San Francisco Covens: Crucible

by Manuel Tiger

  There was something predatory in that gaze that had some part of me wanting to abruptly retreat.

  “Henry?”

  I nearly yelped when Mayfield touched my arm.

  “You okay? You seem jumpy.”

  “Y-Yeah,” I said shaking my head. “I’m fine, was just lost in thoughts. That’s all.” I looked back toward the dance floor but the male and his companions had apparently retreated further into that moving mass of bodies for I could no longer see him.

  “Good, I want you to be relaxed here,” he said with that familiar smile of his. “Come on,” he said tugging me along by the arm. “Let’s get a pool table.”

  “What about our drinks?”

  “They’ll be bringing them out to us.”

  We moved through the crowd of people, weaving in and out of them, but I kept finding my eyes going back to the dance floor yet I never saw the male again.

  Arriving in the back of the pool hall there was two unoccupied pool tables out of the eight that filled this area. Mayfield selected the one nearest the wall and excused himself to get the pool sticks. I went about setting up the balls on the table, occasionally looking up every now and then to see if that mysterious male made another appearance, but I saw no further sightings of him.

  Somehow that both disappointed and relieved me.

  “Drinks up,” a waitress announced as she brought a tray containing two beer bottles over to me. She had midnight black hair pulled back into a pony tail, was of medium height and had a light tan going on.

  “Thank you,” I said taking one of the bottles off the tray.

  “You’re new here aren’t you?” she said placing the other bottle on the edge of the pool table.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Well, you have most of your teeth for one,” she said with a grin which earned a soft chuckle from me. “I’m Anna Wilcox.”

  “Henry Sullivan,” I said holding out my hand. “Of soon to be working at the gazette.”

  “Manners and smart,” she said taking my hand. “You’re a rare breed then.”

  “Well thank you,” I said as we released hands. I leaned against the pool table. “You live around here then?”

  “Across the bridge in King’s Court Trailer Park,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I know, I know. Stereotype white trash right? Only it’s temporary. I’ll be moving into town soon into the Overview Apartments.”

  “Nothing about you says trash if that helps,” I said. “Nor do you look white.”

  She laughed softly. “Half Shawnee, Vietnamese and white.”

  “How did that cross happen?”

  “My father is Shawnee from Oklahoma. He was in the military and met my mother who was half Vietnamese and white. They settled here after his service ended and the rest as they say is history.”

  “Well it makes for a very pretty history,” I said saluting her with my beer. “So,” I sad after I had taken a sip of the beer. “Do you know everyone here?” I gestured to the people around us.

  “Fairly well, why?”

  “Did you happen to see the dark headed male with the guy and girl grinding up on him on the dance floor?”

  Something like worry flickered across her features, the smile briefly leaving her face. “Oh, him,” she said glancing toward the front of the hall. “Damiano Salvadori. He just moved to the area about a year ago. He lives in the old plantation house near the mountains. Nothing but trouble and a bit of a show off that one is.”

  “So I saw,” I said. “Was just wondering who he was.”

  “He’s best to be avoided, Henry,” she said leaning toward me. “Trouble in all caps.”

  “Now you made me curious about him,” I said laughing, but she didn’t smile once. Her face was worried. “What?”

  “Just don’t cross his path,” she whispered, her eyes darting about for a moment.

  Before I could ask what she meant Mayfield had returned.

  “Hey Anna,” Mayfield said coming back to the table. “Sorry about that Henry. Was talking to a few friends.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” I said taking one of the offered pool sticks. “Was just talking with Anna.”

  “I need to get back to work,” she said. “It was nice meeting you Henry.”

  “You too,” I said as she made her way back to the bar.

  “Shall we?” Mayfield asked nodding to the table.

  What I had meant to only be two rounds of pool ended up being one game after another lasting till near closing hour. By that time there was only a few other patrons in the bar left and the music had shifted from rock to something slower, less pounding.

  There was a row of beer bottles lined up behind Mayfield and me on a small table nearly covering it.

  “One more round!” Mayfield said with a laugh.

  “We’ve played,” I tried to count up in my head, but failed. “A dozen billon games already!” I laughed and leaned against a column. “And it’s after two in the morning,” I said glancing at my watch. “I should really head home.”

  “Maybe you should just crash at my place tonight, Henry,” He said bending over the pool table and looking up at me.

  “Why Mister Mayfield, are you being a true southern gentleman?” I said effecting a southern drawl, however a drunken one.

  “I can be a gentleman at times,” he said lining up the shot.

  “And the other times when you’re not?”

  “Maybe that’s why you should come back with me to my place huh?” he grinned and made the shot. “Hole in one! I will make this next one too!” he said moving into position.

  Don’t go home with him.

  I frowned and pushed off the column, looking for the source of the voice that I had just heard. The closest people were over by the bar. There was no way I could have heard them and besides, they were engaged in conversation with Anna and another waitress that was wiping down the counter.

  He’ll give you something that you won’t be able to wash off, a burning itch.

  I spun around, the voice sounding directly in my ear.

  He sleeps with anything.

  “Did…,” I threw my attention upward toward a section of the hall that looked down on us. But there was no one there as I remembered seeing the last person left that area an hour ago by way of the stairs nearby. Now there was only shadows there and as I watched I thought I saw one of them move, break off from the others.

  No, just my drunk mind.

  Don’t be a dirty boy. Go home.

  “What’s the matter Henry?” Mayfield asked looking up at me.

  That word, dirty boy. That word echoed within my mind, repeating itself, becoming a thick husky voice saying it, a smooth hand running over me.

  My dirty boy…my favorite dirty boy.

  I dropped the pool stick and backed away, still looking up at the area above.

  “I…I have to get going Mayfield. I’m sorry.”

  “Henry? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yes, I am,” I said lying. “I’m fine, perfectly fine.” I felt the hot sting of tears creep into my eyes. “I’ll see…I will see you tomorrow.” I spun around and hurried through the bar noticing Anna looking up at me as I glanced at her and practically ran out of the hall.

  When I reached outside the humid air struck me, sobering me somewhat, and ran toward my car fumbling in my front jean pocket for my keys that I dropped when I jerked them out of my pocket.

  “Shit!” I said as tears coursed down my cheeks. I dropped to my knees and began feeling around on the ground for them.

  My favorite dirty boy…take it like a man.

  “No,” I whispered blocking that particular voice out. “Where’s my fucking keys?” I whispered as tears obscured my vision. I felt around on the gravel some more, patting harder till the small rocks began to cut my hand then I began frantically feeling around beneath my car.

  “Henry?”

  I looked up to see Anna approaching me.

  “Henry? What’s
wrong?” she asked with dark brown eyes full of concern.

  “I…I can’t find my keys!” I wept. “I dropped them somewhere!” I continued to pat the ground, my hands becoming further cut by the gravel. “I can’t find my keys!”

  “Here they are,” she said bending down beside me and picking them up. “I think maybe I should drive you home Henry. You don’t look to be in any condition to be driving yourself.”

  I tried to get up, but instead I lurched to the side and began vomiting. For what felt like an eternity I threw up but it was only half a minute if not less.

  “Yeah, I’m driving you home,” she said helping me up and around to the passenger side of my car. She unlocked the door and helped me inside for I was like a zombie shambling along. “Where do you live?”

  “R-Riverwalk Townhouses,” I whispered, tears still rolling down my face, the bitter taste of bile rolling in my mouth.

  “Did…did Mayfield do something back there?”

  “N-No,” I said wiping the tears away. “Just…just please take me home.”

  She nodded and drew a napkin from the pocket of the apron she was wearing and cleaned up my mouth. “I know where the townhouses are at. Just buckle yourself in, Henry.”

  I said nothing as I shut myself down, denying the demons, the ghosts of my past to invade me, to encroach on me any more than they had after having been silent for so many months.

  Yet all it took to bring them running was two words – dirty boy.

  It seemed the drive back to the townhouse took faster than I believed could be possible. Then again, I was blankly staring out the window watching the night pass by, the street lamps becoming one blur after another. I closed my eyes and then Anna began gently shaking me awake telling me we were at the townhouses. She helped me out of the car and into the townhouse and up the stairs.

  “Did you throw everything up?” she asked eyeing the open bathroom door.

  “Y-Yes,” I replied in a shaky voice, my arm slung over her shoulder. For one that was so tiny in appearance she was amazingly strong I thought.

  She nodded and guided me to my bedroom, propping me up against the bedpost as she removed my shoes and socks and then drew back the covers on the bed. She guided me like some infirm old man beneath the covers, bringing them up under my chin.

  “What happened Henry?” she asked brushing locks of damp hair off my forehead. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself and then you suddenly weren’t.”

  “You’d think me crazy and I rather not give that impression.”

  “The one thing you got to learn right away is if you’re going to be living here in Heaven Falls, Henry? Nothing is going to sound crazy.” She cupped my cheek and her touch was soothing, comforting. “Tell me.”

  “I…I heard a voice,” I said. “I thought someone had walked up to me and was talking to me. Only when I looked? There was no one there then the voice came again, like a whisper in my ear. Directly into my ear, but there was no one there at all!” I sighed softly. “Then it said something, something that…,” I shook my head.

  “What did the voice say, Henry?”

  Try as I wanted to keep what was said to me I somehow found I couldn’t as I looked into her eyes.

  “Dirty boy,” I whispered. I felt the prick of tears again at my eyes and reached a hand out from beneath the blankets to wipe away the tears that were coming.

  “Dirty boy?” she repeated arching a brow. “That one word scared you that badly?”

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “I was…,” I swallowed thickly and looked toward the bedroom window to see a street lamp just within sight glowing brightly against the night.

  I was feeling the same way I had when I told Aunt Jemma why I had been kicked out, the true reason. I was scared, ashamed, and felt nasty – the word my father had rained down on me over and over when he rained his fists down on me unendingly – after I told her the truth.

  I had feared Aunt Jemma would see me just as my father had – disgusting, nasty, and oh so dirty. And seeing me as such, she would throw me out on the street like my parents had.

  All Aunt Jemma did after I spilled it all out to her was take me into her arms and held me tightly, refusing to let me go, promising me that I would never be hurt again.

  “Go on, Henry,” Anna said softly, encouraging me to continue, her voice so much like Aunt Jemma’s and perhaps that is why I felt I could tell her too, even if I barely knew her.

  But then, do we not most open up to strangers that know nothing about us? Feeling that whatever they will say, we can ignore unlike the words, reactions, from those we share blood or some bond with.

  I drew in a breath and released it unsteadily. “I…I was molested at thirteen,” I said keeping my attention focused on that street lamp I could see, speaking to it instead of facing her. “I guess you could really say I was twelve for I turned thirteen a few days later after it happened. The man…he is the best friend of my father, a close friend of the family. He molested me till I was fifteen.” I finally turned my head and looked at her to see the shock on her face, feeling the hot spill of tears coursing down my cheeks. “He used to call me his dirty boy, his special dirty boy.”

  Anna’s eyes widened, a hand fluttering up to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry Henry!” she reached out to touch my hand but I withdrew it.

  I wiped away my tears, shaking my head. “It’s in the past, or I try to tell myself it’s in the past. But then I start thinking about it, thinking why didn’t I fight back or scream for help? Each time he approached me, each time he began touching me I would just freeze up and he took that as my consent.”

  “It wasn’t Henry! No fucking way was that consent! You were only a child! Fuck! I hope he got punished, that he’s rotting away in a filthy prison somewhere!”

  I laughed bitterly. “When I told him I was going to tell my parents? When I told him I no longer wanted to be his dirty boy? He beat me to the punch and told my parents I was the one who came on to him, that I frequented gay clubs, that he walked in on me having sex with a boy,” I plucked at the blanket. “My family kicked me out and disowned me, believing him over me.”

  She sat there staring at me, but I couldn’t meet her gaze.

  “Is the place haunted?” I asked.

  “W-What?” she blinked and stared at me, confusion upon her face.

  “Rowdy’s,” I said lifting my eyes to hers. “Is the place haunted? Maybe it was a ghost speaking to me?”

  “Yeah,” she said staring at the floor for a moment. “It’s haunted by an asshole at times.”

  It was my turn to be confused. “What?”

  She looked back at me then reached out, resting a hand against my cheek.

  I felt a warmth emit from her hand, felt it sink deep into me, soothing me. “Sleep Henry,” she whispered. “Just sleep.” She kept her hand on my cheek and I began to feel my eyelids become heavier and heavier until I couldn’t hold them open any longer.

  Just before I surrendered to the embrace of sleep I saw Anna withdraw her hand, get off the bed and take out her cell phone. The last thing I was aware of was of her calling someone, cussing at them then her voice and the room faded away as I sunk into sleep.

  When I woke that morning I half expected to find Anna still there, but the only proof she had ever been present was that of a note she left on the kitchen table beside a plate of still warm pancakes. She ordered me to eat, have a great first day at work and to call her to hang out sometime soon, and a friend was going to pick her up to take her to get her car from Rowdy’s.

  Rolling up a pancake into a burrito shape I went about getting ready for my first day of work and headed back upstairs to take a shower.

  As I showered and thought of her letter I hoped she didn’t see me as some charity case to pity, that her extended hand of friendship was just that, her interest in becoming my friend and not trying to fix me.

  I knew I was broken inside. I needed no one to tell
me that, to remind me that what was done to me was no fault of my own, blah, blah, blah. I just didn’t want to think about it today. I had enough on my plate to worry about, hoping that my first day went well and that there was no awkward encounters with Mayfield.

  I was to find out that was to be the least of my worries.

  “Henry, I really love the photos you took of the events,” Belle Dawn told me as she looked over the photos on my camera. We were in her office which had a view of the park outside and the sloping hillside that ended at the river’s edge. “Also,” she said handing my camera back to me. “I do love the article you wrote, especially the opening line,” she said as she picked up her glasses and placed them on her nose. “The residents, as countless generations have done before them, arrive to the Boom-Boom Market to begin the first day of the Fourth of July celebrations with excitement and eagerness that is as palpable as the scent of Mike Cam’s BBQ and Ivy Ray’s lemon cake that perfume the air sweeter than honeysuckle. It is an excitement shared by old and young alike as time honored traditions are passed on to the next generation in a circle that shall forever remain unbroken.” She lowered the paper I had written up minutes before leaving the house and removed her glasses. “Mentioning Mike and Ivy will tickle them pink, Henry. You’re on an excellent train of thought and I want you to continue with it.”

  “Thank you,” I said as she handed me back the paper. I reached up and adjusted my glasses, rising from the chair to head to my desk when she held up a hand.

  “Did you enjoy the celebrations as much as your writing says you did?”

  “I did indeed,” I replied. “My family tended to go overboard on their Fourth of July celebrations that it felt more like they and their friends were celebrating themselves. What I experienced here showed me that people can be neighborly to one another without putting on airs.”