by J. S. Bailey
“You’re on your own for this one, Roberto,” Randy said with regret, though the longing look in his eyes told Bobby that Randy at least wanted to believe them.
“Why don’t you trust me?” Bobby asked Frankie. “When have I ever given you a reason to disbelieve me?”
“When you ran off with my daughter and left everything in shambles.”
Bobby drilled Carly’s father with an angry stare. “Don’t forget I have the Spirit of God guiding me. Maybe you should take this up with him.”
Silence settled over the room. “Why did you say that Thane might be dead?” Roger asked, changing the subject to Bobby’s great relief.
“We ran into each other in my hometown,” Bobby said. “He chased me with a knife, I ran into traffic to get away from him, and I accidentally caused a heating oil truck to collide with a semi. The drivers got away before the tanker blew.”
Roger’s face went white. “That was you?”
“What do you mean, that was me?”
Roger fished a phone out of his pocket and pulled up a webpage. “It’s been on the news all day. Here. Have a look.”
Bobby reluctantly took the phone from him and read aloud the headline displayed on the screen so the others could hear. “Eleanor, Ohio: Three dead and seven injured from tanker truck explosion.”
His insides went cold as the headline confirmed his worst fears.
His horror mounted as he continued reading. “Witnesses reported seeing a man in his late thirties chasing a younger man into traffic with a knife on U. S. 52 in Eleanor Tuesday morning. This resulted in a collision between a Holmes Oil truck and a semi hauling tires. The Holmes Oil truck ignited, causing an explosion that resulted in the deaths of 59-year-old Carson Pritchard, 30-year-old Tiffany Waters, and Waters’ six-month-old son, Jamie, all of whom were trapped in nearby vehicles.”
It felt as though the floor fell out from under Bobby’s feet in that moment. Three people dead, including a baby…and all of it Bobby’s fault.
“It is unclear what became of the man with the knife and the man he was chasing,” Bobby concluded as his throat constricted.
He looked up from the phone and stared at his friends, feeling a sudden detachment from his surroundings.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Bobby said, knowing how meaningless the words sounded coming from his mouth. “Thane was about to kill me.”
Nobody had anything to say—which somehow made it all so much worse.
BOBBY’S TINY rental house on Oakland Avenue felt practically microscopic with four people crammed inside it. Still numb from the revelation about the oil truck explosion, he’d stashed the Jones Jewelers bag inside a kitchen drawer while Carly was engrossed in solemn conversation with Kaori and then heated up ramen noodles for everyone since he didn’t have the energy to prepare anything more elaborate.
You need your rest, the Spirit whispered as Bobby set the Styrofoam noodle cups out on the card table at which he typically dined.
“I’ll bet Thane’s not resting,” Bobby mumbled. Since his name did not number among those dead, that meant Thane was still out there somewhere with murder on his mind.
“What’s that?” Carly asked as she emerged from the living room. “Oh, Bobby, you shouldn’t have done this. You’re sick.”
“I didn’t breathe on any of it.”
“That’s not what I mean. You go sit down before you keel over.”
“Carly, I’m fine.” Which was a complete lie, since nothing was fine at all.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s why your skin’s as white as paper. Go. Sit. Down.”
With a huff, Bobby stormed past her gripping his cup of noodles and sank into his recliner, then viciously forked a tangle of noodles into his mouth even though he hadn’t the slightest appetite.
Tears welled in his eyes as he chewed. Not only had he inadvertently caused the deaths of three innocent Eleanor citizens; Father Preston had trusted him, and now the man was dead as well. He didn’t even know the details of how it had happened. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details of how it happened. But at least Allison would be okay. That was a plus, right?
“I’ll pay back your dad for the cost of the flights,” Bobby said to Carly, who had distributed the remaining cups of ramen noodles to the rest of those present. “It might take me a while, but I’ll do it.”
She shook her head. “No, I can pay it back.”
“With what? You don’t have any money.”
Her eyes gleamed with an emotion he couldn’t identify. “Not yet, I don’t. But you know what? I’ve been looking for a job so I don’t have to be a leech anymore. Bet you never saw that coming.”
“I never said you were a—”
“You didn’t, but plenty of people have, and they’re right. I’ll be twenty-two in just a couple months. I can’t keep pretending I’m a little girl anymore.”
Bobby blinked. Stared at her. Blinked again. “But if you get a job, you won’t have time to help me out.”
“Sure I will. I just won’t be able to leave town with you on a whim. And that’s okay.”
Bobby didn’t think it was okay at all—nothing in his life was okay at the moment—but he just nodded.
“Are things normally this dramatic around here?” Matt asked after a brief quiet spell.
“This is nothing,” Carly said. “My father—the tall guy with black hair—feels the compelling need to insult anyone who deviates from his expectations in the tiniest way.”
“I never would have guessed that,” Kaori said with a smile. “Although I’m not sure how he was ever a Servant, if his mind is that narrow.”
Carly shrugged. “Oh, he loves God. It’s just people he generally has a problem with.”
Bobby set his half-empty cup of noodles on the arm of the recliner, feeling about as hungry now as if he’d just gone through a buffet line a few times. “Ugh. I can’t eat anymore.”
“But you’ve hardly eaten,” Carly said. “You’ll want to get your strength back up.”
Bobby stood on wobbly legs. “Look. You’re not my doctor. If I can’t finish it, I can’t finish it.” He stormed into the kitchen and stashed the cup on the top shelf of the fridge without covering it up, then traipsed back through the living room toward his bedroom door. “You guys can sleep wherever you want. I’m going to bed.”
He shut the bedroom door harder than he’d expected, wincing when some precariously-placed vinyl records he’d bought at a used bookstore the week before his birthday toppled off a shelf onto the floor. He scooped them up, tossed them on top of his dresser, and threw himself into bed, glowering at the shadowy wall across from him.
He’d had to go and get sick, hadn’t he? Well, it was December, but his immune system usually did a better job of keeping the plague at bay. He had no one to blame for this setback. He could only accept it and fume.
Through his bedroom door he could hear his friends’ soft murmurings in the living room. No doubt they were talking about him. Good for them.
Cool it, the Spirit chided.
Bobby rolled onto his back. It felt like his body was cooking itself from the inside out. He remembered he was supposed to do something, something important, but every time he tried to think, it sent spikes through his aching head.
Images flashed through his half-delirious mind. A cloud of smoke and fire burning away a man, woman, and child trapped in their cars. Father Preston with his meticulously-parted hair. Allison giving him a warm smile. Phil pushing his glasses further up his nose.
His heart stuttered. Phil!
They said Phil had gone missing, that no one knew where he went. Well, Bobby had a solution for that—all part of his nifty little gift.
He closed his eyes despite the darkness of the bedroom and willed the tension out of his muscles. Phil. Where was Phil?
At first he saw nothing, but then imagined Phil’s burgundy Taurus traversing winding mountain roads that didn’t stand out to Bobby as anyplace in particular.
Then, without warning, the most searing pain Bobby had ever felt knifed through his head, and his eyes snapped open.
His doppelganger stood in the shadows at the foot of his bed. Even in the darkness Bobby could see its smug expression.
“They don’t want you to find him,” it said. “They’ll hurt you until you stop.”
“Like they’ll be able to stop me,” Bobby whispered so Carly and the others wouldn’t be able to hear.
Ignoring the apparition, Bobby closed his eyes and focused again.
For the briefest of seconds Bobby thought he caught a mental glimpse of a mansion nestled at the edge of a forest, but the pain cut through him so badly the second time that he nearly vomited his scant supper.
He lay there panting, hearing his pulse pound in his ears. What was that all about? What did it gain unclean entities to hide Phil from him? He hoped it meant Phil was still alive. He’d suffered enough losses this year to last him the next couple of decades.
Eventually the voices in his living room died down, and the wedge of light peeking under his door winked out.
Instead of sleeping, Bobby lay atop his blankets staring into darkness broken only by the faint glow of a distant post lamp shining through the blinds.
He wondered if Carly and the others were sleeping. Probably not. Someone would have to be mad to have the ability to sleep with all this mayhem going on.
Too-familiar images flashed through his mind for the thousandth time. Adrian Pollard trembling on the ground as blood seeped from her wounds. Randy Bellison tied to a piece of plywood in a barn, dying…or almost dying. A child named Lily sitting on the end of a bed, waiting to be tortured again. Frank the First collapsing on the living room floor at Randy and Lupe’s Christmas party.
Bobby’s heart thudded. He couldn’t help but feel that something profound had changed; like something inside was being rewritten.
Gnashing his teeth, he got up and turned on the light. The yellow glare didn’t do much to bring him back to the present.
That’s because the real darkness is on the inside, not out in the open where you can see it.
Despite Kaori’s assurances otherwise, Bobby knew that his own actions had brought about the deaths of too many people. If he didn’t do something right now, something drastic, Phil and any number of other people could die as well.
Bobby was done with accepting that. He needed to take action, and he needed to take it now.
He pulled on his shoes and started tying the laces when a voice in his head clearly said, Wait.
“I can’t wait. I need to stop Thane from doing whatever he’s planning.”
Don’t forget the conference.
Bobby sighed. He supposed he had forgotten about that interfaith conference after he’d heard the news of Father Preston’s passing. He wondered if they’d cancel it now that one of their speakers had died, or if it would just go on as planned, with obvious amendments.
He would have to talk to Ellen Barkley again. Maybe she didn’t know Father Preston was dead. They’d both admitted they used to be friends; perhaps the shock of his death would convince her to stay away and allow her life to be spared.
“Bobby.”
He jumped. Caleb Young stood by his bedroom door with arms folded, wearing a long face and the same clothes from the other night when he’d shown up on Bobby’s porch.
“What are you doing here?” Bobby said in a low voice so as not to wake the others.
“You’re upset.”
“Yeah, well, that ‘choice’ I made back in Eleanor killed three people, including a baby. Am I supposed to be feeling good about myself?”
“You survived. I’m sure that feels wonderful.”
“You have no idea how I feel. I wish…I wish I had done different.” Bobby’s eyes watered as he thought of the destruction he’d caused. He’d somewhat known Tiffany Waters, as she’d lived down the street from him for years. He hadn’t heard she’d had a baby, who wouldn’t have even learned how to walk or talk yet before Bobby accidentally ended his life.
Caleb blinked. “If you’d done differently, you would be in a morgue right now. The choice you made was correct.”
“It turned me into a monster.”
“The people who died are in good hands. You shouldn’t be so upset.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I mean, their families…it’s almost Christmas.”
“You’re right. Their families are devastated, and will be for years to come. But people die, Bobby, some sooner, some later. You won’t have the luxury of sacrificing your own sorry self until you line up a replacement, so I suggest you start looking.”
Caleb disappeared. Bobby ran his hands over his face to blot his tears.
How could he not grieve the result of his actions in Eleanor?
How, in the name of all that was good and holy, had his life come to this?
THE MUTED light of morning woke Bobby from uneasy dreams. He stretched and padded across the room to his window, peeking through the blinds to see that a fresh dusting of snow had fallen over Autumn Ridge during the night. A snowplow rumbled by as he watched, then he withdrew from the window and emerged into the living room.
He smelled coffee as soon as he opened the door. Carly and Kaori sat in the kitchen conversing in low tones, and Matt had perched himself on the edge of the couch while watching the news with the volume turned down so low that Bobby could barely hear it.
“Good morning,” Matt said, giving Bobby a tired smile. “Sleep well?”
“I think about five minutes.” Bobby held a hand to his forehead, wondering if his fever had broken.
He slipped into the bathroom and dug a thermometer out of his medicine cabinet. Popping it under his tongue, he went out to the kitchen to get some coffee and breakfast.
“Carly and I were just talking about how we all might divvy up tasks,” Kaori said while Bobby poured himself a cup of brew. “Matt and I can try to look for Bradley while you try to find Thane.”
“You two can go do that,” Bobby said around a mouthful of thermometer, “but before I track down Thane, I need to talk to Ellen Barkley.”
Carly’s eyes narrowed. “What for? You said she wasn’t going to listen to you.”
“I just feel like maybe I should give it another go. I don’t need any more people to die.”
“Hey, suit yourself. At least now that we’re back in town, you’ll have a premonition if something awful is about to happen to someone else.”
The thermometer beeped. Bobby took a look at the screen and smiled. “It’s only a hundred degrees now. I’m practically healed.”
AFTER BREAKFAST, Bobby called the Barkley number listed in the phonebook. It rang four times and went to voicemail, but Bobby terminated the call before he’d have to leave a message.
“Hey, come look at this,” Matt called from the living room.
The man still had the news on but had bumped up the volume, and with a pang in his heart, Bobby saw Father Preston’s name and picture splayed across the screen.
“The St. Paul’s Church community is in mourning today,” a female newscaster said off-screen, “following the unexpected death of its pastor, Father Preston James, age fifty-seven, on Tuesday afternoon.”
Bobby could feel an invisible knife twist in his gut. He hadn’t known the priest long—just five months—but considered him a friend and sort-of mentor.
The image on the screen changed, and Bobby was startled to find himself looking at Ellen Barkley’s house with police cars in the driveway and crime scene tape marking the perimeter.
“James was visiting Ellen Barkley, the leader of Good Hands Humanist Assembly, in her hometown of Elkview, when a gunman allegedly entered the home and shot James in the chest. Barkley stated that the gunman had broken into her home earlier that day and purportedly ran off, returning with a weapon after the priest had arrived.
“The gunman has blond hair and is of average height and build.” A police sketch of Bradle
y Scholl appeared on the screen. Oddly, the sketch artist had drawn a long scar down Bradley’s left cheek. “Anyone with information leading to his arrest should call the number below.
“James and Barkley were both scheduled to speak at the first annual Interfaith Conference in Eugene this Saturday. According to Barkley, the conference will continue as planned but will include a short memorial service for the late priest.
“Coming up next: police may have leads on the car-theft ring that has plagued the region this year. Stay tuned to find out more.”
“Father Preston was visiting Ellen when he was killed?” Carly said right beside him. Bobby jumped. He’d been so engrossed with the news report he hadn’t heard her walk up.
“That’s what it looks like.” Wheels turned in Bobby’s mind. “If Bradley had been there earlier in the day, he must have said something to her about Father Preston. Ellen must have called him, Father Preston stopped in to visit, and then Bradley came back and…and killed him.”
The whole idea of it struck him as odd. Bradley hadn’t seemed like he wanted to hurt people—just himself, as he’d demonstrated while waiting to be flattened by a locomotive on the tracks in Hillsdale. Anything was possible, of course, especially if Thane had gotten hold of him and convinced Bradley to go on a killing rampage just to give Bobby even more of a complex.
“But why did the sketch artist draw a scar on Bradley’s face?” Bobby said, looking back to the television even though it was now playing a commercial for hemorrhoid cream. “He doesn’t have one.”
“It could have been a cut,” Carly said.
“I don’t know. I should really talk to Ellen. Maybe she knows something I don’t.”
“SPLENDID DAY, isn’t it?”
Ellen turned her head from the window as Terence walked up behind her and rested his head on her shoulder. They’d stayed the night at the Holiday Inn in Hillsdale since the police were still combing their property for evidence. Terence had taken off work in order to offer moral support after the ordeal the day before.
Ellen sighed. “Never in a million years did I…never mind.” Snow had fallen during the night, frosting the world below her in white. It was a shame Preston would never get to see this snowfall. He’d always loved the snow—at least he had when they were children and he’d go after the other boys pelting them with snowballs.