by Paul Sating
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It never does.”
She sighed, the invisible force of motherhood clamping on the shackles. “So, you think she’s right?”
Mitzie’s mouth twitched. “I think your mother is doing what she thinks is best.”
Serenity hadn’t come here for non-answers.
“But,” Mitzie continued, and Serenity perked up, “I also can understand where you’re coming from. Lord as my witness, I’ll go to my grave never being able to explain that thing to someone. I’ve lived through a lot--Vietnam, racism, women being treated like less-than…even an asshole for a husband. But nothing in life prepared me for that.” She offered her hand. Serenity took it, finding the immediate comfort she previously had. “Dear, I know you want answers. A lot of us do. But keep in mind that your mother wasn’t there. She’s never seen that terrible creature, and people fear what they don’t know. Fear what it might become if they learn more about it. Because, then it’s real. Then they have to deal with it.”
“But you do, you want to know more, right?”
Mitzie barked a laugh, her chest jumping forward as if thrust from behind. “I can’t say that I do, if I’m completely being honest. I go back and forth between wanting to understand what we saw because it is out there and wanting to live the rest of my days right here in the comfort of air conditioning and wonderful cinnamon tea.”
Mitzie watched her over the top of her teacup as she took another sip of said tea. “She’s ridiculously protective.”
“As is a mother’s right, sweetie.”
Serenity shook her head. “She can’t protect me forever.”
A slow smile spread across Mitzie’s face. “Which is why she’s doing this now.”
Serenity was about to argue, about to tell the older woman how wrong she was, but Mitzie interrupted her with a sigh filled with patience.
“I did the same. It’s easy to get lost in regret and longing when your children are about to go into the world on their own. It goes fast.” Her voice dropped. “Too fast. Mine were pooping in their diapers one day and applying at colleges the next. They were growing up, and I was losing control. Then they were gone. Just like that. It’s worse at the end. Where you are now, heading to the last few months of school. Adventures, exciting and new, await you, and children lose sight of the fact that their parents aren’t moving forward. We see it coming, as you do. We just aren’t looking forward to it like you are. So, we cling. Become over-protective.”
“Suffocate,” Serenity added.
Mitzie refreshed her tea, dropping in too many sugar cubes than was healthy. What she didn’t do was provide insight or advice.
“But Patch is harmless,” Serenity said, trying to make sure she didn’t sound like a whining brat.
“When we’re in the middle of the storm, we don’t always see what the cold rain will do. Would you like more?”
“Oh, no, I’m good. Thank you.”
“Serenity, I’ve lived here my entire life. I don’t know everything, and most definitely don’t know Patch any more than what I’ve seen just being around town. If he’s a problem, he never was to me. We never interacted. If he’s crazy, I can’t say. But I’ve heard rumors, just rumors, mind you. Could be small town talk, but there also might be something behind them. You believe this guy is on the up-and-up?”
“I do.”
“So, what happens next? Will your mother come around or…”
“I doubt it,” Serenity replied. “She’s pretty stubborn. If you could have seen her face. She was serious about turning him in so she could get her way.” Serenity released a frustrated sigh. “If something bad happens, I won’t forgive her for that.”
“What do you plan to do?”
Serenity played with the tea cup. “I don’t know what I can do. She’ll be watching me like a hawk, so it’s not like I can get away, not even when she’s at her night job. She’ll have nosy neighbors watching the house.”
“And now?”
”I’m supposed to be in a study group at the library.”
“So…” The older woman tapped a finger on the edge of her cup. “She thinks you’re at school? How long would you normally be there?”
“A few hours.”
Mitzie surprised her by shooting to her feet to clear the table. Serenity watched for a moment before helping.
“I’m sorry, I hope I didn’t hold you up from anything important,” she said.
“Not at all, sweetie. I wanted to put this away before we head out.”
“We…what?”
“Before we go find this old man and see what he has to tell us…without your mother interfering.” Mitzie’s smile was one of youthful disobedience.
Serenity followed Mitzie into the orderly kitchen decorated in the most obnoxious yellow wallpaper she’d ever seen. It had to be older than she was. “I…I don’t understand.”
Tea cups and platters in the sink, Mitzie walked toward the front room, calling over her shoulder. “Just let me grab my keys and purse and we’ll head out. Oh, and please don’t be coy. You want to hear what this Patch has to say as badly as I do, so let’s not waste time pretending this isn’t exactly what you want to do.”
Serenity closed the space between them. “But…why? Why are you willing to help?”
Mitzie stopped, her purse dangling from her hand. “Because I was there. I saw that beast and what it can do. And, well, there’s another reason.” Mitzie turned, giving Serenity a profile view and pulled her gray hair up.
The tag was unmistakable.
“Now,” the older woman said, “let’s find Patch.”
12
The hum of tires rolling over blacktop filled Serenity’s head with its dull, soothing drone. Even if the relief was temporary, she welcomed it.
Mitzie left the radio tuned to a station that preferred talking to music. The DJs talked politics, local news—which wasn’t local to Rotisserie or the Tri-Counties—and sports, lots of sports. Not a single mention of Lance Webster. But, it was a Phoenix station, a world away, even if its radio signals could be picked up, and the small blotch on the map known as the Tri-Counties wasn’t likely a priority to city people.
The town passed in a blur, house after indistinguishable house reflecting the personality of their owners, of the town they called home, not making a mark on the world. So uniform, so similar. Just like every day. So on and so on. It didn’t get prettier the further they drove, passing a heating and cooling business, its side-lot populated by dead work vans, alternated sides with a plumbing and maintenance shop. Last, was the massive junkyard, where seemingly every car to ever drive a Tri-Counties’ road spent its eternity, marring an already repulsive landscape.
Serenity sighed.
“You think he’ll be there?” Mitzie’s question broke her cloud of pessimism.
“The truck stop? I’m not sure, but I don’t know where else to look. The staff is familiar with him, so maybe one of them knows where he is. I’m guessing if we start there, we’ve got a good chance.” It wasn’t luck with him. Patch had a sense of where to be and when to be there. “I have a feeling he’ll know we’re looking for him.”
They drove in silence until the truck stop popped into view. “Pull in there.” Serenity pointed to the back of the parking lot, opposite the spot where just last night, her mother humiliated her.
“Now what?” Mitzie asked, leaning out of the car door, letting in a wall of hot air. Waves of dust circled her leg.
“Hungry?”
“You know.” Mitzie tapped the steering wheel, scrunching her face. “I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten here in all my life. Let’s try it. I’m buying.”
Serenity cackled. “Deal.”
They entered the diner and scanned for Patch. Old grease was heavy in the air. Three patrons, two of whom sat at the same table, quietly consumed their meals. No Patch.
Serenity swept an arm toward one of the many open booths. They took a seat and wait
ed. Serenity glanced at the meal options, not in the least bit hungry, hoping for Patch to show up before she had to choose, or worse, eat.
Thankfully, they didn’t wait long. A chime from the bell hanging over the front door disturbed the quiet. Patch’s eyes met hers and Serenity’s world settled. His lips turned up in a sorrowful smile before he gave a slight wave and chatted up the waitress.
“Is that him?” Mitzie whispered from behind her menu.
Serenity nodded, sitting up straighter as if expecting something.
Patch made his way to the table and struggled to wedge into the booth. The cracks on his face deepened. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Don’t. My mother has the problem, not you, not me.”
“Who is your friend?” Patch indicated Mitzie with a warm smile.
“Patch, I’d like you to meet Mitzie. She’s a friend. And she’s been tagged.”
Serenity didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn't what she saw. Patch betrayed no emotion. He nodded once.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m sorry about the circumstances," he said, before turning his attention on her.
“Three of us have been now. Three, Patch.”
The old man’s eyes drooped. Before Serenity could even guess his thoughts, he said, “I’m sure everyone at that tragic event was tagged. That’s the frightening thing about the Screecher; it’s pretty indiscriminate when its survival is threatened.”
“Everyone?” Mitzie set down her menu, any hunger forgotten.
“Did Serenity explain what you’re facing?” Patch measured Mitzie.
“Yes, she did.”
Serenity noted a hint of cautiousness to Mitzie’s tone.
“Then you know you're in danger? You understand this creature wants to kill you?”
Mitzie didn’t even flinch. “That doesn’t need explaining. But, yes, she explained everything the best she could. To be honest, I’m still shaken and trying to make sense of it all.”
“It does need explaining,” Patch said, then asked Serenity. “Have you given any thought to what I said last night?”
“I want to know everything, Patch,” Serenity said. “My mother may think she’s doing right by me but she’s not willing to face what’s going on. She's not even trying. She’d rather pretend everything is sunshine and rainbows yet turn around and complain when she gets poured on.”
“I like that analogy, young lady.” Patch coughed before turning serious. “She just be worried, and I know my appearance don’t do much to make her feel better. Mothers enjoy mothering. That’s all she was doing and if’n I was in her position, I might be acting the same. Not wanting to disrespect her either, but I need to help you. All of you. Have you heard the latest?”
“I’m not sure,” Serenity answered.
Patch’s eyes dance around the diner. “It appears the sheriff has rounded up quite the posse. Armed, of course. Going to look for the Screecher. They gathered at the sheriff’s parking lot this morning.”
That was bad. Real bad. “Patch, we have to stop them. They don’t know what they’re doing! They will get themselves killed!”
“It’s too late. I told the sheriff he was leading those men to certain death, but a drawback of being the town bum is that no one cares about what I have to say. As things are in the Tri-Counties, especially here in Rotisserie, they was always going to do what they was always going to do anyway.”
How much death did this small town need to experience before people understood? She could chew nails right now.
Patch reached across the table and patted her hand in that grandfatherly way. “People ignore any information they don’t take a liking to because it scares them. Delivering a message like this takes a certain type of person, and I ain't it. Wasn’t surprised when they told me to get lost.”
Mitzie covered her mouth with a shaking hand. “They'll get killed. I saw that thing. What it can do.”
Patch nodded even before she finished.
“Then we do like Serenity said. We stop them,” Mitzie said.
“You can try but it ain't gonna happen.” Patch took a napkin from the metal holder spotted with tiny flakes of rust. He wiped at a dried spot of coffee for longer than needed. “Here’s the thing; there’s a lot going on that has to do with you, Serenity. Things you can’t be ignoring. Things you need to be worrying about instead.”
Serenity balled her hands into fists. When she spoke, her voice sounded like it was emanating from rusted pipes. “We can’t just sit here and let those people endanger themselves.”
“That’s if they find it. If that thing don’t want to be found, it won’t be.”
“I found it.”
Patch conceded. “By accident. Unfortunate. I’m not sure why the Screecher didn’t sense you coming long before you saw it. Still trying to figure that out. Point is, that’s not how it typically acts, else it wouldn’t have gone unnoticed in the desert for generations.”
“So, what do we do?” Mitzie asked. “Please tell me we don’t just sit here?”
Patch shook his head. “You being there won’t change a thing. If the Screecher decides it doesn’t want a group of armed men roaming across its territory, it will attack.” Patch balled his hand, pounding it into the palm of his other. “You need to be doing other things.”
“Like what?” Serenity asked louder than needed, drawing attention. Serenity bit her bottom lip to stop the real comments she wanted to make about Patch’s dismissal of this party of men in the desert.
“We’re going to meet a dear friend of mine. Care to drive?”
13
Oven air wheezed through the window Serenity had been forced to roll down from the smell emanating from the back seat. Mitzie had her own window cracked despite having the air conditioning fan turned to its highest setting. Serenity excused her actions by saying she wasn’t feeling well and needed fresh air.
“Get your rest, you’ll need it for what lies ahead.” Patch tugged his crumbling brown jacket tighter.
Mitzie took directions from the backseat passenger without comment, not that there were many to give. The Tri-Counties, like its people, was simple. Serenity had enough questions to fill a cross-country drive and without her mother around, now was the perfect time to ask. “So, how do you always know where to be?”
Sounds of sliding over upholstery came from the back seat, then a groan, and finally, an answer. “The tag. I can sense others.”
“Who’ve been tagged?”
“Yes.”
Patch wasn’t offering much.
Serenity turned to face him, holding her breath. “How?”
“I can just feel it, Serenity,” Patch said. “Not all, but a lot of us can.”
“Not me. I can’t sense anyone, not even Jerrod. I didn’t know Mitzie had been tagged until an hour ago. But you found me that night at the sheriff’s department. You knew about the volunteer event before we made it back into Rotisserie.”
"Well, that tragedy was called in by someone in your party. Even though the County Tribune hasn’t bothered with it, word spread at the diner when a trucker friend overheard the deputies on the radio. There’s only one way into town from out there, so it wasn’t hard.”
“And when Jerrod and I were at the Scales? How did you know about that?”
A pause. “I just—”
“Sensed it?” She finished for him.
He met her gaze. “It gets stronger, easier to notice the people who’ve been tagged. Live long as I’ve done, and you kinda get a sense for where they are, even if’n you’re not near them.” Patch looked out the window, falling silent. The strain of memories was evident when he continued. “You will too, Serenity. Over time. And you’ll be able to help.”
He scratched at his spotty beard, following wherever his thoughts were taking him.
Serenity turned forward. If I live long enough. She hated feeling helpless. No matter what, no matter where, everything about the Screecher made her feel it. Hopefully this trip
to meet the man Patch wanted her to meet would change that. “So, who is this Tamu Parker?”
“George is an old friend.”
“Wait.” Serenity blinked. “I thought you said his name is Tamu?”
“It is.”
Serenity turned to face him again. “I’m confused,” she said, then held her breath.
“His name is Tamu,” Patch answered. “It’s the Comanche word for ‘rabbit.’ Boy, George was fast when we were younger. Fastest sprinter in school history, in fact. Could run for days too. So, I guess his parents named him appropriately. But George hated his Comanche name. When we was kids, he got picked on about it. White people can be like that if’n you didn’t know.”
Mitzie harrumphed an agreement.
“So that’s what we called him, ‘especially when everyone saw he was an outstanding track star, winning all sorts of state awards. People stopped picking on him about his lineage real quick then.” Patch grunted, pulling on both front seats. “Oh, turn here.”
Serenity grabbed for the dashboard as Mitzie jammed the brakes and turned onto a dirt road, the momentum pulling them sideways. The road was an inconsequential patch of flattened sand leading away from life and into the desert. Serenity’s chest clenched. Turning off the paved highway jarred her into feeling like the severing of her last lifeline.
Patch struggled forward, placing a spotted hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, “you’re safe here.”
She battled her fear. “But, the desert. You said the Screecher…that I’d be at risk out here.”
Patch compressed his lips. “I didn’t mean to confuse you. Yes, I did say that, and it is true. You can’t be out in the desert no more. It’s too dangerous for anyone tagged. But that don’t mean we have to stay in town. We can move ‘round the Counties; I didn’t want you being careless. Just because you’re outside the town don’t mean you’ll be attacked. We’re on reservation territory now. We’re safe. Screecher won’t bother us here.”