The Grove

by John Rector

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Why would you do something like this?”

  My forehead itched, and I absently scratched at it with the barrel of my gun. When I realized what I was doing, I leaned forward and set the gun on the table.

  “Are you still taking your meds? Were you ever taking them at all?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m taking them.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “They take a while to kick in,” I said. “You know that.”

  “They only take a few days. How long have you been taking them?”

  I paused, then said, “Where were you yesterday? I waited for you at the docks.”

  “The search party? I decided not to go.”

  “I told your mother I’d meet you.”

  “You were down there?”

  “Did she tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “That I was waiting for you. Did she tell you I called or not?”

  “I didn’t see her yesterday. She didn’t have a chance to tell me.”

  “So, she didn’t tell you?”

  Liz was quiet for a moment, then said, “Have you thought about talking to a doctor again? I don’t think the pills are working anymore.”

  “I told you they take a while.”

  “But—”

  “I just started them today,” I said. “I was going to start them when I told you, but I couldn’t make myself do it. I thought I could fight it.”

  “Jesus, Dexter.”

  We were both silent.

  I heard a TV in the background; then Liz said, “Are you having the blackouts again?”

  I told her I was, then paused. “I’m scared, Liz.”

  “You don’t have any reason to be scared,” she said. “You started the pills again, just give it some time.”

  I shook my head, didn’t speak.

  “I’ll come over tonight and stay with you. We’ll do it together and you’ll be fine.”

  “No,” I said. “Don’t come over.”

  Liz ignored me.

  “Once you feel better, we’ll go to Archway and talk to Dr. Conner. Just to make sure things are back to the way they should be.”

  “I can’t go back to Archway.”

  “Not to stay,” she said. “Just to talk—”

  “No.”

  She paused, then said, “We can talk when I get there. We don’t have to make a decision now.”

  “I don’t want you here,” I said. “It’s not safe.”

  “Not safe?”

  For a moment I didn’t say anything; then the tears came, snaking down my cheeks.

  “Dexter?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Dexter?” Liz’s voice was soft, calming. “Did something happen?”

  I looked up toward the front door. Jessica was standing outside. I could see her shadow moving behind the stained glass.

  She was speaking to me in Clara’s voice.

  “Yes,” I said. “Something’s happened.”

  Liz waited for me to go on.

  When I did, I told her everything.

  CHAPTER 43

  “I called for you, Daddy.”

  I leaned over the table and pressed the metal tines of the fork into my forehead. The handle was slippery, and several drops of blood pooled on the table beneath me.

  The pain was white and hot and beautiful, but the voice stayed.

  “They’re mean to me here. They hurt me.”

  I closed my eyes and pressed harder.

  “Help me, Daddy, please.”

  “Stop it,” I said. “Stop it. Stop.”

  It didn’t stop. I pressed harder.

  I felt blood cover my fingers, and pressed harder.

  “Why won’t you help?”

  The fork slipped, and the metal tines tore through the skin, ripping away flesh, scraping against bone.

  The pain was electric.

  I jumped up, screaming, blood running in streams down my face, blinding me, filling my nose, my mouth.

  The voice continued.

  “Why, Daddy?”

  I wiped the blood from my eyes, grabbed my gun from the table, and turned toward the door.

  Jessica’s shadow moved away.

  The voice stopped.

  I leaned over the sink and pressed the dishtowel against my forehead. The pain split through my skull and radiated down my spine. I felt my legs waver. Darkness crept in from the sides of my vision, and I braced myself against the counter, waiting for it to pass.

  When it did, I ran the water in the sink, soaked the towel, and tried again. The result was the same, but I forced myself to continue.

  The fork had shredded my skin, and the blood wasn’t slowing. The pain felt like ice drilling into my head.

  I stood over the sink until the dishtowel soaked through red. I dropped it on the floor, then crossed into the hallway toward the bathroom.

  I took the hand towel off the rack and ran it under the cold water. When I shut off the water, I looked at myself in the cracked mirror. I didn’t recognize my reflection.

  It wasn’t the blood or the scabs or the way my skin hung loose and gray on my skull. It was my eyes. They weren’t mine.

  I made myself look away.

  I held the towel against my head, and this time the pain wasn’t as bad. I gave it a minute, then moved down the hall toward the living room. I set the gun on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch and tried to stop the roar in my head.

  I heard the low rumble of tires on gravel and opened my eyes.

  “Liz?”

  I’d told her not to come, but I should’ve known she would anyway. I sat up and pulled the towel away from my forehead. The skin stuck and ripped in several places. Fresh blood started to flow, but nowhere near as much as before.

  I pushed myself off the couch and crossed to the window. I pulled back the curtain and looked out.

  Greg’s cruiser sat at the end of the driveway.

  She’d told him.

  I waited for the panic to hit, but it never came. All I felt was a cold sense of relief. I even smiled.

  Greg stayed in the cruiser for a while, talking on the radio, before opening the door and stepping out. When he did, he slid his hat on his head and stared up at the house.

  I let the curtains close then stepped back from the glass. When I looked out again, Greg had moved away from the cruiser and started walking toward the break in the rows.

  I watched him until he disappeared around the corner, then closed the curtains. As I did, I saw movement from the front of the porch. I pulled the curtains back again and saw Jessica crawling out from under the stairs. She stood and walked into the field.

  I ran to the door, opened it, then stopped.

  What was I going to do?

  I stepped back inside and closed the door. The house was quiet and still. I took my gun from the coffee table and stood at the window, staring out at the break in the rows, waiting.

  A few minutes later, Greg came out of the field. He had his hat off and was waving it in front of his face like a fan. When he got to the cruiser, he dropped the hat on the roof and opened the driver’s side door and took out the radio and started taking. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I had a pretty good idea.

  Then I saw another car turn into the driveway. Liz. She parked behind the cruiser and got out. Greg hung up the radio and walked down to meet her. The conversation looked heated. I decided it might be better to go out and try to calm things down. All of this was my fault, and I figured I should face up, come clean in person.

  I stepped back from the window just as Jessica came out of the corn, her black dress torn and caked with mud.

  She crossed the yard toward Greg and Liz, moving fast.

  I didn’t want to see, but I couldn’t turn away. I knew I had to do something to warn them, so I slammed my hand against the glass and shouted.

  Greg and Liz both looked up at the window and f
or a second, just before Jessica got to them, our eyes met.

  I let the curtain drop and backed away until I hit the wall, then slid to the ground, my knees pressing into my chest.

  I listened for screaming, but all I could hear was an explosion of noise. Nothing was coming through, and I felt tears slide down my face. I stayed on the ground staring at the front door, waiting for her to come up the steps.

  It didn’t take long.

  Her shadow passed behind the stained glass. I raised the gun.

  “Go away,” I said, but it came out as a whisper.

  I saw the doorknob turn and rattle. Locked.

  I pushed myself to my feet and aimed at the shadow through the glass. “Go away.” Louder this time.

  For a moment there was nothing; then something heavy struck the door. I jumped.

  “Go away!” I was screaming.

  She struck the door again, and I saw the wood frame splinter.

  I squeezed the gun and fired. Again and again.

  When I stopped, the glass in the door had broken away. I could see daylight through the holes.

  In the distance, I heard Liz screaming.

  I crossed the room and opened the door. When I saw the blood I stepped back. Greg was lying on the porch, a thick red stain spreading under him. His mouth opened and closed, but there was no sound. His eyes were empty.

  Jessica stood over him.

  “You did it,” she said. “Finally.”

  I shook my head.

  Liz was running up the driveway. Jessica turned toward her, then back to me and said, “Just one more.”

  I slammed the door and backed down the hallway to the bathroom. I went in, turned on the fluorescent light, and sat on the floor beside the toilet, staring at the gun.

  I could hear Liz in the house, running toward the kitchen. I could hear her pick up the phone and tell someone that Greg had been shot. That I’d shot him.

  I looked up at the bathroom door and thought of Liz on the other side. I didn’t know if there were any bullets left or not, but I only needed one.

  Maybe I’d get lucky.

  I got up, bracing myself against the sink.

  The mirror was empty.

  I stood for a minute, until I felt balanced, then put the barrel of the pistol under my chin and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 44

  The sky slides above me in a scream of blue and white and yellow. I close my eyes and let it pass. The voices come to me, again and again. And then they are gone, and all I hear is the slow tumble of the river.

  I’m on my back, drifting with the current.

  When I open my eyes, I’m staring into the sun.

  Someone leans over me, shines a light, and whispers something I can’t hear.

  Then they are gone and I’m alone.

  Floating in the haze.

  “Mr. McCray? Can you hear me?”

  The voice is deep and it pulls at me. I want to answer, but the river moves too fast.

  “Do you know where you are?”

  I try to speak, but the pain vibrates through the center of my head and fills everything. Still, I force my legs to move under me, and when my feet touch the ground I stand.

  The river is gone.

  I’m in my field, waist deep in the corn. The sun rests low on the horizon, and above me the sky weeps a depthless red.

  In the distance, I hear cheering.

  There is no wind, but the corn bends and moves around me as if alive. I turn and look for a space between the rows, but there is no path, nowhere to go, just a sea of unending green.

  The cheering grows louder, and I hear something else underneath, grinding and sharp, like metal ripping in a hollow room.

  I scan the horizon and at first there is nothing. Then something moves in the corn, slow at first, but gaining speed, splitting the rows, coming toward me.

  I turn and run, but the corn bends, thick and strong, holding me in place.

  “Dexter?”

  Liz’s voice.

  I try to call out, but the corn moves in and I can’t breathe.

  The grinding noise grows louder, and the air turns thick and hot and carries the poison-sweet smell of burning oil.

  Black smoke covers me and I don’t turn around.

  I know what’s coming.

  And it has teeth.

  CHAPTER 45

  I had a dream someone was in the house…

  I open my eyes. The room is bright.

  Liz is sitting in a red plastic chair at the foot of the bed. She has a book on her lap, and when she looks up and sees me, she smiles.

  Her eyes are red and swollen.

  I try to speak, but my mouth won’t open.

  Liz closes her book and comes to the side of the bed. She leans close and takes my hand. “Hi, Dexter,” she says.

  I try to say something, anything, but she shakes her head and says, “Don’t talk, OK?”

  She stares at me for a moment longer, then slides her hand away from mine. “I’ll find the doctor.”

  She turns toward the door, and I try to call for her. What comes out sounds thin and weak.

  Liz turns and touches her fingers to her lips and begins to cry.

  The doctor tells me I got lucky.

  He says the bullet passed through the soft spot under my chin and came out my left eye socket along with most of my left eye. On the way, it tore away part of my tongue and jawbone and shredded my sinus.

  He tells me that if the bullet had entered my skull, it wouldn’t have had the velocity to pass through the bone and would’ve wound up spinning inside my head like a marble in a bowl.

  “People live through things like that all the time,” he says. “More often than not, in a vegetative state.” He pauses, and then adds, “A .22 is a very dangerous gun, in that regard.”

  I try to speak, forgetting the wires in my jaw.

  The doctor hands me a notepad and a pencil.

  I use it to ask about Greg.

  He tells me it was touch and go for a while, but the surgery went well and Greg will be fine in a few weeks.

  He says I fired eight shots but only hit Greg with two. The first in the bicep, not too serious. The second in the chest, very serious. The second bullet clipped a section of his heart before embedding itself in his lung and collapsing it.

  “If it hadn’t been for your wife thinking fast and calling for help, he certainly would’ve died.” The doctor smiles.

  “Both of you, more than likely.”

  Liz is a hero.

  She’s been by my side the entire time. At first, all she did was cry, but now she’s better.

  Most of the time, I sit in bed and scribble questions on the notepad, asking about Greg, how he’s doing. She keeps me updated.

  I tried to explain things to her one time, but she held up a hand and wouldn’t look at my notes.

  “He knows,” she said. “And he understands.”

  I asked her if she felt the same way, but she didn’t answer, just looked toward the window and the bright day passing outside.

  Silent.

  It’s nice when she’s around.

  No one came to question me about Jessica. When I asked Liz, she told me not to bring it up.

  I did anyway.

  Finally, she told me that after the news came out, Megan from the café stepped forward and admitted to being out in the grove with Jessica and her boyfriend. She said they’d all taken some pills they’d found in her mother’s cabinet, and that Jessica had just collapsed and stopped breathing.

  “They panicked,” Liz said. “Panicked and ran.”

  She looked away and was silent. I knew what she was thinking. I was thinking it, too.

  When Liz spoke again, she said, “Jessica had some kind of heart condition. No one knew about it, and it didn’t mix with the medicine. That was all.”

  I had more questions, but Liz stopped me.

  “We can’t talk about this,” she said. “Not yet.”

  I
asked her when.

  “Soon.”

  We were both quiet for a while. Then I asked about the fire at the Tollivers’ trailer.

  Liz looked confused, and I wrote the story out for her, handing her page after page.

  “I don’t know anything about this,” she said. “But I’ll ask if you’d like.”

  I told her I would.

  There are no mirrors in my room. The nurses say I can’t see anything but bandages anyway, but if I really want to know, I looked just like Claude Raines in the old Invisible Man movie.

  I tell them I’ve never seen it.

  Earlier, the doctor came by to tell me I’m being transferred to Archway in a couple days, as soon as the bandages are off. I didn’t take the news very well, but he assured me there would be no shock treatments.

  “They stopped doing those years ago,” he said. “These days, it’s just medication and therapy and rest.”

  That sounded fine.

  Liz talked to one of the deputies in Greg’s office and they told her they’d arrested Ezra Hays for the fire that killed Frank and Dorothy Tolliver and their two boys.

  “He just walked in and confessed,” she said. “Hard to believe a nice man like Ezra would do something like that.”

  She was right. It was hard to believe.

  I took out the notepad and asked her if the deputy was sure no one else started the fire.

  She said he was positive.

  I wrote that Ezra could be lying.

  “Why would he lie about this?” She shook her head. “No, he’s telling the truth. Apparently he was so upset because the wife and the kids were home that he decided to come forward.”

  I nodded and wrote that they were supposed to be out of town.

  “How do you know that?”

  I told her about my conversation with Ezra.

  “Did he tell you they were stealing from him?”

  I nodded.

  “Did he tell you Frank Tolliver beat him up and threatened to kill him after Ezra confronted him?”

  I shook my head. If that was true, Ezra’s pride wouldn’t have allowed him to admit that to anyone. Old or not, the man was once a war hero.