Bitter Sun

by Beth Lewis

  ‘It’s your dad who’s dirty,’ I said.

  ‘You’re damn right! But that doesn’t mean the dear old pastor’s shit smells any better.’

  ‘Can we just go?’ Jenny sighed.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said, folded my arms, planted my feet.

  Rudy stepped forward, closed the gap between us. ‘You won’t? You’re crazy, John. Why are you protecting him?’

  ‘Because he’s my friend and I know him. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. You saw him buy a box of car parts from an auto yard. Shit, better call in the Feds,’ my tone was changing, become cruel and hard, but I couldn’t stop, the words kept coming. ‘The only reason you think Pastor Jacobs is dirty is because he was buying those parts from your old man. If you took off your daddy’s-boy blinkers for a second maybe you’d see how fucked up that is and be after Bung-Eye’s blood.’

  Rudy’s face reddened. Fists tight. Jenny and Gloria tensed, tried to speak but I cut them off. I couldn’t stop. Everything I’d wanted to say over the last few days vomited up and out, hit the sidewalk with a hiss.

  ‘That bastard broke your arm and beat your ass on Christmas day,’ I shouted. ‘He grows Mary Jane by the ton behind those stacks of cars. You can smell it for a mile, think nobody knows that? He’s been in prison more times than I’ve had hot baths and you’re obsessed with a pastor? Can’t face the truth about your dear daddy? You love your asshole of a father that much that you’d try to take away mine? That’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Fuck—’

  I saw his fist too late.

  It cracked against my cheek and I stumbled back, more in shock than pain. Then the shock ebbed and an explosion tore through my face. I looked up at Rudy, shaking with rage, an animal in his eyes staring me down. Daring me to say something else. Gloria came to my side, took my arm to steady me, but Jenny didn’t. That hurt worse than the punch.

  Rudy, red-faced, pointed his finger. ‘Don’t you dare …’ but his voice had no power. It was a voice on the verge of tears and I realised what I’d done.

  I pulled back from Gloria and tried to look at my sister but she avoided my eyes. I saw the shame in her, mirroring my own.

  All the bile emptied out of me, left a burning nausea in my stomach.

  I turned, walked away. They didn’t follow and I was glad for it.

  The anger and shame sat inside me. It took shape and form and filled me up from the inside, wore me like a glove. When it moved, I moved but it wasn’t me, it was something else using my skin and bones and muscles. It took me across town. Took me close to the church.

  And there it was.

  Parked across the street, a block from where I stood. That goddamn grey Ford. Clear as day. That shitty paint job. Those dirty windows. The shadow of a driver.

  That’s it. Last straw. Dead camel.

  Steer clear, Frank had said, but I wasn’t myself. My cheek throbbed from Rudy’s fist, the pain surged into my head, into the back of my stinging, tearing eyes, made me see red. I was rage taken form and had no judgement. No fear.

  I stormed to the car; right to the window before my good sense had a chance to talk me out of it. I’d had enough. Enough of being followed. Being haunted. Being afraid of the sound of a rumbling engine on the wind. Being afraid of what it all meant. I didn’t care if it was Death himself behind the wheel, I’d have my say then punch his lights out.

  I came up on the driver’s side window from behind and banged on the glass. Up close, the grey paint job was rough, like they’d mixed sand into the base coat and left it. Nothing mystical. Nothing evil. Just shoddy work.

  What are you doing, Johnny? What good can come of this?

  Answers. Always better to face the monster.

  Something inside the car shifted, the movement, the sound, unmistakable. The door opened.

  Here we go. It’s just you and me, horseman.

  I balled my fists. Ready to take a swing. Ready to shout. Stop following me. Stop haunting me. I expected a glinting scythe growing out the door, bony hands on the wheel, a grinning skull. I expected smoke, or a ghost to scream and charge me.

  I took a step back as a man stepped out. Barely out of his teens, maybe six or seven years older than me. Not some demon, not some biblical Death stalking me, causing all kinds of trouble in town. He was a man, just like Frank said.

  Light brown hair flowed down past his ears, red-rimmed eyes and a look of guilt on him so deep his skin sunk around his cheeks. My rage dimmed but was still there, filling my body, overtaking my voice.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ I shouted.

  The man smiled, leant on his car and crossed his arms. Dirty blue jeans. A belt buckle with a horse’s head stamped in the metal. Red and blue check shirt open over a stained white vest, like everyone else in this town. He looked familiar and it unsettled me. Like I’d seen parts of his face before but couldn’t place where they came from.

  ‘My name is Jack,’ he said and his voice sounded strange, like I was hearing it as an echo. My ears wanted to pop but maybe that was just because of Rudy’s right hook. My heart, my head, my face throbbed in unison.

  Jack. JackJackJack. Who the fuck is Jack?

  ‘What do you want?’ I said. ‘Why have you been following me?’

  He lowered and splayed his hands, his movements too slow, like flowing oil. ‘Mary Ridley was my sister. You know why I’m following you.’

  I stepped back, stopped when I hit the wall of the boarded-up dress shop.

  ‘What do you want?’ I shouted. The street was empty. No one to see us or gossip or care.

  Jack sighed, took a step toward me. ‘Mary was all I had. Dad split, Ma died. Mary was my world, my sunshine.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with me?’

  ‘You found her,’ his voice seemed to throb, each word like the pulse in my ears, not quite clear, not quite real. ‘You know what happened to her. You know who did it.’

  Talons tightened around my bones. ‘No. No, I don’t.’

  He slowly scratched his cheek, deep with stubble. I could hear the rasp of it across the sidewalk. The echoes in his voice made my head ache.

  ‘You got a sister.’

  ‘You stay away from her.’

  Jack laughed and the sound ran through me like ice water.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ I asked. I had nothing. No information, no leads, just a name that this guy already knew and a hundred crazy accusations from my friends.

  ‘Last I saw my Mary she was getting into a sweet ride with a man from Larson.’

  A chill set in my bones.

  ‘What kind of ride?’ I asked but I knew the answer.

  ‘Brand new Dodge Challenger. Mary never came home again. She was a good girl, you know.’

  As he spoke, Jack’s eyes darkened, the whites clouded red, almost demonic against the sun.

  ‘You know who owns that car,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t.’ I knew I’d seen the car somewhere other than Bung-Eye’s yard but I still didn’t know where, and I wasn’t about to let that slip to a stranger.

  He stepped closer, his eyes boring into mine. I pictured his hand going for a gun in his belt, under that grimy shirt, tucked neatly against his skin. I slid sideways against the wall, planned an escape. Dash forward, surprise him, knock him off guard and sprint up toward the church, behind, up to Barks reservoir where cars couldn’t follow.

  ‘You’ll remember.’ Jack laughed again. A horrible, high-pitched sound.

  ‘There’s something rotten in this shitkicker town,’ he said and the echoes grew louder, further apart, the movements of his mouth didn’t match the sounds any more, the throb made my vision flicker in and out. ‘Can’t you feel it? You should get out of here. Take your sister because something is coming. Something real bad.’

  I’d felt it. The coming storm. I’d thought the pale car was the harbinger, the sign of darkness, Death’s own steed, but Jack was a man. A man trying to avenge his sister. What Jenny had said last year about Momma drinking too muc
h, and what might happen, spun in my head and coalesced into one terrible thought. I could be Jack one day. Jenny could be the body in the lake and me the man stalking the streets, looking for answers.

  I rushed away from him, my face and ears and jaw aching, my body sparking with electric rage. I looked back and Jack and his car were gone. Had I heard the engine? I must have. Anger blocked my ears, stopped me from hearing a truck rumble past the church. The anger ripped a handful of grass from the meadow. It kicked a peaceful anthill and sent the insects to war. It threw sharp stones into Barks reservoir and let me go at Fisher’s Point. The high crag over the reservoir where seniors tested themselves. Everyone knew there were rocks in the water, just under the surface. Jump right and you plunge down into deep, cool water. Jump wrong and you break your leg, hit your head, drown screaming. The anger left me there, like it had run me right to the edge and fled before I fell.

  I stared out across the water and the fields beyond. The clouds had cleared and the sun blistered the sky. The smoke from the Easton mill hung there still, grey-white now instead of black, and a hawk hovered over the empty beach. The world felt still for the first time in weeks. Larson felt like Larson. Jack Ridley’s dark words of something wrong, something rotten, didn’t feel right up here. If I tried, I could imagine that smoke as nothing but storm clouds, rolling in and rolling out again.

  I found a flat rock and settled down in the sun. I hadn’t realised how cold I was until then. My skin sucked in the heat and warmed the guilt. Maybe I could have helped Jack but I didn’t know anything more than him. All I could have done was get his hopes up, maybe send him loaded and cocked in the wrong direction. I couldn’t stand the thought of another death. Another body.

  A weight lifted off me, then dropped back down when I thought of Rudy. I shouldn’t have said those things to him. I was out of line but then so was he. We’d both said our piece, me with harsh words, him with a right hook. I forgave Rudy’s fist and his doggedness, but when my mind turned to Jenny, I couldn’t forgive. She was meant to be my back-up, my armour against the world as I was hers. But she just stood there. Watched him hit me and didn’t even gasp, didn’t cry out, didn’t say, ‘Johnny! Are you okay?’ She’d just watched, with that horrible, Momma-smile in the corner of her mouth.

  I think I cried. I remember hot eyes and the taste of salt. I stayed on Fisher’s Point for hours. Didn’t notice my hunger or thirst. Didn’t notice the sun burning my skin and moving through the sky, sinking in the west. Didn’t care much for any of it. I thought about jumping once or twice, testing my own courage and hoping for the rocks.

  ‘John?’ a sweet voice from the path behind me.

  My shell cracked, light spilled in.

  ‘That got out of hand,’ Gloria said and sat down beside me on the flat rock. ‘Rudy went to Samuels. We went together, the three of us.’

  I looked at her then, flame hair catching the last of the sun, eyes on the water far below.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘What you’d expect,’ she said, shook her head. ‘Samuels laughed us out of there.’

  ‘Sorry to hear it.’ I looked away, to the drop, and felt her smile.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘Do you really think Pastor Jacobs did something to Mary Ridley?’ I asked.

  Gloria slid her arm through mine and took my hand. At her touch, a sense of calm rushed through my body like a chemical. It was that moment, that second, I realised I might love her.

  ‘I did for a while,’ she said. ‘But you’re the one who sees him every week. If anyone knows whether the pastor has a hidden dark side, it’s you. You trust him and, well, I trust you.’

  I squeezed Gloria’s hand. You trust me. A sudden surge of heat from my stomach went up my chest, neck, into my face. I felt it push up into my eyes. They wanted to look at her, take in all that beauty and see her speak those words all over again. What a feeling that was, to be trusted, I mean really trusted, by another person.

  I kissed her cheek and said, ‘Thank you.’

  Then she kissed me properly and everything felt good again.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to do the Fisher jump,’ she said.

  ‘Why don’t you?’

  She tossed a tiny stone over the edge and listened for the splash. She laughed. ‘I don’t want to die just yet.’

  We were quiet for a while, heads together, watching the water. A fish snatched an insect from the surface, sent silent ripples over the lake. I realised how glad I was it was her who found me. Not Rudy, he would make a joke about the fight and make me feel stupid or try to push me off the Point. Jenny would judge me, make me feel useless, weak. It had to be Gloria. I still didn’t understand why she liked me, why she could look at me and see something other people couldn’t or didn’t want to.

  ‘How did you know I’d be here?’ I said but I wanted to ask, why did you come here? Why do you care?

  She smiled, looked down at her hands. ‘Wild guess. It’s nearly nine, you know. Rudy and Jenny went home. When you weren’t there, Jenny called me. She’s worried about you.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said.

  But I did. No I didn’t. She hurt me. I’ll hurt her back.

  ‘If you don’t want to go home you can always stay at mine,’ Gloria said but her voice faltered.

  ‘What about Mandy? Your parents?’

  ‘Mandy has been useless since the mill, she’s been at that roadhouse bar every night. I think she had a thing for Mr Easton. Mother is visiting her sister in Indianapolis and my dad is so distracted and busy with work these days I don’t think he’d notice.’

  I thought for a moment. Gloria’s house would be empty, mine would be full. Full of Eric’s rage, of Momma’s scorn, of Jenny’s sideways looks, cutting questions, that corner smile.

  ‘Okay,’ I said.

  Gloria stood, brushed the dirt from the back of her dress and reached out her hand to me. I took it and stood.

  Gloria pressed her lips together. ‘You should know. I told Rudy about us. He kind of already knew and kept badgering me about it so I finally gave in and told him. I don’t know if he’s told Jenny. I certainly haven’t. I guessed you’d want to tell her yourself and there’s a reason you haven’t.’

  ‘The way she looked at me earlier, I think she has a good idea. It doesn’t matter,’ I said and it didn’t. Larson had changed. People had died. A whole family had been destroyed, countless others ruined, by a single date some army guys pulled out of a barrel. The war didn’t just destroy some far-away country, it was destroying my town, my Larson, turning it from a lively safe golden home into a bitter blot on the map. What was the point in hiding something good and bright like Gloria in all that darkness?

  I went with Gloria back to her house. She snuck me in the back door and kept me hidden in the hall closet until she was sure nobody was home. Then she made me eggs and bacon. The eggs were too runny and the bacon not crispy like I like it but I didn’t mind.

  There was never silence with Gloria. Never a break in conversation that made me feel awkward or strange. We just talked. About school and lessons and Mary Ridley. She told me little Timmy Greer had tried to feel her up behind the bleachers last year and she’d punched him in the nose and kicked him in the balls. I told her next time I’d punch him for her but she didn’t need me to. How wonderful it felt not to be needed but to just be allowed to be.

  We picked over a jigsaw puzzle, a forest scene with a wolf howling on a rock. She found the edges and I made the wolf. We kissed a little. We laughed more.

  We fell asleep sometime around midnight in Gloria’s room. She was on her bed and I on the floor. She’d given me her pillow and a flowery pink blanket her grandma knitted. I’d never slept in a room with a girl who wasn’t Jenny. It was odd, new, exciting. I fell asleep smiling.

  I don’t know what woke me but I woke cold and shivering despite the warmth.

  I lay there, listening. Gloria breathed deeply in the bed but that wasn’t what woke
me. Something was alive in the house. There was no hollow emptiness any more. It was full, close, breathing.

  I tried to sleep but the three glasses of grape juice sloshing in my gut made me get up. As I edged onto the landing to find the bathroom, I heard the voices.

  Two men. In the hall at the foot of the stairs.

  My heart seized, turned to rock inside my chest.

  Their voices were muffled, trying to be quiet, but I recognised one as Mr Wakefield, Gloria’s father. I looked back at her bedroom door, thought about going back in, closing my eyes and pretending to sleep. Then I told myself how stupid I was. If I made a single noise, clicked the door too loudly, creaked a floorboard, I’d be caught in there and God knows what he’d do.

  My bladder ached but I couldn’t risk going to the bathroom. I was fixed to the spot, my toes rucking up the carpet.

  Then the other voice spoke, loud enough to hear and easy to recognise.

  ‘You said there would be no trace,’ Mayor Wills said. All-round snake in a cheap suit. Want to talk corruption in regional office? Wills is your poster boy. Beer gut bulging over his belt, blotchy red face. Darney’s a chip off the old dough ball, that’s for sure.

  The risk of making a noise was worth it then, to get a closer look, make sure it was really them and not my ears playing tricks. I dropped to my knees, shuffled to the edge of the landing until I could see them both. Gloria’s dad, tall, calm, with a thick black moustache and white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and the mayor, frantic and haggard, sweating through his shirt, exchanging harsh whispers.

  ‘There isn’t a trace. It was a year ago,’ Mr Wakefield said.

  ‘Then why is Samuels asking questions? He’s asking about Jacobs. He knows the girl’s name for Christ’s sake!’ the mayor spat. He was a mess, his hair stuck out in all directions, his face round and covered in stubble, sunken eyes.

  Then a footstep and a third voice. ‘Come now, Mr Mayor, you’re getting yourself all twisted up.’

  I knew that voice. The one from Frank’s trailer. The one full of threat and venom. I raised my head, stretched my neck to see over the edge of the landing, down into the hall. A man stood next to Wakefield. Small, bearded, built as if from stone, wearing a leather waistcoat covered in buttons. A feral dwarf, I thought, tattooed and missing teeth.