When it came time to talk, we went on for hours. She asked me about the ordeal I’d just been through, and I relayed to her the made-up story, though not without a twinge of guilt. Soon after, the conversation moved to our life together. We discussed the troubles we’d experienced and how they didn’t matter any longer now that I was back. I asked her about the divorce papers, and she said she’d torn them up after the second day of my disappearance.
“It didn’t seem right to have them around,” she said, her lip quivering. “I was so scared. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you if you were gone…until you actually were.”
“I know,” I said. “I felt it, too. I was so scared, Wendy. I’ll never be the man I was again. And that’s a promise.”
She put her finger over my lips. “Don’t promise that,” she whispered. “It’s unrealistic. Just promise you’ll try.”
I nodded. “I will. Completely. Scout’s honor.”
“I accept,” she said with a smile. “Always and forever, right?”
“Always and forever.”
By the time we turned off the light and curled up together, still naked, it was almost four in the morning. I tucked the covers beneath me while the air conditioner rattled away, telling myself I would appreciate everything from now on – my wife, my life, sleeping in an actual bed, the wonder of artificially cooled air. With that came thoughts of Silas, my boy, our boy. I sniffled and felt a tear roll down my cheek once more.
“What’s wrong?” asked Wendy.
“I just miss Silas,” I replied. “I’ll die if he’s not okay.” I turned to her. “I love him so much.”
“I know you do,” she said, “and don’t you worry, he’ll be fine. Now shut up and hold me.”
I did. It felt wonderful. When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of running through a field with my wife, my dog, and a platoon of small children. And that was wonderful, too.
68
The next day we went to the veterinarian’s office. The vet told us that despite everything, Silas had come out pretty lucky. His body was starved for fluids and he’d lost a lot of blood, but they’d been able to stitch his wounds and he seemed to be doing much better. He’d fractured one of his rear legs, but it was now stable. Just hearing this put me in a state of shock. He’d been so strong, so driven to guide us away from danger, and he’d done it on a broken leg. It was amazing. We also found out his left eye was gone, of course. The doctor said he’d sealed it shut and asked if we wanted to insert a prosthetic. Wendy and I talked about it a moment and finally declined. He’d been through enough already, we thought. No need to put him under the knife yet again.
Two days later we picked him up. He wobbled out the front door with his right rear leg bandaged, a cone around his head, and a big, sloppy grin on his doggy face. Wendy and I knelt down and he broke away from the assistant who’d led him out. He ran toward us with a hobble, the lease flailing about behind him. We both laughed, until he jumped up and planted his front paws into Wendy’s chest. She fell over, still laughing as he licked her face.
“It’s okay, Silas,” she said when she finally got away from his huge tongue. “I missed you too.”
He then turned in my direction, only there was no frantic greeting this time. Instead he leaned his head into me, allowing me to stroke his fur and kiss his nose. He acted coy, as if there was a secret between us that no one else would ever know – which of course was true.
We loaded him in the car, and immediately he was back in Old Silas mode, pacing around the back seat and slobbering all over the windows. The cone made it a little difficult for him to get around – he constantly whacked it against the back of my seat and growled at the frustration this newfound lack of freedom caused. I put the car in reverse and backed away, watching him as he performed these same rituals over, and over, and over again. Once more I thought of him as he’d been as a boy. Would he have done the same thing here? Would his human side have flourished? Would he have stared out that window with his chin propped on his hand, watching as the world sped by? I shuddered, knowing that I’d never find out…at least not this way. I grinned, reached over, and patted Wendy on the stomach.
“What’s that for?” she asked.
“Just thinking that we didn’t use protection last night,” I replied. “What do you think the chances are that you’re…you know…”
She looked at me from below her brow as if I was an alien. “Are you saying…” she started.
I nodded.
Wendy chuckled and slapped the dashboard. She then stared out her window. I saw her reflection in the side mirror. She looked so in awe, so beyond relieved. She looked happy.
Home, here we come, I thought, and with one last reach-behind to give Silas a comforting tousle, I pulled onto the highway heading south.
69
Upon returning to Mercy Hills, I was greeted with a hero’s welcome. Our telephone rang off the hook as both national and local newspaper and television reporters barraged us with interview requests, wanting to be the first to land a feature on The Savior of Oak Street. We did our best to ignore their calls. Just as when I’d found the body of Bridget Cormier, I wanted no part of the attention. I was never one who believed in capitalizing on misfortune – which, though it ended well for all involved, this still was.
In the end I did choose to do one interview, with ABC news. I was told it would be a fifteen minute piece showing at the end of their nightly news magazine, but to my dismay I discovered they turned my single interview into a full two-hour special. Due to my reluctance to talk, they ended up filling much of the time with in-depth interviews with the families of the four girls.
Wendy and I watched the special, horrified at first. Our dismay slowly faded, however, when Amanda, Tina, Laura, and Molly appeared on the screen, flanked by their parents. The girls seemed amazingly well-adjusted, being back in their normal lives after such a harrowing experience. And when Amanda’s mother, whose daughter had been missing for almost two years, broke down in front of the camera while blabbering her thanks to me, I cried. I had no right to suppress this experience from them. It was part of their healing process, and I was a major component in all these families getting their daughters back alive. I would just have to come to grips with that.
There was a particular element to this newfound fame that made me smile. Two weeks after returning home, I heard Ricky Davenport’s voice on my answering machine. It turned out he’d told Roger Crane he had an “in” with me, and was seeking exclusive rights to adapt a screenplay based on my story. I called him up the next day and basically told him he could go screw himself. He wasn’t too happy when I said that and he pleaded with me incessantly, saying that he’d promised Roger that it was a done deal and he’d be screwed if I said no.
Oh well, I said. Them’s the breaks. And I hung up. Was it petty of me? Probably. But hey, at least it gave me reason to smile.
As for Will and Kaiser, I never saw the two of them again, though I did make a few calls that always remained unreturned. I imagined them living with some loving family in northern Vermont, going to school, making friends, and maybe even learning to ski. It was a tough image to capture, what with Will’s sternness and Kaiser’s precocious tendencies. In truth they were an odd pair, though I assumed they’d end up quite the ladies men when they got older, not to mention good fathers. That thought more than any filled me with appreciation. They’d been changed by the whole experience too, just like me.
My relationship with Joe and Jacqueline changed, as well. We weren’t necessarily close before, but we were even more distant once I came back. Joe thanked me of course, and seemed much more than sincere in doing so, but there was something reticent about his body language and his expression whenever we spoke. Wendy assumed that it was tough for him, that now he felt indebted to me in a way he could never repay. I understood that and tried not to force the issue. If I saw him outside I’d wave, if Silas broke free from his leash and ran over I tried to be abrupt yet pl
easant when I went to retrieve him, but there were no deep talks, no hours standing there musing about the more profound aspects of life. It was simply pleasantries and courtesy. I guess, in some instances, life is easier to accept that way.
Silas recovered nicely from his injuries and was soon a rambunctious puppy again – though now we had to be careful about sneaking up on his left side. On more than one occasion I startled him and caught a head in the groin for it. It took a little getting used to, but smashed nutsacks make for quick learners.
We resumed our walks, too, though we found a farm on the other side of town to frequent. The Mancuso farm, despite its close proximity and beautiful scenery, just reminded me too much of the terrors we’d both experienced. I figured it would be better to find someplace new, even if it was a bit inconvenient to get to. Silas didn’t care. He was out in the world again, he was a puppy, and he was free. He simply pranced along, playing stick or Frisbee or whatever other game I decided to play with him. Wendy even started joining us on weekends. We became a happy family, something we’d never been before.
I started working at The Spinning Wheel again, though in a diminished capacity. Wendy didn’t want me overextending myself. She said my path in life wasn’t to serve as her errand boy. I appreciated the sentiment, even though I did sit her down one evening and explain that me helping advance her career was in fact what someone who loves another is supposed to do. It was something I finally understood, though I had to almost die to figure it out.
All this is to say that life returned to at least a semblance of normalcy. My wedding ring no longer remained stowed away in my dresser. Once I placed it over my finger, it never again left it. We were happy, truly happy, for the first time since early in our relationship, when we were both young and carefree. I started writing again and was actually able to start a manuscript I thought might have potential, if only I stayed with it this time. Wendy supported me, I supported her. Now, this isn’t to say we never argued – we did, and sometimes those disagreements were epic. But we tried our best to approach these confrontations with respect and understanding, always attempting to resolve whatever issues we had before things spiraled completely out of control, and never again did we go to bed angry with each other.
In early autumn, I was upstairs packing my bags in preparation for a trip. My old friend Marcus had invited Silas and me on a fishing excursion, and though I was never one for fishing – never mind sailing – I decided it would be helpful for the two of us to try new things. While digging through my underwear drawer I stumbled upon a manila envelope. I picked it up and stared at it for a moment. I hadn’t so much as thought of its contents since I stashed them in the drawer the day we arrived back home.
Opening up the package and dumping the two items inside on my nightstand, I was instantly taken back to that other world. Silas wandered into the room as I stared at them, his one eye twinkling while his tongue dangled off to the side. He stared at the golden bullet and silver disk, and then gazed back up at me. His head tilted to the side, as if he knew what I was thinking.
“I know,” I whispered, standing up and stuffing the items in my pocket. “There’s still one more thing we have to do.”
When we went outside that day, I saw moving vans parked in my neighbor’s driveway. A pair of large men lugged furniture out of the house. Joe walked out with a box in his arms. I nodded to him, he nodded back, and then he went back about his business.
Minutes later out came Jacqueline. She skipped down the driveway, humming, her long black hair bouncing behind her. Silas approached her and she stopped. She knelt down and petted him. Each time he turned so that his missing eye faced her, the little girl grimaced.
I walked across the thin strip of lawn separating our houses. Jacqueline glanced up as I did so, a goofy grin appearing on her face.
“Hi Mr. Ken,” she said.
I blushed, remembering how little Molly had addressed me the same way. “Hello, Jacqueline,” I replied, sweeping my arm at the bustle of activity behind her. “You guys moving?”
She nodded.
“Where to?”
“Upstate New Hampshire,” I heard Joe say. His back was to us, and he didn’t turn around. “My extended family owns land up there. It’s cheaper than here…not to mention more private.”
I turned back to Jacqueline. “Are you excited about this, sweetie?” I asked.
She shrugged and kept running her hands through Silas’s fur. “I guess so,” she replied.
Just then I felt a faint vibration on my thigh. It surprised me and I uttered a tiny yelp, which made Jacqueline giggle. I reached into my pocket to find the disk was quivering. I pulled it out and stared at it.
The crystal in the center of the disk glowed lightly, illuminating the symbols. “That’s pretty,” Jacqueline said. “Can I see it?”
“Sure.”
I handed her the disk, and something phenomenal happened. The moment her tiny fingers touched its smooth metal surface, the disk erupted in a blinding cascade of colored light. The luminosity encircled her like a cloak while she stared down at it, her eyes wide. She looked like an angel surrounded by the radiance of heaven. I remembered Ben’s words: It can detect the genetic makeup of any being whose origin comes from this place. Judging by the intensity of the light around little Jacqueline, she was much more than that.
“It’s so pretty,” she said, handing it back to me and shielding her eyes from the glare. The light and vibration died down the moment it left her grasp. I shoved it back in my pocket, and suddenly I knew, just knew, that it wasn’t fate that brought me here. The disk hadn’t reacted that way around the other girls, which meant Jacqueline really was the one Paul had been looking for. Was it coincidence that she was my neighbor’s daughter, and that Paul was my mirror? No matter how much my logical brain tried to make it so, I just couldn’t believe it.
I never saw Joe or Jacqueline again after that, at least not in person. But that’s another story.
Two days later, Silas and I stood on the deck of a fly fishing boat out in the Atlantic. We couldn’t see land any more. Marcus had stepped below decks for a minute, and I removed from my tote bag Wendy’s old cashbox. I placed the golden bullet and silver disk inside, along with about five pounds of ball bearings, and then closed and locked it. I hurled it over the side of the boat. The metal box splashed into the ocean and immediately sank beneath the surface. In seconds there was no clue it’d ever been there.
I placed a hand on Silas’s head and gently rubbed the place where his left eye had been. “I guess that’s that, huh boy?” I asked.
He barked and wagged his tail. I took that as a yes.
70
The funny thing about life is that it moves on. No matter how many experiences you have, all the spectacular, horrible, or simply dull moments are ultimately doomed to be nothing but a memory given time. And truth be told, that time goes by fast.
Of course it was the same way for me, and looking back on it now it seems everything happened all at once. Come winter we found out Wendy was pregnant. It was a girl. It turned out to be a mild surprise – we weren’t actively trying to have a child, I guess, but we’d stopped using all and any forms of birth control, using the whatever happens, happens mentality. I guess you could say we were being passive aggressive about the whole thing, but real change takes baby steps.
And baby steps were what we got. Tons of them. In the irony to beat all ironies, Deborah Ann Lowery was born on July 26th, a year to the day since Nick Goodman yanked me from this world and began my path to transformation. She was a wonderful child, bright, happy, smart, and full of energy. She kept us awake most nights early on, and I volunteered to stay up with her, seeing as Wendy remained dedicated to her pottery, and art waits for no man (or woman).
Speaking of The Spinning Wheel, my wife’s business took off like never before. Likely bolstered by our newfound fame, orders rolled in by the truckload. By the time Deborah was two years old, we’d had to hire a fu
ll-time staff of thirty just to keep up. The shop in Middletown was shut down in favor of a much larger building in uppity West Hartford, complete with a surplus of warehouse space. Wendy, tired of the countless hours of work, started a search of New England art schools, looking to pluck some rising young stars straight out of college. Before too long she had a team of six talented and dedicated artisans who kept the workshop kilns burning. Wendy still came up with the designs, of course, and oftentimes on weekends she’d disappear into the basement and spin that wheel. Creating things was in her blood, I guess, just like writing was in mine.
My personal successes didn’t come close to Wendy’s, but I was still able to take some pride in what I did outside of keeping the books for her. With the construction of a movie studio in New Haven, I requested – and received – permission to write a few treatments for novel conversions. A couple of them sold – albeit with major editing done by the studios after the fact – but the money was decent and it became something I could hang my hat on. My mentality was much better by then, anyhow. Hell, I watched Ricky Davenport become a relatively successful director and actually felt happy for him. I guess sometimes life really can amaze us.
In time we decided to move from our modest home in Mercy Hills to a larger and more convenient house two blocks from the West Hartford store. The move was ushered in by three things: we were now rolling in dough and could more than afford it; Wendy’s role as administrator, as there were times she’d had to put out fires – both figuratively and literally – in the middle of the night; the fact she’d gotten pregnant again. That’s right – baby number two was on the way.
Silas: A Supernatural Thriller Page 29
