Mystery Dance: Three Novels

by Scott Nicholson

  Jacob eyed the distance between his hiding place and the steel-girded shell of the building. He would never make it before the Chevy delivered its killing blow. He couldn’t run back to the parking lot without being cut off. His best chance was to slip down the rear of the property, where a creek bordered a stand of jack pines. The car couldn’t reach him there unless it was the sort of mythical beast that could sprout wings and fly.

  He fumbled for the flask and pulled it from his pocket. Evan Williams, eighty-six proof. His blood had chilled at the first sound of the car, and his numb fingers fought with the lid. He closed his eyes and let the liquor settle into a hot ball in his stomach.

  The car idled, purring like a giant asthmatic dragon. Jacob knew it would never give up on its prey. Even if he beat it to the creek and made for the safety of the undergrowth, the Chevy would find him again. Jacob took another harsh swallow, the heat inside expanding into frustration and anger. What behavior would the dragon least expect from its chosen victim?

  He stood, shouted, and charged the car. He raised the liquor bottle as if it were a battle mace. The sight of Jacob approaching like a suicide bomber must have unnerved the driver, because the car’s engine didn’t rev in anticipation of combat. The car neither attacked nor retreated.

  Jacob reached the driver’s-side, his fingers tight around the neck of the bottle, its contents dribbling out and running down his sleeve. He pulled the bottle back to smash the window when he saw his reflection in the tinted glass. He hardly recognized himself, so great was his dissipation over the recent weeks. Fear and rage had contorted his face. A crazed stranger looked back at him, a string of drool dangling from bared teeth, hair tangled, dark wedges of flesh ringing his bloodshot eyes. His arm froze in shock and revulsion.

  The driver’s side window descended slowly and once again Jacob was face to face with himself.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “You ain’t changed a bit, brother.”

  Jacob looked into the grinning mirror image and his muscles tensed to bring the bottle down in a smashing arc. But, as always, his self-hatred faltered when it counted most. The bottle slipped from his fingers and bounced off the packed dirt.

  “Why?” Jacob said through clenched teeth.

  His twin brother looked down at the liquor bottle. “Since when did upstanding citizens start drinking five-dollar bourbon straight from the bottle? I thought that junk was for white trash like me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jacob repeated.

  “This is the ‘Town That Wells Built,’ ain’t it? If a man can’t return to his ancestral home, where else can he go?” Joshua gunned the engine. “What do you think of my new ride?”

  “What’s the idea of stalking me?”

  “Hey, lighten up, Jake. Still got that little problem with paranoia? I thought you saw somebody about that.”

  “Fuck you, Josh.”

  “You’re as pissed off as a snake in duct tape. But get over it, because we got business. Family business.”

  Jacob wanted to tear himself away, to run for the safety of the woods, because this threat was bigger and sharper and more dangerous than a homicidal car. But those intense hazel eyes mesmerized him and melted the years away. His lungs hurt, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. “I’ve got nothing to say to you. Go away.”

  “This ain’t like blowing out the candles on our birthday cake together. Just because you make a wish don’t mean it comes true.”

  Wish me. The night of the fire. “You don’t belong here anymore.”

  “We came up from the same dark hole, Jakie Boy.” Joshua’s breath was fetid and thick, mingling with the car exhaust. “And I been in the hole a long, long time. Gets lonely down there. But I guess you’re figuring that out for yourself.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.”

  “No, because all of it’s already mine. You was just holding it for me.”

  Now that the initial shock had passed, Jacob could see the small differences between him and Joshua that only a few people would notice, the subtle marks of time and gravity. Joshua had a nearly invisible scar above his right eyebrow. Joshua had never tried to control his alcoholism, so the broken blood vessels beneath the skin of his face were more apparent. His teeth were also more yellow and uneven than Jacob’s, the result of different eating habits and lack of dental care. But the rest of the features would fool anyone short of a well-trained detective. Joshua even had the same hair length and density of stubble, as if he’d been observing Jacob’s slide into self-destruction and had made an intentional effort to copy it.

  Not that Joshua had ever needed a role model for this particular type of decline. He’d always been inspired on his own. He’d stripped himself of the Wells taint and moved into a rat-infested mobile home just across the border in east Tennessee. While Jacob had been staging his decadent poet’s act in college, Joshua was piloting charter bass boats on Watauga Lake for thirty bucks a day, a cooler of beer at his feet.

  “You got your share,” Jacob said. “Now go away.”

  “I had a piece,” Joshua responded with a smirk. “That pie tastes so good, I want the whole thing now.”

  With an effort of will, Jacob broke Joshua’s stare and looked past him to the gloomy interior of the Chevy. The upholstery was torn and the passenger seat was patched with silver tape. The car smelled of cigarette butts and fast food grease. Two rubber shrunken heads hung from the rearview mirror, their duplicate stretched lips and wizened eye sockets a nightmarish replica of Joshua’s grinning face.

  “Got company,” Joshua said, nodding past him toward the construction crew. One of the workers, a white man in an orange hard hat and blue jumpsuit, was approaching. “I reckon the sign at the entrance that said ‘Private Property, Keep Out,’ wasn’t just a suggestion. People take everything so serious these days. Property rights, deeds, ownership. ‘What’s mine is mine’ and all that happy shit. It’s a selfish world, ain’t it, Jakie Boy?”

  Jacob said nothing, watching the man in the hard hat approach. “I’ll have them call the cops.”

  “Oh, you just go ahead and do that. I’m sure they’d be all ears when I started telling them the truth.”

  “You don’t know the truth.”

  “The truth is what you make it. There’s what really happened, and there’s the way you set it in your mind so you can live with yourself.”

  “You weren’t supposed to come back.” He’d figured his twin brother was gone for good, the seed split for a final time. But the bond was stronger than flesh and ran deeper than blood.

  Or maybe only exactly as deep as blood.

  “Get in,” Joshua said. Not a command, not an invitation. Just words.

  Jacob hesitated as the man in the hard hat took off his gloves and punched at the numbers on a cell phone. The tiny electronic box looked out of place in those thick, scarred hands, as if a Neanderthal had come upon the controls of a time machine. But this machine would summon the police, and Jacob didn’t want to be thrust under their gaze any more than he already was. He might be guilty of crimes he couldn’t remember.

  Jacob crossed to the passenger side of the decrepit automobile. The handle didn’t work, so he waited for Joshua to open the door. Foam chunks dribbled from a split in the vinyl as he settled into the seat. The man in the hard hat held the phone to his ear. Joshua backed up in an arc so that the man could get a good look at the license plate, then punched the accelerator and threw up a cloud of dust and gravel. The Chevy had a four-on-the-floor gear shift, and as they exited the construction site and hit the street, Joshua grabbed second and tore a long shriek from the rear tires.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, either,” Jacob said.

  “I’m as ugly as I ever was.”

  Lunch hour had just ended, so the traffic wasn’t heavy. But Joshua’s driving tactics made the street seem crowded and narrow. The speedometer needle bounced at fifty-five as the car wove through the thirty-five-mile per hour zone. They passed
an old man in a Mercedes SUV who mouthed a curse at them, but Joshua had already cut the SUV off before the driver reached the horn.

  “Where are we going?” Jacob asked.

  “Where else? There’s only one place good enough for the two of us. That place we said we’d never go.”

  Jacob had the sensation that the car itself was stationary, that instead the world was whirring by in an insane and jumbled blur of color. The business district was brick red and concrete gray, glass green and power-pole brown. The road was a hard river that flowed backward to a black underground source. This moment had always existed, this now was forever, this vehicle was an embryo in which the two of them were bound. He would never escape the creature that had stolen half of his genetic material.

  Joshua slid a cassette into the tape deck. Vintage Johnny Cash, falling into a ring of fire. Joshua joined in the chorus: “Burns, burns, burns.”

  “You’re a sorry son of a bitch,” Jacob said.

  “I wish I could have been there when it happened. Remember in the old days, when we used to share everything? I’m jealous, Jake.”

  “No, you’re not. And my life is mine. Even when it turns to hell.”

  “A million dollars. Plus the house, what’s that, another three-quarters? You make the old man look like a piker. At least when he played the system, he tried to slip under the radar. You laugh in its fucking face and dare God to catch you.”

  “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “They got newspapers, even where I been living. I’ve always managed to scrape up enough to subscribe to the old Times-Herald. A man’s got to stay up on things if he wants to better himself. But all I read about was how Jacob Wells did this, Jacob Wells did that.”

  Here Joshua shifted out of his rural accent so easily that he might have been a drama professor. “‘Upholding the heritage of community service started by one of Kingsboro’s early patriarchs.’ I started to wonder if they was really talking about my older brother, or if some imposter had done took his place.”

  “I’m only older than you by seventeen minutes.”

  “Still, that was good enough for the old man to make you the Number One Son.”

  “Lucky fucking me.”

  They reached the outskirts, heading west toward soft, rolling farmland. In the pastures, cattle bent their brown necks for the new growth. Barns stood peeling red paint against the breeze. Here and there a tractor bit steel teeth into the earth, demanding a future harvest of the dark soil. Along the highway, shadows filled the inside of an abandoned produce stand, a forlorn stack of wooden board bones and chicken wire skin that had been around since the days of sharecropping.

  The Johnny Cash song ended, gave way to “Walls of a Prison.”

  “You’re a clever bastard, Jake. First, you pulled the wool over the old man’s eyes, fed him that line about how you wanted to carry on his life’s work. Stepped into M & W like it was a pair of broken-in shoes. Played that ‘settling down’ role so good you could have put Tom Hanks to shame.”

  “It wasn’t a game, Josh. I was…confused, that’s all. I tried to get away, pretend I was somebody I could never be. But you can’t escape who you are, can you? When I came back here, I was facing up to it.”

  “Confused, huh? Is that what Daddy paid all those doctors for? To get you unconfused, fill you full of his brainless bullshit?”

  “You’d just as soon piss on his grave as cut the grass. But you bailed out. You never got to know him.”

  “I took my hand out of his pocket. No matter how many millions, it wasn’t worth the price. Even the devil offers a better deal than that. The pointy-tailed son of a bitch with the pitchfork only asks for one soul. Warren Wells wanted two.”

  “You haven’t answered me yet. Why did you come back?”

  Joshua took his eyes from the highway and tapped the shrunken heads that hung from the mirror. The taut-skinned plastic skulls seemed to sway and dance in delight, clacking against one another in a noise that resembled chuckling. “Haven’t you heard the old saying? Two heads are better than one, Jakie Boy?”

  Now Johnny Cash was singing “I Don’t Like It, But I Guess Things Happen That Way.”

  “How’s Carlita?” Jacob asked, his gut in knots.

  “Fine as ever.”

  “Where is she?”

  “You want to see her?”

  “Yeah.”

  Joshua reached up and squeezed one of the rubber mirror ornaments, making its face distort into a leer. “Wish me.”

  “We don’t play that game anymore.”

  “Wish me.”

  Jacob felt the years fall away. “Wish me a kingdom and make me a king.”

  Joshua’s crazed cackle drowned out the rumbling muffler.

  They reached White River Road and drove parallel to the water for several miles, then crossed an old wooden bridge. Jacob looked at the cold currents passing below them. The water was up, fed by the melting snows that had seeped from the granite slopes weeks before. The banks were lush and verdant, the saplings arching toward the sun, fighting toward the canopy of the established oak, wild cherry, honey locust, and sugar maple. The land across the river was changed in a subtle way, as if its skin were somehow more vibrant, its dirt thicker, its trees more commanding and stark. The hills hinted at old secrets, a land thrust up by the pressure of hell’s forge and then worn down over the eons by heaven’s rain.

  This was home.

  Jacob hadn’t been here in years, not since the afternoon call that informed him of their father’s death and then during the burial that followed. The man-made aspects of the landscape were unchanged: the long barn with its tin roof catching the sunlight, the split-rail fence running along the sweeping curve of the drive, the two-story white Colonial that perched on the hill like a military command post. It was the property itself that was different, possessed of some unseen aura of menace. Or maybe Jacob himself had changed, and the memory of his past came rushing at him like a ghost wind.

  “What do you think, Jake? Daddy would be proud, wouldn’t he?”

  Jacob glared up at the window on the second floor, the room that he had once shared with his twin brother.

  “Hey, now, don’t go frowny-face on me,” Joshua said. “Daddy gave me the keys to the kingdom. Since I can’t sell it, it’s a hundred-and-forty-acre pain in the ass. A patch of hell with back taxes.”

  “You’ve painted it the way it was when we were children.”

  “Bugs the hell out of you, don’t it? You’d think the old man would want us to profit from his death, judging from the way he sold out his own family. But lifelong philosophies have a way of changing when you’re on your deathbed.”

  “There’s no ‘deathbed’ when you suffer a sudden heart attack.”

  “There you go again, getting all mixed up. That was a long time ago and none of it matters now. All that matters is making up for lost time. Setting things right.”

  As they approached the house, the years fell away, and Jacob could see himself in shorts and sneakers, riding the tire swing beneath the apple tree in the side yard. His childhood seemed part dream, part nightmare, viewed through the gauze of old wounds. He could almost hear his father shouting from the den, demanding that someone bring his pipe and newspaper. He could almost hear the crash of glass, the dull thump of bone-filled meat tumbling down the stairs–

  He closed his eyes as the Chevy came to a stop beside the front porch. The abrasive engine was an affront to the stillness of the estate. The place deserved to be allowed to rest in peace. The house was as much of a coffin as the shiniest metal-encased box down at McMasters Funeral Home, this one holding the corpse of an entire family instead of one person’s moldering mound of flesh and bone.

  Joshua killed the engine and Johnny Cash’s train-wreck voice cut off in mid-verse. “I was tempted to move back in, you know. Figured I’d play royalty, see what being a Wells was like. But it takes money, scratch, boatloads of Franklins, and I wasn’t in the mood to joi
n the working class just to stay in Kingsboro. A million ain’t what it used to be. And it ain’t nearly enough.”

  “I’ll get you the rest, but you promised to stay away.”

  “You worry too much about things that ain’t none of your business. Just like always. Seems like you’d be better off taking care of your own business instead of worrying about mine.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “Short trip.” Joshua opened his door and got out, took an exaggerated gasp of fresh air. “Ah, the sweet smell of Wells country. Or is that chicken shit?”

  Jacob stared at the twin shrunken heads. For the first time, he noticed that one of them had tiny cuts on its face, as if someone had slashed the rubber with a sharp knife. One ear was melted and charred, the nylon hair above it singed. Psycho voodoo, another of Joshua’s mind games.

  Joshua leaned forward and pressed his face against the tinted windshield, making a distorted dark mash of his nose. “Ain’t you coming in? You’re gonna hurt my feelings.”

  From the porch, Jacob couldn’t resist taking in the panoramic view.

  “Prime territory, half of it good bottom land,” Joshua said, as if he’d sold real estate all his life. “Convenient to town yet with all the peace and quiet you can stand without going crazy. Do you know how much this would bring if you parceled it out right? Especially the way the second-home market is booming here in the mountains.”

  “Not interested.”

  “Come on, Jake. You’ve got money now. It don’t matter where it came from, neither. I’d be the last one to ever pass judgment on a thing like that.”

  “I don’t have the money. Renee got it.”

  Joshua’s grin froze, a speck of saliva on his lower lip glistening in the sun as he stood by the car. “What are you talking about?”