“He?” Mitch asked.
“The Lord God! He reached down and picked me up and helped me get clean. He helped rebuild my body and my spirit, and I am a changed man standing here in front of you. It took a while for me to find the path, but once my feet were on solid ground, I walked straight toward the Lord and his grace.”
“And then Junior found me and showed me to the light,” Violette said. “We’ve been born again, Mitch, and we want to take our daughter home, to be a family.”
Mitch nodded, but he took a step back, keeping his hands up to hold back his sister and her husband. “That’s all... great. I’m happy that you’ve both got... your lives together, but, I think you should stop for a minute and listen to me about Sophie.”
“I want to see my daughter.”
“Let her go, Mitch,” Junior said. His voice took on a familiar darkness.
Violette pushed past him and walked out of the room. Mitch turned to follow her, but felt Junior’s hand tighten on his bicep.
“I’m saved, and I forgive you,” he said, “but don’t think I’ll let you keep me from my family. Thank you for looking after Sophie, but we’ll take care of our own from here on. This is God’s plan for us.” What remained unspoken in Junior’s declaration seemed every bit as clear as the words he’d uttered: This is God’s plan for us. And it doesn’t involve you. Mitch squared up, trying not to put his feet in position to throw an overhand right, but finding himself with his left foot forward anyway. Looking at Mitch’s balled up fists, Junior added, “You can go home now.”
“I... have nowhere else to go.”
“Well, you can’t stay here. It’s a violation of your parole.” Junior’s grin widened. He looked like he might have winked. Mitch wanted to hurt him for it.
The scream from the back of the house interrupted their standoff. Junior’s eyes darted over Mitch’s shoulder, and Mitch’s hand ached with the memory of breaking itself against Junior’s skull. For a second, he craved the same kind of pain. But he was civilized. And Violette had just discovered what he’d done to their daughter.
Junior shoved past Mitch and ran toward the girl’s room. He followed.
Violette was backed up against the far wall, hands clamped over her gaping mouth while Sophie sat on the floor staring at her. She looked at Junior and then Mitch, and sprang to her feet. Junior jumped away as she darted past him leaping up into Mitch’s arms. He caught her, holding her close.
“She’s a... she’s a...” Violette stammered.
“I tried to tell you. We’ve been through a lot. And—”
“She’s a ghoul!” Junior said.
A red veil fell over Mitch’s vision and he wanted more than ever to jump forward into trouble. He ached to tell him to shut his fucking mouth or the beating Mitch gave him before would feel like kisses from his sister. But the girl held on tighter, and he held himself back. “Everyone here has changed from who they used to be, but we’re all the same people. This is Sophie. She’s still your daughter, Vee.”
Violette wept and Junior’s face darkened with blood. “What did you do?” he shouted.
28
Liana’s eyes snapped open, wide and fearful and she screamed a shrill, long wail of panic. She kicked against the arm of the loveseat as the feeling of it against her feet still held the memory of the confining oven. She tried to free her arms from the blanket twisted around her body, but it held her. Mike leaned in, and pulled at the fabric, trying to help her get loose. She flinched away from his touch, fearful of being burned. He yanked the trapped end of the blanket out from under her hip, and her hands came free, whipping in an attempt to smother the flames she still felt in her hair and on her skin. He fell back, while she batted at her head with sweaty, wet hands. He told her it was just a dream, and that she was all right, but she was still half-trapped in the nightmare, dying in fire, cooking herself alive.
The room slowly came into focus, and her friend’s face emerged from the smoke that engulfed her semi-conscious mind. An image of comfort in extremis. He wore the same worried expression he’d had all those years ago when he found her beaten and barely conscious on the side of the road. She pushed up on the sofa, trying to get her breathing under control and her heart to slow its frenetic beating. He leaned forward and tried to pull the blanket back up over her shoulders, but she gently pushed it off. She was finally warm.
Perspiration soaked through her clothes and slicked Mike’s leather sofa with a sheen of moisture. She felt as embarrassed as a child who’d wet the bed, and tried to stand so she could assess how to clean it up. He shushed her and told her to give herself a minute. She began to cry and apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Mikey.”
“Hush, you. You’re okay. This isn’t anywhere you ever have to be sorry.” As many times as he saved her from threats both real and imagined, Liana knew she would never be even with him.
“I am sorry,” she whispered, unable to shed her twin feelings of shame and panic. And one other: a fear she hadn’t felt since she was a little girl—the fear of utter helplessness at the hands of adults making decisions about her in which she neither had a say nor even a tiny bit of control. Inexplicably, a memory of sitting on the front step as the man in their house yelled at her mother for buying Liana another toy when they couldn’t afford to put gas in the car. The sound of the slap, a body hitting the floor, and the breaking of the new precious thing. And then her mother’s crying. More shouting and louder crying as the man she’d invited into their home established his place in it by force and intimidation. She remembered the sound of the front door slamming open and the feeling of the hand on the back of her dress that dragged her inside. And then the hand that fell across her backside because she’d had the temerity to ask for a pretty thing at a moment her mother was feeling generous.
How she hated that man, and imagined doing terrible things to him in his sleep. Instead, years later she slipped away in the night to go live with her Gran in another town. Time and distance cooled her worst inclinations toward him, and her absence seemed to fade her mother’s memories of him screaming at Liana and hitting her for nearly any insult, no matter how slight. And in his last days when he sat skinny and wasted from the cancer that ate him, she stood, clad in black and made bold by the music that thrummed in her heart, and she told him he was nothing. He lurched at her from his chair, and she was nine again, terrified and perfectly weak. That week, she left for New England, and never thought of him again.
And now, she felt that fear, but wasn’t certain why. She felt it from a gulf of distance that did not reach from Atlanta. No. He was long dead and couldn’t hurt her any longer. But the threatening in her heart was as close as the man next to her. Except, not the man actually next to her. Mike was her sanctuary and protector. No, the threat was not in this place. It was in Mitch’s apartment. She knew it wasn’t Mitch, and… not Sophie. There was something else threatening them.
“I can feel her,” she said.
“Feel what? Who?”
“Sophie. I can feel her. She’s afraid.”
Mike sat back on his heels. “I don’t understand.”
She stood up, and staggered a step, hovering dangerously over the glass top coffee table before finding her balance. She and Sophie were a part of each other now. She wanted to be a mother someday, but was terrified that despite her Gran’s loving example, she’d fuck it up like her parents had done. Like being absent and angry was genetic. She knew it wasn’t. That the choice to be a good parent could be made. That she could follow her Gran’s example instead of her mother’s. The feelings were beyond her ability to control, but her actions weren’t. Her body was hers alone, and while it had been hijacked by this child, she had a choice. She could walk away, and her life would be hers alone again, or she could go after the girl and answer her call for help. Her choice.
The girl was calling out, and she was maybe the one person who could hear.
“I have to go. She needs me.”
“
What about what she did to you?” Mike brushed a finger along his temples, indicating her gray streaks and crow’s feet.
Gran’s nickname for Liana had been “Magpie.” Whenever she saw something shiny, no matter what, treasure or trash, she picked it up and put it in her pocket. She loved anything that sparkled and had to possess it, even if it later ended up forgotten in her “Little Box of Ephemera,” and was lost among all the other discarded jewels of the street. She had it, and she was comforted by the fact that whatever it was that had been cast off or lost was hers now and no one could take it. The little pieces of the world she collected gave her control over a part of her life she’d been denied. And understanding came into clear focus. “Sophie took something from me. A little piece of my fire. I don’t think she wanted to hurt me, though. I think she wanted a connection. A piece to keep so she could always have me with her so she could be warm.”
She snatched her leather jacket off the coat tree next to the door. Instead of sliding into it, she draped it over her arm and dug her car keys out of a pocket. Mike stood and held out a hand for her to give them to him. She shook her head. “No. Sophie needs me,” she said. “I have to go.”
“I understand that, but I don’t think you should drive. Give me the keys. I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
He planted a hand on his hip and said, “Do you think you can stop me from coming with?” She knew she couldn’t. Not without a Taser and a lot of duct tape. Liana dropped the keys in his outstretched hand and hugged Mike as firmly as she could. It wasn’t hard, but she felt her strength returning. She felt the fire inside her burning, getting warmer.
29
Mitch sat on a dining room chair with Sophie in his lap while Junior and Violette stood in front of the sofa. A long silence had descended over the room after Mitch finished summarizing the events of the last month. He left out facts he thought Violette and Junior didn’t need to know, like staying at Liana’s and the encounters at the library and cemetery, but the salient facts were out in the open. Sophie died while the neighbors were watching her, and Mitch had gotten her back once the children began to return to life. Violette wept quietly while Junior listened with a stone-faced glare, staring at Sophie with an expression Mitch couldn’t quite figure out. He’d never had a face anyone would call genial, but the damage Mitch had inflicted on him left him looking permanently ill-natured. Or maybe it’s just me. This is what I do to people. Finally, Junior opened his mouth and said, “We can take her to Pastor Roper. He’ll take care of this.”
“Pastor Roper? I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news, but religious types don’t seem to like kids like Sophie.”
“Ghouls.”
Mitch stood, clutching the girl. He said, “Say that word again and we’re going to have a problem.” His threat felt empty, coming from a man clutching a child, but still, he felt committed to holding firm to the promise. He was fucking tired of hearing Junior call her that, and he was coming to the end of his patience with live and let live.
“Pastor Roper will know what to do,” Junior repeated. He held out his hands. “Give her to me.” Sophie clung tighter to Mitch, even though he made no motion to hand her over. “Now!”
“No. I don’t know who this Pastor Roper is, but if he’s like the rest of them, he’s got no intention of ‘helping’ a single kid like Sophie. You’re not taking her to a snake charmer to be ‘healed.’ I’ll find a solution to her problem without faith healers and conmen.”
“You think doctors have an answer? Scientists? They ain’t gonna solve this problem. They don’t know a thing because this ain’t a worldly affliction you can study in a lab or a hospital. It says in Proverbs, ‘The human spirit can endure a sick body, but who can bear a crushed spirit?’ This is a spiritual condition, and it needs a spiritual solution.”
“She. Not ‘it.’ And I don’t believe in the same things you do. What makes you think this preacher can do something that no one else has been able to figure out yet?”
“You need to have faith in the Lord, Mitch. What more proof do you need of the divine than the dead coming back to life?”
Mitch wanted to argue, but he held back.
“Please, give her to him,” Violette said.
Not to me or us. To him. Mitch felt his frustration deepen. Whatever change had occurred in his sister to get her to stop following the band and think of her child was not as strongly personal as he’d hoped. He couldn’t see the puppet opening between her shoulder blades, but he felt like it was Junior’s hand moving her mouth while he spoke for her.
“No. She doesn’t want to go with you.”
“Children never want to do what’s good for them,” Junior said. “You think she’d like to have chocolate pudding instead of steak for dinner?”
Mitch furrowed his brow. “She doesn’t eat steak. She’s four.”
“You know what I mean. Hand her the fuck over!” Junior stepped forward, reaching again for Sophie. Mitch backed up and stopped when his back pressed against the wall.
“Touch her, and you’ll regret it,” he said. She loosened her grip on him and turned to look at the man approaching. She held out a hand for Junior, and he stopped. He frowned and seemed to share Violette’s reticence in touching, or being touched by Sophie as soon as he got a look at her eyes, and the blue/black veins in her skin. Whatever his spiritual convictions, his natural aversion to touching something dead remained. For that, Mitch thought, he should be thankful. An image of what happened to the woman’s arm in the cemetery slipped into his mind, and he smiled. Not at what she’d done to that woman, but at what he wanted her to do to Junior. If Sophie was a little brighter at a moment’s touch, how much improved would her condition be if she got to give Junior a big long hug? He banished the dark thought. It wasn’t fair to ask her to do that, no matter what his feelings for Junior were. And he’d made her promise not to. They’d find a way to make her better without having to sacrifice her innocence, or anyone else. There was another way to solve her problem that didn’t involve ruining another life. He was sure of it. There had to be. It would just take time to figure out what that was.
When Junior pulled the pistol out of the back of his pants, he knew time had just drawn short. Mitch turned, putting his body in between Sophie and the gun. “Put it away, Junior. This isn’t how you want this to go.”
“What are you doing?” Violette said.
“This is what has to be done.” Junior told Violette to pull the car into the driveway and open the trunk. “Keep the engine running,” he said without looking away from Mitch and Sophie.
“What are you doing?”
“Just fucking do it!” Violette ran off like she had been snapped by a riding crop. Mitch wanted so badly to work terrible violence on the man standing in his house. But now, he had to get past the gun. He’d missed his chance to face Junior as an equal. He had to keep the girl safe, and he couldn’t do that if he was shot and bleeding. He couldn’t save her if he was dead. Not a single adult had come back from the dead. Not yet.
“This isn’t going to end the way you want it to,” Mitch said. “I promise.”
Junior shrugged and nodded his head toward the door. “We’ll see who keeps their promises. Remember what I said to you in court that day?”
Mitch recalled the judge reading the verdict of the jury declaring him guilty. He didn’t wait for a reaction, but immediately went into thanking the jury for their service and telling them that they had answered the call to serve and preserve a civil society of laws. And while he droned on, Mitch heard the voice of his victim from behind him in the audience gallery. Junior had said, “I’ll see you in Hell. I promise.”
Mitch was pretty sure they were all already there.
Violette reappeared in the door and told Junior the car was ready. He smiled and waved the pistol in her direction. “Let’s go.”
Outside, the sun was setting in a beautiful haze of orange and yellow above houses that
had stood along this road for over a hundred years. Mitch wondered if anyone was looking out their window at them. At the man holding the gun on a man and a child, ordering them to climb into the trunk of a running car. If they were, not one of them made even a gesture to acknowledge Mitch and Sophie. No one peeked out their window with a phone in hand letting him know they’d called the police and he’d be safe. They’d be found and all would be right in the world.
The police.
He looked up the block for Braddock and Dixon’s car. They would help him, wouldn’t they? But they were nowhere to be seen. He and Sophie were alone. Like always.
“Get in. It’s nice and roomy.” Junior pointed to the trunk. It was a newer car, and the space was big enough for the two of them. All the tools and the spare were under a pull-up cover and rough felt covered all the surfaces; the very last place Mitch wanted to be confined was there. He’d have preferred a grave—at least then he wouldn’t have to live in fear of what was about to happen to them. No. Not the grave. Not while Sophie needed him. Stay alive. For her. Do whatever it takes to stay alive for her.
“Now!”
Mitch climbed in and his breath abandoned him when Junior slammed the trunk.
30
Everything seemed off in the way that absolutely nothing appeared to be amiss. A bus stopped to drop off and pick up riders, a woman walked a small dog along the sidewalk, and houses stood silently waiting for their occupants to return from work and school and fill them with life. At the center of it, halfway up the block, a door stood open. No one came out. There was no car in the driveway with an open back hatch half-filled with groceries, waiting for the next trip. Just an ordinary house and an open door that said all you count on in the world to be right, is wrong. And this is the threshold of chaos. Nothing through here is what you want it to be.
Come to Dust Page 14
