Lance Brody Omnibus

by Michael Robertson Jr

  Lance was wrong.

  Leah’s father uncrossed his arms and straightened himself. He spoke softly to his daughter. “Your brother disappeared nearly three years ago.”

  “I know, but—”

  “The whole town looked for him. The sheriff’s office did everything they could. And when the other boys started to go missing, the state police started workin’ on it, too. And you know what they found? Not a goddamn thing.”

  “Daddy, I know all this, but—”

  “So you know what I think? You know what I think, Leah?” The man took a step forward, and Lance took a step backward, bumping the dresser. “I think this guy here, this new friend of yours, I think he’s using the memory of your brother to get into your pants.”

  “Daddy!”

  Another step forward, but Lance had nowhere to back up further.

  “He’s duping you, sweetie. He’s saying whatever it is he thinks you want to hear. Guys do that, Leah. That’s all guys do with pretty young ladies like yourself.” He turned his head and spoke directly to his daughter. “I’m not surprised. Not with him, that is. But I am surprised you fell for whatever bullshit he’s been feeding you. I thought you were smarter than that, baby girl. In fact, I know you’re smarter than that. Which must mean this guy here is one slick dick.”

  Lance saw a flicker of something to his left and turned his head ever so slightly to see that the television screen had changed from the muted late-night show and was now filled with nothing but snowy static.

  Leah stepped forward on her crutches and yelled at her father. “It’s not like that, Daddy! You don’t understand. Tell him, Lance. Tell him what you can do.”

  Lance said nothing, glanced between the television screen and Leah and her father.

  “He can talk to the dead, Daddy! He can …” Even Leah had to pause here. It simply wasn’t something you could easily tell someone. “He can even see them.”

  Samuel Senior’s face lit up at this, like he’d just heard a funny joke. “Oh, he can see them, can he? Well, my God. That changes everything! Why didn’t you tell me that at the start? I suppose next you’re going to tell me he’s seen the boys who disappeared, right? I bet he even told you he saw your brother, didn’t he?”

  Leah hesitated, knowing her father was being sarcastic, but also knowing she was going to tell him the truth. “Yes.”

  Lance knew it was going to happen just a fraction of a second before it did. He saw Leah’s father’s muscles tense, poised for action, and then the man gently used his left hand to push Leah to the side, where she took one and a half hops before toppling over to her bed, her crutches clattering to the floor. And then the man was coming straight at Lance with the reignited fire in his eyes.

  “You goddam son of a bitch!” He already had his fist cocked back, his body twisted and locked and loaded to deliver a single devastating blow to Lance’s face.

  Lance wasn’t incredibly strong, but he was quick. He ducked and darted to the left, Samuel Senior’s fist flying over his head in a wide, upward-swooping arc that hit nothing but air and nearly spun the man around with force. Lance popped back up, backed himself away, his butt knocking into the television. Samuel Senior regained his footing and turned back around, facing Lance with a face red enough to stop traffic. Veins stood out on his bald head, and his eyes were narrowed to slits.

  He growled, “You’ve got nowhere to run, slick dick!”

  But Lance didn't hear him. Didn’t even register the fact that the man was pivoting off his heels and rushing at Lance with a speed and force that would knock Lance through the drywall. For Lance, time had slowed to nearly a freeze frame. His vision blurred and his head was filled not with the noise from the room, but with a low, staticky buzz that sounded like somebody trying to tune an old AM radio. The imaginary dials turned and twisted, the static popping and cracking and whining, and then from somewhere deep down in the static came a voice, calling out. It was so faint Lance made out nothing the first time except a foreign sound. But the second time the voice called out, Lance recognized it as human, and recognized the pleading urgency in the words.

  Louder, Lance thought, willing his subconscious to reach the other voice.

  The voice tried again.

  Ace Bandage? Lance thought. No, that’s not right.

  And then, with a final burst of sound and energy, the spirit of Samuel Junior—the lost son and brother—broke through the static and rang true in Lance’s mind.

  “Bait sandwich!” Lance yelled. He was back in the real world, eyes focusing to see Samuel Senior charging at him. “Bait sandwich! Bait sandwich!”

  Samuel Senior heard the words, his eyes clearing and looking at Lance with a startled realization. But he was coming too hard and too fast, and despite slowing himself slightly, when his body collided with Lance’s, both men went toppling hard to the ground. The back of Lance’s head bumped the edge of the dresser, sending a white flash of pain and light across his vision, but otherwise, he was unhurt.

  Samuel Senior spun away from Lance, sitting up on the floor with wide-eyed disbelief. He was breathing hard now, and sweat glistened from his brow. “What did you just say?”

  Lance sat up, leaned against the dresser and felt the back of his head, where a new knot was forming. “Bait sandwich.” And it was then that Lance realized he’d not only been delivered the phrase from Leah’s brother’s spirit, but the entire memory. Another instant upload.

  “Samuel was eight,” Lance said. “It was summer, and the two of you went fishing out on King’s Pond. There was a little rowboat out there you could use, and the two of you packed a lunch and took your rods and went out early one morning.”

  Samuel Senior said nothing. Just looked once to Leah, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, her eyes glued to Lance, and then back to Lance.

  “You were out there all morning, and by twelve thirty you hadn’t caught a single thing. You figured the pond needed to be restocked, but you didn’t really mind. You were happy to be spending some time with your son.

  “But Samuel got frustrated, thought he was doing something wrong for not catching any fish. You tried to calm him down, but he was stubborn about it and started to ignore you. And then you made a joke to try and lighten the mood. You told him not to worry. You said that even if the two of you didn’t catch any fish, you had plenty of worms left and you could just have bait sandwiches for dinner.”

  Lance smiled. “Samuel nearly fell out of the boat laughing. I think … I think that was one of your son’s favorite memories.”

  The next time Lance looked at Samuel Senior’s eyes, they were red and fresh with tears. He held them back as best he could, but as tears do, they eventually fell. He sniffled and wiped his cheeks and turned to Leah and said, “I never told your mother that story.”

  Leah’s eyes spilled fresh tears as well, but she was smiling big and brightly. “And Samuel never told me, either.”

  Samuel Senior pushed himself off the floor and rushed to his daughter, sitting next to her on the bed and wrapping her in his strong arms. Leah buried her face into her father’s chest and cried, and her father stroked her hair and said soft things to soothe her and cried his own cry, his tears dripping on top her head like raindrops on a roof.

  Lance said nothing. Just watched as a father and daughter who’d been apart for so long took the first step in coming back together.

  When they were able to compose themselves, Samuel Senior pulled away and stood from the bed, walking toward Lance. He stuck out a calloused hand and Lance took it, allowing himself to be pulled up.

  “I normally don’t believe in this sort of stuff,” Samuel Senior said. “I mean, who really does?”

  “Not many people,” Lance said. “Why would they?”

  “But there’s no other way on earth you could possibly know about that day on King’s Pond. No other way except …” He trailed off, wanting Lance to say what he was too unsure to say himself.

  “Your son told me
, sir,” Lance said. “Right before you speared me to the ground. I think he was trying to help me stop you, help me show you what I really am.”

  “And what are you?” Samuel Senior asked, nothing but curiosity in his voice.

  “A friend,” Lance said. “I’m a friend.”

  Samuel Senior looked Lance in the eye for what felt like a full minute, then nodded. “Can you look me in the eye right now and tell me man-to-man that my boy is dead?”

  Lance stood tall, looked the man in the eye. “I’m sorry, sir. But, yes, he is.”

  Samuel Senior nodded again, and Lance saw the flash of pain cross his face. But the man repressed whatever he had briefly felt and said, “I figured as much. I mean, all this time … but still, to finally know, to have a God’s honest answer. I just … thank you.”

  Lance said nothing.

  “And you think you can figure out what happened to him?” Samuel Senior asked.

  Lance nodded to Leah. “We’ve learned a lot today, and we think we know the next step to take, but, with all due respect, sir, I’ll have to fill you in later. Right now, we’ve got to go. I think whoever murdered your son is coming here, or sending somebody here to stop us from stopping them.”

  Samuel Senior’s eyes began to boil again. “Then I’ll stand right goddamn here and wait for them. They’ll be sorry they ever decided to—”

  “Sir, again, with all due respect, what’s coming for us might not be exactly human. And in that case, I think it best we tuck tail and run, at least for now. At least till we come up with a plan.”

  Samuel Senior didn’t have much of a response for this. But Lance’s story about King’s Pond had instilled enough of a trust in Lance’s words that he didn’t argue. He thought for a moment and then said, “Okay, let’s go. Leah, the shotgun still behind the counter?”

  “Of course,” she said, getting up and adjusting her crutches under her arms.

  “Lance,” the man said. “Go grab it. I’ll meet the two of you in the truck, and then you can tell me what you know and how I can help.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lance said. And when Samuel Senior left the room, Lance turned around and looked at the small television. The snowy static was gone. Back in its place was the late-night show.

  34

  Leah’s daddy’s truck was black, blending seamlessly in with the night sky. It was at least ten years old and had a regular cab with a simple bench seat. Samuel Senior was sitting behind the wheel when Lance and Leah made their way out of the office, Lance with the shotgun held sheepishly in his hands, and Leah turning to lock the deadbolt with a key she quickly shoved back into the pocket of her sweatpants. Crutches under arms, she made her way quickly but somewhat clumsily to the truck, and Lance opened the passenger door for her. She tossed her crutches into the bed of the truck and then the two of them climbed in, one after the other, Leah the middle of a very awkward sandwich between the two men.

  Lance adjusted the shotgun at an angle across his lap, the barrel pointing directly at the floorboard. Any mishap would hopefully only blow a hole in the bottom of the old truck, or maybe take a toe or two from Lance. With his new weapon in place, Lance pulled the door closed and said, “Okay, let’s go.” His skin suddenly prickled with gooseflesh. He looked out the window and saw nothing, but still he repeated, “Let’s go.”

  Samuel Senior cranked the engine, and the truck roared to life with a near-deafening assault on the ears. The muffler hummed and the seats vibrated, and Lance felt as though he was about to be launched from a rocket. But then Samuel Senior shifted into reverse and everything quieted down a little, and once they started driving down Route 19, the vibrating and rumbling dulled and Lance could hear himself think again.

  “Know how to use one of those?” Samuel Senior asked.

  Lance glanced over and saw the man eyeing him, pointing to the shotgun.

  “No, sir. Never fired anything other than a slingshot in my life. And my mother took that away from me when she found out.”

  “Some sort of pacifist, your mother?”

  Lance thought for a moment. “You could say that,” he said.

  Leah’s daddy nodded once. “S’okay.” Then, “Loaded, Leah?”

  “Of course,” Leah said. “Always is.”

  “Good girl.”

  There was silence then, and Lance figured Samuel Senior had assumed Lance was smart enough to figure out the mechanics of shooting the shotgun on his own without much trouble. If it came to it—and Lance certainly hoped it wouldn't—Lance would aim, pull the trigger, and see what happened.

  Leah’s daddy turned down a side road Lance had passed earlier in his walks, a desolate-looking jut from Route 19 that had been nothing but high grass and trees as far as Lance could see. The truck hit a bump in the road, and the three of them bounced in their seats with soft grunts. Lance glanced nervously at the shotgun, suddenly very fond of his toes.

  The headlights cut cones of light down the dark road. The asphalt was cracked and chipped and dotted with holes. The truck’s suspension practically screamed, but the ride was tolerable, once you braced for it. The high grass grew higher and higher, becoming trees. Branches began to encroach on the road, creeping toward the truck.

  “You were at the motel last night, weren't you?” Samuel Senior asked, swerving the truck to avoid a large hole. A calm, practiced maneuver he must have made frequently.

  Lance looked at Leah. She nodded.

  “Yes, sir,” Lance said. “I was hiding in Leah’s bathroom when you stopped by.” Lance wasn’t sure why he’d insisted on divulging such a level of detail, but at this point, he felt honesty was the best course of action. Even if it was beyond usefulness.

  Samuel Senior spoke again, this time turning to Leah. “And you knew what he was then? When you were hiding him from me? Lying to me?”

  Leah put a hand on her father’s forearm, tenderly. “Not completely, but … I knew he was special. And something … something bigger than I can understand felt like it was compelling me to trust him. Even if just long enough to figure out why he’d come through the motel door.”

  Lance thought again of how he’d felt something coming off Leah, something wonderful and warm and all the good things in life. Something that made him return the trust she’d shown him without question. Whatever gifts Lance possessed, Leah possessed a small bit of something similar herself. Heck, maybe everybody had a tiny bit of it, if only they could open their minds enough to use it.

  Lance heard Samuel Senior sigh, then caught what he thought might have been a sniffle. “You always had a way of reading people, baby girl. Your mother …” He paused, cleared his throat. “Your mother was the same way.”

  Leah smiled, and Lance’s memory jolted him back to the previous night, when he’d been fearing for his life in Leah’s bathroom. Remembered the conversation he’d overheard.

  “Sir,” Lance started, “when you came to the motel last night, you said you’d been sent home because of a scheduling error. You said your boss had forgotten to call and had been in a meeting with Mr. Strang about some sort of fundraiser?”

  Samuel Senior avoided another pothole. Rubbed the side of his face and said. “Yep. That’s what happened. It was the damnedest thing. Spur-of-the-moment shit you don’t usually see ’round work.”

  Lance thought about the timing, how it coincided with his showing up in town. Thought about Glenn Strang and the word “fundraiser.” He looked at Leah. “What are the odds it had something to do with Westhaven athletics? A sports booster meeting, or something like that?”

  Samuel Senior answered. “Oh, I bet that’s pretty likely,” he said. “Strang gives all sorts of money to the football team and such. Kenny McGuire’s always poking around the place, going out to lunch with the big man. Having meetings up in the big conference room none of us are allowed to go near.”

  Lance asked one more question. “Do they ever bring their wives to the meetings?”

  Samuel Senior laughed, shook his head. “Oh,
sure. You should see all the heads turn when Allison Strang’s within the line of sight. Doesn’t seem to bother her, though. Always real nice, she is. Coach brings his wife from time to time, too. Makes sense I guess, being she’s vice principal now.” He paused, then added, “She’s not too bad looking herself, in my opinion.”

  Leah gave off an embarrassed groan. Lance looked at her and said, “If Allison Strang was there last night, she already knew—somehow—that I was in town, and she knew where I was. She convinced her husband to get your father to leave and come to the motel.” Lance paused, looked cautiously at Samuel Senior before saying, “I guess she could expect him not to welcome me with open arms if he found us together.”

  Samuel Senior grunted. “She was right.”

  Leah nodded as she processed Lance’s theory. Her daddy switched on the left blinker, an action Lance found incredibly odd considering they were on a desolate road with no sign of traffic—vehicular, pedestrian, or even animal. But at the same time, Lance commended the man’s commitment to safe driving habits. More people should follow his example.

  The man slowed the truck, and a gap in the trees presented itself, along with a large aluminum mailbox and a thick wooden post. Samuel Senior turned, splitting the gap with the truck, and the tires rumbled over a gravel driveway. A quarter mile later, the trees opened into a wide clearing, in the middle of which sat an old two-story farmhouse illuminated only by the truck’s headlights.

  The house might have been old, but it was well maintained. Even in the light of the headlamps, Lance thought the paint on the front porch bannisters and railings and shutters looked fresh. The grass was neatly trimmed, and an American flag jutted from the house next to the front door. It danced lazily in the night breeze.

  Samuel Senior pulled the truck alongside the house, parking it next to two large metal trash cans. Behind the trash cans was a large object covered in a plastic tarp. Lance studied it for a moment, guessed it to be a tractor. A large air-conditioning unit protruded from a window on the second story. A bedroom, Lance thought.