by Ike Hamill
Eric pushed himself backward, sliding his ass across the icy pavement as he pulled. For a few inches, the sound of the Trader’s protests were almost musical. A triumphant smile rose to Eric’s lips and then evaporated as the screams turned sour, tearing from the Trader’s mouth.
“No! No, you can’t!”
He flailed and squirmed in Eric’s grip, scraping the skin from his own, old-man hands as he tried to swim backwards, across snow, ice, and asphalt, towards the tree.
Eric stopped and held tight.
“Stop!” Eric shouted. He glanced around nervously, wondering if any of the houses up the hill had heard the commotion.
The man continued to scream. Eric gave an inch of ground and one of the Trader’s hands plunged into the snow. Maybe his fingers found a root under there—a desperate child tagging home base to keep him safe. Whatever the reason, the Trader’s screams faded to whimpers and Eric held his ground.
“Where’s my cousin?” Eric demanded, twisting the man’s leg. “Where’s Wendell?”
The trader looked so pathetic now. His cheeks were flushed bright red and his eyes sparkled with barely-contained tears. His pouting lips let free another wail as Eric tugged on his leg again.
“Tell me.”
Eric heard slapping footsteps of someone running, but didn’t take his eyes off the Trader.
“What’s the… Oh my god,” Nicky said, panting.
“I got him, Nicky. He’s going to tell us where Wendell is, or I’m going to drag him away from that tree and beat the life out of him.” Eric was only trying to sound tough when he started the sentence, but by the end he actually believed it. He remembered his old grudge against this man. He was going to have his vengeance.
“No!” the man cried. Tears spilled from the corners of his eyes. “I couldn’t… I can’t help you even if I wanted to. You don’t have anything to trade.”
“You’re wrong,” Eric said. “I’ve got your life. That’s my trade.”
“I think he’s saying that he can’t trade with you again,” Nicky said.
“Yes. Yes,” the man said. “That’s precisely correct.” He reached out one of his plump old hands towards Nicky and she took a step back. Even though he was lying on the snow and pavement, stretched between Eric’s grip and his own grip on the snow, the man’s grasping hand looked dangerously predatory.
“Well, I guess we’re going to find out,” Eric said. With a grunt, he pulled the man again. The Trader began to scream and wail once more. The sound was so terrible that a big part of Eric wanted to just drop the leg and run. He could be back on a bus before the end of the day, headed to anywhere, far enough away that he would never have to hear the scream again.
But he knew that wouldn’t work. Even if the man didn’t show up in his dreams again, Wendell would. He couldn’t abandon his cousin. Squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the screams, Eric pulled harder. He couldn’t dislodge the man’s hand from whatever it was gripping even when he felt the leg pop. Something was giving way, maybe in the knee or hip.
A hand landed on Eric’s shoulder and he almost added his scream to the mix.
His eyes flew open and he saw Nicky.
“Hold on, Eric. Let up a little.”
He did and the cries diminished to whimpers.
“Sir,” she said. “Sir?”
The Trader stopped blubbering long enough to listen.
“I can’t stop him from tearing your leg off. He’s really angry at you,” Nicky said.
“That’s right,” Eric grunted as he twisted the leg.
“You can’t kill me,” the Trader said.
“Maybe that’s true,” Nicky said. “But you seem to be in a lot of pain. If you want this to stop, you’re going to have to answer our questions, okay?”
“You have nothing,” the Trader said. He sounded like a furious child—so angry, but impotent.
Nicky gave Eric a glance and he knew what to do. He pulled until the Trader screamed and then he let up a little.
“You talked to Wendell, right?”
The man clenched his jaw. It didn’t loosen until Eric gave another tug.
“Yes. Fine. Yes, I traded with the boy.”
“What did he ask for?”
This time, Eric got him to talk just by squeezing his grip on the man’s leg.
“He wanted parts for the motorbike. I got them. It was a fair trade.”
“And what did he give you in return?” Nicky asked.
Several seconds passed with no answer.
“What did he give you?”
Eric adjusted his grip. He still had the man’s shin tucked under his arm and the knee gripped in both hands. Planting his feet firmly on pavement, Eric got ready to pull backwards as he reached forward to grab the fabric of the Trader’s pants. He saw the hand at the last second. The Trader’s free hand snaked out with amazing speed.
Eric got his hand out of the way, but then the hand redirected towards Eric’s boot. He had no idea what the Trader intended to do, but there was fire and hate in his eyes. Eric shot his legs out to the sides in as wide of a split as he could manage. The Trader’s hand came up empty.
“That’s it,” Eric said, shaking his hand. “I’m done with this.”
The old man must have sensed his resolve.
“No! I’ll tell you. Please.”
Nicky put her hand out, requesting Eric to stay the execution.
“So tell us.”
ZINNIA
THE TIRES GRABBED AS much traction as they could on the road, but Zinnia pushed them faster. She rounded the corner to Main Street and the tires barked and squealed. The engine roared as she pressed the pedal to the floor. Lightly tapping on the brakes, she timed the cross traffic and flew across Lewiston Road. That was the dividing line between her current life and the one she had left behind. The old trashy one-story houses and trailers were mostly gone, but they still existed in her memory.
The right hand turn onto Peregrine Lane was sooner than she expected. The back end of her expensive car drifted out to the side and then collected itself again. For a moment, the vehicle had forgotten its fancy German training, but she gained control once more with a quick jerk of the wheel.
The siren and lights behind her did nothing to slow her down.
Zinnia leaned forward as she accelerated. She had to spot the road on her right, but she had no idea what they called it now. Back when she lived there, none of the roads had proper names. They were all referred to by whomever happened to live there. Now, they all had neat green signs and the roads were all named for birds. She spotted Chickadee Drive and jerked the wheel again. The dirt road had been plowed, but it was packed with hard, smooth snow. She eased off the gas and finally recognized that there was a cop car behind her.
Zinnia didn’t stop.
“Good. I’ll need your help,” she whispered to the rearview mirror.
From the road, the presence of the quarry was only marked with a slight absence of trees on the right side. Zinnia skidded to a stop. The cruiser in the rearview loomed extremely close, barely stopping before it plowed into her.
Zinnia was out in a flash, running around the front of her vehicle before the officer could even call.
“Stop! Mrs. Carroll, stop!”
She recognized the voice. Lily’s boyfriend was trying to sound commanding, but his call was really a plea.
She plunged into the snow and in between breaths she heard screaming coming from the woods. The light was fading fast in the woods. She had to get there while she could still see.
“Help me!” she demanded over her shoulder.
Lily’s boyfriend was still standing there next to his vehicle. Steam was coming off the hood of the thing and the lights were spinning and flashing, but he was just standing there.
“Come on, damn you,” she said.
She turned back towards the quarry and waded into the deep snow.
“Ma’am? Ma’am!”
Zinnia wished he would s
hut up. There had been a scream from over the little rise, she was sure of it. Straining to hear over her own panting and the sound of shouting from behind her, Zinnia was also desperately trying to remember how the pond was oriented. She and Rose never approached from the road, and she had spent so many years trying to forget that quarry pond.
Lily’s boyfriend finally stopped yelling and a kid’s panicked voice cut through the air.
“Pull him out! Pull him out!”
Zinnia couldn’t tell if it was Jessie’s voice. The screaming was so frantic that it could have been anyone. The cop must have heard it too, because he was no longer concerned with Zinnia. He ran right by her. With his legs pumping and stumbling through the drifts he all but threw himself over the slight rise that separated her from the drop-off down to the pond. By the time she clawed her way up, she saw him tumbling down the other side.
There were two boys down on the ice. They were laying flat and trying to pull some limp form from a jagged circle of open water.
Lily’s boyfriend got to his feet and skidded towards them across the ice. They looked at him with faces frozen by shock.
Zinnia began to pick her way down the slope to the ice. She knew that she had to be careful—it was likely that the boys and the police officer were all going to take a plunge soon and she would have to pull them all out.
The cop slipped and his arms went up as he fell. He landed right on his ass and the ice responded with a rifle shot crack. One of the boys—Zinnia couldn’t remember his name, but she recognized him as Jessie’s friend—began to push himself back, away from the hole. She wanted to scream at him to stay put, but it was too late. As soon as he got to his knees, the ice began to crumble underneath him.
Lily’s boyfriend found some sense as soon as he heard the ice crack. He splayed himself out, distributing his weight. With one hand, he grabbed the limp form bobbing in the water. With his other, he grabbed the boy who was still trying to scramble away from the breaking ice. The third boy grabbed the officer’s arm.
Zinnia saw her opportunity. She was still at the edge of the ice, and it felt firm beneath her. Dropping to her knees, she flattened herself out and reached until she could grab the black pant leg of the police uniform. His foot jerked away.
“Damnit, I’m trying to pull you!” Zinnia screamed.
He held still when she grabbed him again.
Zinnia pulled, inching the whole pack of them backwards while she prayed for strength. When she got her second hand around his ankle, she really pulled. The ice went out from under one of the boys. He screamed and gasped as he plunged in and clawed his way up the officer’s arm.
Lily’s boyfriend kept his wits and didn’t fight against the kid. He stayed perfectly still, allowing the kid to rip and pull at his uniform jacket as Zinnia pulled on his leg. Her arms burned with the effort and she grunted with each tug. One kid was coughing, the other was crying. The third, her own son, was terrifyingly silent.
She pulled until she got a hand on his belt. Zinnia was careful to avoid pulling on the gun holster. The kid who was half wet managed to get his feet to solid ground and he was struggling towards the bank.
“No!” She said, catching his eye with her glare. “You pull too, damn it.”
The kid turned and pulled halfheartedly at the other leg of the officer. Soon, the other kid found the edge of the pond and he turned to help. The three of them were pulling on the police officer who was gripping the limp shape that floated in the water.
“Hold on! Hold on,” Lily’s boyfriend said in his cop voice. With a grunt, he heaved and pulled until Jessie’s blue face emerged from the water. Once he had Jessie up on the ice, he didn’t need their help anymore. He lifted Jessie and crouched down to sling his body up and over his shoulder.
Zinnia was paralyzed by the sight.
When she was a kid, she and her sister had watched from the trees while firemen pulled a different corpse from the water. This time, the limp body had her heart in it. Her will to live was frozen inside that blue skin. She rose to her feet and followed silently as Lily’s boyfriend carried her son through the snow.
His name came to her in a flash—Jim Saunders. Before that day, she had formed no opinion of her own about him, so she had just accepted Reynold’s opinion. He thought that Officer Saunders was immature and possibly a bully. Zinnia would set Reynold straight the next time she saw him. Officer Saunders was a hero.
REYNOLD
“REY? PHONE CALL,” MARY yelled. The intercom had been fixed for months, but Mary still preferred to yell. She always claimed the office was too quiet since they didn’t let her listen to the radio anymore.
“Rey?”
“Okay!” he yelled back.
He picked up the phone and pressed the flashing button. It went solid and the line clicked.
“Dunn’s flooring, how can I help you?” he asked.
There was nothing but panting on the other end. Then, around the edges of the breathing, he heard a little vibration—a wisp of color.
“Zinnia? Honey?”
“Oh, Reynold, thank god,” she said. “I need you.”
“Slow down. Where are you?”
Her reply was more panting than words. “I’m at Pleasant Hill. I need you, but not here. We’re going to be okay here.”
“The hospital? Honey, what’s going on? Catch your breath.”
“Reynold, listen. Go home. If Eric’s not there, go to the cemetery. He’ll need you.”
“For what?”
“Just go. When you’re done with Eric, bring him to Pleasant Hill Hospital. Jessie is going to be fine, but he has some frostbite.”
“Frostbite? What?”
“Reynold—go home. Help Eric.”
The line clicked and then buzzed with a dial tone. His mouth hung open and he stared at it.
“Rey? Hang it up,” Mary yelled.
With a numb hand, he put the receiver back in the cradle. A moment later, the dam burst and his legs carried him forward. With a quick explanation, he grabbed his keys and jacket and ran for the car. It was a quick trip home. He had to keep reminding himself to not head for the bridge that would take him over to the hospital. Zinnia was solid in a crisis—she would have that hospital on lockdown. Still, it killed him to know that Jessie was there for some reason and not be able to go find out why.
Instead, he obeyed her orders and turned left on Wilson Avenue on a hunch. It was the back way to their house—perhaps a little slower, but it would take him by the cemetery.
His foot stabbed the brake automatically when he recognized the familiar face of a man walking up the sidewalk. It was Brett—Lily’s old boyfriend. If he had time to spare, he might be tempted to roll down his window to remind Brett that it wasn’t a good idea for him to show his face in their neighborhood. If Zinnia saw him, he would be in deep shit.
Reynold didn’t make it all the way home. Rounding the corner with the stone wall on his right, he glanced left at the cemetery. Beyond the sloping hill, down near the oak tree, he saw a some people who looked to be having a tussle in the road. This time, his foot didn’t just stab the brake, it stomped on it. One of the people was his nephew, Eric.
A car had come up behind him. It honked its horn at the sudden stop and he put on his blinker. As soon as the car veered around him, he doubled back to park along the road and jumped out. Dressed for work, he didn’t even have any gloves. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he jogged down the hill to find out what Eric was doing sitting in the road, holding a…
Reynold stopped short, mistrusting his own eyes.
Eric was sitting there with his legs out to the sides and holding onto the leg of a man in formal wear. Nearby, another person was standing with hunched shoulders, looking like they would rather be anywhere else on the planet.
Reynold stalked forward, gaining speed with each stride.
“Eric?” he called. His nephew spared him a glance. The other person turned around.
“Mr. Carroll, t
hank god you’re here,” she said.
“Nicky, right?”
“Yeah.”
They were several paces away from the wrestling match. The old man in the suit was holding onto the snow with one hand and reaching towards Eric with the other. He was huffing and puffing with effort. Eric seemed to be maintaining a grip on the man’s leg pretty easily.
“What the fuck is going on? Zinnia said he needed my help.”
“Yes,” Nicky said. “She went to check on Jessie. There was some suggestion that he was in trouble.”
“He’s in the hospital. She says he’s okay. What is he doing?” Reynold asked, pointing at Eric. If it had been any other pair of people in a wrestling match in the street, Reynold figured he would automatically move to break it up. But he trusted Eric implicitly, and there was something decidedly untrustworthy about the old man.
“He has information about Wendell. He keeps claiming that he’s going to tell us, but then he just stalls. We’ve been trying forever. If Eric lets him go, he’ll disappear into that tree somehow,” she said.
Reynold looked from her, to the old man, and then to the tree.
“What the fuck,” Reynold said. He approached slowly. “You know something about Wendell?”
Pieces of conversations were beginning to click together in his head. The way he remembered it, the things that Zinnia had said were born of desperation and delusion. Normally so logical, his wife had finally cracked under the pressure that she had put on herself. But here, right in front of him, was proof that something truly inexplicable was going on.
The old man reached towards him and Reynold approached. The man might think that Reynold was going to help him up, but he was mistaken. Reynold had no plans to help anyone until he found out if the man knew something about Wendell.
“Don’t touch him!” Eric shouted as Reynold got closer.
Reynold stopped.
“You know something about Wendell?”
The old man stopped reaching. Absurdly, he used his free hand to brush the front of his suit jacket, like that would make a difference. He was lying in the road in sand, salt, snow, and mud, but brushing the front of his jacket off was somehow supposed to make him presentable?
