without running the risk of being struck by one of the electrical lines. He could see the flashing lights of the oncoming emergency crews in the distance. “Hold on, Mr. Holder! They’re coming right now!” he yelled.

  “Jess! Jess!” Mr. Holder screamed. “Help me, Jess!”

  One of the power lines came into contact with the roof of the car, sending a cascade of bright-orange sparks down the rear window and trunk. The sparks ignited a small pool of gasoline from the cracked fuel line and immediately engulfed the car in flames. Danny and the truck driver listened to Mr. Holder’s horrific screams as they watched the fire consume the vehicle. A fire truck arrived first and barreled down the embankment, followed by an ambulance and two county sheriff’s vehicles.

  While the firemen were busy dowsing the flames, Danny and the truck driver were questioned by the sheriff and his deputy. After telling them all he could about the crash, Danny, with Jessica’s blood still on his face and clothes, walked to his car, climbed in, and drove away into the cold, rainy night.

  At around three in the morning, Danny’s car ran out of gas and sputtered to the side of the road into a muddy bar ditch. He stayed in the cold car for the next three days and nights, drinking from the bottle of Wild Turkey. He repeatedly fell in and out of consciousness, throwing delusional fits of rage and moaning with ultimate sorrow.

  On the third night, he vowed to never go home again. He sincerely believed Tommy Lee and Jessica lost their lives because of him. Now, he reasoned, if he went home, surely his mom would be next to die. Before lying down to sleep, he spoke out loud, “God? Why did you do this to me?” He peered up through the back passenger side window; the sky was clear and there was no moon, but the stars shone brightly. He was cold and alone. Tonight there would be no prayers.

  AND SO IT BEGINS

  Tuesday morning. After three days and nights of little sleep, drunkenness, and emotional unrest, Danny finally exited his car to take stock of his immediate surroundings and assess his situation. The rain stopped two days ago, but with the temperature being as low as it was, coupled with the low cloud cover, the road was still wet and the ditches full of water.

  He extended his arms high over his head and drew in a deep, cleansing breath as he twisted and stretched. He looked up the hill in the direction from which he came on Friday night, then to the rise in the opposite direction. His mind flashed back to the sight of Jessica in his arms and Tommy lying on the ground. The love for his mother and the need to be with her were strong, but not enough to overcome the desire to keep her safe and alive. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, Danny started walking the long and lonely road of a self-imposed exile.

  Several hours had passed when he came to a rise in the road that overlooked a cozy little town. Later, he was approaching the city limits sign when he noticed a gas station just a few hundred yards. He pulled out his wallet to find only seven dollars. Since he had little money, no place to stay, and was nearly starving, he had better find a way to get some cash and quick.

  A weathered and rusting sheet metal sign read CHARLIE DOYLE’S above the awning covering the gas pumps. Leaned up against the inside of the office window was a HELP WANTED sign. One of two bay doors was open and bent over the tire well of a car was Charlie himself.

  “C’mon! You stupid…” Charlie blasted at the downed vehicle.

  Danny cautiously approached, taking in the dirty and unkempt garage. “‘Scuse me,” he timidly said.

  A muffled, “Yeah?” resonated from under the hood.

  “Um…I saw the sign that you’re looking for help…what kinda help?”

  “Any and all I can take and then some,” came the reply. “Charlie Doyle,” he added, rising up to greet Danny.

  Danny was shocked to observe a purple-green sliver of light above Charlie’s right shoulder. He stood frozen, unable to speak, his mouth agape.

  “Said the name’s Charlie Doyle!” Charlie again stated gruffly and extended his hand.

  “Danny, sir… Danny Lee.” It took all of his concentration just to answer the old man.

  “Well, Danny Lee. What can ya help me with?” Charlie asked as he returned to his work.

  Danny stared for a moment more at the green beacon of light, then listed his talents. “I can fix starters. Change out your fluids, replace belts…I can do just about anything you want… I helped my daddy rebuild an old car. You know…body work, paint.”

  “Who’s your daddy?” Charlie inquired. “I ain’t ever seen you ’round here!”

  Danny hesitated, then replied, “Oh, you wouldn’t know him. I ain’t from here.”

  “Well, where ya from?”

  Danny walked around the blocked car as he invented his past. “Back east…near Jersey…a small town you wouldn’t have heard of.”

  Charlie stood up, tossed his wrench in the open toolbox drawer, and placed his hands on his hips. “Well, you gotta fill out an application. I gotta get your social sec—”

  “Do ya have to?” Danny interrupted. “I mean, I took off a few days ago…and my, uh, my car is broken down several miles back…and I don’t wanna go back. I can’t go back!” He felt his emotions rise as he explained his situation. “And if you do that, they’ll—”

  “Am I gonna get in trouble?” Charlie asked bluntly, feeling uncomfortable with Danny’s appearance and questionable past. “Did ya do something? Huh? You runnin’ boy? Don’t you lie to me now!”

  “No, sir!” Danny stated firmly. “There was some trouble but…I didn’t do anything wrong. The point is, sir, I can never go back.”

  Charlie gave Danny’s dirty and bloodstained clothes another once-over. After seeing the strain of emotion on his face, he asked concernedly, “You okay?”

  “No…no, sir…not really.”

  “Tell you what I’m gonna do,” Charlie bartered, “I’ll start you at six dollars an hour for a week. One week!” He held up his greasy index finger and nodded before continuing. “We’ll see how you’re doing at the end of the week, and if—if—you do good, then I might keep ya ’round, maybe give you a raise.”

  Danny’s eyes beamed with joy.

  “Deal?” Charlie asked with a smile.

  “Deal!” Danny agreed zestfully as he shook Charlie’s bear-sized hand. He smiled nervously and tried not to shift his eyes to the green and purple light still above Charlie’s shoulder.

  “But you got one week! And I don’t want any trouble. None! You savvy!?”

  “
Yes, sir! One week! One week!” Danny concurred. “Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

  Charlie tossed a set of keys to Danny from on top of his tool chest.

  “What are these for?” Danny asked.

  “This establishment has opened at 6 a.m. every morning for the past twenty-six years,” Charlie stated proudly. “Those are the keys to the pumps, doors, and the office. You’ll be here no later than 5:30 a.m. and spruce the place up ’fore we open.” Charlie continued his instructions as Danny looked at the untidy floor. “I have an extra set of keys in the office. I’ll lock up tonight and you be here tomorrow at 5:30.”

  Danny agreed to Charlie’s instructions and terms energetically. “Yes, sir, 5:30 a.m.! Thank you, sir! I won’t be late!” He shook Charlie’s hand once more. “You won’t be sorry!” he guaranteed, pulling out his wallet. “I ran out of gas several miles back… Um, do you have an extra gas can?”

  Charlie pointed to a stack of plastic five-gallon jugs.

  As Danny picked out a tank and funnel, Charlie added, “Oh and uh…I’ll pay you cash for a while…just so those Jersey folks don’t come a lookin’ for ya.”

  Danny looked back and replied with a smile, “Yes, sir!”

  Danny waddled under the weight of the five-gallon gas jug for nearly eleven miles. Exhausted, he finally reached his car after dark, poured in the gas, and drove back to town. It was half past twelve when he opened the back door of the gas station to use the restroom. Examining himself in the bathroom mirror, he was surprised to find clumps of dried blood still in his hair and faint streaks of blood on his forehead and cheek. Thinking himself unpresentable for work the next morning, he filled the sink with hot water, stripped down, and washed his clothes. He snuck through the garage, cold and naked, looking for the portable heater he saw earlier in the day. He carried it to the restroom, tied some twine across the stall door, and hung his clothes to dry. After hanging the clothes, he submerged several shop rags in the hot water and proceeded to give himself a much-needed sponge bath. Once he was clean and dry, he darted buck naked across the rear parking lot and jumped into the back seat of his car.

  At around 4 a.m., after only a few hours of restless sleep, Danny opened his eyes and sat up. He wrapped himself in his blanket, stepped into his tennis shoes, and climbed out into the cold darkness to urinate. Standing under a large oak tree in the back parking lot, he shivered in the early morning air. “Whoa! Jeez! It’s freakin’ cold!” He tried to hurry and drain his bladder with a repeat of his proclamation. “Jeez! It’s freakin’ cold!” Once finished, he grabbed the keys from the back seat and made a mad dash to the restroom for his warm, dry clothes. Semi-clean laundry never felt so good.

  Tommy and Sarah raised Danny right by stressing the importance of doing a good job and doing it right the first time. He swept and mopped the front office, cleaned the windows, and started a pot of coffee.

  Charlie arrived at the four-way stop sign a block away and noticed a bright light shining from the direction of his station. He pulled into the parking lot and, to his surprise and delight, discovered the overhead doors already open, the garage floor swept, and the concrete still wet from a good rinsing. Sneaking into the office, he noticed a light coming from the bathrooms. He opened the door quietly and found Danny in one of the stalls, mopping the floor with his back turned to the sink. “Boy!” he shouted with a slap on the counter.

  Startled, Danny jumped, slipped in the mop water, and fell down in the stall.

  “What time did I tell you to get here?”

  Gasping, Danny replied, “5:30, sir. You said 5:30.”

  “Huh!” Charlie grunted before walking away. “Boy was ’ere ’fore I was. Ain’t never been open this early.”

  One week later, a loud and sudden banging on the passenger window rattled Danny from his back seat slumber. “C’mon! I want to show you something,” Charlie commanded, looking down through the glass. Minutes later, he was driving Danny through town in the predawn hour. He hung a left at the First Baptist Church and went a few blocks before slowing down.

  “Well, there it is,” Charlie declared, coming to a stop under a streetlight.

  Danny leaned forward to look past Charlie at a rundown, two-story house sitting back off the street.

  “She been living here for as long as I can recall, at least since I first moved to town. That was a long, long time ago. Poor thing!” Charlie lamented.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Husband died in fifty-nine and never remarried, stayed widowed, twenty-seven years she been alone.”

  Danny looked over the dreary home and dilapidated two-story garage apartment in back as Charlie continued.

  “Don’t go out of the house none…pretty much let life get the best of her! I’d be willin’ to bet that if you just help her with the house she’d let you stay in that garage for a song.”

  Later that afternoon, Danny walked past the Baptist church while making his way to the widower’s house. When he approached the south fence, he heard the sound of children’s laughter, and then a man’s voice say, “Whitney! Whitney, can you pass these out to the kids please?”

  A strong, “Good evening!” greeted Danny as he passed a row of cedar trees and came into view of Pastor Tyson Pate. Pastor Pate was on the lawn with a group of very young children and one girl, around eleven years old, with long, dark, curly hair. Danny kept on walking, trying to ignore the smiling pastor as he waved. Suddenly, from above the pastor’s right shoulder, a bright strip of purplish-green light appeared. He stopped and stared in amazement. Pastor Pate, thinking Danny wanted to talk, started to walk toward him. But Danny, frightened by the sight of another new color of light, abruptly turned away and broke into a run, looking back over his shoulder at the man at the fence.

  Thinking that the church was far enough out of sight, Danny slowed down to catch his breath. As the old widower’s house came into view, he took a mental picture and started mumbling a “to-do list” to himself: the white wooden fence, with its half-unhinged gate, was in need of repair and paint; the grass, long and yellow in spots with weeds interspersed, needed cutting; and wild rose vines had engulfed the paneling, latticework, and guttering.

  He climbed the squeaky wooden steps of the porch and knocked on the screen door. The arched windowpanes in the front door were clouded with dust. He faintly heard the sound of footsteps approaching the foyer, but saw no motion through the window. The door then opened with a long, low groan. From the lightless entryway a frail, quivering voice called out, “Yes? Who’s there?”

  “M…my name is Danny,” he said.

  “Who?” asked the voice in the dark.

  “Danny!” he repeated loudly. “My name is Danny! Danny Albright!”

  “I don’t know any Lenny Ballright,” the confused woman commented.

  “No, ma’am…my…name…is…Danny…Albright!”

  “Oh!” The bowed out screen door opened slowly and the smiling, five-foot widower exposed herself to the light. With a continuous slight twitching of her head, she gleefully received her unexpected visitor. “Okay, Danny. How can I help you?”

  He was preparing to answer, but upon seeing a glowing, white sliver of light suddenly appear above her right shoulder, he instead stood silent and transfixed.

  “You’ll have to speak up, hon! These ears don’ work like they used to!” Miss Magness admitted.

  The garage apartment door swung open and the smell of moldy, wet carpet engulfed Danny. He entered the dark, musty room and felt for a light switch on the wall. He flicked it once or twice, but the bulbs were burnt out. Reaching a little farther past the light switch, he gave a mighty yank on the heavy, pine-green velour drapes, flooding the lonely apartment with late-afternoon sunshine. Ms. Magness hadn’t stopped talking since Danny knocked on her door more than half an hour ago. “I’ll take it!” he yelled.

  “What? ’Scuse me?” she replied, confused.

  “I said I’ll take it!” he again shouted to his new landlord.

/>   “Oh! Good! Good!” She clapped lightly, pleased to finally have some company. After closing the door, he offered his arm to assist Ms. Magness down the stairs. “Now! First thing I want to talk to you about is the paint…”

  Danny would leave his apartment at 5 a.m. and return at around 3:30 in the afternoon. Ms. Magness would now sit and wait patiently in her front parlor with the drapes open. She followed Danny wherever he went, expectorating an unending barrage of family history, tales of growing up on the plains of Texas, and events of the past twenty-seven years without Mr. Magness. The only words Danny need mutter were “You don’t say!” “Well then!” “Amen!” “Uh-huh!” “Well, I’ll be!” and “Good honk!” These exclamations served only to fuel her preaching and storytelling.

  December 23, 1986. All day long Danny watched the low-hanging clouds speed by, driven on by fierce and bitter winter winds. It wasn’t until after he left the garage that the swift winds died down and a light snow began to fall.

  Later that evening, he decided to go for a walk. A thick dusting of white covered the streets, roofs, and cars. Christmas lights glowed through the falling flakes. All was peaceful as he neared the fence of the Baptist church. Just as he reached the row of cedar trees, a car slowly rounded the corner, turned off its headlights, and coasted to the curb near the side entry of the enclosed churchyard. For some strange reason, he quickly ducked below the brick and wrought-iron fence. He poked his head above the wall and saw a young girl, maybe in her late teens, exit the car, carrying a basket. She quietly lifted the gate latch and tiptoed to the door leading to Pastor Pate’s room and the day care center. Danny watched curiously as she knelt down, rustled with the basket for a moment, covered it with a blanket, and dashed back to the waiting car. She entered the passenger side and rode past a few houses with her door open. Once the vehicle was down the street a ways, it accelerated and she slammed her door.

  Danny looked around; no cars, no one walking by, and all porches were free of movement. He stealthily approached the gate, keeping his eyes on the basket. As he pushed open the gate, he saw a shadow of movement inside the church sanctuary. A tiny whimper and subtle movement of the basket piqued his curiosity. Thinking himself quite clever, he briskly crossed the sidewalk, keeping in mind to step only in the tracks left by the young girl. He crouched down to investigate and delicately peeled back the blanket. Inside he found a baby boy, not more than a few months old, dressed in a light-blue one-piece sleeper with teddy bears and sheep printed in yellow and white.