“BLUE!!!” he yelled. But it was too late.
Pritchard Barton lifted the dagger and repeatedly stabbed at the dog that had him pinned to the ground. Blue yelped and fell away from him. Edgar fell to his hands and knees, crawling through the blackness to the place where he had heard the yelp. Closer and closer Edgar crawled, groping the air to find the dog.
Then he found him, a warm, fuzzy heap upon the rock-hard floor. Edgar ran his hand over the dog and felt the warm, wet flow of blood. “Blue,” he sobbed, “no.”
There was no sound from the dog, no movement. Blue had died.
“That bastard dog deserved it! It bit me, Shein! Your ugly dog bit me and I’m bleeding! Serves it right it’s dead!”
Edgar no longer felt the pain. The sound of Pritchard Barton became more and more faint until he heard nothing but a low hum and the pounding of his own heart. The beat of his heart grew louder in his head until it shook his body with every new beat. His legs and arms began to tingle with heat, and it was spreading. It had reached his stomach and made him nauseated. His body shook and the heat continued to rise in intensity. He was cold with sweat but burned inside like a fever. Then the heat reached his head, filling the blackness of his world. Edgar slowly rose to his feet and turned to where he knew Pritchard Barton was standing. Every muscle in his body was screaming for blood, as if each and every one had its own insatiable hunger. The drumming of his heart grew louder and louder in his head until it was deafening. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth until he was sure that they would shatter in his mouth. Then, the blackness of Edgar’s world exploded into a white rage.
Edgar screeched like a wild animal and leapt at Pritchard Barton, knocking him over and pinning him to the floor. Barton screamed but Edgar heard nothing. He balled his fists together and began pounding Barton’s face as hard as he could, feeling the warm gush of blood flow over his hands. But he did not stop. He scraped and dug at Barton’s eyes, ripping, tearing. He lunged his head at Barton’s throat and sunk his teeth in as far as he could. Biting down, he ripped Pritchard’s flesh away from him. The drumming in Edgar’s head never ceased and he continued to pound Barton with his fists. Edgar could feel the bones of Barton’s face cut into his hands, but the rage would not let him go. Edgar would never stop. There was nothing left in his world other than rage. He must annihilate Pritchard Barton.
The villagers heard the screams and were struck with horror. The screams of a boy would bring any good person running. These were not the screams of a boy in trouble and they were not the screams of Pritchard Barton. These were the screams of a feral beast, a demon, a fiend. The frightened villagers proceeded with caution as they came closer to the blacksmith’s shop. The screams continued, deep, guttural, and desperate. It took three grown men to pry Edgar off of what was left of Pritchard Barton. Edgar never stopped thrashing, his screams becoming more carnal with the rush of each new breath. The men carried Edgar, writhing in their arms, to the doctor, and only a few minutes after he had given Edgar a sedative did the boy calm down. Finally he gave up his fight, the white rage faded back to blackness, and Edgar faded into a deep sleep.
Chapter 12: Revelation
Joe sat on his porch in a rocking chair as he watched the wind whip across the field. The sun had been beaming down for a few hours and had evaporated all of the wetness left from the previous night. Joe packed his pipe full of tobacco and began to puff at it nervously. Rachael hadn’t come home. The boy hadn’t come home. The body was buried under the porch and anything that blood had gotten on had been burned. I’ve made a mess of this, thought Joe. I never should have spared that boy. I should’ve been stronger in my faith. The day was hot but the breeze made it nice. He wished that he could enjoy it. His mind wouldn’t stop.
Should he go looking for them? Should he wait? As Joe sat, pondering his regrets, a horse and rider came into view through a group of trees. Joe raised an eyebrow and made to stand, but thought better of it. If he seemed too eager to greet the rider, he may give away that something was amiss. So Joe continued rocking and smoking as the rider came nearer and nearer to the farm. It wasn’t odd that someone should come out to the farm, so Joe couldn’t be sure that this visit concerned his wife and son…or the blacksmith. However, the rider was traveling with some haste. Joe’s heart was in his throat, but he was disciplined enough not to let it show. He sat and smoked and waited.
As the horse reached the gate to Shein Farm, the rider quickly dismounted. Without even tethering his horse, the rider opened the gate and began walking quickly up to the porch where Joe sat.
“Rachael! Rachael!”
“Rachael ain’t here, Bob.”
The man coming quickly up to the porch was Bob Grennel, the town baker. When he heard Joe’s response, he dropped his shoulders and uttered a sigh of relief.
“Oh, Joe. Thank the Holy you’re here, Joe. It’s Edgar. He’s with Doc Aron. You’d better come, right away, and Rachael too, Joe. She should come too. Right away. Did I hear you say Rachael’s not here?”
Bob was speaking a million miles an hour. Obviously, something bad had happened to the boy. Now Joe’s worry couldn’t be avoided, and he jumped out of the rocking chair.
“Tell me what happened, Bob.” Joe’s eyes narrowed on Bob Grennel and Bob took a second to catch his breath.
“Calm down, Joe. Edgar is with the Doc, like I said. He is hurt bad, but he is alive.”
“Tell me what happened, Bob.” Joe’s eyes became more intense and Bob took a step back.
“Well, we don’t know exactly. But…well, maybe you should sit down to hear this, Joe.”
“I’m fine where I am,” Joe shot at Grennel.
“Okay, Joe. Okay, just calm down. Like I said, we don’t know exactly how it went down, but it seems your boy and Pritchard Barton were in a fight and…I…I don’t exactly know how to say this, Joe.” Grennel wiped a bit of perspiration from his brow. “Joe. Edgar killed Pritchard Barton.”
“What?” Joe was stunned.
“Yeah, we found the two boys in the blacksmith’s shop. Edgar was on top of Pritchard, pounding his fists into him. It took three of us to pry him off. Nobody really knows what happened.”
“All right, Bob,” Joe nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Wha-what about Rachael?”
“She ain’t here, Bob! Now let’s go!”
Joe ran to the barn and got his horse, sparing no time at all. Bob got back to his horse, eyes sunken from the day’s events, and fell once, before successfully mounting his horse. Both men rode as quickly as they could to Hammlin. He doesn’t know, thought Joe. He doesn’t know anything.
• • •
Joe walked into Doc Aron’s office and saw who he guessed was Edgar, lying on a cot. It was certainly a child, but there were bandages all around it’s head with the exception of a hole for the nose and a hole for the mouth. Joe didn’t see any other major injuries, but the child had cuts and scrapes all along it’s arms and legs and a few on the hands that had been stitched up. Joe tried to walk over to the bed, but he couldn’t. His body was frozen.
“I’m sorry that you have to see Edgar like this, Joe,” said Doc Aron as he walked into the room.
Joe started and Doc Aron pointed at a seat over by a desk. The Doc sat down behind the desk and Joe slowly sat down in the seat on the other side. Doc took out a pipe, not unlike the one Joe had been smoking just an hour ago, and lit it. Smoke filled the air as Doc began to speak, giving Joe the feeling that he was in a dream.
“I’ll start with the big stuff,” said Doc Aron. “Edgar’s alive and from what I can tell, barring any major infections, he should continue to live a long life. That’s the good news.” Doc took another long pull from his pipe. “The bad news, Joe, is that it seems as though Edgar was burned in the face, quite badly. So badly, that his eyes were burned as well. He’ll probably have scars on his face and, more than likely, he’ll never see again.”
Here Doc stopped and looked at Joe as if they we
re acting parts from a play that Doc had known for years, playing his part effortlessly and looking up at the other player as if to say, your line.
“How did it happen?” asked Joe.
“Well, we can only assume that there was a fight between your boy and the Barton boy. We also found a dead dog in the shop. Apparently stabbed with a dagger that we found close by. Also, we found a half-charred log outside of the hearth that we assume was the cause of your boy’s burns.”
Thinking swiftly, Joe interjected with a well-placed question. “Where was the blacksmith through all this? He must know something.”
“We were hoping you might be able to answer that question, Joe.” Joe’s heart jumped into his throat. “I don’t know if you were aware of the situation or not, but over the past month or so, the blacksmith has been doing extra work for your wife. We had hoped that you or she might know his whereabouts.”
After Joe realized that he wasn’t being accused of anything, he thought frantically for a plausible lie. He quickly realized that his wife would never give him away, as she was just as guilty of adultery as he was of murder. She had as much to lose as he did. The boy was the only witness left. At this point, Joe came up with a story and decided to roll the dice on the boy, hoping that the trauma Edgar had gone through had somehow stripped his memory of the blacksmith’s demise.
“Truth is Doc, and I’m a little embarrassed to say this, I don’t even know where my wife is. You see, I came back last night to an empty house. I was preparing myself to come into town, hoping to find her and Edgar, just before Bob Grennel showed up. Now, with my wife and the blacksmith gone and Edgar being found in his shop, well, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to think.”
The Doc shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joe. I know this must be real disturbing for you. All of it.”
A knock came at the door and a rather heavy man poked his head through the doorway.
“Hope I’m not interruptin’,” said Sheriff Daniels.
“Uh, no. Come on in, Sheriff,” said Doc Aron.
“I know you’re dealing with a lot right now, Joe,” the Sheriff said with a slightly bowed head. “But we need to talk.”
“Yes, Sheriff,” nodded Joe.
“I’ll give you gentlemen some space.” Doc Aron got up from his desk, and proceeded to leave the room.
“As you can imagine, Joe, Mrs. Barton is in an uproar. She wants full charges brought against Edgar and the blacksmith. There’s nothing you need to worry about though. We know the Barton boy was a bully to all the younger kids, and given what happened to the dog and to Edgar, it’s pretty clear that your boy was actin’ in defense. However, I do want to ask you some questions about the blacksmith. We have an obligation to find out what level of responsibility he has in all this.”
“Doc Aron just told me about the blacksmith, Sheriff. This was the first I had heard of him doing any work for Rachael. I’m afraid I don’t know the nature of his involvement with my family.”
“Would you happen to know his whereabouts?”
“No, Sir. I’m sorry. I returned just last night to an empty house and I still haven’t seen Rachael.”
The Sheriff looked surprised at this revelation and scratched his beard for a second.
“Joe, had you ever noticed, maybe some time in the past, the smith looking at Rachael in a funny way or maybe makin’ a pass at her?”
This was, so far, going exactly where Joe had hoped it might. “No… I mean… I don’t think… You don’t think they might have–”
“No. No. I’m not saying anything, Joe. I just think, at this point, it’s best for us to have all of the information that we can.” Sheriff Daniels shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was, all of a sudden, finding it hard to meet Joe in the eyes. “Well, I’ll let you know if we find anything else out, Joe. In the mean time, take care of that boy. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to stop by in a week or so and talk to both Edgar and Rachael. You know, after the boy’s healed up and ready to speak.”
“Of course, Sheriff. I’m sure Rachael will be back at the house by now. Probably just went off looking for Edgar and got a little lost in the woods. She’s a smart woman. I’m sure she’ll find her way back or I’ll find her on my way back.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Joe, and like I said, any information we gather, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“Thank you, Sheriff, Holy be.”
“Holy be, Joe.”
Joe stayed the night at the Village Inn. Doc Aron had said that he’d like Edgar to stay with him overnight before going home. Joe told Doc he wanted to stay close, in case Edgar’s condition changed.
In the morning, Doc told Joe that Edgar was fine to go home and gave Joe a salve for Edgar’s burns. Doc Aron made Joe swear to come back quickly if anything were amiss with the boy and Joe obliged. Edgar was awake now, for the first time since Joe had come to town, but his head was still wrapped in bandages. Joe walked over to him to let Edgar know that he was there.
“It’s me,” Joe said. “It’s your Papa.”
Edgar said nothing.
“He might not talk for a while, Joe,” piped Doc Aron. “Sometimes when children go through traumatic experiences, they stop talking for a few days. I wouldn’t let it bother you, just keep an eye on it.”
Joe thanked the Doc, brought Edgar outside and sat him up on the horse. He then mounted the horse himself and they headed for home.
• • •
Weeks went by and Rachael never returned to Shein Farm. Joe began to think that it was for the best. How would the two of them ever be able to get past the events of that night? He still loved her though, and hoped that she was all right. For weeks, Rachael was all that he could think about. Crying himself to sleep at night, yet unable to motivate himself to search for her. He knew that this was his punishment. He knew that he deserved everything that he got.
Edgar still wasn’t speaking. Sheriff Daniels had been by a few times, but he couldn’t get Edgar to even acknowledge his presence. At the end of the last visit, Sheriff Daniels declared the case closed and told Joe that he wouldn’t bother him any more. He said that Mrs. Barton would just have to deal with the fact that Edgar was blind and mute and that the blacksmith was never going to come back. The Sheriff didn’t say anything about Rachael. It was nothing any of the townspeople wanted to talk to Joe about. They all believed that Rachael had run off with the blacksmith and they felt great pity for Joe.
Doc Aron had been by as well. He had done multiple checkups on Edgar.
“I’m sorry, Joe. Blindness is all that afflicts the boy. He just doesn’t want to talk.”
Joe wasn’t sure that Doc was right about Edgar’s speech, but about a year later, Doc’s diagnosis was proven correct. One night, Joe woke to find Edgar standing at the end of his bed, screaming. The boy had scared Joe so badly that he was sure he was going to have a heart attack.
“Edgar!” Joe yelled over him. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
The boy stopped yelling but didn’t say a word. He just stood at the end of Joe’s bed, staring at him in the darkness. The vision chilled Joe to the bone. The scars across Edgar’s face had healed a dark red and brought an eerie emphasis to the milky-white orbs that were Edgar’s eyes. Joe had tried to make Edgar wear a cloth around his eyes, given the fact that they were useless. However, Joe had wanted Edgar to wear the cloth simply to avoid the boy’s gaze. Much to Joe’s dismay, Edgar would not keep it on, taking it off as soon as Joe put it on him. Joe shivered as he looked at Edgar standing there, looking like a corpse in the moonlight. Joe jumped out of bed and escorted Edgar back to his room.
Unfortunately, this did not spark the beginning of regular speech for Edgar. He continued to be silent with the exception of random outbursts every few months. On one occasion, Joe and Edgar had been seated at the dinner table in the middle of a meal, when suddenly, Edgar began to speak.
“I ate that boy,” he said and twirled his fork in his hand as th
e light glinted off of its edges.
“What?” said Joe, and slowly placed his own utensils back on the table.
“I tore his flesh away with my teeth and then I swallowed it.”
Joe put one hand to his head as the other reached for his whiskey glass. That was all he could do to cope now. Joe couldn’t leave the farm very often, due to Edgar’s blindness, leaving him unable to do his work. They were barely getting by, surviving mostly on charity from villagers who had taken pity on them. Joe felt trapped, so he escaped to the bottle. Soon, his actions became as random and wild as Edgar’s.
Joe would rant and rave and drink himself unconscious on most nights. Choosing to keep himself in rooms far away from the boy he called son. Sometimes, he would run outside and scream obscenities at the sky until he was hoarse in the throat. It never affected Edgar at all. He took the same place, every night after dinner, in the rocking chair out on the porch, staring out into the blackness of his world. He never changed his demeanor and never reacted to Joe’s tirades, with the exception of one particular night when Joe had decided to make the boy the target of his animosity.
Edgar was sitting in the rocking chair, staring out into nothingness, unaware of how red the sunset was this night, when Joe started in on him. Sweaty and slurring, Joe plopped a chair down on the porch next to Edgar and stared drunkenly into the boy’s eyes.
“What are you starin’ at?” Joe paused, so drunk that he couldn’t keep his eyes straight. “I said what are you starin’ at!” Joe screamed, inches from Edgar’s face, blasting him with spittle and noxious fumes. Edgar didn’t even flinch. “You can see him, can’t you? I bet he’s talkin’ to you right now, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. I knew it. He won’t talk to me anymore. I failed! I was not faithful…I was disobedient.” Joe stumbled to his feet, picked up the chair and heaved it off the porch. “Do you know why I failed, son? Do you know why he won’t talk to me anymore? Huh? It’s because I didn’t kill you.” A manic grin came over Joe’s face and he began laughing wildly. “Can you believe that? He wanted me to kill a baby! But now I know why. Now. Now I know why.” Joe sauntered over to Edgar and put his reeking face, inches from the boy’s. “Because he knew that you…would ruin…everything. You brought that blacksmith here and he ended up dead. You made your mother leave. You killed that poor Pritchard Barton. And look at me.” Joe stood to full height and took a few steps back, spinning around. “You ruined my life!” Joe stumbled and fell onto the porch, then he began to cry. Lying on his back, he bawled like a child. “But that’s what I get, for not having enough faith in him. That’s what I get…you know, that was the last time he talked to me. That was it. After I brought you here, he never talked to me again. After that, I had to go find odd jobs in other villages so that your mother wouldn’t think less of me.” Joe stopped his crying and sat up. “But you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? Do. You. You don’t even know what I was. Well I’m gonna tell you. I’m gonna tell you everything. Whether you want to hear it or not.” Edgar hadn’t moved a muscle until this point, but now he turned and looked directly at Joe, his useless white orbs burrowing into the drunk. “It was he who used to talk to me, Edgar,” continued Joe. “The Holy himself. He would tell me to do things for him. It was easy at first. Little stuff…I think he was testing me…but then, he wanted me to kill…he would tell me who to kill and where to find them, and after I did it, I would find my pockets full of gold. I was an assassin for the Holy himself. And I never asked questions. Not once. Until you.” Then Joe started crying again. “I’m not your father…and Rachael wasn’t your mother. I killed your parents because the Holy told me to, and I was supposed to kill you, but I didn’t. I was too weak. I didn’t have enough faith in him, and now look at what’s happened.” Joe put his hands to his face and continued to sob. “You won’t even talk to me.”
Everflame: The Complete Series Page 11
