Fountain Dead

by Theresa Braun

  Her knowledge of where the object hid and where it’d resided had him on edge. Had the message implied the glass must’ve been comparable to a film projector, sending the spirit’s manifestation to him? He didn’t need to endure this tutelage more than once. Point taken.

  Mark fled the room and grabbed a towel from the linen closet. Taking a shower was the only remedy he could come up with to wash away how dirty he felt about what had just happened.

  January 1862

  At her vanity, the brush quaked in Emma’s hand. The mirror seemed to vibrate, but her whole body quivered. She flinched at the turn of the doorknob.

  Jonathan slipped into the room, his expression apologetic.

  Her blood pressure leveled at the sight of him.

  She discarded the brush and bunched her shawl over her nightgown. After spinning around on the bench, she managed a welcoming smile. “Something on your mind?” she murmured, swallowing her need to divulge what weighed on hers.

  He stepped apprehensively forward, speaking in a hush once he halted mere inches from her. “I spied in on her from outside the window.”

  Leaning forward, Emma basked in the caress of his breath, which felt like tiny feathers. The room steadied around her. “Is she all right? What did you see?”

  “Only her feet. And she ain’t movin’.” He sat across from her on the edge of the bed. “I tapped, hopin’ she’d stir.” His head shook slowly.

  “She’s most likely drugged.” Emma clasped his hands.

  “We can’t bet on that.”

  Regretfully, neither of them had been a gambling success thus far. “Fortune needs to shift her favor, and swiftly, or we’re all doomed.”

  Searching her eyes, Jonathan pulled her hands to his lips, kissing her fingers. “What’s happened? Tell me.”

  “Papa’s sending me for medical equipment. I leave tomorrow.”

  “Since when?” He tempered the volume of his voice. “And when were you gonna tell me?”

  “It’s as much of a shock to me. I was going to tell you tonight—after my nerves settled. Look at me. I can’t stop shaking.” The shawl slid from her shoulders, and she tugged it back up. It wasn’t so much the trip that troubled her, but Papa’s contempt. His evaporating fatherly instinct signaled his shedding humanity.

  “That bastard’s tryin’ to kill ya, ain’t he? It’s the middle of goddam winter.”

  Emma didn’t respond, but that’d been her suspicion. You don’t dispatch your only daughter this time of year—and unescorted, to boot. Her father’s designs were far from noble. What lengths would he go to destroy her upon homecoming?

  “Why ain’t he sendin’ me?” He rose to his feet. “I’ll right ask him myself this minute.”

  “Shh—” Emma sprung up, listening for any sign of Papa in the adjacent bedroom, but didn’t identify any. “He’s keeping you here under the guise of needing to be near your wife. And your chores. As for me, he and Sasha can care for the patients for a couple of days. This is all in his own words. It’s decreed.”

  Although he didn’t vocalize his uncertainty of her return, Emma read it in his eyes.

  “How far?” His arms enfolded around her.

  “Only a few towns over.” She touched her nose to his. “I can handle this. It’s the future that terrifies me.”

  “How far you willin’ to go to leave here?” His hands slid to the small of her back, and she desired nothing more than to end this conversation by putting her lips to his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t ya see? You gotta talk to the medicine man. Our plan’s fallen to you now.”

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  “I’ll teach you some words—just a few. An’ I’ll jot ‘em down for ya. Then I’ll write up a letter. It’ll detail what we spoke on. All ya have to do is hand it over. I can draw up a map to where the tribe’s hidin’ out.”

  Emma’s brow scrunched. His knowledge of Indian ways and their language seemed to go deeper than what a trapper might’ve gathered.

  “I’ve been pokin’ around. Ain’t sure ‘bout it, but it’s all we got.”

  “You’re sending me out on a hunch?” Did he want to get rid of her too? Or was this just her insecurity ruling her mind?

  Jonathan crouched, taking her face in his hands. “I’ve seen ya in action. Ya got what it takes to pull this off. I know it.”

  Instead of tensing in resistance to his proposal, invigoration filled Emma’s body as if this was meant to be. Her being a lone woman on this mission might minimize any Indian hostility. Possibly, they’d be more likely to find her message credible. One woman advocating the welfare of another. Intuition and spunk would be her guide. And Jonathan’s prayers on her behalf would protect the mission.

  “You make it seem simpler than it is.” Insecurity taunted her again. Maybe she was being incredibly foolish.

  The stairs outside the door creaked. A shadow paused in the hallway.

  Emma’s blood pressure shot back up. Had Papa overheard any of their conversation?

  Behind her eyes throbbed as she expected a knock. An opening of the door. A word. Something. The flame in the bedside lamp flickered.

  Jonathan appeared rigid, like he prepared to dive out of sight.

  The shadow moved from under the door. Footfall retreated down the hall and into the next room. His door slamming sent a tremor of doubt through Emma’s veins.

  Then her will reappeared, compelling her to go all-in to deliver the message to Zyanya’s father. Her chips resided in the middle of that metaphorical poker table, where Jonathan’s were already. This was a windfall they’d have to score. Lives depended on it.

  Sighing, Emma eased into Jonathan’s arms, which subdued the tempest inside of her. She glanced up into his eyes, still curious about how he’d learned Dakotan. It didn’t feel like the occasion to solicit the answer, even though she aspired to hear all of his stories. However, they’d gain all the time in the world once they left this house. Maybe her acceptance letter from the school in Colorado she’d applied to would arrive in her absence.

  “I’ll do it,” she whispered, tiptoeing to the door.

  As she braced herself for the click of the key in the lock, the wood in the stove crackled, masking the sound. Perhaps fortune conspired in their favor after all, fully aware tonight solidified their future together. Not only was she entrusting him with her heart, but with the meanings of the words he’d be imparting to her, and the contents of the correspondence he’d be penning. Playing her for a fool to execute his own agenda was a nearly effortless deception. But not one ounce of her being accused him of such treachery.

  Jonathan turned down the light of the lamp, but the moon’s faint glow illumined the room.

  They climbed onto the opposing sides of the bed, converging in the middle.

  “When do you plan to tutor me?” Emma whispered, sensing something rock hard prodding her thigh.

  “That can wait ‘til morn.” He smiled, fishing the pipe from his pants and stowing it under a pillow.

  Pressing her lips together, she suppressed a titter.

  The mood shifted as he traced the side of her face as though he might never see her again.

  Once he kissed her, she surrendered to the present. The features of the room muddled like paint washing away. Her own heartbeat drowned out any other sensory details. His touch encapsulated her from what the impending daybreak dragged along at its back. She bottled all of her fears of not returning from her trip, of being separated from him forever. He was here now, and she wreaked all of her love upon his body. Just in case.

  Summer 1988

  If Mark didn’t get some time away from the house, he was liable to go certifiably nuts.

  Rejoicing that he’d had the foresight to make plans with Hexx, Mark told Mom he wanted to make his maiden voyage to the public library. Her bloodshot eyes bore dark circles around them, likely the reason she didn’t guilt him into staying home, thus releasing him from an unspok
en familial responsibility to commiserate. Tausha, however, was a prisoner of bedrest, not feeling well after being trapped in the vault.

  Every imaginable emotion stormed inside of him. As if it wasn’t hard enough being an adolescent, he was about to short circuit. With some distance from home, maybe some of what was occurring might make sense. He’d welcome any iota of sense. Something. Anything.

  Once Mark arrived, the dinky library branch was a smidge larger than expected, although the shelves didn’t tempt him to skim their titles. He lounged in a semi-comfy chair for a couple of hours, reading another chunk of Andrew Jackson’s life, until his butt numbed. It amused him he’d finished a salacious chapter on the start of their scandalous marriage, often called bigamous. Here Mark was cheating on one library with another’s book. His sick mind joked that by being with him his ghost girlfriend was also apparently cheating on this Jonathan guy. Did that make any sense? So far, the distance from the house wasn’t igniting any clarity. He drowned himself in another Jackson chapter, which was about all Mark’s sore butt could withstand.

  Where was Hexx? Oddly, the kid was like the brother Mark never had. Sure, Tausha sometimes proved to be the next best thing. But not really.

  Mark stretched his legs. Once he sipped from the water fountain and turned to wander around, he bumped into someone. “Watch it—” he finished the statement with loser in his mind.

  “Me? You watch it.” Hexx chuckled, leaning to get a closer look at Mark’s book.

  Wiping the water from his lips, Mark wasn’t sure of what to say. Social finesse evaded him as usual. Flying under the radar and back home was no longer an option. He felt it. Damned if you stay home, damned if you are seen in public. Not that he couldn’t use a friendly face.

  “Nerd much? That’s your summer reading?”

  “Yeah, self-imposed, I guess you could say.” Mark glanced at the kid’s lumpy version of a ponytail, probably three days unwashed, and a Star Wars T-shirt. “Really, dude? You should talk.” Most teenagers wanted to avoid the nerd label, but it didn’t really phase Mark. People were going to call you what they wanted, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass most of the time.

  “Just messing with you. How long you been here?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Too long, I take it.”

  Mark pinched two fingers together and squinted his eyes.

  “Let’s skedaddle, then.”

  The sidewalk was fresh and smooth where the library steps connected, a few birds chirped, and a fly did a twice-around over their heads.

  “Actually, I don’t think there’s anyone my gran hates more than Jackson. I had to pay for one of my history books one year. I’d left the page open to him after studying for a test. At breakfast the next morning, I saw that she’d scribbled over the passages about the Indian Removal Act and the parts saying how he was against abolition. Funny how the summary almost made him seem like a hero, which is probably what got her so riled up. Damn racist sonofabitch.”

  “Yeah, my teacher glossed over Jackson. This biography’s got all the nitty gritty, though.” Mark examined Hexx’s skin, thinking it was on the olive side, but the boy’s features didn’t scream any one particular ethnicity. Actually, going down the list, he might’ve been anything. Risking an offensive question, Mark went for it. “You part black?”

  Shaking his head, Hexx snickered. “No, but that don’t mean I can’t give a shit about rights, you know. It’s like saying you have to be a girl to care about what happens to girls. That’s bullshit.”

  “Point taken.” Mark felt the same. Everyone had a soul, but each wore different packaging. That’s all. And, equality wasn’t something that needed to be hoarded by one group, as if more for some meant less for others.

  A few minutes of comfortable silence passed.

  Hexx kept widening his step to avoid sidewalk cracks. “You wanna go another round at the alley?”

  “Um, sure. I’ll have to drop this off,” Mark swayed the biography into the air, “and pick up some dough. My turn to buy, right?”

  “Right-er-oo.”

  “That’s good.” He chuckled, amused by the verbal silliness. The lightness of this kid’s presence lifted Mark from the heaviness of being at home, which seemed to cling to him, hitching a permanent ride. It was a whole new gorilla on his back, suddenly unable to be ignored.

  Hexx balked slightly when they turned onto Mark’s driveway. “You live here?”

  “Um, yeah. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure. Cool beans.” His voice cracked a little, but whether from hormones or from unease wasn’t discernable. They hadn’t built enough of a rapport for Mark to joke about it. Hexx cleared his throat, slowing his pace.

  “What? Something I need to know?” Mark stepped backwards, waiting for the kid to catch up.

  “Nah, just stupid stories. People got nothing better to do around here than make shit up.”

  Hanging out might eventually lead to a spilling of this shit. He filed that away for future reference.

  “I’ll be right back.” Mark climbed onto the back porch and entered the kitchen, leaving Hexx sitting on the top step.

  The screen door clapped shut.

  “Mark? That you?” Dad called from the basement, his voice light-years away, but forceful and somewhat high-pitched.

  For a split second, Mark considered pretending he hadn’t heard anything, but the alarm in his father’s voice sent an anxious pang into his stomach. “Yeah?”

  “Can you come down here?”

  Not now. Mark huffed and set his book down on the kitchen table, before dragging himself downstairs.

  Through the cracked window, a whistling of the Indiana Jones theme song reached Mark’s ears. At least Hexx was amusing himself.

  Mark held his breath at the sight of the vault door, a ray of light streaming out from inside.

  A rush of adrenaline pushed Mark to the opening. Taking a deep breath, he stepped to the interior. The large LED flashlight aimed a spotlight at the rear side of the chamber where his father crouched over something long, shrouded in a drop cloth.

  “Get a look of this.” When Dad’s head turned, his eyes glinted with excitement.

  As Mark inched closer, his arms stiff as 2x4s, he inspected the area where his father’s hand had pulled back a portion of the covering. A petite skeleton lay there, the skull down to the pelvic bones exposed. Craning over his father, Mark exclaimed, “What the fu—?” He cupped his palm over his mouth before finishing the expletive.

  “Right? Can you believe it?”

  “Tausha was in here with that thing?” A surge of guilt coursed through Mark for being glad it hadn’t been him. Did she know she’d been locked up with a corpse? Did it speak to her in the dark? Was this the source of the voice his sister had heard in her bedroom? Most importantly, there was the question of how the skeleton got there in the first place.

  “It’s just a person, son.”

  “Yeah, a dead person.” Mark’s whole body shivered.

  “Death is a part of life. It’s nothing to be scared of.”

  “Well, Tausha almost died.” Mark crossed his arms, staring at the cranium, worn with age, perhaps dirt granules or hints of mold clinging to the crevices. Before blinking, Mark registered a mass of maggots blanketing the bones. Bile crept into his throat. He sighed, realizing the hallucination had waned.

  “Don’t exaggerate. We would’ve gotten her out one way or another. You know that.”

  “What if she’d had a heart attack or something?”

  “Let’s count our blessings.” Dad reached over and slapped his son’s leg a few times. “Plus, your sister’s a tough cookie.”

  With Tausha alive, though not so well, but on the mend, it was like Mark’s father was grateful she’d led him to this archeological mystery to solve. A new biological frontier had fallen into his lap; the vault had been sealed for all this time, and only now had it opened. Had a specter in the house been biding its time until Mark
and his family moved in? Maybe it chose Dad to piece together the history. “How long do you think it’s been here?” Mark asked, a light bulb switching on over his head. This had to be who the ghost referred to—the one not rescued in time.

  “It’s old, that’s for sure.” Dad’s smile stretched wide. “From what I can tell, looks female.” He pointed at the hips. “Not quite twenty years of age, based on the clavicle. You see how it’s almost fully formed?”

  “Huh?” Mark’s eyes darted in confusion at his father’s treating him like a colleague, while wallowing in the regretful on behalf of what this woman might’ve experienced. Did she suffocate in here?

  “Yeah, well.” He chuckled, aware of his mistake at thinking his son had any idea what he was talking about. “I’ll take some measurements, but it seems the face is on the wider, shorter side. The cranial vault’s broad. Check out those teeth—all perfectly intact. God, I can’t wait to test some of her microbes and bacteria.”

  What a whacko thing to be enthusiastic about, especially if what happened in this house was criminal.

  Unable to focus fully on his dad’s words, Mark’s skin broke into pins and needles. Had they found the girl he’d been kissing? Had she been talking about herself in the third person? He envisioned the sorrow in her eyes, the yearning for him. Had he misread what might’ve been a plea for help, as romantic sentiment? He didn’t think so, especially since she professed her love—to him, or to Jonathan. Either way, she’d been amorous. But there had to be a reason Tausha mumbled something about going down here, and a reason his father had been obsessed with cracking the safe. It all signified something.

  “You gonna take her to work?” Mark asked.

  “Oh, sure.” His hand socked his son’s shoulder. “Smart thinking. Hi, I’m new here. I thought I’d bring my buddy with me. Come on, McFly.” He grinned while his sarcasm contaminated the air.

  Mark frowned. When he remembered Hexx waiting for him, he lunged for the door. “You going to call the cops?” He’d seen enough late night horror to be aware of the fact that keeping a dead body came with criminal implications. And most definitely brought questions to one’s mental health. Only the gothic freaks at school were liable to deem having a skeleton in your house cool. Mark dashed any other hopes of making friends against these very walls.