The Last Harvest

by Kim Liggett

  “He’s dead?” I whisper, feeling the floor buckle beneath me. My dream. I can’t get that image of Tyler out of my head. Look, I can make him kneel, too. I humiliated him out there and he wanted to make me pay. I’m so angry, I can hardly breathe.

  “Tyler said something strange happened out there in the ring. Said you put a knife to that bull’s throat. Said you were having some kind of flashback.”

  “I cut the rope loose. That’s all. Ask the others.”

  “Yep. They all backed up your story.” Sheriff pinches the bridge of his nose. “But I’m thinking maybe you had unfinished business with that bull.”

  “You’re thinking wrong.” I feel a trickle of sweat running down my temple.

  “Sheriff”—Deputy Tilford steps forward—“are you seriously going to listen to this—”

  “So let me get this straight.” Sheriff holds up his hand, signaling for Tilford to back off. “In the past few days you’ve joined the council, returned to church. Next thing I know you’ll be suiting up again.”

  It gives me an idea. I know I said I’d never step on that field again, but Tyler’s trying to set me up for all this and I’m not going down without a fight.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m late for practice now,” I say as I dump the box from Oakmoor on Miss Granger’s desk. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

  Miss Granger eyes the box on her desk, her thin eyebrows pulling together.

  “Am I excused?” I look to her and then Sheriff Ely. “You wouldn’t want to keep me from football, now would you?”

  “’Course not.” Sheriff seems mildly amused.

  Deputy Tilford looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. “But—”

  Sheriff shakes him off.

  Miss Granger gives me a quick nod as she twists the Lucite cross around her neck, but she can’t keep her eyes off the box. Off the photo of Mrs. Wilkerson.

  “Oh and Clay?” Sheriff Ely calls out. He’s got a smile on his face, but I can feel his eyes digging into me like razor blades. “We’ll be watching you out there.”

  35

  I PACE the hall in front of the locker room a hundred times before I head in.

  Yeah, I want to hit something. Tyler, in particular, and that scares me a little, but I’m smarter than that. I can go on that field and wipe his ass with it without ever touching a hair on his head. I can take it from him. Just like Mr. Neely said. From now on, I’m calling the shots.

  Everyone’s already on the field so I take my time putting on my gear. Can’t believe they left my locker untouched, all my gear inside, like they knew I’d be back.

  It feels strange lacing up again. Not strange in that it doesn’t feel right. It feels too right. Like this last year never even happened. As much as I want to forget, I can’t afford to do that. As much as it hurts, I’ve got to hang on to the past. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded right now.

  Heading out to the field, I half-expect to see my dad standing on the sidelines. His weathered face, cap pulled down tight over his wraparound shades. Most people had a hard time reading him. Not me. I knew when he was proud—chin raised, the way he clenched his jaw trying to hold back any kind of emotion. But when he had his chin lowered, teeth gritted, he was pissed, at me or the ball or the wind or Coach—but he never interfered. He wasn’t one of those yellers, either, one of those dads who stood on the sidelines telling you what to do. He kept quiet, almost like he was praying. I guess this was his true church … mine, too. Hell, probably this entire town’s.

  Stepping out of the locker room, into the sun, feels euphoric. Like everything’s moving in slow motion. The players stop the drills. The cheerleaders drop their pom-poms to their sides. I swear I can feel the turf cradle every step like it’s been waiting for me all this time.

  Ali smiles at me—the way I remember her—the way she remembers me.

  I pull my helmet on for the first time in over a year, and I feel something rush through me, a sense of calm and assuredness, like nothing can touch me.

  Ben beams the football at me and I don’t even have to think about it. I reach out and snatch it out of the air. The feel of the ball thumping hard against my chest makes me feel … alive.

  Coach’s whistle pulls me back. “I was hoping I’d get a shot at you,” he says, as he slams his hand down on my shoulder pad. He doesn’t look much like a coach. Too clean-cut, like he’s just been released from a toy package. Texas.

  “Neely?” Coach yells at Tyler. “Go run some drills with Garrison.”

  “What?” Tyler yanks off his chin strap. “But I’m—”

  “Don’t argue with me.” Coach shakes his head. “Your daddy promised me when the time came this wasn’t going to be a problem.”

  Tyler looks toward his dad on the sidelines. Ian gives a stern thumbs-up.

  “This is bullshit,” Tyler says, as he stalks off the field.

  I know it’s immature, but I glance over to make sure Ali’s watching. She is.

  “Tate, you’re QB one. Captain,” Coach barks.

  “But I haven’t touched a ball in over a year.”

  “You just did, son.” He shoves the ball back into my hands. “It’s like riding a bike. I’ve seen your tapes. You were born to do this. I’ll let you call it.”

  I stand there, stunned. I was ready to fight for it, to prove myself. It feels wrong to get it this way, but I can’t get hung up on principle anymore. You can’t win in this town if you play by the rules. If I want to figure out what’s going on, stop this, I’m going to have to get my hands dirty. And nothing will put me in this town’s good graces faster than bringing home a W. Always been that way, always will be.

  As I take center field, I notice Sheriff and Miss Granger have come to watch. Seems like half the school’s gathered around the fences now.

  The guys huddle around me; I make eye contact with every single one of them, feeling my adrenaline spike, everything coming into sharp focus.

  “I think this calls for a Miracle Whip special,” Ben says with a wide grin before he puts in his mouth guard.

  Ben and I have been running that play since Pee Wee. He might be Big Ben now, but he can run, too.

  I nod. “Let’s show ’em how it’s done.”

  “Yeah!” the team hollers in response.

  “On four.” I call the play and everything goes from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. Along with the beat of my heart thrumming in my ears, I hear cleats digging into turf, the shifting of pads, helmets crashing, grunts of determination as guys scramble for ground.

  I dodge a tackle and pump my arm, searching for Ben. He’s sailing down the field, hugging the right line. Just like we used to do it.

  I let go of the ball. And I swear I can hear it sing as it leaves my hand, reverberate all the way up my arm, through my whole body.

  Ben’s already there. Waiting. Watching. We’re in perfect synchronicity when his stance suddenly goes slack. He turns toward the fence. It looks like he’s staring straight at Sheriff Ely and Miss Granger. The ball sails right over his head. Coach’s whistle screams. People are laughing on the sidelines, jeering him, but still, Ben doesn’t move.

  I take off my helmet so I can figure out what the hell happened, when Ben slowly turns to me. I swear his eyes are black, pure black. I’m looking around to see if anyone else can see it when Ben starts stalking toward me like a dangerous animal.

  Tyler jets out onto the field, trying to hold him back, talk some sense into him, but he seems hell bent on putting the hurt on me. Some of the players try and stop him, but he plows right through them like a freight train. I put my hands out in front of me, bracing myself for impact. “Ben … hey, Ben … I don’t know what’s going on, but let’s talk about this.…”

  He pounds into my shoulder. “It could be me,” he screams. “I could be the one!”

  I stagger back. He comes at me again and again like a charging bull. It takes six guys to get him off me. Finally Tyler grabs on to his helmet, forcing B
en to look him straight in the eyes. He whispers something and I see Ben’s eyes go back to normal, his muscles start to relax.

  Coach starts riding his whistle as he barrels through the crowd. “All right, all right, let’s all cool off. This is football, boys, not a brawl!”

  Ben’s calm now. Just sitting on the ground, staring off into the woods as Tyler talks to him. I don’t know what the hell just happened, what made him turn on me like that.

  Noodle tromps onto the field, says something to Ben and then kicks him in the shin before running to meet me. “I gave him a piece of my mind.”

  “It can get a little heated out here,” I tell her. “Nothing to worry about. Hey, how’d you get here?”

  “Bobby Gillman said you were playing, so he walked me over. You’re not mad, are you?”

  “’Course not.”

  Tyler helps Ben to his feet and they head back in.

  I look for Miss Granger. We really need to talk, but she’s walking away with Sheriff.

  As the crowd disperses, I see Lee Wiggins peering through the pines on the edge of the field, that sick smile stretched across his mangled excuse for a face.

  Noodle waves.

  “Why’re you waving at him?”

  “He looks sad,” Noodle says. “And who knows? He might wave back.”

  When he does, I take her hand and we walk off the field together.

  36

  BETWEEN PRACTICE and the wheat, I’m bone weary by the time I head back to the house.

  It’s past bedtime, but Noodle’s waiting for me at the front door in her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas.

  I hold up three fingers, but she just grabs ahold of my hand, not even bothering with the sticker bag.

  “Where is everybody?” I ask.

  “Mom’s…” She points to the living room. “And Jess’s…”

  The floor creaks above us, followed by a dragging sound. It sounds like she’s rearranging her furniture or something emo like that. What happened at the Harvest Festival was seriously messed up, but I could sure use some help around here.

  “I know three acres isn’t much,” I say as I take off my work boots. “But it’s from the back parcel.”

  “That’s tricky land back there. You did real good,” she says as she tightens her lopsided pigtails.

  I can’t help but crack a smile. I swear, all I have to do is look at her sometimes and all the sorrow seems to dissolve like sugar left out in the summer rain.

  “Ready for bed?” I swoop her up in my arms.

  “But I have so much to tell you.” She tugs on my ear. “I looked through the All Saints handbook and did you know nuns can ride bicycles and eat powdered donuts and they already knew my counting song and we did tongue twisters and…’night, Mommy,” she whispers as we pass the living room.

  I stop and turn to see Mom’s silhouette. She still hasn’t moved from the couch … the flies.

  Noodle doesn’t even seem bothered by it, which makes it worse. This has become normal to her. Sometimes I wonder if Noodle even remembers what it was like before Dad’s death. There’s a heaviness hanging over the entire house now. Or maybe it’s always been like this and I just never noticed it before.

  “Why don’t you go up and brush your teeth, hop in bed.”

  She gives my neck a hug and hops up the steps like a bunny.

  As soon as I step into the living room, it feels like the atmosphere has changed. I sit next to Mom on the couch.

  “I’m doing my best, but you have two girls who need you.”

  Her chin begins to quiver.

  I reach out for her hand. It’s cold.

  “I don’t know what to do … how to help you. Do you want me to call Dr. Perry?”

  Her mouth contorts into a grimace as fresh tears spring to her eyes. “I hear them all the time now, the flies … it’s like they’re in my ears, like they’re trying to tell me something.”

  “What do you think they’re trying to tell you?” I ask.

  “He’s coming,” she whispers. “He’s coming for all of us.”

  * * *

  AFTER I finally get Mom and Noodle settled down, I go to my room and pull out the family Bible, tracing the initials written in the margins of the family tree. L.A.W. There’s definitely a connection, but I’m still not getting it. And what about his initials in the bank ledger? Did Dad know about Lee and Jess? Was he trying to pay him off, get rid of him? The longer I look at the words, the more they start to look like nonsense, just a jumble of letters and symbols. I’m so tired.

  I only plan on closing my eyes for a second, but when I open them, everything’s different.

  I prop myself up on my elbows and peer out the windows. The garbage bags are gone and the sky is bloodred. “Not again,” I whisper, hoping to snap out of whatever crazy shit is about to happen.

  The door to my room opens, the light from the hall creating a hazy silhouette.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me,” Ali’s soft voice beckons. She’s wearing a Midland Pioneers jersey … and that’s all. She walks over nice and slow, her long tan legs stretching out in front of her, like a dangerous animal on the prowl.

  I let out a nervous laugh. “Fine, subconscious, lay it on me. This is one prophecy I wouldn’t mind coming true.”

  Ali climbs onto my bed. There’s just a thin sheet separating us. I run my hands from her ankles to the top of her thighs. She feels so real.

  “Don’t stop there.” She smiles.

  She leans over me, her long hair tickling my bare chest. I can see down the jersey. I can see everything. She raises my chin. With heavy lidded eyes, she kisses me. My hands move up her thighs.

  “Blessed is the seed,” she whispers, but it’s not Ali’s voice. I pull back to look at her face.

  It’s Miss Granger.

  But I don’t push her away or try to get free.

  She smiles as she takes my hand. I’m trying to find the will to wake up, but the warmth, the way she’s moving against me …

  “Do it, Ben,” she whispers.

  Ben?

  “Wake up, silly,” Noodle says from the doorway. “He wants to show you something.”

  I wake with a jolt—my hand hanging over the side of the bed, Hammy licking my fingers.

  “Oh, hell no.” I jump out of bed. Hammy whimpers as he scoots out of the room.

  What the hell’s wrong with me? I look at the clock. It’s only 2:00 A.M. and I’m sure as hell not going to sleep after that.

  That was seriously messed up, but maybe it’s my subconscious telling me it’s time to talk to Miss Granger. She owes me that.

  37

  I PARK on her street, a few houses down, just to be safe. The last thing I need is people saying they saw me at her house in the middle of the night.

  I knock on the door, soft, but insistent. When she finally cracks the door open, her cheeks are flushed, her hair’s down. It takes me aback. I’ve never seen her with her hair down before. It’s pretty.

  As if reading my thoughts, she takes the elastic from her wrist and twists it up into the usual tight knot. “What are you doing here?” she whispers.

  “We need to talk,” I say as I barge past her.

  “Clay, you can’t—”

  “I know you were a patient at Oakmoor. I know about Mrs. Wilkerson,” I say as I pace her living room. “Guess who told me … Tyler.”

  “I’m sorry you had to find out that way, but coming to Midland, checking myself into Oakmoor was all a part of the plan. It was my way into the community.”

  “See, I knew you were going to say something like that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “And Mrs. Wilkerson? Did you just forget to tell me she died just like my dad? The exact same words … the exact same expression.”

  “She had the sight like your dad … like you … but I’m not going to let that happen to you.”

  “What else are you hiding from me?”

  I see her glance at the wall
. There’s a sheet tacked up over the photos and documents.

  I rip it down to find Lee Wiggins’s photo has replaced mine. My photo has been moved to the center of it all with SEED written beneath it.

  “What is this?” I ask as I yank my photo down, staring at the word. “And what does Lee have to do with all this?” I drag my hand through my hair. “Are you in on this together? And this whole seed thing … is that something you just made up? Something you took from the Bible and twisted up in your sick little brain?”

  “I’m sorry,” she says as she takes the photo away from me. “But you can’t be involved in this anymore.”

  “Why? Because I’m on to you now? Because I’m messing up your fantasy world?”

  “There’s been a disturbance at the church,” she says as she tacks the sheet back in place, like she can’t bear to look at it anymore. “I’m sorry, but the priests don’t trust you anymore.”

  “That’s a good one. Is that why this mysterious exorcism hasn’t taken place?” I advance on her. She backs up against the wall, like she’s afraid of me. “Did you get your kicks with that little video I took for you? Was that fun making me take my clothes off at the church?”

  “Clay, this isn’t a good time—”

  “Maybe you’re just some pedophile. Am I going to find all this on the Internet someday?” I take a deep breath. “If you’re crazy, tell me now. I don’t even care. I just need to know.”

  I hear a creaking noise coming from somewhere down the hall. I listen closely. It sounds like bedsprings.

  “Is someone here?”

  “I’m sorry, Clay, but I have … company.” She crosses her arms over her chest, over the flimsy silk robe.

  It takes me a minute to understand what she’s saying. “Company?”

  I back away from her and look around the room. The covered up wall. The candles lit on the coffee table. Two open beer bottles. A denim jacket hanging on the back of the chair.

  “Like I said, it’s not really a good time.” She rewraps the silky robe tighter around her waist. The fabric clings to her body and I can tell she’s not wearing anything underneath. I think about the dream, and I feel so dirty and confused. She looks up at me and for a split second I wonder if she knows what’s going through my head.