Dark Series, The Color of Seven and The Color of Dusk (Books We Love Special Edition) (27 page)

“Hate
dis
stuff.”

“You need it.
Now drink.”

S
he
shuddered as the fiery liquid passed down her throat.
She handed the glass back to Paul.

“You know him?” he repeated.

“Yes.
And no.
He
at one of the S
unday services at St. Barnabas
‘bout, let me think.
First time I seen him was back in February.
Big man, Lord, he’s big.
Coal black.
His head is shaved but
dat
doan
make him look nothing but even
mo
’
fierce.
But it’s a fierc
e
dat’s hid inside his heart, on
de
outside, he the most politest man you’d ever hope to meet.
Got most
of
de
ladies, married ones, too, ‘bout to swoon when he notices ‘em.”

“Is he always there?”

“Always.
Neve
r misses a Sunday.
An’ probably doan miss much in between, but I
doan
know ‘bout
dat
, you know I doan fool with all that social foolishness
.”

“So Isaiah Gorley could maybe tell me where he lives.”

“I
doan
know.
From whu
t I seen, he doan come to
c
hurch to pay much
mind to Brother Gorley, he come
to strut before
de
ladies.
An’ de
young
folk,
yeah, I ain’t put it together before but
dey
hang all over
him.
An’ when I think back on it,
doan
think Isaiah like
dat
too much, but it’s a
c
hurch, what he
goan
say ‘bout it?
He
doan
like
a member takin’ up time
wid
de
young
peoples
?”

Paul sank down on the bed by Joshua.
“Sadie, Isaiah was in here today.”

“I know
dat, I seen him.
Must be some
thin’ if Nona can get him in de
office.”

“He’s been having
headaches
, he says.
Well, Nona says, Isaiah tried to play it down
.
”

Sadie snorted.
“Men all alike,
weren’t for
dere
women, dey doan got ‘nuff sense to come in out of de rain. Nona only reason he come at all.”

“Yeah, I know. But when I pushed, he admitted it.
They’re
r
eal bad, real sudden, real strange.
Worried
me, can’t pinpoint any reason.
Thought about a brain tumor, to tell the truth, from his description, but his eyes look just fine.
Sadie, that smell, the one that came out of nowhere in Tamara’s cottage?”

Sadie nodded.

“He says, right before they hit, the headaches?
That he smells something real bad.”

“Well,” said Sadie.
“I guess we know
s whu
t
dat is
.”

“Could he do that?”

“If he
be whut Tamara say, he can do
dat.”

“Is he?
What Tamara says?”

“I think he even worse.”

“How so?
What did he do?”

Sadie bit her lip.

“Sadie?
What did he do?”

“What did who do?”
Everett
stood in the doorway. He wasn’t a happy man.
“Knocked the damn door down, you didn’t hear me?
What’s the matter with Josh?”
Everett came swiftly into the room.
“Wh
y
the hell
is
he
tied down?”

“Papa, calm down.”
Everett’s complexion edged from the florid red Paul found alarming enough towards purple.

“Calm down, hell,
I ge
t back from a call,
it’s later’n hell,
Sadie ain’t home, ain’t sent word she’s
goan
be late or why—woman,
you know better than that!
Scared me to death, t
hought you’d gotten run over by a runaway buggy or attacked on the way home!
Neither of you hear me pounding t
he damn door, I walk in and
Joshua
’s
tied to the goddamn bed—”

Paul
grabbed his father’s arms.
“Papa, sit down and
shut up
!”

“
What the hell did you just
say to
me
?!”

“Shut up, Everett!”
Sadie exclaimed.
“Just shut up!
Or we ain’t
goan
tell you nothing!
You understan’ me?”

Everett’s face
finished turning
purple
, but
the shock of Sadie’s
attack on top of
Paul’s
won
.
He sat down.

“I’m listenin’
,” he said.

An hour
’s explanation
later
, Everett’s complexion was so pale it seemed to have never held any color at all.
He leaned over and stroked Joshua’s forehead.

“Sweet, sweet Jesus,” he said.

“You believe us?” asked Paul.

“Son, I tell you true.
I wouldn’t believe a word of it coming from anybody else.
But it’s you and Sadie so yes, I believe.
Question is, what are we goin’
to do about it?”
Then a touch of his old fire surfaced.
“And why the hell did you let Sadie follow the boys to the riverbank alone?”

“Think I could have stopped her, do you?”

“Well,” he admitted.
“No.”

“Good.
I’m only human.”

“Two of you ain’t
goan
get nothin
’ done by sittin’
dere
insultin’ me.”

“Ain’t an insult, Sadie, just the truth,” said Everett.
And time for him to admit some other truths.
He was getting old.
His years hadn
’t
aged him
but his
profession had
. H
is heart was
n’t
all it should be.
T
he shadow of an
apoplectic
seizure
stood close to his side.
He knew it
, and he knew Paul knew it, too.

Now,
his family and his chosen
people
were
under attack from this human who
walke
d inhuman paths,
and
what could he do about it?
Damn little.
Any extreme extra exertion would likely kill him and Paul and Sadie sure didn’t need anything el
se to worry about right now
, especially him
.
B
oth
of them were
exhausted too, they needed rest
.
He sighed.

“Son,” he began, and Paul cut him off.

“Papa, I know what you’re going to say,
but you are
not
—”

“Paul,” said Everett wearily.
“Your turn. You
just shut up
for a minute
.
Now, I know
you think I’m an old fool too busy takin’ care of other folks to admit what’s happenin’ to me. And I don’
t want to admit it but I know.
I’m old.
This is a young man’s fight.
It’s your fight. I know that.
But what I can do, I can sit with Joshua tonight.
You and Sadie got a busy day tomorrow.
Need your sleep.
And I’ll keep your office hours for you tomorrow afternoon so you can be out doing whatever it is
needs
do
in’
.
P
robably all I’m good for.
Ain’t much, God knows.
Hell
, I hate getting old!”

Paul looked at his father
.
Everett had never been a tall man, but he
’d
always been robust.
Now his frame seemed shrunken.
When had his hair begun to thin so, when had his hands acquired those tell-tale spots of brown?
Where was his Papa, the
man who, if he wasn’t always right, was wro
ng at the top of his voice, the
man who occupied such a special spot
,
the king of the town’s medical profession?
That man had
just
abdicated, passing his mantle of self-assumed responsibility to his successor.
The king was dead.
Long live the king.
Tears pricked behind Paul’s eyes.

“Thank you, Papa.”

* * *

In his rented room in the
boarding house near the railroad tracks on Seventh Street, Cain toyed delicately with the crude doll he
’d
formed from the corn shucks he always kept handy.
The piece of cloth he
’d
plucked from the woods draped its form.
What to do, what to do?

Fire, now.
Fire was good.
These figures burned like, why they burned like dried corn shucks.
Cain chuckled to himself.
He’d taken care of a few busybodies in such fashion back in Tarper
, including one who’d dared
refuse the
c
ommunion of blood.
A mistake no one else
made, n
ot after the fiery spectacle that discrim
inating but unfortunate soul
offered to the town
when he burst into flames
walking down the street the next morning.

His hands ran lightly down the limbs of the figure.
He could take this leg, now, and pull it out in a ninety degree
angle, opposite the one nature intended it to go. O
r this arm.
Or both.

He dropped his hand and caressed the head.
He almost tightened his fingers.
T
hen he laughed suddenly and dr
opped the figure back
to the tabletop.
I
f he killed the intruder now,
they wouldn’t be back.
And Cain wanted them to come back.
Oh my, yes.
With friends.
You could never have enough sentries.

* * *

Josh
ua roused in the darkness of the early morning hours.
I
t took several moments
to
realize
he was tied to the bed.
His eyes roamed around the grayness and settled on a slouched figure
sitting
in the armchair next to his bed.
Paul?

He did
n
’t
feel well, not at all.
His arms and legs
were full of ground glass
grat
ing
in his joints
, his head
stuffed with unginned
cotton.
His stomach churned and rumbled and threatened to revolt
.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
As fuzzy as his brain felt, it was
far
clearer than it had been
in much
longer than Joshua cared to think about.
He
heard
Cain’s voice roaring in his ears.
He saw
the shoulder muscles rippling in the blood shadows of the flames.
He saw
fire glinting off the wicked, downward s
lash of the machete flying home, smell
ed
the
hot, metallic scent of blood
.

This morning. He’d done something awful. What? And what had
he said to
Paul?
What had he done?
He didn’t remember.
He remembered the past weeks
, Paul
’s
voice sending
swarms
of ants crawling over his skin. Irritation over
nothing, irritation which had rapidly turned to anger and then transmuted itself by some mysterious alchemy to rage and then past rage, to blinding fury
. Finally,
this morning, to murderous wrath.
Had he hurt Paul
?
He didn’t know.
He
’d
wanted to kill him.