by Jen Blood
A pressure I’d been feeling in my chest all day got steadily worse. Solomon bumped up against me as we walked. She wore a deep blue sundress that fell above her knees and made her green eyes shine. The cut showed off the new definition in her arms and calves, the physical manifestation of whatever transformation she’d been through in the six months since I’d seen her last. A transformation Juarez had been witness to; maybe was even partially responsible for.
She stumbled on the uneven terrain, and I held onto her elbow.
“Just a second,” she said. She took off her heels and held them in one hand. “I never did get the hang of walking in these things.”
“I don’t think Wyatt would mind.”
She glanced at me sadly. “No. I don’t expect he would.”
<><><>
I sat in the front row beside Mae and the kids during the funeral. Wyatt’s father never showed—not a surprise, really. I remembered him at his wife’s funeral and in the days that followed: not a pretty sight. George was the kind of man who preferred to grieve in privacy. Solomon told me she’d find a seat on her own, insisting that I should be with the family. When I scanned the crowd, I spotted her sitting alone in the back. There’s always been something solitary about Solomon, something strong and isolated and a little sad about her, as though she was set adrift at some point and has never quite found her way back to the world. I got that cold, unfurling pain in my chest again—like something was trying to break free, trapped by blood and muscle and bone. Ida, Wyatt’s youngest, whispered to me. I leaned down to hear her. She took my hand in hers. It was warm and damp, her freckled face blotchy from crying.
“What’s that, sweetheart?” I whispered.
“Daddy’s glad you’re here,” she whispered back. “I know he’s watchin’. He’s glad you come back home to us.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too,” I lied. In a church. To a seven-year-old kid. If I believed in hell, I would have felt the flames licking at my feet.
The service wasn’t long. There was a lot of praying, and a lot of singing, and a lot of crying. People snuck glances out the windows toward Barnel’s demonstrators and there was plenty of angry whispering from those in the congregation, but otherwise the service went smoothly. Toward the end, I stood, adjusted my tie, and smoothed out the eulogy Mae had asked me to write. I passed Wyatt’s open coffin without looking inside. Somehow, I made it through the entire speech without breaking down, my gaze fixed on the double doors at the back of the church.
When I was finished, I got down from the pulpit and returned to my seat, wishing for a drink or a smoke or, more than anything, a line of white lightning to dull the pain and make everything a little brighter. Instead, I bowed my head while the congregation prayed one last time to a god I don’t believe in, and then I joined the other pallbearers as we carried my childhood best friend to the hearse waiting outside.
Solomon joined me in the parking lot once the hearse was on its way. Her mascara was running, and I saw no sign of her shoes. Historically, Solomon didn’t really do funerals; now I remembered why. I pulled her into my arms as much for myself as her, and held on tightly while she mumbled something unintelligible into my jacket. Her hair smelled of honeysuckle, and I was acutely aware of the warmth of her body and the curves pressed against me.
Eventually, she extricated herself. She rubbed her eyes and sniffled wetly. “God, I hate funerals.”
“Well, you certainly handle them well.”
She laughed. “I was fine until you got up there. I’m officially booking you for my final farewell.”
“If there’s any order at all in the universe, I won’t be around for that day,” I said. She was trying to be light, I knew, but I couldn’t summon a smile at the thought.
She hesitated, studying me now. “It really was beautiful, you know. Are you okay?”
“You have to stop asking me that. I’ll let you know if I’m not—or, more likely, you’ll be able to tell before I can.” I glanced at her bare feet. “Didn’t you have shoes when this thing started?”
She swore, earning a sour glance from the few stragglers who hadn’t left for the interment, and darted back into the church to retrieve her heels.
Solomon was just out of sight when I spotted Reverend Barnel again, ambling toward me. He wore a double-breasted blazer too small for his girth, and he was surrounded by three oversized white guys in equally ill-fitting suits. Danny was already headed to the cemetery with the rest of the family, which meant there was no reason for me to play the rational adult any longer. I bridged the distance between us in a few strides, my anger flaring as soon as Barnel opened his mouth to speak.
I had no interest in listening.
Instead, I tried to plow through his entourage, ready to beat the sanctimonious snot out of him—regardless of his age. A guy built like a Frigidaire—Brother Jimmy, Barnel’s son—pulled me back, and one of his buddies delivered an uppercut that would have knocked me on my ass if Jimmy hadn’t been holding me up. My leg, still throbbing from the snake attack the night before, buckled beneath me.
“Settle down, boys,” Barnel said.
His voice was the clear, rich tenor of a lifetime orator. He squinted at me over his glasses while Jimmy continued to hold my arms.
“Daniel,” he said. “Daniel Diggins, isn’t it? I never forget one of my boys, son. I hear you had an unfortunate encounter last night with some o’ my babies. Them snakes do get testy ‘round non-believers.”
I stopped struggling, and Barnel gave his son a nod. Jimmy let me go. It was all I needed; I might not be able to justify pummeling the old man himself, but there was no love lost between Jimmy and me—he was a worthy substitute. I wheeled on him and managed one solid blow to the jaw before his friend attacked. He caught me in the nose, hard, and I tasted blood and saw stars.
Buddy Holloway emerged from the church and shouted something I didn’t catch, then grabbed me and held fast to my arms, pulling me back. The world had gone red, images I was powerless to stop rushing over me in fast-moving waves:
Wyatt on that first day we’d met, smoking a cigarette out behind Barnel’s Redemption Hall; racing bikes and drinking beer and the sound of his laughter on hot summer nights. And then, the sight of him that same summer, strapped down while Barnel brandished a blazing hot steel cross. The sound of his screams, flesh sizzling when the reverend pressed the metal into his chest…
I fought harder, the reverend watching with a smug, holier-than-thou smile.
“Calm down, doggonit,” Buddy said “Get him out of here!” he shouted to the reverend’s men, who did their best to shepherd Barnel away.
“Now keep your shorts on,” Barnel said smoothly. He met my eye. “That rage has to burn itself out sometime, son, or you’re lookin’ at an eternity in the fire.”
“You think I don’t know who did this?” I finally managed, my voice choked. Barnel didn’t move, his eyes as hard as stones. “I don’t know why, or how, but I know this all comes back to you. Wyatt’s death; those snakes last night. And when I figure it out, you’re going down. People will see you for the monster I always knew you were.”
Barnel took a step closer to me, his yellow, cracked teeth bared in what could have been a smile or a snarl. He smelled like tobacco and sweat. “I’m havin’ a service tonight, son. We’re gonna save ourselves some souls, put the Holy Spirit back in this demon town. Your friend Wyatt strayed, and the Lord smote him—just as the Lord’s gonna do anybody who don’t see fit to cleanse themselves but quick. You watch yourself, boy, or it just might be your broken body folks are mournin’ next.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked.
He smiled more widely. “It’s no such thing, brother. That there’s just a promise. I hope to see you tonight, Daniel. I plan on savin’ your soul before the end’s upon us. And that end’s comin’ sooner than you might expect.”
“That’s enough, Reverend,” Buddy said. “Why don’t you go on now, see if you can’t find somebody el
se to save.”
“I reckon that’s a fine idea,” Barnel agreed. “Always a pleasure seein’ you, Deputy.”
He tipped his hat, and he and his goons made their exit.
When he was gone, Buddy handed me a handkerchief for my nose, now bleeding all over my shirt and tie.
“Sometimes I don’t know what gets into you,” he said. “You know Barnel ain’t worth the energy. Nice to know you haven’t changed none in five years, though.” He looked at Solomon, who’d returned with her shoes at some point in the excitement. “You think you can get him cleaned up and cooled down?”
She nodded with no enthusiasm. “Yeah, of course. Thanks. I’ll handle it.”
The rest of the crowd left. Within ten minutes, Solomon and I were alone in the church parking lot, like nothing had ever happened. Just another cold, rainy day in paradise. I sat down on the front steps, Buddy’s hanky pressed to my nose. Solomon shook her head.
“You’re hopeless, you know that?” She sat down beside me. “I was gone two minutes—what the hell happened?”
I didn’t answer. Her arm was warm against mine, but the rest of the world had gone cold.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked finally, after the silence had closed in around us. “And you give me a straight answer?”
I had a feeling I knew where she was headed, but I nodded anyway.
“That scar on your chest—the one you won’t talk about? The one in exactly the same spot, exactly the same size, as Wyatt’s scar… Did Barnel do that?”
She studied me as I thought about the question, waiting for the bleeding to stop and the throbbing in my nose and fist and chest to ease.
“My old man was desperate when he sent me down here,” I said, finally. “I mean—obviously. How often does a mainstream Episcopal minister turn to backwoods Pentecostals for help?”
“It does seem a little out of character for Daddy Diggs,” she noted.
“You didn’t see him that year after my brother died,” I said. “He read about Barnel, and I guess he figured, ‘What the hell? What else are you gonna do when you’re raising Cain?’ ”
“You didn’t kill your brother,” she said impatiently. “You skipped school and took him swimming when you were twelve. It’s not like you knifed him, for Christ’s sake. It was an accident, Diggs.”
“My father doesn’t believe in accidents.”
“Yeah, well… your father has his head up his ass. No offense.” Her hand slid over mine, our fingers entwined. I fought the urge to pull back, the contact too much just then. I could feel her watching me. I didn’t meet her eye as I continued.
“Be that as it may, he packed me up and sent me to Reverend Barnel’s church camp. And the rest is history.”
“Really crappy history,” she said. “Part of it including a brand on your chest. Clearly, there’s more to the story than that.”
This is why sharing things with Solomon is a pain in the ass: she’s not happy unless she’s got all the gruesome facts. I shrugged. “The whole thing is hard to explain unless you’re actually there to witness it. You’ll see tonight. I don’t want to ruin the full effect.”
“We’re really going to that? You think Barnel’s just gonna welcome you back into the fold after your meltdown?”
“He will,” I said. “I’m the one who got away… the one who never bought into all his bullshit. Trust me, he wants me back.”
“Okay.” She took a breath, considering all this. “So, we go to the revival tonight. And you don’t try to kill anyone. That’s a deal breaker for me, FYI. But in the meantime, we’re supposed to be at the cemetery laying your oldest, dearest friend to rest, and you look like you came out on the wrong side in the UFC.”
“I know. I’m a genius.”
“You are. But luckily, you have me.” She stood, pulled me to my feet, and we walked back to the car in silence. She got her suitcase from the trunk and riffled through while I stared out at the horizon. When she returned to my side, she had a blue button-up shirt in hand.
“Here.”
I made no move to take it. “Is that Juarez’s?”
If it was possible, she looked even more miserable about the situation than I was. “I spent the weekend in D.C. before I came out here—it got mixed up with my stuff. I’m sorry. Unless you want to wear one of my tank tops, this is all I have.”
“No. That’s fine.” I took off my jacket, unbuttoned my shirt roughly, and pulled on her boyfriend’s Oxford. “It’s a little tight,” I said. “You know what they say about a man with a small shirt.”
She took my bloody clothes and tossed them into the backseat. “Spare me. I’ll try to date someone closer to your size next time.”
“Good,” I said with a nod. “See that you do.”
Chapter Seven
DANNY
Danny thought he’d suffocate in the church. There were so many people—he’d never realized just how big his family was. A damn sight bigger than he cared for, that was for sure. It turned out family was the least of it, though, because then there was Barnel and his people out there hollering lies, and his daddy there in the casket, and Ida crying, and Mama trying to hold on even though her whole world might as well be over. He sat there beside Rick, both of ‘em quiet, and he just kept repeating to himself: Keep it together. It’s almost over.
But when it was over, it only got worse. Danny watched the preacher close the lid on his daddy’s coffin, and it hit him like a running tackle in the end zone—just took his knees out from under him and knocked the breath right out of his lungs:
He was really gone.
Danny rode to the cemetery with the family, and he stayed with them while they lowered the coffin into the ground. He kept it together when his Mama wrapped her arms around him and held on, whispered in his ear, “You had your differences, but your daddy was so proud of you.”
He just kept hanging on.
Finally, back at the house, he told Rick he was going out for awhile. “I’ve gotta practice. The band needs me.”
Rick frowned. “Can’t you give it a rest just one day? Mama doesn’t want you takin’ off—you should be here to look after things.”
“I thought that’s what you was here for,” Danny said. “Trust me, they won’t even know I’m gone.”
“That’s bull and you know it,” he said, his back up now. Rick was a little smaller than Danny, but he was in better shape thanks to tennis and runnin’ and whatever else kept him busy while Danny was out causin’ trouble. Back in the day, Danny could usually be sure he’d win in a fight. Now, that wasn’t so likely. Win or lose didn’t matter just then, though; Danny didn’t have any interest in fighting.
Diggs showed up from around the corner, looking hangdog and tired. Danny had missed it when he went after Jesup Barnel, but it looked like Diggs got the worst of it: his nose was swollen and his lip was split, his right eye turning purple. Still, Danny wished he’d been there to see it.
“Let him go,” Diggs told Rick.
Rick turned on him, pissed. “But Mama said—”
“I’ll smooth things over with Mae,” Diggs said. “Just take it easy, Rick. Why don’t you go take a breather yourself? It’ll do you some good.”
He walked off before Rick could make anymore fuss. Danny followed along behind as Diggs led him out the back door, into the backyard, and out behind the shed where Danny used to sneak smokes when he was still a kid.
“How’re you doing?” Diggs asked.
Danny shook his head. He felt tears start, and it took everything in him to push them back down. Diggs stepped back a little, looking sad and sorry. He touched Danny’s shoulder.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he said. “It sucks right now, but it’ll get better.”
“You sound like one of them commercials they’re always playing at school. ‘It gets better.’” He wiped his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Shit. I need a joint.”
Diggs laughed dryly. “Tell me about it.”
“You really think it’s okay if I take off awhile?”
“Yeah,” Diggs nodded. “You’ve put in your time. Go. Don’t do anything stupid: no drinking and driving; no smoking and driving. I’ll tell your mom I said it was okay. She can take it out on me if it’s not.”
“I won’t be late,” Danny promised.
“If you end up doing too much or you need anything, call me,” Diggs added. “Doesn’t matter when, I’ll come get you. No questions asked, no explanations needed. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He got moving before Diggs changed his mind, already feeling a little better now that he was on his own.
Danny’s pickup was parked at the head of the road, a good two miles’ walk away; Mama had said they needed to leave space for everybody else to park. He loosened his tie and took off his suitcoat, wishing he’d thought to change before he left. Still, he had some stuff in the truck that would be all right for now. It’s not like he was looking to get in any trouble… All he wanted was some space. Sweats and a ripe t-shirt would do just fine for that. He picked up his pace to a jog, grateful for the fresh air and the quiet.
About a quarter of a mile from the truck, he heard something behind him—like a cough, maybe, but not a cough. Like somebody clearing their throat. He turned, fast, a shiver riding straight up his spine. This time, he knew Rick and Ida weren’t there, because Diggs wouldn’t’ve let them follow. And Casey was working... He should be alone.
“Hey—anybody out there?” he called. He spun on his heel, searching the trees for a sign that someone was there. Not a soul.
He turned his back and set out for the truck again, but he couldn’t shake that feeling that he wasn’t alone. It was late afternoon, the shadows reaching far out from the trees. Everything was still. He rubbed his palms on his pants and started running again, wanting only to get to his truck and the weed waiting in his glove box.
By the time he got there, he was convinced he’d just been hearing things. He got out his keys, glancing around to make sure nobody saw him.