“That’s good.”
“It is.”
“And you, Johnathan. How are things with you?”
He almost laughed at the banality of the question. How are things with me? Jesus, where do I begin? Lost my leg. Lost my best friend. Work for the Wounded Warrior Project. Get to rehash my experiences constantly. Became a lush. Wife’s pissed at me. Oh—and I’m fairly certain I’ve snapped a twig, lost my marbles worse than Tootles from Peter Pan. Been hallucinating Ricky as a walking corpse who has done nothing but haunt me, howling nonstop about you and this damn house. Yes. Where do I begin?
“Fine,” he said.
“Mommy?” Tabitha whispered in a hushed voice standing just behind Karen.
That kid moves so quietly, Johnathan thought.
“Yes, hun?” said Karen.
“We need to go home.”
“What? Why’s that? We just got here. Don’t you want to spend the weekend with your aunt Maggie?”
“I do, but…”
“But what, sweetie?”
Tabitha looked uncomfortable. Embarrassed maybe. Dancing on her tippy toes, she leaned forward and then whispered in Karen’s ear.
Revelation flooded Karen’s face the way rain washes away dirt. She smiled, amused at something. “Okay. Okay. I tell you what,” she whispered back, but audible just enough for Johnathan and Maggie to hear. “Let’s try and use the bathroom here first. And if you still can’t go, we’ll go home.” She turned her head and winked at the adults. “Can we try?” she asked, turning back to the prancing little girl.
“Okay,” Tabitha said uncertainly.
“Good,” Karen said, standing up. She looked at her sister, “Where’s the—”
“Just up the stairs, second door on the right,” confirmed Maggie. She smiled, but it looked strained, forced. Hungry…?
“Thanks.”
Karen and Tabitha disappeared up the steps. Johnathan watched them and then turned back to his mug of brown cocoa. He snuck a glance at Maggie, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, gazing into the fireplace. Why is it so hard to talk to her? Jeez, we used to be fucking best friends for crying out loud. So what! Who cares how long it’s been, the silence, the forlorn apologies for dead husbands and friends. We’re here now, dammit, doesn’t that mean something?
“How are you settling in?” he said, instantly taking a loud sip from his mug.
“Huh—oh, good. Good,” Maggie said. She grinned that mock grin again, sending chills up Johnathan’s spine.
“Good,” he said.
“Well, I’m glad we could do this. It’s been too long. Too long. Glad I could get you all to come. All of you.” Maggie hummed, watching the fire. Her eyes glowed in the yellow flame. Her skin looked dead or perhaps it was a trick of the light.
“I agree. Too long.” Johnathan nodded. He looked at his friend, the girl he once had known to wear faded jeans with the knees cut out and Nirvana t-shirts, the tomboy whose parents watched carefully as she blossomed into womanhood choosing the company of boys over girls. She never had many girlfriends, had she? Nope. None that I can recall. She always preferred hanging out with us, Bobby, Jake, Ricky, and me. The guys. Not that I can blame her. Girls can be difficult.
“It’ll be good for all of us,” Maggie chimed. Her eyes left the fire and fell over Johnathan. And though they looked warm and familiar, it almost seemed to jest such serenity. As if…
“When will Jake and Bobby be here?” Johnathan asked, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, wishing to God she’d stop looking at him.
Maggie looked away, carrying with it a faint hint of cruel red which Johnathan dismissed as a mirage from the glowing flicker flames.
“Soon.” Maggie said to the fire.
“Soon? Did he call?”
She didn’t answer.
A spark erupted in the pit as a log collapsed into the glowing red embers. The log on top of that one began to sizzle as the flames licked and ate its bark. Another surge of spruce filled the room. Johnathan looked to his friend, feeling as if something was amiss. He was about to open his mouth again when the patter of feet bounded down the stairs behind them.
“Find the restroom okay?” asked Maggie.
“Yes. Thank you. Very lovely, by-the-way. Rustic. Primitive, in an artsy way. I’ve seen something similar in Home & Garden with the claw foot tubs and ruff wood boards. I like it a lot,” said Karen. She followed Tabitha into the living room and sat back down next to her husband.
Maggie smiled, politely. She looked at Tabitha who jumped back up into her armchair with the book in her lap. “Still want to go home?” she asked.
“No way!” said Tabitha. “I like it here. Lots of cool insects. Not like back home.”
Maggie beamed. “Yes. The city has a different kind of insect. Not like out here.”
Tabitha danced in her seat excitedly.
“Well…I’m glad you decided to stay,” said Maggie. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you to your room.”
“Maybe we should do that now, before dinner. Unpack the van and get washed up,” said Karen to Johnathan, standing.
Johnathan nodded, following suit. He balanced on his cane and scratched his back as he stood.
Maggie abandoned her chair quickly, gesturing with her hand for Karen to join her back up the stairs. Tabitha stayed put, her nose inside that damn big green book. Johnathan walked to the door. Before going outside, he turned back to watch Maggie and his wife ascend and wondered what was so out of place. He could feel it in his gut. Something was wrong. Something was off…Is it Mags? Is it me? Was Ricky right…No! Stop! Do not go down that road, man. You’re sick. Ricky isn’t real. Ricky is dead, has been for some time. Ghosts do not exist. Corpses do not walk around like Jamie Farr from that Christmas movie with Bill Murray. Period. End of discussion.
He hoped.
And in his own way, he prayed, whispering a few silent words to whatever Being resided elsewhere…or below, that his sanity would last the weekend, that he wouldn’t have any visits, that he wouldn’t make a scene. Then Johnathan opened the front door and walked out on the porch. The sun was glittering on the horizon. It’d be dark soon. The cicadas clicked and chirped wildly from the trees and from the tall stalks of wheat. He swallowed hard, feeling oddly nervous from the sound of so many of the insects singing at once. He took a long drawn out breath and went to unload their luggage.
CHAPTER 9
WHITE RABBIT
Bobby
“We should have been there by now,” said Jake, glancing down at his roadmap and back to the road, squinting at the signs as they came into view and passed in a green blur.
Bobby grunted from the passenger seat, “I told you to stay on Route 290. It’s a straight shot outta Houston, dumb-dumb.”
“I think that sign said Bellville…” Jake said, more to himself than to Bobby.
“Bellville? Are you serious?”
“What?”
“You’re lost.”
“So?”
“You’ve got a map!”
“I thought it said Route 159 goes through Jotham.”
“What? 159 is south. Jotham is northwest, just past Giddings. Remember?”
“Whatever. I’ll turn back up Highway 36, that’ll take us to…” Jake looked at the map. “Brenham, back on Route 290.”
“Dude…”
“What?”
“How in the hell did you survive the Army?”
“I was a Chaplain’s Assistant, remember.”
“So. You still had to have at least passed Basic Training. Part of Basic is learning how to read a map!”
“I had help.”
“Let me guess, from the Lord?”
“Not exactly. From this nineteen-year-old private, Stillman, I think his name was. Yes. John Stillman.”
“God help us.”
“We’ll be fine. We’re just a little late is all. Everything will be fine.”
“Do they know we’re on the way?”
> “I tried using the payphone at the Valero, but the operator said the number was disconnected.”
“Did you call collect?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?”
“No.”
“They don’t give priests cell phones? You know, for crisis or whatever?”
“They do, but—”
“What?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You get fired?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it Bobby.” Jake double checked the map, taking the exit back north toward Brenham.
“Come on.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been having some…problems and the church board gave me an ultimatum.”
“So you did get fired.”
“No. I quit.”
“You quit being a priest?”
“In manner of speaking, yes.”
“Why?”
“Jesus, Bobby.”
“What man? We haven’t talked in how long? I want to know, really. How embarrassing could it be? Can’t be worse than being homeless, right?” Bobby smiled wryly. At heart though, he knew he was just being nosey, and perhaps a little bored.
Jake seemed to think about it. Perhaps, in his own mind, he was wondering how to say the things he needed and have them make sense. Words poorly represented the void, Bobby felt, given Jake’s disposition of late, the way he carried himself. This had more to do with his faith. Jake was always a church boy. Not that Bobby would really understand; he hadn’t set foot in a church since grade school.
“It’s…well. Can I ask you a question?” Jake probed.
“Sure…”
“Why did you leave the Army?”
“Hmm—well. There were…complications, I guess. Some stuff happened during my last deployment. Don’t really want to get into it, but it changed things for me. Had to leave.” Bobby stumbled.
“Why?”
The homeless veteran rubbed his recently shaved head, as many do when having a new cut, the feel of the bristles are fresh and new. He thought long and hard. “I don’t know…it…it just didn’t feel right anymore, or I didn’t feel right anymore, more like.” Bobby shifted in his seat. He fumbled for one of Jake’s Camels and lit it with the Bic. Cracking a window, he drew a languorous puff and blew it out into the evening sky.
“Well, that’s kind of how I felt, with the Church. My contract with the Army ended. I was Honorably Discharged. I finished Seminary. Thought everything was fine. But everything wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine. There was something missing. Not right. You know? Just how you described feeling about the Army. From what I remember, you loved being a Ranger, right?”
Bobby grunted.
“I loved being a minister. But if that feeling isn’t there…what can I do?” Jake took a smoke from his pack and joined Bobby, huffing and puffing out the window, filling the cab of the Volvo with grey haze. “I didn’t know you smoked?” he said.
“I don’t,” said Bobby.
“Oh.”
“So, with this church thing, can’t you, what’s that saying, ‘fake it ’til you make it,’ or whatever?” Bobby asked.
“Could you?” Jake looked amusingly quizzical.
Bobby thought about it, stroking his beard with street dirt coated fingers. “No. That’s how soldiers get killed. Dumb mistakes. Carelessness. Complacent. I couldn’t have faked it. Would have been a burden…gotten someone killed.” He drew back in his seat, looking out the window as the landscape blurred by, his thoughts swelled on his condition. The burden he would have been had he stayed in service. The burden he now cast on Luna. Maybe I should have turned myself in, told the truth. But then again, when has the truth ever really mattered? The Army would have locked me up in a mental ward somewhere far away from anyone who would have ever cared. Until the next full moon and the massacre that would ensue. Then what? Would they believe then? No. Probably not. They’d lock me somewhere further away or in some hole or maybe they’d put me on the chair, shoot some volts through my body or press some chems through my veins, send me off to whatever Hell waited for me in the next. Perhaps that would be better…than living like this, on the run, on the streets, alone. Maybe the needle would be better than putting Luna in danger every month. Best get it done before whichever new moon releases the wolf me from the rusting batting cage. But then again, who’s fooling who? If I could, wouldn’t I have already jumped in front of a train or municipal bus or nosedived off a parking garage? No. I’m too chicken to do any of that.
“Exactly,” said Jake, rubbing smoke from his eye.
“Huh?” Bobby blinked.
“You couldn’t stay because you’d put people you care about, who count on you, in danger. Well, that’s kind of how I felt about staying with the Church. I tried ‘faking it ’til I made it’ but it…didn’t work, I wasn’t all there, you could say. So I had to leave. I could get someone hurt or worse if I hadn’t.” Jake killed his cigarette and flicked it out the window pushing bubbles of memory of bars and late night baptisms in lonely motels with rubbers and sweat and heartbeats pulsing and pushing and pumping and penetrating and moaning and fluids spilling out glistening on the cheap carpet.
“Lots of life and death situations, being a priest?” Bobby smiled vaguely.
“You’d be surprised.”
Bobby glanced at his friend, agog.
Jake burst out laughing.
Bobby followed suit.
CHAPTER 10
JUNK IN THE ATTIC
Johnathan
Dusk had nearly completed its final breath, ushering the waning, golden-brown and bursting orange-red landscape into a black and dreary darkness and still Jake and Bobby had not yet shown. Johnathan had waited. And waited. Hoping that at any moment whatever car Jake now drove would come pulling up the drive. Or for the clattering ring from Maggie’s old lime-green cord phone that hung in the kitchen. Nope. Nothing. Not a word or fart in the wind. Nada. It was getting hard for him to hide his impatience as he paced the halls, looking at the many paintings that hung without really looking at them. He hadn’t seen Jake since Hosiers just before the holidays and was curious if his apparitions had ended, and Bobby…well shit, how long has it been seen I’ve seen him? Same as Maggie, before…everything changed.
And apparently, according to rumor, everything had changed for Bobby as well. Or as the saying goes, had bottomed out. Homeless…It was strange for Johnathan to think of his friend, no matter how distant he had become, being homeless, living on the streets, begging at intersections, digging in dumpsters for restaurant scraps. Shunned. Hated. Marginalized. He hoped that maybe it wasn’t as bad as he imagined, as bad as Maggie made it seem while he was shuffling luggage up the stairs. He’d discover the truth soon enough, soon as the boys decided to show up.
What was stranger, perhaps, was how Maggie seemed to have kept up with everyone without keeping in touch. Keeping tabs on Karen and himself Johnathan could understand, they hadn’t moved since leaving Hood, for over a year now they’d lived in the same house in Webster. And before communication between them had severed, there had been some dialog. So, Maggie knew where they lived easy enough. Jake was probably listed somewhere, on his church online directory or something. Maybe St. Hubert’s or whatever church he works at has a Facebook page or whatever. But Bobby? That was the true mystery. If what Mags said about his current state of affairs is true? That he’s been living as far off the grid as anyone could get while still clinging to the tit of society? How does she even know he’s still in Houston? He could have migrated to another state. Hopped on a train car like those hobos George and Lennie from that movie Karen’s mom talks so much about, Of Mice and Men. Bobby could have been very far away. Yet, she seemed so sure, it’s a bit rattling, to be honest. And she looks like hell mowed over twice. Is she sick or…something?
No one’s called. Of that Johnathan was also sure. But Mags claims they’
re on the way. How does she know? How?
—Maybe they called before we got here.
—Maybe. But if they did call, where are they now?
Strange…
Johnathan pounded the Oriental rug, up and down the long hallway. He peeked in a few of the rooms. The ones the others would stay in. They were all mostly the same. Large bed with wooden frame posts. Vanities. Dresser drawers. Rugs. A modge-podge of décor collected from God knows where. Mostly Americana. In one room he spotted a carved mask that looked something like a clown face but creepier, more ritualistic. It was painted white with black outlines around the eyebrows and lips. Its eyes were set like small black marbles. The teeth sharp and white. It was something you’d find in a movie where natives dance around a bonfire shouting to the gods pleading for rain or fertility or the harvest. In another room he found twin sabers with eloquent, gold, shaped handles. The blades curved slightly, mounted to the wall. Inscription etched in a plague said:
Gen. Blair, the Confederate States of America, 1863.
On the opposite wall, a signed black & white photograph of Dinah Washington, a black ’50s singer from Detroit, hung in a glass frame. The signature read ‘Best Wishes.’
There were of course more odd collections in his room, though Johnathan was careful not to go in. Tabitha and Karen had just lain down to catch a nap, tired from the drive and excitement. He couldn’t sleep. No way. No how. He paced and peeked into more rooms. And pondered when the boys would arrive. He loved seeing Maggie. But seeing her also brought to surface all the terrible emotions he worked so hard to keep buried, emotions that no doubt had led to his current bout with sanity. Guilt bled from his eyes. Seeing Mags was a constant reminder of Ricky. And Ricky was someone he cared little to think of, at least not here and now. Not during his last weekend before turning himself over to the men in white coats, before his padded cell and the rainbow pills and talks of feelings. No. Any mention of Ricky could wait. If only Jake and Bobby could finally get here then maybe things, he, wouldn’t feel so bad. They would be his buffer. Talking of old times while carefully navigating mention of the one friend, the one member of Suicide Squad so obviously and painfully absent.
Emerging (Subdue Book 2) Page 8