Fairlane Road

by Cody Lakin

  “How’s the book?” she asked as she began devouring her breakfast.

  Andrew Jean finished the sentence he was on and then shut the book and set it on the small plastic table beside his chair. “Very well written. Slightly off in some aspects, and a little vague for my taste, but it’s good.” He smiled at her. “You’re up early.”

  She spoke with her mouth half full. “Thanks.”

  “I don’t think you’ve slept in this late since you were in high-school.”

  “That’s because I don’t stay up until three in the morning anymore.” She couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Her teen years had been confusing, and her mind had been a ceaseless, roiled ocean, even more so than it was now. She had settled more so into herself since then, trading restlessness for calm discontent. And she no longer thrived on such an erratic sleep schedule.

  Andrew gave her an inquisitive look. “Everything all right?”

  Jezebel stopped eating and looked toward the street. There was no way around it, and no reason to stall. “Edgar came here last night. Sometime between three and four.”

  “Edgar as in Edgar Forgael? Why?”

  “To warn me about something.” She looked her father in the eyes. “He was… crying, and scared.” She saw the blood drain from her father’s face. “H-he met Charlie Knox. He spoke with him, and learned things about him.”

  Andrew sat forward. “They… they spoke? Knox didn’t kill him?”

  Jezebel shook her head, biting her lip from sheer nervousness. “He told him things, instead. Like how… h-how…” Her lips began to tremble, so she paused and took a deep breath to steady the beating of her heart. Hearing herself say this in broad daylight gave the entire situation a nearly incomprehensible realness, and it made her feel paralyzingly afraid. “Dad. Charlie Knox is going to come here. Everything he’s doing involves some kind of higher purpose, like a main goal, according to what Edgar said. And part of that has to do with… with us.”

  Andrew Jean nodded and his eyes lost focus as he looked into his thoughts. He sighed. “To kill us? Or me?”

  “I don’t know. But… I don’t think so. The way Edgar described it, it almost sounded like he wants to… I don’t know… talk. Explain what he’s doing and why, and either convince us that what he’s doing is right, or have us convince him that he’s wrong. Like a debate. Which doesn’t make sense.”

  Andrew sighed again, but this time he bowed his head and shut his eyes. “Actually, yes. It does make sense, to me.”

  Jezebel’s brow furrowed. “How?”

  “Back in the days of the Knox case, my partner and I apprehended a member of the cult. A lonely member, yes, but a part of it. And we interrogated him, trying to get confessions and useful information out of him. In fact, he’s how we learned that the Knoxes visited Fairlane Road frequently, for prayer and to recognize their ‘high invisible ones’ and such, which led to the final events of the case, when we cornered them and they killed themselves in front of thirteen-year-old Charlie. But anyway, it took us about two days to finish the interrogation, because the cult member—I think his name was Tyler, or Taylor or something—he kept wanting to have a debate. Kept answering our questions with more questions, stuff like whether we believed in God, whether or not we believed morality existed outside of religion. Real strange, philosophical questions.” Andrew smiled humorlessly. “He refused to give us anything unless we would engage in these debates with him, so I did. The chief didn’t like it, my partner hated it, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t legal, but we were all desperate, and scared.”

  Jezebel smiled, too. “I bet anyone would regret getting in a debate with you.”

  “I suppose that’s true. That guy did, anyway.” A strange expression crossed Andrew’s face then, one Jezebel had seen once before. It was a look of pride and self-certainty, a kind of satisfaction. It was an expression that meant he knew he was right about something, and was proud of it. And it was a powerful expression. She was accustomed to his humility, but there was something impressive, attractive even, about that look of unshakable, proud certainty. She wondered, for a moment, if it was an expression he had worn more often in his youth, and if, maybe, it was one of those things her mother must have loved about him.

  Andrew went on: “That man was convinced that his questions were incredibly intelligent, or even unique. So, as you could imagine, he was taken by surprise by the things I told him, and how I answered those questions.”

  “I could only imagine.”

  “And after about an hour, he gave up, and admitted he had been wrong, and that he thought the Knoxes were wrong in what they were doing.” Andrew shook his head. “I’ve never seen that kind of change of heart from anyone, and the strange thing is that it was genuine. The guy meant it when he renounced the Knox cult. He meant it when he said I had convinced him of his wrongness. So, if Edgar says that what Charlie Knox wants is a debate of some kind, I believe it. It’s the way his family operated. And if I could convince that one lunatic to turn away from his cause all those years ago, I sure as hell can do it again with Charlie Knox.”

  The look on her father’s face had gone from hopeful to fiery, passionate.

  “It’ll be different, though, Dad,” said Jezebel. “According to what Edgar said, Charlie isn’t just some madman. He’s…” She turned her hands into fists when the memory of her dream arose back into her head. “He’s smart. He’s thought all of this out. Everything he’s doing.”

  “I’m sure he has. And I’ve had all my life to think things out. I’m ready for him. You don’t have to worry about that, Jess.”

  Jezebel sighed. Her father could be frustrating, how he was so set in his ways, so certain of things beyond his control. “You know he might not be coming here just to talk, though.”

  “I know that. In fact, it’s something I’ve been sitting here contemplating ever since Jimmy came to visit the other day, and told me they’d caught him. Like… maybe this all has to do with what happened eight years ago. Maybe it’s all leading up to an act of revenge for what this town—me especially—did to his family… how they ended it by killing themselves, right in front of him.” He looked her in the eyes, all certainty gone now from his face. Now he was just her father again, aging and contemplative, maybe afraid, with mortality hovering over the town, cast by the shadow of Charlie Knox’s killings. “And if that’s the case, then I guess I’ll just have to accept that there’s nothing that can stop him from coming here. All I can do is wait. It’s you I’m worried about though, Jess. Especially if it’s true that it’s not just me he’s coming for, but you as well. Although, unless this really is about revenge for him, I don’t know why it would have anything to do with you.”

  As she often had been in the past, Jezebel was strongly tempted to tell her father about Fairlane Road. If she did tell him—and she wondered if she might have to, soon—and he believed her, it would explain everything for him: why Charlie Knox wanted to face her; why she spent so much time in the forest during her spare time; why none of what Charlie Knox was doing had anything to do with revenge. But for now she chose to stay quiet about Fairlane Road. There would be a right time to tell him, and that time was not now.

  “I don’t think it’s about revenge. I mean, I don’t know, but I just… the way Edgar explained everything, it seems like there’s more to it than that.”

  “Hmm. Well, I suppose we’re bound to find out, one way or the other.”

  Jezebel stood and walked over to the end of the porch, hands on her hips. “You really want to just wait for him, knowing how dangerous he is, and that he… that he—”

  “What else would you suggest, Jess? If we want all of this to end, what else is there?”

  She turned toward her father. “We
could set a trap. Call James Goode, explain everything to him, and maybe, I don’t know, get him to bring a few cops and set up a trap. Wait for Charlie Knox to come, and when he does, an ambush will be waiting.” She was almost fuming now, her chest rising and falling with her quickening breaths. And the gleam in her father’s eyes had gone from uncertain to intrigued.

  “We don’t know when he’s going to be here.”

  “Then maybe they can be on call. You know… like, maybe James Goode could give you a pager or something, or even a walkie-talkie. Do you think that could work?”

  “I think it might.” Her father leaned back, smiling at her. “When did you get so smart?”

  “My dad happens to be something of a philosopher, is how.”

  He chuckled at the cute smile on her lips and the glint in her eyes. “Get my phone for me, would you?”

  Her father went inside to talk with James Goode, but Jezebel was feeling too wound up, too wired, to be inside, so she sat down on the porch’s front steps and focused on breathing. When she was alone, she was able to see more clearly that her reaction to this situation stemmed almost entirely out of fear. She hadn’t even met Charlie Knox, didn’t even have a clear image of him in her mind, and yet she felt as though she knew him on a personal, almost intimate emotional level. And that thought, plus with what Edgar Forgael had told her—that she and Charlie Knox were Yin and Yang to each other—it filled her with a cold, foreboding feeling of resignation and defeat, as though the very makeup of her existence had betrayed her. She imagined that she would feel this way if she discovered that she was related to the Knox family, because it wasn’t so unlike that. She was connected to that murdering psychopath.

  There was that unpleasant feeling rising in her stomach, making her feel delicate and sick—the same she had felt after awakening from her dream of Charlie Knox—when her thoughts, as if of their own accord, turned suddenly away from this situation and toward Fairlane Road. She thought of it and all its beauty, its numberless unknowns and golden lands, and she thought also of how she had met the god Pan, and he had recognized her. It wasn’t uncommon to meet creatures and other beings there, beings with which she had often communicated in the past, but it was rare to meet a god. Gods perceived time differently from mortals, and thus were seldom seen. But it had been Pan, and so close to Fairlane Road.

  And for some reason, he had recognized her.

  She thought it would be a good idea to visit Edgar as soon as she could, first to make sure he was okay, and also to ask him about her brief encounter with Pan. It must mean something, she knew, but hadn’t the slightest idea of what.

  Andrew emerged from the house a few minutes later and told her, with a pleased grin, that James Goode had agreed with their plan, and would be on his way in a few minutes to discuss the details.

  * * *

  The young detective arrived not long after the phone call. He was alone, and looked as though he hadn’t had any sleep for several nights. There were dark bags under his eyes and a paleness in his skin which aged him, giving him a skeletal appearance.

  Jezebel listened while her father explained everything to him, and she saw James Goode’s expression change from intense curiosity to pure terror. Then, after taking a few moments to process everything he’d just been told, he handed Andrew a pager—like Jezebel had predicted—which required only the press of a button in order reach him.

  “It’ll come straight to me. I can get units on the way here in a matter of minutes, plus I’ll tell them to stand by and be ready for the call,” Goode said.

  “Perfect. Don’t position anyone specifically nearby though, James, if you have any control over that. If Knox suspects a trap, I doubt he’d show.”

  Goode smiled, one eyebrow raised. “You must think I was born yesterday,” he said, clapping Andrew on the shoulder.

  Jezebel could see in her father’s eyes, however, that he didn’t believe in the plan, even though he would gladly go along with it. She didn’t allow her mind to ask any of the frightening questions hovering above her.

  “I’ve seen this guy, Andrew,” said Goode. “I’ve heard him talk. You press that button the moment he shows his face, all right? Don’t engage him. It isn’t worth the risk.”

  “All right,” Andrew Jean agreed. Jezebel knew, however, that he was lying. He had gotten that look in his eyes again. That confident, devil-may-care look. The one that scared her with its unshakable certainty and self-assurance.

  * * *

  “Detective!” She caught James Goode just as he was getting into his car. He stopped and looked at her.

  “Ah, Jezebel. What is it?”

  “It’s… I wanted to talk to you about this whole… this situation, and the plan, before you left.”

  “Sure.”

  “You know how my dad can be,” she said. She stood on the lawn, just a few feet from Goode. “He’s… well, he’s stubborn. He has good reason for it, because he’s smart, of course—”

  “Probably the smartest person I know,” said the young detective. The sunlight seemed to make the edges of his blond hair glow gold.

  “Yeah, and…” she bit her bottom lip and looked down at her feet. “I know what he agreed to do just now, but I also know him well enough to know that he isn’t going to use that pager, if he doesn’t have to.”

  Detective Goode frowned. “You think he’s gonna try and talk with Charlie Knox, when he comes?”

  Jezebel nodded. “Yeah. It’s what I mean by stubborn. He’s confident in his ways, and I think, after everything that happened with the Knox case back in the day, he might feel like… like maybe he owes Knox the, um… the confrontation that he wants. I don’t know that for sure, but… but I think…”

  “I can see how he might do that,” said Goode, looking to the side and shaking his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m not leaving it up to him.” Jezebel looked the detective in the eyes even though confrontation, even the good kind, had always made her uncomfortable. “I’m telling you this because the moment I see Charlie Knox, I’m gonna call your personal cell phone, and when that happens you’d better be here as soon as you can.”

  Detective Goode couldn’t help but smile. He was only a decade older than Jezebel, but in some ways had seen her become the young woman she was now. And even so, she could surprise him with her own determination and stubbornness, reminiscent of her brilliant father.

  “I’ll be ready,” said Goode. “You can hold me to that.”

  * * *

  None of them had any idea how long they would have to wait until Charlie Knox decided to appear, so as Jezebel returned from the driveway and sat at the kitchen table, her eyes distant, she felt that she was stuck in a kind of limbo. She tapped the surface of the table, swinging her feet back and forth along the floor, and no matter how she tried to control the steadiness of her breaths, her heart continued to race.

  She could remember, as a kid, feeling similarly restless when she was excited over something. Like how she sometimes thought she would never be able to fall asleep on Christmas Eve because she was too excited. And she could remember a similar feeling on the negative side too, in the more recent years of her life, like the drive to a secluded forest spot with her boyfriend when she had been sixteen, knowing that in a few minutes she would be losing her virginity in the backseat, uncertain of whether to feel nervous or excited but inevitably feeling both. Or the walk up to the door of Billy Jones’s house, anticipating his begging, the pain in his eyes, when she told him that she was breaking up with him and didn’t want to see him anymore. What she felt now was like that, but it was multiplied, expanded. Her entire body was trembling, and her breaths felt shallow and uneven. The times she’d f
elt this way before were small leaps compared to the abyss she could feel herself standing over now, dizzy with anticipation and fear, sick with having no idea what to expect.

  Andrew, after putting some dishes away in the kitchen, came and sat at the table with her. His calmness, his steady gaze on her, made her anxiety all the more apparent.

  “Jezebel—”

  “Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. “You don’t know that it is.”

  “I know,” he said, and she was surprised when she looked up and saw him smirking.

  “What?”

  “You know… I know we’ve never talked much about your mother, Jezebel, but… well, I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that I’ve come to peace with it, in a lot of ways. Maybe not with her leaving, but with her, as a person. The thought of her doesn’t hurt like it used to. Maybe that’s just a sign of aging, or maybe… hell, maybe there isn’t such a thing as forgiveness, it’s just that everyone’s got short memories for pain. Either way though, sometimes I see a lot of her in you. Not as much as you’d think, but in the small things. The way you hold your eyes every now and then, or the way you say things, the way you… the way you are now. For all your mother was, she was a fighter. She was stubborn.”

  Jezebel had always felt flashes of discomfort at the mention of her mother—discomfort which fell somewhere between anger and sadness—but she smiled. “So are you, Dad.”

  “Yep. And looks to me like you’ve got both our stubbornness combined. I’ve always admired people who don’t have the patience for trivialities, who aren’t content with little lies or… or bullshit. I never thought I’d be able to admire those very things in my own daughter one day.”