by Shady Grim
A strange unearthly silence enveloped Royal as he trudged along, forcing himself through painful brush and briar. The Presence had found him again. Royal felt a pulsating rage radiating from it. It was holding on to him, trying to pull him somewhere. Around him, he heard the voices of dozens of people all murmuring at once in some unfamiliar language. Even in his weakened state, he was able to track movement out of the corners of his eyes. Silhouetted figures shaped like both people and large unfamiliar animals darted silently through the brush around him. His heightened senses told him that what he was seeing wasn’t human. In his ears, he heard a sickly heavy breathing like a person afflicted with pneumonia. Surrounded, Royal’s determination began to waver, his pace slowed, and The Presence strengthened its grip. Just as The Presence found the strength to drag him back, it let him go and moved away. The lovely sweet fragrance of lilac passed under Royal’s nose, and he felt warmth again. He saw nothing, but heard a familiar voice speak to him. “They can’t hurt you, Timothy. They only have strength if you give it to them. Keep moving.” Weak from blood loss, Royal pressed on amidst an unnatural swirling mist and the deafening sounds of wailing and screeching. Shadowy malformed faces thrust themselves into his. Hands grabbed at him. He heard the sound of teeth gnashing at his ears, but he kept moving. He felt weak and nauseous and was breathing so hard it hurt, but he stumbled on until he met the road. He was nearly hit by a passing truck as he stepped out onto it. The driver screeched his pickup truck to a halt and jumped out.
“What the hell’s the matter with yuh, boy?” shouted the man. At the same time the words left his mouth, the man’s mind registered the condition the boy standing before him was in. “What happened to yuh, son? Y’all been in an accident?” He moved closer to take hold of the boy’s arm before he collapsed. The driver was stunned by what he saw. The boy, who couldn’t be more than twenty, was covered in blood. His face, neck, and chest were sticky with honey, of all things, and his clothes were shredded from top to bottom.
“Yes...I got...lost...and I...fell.”
“Uh-huh? I think yuh need to go to a hospital.”
“No...no money.”
“Is there anybody with yuh?”
“No...alone...so tired...”
“Alright then,” said the man gently. He steered Royal to his truck and helped him get into it. “Yuh just get in here, and I’ll see what I can do for yuh, okay?”
Royal’s head lolled against his satchel, which he’d placed between himself and the truck’s hard door. His neck hurt very badly, and bouncing around in the old truck wasn’t helping to ease his pain. The numerous cuts and scrapes he’d acquired when he ran through the woods and brush were stinging and itching. He still had gravel embedded in his palms and it stung badly. He was very hungry, and his stomach was making noise. “Not much longer, son,” said the driver who called himself Jack. He looked over at Royal and smiled. Jack’s manner was warm and friendly, but Royal knew better than to trust such superficial attributes. Jack had been driving for quite some time, and he was quiet for most of it. He probably thought Royal needed the rest, which he did, but Royal wasn’t about to go to sleep in the presence of a stranger if he could help it. At last, after what felt like days to Royal, but was actually only a few hours, Jack pulled into a truck stop. Jack reached behind his seat and picked up a duffel bag. He escorted Royal to a shower area that passing truckers use. Jack rooted in his bag and pulled out a set of clean clothes that were much too big for Royal and passed them to him.
“Get yuhself cleaned up, son” said Jack as he handed Royal a key to the shower room. “I’m gonna look for a friend o’ mine to take a look at yuh neck.”
Royal had never seen indoor plumbing before. His father’s parents died when he was still an infant, so he had no memory of visiting with them. He’d met his father’s sisters, but had never visited them in their own homes. They’d all moved to big cities; some went before their parents’ deaths, and some moved after. They and their families had visited a few times, but none of them liked to stay long because of the lack of electricity and indoor plumbing in his parents’ home, and that suited Royal’s mother very well. She didn’t like her son to have too much interaction with anyone outside of his immediate family. Royal had never been to school, never been on vacation, never had a job without his father as a partner and chaperone, never been permitted to keep his own money, and he’d never had a friend. Everything he owned was in his satchel. He leaned over the sink to get a better look at himself in the mirror. He was looking rather rough with his pale skin, red-rimmed eyes, and stubbly face. He rubbed at the dark stubble on his chin. He disliked not being clean-shaven. His father taught him to shave with a straight razor, but he wasn’t about to attempt a shave while his hands were so shaky.
Royal was unfamiliar with virtually everything in the room, but he was clever and a fast learner. He turned knobs, pushed levers, and very quickly learned how to work everything. He removed his shredded blood-stained clothes, folded them neatly on a little bench, and stepped into the shower stall. He left the handkerchief in place because he feared that the hot water might start the wound bleeding again. The hot water felt so good on his sore and exhausted body that he nearly fell asleep. Blood loss combined with hunger made him feel weak and nauseous. He turned the hot water down thinking that a blast of cold water might make him more alert. He scrubbed the gravel out of the palms of his hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling of weakness and ended his shower sooner than he wanted because he feared passing out. His feet slipped in Jack’s huge flip-flops as he stepped out of the shower. Royal put his own underpants back on as they were undamaged and no blood had reached them. He pulled on the dark-blue lounge pants that Jack had loaned him. Jack wasn’t much taller than Royal, but he was considerably stouter, and Royal had a difficult time tying the drawstring tightly enough around his slim waist. He rolled up the pant legs to avoid tripping over them as he walked. Leaning over made his head swim, and he nearly fell on his face. He caught himself by placing both hands on the wall next to the door, and righted himself by walking his hands up the wall. He heard a knock at the door and knew it must be Jack.
“Y’all okay in there, son?”
Royal gathered his things and opened the door. He held the folded white t-shirt that Jack loaned him in his hand. “Yes, I’m fine,” replied Royal.
Jack was accompanied by a man of roughly Jack’s age. The man was tall and lanky. His hair was long, grey, and tied back, and he had a long neatly kept beard. He wore a ball cap and old black boots. A large red and blue handkerchief hung out of the back pocket of his blue jeans, and a large, olive-green, canvas bag that had a worn-out red cross on it was slung over his shoulder. Jack pointed to the man and said, “This is my friend Sumner. He’s gonna have a look at yuh neck.”
Sumner smiled and extended his hand to Royal, and Royal took it. “So what’s yuh name, boy?”
“Timothy Robbins,” replied Royal. The name rolled over his lips so easily and naturally that neither man doubted its authenticity.
“Have a seat, Tim, and lemme get a look at that neck.” Royal sat on the bench with his satchel at his feet and the white t-shirt rolled tightly in his hands. Sumner leaned over him and very gingerly removed the handkerchief from Royal’s neck. The shower had washed away most of the honey, but there was some still in the wound. “Is that honey?”
“Yes, it prevents infection.”
“Dang,” replied Sumner. “And these leaves?”
“Those are yarrow leaves. They’re to staunch the bleeding.”
Sumner shook his head and began digging in his bag. He pulled out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some cotton wads. “This might sting a bit.”
“Go ahead,” said Royal. He didn’t flinch or make a sound as Sumner cleaned the wound. He sat straight-backed and silent, and stared blankly into space. Sumner retrieved a tube of antibiotic cream from his bag and packed Royal’s wound with it. He then proceeded to bandage his neck so heavily that Royal
cold barely turn his head. When Sumner was finished with Royal’s neck, he dabbed cotton balls dipped in peroxide on the scratches on Royal’s back, face, and arms.
“Yuh’re one lucky som’bitch, Tim. Just a hair deeper and yuh momma woulda been cryin’ all over yuh coffin.”
“Is it real bad, Sum? Sorry, I just can’t look at it. Got a weak stomach.”
“I thought I had a weak stomach too, ‘til I went to ‘Nam. War really changes a man. Now I can cut out an appendix, dig out bullets, sew up bellies, and sit down to a hot meal and biscuits when I’m done.”
“Ugh, that’s sickenin’, Sum.”
“Tim really could use a doctor’s hand on that neck. It’s a bad cut. I’ve done the best I can with it. Keep the bandages clean, don’t turn yuh head too much, and yuh should be okay.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Royal.
“Yuh’re gonna have an ugly scar when it heals.”
“I can live with that.”
“Alright, son,” said Jack as he leaned over and took the shirt from Royal’s hands. “Let’s get this shirt on yuh, and get somethin’ to eat.” Jack unfolded the shirt and carefully put it over Royal’s head.
“I can finish,” said Royal. He was unaccustomed to being coddled, and the unfamiliar attention made him apprehensive. Royal tried to tuck in the shirt as he’d been raised to do, but it was so voluminous that he gave up. He followed Jack and Sumner to a cafeteria where he was told to sit. Sumner took the seat across from him. Royal presumed that Sumner did so in case he tried to run away. Running would have been a preposterous idea in his present state, and he was so far from home that he had no idea where he was or where to go.
“So where y’all from, Tim?”
“Clement.”
“That’s near Shakerville and Twilight Falls, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Nice up there. Yuh still in school?”
“No.”
“What school did yuh go to? Maybe I know it.”
“I was homeschooled.”
“Oh...um, would yuh like to call yuh parents? I got a cell pho–”
“They’re dead.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that, son. Is there anyone else yuh’d like to talk to?”
“No. I’m an only child. I have no other relatives.”
Sumner stroked his beard and studied Royal, who didn’t blink under Sumner’s scrutiny. Royal was discovering that he had a latent talent for lying. His gaze didn’t drift from Sumner’s, and his answers came without hesitation. “Can yuh tell me what yuh was doin’ runnin’ around the woods by yuhself?”
“I study plants,” replied Royal as he lifted up his satchel. He pulled out the leaf he’d been drawing before his mother tried to murder him. “This is goldenseal. It’s not common around Clement anymore. It’s a good digestive tonic, and it can clear up eye infections if it’s used properly.”
Their conversation ended when Jack returned carrying two trays of food. He placed a tray containing two cheeseburgers, a large pile of French fries and onion rings, a small and very hot apple pie, and a large beverage in front of Royal. The drink was dark and bubbly, and Royal had never had anything like it before. He assumed it was soda because his brothers had it with their lunches at school, and they described it to him. Royal was not permitted to indulge in such things. He only ate food that his mother prepared, and only drank beverages that she offered him. His mother insisted that his body remain free of impurities–whatever that meant. Jack set down a similarly laden tray in front of himself and set a small soda in front of Sumner.
“Eat up, son. Yuh’ll need yuh strength.”
“Thank you, sir.” Chewing and swallowing hurt badly, but he was so hungry. He ate so fast that he barely tasted anything. He finished eating in half the time that it took Jack, and he suspected that Jack was deliberately eating slowly. Royal sat tall in his chair fighting sleep and was rapidly losing the battle. The conversation between his two companions faded in and out.
“Y’all were lucky, Jack. Another five minutes and I’d ‘ave been gone.” Sumner sipped at his soda and observed the nodding boy in front of him. “Kid looks like he fell in a corn thresher.”
“Said he fell,” stated Jack. “Didn’t say how or where though.”
“I ain’t no doctor, but I’d bet my left arm that, that cut was done by some kinda knife. Y’all best be careful with this one, Jack. He seems to have an interest in herbs, and he might be dealin’ in the less than legal varieties, if yuh know what I mean.”
“Nah, he’s probably some poor kid who fell in with the wrong crowd is all.”
“There is such a thing as bein’ too kind, Jack.”
“Maybe.”
“So what y’all doin’ up here anyhow? This ain’t yuh normal route.”
“Side work, I’m deliverin’ a classic truck to a collector. She’s a beauty too, 1955 Chevy 3100 in transport blue.”
“Whew! I’ll bet she is a beauty,” said Sumner as he stood and looked at his wristwatch. “I gotta go, Jack. I’m runnin’ late. Good luck with yuh new project.”
“Safe travels, Sum.”
Jack quickly finished eating and cleared away the trays. Royal was asleep and Jack felt badly about waking him, but he had a deadline to meet. Jack tapped Royal’s shoulder and startled him. “Sorry to wake yuh, Tim, but we need to get back on the road.”
“We?” replied Royal, who had no intention of going anywhere. All he wanted to do was sleep. He’d figure out what to do after he got some rest.
“Of course,” said Jack, looking affronted. “Did yuh think I’d just leave yuh here in the middle o’ nowhere?”
“I’m very grateful for your help, sir, but I don’t have any money and I can’t pay you back...”
Jack leaned in and said quietly, “I know what hard times are, son. I know what it’s like to be young and alone. I’m one o’ the lucky ones. I met someone who gave me a hand up. Now I’m extendin’ a hand to y’all. If yuh come along with me, I can promise yuh good company, three squares a day, and a warm bed to sleep in.”
Exhaustion, blood loss, and a full stomach all conspired to fog Royal’s mind. What Jack said sounded good, and Royal had no other option, so he complied. He rose on unsteady feet and followed a complete stranger back to the old bouncy truck. He climbed in and placed his satchel under his head as he’d done earlier. Royal was asleep before the truck exited the parking lot.
Chapter Three
Mrs. Fitzgerald was quite pleased with herself and felt relieved to be rid of her burden. Her legs felt light as she quickly strode home. She was confident that the boy was near death, but she was not one to waste time for any reason. She found her husband sitting in the kitchen waiting for her.
“How’d it go, Lizbet?” Herbert felt very anxious. He wanted to be the one to get rid of the boy, but Lizbet told him the boy would be too suspicious if his father went with him to collect herbs. She was right, of course; Lizbet was always right. Still, the hunter in Herbert wouldn’t let his mind rest until he was sure the boy was dead.
“Well, but not as expected,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“He managed to run off–” Herbert jumped to his feet and made for the back door.
“Now, Herbert, calm down. He didn’t get very far. I sliced his neck good. He’s bled to death by now, I’m sure of it. I’ve cut enough throats to know how it’s done.”
“Still, Lizbet, it’s always best to be sure.”
“Alright then, take the lantern with you.”
He took the lantern from his wife and with his hunting knife on his hip, slipped out the back door and disappeared into the dark wilderness. A small speck of light from the lantern lingered for a few seconds before becoming obscured by foliage. A few hours passed before he came back. Mrs. Fitzgerald waited patiently at the kitchen table for him. He came silently in the back door with a satisfied grin on his face. Lizbet rose to pour a cup of coffee for him
“Well, Her
bert?”
“You were right as always, Lizbet. He’s gone. I followed his blood trail to the old quarry. Looks like he fell in. Nobody’ll ever find him in there, that water’s way too deep. And if by chance they do, it’ll take quite some time so there won’t be much left of him anyway. I cleaned up the trail he left behind so there won’t be anything to follow.”
“Good, good, we’ll inform the authorities tomorrow.”
“Good idea, Lizbet.”
Lizbet handed her husband his coffee. “You relax here, Herbert. I need to pray about this.”
Direct communication with the Lord always made Herbert very nervous. He knew the Lord’s Presence was with them most of the time, but Herbert didn’t mind being observed. It made him feel protected and helped him to control his predilections. Lizbet helped him too. “There’s a time and place for such things, Herbert,” she’d always say to him. “One must always be cautious.” Herbert smiled fondly. His wife was a fine woman, and he felt blessed to have found her. She was the only person who ever fully understood him. He never lied to, or kept secrets from, his precious Lizbet.
HERBERT HAD ALWAYS been regarded as a bit peculiar, but small towns like Twilight Falls are usually accepting of local oddities like Herbert. It’s the eccentric strangers that small-town inhabitants tend not to trust. Herbert Fitzgerald came from an upstanding God-fearing family. He was the youngest of six children and the only son. His father was a preacher, an uncommonly kind and generous man, who always had a hand or an ear to lend to a needy person. Herbert’s mother was a seamstress who possessed a divine singing voice that she unveiled every Sunday to the delight of the church congregation. All of Herbert’s sisters were also singers, but Herbert had no interest in music. Truth be told, Herbert had little interest in anything. His sisters were intelligent, attractive, charismatic, outgoing, and popular. Herbert was none of those things.