Forest of the Mind (The Book of Terwilliger 1)

by Michael Stiles

  When January came, Danny stopped paying the rent.

  Every day after the first of the month, he feared that the next knock on the door would be some brute sent by the landlord to kick them out. But the brute never arrived, and as the weeks went by Danny began to wonder if the landlord even knew they were in arrears.

  It was snowing and bitterly cold on the night Danny came home late to find Alice making out with some guy on the couch. The guy had his back to the door, so Danny couldn’t see his face as he seized his collar and dragged him off of his sister and onto the floor.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Alice whispered fiercely, tugging her sweater back down into place while Danny looked away in embarrassment.

  “Why are you whispering?” Danny asked her, but on a moment’s reflection he knew why. “Oh God, is Ma sleeping in there?”

  “Stop shouting!” Alice whispered.

  “Show a little respect!” Danny fired back, although he did lower his voice a little. “What would Dad think? Making out with some... some...” He was still struggling to find the right descriptive noun when he looked over to see the face of the young man who was now dragging himself to his feet. It was Ching.

  “Hey, Danny―”

  “What the hell is this all about?” Danny demanded.

  Alice tried to step between them. “It’s none of your business. And stop making so much noise!”

  “Danny, I came over ’cause I needed to talk to you,” said Ching, desperate to change the subject. “You weren’t here, and―”

  “She’s my sister!”

  “Oh, grow up, Tien-Ming. It’s not like it’s our first time,” Alice said. Danny stared at her, horrorstruck. Ching began edging toward the door.

  “I’ll talk to you in a minute,” Danny told Alice, shaking his finger at her. Then he spun around and marched out the door, forcing Ching to hurry along in his wake.

  Out in the hallway, the dust-caked old fluorescent lights cast a thin white light from above, making Ching look pale and sickly. They stood there in silence for a minute while Danny fought to hold onto his temper.

  It was Ching who spoke first. “I should have told you, bro.”

  “Yeah. You should’ve told me.”

  Ching stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched, looking more than anything like a toddler who’d been caught drawing on the wall. “Sorry,” he said.

  Danny sighed. “It’s all right. Just don’t ever go near her again.”

  Ching’s eyes widened. “But―”

  “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I―” Ching shook his head in frustration. “My grandfather. He sent me to come get you. He needs your help.”

  Danny couldn’t help but laugh. “My help? You know what? I’m done with your grandfather, man.” He started back toward his apartment.

  “He feels bad about what happened. To you, and to your mom’s store. He wants to help you earn enough to open it up again.”

  Danny stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “At least talk to him,” Ching said to his back. “See what he wants you to do. There’s worse things than working for him.”

  “Are there?”

  Ching exhaled loudly. “Just come talk to him.”

  “Fine. I’ll come over to the restaurant tomorrow.”

  “He wants to see you tonight.”

  Sighing, Danny turned around and looked at Ching. His friend’s shaggy hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple days. Danny wondered if it was his work for Wang that had been keeping him up. “I don’t want Alice to get caught in the middle of anything,” Danny said.

  Ching looked him in the eye and said, “She won’t. I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”

  “Okay.” Danny ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll hear what he has to say.” He started for the stairs, and Ching began to walk back toward the apartment. Danny grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him. “You come with me,” he said.

  “But my coat’s in there.”

  “I’ll get your coat.”

  Double Harmony was closed when they got there, but an employee unlocked the door for them when Ching knocked. Wang was sitting at one of the big round tables, drinking brandy and fondling a pretty waitress who sat on his lap with a look of barely-veiled annoyance on her face. When he saw Ching and Danny come in, Wang sent the waitress back to the kitchen with a slap on the rump. She hurried away, buttoning up her blouse and looking greatly relieved at her escape, and Wang motioned for Ching and Danny to take a seat.

  “It’s been two hours. I said to hurry, Yan-Ching,” Wang grumbled.

  “It took a while to find him, Grandfather.”

  Wang waved the matter aside. “Tien-Ming,” he said, slurring his words a little. When he spoke, it was in a rural dialect rather than the formal Cantonese he had used when Danny last saw him. “I never had a chance to compliment you on your game. You’re talented.”

  “I’m just lucky,” said Danny.

  Wang laughed richly. “No, you’re not. Tea?” He waved to another waitress—the first one had disappeared into the kitchen and had probably already snuck out the back door—who hurried over with a teapot and poured two steaming cups, deftly slipping away before Wang’s fingers could reach her.

  “As I was saying,” said Wang, “you are a very talented cheater. No one could tell how you did it.”

  “I don’t cheat.”

  “Of course not. Do you know who that man was? The one you beat in the game?”

  Danny shook his head and glanced over at Ching, who didn’t seem to know either.

  “Mr. Chiu is a customs broker. A third of all the goods that come into this city from Hong Kong are processed by his company to clear customs. He’s also a formidable mahjong player. Did you know he sent a man to kill you that night?”

  Danny swallowed. “No.”

  “I put a stop to that, of course. I put you in that game with Chiu to see how you’d do. Yan-Ching had told me what a good player you are”—Danny shot a poisonous look at Ching, who was focusing intently on his teacup—“but I had to see for myself. Unfortunate that Chiu had to lose, but losing was good for him. Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Danny, unsure whether Wang actually expected an answer.

  “‘Yes, sir,’” Wang imitated. “Don’t be afraid of me, Tien-Ming. My friends have nothing to be afraid of. How would you like to earn some money for your mother?”

  Danny tried not to let his face betray his feelings on that matter. “I don’t think my mother would want me working for you. Sir.”

  Wang threw back his head and guffawed, drawing curious stares from his employees, who were busy cleaning tables and stacking chairs. “Your mother thinks I’m a scoundrel. Maybe I am.” He thought about this for a moment. “Yes, of course I am. But I treat my friends well, and I want to help your family. Which is why I hope you’ll work for me. You can’t say no until you know what you’re refusing, eh?” He watched Danny and waited for a response.

  “Yes,” Danny said. “I mean no.”

  Wang reached into his breast pocket and produced a stack of bills bound with a rubber band, which he slid across the white tablecloth to Danny. “An advance. I want you to play mahjong for me.”

  Danny frowned. “You want me to play―”

  “Mahjong. I’ll tell you where to sit and whom I want you to beat. You beat them. In return, you’ll keep a portion of your winnings, and I’ll make sure you and your family are protected from any more... misfortunes.”

  Misfortunes. Danny almost laughed out loud at Wang’s choice of word. “I keep a portion, you said. How much of a portion?”

  Wang made a face, as though money was a sensitive thing he didn’t like talking about. Danny wasn’t fooled. “Twenty-five percent,” he said finally. “I keep seventy-five percent of whatever is in your pockets at the end of each night.”

  “And how much would you give me to play with?”

  Wang smil
ed and pointed at the money on the table. “That’s five hundred dollars to get you started on your first night.”

  “What about after the first night?”

  “After that, you play with your own winnings.”

  “So”—Danny did some quick math in his head—“if I play with $100 of my own money, I have to win $300 more just to break even.”

  Wang shrugged. “If you want to look at it that way.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Ching made a nervous sound next to him. “If I play with my own money, I should be able to keep everything I win.”

  Wang was no longer smiling. “You keep twenty-five percent of what’s in your pockets each night,” he repeated. “You have no right to complain. The last time you were here, you played with my money and cheated. Then you tried to sneak away with my money. I don’t permit stealing, Tien-Ming, and you were doubly lucky to stay alive that night. There are consequences for trying to steal from me. And don’t let anyone catch you cheating, Tien-Ming, or you will be on your own. I won’t protect you in that event.”

  “I told you, I don’t cheat. And I wasn’t trying to steal anything.”

  “That is the deal.”

  “Well,” Danny said, starting to get up, “I’ll need to go home and think about it.” Ching was looking rapidly from Danny to Wang and back again.

  “No. Think now and decide. I don’t have time to waste. Important men are coming to town this Friday, and I need you ready to play.”

  “Then I have to say no.” Danny tried to imagine what his mother would say if she even knew he was having this conversation. A lot of things were happening this evening that would kill her if she knew.

  “Think some more,” Wang said. “Think what you have to lose if you don’t do this. Think about your mother and sister.”

  Danny stood looking down at Wang, hearing the threat in his words and knowing that he had no choice. “Fine,” he said. He snatched up the money and stalked to the door.

  “And Tien-Ming,” Wang called after him, “leave your childish attitude at the door the next time you come. Friday night.”

  17

  Spiders and Darkness

  The elderly woman who lived next door to Ed was out getting her mail. She held the gate for Tom and they walked through into the courtyard together. “You’re up late, Mrs. Findlay!” he said brightly.

  “I don’t sleep much anymore, not since my Herbert passed on. Even when he was alive, we used to stay up late most nights.”

  “Some people are just night owls,” Tom said. “Me, I need seven hours or I’m useless in the morning.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Kajdas. I think it would do Edwin some good to have company. He’s so lost without his Eleanor. Poor thing.” Tom didn’t know whether the “poor thing” was meant to refer to Eleanor or Ed. Both, perhaps.

  “Ed’s been having a rough time of it. I feel bad for him. Is that a new dress? You look lovely.” Tom always made it a point to compliment her on her dress or hair or shoes whenever he saw her, and she always blushed a little bit at the kind words.

  “Oh, thank you. I’ve had this old thing for years.”

  “Do you know if Ed’s home?”

  “I heard him playing his music earlier. He plays it awfully loud, sometimes.”

  Tom checked his watch; it was a quarter after ten. “Thanks, ma’am. You have a good evening.” He offered her a hand to help her up the steps.

  “You do the same, Mr. Kajdas. No, I’m fine. Thank you.” Mrs. Findlay gripped the iron railing with an arthritic hand as she made her way back up the steps with her mail.

  Kajdas knocked on Ed’s door; there was no answer.

  Ed had been slipping into troubling territory these last few months. He’d seemed to be getting better for a while, late last year, but that had abruptly changed a few weeks ago when he’d shown up unannounced at Tom’s house one night with a hunted look in his eyes. He hadn’t said what was wrong, but Tom had suspected that something had come loose inside Ed’s head around that time.

  Things had only gotten worse from there, and then Ed had somehow gotten tangled up in drugs. Tom recognized the signs. Ed had begun behaving strangely, sleeping little and looking more gaunt and exhausted every day. It was difficult enough for Tom to see him like that, and more difficult still to press him to keep up his end of their bargain. Tom just hoped Albert would let him leave Ed alone when the job was done; the poor fellow had been through enough. Some of which was Tom’s own fault, to be sure.

  Tom knocked again. Still no response. He considered forcing his way in, but decided against it. He was sure Ed could beat this problem, given time, and Tom would do what he could to help him through it.

  A beggar with long, gray hair sat among the garbage cans outside Ed’s front gate, watching Tom with piercingly blue eyes as he walked past. Tom slipped a hand under his jacket, but the man didn’t move from his spot. Kajdas took his hand off his automatic when he was a safe distance away.

  The radio came on when he started the car, playing an old Glenn Miller tune. Tom always gravitated to the music of his younger days. He’d heard enough of today’s music, the misguided protest songs by drug-addled hippies, to see that the long-haired rock groups were contributing to the sub-culture of rebellion that was tearing society apart. They and their kind wouldn’t be around much longer, not if he had his way. He’d decided long ago not to remain a bystander when he saw a threat to the American way of life, and he couldn’t think of anything more dangerous to what America represented than the poisoning of children’s minds by these so-called musical groups. Tom hummed along with Glenn’s orchestra as he pulled away in his big blue Electra.

  * * *

  Ed’s head was pounding as he knelt on the kitchen floor in front of his hiding place. He stared at the bottom drawer for a long time, struggling with himself while the gnome sat on the counter and laughed at him. It was able to speak to him now—not just a few words, but complete sentences. Not that the things it said made much sense. Ed reached out and put a hand on the drawer handle, but he didn’t open it.

  There was a knock at the door. Ed was so startled he nearly wet himself, but he clenched his teeth and tried to control his breathing. His head throbbed even more painfully from the effort of it.

  “We’re in here!” the gnome called gleefully. It was just trying to get a response from him, he knew, and he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.

  Another knock, and then he heard footsteps retreating along the walkway to the steps down to the courtyard. Ed counted to twenty before he allowed himself to breathe normally again. No sound came from the bedroom; Doris was still asleep in there.

  “Look at you,” the gnome taunted from its perch on the countertop. “He knows you’re weak. That’s why he sent the girl to watch you.”

  “Shut up,” Ed muttered. Carefully and silently, he pulled out his box and placed it on the counter. The last envelope was less than half full. He poured the remaining powder out into his trembling hand.

  It looked so harmless in the palm of his hand. How could a little bit of powder control him the way it did? Ed stared at it for a long time, knowing what he had to do but unable to muster the willpower to do it.

  The gnome cocked its head to the side and watched him.

  In a quick motion, so there would be no chance to change his mind, Ed dumped the heroin into the sink and turned on the water. In five seconds it was gone.

  Five seconds after that, Ed began to wish he hadn’t done it. It was easier to convince himself that he didn’t need the drug when it was still safely hidden away. Now that it was gone, he wasn’t so sure he could live without it.

  He returned the box to its hiding place and stumbled to the living room, where the bag of gumdrops still sat on the coffee table. The bag rustled softly as he picked it up.

  The gnome dropped to the floor with a heavy clunk and came closer, all the while watching Ed with its red eye. “He can’t get rid of me,” it said. “He can give you
drugs and teach you tricks, but he doesn’t know the truth.”

  Ed opened the bag and took out a gumdrop. “What truth?” He should know better than to talk to it—that was what it wanted—but he knew it would tell him anyway.

  “The truth about you. You don’t need his drugs to see. I can show you things that he has no idea how to do. But first you have to let me in. The more you chase me away, the more―”

  “I thought I told you to shut up,” Ed said. He put a piece of candy in his mouth. Then, just in case one wasn’t enough, he ate two more.

  “I’m still here,” the gnome said. Ed sat down and closed his eyes, willing it to go away.

  After a few moments, he began to wonder if something had gone wrong. He felt odd, but not the way he’d felt at the Guru’s party. He opened his eyes. The gnome still stood in the doorway, watching him. It would have disappeared by now if he’d just taken the heroin. The creature’s mouth twisted into a horrible smile and its red eye glowed with a light that filled Ed’s vision. He tried to stand up, but quickly sat down again when the room tipped him off balance. He held his head in his hands, gripping his hair in his fingers, and tried to stop the rotating feeling by looking at his feet. An odd sound started up, somewhere far away—a quiet, high-pitched keening that rapidly rose in volume until it threatened to shatter his skull.

  A spider as big as his thumbnail crawled over his shoe. Ed tried to leap to his feet and shake it off, but he lost his balance and fell to the floor. Now they had him; another spider crawled out from under the couch, and another. They were big, black, hairy things, and he could feel their weight on him as more of them emerged from the darkness. Ed clawed his way up to sit on the edge of the table, knocking the paper bag to the floor, where it was quickly overrun by the spiders. “Get off of me,” he cried, kicking at them.