WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made

by Brooklyn Hudson

  Rocking, she glanced around for something else worthy of her attention.

  Julien stood there looking at her. Her natural beauty seemed such a waste and he tried to disregard the pity he felt for her. He took another step closer, forcing Sarah to look up at him now. He raised a hand and ran it over her hair. Sarah flinched. Julien pulled her close and held her against him. He had to gain her trust. He had to befriend this powerful girl, once and for all, and now she had given him something he had longed for, all but the first nine years of his life; the chance to see his grandfather one last time and to tell him how sorry he was. He wasn’t even sure the manifestations Sarah resurrected were the actual spirits of those they represented, but he didn’t care.

  Julien felt Sarah relax in his arms.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The golden retriever dug its way out from beneath the porch, pawing at the ice. Small balls of snow clung to its blonde, feathery bib, as it fought to push through. First its nose then its ears, emerged from the snug escape route. It whined, shoulders stuck, then fought hard until the bulk of its ribcage broke free from the ice. It shook its body, sending snow flying from its fur. Holding its nose up high, it swayed its chin from side to side, sniffing the air and scrutinizing the landscape before it bolted.

  Carl Lind placed another log on the fire. Hovering so close to the hearth, the radiating heat felt too much to bear. He took a seat, deep in thought, on a nearby ottoman. He leaned in to adjust the logs with a poker, protecting his beard from the emanating warmth. The crackling sound of the glowing wood settled him and his mind continued to drift. Nothing good would come of Arlette’s plan and no matter how hard he tried to convince her, he was incapable of talking her out of anything she set her mind to, and equally ineffective at protecting himself from the fallout, which would surely follow.

  Arlette appeared beside him, stealing him from his thoughts. She aimed her palms toward the fire.

  “Brrr…the bedrooms are freezing.”

  Her leg brushed against Carl’s and, for the first time he could recall, he was bothered by Arlette’s rare touch. He got up and took a seat in the recliner.

  Arlette continued to warm herself, “Who was that?”

  Carl stopped to think, “Who? What do you mean?”

  Irritated, she turned to face him, “On the phone, Carl.”

  “Oh. Oh. It was Bernie.”

  “Is he doing it?”

  “Doing what?” Carl asked, scattered and distant.

  She spun around again, “Carl Lind! What is wrong with you? Did you tell him to get the snowmobiles over here, or what?”

  Carl sighed then rubbed at his eyes. It dawned on him, “Where is the girl?”

  “She’s in the back bedroom, yammering to herself on the floor.” Arlette moved to the sofa and pulled a throw blanket over her lap, “What did he say about the snowmobiles? Is he on his way now?”

  “No. He can’t even get to the garage. He said he’ll come up as soon as he can, but he can’t imagine it will be today.”

  “Well, this is ridiculous. The two of you…one more useless than the next.” She flung the blanket from her lap.

  Carl, seeing her get up, panicked. He sat forward in the chair.

  “Now Lettie…let’s just think about this.”

  Arlette stopped in the middle of the room. She stared him down, narrowing her eyes, “You thought I was going to call Bernie?”

  Carl’s expression turned to befuddlement and he stammered indecipherably.

  Arlette continued to dissect, “I was going to work with Jessica. Teach her the right way to use the bones, but you thought I was going to call your brother, and you don’t want me to.”

  “Well, I…I just thought…Arlette! It’s only that…well, Bernie said he couldn’t get to the garage and I simply didn’t want you calling and hounding him about it.”

  Arlette took a paced step toward him, followed by another. A smirk curled her lips and she glared at him, “You, Carl Lind, are the worst liar ever to be born of this earth. Let’s add that to your list of inadequacies, shall we.”

  Carl stood up with a slight stomp of his foot, “Arlette, I have had about enough of your disrespect. If you think I am going to walk around here kowtowing to your every whim and be spoken to like your…your…little minion, you have another guess coming!”

  Arlette grinned, “Oh look,” she laughed, “…the steer grew his balls back.” Her eyes sparkled with delight, “Nice try, Carl. Now, sit down.” She rolled her eyes and went straight for the phone.

  “I will not sit down! I’m not kidding, Arlette. I don’t want any part of this. He sounded…wild…rabid. He’s just angry enough to cause a whole heap of trouble before you ever get the best of him. And let us not forget, he did win the fight once.”

  “Aaah…so it was Julien who called,” said Arlette with a slow spreading smirk. She returned the phone to its cradle.

  Julien sat before the fire. The sound of Sarah milling about in the kitchen gave him solace. She was busy and close within his reach and, for now, he was free to think in peace. The idea that Jessica was out there, in the hands of Arlette and Lind, made him feel caged. Not even he could truly understand the full extent of Jessica’s mind and he wondered if she even believed he would be out there, trying to find her.

  She is frightened…

  Confused…

  They won’t hurt her…

  They need her.

  Movement, far out on the property, caught his eye and he rushed to the window. Along the tree line, the dog crept across the property in the direction of the barn. A snowflake passed through his view and then another. The snow quickly took momentum and his heart sank.

  Jessica…I am coming.

  I will be there.

  Somehow, Papa will get to you.

  A familiar scent caused his stomach to lurch before its origin could register. The smell of the roast reached his senses and regardless of the nausea brewing in his gut, here was his chance to play the game.

  If she will allow it…

  He returned to a chair by the fire and kept his eyes on the falling snow. He could still feel the touch of his grandfather’s hands gripping his shoulders. Unconsciously, he crossed his arms and rested his hands in their place.

  Ed finished his grilled cheese sandwich and removed the plate from the arm of his chair. He placed it precariously at the edge of a cluttered end table, beside him. He waited for the weather segment of the news, all the while feeling like he might crawl out of his skin. His day off had been spent moving through a series of naps and meals. There wasn’t much more he could do with eighteen-inches of snow on the ground and an inability to shake the Grenier case from his mind. He thought about calling the station for updates, but he had already done that twice and, had they found anything new, he was sure they would have called him immediately.

  “…for now, it seems the snow is over for us, here in the city, but upstate has already received up to four-feet of the white stuff, and with these three storms coming in back to back, we will continue to see more snow over the next few days and maybe even into the weekend...”

  Bale changed the channel and the overly exuberant laugh track of a random sitcom filled the room. He had one more day off tomorrow, and a few sick days he could use, if necessary. He found himself asking the same question, over and over again—do I want to risk the trip or wait out the weather?

  It wouldn’t be long before one of his peers realized Julien was gone and he wanted to get to him before the station did. His mind suddenly made up, Ed went to pack.

  His grandfather’s hand disappeared past Julien’s ear then returned with a 10 franc coin. Julien giggled, beaming with curiosity and awe. He rubbed at his ear, dumbfounded by his grandfather’s magic. Grand-père smiled and reached for Julien’s tiny face. He cupped it in his palm then gave him a gentle shove, playfully rocking the eight-year-old backwards on the log, where they sat beside the water. He wanted to see the trick again; to figure it out. He
pleaded with his grandfather, who only laughed and handed him the coin before removing a pouch from the basket beside him. The old man rolled a cigarette with rapid precision. Julien reached into Grand-père’s pocket and fished out his Zippo lighter. Using both hands for grip, he rolled the wheel several times before the lighter caught flame. Grand-père lit his smoke then took the Zippo back, returning it to his breast pocket. The old man pointed at the fishing gear and nodded. Julien hopped up and took hold of the rod. He fished into a small bucket, removing a worm. He held the hook in his left hand and the worm in his right. He brought the worm to the hook and slowly applied pressure, but it quickly gyrated and, once again, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Disappointed in himself, he looked back at his grandfather, who chuckled and waved him over. He took the worm and the hook from Julien then pointed out at the water telling Julien to look away. He baited the hook quickly and dropped it to dangle above the ground, handing the rod to his grandson and sending him off with a gentle pat on his thigh. Julien rushed back to the water’s edge to cast the line. It didn’t go very far and he had to try again. On the fourth attempt, he was satisfied and stood very still, waiting, unblinking, with hope that the float would disappear below the surface and he would bring home their dinner, as Grand-mère had told him to do.

  His grandfather sat back against the log, slouching down and tipping his hat over his eyes to shield them from the mid-afternoon sun as he readied for a nap. The birds sang and diamond needles skimmed the dark, lake water’s surface as Julien continued to wait.

  Julien felt himself separate and rise above his smaller body. With intense anticipation, he looked down upon the scene, knowing what was coming and, now merely, a helpless bystander. He watched the look of shock and horror on his childhood face when Jérome appeared. He noticed his grandfather’s hat fall to the dirt as the old man sat forward, startled by the appearance of his son; already inebriated in the middle of the day.

  Julien, paralyzed at a distance and unable to intervene, could not make out their words, but he remembered them well. He watched as his childhood self, feared turning his back on his father to reel in the fish, now tugging at his line. With a gesturing hand, his grandfather encouraged him to bring in the fish and ignore his father, as the old man got to his feet, but Jérome believed he could do better and stepped toward his son, snatching the fishing pole and shoving him aside.

  Jérome stumbled; the slight tug of the small fish was enough to sway his massive, intoxicated frame. He tried to wind the reel but his meaty fingers kept slipping off the small crank.

  Julien had promised his grandmother a fish and he couldn’t allow his father to lose their dinner. He stepped in close, attempting to help his father and take back the line, but Jérome snapped at him.

  His grandfather moved in, motioning for Jérome to go home and wrestling for the rod. Julien began to panic, he didn’t want them to fight; he promised grand-mère a fish! Their voices grew louder, angrier, and Julien tried again to take control of the rod, when his father swung his hand back, sending the eight-year-old tumbling to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, his grandfather swooped him up from the pebbled dirt. Blood running down over his chin. His upper lip began to swell and moist dirt left subtle streams on his cheeks as Grand-père marched him into the trees with a snug grip on his neck, to keep him from looking back at his father.

  Sarah placed a hand over Julien’s, still resting on his shoulder where his grandfather’s manifested hands had been. Julien sat forward in an instant, but quickly realized he had been asleep. Sarah walked away looking back at him. Julien followed.

  The dining table was set and there, at the center, lay a glistening roast. Julien breathed deep and held it for a few seconds. He knew he would have no choice but to eat the meat, if he planned on convincing her to trust him to ever play the game again.

  Sarah rushed ahead to slide his chair back, inviting him to sit. Julien forced a smile and took the seat. Everything in him fought not to reach out to dig into the bird and retrieve the bone, but it would be useless without Sarah’s cooperation. He felt a foul acid rise in his throat as he thought about its flesh in his mouth.

  Sarah hummed as she picked up the carving knife and fork. She sliced into the meat, transferring some to his plate. He could see the mauve bone peeking out ever so slightly from the bird’s collar. He realized he was salivating; though his every instinct said not to eat. Sarah cut away at the meat again bringing some to her own plate. She followed Julien’s eyes, transfixed on the wishbone. She played with it using the tip of the knife, freeing a small portion of it.

  Julien watched, waiting for it to be free. He now felt he could easily eat the meat, if only he knew they would play the game. Sarah moved the knife quickly, slashing through the air and pointing its tip at his plate. Julien sat up, startled, and looked down at the white meat. He picked up a fork to his right then a knife to his left. He nodded and forced a smile. He cut at the slices, forming a small triangle speared by his fork. He lifted the meat to his lips as his eyes drifted to the wishbone again. Sarah waited for him to pass the meat to his tongue and as he bit down on it she plunged the knife back into the bird, cracking the wishbone in two with an audible and wasted tink!

  Sarah laid down the serving utensils and sat. She shuffled her seat in closer and began to eat. Julien couldn’t take his eyes off the fractured wishbone.

  The room filled with the soft sound of Sarah’s humming as she served herself a roll and some corn. She reached across the table, spooning some onto his plate. Julien watched for a brief moment then shoved her hand away scattering yellow kernels everywhere. He got up from the table and went to the kitchen where he spat the half chewed bite of chicken into the sink, rinsing it down the drain. His mind reeled with fury while his body felt the familiar haze of euphoria from the slightest bit of meat. The mixture of emotions overwhelmed him and he dropped to the floor below the sink. His chest heaved with heavy breaths. The snow, the broken wishbone, his terrified daughter in the hands of dangerous strangers, Sarah’s ability to trap him with nothing more than a longing to do so; it was all too much to bear. He heard her shut the water off and felt her presence beside him. She tugged at his shirt and he knew she expected him to return to the table and eat. She tried again, pulling at his arm. Julien began to pant angrily; he couldn’t control himself any longer. He spun around and grabbed her wrist as he got to his feet. He took hold of the back of her neck with his other hand as she yipped, maneuvering her through the house to the front door. He kicked it, angry and not wanting to let go of her, and then quickly opened it before grabbing hold of her neck again. She cried out as he used her body like a battering ram to bust the screen door wide open. Snow came down around them as he shoved her ahead, propelling her along the path she had made earlier. He said nothing as they crossed over the bridge; Sarah reaching for the sides, but missing every time, as he jerked her from side to side. At the barn doors, he kicked at the wood, but refused to let go of her this time, sensing she would run.

  “Open it! Open the fucking door, Sarah. OPEN IT!” he demanded.

  Sarah, her chin tucked to her chest, shoulders shrugged to her ears, tried to keep his vice gripped hand from snapping her neck, as she quickly opened the barn doors.

  In the darkness, he thrust her ahead.

  She fumbled and tripped as he drove her through the debris. Julien lost his grip momentarily, as she fell over some boxes.

  “Come here,” he growled as he reached for her in the shadows, finding her neck and arm again and heaving her upright. He threw her against the coop door and the birds sounded an enormous frenzy. He grabbed the axe and brought it down into the wood door, only an inch from her cheek. He pinned her on either side, bracing his hands on the door and leaning in close to her face. The dim sliver of moonlight revealed the madness in his eyes and he pressed his cheek to hers.

  “Kill it!” he hissed, “Get inside and kill the fucking chicken, Sarah.” He lifted himself away from her
face then slammed his hands down again, directly beside her ears, “NOW!”

  Sarah winced, but met his steely eyes. She slowly shook her head, fearful, but refusing to do as she was told.

  Julien grabbed her arm nearly hoisting her off the ground while fumbling for the makeshift lock on the coop door. He jerked the axe free and the door swung open. Julien shoved her over the high threshold, sending her to the ground. Swarming chickens scattered in the blue evening haze. He went after her as she tried to crawl away, but he grabbed hold of her hair and brought her back up before him.

  “I want my daughter, Sarah. I want Jessica. I want my daughter!” he bellowed then held up the axe.

  Sarah cringed.

  Julien felt a brief pang of guilt, but Sarah responded best to violence; it threw her off her game and she deserved it. As small and scared as she looked, she refused to give in, standing there, willing to take her punishment. Julien brought his hand up ready to backhand her. She raised her eyes to meet his again. A solitary tear trailed over her cheek. Fear quickly came over him and he waited for the pain. He wanted to hit her before she could hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t look her in the eyes and strike her. Still holding his arm up in the air, he froze. The sound came from behind him and he braced for Jérome’s attack. Seconds passed, but Julien felt nothing. He turned around slowly, where, in the coop’s doorway, Jessica appeared.

  Julien dropped the axe and crumbled to his knees as his daughter ran to him. He held Jessica tight, sobbing into her hair. Jessica pulled away. She had never seen her father cry. Her expression soured and she too was about to sob. He quickly wiped at his face and smiled.