by Cutter, Leah
Darryl, May, and Aunt Jasmine came in a short while later, with all their kids and spouses and friends. The family huddled together in misery in the front pews.
However, Franklin felt out of place. He didn’t enjoy Preacher Sinclair’s comments on how Lexine had found a better place—Lexine had been perfectly happy on her own. She’d stopped coming to church when she’d come of age. Hadn’t stopped praying, just followed her own path.
Franklin did know Lexine had passed on, though he was never sure what that meant. Did the ghosts he helped go onto Heaven? He doubted they went to Hell—they weren’t ever fearful. They needed help, not counseling.
Finally, the service was over. Franklin felt as impatient as Gloria, squeezing his hands together, waiting while the reception line passed by Preacher Sinclair.
It wasn’t that the preacher was a bad person. He just had a different view of the world than Franklin, who’d help every soul who asked him, not just those who was saved.
After they’d finally passed that gauntlet, Franklin went over to Jason. His girls were playing with their other cousins, and Franklin finally got a chance to speak to Jason alone.
“You remember what you were saying about dowsers?” Franklin asked, standing with his arms crossed, watching the girls instead of his cousin.
“Yeah,” Jason said warily.
“You wasn’t describing yourself, were you?” Franklin asked.
“Why would you ask that?” Jason said. “I ain’t like you.”
“You sure?” Franklin asked, finally turning and looking at Jason. “This thing attacked the Sorrels too. Adrianna.”
Jason gave a dark chuckle. “Of course, she’s gonna be special like you. But it ain’t me you should be giving warnings to. I’m just a plain Joe. Nothing special about me.”
Why was Jason so bitter? Did it have something to do with Elise’s “illness”?
“If you’re not the one I should be talking to, who is?” Franklin asked.
“You won’t believe me,” Jason said.
“Try me.”
“Darryl.”
Franklin opened his mouth, then shut it again. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.” Of all his older cousins, Darryl had always been the hardest on Franklin when they’d been growing up, always teasing him about seeing things that weren’t there, calling him crazy and freak and weirdo.
“It’s easiest to hate yourself, hate your own kind,” Jason said.
Franklin couldn’t help his laugh. “You read that in a book somewhere too?”
“Sure,” Jason said easily.
“What’s going on?” Franklin asked, concerned.
“Nothing.”
“Really?”
“Elsie’s been sick a lot,” Jason said quietly. “I’ve been dealing with the girls on my own too much.” He gave a false smile. “Come by Wednesday night. If you dare.”
Franklin let Jason go, though he was still worried.
But he couldn’t help someone—human or ghost—who didn’t want help, or wouldn’t ask for what they needed.
* * *
Franklin knew better than to accuse Darryl of being special, or even asking him directly. Darryl might say something when he was drunk: then again, he was drunk so often, he could probably control himself, at least a hell of a lot better than Franklin could, who rarely drank.
So how could Franklin get Darryl to talk with him? Or to take his warning seriously? Franklin couldn’t figure out a plan as he stacked carrots, or mopped up spilled milk, or even as he rode his bike home. He’d had to stay late that night at the Kroger, so he’d go and see the Sorrels the next night.
As Franklin rode up to his house, he saw Darryl’s pickup in the driveway of his farm.
Maybe he wouldn’t have to come up with something to say.
Darryl sat on Franklin’s front porch, only four of a six-pack of beer still unopened sitting next to him.
“Jason told me he’d been blabbing his big mouth,” Darryl said as Franklin walked up.
“Maybe,” Franklin said, sitting down carefully next to Darryl on the steps. Darryl could be mean as a cornered snake and sometimes settled things with his fists. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“No,” Darryl said. He took another long slug of beer and looked out at his truck.
“Then why the hell you here?” Franklin said as the silence continued.
“You really think that thing came after Lexine because she was special?” Darryl asked after another long pause.
“Yeah, that’s what makes sense,” Franklin said. “But I don’t know for sure. Can’t figure out what it wants. Besides my good lard.”
“I don’t see stuff like you and Lexine,” Darryl said finally.
“Then you ain’t got nothing to worry about, do you?” Franklin said. He was tired and hungry and wished Darryl would just get on with it or leave.
“But sometimes, like when I’m hunting, I get a feeling, you know? Like I can see the trail of an animal. It’s like a clear path through the bush.”
“Maybe you’re just seeing the clues that most folks miss,” Franklin said, trying to help Darryl out.
“Exactly! Like if a branch is bent, or if there’s spoor or a hoof print. That kind of thing.”
“So you ain’t special,” Franklin clarified. “You’re just a good hunter.”
“Right.” Darryl took another long gulp of beer. “Just that—I see those things whether they’re there or not. That trail.” He finished his beer, crushed the can, threw it out into the driveway, then opened the next.
Franklin knew better than to say something about not making a mess. He’d just be called a Suzie Homemaker again, or worse.
“I can always see where an animal’s been. Whether it’s daylight or dark. Whether there’s really a trail left behind by a critter or not.” Darryl sighed and looked at his beer can.
“So you see animal trails through the woods. That no one else can see. Right? For all kinds of animals? Or just the ones you’re hunting?” Franklin asked. What kind of thing was Darryl seeing?
“I gotta be hunting it. And serious, too. If I’m just farting around out there, nothing shows up.” Darryl said, finally warming up to his subject. “It’s why I switched to bow hunting, two seasons back. It felt like too much of an unfair advantage, you know? I wasn’t having to sit in a blind like those other guys. I could always just find a trail. Go after my deer.”
“When’d you start seeing your trails?” Franklin asked, curious.
“Fourteen, fifteen. Something like that. I think I might’ve been seeing ’em before, too, but I didn’t know what I was seeing. I just thought I was a good tracker, you know?”
“Right when your dad left?” Franklin asked. Then he pressed his lips together, wishing he could take the words back. His step-uncle had left Aunt Jasmine with four kids, a stack of bills, and angry creditors, calling at all hours.
Lexine had never talked much about her dad after that. Franklin wondered sometimes if she’d found a way to get revenge on him, ’cause she did mention once that his dreams were never gonna be sweet, not ’til he died.
“Yeah.” Darryl said shortly. “Just before he left, I showed him, how I could see.” He sighed and took another drink. “Was I the reason he left? Hell if I know. He hated Lexine. Hated how she was different. Was happy to drop her off in exchange for ‘his boys.’ But I never trusted him, not like Jason.”
“I thought you two were like lost souls who’d finally found each other,” Franklin said, stunned. Their biological dad had left right after Jason, the youngest, had been born. Franklin remembered how happy Darryl and Jason had been with their new Dad, following him around and always imitating him. He’d never liked Franklin, either, which was part of why Darryl had always been so hard on him.
“Sure, it was like that for a while. I mean, it was nice to have a man in the home, you know?” Darryl said. “Or maybe you don’t. Your mama never picked up with anyone, did she.”
“Mama always said she’d lost her one true love in the war,” Franklin said. He’d never known Mama to date, even. He’d wondered, once he was in his twenties, if she’d start going out. She’d started dressing nicer, and maybe…but then she’d never taken care of herself, and wouldn’t go see a doctor even when the chest pains started.
“But Dad, well, he wasn’t one for seeing what was there, you know?” Darryl said. “He’d say that things were fine when they weren’t, or that we had money when we didn’t. It was like he kept thinking that saying a thing would make it true. It never did.”
“When’d you get to be so smart?” Franklin asked, amazed at his cousin.
Darryl grinned at Franklin. “Had it beat into me by the school of hard knocks.”
“Didn’t know they could get anything through that wooden block sitting on top of your shoulders,” Franklin teased back.
They sat on the stoop in the cooling night, the crickets bringing up their chorus.
“So, you want to go out hunting?” Darryl finally asked.
“No,” Franklin said, confused. “I don’t really hunt.” After Lexine had shown him how the spirit of an animal stayed near its body when it’d been wounded, not killed outright, he hadn’t had the heart.
“No, idiot. I mean hunting. Like tracking this thing that killed Lexine.”
“Oh!” Franklin said.
“I figure it’s an animal-like thing, right? So let’s go out into the woods, behind Lexine’s cabin. Let’s see if I can’t track this thing.”
For the first time in a week, Franklin had hope. “And I’ll bring some of my special lard. As bait.”
“See, Cuz? I knew you weren’t completely useless. Just mostly.”
“Same to you,” Franklin replied.
Chapter Five
FRANKLIN WAS GLAD THAT CHARLENE was understanding about family when he went in to ask her about taking more time off.
The command center screens showed the produce section, the two checkout lanes, the beer and wine cooler, and the outside of the store. Charlene wore her usual uniform, sitting with her feet on a small stool, flicking through the displays.
“Hey, honey,” Charlene said. “How you holding up?”
“I’m okay,” Franklin said. “But Aunt Jasmine asked us to come over this afternoon. Evidently there’s a will, and we all need to be there when it’s read.” Which was sort of the truth. There was a will, and they were gathering that night at dinner to read it.
“I understand,” Charlene said, nodding. She put her feet on the floor and turned to face him. “You go be with your family this afternoon.”
“Thanks, Charlene. You’re the best,” Franklin said.
“You doing okay?” Charlene asked, the warmth in her voice coming through loud and clear. “You look tired.”
Franklin nodded, not sure what else to say. Darryl had stayed way too late, making Franklin miss his Ab-Buster workout as well as snooze his alarm twice that morning.
“Losing Lexine like that. Quite a shock. You go ahead and take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, too, if you need it. Just call.”
“Thanks, Charlene,” Franklin said, relieved. “You’re the best. I’ll work double shifts next week, or volunteer for the whole time we’re doing inventory.”
Charlene chuckled. “I may just hold you to that. Now, take care of yourself. Go be with your family.”
“I’ll tell ’em you were asking about them,” Franklin said as he left. He only felt a little guilty for taking the afternoon off—he was going to be spending time with his family.
Darryl counted as family, right?
Franklin rode home, changed out of his uniform, picked up another jar of lard, then rode out to Lexine’s.
Sun blazed down on the blacktop road. The air was sticky and wet, and smelled like hot tar. Even the shade under the trees brought little relief, though at least it smelled more like pine there. Franklin was soaked through by the time he rode up the path to Lexine’s cabin.
Darryl’s big black truck was already there, parked a bit down the road. Yellow police tape—just like what Franklin had seen on TV—was strung across the road, blocking the driveway. The businessman’s SUV no longer sat parked there.
The door to Lexine’s cabin had more police tape over it in an X. The police had passed along the name of a company who would come out and clean the cabin, once they released it. Right now, it was still a crime scene.
Sweet Bess showed up as Franklin got off his bike. Shit. Darryl might be a bit more friendly right now, but he’d tease Franklin mercilessly if he ran away from a spirit.
The big sow glared at Franklin and pawed at the ground. Oh hell. Was it even angrier because Franklin had some of her lard on him?
A crashing noise came from the side. Darryl came out of the trees, wearing dark jeans and a bright orange T-shirt.
Darryl looked at Franklin, then at the spot Franklin stared at. “You got that crazy look on you. What the hell are you seeing?”
“A sow. One I slaughtered this spring. Sweet Bess.” Franklin edged closer to Darryl, as if that might stop the sow from ramming him.
“That monster? I remember her.” Darryl said. He gave a low whistle. “So what can she do to you?”
“She’s run at me before,” Franklin admitted. “And when a spirit or a ghost goes through you—” He stopped and shuddered. It’d take him at least a day to recover.
“How about I go through it?” Darryl said. He walked forward, straight through Sweet Bess.
The spirit disappeared.
“Did you feel anything? Franklin asked, surprised.
Darryl gave a quick shake of his shoulders. “Naw, not really. Just—like I was passing through an extra shadow, you know?”
“Thank you,” Franklin said, leaning his bike against Darryl’s truck. It should be safe there.
“How bad is it, do you think?” Darryl asked, pointing toward the cabin with his chin.
“Pretty bad,” Franklin said. He wasn’t about to admit he’d already seen it.
“Let’s go,” Darryl said, striding off toward the cabin.
Franklin followed, also curious. They ducked under the yellow tape across the driveway and approached the cabin, which sat still and empty. The front window was still dark, and now, from outside, Franklin heard the flies buzzing.
Darryl paused and put his hands up against the glass to see better. “Jesus,” he muttered.
Franklin walked around the side of the cabin, to see in through the blown-out window. The cops hadn’t covered it up, and it framed the scene with fragments of broken glass around the edges.
The police had moved the couch, probably to get a stretcher in, for the bodies. Blood lay dark and heavy on the floor. None of the cobs of corn remained—Franklin figured they’d been taken into evidence. Paper and glass still lay strewn in a spiral pattern.
“That’s just messed up,” Darryl said, coming to stand beside Franklin. “You think she fought back?”
“With everything she had,” Franklin said. But it was hard to fight something you couldn’t see.
“Let’s get this bastard,” Darryl said grimly. He turned and headed back to the truck.
“We’ll find whatever did this,” Franklin promised. Though that was also his fear.
* * *
Darryl hauled a backpack from the bed of his black pickup truck. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at Franklin.
The weight of the bag surprised Franklin. “What the hell you got in this thing?”
“Extra ammo, water, energy bars, emergency kit, like that.” Darryl hauled out a second backpack that was similarly packed. From under the seats of the front cabin, he pulled out two shotguns. “Have you shot one of these before?” Darryl asked.
Franklin held it up and looked it over. “They’re like the ones we used when we went hunting with your dad.” The shotgun had the safety on and it wasn’t loaded.
“These are probably the exact same ones we used as kids,” Darryl
said proudly. “They’re all clean, oiled, and in good working condition.”
Franklin felt better that Darryl took care of his guns, took them seriously. And also, that there wasn’t any beer or bourbon in his pack.
“Did you see a trail of the thing in Lexine’s cabin?” Franklin asked as they finished getting themselves ready.
Darryl shook his head. “Don’t mean nothing, though. Needed to get ready. As I said, just farting around don’t cut it. Got to be hunting before any kind of trail shows up.”
“Where do you want to start?” Franklin asked.
“Think that thing came in the front? Or the back?” Darryl asked in return.
Franklin thought for a moment. “I bet it came in the front, then went out the back.” Because it had probably attacked Lexine first, which gave the businessman time to run away.
“The businessman was in the kitchen, wasn’t he? You think he was attacked second?” Darryl said as they walked back toward the cabin again.
“Yeah,” Franklin said. He couldn’t mention the bloody door, how the businessman had been trying to get out. At least the businessman’s ghost had passed on, or was haunting someone else if it hadn’t.
The trees loomed a few feet from the house, as if they were just waiting to take the land back. Leaves and scraggly grass covered the dirt path going from the front to the back. The chorus of cicadas was deafening, cycling up and down, like sirens.
Darryl walked right up to the first kitchen window, Franklin beside him. They couldn’t see much—the thing hadn’t been as destructive there, and the counter hid the floor where the body had been.
“See anything?” Franklin asked. All he received was a glare.
Darryl looked through the window above the sink, then the one over the kitchen table, but he didn’t seem to find anything.
“What are you looking for?” Franklin asked, still curious.
“A way to shut your hole,” Darryl complained. He glared at Franklin, who grinned at him. “This was what it was like, wasn’t it, when we found out about your gift? Us asking about it all the time?”
“Maybe,” Franklin said, rocking back on his heels, delighted. “You know what they say about payback.”
