All the Wicked Girls

by Chris Whitaker

  10

  Light Walls and White Ghosts

  The lawyer’s office was fancy and spoke of the five hundred an hour her daddy was paying. Savannah’s mother sat beside her, clutching her hand like she might flee at any moment.

  The lawyer’s name was Donald something and she stared right past his bloated face at Fairline Park behind. Savannah was born and raised in Maidenville, rich by anyone’s standards but her own. She never cared a dime about money and all that it brought.

  “They don’t even speak anymore,” she heard her mother say as Donald nodded, his eyes suitably compassioned.

  Her mother had some kinda surgery to pin up her face but it left her looking shiny and startled instead of young and fresh.

  “After Michael passed . . .” her mother reached into her big bag and pulled out a tissue.

  Savannah tuned them out awhile. She thought back to the first time she’d brought Bobby to her family home, with the sweeping driveway, the sprawling estate, the lake and the boathouse. He’d stood back, hands in pockets and shy eyes. He’d worn a borrowed jacket a size too big. She’d watched him as her daddy gave him the tour, boasted about wine in the cellar and the costs of resurfacing the tennis court like he didn’t know nothing of his audience.

  They weren’t impressed. After Bobby left they’d told her just that. There was a line of boys, from college and her daddy’s office, all of them better ’cause they had blood the right shade of blue.

  “Bobby’s an orphan, see. And he came to her with no assets to speak of, not a single thing. Can you believe that?”

  She saw Donald nod then shake his head like he didn’t know what response her mother was seeking out.

  When Bobby trained it was a little easier. Her parents were active at St. Margaret’s so that gave them something, at least. Then Michael came and they let it slide, how quiet Bobby was, how much work it took just to get him to let them help their only daughter out. Bobby didn’t care nothing for money neither, but pride had its own price.

  They’d met in Yellow Valley Park, by the water. She’d been on a date with some jackass who made the right noises when her mother put the gold feelers out. His name was Bryant and he went to Harvard Law and had bad manners. He’d drunk too much, tried to kiss her then grabbed her arm when she turned her head. She’d cried out. Bobby had appeared from nowhere and dropped Bryant with a vicious punch then walked off before she had the chance to call after him.

  She’d seen him the next day, tending bar in a dive on Pool Street. She made all the moves ’cause she’d never been with a boy like him before. She was soft and she was beautiful. He was handsome but there was a troubled edge clear as day. They’d eaten burgers and she’d made jokes about knights and saviors. She’d taken him to her bed that same night and was deep in love by morning.

  “There’s a trust—he won’t contest, right, Savannah?”

  She drew her eyes from the window.

  “Bobby,” her mother said. “What will he want?”

  “Nothing,” Savannah said.

  Her mother went back to talking while Donald passed her the papers.

  “I just need you both to sign.”

  Savannah held the divorce papers in her hand and she thought of their son and their life, and how sometimes endings came long before the story was told.

  “It’s for the best, sweetheart,” her mother said. “You can come back here now, where you belong.”

  *

  They took the Buick out early ’cause day was night in Grace. Noah worked an early shift at the station, Trix trying to find something for him to do. But he was just happy to sit there and watch the cops awhile; watch the hustle as the phone rang and they headed out to catch the bad guys. There was a photo of his father in Black’s office.

  He’d got home tired, ’cause sometimes he just felt real tired. The dialysis, even on the off days, it was a lot for his body to take. Draining blood, filling blood. He didn’t ever let it show.

  Raine had shown at his door, a cigarette behind her ear and the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. The bag was big and she was small. She’d told him to get the keys to the Buick and he’d nodded ’cause he was fairly certain there weren’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for her.

  They drove down the pretty streets and they stared at the tall houses. They passed kids their age on roller skates, laughing and smiling despite the darkness. They ran low on gas so they scraped together what they could and drove the back roads to the gas station on Cane Creek Road. It cost more but they couldn’t risk getting pulled ’cause the Buick was all they had.

  There were only four pumps, but the Lincoln Gas Station was popular ’cause they sold porn magazines. The owner was Lucky Delfray, and Lucky weren’t the type of guy to turn away paying customers, so he sold whatever they demanded and turned blind to age. Noah filled the Buick with twelve dollars’ worth of gas.

  They knocked on doors along Cassidy Avenue and looked on as mothers shook their heads slow: sorry, I ain’t seen her. Behind them their kids watched Double Dare and ate ice cream like all was right.

  *

  They sat in the office and spoke of Summer. Black glanced past Pastor Bobby at the print behind, The Wedding at Cana, the curved clouds and the monuments and the wine that was water.

  Bobby looked bad: eyes heavy and three days’ worth of stubble.

  “She was worried about the Briar girls,” Bobby said. He’d told Black about the paper she was writing for the fancy school in Maidenville.

  “Why do you reckon that was?”

  “She’s sensitive, maybe. I’m not entirely sure, Black. I worried about it, how she fixated on them. She asked me questions, about where I thought they might’ve got to.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Bobby leaned his head down and ran a strong hand through his cropped hair. “That I thought they were in heaven.”

  Maybe the moment stretched a little ’cause Bobby was quick to follow it. “I told her that ’cause I didn’t know what else to say.” Black felt Bobby watching him close. “You any closer to findin’ this guy?”

  “She spends a lot of time here, in St. Luke’s,” Black said, ignoring it.

  “She’s a fixture, alongside Samson and the dust. Savannah has been over to see Ava a couple of times.”

  “Good. She needs her friends close.”

  “I hear people talk about the Ryan girls and about Ava and Joe. I mean, when we first got to town I was expectin’ somethin’ else when I met them.”

  “What were you expectin’?”

  “I had Joe fitted as someone to avoid. And there’s a lot said about Raine, that she’s trouble.”

  “And Summer?”

  Bobby rubbed the muscles in his neck like they were tight. “They were right about her. That she’s sweet. But we went there, for dinner with the Ryans, and I saw them, I watched them and the way they were with each other, and maybe Raine is havin’ a tough time but Joe and Ava, they’re good parents.”

  Black glanced at the painting again and saw the line of birds and wondered how he’d missed them the first time. He rubbed his eyes ’cause nothing was clear.

  “Jesus, in that painting, he’s got that glow. He’s lookin’ at the guy with the viola,” Black said.

  “That’s the artist, Veronese.”

  “He put himself in the painting?”

  “According to Summer it was tradition,” Bobby said. “She used to stand there and stare at it. I’d find her in here and then she’d ask me about morality, and vanity and status. She’d ask about the lamb and the hourglass. She didn’t miss a thing.” Bobby cleared his throat. “I’m worried about her.”

  “She ran,” Black said, eyes still on the painting. “We’re doin’ background but she’ll show up.”

  *

  Late afternoon they sat in the dark under a canopy of wide leaves, and they shared sandwiches Raine had bought from Mae’s with money she’d taken from her momma’s bag. They passed round a be
er Purv had stolen from the convenience store while Noah flashed his police badge and distracted Ginny Adams, who worked the counter. Noah let the bottle touch his lips then passed it to Raine.

  “Have your share,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Pure of body, pure of mind.”

  “So fuckin’ weird,” she said.

  Purv’s face was streaked with green, brown, and black war paint. He’d stolen the makeup from the drugstore on Beachwood Avenue, then pissed Raine off something awful when he spent fifteen minutes applying it to himself and Noah.

  They had a couple heavy flashlights and they set them side by side in the dirt, pointed at the treetops. Purv reached forward and passed the bottle to Raine. His shirt rode and Noah caught sight of a welt, thick and angry looking, maybe a belt buckle or something.

  “What do we do when the Buick quits?” Noah said. The car had started smoking bad when they pulled off Hallow Road.

  “We’ll take it to Merle. He won’t say nothin’. Last I heard he’s in the hole a grand to my uncle Tommy,” Raine said.

  Purv nodded. “He owes to near everyone in town. No way he’ll turn down cash.”

  “We don’t have cash.”

  “Merle’s always checkin’ me out, old pervert. I’ll figure somethin’ out, might have to flash my tits or somethin’,” Raine said.

  Noah swallowed.

  Raine lay back along the fallen oak and stared up at the dark cloud. “How much longer can it sit there? It’s like night now, all day long ain’t nothin’ but night.”

  Noah reached for the map and aimed the flashlight at it. “We need a system. We can’t cover the same ground, we gotta mark it off or somethin’.”

  “My uncle Tommy’s got detailed maps of Hell’s Gate, every inch from the Red all the way through to the Brookdale side.”

  “I bet it don’t cover the north, that’s Deamer land,” Purv said.

  Since all that went on with Mandy, Franny, and Richie Reams, the Deamers had become part of Grace folklore, a band of as few as three or as many as fifty depending on who you spoke to. They owned about a hundred acres of land that ran deep into Hell’s Gate.

  “I’ll keep movin’, go deeper than the cops did,” Raine said, and they stood and they packed their shit and moved again.

  They hiked on for another hour, Raine navigating and Noah falling back. He licked his lips; they felt dry. He had to carefully ration what he drank throughout the day, his kidneys unable to process the amount his body craved. It was worse when the heat got up. He chewed gum and sucked ice cubes, but they were small in the way of distraction.

  “Why the fuck are you so slow?” Raine said, glancing back.

  Purv went to speak but Noah shot him a look and quickened his step.

  At points the tracks grew too dark and thick so they doubled back and looked for another way through. The forest floor dipped and rose and before long their shirts clung to their backs.

  Noah almost walked straight into Raine, not realizing she’d stopped dead in front.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  She pointed.

  They stood in a straight line, stunned into silence.

  Noah was the first to stick his arm through and watch the sunlight crawl up it. He made a fist, like he could grab hold of the rays and drag them into Grace.

  “This is the Grace border,” Raine said, looking at the map. “Another step and we’re in Windale.”

  The wall of bright light rose from the leaves straight up to beyond and Purv took a step back ’cause it looked like the screen in the Picture House; like they were standing in the dark staring out at a world painted so rich there weren’t a way it could be real.

  Noah stepped forward, sliced in half, then turned back to reach out and pull Raine into the light. She squinted.

  “Come on, Purv.”

  Purv crossed the border slowly, feeling the heat on his arm so sudden and hot he drew it back.

  “I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it,” he said.

  They stood together and stared from the light of Windale into the dark of Grace.

  Purv took out a small penknife and carved his initials into the wide bark of a cedar, then Noah’s and Raine’s.

  “And Summer’s,” Raine said, so Purv did that too.

  Noah was lying on the leaves, his head in the sun, his legs cut by the shade.

  They jumped to their feet when they heard voices. Raine ushered them deep into Grace cover where they kept low and watched.

  There were three boys, older.

  Raine stood first and walked out, so Noah and Purv followed.

  The boys stopped when they saw them, locking eyes with Raine.

  “Danny,” Raine said.

  Danny walked over, his friends falling in behind him. They were tall and broad, tan and polished like they were cut from some kinda jock mold.

  “We came to see it,” Danny said, staring at the wall.

  “You hiked it from 45?” Raine said.

  “Nah, parked by Route 43 and followed the creek. We ain’t dumb enough to hike with the Bird and all that.” He glanced at Noah. “Nice makeup. You kids playin’ dress-up?”

  Noah glared at him.

  “Did you ask round about my sister?” Raine said.

  “Maybe,” Danny said. He held a bottle of beer and his eyes were a little glassed.

  Raine took a step forward. “You hear anything?”

  “What’s it worth to you?”

  Danny was smirking now, his friends laughing. One of them glanced over at Purv, said something quiet, and they all laughed again.

  “You hear anything or not?” Raine said sharpening.

  “Come back with us, leave the kids to play,” Danny said. “I got booze. Maybe you’ll be more fun than you were the other night.”

  “Danny, serious, you heard anything about Summer?”

  “Come on, we’ll work somethin’ out. A trade.”

  “Just tell her what she needs to know then fuck off,” Noah said, feeling Purv flinch beside him.

  Danny stared at Noah.

  Noah stared hard at Danny.

  “That’s the second time you run your mouth, ain’t gonna be a third,” Danny said, taking a step nearer, sticks cracking under his feet, the echo falling wide.

  Danny looked over at Purv. “Ain’t you that kid that gets beat by his dad?”

  “Shut the fuck up, cunt face,” Noah said.

  Danny took another step. “What did you say, little boy?”

  “I called you a cunt face. ’Cause your face looks like a cunt,” Noah said.

  Purv swallowed.

  Raine was watching Noah, an eyebrow raised.

  Danny flushed, clenched his teeth, and handed his beer to one of his friends.

  Purv took a step back, Noah, a step forward.

  Danny’s friend put a hand on his shoulder, said something about Noah being a kid and Danny smirked. “How would you even know what a cunt looks like anyhow?” He winked at Raine.

  “Your momma showed me,” Noah said.

  “Shit,” Purv said under his breath.

  Raine bit her lip and wanted to laugh but didn’t wanna make it worse.

  That tipped Danny. He charged, swung at Noah, and caught him high on the cheek. Noah fell to the leaves.

  Danny stood over him, breathless and grinning.

  “What you gotta say now, boy?”

  Noah looked up as the sun caught his father’s badge. “You punch like a cunt.”

  Danny moved again but Raine walked over. “Come on, Danny.”

  Danny shrugged her off. “I ain’t done with him.”

  “Yeah, well, I was just gettin’ warmed up,” Noah said.

  Raine grabbed Danny’s face and made him see her. “Let’s go. I’ll come back with you.” Then she leaned in and kissed him hard, pushed her tongue into his mouth and reached down there and grabbed him till he went with it. When they broke she shoved him back till he turned.

  The group moved
off.

  “Raine,” Noah said.

  She turned back. “Go home, Noah.”

  They disappeared into Grace darkness like they weren’t ever there.

  Purv held out a hand, pulled Noah to his feet, and dusted him down.

  “I had him,” Noah said.

  “I know you did,” Purv said. “I had your back.”

  “I know you did.”

  *

  Savannah kneeled on the stone floor of the dark church. She didn’t use a cushion because sometimes she felt it ought to hurt. As acts of penance went, it was a small offering, and it paled beside what she had done, but she stayed that way till her bones ached.

  Bobby was driving the streets again, looking for Summer.

  Savannah had a key to the old church and she used it when she needed to. She’d hid the divorce papers in her closet. Her mother called asking when they could expect her home again.

  She closed her eyes tight because the sin was so vivid and so sublime, the formidable shape that lurked beneath the trees and reminded her that paradise lost could never be found again.

  She was done when she cried, for all that had happened the tears fell heavy and dripped from her jaw. This was what he wanted, true remorse.

  She turned when the door opened and wiped her eyes hard enough to blur the white ghost that appeared beneath the carved wood.

  “I was lookin’ for Pastor Bobby,” Samson said.

  “He’s not here,” she said, managing to smile.

  “Oh,” he said then turned.

  “Are you okay, Samson?”

  He stopped and then he stepped into the church and walked over to her, shoulders hunched and head bowed. Savannah had been a church girl her whole life yet she’d never seen anyone pray as often or as hard as Samson Lumen. Whatever it was, whatever he carried, it was something crippling.

  “I wanted to pray,” he spoke quiet. “I need to.”

  “You can pray.”

  “I can wait till mornin’ and come back.”

  She could see little but the white of his hair, his face featureless in the shadow. She reached out and touched his arm and tried not to feel him flinch a little.

  “It’s okay. I was praying, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”