Sons of Dust

by P. Dalton Updyke

  “What did she go through?”

  Vinny stopped. Rubbed a hand over his face and his eyes still wouldn’t meet hers. “Like I said, she fell in and couldn’t get out.”

  “Why not?”

  “There wasn’t a ladder in that hole. It must have rotted or something. The thing she fell in was probably dug in the late 1700’s. That’s what Alex said last night. He said there aren’t many of those old access routes left.”

  The wind picked up again. The sky was darker and the cold seeped into Kate’s bones. Marcus was still talking on the phone, his breath spirals of white that reminded Kate of the balloons coming out of cartoon mouths.

  “Bo broke a leg in the fall, busted the shit out of it. A couple of ribs were busted, her wrist, her collarbone. She must have been in agony.” His voice changed at the end and Kate wasn’t surprised to see he was crying. He swallowed. “It must have been hell.”

  Hell.

  Kate closed her eyes but she couldn’t block the vision that detonated in her brain.

  There was light, of a sort, but not anything that hinted of the sun. It wasn’t illumination, more bright casts of red and shades of black that slashed vision. As her eyes adjusted to the degrees of color, Kate saw she was in a corridor. There was no ceiling to this place, just walls on either side that stretched beyond her vision. Not a pit, not exactly, but a path, angling down. The ground under her feet was odd. Hard-packed, like hundreds of feet had walked this path

  legions

  She heard the word spoken in her mind and then laughter exploded in her brain. When her fingers brushed the walls, they crumbled under her touch. Ancient, then, older than-

  time

  Her heart was beating now, so hard she could hear it thudding in her ears and it was fast fast fast but beyond the drumming of her blood was silence so complete it was painful. The silence itself was frightening because it wasn’t true silence, it was just she couldn’t hear it hear it yet because

  I’m too young

  She thought she spoke the words aloud but wasn’t sure because there was no echo in this place, just the walls high and dark and then the smell came, waste and something else, something thick and cloying

  blood

  The light began to change and she could see the ground under her feet and stared. The earth was brittle. Not dirt at all, not dirt-

  Red light flashed and there was something at the end of the corridor. She could make out a figure against the red light and there was something dangling from its hand and something huddled at its feet and she opened her mouth to scream but then she heard it. A man’s voice, soft and weak.

  Help me

  She turned toward the voice because she couldn’t help it and she saw him in shadow, in outline, saw the chains and he held his hands out to her and said one word.

  “Bo.”

  Kate’s eyes jerked open. She couldn’t stop shivering. Dear God, she prayed. Please don’t let me remember anymore. Please. But the plea had never worked before. What made her think it would work now? It had been months since she thought of it…and now it was back.

  Tears were sliding down Vinny’s cheeks, but he didn’t appear to notice. He was looking at her again, sorrow etched in the lines around his mouth. His eyes traveled over her face and she could read the question that was starting to form.

  She touched his arm, whispered, “I’m fine,” and the question died before it was spoken.

  The wind slashed at her hair, whipped it around her face, she was exhausted. She just wanted to lie down. Sleep yes, but can I sleep without closing my eyes? On the heels of that thought came another. Why did I come?

  There was only one answer. She’d promised Bo.

  “It took a while for her to die,” Vinny’s voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him. “At least a week, they said.”

  Kate’s stomach lurched, her throat clogged and her eyes burned with tears. A week? Sweet Jesus in heaven. A week?

  Vinny wiped his face with a trembling hand. He took a deep breath and when he looked at her again, Kate had to resist an urge to step back. “What I don’t get is that you knew it. You knew how Bo was going to die.”

  “I did not!” Kate heard the shaking in her voice but couldn’t help it.

  “Yes, Katie, you did. You told Bo she was going to die in a dark hole. I can still see the look on your face when you told her. You looked so far away, like you were in a trance or something.”

  “I was eleven years old. I didn’t do trances.”

  “You told Bo she was going to die in a black pit and when Bo asked you how she was going to die, you said ‘a piece at a time.’ And then you laughed, Katie. Remember? You laughed.”

  Kate swallowed, her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t laugh,” but Vinny was still talking.

  “When you started laughing, you didn’t sound like you. I mean, it wasn’t you and Bo jumped up and pushed the board out of your lap because you looked so…scary. She was screaming at you to stop fooling around and then your eyes…” His voice faded and he looked at her again. “Your eyes did this snapping thing, like they were coming back into focus and you shook your head like you were clearing it and you asked what Bo was yelling about, and when you talked, you sounded like you again. Not like…”

  “Not like what?” Kate pressed, but Vinny shrugged his shoulders.

  “Like you said, that was twenty five years ago. It’s okay.” Kate could hear the effort Vinny was making but it wasn’t okay and they both knew it.

  Chapter 3

  Marcus

  The car door made a soft chinking noise when Marcus shut it and he noticed for the first time how cold it was. Had the temperature dropped, or had he simply been immune? The flowers on the gravesite shivered in the wind and when Marcus looked at the green covered hole in the ground, he had to stop himself from moaning aloud. He closed his eyes and swallowed, but closing his eyes didn’t block out the images her name invoked. Bo, sitting on her knees, her long blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, a box of Christmas decorations to her left. Handing him a glass orb, laughing.

  Here, you do this one. It’s old.

  He took the glass ornament and hung it high on the tree. How come I get the old ones?

  Because, her eyes danced in the firelight, you have a gentle touch.

  Marcus rubbed a hand over his eyes, exhaustion seeping through him. The last few days, he’d been running in high gear, making arrangements, seeing to Bo’s last needs, but all that was done now. Bo’s needs were taken care of. How was he going to take care of his own? How was he going to get through the rest?

  It seemed to Marcus that if he strained hard enough, he could still hear her voice. You’ll get through it, she told him, one week at a time. You got through the separation, didn’t you?

  But Bo…

  But, the whisper in his head said and the tone was the one she used when she teased him. The magic word.

  Wind howled through the trees arching over the smooth grass and the rectangles of stone. Marcus looked at the hole waiting for Bo and sorrow filled him with savage force. He turned his head away so hard his neck snapped.

  Vinny was facing him, hatless, his black hair blowing upward as if magnetized. Vinny was talking, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray gabardine slacks but even from this distance, Marcus could make out the knob of bone that was Vinny’s wrist. The bracelet he wore caught the sunlight, glinted. A siren pierced the sound of the wind and Marcus was suddenly overcome.

  It’s been nineteen years, he thought, nineteen years and when I hear a siren, every detail comes back. Marcus remembered –

  --walking down Shurtliff Street, a coke in one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his jeans. It wasn’t late, barely ten o’clock, but he was tired so he’d skipped going to Maxi’s with Bo and Gina. When Marcus turned the corner, he saw the blue flashing lights. There was a crowd on the sidewalk and without thinking, Marcus crossed the street, angling away from the gawkers. He was thinkin
g about the game, how good he’d played and he glanced back, almost casually, at the cruiser parked at an angle against the curb and the ambulance with the back doors open. Marcus looked over, barely curious, really, just looking to see what all the fuss was about and his feet stopped moving.

  They had Vinny in cuffs.

  A heavyset cop with hard eyes had Vinny by the arm, pulling him forward. The coke slipped from Marcus’s hand but the sound of the can hitting the pavement didn’t register. He ran across the street, horns blaring as he darted through the traffic. The lights flashed purple on the brick buildings. The streetlights painted pools of a sick yellow on the sidewalk, and even in the dark, Marcus could make out the panic on Vinny’s face.

  There was a red Chevy in the middle of the street. The hood was caved in and now Marcus could see EMTs bent over a pile of clothes in the road, but just as the thought registered, he dismissed it. No. Not a pile of clothes. A body.

  Heart pounding, he zigzagged through the arc of people. The cop had his hand on the back of Vinny’s head, bending him forward, pushing him into the back of the cruiser.

  “Vinny!” the sound tore from his throat and Vinny looked up, searching. “Vinny!” Marcus shouted again and Vinny found him in the crowd.

  “It’s alright!” Vinny shouted as the cop shoved harder. “It’s gonna be okay!”

  But it wasn’t okay and the next time he saw Vinny, his best friend was behind bullet proof glass, charged with car theft and vehicular homicide. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit and there was a purple bruise on his right cheekbone. Vinny sat in a cubicle on the other side of the glass and picked up the phone on his end, trying to smile and failing miserably.

  Numbers were stitched on the breast pocket of Vinny’s jumpsuit. Marcus stared at the numbers, because it was easier to look there than at Vinny’s face.

  “What, you’re in a concentration camp now?”

  Vinny’s eyes drew together in a look of confusion.

  “That!” Marcus pointed to Vinny’s chest. Comprehension turned Vinny’s face crimson.

  “Prison name tag,” Vinny’s voice was tinny, weak sounding. Not Vinny at all. A stranger. “3462379.” He laughed like he was making a joke. “Hey, it’s a good number. Think I ought to play it when I get out of here?”

  “Bullshit,” Marcus’ voice was hoarse, tight with sudden rage.

  Vinny blinked. “Bullshit? What, playing the number? Hey, man, I was just kid-“

  “Having a number at all! Don’t these fucking bastards believe you’d tell them your name? You can’t be trusted enough to say hey, I’m Vinny Polowski and so they stitch a number on you instead?”

  “Take it easy, Bro.” Vinny’s eyes were wide with an emotion Marcus wasn’t sure he could name. “It’s nothing.”

  The phone in Marcus’ hand was shaking. The receiver bounced against his cheekbone. Anger spread through him, hot liquid.

  “You’re no liar,” Marcus said. “Somebody asked you your name, you’d give it. You wouldn’t dick around and you’ve never lied in your life.”

  “Well, maybe I have and maybe I haven’t.” Vinny dropped his eyes and in that instant, Marcus knew the truth. Vinny was innocent. The confession was a lie.

  Marcus focused on the couple standing a few yards away. Vinny moved his hand again and the bracelet of heavy gold links glittered in the sunshine. Why did he buy that damn thing? Did he miss the cuffs so much? Did his wrist feel naked without a circle around it? Maybe Vinny couldn’t block away those years any more than Marcus could.

  The wind blew so hard it was a shriek and Marcus realized that his ears were stinging, his feet numb. He stamped his feet, shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step toward Vinny and Kate, but then he stopped.

  Vinny was shaking his head, still talking, his eyes traveling over Kate’s face. Kate was rigid and Marcus suddenly wanted to wait until Vinny was done to walk over. He knew what Vinny was telling Kate and he didn’t want to hear it again.

  Kate was striking now. She held herself gracefully, like a dancer. And when she spoke, Marcus was impressed by the way her eyes stayed with his, as if she were looking for more than his mouth uttered. She was dressed in gray, head to foot. Marcus could see her suit when her coat flapped open, the same soft ashen color as her hose and shoes. With her red-gold hair blonder than he’d remembered, she looked like a faded charcoal sketch. The last time he’d seen her, she wore brilliant colors, her lipstick a slash of scarlet. She had something in her eyes when they were kids, something that spoke of funny stories she had yet to tell. She wasn’t like that anymore. Sadness hugged her like old gossip.

  “Vinny was just telling me,” her voice was frayed. She put a hand out then, blindly, and he bypassed the hand to pull her close. She buried her face in his chest and Marcus allowed himself the small luxury of offering comfort. “I’m sorry,” she said against his chest. Her voice was muffled and he thought Bo again and had to swallow hard.

  “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Crying is expected. God knows I’ve been doing enough of that.”

  Kate pushed away and looked up at him, her eyes wet, her face flushed. “It’s like part of me died with her.”

  “A part of you did die with her,” Marcus said. “The childhood part.”

  That got her crying again and when she stopped, Marcus handed her his handkerchief.

  “Listen,” Vinny said. “I have to get over to the hall. I told Gina I’d meet her there and help set up. You coming Katie?”

  “I don’t…”

  “We’ll be there in a bit,” Marcus interrupted. “There’s something I have to tell Katie first.”

  Marcus could feel Kate’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn his head. Vinny nodded. “See you there.”

  “Come on, Katie,” Marcus said as he took her elbow. Her coat was soft under his hand. “Let’s sit in my car where it’s warm.”

  He wondered what words he’d use and then he heard Bo’s voice again. This time he didn’t have to strain to hear her.

  Just tell her the truth.

  **

  “The police think Bo was murdered.”

  The expectant look on Kate’s face faded and she turned so white Marcus was afraid for a moment she’d pass out.

  “What?”

  Marcus looked out the window, away from the burning questions in her eyes and the pain etched around her mouth. “I have a good friend in homicide. Maybe you remember him, Johnny Sullivan?” He could see her reflection in the glass. She was shaking her head. “Johnny hung around with Nick Vespucci. Lived over in the Projects. Used to like to light fires.”

  “I remember him now,” Kate pushed her hair away from her temples. “Bo had a crush on him and we spent one whole summer following him around. He caught us spying on him one time and shoved us into trash cans and rolled us down Congress Avenue.”

  Marcus tried to smile, but the muscles in his face didn’t want to move. “Yeah, that sounds like John. Anyway, he joined the service and when he was discharged, joined the Chelsea P.D. I work with him now and then and a couple of years ago we started getting together once in a while for a few beers--”

  “Work with him?” Kate’s voice was a soft brush. “Are you a cop?”

  It hit him, all at once, how many years separated them, how much time lay dead. “I’m a lawyer, Kate. Assistant District Attorney.”

  He could still see her reflection in the glass and she bowed her head. “That’s wonderful, Marcus,” her voice was choked with tears again. “I wish I--” she stopped, shook her head and started again. “I should have called more often, made more of an effort to stay in your lives.”

  “That goes both ways, Katie,” he said gently. “We never called you, either.”

  If she was crying again, she was doing it silently. He took a deep breath. “Vinny told you how Bo was found?”

  “Yes.”

  “I got a call last night from Sullivan. The hole Bo fell in? The cap on it?”

  “Vinny said the
cap broke.”

  “It wasn’t broken. It was whole. And in place.” He let his words sink in. “The cops think someone pushed Bo into that hole, then covered it back up and left her there to die.”

  “But who would want to kill Bo?”

  “Well, that’s the question of the day, isn’t it?” The bitterness surprised even him. Who would want to kill Bo? He’d asked the same question last night and heard Sullivan repeat his own words, but in John’s mouth, the words were faintly sinister.

  Who? John asked. Well, my friend, if I didn’t know you better, I’d have to put you at the top of the list.

  Marcus ran a hand over his face, felt the stubble on his cheeks and wondered if he’d remembered to shave. Odd, the things that left his mind, like shaving, odd how he felt off kilter, like the world was tilting and so to compensate, he was having to walk on a lean.

  “Is that what you had to tell me? Kate said in the silence. “That Bo was murdered?”

  “No.”

  Kate didn’t ask, she simply waited.

  “A few months ago, Bo asked me to help her make out a will. She gave me a letter addressed to you. I was to give you the letter if you came to the funeral. She told me if you didn’t come, I was to burn it without reading it. She made me promise, Katie, and I did.” He shifted, reaching for the letter in the pocket of his overcoat. “But before I give it to you, I’m supposed to tell you something else.”

  Again, Kate didn’t ask. Maybe she really didn’t want to know.

  “Bo wanted you to know that you were right.” He turned in the seat so he was facing her full. He wanted to see her.