Walking Through Needles

by Heather Levy

  Her mama was going to stay overnight at the Woodland farm to help care for Betty, the wife of Harold Woodland, who lived a few miles away from their farm. Betty was even older than Grandma Haylin, and she had suffered a stroke that left her right side all droopy and useless. Several of the women from church were taking turns feeding and bathing Betty for Harold, which her mom constantly told them was her Christian duty and they should do the same.

  Before she took off after Arrow’s birthday dinner, her mama caught her elbow as she washed the dishes. “Leave the front gate open tonight, Sammy.”

  “Why?”

  They always locked the gate to the property after someone stole some of their livestock.

  “Your daddy’s going out with some of the boys.”

  Sam stopped herself from saying Isaac wasn’t her daddy. She wasn’t sure what to call him now. She continued drying off a plate. “So, you think he’ll get drunk tonight?”

  “If Lloyd Fletcher’s with him, I’d say it’d be a miracle if he didn’t.” Her mama laughed. “Don’t need him crashing into the gate in the middle of the night.”

  “Who’s gonna crash into gates?”

  Isaac came up behind her mama and hugged her, his arms wrapped tight under her full breasts. He pushed her blond hair to the side and kissed her neck, his eyes on Sam as he did it. Her mama giggled when he pulled her around and kissed her on the mouth, longer and deeper than he usually did in front of others. Sam couldn’t help but think he was doing it to mess with her.

  A few days before, she had been sketching some of the goats playing in the field behind the barn as Isaac cut back the wild brush lining the property. He had taken off his sweat-soaked T-shirt, and she teased him, suggested he take off everything so she could try nude drawing and be a proper artist. He looked around first, then told her to come to him. The tone he used, like a teacher scolding a student, sent wild sparks in her head that spread down to her hips. She slowly walked over to him, and he took her ponytail in his hand, pulled it so hard she cried out and tears immediately sprang to her eyes. It was the first time he had hurt her since the time in the barn. Afterward, he told her she couldn’t handle him. It felt like a dismissal, like she failed a test.

  She watched as Isaac drew her mama into another embrace.

  “Mama says you’re going to get drunk and crash the truck tonight.”

  “I did not,” her mama said, her face flushed from Isaac’s attention.

  Isaac smiled at Sam. “I promise I’ll be good as sin.”

  “Oh, I just bet you will.” Her mama laughed more and poked Isaac’s side; he poked her back.

  Sam looked at the remaining dishes soaking in the sink, a rush of angry heat reddening her face and making her dizzy and confused. What did she care who Isaac kissed? She’d leave the gate closed and maybe his drunk ass would smash right into it, and then he’d stop grinning all the time.

  Her mama gave her a side hug, which she shrugged off. She gently tugged on Sam’s long braid, but Sam ignored her. When her mama left the kitchen, Isaac pressed up behind her, pulled on her braid too, much harder than her mama had. He kept pulling, but she refused to cry this time. “Don’t wait up, girlie.”

  Sam finished the dishes alone in the kitchen, Grandma Haylin settled in front of the living room TV to watch Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman and Touched by an Angel back-to-back until she would inevitably fall asleep in the recliner. Arrow had disappeared to his bedroom right after dinner.

  Sam had waited to give Arrow his birthday gift because she didn’t want anyone else to see it, especially Isaac. She stopped by her bedroom, then entered Arrow’s room.

  “Hey, don’t you ever knock?” He sat up in his bed.

  She quickly erased the hurt from her face. She almost turned around, but she had spent too long on his gift not to give it to him. She wanted him to see it and feel like an asshole for being rude to her.

  He saw what she was holding and stood up, his face brightening. “That my surprise?”

  “Maybe.” She moved it behind her back and he came up to her.

  “What is it?”

  He tried to look behind her back, but she swung around to dodge him.

  “Let me see it.”

  Sam thought of the fancy pocketknife Isaac had given to Arrow, the one Isaac made Arrow get from his bedroom to show everyone during dinner. It was like he was trying to prove he was a good father for giving his son a present. It was a beautiful knife. She thought of her own gift and it suddenly didn’t seem so great.

  “You’re going to hate it.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  She was too slow, and Arrow snatched it from her hands. She watched him remove the newspaper wrapping and hold up the wooden frame. He looked up at her, wonder on his face.

  “It’s me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, knowing her face was reddening.

  “I’m Prometheus, right?” He pointed to the drawing, to the palmed fire a young man held high to the stormy sky, an angry Zeus in the background.

  She nodded.

  His smile was as bright as the fire she took two hours painstakingly drawing with her colored pencils.

  “This is the best present I’ve ever had.”

  If that was true, it was the saddest thing Sam had ever heard. She did try her best to make it look good, though.

  He set the frame down by his dresser and hugged her. His door was closed, so she kissed him. It was always different kissing him when she knew they were safe from their parents catching them. She hated those times they had to be careful, their eyes never closed too long, their ears always listening for footsteps.

  Arrow grinned at her and he almost looked like Isaac, that devilish expression he had given her as he kissed her mama. “Wanna see what Grandma Haylin gave me?”

  “She gave you something?”

  She couldn’t imagine Grandma Haylin going out of her way to do anything for Arrow.

  He went to his sock drawer, dug around, and brought back a green foil packet, which he placed in her hand.

  Sam kneaded the packet, the snot-sliding material inside it, and threw it at Arrow.

  “Gross! She gave you condoms?”

  She had seen them floating around at school, some of the girls passing around flavored ones in the locker room as if they were pieces of gum. Grandma Haylin giving Arrow condoms was as believable as her giving him a million dollars.

  Arrow pulled her onto his bed with him, his hands floating down, pressing her closer. “Let’s try it.”

  “Go ahead. You and your pillow have at it and I’ll watch.”

  “I’m serious.” He glanced at his door, which didn’t have a lock like her own. “We’ll be quiet.”

  Sam pictured Grandma Haylin asleep in the living room, the TV glowing on her lined face.

  “Okay.”

  The condom, Sam decided, was disgusting. It was slimy, it smelled weird, and Arrow took forever putting it on. Sex didn’t feel any different to her, although she didn’t realize Arrow was done until he pulled out. When he suggested they start using them every time, she agreed it was a good idea, although she didn’t know how they could buy some without people in town talking. Arrow wasn’t always good about pulling out in time, and neither of them could afford the chance of pregnancy. She didn’t want to end up like Nancy Wallace, pregnant at seventeen, her full ride to Oklahoma State University a fading dream now.

  Sam left Arrow sleeping in his room. She saw the door to her grandma’s room was open and knew she was fast asleep in the living room, so she didn’t have to be super quiet sneaking back into her bedroom. She crawled under her covers and hugged her hands between her legs to warm them.

  It was late, but she couldn’t relax her body to fall asleep. Sometimes Arrow did things during sex that gave her relief, but not this time, and she felt like a rubber band stretched taut.

  She pulled her underwear off, found her ducky blanket at the bottom of her be
d and wound it around her neck. She tried, but none of the images she thought of helped her find the tickle.

  When she tightened the blanket around her neck more, she heard the stairs softly creaking. Grandma Haylin.

  Sam’s bedroom door opened, and she quickly yanked her covers up. It wasn’t her grandma standing in the doorway.

  “Arrow?” she whispered.

  No one answered.

  Her voice dribbled out a much quieter, “Isaac?”

  He shut the door, locked it. Sam couldn’t control the electric excitement coursing through her. He was really in her room and she was wide awake.

  He sat on her bed, and she smelled alcohol and earthy sweat coming from him, somewhere buried deep was the strange comfort of cloves.

  “Are you drunk?” she asked.

  “You didn’t leave the gate open.”

  She had forgotten all about the gate. “Sorry.”

  He reached out and touched the blanket still wrapped around her throat, and she wanted to disappear. “What’s this? Is this what you do?”

  She swallowed hard, too aware of her underwear on the floor. “Sometimes.”

  “It’s not the same, is it?” he said, his voice low.

  “No.”

  He tugged the blanket away from her neck. Every part of her body began to tingle.

  He pressed his mouth against her ear, his hand resting on her neck. “This is what you’ve wanted. Tell me.”

  She wanted so much for his hand to squeeze her throat she thought her body would ignite.

  She nodded.

  His fingers pressed hard into her neck and he kissed her. She moved her hand back under the covers to stir the growing tickle, but he squeezed her throat so hard her vision blackened. Then his hand was under the covers too, on her, and a pleasure spasm felt about to rip through her, but he stopped just before it did.

  It happened so fast, him pulling the covers back, exposing her naked waist to the cool air, and suddenly his head was between her legs, his stubble scratching her inner thighs before his teeth found flesh and bit down. She suppressed a scream. Then his mouth was there where he bit her, on the center of her, and she disappeared into a tickle that grew and exploded into wave after wave and she wanted it to go on forever it felt so good.

  She heard the clink of him undoing his belt buckle, and her body went cold. She tried to push up, but he leaned against her with his full weight, his legs pressing hers wider.

  “Isaac—”

  His hand squeezed her throat, cutting off her words.

  This was too much. She couldn’t do this. She clawed at his hand, and he pressed her neck harder until she saw stars.

  He put his mouth to her ear again. “Be still.”

  She pushed against him as hard as she could, her voice trapped under his fingers.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you make me. Be good.”

  She froze. His words were a knife wrapped in silk.

  “Better.” He caressed her face and kissed the tears on her cheek. “We’ll see how strong you are.”

  Chapter 19: Eric, 2009

  Eric pulled up to the 7-Eleven down the street from his next job, a kitchen backsplash replacement in Edmond that would take him most of the day. His stomach churned from how he had left Sam’s place, and it tightened with even more knots when he ignored her calls. He couldn’t eat, but he needed to at least get coffee into his system or he wouldn’t be able to function.

  He poured coffee from the pot he hoped was the freshest and placed a lid on the large foam cup. He was two people behind in line to pay when he saw the dark suit and stocky build of Detective Eastman sidle up beside him.

  “Mr. Walker,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Eric’s shoulder. “I’m going to need you to come with me.”

  Eric stared at him, unable to conceal the shock on his face. “But I—I’m on my way to work.”

  “Tell them you’ll be late.” He motioned to the foam cup. “Leave the coffee. There’s some at the station and it’s a damn sight better.”

  Eric went back to the coffee area and set his cup down. He looked over at the side exit where his truck sat outside. He thought about running for it, but what would be the point? He followed Detective Eastman out the front where he saw the black Dodge Charger waiting for him.

  “Are you arresting me, sir?”

  The detective smiled at him. “Would you like me to?”

  Eric glanced over at his truck. “If you’re not arresting me, why should I go with you?”

  “Well, I figured you’d want to do whatever possible to help the investigation. Help us find who killed your father.”

  Eric reluctantly agreed to accompany the detective to the downtown Oklahoma City police station. He had asked if he could follow in his truck, but Detective Eastman said it’d better for them both if they took the Charger.

  “Why are we going to the Oklahoma City station?” Eric asked from the back seat on the drive down. He was sure the detective had to be in Blanchard’s jurisdiction where police found his father’s remains.

  “Other stations try to be accommodating.” Detective Eastman sped up more on the highway. “Why? You want to drive all the way out to Blanchard? I try to avoid the place myself.”

  “You don’t live there?”

  Eric saw the man grip the steering wheel tighter. “Not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “All the small-town talk, everybody knowing everyone else’s business. I had my fill of it.” The detective watched Eric in his rearview mirror, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening in his examination. “Or maybe it had its fill of me. Sound familiar?”

  It did, and Eric stayed quiet the rest of the way. He tried to focus on what questions the detective might ask him, but he gave up. Besides finding his father’s bones, he had no clue what evidence the police had collected. He figured they wouldn’t bring him in again unless he was a suspect. He took a few long inhalations to steady himself.

  They parked, and Detective Eastman checked them in at a front desk before taking Eric back to a small room. He felt like he’d just entered some shitty crime show on TV, something Grandma Haylin would’ve watched if she were alive. If Grandma Haylin saw him now, she’d probably tell him to keep his mouth shut and be polite. That’s what she always told him whenever Jeri dragged him to church services, and it worked for him then.

  Detective Eastman brought Eric a cup of coffee and sat across from him, a box marked with numbers between them. The detective stated both of their names and explained that the conversation was being videotaped for accuracy, and all Eric could think was that he probably looked like crap, unshaven, wearing yesterday’s clothes, maybe even smelling a little like Sam’s perfume after almost having sex with her.

  Eric stared into the cup of black coffee and thought of Sam’s eyes, how he was glad he couldn’t see them when he broke down crying next to her in her bed.

  “So, I’m not one for wasting time, Mr. Walker.” Detective Eastman wasn’t smiling, which Eric found much more unsettling than the man’s usual grin. “How your father died—it wasn’t pretty. His clothes found at the burial site and markings on his ribs show he was stabbed multiple times in the back, and he sustained a nasty blow to the back of his skull.”

  He tried to picture his father injured and dying and he couldn’t.

  “You have any ideas who might’ve done that to him?”

  Eric sat up in the metal seat and stared at the older man who looked so confident across from him. Confident Eric was his man.

  “No, sir. I don’t.”

  The detective leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

  “We searched the surrounding area for possible murder weapons.”

  Eric followed Detective Eastman’s eyes to the box.

  “Our search dogs led us to an interesting find. Found it in the barn loft on your stepmother’s old property.”

  Eric kept
his eyes on the box. He knew what was in it, and his empty stomach clenched.

  The detective took the box, opened the lid, and pulled out something sealed in a plastic bag. He set it in front of Eric within reach of his hands. He had to stop himself from touching the mother of pearl handle, from rushing to find a sink to scrub the blade clean.

  His old pocketknife, age-worn and a little rusted.

  “It was in a metal tin, hidden away. Has your father’s prints. Yours too.” Detective Eastman’s Cheshire smile was back. He stared at the knife in front of Eric like he could somehow summon the truth from it, but Eric knew all too well there was always more than one truth. “My daddy gave me a knife just like it. Your daddy gave you this, didn’t he?”

  For a moment, Eric saw the man’s smile wither. Then it was back again, even bigger.

  Eric pushed the knife back across the table. “No, this was my uncle’s and he left it to my dad. He let me use it sometimes.”

  The detective leaned forward with his hands spread on the table, his smile gone again. “Fifteen years—that’s how long it’d been since you’d seen your father. Is that right, Mr. Walker?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s a long time, but we have the best forensics team in the state testing for blood. I’m sure we’ll know more about this knife soon.”

  Eric closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He knew exactly what they’d find on that knife, and it wouldn’t be good. When he opened his eyes again, the detective looked much older under the dull florescent lights.

  “I think it’s time you start talking, Mr. Walker. I think it’s time you tell me about Meredith Lang.”

  Fear crawled up Eric’s spine and he shifted in his seat, straightening his left leg until the pain stopped throbbing down his calf muscle.

  “What does she have to do with my father’s murder?”

  The man reached across the table and took Eric’s untouched cup of coffee. He took a good, long drink. “They sure do know how to brew a cup here. Not the usual horse piss you find at most stations.”