by Wile E Young
Chapter Twelve
I was chilled to my core, and maybe my denial about everything that had happened in the whirlwind of strange shit that was the past two days had finally reached the point of no return. My daughter’s body taken by the river, a log thrown at me by nothing, Savant Huber, Scott acting like he had been fucking brainwashed…
The boy eating worms.
I drove home in silence, occasionally glancing at the boy still caked with mud, sullying the cab with its baked and rancid smell.
How was I okay with this? I had denied and pushed away problems with his mother for years, and that had led to disaster. I was aware that this wasn’t natural, my suspension of disbelief strained to the breaking point.
Hadn’t been intending to go to church this Sunday morning but when it came to matters beyond this world, I couldn’t think of anywhere else to seek answers. The Good Shepherd comforted me, in times of woe and turmoil the Lord had always seen me through.
I’m not going to lie and say I was the most devout or even the best Christian. Usually I left God at the church doors on Sunday, drawback of being brought up in the church rather than finding it on your own. Lack of zeal.
The First Baptist Church of Uncertain was an old, single-sanctuary white building with a decaying steeple and faded paint that really needed a touch up. But the collection plates had been a little light this month as folks desperately clung to their meager paychecks. There wasn’t a parking lot, just a grass field that backed up against a vast pinewood. People in this part of East Texas often called it the Pine Curtain; the forest seemed to stretch on forever and concealed all manner of activity, both legal and criminal, if you knew where to look.
“G’mpa?”
I ignored the boy as I found a parking spot at the edge of the fleet of cars that were spread in neat lines across the grass. It was a good turnout today for a congregation that usually boasted a few dozen at most.
Killing the engine, I lifted Lincoln from his seat and carried him towards the double doors, eager to see my return to that old time religion.
The service was in full swing. I could hear the piano and choir singing praises while the congregation’s voice droned along in blissful monotone. My heart thumped as I took each step up to the double doors, unsure of what I expected to happen. Maybe the congregation would rip us both to shreds, but more likely they would ride us out of town… a freak and his sire.
The doors opened and Lincoln squirmed in my arms, wriggling like a fish to get away and run back to the truck, his grunting cries drowned out by the sound of rapture.
Earl Ray and Sue were on the third row back. Our game warden Larry Knowles and his wife Kathy sang from the hymnal, their nine-year-old son Eric looking bored out of his mind.
I hung around at the back of the sanctuary, gazing over the parishioners as the music ended and Pastor Arnold Kizer stepped up to the pulpit. With his young and confident voice, he asked for those who were in need to come to the altar.
There was a weight on my mind, like a riptide in the ocean urging me to come… to lay my worries down. Every inch of the back my head blazed with pain, every step forward comfort…
As I walked down the aisle with the dirty kid held in my arms the singing slowly stopped. This must have been a shock for my friends and neighbors who knew me to be a back-row Joe, unlikely to ever be bold enough to reply to an altar call. There were hushed whispers and murmurs amongst the crowd as the gossip machine went to work. I didn’t care anymore.
I knelt at the altar, the boy’s black eyes staring all over the place, those deep throating grunts in his chest. I prayed to God, Renee, Sammie Jo… anyone who would give me peace and wisdom to process what had just happened.
Lincoln’s cries reached a crescendo and died away just as suddenly. I felt a comforting hand on my shoulder.
I opened my eyes and Pastor Arnold was there. “Blessed be you, Grady Pope, that you have brought a child to be dedicated to the Lord this day.”
Arnold’s dark brown skin mixed with the grey clay covering Lincoln, and he smudged the sign of the cross into his forehead, the boy’s head turned every which way before he closed his eyes, seemingly at peace.
“May I, Brother Pope?”
I nodded my head and he lifted Lincoln from my arms. A sense of relief had come over me like I had delivered my grandson from eternal damnation and into the arms of the loving God.
That same weight and itching feeling came back twice as strong, and then another feeling like cool water running through my mind, two forces fighting for supremacy and resulting only in a splitting migraine. Clutching my head in pain I looked up at Arnold Kizer on the pulpit, clad in his best Sunday suit, all chocolate skin, kind honey eyes, and well-maintained black beard.
I blinked and his skin was flaking in horrible rashes, honey-flavored eyes transformed into beady black orbs, dark writhing gills on the side of his neck, his mouth filled with pointed needle-like teeth, spilling a torrent of water onto his frayed blood stained suit… squamous skin wriggled beneath the ancient fabric.
And what he held in his hands…
It stretched a long slime and mud-covered hand, a webbed and repulsive thing that stroked the monster holding him. There was a hissing sound, and a dark rippling purple tongue writhed like a night crawler dug up from the earth.
I blinked again, and only Pastor Richard was standing at the pulpit, smiling serenely, Lincoln grasped tight. My migraine was gone; the only thing left that heavy feeling in my head like I was congested.
“From the precious water I baptize you… may the Lord in his mercy keep you and set straight your path.”
From somewhere a bowl of water had been produced, and the Pastor was washing my grandson in the waters, the grey clay flaking off and exposing his pale skin.
I was surprised that the boy wasn’t fighting. I had never seen a two-year-old so calm.
Arnold’s confident voice reached a crescendo. “It will come about that every living creature which swarms in every place where the river goes will live. And there will be very many fish, for these waters go there and the others become fresh; so everything will live where the river goes.” He brought Lincoln out of the water, clean, his pale skin and clothes drenched. “Praise our Father!”
Most of the congregation clapped in slow robotic motions, their faces slack and bored minds already focused on where they wanted to eat but a few… a few cheered like they had just seen the second coming of Christ.
Arnold gestured to me and I rose from the altar. He handed Lincoln back to me, words of blessing that I didn’t really listen to.
“Go in grace my friends!”
The service was over, and there were myriad murmurs and idle chatter as people began to funnel out of the sanctuary. I had come for answers about my grandson and had instead dedicated him to be baptized.
What the hell was I thinking? The plan had just been to sit at the back of the sanctuary until the service was over… not prance down the aisle like it was Main Street and they were serving pancakes at the end.
Lincoln hugged me tight and I realized that he had fallen asleep despite everything. People crowded close, eager to see the boy held in my arms.
“Oh he’s a cutie pie!” Miss Franklin who ran the Uncertain Fishing Co. exclaimed as she gathered close.
“Just like his mother.” Nate Biers, a fisherman who had grown up with Sammie Jo.
More people crowded around, parroting compliments like they were going out of style.
The reverend stepped in, hands outstretched as he ushered them back “Do not… crowd the man, he’s had a long… day.”
His speech had an odd cadence that I hadn’t noticed thanks to my head feeling like it was about to split down the middle. Needed to drink more water instead of the sauce.
The parishioners wished me well and left while Brother Arnold threw an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t mind them… Grady Pope… let’s go… back to my… office.”
I couldn’t feel
his touch through my jacket, but it still sent shivers down my spine. My temporary hallucination was already a fading memory, but the recollection of those webbed inhuman hands holding my grandson was enough to make me choke down bile.
It had just been a hallucination. Stress caused that, right? All the shrinks I had ever seen spoke of trauma and painful circumstance messing with your head.
Never thought it would happen to me. Renee in her last days had urged me to see a therapist to deal with Sammie Jo’s disappearance, but I had always thrown the idea away. I was too prideful to admit the problems that plagued my family, didn’t want some jumped up shit with a doctorate rustling around through my head. Besides why pay a man to tell you that if you had been better your daughter wouldn’t have run off and gotten herself killed?
Renee had wanted to go, to get help for the sadness building in her, but I had held her back. If anyone had gotten word it would have been the talk of the town: the Popes were messed up in the head. Allegation and assumption was currency around here rather than fact.
Probably why Renee had gone from a beautiful matron to a corpse in months. All the sadness had built up and killed her. Leaving me with the grief and bitterness.
There was a small parsonage attached to the church. Brother Arnold and his wife Jeanette lived a modest existence; The parsonage was just a small living room, bedroom, kitchen, and study combination. Many a prayer group had been led from that living room. Renee and I had attended a few when the feeling that we needed to be better church people hit us before inevitably letting our attendance fall by the wayside as life intervened.
Jeanette appeared from the kitchen. With honey skin and dark curls swirling, she wore a burgundy dress and matching heels. She smiled brightly when she saw Lincoln held in my arms.
“Oh my goodness Grady what a… wonderful child. Haven’t seen him since you brought him by to see us two years ago.”
I was beginning to feel like I was on the butt end of some joke. The kid had been born two days ago and was speaking. Nobody around here including me were brain surgeons, but observation should have tipped anyone off that this wasn’t normal. And I most certainly hadn’t been by to see them before this moment.
“Jeanette… could you… take the child?”
I took an involuntary step back and Arnold held up his hands in placation. “You and I are going to take a walk Grad. Don’t worry. Jeanette has helped rear a few over the years.”
The pressure in my head returned, overriding my instinct that was screaming for me to run and not look back. I realized that Arnold was right. What was I expecting? The pastor’s wife was going to run off with my grandson? Ridiculous.
Jeanette reached out and cradled Lincoln. “We have a bed for him. I’ll put him there while you boys talk.”
Arnold smiled and patted her shoulder. “Thank you, sweetie.”
She winked at him and walked away, cooing to my grandson as the pastor gestured for me to follow him. We walked down a long hallway to a side door that he opened, waiting politely for me to exit the parsonage.
The backfield leading to the pinewoods stretched from the door. I breathed in that fresh smell, attempting to stifle my headache as Richard politely shut the door behind us.
“I know you have questions Mr. Pope.”
“No shit, Preacher.” Renee had always made me watch my language, but after everything, to have someone acknowledge that something was off was gratifying, relieving. I wasn’t crazy.
I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts and the damn migraine running like a freight train through my head that I missed what the pastor said and apologized.
“It’s this damn headache. I uh… well, I’m sorry to say I’ve been hitting the bottle a little harder these past few days.”
My cheeks flushed red; odd feeling to be embarrassed, but you just didn’t go around admitting to preachers that you were taking extra rounds of the devil’s piss to forget your troubles.
“There’s something to be said for water and life, Grady. Come on.”
He headed towards the forest and I walked beside him, a shepherd and his wayward goat. I stood a good few inches taller than Arnold, the top of his head barely hitting the bottom of my mouth if we were to stand toe to toe. Despite that, he walked like a man who had all the answers.
Where he was taking me was at the edge of the woods, just beyond the tree line. I had always been jealous of the folks around here who didn’t have to buy their water from the market. Drawing it out of the ground saved on the paychecks.
The well was a square block of granite, overshadowed with a wooden roof to prevent contamination. It had an old pulley system for drawing up the water adorning the wooden plank crossing between the two beams. I could see the old ammunition plant distantly through the trees, the off-white walls peeking through the green and infecting the atmosphere of the place.
“The church has been out here a long time. Was taking one of my prayer walks when I found it. Drink up. It’s good, clean stuff.”
I drank deep from the bucket; the water ran clear and was much cleaner than anything that flowed through the river. Arnold continued to talk as I drank. I didn’t really pay much attention; my headache was blazing in my head.
Arnold spoke of all the times over the past few years that he had seen Lincoln, funny stories full of so much horseshit that I could practically smell it. My memory had been going these past few years, causing me to doubt myself often enough, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I hadn’t been raising this boy for two years.
But the fact of the matter was, everyone else seemed to believe I did. If I didn’t play along, then I was more than likely to be spending the rest of my days eating through a tube and paging a pretty nurse when I needed to piss.
At least for now.
I smiled at the preacher who returned it. “Always used to think you people gave out ‘feel good’ advice that didn’t actually mean anything. Thought I was going crazy there for a minute.”
I let the bucket drop out of my hand and the weight propelled it back down into the well. There was distant splash of water and it put me on edge. Couldn’t be sure whether the man bought it or not, but I didn’t plan on staying long to find out.
Jeanette was rocking Lincoln in her arms when we returned to the living room. My grandson looked peaceful in her grasp and Arnold clasped my shoulders. “So a man-eater on the loose? Figured you would be all over that.”
Jeanette looked up her eyes a mask of wonder. “Yes it was the talk of the congregation this morning, a man dead… it is quite the sensational bit of news isn’t it?”
Their comments sent chills racing down my arms as I tried to maintain a serious look, each of them talked like they were fucking robots with occasional moments of sense.
Arnold joined his wife in cooing over Lincoln. “Half the boys in service today were eager for me to wrap up and get out on the lake. Bounty is three thousand dollars, payable by the state.”
He looked up at me. “Why don’t you join them, Grady Pope?”
I looked at Lincoln and shook my head. “I really can’t, Lincoln—”
“Well we can watch him, can’t we, Arnold?”
“That we can, Jeanette!”
There was no fucking way I was leaving my grandson in these people’s hands. “Well I mightily appreciate the offer, but Victoria Barnes already offered to watch him today.”
Arnold smiled. “But of course. Do come back if you need more time, Grady. We worry and care about all members of our flock.”
I told them I would and picked up my grandson, getting the hell out of there.
Still felt their eyes on the back of my neck as I left.
Chapter Thirteen
It was Vicky’s day off from serving the patrons of Shady Glade. Davis always shut down on Sunday out of respect for the Sabbath. Folks were always disappointed, but there was both River Bend and Bayou Landing if you were in desperate need of some food.
She had a small house up
the road in Uncertain, directly next to the old motel that had tried to be something fancy once upon a time. Nice place, modest, hell of a lot better than where I lived. Vicky had planted flowers that bloomed violet, relishing the spring rain that had rolled through. I pressed the doorbell and stood back away.
Vicky was clad only in a t-shirt that reached down just above her knees, old football shirt by the look of it, with the number 43 emblazoned across her breasts. Gideon appeared behind her, clad only in a pair of dark navy boxers.
Didn’t think that most people were aware that Vicky and Gideon were shacking up. If they did, their reputations would be shot around town, any respect faked with a veneer of politeness.
Gave her a comforting smile. Wasn’t in my nature to narc on some young people living their lives. Couldn’t judge either; Renee and me’s indiscretions had taken place on the bottom of a boat deep in the bayous, moans of pleasure mixing with the bullfrogs.
“Sorry to interrupt you on your day off, Vicky, but I really need someone to watch him.”
Saw the younger man visibly sigh and temporarily felt the guilt wash over me. He’d seen things that no one should have had to deal with and was getting comfort the best way I knew how. Then came the old man with the kid who needed help. Swore I’d make it up to him.
Then came the magic words I had been hoping for. “What the hell happened to him?”
Vicky glanced back at her lover who stared wide-eyed at Lincoln, like I was holding a writhing snake.
“That’s the same kid, right, Mr. Pope?”
I was nearly over the moon with joy. Someone else noticed; I wasn’t going cuckoo in the head.
Then Vicky went and shattered that notion. “Hun, if you’re going a little soft in the head, we might need to get you some help… insisting a two-year-old is your grandson.”
Shaking my head quickly, I reaffirmed that this kid was in fact Lincoln, that it was some kind of genetic thing. No idea if it was true, but I needed to leave him with someone I could trust fast, at least until I could figure out just what was making most of my friends and neighbors soft in the head.
