They heard a noise then, both of them, and both reached for their flashlights. They heard it again. Voices. More than one and getting louder. Slurred voices. Bill crawled over below the arena window and eased up to take a look. Thanks to the open end and the moon, he could see fairly well. "It's kids," he whispered. "Three of them." And drunk.
Bill rose slowly, motioning for Richard to go out and around. The voices were right beneath them now. He waited and waited, let out a yell, and with one precise kick, popped the window out of its frame. It sailed over the boy's heads.
Richard hit the arena lights right about then, and Leah fled into the woods. The boys were screaming now, and she couldn't stand it. She looked back. The black man was looming over them and they were pleading for their lives.
"Oh my God!" She too begged for their lives. She knew this black man shouldn't have been there. These were just boys. "Oh my God!"
"On your knees!"
"Oh my God!"
"Now!"
The boys fell to their knees.
One started puking.
* * *
Hours later, and in the daylight, Leah ventured back, clutching Phoenix. Maple Dale was deserted, smelling of smoke, echoing cries.
She roamed the arena, wondering what had happened to the boys, wondering what had been done to them. "Please don't hurt us!" Their voices were everywhere. "Please don't hurt us!"
Then she saw for herself. Over by the window, and in a thousand pieces, were all that was left of them.
"Give me your driver's licenses," Richard had demanded. "Hand them over."
"But we told you, it wasn't us before! We just heard about the fire and came up to see it! We didn't do nothin'!"
It was obviously the truth too. And they were pathetic, what with the one puking and the others trying to keep him from laying in it. Still...
Leah gathered the torn fragments of their lives; pieces of their names, their addresses, their photographs, and cradled them in her hands, wanting to spare them any more pain. Then with tears in her eyes, she did the only thing she could. She buried them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Richard arrived home with just enough time to shower, dress, and get to the office for his first appointment. Christine on the other hand, wasn't going anywhere, not for a while at least. She'd decided to keep Bethann home from school, since they were up half the night, and was going to make them a big breakfast. One that would warm their insides and make everything better. Bethann wasn't hungry though, and for that matter, neither was Christine.
"No bacon and eggs? No grits?"
Bethann shook her head. Even orange juice seemed a challenge. "Mom, do y-y-you ever th-think about d-d-dying?"
Christine put the eggs back in the refrigerator and sat down across from her. "Sometimes, I guess."
"Are y-y-you afraid?"
"Of dying?"
When Bethann nodded, Christine folded her napkin, trying to appear casual in answering. "Oh, I suppose a little. I think most everyone is to some extent."
"What d-d-do you th-think God l-l-looks like?"
Christine hesitated. She often wondered the same thing. "Like us, I guess."
"Like us?"
"Yes. You know, like it says in the Bible, that we were created in his image."
"But what if th-that means only h-h-how he sees himself?"
Christine didn't know how to respond to that.
"And how d-d-do we know wh-what we l-l-look like to him? Because if h-h-heaven's supposed to be in the s-s-sky and he's l-l-looking down on us, we w-w-won't look the same. We won't even b-b-begin to look th-the same."
Christine smiled sadly. If her mother were here, she'd have a ready answer right out of the scriptures.
"We probably l-l-look like ants!"
Christine chuckled.
"You d-d-don't really think th-there is a heaven, d-d-do you, Mom?"
Christine really wished her mother were here now. "There's a heaven, honey. I'm sure of it. It's where you came from."
Bethann rolled her eyes. "Oh, Mom..."
"It's true," Christine said. "And I'll tell you why I think so. When my grandmother died, I cried so hard, I didn't want to believe it. But my mother told me not to be sad, because she'd gone to a better place, and that I would see her again someday. I wanted to believe that, so I did. And I still do, only not quite the same way."
"How th-then?"
Christine shrugged. "I believe in things I see. That's what I believe in. And sometimes when I look at you, I see my grandmother. I see her in your eyes. And as long as I can do that, then she'll never ever really be dead."
"But w-w-what about the person who doesn't s-s-see anyone when they l-l-look at s-s-someone else? What if even wh-when they look in m-m-mirror they don't s-s-see anyone they know?"
Christine reached over and touched the side of her face. "You mean like Leah?"
Bethann nodded, her chin trembling. "Yes."
"I don't know."
* * *
By midday, Bill had had more than enough of looking over his shoulder. Paranoia was getting on his nerves. Not to mention his being reminded each time he looked at the arena, of a building from his childhood in New Orleans.
He'd just turned thirteen, a time in his life when one minute he could feel as old as twenty, and the next, nine or ten. It was Mardi Gras. And the building was a float barn, where black men would stand in line for hours, for five dollars a day pay and the privilege of carrying a torch in the parade. Only some never made it to the door, thanks to the heat of the day, the wine and the beer, the pushing and shoving, the broken bottles, and the blood. Bright red blood to entertain the white people who were leaning over their banisters, watching from the housing project across the street.
Nigger watchers, Bill called them, laughing with his friends. "Friggin nigger watchers."
Then this one day it was his older brother who got stabbed, and who came staggering down the street toward him with blood spilling everywhere. His blood, his sister's blood, his mother's and father's blood. Bill bled as well, inside, and that night, thirteen-years old and with tears in his eyes, set fire to the float barn.
"Nigger watchers! Friggin nigger watchers!"
Nothing changed though. He shook his head, staring at the arena. How naive he was to have thought it would. The following year, the black men were lined up outside a new float barn putting on another show, and his brother was right back there with them.
Klaus pulled up next to the arena, nodded as he walked past Bill, and went inside to see Walter, who greeted him cheerfully.
"Good afternoon!"
Klaus grumbled. "What's so good about it?"
Nothing, Walter thought, now that you're here. "What can I do for you?"
"A lot," Klaus said, making himself comfortable on Christine's desk. "But for starters..."
Walter's mind wandered. It was the same old stuff, moving ahead faster, getting things going, and all that. As if he wouldn't if he could. "Can't you do some clearing? What about the roads? Wells? Sewer?" On and on and on.
A cool breeze swept through the office, and Walter turned, thinking someone had opened the door.
No one was there.
"What are you looking at?" Klaus asked impatiently.
"Nothing," Walter said, sniffing. "Do you smell something?" The breeze was spicy, like cinnamon.
Klaus shook his head, but he was lying. He knew the scent. It was Leah's. He knew it better than anyone. "No."
"You sure?" Walter asked.
Klaus didn't reply, his eyes suddenly getting bigger and bigger as he stared at a bird in the arena, fluttering against the remaining pane of glass. Walter turned, saw it as well then, and waved his arms up and down to scare it off. It fluttered still.
"Get!"
It banged its head.
"Get!"
It banged its head again and again. And again and again, dotting the window with specks of blood.
"Get!"
The bird fel
l to the ground and Walter went over to take a look. Its wings were battered. Its sides heaving.
"The stupid thing," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Klaus. "Why didn't it just fly away?"
Klaus was on his feet and leaving. "Why are you asking me? How should I know?"
Bill came into the arena to see what all the commotion was about. "Oh Jesus," he said under his breath. Birds meant death, and there was blood everywhere. "What next?"
Christine and Bethann pulled up outside. Bill recognized the sound of the Seville's diesel engine, and hurried out to head them off.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
Christine was a little taken aback. All right, so she wasn't supposed to come in today. So?
"And shouldn't you be in school?" he said to Bethann
"We came to look for the cat." Christine answered for both of them. "We think Leah might be worried about it, and we..."
Bill shook his head, appearing not the least bit interested, and Christine started past him toward the office, herding Bethann with her.
Bill blocked their way. "I saw him up on the trail," he said, pointing behind them. "That one there."
Christine backed up and nodded, nudging Bethann in that direction. Once they were out of sight, Bill went in and got some paper towels to clean the window, and disposed of the bird.
* * *
That evening, Christine told Richard about the way Bill had behaved. "I mean, he was really rude." They hadn't found the cat either. "It was like..."
Richard looked at Bethann. She shrugged. And because of that shrug, he defended Bill and changed the subject. "The man didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night, Christine. Don't take it personally. Besides, I've been thinking about something all day, and I need to talk to you two about it."
He had a theory on why Leah Oliver was refusing to leave. He'd even talked to Matt Campbell about it. "It's the cat."
"The cat?"
This was nothing new. "I know. But it makes more sense now. Her obsessiveness, the way she had the will written and everything, wanting each detail carried out to the letter. I think the cat being there is what's got her confused."
"Ph-Ph-Phoenix," Bethann said.
Richard looked puzzled at her.
"His n-n-name is Phoenix."
Richard smiled. "Okay, Phoenix."
Shad perked his ears, and Christine reached down and patted his head. "But what about her obsession with Maple Dale? What about it being the reason?"
"Matt and I talked about that too."
"What did he say?"
Matt was a firm believer in the supernatural, which would seem odd to most people, his being a psychiatrist. "He thinks it could be both, but agrees, that it could be just the cat."
"Ph-Phoenix," Bethann corrected again.
Richard grinned. He'd called Phoenix the cat on purpose that time, just to get her. She was as persnickety as her mother."How do you spell it?" he asked, as if that would help him remember next time.
Bethann giggled. "Dad."
Times like these, even Christine felt like they were almost a real family again. "What else did Matt say?"
Richard shrugged. "Oh, a lot of psyche' this, and realms of that, and planes and avenues."
"He's not suggesting we have a séance of anything like that, is he?"
Richard laughed. "No. No séances."
* * *
Bethann had an even more difficult time sleeping that night, and woke repeatedly from a different dream now, played over and over. She was floating, soaring toward Maple Dale above the streets and following the same path she'd take if she were in a car. Stoplights, turns, faster and slower for traffic. Frightened. Frightening. People reaching up to get her down always just missed her, a paper boy came close, she felt him graze her foot. Then she was at Maple Dale, trying to stop, and sailed right over it. Every time. Over and over. She could get there, but she couldn't stop.
In the morning, she heard Matt Campbell talking to her mother and father in the kitchen, and came down to join them. Matt was jogging in place at the back door. "Good morning!"
Bethann smiled sleepily.
"I was just telling your mom and dad about my being up all night thinking about this Leah Oliver."
Matt never rested, and they all knew that, so no one apologized for his not getting any sleep. He thrived on it.
"And I think..." He checked his pulse and adjusted his pace accordingly. "I think in her confusion, she may not be able to separate Maple Dale from the cat, or the cat from Maple Dale. They may be one and the same to her. Who knows? But regardless, you're going to have to figure out a way to get her to leave."
"Wh-Why?" Bethann's mouth dropped. "Why c-c-can't we just let h-h-her be?"
Matt stopped jogging and with a sigh, walked over and took hold of her hands. "Because you can't, Bethann. Your friend is lost. You have to understand that."
But she didn't. Not at all.
"She's in limbo, and that's nowhere. In fact, it's probably worse than being lost. You have to help her."
Tears welled up in Bethann's eyes and Christine started across the kitchen toward her, but Richard touched her arm, shaking his head.
"But I d-d-don't know what to do. I don't know h-h-how to h-h-help her."
Matt searched Bethann's eyes, the tears streaming down her face. "You must. You cared for her the most."
Shad rose slowly from beneath the table to root his nose under Bethann's hand, and seemed to do it so instinctively to comfort her, Christine had to look away. She wondered how many times he'd done the same thing when Leah was crying.
"You have to think of a way to reassure her, to let her know it's okay to go. Think of how she was, think of what meant the most to her, and figure out a way."
Bethann nodded, gazing down at Shad and petting him, and Matt smiled reassuringly. "Use your heart, Bethann. Use your heart. And remember, I'm only a phone call away."
When Bethann nodded again, Matt resumed jogging. Richard followed him outside.
"What do you think? Is she okay?"
"Relatively."
Richard stared off. "I don't know what to do. I honestly don't."
Matt stopped exercising to get a good look at Richard's eyes. "What about you? You okay?"
Richard nodded. He meant about drinking. "Not even tempted."
"Good," Matt said, pacing himself again. "Good, because there's something else."
Richard drew an apprehensive breath, watching Matt jog up and down.
"The timing."
"What timing?"
"Halloween."
Richard swallowed. It was tomorrow.
"Strange things happen around now, unexplained things."
"What are you saying?"
"I don't know. I just know that Leah Oliver's not where she's supposed to be. Particularly now."
* * *
Bill had also had a restless night, and first thing upon arriving at Maple Dale, started on the arena. He could handle the open wall, just not the charred, jagged edges.
Leah watched him. The arsonist. The man responsible for those three boy's lives. A black man.
If only he hadn't come here. If only he'd stayed where he belonged.
She crept closer.
If only...
Bill stacked all the wood in a pile and gathered some twigs and dried leaves.
If only...
When he bent down and lit a match, Leah gasped. She had to stop him, before he burned all of Maple Dale down. She had to. She raised her arms, praying for strength as she crept closer, closer and closer. And just then Bill stood up, and she found herself inside of him.
His heart stopped. He'd heard something, a hissing sound, the sound a cat makes. He felt something too. Something cold. "Leah? Leah Oliver? Is that you?"
"Oh dear God!" She was trapped. She couldn't get out. "Dear God!"
Bill stepped back and turned, saying, "Don't be afraid. Please don't be afraid." He tried desperately to reassure her. But
suddenly, finding herself on the outside again, Leah panicked and fled into the woods.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christine and Bethann spent well over three hours in the afternoon searching again for Phoenix, but he was nowhere to be found. None of Bill's men had seen him either, and for some reason, the fact that they had even inquired about him seemed to irritate Bill. Christine could tell.
Bethann however, hadn't picked up on it, and solicited his help. "I m-m-made a sign." She motioned to the car and he followed her. "But I d-d-don't know where t-t-to put it."
Bill just stood there when she took it out of the back seat. It read:
Leah,
Shad and I are fine.
Phoenix is being fed well.
He likes being free. But
I will always take care of
him. Don't worry.
Love, Bethann
…..Christine held her breath, praying that just once, just this once, Bill wouldn't be so gruff. that he would say something nice. This wasn't easy for Bethann. But he just shook his head.
"What d-d-do you think?" Bethann asked. "Think it'll w-w-work?"
Bill took a second or two in answering, and had to clear his throat to speak. "It can't hurt, I guess."
Bethann smiled. "Where c-c-can we put it?"
Again, Bill hesitated. He didn't want to chance his men coming across it. "I don't know. What about the hayloft?"
Perfect, Bethann thought, and Christine tagged along after them. She was deathly afraid of heights, but wasn't about to allow Bethann up the ladder and out of sight with Bill alone.
Bill placed the sign in a spot he and Bethann found agreeable, and Bethann felt hopeful. It was the only thing she could think to do. Christine tried to assure her on the way home. "Maybe it'll work, honey. Who knows?"
Bethann nodded.
"And don't let Bill's attitude bother you. He's always like that."
Bethann looked puzzled.
"You know. Mean."
"I don't th-think he's m-m-mean."
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