by Noah Bly
Even as a baby, he’d been like that. He’d yell and scream for hours in his crib if something startled him, and as he got older loud noises threw him into a tizzy, as did the sudden movement of a cat or a bird glimpsed from the corner of his eye. A fireworks display was Elijah’s worst nightmare, and Halloween was the end of the world. He’d shown some improvement in the last couple of years, but Samuel and Mary occasionally still found him hiding behind the couch or under his bed if he heard a sound in the house he couldn’t identify.
He didn’t get his disposition from Samuel, either. Samuel was a mild, quiet man, who could never figure out why his son was so nervous. Elijah had gotten Samuel’s height and his sharp, almost aristocratic cheekbones, but Samuel’s calmness hadn’t been handed down to his only child. It seemed a shame you couldn’t pick and choose what to pass on to your kids, but Samuel supposed the Lord had a reason for preserving some traits from generation to generation while dumping others off at the side of the road. He just wished he knew what that reason was.
He wished a lot of things at the moment. He wished he knew where his son was, for instance, and why he hadn’t come home for lunch. He was getting ready to drive into town and find him, but he hated to be an overprotective father, and was putting the trip off as long as he could stand it. Mary hadn’t told him to go yet, either, but she wasn’t likely to do that, no matter how worried she got.
Samuel adored his wife, but wished that they lived in the kind of world where she’d feel comfortable letting other people see her the way she was now, when Elijah was long overdue. Mary Hunter came across as cool and detached, and her face, though beautiful, was off-putting to strangers because it had so little expression in it. Most people thought she was haughty and they weren’t completely wrong; she had a chip on her shoulder about a lot of things. She could be snappish, for instance, if she thought somebody was “looking down” on her, nor did she have any qualms about letting people know when she believed they weren’t doing their jobs right, or were being lazy or stupid.
Like last winter, when the county was too slow getting their road plowed after a snowstorm. The Hunters were initially told it might be as much as a week, but Mary was on the phone with every elected official in Prescott, Maine, by the morning of the second day, and on the third day—while Samuel was down in the timber behind their house breaking up ice on the creek so the cattle could have water—she put chains on the tractor’s tires and drove into town to badger Mayor Bridge in person. Her protest proved effective, and shortly after she returned home, a snowplow showed up in their driveway to do her bidding.
“A lot of busier roads needed that plow first, Sam,” Mayor Bridge had whined later, when Samuel stopped by town hall to thank him for his help. “But Mary would have driven your goddamn tractor right through my front door if I hadn’t said yes to her.”
Samuel had just nodded. Mary would have done no such thing, of course (at least not without a lot more provocation), but he figured it didn’t hurt for people to be a little afraid of her now and again. Most of their neighbors were decent souls, but there were a few idiots in town who had a problem with black people, and Sam was glad Mary intimidated them.
The Hunters were no fools. When Mary had become pregnant sixteen years ago, they sold their farm in Alabama and moved to New England, to get as far away as they could from Jim Crow. Once there, though, they had raised Elijah to always be deferential and courteous, knowing full well that a black man with a smart mouth was more often than not a target for violence, even in a relatively tolerant place like rural Maine. Samuel, too, kept a low profile and was well liked because of it.
But both Mary and Sam believed the situation was different for Mary. In their experience, “nice” black women became victims just as often as outspoken black men, and so Mary purposely adopted an almost Amazonian demeanor when she was in public. Over the years she had gotten astonishingly good at projecting an aura of menace, and nobody in Prescott, Maine, ever thought twice about messing with her.
But she didn’t look so frightening right now, with their son gone AWOL. She was chewing on her lower lip, and her dark eyes, usually so steady and unblinking, were full of fear.
“He’s fine, Mary.” Samuel spoke through the screen door. “He’s probably just reading magazines at the library and trying not to upchuck from all the bad news.”
A hint of a smile played across her lips. “If that’s the only reason he’s late, he’ll get his share of bad news when he gets home, too.”
Both Mary and Samuel were spare and strong from physical labor; Mary cleaned houses in town and helped Sam with the farm chores when she could, and neither of them was any good at sitting still if there was work to be done. Lunchtime was normally just a short break in the day, but Elijah’s absence was so unusual it had thrown a two-hour wrench in their routine.
Samuel waited another minute, watching her pace. “Think I should go look for him?”
Mary squinted out at the road again, not answering.
Samuel opened the screen door and stepped out on the porch. She stopped pacing and leaned back against him as he put his arms around her waist. The top of her head only came up to his chin.
“He probably just lost track of the time,” Samuel said, gazing out at the field of knee-high corn that bordered each side of their driveway. “Teenagers are like that, remember?”
She shook her head. “Not Elijah,” she murmured. “This isn’t like him at all.”
Samuel sighed, knowing she was right, as usual. Both of them had been trying to encourage Elijah to be braver and have more self-reliance, but the boy remained a painfully timid homebody who would never go lollygagging around town when food was on the table and his parents were waiting for him.
“I’ll take the truck and go find him,” he said, squeezing her. “We’ll be back in a jiffy, you’ll see.”
Mary’s hands tightened on his forearms for a moment before she released him.
As Samuel got in his blue Dodge pickup parked next to the house, he waved at her reassuringly. She waved back but resumed her pacing on the porch as he drove down the long driveway between the rows of corn. He kept glancing in his rearview mirror at her. She was standing tall and moving slow, and from a distance she looked cold and formidable as always, like a sentry on guard duty. Anybody who didn’t know her wouldn’t have a clue that all kinds of terrors were going through her head.
But Samuel knew. Other than Sam himself, Elijah was Mary’s only weak spot. Their son had his share of quirks, but he was a good boy, through and through. He was sweet, smart, and loving, and he was the very best part of Mary’s life. Sam’s, too, for that matter, but if someone ever harmed Elijah it wouldn’t be Sam they’d have to worry about. Mary Hunter would go to hell and back to keep her son safe, and God help anybody who tried to take him away from her.
Elijah woke with a throbbing headache and a layer of sweat all over his body. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was, and he stared blankly at the tan underside of the Edsel’s roof, trying to get his bearings. There was a thin strip of cloth tied around his head and his hand drifted up to inspect it, probing the tender bump over his left eye.
“Ow,” he muttered.
Memory came rushing back: He’d banged his head while trying to get away from the crazy lady. Full awareness of his surroundings returned with this recollection and his eyes darted to the front of the car.
She’s still got me prisoner!
A larger shock followed as he registered a young white guy with short black hair now sitting in the front passenger seat. The guy’s head was resting on top of the seat and he seemed to be asleep.
Elijah goggled at this new threat. Who the fuck is THAT?
The windows were steamed over and the car was uncomfortably hot. Elijah sat up gingerly, and only then noticed his shirt was in shreds. He fingered it with dismay. The collar and short sleeves were intact, but the only other fabric left in front was the pocket covering his left breast. He felt l
ike he was wearing a cape.
He flushed with embarrassment as he figured out where the bandage around his head had come from, and who must have torn up his shirt. He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling naked and vulnerable.
Elijah never went to the town pool (even though he loved to swim) because he didn’t want other people to see him without clothes, and he loathed gym class since he had no choice but to shower with the other boys. Sometimes he’d take his shirt off when he was working on the farm with his dad, but the instant he saw the mailman or somebody else coming down the driveway he’d bolt for cover. It bothered him to know that while he’d been unconscious the woman and the stranger in the front seat had both seen him partly undressed.
There were groceries on the floor beside him, and as he stared at the Pepsi bottles and candy bars in one of the bags he realized how thirsty and hungry he was.
“Oh, good!” Julianna’s cheerful voice made him jump. “Welcome back, sleepyhead.”
Their eyes met in the rearview mirror.
Elijah frowned. “How long have I been asleep?” Keeping one arm firmly pressed to his sternum he wiped condensation from a side window with his free hand and peered out at the world. The weeds on the side of the highway were wet from a recent rain, but the sun was peeking through the clouds again.
She shrugged. “Several hours, I should think.”
The stranger woke at the sound of their voices and raised his head. He looked at Julianna for a minute before turning in his seat to study Elijah. His face was guarded, but not unfriendly.
“Hi,” he said.
Elijah was not in the best of moods. His head hurt, his shirt was ruined, and he was apparently hours away from his home. Worst of all, he was still a captive of the lunatic woman, and this guy might be her accomplice, for all he knew. Frustration and fear overrode his usual good manners.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
The stranger blinked. He had a black stubble of beard on his chin and cheeks, but he didn’t look much older than Elijah.
“Benjamin Taylor!” Julianna chided. “What on earth has gotten into you?” She dropped her voice to talk to the newcomer. “You’ll have to forgive Ben. He’s been acting strangely all day.”
She spoke louder to address Elijah. “This is our new friend Steve, Ben. Say hello.”
In spite of himself, Elijah felt a little abashed. His arms tightened over his exposed torso. “I’m Elijah,” he muttered, looking at the floor.
Julianna’s voice fell to a whisper again. “His name is Ben,” she said, sounding distressed.
“No, it isn’t,” Elijah snapped, glaring at the back of her head. “It’s Elijah.”
In the mirror he could see her big green eyes rolling.
Jon Tate looked from one to the other of them, confused. “Uh, I’m Steve.” He held out a tentative hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Elijah stared with suspicion at the offered hand for a few seconds before taking it in his own. Both boys were sweating and Elijah let go promptly. He didn’t like touching other people, especially when perspiration was involved.
His stomach growled and he gazed with longing at the bags of groceries next to his feet. His throat felt raspy as he raised his head and looked at the woman again. “Can I have some of your food?”
Julianna realized she was hungry, too. “Of course you can, silly. I could use a bite myself. Find me a chicken leg, will you?” She smiled over at Jon. “Momma always packs the best picnic lunches. Would you like to try some of her delicious fried chicken?”
Jon was starving and his mouth started watering. “That would be great.”
He watched the top of Elijah’s head as the other boy dug around in Edgar Reilly’s grocery bags. Jon was trying to figure out what the connection was between Elijah and Julianna. It seemed odd that a middle-aged white woman and a young black kid would be traveling together, but the woman acted as if the two of them were old friends. The kid was bent out of shape about something, but maybe it was just because he’d hurt his head, like the lady said.
Elijah handed up a couple of bottles of Pepsi and a bag of potato chips and Jon thanked him, then asked if Elijah had a bottle opener. When Elijah shook his head, Jon shrugged and said “No problem,” and promptly pried open the bottles with the latch of his seatbelt, impressing Elijah in spite of himself. Jon grinned and explained he’d learned to do this trick on beer bottles, then he passed one of the sodas to Julianna and tried to make conversation as he waited for Elijah to find the chicken.
“So how long have you guys known each other?” he asked.
Hearing this, Elijah abruptly straightened in the backseat, realizing that the older boy wasn’t with the woman after all.
Maybe he can get her to stop the car! he thought in excitement.
“Oh, forever,” the woman answered, taking a sip of warm Pepsi and smiling appreciatively at its sweetness. “We grew up together.”
Elijah poked his head between Julianna and Jon. “We did not,” he said emphatically. He thrust a bag of Chips Ahoy! cookies at the other boy as if he were presenting him with a sworn affidavit. “Honest to God, I’ve never seen this lady before this morning. I don’t even know her name!”
Jon ignored the offered cookies. Julianna’s assertion of having grown up with somebody who was clearly forty years her junior was bad enough, but her hospital wristband had now caught his attention, as well. He was eyeing it with concern.
“She doesn’t have any chicken, either,” Elijah added sullenly.
Julianna pursed her lips, worried. “Oh, Ben, how could you possibly forget my name? We’ve been best friends since we were babies!”
Jon’s mouth was hanging open, revealing a partially digested potato chip on his tongue.
“She’s out of her goddamn mind,” Elijah muttered to the other boy.
Julianna overheard this, but before she could chastise him for his rudeness a flashing red light appeared behind them on the highway, distracting her.
Gabriel Dapper answered the phone in the office of his downtown Bangor hardware store.
“Dapper’s Tool Emporium,” he said.
The office was small and cramped (especially for Gabriel, who was six foot four and weighed nearly three hundred pounds), but the piles of paper on his desk were stacked in tight, neat piles, and the catalogs and ledger books on the wall shelf were plainly marked and alphabetized. The desktop itself was clear, save for a notepad, a compass, and a pencil, all of which Gabriel had been using when the phone rang.
Edgar Reilly’s polite, pompous voice came through the receiver. “Gabriel? It’s Dr. Reilly.”
Gabriel had been drawing interlocking one-inch diameter circles on the notepad with the compass; a closer inspection of the pad would have revealed dozens of virtually identical pages, with seven circles per page. Gabriel loved circles, and was also rather fond of the number 7.
“Hey, Doc,” he responded cautiously. He knew better than to hope Edgar was calling to tell him Julianna’s condition had improved, but he made himself ask anyway. “Is Mom doing any better?”
For Gabriel’s entire life, his mother had been more sane than anyone else he knew. Living in the same town as they did, he had seen her at least once a week for years, and prior to setting the fire in her neighbor’s garage a month ago, nothing in her behavior had warned him that her mind was preparing to desert her. On the contrary, she had seemed sharper than ever, reading book after book in preparation for the literature classes she taught at Shelby Cabot Grammar School; she had recently begun tutoring several students privately, too, in every subject from algebra to Latin. Ever since the garage fire, though, she had referred to him as “Lars, the blacksmith,” and whenever he looked in her eyes the woman he had known as his mother was altogether absent. It made his heart hurt just to think about it, and for the last few weeks he’d found himself on the verge of tears at the oddest moments: standing in line at the grocery store, tossing a steak on the grill, sharpening all h
is office pencils until they were a uniform length.
On the other end of the line, Edgar Reilly held the phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Before dialing Julianna’s son, he’d placed an open bag of lemon drops in front of him on the desk, for courage.
“I’m afraid I have some very bad news, Gabriel.” Edgar did his best to sound calm and professional but he was unable to keep a tremor from creeping into his voice. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems your mother has escaped.”
A prolonged silence followed this announcement and Edgar’s forehead began to sweat. He popped a lemon drop into his mouth and waited anxiously.
Gabriel cleared his throat at last. “I don’t understand.” His voice was quiet, but ominous. “Where did she go?”
Edgar explained as quickly as he could, recounting all he knew about Julianna’s escape from the hospital, her theft of his Edsel, and the subsequent police hunt for her. Then, sucking hard on the lemon drop every few seconds, he shared the information Deputy Oakley had given him only moments ago:
“Late this morning, a young black man was seen assaulting a white woman in what was almost certainly my car, in southern Maine.” He forced himself to go on. “The physical description of the victim was vague, but I fear it could all too easily have been your mother.” His voice shook. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel, but the police think it’s likely she’s been kidnapped.”
Gabriel stared into space, not seeing anything in his orderly office.
“Christ,” he whispered. “Sweet Christ in heaven.”
Everybody believed Gabriel was older than he was. His size and his seriousness made him appear almost the same age as Julianna, but he was only thirty-six years old, and in many ways he felt even younger than that. He had never been in love, for instance, and his sole romantic relationship of any consequence had been with Tammy Sue Ogilvie, when he was a junior in high school. The time he spent with Tammy Sue was sweet and fun, but to be honest she hadn’t meant much to him. And no woman had since come along, either, that he felt was worth the trouble of more than a single night.
