Powerlines

by Kurt Newton

"Saga —" Once again Kirsty stopped her friend, this time with a knee.

  "What? Oh, sorry, Lindsey. I'm stupid."

  Lindsey forced a smile. She shrugged her shoulders. "It's okay, Saga. You guys go. Thanks for this, really, but I need to go home now."

  A half hour later, Hayley dropped Lindsey at home. Maria was in the kitchen when Lindsey walked in.

  "Miss Lindsey, I was just leaving, but I can stay and make you something to eat. What do you want?" Maria put her pocket book back on the counter and grabbed her apron. But before she could tie it Lindsey said, "No thanks, Maria, I'm not hungry."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes, I'm sure. I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed. Goodnight, Maria."

  "Goodnight, Miss Lindsey." Maria gave her a motherly hug.

  Lindsey forced herself up the stairway to her bedroom. She had never felt so tired. She showered, letting the water wrap around her like a warm blanket. She tried not to think — about anything. The sound of the water provided a soothing backdrop. When she was finished in the bathroom, dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, her hair combed out, she noticed a serving tray sitting on her bed. On the tray were a turkey sandwich, milk and cookies. A note written in Maria's near-illegible script said, "In case you change your mind."

  Lindsey sat on the bed and took a bite of the sandwich. It had plenty of mayonnaise and salt and pepper, just the way she liked it. She realized she was hungrier than she thought and had eaten the entire sandwich and nearly all the cookies when her mother called to her.

  "Lindsey, honey, you're home?" There were footsteps on the stairs and soon Mrs. Richmond was at the door. Two knocks. "Hi, Sweety, can I come in?" The question was apparently rhetorical because Mrs. Richmond entered anyway. She moved the serving tray to the dresser and sat on the bed beside Lindsey. She grabbed Lindsey's hands. It was an awkward moment.

  "Now I know you loved this boy, Ethan, and it hurts to know he's never coming back. But God has plans for us that we'll never fully understand. We just have to accept what happens and trust it's for the best."

  Lindsey stared at her mother, then shook her head. "For the best? Mom, if you're trying to make me feel better that's not the way to do it."

  "Then tell me, honey. What is it you want me to say?"

  "I don't want you to say or do anything. There's nothing that can be said. Ethan's gone." Tears threatened to rush to the corners of her eyes but she fought them back. She didn't want her mother to see her cry.

  "Lindsey, honey, I made a call to Dr. Rappaport."

  "Why did you do that?"

  "In light of what has happened I thought you'd want to talk with someone about it."

  Lindsey got up. She could feel the anger welling up inside her. "Mom, thanks but I can handle this on my own."

  "Oh, honey, I didn't mean to upset you."

  "I'm not upset, Mom. I'm just tired. It's been a long day. I'm going to bed." Lindsey stood by the bedroom door and waited for her mother to leave. Her mother looked at her. At last, her mother got up, but before leaving her mother reached out and cupped her chin.

  "Goodnight, Sweety." Her mother's hand was cool to the touch.

  Lindsey closed the door. The house suddenly seemed very big. It was like she was stranded on a great big island and she and her mother were on opposite ends.

  Lindsey walked over to her bed. She lied down, hugging her pillow to her face. She reached up and shut off the lamp. The darkness poured in from outside. Outside her window, the moon floated high above the trees. Aside from the cricket noise, the intermittent sound of frogs calling out to their mates carried up from the pond through the window screen. It reminded Lindsey of the wetlands she passed while searching along the power lines. She thought of Ethan. It was very likely the two of them had walked that same path, had listened to those same sounds.

  She fell asleep dreaming of an endless field of high grass, walking beneath a warm sun, hand in hand with Ethan.

  26

  When he heard the knocks on the wall and his brother's voice, Ethan wasn't sure if he was dreaming again or if it was real.

  "Ethan, help me get this open."

  Ethan stared at the place in the wall where his brother's voice was coming from. The room had since been cleaned, the pile of refuse and feces put into plastic bags, the floor scrubbed with soap and water. A pine scent remained but it was now a byproduct of the floor cleaner he used. He wore a new pair of jeans, a clean shirt, some fresh underwear — all rewards for good behavior. A small porta-pottie sat in the corner where the pile of branches once lay. Pike had been good to him, even going as far as to provide a cot for him to sleep on.

  "Don't just sit there. Help."

  He heard muffled grunts behind the wall as if his brother was exerting himself.

  "Where? I don't —"

  "Over here, numbnuts. Put your hand on the wall. When you feel my knock, that's where I want you to push."

  Ethan slipped off his cot and crouched against the wall beside it. For the first time, he didn't wince. The bandage across his shoulder had since been removed, replaced by a smaller adhesive square. His wounds had healed. The lump on his head was also gone. He put his hand flat against the cool cement.

  A knock.

  It was close. A few inches to the left. Ethan moved his hand. "Okay, do it again."

  Another knock.

  This time it was just above his fingertips. "Okay, I got it."

  "Push, little brother, push."

  Ethan placed both hands over the spot. It felt soft like putty. He pushed. To his amazement, the wall gave and a square about three feet across pushed inward, pivoting in the middle. Ethan stared into an adjacent room, which looked exactly like his own, a mirror image. It was empty. He heard a shuffling by his side and a hand tapped him on the shoulder.

  "Thanks, little brother."

  James had squeezed through the other half of the two-way doorway. He was dressed in fatigues. He sat on the edge of the cot.

  "Nice digs. Hey, better close that before someone sees." James nodded to the camera nesting in the corner above.

  Ethan looked up at the dark globe near the ceiling and pushed on the opposite side of the doorway. It swung shut with a solid shunk. He ran his hand over the wall. There was no visible seam.

  "It's a trick door. Don't think too hard about it," said James.

  Ethan sat on the floor his back against the wall. He stared at his brother. "How did they catch you?"

  "It's a long story. I just want to thank you for answering the good doctor's questions and doing what you're told. You saved my life, little brother."

  James let his attention roam about the room. He looked bored. "Nice digs."

  "You said that already," said Ethan.

  "Sorry. I guess I'm not a big conversationalist."

  "How's Mom?"

  "She's fine. Your funeral's tomorrow."

  "What?"

  "When they couldn't find you, they declared you dead. They didn't waste any time."

  "How long has it been?"

  "Long enough."

  "And Lindsey?"

  "Lindsey? She's not doing very well. She thinks she's okay, but she's really not. She misses you."

  Ethan didn't know whether to cry or just close his eyes and hope what he was experiencing was all a bad dream. He closed his eyes anyway.

  "Do you remember what I told you?" said James.

  Ethan opened his eyes. "About what?"

  "About you know who." James glanced at the camera.

  Ethan tried to remember. Something about lowering his guard. Or was it Pike? He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he and James just break out? Maybe there were other soft spots in the walls where secret doors hid. Maybe they could just push their way out into the night and walk home together.

  "C'mon, little brother. Want me to refresh your memory?"

  "Wait for the right situation...catch the enemy off guard...then strike."

  "Wow, he pulled that one out of his ass! Okay,
then." James looked across the room at the main entrance. "Time for me to go." James got up off the cot and crouched down beside Ethan. He pushed on the wall and the door reopened. He crawled through. After a moment, he poked his head back out. "See you on the other side," he said, and was gone. The secret door shut after him.

  Ethan stared at the surface of the wall that was only inches away. He couldn't imagine a seam so fine it was invisible. Across the room the main door opened. Ethan's heart jumped in his chest. He hadn't seen Pike and Wolf since that first day. He froze against the wall.

  Pike and Wolf walked into the room. Pike wore headphones. Wolf wandered away, sniffing into corners, while Pike walked over to the cot. There was a person lying on the cot. To his amazement, Ethan saw that it was himself. He was asleep. Although he was sitting right there.

  He watched Pike lean over him. Pike held a remote in his hand. It was a different remote than the one he used on Wolf. He placed the remote alongside the metallic ring around Ethan-in-the-bed's neck and pushed a button. Ethan-against-the-wall felt a tickling sensation around his neck, but when he reached up to feel for the ring, it was missing.

  He definitely was asleep. But it didn't stop the sensation. In fact, the sensation became more pronounced, more like a pressure against his Adam's apple. He was suddenly choking. He clawed at his neck, raking bloody tracks down his skin with his fingernails. He couldn't breathe. He tried to cry out. That's when Pike looked up. Pike stared directly at him.

  That's when everything went black.

  Ethan sprung up from the cot gasping for air.

  He expected to see blood on his fingertips, but his hands were clean. He took a deep breath.

  The room was empty, but something was different. The sound. The walls no longer hummed.

  He reached for the ring around his neck. When he touched it he felt a tiny vibration, like a tuning fork, that wasn't there before.

  He got up off the cot and crouched down by the wall. He felt for soft spots, but there were none.

  He knocked on the wall and waited.

  "James?"

  He knocked again, harder this time. Still no answer.

  "James!"

  He slammed his fist into the wall and pain shot up his wrist into his elbow. He collapsed on the floor and sobbed, holding his arm against his chest.

  "Don't worry, James, I'll remember. I promise."

  27

  Tuesday, July 15th.

  The morning started off foggy, a sign that by nine o'clock the sun would break through and bake all the moisture from the air. So far the summer had been dry and hot. It was silly to expect it to any different on the day of Ethan's funeral.

  But, for Lindsey, it did feel different. While her friends were on their way to the beach, she was preparing to attend a funeral. She wore the same clothes she wore to the wake. Her black shoes hurt her feet but it was a small amount of pain compared to the pain Ethan must have endured. Dark sunglasses. A black hair band kept her blonde hair out of her face. She even had a small black Patten leather purse. She looked every bit the grieving widow.

  The burial was at eleven. She arrived fifteen minutes early. She was one of just a handful that had arrived before the procession. The director of the Potter Funeral Home was there, inspecting the job his men had done. The grave edges had been lined with green carpet. The lowering apparatus was in place. The mound of dirt alongside the grave was also draped with green carpet. Funeral home flower arrangements sat at the head of the grave. This was where the priest would stand to perform his burial speech. Lindsey's experience with her father's funeral had prepared her for the somber spectacle. She loitered by the plot. The same plot Ethan's brother, James, was buried in. In fact, James' grave was now mounded with dirt and blanketed by green carpet, the forgotten hero, remembered only by a bronze placard declaring his service to his country. The plot was in the new section of the cemetery where headstones were no longer allowed. The ground was littered with a haphazard mosaic of place markers and plaques. There were no bushes or trees to use as landmarks to locate loved ones. Everything lay out in the open with no protection from the sun or the rain or the winter snow. At the entrance to the cemetery, a sign announced that baskets and knick-knacks were removed at the end of every month. Lindsey was sure the older dead in the cemetery, whose headstones sat hugged by juniper bushes or lorded over by tall cedar trees, were envied by those buried in the open sun and completely hidden by snow in winter.

  The cars on Route 6 rushed by without a care. Lindsey nodded to the people who were there. She didn't know any of them. She didn't think any were Ethan's relatives. Sometimes she wondered if there were people who just showed up at funerals for something to do. Something to mourn. Something to feel a part of. It was like that at her father's funeral. She saw people there she had never seen before in her life.

  At five minutes before eleven, led by a long black hearse, the procession of cars pulled through the cemetery gate. They threaded their way along the narrow lanes and pulled up close to the burial site. Lindsey watched as the male members of Ethan's family, cousins and uncles, removed the casket from the hearse and brought it over to the plot. Meanwhile, the priest made his way to the head of the grave. The twenty or so people assembled formed a makeshift circle. A folding chair was brought for Ethan's mother, who sat flanked by her sisters. The priest began.

  As the priest spoke of youth taken too soon and the grace of God and for all eternity, Lindsey glanced around at what could have been her family. Most were dressed as best as they could afford. If black wasn't in the closet, blue would do. Some of the men wore sneakers, some wore print shirts. The women were equally mismatched; hair pinned or tied up, makeup noticeably applied. Some of the women stared at Lindsey. Some whispered in the ears of the women beside them, their eyes darting in Lindsey's direction. Lindsey felt like an outsider. Who was this rich girl crashing our poor Ethan's funeral? It was a world Lindsey had not been introduced to. When they began dating, Ethan's brother James had just died, and together they attended a relative's wedding, but that was the extent of their family's interaction. She realized then that she had only known Ethan for a little over six months. But for her it felt as if she had known him all her life.

  She turned away from the coffin and the stares, and looked across the cemetery grounds. A black car sat parked on one of the far lanes where trees provided some shade. It was a nice car, an expensive-looking car. It had not been part of the procession. Inside sat two men dressed in dark suits. The men wore dark sunglasses. Something about the men and the car made Lindsey uncomfortable. She looked to see if anyone else had noticed the car.

  Everyone was focused on the coffin, which was now being lowered into the ground. People began stepping forward to drop flowers into the grave. Lindsey again looked to toward the black car.

  It was gone.

  She looked toward the entrances, past shoulders and heads. She had to step out of the crowd to see. At the nearer entrance there was nothing. At the far entrance she barely caught a glimpse of the car before it passed through the twin stone columns. The rear license plate was white and black and didn't appear to have the standard lettering. She heard the squeal of tires as the car joined the traffic on Route 6.

  "Hey, who are you?"

  "Yeah, what's your name?"

  A hand tapped her on the shoulder.

  Lindsey turned to face two girls. Ethan's cousins? Schoolmates? Lindsey could only guess.

  "Lindsey Richmond. Why?" said Lindsey.

  "You were Ethan's girlfriend, right? Why'd you let him go on that hike?"

  "Yeah, why didn't you go with him?"

  "I don't know," said Lindsey. "Ethan wanted to go alone."

  "Pandeja!"

  "Blanca puta!"

  "Hey! I understand Spanish."

  "So? Whatcha gonna do about it?" The girl's neck weaved like a cobra dancing before a snake charmer.

  "Yeah, rich bitch." Which was pronounced more like "reech beech."

 
; By now the two girls were nudging closer and closer. Lindsey took a step back. She couldn't believe this was happening.

  "Got something to say?" the first one asked.

  Lindsey turned and headed for her car. She was shaking.

  "Yeah, I thought so."

  "Run home to daddy."

  Lindsey stopped. She turned and faced them. She took off her glasses. The two girls stood their ground.

  "First off, my father's dead. Second, I loved Ethan. I would have given my life for him. I didn't want him to go but he went anyways. What was I supposed to do?"

  It was either the way Lindsey's voice rose and everything came to a dead silence, or it was the genuine tears in her eyes and the look of utter heartbreak on her face, but the girls' attitudes changed. They looked at the ground embarrassed.

  "Okay," one said. "Sorry," said the other. They both then turned and joined the crowd.

  Lindsey put her glasses back on and walked to her car. It was the loneliest walk she had ever taken.

  Driving home she had forgotten about the black car at the cemetery. Not until she passed a state police cruiser that had pulled over a driver did she remember what she had seen. The car at the cemetery felt different. It was the same feeling she got when she saw a limousine or a diplomat's vehicle or even a hearse; they carried an air of sophistication and duty. Only the car at the cemetery carried something a little more unsettling. It was as if the men inside were on a stake out, watching...monitoring the funeral.

  But why?

  It could be totally unconnected, thought Lindsey. Maybe one of Ethan's relatives was involved in some illegal activity and the men were there for that reason.

  But why would they leave when she spotted them?

  Maybe that was the point. They wanted Lindsey to see them. They wanted Lindsey to know they were watching.

  Lindsey couldn't wrap her head around the incident. It didn't make sense.

  But then none of what had happened to Ethan made sense.

  There was blood but no body. Not even a drag mark. And where the hell did his backpack go? She was pretty sure animals had no use for bug spray or underwear.