The Dampness Of Mourning

by Lee Thompson

  Kim said, “You don’t like to talk much, do you? Or is it just the new job, the thing with your ex, Doug, and all?”

  “It’s all of that. But you’re right, I don’t talk much.”

  “Why?”

  “I never really thought about it.”

  “Are you afraid you have nothing to say or that no one will be interested?”

  “I have a lot to say but I don’t know if it’s right or wrong.”

  Kim smiled and my hands grew warm, so close to her, part of me wanting to dream of an us that would probably never exist. I’d dated plenty of girls who were either in ruts, lost in self-pity, or in constant flux and without much of an identity. I shook my head. I didn’t even know what attracted me to them in the first place. None of them. Other than April. She’d had a quiet intensity that few saw. She was as smart as she was beautiful though most people never saw that side of her because they couldn’t get past her looks. Or didn’t care to.

  I said, “Is it hard being gorgeous?”

  Kim laughed. I scanned the parking lot, car windows, alleyways, thinking that I had to keep my guard up because Nutley could be around and watching, though I had a hard time imagining him in the city, or around people at all.

  He’s probably found out where you live by now. He’s probably just waiting for you to return. His prodigal son.

  She said, “You think I’m gorgeous? Where did that come from?”

  “A reflex, I guess.” I smiled. “What’s your family like? Doug said you guys have been here forever.”

  She sighed as if just the thought of going into it exhausted her.

  Ravens gathered in the trees.

  A dark patch filled the windshield and I rubbed my eyes, tired suddenly.

  I said, “You want to get something to eat?”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “You’re not one of those women who obsesses about her weight are you?”

  Kim smiled. “All women obsess about their weight. Like you guys do with your penises.”

  “I don’t obsess about my penis.”

  “Maybe you don’t realize it. But I’m sure you do.”

  “Why are we talking about my penis?”

  “We aren’t. We’re talking about my weight problem.” She winked. I laughed. She said, “My family is the oldest in town. And if I’m not mistaken, yours is one of the oldest in Division, right?”

  “You’re right. We got something in common.”

  She smiled. “That isn’t why I ask.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  “I just find it interesting.” She studied the ravens. I told her not to stare too long or they might stare back. She shivered, and cracked a knuckle. “Those things give me the creeps.”

  I thought of One of Three of Seven ripping free a piece of Mike’s shoulder on the roof of Rusty Wallace’s house. I rubbed my eyes again and wished they’d stop stinging. I said, “What do you believe in?”

  Kim turned to me and she looked so young, so lost, and I felt sorry for asking though I really wanted to know. She cleared her throat, said, “I’ve seen a lot of good and a lot of bad, John. I guess if you’re asking if I believe in God, I’d have to say no. I believe in choices people make, and sometimes people run completely on instinct and impulse, and if evil exists, it’s that.”

  I thought about what she’d said but that didn’t sound evil to me, just animalistic. I waited for her to ask me what I believed, trying to be one step ahead of her so I wouldn’t sound like an idiot. I believed in choices too. When I was younger, I had no idea the weight they carried, and how little control we have over anything outside ourselves, and even inside we raged against our best instincts, the wisdom we’d gained through experience of our mistakes and those of others. The best choices I’d made were rarely ever the easiest ones.

  Kim said, “My family has always been into politics, policing, child care, and all that. You know how weird that is? I don’t even think it’s normal.”

  “It’s not any different than families that get into religion and pass the torch on, or ones who have a heavy percentage that have served time in the military, or other families who make a home of prison.”

  Kim smiled again. I wanted to kiss her but April’s ghost touched the passenger window. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. She looked toward the sky as if at any moment God would find she’d returned. But she whispered—Help me—and her fingers vibrated against the glass.

  Next to me, Kim touched my hand. She said, “You’re a lot smarter than most men. A lot nicer too.”

  I stared at April, wondering where our lives would have gone if I’d avoided the manor’s basement and she’d not taken her son to the motel and herself to the tree. I’d never pictured myself living a normal life—family, kids, a job that I work for forty years, spending most nights in front of the television to unwind—but I would have done it for her. I hated how empty it’d made me feel for so long before her and just as I was drawing closer to the idea of spending our lives together, she was drawing away.

  Because she lied, I thought. That was what broke it all. She lied.

  Kim said, “I’m sorry. Did I make you mad?” She pulled her hand from mine and set hers in her lap.

  “It’s not you.”

  Kim grunted. “You don’t have to lie to me, John. I’m sorry if something I said hit a nerve. To be honest, I’m rarely this friendly with anyone. They let you down, you know? The moment you put your trust in someone.”

  I nodded. I knew. But I said, “Not everyone’s like those people.”

  Kim sighed, said, “I know.” We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us lost in our thoughts. I fought the urge to return to David’s house, knowing that there was really nothing I could do for him or his family, even though I wanted to. Finally, Kim said, “Well, this is it. If you have any questions call me and I’ll walk you through it.” She reached over the seat and pulled the black bag up front. She handed it to me and said, “Good luck.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “There’s no better teacher.”

  I laughed, took the bag from her, and looked over the lot and wondered how far away Doug was, if he was already lost to this world, and it made my goddamn heart ache. But moping about never got anything done, and there was that truth to cling to, so I offered Kim one last smile and threw the bag in my Jeep. A few homeless people cluttered the sidewalks, carrying their scabs and paper bags, their eyes on Kim as she crossed the lot to the building, sunlight dim and the wind still. I took a deep breath and touched the pistol beneath my coat, then pulled the first file from the bag and set it in my lap and took another step into other people’s problems.

  Kim had been kind enough to MapQuest each stop, and the first led out of town and down a one lane dirt road that had seen better days at the turn of the previous century. The Jeep rode the ruts well, but it wasn’t fast going, and the woods were dark. When I’d been a boy they’d never seemed like that and I still think sometimes that our worst fears hide partially in shadow, partially in light.

  The dirt track ended abruptly at a brick house with a sagging porch and rusting end caps. The windows were grimy and faded and I found it hard to believe that a family lived there, but knew better because up in the hills I’d seen people who lived in less and worse. There weren’t any vehicles in the weed and gravel driveway. I was tempted to call Kim and ask her if each case was by appointment and what to do if no one was home, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. I shut the Jeep down and pulled the file from the bag and climbed out into the chilly air. The forest seemed unusually still. The sun beat against my face. I glanced from window to window, searching out any sign of life. The porch had rotted years ago and the steps were warped, the screen door hanging on by only the top hinge, and a hole was in the center of the screen as if someone had driven their head through it.

  I imagined living that kind of life. I imagined how good I might have really had it when I was a kid because my dad, as
cold and stubborn and hypocritical as he was, made sure there was food on the table, respect in the heart, commitment to words, and clean clothes on our backs.

  I knocked on the door and it banged against the frame. Part of me expected the door to open on its own, to fall apart right before my eyes and there in the dusty and ill-lighted foyer would stand Proserpine cradling April and Ethan and David and all those the world didn’t understand.

  “Hello?” I called out, chilled by the way the air deadened my voice the moment it passed my lips. I drew the pistol and tucked the case file under my arm, thinking maybe this was why Kimberly had no problem hiring me, maybe she knew I’d do what Tripper did when it came down to it, and I’d take things into my own hands. I stepped back from the door, listening, focusing my attention three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around me, waiting for something to happen. I thought this is how it goes down…I walk around this house and hear someone off in the woods; cries, pleas, savage laughter. And I find some cruel stepfather doing his best to do his worst to some young girl who is never going to know anything remotely normal, who will never feel she can be loved, that she even deserves it, because what he gives her when no one is looking is what takes away her faith and trust and hope. And Kim knows, and Doug knew, that I’m not going to write a summary of what I saw. I’m going to take this pistol and a handful of his hair and knock his teeth out when I drive the barrel down his throat.

  I took a deep breath, tried to relax and prevent my imagination from taking over because it could be something really simple going on here, something harmless. But my instincts fought against it. I circled the house slowly, clutching the pistol. The backyard was open and wide with only a few small trees dotting the lawn. At the back of the property something small and gray hunched among the trees. I stopped at the corner of the house and squinted, trying to decipher its meaning but the distance was too great. A chill tickled my spine and my eyes burned. I pictured David wrapping his arms around his brother’s legs, the creak of the branch as the rope ground against it, and my heart hurt because the poor kids were April and Ethan, they were my pain, my burden, as well as each other’s. I inched forward, risking exposure but seeing no way around it unless I skirted through the trees and I didn’t have the time or patience for that.

  Halfway across the yard, my skin humming beneath the warming sun and chilled by a gust of wind that carried with it the scent of roses, the structure in the woods began to take shape, its edges more defined, until I stopped again and held the pistol close to my thigh and listened for any sounds issuing from the shack.

  I heard a child cry and saw ghosts flicker between trees. My skin crawled and I wanted to turn and run, but they weren’t what worried me. It was the madness that had consumed them, the evil that lurked in places like this, thick and moldy and heavy. I cocked the .38’s hammer, the sound of it locking in place like a battle cry in the stillness and I thought, If they didn’t know you were here before, they do now.

  Taking another step was harder than it should have been. I could imagine closing in on the door, the rusty handle beneath my hand, the creak of old hinges as I pulled it open and saw—

  Behind me, a man’s voice rose like a torrent. “Who are you?”

  I turned slowly, saw a middle-aged man on the back porch built like a grizzly bear, his pants dusty and hands caked with grease. He had one eye, the other just a vacant hole filled with the sharpest kind of darkness. I searched to remember the resident’s name, but failed. I said, “I’m with Child Protective Services,” as if that gave me a right to snoop around private property.

  He said, “So?” and stepped from the porch. His mouth was wide and grew wider as he grinned. He said, “You’re looking for my brother, huh? He’s gone.” Still smiling, moving forward easily and quickly, almost anxiously, and I fought the urge to step back, told myself maybe I was overreacting and there wasn’t really a threat. Fifteen feet away and he waved a hand toward the shack, saying, “There ain’t nothing back there but old farm equipment and such.” Five feet away, his hands coming up as if the charade were over and he wanted to wrap those meaty fingers around my neck, and he saw the pistol in my hand and he stopped cold. He almost stumbled, his one good eye running from the pistol to my face. He said, “You’re carrying a gun.”

  I nodded.

  He said, “Why?”

  I lifted it, pointed it at him casually, said, “For bears.”

  “Bears are rare around here, though it’s not unheard of.” He fidgeted. He wiped the back of a hand against his empty eye socket as if to clear his vision.

  I said, “Where is your brother?”

  “Town.”

  “LaPorte?”

  “Scranton.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “No clue.”

  “And you’re here, what? Babysitting?”

  He smiled. It creeped me out. The look on his face said, Wouldn’t you like to know…

  “Answer the question. The kid inside?”

  “Your meeting is with Jake.”

  “Jake?”

  “My brother.”

  “Right.”

  “Right,” he said. “And I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  I thought about what Kim had said, at the first sign of confrontation to call the police, but I found I didn’t want to.

  “What’s Jake’s brother’s name?”

  “You mean my name?” He cocked his head.

  “Yes, I mean you.”

  He grinned again, but his eye flicked to the pistol before glancing past me to the shack at the back of the property. I said, “I think if a state trooper comes out here you’ll answer my questions.”

  He frowned and it was just as ugly as his smile.

  I said, “Why don’t you show me what’s in the shed.”

  “I already told you, just old farm equipment and the like.”

  “Show me. But pray that your brother’s kid isn’t in there.”

  His face grew red. He stepped forward quickly but I raised the pistol and pointed it at his good eye. He raised his hands, said, “Jesus. Calm the fuck down.”

  “Don’t crowd me.” I nodded. “Step back.”

  “You don’t work for CPS”

  “Let’s say I don’t, then who do you think I work for?”

  He studied me, confused. I was Joe Anybody. Unremarkable. I could read it in his face. At last he sighed and said, “I’m betting you sell dope.”

  I laughed and lowered the pistol. “That’s what you’re trying to hide?”

  He laughed nervously and then looked angry again as if I’d insulted him. “Who are you?”

  “I already told you,” I said. “Where’s the kid? Is she with her father?” I pulled my cell from my pocket with my free hand, said, “Does he have a cell phone?”

  He shook his head, looked around. “Doesn’t even have a landline.”

  I sighed, thinking that I could call the state police anyway, let them know that this guy was growing pot out here but didn’t see the point. Half the people I knew smoked it and the way I saw it people could do whatever they wanted as long as they didn’t hurt or steal from someone else.

  He said, “Are you leaving?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, hop to it.” His smile was back, this big guy thinking this whole thing was a pissing contest. He put his hands on his hips and his shoulders grew wider.

  I said, “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “What?”

  I pointed the gun at his face, wanted to drive the barrel into his sightless socket and drop the hammer. Hate bubbled up in me, and it scared me, because I didn’t know where it came from so suddenly or why.

  His lips quivered. He whispered, “Hey. I was only joking.”

  “You weren’t joking.”

  “Okay.”

  “Show me what’s in the shed.”

  “I already told you—”

  I fired a round in the air and he jumped and the shot echoed in the fore
st. I said, “Show me what’s in the shed.”

  He nibbled on his lip. His good eye looked wet.

  I thought, There’s more than some pot growing going on here.

  The strike of a match, the sway of a branch, the desperate call of the broken burst the air to my right. My ears popped and Ole’ One Eye looked nervous. I kept the gun on him and glanced in the direction of the noises and sucked in a hot breath that stung my throat. David’s house had taken up part of the property. The boy held a dead cat, cradling it like a baby, while behind him, beneath darkening branches, April stepped onto a five-gallon bucket and pulled the noose around her neck while David’s dead brother Jacob touched her thigh, eyes pleading.

  Tears stung my eyes. I thought, All of this pain that we all go through? For what? To make us stronger? Then we die? We take our own lives…We watch those we care about destroy themselves…We act so wise and choose so stupidly…

  The bear of a man scratched at his missing eye. He said, “You’re creeping me the fuck out, man.”

  “That’s saying something, isn’t it?”

  I pulled my gaze from the mortally wounded, the downtrodden dead, everything lost that was beyond repair, and lowered the pistol. I said, “How do you tie into all of this?”

  He tried smiling again and failed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re another part of the puzzle, right? It’s why I’m here.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the hunching shed and the black limbs entangling it. The sky whispered of coming storms, gathering darkness. Shadows moved between tree trunks. My skin crawled and the big man breathed a rush of air that slapped my face a moment before his fist connected with my jaw. As I fell I saw David press his lips to the kitten’s mouth, trying to breathe life into its cold corpse; I saw April lower her head, hands clutching her stomach as if something horrible grew inside her and there was no other way, she believed, to prevent the malignant being’s birth; and Jacob smiled at me, his eyes those of the man who had been waiting for the smallest distraction, one I’d gladly given because violence possessed its own purity.