Where Darkness Dwells (38 page)

Magee had spoken to Thompson about a man named Ethan. Ellie could hear the fear in Magee's voice. Ethan was consolidating his power, severing loose ends. When Jacob asked what that meant, she told him the names Magee mentioned. Jimmy, George, Greta, Cooper.

As the Packard jounced down the road toward town, Jacob analyzed the brief interplay.

How much did either man know?

Who else knew?

Quite abruptly, the doctor stomped the brake pedal, the tires ripping coarse grit from the ground.

"You can't stop this." Thompson slammed a fist against the steering column.

Ellie stirred, as did Jacob, but after checking on Thompson, Jacob caught Ellie before she could blurt out or startle the doctor.

Thompson continued to talk to himself. "You're too old. No, age doesn't matter in any of this, does it? Not with that damnable healing. Age doesn't matter, but courage does. And you don't have an ounce in you, old man."

Thompson rubbed his eyes roughly, as if trying to erase some horrible indelible image from his sight. The doctor laughed to himself. At first a chuckle, the laughter grew in intensity and timbre, flooding with a volatile mixture of madness and relief. He laughed and rubbed his eyes some more, then took a deep, quavering breath. He let it out and opened the door.

"Well, let's see what can be done. Sure wish Jasper was well enough to have a part in this foolishness. This should've happened decades ago. Me and Jasper, going in full-bore, guns blazing…" Thompson spoke, as if the words were no longer his own, or that perhaps he was not even aware that they were issuing from his mouth. Jacob made eye contact with Ellie, and as Dr. Thompson closed the door behind him, she placed a hand on his calf and squeezed. Even though they didn't know what the doctor had been rambling on about, she looked terrified. Her look mirrored how Jacob felt.

"Should I look?"

"Yes. Just be careful."

Jacob peered out the rear window. It took a few seconds to orient himself, but he quickly put two and two together. It was the scrubby patch of gravel that hooked behind Dr. Thompson's house. The driveway ended at a disused barn that had weeds grown tall before it, green tendrils extended to reclaim the land for the wild. A small shed leaned against the barn's listing southern side. If Thompson ever did any maintenance of his own property (with advancing age and his position in the community, he'd been hiring on boys to do those simple jobs for years), the hoes, rakes and saws would be found inside that shed. Some years before, Jacob and Jimmy had found a pair of coal shovels inside when the doctor hired them on to clear the three foot snow fall from his drive and front steps. It was a small shed, a shallow path between piled tools and equipment.

Of all the things Dr. Thompson could do on such a night, after drinking and sharing in his community's good spirits, he went inside the shed.

"It's his place."

"What's he doing?"

"He just went inside his old shed."

"What's he getting?"

"No idea. But he just lit a lantern."

Ellie joined him looking out the window.

"That sure is weird."

"Isn't it?"

"Maybe he's still drunk."

"I don't think so."

Jacob conceded to her experience; Ellie would know a drunk when she saw one.

"What was all that laughter and crazy talk about?"

"I don't know, Ellie. I don't know any more than you."

"What should we do now?"

"Wait for him to come out."

"We can sneak into his house, so we're there first, before he comes in."

He could think of no better option. "Fine. We better move, though."

"Wait. What just happened? The lantern went out."

"No. Not snuffed out."

"Maybe he ran out of kerosene."

"No. I don't think so. Looks to me like that light faded, like a light going down a hallway would."

"But there's no hallway in that tiny shed."

Jacob waited, thinking. Making a run for the house had been a good idea. But wouldn't the doctor have gone inside, if that's where he intended to go in the first place?

No, something strange was going on with how that light just faded like that. "I want you to wait here."

"No, Jacob, you can't leave me."

"It'll be okay. Just stay out of sight."

"But it's not safe without you here."

He waited for a reasonable argument to surface, but none did. "Fine, but you better be as quiet as a church mouse."

Ellie found a relieved smile, and though they were venturing into an even deeper unknown, they felt safer than they should have, knowing they had the other. It was a feeling of trust Jacob hadn't felt since Jimmy's disappearance.

2.

The night had turned quiet, mere murmurs of bullfrogs hunkered at the distant creek, a lone cricket's unanswered chirp. His welcoming neighbors had gone, by now settling their energy-sapped and surly kids into bed. They would have moved on to thoughts of tomorrow's chores and errands, the minutiae of the manual hardships of farming.

Alone, Charles Banyon fixated on his unrelenting failure as a father and husband.

What a row I've hoed
. He sat slouched over on the outhouse bench. The stench held in by the closed door was an appropriate bombardment to his senses. He deserved nothing better.

But his neighbors had been so kind. So forgiving. Not to mention the furniture orders that would keep him busy through the winter. They'd accepted him once again.

And once again he'd slapped the hand of kindness away as if it were a buzzing mosquito. But he had his reasons.

Acceptance and kindness begot expectation, which in turn begot pressure and anxiety, which in the end, brought on a maddening panic that left him reeling, trying to hold together the broken fragments of control. The only way to gain control of the panic was by giving himself over to the harsh touch of the gentle hand of his beguiling mistress.

He tipped the bottle, hating the numbing burn as it surged down his throat and spread through his chest, reveling in the coming darkness. He sobbed silently, trying to hide from the world that he had failed once again.

With his head swimming and self hatred buzzing about his ears, he still noticed how silent the night had become. They were all gone and turned in for the night. His neighbors, the doctor, that kind lady, Jane Fowler, and…

And Elizabeth.

Hellfire.

His poor Elizabeth. All alone. No mother to calm her fears, no brother to turn to. A father pissing his life away.

"God damn it!" He lurched to his feet.

Gotta find my girl
. He thought it again, then again, like a mantra. He dropped the empty liquor bottle down the outhouse seat and then opened the door. The air was cool, weightless, too pure. Too pure for him to breathe.

A single light shone from inside the Fowler's home. He walked what approximated a straight line toward the light. His Elizabeth would be up there with Jane. What would he have done without Jane Fowler's kindness?

The three makeshift banquet tables stood empty. Almost empty. Faint moonlight caught the curve of a wine bottle, as enticing as the swell of a woman's breast. His mouth watered as he approached. Flush with adrenaline and anguish and pain, his senses became more alert: his eyes peered through the shadowy yard for onlookers, watched the lighted window to make sure he was left alone. Alone to sin, alone to indulge, alone to quench the fire of craving, of loneliness.

He reached for the bottle, but stopped. Gave himself a mental slap.

Elizabeth. Gotta find my girl. My girl, my girl, my girl.

He righted his path, leaving the table and the wine bottle's magnetic pull.

Dusk had weakened, giving way to full-on night.
Where did everybody go?
He stopped dead still.
How long was I in the shitter?
It felt like he had lost time, as he often had while on a bender. Hell, he was on a bender, wasn't he? A new bender. The bender to end all benders.

"Elizabeth!" Instead of a shout, his daughter's name issued from his liquored lips like fingernails rasping on sandpaper.

He unsteadily climbed the porch steps. It felt wrong knocking on someone's door so late at night. But hadn't he been invited? This was a potluck and Jane Fowler had invited him and Elizabeth over. None of that changed, even after he went off to the shitter with that bottle.

Managing to quell his anxieties for the moment, he knocked on the door. A silhouetted figure walked through the kitchen to answer the door. He swatted the air in front of his face, trying to clear the alcohol vapors. He exhaled into his palm and smelled it, but couldn't tell how hard he would need to work to fool Jane. She could be a tough nut.

When the door opened, Charles was relieved to see Louise Bradshaw. Louise he could fool. Jane on the other hand…

"Yes?" Behind Louise, he saw the clutter left in the wake of the potluck. Piles of dirty dishes. Furniture pushed to the room's corners. But no sign of Elizabeth. No sign of anyone.

"My girl, Elizabeth, I've come for her."

Louise didn't say anything for quite awhile, simply stared into him with a shameful look. Nightsounds seeped into the silence. The whisper of branches bending to a gentle wind. Frogs croaking, a fox's baleful cry.

"Everyone's cleared out. The party's over."

"Please, you gotta tell me: where's Elizabeth?"

Louise continued to scrutinize him with her unflinching gaze. The lamplight glowed behind her. Inside it seemed so warm, inviting. But quiet. Empty.

"Where is she?"

Louise folded her arms across the top of her expanding belly. She winced, then rubbed it. She was so forthcoming he could strangle her. It'd feel good to get his hands around her judgmental neck and wring it like a chicken's. Oh, how it would feel, and then he'd find another bottle and disappear for awhile into oblivion.

"I don't know where she is."

"How so? She was at the potluck."

"Which has ended. Potlucks end. People go home."

"So that's where she went, back home?"

"I told you I don't know. If I
did
know, I don't think I'd tell you anyway." She reached for the doorknob behind her.

He shoved it open. Exasperated, Louise stepped back, allowing his entry inside. The odors of the feast and spilled wine and sweat permeated the house.

"Where is she?" He snatched a solid grip of her upper arm.

She cried out, tried to pull free, but her efforts only angered him. "Please. Don't. I don't know where she is."

Her simpering plea made his fingers constrict, made him grind his fingers into her flesh and deeper, into her bones.

She cried out again, this time troubled by her unborn child. Her free hand went to her belly while her eyes fluttered, unable to focus.

"Feisty one, is it?" He placed his hand on her belly, and sure enough, felt a resounding kick. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in so long. Since just before Elizabeth's birth.

Disgusted, she swatted at him to remove his hand.

He raised his hands, dirty as they were, palms out, to show his harmless intent. "How far along are you?"

Louise stepped away and breathed deeply.

"Not much for talkin', huh? Well, by the looks of you, I'd say you're five months tops."

He inched farther inside.

She said nothing, but her eyes spoke of her growing fear.

"You shouldn't shame a child, especially one not yet born. But you hid it. Shamed it. Hid a miracle as if it were a blight." Rage built at his temples, blurring his eyes. The last few days he'd fought so hard, the sweats and cravings, feeling like a marionette pulling against his strings. He fought the newfound clarity of his thoughts, the brightness of the day. But most of all, he fought the guilt for all of the troubles he'd caused, and everything he'd done that no matter how long he remained sober, he'd never be able to repair.