Deadlight Jack

by Mark Onspaugh

  Besides Richard and Martin, there were three women Jimmy had not met.

  Melissa’s wife, Trudy, was a tall redhead with glasses and a kind face.

  Delphine was clearly the oldest, and she had eschewed hair dye as she had grown older, her straightened hair now a salt-and-pepper color. She was handsome rather than pretty, and her face was much like George’s.

  Melissa was like looking into the past. Jimmy had seen pictures of George’s wife, Maddy, at Golden Summer. She had been a bit taller than George and slender, with skin the color of African blackwood tinged with just a hint of brown, and large, kind eyes. Melissa looked exactly like her in every respect, except that her hair was rolled into long, tight dreadlocks that reached past her shoulders.

  Melissa saw them enter and ran to George, her eyes moist.

  “Daddy!” she cried, and almost knocked him down. She was taller than George by a good couple of inches.

  George embraced her back, both of them sobbing quietly into the other’s shoulder.

  Jimmy watched the rest of the family and noticed that Delphine was clearly not happy—though with her father’s arrival or Melissa’s welcome he couldn’t say.

  Probably both.

  Delphine walked forward with Trudy and stuck out her hand to Jimmy.

  “Mr. Kalmaku? I’m Delphine Watters. Thank you for coming.”

  Jimmy shook her hand. She had a firm grip, and her hand was callused from years of hard work. There was no real welcome in her words or her expression.

  Melissa broke away from George. “Oh, where are my manners? I’m Melissa Watters, Mr. Kalmaku,” she said.

  “Please, call me Jimmy. I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

  Melissa nodded and started to stick out her hand, then hugged him. She pulled back and guided Trudy over.

  “Jimmy, this is my wife, Trudy Sinclair.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jimmy.”

  She stuck out her hand. Jimmy could see she was consumed with worry, but there was warmth in her eyes.

  Delphine looked at her father.

  George smiled, but Jimmy could see he was slightly cowed at the sight of her.

  “Good morning, Delphine.”

  “How are you, Father?” she asked.

  George tried not to show any reaction to this; she had called him “Daddy” back in the day. “I’m worried about Donny, of course, but otherwise I’m doing pretty well for an old man.”

  She nodded. The silence hung between them for a long moment, a great, gray curtain of hurt and abandonment, guilt and resentment, woven over many years and now as strong as steel.

  “We…I’d like to help, in any way possible,” George said.

  Delphine looked at him and said, “I think the best thing you could do for all concerned is go back to Seattle.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, as if she had some important task left unattended.

  George went after her.

  Melissa watched them go, debating whether she should follow or not. She looked at Trudy and shook her head. Trudy nodded slightly and turned to Jimmy.

  “So, you met my father-in-law at Golden Summer?”

  “Yes. I didn’t have any friends and George showed up at my room one night with some alcohol and a deck of cards.”

  “And you two became friends,” Trudy finished.

  “He’s my best friend,” Jimmy said without irony. “Never had a best friend growing up, unless you count my uncle.” Jimmy looked at them and shrugged, chuckling. “Took me over sixty years, but I found a friend.”

  Melissa and Trudy smiled, but he could see the sorrow in their eyes. Their boy was missing, and he just didn’t know what to say.

  There was an awkward silence, then the women drifted away, although Melissa touched his shoulder, and he saw the woman George had married and the one he had abandoned, looking out of large brown eyes filled with kindness.

  Jimmy helped himself to coffee. It was surprisingly good. He looked across the room where George was trailing after Delphine, and silently wished his friend luck.

  —

  George caught up to his eldest. “Delphine, please turn around.” She did and he could see she was angrier than he had ever seen her.

  My God, did I do that?

  “Phinney, please…”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He winced. All these years, all this pain and guilt, and he had gone right to her childhood nickname, “Phineas T. Raspberry”—“Phinney” for short—which was either a prelude to him blowing raspberries on her tummy, or her shrieking with laughter as she ran away.

  It had been a long time since he had thought of those days when she was a little girl and George Jr. was still alive.

  And he was their beloved daddy.

  Days long, long gone, and probably forgotten.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and he felt close to weeping. He didn’t want to cry in front of her, he was sure she would dismiss it as a ploy. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  She had started to soften when she saw his tears, but his words made her harden her heart. “You never know, do you? Why did you come, Father?”

  What could he tell her? That he had been summoned in some vision? He had never told anyone in his family what happened with the Faceless One. If he tried to say there was something supernatural at work here, she’d think he was insane.

  “Because…this is my family,” he finished lamely.

  “Was your family. We stopped being your family over thirty years ago.”

  “I made some mistakes, I admit it. Your momma’s illness…”

  “We needed you. I needed you.”

  George held out his hands. “I don’t know what to do, but I want to make it right.”

  Delphine shook her head, and in that gesture she was all Maddy. “Those are pretty words…but you seem to forget I’ve heard all this years and years ago.”

  She started to walk away, and George tried to stop her, grabbing her with more force than he intended out of anger and desperation.

  Delphine turned on him and her face was that of a furious stranger. “Don’t you touch me!”

  Before George could say anything, Richard and Martin rushed in, but they were practically bowled over by Trudy.

  “I don’t know what your problem is,” she said to Delphine and George, “but my wife—your sister, your daughter—and I are in agony over our little boy. Your argument is tearing her apart and I won’t have it. If you cannot resolve this, then leave.”

  Trudy glared at them both, and George mumbled an apology and left them. By the time he reached Jimmy, his vision was so blurred with tears that he cursed, tears he prayed would not spill down his cheeks.

  Stupid old man.

  He blundered past Jimmy,. saying, “Let’s go,” in a choked voice.

  Jimmy looked at the members of George’s family, now all gathered on the far side of the room, a symbolic gulf that was actually measured in years more than miles.

  Richard and Martin nodded quietly to him. Jimmy nodded back and left.

  —

  Jimmy and George ended up having breakfast at a place called Phoebe’s, which was just down the road. A diner that looked like a log cabin, a sign on the building proclaimed they had world-famous waffles. Inside, a smaller sign proclaimed the world-famous waffle iron was broken, so Phoebe’s reputation would have to rest on other selections that day.

  George ordered scrambled eggs without any sides and a slice of apple pie. When Jimmy looked at him, George just shrugged.

  “Don’t feel much like eating, but I know I need to.”

  Jimmy nodded and hoped to find some grilled or baked fish on the menu, but it was all fried. So he got a BLT and a Coke.

  They waited for their food, neither speaking.

  Their meals arrived and they proceeded without conversation.

  Just as George drained the last of his coffee, he looked at Jimmy and said, “How long do you think yo
ur children should punish you for a mistake—for doing something you regret but just couldn’t help at the time?”

  “From what I’ve seen, George, it’s only Delphine who has a problem with you.”

  “Well, of course!” George sputtered, as if it were obvious. “She feels she gave up her life to do what I should have done, which was raising the kids.”

  “But all the rest of them established themselves.”

  “Yes, but she stayed home to watch Melissa, who was only a baby at the time.”

  Jimmy paused, choosing his words carefully. “I know you feel guilty about taking that sales job, the one that kept you from home for such long stretches, and I’m not saying that was all right, but it is understandable. And I have to say, George, plenty of single mothers have been able to improve their lot, some even get scholarships and degrees, preparing for the day their kids would move out.”

  George wet his index finger and used it to pick up the last few bits of the pie’s crumb topping. “You’re a heartless bastard, you know that?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I am playing devil’s advocate, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  George sighed. “She’s never going to talk to me.”

  “There was a saying in my village: ‘Hearts take longer to melt than the harshest winter ice.’ ”

  George looked at him. “Nobody in your town ever said that.”

  Jimmy shrugged, sipping the last of his Coke. “Maybe it was on the Hallmark Channel.”

  George shook his head and Jimmy grinned.

  They got up to pay their bill and Jimmy winced. It was like two red-hot knives were plunging into the bones of his knees. He tried to be subtle as he grabbed the tabletop, but George was nothing if not observant.

  “I’ve got a saying for you: ‘Confucius say man who is stubborn as a mule about pain is both a jackass and a pain in the ass.’ ”

  Jimmy hissed a little, then let go of the table. “Does this mean you’re going to move your racist comments to China?”

  “Didn’t you folks come over on a land bridge or something?”

  “So they say. My people believe we were pretty much always there. Raven was first, of course.”

  “You’re walking like John Wayne,” George said, only half joking.

  Jimmy wanted to make a joke, but it hurt too much.

  There was a convenience store next to Phoebe’s, and Jimmy went in and bought a bottled water and a travel-size container of Extra Strength Tylenol. He downed two with some water and looked at George.

  “What now, Macduff?”

  George adjusted his hat, using his reflection in the store window. “You should probably lie down, let those pills work on your ancient bones.”

  “Very funny. I think I was still in diapers when you went in the army.”

  “We were born the same year, Nokomis, but I’ll bet you go back to diapers before I do.”

  Jimmy grinned but did not continue the banter. George sighed. “I’d like to go out to the search site. Maybe fetch coffee or something.”

  “They probably already have large coffee urns set up or something,” Jimmy said.

  “I can’t just do nothing.”

  “Maybe Martin or Richard will give us a ride,” Jimmy suggested.

  “You should stay here, look after your knees.”

  “My knees are fine. The Tylenol worked very fast.”

  George looked at him.

  “You’re not going to make me dance for you, are you, Bojangles?” Jimmy asked. He did a little clumsy soft shoe. It hurt like hell but he masked his suffering.

  George held up his hands. “Stop, please. A dead mackerel has more rhythm than you.”

  “That hurts, George. Guess I won’t be going to that dance back home.”

  They walked up the road, the motel sign beckoning.

  “Oh, you’re going. I may have to tranquilize you like a damn zoo cat, but you’re going.”

  —

  There was no answer at Richard’s or Martin’s room, and the rental car was gone. George and Jimmy went to the front desk.

  “Yes, sir,” said the young woman behind the front counter, whose name was Millicent, “they’ve all gone to the base the sheriffs set up. Are you Mr. Watters?”

  George nodded.

  “Your son said to give you this.” She handed him a folded sheet of paper.

  Inside was a note from Richard.

  Hey, Daddy—

  We’ve gone out to the search HQ. Why don’t you get some rest—we’ll see you just after dark for dinner.

  Love, Rich

  P.S. Marty and I will make sure you’re included tomorrow.

  —

  Jimmy wouldn’t have admitted it to George, but he was more fatigued than he had ever felt in his life. Even his toughest day on a fishing boat as a youngster or his time in the hospital last year hadn’t left him feeling so exhausted.

  It wasn’t just the heat and humidity, which was worse than any sweat lodge, it was the feeling of being cut off from his homeland. At least crowded and noisy Seattle, with its pines and cold breezes, seemed just over the hill from his past.

  But this place might as well have been some jungle on Venus, savage, far from home, and deadly.

  Jimmy took off his boots and Stetson, and lay down on the top of the bed, praying the painkillers he had taken would allow him to rest.

  He slipped into a deep sleep, and visions from his world, good and ill, were unable to reach him.

  George was not so fortunate. He slept easy at first, then began to dream.

  He was standing somewhere, sometime, in total darkness.

  The darkness was absolute, and what he thought might be total emptiness seemed to expand around him, a void that might be the vacuum of deep space were it not for the fact that he could breathe and there was something solid under his feet.

  He waved his arms tentatively, scared he might hit something, scared he might not.

  There was no odor, no sound.

  He wanted to call out, but anything might be out there.

  Anything.

  But what if there was nothing? Was there a sun or some light source? Might he wander for an eternity in this Stygian darkness?

  What if…what if this was Hell?

  George became afraid then, and close to panic.

  If he was doomed to an eternity of empty darkness, he would go mad.

  Off in the distance, something happened.

  A tiny orange glow appeared. It began to grow and become brighter, until it was the size of an apple.

  George made for it, anxious but careful. Who knew what potholes he might fall into or obstacles he might trip over?

  But the way was smooth, and he made progress with a shuffling, tentative gait.

  And, as he drew closer, he began to grow more afraid.

  Something terrible was ahead.

  Oh, he didn’t know what, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know.

  But the light!

  It was both beautiful and terrible. It promised warmth and, more important, sight.

  As George drew closer, a dark shape began to grow in the middle of the light. It broadened and elongated, until it became man-shaped, and it continued to grow until it was the size and shape of a tall and gaunt man.

  A man in a top hat, backlit by that orange light.

  And now George was terrified. He knew that shape! But from where? When?

  Then it spoke, its voice the whisper of a rattlesnake’s hiss, the scuttle of a spider over the rails of a child’s crib.

  “Georgie, come closer…”

  George stopped, shivering, wishing he had stayed back in the darkness.

  “Georgie…porgie…pudding and…pie…” Its sibilant speech took on a singsong tone, the croon of a child-killer or a funeral dirge.

  George turned then, hoping he could run back the way he had come.

  “Georgie, don’t you want your grandson? Don’t you want Donny?”

  Ge
orge groaned.

  “Don-neeeeeeee…” the thing called, its crooning voice barely above a whisper.

  “Granddaddy!” came a voice far away and frightened.

  “Give him back,” George said, his voice breaking.

  “Oh, you have to come get him,” the thing in the top hat said.

  “If I come, will you return him home?”

  “Come alone, Georgie-Porgie, and I will return him to his family.”

  “How will I find you?” George asked.

  “You’ll know,” the thing hissed, and began to draw closer. It became more distinct, even as it retreated from orange light.

  “No!” George screamed. “I don’t want to see your face!”

  George woke up with Jimmy shaking him. He recoiled from Jimmy until his disorientation passed.

  “Are you all right?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

  Jimmy sat down on his bed while George went to splash water on his face.

  In the bathroom, George could recall all aspects of the dream perfectly. Maybe that made it a vision or a visitation, he didn’t know.

  He did know that Jimmy would want to know what was going on. He also knew he had been told to come alone and that Jimmy was still too frail after their last encounter with the supernatural to go…well, wherever George needed to go.

  Better to keep him safe.

  He returned, stretching and cracking his back.

  “You ready to tell me what’s going on?” Jimmy asked.

  “Just an old nightmare,” George said. Jimmy looked at him quizzically, and George went on. “When I was in the service, a bunch of guys from my unit held me down in my bunk and threatened to cut off my johnson with a big ol’ kitchen knife. They thought it was a great joke, but I still have nightmares about it.” That had actually happened to him, so, if he was lying, it was “a lie with the skin of the truth.”

  “That’s horrible,” Jimmy said, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

  George nodded, unhappy. He was lying to his friend.

  And yet…is it a lie, completely? I say “old nightmare” and that almost feels true…

  Jimmy was watching him closely, and George shuddered for real but said, “I really thought they were going to do it.”