Unquiet Ghosts

by Glenn Meade

  “Ma’am.”

  “I’m Kath Kelly, Mr. Spears. We’ve never met before, but I think you knew my husband.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Major Jack Hayes. He was part of your unit when you served in Iraq. Do you remember him, Mr. Spears?”

  “It’s DJ. Yeah, sure, I knew the major.”

  I noticed a bunch of family photographs on the wall. A trip to Disney World, Vera pushing a smiling DJ in a wheelchair. Another of the family at the Grand Canyon, with what looked like an RV in the background. Yet more in Vegas, all glittering lights and slots, and a pic of them outside the five-star luxury Bellagio—wow—Vera giving it full throttle with a bad-toothed smile. Her daughter was blank-faced in every shot, impressed by nothing, and little Elvis with his weird haircut was wearing a Mossy Oak camo top and short cargos, offering a thumbs-up.

  I’d bet after that visit the hotel concierge was still receiving therapy. In another pic, DJ’s face grinned up at the camera lens with what looked like two palmfuls of slot tokens. Not too many folks on welfare could live this high on the hog.

  “You knew him well?”

  DJ dipped a finger into the icing, scooped a dollop, and sucked it into his mouth, smacking his lips. “As well as most he served with. Kept to himself a lot. But a good guy. A guy you could depend on, respect, too.”

  “You were a sergeant?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You knew my father also and my brother Kyle.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure did.”

  “I know you know Kyle, because you left him some neat presents. You’re very generous. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I never forget my Army buddies. Kyle was a good guy. Always liked him. Real tough what happened. But then a lot of guys came back not right in the head. I like to go see him now and then, make sure he’s getting by. That’s a nice home he’s staying at. But it’s kinda, well, lifeless and cold.” He grinned. “Colder than a well digger’s ass, I say, if you know what I mean.”

  “You must be doing OK, giving Kyle nice presents like that?”

  “I get by. Got a small business on the side selling firearms at gun shows. Man’s got to take care of his own family and needs. I mean, what does the federal government ever do for us?”

  I heard the hint of anger and played devil’s advocate, hoping it might reveal something about DJ. I shrugged. “Build roads, enact laws, protect the citizens, fund education and the military, and organize welfare, health care, social security. There’s probably a lot more.”

  “Yeah, well, aside from all of that. What do they ever do for vets? Gimme a new leg every few years? Well, hot dog. I could whittle one out myself.”

  DJ sounded as if he was on his favorite hobby horse. “You ask me, all they do for vets is give ’em the finger when they’ve done their duty. Thanks for fighting for your country, moron. But truckloads of beaners enter this country illegally, and they get every darn thing going. Government’s only short of wiping their rear ends for ’em. Don’t make sense. Ain’t fair.”

  I didn’t answer, just looked sympathetic. DJ seemed to need an ear to listen to his gripe.

  “A guy’s got to take care of his own business, stand on his own two feet, ma’am.”

  “You’re right.” And with that, I couldn’t help flicking a look at the prosthetic leg. DJ locked eyes with me when I looked up.

  “My last duty. Got blasted outside of Fall-u-jah by an RPG.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Way it goes. Know what’s funny? A buddy I served with was standing right next to me when the rocket tore my limb right off, but it didn’t even scratch him. One minute I was standing there, the next I’m toppled over and my leg’s gone. I said to my buddy, I said, ‘Dwayne, I’ve lost my leg.’ Dwayne’s a smart one, likes to make jokes. He said, ‘No, you haven’t, DJ. Hey, look, it’s right over there hanging outta that tree.’ ”

  DJ laughed, an infectious kind of giggle that rolled on and on until it came to an abrupt full stop, and he shrugged. “I guess a man’s gotta laugh at adversity, right? We all got crosses to bear or bears to cross.”

  Whatever that meant. “I’m sure it’s been tough.”

  Vera came back, pulling on an old wool jacket, car keys in hand. “I gotta run some errands. Want me to take the kids with me, DJ?”

  “Yeah. May as well.”

  “It’s no trouble,” I told Vera. “You don’t have to leave on account of me.”

  “Hey, ain’t no trouble for me, either. But Elvis here needs his Chicken McNuggets fix, and Marilyn, too. Want me to bring you back something, DJ?”

  “Mac, large fries, and a Dew. Git me some ’baccy while you’re at it.”

  “You care for something, ma’am?” Vera politely touched my arm.

  It was a kind offer, but the trailer with its dog-doo smells was a dining experience I’d rather skip. “No, but thank you for asking.”

  “Why don’t I get an extra Big Mac anyways, just in case you change your mind?”

  With Vera, I figured it was easier to be polite than to argue. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “You, too, Vera.”

  The kids spilled out after her, and I heard the car move off.

  DJ said, “The eldest one ain’t mine, he’s Vera’s. Likes to call me Paw since his daddy went out for an oil change and never came back.”

  “Your girl’s pretty.”

  “Like Vera often says, I may have lost my leg, but ain’t nothing wrong with my dongle.” DJ gave that infectious giggle, and sure enough, it hit the buffers again, came to a hard stop.

  “I’ll have to take your word on that, DJ.”

  He grinned, showing a missing right molar. “You’re a funny one, ma’am. So why you here?”

  “Why do you visit Kyle?”

  DJ shrugged. “I reckon he needs visitors. That place might be good and all, but it’s the pits. Stiff as a dead horse. Besides, I reckon Kyle likes to see my kids.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Especially Marilyn. She always gets a reaction out of him. He likes to look at her and stroke her hair. You can see he likes kids, they make him happy.”

  That made sense.

  “I always wondered what happened to Kyle in Iraq. What made him different when he came home. What traumatized him. Do you know what it was, DJ?”

  DJ’s eyes started shifting, as if he was looking for an escape route.

  “What’s wrong, DJ?”

  “To tell the truth, I don’t like going back there in my mind. It wasn’t a good time. A lot of bad stuff went down that wasn’t pleasant.”

  “You mean like buddies being shot or killed, post-traumatic stress from all the IEDs? Long tours of duty? Civilian massacres?”

  “Yeah, I guess all of that. Men do strange things in wartime. I guess that’s ’cause strange things happen to them.”

  “You know what traumatized Kyle, don’t you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Are you sure? DJ, can I be honest here? I’m not trying to cause you trouble, but I saw your reaction. I believe you know. I believe you can tell me the truth.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t know. But a lot of what happened there was disturbing.”

  “Like what, precisely? Please, I know it must be difficult, but I am trying to understand what happened to my brother. What was it that you and Kyle might have participated in that could have distressed my brother so much that he came home and tried to kill himself?”

  “I . . . I can’t really say. Nothing in particular comes to mind.”

  I eyed him closely, but he didn’t seem to want to meet my stare. “I’m not sure I believe you. It would mean so much to me to find
out. You said strange things happened. What things do you mean?”

  DJ started scratching his stubble again, as if he had a bad itch, looking uncomfortable. “I ain’t got no idea what you’re talking about, so back off, lady.”

  “Why did you react the way you did?”

  “React how?”

  “Please don’t take me for a moron, DJ. You looked like you wanted to head for an exit door, pronto. So quit pulling my chain, and tell me the truth. I’m begging you.”

  I saw his lips purse. Soft at first, then tight, as if he was intent on not saying another word, but surprisingly, he did. “Look, I heard rumors.”

  “What rumors?”

  “It was just a mission that went badly wrong, that’s all.”

  “In what way wrong?”

  He seemed to stall, then said, “People got killed.”

  “Soldiers?”

  He shook his head. “Iraqi civilians. Women and kids, too.”

  “Are we talking a massacre?”

  “I don’t know . . . no. Look, these things happen in war, so listen, just back off. You don’t want to go there. You really don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “You just don’t.”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “The only one you’re going to get.”

  “I need to know, DJ.”

  “Ain’t you listening?”

  “DJ, I’ve lived with this for years. I need an answer.”

  He fell silent. I felt a cold chill, a kind of creepy sensation that my intuition was trying to tell me something. That’s when I heard the loud click of a firearm being cocked.

  I spun around. Vera moved quietly for a big lady. I hadn’t heard her step in through the back door, but I did notice the gun she clutched in both hands. A big, ferocious-looking stainless-steel revolver with a barrel that looked as long as a broom handle. It was pointed straight at me.

  “You want fries with that Big Mac?”

  37

  * * *

  “That’s a big gun, Vera.” It was all I could think of saying. It was true. The revolver was massive.

  “Five hundred Smith and Wesson. You could take down a bar with a gun like this.”

  “You mean a bear?”

  “Yeah, go ahead, poke fun. Except I’m the one with the firearm.”

  Which was true, and Vera didn’t look as if she found it all that hilarious.

  She jerked her chin at DJ. “I dumped the kids with Cousin Ruth. They’re still whining they ain’t got their nuggets.”

  “Let ’em whine.”

  “I took a look in her car as I drove out. She’s got a gun in the glove compartment.”

  “You opened my car and messed with my belongings? That’s against the law.”

  “You can’t talk, so shut your mouth. You’re a trespasser, lady.”

  “You invited me inside.”

  “Yeah? And how would the cops know that if I shot you? It could be more like you forced your way in. A home invasion. If you think we’re dumber than dirt, you need to think again.”

  “No, but I think you’re forgetting your kids are witnesses. Unless you mean to kill them, too?”

  Was I imagining it, or did Vera let loose a tiny grin. “You trying to tempt me? They’ll say whatever they’re told to.”

  I decided not to hit her with a reply along the lines of I guess you get full marks for parenting. Vera didn’t look like the kind who appreciated sarcasm. “Is there really any need to point that gun?”

  “I’ll point it anywhere I want in my own home. You’re harassing my family, lady. DJ asked you to back off, but you keep stepping on his toes. You don’t listen, do you? Maybe I ought to blow out those tires of yours and you’ve got to walk all the way back to I-75. How would you like that?”

  When Vera said “tires,” it sounded like “tars.” But I didn’t point that out. DJ grabbed his prosthetic leg, pulled it on, and almost toppled as he stood, using the La-Z-Boy for balance. “Here, give me that darn gun.”

  He sounded irritated, and Vera handed him the revolver. He grasped it and limped over to me, a gap-toothed grin spreading across his face. “Know what Vera sometimes says?”

  “I wouldn’t even hazard a guess.”

  “She says after what happened to me in I-raq, I’ve gone a little funny in the head.”

  I kept my mouth shut. DJ limped closer.

  “That I’m capable of just about anything if I’m riled. She says I go nuts now and then, which is probably true. Know what really riles me?”

  “You mean you’ve got a list?”

  “Yeah, a short one: nosy parkers.”

  The gun barrel’s tip came up, touched my nose. It was cold and smelled of old cordite. Then he slid it down to my lips, then my neck, and went lower until it brushed against my right breast. The grin never left his face.

  “That’s sexual assault where I come from, DJ.”

  “Yeah? Not around here. Besides, you ain’t got no witnesses, aside from Vera here, and she’s seen nothing. If I was you, I’d get going. Before I go all deranged and start plugging the walls.”

  “You know why I’m really here, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I saw on the TV about that plane. I figure it’s something to do with that.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  DJ shut his mouth tight as a clam, as if he regretted his reply because it said more than he wanted to say. I didn’t pursue that line right now.

  “You know what happened during the incident with Kyle in Iraq. You were there, weren’t you?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It’s written all over your face, DJ. Not only that, but somebody talked.”

  “Who?”

  “My husband,” I lied, but I figured I’d go whole hog and try to wheedle something out of DJ.

  Nothing. He didn’t flinch.

  I looked at Vera, hoping to elicit some kind of maternal sympathy or just touch their hearts. “DJ’s right. I’m here because of the air crash. My husband disappeared eight years ago, along with our two children. Now it turns out he never really died. I’m hoping my children didn’t die, either. You may be able to help me. I need clues. I need to figure out why my husband never came home.”

  I waited for a reaction. It never came on DJ’s face or on Vera’s. Steely-eyed, both of them.

  “You know what it’s like to lose your kids, Vera?”

  “Naw, but if someone took Elvis for a few months, that would be real peachy. I’d thank them for the break.” She stepped closer, her voice a threatening whisper. “You need to leave us in peace. There’s nothing more DJ can tell you aside from what he already said, you got that?”

  “I lost my family.”

  “I heard you. But you’re squirreling up the wrong tree.”

  “Just tell me what you know, and I’ll be gone.”

  “You’re going anyway. Trouble is, you’re picking on the wrong man. I don’t know much about your husband. But maybe you need to talk with your daddy. Ask him those questions.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “And I’m telling you to git lost. Sassy, ain’t you? I told you, better ask your daddy. Because this conversation is over.”

  Vera took the Smith & Wesson back from DJ, using both hands. She stuck the heavy silver barrel right up against my chin. It pressed into my skin again.

  “Now, git. I want to see a quick two-step out that door.”

  I moved to the door, lingered, looked back. I went to speak, to try one last time, but Vera beat me to it, her face closing like a steel gate.

  “And don’t bother coming back, you hear? Or next time, lady, you better have booked an ambulance.”

  38

  * * *

  As I drove home, I felt more bewil
dered and frustrated than ever.

  Why was DJ so reticent? What or whom was he protecting?

  He and his wife were definitely missing a track or two, but I felt there was more to this, a lot more. But what? I had absolutely no idea. Something else troubled me. Vera said I should ask my father. What did she mean?

  Half an hour later on the interstate, I thought I glimpsed the ­metallic-gray van again, way behind me. No sign of the SUV, though.

  I slowed deliberately, pulled onto the side of the road, and turned around in my seat to look out the rear window. The van had no choice but to drive past me. The side windows were tinted, but I saw the driver. He looked foreign—Arab or Mexican, I couldn’t be sure. He kept staring ahead, focusing on the road, not looking at my vehicle. I started my car and pulled out again, following the van. The rear license plate was muddied and unreadable. Two exits ahead, the vehicle turned off. I thought about following it, but that began to seem absurd. Was I losing it?

  I kept my eye on the rearview mirror for the rest of the journey, but I saw no sign of either the van or the SUV again.

  When I had parked the Nissan in my driveway, I took the sweater and hoodie with me and stepped onto the back porch.

  I brushed past the brass wind chimes by the back door, the sounds of the tubular bells echoing around the garden. I slid the key into the lock and moved inside, and the first thing I did was check the kitchen wall clock: 12:05 p.m. Jack had promised to call at two p.m. I had just under two hours.

  Just under two hours of going crazy with worry, apprehension, and downright confusion. Worse, I couldn’t get Amy and Sean out of my mind, not for a second. What did they look like now? Would they remember me? What had happened to them in all those eight long years? Who or what had taken the place of my love?

  I was driving myself insane.

  I looked at my writing desk in the corner. I hadn’t written in at least a week. Right now I didn’t think I could ever write again. I had absolutely no interest.