Wintertide: A Novel

by Debra Doxer

  That was it. Even if we escaped now, the man could track Eddie down. I should have guessed then what Eddie would do. Seth knew and he grasped my arm forcefully whispering, "Let's go. Now."

  I didn't move. I think I had resigned myself to being caught at that point. But I should have realized that Eddie's first instinct would be violence. It was what he knew best. It was what he had lived with for over twenty years. His movements were swift, but clumsy. He was drunk, but not too drunk. He lunged at the man, the poker swinging back behind his head like a baseball bat. The man barely had enough time to step back before Eddie was on him. The poker came around quickly, whistling through the air, hitting the side of the man's head with a muffled thud. His head caved in, buckling and bleeding. He went down, falling to his side into the next room, out of view. Eddie followed him, the poker drawn back again, ready to swing. I only saw Eddie now, his eyes squinting with rage, his lips drawn back from his teeth as the poker came down again and again.

  It had all happened in an instant. Finally, I found my voice. "Stop! Eddie, stop!"

  This woke Seth up who still stood beside me. I had started to move toward Eddie with the thought of stopping him. Seth grabbed my arm and held me back. He began pushing me toward the window. "Jesus, he’s killing him. We've got to get out of here. Come on, go!”

  My preservation instinct kicked in, and I finally managed to command my frozen legs to move. A part of me thought Eddie might come after us when he finished here. I hurled myself through the open window, landing on all fours. Seth was just behind me, nearly falling on top of me. He pulled me up by the arm and then ran ahead of me. I ran after him into the woods, dashing down the hill so quickly I nearly tripped over my own feet. The cold air seared my lungs, and I slid down as much as I ran. We were nearly at the bottom of the hill before I realized that a thin layer of white covered the ground. It was snowing.

  We came out of the woods at the parking lot of the Southside Tavern. Seth turned nervously and looked over my shoulder. There was no sign of Eddie. His car stood empty next to mine. The Southside Tavern was closed. The neon sign was turned off. Large white flakes fell from the sky, resting on Seth's hair and shoulders. He put his hands up to his face. "Jesus,” he breathed, “no one was supposed to be there."

  I couldn’t form a response. My breath was coming in painful gasps from the run. This was a nightmare. I kept looking into the woods, expecting Eddie to burst out at us with the poker poised above his head, angry that we left him.

  I fished my keys out of my pocket. A momentary wave of terror washed over me when I couldn't at first locate them. "Get in the car," I said. Seth followed me quickly, as eager as I to leave. I started the motor and pulled out of the parking lot. There was still no sign of Eddie. I began to drive toward Seth's house. He shifted uncomfortably beside me, alternating between rubbing his hands across his face and staring out the window.

  I hit the brakes suddenly, bringing the car to a screeching halt. Seth looked horrified. "What are you doing?"

  "We have to call an ambulance." I dug my cell phone out of my pocket.

  "What? Are you crazy?” Seth yelled at me.

  My head was spinning. We couldn’t just leave.

  He turned to me and began to speak in a calmer voice. "Look, we have to go home and keep our mouths shut. That guy is dead. I mean, Jesus, you saw what happened to his head. There’s nothing we can do to help him."

  My hands shook as I grasped the cold steering wheel.

  "We don't have a choice, Dan,” Seth continued. “Unless you want your life as you know it to end right now, you need to keep driving.”

  I realized that I wanted to do what he said. Unless we were ready to explain everything to the police, there was nothing else to do except go home and try to pretend the whole thing had never happened. I didn’t want to let one stupid night with Eddie possibly ruin my life.

  I drove the rest of the way silently, my frozen fingers gripping the wheel. We finally pulled up in front of his house. The windows were dark. There didn’t appear to be anyone awake. The grass on the front lawn was poking up through the fresh snow in dried yellow shafts. I slammed the car into park.

  "Eddie's crazy," Seth said with a shaky voice.

  “Ya think?” I yelled, banging my hand on the steering wheel. Then I looked over at him. Even in the darkness, I could see the beads of sweat that dotted his forehead. I took a shaky breath and tried to calm down. Something I had always known instinctively was now shockingly clear. "He hates us, Seth. Eddie really despises us. He's probably always felt that way."

  Seth shook his head. "He was drunk. He wasn’t behaving rationally.”

  "I think for the first time we finally saw the real Eddie. We should consider going to the police.” I didn’t really want to, but I couldn’t not put a voice to the glaring rationality screaming inside my head.

  Seth jerked up straight in his seat. "What? No. Look, we don't even know who that guy was. He could have broken into that place, too."

  "He's not some homeless person. He had a car that Eddie serviced. He lives there."

  "My dad can't find out about this. Okay? We can't help that guy now, whoever he is. We didn't beat him to death. Going to the police isn't going to accomplish anything. Do you want your parents finding out that you broke into a house tonight with Eddie McKenna and watched him kill someone?"

  I couldn't respond. It was too much to think about; the consequences, the repercussions, the way that man's head caved in.

  "We’ll have to come up with a story about where we were after we left the bar," Seth said, running a shaky hand through his hair.

  I watched the snow float down from the night sky. I heard Seth, but I was unable to arrange my scattered thoughts into anything cohesive.

  Seth startled suddenly. "What if Eddie comes by my house tonight?"

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Don't open the door. Pretend you're not home."

  He turned to me serious and controlled, more so than I thought him capable of at that moment. "Look, if Eddie was smart, he got out of there, too. No one saw us going up to that house. No one is going to know we were there if we all just keep quiet. We have to stick together, okay? If anyone ever asks us anything about this, we'll never mention the house. When we left the bar, you and I went back to my house, and Eddie went somewhere else. We don't know what he did. He can worry about himself." Seth squeezed his eyes shut. "God, what a mess. You and I will stick together. All right?"

  “So you’re turning on Eddie and sticking with me," I said flatly.

  Seth and I looked at one another in the darkness. My statement hung between us as did my skepticism. The last time Seth was given a choice, he didn’t choose me.

  He was the first to break eye contact. "Everything will be okay,” he said. “We didn’t kill anyone.”

  I felt myself automatically nodding. I wanted to believe it would all be okay.

  "I’m going inside. We have to act normal now. Can you do that?"

  "That depends on your definition of normal," I answered.

  A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Just stay cool,” he told me as he opened the door. A cold gust of wind swept inside. Seth stepped out into the night and looked back at me through the window for a moment. Then he walked up to his front door.

  I don’t even remember the drive home. I was reliving that moment in the house the entire ride. I can't recall looking at the road at all.

  When I pulled into my driveway and saw that the windows in the house were dark, my relief was palpable. My feet left prints in the newly fallen snow as I ascended the walkway. I fumbled with my keys, my hand unsteady. Then I stepped inside quickly, closed the door behind me and leaned back against it breathing slowly. The house was quiet. Shadows draped softly across the floors and walls. A clock ticked rhythmically. My father's truck was in the driveway. They were both asleep.

  I moved as silently as I could up the stairs and down the hallway. The floorboards creaked beneath me markin
g my progression. Once in my room, I closed the door, shouldered off my coat and sat down on the bed. Only a few hours ago I was preparing to go out. Had all this occurred in just a few short hours? I didn't bother to change out of my clothes when I laid myself down on my bed. Suddenly, that familiar smell of mothballs seemed unbearable to me. I threw the pillow down onto the floor and rested my head on the flat mattress. The usual shadows that moved across my ceiling were dim in the absence of moonlight.

  What was Eddie doing right now, I thought? Had he just left the man there and ran away? Did he go home? Was he planning to pretend nothing had happened? I wondered if that man was all alone there. What if there was someone else upstairs? I forced myself not to consider that. It brought up too many other variables and possibilities. I felt nauseous and turned over onto my side. I pointedly determined not to recall Eddie's face during that terrifying moment. But it was not so easy to forget that noise, the thumping sound the poker made as it smashed into the man's head.

  I tried to think of anything else, my class schedule for next semester, Traci, the redhead I’d slept with a few weeks ago who wouldn’t stop calling me. Then my eyes opened wide in the darkness. I had to work for Professor Sheffield in the morning. How was I ever going to concentrate on those notebooks? I closed my eyes again and forced myself to take a deep breath. I wanted to drive back to school tomorrow, pack my bag, kiss my mother good-bye and just leave. But tomorrow night was Christmas Eve. Despite my overwhelming, nearly suffocating desire to leave, I simply couldn't. If those around me couldn't perceive anything was wrong by my behavior, then darting off to Boston without warning would certainly alert them. I was stuck, not figuratively anymore, but literally.

  nine

  I did sleep fitfully, dreamlessly. Dropping off for a moment, only to awaken and realize it was still dark out. After an eternity, a dim glow gradually lit my bedroom. I looked out the window and saw that the clouds had moved out during the night. I watched as the violet sky slowly became grey and then blue. When I sat up, my neck ached from being overextended all night, my jeans and shirt were wrinkled, and my mouth was parched and sour. My legs were stiff from all the desperate running. I pushed a rough, dry hand through my hair, listening to my own even breathing. Did Eddie kill a man last night?

  I walked down the hall to the bathroom, stripped off my clothes and stepped into a hot shower. The chill that had been with me for hours slowly melted away.

  I ran a razor across my cheeks and along my chin and neck. My tired eyes stared back at me, slightly skittish. The fresh smell of soap filled my nostrils chasing away all traces of cigarette smoke and sweat.

  Back in my bedroom, I threw on a fisherman's sweater and khakis and grabbed my coat which was still on the floor. I left the house before Mom and Dad woke up, leaving a note saying I would be home early. I also wanted to let them know that I had actually come home last night. I stopped at a Dunkin Donuts, sat at the empty counter and ordered a large coffee. The hot liquid scalded my tongue and throat as it slipped down.

  Having spent most of my childhood reclining on the sofa, my eyes glued to the television set, I've often found myself wishing real life was like TV. When I was nine years old, I wanted to be Spiderman. I caught spiders in the yard, allowing them to crawl on my skin, hoping their bite would transform me into a superhero. Then I could climb buildings and catch bullies in the web that came spewing forth from my wrists. I’d dreamt of saving a beautiful girl caught in the clutches of an evil criminal. I would insert whatever girl I happened to have a crush on at the time into the role. As a kid, I’d wanted more than anything to be a superhero. But the opportunity had never presented itself, until maybe last night. But I wasn’t a hero at all. I was the cowardly friend who did nothing but try to save himself.

  As I finished my coffee, I thought it was possible for me to go to work, go home, and not come in contact with neither Seth nor Eddie again. The bright sun reflected off the thin covering of snow. Christmas decorations adorned houses and buildings. At the Dunkin Donuts, a red jingle bell hung on the wall surrounded by silver tinsel. The horrors of last night seemed unreal. Other than a strong undercurrent of apprehension and anxiety, my initial panic was giving way to something else. With a strong dose of caffeine working on me, I attempted to rationalize the situation. I knew I should have at least tried to stop Eddie, but on the other hand, I was also pretty sure that I couldn't have. Other than being utterly stupid, I committed no crime worse than trespassing last night. Right?

  I paid the completely disinterested woman who worked there, wishing her blank, heavily powdered face a happy holiday, and I walked back out to the car.

  Professor Sheffield welcomed me inside his warm house with a bright smile. There was a station wagon parked in the driveway next to his car. I assumed his niece had arrived early for the holidays. I was right.

  "Come in, Mr. Hiller. False alarm on that snow storm, thankfully. I'm afraid my house is a bit of a zoo this morning. My niece, Barbara, has just arrived. They’ve come to visit me a day early. With two little children running around, you won't get much done. Why don't you just take the day off?"

  "I could try working and if I'm too distracted, I'll let you know." The thought of going back home was too depressing.

  "That's dedication for you.” He clapped me on the back. "You're going to be successful in whatever you do. You have drive. Even more than talent. Drive, that's the key."

  Toys, Barbie dolls, miniature cars and stuffed animals littered the living room floor. The professor's supply of peppermints was scattered about, looking significantly depleted. I was glad that I had piled all the notebooks onto a high shelf next to the desk. A young girl, about four or five came running out of the kitchen, her long blond curls bouncing around her head, a piece of toast held tightly in her chubby hand. A boy, maybe six or seven years old, came dashing out behind her, a wooden spoon held high above his head. He seemed to be pretending to joust with it.

  Professor Sheffield eyed them affectionately. "This is Rachel and Tommy," he said.

  His niece, a heavy, tall blond woman emerged from the kitchen. "Stop running you two. Rachel, I mean it!”

  Rachel froze in place about three feet away from me. She suddenly took notice of my presence, peering up at me with big brown eyes. I smiled. It was a reflex. Her lower lip began to quiver and her eyes grew glassy. A moment later she began bawling loudly.

  "Oh, Rachel," her mother said and came over to scoop her up. "I'm sorry," she said to me. "She's scared of strangers."

  "Barbara," Professor Sheffield said, "this is my assistant, Mr. Hiller."

  She smiled at me and brought the whimpering Rachel back into the kitchen. Tommy jumped up onto the couch and waved the wooden spoon dramatically above his head. "Do you surrender?" he demanded.

  The professor turned to me. "You had better surrender or he will try to hit you with that spoon."

  I put my hands up in the air. "I surrender."

  The boy jumped off the couch discouraged. "Everyone always surrenders. What fun is that?"

  Professor Sheffield took the boy's tiny hand. "We'll get out of your way now. Oh, would you like some eggnog? Barbara made it herself."

  "Isn't it early for eggnog?"

  "It's never too early for eggnog. You don't have to stand on ceremony here, Mr. Hiller. Just come into to the kitchen if you'd like some."

  "Thank you. Maybe later."

  I sat down at the desk in hopes of plunging into the notebooks and losing myself in the work. But the children clanked, clattered, yelled and whooped in the kitchen. I worked as best I could. It was slow going. I wanted to prolong the morning. I still didn’t know if my mother was making a large dinner tonight or if my father would even be there for it.

  Today's notebook was number fourteen. There was no number thirteen. Professor Sheffield was either superstitious or that particular notebook was well camouflaged somewhere in the house.

  I turned on a small black portable radio that sat on the desk,
tuning it to an AM news station. I listened for any word on that man or the house. The major story seemed to be about a whale that had beached itself in Chatham, but nothing that occurred in South Seaport was mentioned in the report. There were no break-ins, no beatings, no murders. I worked for several hours, attempting to tune out the children that ran by occasionally, giggling and yelling. The keys clicked softy beneath the pressure of my fingers. The screen glowed in front of me. When my already sore neck began to pull uncomfortably, I decided a glass of eggnog was just what I needed. I headed into the kitchen.

  Tommy and Rachel were just slipping out of their chairs, running back into the living room, apparently needing to expend all the pent up energy that had accrued while sitting for a whole five minutes. Professor Sheffield and his niece were at the table, each with a cup of eggnog. They looked up at me when I walked in.

  "You've decided to take a break," the professor said.

  I went over to the bowl and ladled the thick creamy liquid into a short glass. It tasted sweet. The faint hint of alcohol was subtle.

  "Why don’t you sit with us for a while?"

  "Oh thanks, but I'd better get back to work."

  He smiled at me. "Nonsense, you can sit for a minute. Barbara was just commenting on how nice it must be to live on the Cape. I told her that you grew up here."

  I reluctantly sat at the end of the table with my glass.

  Barbara looked at me. Her face was full and round, but her chin was distinct and strong. "Uncle Reggie says you're from South Seaport?"

  Uncle Reggie? "Yes, that's right."

  "So how did you like growing up there?"

  I was going to lie, rendering a polite answer, but I was in the mood to tell the truth today.

  "Actually," I said, "I didn't really like it at all."

  Both Barbara and the professor looked at me with surprise. "Why not? It's so pleasant here."

  "I don't know. I guess it always felt small to me. There’s nothing much here really."