by Naomi Canale
I rarely see her cry and I feel stupid for not being able to say something clever or fitting for the moment. Dad’s always taught in his sermons that actions speak louder than words; I guess I’ve been raised to believe that—I’m at a loss for words and the only actions that feel right is to grab a hand. Life is intense lately. It’s like I’m watching bombs explode all around me and I’m too confused to know where to run.
Snow begins to fall as we pull up closer to the house. Small flakes quickly increase in size and start to stick. The wind lifts up a fresh layer on the front porch and carries it up into the air over yellow caution tape. Before I turn off the engine, I notice muddied tracks that reach farther than where her parents usually park their cars in the driveway—those must be from the emergency truck. The snow is already dusting the dirt mounds it left behind as if to cover any evidence of the evil that took place. Any remaining sun is now hiding behind the mountains.
Amy sits up and her seatbelt keeps her hostage. “There’s tape everywhere, wouldn’t it be tampering with evidence if we go in there? That could be capital punishment for all we know.”
I reach under Dad’s seat and pull out a silver maglite. “Let’s just walk around the house first.”
“Good idea,” she says as she releases the seat belt and buttons up her pea coat. It’s as if she has a sudden loss of fear.
Amy looks all business type New Yorker and no longer resembles a Goth. All her makeup is gone from tears, which just feels weird because I’ve seen her sleep with the stuff on. I pull my hoodie over my head and tighten the strings, probably appearing more criminal, but the cold is going to bite at my ears and I hate that, especially when nerves are already frayed.
As we walk pass the front porch I see the curtain sway like someone’s inside and they were checking to see who was at the front door. I grab onto Amy’s arm, pause, and turn the flashlight over the window—it dies out. I smack it. Damn, why does Dad always have to buy cheap batteries? No wonder some of my childhood toys never worked. “Did you see that?”
“What?” The crunch under her punk boots is silenced as she comes to a stop. “Was it Freddie? He’s always up on that ledge looking out. He must have jumped up there and back off when he saw us coming.”
“But if it’s a crime scene, why would the cat be in there?”
She holds my arm tighter as I slowly unhook the latch to the fence and try not to make any noise as I stuff the useless flashlight into my back pocket. The neighborhood watch do-gooders are probably on high alert. It would suck if the cops came out. There’s nothing in the backyard but old piles of bricks that were going to be a part of the big landscape project once upon a time, and mud. Between frozen patches of ground, there’s a periodic squish or squash from our steps as we move along. We keep walking around until we get to Lucky’s window.
Pale moonlight finally breaks through heavy clouds and I stand up on the air conditioner that sits right outside of Lucky’s room. I always hear the large fan moving in the summer when it’s being used. I think of the good times here and try to believe that when I look through this window all I’ll see is Lucky’s bed made with her stuffed animals strewn across it. My legs are stretched out long and I plank my body toward the house with my palms gripping onto siding. I nearly have to stand on tiptoes just to see inside. A curtain rod hangs horizontally in part of the window. I shift my palms up to the glass and peek inside, but my breath fogs up the view.
Amy tugs at the end of my coat. “Hurry, I think I hear someone coming.”
I wipe the fogged window clear with my sleeve and blink. I know exactly what I’m looking at but my mind refuses to register it. I’m in denial. I haven’t eaten, but my body suddenly assumes I’ve had something toxic—something that’s impossible to digest. A light shines on my cheek, and a deep voice booms toward my right ear. “Excuse me? Can I ask why you are at the scene of a crime?” The light’s now on Amy. “Amy James? Is that you?”
“Yes.” Her eyes are in full squint, trying to see who’s got the light in her face. The flashlight’s taken down. “Ryan Williams?”
Oh shit, it’s the cops. I’ve never seen the man, although I can’t really even see him right now, but the name’s familiar. He’s taken back and stands there decked out in full uniform. “What are you doing here? This is a crime scene.”
“I know, sorry, it’s just our friend’s house and no one could tell us what happened so we just wanted to see for ourselves.”
Wow, that was blatantly honest. Amy’s a better person than I am, I would have made up some lie that my friend was locked out and we just didn’t even “see” the caution tape. He motions the light toward the back of the yard. “Please walk back around and out to your car.”
I hop off the air conditioning unit and pick up the pace as Amy leads the way. “How do you know that guy?”
“My Mom knew him back in the day. Ever since Dad died, he’s been trying to get her to go out on a date with him.” She stops outside of the back slider door. “What did you see?”
I look at the slider and blink for a second trying to think of something easier to tell her, but the truth sputters out of me like an old motor boat. “It was just like my dream. I was looking at my dream.”
Now Amy’s looking at the slider too. “Shit. Come on.”
“Do you think he’s going to arrest us?”
“Fuck if I know, I guess it would only add the icing to the cake.”
We’re both sitting against Dad’s car as Mr. Ryan Williams retrieves a few things from inside his detective car. No wonder I didn’t see him when I drove up, I thought his crappy spy car was a neighbor’s. Wasn’t he supposed to stop us before we walked toward the scene? There’s a clipboard in his hand. Great, would he just give us a ticket already or lock us up in cuffs. It’s only been a minute, but it seems longer, especially because I know what’s in Lucky’s house and that ignorance is bliss thing is making me all the more unhinged. And our lie to Dad was that we were just getting fast food for dinner and I’m sure it’s been longer than that.
He walks up and slaps the clipboard against his thigh with a long sigh as if he forgot something. “Hurry up and get the hell out of here before my partner shows up.”
I don’t think twice. I get in my car and move off before Amy’s even finished putting her seatbelt on. Amy’s face is ghostly white, as if what I told her back there is just now sinking in. There’s an empty chill in the air, the kind that shivers all around you and leaves you feeling naked and left out in the cold to die alone. I keep a steady foot on the gas as we drive back to the hospital.
Chapter 12
Before You’re Gone
Red wags his tail at Dad’s feet when we walk through the front door. He’s still giving me the silent treatment. It sucks because I miss my best friend and the way he used to curl up with me in the middle of the night and share his winter coat. He’s been by my side ever since we brought him home. There is more than a tinge of sadness weighing on my heart that he doesn’t want to be around me anymore, there’s a deep need for his affection again, especially with everything going on.
Dad looks exhausted as he cracks the front door open to take Red outside to go to the bathroom. I start back toward the door. “I’ll take him out real quick. I think we could use the time together.”
“I’ll come with you.” Usually if I made an offer like that Dad would already be on the way to his room. But seeing how we just got back from seeing Lucky in the hospital, it’s obvious he’s worried.
The longer we stand out on the steps of our little porch shivering in the cold waiting for Red to finish sniffing every possible corner of the yard, the more awkward standing here with Dad feels. The awkwardness is probably just me because I’m guilty for almost getting arrested tonight for tampering with evidence. I try to let the thought go, just in case Dad has parental superpowers to read minds. Dad’s breathing gets heavy and he lets out a couple of huffs. He’s trying to say something, but before he can Red comes
barreling up the steps wanting to be let in. Even Red can’t handle it out here—it’s colder than a freezer.
When I’m done getting ready for bed and about to tuck myself away into my room for the night, Dad lightly grabs the sleeve of my sweater. “I love you.” He nods toward the front of door. “Promise you’ll be safe next time you go out.”
I haven’t given him a hug in a while and right now would probably be a good time. I squeeze my arms tightly around him. Relief settles into his chest, I can tell as it lowers from a big sigh as I stand here in his arms. I try to reassure him. “I’m just in the next room, I’ll be okay.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.”
“I know,” I say feeling the exact same way and respond with, “I’m sorry too.”
As he walks to his room, he turns around more times than I can count. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him glance back at me so many times; I give him a slow smile and wave. “I love you.”
“Love you more.”
Poor Dad, he’s like a sad puppy. Hopefully Mom will call soon and cheer him up. But I’m not sure that will even work after the truth comes out about the crime scene inside Lucky’s room. It’s going to cause everyone in this small town to fasten their deadbolts and tuck their kids away into closets.
I peer down at the time as I plug my phone in to charge—it’s midnight. Time flew by today. I’m tired, but then again maybe I’m not. I don’t want to close my eyes and revisit more nightmares—especially the ones that have a way of coming true.
I close the door, switch off the light, and lean against the door as I peer out into the night that sits just beyond the window. “Where are you, Daniel?” I say in a breath that seems to float past my lips and sting. Who knew that the very air that helps form words could hurt?
Water builds in the crease of my eye. The urge to pray pushes on my conscious, but all I can think is how ridiculous I’ll feel when I’m staring up at the ceiling talking to it. It’s weird how Dad talked about this very thing today. His sermon was on Mathew and how Jesus rebuked His disciples for having little faith and being afraid. He went on to relate it to prayer life and how we shouldn’t be afraid to do it and how it can cure people—do wonders.
I blow out a raspberry, roll my eyes, and curl up in the many blankets on top of my bed. The idea of having little faith or none at all is painful, only because I want to believe in this God and pray that he’ll do wonders to help Lucky—bring Daniel back. Life gnaws at the pit of my stomach and I suddenly can’t shut my eyes fast enough to escape.
I’m woken by an angry wind slamming pebbles against the window. I peek at my phone on the nightstand to see if there are any new messages to help calm fears about Lucky—none and I’ve only gotten an hour of sleep.
“Another stupid dream,” I say trying to convince myself that I’m not scared. A part of me begins to shiver. Fear keeps trying to sneak in. I gather my nerves, stand up, and peek under the bed. In a harsh whisper, I mutter out a couple of curse words at the nothing under the mattress. “You piece of crap, you try anything—I’ll kill you.”
This is ridiculous. I’ve completely lost my mind. I can’t say God, my nightmares have a way of coming true, and I see dead people. Great, maybe a freak simply stitched together some voodoo doll of me and I just have to wait till they realize I’m truly a nice person so they’ll stop pricking it with evil needles—I’m pretty sure I’m a nice person anyway.
There’s a snap outside—that couldn’t be the wind.
When I look out there’s a man out in the field. THERE’S A MAN IN THE FIELD.
I quietly head out the back door and run after him without giving myself time to shake off the heavy sleep brought on by tears. No sweater, and no boots, as my bare feet scuffle along the frozen ground. The bottom of my white nightgown loosely catches onto a few branches of sage brush as I stumble out to him. Tumbleweed spurs sting my heels as I run, but the pain is nothing compared to not having him with me, so I just run faster.
I reach out and touch his wrist. “Daniel.” As he looks at me the rush of my heart pumps blood through my body like a vintage machine has finally woken up from its glory days. He’s out of breath and his face is faintly tinged with fear. The longer I hold on, the better I see him and the more I can sense every emotion.
Air escapes his lips with long huffs like he’s being chased and he trembles as his eyes lock on something behind me. A gush of wind tumbles after us, whipping my hair into a tornado. It burns my face like a hot summer’s day with the soft dirt that brought me comfort only a moment ago. He still hasn’t said a word. I turn around and let the wind hit my back.
“Daniel,” I say again. “It’s me, Savanna.”
Guilt streams into my conscious. Why did I waste time doing séances and spending time with Dad—going to church? I should have been using my time asking Mr. Stevens about the probabilities of an energy being able to exist through another one person’s energy. Sure, he would have thought it was strange, but it’s physics—science. He’s always liked the way I’ve thought differently—thinking out of the box is a must in his class. Daniel’s out of it and I feel like a shitty doctor who hasn’t helped her patient as promised. I swore to him I would try. As I glance up, his eyes are finally on mine.
“Savanna?”
I wrap my arms around the thick of his neck and he scoops me off the ground. I feel air instead of dirt on the soles of my feet. Fear has left his face now that we’re holding onto each other. He tucks himself just beneath my chin and holds on. Warmth presses against my chest as I listen to his muffled words. “I didn’t think I was ever going to find you again.”
My nightgown clings to his uniform and as I slide back to the ground I feel the wind now hitting exposed thighs. I barely notice the chill since my lips are already touching the warmth of his.
His bottom lip moves over mine as he talks, the tip of his nose on mine. “I won’t ever let go of you again, I refuse to.”
“I won’t either. Even if it means I have to run away with you,” I say, meaning every word and not wanting to suffer the regret of being so far away from him again. I never thought you could fall so quickly in love with someone and barely know them. No wonder they refer to lovers as lovesick puppies—it’s made me sick—literally. Maybe because the whirlwind happens so fast you simply don’t have time to breathe.
“You are shivering.”
I nod, lifting one foot and shaking it to loosen the burs that keep pricking me. “Let’s go to my house.”
He gestures for me to climb upon his back. “Come on, get on, I know it hurts to walk with burs in your feet. It’s been a while, but I remember.”
His hands help guide my legs around the shelter of his back. I hang on and lay my face against the back of his neck, and gently shift my lips across the warmth of his skin. I feel safe as his grip tightens around my thighs.
As Daniel directs me through the window and off the sturdiness of his back, I keep a hand on his as he climbs up. I’ve been the only one to sneak out of this window and it’s strange to watch someone else climb in.
Daniels boots are heavy on the wood floor and I hear Red scuffling down the hallway. A wet nose sniffs the bottom of the door and a light growl erupts. Daniel stands next to me and we’re still connected as if we are playing telephone but with our arms. I bend down to direct my voice toward the opening where Red’s nose lays. “Go, Red, bad boy, go.” The growl doesn’t let up. My voice grows firm, “No, Red, go lie down.”
The jingling of a collar resonates down the hallway. I whisper to Daniel, “He’s been acting weird lately.” There’s a pause, and I listen for any movement from Dad’s room—none.
Daniel lifts my fingers up and twirls me in a full circle before wrapping a hand around my waist—he pulls me close. One, two, three—I count the kisses that begin on my cheek and transpire across my neck. I can’t count anymore. I’m in a subliminal world. A world I never want to leave. I pull awa
y and draw him toward the bed. I’m not sure if the current life that flows through my veins is waiting for a thrill to be pushed through, or if it’s my need to feel closer to him because this is exactly how I imagine sharing my life with him without ever regretting it.
My nightgown grows heavy as desert mud dries to its ends. I take it off and lie down. Daniel sits on the side of the bed, turns away, and fiddles with the tips of my fingers—palms growing warm. I start to doubt my actions. Being with him makes my head spin so fast it’s hard to control my thoughts—actions. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hushed, “you are just so beautiful. I’m going to have a hard time containing myself.”
I sit up, guide his head toward mine with a hand against his cheek and stare into his eyes. I want to say something, but no words come. There’s a darkness about Daniel, like he’s been around the monsters too long. It’s not the type of darkness that springs up in the shadows, or kills, but the kind that haunts a person and no matter how hard they try to run from it, it’s always one step behind them. It’s a sadness so wounded it bleeds with an unguided pulse. Every time he looks into my eyes, it’s like he’s peering into my soul. Our stare breaks, warm lips touch mine, and I suddenly find the words I was looking for, but I don’t need to say them, he already knows.
As he leans over me, he steadies himself with one hand on the bed and touches my ankle with the other. Fingers brush up my thigh and end at the center of my torso—breasts untouched. With a pause, he gazes over my body and thinks my skin is like warm milk—the kind that’s pure. If humans could hear each other’s thoughts like this, his words would be the only ones I’d want to listen to. From the crease of my right breast I feel the light touch of his hand encircling around the larger part of flesh over my chest as he maneuvers his body over mine.
