The Soul Seekers

by Amy Saia

  I picked up a strand of my hair and examined its ends. “I don’t think any of the acceptance letters have reached the new address yet. Anyway, I’m still weighing my options.”

  Mom turned to yell down the stairs. “She’s weighing her options!”

  “Mom,” I whispered, “please don’t fight. I hate when you guys fight.”

  She slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Aw, hon. We’re just having a discussion.”

  “Well, can you two at least keep it down?”

  “Yeah. We can try—I can try. You need to go down there and tell Gran yourself what your plans are for the future. You know, that woman tried to control my future when I was your age, and now she’s trying to control yours. It’s never enough for her. You’re my child and I—” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Listen, do what you want. What’s it to me? I’m done.”

  The pungent smell of liquor stung the inside of my nostrils.

  I watched her leave and stood for a moment, anger spreading through me. Karen’s song was over and had turned into a happy tune. It was sickening and bright: love would never die, life was beautiful. I walked over and grabbed it off the record player, ignoring the scratching needle that dragged along its surface.

  I felt just a bit horrible for destroying my favorite record—it was the same one I’d listened to many nights of Dad’s chemo. I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs, cheeks burning. Gran was at the stove with a spatula hanging from her hand.

  “You want me to get a life?” I asked her.

  She raised an eyebrow. I thought I saw the slight flick of a smile. “Yes.”

  “Can I borrow your car?”

  “You certainly may.”

  I grabbed the keys off the hook on the pantry door and went to yell up the stairs. “I’m going out!”

  Mom popped her head into the hall. “Where?”

  “I don’t know. You said you’re done. Well, if you’re done, I’m out.”

  Her mouth opened then closed into a firm line.

  I had to admit, it felt good to shake things up a little. Real good.

  There was just one problem with being wild and rash. It created a backlash of thought and feeling that I was unprepared to handle. I drove the car across the Little Indian River bridge and up the wild, curving road toward the bluffs, all while wiping away a torrent of tears. It was the first time I’d cried since his death. But instead of relief I felt pain, so much pain, like a fire building in my throat.

  A sign appeared in the headlights of Grandmother Carrie’s Pontiac, alerting me I’d reached the highest point and would have to park or turn around and go back home. I decided to park, and after a slight pause and one last swipe of tears, yanked up the brake and stepped out onto a platform of loose granite, just a small part of the vast landscape called the Ohio Valley.

  Sitting up on a boulder, I could see a shaded outline of hills curving out for miles. Jagged tips of limestone stood all around, reaching up to the moon like daggers—they were a fortress wall keeping the rest of the world out of Springvale, protecting time and its threats.

  Worst of all was knowing I was so far away from home . . . and Dad. I couldn’t feel him anymore; he was fading, being replaced by this podunk little town I’d been forced to live in.

  “It’s not fair,” I muttered into the darkness.

  Crying out, I grabbed a handful of rocks and hurled them into the darkness, listening to each ping as they landed. Some hit in a second, others took much longer, going way down to a river rushing by in swooshing waves. I stood up to see, grabbing another handful along the way. With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I yanked my arm back to get a good pitch only to halt at the feeling of shock that came from within my tightened fist.

  A coin had made its way inside the jumbled mass of stone. I picked it out to inspect it under the faint moonlight. It wasn’t an easy task—the thing sizzled with some sort of electricity and felt viciously cold like dry ice. I could barely make out the carvings: the letters SS on the front, and on the back, a gothic face just showing through years of layers of mucky verdigris.

  I turned it around a few times, trying to ignore the prickly feeling of déjà vu which had seeped in. It made me feel nervous. I had the thought that I was meant to find it, that I had moved all the way from Colorado Springs to Springvale, just to find this coin. The idea made me furious.

  “Let’s just see how long it takes you to reach the river.” I closed my palm and drew my arm back for another pitch, but one bad step had me falling forward, helped by the rolling current of pebbles under my worn out sandals.

  My stomach seized as I slid over the edge. Screaming, I reached toward anything that might be secure but could only find a set of vines coming out of the rough wall. I grabbed at them quick, and pushed my legs into the sheared cliff below to stop my body from its frightening, pendulous sway. A river of pebbles slid over the planes of my face, over my body, and into the darkness. I took a long breath through my nostrils with my lips clamped tight, and then, like a fool, looked down. Through the shadowed moonlight I could see just how far the bluffs sunk into the valley, and it wasn’t for the weak. Anyone who fell from this distance, very simply, would die.

  “This is your chance, Emma,” a quiet voice announced in my head, and a vision of my falling, floating body consumed me for a moment. It was the ultimate escape: no more pain, no more arguments, no more me. Then I saw everyone crying—those who had made me cry when I was alive were now crying because I was dead.

  Shutting off the vision, I looked up and gritted my teeth. Springvale was a rotten place to live, but death? I clutched hard at the vines, and after a few panting breaths, somehow pulled myself up over the edge with just one tiny slip before finding a secure hold. I crawled up and over to the side of the boulder and held on, sharp breaths forcing their way into lungs that had been too scared to work.

  The coin flashed at me through the long, messy strands of my hair.

  For a moment I ignored it, but after a few more ragged breaths, reached out to grab the thing—and held it tight.

  4: William

  There he was again, looking gorgeous as ever with books piled around in his usual way. Grabbing a cart full of Indiana history I walked past, only allowing myself a slight thought to the blue flannel shirt he was wearing yet again, and the sheen coming off the dark waves of his hair.

  I had almost died and this was what I was so desperate to see? A weird boy who never changed his clothes and who sat reading all day? Sadly, yes. It was exactly what I had been waiting for. As if knowing the state I was in, Ethel told me to organize the card catalog for an hour or so. It almost helped me to forget. No sooner was I done with that than I grabbed a cart and headed for the back.

  “Haven’t you been in that section a lot lately?”

  “Yeah, but, it’s a tough section.” I gave Ethel a weak smile.

  “All-righty then.”

  Ethel went back to her book and I headed through the tall rows of clothbound escapism, dust filtering down like snow in a haze of sunlight coming through the high windows. I could just make out Superman through Chaucer and Chekhov. His back was facing me, and for some reason I felt sad watching him. Why was he at the library every day? Didn’t he have anywhere else to go? I should just go talk to him, stop the game. Maybe he’d welcome it, tell me to sit down.

  Suddenly, he looked to the front door. “Son-of-a—”

  I craned my neck fast to see what had captured his attention, only to curse at the muscle cramp that resulted. Moving a book, I peeked through the shelves and saw five men step inside the library. They were dressed in business suits, and each had thick black glasses. The way they stood together, the way they surveyed the whole place felt menacing to me, like sharks on a hunt.

  Superman remained seated as they approached h
is table. “Hello, Marcus. Gentlemen.” His tone was civil, but I could detect a hint of sarcasm, laced with fear. “What brings you in today? Bored with the job? Running out of members? You think I’d be desperate to talk to you, being stuck here my whole life with nowhere else to go, but ironically enough, I’m not.”

  One of the men spoke, using a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “We came to deliver some important news.”

  Superman looked around at the group with a chuckle. “I’m dying to hear it. Go ahead and tell me—”

  I’d bumped my nose into a book and had caused it to fall off the shelf, garnering the attention of one of the group’s shorter members. He looked my way and began to approach.

  “Vincent!” Superman shouted, standing to attention. “Uh—aren’t you going to insult me? Come on, I’m good for it, you ugly little troll.”

  I swallowed hard, hoping this Vincent would take the bait. He did, turning to make his way back to the table—hands clenched and ready for action.

  Marcus, the one sending thick waves of premonition down my spine, stepped in to issue a low command. “We own you, boy. Don’t you forget that.”

  “Oh, I haven’t. Believe me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t forget all the wonderful things you do.”

  “The rest of the town would give anything to be part of our family.”

  “Family.”

  “Yes. We’ve made Springvale the perfect place to live—no crime, no poverty. You can’t deny what we’ve accomplished here.”

  “Take a quick hike to hell, Marcus.”

  The man leaned in. “Fool! The eclipse comes soon, and we believe someone has found it. You’re running out of choices. Continue the way you are and die with a slow fade into nothing. Join us and live forever. Which one sounds like a better choice, William Joe Bennett?”

  William—so that was his name. I watched as he thrust out of his chair to gridlock Marcus in the face. “Death, Marcus! I choose death.”

  “Anything I can help you with, gentlemen?”

  The entire group, including me, turned to focus on Ethel. She stood with arms crossed, a deep line furrowing between her brows. I peeked in between two copies of Great Expectations to get a better view.

  Marcus grabbed one of William’s books and held it up in distaste. “You can start, Miss Lacey, by removing this trash from your library. Don’t forget, the town council has strict guidelines concerning the material you shelve, and this book does not meet its criteria.”

  She plucked it from his hands. “Strengthen Your Mind is hardly a threat to the human race. Don’t forget, I own every page in this institution. It was given to my mother, who gave it to me. Your church—oh pardon me—council has no right to dictate any of the books in my collection.”

  She made a point of shoving it into a shelf behind her—the wrong place, I thought, making a mental note to move it later.

  Tossing her head, Ethel spoke with contempt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. Have a good day, and feel free to sign up for a new library card. You’ll be pleased to know they’re laminated now. That’s a little thing we like to call progress.”

  I smiled behind the shelves. The laminating machine had been my idea.

  Marcus turned to William who sat unmoved in his seat, his face a beautiful vision of unreadable stone. A few seconds later the front door closed with a hard shake.

  I approached Ethel, who dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Don’t ask, I’ll explain later.” She crossed her arms around her chest. “You know, it’s quite cold back there. I wonder if the air conditioner’s been working, but only coming through certain vents.” She gave a shudder, looking around the library. “Anyway, can you believe the nerve of those men, coming in here to hold one of their little meetings? Did you see the mess they made back there? Books all over the place. They love to get me riled up, I think.”

  Reaching out, I pushed in a curl that had shook loose from her well-sprayed coif. “I don’t understand. Why are they worried about certain books?”

  “Because they’re morons.”

  I held in a groan and whispered, “Well, tell me what you thought of him at least.”

  “Who? Marcus? I want to kill him.” She gritted her teeth.

  “No, not Marcus.” What was wrong with this woman? “Not Marcus.” I pleaded with my eyes. William, William, did you see William?

  Ethel sighed. “You’re too young for all this. Don’t get involved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Emma, do me a favor. Get out of town while you still can.” She handed me a book that was missing a label. “Okay?”

  “But why?”

  Ethel plopped down in her chair. “If you stay here long enough you’ll find out on your own, believe me.”

  She turned away, leaving me to stand there with too many questions and not enough answers.

  A deafening silence permeated the small space of the back corner that afternoon. There were no words to cure it, so I grabbed a cart and began shelving until all the books were put away. Something caused me to hesitate before heading off—a faint voice in my head—that said, Don’t leave me so soon.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  “William Joe Bennett,” I repeated, thumbing through the phone book that evening. The old Southwestern Bell had at last come to use, saved from its duty as a permanent doorstop by the back steps. “He’s gotta be in here.”

  I scanned through the B’s over and over, biting my lip in concentration. Springvale had a population of about eight-hundred people; it shouldn’t be that difficult to find one of its few.

  Dragging my finger down the page with careful scrutiny for the tenth time, I claimed defeat and closed the book with an exasperated sigh. I headed for Grandmother Carrie in the old afghan-covered easy chair. She and Mom were watching a TV drama.

  “Can I borrow your car?” I whispered, not wanting Mom to hear.

  She would only start asking questions. She was still in a bad mood over her day at the Springvale Savings and Loan. She said she hated working there, but after being a teller forever at the First National in Colorado Springs, didn’t know what else to do. A glass of merlot teetered in her fingers and her eyes were glued to the television screen.

  “What for?”

  “I just need to get out. Please?”

  Gran glanced to the darkening sky outside and whispered, “Normally I would say yes, but it’s a little late, Emma.”

  “It’s only nine. The sun hasn’t even set yet.”

  She studied my face for a moment then yanked a thumb to the door.

  “Thanks.”

  I gave her a quick hug and ran to grab the keys. I just wanted to see—he’s alone, he never eats, never changes his clothes. William Bennett is homeless and needs someone to help him.

  Don’t leave me so soon. I could still hear the words.

  The old Bonneville coughed and whined at me for waking it up. I ignored it and pushed the gas pedal as hard as I could to make it climb the slight hill of Walters Street. I turned onto Main as a row of old streetlights began to flicker on, battling the last remaining shafts of daylight that fell through the trees and sides of buildings. A slow drive around the square showed that no one was hanging around.

  I drove around again, just one more time, and was about to give up when something flashed across the reflection in my rear view mirror. I hit the brakes, stopping with a tiny squeal of tires, and backed up toward the middle of the block. Idling the car, I looked around for one long pensive moment, jumping in stupid reaction when a leaf fell past the car window.

  I pulled into a parking spot by the hardware store and turned off the engine. When something shuffled over by the Springvale Savings and Loan, I turned my head to see what it was. In a mere second there came a knock all the way
across the square by the gazebo. The hair on my arms stood up like little soldiers.

  “Hello?” I got out of the car and walked over to the structure, slowly moving up the steps to the wooden floor. A cold breeze surrounded me, stirring my senses with the overwhelming scent of something spicy and familiar.

  “Is it you?” I asked, but no one answered, only the breeze that grew stronger and held me where I stood.

  I felt a touch upon my face, a soft brush of something along my cheek. I closed my eyes in joyful acceptance.

  “Emma, Emma,” a voice whispered, or maybe it was the just the leaves shivering all around. It sounded like someone had whispered my name. It felt like someone had whispered my name. Before I could answer, I felt a touch upon my lips, soft, so beautiful that all I could do was stand there and take it in, heart racing until I thought I could no longer bear it. It was cold, like ice, before turning into liquid fire, melting everything away. The trees in the park shook at once in a great chorus of whooshes and patters like rain, like waves crashing; but too soon it died down, and with it the caress on my lips.

  I reached back to steady myself, daring to open my eyes. When I did the breeze abandoned me, moving down the brick-lined street in little eddies of fallen leaves along the curb. Darkness had set in.

  “Don’t go,” I pleaded, turning my head to the side, dejected and confused. My lips were frozen to the touch, and my jaw locked in an effort to hold back the violent shivers.

  After standing there for a few minutes listening to the wake of sound, I sat down on one of the painted benches inside the structure and leaned my head back in resignation. “You know, you don’t have to hide. We can talk if you want.”

  I stopped to listen again. Nothing.

  “If you’re out there, please understand. I can be a friend whenever you need. I know what it feels like to be on the other side of things. Really, I’m a lot like you, head always stuck in a book. I guess that’s what they call avoiding reality, you know? Maybe if you talked to me we’d be halfway sane, like other folks.”