by Kim Liggett
“Jesus.” I exhale as I follow her gaze. The wall’s more black than white now. There must be a hundred of them. I know they’re just flies, but it gives me the creeps. I don’t have time to deal with this right now.
“Just don’t talk about the flies … or God. Just keep it together for a couple more days … that’s all I’m asking.”
She blinks once and I take it as a yes.
Turning off the lights, I leave her to the dark.
* * *
WHEN I hear a car coming down the drive, I start going over everything I need to say, but when I hear more than one set of boots on the drive, all of that goes out the window. I swing open the front door, watching Sheriff and Tilford walk up the steps.
“Evening, Clay.” Ely tips his hat. “You know Greg Tilford.”
“Deputy Tilford,” Greg adds.
Sheriff shoots him a withering look.
“We just need to ask you a few questions.”
My heart picks up speed. Why would they both come out here for this? “Is something wrong? Is Jess in some kind of trouble?”
“No. Nothing like that.” Sheriff shakes his head and then stares out over the crops. “Looks like you’ve got a ways to go on the wheat. You’re cutting it a little close, wouldn’t you say? First frost’s gotta be right around the corner.”
“Yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “I’ve been a little distracted lately.”
“Why don’t you tell us about that?” Tilford pulls out a notebook.
And that’s when I realize, they’re not here about Jess … they’re here about me. They still think I had something to do with all this.
“It sure is cold out here.” Ely blows into his hands and rubs them together. “Would it be all right if we talk inside?”
Tilford stares me down, as if saying no isn’t an option here.
“Just for a few minutes,” I say as I open the door. “But we have to keep it down. Noodle’s asleep and Mom’s not feeling well.”
As I lead them inside, I’m looking around at everything in a whole new light. The dried mud on the wainscoting could be blood. The worn pine planks in the entry, like someone’s paced them raw with worry. The seams of the wallpaper curling in on itself revealing the black mold underneath, like the whole place is rotting from within. The home of a killer … “Mooder in Midland” … and then I think about the flies. Mom sitting there staring at them like it’s the second coming. That’s all I need.
I can tell they want to look around, but I steer them straight into the kitchen. Tilford walks right into Hammy’s bowl; the sharp sound of metal clanking against the cabinets makes me flinch. I motion toward the table. Tilford goes to sit in my dad’s chair at the head of the table and Sheriff shakes him off.
Tilford stands back, leaning against the hutch.
“So, about Jess,” Sheriff starts off. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“I’ve been taking food up to her the past couple of nights.”
“She hasn’t been feeling good?” Greg asks. “Like your mom? I didn’t realize there was a flu going around.” His flat eyes probe into me. He knows damn well it’s no flu.
“Is this because of what happened at the Preservation Society with Jimmy Doogan?” Sheriff asks.
I feel the hair on my arms bristle. “This has nothing to do with Jimmy,” I say a little too forcefully. “She’s just been having a hard time, hanging around with the wrong crowd.”
“You’re talking about the Wiggins kid?” Tilford smirks. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
“I don’t know what you heard, but Jess is a good girl.”
“I know that … I know Jess,” Sheriff says soothingly. “Deputy Tilford needs to learn when to shut his mouth.” Ely glares at him. “So the last time you really laid eyes on her was the night of the Harvest Festival?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” I focus my attention back on Sheriff. “Miss Granger took her home.” I lean forward. “But I saw Lee today,” I say quietly. “Out by the trailer park … and he had a box full of condoms.”
“If I were you, I’d be thankful for small favors.” Tilford says under his breath.
Sheriff lets out a long sigh. “At least you know they’re being safe.”
“No, you don’t under—” I swallow the rest of my sentence. That’s the last thing this family needs right now.
“And where were you that night? The night of the Harvest Festival.”
I lean back in my chair. “Haven’t we already been over this?”
Tilford starts scribbling down notes; the sound of pen scraping against paper sets my teeth on edge.
“Look, are you going to do anything about this or not?”
Sheriff gives me a sympathetic nod. “I’ll get out to the trailer park, put out some feelers. Like you said, Jess is a good girl. She’s probably on a lark. She’ll come home when she’s ready. I see it all the time. Promise me you won’t be going out there. Leave it to the law. You hear me, son?”
I nod and stand up, signaling that it’s time for them to do the same.
“Oh and Clay, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have any tattoos or marks on your body?”
“Plenty of scars from playing ball. You know that.”
“Anything unusual? Something that looks like this.” He pulls out a folded-up piece of paper from his breast pocket and hands it to me.
The upside-down U with two dots above and below. I try to keep my face as expressionless as possible, but I can feel a bead of sweat running down my temple.
“Nope.” I hand it back to him.
“Never seen it before?” he asks. “Huh. How about that.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” The right side of his mouth twitches. “You wouldn’t be hiding it, would you? Somewhere in plain sight.”
“I think I’d know if I had a brand.”
“See, that’s funny.” He scratches his jaw. “I never said a word about a brand.”
I feel my insides crumble. “I think it’s best you get on your way,” I say as I lead them out of the kitchen.
“Do you hear it?” my mom calls out as we pass the living room.
“Ruth, is that you?” Sheriff doubles back, flicking on the light.
She’s standing in front of the couch, her body a tight wire, pointing at the wall above the mantel.
“I’ll be…” Ely stares at the wall. “Strange time of year for flies … wouldn’t you say so, Clay?”
Tilford swats the air in front of him. “Looks like you need an exterminator.”
“He’s coming … he’s coming for all of us,” Mom whispers.
“Who’s coming?” Ely asks.
“Just ignore her—”
“The seed will inherit the earth,” she says. “And the sinners will rejoice as the blood of the golden calf rains down on the innocent…”
“Okay … I told you this wasn’t a good time. She’s not feeling well,” I say as I take Sheriff’s arm, leading him to the front door.
“… and animals will fornicate with humans,” Mom yells from the living room. “And the stars will fall down from the sky. The gateway to the underworld will open up, swallowing all that is good and holy and right…”
I get them out the door and we all seem to take a deep breath at the same time.
“Looks like you’ve got a real problem in there, Clay,” Sheriff says.
“The mom, or the flies?” Tilford chuckles.
“Look, I know, okay?” I drag my hand through my hair. “She’ll be fine in a few days. It’ll pass. I promise.”
They start to walk back to their car when Sheriff says, “Oh and Clay … one last thing.”
I turn, my shoulders collapsing a little.
“How long has it been since you got a haircut?”
“About a year, I guess.”
“So, you started growing it out after your dad died? Any particular reason?”
“I always kept it buzzed for football, but when I
stopped playing, I just didn’t feel the need.”
“But now you’re playing again … and on the council. Interesting.” He presses his lips together and bobs his head. “I’ll make a note of that.”
* * *
AS I pass the living room, I flick off the light again.
I can’t even look at her. It hurts too much.
I take a shower. The water’s scalding hot and never wanes. I try not to think about the reasons why—Mom stopped bathing weeks ago and Jess is gone. It makes me shudder in the warmth.
Wiping the steam from the mirror, I drag my hands through my hair, pulling it back from my face. It’s weird how Sheriff was asking me about my hair … and all that talk about the mark … asking me if I was hiding it in plain sight.
And that’s when it hits me.
My hair.
The priests checked my body, but what if it’s on my scalp.… like Miss Granger’s?
48
I GRASP the sides of the sink to steady myself and take in a few deep huffs of air before I start rummaging through the cabinet, looking for my clippers. They’re in the back, wedged between an empty box of Tampax and some Elmo bubble bath. With shaking hands, I turn it on. The blades are rusted, the batteries old, but it still works. My eyes are blurry, stinging with tears, as I rake the clippers along my scalp, shearing off clumps of heavy dark-blond hair.
“Please don’t let me have the mark. Don’t let it be true.”
The dull grinding sound, the fine strands hovering in the air like bits of spiderweb caught in a breeze, my raw scalp, the hair clogging the pipes, the desperate sucking sound of the drain … it reminds me of that night I found Dad in the breeding barn—the drain in the floor clogged with intestines and viscera.
With every pull of the razor, horrible images flash through my mind. The bull, blood gushing from his throat. Lee’s scarred skin stretched tight over jagged teeth. Jess looking back at me on that cot with dead eyes. Jimmy kneeling at the altar offering his gift to God. Ben strung up on the goalpost like Christ. The nuns cutting out their tongues. Noodle suckling from the dead calf. Ali crawling out of the cow. “I plead the blood” echoing in my mind.
“Stop!” I scream. I shut my eyes, trying to get away from the memories, but they’re always there, scratching at the surface, begging for release.
I force myself to look at my reflection, inspecting every inch of my scalp. I let out a huge burst of pent-up air when all I find are the familiar bumps and planes of my skull.
“Thank God,” is all I can manage to say. “Thank God.”
* * *
AFTER I pull myself together and get everything cleaned up, I wrap the towel around my waist and go into Jess’s room, sinking to the edge of her bed. She can’t have been gone long, because she’s been taking the food. I saw a shadow pass under her door. Heard her footsteps. I’m sure of it. But I’ve been seeing all kinds of things lately. I look toward the window. Maybe she’s been climbing the drainpipe, coming in and out as she pleases. I just can’t believe she’d leave Noodle here with Mom, knowing the state she’s in. I want to wring Jess’s neck.
I get up and open her window, hoping by some miracle that when the sun comes up, she’ll be in her bed, or better yet, waiting for me in my truck with those awful boots pressed up against my dash.
I search her room, looking for any kind of clues, but she’s taken down every photo, every personal item. I think about how opposite we are. All I do is cling to the past and here she is trying to erase it. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for her … living in this house … living under this cloud of death and depression. She’s the only one who had it right and I brushed her off like she was nothing. Like she didn’t matter. I think about her out there with Lee Wiggins and my blood boils. I think about him touching her and I want to kill something.
“I’m going to make this right, Jess.”
I lie back on her bed, staring up at the handful of glow-in-the-dark stars I put up for her ninth birthday. She wanted to be able to wish on a star whenever she felt like it.
“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.”
I close my eyes.
Just for a minute, I tell myself.
A low sizzling sound accompanied by a warm glow is coming from the window. I walk toward it, staring out over the burning wheat. A repulsive charred stench lingers in the air. The flames form a perfect circle. Inside, there’s a girl with reddish hair, her lithe, naked body bathed in eerie green light.
Noodle slips her hand in mine. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she says as the flames engulf the girl’s body. “This is all for the chosen one.”
We stand there, watching her burn.
And I feel nothing.
* * *
I WAKE in Jess’s bed, covered in a cold sweat, to find the decrepit baby doll lying next to me, her dead eyes glinting in the early-morning light.
A disgusted rage fills me; I grab the doll by its neck, flinging it out the window.
I’m leaning against the frame, taking in huge gulps of fresh air when I see Hammy pick up the doll in his teeth.
“Leave it, Hammy,” I holler at him.
He stares up at me, like he’s looking at a ghost, and then buries it at the edge of the wheat.
49
IT’S FRIDAY. Game day.
I get Noodle on the bus and make arrangements with Mrs. Gifford to sit with her after school until I get home.
On my way to Midland High, I stop at Merritt’s to fill up the tank, but it’s really just an excuse to look for Jess. I know I promised Sheriff I wouldn’t go out to the trailer park, but he didn’t say anything about the old campgrounds. The thing is I’m not even mad anymore. Just worried. I don’t want Jess getting hurt. If Lee decides to share that little story with her, it could scar her for life.
I hike out into the pines, calling her name. Every insect scrabbling over the pine straw puts me on edge. Lee could be anywhere out here and this is his turf. For all I know, this place could be booby-trapped.
I come up on the old campgrounds, just a handful of busted-up cabins. I peek inside. They reek of mold and animal droppings and other things I don’t even want to think about.
I come to a big twelve-foot-diameter circle of fresh upturned soil. It reminds me of the circle in my dream last night, only there’s twine dividing it up, like a geometric puzzle. Maybe sectioned off for a garden.
I step over the twine to get a closer look at the pile of trash in the center of the circle, but the more I look at it, the more deliberate it seems, as if the items have been placed here with great care. I rub my arms, but it’s not the chill in the air giving me goose bumps. There’s a pair of gloves on the handlebars of a little kid’s bike, an elaborate men’s belt buckle with a bull on it, clumps of dirty hair stuck in the ground, a jar of deerflies, and a Bible open to Genesis 4:12. I know that verse. That’s the story of Cain and Abel.
“Lee,” I whisper. This is all his doing. A sick feeling twists inside me. I stagger back out of the circle, nearly tripping over the twine. This isn’t trash at all, but some kind of fucked-up shrine to my family. The gloves are covered in dried blood—they’re the same gloves that went missing when I discovered the calf. The bike is Noodle’s. I’ve been looking for that thing for over a year. The jar of flies—he must be the one who’s putting them in the house. And the belt buckle belongs to Dad. That’s his 1982 rodeo championship prize. One of a kind. The same one we buried him in.
I make it to the edge of the woods before I get sick, and when I look up again, I can see the twine isn’t some random puzzle. The circle’s been roped off to form a six-pointed star. A pentagram.
Lee’s the one who’s been orchestrating all this. Not Tyler. It’s beyond blackmail at this point; it’s personal. He wants my family to suffer for what Dad did to him. But I’m not putting Jess at risk to protect Dad’s secret. To protect our legacy. Dad ruined that when
he stepped out on Mom. Then again, we were ruined a long time before that. When our ancestors sold us out for land. For this. I grab a handful of soil and throw it as hard as I can.
I hear a rustle, something snap in the pines. I whip around but there’s no one there. Could be an owl, or an old branch, or it could be something a hell of a lot worse than that.
As I’m hauling ass back to my truck, I dig my phone out of my pocket and call Sheriff Ely.
He doesn’t pick up; I leave a message.
“I went out to the campground looking for Jess. I know, I know, but there’s something you need to see out there. And I think you may need to check Dad’s grave, too. By the way, Lee is my half-brother. Just found out yesterday and I guess now you know why he and Jess shouldn’t be together. Find her for me and I’ll do something for you. Put all your money on Midland tonight.”
50
AS I pull into my spot at the back of the lot, it looks like a scene right out of some cheesy high school movie, not the center of some doomsday prophecy.
Everyone’s decked out in red and black, the pep girls are out in full force—their soft bodies, easy smiles, ripe for the taking. Not that I ever would, but most of them make it clear they’d do anything for the team. Sometimes I think it would’ve been better that way, just to get it over with, but even now, with everything that’s going on, I look at Ali waiting for me by Tyler’s car, and I know why I haven’t done it. I feel it all the way to my bones. I want Ali to be my first … and my last. That much I’m sure of. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure we get that opportunity.
People are flitting around like it’s Christmas morning; there’s an undeniable electricity in the air, but the longer I look at the scene, the clearer it gets.
All of the students seem to dance around the Preservation Society kids, what’s left of them, circling, hovering, but never making direct contact, like they’ve been choreographed on an endless loop, and I can’t help thinking of the flies.
The flies.
“Hey!” Dale opens my door, nearly giving me a heart attack.
“Jesus, Dale.” I sigh as I get out of the truck.
