Wind Catche

by Jeff Altabef

  He focuses his eyes on mine, and I nod.

  “I probably wouldn’t have paid the gossip any attention, but these dodgy guys from out of town show up asking questions about Roundtree. They wore suits. They looked like they had money.” He shrugs.

  “You confronted Sicheii with this rumor?” I can’t imagine Sicheii involved in drugs. Roundtree maybe, but Sicheii never.

  “No. I didn’t. Things might have turned out differently if I had, but I talked to Summer instead. That was a mistake. She got really cross with me. She thought I was making it all up, that I wasn’t serious about getting out of the business. We fought hard. It was quite the dust up. We had never fought before that, but she stormed out on me. I was so bloody angry. She should have believed me. She was eight months pregnant.”

  His face twists and his nose flares. He’s reliving the argument he had with Mom at that moment, the emotion still raw even after all these years.

  “Later that night I was working Old Town, killing time. It wasn’t such a ritzy place back then, and there were many shadows and hiding places. I was waiting to meet the college kids for the final score when your grandfather shows up heading to his gallery. He was in a hurry, but his strides were off. He stumbled a bit as he walked, so I followed him.

  “When he reached the front door, the light from the gallery brushed against him. Dried blood crusted on his hands and splashed against his shirt. I stayed in the shadows as he went inside. This was none of my business. I wouldn’t have said anything, but a second later, one of those guys from out of town appeared on the street, hustling toward the gallery. I’m not sure why I jumped in his way. I was young and acted without thinking.

  “Maybe I thought if I helped your grandfather, he would cut me some slack and make things easier for us. Anyway, this guy barreled into me. We both tumbled to the ground. The wanker got up and started berating me! I’ve got a temper, just like you. No one is going to yell at me like I’m some punk. We started to tussle. He had a gun. I had a knife. I got to him first. The police found me standing over him. He was dead and I was still... kicking him.” Ayden stops, his jaw clenched tight. He looks me in the eyes, and his face trembles a little.

  “I later found out that two of the outsiders were killed in Roundtree’s house. Roundtree claimed he killed them when they tried to rob him.” Ayden shakes his head. “Roundtree was old even then, so I can’t imagine him getting the drop on those two by himself. They looked like pros to me. So you see! When I heard about Roundtree’s murder and then Brooks, I knew it had to involve your grandfather. The outsiders had asked about him also.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Your Mom gave me the information to track your cell phone. I followed the signal to Old Town.”

  One part of Ayden’s story jumps out at me like a bronco. “You killed that man in self-defense. You were innocent of manslaughter!”

  Ayden frowns and releases the side guard. “Don’t start making me out to be something I wasn’t now. I was a bad kid. He might have had a gun, but I wanted to kill him.” He glares at me. “I wanted to kill him. Besides, it was only a matter of time. I should have been thrown in jail long before then.”

  “Didn’t Sicheii say anything in your defense?”

  He laughs coldly, his voice frigid. “Your grandfather testified against me. He said he saw the fight and there was no gun. The police never found the weapon. He turned Summer against me. She had to choose between us, so she chose him.”

  Ayden runs his hand through his short hair.

  I must have made a face because he says, “Now don’t get like that with your mother. I was a bad kid. She made the right choice. She did what was best for you both.”

  Ayden didn’t blame Mom, but I sure could.

  How could she turn on the man she loved?

  I lie on my hospital bed alone, happy for the solitude. After Ayden finished his story, I told him I need some time, some space to sort things out. He nodded at me before he left. I’m sure he wanted a different reaction from me, but I don’t know what he expects or what I’m feeling. Everything is so new and raw. I need time to sort through my feelings—time to think. He wasn’t the horrible villain I sometimes imagined, but he was a drug dealer and a killer. Even if he killed that man in self-defense, he still confessed he wanted to do it.

  I wrestle with my new reality when a doctor strolls into the room with Mom a step behind him. His gray curly hair, short wiry beard and mustache look as if they are made from wool. He’s shorter than Mom and waddles as he walks, probably because he carries a few extra pounds around the middle. His white lab coat flops open and hangs at his sides. He couldn’t button it if he tried. He looks oddly familiar, but I doubt I’ve ever seen him before.

  He smiles as he approaches the bed. He has a friendly, reassuring smile, if such a thing is truly possible. It makes me like him before he utters a word. He holds a clipboard in his hands, but he doesn’t look at it. “Hello, Ms. Stone. Is it okay if I call you Juliet?”

  I shoot icicles from my eyes at Mom, who maintains her distance, a step behind the doctor with a stony expression carved on her face. Her hand reaches for her hair to twirl it, but by force of willpower, she returns it to her side, its mission unfulfilled.

  I look back at the doctor. “Juliet is fine.”

  “Good. You can call me Doctor Dan, if that is okay.”

  “Sure.”

  “Now tell me about these sounds you have been hearing. Your mom says you described them as voices?” His voice rises at the end of his statement, which transforms the assertion into a question.

  My self-preservation instinct kicks in. This isn’t an ordinary doctor. The badge hanging from his lab coat reads Dan Epstein - Psychiatrist. I don’t like where this is heading.

  I hesitate before answering. “I don’t think... I said anything about voices.” I glance toward the door. “I just had a headache, that’s all.” I don’t like the way he said voices. I certainly don’t want to be the kid who talks to voices in her head. Visions of a straight jacket and padded walls darken my imagination and future. Bartens sucks, but it’s a lot better than a psychiatric hospital.

  Doctor Dan doesn’t say anything. He just waits. After a long moment, I look back at him and his small, moss colored eyes.

  He sighs and smiles at the same time. “I can’t help unless you’re honest with me. Are you hearing them right now?”

  I really wish I were a better liar! Even with all the experience I’ve had lately, he still sees through me in a second. “Yes. I don’t hear them all the time, but recently they’ve been louder.” My skin turns clammy.

  “Do these sounds talk to you? Do you understand what they are saying?”

  “No. I never understand them.” My voice is husky and coarse like sandpaper. I do my best to keep tears from my eyes.

  Doctor Dan places his hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, Juliet. We’ll find out what’s causing your condition. Hearing noises is a common problem, especially when someone has been through a lot.” He squeezes my arm.

  I feel better. I hadn’t realized how much the voices have been bothering me until now. I can’t hold back the tears any longer, so they start to fall. Mom bites her lip and looks at her feet.

  “Is it always the same sound you hear or different ones?” Doctor Dan reaches into his lab coat, pulls out a wad of tissues and hands them to me.

  “I think they change.” I wipe my eyes with the tissues. “I usually feel emotions when I hear them, like anger or fear or excitement.”

  “That’s good. How long have you been hearing them?”

  I think for a second. “I don’t remember exactly. Maybe they started two months ago. At first, the sounds were like white noise. I figured it was no big deal, but it’s been getting worse. Now they sound like voices, but I still can’t understand them. They’re starting to make me crazy.”

  “You’ve been hearing voices for two months and you haven’t mentioned it to me, Jules?” Mom squeaks. “W
hy not? We could have done a strategy session.”

  “I don’t want a stupid strategy session. I want them to go away. Besides, you’re always too busy. Working. Hiding letters. And let’s not forget all the lies you’ve been telling me!”

  My dinner sits uneaten on the bedside table. Mom left with Doctor Dan and then returns right away with worry etched on her face. She sits at the edge of my bed. “Since when do you keep secrets from me?”

  I roll my eyes. “Really, Mom? You’ve kept the letters from Ayden secret from me for sixteen years.”

  “That’s not the same thing, Jules.” She twirls her hair. “I thought I was protecting you. At first, you were too young to understand. With time, it became too hard to change. The lie was easier than the truth. I’ve saved the letters.” Tears glisten in her eyes. “You can have them when we go back home.”

  “So that makes it all better? I’ve thought my father wanted nothing to do with me for my whole life, that he hated me, and now I can just have the letters and all is forgiven. You’re kidding me, right?” I’m about to really launch into it, but the noises in my head start to thunder, and I feel an overriding sense of melancholy, which tempers my anger and saps my energy.

  “I’m sorry. I made a mistake, but we can’t have any more secrets. I need to know everything that’s going on with you to help with these voices you’re hearing.” She keeps chattering for a while, but I tune her out and turn my energy to quieting the noise in my head. When it seems like she has finished, I smile weakly at her and tell her I want to take a nap.

  Doctor Dan returns an hour later without her. He’s carrying a chocolate glazed donut in his hand, which he gives to me.

  “How did you know this is my favorite kind?” I ask. Mom believes sugar is poison, so she never lets me buy donuts or other sweets. The only exception is ice cream and flavored ices. It would be impossible to live in Arizona without them. Sicheii, on the other hand, has no problem with desserts. We used to sneak around Old Town without Mom knowing. It was our secret. Sicheii’s always been good at keeping secrets.

  Doctor Dan grins as I take a healthy bite into the pastry. “Us psychiatrists never reveal our secrets.”

  We talk for a while. He asks general questions, like “How is life at home? Do you have many friends? How is school?” It seems stupid to lie to him, so I answer his questions truthfully.

  I ask him some questions of my own. “What the heck is wrong with me? When will the voices go away? Why’s this happening to me?” He doesn’t really answer any of my questions. I don’t think he can, so it’s a test of sorts. He is honest at least.

  He takes three vials of blood and promises to come back and see me tonight. He gives me two pills to quiet the noises in my head so I can sleep. He doesn’t call the noises voices. I notice that right away. He always refers to them as sounds or noises. Who knows what that means, but it seems important.

  When he leaves, I start to wonder where the television remote control went when Troy, Ella, and Marlon stroll into my room. My heart skips a beat when I see Troy. Fresh white tape stretches over his swollen nose, and black circles darken both of his eyes.

  “Troy, I’m so sorry! I should never have made you go to Roundtree’s. This is all my fault.”

  “You’re not the one who hit me with that flashlight.” He shrugs. “I could have ducked.”

  “Besides, he looks cuter with a crooked nose,” Ella says. “It gives him character. How are you doing?” Her eyes quickly scan my body and linger on the discarded IV bag by the side of the bed.

  “I’m fine, really.” There’s no way I’m telling them about the voices or Doctor Dan. “I should be out of here soon.”

  I notice Marlon eyeing my unfinished dinner. “Are you going to eat that Jell-O? Red is my favorite flavor.”

  Some things don’t change, even in hospital rooms. “Go ahead.”

  Ella and Troy step to the side of the bed while Marlon dawdles behind with the cup of Jell-O in his hand. He looks for a spoon, doesn’t find one, and sucks the Jell-O out of the plastic cup in one noisy gulp. Finished, he smiles at us. “Did you know there were only four original flavors: lemon, orange, strawberry, and raspberry?”

  “Where’d you learn that?” Troy asks.

  Marlon shrugs. “Snapple cap.”

  Ella ignores him. “Did you hear about Judge Baker?”

  I nod. “It’s odd. I don’t think he has any Native American blood, and the twisted arrows thing seems to be all about the Tribe. Are there any rumors about who killed him? It has to be connected somehow.”

  “Nothing new,” Troy says as his eyes dance around the room. “I gave the Sheriff a description of the guy who clobbered me at Roundtree’s house, but it was dark and I couldn’t really remember what he looked like. I just remembered that he had oily hair.”

  “I gave descriptions of both guys to the Sheriff this afternoon, but I doubt they were much better. One of them had a gold tooth.”

  “I don’t remember two guys.”

  “You were flattened by the time Gold Tooth showed up behind me.” I sit up high in the bed and smooth the cotton blanket over top of me. It’s rough against my fingers, nothing like the blankets at home, but I’m happy to have something to do with my hands. “I got to meet my father,” I say, dropping the bombshell.

  Ella’s mouth makes an O shape. Troy crosses his arms against his chest, and Marlon munches on a cold roll leftover from my dinner.

  “He’s not really what I imagined.” I tell them everything Ayden told me, and I toss in the hatchet and Sicheii’s hair the Sheriff found at Judge Baker’s place.

  “They must suspect the two guys that kidnapped you for the murders,” Marlon says. “They were at Roundtree’s house and they’re dangerous.”

  “Yes, but just because they were at Roundtree’s house after Troy and Juliet got there doesn’t mean they’re the ones that killed Roundtree,” Ella says. “It doesn’t necessarily connect them to the other two.”

  “The idiot Sheriff thinks we interrupted a burglary and they’re unrelated to the murders,” I say.

  “He could be right,” Ella says as she crossed her arms against her chest. “The hair and the hatchet don’t look good for your grandfather. Still, what’s his motive and what’s this secret society all about? They’re just some old guys, as far as I can tell. I don’t see the connection, although Marlon found another one of those twisted arrows symbols.”

  “I saw it in Joe Hunter’s general store right by the cash register,” Marlon mumbles with his mouth full of roll.

  “Did you see Hunter reach for his shirt collar when we confronted him? He must have wanted to make sure we didn’t see his tattoo,” I add.

  Ella whispers. “Do you think your grandfather has something to do with these murders?” “I don’t know what to think.” I lean toward them and speak quietly. “But the guys at Roundtree’s house said they wanted to use me to capture Sicheii. I haven’t told that to the Sheriff or even my mom. Sicheii’s wrapped up in these murders somehow.”

  “That doesn’t mean your grandfather killed anyone.” Ella touches my arm. “I haven’t found out anything new about Dent’s article, although The Sentinel ran a story that said Dent died in a car crash. His car flipped off Eagle Ridge Road and burst into flames when it hit the gully.”

  “That’s always been a dangerous road. They probably didn’t have the guard rails in back then,” Troy says. “What do we know about this Ayden character? He seems suspicious.”

  “Only that he saved us!” I shout surprised at how quickly I became angry. “If he didn’t go back for you, who knows what would have happened?”

  “It sounds like someone’s framing Jake to me. This Ayden guy might be holding a grudge. I mean, he obviously has a beef with Jake and Roundtree from way back. I’ll bet Judge Baker was the one who sent him up the river. He’s already admitted killing one guy. He could be behind these new ones.”

  “Troy!” snaps Ella. “That’s Juliet’s father!�
��

  “He’s a drug dealer, Ella. It seems very coincidental that he shows up in town just when all these murders are going down. I’m just saying, he seems very suspicious to me.”

  “Stop it, Troy!” I yell.

  “How could you take this guy’s side over your grandfather’s?” Troy’s eyes narrow. “Jake’s been there for you and your mom your whole life. This other guy just showed up a couple days ago. We don’t know anything about him.”

  Ella glares at him.

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side, Troy. Sicheii’s caught up in this somehow. We need to figure out how.”

  Troy huffs and turns his back on me. I want to strangle him. He’s being pigheaded.

  “We can check out part of Ayden’s story,” Ella offers. “I’ll search the Internet and see if anyone else was killed when your father was arrested.”

  “That won’t tell us much,” Troy says, his back still turned to us.

  Before I can say anything else, Ayden appears in the doorway and hesitates when he sees my friends. He looks at me. “I didn’t realize you had visitors. I could come back later.”

  “No, come in. I’d like to introduce you to my friends.”

  Troy turns to face him, his expression cross. Lines that don’t normally crease around his eyes and mouth develop. Deep rivers dig into his forehead.

  “Guys, this is my father, Ayden.” I can’t believe those words came out of my mouth—my father.

  Ayden thrusts his hand out. Marlon and Ella shake it. Troy looks at it as if he’s contagious with the plague or something. Ayden keeps it outstretched for a few uncomfortable seconds. When it’s clear Troy won’t shake it, he brings his hand down to his side and smiles broadly. “I understand, Troy. I have some work to do to earn your trust.”