by Amy Saia
He saw Jesse? I searched his face.
“It was black death, coming to take one of us away. I seen it before when my parents died.” He headed down the road, carrying me in his arms. I heard him think of her name: Cathy.
But I had a name of my own.
Chapter 20
He paced the tiny bedroom for at least an hour. A hand would go to his hair, raise the ends into a formation of spikes, then it’d all tumble down over his forehead in a mess of greasy black.
I sat on the bed and kept my mouth shut. I’d tried consoling him, tried to explain Cathy would be fine. Marcus wouldn’t take her now, it would happen later, not tonight. He himself had shown it to me in a vision a year ago. But even I doubted her safety.
At last, footsteps came from the wooden staircase outside, and soon a female version of William crawled through the open window into his room. She stared at me, then back at her brother. “You got a girl in your room?” She cocked up her chin with a hint of smugness.
“Yes, I do. Where you been?”
She twisted away from the hand which had grabbed her arm and moved to lean against the desk, her eyes on me the whole time. “I been to town,” she said.
“To that church.”
“Maybe.”
William cracked his knuckles loudly, and she winced at the sound.
“I was curious, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, next time be curious for something worthwhile. I oughta wring your neck. It was real stupid, you going there.”
“Don’t call me stupid.”
“If the action fits.”
Uncomfortable being caught in the middle of a sibling squabble, I rose off the bed. It really bothered me was the way he pushed her around, and the tone of shaming he used. “Just let it go, William. She’s back and all in one piece. I’m Emma, by the way.” I held out a hand.
Cathy smiled at me, slowly at first. “I’m sister to this six-feet-four bully called William Joe Bennett. My name’s Cathy, how do you do?”
“Fine, thanks.”
We shook hands.
William glanced at the both of us, forehead lined with agitation. “What did they say to you?” He fell into the chair and placed a foot up on the desk, in a move meant to lock her into place.
“They said,” Cathy lifted a hand up to smooth her beautifully coifed black hair, “I would make a good member, and I’m always welcome, and that they could help me learn things—maybe even help me find ways to go to college using this scholarship they have. Don’t you think that sounds nice?”
“No,” William answered, sounding glum. “They’re lying to you.”
“They said I could teach classes there and make new friends. All I have to do is learn more about their church, and I’ll be a member. I ain’t never been a member of anything in my life. And neither have you, William Joe.”
“Well, I don’t need to! We’re getting out of here, remember? What the hell do you need these people for? They’re liars. Remember the plan, Cathy. To leave Springvale and get to California by fall.”
She lifted his foot so it moved like a rail at a train crossing, and crossed to the bedroom door. “Maybe I don’t want to go with you to California. Maybe I want to do things of my own from now on, without you or Martha ordering me around.” She opened the door and left, and William sat staring at it for the longest time.
I placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to rest my chin on the top of his head.
“Are you going to leave me, too?” he asked. “Is everyone going to leave me?”
My lips found his neck. I pressed them into his skin gently so maybe he would get over his momentary ache. He turned, captured my hand, and drew my fingers to his mouth. “I guess there’s nothing I can do,” he said, calm. “She’ll go to that church, and I have to accept it.”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
I could sense the warmth of his breath flowing in and out. “You’re still thinking of leaving,” he said after awhile. “With my child inside of you?”
“I have to.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” His eyes pleaded. “Right?”
He wanted me to stay here.
Here.
Where I didn’t belong.
“I’ll take care of you. Maybe—maybe I don’t understand everything about this future we shared, but I do know I love you and can’t live without you. Come with me. You, and I—we’ll leave town, go somewhere that’s safe. We can get married. Married. And then this child—our child—will be safe, too.” He kissed my fingers urgently, pleading.
We fell back in a long kiss. I felt myself melting into him, into everything he wanted. It would be so easy to forget and continue living forever the way things were. My hands rose to his face. I cradled his jaw and searched his eyes. He kissed me again.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
I couldn’t decide. Life pulled me one direction, and then another. No decision was ever going be easy when it came to love. Finally, I heard myself say yes—yes, I’d stay with him. And then I regretted it, even though I laughed when he whooped and carried me over onto the bed with him.
“You won’t regret it,” he said again and again.
But I already did. Something had begun to gnaw at the very edges of my soul. It would continue to eat away at me until nothing was left. I’d made an easy choice, a selfish choice. And fate would see to it that I paid.
So when he made love to me, gently, carefully, with kisses and whispers of happiness, I felt myself sinking into a darkness frightening and unrecoverable.
¤ ¤ ¤
Eyes on his sleeping figure, I buttoned my blouse and slipped on the mud-caked heels before grabbing my suitcase. William lay across the bed with shadows and starlight touching his cheekbones. I wanted to kiss him one more time, smell his scent, listen to his steady heartbeat, but I couldn’t.
In the dark, I rummaged through my purse for the last bit of money I had. I put it in his sleeping hand. I slipped my wedding ring into his pocket alongside his golden band. It would help him get out of town, and Cathy, too, if she followed. Maybe I would come back and do as he wished, but for now I had to take care of Marcus. If not, the regret of a lost opportunity would burden me forever.
I snuck out the open window with suitcase in hand and made my way down to the yard. The ground was like wet clay against my sandals. I slipped a few times trying to find the road, and once there, I slipped few more times on loose gravel along the sloping ditch.
Without the moon, night sucked all the light away from my retinas. It was the kind of dark where you trusted nothing, not even yourself. I heard a movement from the grass near my right and saw a pair of glowing eyes. An opossum. It hissed at me and froze in place, producing in me a moment of childish panic, but only a moment. It moved along, and so did I, using the bag as a pendulum to help me walk faster.
The crunch of distant tires on gravel met my ears. It came closer and closer until a pair of beaming headlights overwhelmed my vision. The lights clouded with a layer of dirt thrown up from the road. Both light and dust blinded me, keeping me from seeing the driver. I thought the car would pass by, but it slowed and then stopped. It was a cherry red Chrysler with lots of shining chrome streamlining its every curve, and a big windshield curving upwards. A door opened, and a husky, feminine voice said, “Need a ride?”
I tried seeing who the driver was again, but only made out the silhouette of a man in a brown fedora. I hesitated.
“We’re good people,” the woman said. “Don’t you trust us?”
I thought about how many times I’d walked to and from town in the last few days. The bag had made blisters on my palms, and my heels were so heavy with their layer of caked-on clay, riding in a car would be heaven to my sore limbs. “All right,” I
finally said, trying hard to get a glimpse of the driver. “I could use a ride to town, if you’re going that way.”
The woman scooted a few inches in the front seat so I could get in. She had on a blue dress and silk stockings and white Mary Jane high heels. Her hair was bright red, with the top coifed into a roll. There was an air of importance about her. She smelled like a movie star.
Once in, I crammed the suitcase between my legs so there’d be more room for my feet under the dashboard. I gave her a better inspection and made sure to get an even better one of the driver. My breath stopped when he glanced over with a wink, tipping his hat in a welcome.
“Max,” I whispered, staring. Betty. Betty Jacomber and Max Hershel, right there in the car with me. Together, they laughed at my perplexed expression.
“Surprised?” Max asked, hitting down on the gas so we jolted forward. He had trouble with the gears, cursing at them when they refused to comply.
“Very surprised,” I said looking at Betty again, and wishing I hadn’t. She was Veronica Lake with red hair, a vixen. Cunning and beautiful. Her full, ruby lips curved to smirk at me. Both she and Max were years younger than I was used to seeing them, exact replicas of the black and white snapshot Max had waved in my face in his office back at school.
Betty looked over her shoulder to speak, displacing a thick lock of scarlet hair. “We’ve come to help you, Emma, because I had a vision you were about to royally screw everything up.”
This was unbelievable. How did they know what I was up to? What in the hell was going on?
She shifted in the seat, and a waft of her musky perfume drifted to my nostrils. “In my vision, I see that you are heading to town, where Marcus will shoot you in the chest three times. William, who just about by now has woken up, is cursing and pulling on a pair of jeans; he will follow you, go to the church, and be captured for the upcoming eclipse.”
Her words stained the air like smoke from a cigar. Her voice was sweet, but the meaning acrid and hard to accept.
“It was a horrible plan,” she said.
I was embarrassed and angry with myself. Would I have really caused those things to happen? My own intuition had failed me, and now I needed Betty’s help of all people. Now I knew why William had been so quick to follow her around, it was all done to learn from the master. And then there was me, wishing away my abilities because they were too heavy to deal with. I dug my fingernails into my palm as the car rattled down the road. It was a relief when she returned her attention to Max. “Isn’t he handsome? We’re not going back, by the way. We can’t. Max is dead, Emma. He died after leaving your house. His car ran off the road during the storm. I arrived just in time to transport him with me into the past.”
Max dead? I stared out the windshield for a long, quiet moment. The car jumped on the road, and I felt a tear run jagged down my cheek. I wiped it away. “So what do I do?”
Betty gazed into my eyes. A picture of the bluffs filled my vision. She showed Marcus coming over the ridge and then me pulling up the revolver to shoot.
“He’ll find you there and believes you are too weak to pull the trigger. Are you, Emma? You must make a decision. Kill Marcus to save William, and the baby and yourself, or leave it up to fate. If it were me . . . ” Betty patted my hand. Her nails were sharp daggers; dark red, like blood. It wasn’t a comforting touch. I shirked away the second our skin met.
“You’re wrong. I’m not as weak as you think. I wasn’t ready before, but I am now.”
Betty appeared unconvinced. She pulled out a silver compact to inspect the state of her lipstick and hair.
I let out a hard breath. “But why do you care? Why are you doing this for me?”
“For you? I’m selfish, Emma. I’m doing it for William.”
I was shocked, but not surprised. I snuck a peek at Max and saw he wasn’t bothered in the least. A low whistle sprang from his lips as he concentrated on the road ahead. “How can you say that with Max in the car? Don’t you care about him, at least?”
She laughed again. “Max understands I only have interest in William’s talent as a writer. That’s why I mentored him, and that’s why I’m here. William Bennett will be a Pulitzer Prize winning author one day, all because of my teaching. I can’t help being a little upset that you’d try to ruin that with one ridiculously stupid plan. Now listen, you’re going to wait, and Marcus will show up. Be patient. Don’t lose your concentration.” She spoke to me like a child, and I felt like one sitting there beside her undeniable femininity.
She observed Max again, crimson hair bouncing across her shoulder in thick waves. “We’re on our honeymoon. I persuaded him to take a detour through southern Indiana. Nothing but trees and rocks. Listen, it is essential that you follow the right instructions. William must live. He simply must.”
The car came to a halt, and I stared out the passenger side window. The bluffs. The highest point in Springvale, like the end of the world reaching out to forever. Below were a set of caves slithering deep into the earth like a snake.
“Shoot to kill. Be precise. William’s life depends on it. And I’m depending on you.”
A strange laugh escaped my throat, like gratitude and disgust at the same time. But still, Betty and I were after the same thing: his life. His survival.
I grabbed the suitcase and stepped out to the road.
“Remember, Emma.”
“Of course. Thanks for the ride.” My body felt numb and not like my own.
Max gave a smile, hands at the wheel. “See ya, kid.” He was happy. He had Betty, the love of his life, and he was young again. He sped off, leaving me lost in a cloud of dust.
The sound of the Chrysler’s thick treads faded off down the road. Soon all I heard was the river passing by far down below in the valley, and a hawk, far off in a distant tree.
¤ ¤ ¤
A paper Marcus glared across the bluffs at me with one of his usual mercury scowls. He was missing one eye, poor thing. I cocked the hammer with my thumb and steadied my back against the small boulder, raised the gun to line up with the other eye, and squeezed hard on the trigger. Amazing how loud it was. But I was getting used to it, expected it. Liked it. I liked the way I felt confident now and not so afraid. My hands had stopped shaking half an hour before, in which time I’d made a couple of really good shots. Marcus would not utter one more word of adoration for his glorious cult.
I’d torn out a men’s cigarette ad from a Look magazine, and after a few artistic touches with some eyeliner, had created a makeshift target. If anyone were to hear the ricocheting sound of gunshot, it would be faint, and I’d be hard to find.
I dropped my head back. A few sparse clouds moved by in a detailed examination of the land. They weren’t gathering today, so no rain. Only heat.
The revolver would have to be cleaned. I’d read about it in one of the books. A dirty gun could be trouble. I didn’t need trouble; I needed accuracy.
Time for more practice. I’d need to work on being fast. I slid the gun into my purse and stood up to pace around. I imagined the scenario: oh, here comes Marcus—grab the purse, pull out the gun. Too slow.
I did the same thing over and over until I managed it down to a millisecond. The thing was, if Marcus was in sight distance, I could be potentially vulnerable to his powers. All it would take was one flash from his silver eyes, and I’d be done for.
The thought made my palms sweat. I wiped them on my shorts and worked on pushing away any negative thoughts. I’d think later.
I drew up a leg and waited, tried to put my mind in the right place.
Everything became pinpoint. I watched the hawk make its way across the sky and then heard a sound, like pebbles falling. My defenses were triggered into action. I held the gun close.
There came another sound of earth and rocks being displaced under
someone’s feet. From the right approached a tall figure in black. Sunlight glinted off a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses as he emerged from behind a set of boulders. His eyes found and locked with mine. I rose to my feet.
“I found you,” he said, a light smile forming on his lips. “You missed our meeting last night. I waited for you, but you didn’t come.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I was very disappointed when you didn’t show.”
I repeated my apology, backing away from his slow, advancing steps. He brought in his bottom lip and held it with his upper teeth for a long, contemplative moment. “I want William.”
“Yes.”
“And I want you, too. Why didn’t you come?” His eyes wandered to the suitcase. “Are you leaving?” He came closer. So close, and I was ramming so hard into a rock wall that limestone cut into the bare skin of my shoulder. My pulse moved swiftly. I could hear blood rushing inside my ears like a freight train.
“Tell me how to get William,” he said.
“He doesn’t want to be a part of you. He’d rather die first.” I cursed at myself for choosing those particular words, but I couldn’t think straight. Not with Marcus this close.
He saw my hands clutch over the purse and his smile returned. “Are you thinking of killing me?”
“Yes.” My hand withdrew the revolver, and an index finger found its way to the trigger. “I am.”
He bent to pull up the hem of his pants leg, revealing a pistol which had been strapped to his calf. William’s gun. He examined it for a moment and raised it up to chest level, not aiming; he held it like it was a bird in his palm. “Silly thing,” he said. “I’ve never needed one, and neither should you. We have true power, not this . . . fake instrument humans call security.”
My hands shook violently. My finger, suspended over the trigger, itched to withdraw or shoot. The problem was, I couldn’t figure out which one to do, and I was too scared to do anything at all.