by J. Warren
He shook his head, “he had to be more than that.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Because you’re in love with him.”
I pulled the car up into the dirt area near the front of the trailer. I turned it off. We sat for a while, not looking at each other or saying anything. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
He moved his feet down onto the floorboard again, leaning his side against the chair so that his head rested. He stared at me, then blinked slow, saying “You wanted to know what to do. That’s why you went to see her tonight.”
“Wanted to know what to do about what?” I asked, turning away from him.
“You know that there is no way the Sheriff can allow those bones to be named as Randolph McPherson.”
“What? You’re not making any sense,” I said. In his eyes, there was a distant gleam. He was looking somewhere far beyond me, far beyond the car’s window behind me.
“If they name those bones Randy’s, then there’ll be an investigation. The FBI will come in here, Mikey. You know that the Sheriff can’t allow that. You know he’s going to have to say that those bones belong to some drifter, or maybe a kid from that work farm up near Bigbee River. If he says that they belong to a boy who lived in this town, then all kinds of people are going to come in here, Mikey. This town has too many secrets to keep.” His voice was flat as he talked, and the words seemed to come at a steady rhythm. He was talking through some kind of trance, just like Randy’s mother had.
“But what if they are Randy’s? I mean, he can’t make them not belong to the kid,” I said.
Kevin blinked slowly, again, and sat up straighter in the chair. His eyes met mine, and a chill ran across my shoulder blades, again. “What makes you think he couldn’t?”
“But there’ll be DNA tests, or whatever, right? I mean something. Aiken said that Jim Clarke is looking at the bones. He’ll be putting out a report or something, right?” I said. A part of me could hear the pleading.
Kevin shook his head, “Do you think that the wives and mother’s around here are the only people he’s attacked? Do you think that a couple of illegitimate children and a hooker or two are the only secrets in this town, Mikey?”
“Then what am I going to do?” I asked.
“That’s what you have to tell me. You could just leave.”
I couldn’t. He knew I couldn’t, too. It showed on his face. “I have to—I have to—have to get someone to know that—that those are—are Randy.”
“Are you sure they are?”
“Yes,” I said, and felt as if something huge had been lifted off of me. I knew it, at that moment. To this day, I don’t know why it took all of that to make me sure, but I knew that I wouldn’t have come back unless I knew already. Somehow, with no evidence or idea even what might happen, I had known that these bones were Randy. I had known I was coming back to finally put him to rest.
Some part of me was certain that Kevin was right, too: the sheriff was going to do everything he could to make sure no one thought of the remains as Randy. He couldn’t let them.
“What does Jim Clarke have to hide?”
“Let’s just say he gets in to his work.” The tone in Kevin’s voice made it clear what he meant.
“How do you know any of this?”
“You were the one that left, Mikey, not me. I stayed here. I know these people. I know them.”
We sat there for a long time, just breathing. “What happens if I don’t believe you about any of this? What if I say that this all sounds like some sort of horror movie, and decide to get on a plane and walk away?” I asked.
“You still could. There will come a time when you won’t be able to go back the other way if you don’t like how things are unfolding, but that hasn’t happened yet.”
“So, what are you, some sort of guru?” I asked.
“Don’t take this out on me, Mikey; you’re the one who’s thinking about taking on the Sheriff. You can still walk away from this. All I’m saying is that what happens for you depends on what you decide to believe right now. You know those bones are Randy’s, though. I can see it in your eyes,” he said, and leaned forward so far, I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, his hand found my shoulder, and squeezed, “Like I said; I know you went there tonight to see if she would tell you what to do. I know what she said to you, though. I think if you pay attention, you’ll find that she did tell you everything you needed to know.” He turned, and opened his door. The car light came on, and the shadows in the empty car were too much. I got out.
“If it doesn’t matter to you what I do,” I asked, grabbing his arm and stopping him; he didn’t turn around, “then why take me there? Why let me talk to her?”
His head hung down for a moment. He raised his eyes to mine, and I almost let go of his arm; something powerful and very old was in them. “because you asked me to.”
“What?” I asked. He shook free of my hand and continued toward the door. I followed after him. He opened the door, his keys jingling. I started to follow him inside, but he stopped. His arm was on the door, and his body blocked the doorway. He said, “You should go back to your parents house and think about it, Mikey.”
“How did I ask you to take me there?”
“Who else have you talked to about any of this?”
“Nobody,” I said, after a time.
He nodded, straightened, and closed the door. The click of the lock felt like a punch to the throat. I stepped backward off of the porch, and my shoes nearly slipped in the wet grass.
THIRTY
Every time a car passed me on my way back to my parent’s house, I expected it to be the Sheriff. Somehow, I just knew it would be. Every time it wasn’t, I exhaled again; but something still felt strange. I knew that he was watching, even if he wasn’t using his eyes to do it. My sister would call that ridiculous, but I knew. I wanted Kevin. I wanted Susan. I wanted someone, so that the sounds of my shoes on the asphalt wouldn’t be the only sounds.
The key in the lock was loud, and I was sure I’d wake someone as I came in. No lights were on, though. I closed the door behind me, and toed out of my shoes. I picked them up and crept up the stairs. Halfway up, I thought about eating something; I wasn’t hungry, though. It was an old habit. Coming in from my night rides to the field, I’d always get a glass of milk and whatever was left over from dinner before going to bed. Something didn’t feel right about it, though. The house looked the same, but everything had changed. I thought, just like me. I wanted to talk to my mother, to ask her what Kevin meant, and if what Mrs. McPherson said was true.
I stopped at the top of the stairs with the sudden realization that I believed it. That no matter what my mother would say, I believed what Kevin told me. I looked toward the door to my parent’s room. It was closed, as it had always been. Their room was off limits at all times growing up. The door remained closed. If any of us needed to speak to them, and that door was shut, then we simply had to wait.
When Katy had gone, Sarah had woken me up. She’d found it when she’d rolled over in her sleep and fallen out of bed. That couldn’t have happened if Karen had been in it. She’d read the note, and come to get me. “Door’s closed,” she’d said, and handed me the note. I read the note and cried. Thing is, I remember crying more because something so big was happening, and I couldn’t tell mom or dad. I knew I better not even knock on that door.
We knew because the last time something big happened, it was Katy. She’d just gotten her first period. I didn’t know it at the time; a few years passed before anyone told me. She was scared, and even though it was three in the morning, she knocked on mom’s door. I didn’t come out of my room, but the strange noise woke me up. I peeked out from the crack in my door. Katy was crying, and shaking. They finally opened the door after she’d been knocking for about forty-five minutes.
Mom was disheveled, and her makeup was all over her face. There was a large red mark on her neck, too. For years I tried no to t
hink about it, but sometime after the third shrink I was seeing, I had to admit that mark was a hickey.
She closed the door immediately behind her, and began to whisper-cuss Katy. She never once asked what was so important as to break the central rule of the house. She just kept talking in that steady, forceful whisper. The only time she paused was when Katy would say “Yes, ma’m.” After a few minutes, I heard Sarah crying in her room. I noticed that my eyes had gotten blurry. I went back to bed. I don’t know what happened the rest of that night, but the rule had been solidified: there was no such thing as a good reason to bother my parents if the door was closed.
I went into my room, and shut the door behind me. The quiet, the alone came crashing down on me. I sat my shoes down next to my suitcase. I didn’t need to look; I knew that everything in it had been folded neatly. I sat down on the bed, and even with no lights on, I could tell my vision was getting blurry.
I cried. Something I hadn’t done in a few years. I wanted Kevin, or Sarah—I wanted someone so that I didn’t have to carry all this alone. I thought about how Kevin had carried this alone for so long, and that made it hard to breathe. I doubled over myself, my head near my knees. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to be away from this house, this town. I knew that, down in the suitcase was a ticket I could exchange at any time for a return trip. I could go in the morning as soon as the airport opened, in fact. I looked at my watch; six hours until eight a.m. Six hours. I could sleep six hours, get up, get a shower, and go. I wouldn’t even have to say goodbye to anyone. I could just leave.
I was able to breathe, again. The crying slowed down. I kept thinking ‘six hours’. I took my socks off, and thought, I can patch things up with Susan. If I got home that early, I could catch her before she left for work.
I’ve hear a lot of people say ‘I was asleep before my head hit the pillow’. I always thought it was a stupid expression. That night, though, I honestly don’t remember laying down, or the thirty-minute shifting and re-shifting that I normally do. I went from thinking I could catch Susan before she left for work to the dream. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t had that dream. I want to call it something other than that, though.
It was like a telephone call from Randy.
What I remember is this:
I was standing in a room with only one light. It was a big, upside down, round metal dish with a light inside. The dish hung from a long cord that went somewhere into the darkness straight up. It was at head level, so that if I wanted to see inside it, I’d have to duck a bit.
At about waist level, underneath the light, was a long metal table. It was about seven foot long. Don’t ask me how, but I was sure that was its measurement.
The rest of the room was shrouded in darkness. I could tell from the shapes of the shadows, though, that this room had more than one sink on the wall, and that there were many small tables surrounding this bigger one. There were odd shapes of various sizes on those other tables. The walls were made from tile; I could tell from the way the light was bouncing off of them. From time to time, water would drip, and the echo made me more certain that the room was tiled.
On the table in the center was a large, nearly clear plastic bag. It was about four and a half foot long. A zipper ran straight up the middle. Either I whispered the word ‘body bag’ or someone else did. I found myself staring at it for a moment. I wanted to turn and leave, but I couldn’t. For some reason, my legs weren’t moving.
All around me, other sounds were echoing off the tiles. Sounds of a child pleading with someone to stop what they were doing. The sounds of a dentist-office drill bounced around for a time. There was a sound like a buzz saw, only smaller.
I could make out something sort of pale-peach in color inside the bag. I knew it was a body. I knew it.
I started to walk forward, even though I didn’t want to. I was sure that whatever was in that bag was going to wake up any moment. I was sure of it. I knew it was going to wake up and destroy me, somehow. I kept expecting to see its arm move, its fingers reach for the zipper. The sounds all died away to faint echoes, and I was standing an inch from the table. I kept thinking ‘no, no, no’, but my hands reached for the zipper. Even at that point, I was still waiting for the arm to move.
I unzipped the zipper, and all sound stopped. All I could hear was the thunder of obvious silence. The bag fell away, and inside was Randy. His eyes were open, and his lips were parted. It looked as if, any moment, he was going to say something. I stared at his face, his body. I reached up, again thinking ‘no’ the entire time, and put my hand on his chest. My fingers were instantly ice cold.
Then he blinked, and I jerked my hand away. He blinked again, and his head turned to the side. His eyes focused in on me. His chest never moved, though.
“I can’t,” I said, “I just can’t.”
He didn’t say anything, only smiled. His lips moved closed, and he smiled. He blinked once more, then closed his eyes. Someone whispered “Angels and ministers of grace, defend us,” then whispered it again. The sounds all came back, and the whispering continued. Someone kept pleading for a defender.
I woke up lying flat on my back, my hands at my sides, and my head lolled toward my right shoulder. I was in the exact same position Randy had been on that table. I immediately sat up. Outside the window, the sky was a light blue. I felt more than heard my parent’s door open. I knew it was my mother; the footfalls were quiet. He wouldn’t have worried about anyone else’s sleep. I followed her in my head with each creaking stair.
I wanted Kevin there beside me. I wanted to roll over and watch him sleep.
Downstairs, I heard someone mumble. I thought for a moment that my mother might be talking to herself. She had always done that; had imaginary conversations with my sister for leaving socks on the living room floor or me for leaving the kitchen light on all night. I was smiling to myself when I heard the other voice mumble back. I stopped breathing. I turned on my side and listening with my whole body, every muscle tense to the point of popping.
Old houses like this one were made so that everything that went on could be heard from any point in the house. Before baby monitors, parents had to be able to hear a crying child no matter where they were. I’d always wondered if my parents had heard me sneaking back in, and one visit after I’d moved out, I’d heard my sister talking to her girlfriend at the time. The doors between the rooms had been closed, and she had been whispering. That was how I’d found out she was a lesbian. It was also what made the utter silence of my parents’ bedroom frightening.
It went on like that for what seemed like years. Her mumble, a pause, and then a lower rumbling in response. I felt the pressure change, then, and heard the front door creak. It only did that when it opened. With my eyes closed, the image of Kevin sleeping came back, only it wasn’t him lying beside me; it was Randy. I was looking at the sun on his face as it might have been had he lived to my age. At any moment, I knew it was going to turn toward me and speak, and I thought that I would scream if it did. I opened my eyes just as the pressure in the house changed: the front door had just closed.
I heard the creaking as my mother came back up the stairs. I heard the ‘click’ as she closed her bedroom door. Who had she been talking to? I only heard the front door after the mumbling had stopped; whoever she was talking to had been inside, already. The voice had been low, manly. Who had she been talking to if not my father? I hadn’t heard him go down the stairs; I’d have known his steps.
Like a dark cloud, the thought came over me. I knew who it was in that instant, but I shook it from my mind. A chill ran over my skin, and my teeth started to chatter. It was hard to breathe.
What if Kevin was wrong, though? What if he’d made it all up?
Why would he? Why go so far as to beat himself up just to—to what? Still, for all the reasons that didn’t exist for him to make it up, there were just as many for him never to tell me about any of it. If the sheriff was the monster he cla
imed, he was putting himself in danger. At any minute, should Aiken find out, Kevin could be killed. I wanted to call him just then. I wanted to hear him mumble into the phone and get angry with me to prove he was alive.
I bent one of the blinds back with my finger. Just beyond the back yard fence, lights were coming on at the neighbors. The sun was up enough to cast glares on the windows. It had to be about seven or so.
I wanted to call Kevin. I wanted to visit Pete McPherson, first, though. That is where my answer would be. I don’t know how I knew that, I just knew. Whatever Pete said would determine what I was going to do. I swung my feet off the bed, and reached down into the suitcase. My fingers hit paper before cloth, though. Instead of a shirt, I pulled out my plane ticket. I knew what it said, but I read it again. The return flight was in ten hours. I could exchange it, if need be.
‘You won’t have to,’ I thought. After all, this was all too weird. The ‘little town with a dark secret’ was the standard staple of television movies, not real life. ‘It might be the drugs,’ I thought. If so, then I would visit Pete, and then go try to convince Kevin to get into a program somewhere. Maybe he would move to be closer to me. Maybe I could leave Susan, and be strong enough to stay with him while he cleaned up. Lots of maybes; not enough becauses.
Who had my mother been talking to? I wondered if maybe I just hadn’t been awake enough, yet. Part of my mind grasped that idea anxiously. ‘A dream’, it said, and I felt better. Maybe it was just a dream, and I hadn’t heard anything at all. I would know once I talked to Pete McPherson, found out what he’d been told.
I’d let this whole situation get about as strange as I intended to let it without doing some fact finding, first.
THIRTY-ONE