Ashes of Another Life (10 page)

Father turned his head as if making sure Tara Jane was going to follow. Then he walked through the front door. She saw him on the other side of the beveled glass window and gulped. She ran down the stairs, glanced around for her foster parents, then quietly opened the door.

She slipped outside and was surrounded by faces she hadn’t seen in exactly one year. Only now they were burned and distorted. She recognized them by their height and facial structures and random locks of hair, but they were ghastly now.

She focused on one face and thought,
is that little Emma in the dress we sewed together?
Emma had never sewn a dress before, and the awful job she did on the hand-stitched sleeves had always bothered Tara Jane, but now the entire garment was covered in soot and burn holes, and Tara Jane wondered why the crooked seams had ever bothered her at all.

It looks so painful
.
So painful to burn.

Father’s first wife, Deborah, stood next to him. Tara recognized her long nose, now crispy and missing a sizable chunk at the tip. Her dark prairie dress was tattered where the fire had eaten holes through the fabric, and her skin was charred down to the bone on one side. Betty and Rita, the other wives, flanked the gruesome couple. They looked frail and unstable on their blackened legs as the wind whipped the grimy rags of their skirts.

Then there were the children, so many children.

I used to cook for them, read to them. Now I can barely stand to look at them.

Their blackened forms rose and fell over the landscape of the yard, eyes floating like hot coals above their blistered cheeks.
Peter, Isaiah, Cindy, Josh, Monica.
She resisted the urge to pinch her nose as their sickly stench grew even more putrid.
Stephen, Beth, Dean, Jack, Tina.
There were too many to name, too many for her weary mind to recognize in this moment.

But she’d always recognize Jackson. Always Susie. She spotted them immediately, their tiny burned forms clasping hands at the end of the line. She felt the weight of their gaze as they stared at her. Deep sobs racked Tara Jane’s chest now. She had to look away.

Father’s monstrous form burned like a torch dead-center of the fire-blackened family, and he spoke again. “On your knees,” he commanded.

Tara Jane knelt in the grass.

What must it feel like to burn? How long does it take? How much pain before the heart stops beating? It must be the worst kind of death. She wondered if she would pass out before it was over or if her body would keep fighting, forcing her to endure the flames right down to her bones.

She looked up at her family. Some of their lips were burned away, and moonlight glinted off their teeth. She scanned the line of them, ready to join them. Ready to help them move on. Her eyes lingered on the side of the yard where Jackson and Susie stood, clutching hands. Susie still had her pigtails. One of them was singed nearly to the scalp, gruesome burns covering her head. Jackson stood in his blackened clothes, head cast down. She couldn’t stand to see them like this. Maybe now Father would let them move on.

She took a deep breath and prepared for the pain. Then… she spotted something.

Through the gap between Jackson and Susie, she saw a woman at the edge of the yard. Dressed in a long gown, she stood under the plum tree. She appeared to be weeping, her face tucked into her hands. Her clothes rippled in a wind that swirled only around her, and she glowed against the dark night in dull shades of blue. Her long hair spilled down her back and shoulders, nearly touching her ankles.

The weeping woman looked up, and Tara Jane knew her instantly.
Mother.
Those bright hazel eyes that used to sparkle with life were diffused by a dim blue ethereal haze that washed her features in sadness. So much misery in those eyes now, and they pleaded with Tara Jane. Mother looked to Father and the others, then back to Tara Jane. She hugged herself and wept, gently swaying with the branches of the tree.

Tara Jane gulped.

Father stepped through the grass and stood over her, holding his hands out. Giant flames rose from his palms. She could feel the heat coming from him. It burned her knees.

Mother doesn’t want me to do this. But what can I do? God help me, what can I do?

She cried and looked at Father, blinded by his glow. “Wait,” she said, sobbing harder, but she saw the resolve in those dark eyes as they floated in his fiery face. The flames grew higher and more violent as he raised his hands into the air over her head.

And then, someone was shaking her from behind, jerking her around, hard, like a rag doll and yelling, “Tara Jane! What are you doing? Tara Jane?” Someone put their arms around her and hugged her, rocking her back and forth. “Tara Jane? Can you hear me? What’s wrong?”

Father seethed with anger. He lowered his arms, and his flames danced wildly as he stared at Tara Jane.

Someone helped her to her feet. It was Mrs. McKelvey.

Oh no
.
Please don’t hurt her.

She looked at Father, fearful of what he might do. But he only watched, as the Tara Jane headed toward the house, guided by her foster mother’s arms. The resurrected family stood in silence as the woman pulled her away from them, the rags of their crispy garments stirring in the breeze.

“Let’s get you inside,” Mrs. McKelvey said.

Chapter Thirteen

Randall couldn’t believe he had failed. The girl had practically surrendered herself, and he’d missed his chance to take her. She had been right there in front of him, an opportunity dropped directly in his lap, and he’d brushed it off like a crumb. Well, not exactly. He had
frozen up
, unable to move. Now she was gone, back into the house, and he was kicking himself for letting down the prophet.

It had been so eerie, the way she had slipped out of the house into the night and scanned the empty yard with wide eyes as if she saw things Randall couldn’t see. From his hiding spot in the bushes, he had watched in fascination. The girl had fallen to her knees, crying and on the verge of hysteria, and with her hand covering her mouth to stifle the sobs, she slowly turned her head from side to side as if taking in a horrifying view. Randall only saw trees and cars and fireflies ahead of her, but the girl seemed to be focusing on empty patches of air, as if gazing at ghosts.

Now’s my chance. I should go to her.

But something about the way she watched the shadows under the plum tree made all his body hair stand on end. She wasn’t just looking at a tree. Something over there, in that direction, appeared to be breaking her heart into tiny fragments and stomping on the pieces.

Now goosebumps formed on his arms at the memory, rubbing against the stiff fabric of his shirt. He scratched them, angry at the irritation, but still they refused to recede. The girl had looked utterly broken, kneeling there in the grass, and Randall had spent so much time pondering why, he had waited too long and missed his chance. The woman who owned the home had appeared from the front door and ushered Tara Jane back inside.

Seething at the lost opportunity, he emerged from the bushes and stood at the edge of the yard, just staring at the house, thinking. He’d get the girl tonight, one way or another. And this time, he wouldn’t back down.

Chapter Fourteen

“See? No footprints.” Mrs. McKelvey squeezed Tara Jane’s shoulders reassuringly from behind, then patted her arm and said, “Listen, it’s okay. I’m not showing you this to prove you wrong. I’m doing it to
help
you. You’re under enormous stress, and today holds a lot of meaning for you.”

Tara Jane didn’t know what to say. She stood in front of the stairs and frowned at the unmarred carpet. She should feel relieved. She didn’t
want
the carpet to be ruined, didn’t want Father letting himself in and out of the McKelvey’s house, but she had watched with her own two eyes as Father had left smoldering footprints in his descent, and she couldn’t understand where they’d gone.

She looked through the beveled glass on the front door at the pixelated view of the dark street and empty yard.

Where have they gone now? They’ll be back. Mrs. McKelvey can’t scare them away.

“Tara Jane, you haven’t been taking your medicine. Your post-traumatic stress, your anxiety, your lack of sleep, it’s all catching up with you, hon.”

She thought about this. “Mrs. McKelvey, I-”

“Please, sweetie, call me Rita.”

“Rita… I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

The woman put her arm around Tara Jane, who didn’t shrink away from the contact. She needed the closeness, needed to feel the touch of another human, to counteract the memory of Father’s unnatural heat on her skin.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s the whole world who should feel sorry for giving a nice girl like you a hard time.” She smiled. And they stood that way, gently squeezing each other for a few pendulum beats of the grandfather clock.

“But he was here,” Tara Jane whispered with shaky breath. “He was.” A tear slipped down her cheek and splattered the floor.

“Come on. Let’s go to the living room. I’ll make us some drinks. You sound parched.”

They leaned on each other for strength as they walked toward the front room. Tara Jane turned to look at the small window on the door. Beyond it was only darkness where just earlier Father’s flames had awaited, their menacing orange flicker illuminating the glass.

She shivered as Mrs. McKelvey led her to the couch.
Rita
, she reminded herself.
She prefers Rita
.

“I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

Tara Jane couldn’t stop shivering. Her eyes searched the shadows in the corners, darting to the entrance of the living room, then the window. The fear she’d felt as she had prepared to die out there under the moonlight coursed through her like sour blood and sat like a stone in her stomach. The image of mother’s weeping face, pleading with her not to go through with it haunted her every time she blinked.

The sound of ice clinking in glasses sounded far away as drinks were set on the table beside her. Tara Jane’s mind was focused on the window that looked out onto the yard, its black curtains drawn. She rubbed her knee. It felt painful where Father had burned her. She couldn’t have imagined the whole thing. Could she?

“Yoo hoo? Have I lost you again?” Mrs. McKelvey sat across from her, a playful smile on her face.
Rita
, Tara Jane reminded herself.
Rita, Rita Rita
. It might take a while to get used to the idea of addressing an adult outside her family by their first name. She’d been taught that it wasn’t polite, though she was trying desperately to adjust.

She smiled back. “No, ma’am, I’m still here. It’s just… it all felt so
real
.” She took a sip of her water. “I could swear they were here. Am I crazy?”

“No. Not at all. Any person who has been through your ordeal, who is not sleeping, not eating… they’re liable to get so worn down, they start to
dream
while they’re awake.”

“Really? Then… I’ll be okay? He won’t—” her voice quivered, “he won’t come for me?”

The woman’s eyes looked worried and exhausted. She rubbed her chin and stared into the distance as if contemplating a chess move. Her brown hair was tussled from their skirmish outside, and bits of grass still clung to her pants. She clutched her hands together in front of her. “Tara Jane, did you dump out that lemonade earlier?”

Tara Jane didn’t see why it mattered, but she pled guilty with a nod of the head.

“I see.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded to herself and continued. “Mr. McKelvey and I—well, I suppose you should call him Bob now that we’re ditching the formality—Bob and I would appreciate it so much if you would give the medication a chance. We’re supposed to be enforcing it, and if you don’t take it, the courts could remove you from our care. It’s out of our hands, Tara Jane, and we don’t like that. We love you.” She reached her hand across the couch, but Tara Jane pulled away. “And much more importantly, the medication will
help
you. It won’t take away what you’re feeling, but it will help you cope with it, ease the pain as you work through it.”

Tara Jane was silent. Her attention kept slipping back to the window. She could sense them. She could still
feel
them out there. Waiting.

“And Tara Jane, there’s something else I need to tell you. There’s a reason you were starting to feel better and now you’re regressing. You see, you haven’t been eating, and—well—” Her cell phone buzzed. She slid it from her pocket, glancing at the screen.

“It’s work.” Her eyebrows knotted as she looked up at the girl. “I’m on call, but if they need me, I’ll tell them to get someone else to cover it. I’m not going anywhere tonight.”

Tara Jane stared at the window with a blank expression. She’d barely touched her water, which was forming a wet ring on the table.