The Toymaker

by Sergio Gomez

  “The boys from this neighborhood?” Raymond said, getting up from the recliner. “They saved you?”

  “Yes. I am here because of them.”

  Raymond went to the window. He wanted to see the world, and make sure it was still there and still the same as it had ever been. Moving the blind, he peeked through the window at the neighborhood. A light drizzle had started. A small red Toyota was the only car that drove down Dudley Street, splashing up water as it made a turn. Other than that, there was no activity out there, nothing to observe, so Raymond turned back to Lucas.

  The dummy had gotten out of his seat as well, and he stood by the couch. He was only about three feet tall, but the surprise of seeing it moved on its own threw Raymond off.

  He was happy about it, that was for sure, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to get used to.

  “We have to repay them, Father.” Lucas said.

  “Repay them?” Raymond’s mind turned to giving each of the kids a specially made toy. They were teens, though. He wasn’t sure how well toys would go over with them. Maybe slingshots and stuff like that. He’d have to brainstorm. “How do you suppose we could do that, Lucas?”

  “By ridding them of their troubles. Making their lives better,” Lucas said, and took a step forward.

  “I—I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “They were the keys to bringing me back into this life through their turmoil. I could sense things in them. Things in their world that cause them pain.”

  Raymond nodded. “Like what?”

  “People that don’t belong in their lives… that cause them grief… I can feel them in my heart as if their pains are my pains. I have to help them, in order to help me, Father.”

  Raymond was still confused. “You’re going to have to explain this better, Son. I’m still not following.”

  Lucas began strutting around the coffee table. “I could show you better than I can explain it.”

  “Show me how?”

  The dummy whirled around, and in its glass eyes Raymond saw there was life in them—more noticeable than ever. “I’d like to go across the street. With your permission, of course.”

  “Lucas, Lucas, my son. This world…it won’t accept you for how you are.” He was suddenly worried for Lucas, about what would happen when the world saw him like this.

  “Maybe we can start off slowly. We’ll introduce you to the neighbors one by one, until eventually the whole town knows my son is—”

  “You’re ashamed of me, Father?” Lucas stared at him with such emotion that Raymond felt his heart breaking.

  “Of course not.” Raymond scrambled forward and bent down to Lucas’ level on arthritic knees. “Don’t ever think that. It’s just that this world isn’t accepting of things that are as incredible as you are, my son.”

  “Then, what? I just stay in here? Cooped up and away from the neighbors? I won’t do that, Father.”

  “No, no, of course not. Eventually, we’ll show them.”

  “It can’t wait.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One of the children needs my help. He’s in trouble.” Lucas looked over at the window. “Right now, across the street.”

  “Which one?” Raymond asked, confused.

  “Oliver Harper.”

  Raymond knew who he was from the neighborhood, but he didn’t know what could be wrong with him that needed Lucas to go and help him right now. “What do you mean he’s in trouble?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’m not sure, Father. All I can say is that I’m feeling a large amount of distress coming from the boy.”

  Raymond glanced over in the direction of the house, and even though he couldn’t see it because the blind was down, he could picture the Harper’s two-story home, with its missing shingles littering the porch awning like fallen teeth.

  “What sort of trouble are you talking about, Lucas?”

  “There’s someone there that needs to be extracted from this world.”

  Raymond didn’t like the way he said that. “Wh-who?”

  “The boy’s father. That’s who.”

  “Bob Harper? No. He’s—He’s a church man and a hard worker. A—are you sure, Lucas?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “I have a connection to the ones who brought me back. The boy may as well have spoken the words himself to me.”

  “A connection.” Raymond pondered on the word for a second. “You mean, like a telepathic connection?”

  “If that helps you understand it, then yes. Like telepathy. Except more than our minds. Our hearts are connected as well.”

  Raymond got it now. He’d seen a special on Montel Williams’ show once about a woman who claimed to have a telepathic connection with the dead. At the end of the episode, he wasn’t sure if he believed the woman or how true anything on that show was.

  But if someone would have gone onto that show with a ventriloquist dummy that talked and walked on its own, he wasn’t sure if he would have bought that, either. Until now, of course.

  “He must be removed,” Lucas said again. “Oliver’s father must be removed.”

  “Or what?”

  Lucas shook his head. “Something bad will happen.”

  “To who? To the boy? To Oliver Harper?”

  Lucas shook his head again. “To me, Father.”

  Chapter 13

  Jamie Harper slammed the taxi door harder than the cab driver liked. He knew this because before the cab sped off he sounded the horn at him. He’d flipped him off, too.

  Jamie didn’t need to turn around to see the gesture. It was almost a sixth sense at this point from being flipped off so much in his life. His actions caused people to react by either giving him the finger, cursing at him, or puffing their chests out to try to fight (but being too pussy to swing).

  Because the two-story house he’d grown up in had his undivided attention, Jamie didn’t turn around to take in the joy of being told to go fuck himself.

  Nothing about the house had changed. Bob still hadn’t fixed any of the shingles. The paint was still peeling from the exterior. The color of the house was still piss-in-snow yellow. The gutters at the side of the house were off center from one another. In fact, it was the sound of the rain water sprinkling out of the pipes and hitting the ones below that really brought him back.

  Back to the days of almost coming to blows with Bob. To the days of having to take Oliver to the arcades with him just to get him out of the house to keep him safe.

  Behind those walls of a deteriorating classic American home had been Jamie’s own hell in his teen years. Only reason he was back now was because he was going to save loads of cash crashing here instead of at a hotel while on leave.

  He missed Oliver and his mother, so there was that as well.

  “Dutch fucking County,” he said, taking the cigarette he’d been smoking in the taxi out of his mouth and flicking it on the lawn.

  The subtle smell of cow shit from the surrounding farms hit his nostrils hard now that the tobacco smoke was out of his face. Oh yeah, this was the place he remembered, all right.

  The screen door opened, and his mom stepped out onto the porch. She was thinner than the last time he saw her, and he noticed she hunched over as she came down the porch steps. There was also a subtle hobble in one leg.

  “Jamie!” she said excitedly, coming down the driveway with her arms out.

  He shook off his surprise at how she had changed and met her halfway up the driveway. They hugged, standing next to the same ancient tow truck Bob had been using for as long as he could remember. There were even mud streaks on it he thought he recognized.

  “How you doin’, Ma?” he said, squeezing her tight to him. She smelled like herbs and spices, and like the vanilla lotion she’d rubbed on her aching joint. This was the great part of home, the part that would make putting up with the rest of it all worth it.

  The sound of the screen door made him look up over
his mom’s shoulder. His little brother emerged, stepping out carefully as if to size him up and make sure he was still the same Jamie he knew. That the Army hadn’t turned him into some sort of crazy killing machine.

  He let go of his mom and stepped around her.

  “Come on, you puke. Come give me a hug,” Jamie called out to him.

  “Jamie!” Twist tore down the porch steps, two at a time, almost stumbling but being nimble enough to retrieve his balance. He continued at the same speed, because he didn’t care.

  Jamie couldn’t help but notice the bruise around his little brother’s eye as he tore down the driveway to him.

  Oliver wrapped his arms around him as tight as he could and squeezed his face against his stomach. “Jamie, it’s really you?”

  “Yeah, who else would it be, knucklehead?” Jamie said, hugging him with one arm and running his hands through his hair.

  “I missed you so much, Jamie.” Oliver was crying into his shirt, not caring if his older brother would call him a pussy for it.

  He was surprised when he looked up, and saw tears were running down Jamie’s eyes as well.

  “I missed you too, Twist,” he said, and for the first time ever, leaned in and kissed Oliver on top of his head. “Sorry I kept ya waiting so long.”

  Jamie’s voice hadn’t wavered a bit, despite that he was crying. His older brother really did have superpowers.

  “How you been, Oliver?” Jamie said, letting go of him, and putting his arm around their mom to bring her into the conversation. “Is he keeping his grades up?”

  “He’s doing okay,” Wilma said.

  “Getting B’s and C’s,” Twist bragged.

  “Better turn them into A’s next marking period or I’ll fly back home just to Sharpshooter you, got it?”

  Twist laughed. “Yeah, right. You wish.”

  Jamie ran his hand through Twist’s hair, and laughed with him.

  He was about to give his little brother a wise-crack response, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Big Bob standing atop the porch.

  Big Bob was giving him a stern look, and Jamie returned it with a glare of his own, like they were two dogs staring at each other through a fence. In a matter of seconds, the mood had changed.

  “Hey there, Big Bob,” he said.

  Mom and Oliver gathered around him, facing Big Bob on the porch. Each one on either side of him, as if the three of them were a wall to keep Big Bob from escaping the property.

  From the size of him, Jamie thought Big Bob would have no trouble bulldozing through them if he needed to.

  “Welcome home, Son,” Bob Harper said, but unlike the rest of the family, he didn’t descend the porch steps. “Let’s go inside. Your mom made your favorite—pork chops and sweet potatoes.”

  Jamie turned to his mother to confirm. Wilma nodded with excitement, and Jamie’s face beamed.

  “Oliver, help your brother with his luggage, will you?” Bob said, and with that turned back around and went into the house.

  The pork chops were still warm in their bellies and the taste of sweet potatoes and butter still coated their mouths as they sat out on the backyard.

  Jamie had gone upstairs to unpack and shower after dinner. Then he got Oliver, so they could hang out on the back deck. Jamie was on an old rickety wicker chair with his legs kicked up on the deck banister. Oliver was across from him in an old plastic chair, thumbing through an old Spider-Man comic book.

  Jamie took a peek over his shoulder, through the backdoor, to make sure Big Bob wasn’t hanging around in the kitchen. He wasn’t. Jamie was sure of it because he could see his dirty boots in front of the couch from this angle and the glow of the television he was glued in front of.

  Some things never changed.

  “How’d it happen, Twist? No bullshit.”

  “Huh?” Oliver said, looking up from a page where Spider-Man and Venom were facing off.

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Ollie. Your eye, how did that happen?”

  Oliver reached up and touched it as if he’d forgotten all about it. Of course he didn’t. It still hurt, and he’d noticed it was already turning purple.

  “Kid at school whose ass I need to kick?” Jamie went on. “Or was it Big Bob?”

  Oliver glanced over Jamie’s shoulder, to make sure of the same thing Jamie had been making sure of when he’d looked over his shoulder a second ago. “Got hit by a football.”

  “Bullshit, Twist.”

  Oliver dropped his eyes down to the pages on his comic book and thumbed at the edges, moving the page back and forth.

  “Big Bob still hittin’ you?” Jamie said.

  Oliver felt tears start to well up in his eyes, but he fought them. He was sure if he cried out here that Jamie would call him a punk this time. He rubbed at his eyes with both hands. The swelled one hurt as his fist rubbed it.

  “Don’t do anything, Jamie.”

  “I won’t,” Jamie said. “Not tonight, anyway. Maybe before I leave.”

  Twist reached out and grabbed his arm. “No, Jamie. Don’t. It’ll make it worse, and then you’ll be gone, and what happens to me then?”

  Jamie shook his head. “I won’t leave you like that, Twist. I’ll make sure he’s hospitalized for at least six months so he has time to think about it.”

  Oliver saw the hatred and thirst for revenge in his brother’s eyes. It scared him, made him want to flinch away, but he held on to his brother’s arm. “I’ll be eighteen soon.”

  “In five years, Oliver. You’re going to keep taking his shit for that long?”

  “You did.”

  The reminder seemed to calm him, but only a little. Jamie scowled and took his feet off the banister. “Fine. I’ll think about it. How’s that?”

  “Think about what?”

  “Think about not doing anything to him before I go.”

  Oliver let his arm go. That was probably the best he was going to get out of Jamie, considering he wasn’t someone that was easy to bargain with. “Okay, Jamie. Thanks.”

  Footsteps came from inside the house, and Jamie whirled to see who it was, worrying in that moment that if it was Big Bob and he’d heard what they’d talked about, he wouldn’t be able to hold off like Twist had asked him to. They’d be going at it here and now.

  But it wasn’t. It was their mom, with a smile on her face. “Jamie, phone call for you.”

  “Don’t be coy about it, Ma. Who is it?”

  “It’s Samantha McCourty,” Wilma Harper’s smile grew bigger at the name. “She said she heard you were in town and wants to talk to you.”

  “Gee,” Jamie said, getting up from the chair, “I wonder where she heard that I was back.”

  Wilma pretended to zip her lips, and then laughed.

  Jamie walked into the kitchen past her and grabbed the phone from the counter where his mom had rested it on. “Hey, Sam. It’s Jamie.”

  “Jamie, hey. Welcome back. How’re you?”

  She’d written letters to him while he’d been away that he never bothered to answer. “I’ve been as good as you can be while getting shot at in the desert. You?”

  Sam laughed. “I’ve been okay. Ready to be over and done with high school.”

  “I bet.”

  “How long are you in town for?”

  “I’ll be leaving sometime after Thanksgiving.” Jamie knew he was here until December fifth, but he intentionally wanted to leave her in the dark.

  He’d started to develop feelings for her back when they had their fling, before he left for the Army—maybe even started to fall in love with her—but getting attached to girls was not a thing on Jamie Harper’s agenda, so it was best not to lead her on.

  He could imagine the freckles on her forehead wrinkle up as she paused to think about how long that would give her with him. Then she said, “So, like a while, then?”

  “I’ll be here ‘til at least Thanksgiving,” he repeated to her, hoping she’d get the hint.

  She didn’t. “Are
we going to see each other? It feels like forever since you left.”

  Jamie waved his mom off. Up until now, Wilma Harper had been standing there with palms touching, nodding along with each word Jamie had spoken like a squirrely cheerleader.

  She gave him a big grin, then disappeared through the kitchen doorway.

  Something told Jamie she might be around the corner, eavesdropping, but he didn’t care. The appearance of privacy was enough for him.

  “You still working at Lou’s arcade?” Jamie asked, looking out into the back deck where he’d left Oliver by himself. He had his nose back in the comic book.

  “Yeah, I’m actually calling you from the phone in the office.”

  “Well, damn. I must be something special.”

  “I thought what we had was special. Then you ran off and joined the Army.”

  She was teasing him, but he knew there was a kernel of truth in that statement.

  “I think all of Dutch County missed me,” Jamie retorted.

  Sam laughed. “Okay, so, I have to get back to work. When will I get a chance to see you?”

  Jamie glanced over at Twist again. If he was going to be home for a bit, he might as well have some fun while he was back in Dutch County. And since there didn’t seem to be any quit in her, he should see her at least once before he went back to his station. “How about tonight? In like twenty or thirty minutes?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, when’s your shift over?”

  “Not for another two hours. Are you really coming to see me?”

  “Yeah,” Jamie said. “I just have to convince Big Bob to let me use his truck.”

  “Okay… Jamie Harper, you better not be messing with me.”

  “Never, sweetheart.” he said, and laughed.

  “Okay, Lou is heading toward the office. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  “Alright. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  She hung up, and as Jamie predicted, his mom popped into the kitchen the moment he put the phone back in its cradle. She was carrying a tray with two glasses of iced tea, one half full, and a plate of crumbs from Big Bob’s second slice of cheesecake.