by C. S. Lakin
Jake walked a bit up the beach, reached over and picked up a gnarled piece of driftwood. It was hard to determine by the odd shape just what part of a tree it was, maybe the Y of a branch. He ran his fingers along the smooth, soft surface and recalled Leah’s words, that day on the beach, words that puzzled Jake then but now made some sense.
“What are you doing, Dad?”
Jake turned and Dinah was beside him. He looked back up the hill of sand to where Joey and Ben played.
“Just thinking,” he said.
“Are you okay? You didn’t say much after talking with that doctor. I could tell when you came out of his office that . . . things aren’t looking good for Ben.”
Jake hadn’t wanted to discuss any of it with all three children, there in the middle of the waiting room, people sitting nearby with nothing better to do than eavesdrop on others’ complaints.
“No,” he said, “they’re not. He’s got a kidney disease, and there’s not a whole lot we can do for him at this point.”
Dinah linked her arm around his, looked out at the water. She said quietly, “Then we’ll take care of him as best as we can. And we need to pray and trust God.”
Jake snorted. “Do you really believe that—that praying will help? After what you’ve been through—your mom dying and that . . . hateful boy who hurt you . . . and now Ben . . .”
“I do, Dad. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I talk to Joey about it all the time. He says we just can’t see the whole picture. That everything that happens is because God allows it, yet he doesn’t intend for us to go through all this pain. The Bible says he makes everything work out for the good of those who love him.”
“You listen to your brother way too much.”
Dinah smiled. “Yeah, I do. But his hope keeps him going. Hope is an anchor for the soul, the Scriptures say—”
“And holding onto an anchor will drag you to the bottom of the sea.”
“Dad! You know what I mean. If you don’t hold on to hope, then you have nothing to live for. You have to believe there’s something greater than you, someone in control, who wants good for you, for your life.”
He searched her face. “Don’t tell me your brother’s convinced you to become a Christian, to join the church.”
She gave him a look of Rachel’s. “No, it wasn’t him. It was God who spoke to my heart, showed me I was precious to him. I got to where I just didn’t want to live anymore, you know. I missed mom so much and then . . . then Shane . . .” She sucked in a breath and straightened, looking poised the way she used to stand listening for the opening piano chords before she took off across the floor on her toe shoes. “I poured out my heart to God, asked him to help me, save me—from my dark thoughts and inability to pull myself out of my funk. I knew I couldn’t do any of it in my own strength, but he showed me that when we are most weak, that’s when he is strong, and can lift us above our problems and heal the hurts. He can do more than we can imagine, Dad. He’s the creator of the entire universe.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m glad you’ve found something to believe in. I can tell it’s given you comfort, and I’m happy about that.”
“But?”
“But what?” he asked.
“You don’t think it applies to you—God’s grace. It does, Dad. You just have to trust him and ask for his help.”
He tried not to laugh, held back what he really wanted to say. Listening to Dinah was just like listening to Rachel—there was no arguing with her; she was right and would not be convinced otherwise. He figured all those years of Rachel dragging the kids to church, making them attend Sunday school, had subconsciously brainwashed them. Although, in some ways he wished it had done a work in Levi and Simon. He’d prefer them obsessed with religion rather than living like they were now—aimless, negative, out for pleasure with no ambition at all. Levi had moved in with Simon, into a different apartment, Simon unable to bear living in the one he had shared with Shane, and Jake couldn’t blame him—all those reminders. Another guy from Simon’s band lived with them, although after Shane’s death, the group had disbanded and from what Dinah said, Simon rarely played his guitar anymore, both her brothers busy working at the same bicycle store and still partying hard.
“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get back to the boys. Are you hungry for lunch?”
Dinah nodded and gave Jake a smile, but he could tell she was disappointed in him. He grunted silently. Like who wasn’t—ever? The story of his life, a fitting epitaph for his grave: “Here lies Jake Abrams—the man everyone was disappointed in.” How could he not believe that God, too, was just as disappointed?
Dinah took his hand and they walked back to the boys, Joey aglow in his natural radiance and Ben, in stark contrast, dull and lifeless.
Leah’s words came back to him. When she’d handed him that piece of driftwood. “Once this piece had character and form. It belonged, flowed with life. But now after years in the water, all the ridges have been rubbed away, leaving it shapeless, purposeless, adrift.” That was Jake—still drifting through his life, the edges of his hopes and dreams now worn smooth and formless. He thought about his carvings in the garage, so many of them unfinished and incomplete, just like he was. Just like his dreams. Would he ever make sense of this slippery thing called life? Would he? Or would he wander the rest of his days until he died, devoid of understanding or clarity? He wished he could hope. But it seemed a foolish thing to grasp, just like blind faith in a God who made a lot of promises but never seemed to fulfill them.
No, he was glad Dinah and Joey felt comforted by that hope, even if it turned out to be false. Maybe a false hope was better than no hope at all. But Jake was too tired of disappointment to allow himself to consider ever hoping again. For anything.
He looked at Ben sitting there in the sand, the shovel and bucket at his feet. He looked so small and innocent, so helpless. Jake’s heart sank, and he wondered how he would drum up the strength and courage to face all the days ahead. He would just have to count on Joey’s and Dinah’s hope to pull them all through. He hoped—against hope—that it would be enough.
In some strange interface between worlds, in that moment of twilight where it was neither day nor light, Levi stood scrutinizing the horizon. Something moved, a dark shadow, and fear gripped him as he realized it was coming toward him. For him.
A high-pitched indecipherable wail assaulted his ears, not so much loud as it was grating, setting off his nerves as he lifted his hands to block out the sound.
His hands felt wet. He held them out in front of him, saw they were drenched in blood. The shock of the sight made him stumble backward, trip over something. He fell hard to a rocky ground and the wailing pierced his heart, the sound coming from nowhere and everywhere.
He searched in the meager light to see what he had tripped over, gagged when he saw it was a human body. He didn’t want to look, wanted to run away, far away, but he felt compelled by a force outside himself, something dragging his head closer to see just who was underfoot.
Shane’s face with its vacant decomposing eyes shone with an eerie green light, like phosphorus, his flesh riddled with holes from insects and animals feasting on it, revealing bits of ivory cheekbone and forehead and skull.
Levi tried to jump to his feet but a hand reached out and grasped him with a fierce need. Shane’s half-eaten mouth opened, revealed a cavern of worms and crawling beetles that spewed out along with words crusty and splintered.
“Come, join me, Levi. Here, where you belong . . .”
Levi opened his own mouth to scream but snakes spilled out his own mouth, the sight and taste of reptile making him gag. He yanked against the hand gripping his arm, the skeletal limb dangling with flesh, but could not get free.
A bright flare caught his peripheral vision. He turned and saw a figure backlit by a brilliant light and relief surged through him. An angel had come to rescue him.
But as the figure approached, Levi’s spirit sank in terror.
&nb
sp; There stood Joey, in white raiment, his countenance illuminating the barren landscape, Levi’s blood-drenched hands, Shane’s horrific expression.
“Please,” Levi managed to say through the writhing snakes inhabiting his mouth. “Help me.”
Joey smiled but did not move. Levi waited for an eternity, panicky, fearful. Why wasn’t Joey helping him?
Then Levi noticed the dark shape that he had seen earlier coming closer, taking form—the shape of a human but much larger than any Levi had ever seen. He could not make out any features as the shape came up behind Joey and stopped.
Finally, Joey spoke. “You can’t hide any longer. The truth must be told. Shane’s death must be avenged. A life for a life.”
Levi shook uncontrollably. “Wh-what . . . did you do?”
The smile never left Joey’s face. “What I had to. I told them. Told them everything.” He stepped aside and now Levi could see the face of the dark creature bearing down on him, gruesome, with sharp doglike incisors dripping with slime.
Joey signaled to the creature and it ran at Levi with hunger in its eyes. Levi glanced one last time at Joey, pleading and groaning.
Joey shook his head. “I’m sorry, Levi. I can’t help you. And now it’s time for you to pay for your crime.”
Levi felt something shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes with a start, heard screaming, then realized he was the one screaming in the dark. He screamed again, waiting for teeth to bite through his skin, but only heard Simon’s stern voice.
“Levi, wake up! Hey, wake up!”
With a soft click, his small lamp turned on beside him, returning him in a rush to the bedroom he shared with Simon, in their apartment in Van Nuys. Simon kneeled next to his bed and Levi heard the muffled noise of traffic over the pounding of blood in his ears. He slowed his panting with deep breaths, wiped his sweaty forehead.
“Another nightmare?”
Levi nodded. Simon opened his palm to reveal two round white pills. “Take these, bro. You gotta get some sleep. You gotta let go of this fear.”
Levi nodded, popped the pills in his mouth, swallowed.
Simon stood, paced the small space between their two beds, stepping on the clothes and dirty towels strewn about. “It’s been more than two years. Everyone’s forgotten about it.”
“Not Shane’s folks. Not Joey.”
“Joey.” Simon pursed his lips. “Look, he hasn’t said a word about it to anyone, not after we burned that scrapbook and told Dad. No doubt Dad got through to him.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“I don’t either. But there’s nothing we can do about it. Just be nice to him when you see him. Maybe he’ll think you’ve repented.”
“I have—”
Simon rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just tell him you saw God in a vision—that he forgave you and told you it’s all cool.”
Levi blew out a breath. If only that were true—that he could be sure God had forgiven him. But he knew to be forgiven you had to first confess your sins and be willing to suffer the consequences—and that was something Levi just couldn’t get up nerve to do. Every time he thought about praying, he froze up in fear, worrying God would demand from him something he could never do—confess to the police, come clean. Tell Shane’s parents what really happened to their only son.
Levi thought about the news broadcast, as fresh in his mind as if he’d sat in front of the TV listening to it just yesterday, wanting to blot out their tears and pleas for someone to help them find their son, the whole time Levi drilling into his heart that Shane got what he deserved and justice had been served and Levi was more like a hero, for who knew how many girls the jerk would have raped in his lifetime. Shane could have killed Dinah, knocking her across the head like he had. She could have hit her head on a big rock and died. Maybe the next girl he took up there wouldn’t have been so lucky. So Levi knew he was doing the whole world a big favor, ridding the planet of vermin that had no right to take up space.
Still, no amount of rationalizing assuaged his raging conscience. He hadn’t seen his Aunt Abby in years, but hers was the loud, unceasing voice in his head. Instead of a little cartoon angel on his shoulder shaking a finger at him and calling him bad, he had his aunt railing at him, week in and week out. He wished he knew a way to exorcise her from his head, or put some duct tape over her mouth to shut her up.
“Look,” Simon said, interrupting his endless treadmill of guilt that just went round and round, “I’m really wasted and need some shut-eye. Do you think we can just turn off the light and get back to sleep? I’m opening the shop in the morning, and you don’t have to be in till later.”
“Sure. Sorry.” He turned off the lamp and lay back on his covers, listened to Simon climbing into his own bed, plumping up his pillow. He hoped the pills would kick in. He’d been taking too many pills, and was having trouble keeping things straight, paying attention at work. His boss had warned him more than once to get it together or he might be out of a job. He could barely function without popping something all day long. If only there was a magic pill that could make him forget, put him in a mindless, blissful state of innocence, even if he was anything but. Just for one day, he’d be grateful for that relief. But he knew better. There was no magic pill short of the big pill—the one where you checked out. Even that, Levi figured, wouldn’t give him respite, oblivion.
He thought of the dark shape in his nightmares, coming for him, and shuddered. He knew that was what awaited him down the line. Those weren’t nightmares, he realized. They were portents of what was to come, the hounds of hell nipping at his feet.
He lay his head on his pillow and stared at the dark ceiling, waiting for sleep that he knew would come late in the night—and dreading it.
1995
I’ll Stand By You
Oh, why you look so sad?
Tears are in your eyes
Come on and come to me now
Don’t be ashamed to cry
Let me see you through
‘Cause I’ve seen the dark side too
When the night falls on you
You don’t know what to do
Nothin’ you confess could make me love you less
I’ll stand by you, I’ll stand by you
Won’t let nobody hurt you
I’ll stand by you
Take me in, into your darkest hour
And I’ll never desert you
I’ll stand by you
—Pretenders
Instead of driving straight to the Ventura Freeway, Dinah, turned left onto Zoo Drive, then merged onto Forest Lawn Drive. It only took Joey a moment to understand what Dinah was doing.
“Why are you going here? It’s Ben’s birthday. I thought we were supposed be cheering him up, not getting him depressed.”
Dinah swung the wheel of the car and turned into the long wide drive leading to the acres of cemetery. “It’s also the day Mom died. And Ben’s the one who asked to go.”
“I’m okay, Joey,” Ben answered from the backseat. “I just want to see where she’s buried. And I did have a lot of fun at the zoo.”
“You rode that elephant like a pro,” Dinah said, eying his smile in the rearview mirror. She was so glad he’d been able to walk two full hours, enjoying the animals, eating churros. Even his color looked a little better. Maybe the drugs they now had him on were working. He hadn’t had a serious health lapse in months, which really helped Ben’s outlook. He wanted so much to go back to school, be with his friends in the classroom, but he’d fallen behind—even for second grade. Dinah had been practically home-schooling him this last year, but she enjoyed it. She even took him to some of her classes at the community college—her teachers didn’t seem to mind, since he was so quiet and well behaved.
She tried to recall how old she was the last time the family had visited Rachel’s grave. It wasn’t long after Ben had been born, maybe a year or so. She would have been about twelve. She didn’t remember much other than the hor
rible pain she felt, and the bitter anger her dad exuded, making the visit graveside an awful time. Her dad had made Simon and Levi come, although they at first refused to go. Simon made some kind of scene there, stormed off, and they ended up driving up and down the lanes lined by graves looking for him, her dad giving up and making for the exit, determined to leave Simon there, only to spot him sitting at the big iron gates, just staring off into space.
Dinah had put some flowers on the grave, thinking how her mom would have been disappointed by the boring store-bought flowers that looked nothing like the beautiful ones she’d grown in her garden. In subsequent years, on Ben’s birthday, Dinah would ask about visiting the cemetery but her dad just said no and changed the subject. She wondered if he ever went alone, without telling them. Or maybe it was just too painful for him and he stayed away. That’s why she hadn’t told him of today’s plan. He didn’t need to know, did he?
