The Widening Gyre

by Chuck Grossart

  After dessert, Zach’s sisters rose to leave. Sammy had to head back to Iowa City, and Liz to Lincoln.

  Sammy gave her brother another hug. When she pulled back, Zach could see tears welling up in her eyes. “Zach, I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said. “It’s good to have you home again.” She cupped his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. Turning to Rakel, she said, “And it was nice to see you again, Rakel. Keep this kid in line, will ya?”

  “Don’t worry, I will,” Rakel said, slipping her arm around Zach’s waist.

  Liz was next. “See you later, little brother.” Embracing both Zach and Rakel at the same time, Liz whispered in Zach’s ear, “Take good care of this little lady.”

  “I will,” he whispered back. “See you later, Liz.” Zach and Rakel watched at the door as his sisters got into their cars, pulled out of the driveway and headed their separate ways.

  “I’ve got to get going, too,” Rakel said. “I told my dad I’d be back by nine.”

  “Let me walk you out,” Zach said, as Linda stepped forward and gave Rakel a hug.

  “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” Linda said.

  “Don’t worry,” Rakel said. “I’ll be back.”

  Zach and Rakel walked hand in hand down the street toward Rakel’s Mustang, which she’d parked out of sight so Zach wouldn’t see it when he came home.

  “Your family is great, Zach.”

  Not only had his family accepted Rakel, she obviously felt at ease with them, too. “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you and my mom.”

  “Why?” Rakel asked.

  “Because if the two of you keep scheming, there’s no telling what you’ll come up with.”

  Rakel giggled. “We got you, didn’t we? Your mom is great. I like her a lot. You had no idea I was going to be there, did you?”

  “Not a clue. But it was a great surprise, Rakel. You’ve made this day absolutely perfect.”

  “I’m glad, Zach.”

  They reached her car, and stood facing each other.

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Zach asked. It was more a statement of hope than of certainty. He knew in his heart he wanted to see her every day for the rest of his life.

  “Sure,” she said. “I’ll stop by after work. I get off at eight, if that’s okay.”

  “Of course it’s okay.”

  Rakel unlocked her car, and opened the door.

  “Rakel?”

  She turned to face him.

  “I love you.” There they were, three small words hanging in midair. His heart was pounding, not sure how she would respond but hoping she would feel the same.

  “I love you too, Zach Regan.” Rakel kissed him on the lips, then turned and got into her car. She started the engine, and blew a kiss to him as she drove away.

  He watched the Mustang until the taillights disappeared around the corner. Zach stood there for a moment, lost in the incredible wave of feelings that were washing over him.

  He had a whole new life ahead of him now, and a beautiful girl to share it with—hopefully, he thought, for a long, long time. They’d shared a transformation together and were both stronger, better people now because of it.

  And best of all, his old dreams had ceased. No longer did he have to face a shadowy figure in the mist, taunting him, scaring him. It was gone. Finally.

  All because of Rakel Anders.

  18

  Peyton woke with a start, and glanced at her alarm clock. Six fifteen in the morning. “Darn it.” She threw her covers back and sat up. She usually set her alarm for a quarter till six, but figured she must’ve forgotten to set it.

  As each day passed in her new life in Twin Creek, Peyton grew more and more comfortable. Mornings had once served as a start to another day of dreading what was to come later, putting on a brave face, and heading off to school before her parents stumbled out of bed, but it was different here. Peyton couldn’t wait to begin the day. Every morning, she woke with a smile, even today when she was running late.

  She slid on her slippers, grabbed her robe, and made her way downstairs to put the coffee on.

  There was a light on in the kitchen. It was unusual for either Rick or Justine to be up this early, as they normally got up around seven o’clock. “How come you’re up already?” she said. No answer. The house seemed chilly, and Peyton paused to adjust the thermostat at the bottom of the stairs, turning the dial until she heard the furnace kick on.

  Peyton entered the kitchen, and stopped in her tracks when she saw a young boy standing on Justine’s step stool, peering into one of their cupboards.

  “Oh,” Peyton said, startled by the boy’s presence. She modestly pulled her robe tighter and tied the sash. “Hello?” The boy didn’t seem to hear, and continued to dig through the cupboard, as if searching for something. Peyton stepped nearer, and hugged herself as gooseflesh crawled up her arms. She saw he was barefoot, wearing knit pajamas, and had curly, sandy-blond hair, mussed and unruly as if he’d just gotten out of bed. She rubbed her forearms, and thought for a moment she could see her breath.

  She was so cold.

  This didn’t feel right. Peyton remembered how cold she had been months ago, when she imagined seeing a gunman at school.

  Was it happening again, she wondered? Peyton closed her eyes. This isn’t real. I’m dreaming. I’m going to count to three, open my eyes, and he won’t—

  “Where’d the cereal go?” the boy asked.

  Peyton reluctantly opened her eyes.

  The boy was still there, facing her, a somewhat annoyed look on his face. When the imagined gunman met her gaze she’d felt a chilling certainty that she’d seen his eyes before, but it had all been a strange, terrible daydream. She found herself experiencing a similar wave of recognition now, but it was warm, how one would feel when recalling a fond memory. “Do I know you?”

  The boy turned back to the cupboard. “Very funny,” he said. “Where’d you put the cereal?”

  “It’s in the pantry,” she answered automatically.

  “Since when do we have a pantry?” the boy asked. He hopped off the step stool and stared at Peyton.

  “It’s over there.” Peyton pointed toward the far corner of the kitchen.

  “A real pantry? Cool.” The boy padded across the kitchen, opened the pantry, and reached for a box of Frosted Flakes.

  Maybe this wasn’t another dream, Peyton thought. Could he be a neighbor kid, by chance? Peyton had seen kids playing on their street, roughly the same age as this boy, and wondered if maybe that’s why he seemed so familiar. Justine hadn’t said anything about any neighbor kids letting themselves in, but considering how small Twin Creek was, it wouldn’t surprise her if one of the neighbor kids felt comfortable enough to wander in and—

  No.

  It didn’t make sense.

  Justine and Rick had been foster parents, but they hadn’t said anything about taking in another child. And anyway, they’d all gone to bed at the same time last night and Peyton was sure she’d have heard something if they’d gotten up and—

  Last night.

  Peyton glanced at the back door. Locked. Deadbolt was set. She turned and looked at the front door. It, too, was locked. She specifically remembered Justine locking it when they’d come in from the front porch. It suddenly dawned on Peyton that as long as she’d been in this house, Justine always checked to make sure the doors were locked before turning in.

  This boy wasn’t a foster child they’d taken in during the night, and he hadn’t wandered in through locked doors.

  Peyton shivered. The furnace was running, but the chill penetrated every pore in her body.

  “I want you to tell me who you are,” Peyton said.

  The boy stepped back from the pantry and looked Peyton directly in the eyes. “You know who I am.”

  For the first time, Peyton noticed the boy didn’t look . . . whole. She stared closely and could see the scene behind him blend into his skin, his hair, as if he were some sort of
projection. But that couldn’t be; he’d opened the pantry, grabbed the cereal box. Deep down, beneath the waves of fear beginning to ripple through her chest, there stirred an even deeper, inexplicable feeling of attachment to this little boy. Or, more accurately, to this vision of a little boy. It was a feeling she’d never experienced before. “Please, tell me who you are, and why you’re here?”

  The boy ignored her question. He walked to the breakfast bar and set the Frosted Flakes box on the counter. “When are you going to find him and help my dad?” he asked.

  Find him? Help his dad? “Where does your dad live?”

  The boy looked up, met her gaze. His eyes appeared much older than before. It was a knowing look. Haunting.

  “He doesn’t,” the boy said.

  Peyton paused, unsure how to respond. “What do you mean?”

  “You need to find him.”

  “But I don’t know—”

  “Please, hurry. He’s waiting for you.”

  “Waiting? I don’t understand.”

  “You do,” he said, his voice brimming with frustration. “You saw him.” The boy looked away, shook his head. “I don’t think he recognized you.”

  “Where did I see him?”

  “Please don’t ask me any more questions. Just go find Dad, okay? You need to hurry.”

  From the top of the stairs: “Peyton, are you downstairs?”

  Peyton gasped, started by the sound of Justine’s voice. She looked away from the boy and shouted upstairs, “I am, and I think you’d better come down, too.”

  Peyton turned back toward the breakfast bar.

  The boy was gone.

  *

  Justine hurried down the stairs, pulling her robe around her as she walked into the kitchen. “What’s the matter, Peyton?” she said, her voice groggy from sleep but pitched from a slight rush of adrenaline. Justine’s sleepy eyes quickly darted around the kitchen, expecting to see more than one person.

  Peyton wasn’t sure what to say. She trusted Justine but didn’t want to tell her what she’d seen, at least not until she had a chance to figure out what just happened. “Nothing,” she lied. “I guess I looked at the clock wrong. I thought we were all late.”

  Justine stared at Peyton for a few seconds. “You had me worried there for a second. I could’ve sworn I heard you were talking to someone.” Justine watched a strange reaction cross Peyton’s face, but only for an instant. Then it was gone.

  “Sorry,” Peyton said. “I was talking to myself. I was mad for getting up late. I guess I need to wake up a little more before I start trying to tell time, huh?” Peyton smiled at her aunt, trying as hard as she could to hide how unsettled she was.

  “Well, now that we’re up, how about starting the coffee, kiddo?” Justine said, unconvinced at Peyton’s explanation but not yet willing to press. “I’ll throw some breakfast together for us. Rick won’t be up for a little while, so it’s just us girls. Feel like pancakes?”

  “Sure, that sounds great.” Peyton walked to the pantry to get the can of Maxwell House, relieved that Justine hadn’t questioned her further. She placed a paper filter in the basket and dropped in three scoops of grounds. The chill was gone now, and everything felt normal again. Maybe, Peyton wondered, she had been seeing things.

  “Whew! What did you set the thermostat to?” Justine asked, fanning her face. “It’s hot in here.” She pulled a large mixing bowl out of the cupboard and set it down on the breakfast bar, next to a box of cereal. “Did you get this out?” she asked.

  Peyton turned, and saw the box of Frosted Flakes in Justine’s hand. She couldn’t hide her feelings this time. She hadn’t imagined it. She felt the blood drain from her face, and grabbed the edge of the counter to steady herself.

  Justine set the cereal box down and ran to her side. “Peyton? What’s wrong?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Talk to me, kiddo. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  She had, but she wasn’t ready to say anything. Not yet. “I’m okay. Just a little light-headed, I guess.”

  Justine put her hand on Peyton’s forehead. “No fever. Are you feeling sick?”

  “No,” Peyton replied, “maybe I’m just hungry.”

  Justine stared at her for a long couple of seconds. “Still want pancakes?”

  “Yeah,” Peyton replied, “that sounds really good.” She sat down on one of the bar stools and scooted closer to the counter. She could tell her aunt was still watching her.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Justine asked.

  Peyton wanted to tell her aunt what she’d seen, so badly, but couldn’t. Justine would think she was crazy.

  And maybe, she would be right.

  “I’m fine,” Peyton lied.

  19

  The phone rang three, four, five times. Zach had sent Rakel a few texts, and even called her number, but got no response. Her phone was always dying—probably why she hadn’t replied—so he decided to call her house phone instead. Just like his parents, Rakel’s folks—her dad, he corrected himself—still had a landline. She should’ve gotten home from work fifteen minutes ago.

  Six times. Seven.

  Just as Zach was about to hang up, someone answered the phone.

  “Hello?” A man’s voice. Probably her father.

  “Hello,” Zach said, having to clear his throat before continuing. “Is Rakel there?”

  “Who’s calling?”

  Definitely her father. Zach would have to remind Rakel to plug her phone in more often. “Zach Regan. Sir.” No response. “I work with Rakel at Kayman’s. I’m sorry to call so late—” He stopped as he heard a clunk; the phone being set down.

  “Rakel, phone.” A pause. “Tell him I don’t appreciate calls this late at night.”

  “Hello?” Rakel’s voice.

  “It’s me. Tell your dad I’m sorry I called so late. I heard what he said. I don’t want to piss him off before I even meet him.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, quietly. “He’s that way no matter who calls me. Hold on, I’m going to go to the kitchen.” A few seconds passed. “Okay, we’re good. Why didn’t you text me?”

  “I did. I’ll bet your phone’s dead again, isn’t it?”

  There was a pause as Zach figured she was checking her phone. “Sorry,” she said. “Dead again. I always forget to plug the thing in.”

  “I missed you today,” Zach said. “We’re both working tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yep, I checked the schedule, and we’re both on for tomorrow. I missed you, too.”

  In the background, Zach heard her father again. “Rake. It’s late.”

  “I’ll let you go,” Zach said, not wanting to get Rakel—or himself—into more trouble. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Rake?”

  “See you tomorrow night, Zachy.” She whispered her next words. “I love you.”

  Zach’s heart soared. “I love you too, Rakel.”

  *

  Rakel walked out of her kitchen and through her living room.

  “Who was that?” her father asked. He was sitting in his recliner in front of the TV, watching the late local news, his gut supporting a half-empty bag of Doritos. The lead story was about a suspected serial killer who’d just been caught in Omaha, believed to have murdered a couple of flight attendants and disposed of their bodies in dumpsters, nude, with their throats slashed. They’d also been missing their left ring fingers. He pointed the remote at the TV and turned the sound down.

  “That guy at work I told you about,” Rakel said. “The one who got hurt at the party a couple of months ago.”

  It suddenly dawned on her father exactly who she was talking about. “Zach Regan, damn. He even told me his name. I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t catch it. Look, Rake, if he doesn’t leave you alone, I’ll call the cops.”

  “It’s all right, Daddy. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. I can handle him.”

  “How did he get our number?”

  “I don’t
know. Maybe he found it at work or something?”

  “He makes me nervous.” Her dad sat up straighter in his chair. A few Doritos crumbs slid off his belly and disappeared under the seat cushion, never to be seen again. “You need to be careful, Rake. You see stories about guys like him on the news all the time. I don’t want my daughter ending up being a statistic. And don’t give him your cell number, either.”

  “I can handle it, Daddy, and I won’t give him my number.” Her smile said, I’m a big girl now, don’t worry. “I don’t feel threatened or anything. He’s just a little weird, that’s all. I’m only around him at work, and there are always other people close by. I make sure I’m never alone with him.”

  “Just the same, you need to be careful.”

  “Don’t worry.” She started to walk toward her room, when her dad spoke again.

  “Why didn’t you just hang up on him?”

  “You know me,” Rakel said, shrugging her shoulders. “I have a hard time being rude. I told him as nicely as I could to stop calling because I’m just not interested.”

  “Next time, hang up. If he doesn’t stop after that, I’ll handle it myself.”

  “Okay, Daddy, but really, you don’t have to worry. If I felt threatened, I’d tell you. You know that, right? I think he’s just some kid with problems who needs someone to talk to.”

  “He can talk to his shrink then, not my daughter. You watch him, Rake. Keep your eyes open and don’t let yourself get in a situation where he might try something.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe I should call that boss of yours and tell her to get rid of that guy.”

  Rakel feigned shock at his suggestion. “No, Daddy, please don’t. I’d hate to see the poor kid lose a job. It’s probably good for him to be around other people anyway.”

  Rakel’s dad was proud of his daughter, who was always willing to think of other people before herself. He’d raised her right, even though he’d done it alone since her mother had skipped out when Rakel was little. With the amount of time his job forced him to spend away from home, he was grateful he had a daughter who could take care of herself. “All right, honey, but be careful just the same.”