Loose Ends And What Knots

by Jeffrey Hancock

  “We can’t keep her, you know. She most likely has a family, and even if she doesn’t, Child Protective Services will want to take her. I couldn’t believe they let you bring her home in the first place.”

  “If there is a family who wants her, I will, of course, give her up. However, I will not let them take Sarah to some cold holding room at the CPS offices.”

  “Okay, Charlene. What’s your plan if no one is found?”

  “We will fill out whatever paperwork is needed to keep her,” Char said with the intensity of moral conviction.

  “Char, the governmental powers will never let us keep her. Even if no one claims her, they will take her out of this house. Our life situation, I have no steady work not to mention what happened at the corner, all those things will work against us.”

  “Let’s not talk about it now. Sarah and I need some sleep.” Char crawled into bed and said, “Please turn out the light as you leave.” I complied with what sounded an awful lot like a command. As I walked out of my bedroom, Charlene said, “Goodnight my love.”

  “Goodnight, my love, my wife,” I replied with warmth and a slight catch in my voice. I retreated to the living room.

  After I laid down in the recliner, my mind began buzzing with the events of this night. It is like I downed a six-pack of diet soda right before bed, and the caffeine is making me restless. “What am I going to do about Charlene?” I asked myself. “She’s your wife. You are going to help her keep Sarah if no family can be found. Or you are going to pick up the pieces of Char’s heart if they do find family,” another part of my mind said. I finally drifted off to sleep.

  Waking to the sounds of someone rooting around in the kitchen is not my favorite way to start a Saturday morning. John was on a treasure hunt and wasn’t aware of exactly how noisy he is. “What can I help you find, John?”

  “Where do you keep the blasted coffee maker?” He asked while he continued his search.

  “We don’t have one. We have a French Press. I can make the coffee for you.”

  “I hate French food except for their toast. I can’t manage to start the old pumper without some Joe in the morning.” John stopped his search. “Charlene’s birthday is coming up I guess I’ll give her a coffee-pot.” This man is acting extra grumpy. Sleeping on the couch must not have been to his liking. “Say, why didn’t you guys wake me when you got home?”

  “It’s a long story, John.” As I was about to begin, a baby’s cry sailed through the air, and Charlene came out of the bedroom with Sarah in her arms.

  “Charlene Louise Embers, what did you bring home this time?” John asked in a not so joking manner. John turned to me and said, “Growing up this one was always bringing home lost dogs and cats even if she had to drag them.”

  “Father, I did not drag this baby home. She needed a place, so I brought her home,” after a brief pause, she added, “temporarily. Nathan, I need you to run to the store for some formula.”

  “Your wish is my command.” I grabbed my wallet and keys. Before starting on my quest, I said to Char with implied meaning, “Temporarily?” She gave me a slight nod but said nothing. She is not going to make it easy. I returned in short order with the formula in hand and a small package of diapers. John left to what I assume is a search for a cup of Joe.

  “Oh, good you’re home, Nathan.” Char took the items and started to make Sarah’s breakfast. Moiraine was at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. I sat down and poured myself a bowl.

  “Daddy, is Sarah my baby sister now?”

  “No honey, we are taking care of her until her family comes for her.”

  “But Mommy said Sarah’s mother died, and we are taking care of her now. What if no one comes for her?”

  “Someone will come, honey.”

  As Mo and I finished our breakfast, the doorbell rang. I looked up, and there was a near panicked look to Char’s expression. At the door, I found a woman in her mid-forties dressed in a pantsuit and carrying a clipboard. Behind this woman was a uniformed police officer. “Here we go.”

  The woman immediately asked, “Is this the Ember’s residence?” I answered yes and invited them in. I guided them to take seats in the living room.

  They are here to take custody of Sarah. Char brought in Sarah and sat in the recliner to feed her. The lady from CPS informed us no one had come forward in search of the mother or child. Char set about her campaign to keep the child. To her credit, Char was not hostile or presumptuous. She made a clear and concise argument on how, to serve the baby’s best interests, Sarah should be left with us for the time being. She pointed out the foster care system is always overburdened and strapped for funds. All the while, she was demonstrating, subtly, her skill at nurturing infants. I don’t know how she managed it, but the lady from CPS agreed to let us keep Sarah for the time being. Of course, there is a ton of red tape to cut through while jumping over several hurdles, but together we managed it. They informed us finding Sarah’s family may take some time as the car was burnt to the frame, and the driver’s remains destroyed. It was an intense fire. Their only clue was Sarah’s name. They were waiting for missing person reports for more leads.

  I had some ideas on how I might speed up the process. Sarah’s family must be found before Char formed a permanent bond with the child. Once our guests left, and Charlene had settled into her role as a surrogate mother, I drove to the scene of the accident to look around. I left my car on the freeway with the emergency flashers going. I didn’t want my car to be the next victim of this stretch of the road.

  I scrambled down the embankment to the burnt area of grass where the car had rested. I had an odd feeling about this spot. There is an oppressive quality to the air. Without the urgency of the accident, I am open enough to take note of it. I sat down on the grass and stilled my thoughts. I began to focus on what I felt.

  After twenty minutes, I was about to give up when I heard the faintest of crying. Determining the direction of the source is elusive. It dawned on me, I didn't hear the crying with my ears, but with my mind. This shit keeps getting weirder. Calling out to the ether with a bit of my will, I said, “I can’t see you come toward the sound of my voice.” I kept repeating the call as the crying grew closer to me. “I still can’t see you. Tell me. What is your name?”

  I heard, “Maryann.”

  “Okay, Maryann,” I called out her name with my will. Nothing. “I need your whole name.” I guessed. I’m making this up as I go.

  I discerned the voice saying, “Maryann Taylor.”

  “Maryann Taylor, please come forth.” She materialized in front of me, crying. Her face bloody like at the accident. Her arms are limp at her side with one twisted from the compound fracture. Her legs are hideously burned and charred.

  “Maryann, you don’t have to appear this way.” I know it for a fact because Char’s mother, Marlene, died in a car wreck, but when she appears, she is whole. “I know you are new to this ghost thing but remember yourself before the accident. A look of puzzlement found her face then concentration. Slowly her appearance melted away to a whole and healthy form.

  A look of realization found her face, “You are the man who tried to save me. Sarah, where is Sarah? Oh God! Did she die in the fire? I heard her crying. Where is she?” Her tone increasingly turned to panic.

  “Sarah is alive and uninjured. My wife, Charlene, is taking great care of her.” Maryann screamed. It is blood-curdling. Immediately the feeling of oppression turned into outright horror and hit me like a frozen turkey dropped from a passing airliner. I jumped away as a burning raked crossed my back. The wound screamed in agony. It is a burning pain spreading through my body like a slow fuse. It hurt. I ran a bit. I turned to face my attacker.

  Standing there was an amorphous blob about six-foot in height. It is vaguely humanoid with arms which looked like dripping wax. At the end of its hands are long talons stretched down almost touching the ground. “What the hell?” I said to no one.

  This creature answered me,
“Hell is right.” Numerous mouths grew all over its body and each one answering in a different voice. The words this chorus of voices spoke took my mind to the edge of madness. “I heard your call. Have you come to play?” It charged me with arms held high. It moved incredibly fast for a blob. As it lunged at me, I was able to grab its arms at the wrist. We struggled for a moment, then it spoke again. “I remember you. It was many years ago. Have you come to join your voice with mine?” Out of the goo of its body, two more arms formed armed with talons as well. They raked across my belly and burned at my soul.

  I managed to push it away. Out of breath and hurting pretty bad, my eyes darted around for any weapon to defend myself. There in the grass was the lug wrench I had tossed away the night before in my haste to rescue Sarah. I did a shoulder roll worthy of Captain Kirk to reach the wrench. The creature made a swipe at me as I moved, but it missed. I came up with the wrench and swung hard at it. I didn’t miss. The wrench passed right through it with no effect. One of its mouths said, “What, did you think that would work?” All the rest of its mouths started laughing. All the mouths began mocking me. They were all jumbled and incoherent. It is maddening trying to hear only one voice.

  “I did have hopes.”

  “Hopes die,” the many mouths repeated. Different faces started to appear in the waxy mass of the creature’s body. These faces showed expressions of torment. The faces started to cycle one after another in a hypnotic pattern. As I stood there watching the kaleidoscope of pained souls, out of the corner of my eye, I could see Maryann move closer to this thing. The chorus of voices all said, “Your time has come. Feed me.” I couldn’t look away as this entity impaled Maryann with its claws. She stiffened in shock as the blob slowly consumed her. The face of Maryann soon joined the myriad of other faces. The face of Mathew Anderson came to the forefront in the jumbled mural on the creature’s body. Mathew is the man who died, holding my hand all those years ago.

  Abruptly the eyes on his face opened and looked straight at me. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel goosebumps rise on my body. He screamed in a bubbly voice of suffering, “Run!” After he said the one word, his expression of pain increased ten-fold.

  The pain from my wounds is growing. This creature, whatever it was, is toying with me and taking pleasure in my futile attempts to fight it. At this point, running sounded like a plan. So, I turned around and beat feet as fast as I could.

  The chorus of voices called out, “Coward!” All the voices were out of unison, which made the word echo. I heard each voice, in turn, start begging for help and not to leave them.

  Being called a coward did kind of strike at me, but the pleas for help struck a nerve and gave me a momentary pause to rethink my action. The moment faded. I can’t win this day, but there is tomorrow. And as the Bard wrote, “Discretion is the better part of valor,” I plan to start discreting right now. I scrambled back up the embankment, never looking back to see if the creature followed. I would rather not see the killing stroke. My car is still there. Opening the door as fast as I could, I jumped in and started it in a blur of precise movements. The engine protested taking off as fast as it did. Glancing at the rearview mirror, I saw nothing but traffic. My adrenaline level began dropping, so the pain from my wounds started to take its toll. Pushing the pain away as I have before didn’t work. The wounds must be worse than I first thought if my little tricks don’t work. I tried not to worry about it on the drive home. As I drove, I reached down to the wound on my belly and looked at my hand. I saw no blood, but I could feel it oozing.

  Walking through my door at home, I called out, “Char, help me. Hurry!” Stumbling through the house, I tried to reach my bedroom. Charlene came to my side in a flash. She helped steady me as I traveled to the bedroom.

  “Nathan, what’s wrong?” Char asked as I sat on the bed. I started to pull off my shirt but had no strength. Charlene helped me take my shirt off.

  “This is what’s wrong.” I pointed to my midsection.

  “Where I don’t see anything. Are you joking about having abs again?”

  “No. Can’t you see the big gash across my stomach?” I asked with a little exasperation. Char informed me she saw no gash across my stomach. “I sure as hell feel it. Here help me up and walk me to the mirror.” She did without protest. I looked in the mirror at my stomach. There are three big claw marks across my belly. Something is leaking out of the wounds, but it wasn’t blood. The edges of the scratches are aflame like the cherry end of a lit cigarette. “Are you telling me there are no claw marks?”

  “Yes. I don’t see anything. Here back to the bed and lay down.”

  Thinking to myself, “What is going on?” Wracking my brain, the only thing I came up with is the creature is otherworldly, so my wounds are otherworldly. Whatever kind of wound it is, it hurt like no tomorrow. I told Char of my battle with the creature. She took it well but considering she witnessed my last battle with a monster; I think it is getting to be the same-old-same-old to her, “Could I have some water?” Char went out of the room.

  Little Sarah started crying, “Moiraine, get your father some water,” I could hear Char say.

  After a moment, Moiraine walked into the bedroom, carefully holding the glass of water in both hands, trying not to spill a drop. It is quite a task since she filled the glass to the brim. I had to smile at her endeavor. I sat up and took the glass from Mo. I wasn’t as careful and spilled a bit. I drank down the whole glass in one long quaff. I felt a tad better. “Mo honey, help steady me while I walk to the mirror.”

  “Okay Daddy, but you should put a shirt on. Your chest is nakie,” she giggled. Again, I had to smile at my daughter. I love the way she says things. Somehow, I felt a little stronger now. I didn’t need my daughter’s help anymore, but I didn’t say anything.

  When I looked at myself in the mirror, the cherry red edges of the wound were no longer burning. The wound is clean. It still gaped, but no longer as deep. “Could it be so simple?” I filled the glass from the bathroom sink and chugged it down. There is no change in my reflection. The only change is I now have to pee.

  “Daddy, why do you keep looking in the mirror? Don’t worry; you’re still pretty. Mommy’s prettier, though.” I laughed as Mo left me behind in the bathroom.

  As I laughed, I could see the wounds slowly heal although they left scar tissue. “Laughter?” I used my perfect memory to recall my favorite joke. After I laughed as hard as I did the first time, I heard it, I looked at the wound, but it had not healed anymore. “I can be thick sometimes.” I recalled the first time I saw Moiraine. She was a newborn. The nurse brought her to me carrying her like she was a football. Anger flared in me over the nurse’s callousness. The pain and weakness from the wound grew. “I think I get it now.”

  I let go of the anger, and the pain grew pale. “Could this work?” I continued my memory. The nurse placed Mo on a small table with a heat lamp. Moiraine was still bawling away. The nurse turned to me and said, “I’ve been a maternity nurse for years, but for some reason, babies don’t like me.” I knew why, but I kept my mouth shut.

  I reached out and gently placed my right index finger in her hand. I was so afraid to hurt her. She grasped my finger. Instantly her crying ceased. She knew someone who loved her is there with her. I cried. The joy of the memory filled me, and I felt renewed. I glanced back in the mirror. The wounds had healed over, but a hell of a scar mutilated my body. I guess some things never totally heal.

  I stormed out of the bedroom. My purpose is clear. I needed to kick that thing’s ass. Kick it once then kick it twice and kick it once again. I booted-up our computer. I need to do some research. “Char, could you make me a sandwich and bring me the last can of Diet Pepsi?” My fingers flew over the keyboard as I gleaned the knowledge I desired. I have a theory, and I am going to test it. If I am wrong, I could always run away like a little girl again. It took a few hours going through all the records, but I found what I wanted. The information is now locked in my
perfect memory. Burned in my neurons, but even if my memory wasn’t perfect, I would have retained the list.

  I retrieved my 45 from the gun safe. I loaded it and chambered a round. Next, I went into the living room and took down my sword from its place of honor. As I held it in my hand, it felt right. It felt like it belonged there. “Nathan, where are you going, and what are you doing with those?” Charlene asked in an accusatory tone.

  “I am going to kill the bas…” I saw Char’s eyes go wide and I realized Mo is in the room, so I finished my sentence with, “…ically evil thing,” but in my head, I said, “Bastard.” Heading out the door, I heard Moiraine cheer me on, but she is not so careful with her language. I closed the front door, and through it, I heard Charlene admonishing Moiraine. I thought to my daughter. “Mo, you have to stop using a potty-mouth.” My memory loves playing pranks on me because I could swear, I heard a reply to my thought in her voice.

  The drive was uneventful, and I arrived as the gloaming darkened. With any luck, darkness won’t be to the creature’s advantage. Retrieving my sword and pistol from the trunk of the car, I cleared my head and checked my weapons. I also popped a whole tube of glucose tabs as I won’t have time in the fight. In my head, I heard, “Prepare for battle!” from Gandalf as played by Ian McKellen in The Return of the King, a film by Peter Jackson. A great set of flicks. I mean the movies, not the candy.