“All right, Bob,” Joe nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Wha-what about Rachael?”
“She ain’t here, Bob! Now let’s go!”
Joe ran to the barn and got his horse, sparing no time at all. Bob got back to his horse, eyes sunken from the day’s events and fell once, before successfully mounting his horse. Both men rode as quickly as they could to Hammlin. He doesn’t know, thought Joe. He doesn’t know anything.
• • •
Joe walked into Doc Aron’s office and saw who he guessed was Edgar, lying on a cot. It was certainly a child but there were bandages all around it’s head with the exception of a hole for the nose and a hole for the mouth. Joe didn’t see any other major injuries but the child had cuts and scrapes all along it’s arms and legs and a few on the hands that had been stitched up. Joe tried to walk over to the bed, but he couldn’t. His body was frozen.
“I’m sorry that you have to see Edgar like this, Joe,” said Doc Aron as he walked into the room.
Joe started and Doc Aron pointed at a seat over by a desk. The Doc sat down behind the desk and Joe slowly sat down in the seat on the other side. Doc took out a pipe, not unlike the one Joe had been smoking just an hour ago, and lit it. Smoke filled the air as Doc began to speak, giving Joe the feeling that he was in a dream.
“I’ll start with the big stuff,” said Doc Aron. “Edgar’s alive and from what I can tell, barring any major infections, he should continue to live a long life. That’s the good news.” Doc took another long pull from his pipe. “The bad news, Joe, is that it seems as though Edgar was burned in the face, quite badly. So badly, that his eyes were burned as well. He’ll probably have scars on his face and, more than likely, he’ll never see again.”
Here Doc stopped and looked at Joe as if they were acting parts from a play that Doc had known for years. Playing his part effortlessly and looking up at the other player as if to say, ‘your line.’
“How did it happen?” asked Joe.
“Well, we can only assume that there was a fight between your boy and the Barton boy. We also found a dead dog in the shop. Apparently stabbed with a dagger that we found close by. Also, we found a half charred log outside of the hearth that we assume was the cause of your boy’s burns.”
Thinking swiftly, Joe interjected with a well-placed question.
“Where was the blacksmith through all this? He must know something.”
“We were all hoping you might be able to answer that question, Joe.” Joe’s heart jumped into his throat. “I don’t know if you were aware of the situation or not, but over the past month or so, the blacksmith has been doing extra work for your wife. We had hoped that you or she might know his whereabouts.”
After Joe realized that he wasn’t being accused of anything, he thought frantically for a plausible lie. He quickly realized that his wife would never give him away, as she was just as guilty of adultery as he was of murder. She had as much to lose as he did. The boy was the only witness left. At this point, Joe came up with a story and decided to roll the dice on the boy. Hoping that the trauma Edgar had gone through had somehow stripped his memory of the blacksmith’s demise.
“Truth is Doc, and I’m a little embarrassed to say this, I don’t even know where my wife is. You see, I came back last night to an empty house. I was preparing myself to come into town, hoping to find her and Edgar, just before Bob Grennel showed up. Now, with my wife and the blacksmith gone and Edgar being found in his shop, well, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”
The Doc shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know this must be real disturbing for you. All of it.”
A knock came at the door and a rather heavy man poked his head through the doorway.
“Hope I’m not interruptin’,” said Sheriff Daniels.
“Uh, no. Come on in, Sheriff,” said Doc Aron.
“I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, Joe,” the Sheriff said with a slightly bowed head. “But we need to talk.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” nodded Joe.
Doc Aron got up from his desk. “I’ll give you gentlemen some space.” And proceeded to leave the room.
“As you can imagine, Joe, Mrs. Barton is in an uproar. She wants full charges brought against Edgar and the blacksmith. There’s nothing you need to worry about though. We know the Barton boy was a bully to all the younger kids and given what happened to the dog and to Edgar, it’s pretty clear that your boy was actin’ in defense. However, I do want to ask you some questions about the blacksmith. We have an obligation to find out what level of responsibility he has in all this.”
“Doc Aron just told me about the blacksmith, Sheriff. This was the first I had heard of him doing any work for Rachael. I’m afraid I don’t know the nature of his involvement with my family.”
“Would you happen to know his whereabouts?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry. I returned just last night to an empty house and I still haven’t seen Rachael.”
The Sheriff looked surprised at this revelation and scratched his beard for a second.
“Joe, had you ever noticed, maybe some time in the past, the smith looking at Rachael in a funny way or maybe makin’ a pass at her?”
This was, so far, going exactly where Joe had hoped it might. “No… I mean… I don’t think… You don’t think they might of–”
“No. No. I’m not saying anything, Joe. I just think, at this point, it’s best for us to have all of the information that we can.” Sheriff Daniels shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was all of a sudden finding it hard to meet Joe in the eyes. “Well, I’ll let you know if we find anything else out, Joe. In the mean time, take care of that boy. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to stop by in a week or so and talk to both Edgar and Rachael. You know, after the boy’s healed up and ready to speak.”
“Of course, Sheriff. I’m sure Rachael will be back at the house by now. Probably just went off looking for Edgar and got a little lost in the woods. She’s a smart woman. I’m sure she’ll find her way back or I’ll find her on my way back.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Joe, and like I said, any information we gather, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Thank you, Sheriff, Holy be.”
“Holy be, Joe.”
Joe stayed the night at the Village Inn. Doc Aron had said that he’d like Edgar to stay with him over night before going home. Joe told Doc he wanted to stay close, in case Edgar’s condition changed.
In the morning, Doc told Joe that Edgar was fine to go home and gave Joe a salve for Edgar’s burns. Doc Aron made Joe swear to come back quickly if anything were amiss with the boy and Joe obliged. Edgar was awake now, for the first time since Joe had come to town, but his head was still wrapped in bandages. Joe walked over to him to let Edgar know that he was there.
“It’s me,” Joe said. “It’s your Papa.”
Edgar said nothing.
“He might not talk for a while, Joe,” piped Doc Aron. “Sometimes when children go through traumatic experiences, they stop talking for a few days. I wouldn’t let it bother you, just keep an eye on it.”
Joe thanked the Doc, brought Edgar outside and sat him up on the horse. He then mounted the horse himself and they headed for home.
• • •
Weeks went by and Rachael never returned to Shein Farm. Joe began to think that it was for the best. How would the two of them ever be able to get past the events of that night? He still loved her though and hoped that she was all right. For weeks, Rachael was all that he could think about. Crying himself to sleep at night, yet unable to motivate himself to search for her. He knew that this was his punishment. He knew that he deserved everything that he got.
Edgar still wasn’t speaking. Sheriff Daniels had been by a few times but he couldn’t get Edgar to even acknowledge his presence. At the end of the last visit, Sheriff Daniels declared the case closed and told Joe that he wouldn’t bother him any more. He said that Mrs. Barton would just have to
deal with the fact that Edgar was blind and mute and that the blacksmith was never going to come back. The Sheriff didn’t say anything about Rachael. It was nothing any of the townspeople wanted to talk to Joe about. They all believed that Rachael had run off with the blacksmith and they felt great pity for Joe.
Doc Aron had been by as well. He had done multiple checkups on Edgar.
“I’m sorry, Joe. Blindness is all that afflicts the boy. He just doesn’t want to talk.”
Joe wasn’t sure that Doc was right about Edgar’s speech, but about a year later, Doc’s diagnosis was proven correct. One night, Joe woke to find Edgar standing at the end of his bed, screaming. The boy had scared Joe so badly that he was sure he was going to have a heart attack.
“Edgar!” Joe yelled over him. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
The boy stopped yelling but didn’t say a word. He just stood at the end of Joe’s bed, staring at him in the darkness. The vision chilled Joe to the bone. The scars across Edgar’s face had healed a dark red and brought an eerie emphasis to the milky white orbs that were Edgar’s eyes. Joe had tried to make Edgar wear a cloth around his eyes, given the fact that they were useless. However, Joe had wanted Edgar to wear the cloth simply to avoid the boy’s gaze. Much to Joe’s dismay, Edgar would not keep it on, taking it off as soon as Joe put it on him. Joe shivered as he looked at Edgar standing there, looking like a corpse in the moonlight. Joe jumped out of bed and escorted Edgar back to his room.
Unfortunately, this did not spark the beginning of regular speech for Edgar. He continued to be silent with the exception of random outbursts every few months. On one occasion, Joe and Edgar had been seated at the dinner table in the middle of a meal, when suddenly Edgar began to speak.
“I ate that boy,” he said and twirled his fork in his hand as the light glinted off of its edges.
“What?” said Joe and slowly placed his own utensils back on the table.
“I tore his flesh away with my teeth and then I swallowed it.”
Joe put one hand to his head as the other reached for his whiskey glass. That was all he could do to cope now. Joe couldn’t leave the farm very often, due to Edgar’s blindness, leaving him unable to do his work. They were barely getting by, surviving mostly on charity from villagers who had taken pity on them. Joe felt trapped, so he escaped to the bottle. Soon, his actions became as random and wild as Edgar’s.
Joe would rant and rave and drink himself unconscious on most nights. Choosing to keep himself in rooms far away from the boy he called son. Sometimes he would run outside and scream obscenities at the sky until he was hoarse in the throat. It never affected Edgar at all. He took the same place, every night after dinner, in the rocking chair out on the porch. Staring out into the world, out at the blackness of his world. He never changed his demeanor and never reacted to Joe’s tirades, with the exception of one particular night when Joe had decided to make the boy the target of his animosity.
Edgar was sitting in the rocking chair, staring out into nothingness, unaware of how red the sunset was this night, when Joe started in on him. Sweaty and slurring, Joe plopped a chair down on the porch next to Edgar and stared drunkenly into the boy’s eyes.
“What are you starin’ at?” Joe paused, so drunk that he couldn’t keep his eyes straight. “I said what are you starin’ at!” Joe screamed, inches from Edgar’s face, blasting him with spittle and noxious fumes. Edgar didn’t even flinch. “You can see him, can’t you? I bet he’s talkin’ to you right now, isn’t he? Yeah he is. I knew it. He won’t talk to me anymore. I failed! I was not faithful…I was disobedient.” Joe stumbled to his feet, picked up the chair and heaved it off the porch. “Do you know why I failed, son? Do you know why he won’t talk to me anymore? Huh? It’s because I didn’t kill you.” A manic grin came over Joe’s face and he began laughing wildly. “Can you believe that? He wanted me to kill a baby! But now I know why. Now. Now I know why.” Joe sauntered over to Edgar and put his reeking face right up, inches from the boy’s. “Because he knew that you…would ruin…everything. You brought that blacksmith here and he ended up dead. You made your mother leave. You killed that poor Pritchard Barton. And look at me.” Joe stood to full height and took a few steps back, spinning around. “You ruined my life!” Joe stumbled and fell onto the porch. Then he began to cry. Lying on his back, he bawled like a child. “But that’s what I get, for not having enough faith in him. That’s what I get…you know, that was the last time he talked to me. That was it. After I brought you here, he never talked to me again. After that, I had to go find odd jobs in other villages so that your mother wouldn’t think less of me.” Joe stopped his crying and sat up. “But you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? Do. You. You don’t even know what I was. Well I’m gonna tell you. I’m gonna tell you everything. Whether you want to hear it or not.” Edgar hadn’t moved a muscle until this point, but now he turned and looked directly at Joe, his useless white orbs burrowing into the drunk. “It was he who used to talk to me, Edgar,” continued Joe. “The Holy himself. He would tell me to do things for him. It was easy at first. Little stuff…I think he was testing me…but then, he wanted me to kill…he would tell me who to kill and where to find them and after I did it, I would find my pockets full of gold. I was an assassin for the Holy himself. And I never asked questions. Not once. Until you.” Then Joe started crying again. “I’m not your father…and Rachael wasn’t your mother. I killed your parents because the Holy told me to. And I was supposed to kill you, but I didn’t. I was too weak. I didn’t have enough faith in him. And now look at what’s happened.” Joe put his hands to his face and continued to sob. “You won’t even talk to me.”
Edgar stared into the blackness, toward the man before him and moved away from the rocking chair, kneeling down so that he could be face to face with Joe. He grabbed Joe’s hands and moved them away from his face. Joe stopped crying and looked at Edgar as the boy said:
“You should have killed me, Joe.”
Ghosts
Seven years had passed since Edgar had lost his sight. He was now a full-grown man. In fact, he had grown quite bigger than Joe. Joe’s problem with alcohol hadn’t helped his dwindling stature. A once proud man, standing at full height, Joe now limped everywhere that he walked, humpbacked and slouching. No longer able to take care of Edgar, it was Joe who needed help. In fact, Edgar had become quite able to take care of himself. It had taken a few years for Edgar to adjust to his blindness, but his other senses had become far more acute, and he was now able to move along, unassisted, even through areas he had never been to. The blindness had made his hearing more acute and he had somehow developed a kind of sixth sense. Able to sense his surroundings through the movement of air or possibly through temperature change. It had become virtually impossible to come within twenty feet of Edgar without his knowledge. Not that Joe was in any shape to be sneaking up on anyone these days. Now it was Joe who spent the majority of his time sitting in the rocking chair, gazing off of the porch.
With Edgar’s new abilities, he had regained a once lost freedom. He began to spend his time wandering the forest that bordered Shein Farm. He would go on long hikes through the forest, testing his ability to retrace his path accurately. He was constantly trying to increase his distance with each day, as an explorer would blaze new trails through new lands. On occasion, after walking a great distance, Edgar would seat himself under a tree and meditate. Keeping perfectly still and calm, animals would often come right up to him before realizing that he was there. Edgar had begun testing his ability to catch squirrels by staying still until they were close enough to grab. He had been successful on a couple of occasions.
The anger and frustration that had once boiled inside of Edgar had begun to ebb away into a cool serenity. Through his meditation, he had come to terms with what had happened to his eyes, to Blue and to Murray. Edgar had even come to terms with Joe, not with any conversation, but within himself. He now pitied Joe more than anything. Of co
urse, Joe had killed his parents, but the man was obviously insane, believing that the Holy himself had commanded the act. Joe wasn’t causing harm to anyone any longer, with the exception of himself. Edgar felt that the man had received his punishment already. He had lost his wife, his physique and his mind. Joe was a shell of a man.
Edgar still wondered about his mother from time to time. He felt just in referring to her as thus. He had truly loved her and she had truly loved him. She had raised him as best as she could and he couldn’t blame her for what had happened with Murray. He also couldn’t blame her for fleeing Joe that night. Edgar’s curiosity about his mother rested in the events that took place after that. Where had she gone? Why had she not returned? Was she alive? Edgar had assumed the worst. He assumed that she had died. He could not understand why else she would not have returned. She certainly would not have returned for Joe…but for him? Sometimes Edgar thought about trying to find her but the prospect always seemed overwhelming. He had become more able and more in tune with his surroundings, but these were small steps in contrast with a quest to find his mother. And although he tried not to think about it often, there may be a good reason that she never came back.
On this particular day, Edgar walked slowly through the forest, moving just a bit further than he ever had before. In one hand, he carried a staff that he had whittled from the thick branch of a dying tree. The other hand, Edgar used to protect his face from low-lying branches. The day was warm and dry and the ground cracked underneath his feet. Edgar was sweating quite a bit now, as the day crept into afternoon. Feeling he had made a good distance, Edgar searched for the shade of a large tree to rest under. Once found, he removed his flask and drank deeply. The day seemed warmer than usual and Edgar found himself growing sleepy in the shade of the tree. His thoughts began to wander and he found them resting once again on the issue of his mother’s disappearance. Edgar found frustration begin to worm its way into his thoughts. He should be able to search for his mother; he should not allow his disability to limit him. Not only that, but how could he give up on her? What kind of man was he, to assume that she were dead? That is something Joe would do. Something Joe had done. What if she were in trouble? Edgar’s worries would not leave him alone.
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