Firefly Rain

by Richard Dansky

  “Dead asleep,” Jenna answered. “Which is not surprising. She’s had a hell of a day. I know if I had a strange car drive into my bedroom, I’d be a wreck. No pun intended.”

  “None noticed,” I told her. “That whole thing worries me.”

  “Oh, really? What part?”

  “Two things, actually.” I adjusted myself in the chair and found myself frowning. “One is the driver. I caught a glimpse—just a glimpse—of the driver yesterday. He—or she—was big. Really big.”

  “You thought it was Hanratty.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I had my suspicions,” I confessed.

  Jenna leaned back. “But if your friend’s story holds, that’s impossible.”

  I nodded. “She wasn’t supposed to be on duty today, so what she was doing at the apartment is an open question. Then again, in a town like this, everyone pitches in at a moment like that. But if we can trust her and Adrienne, the large, heavyset driver just… vanished. And that leaves one suspect.”

  “And that is?”

  “Father,” I said.

  Jenna looked unconvinced. “Hmm. Wasn’t he trying to help you, or so you thought?”

  I stood and started pacing. “That’s what I thought. Maybe this is his way of trying to help. If Adrienne’s the bait the town is dangling, and Father doesn’t want me to get caught the way he did…” I let my voice trail off.

  “That doesn’t sound like your father, Logan,” Jenna said in a very small voice. “He wouldn’t… no. I don’t believe it.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe death changes a person. Then again, Mother could have gotten a hold of him. He never really could say no when she insisted. I don’t know.”

  “That may be for the best. So what’s the other thing?”

  “The toothbrushing,” I said.

  Jenna stared at me, incredulous. “She forgot to brush her teeth. So what?”

  “Do you really think Adrienne ever forgets to brush her teeth? Come on, she’s wearing bunny slippers. But this time, she forgets just in time to get out of the way so that Father can drive my car into her bedroom and wreck the joint…”

  “Forcing her to come out here, where presumably you two can get to know each other better. Very devious, Logan. I’m not sure whether to applaud the ghosts of your parents for being sneaky, or you for having a subconscious that came up with it.” Jenna’s expression was grim. “So how do you feel about it?”

  “About what?”

  She shook her head. “Assuming you’re right, and there’s been enough weird stuff going on that I’m willing to at least entertain the notion that you’re right, how do you feel about being set up by your dead mother?”

  “I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “It’s all kind of confusing. Hell, the first time Adrienne was out here Mother knocked stuff over to ensure there’d be no hanky-panky. It was the old ‘not in my house’ routine, I guess. Or at least, ‘Not yet.’ I always was a sucker for reverse psychology.”

  “Are you sure it was your mother?”

  I blinked. “Oh,” I said. “You think Father did it instead, to keep me off the hook?”

  Jenna shook her head. “I don’t think anything. But as long as we’re willing to entertain the possibility that you’ve got ghost problems, it makes a certain amount of sense.”

  “And it fits with what Carl said,” I said softly. “Where was my father’s place? Damn.”

  Jenna gave a soft, low laugh. “Poor Jacob. All you wanted was some time to be alone, and all of this lands on you.” She stood. “She’s a nice kid, Jake. She’s not you, though. I know you well enough to know that. Make your own choices, when it actually comes time to make them.”

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “And now, I’m for bed. I’ll see you in the morning. Hopefully the ghosts will let you be for the rest of the night.”

  “Good night,” I said quietly. “Thank you for coming down, Jenna.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “I’ve only been here one day. I could still screw everything up.”

  “You don’t screw things up,” I said, and I let myself grin. “Occasionally, you just set up things that are screwed.”

  “Like this,” she said, and headed off into the dark of the house. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” I said again, and I wondered about the dog.

  twenty-one

  I spent a few more minutes puttering around before deciding that, as usual, Jenna had the right idea. Lights went out one by one, windows and doors were checked, and I made my way to bed. True to my word, I kept my door open, which meant sleeping in a T-shirt and sweats. No sense scandalizing Adrienne if she did come running in the middle of the night, and no sense giving Jenna more to laugh about than absolutely necessary.

  Sleep came hard that night. I kept on hearing something like thunder in the far distance, though the rain had stopped all those hours before, and every creak and groan the house made was like shouting in my ears. Across the hall, I could hear Adrienne breathing, regular and soft. The sound rasped on my eardrums out of all proportion, and by one in the morning I was resigned to the hopelessness of it all.

  I swung my feet out of bed and onto the floor, figuring to go into the kitchen and read. My left hand found a book on the nightstand, and I padded out into the hall. The urge to check in on Adrienne rose up, but I strangled it in its cradle and instead tiptoed down the hall, away from where the women were sleeping and out into dim yellow light.

  Deciding against coffee, I drew myself a cup of water instead. The book was one I’d bought in Boston and brought down with me, a legal thriller about a two-fisted lawyer who seemed to solve most of his courtroom problems by getting into gunfights. I was halfway in and still hadn’t figured out what the hell was going on, but at that hour of the night, I didn’t particularly care. Sipping from my glass, I settled in at the table and tried to find my place.

  I’d just managed to locate it when something went ratta-tat-tat on the window. I turned to see what it was, and there was Carl, pale as death and looking twice as hungry. He saw me looking back at him and he grinned, then motioned me over urgently.

  For a moment, I just sat there, thinking it was a dream. Besides, he didn’t look the sort of thing you hurried over to, not at that hour and looking that way. The skin on his face was drawn tight across the bone, and his eyes were brighter than they had any right to be. In Boston, they’d say he was on something. Here, I was more worried that he’d gone off.

  Cautious in my movement, I walked over to the window. “What do you want, Carl?” I asked, mouthing the words wide so he’d understand me without my shouting. I didn’t want to wake the women by bellowing through the glass, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to open the door and let Carl in.

  After all, it was pretty damn late.

  In answer, Carl pointed downhill. “Come on out, boy,” he said, loud enough for me to hear him clearly. “We need to talk.”

  “We can talk right here,” I said. I threw a look over my shoulder to see if Jenna or Adrienne had woken up. Not yet, it seemed, and for that I was thankful.

  Carl shook his head. “No we can’t, son. Grab the book and come with me.” I picked up the novel I’d been reading and got a snort of disdain for my trouble. “Not that one, son. The other. Now come on. There’s no time to lose.”

  I shook my head. “No, Carl. I’m not going. I’m not leaving those two alone to go traipsing down into the Thicket, not at this time of night.”

  A single cabinet swung open, then slammed itself shut. It sounded like a gunshot.

  “She wants you to go, son,” Carl said through the glass, grinning. He held up a lantern. “I’ll lead you down there safe, I swear. Just pick up the book and come along.”

  I turned away from him and stared at the cabinet. It didn’t move again. The spot between my shoulder blades itched; Carl staring into it, I guessed.

  The thought struck me that he’d be standing out there all night, if necessary, and probably the next ni
ght, too. He’d be there as long as it took, because that was Carl’s way, and he’d made a promise. Might as well get it over with, then, I told myself. Once and for all. Even if it kills me.

  “Fine,” I said abruptly, and I moved to the door to let Carl in. Something crunched underfoot as I did so. I looked down.

  It was a toy soldier, facing out. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been there before. “I’m sorry, Dad,” I said under my breath, and I opened the door. Carl stood there, intense and unblinking. I took a step back, a little disturbed and not able to hide it.

  “Come on,” he said, and he motioned impatiently.

  I backpedaled one step farther. “Let me go get the book and the shotgun.”

  “Just the book,” he said, and he stayed on the threshold. “You won’t need the gun, Jacob. Not tonight.”

  “Are you sure? There’s a dog out there that—”

  “Never mind the dog,” he said with a voice like hitting a stone wall. “I told you, I’ll take care of you. Or are you doubting me?”

  I looked down at his shoes. They were muddy. Maybe he’d heard about the dog from Hanratty. Maybe he’d seen it skulking around the boundaries of my land. Maybe he’d—

  No. Enough maybes. It was time to go and finish things, and time to take Carl at his word. After all, it was what had gotten us all into this mess.

  “No, Carl.” I said. “I’m not doubting you. Just being cautious.”

  “Caution’s good. Knowing when to leave it behind is better.” He beckoned with his free hand. “Get moving, son. We’re running out of time.”

  I backed away. “Don’t come in, now. You hear?”

  “I’ll wait,” he said, and he looked down at my dead soldier. “Not sure I’d be entirely welcome inside, anyhow.”

  I hurried down the hall to my room. The book was there. So was a notepad and a pen, and while I might be damnfool enough to go on this adventure, I wasn’t damnfool enough not to leave some evidence of my whereabouts. If nothing else, it would give Hanratty something to go on if I went missing, and if she decided to do anything about it.

  Quickly, I walked over to the small table that served as a desk and grabbed myself a piece of paper. The first two pens I pulled out of the pencil cup were dead, and I nearly tore a hole through the paper trying to write with them. The third one, though, finally worked, so I wrote my message as quick as I could.

  Gone to the Thicket with Carl, it read. No need to worry. I’ll be back by dawn.

  I didn’t sign my name. That and the fact that I said “no need to worry” would get Jenna wound tighter than a cokehead’s pocket watch. She wouldn’t come after me, though. She’d be smarter than that. She’d stay here, hunker down, and be ready for what came after.

  Which is exactly what she wouldn’t do if I flat-out told her to stay. Then she might follow, being the contrary sort she was, and I didn’t relish the idea of her trying to find her way through the Thicket in the dark.

  Besides, Carl had promised to protect me. He hadn’t said a damn thing about anyone else.

  Father’s book was where I’d left it, on a shelf next to a piggy bank that I hadn’t put a penny into in years. I grabbed it and stuffed it into a baggy pocket, then walked out to face Carl in the doorway.

  “I’m ready,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  “No, you’re not,” he replied. “But we’ll go anyway.”

  I had nothing to say to that, so I just stepped out after him. The door shut on its own behind me, not that it surprised me that it did so, and off we went.

  The grass was still wet as we moved downslope toward the Thicket. Overhead, a high wind pushed clouds across the sky in a hurry, but down where we walked it was still. Carl went first, his lantern held high and his pace steady. I followed close behind, determined not to lose him in the dark. I carried the book in my left pocket, my hand over it to make sure it didn’t slip out. I looked back at the house once. It sat there, quiet and peaceful, dim lights showing through a couple of windows. It could have been anyone’s home, anywhere.

  I turned my back on it and hurried to catch up with Carl.

  We passed the pine trees without slowing. I’d figured Carl would want to stop there, maybe make some sort of gesture to Mother and Father, but he didn’t break stride. “Keep moving, boy,” he called back to me. “You’ll see them soon enough.”

  “That doesn’t inspire confidence, Carl,” I huffed, but I kept going. Truth be told, I didn’t even look.

  We made good time across the field and into the Thicket proper. Carl ducked and weaved around branches as he went, leaving no trace of his passage. I wasn’t quite as graceful, but I made my way in decent time, following the yellow glow of that bobbing lantern. At times, it almost reminded me of something, but then a branch would swing back and smack me across the face, and I’d lose track of whatever I’d been thinking of.

  The trek through the woods wasn’t as hard as I’d figured. I’d anticipated spending half the night hacking our way through briars and odd bits of mountain laurel, but the route was mostly clear. I won’t say the trees pulled themselves out of our way, not exactly, but low-hanging branches didn’t seem to hang so low, and creeper vines always seemed to be hanging just out of the way. It wasn’t easy going, mind you, just not as tough as it could have been.

  The moon was hanging just over the tree line when we finally broke into the clearing where Carl and I had spoken before. Thin light made it down through the trees around the clearing. A little more glow made its way through the top of the clearing itself, but the moon wasn’t high enough to do much work that way. Instead, a few Coleman lanterns sat on the ground, casting long shadows across the grass with white light. A man could get blinded one moment and could lose himself in the dark the next.

  And there they were, waiting for me.

  Carl was in the center, of course, holding his lantern high so it painted his face like a scarecrow skull long past its season.

  Reverend Trotter was to his left, looking pale and thin, his hands pressed together around a Bible and his eyes pointed straight down at the ground.

  Mister Hilliard stood to Carl’s right, looking like he’d grown straight up out of the soil with leaves in his beard. He was dressed for work at the store, but in his hands was a piece of weathered wood that might have been as old as the trees around us. He shifted it back and forth, his hands turning it over and over again.

  Two cops stood one on either side of the semicircle, their hands on their guns and their faces unreadable. Other faces from town, half-remembered or long unseen, stood there unblinking, watching me.

  No Hanratty, but somehow it made sense for her not to be here. This was a business for men, I could feel that in my bones, and she had no place in this circle.

  And there, right in front of Carl, was Sam Fuller.

  He knelt down on the ground in the center of that gathering, one hand holding Asa by the collar and the other scratching the hound behind the ears. The dog sat, alert and easy, ears down and tail wagging.

  Sam looked up at me, and there were tears in his eyes. “You were supposed to shoot him,” he said in a voice that broke my heart. “Why couldn’t you just shoot him?”

  “Sam,” I said haltingly, “I don’t know what you’re…”

  Asa’s head came up, and in an instant it changed. He bared his teeth in a wicked snarl, a chainsaw growl rising up in his throat. And in his eyes, buried deep against the black, was a spark of firefly green.

  I stumbled back a step and Asa surged forward. Sam’s hand on his collar was the only thing holding him down. Then the glow faded and Asa was Asa again, his muzzle drooping with confusion.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, and I looked from face to face. “I never wanted to hurt Asa, not one bit. What do you want from me?”

  It was Mr. Hilliard who spoke, his voice rumbling up out of him like smoke from a cave. “We’ve all been trying to tell you, one way or another. Bits and pieces of it, hoping you’d put it together. Yo
u were supposed to be a bright one, after all. All the teachers said so.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, I just came back for a little while. I was going to just get my head together and move on. That’s all.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Mr. Logan,” the reverend intoned gravely. “What you want is the smallest part of this. Your father’s book should have taught you that.”

  Behind me, I could hear footsteps on grass. The circle had closed around me. There was no way out, not now.

  “Father didn’t want to come back here, either,” I said. There was low laughter at that, though as I looked from face to face I couldn’t tell who was doing the laughing. “If he hadn’t met Mother—”

  “But he did,” Carl said. “He came back, and he met her, and he stayed. That’s what was supposed to happen. And now you’ve come back.”

  “And you’ve met her,” one of the cops chimed in.

  “What, Hanratty? No thank you,” I joked. No one laughed. Not at that.

  Carl put the lantern down and took a step forward. “Don’t play the fool, Logan. It doesn’t suit you all that well. This is where you belong. You’ve fought it, and it’s cost you a little. A car ain’t much, not in the grand scheme of things. Keep fighting, and it’ll cost you more. A man can only swim upstream so long before he gets tired. Much easier to go where the water takes you, don’t you think? Safer, too.”

  “Are you threatening me?” I asked softly. “I don’t respond well to threats.”

  “You don’t respond well to much of anything,” Hilliard said. “But Carl doesn’t make threats. He states facts. You do know what you’re facing, Logan, don’t you? You do know what you’re standing on the brink of?”

  I reached my hand into my pocket and closed my fingers around Father’s book. “I know a bit,” I said cautiously. “I know Mother’s in the house, and Father, too. I know fireflies won’t come onto my land, and I think I know why. And I know there’s a woman asleep up in that house who doesn’t deserve to be used like you all want her to be. Is that what you wanted to hear, all of you? Is that what I’m supposed to know?” I was shouting by the end of it, not that I cared. Birds rustled up out of trees from the noise and Asa whined, but the men around me stood silent.