by Matt King
August could only nod to show he was listening. When that didn't spur Ray on, he broke down and said something to interrupt the silence. “I think I might've missed something.”
“What I'm saying is that I've been around my fair share of bullshit. I know it when I see it, or in your case, when I hear it.”
“You're not buying the great, great grandfather story?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, but can I make a suggestion? You need to work on your analogies. The whole cow thing and wearing boots out in the fields... You lost me.”
“The bulls shit a lot, Mr. Dillon. They never talked much about analogies.”
For a moment, they shared a laugh. Ray cut his short, making it clear he was done waiting for answers.
August rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I don't exactly know how to explain why I'm here. I could try, but I don't even know where to begin.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because you won't believe me,” he replied. “No sane man would.” He sat his glass of tea on the table and turned it in a circle so that the sun caught the etchings in the glass. He positioned it until the light shone like a star.
“Are you here to do anything illegal?” Ray asked.
“No.”
“Have any malice toward me or Bear?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Are you on the run from the cops, or any other government agency?”
From the way he said the word government, August thought he might not mind so much if he said he was. “No,” he answered instead. But I wish it were only cops chasing me.
Ray sat back and studied him. “Maybe we can work out an arrangement, you and me.”
“What kind of arrangement?”
“Two days. Give me two days of work and then you promise to tell me the truth at the end of it, no matter how crazy it sounds.”
August tried not to glance out the window at the acres of endless work potential. “That doesn't sound too bad.”
“Well then, I think you've got yourself a deal.”
Ray took a long sip of his tea before grabbing his cane to walk back to the kitchen. He started to whistle.
“So...that's it?”
“That's it.”
“I can stay?”
“Don't act so surprised, Mr. Dillon. Didn't you know we Southerners are famous for our unending hospitality?”
“I thought you'd need more convincing, that's all.”
“My momma had a philosophy,” Ray said. “Life ain’t nothing if you’re not taking chances. I think I inherited that way of thinking myself.”
“I guess it doesn't hurt that you have someone like Bear around while you're taking these chances.”
“No,” Ray replied with a smile. “I suppose it doesn't.”
“Everything okay in here, Daddy?” August wasn't sure how it was possible, but Bear managed to walk in the back door without anyone hearing him.
“Things are just fine. Mr. Dillon here was just relaxing a bit before we put him to work.”
August coughed as he took another drink.
“Work?” Bear said. “What work?”
“Farm work, son.”
“We don't need help with the farm.”
“Speak for yourself.” Ray took the plate of bacon by the stove and stuck it in the fridge. “The clutch on the tractor is a little tough for me to deal with these days.”
“I'll take a look at it. Shouldn't need more than a little grease to make things better.”
“What it needs is a younger leg pushing it,” Ray replied.
“It's okay,” August said. “I don't mind helping out.”
Bear ignored him. “Daddy, are you sure about this?”
“Sure as I'm ever gonna be. Mr. Dillon and I have agreed to a two-day trial, of sorts. If he works out, maybe I can talk him out of this crazed idea he has about finding work among the polar bears and bring him on with us. Sorta like an apprentice.”
For the first time since he came inside, Bear looked at August. It wasn't the type of look that welcomed someone into their home.
“Bear, can you see to it that our new friend settles in? I was thinking the room above the barn would suit him all right.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ray tapped his cane on the hardwoods and turned for the door, raising his glass in a farewell salute. He whistled the opening bars to “Strangers in the Night” as he ascended the stairs.
August tapped his fingers on the table under the silent watch of Bear. He did his best to avoid eye contact. “Well,” he said. “Good thing this isn't awkward.”
“Let's go,” Bear replied. He motioned for August to follow. “Far be it from me to tell Daddy who his house guests should be.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
“Do you have any other bags or is this it?” August's camping pack looked like a duffel bag in Bear's hand.
“That's it for me, boss man. I'm a light traveler.”
“Not so light you forgot a change of clothes, I hope.”
“All except for the jeans. Speaking of, I don’t suppose you know how to sew, do you?”
Bear snorted. As he started walking toward the back door, August took stock of his situation. You should've asked for two weeks, he thought. Or two months. This guy is never going to believe you.
“You coming?” Bear asked.
“Yeah, I’m coming. Right behind you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Only an overflowing well of pride kept August from falling on his face as he approached the stairs to the barn. After seven hours of tilling dirt, he wondered again why he was given immortality without an endless supply of stamina to go with it. Seemed like an obvious flaw in the plan. He made a mental note to complain about it to Meryn next time she appeared out of nowhere.
Ray sat on a bench next to the railing. He held a thick branch in one hand and a whittling knife in the other. He took a long glance at August over his reading glasses.
“Long day?” he asked.
“Nah. I just get a little…chest thing whenever I'm around so much dust.”
“Oh, I see.” Ray returned to his whittling. “Dinner'll be ready in about twenty minutes or so. Hope you don't mind ham and greens.”
“Love 'em,” August replied. He had no idea what greens were and didn't care. He concentrated his efforts on the stairs.
“You’ll want to be careful with that shower. It's tricky.”
“Yep. Okay. Got it.”
The bathroom smelled like it hadn't seen a draft of fresh air in decades, just like everything else in the barn's overhead apartment. August reached behind the shower curtain to start the water and it wasn't long until steam billowed over the top. He stripped off his clothes, tossing them in a pile by the sink. All he could think about was how nice it would be to douse his body in hot water.
He stuck a foot in and howled.
Taking a shower wasn’t supposed to be a test of his healing abilities. It took a dozen tries before he found the right balance of hot and cold thanks to faucet handles that turned like pinwheels. Once he got it tolerable enough, he stepped into the tub slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements that might send the faucets spinning.
He let the water fall over him. How long had it been since he'd had a good shower? Too long. It was a delicacy he wouldn't soon get tired of. He introduced an initial dose of soap to his dirty blond hair, now even dirtier thanks to a day in the fields. The sweat-matted rat’s nest rejected his first attempt. He left it to soak and closed his eyes.
A floorboard creaked in the bedroom.
“Ray?” August called out. No one answered. He reached for his towel and accidentally bumped into the handles, sending a cascade of freezing water down his back. He mouthed obscenities as he scrambled to turn them off.
The boards creaked again.
“Bear, is that you?”
Tying a towel around his waist, he pushed open the door to let the light spread into the
bedroom. His bag was lying on the floor, but not where he left it. This is it. Coburn found me.
A hand came sweeping out of the darkness, clasping his windpipe. August barely had enough time to grab the arm before he was off the ground and shoved back against the bathroom wall. His feet dangled above the tile floor.
“Bear,” he managed to spit out. “The hell are you doing?”
“Explain this,” Bear said. He held up August's picture of the bus station massacre. If he was straining to keep him in the air, it didn’t show.
“Can't...talk.”
After lowering him to the floor, Bear released his chokehold while keeping August pinned to the wall with a forearm. “Did you do this?”
“No, I—”
Bear pulled him away from the wall and slammed him back.
“I swear!” August said. His head was already pounding from the blow. “Jesus. Can I talk to the good cop now?”
“I'm only going to ask one more time and if I don't like what I hear, I'm gonna throw you through that window.” Bear's torso eclipsed the overhead light, hiding his face in shadows. “Did you do it?”
“Relax, for chrissake. I told you, no.”
“I heard about this on the news. Serial killer or something. People like that have a thing for keeping pictures of their victims.”
“Look, it's not like that, okay?”
“You just waltz in here off the tracks and expect me to believe you?”
“I know, I know. It looks bad, but I promise I have a good reason for keeping it.”
“I sure hope so.” Bear pressed harder with his forearm.
August took a shallow breath before starting his story. “There’s this guy, or thing, they’re calling ‘Gemini.’ He’s the one that killed those people, not me. I've been trying to find him ever since he started.”
“You a Fed?”
“No, I'm more of a... Well, it's hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
“I’m a contractor. Used to be, anyway. I find people.”
“And what are you gonna do if you find him?”
“Kill him,” August replied. He felt a certain satisfaction in saying the words, and Bear must've seen it in his face because he tightened his grip.
“We don’t have people like that around here,” he said.
“I didn't come here for him. I came here because I was told I had to find you first.”
Bear glared at him for a moment. With a quickness August didn't think possible for someone his size, he yanked him off the wall and carried him across the bathroom, slamming him face-first through the window’s screen and onto the sill.
“Ow!”
“I warned you.”
“You didn’t give me time to explain!”
“You can explain on your way down.”
August craned his neck. “Look, you can throw me through here if you want to, Bear, and I’m not gonna lie—it’ll hurt. But it won’t kill me. I’ll heal.”
“Shut up.”
“It's not going to kill me because I'm immortal,” August said. “And so are you.”
Bear stopped pushing. His grip loosened around August’s arm.
“Oh, thank god. Man, for a minute there, I thought you were really going to…Whoa, wait a second!”
Bear edged him out farther until his shoulders hung over the ground.
“Look, just bring me back inside, okay? We can talk about what's going on.”
“What's going on is that I have a hobo staying above our barn with a picture of a bunch of dead people in his pocket and he's not telling me why.”
“That picture's why I'm here. I need you to help me find it.”
“It?”
“Him. It. Whatever. I think it's a guy. Could be a ball of gas for all I know.”
Bear leaned into him. “You're not making sense.”
“It’s hard to explain without sounding like a crazy person. Something really bad is about to happen and this Gemini thing is at the center of it. I carry that picture around to remind me of what’s at stake.”
Bear lifted his arm off of August's back. August took a long breath to celebrate. He pulled himself back into the bathroom.
Outside, a rusty screen door flexed on its hinges. A bell rang twice.
“You guys have a dinner bell?”
Bear lowered the picture without taking his eyes off of August. “You told Daddy two days,” he said. “You can stay until then, but after that you're gone, no matter what he says. If he wants you to stay, you make an excuse to leave.”
“I told you, I came here for you. I'm not supposed to go without—”
“Hush!” Bear yelled. The loudness of his voice seemed to unsettle him. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. “No more of that.”
He ducked through the bathroom doorway, leaving August holding the picture in his hand.
“Smooth,” August said after the door to the apartment clanged shut. “You really nailed that one, Dillon.”
■ ■ ■
“It's cornbread, son,” Ray said as they sat around the table. “You put butter on it and eat it just like anything else.”
“Cornbread,” August repeated. He prodded the yellow square with his fork. “Looks like cake to me.”
“I got some icing for it if it'll make you feel better.”
“No, no. That's okay. Butter’s fine.”
“Wise choice.”
They sat beneath a narrow cone of yellow light around the dining room table. Maybe it was their way of making things cozy, but to August, it felt like he was being interrogated. They passed around the food dishes until everyone had a plateful. The smell was driving him wild. It didn't matter that he hadn't heard of half of the things in front of him. Compared to the string of nights spent eating canned peaches and vending machine pretzels, it was like sitting down to a royal feast. He picked up the slice of cornbread and had half of it eaten before he noticed Bear and Ray staring at him.
“Wha a-mattah?” he asked. A crumb fell from his overstuffed mouth.
“Nothing a few prayers won't fix,” Ray said. “We need to say the blessing first if you don't mind, August.”
“Mmhnn,” he mumbled in reply. He swallowed quickly. “Sorry about that.”
Ray took Bear's hand and bowed his head. “Dear Lord, we thank you for this day and for this feast.”
I'll be a lot more thankful when I can eat it. August watched a car's headlights move along the highway through the window. According to Ray, the Lawsons were pioneers in wind-powered air conditioning, which sounded impressive until he realized that it consisted solely of opening every window in the house. The see-through fabric of the curtains billowed as a gust of wind came through the dining room. He could see the grove of trees in the front yard in fleeting glimpses.
“And thank you for bringing us August Dillon,” Ray continued. “Love him and keep him...”
Something moved outside the window.
A single orange orb appeared next to one of the trees. The light blinked. Like an eye. He reached behind his head on reflex for swords that were back in the barn. When the next gust of wind parted the curtains, the eye was gone. He told himself it was probably nothing. A car's high beams reflected in leaves, maybe. Or it might've been a cat.
“In your name we pray…”
The light reappeared just as Ray finished his prayer. The orb moved to the side, revealing a second orange glow beside it. They were eyes. He was sure of it this time. But what kind of animal had orange eyes?
“Amen,” Ray concluded. He smiled and took up his fork. “You want me to shut that window? It's getting a little breezy through here.”
“No, thanks.”
Another pair of eyes streaked toward the fields.
August wiped his mouth on his napkin. “In fact, I think I'm going to head back to the room.”
“What's the matter?” Ray asked. “If it's the food, I'm sure I can fix something else.”
Bear glared at him.
<
br /> “It's not that. I just need to lie down for a few minutes. I think maybe the work took more out of me than I thought it did.”
“You sure?”
August nodded and stood up from the table.
“Just watch that you don't miss the toilet if you get sick. It ain't the widest thing on Earth.”
“I probably just need some sleep. Thanks again for the cake and the, uh…green stuff.”
He could feel their eyes on him as he left the room. He only hoped that Bear wouldn't follow out of suspicion. He made it to the porch door and paused, listening for the sound of heavy footsteps coming after him. Back in the dining room, Bear and Ray were clinking forks on their plates as they carried on with dinner. August stepped outside and headed toward the room above the barn. With any luck, Bear had only gone through his jacket and not his bag. He needed the swords inside.
Keeping an eye to the fields, he climbed the barn stairs. Just before he went through the door, he was sure he saw a few of the corn stalks move. His instinct was to run out and meet them head on. Not yet, he told himself. Wait. Make sure you know what you're dealing with first.
He took up watch in his apartment, alternating between checking the front windows and the bathroom. After three hours with no sign of his orange-eyed friends, he finally decided it was safe to check things out. The Lawsons were probably asleep. The whole house was dark except for a single light shining above the stove in the kitchen. His bag was tucked away beside the mattress, close to where he could reach it during the night. He shed his jacket and pulled open the cover of his backpack, where his blades rested in their sheaths. It felt good to hold the handles again. The grips were oversized in length with a groove cut into the bottom. He slid the grooved ends together and locked them in place with a hard turn. The finished sword staff was nearly five feet long. He tested the release button. The two parts separated with a spring action.