The Devil's Beating His Wife (16 page)

He shrugged me off and turned around, glaring at me. He blinked a few times as if he didn't recognize me. Once he realized who I was and where we were, his eyes settled down.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Are you okay?" I asked him.

He swallowed deeply. He glanced back towards Mary-Alice, who was standing there with tears streaming down her face. Regret flashed in his eyes before he closed them tightly. He stood with his hands curled into fists and his eyes shut.

It was marvelous thing to watch. The moment the mask settled on his face. Gone was the Baxter who was unsure of himself; in his place was the good-humored Baxter that so many in our small town had loved.

"Thank goodness someone in my family is still alive." He flashed his roguish grin. His eyes darkened before he walked over to the window and stared outside. "Carver must be here."

A cold and hollow feeling overcame me. I felt vulnerable and exposed. Only one other person knew of my existence, well, maybe two now. But I felt like I was being cornered. Like an ambush was waiting to happen.

I was standing in the spot where I had died. The man who had killed me was standing only a few feet away, carrying on quite casually now that his initial shock had passed. The woman who was likely the reason for my brother's death stood in the center of the room, whimpering with grief. And the man responsible for it all was right outside.

"I think I see him," Baxter said, pointing at the glass. His finger moved across the pane as he followed his brother's movements. There was no sadness in Baxter. In fact, he watched his brother like a hunter keeping track of his prey.

The cold hollowness in me began to fill with white hot rage. I could practically feel the heat burning from my eyes. It felt real. Real enough to make think I was alive again for a brief moment.

Over Baxter's shoulder, I saw the white-blond crown of Carver's head. He was sitting down at a picnic table with his back to the house. His face was tilted upward as he spoke with his friend Charlie.

It was too much. Far too much. There I was sulking in the shadows, a ghost bound to the place. Destined to haunt the house where I was murdered with the man who murdered me. It was just too much.

The hotness created a tunnel, focusing on Carver's shiny head. It was unfair that I was dead and he was still alive. It wasn't right that he sat outside, enjoying the feel of the sun.

A scream burned in my throat. I lifted one leg and then another as I forced myself to leave the living room. By the time I had reached the kitchen, I was in a full run. I tore open the back door and ran down the stairs. My fingers were ready to rip apart the man who had ruined everything.

But then suddenly, my body was rocked with a great force. It was like a blaze of wind that whipped around me. The thought barely registered in my mind that I was once again in the living room when I felt compelled to run outside again.

Again, the wind upended me, tossing me back inside of the house. I already knew the result. I was never going to get closer to Carver, but that didn't stop me from trying one last time.

When I was once again returned to the living room, I dropped to my knees and let my head smack against the wooden floor. I felt helpless as rage continued to burn inside of me. There was nothing I could do.

"It's infuriating, ain't it?" Baxter said. "Being stuck in this place. Never leaving. No exit in sight."

I turned my head enough so that I could see Baxter from the corner of my eye. He was on the floor, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. He looked utterly relaxed as he gazed at me with sympathy. "I understand," he said.

"You don't know nothing, Baxter Bennett."

He raised his hand and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "Maybe I don't. But maybe I do."

I pushed away his hand and sat up on my knees. We were the only ones in the room. Mary-Alice must have returned to the others outside.

Bracing myself with my hands, I got to my feet. I smoothed down my dress and combed my fingers through my hair. I tried to tell myself that it didn't matter. It couldn't matter, because there was nothing I could do to change it.

Baxter stood up and faced me. He didn't reach out to touch me, but his eyes were locked on my face. "I like to think that things could be a lot worse."

"Really?" I whispered.

The corner of his mouth hitched up. He cocked his head a bit as he said, "Well, we could be burning in Hell."

Ignoring him, I walked to the window and looked at all of the people gathered outside. There was Charlie and his sons, Ronnie and Oliver. There was Lily, Abby, and another woman, perhaps Oliver's wife. Carver stood to the side with his arm around Mary-Alice as they talked privately.

The sun beamed down on them all as if they were receiving God's good grace. An anointment of sunlight. But the brightness cast a long black shadow. Its darkness contrasted starkly with the purity of the scene.

As I stared at them with hatred and envy, I noticed that the shadow began to move independently. It separated itself from the humans that cast it. The shadow moved further and further away from the group, and then it finally retreated towards the old barn.

The shadow was like a misshapen body moving sluggishly across the ground. When it neared the barn doors, it stopped. Then its upper body turned and it seemed to glance in my direction. Surprised, I turned to Baxter, wondering if he saw what I saw. Baxter's face was blank as he stared back at me. When I looked back at the shadow, it was gone.

Baxter came to stand beside me at the window. I expected him to glance outside. Instead, his gaze focused on me. "What is it?"

I looked at him. The man who had killed me. My only friend in the world. "I thought I saw something."

"Oh," he said, lifting his eyebrows. He turned and braced his back against the window. "I told you not to look too hard towards the barn."

Of course he would know about the shadow man. "Why didn't you tell me we weren't the only ones on this land?"

He crossed his arms over his chest and crossed his long legs. "That's Old Man Colsen. The man who built this place. When I was a kid, my daddy used to tell us stories about him. Mostly to scare us away from this place. You know, back then, I didn't believe in ghosts." He flashed a grin. "Now look at us."

"My brother used to tell me stories about him. It used to scare me real bad and he knew—" I ended that train of thought. I wasn't going to share any happy memories of my brother with Baxter. "He doesn't look like you and me," I said, returning to the topic of Colsen.

"No. That's because he ain't like us. He's something a hell of a lot worse."

He didn't need to tell me that. I could sense that by the way it moved. And how dark it was. "As long as he stays out there, I'm happy," I said.

Suddenly, Baxter bent down and brushed his lips across mine. I hopped back in surprise, bringing my fingers to touch my mouth. Damn this man.

"Don't you worry none, Spicey Harrell. Baxter's here to protect you."

"Is that right?" I glanced up and down his body until he blushed. "You gonna protect me?" I waved my hand in the air. "You done lost your ever-loving mind, Baxter. We're dead. There ain't nothin' more to protect."

Baxter placed his hand on the spot where my heart used to beat. "I'm talking about your soul, Spicey. That's all that ever mattered. Well, that and your heart." He grinned like a schoolboy eating a Moon Pie.

His blithe manner left me reeling. I shook my head, turned on my heel, and walked away. I heard—no—sensed Baxter following me. Just as he reached out to grasp my arm, someone else entered the room.

The intruder caught our attention. I yanked my arm away from Baxter's fingers and turned to stare at the new occupant. I couldn't contain the gasp that caught at the back of my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced toward Baxter. I was curious to know what his reaction would be to his brother entering the room.

Carver stood in the door frame. His eyes scanned the interior of the room. He glanced over his shoulder when someone else entered the house behind him.

"Your boy did a good job," Carver told Charlie.

Charlie nodded. Gratitude shone in his eyes. "I appreciate what you did for him. Since he got back from 'Nam, things just weren't lining up for him. He takes pride in this place." Charlie placed his hand on Carver's shoulder and squeezed. "Thank you, brother."

Baxter lifted one foot and then another until he stood before the two men. Although the sun beamed down on his golden hair, creating an angelic image, a reddish angry haze surrounded him. He stared at his brother. His eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared.

I didn't understand why Baxter was angry. He and Carver had been thick as thieves growing up. Baxter had always protected his crippled younger brother, beating up bullies all around town. Carver had worshiped his god-like brother. He had followed him around, closer than a shadow.

I stood apart, looking at the three men. One had shot a hole in my belly. The other two had tied a noose around my brother's neck and strung him from a tree. I would have gladly taken a place in Hell if it meant being somewhere far away from this bunch.

"So, that's the spot, huh?" Carver asked, pointing to the floor where our bodies had lain.

Charlie followed his finger and then he nodded. "That's it. That's where they found Baxter and that nigger bitch."

Carver moved away from his friend and walked farther into the room. He inhaled deeply and blew the air out through tight lips. "You dumb sonuvabitch." Carver stared at the floor. The rate of his breathing increased as his gaze darted back and forth across the floorboards.

Baxter stood in his brother's face. He cocked his head from one side to another. "That man is not your brother."

Carver looked up as if he was staring back at Baxter. That almost connection even caught Baxter by surprise, and he stumbled back a step. "If you had simply left that girl alone," Carver said, "none of this would have happened."

"If you hadn't killed her brother, and terrorized the colored folk in town, this would never have happened," Baxter said into his brother's face. His voice had lowered to a growl. I could see the anger in his eyes had been replaced with a feral gleam. "What happened to you? You destroyed everything. You and your jealousy. You never wanted to see me happy."

Carver stared ahead, looking through Baxter. Then he turned his face away and looked back at Charlie. "When Mama told me that Baxter had bought this place, I couldn't fathom why. I figured he was finally going to find himself a decent girl and settle down. He could have had anyone with his pretty looks and heroic stories. All he had to do was glance a certain way and a woman would stumble over herself trying to keep his attention. He broke hearts all over the county, and he didn't care about any of them." Carver looked back in Baxter's direction. "Baxter was one selfish sonuvabitch. It didn't matter who he hurt."

Baxter's head snapped back as if he had been punched. Over the bridge of his nose, he looked down on his brother. He stood in that position for a few seconds before defeat overwhelmed him. His shoulders sagged. His lips curled downward. Baxter stepped away from his brother and walked to the hallway. He brushed by me without a glance.

Carver shook his head in disgust and then turned on his heels. His eyes must have connected with the ugly mirror on the wall because he spun back in my direction.

Having his eyes locked on the spot where I stood caused me to slam my back against the wall. The force of it shook the wall, knocking down a few pictures. They fell to the floor, the glass frames shattering from the impact.

The sound caused Charlie to whip around. He looked over to Carver and then back to the broken frames. "What the hell just happened?"

Carver's mouth hung open. His long thin finger pointed to the spot where I had stood. "I saw something in the mirror." He laughed and rolled his eyes. "I could have sworn it looked like Spicey."

Charlie stared at his friend. His eyebrows were lowered. His eyes narrowed. He licked his lips and said, "A spook done spooked you, huh?" Charlie laughed at his own joke. He motioned for Carver to come stand near him. "Your mind just conjured up the scene and you thought you saw that girl. There ain't nothing here but you and me. Now, c'mon. Let's get back outside before they eat all them ribs."

Carver looked as if he wanted to say something. Then his eyes fluttered shut as he took another deep breath. "You're right. I could just see it all so plainly. My father told me what he found out here. He described it in full detail, as if he hadn't just stumbled across his dead son. I just...." Carver's voiced trailed off. He took one last glance around the room, shook his head, and walked out.

Shadows filled the room. Some of them were visible. Others were not. I retreated to the small bedroom in the back, and watched the sun as it lowered in the sky.

CHAPTER TEN

July 5, 1970, Laurens County

"Heavenly Father, we ask you to bless this house and this family. Rid their home of the demons that have taken refuge here. Oh, Blessed Father, we pray to you today and ask for your grace." The priest circled the room, sprinkling the Holy Water against the walls and furniture.

Baxter and I stood behind the priest, not wanting to hinder his progress around the house. He was ridding the place of evil spirits, and I figured it was polite to let him go about his work in peace. Maybe we'd all get lucky and he'd push out the evil from this place.

I glanced at Baxter. Nope. He was still here.

"Shouldn't we be gone now or something?" I asked him.

Baxter scoffed. Leaning towards my ear, he whispered, "He's a drunk."

"Who?"

"The priest. He's an old useless drunk."

"How do you know that?"

"He was around back when we were alive," he said, stepping around the priest. He stood face to face with him and leaned forward. "I bet you he smells like gin." Baxter smiled and crooked his finger in my direction. "C'mere," he said.