Hallowed

by Bryant Delafosse

  Her eyes lit up and she turned back to me. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot. Let me show you how to take pictures with your new phone, Johnny Appleseed, so you can let me take a look at those crime scene photos.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  She glared, gave a huff, and started to the house again.

  “Hey, Claudia?”

  She stopped and gave me a wide-eyed expression that was a cross between fear and excitement. She took a few steps toward me in curiosity.

  The words stuck in my throat. All it takes is a moment to lose an opportunity.

  That moment passed.

  She gave me an amused smile and slugged my arm as hard as she could. “Guess, this evening didn’t suck as much as the Homecoming dance would have, huh?” She pulled away but gave me one last piercing look with those dark eyes that set the hook deep for another day’s catch. Then she was gone.

  Almost immediately after, my phone began to ring.

  As a wise man named Yogi Berra once said, it was “deja-vu all over again.”

  When I got home, I found Dad sitting on the swing, which verified the fact that the separate camps had definitely been in contact.

  Mounting the steps of the porch, I noticed he once again had the cigarettes out, but this time I saw something even more disturbing. An empty glass sat on the wooden railing surrounding the porch and a vague smell of alcohol wafted off of him.

  He examined me intensely for a moment, with absolutely no tipsy shifting of the eyes or wobbling of the head, then patted the wooden planks of the swing’s seat.

  The screen door opened and Mom stepped out. “You were with her, weren’t you?” I had never heard that acidic edge to my mother’s voice before in regards to another person, especially someone who, for all intents and purposes, might have been a member of our family.

  “Kathy, please. Let me handle this.”

  My mother hesitated for a few more moments until Dad gave her a look that sent her inside.

  Resigned to another lecture, I took the seat next to Dad, ignoring the pungent smell of alcohol hanging like a cloud around him.

  “There’s a good reason why I warned you to be cautious,” he stated. “A seventeen year old boy was found over in Ulee’s Junction, not fifteen miles away. His head was removed from his body.”

  I didn’t have to pretend to react with horror. Just the way my father said it was enough to make me shudder involuntarily.

  “You have to understand that the source of our anger is not that you disobeyed your mother, but that you did something irresponsible at a time of high risk.”

  I opened my mouth to try and defend myself. My father set his lips into a hard line, like a shield against the denials that he must have known were coming.

  Finally, I just said, “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced up and cast judgment on my sincerity. It must have passed muster, because he gave a single nod and said with finality, “Go to bed, Paul.”

  I pressed my lips together, willing the words I wished to utter to stay put. Instead, I pushed my feelings aside for the moment and went dutifully into the house, passing my mother tucked away on one corner of the couch. When I was halfway up the stairs, I glanced down and saw the light of the lamp reflecting my mother’s face on the empty TV screen in front of her. She looked as wan and exhausted as I’ve ever seen her.

  It was then that I first noticed the changes, subtle in their earliest incarnation, stirring not concern, as it would later, but resentment instead. After all, I thought, it was their need to control me that was causing all this negative energy, not me. They were the ones who felt it necessary to continue to treat me as if I were a child. I was seventeen! I was nearly an adult, wasn’t I?

  Beneath me, my mother cocked her head at an angle that somehow reminded me of an animal, a strange dog who had wandered into our yard by mistake and adopted a defensive posture when confronted. Her eyes slid around and stared at me out of the corners without actually acknowledging me. I shivered involuntarily and rushed up the last few steps to my room.

  I couldn’t forget the way she had said those words: “You were with her, weren’t you?” It wasn’t an emotion I recognized as coming from my mother.

  Open loathing.

  Chapter 18 (Saturday, October 17th)

  The next morning, I didn’t feel much like getting out of bed, but I knew that I had the mid-shift at the store.

  The house was too quiet. Dad had already left for the station and Mom was still in bed, which was uncharacteristic for her. On the heels of my thoughts the previous night that my parents weren’t treating me enough like an adult, I felt the irony that no one was around to “give me a good talking to.”

  I found my car keys in the center of the kitchen table with a note in Mom’s handwriting, which bluntly read, “Drive yourself to work.”

  No “Love, Mom” accompanied the four words.

  I ate my breakfast in the silence of the kitchen, alone, reflecting on the events of last night, thinking about Claudia and conspiring about how I could arrange to see her before Monday. In fact, my mind was so occupied, that I didn’t realize that I had forgotten my phone at home until I got to work.

  When I got home around six, I steeled myself for the inevitable lecture.

  The house was empty. No notes.

  After a few moments of reflection, I realized what might be going on. Were they giving me a taste of their own medicine? But then I checked the answering machine. There was a message from Uncle Hank.

  “Kathy? It’s Hank.” Then there was a moment of silence almost as if he were trying to determine how best to proceed. “I think you and Jack should come down to the church.” I listened to it once more before I decided that the message was meant for only Mom and Dad, which meant, by implication, that it involved me.

  Of course, the first conclusion that I jumped to was that something happened to Claudia. That’s when I heard the knock at the front door.

  I opened my door to a uniformed deputy. Behind him was a Sheriff’s cruiser, lights off. The best I could manage was a wide-eyed stare.

  He raised his hands, palms out and gave a bit of a smile. “Your mom and dad are fine. They just thought it was best if we pick you up and bring you over.”

  I started out then abruptly stopped. “Can I see your badge, please?”

  The officer smiled and displayed his credentials with a patient expression. “You’re Jack’s son all right. Now c’mon, before I regret volunteering for this.”

  He guided me out, shut the door, then checked the knob to make sure it was locked. “Everything else locked down in there?”

  I gave a confused nod. “Is Claudia okay?” My voice came out in almost a whimper. Glancing up at the name patch on his breast, I found the name “Baxter” there.

  The deputy gave me a confused look as he guided me toward his car where a second deputy was waiting, knees locked and thumbs hooked under his belt. “Who’s Claudia?”

  By the time we had reached the rectory, night had fallen. Parked in front in the otherwise empty lot of St. Peters were five cars: Mom and Dad’s, an EMT unit, another cruiser and one vehicle I didn’t recognize. When I saw Dad’s car, it finally hit home. It was important enough to them to call Dad away from the case. I felt a rush of adrenaline.

  Something serious was happening inside.

  Two other deputies were waiting in the foyer of the rectory when I was escorted inside. My mother rushed to me when I entered and gave me a fierce hug.

  “Paul! Thank God!” Then, with a stern look on her face: “Where’s your phone? We’ve been trying to reach you.”

  I lowered my eyes. “I sorta forgot it at home. Mom, what’s going on?”

  “Hank said she came in around noon seeking sanctuary, but didn’t identify who she was until a few hours ago.”

  “Who?” I asked. “Who are we talking about?”

  “She claims she’s the Tatum girl.”

  I stared at my mother in confusion. I h
ad literally no idea who she was talking about but I could tell from the expression on her face that it should mean something to me.

  I looked over her shoulder, and I could see my Uncle sitting in one of the comfortable leather chairs in his office in front of his desk. He was framed in the doorway, leaning forward conspiratorially and speaking to someone in the other chair, obscured by the wall.

  As I was watching, I saw the head of the other figure peek out from around the corner and stare right down the hallway directly at me.

  My father glanced out from inside the office and closed the door behind him.

  “Who’s..?” Before another word left my mouth, I knew. The little girl they had rescued thirty-five years ago. .“But I thought… she’s dead, right? You told me.”

  “She was. She is.” My mother shook her head. “Vital records faxed us a copy of the death certificate on file. She’s legally dead.”

  “So how can she..?”

  “I don’t know, Paul.”

  I looked down the hallway at the closed door of Father Hank’s office and wondered about the conversation that was going on inside.

  “Why is she here? What’s sanctuary? Is she wanted for something?”

  “Your father just got here less than an hour ago, and she’s been refusing to speak to anyone else until he was here. Not even to your Uncle.”

  “If no one knows who she really is or why she’s here, why did Dad send the deputies to pick me up?” I asked, looking at the two uniformed men who had brought me here. Both just gave me blank poker faces. I watched them carefully as I asked the next question: “Does she have something to do with the investigation into the murders?” Their expressions never changed, but they begin to shift around as if they wanted to be somewhere other than where they were.

  “At this point, we know as much as you all do,” the one named Baxter said.

  Suddenly the door swung open again and both Uncle Hank and Dad stepped outside. I could tell by the look on Dad’s face that something had happened that upset him. He glanced up once and made eye contact with me but never smiled. Uncle Hank led him a few steps away from the open door, and they began to argue in hushed voices.

  It was the first time I’d seen them together in years and here they were arguing.

  “What’s going on?” I took a step toward the office, but Mom grabbed my arm.

  “Kathy,” my father called. Mom stepped around the corner with Uncle Hank and Dad and after a moment, I again heard sounds of protest, this time from my mother.

  It was then that the figure in the office again peeked around the corner of the office. As she rose and stood in the doorway, I first noticed that she wore long-sleeves and white gloves. Second, I thought her hair was platinum blonde. Later I would realize that it had gone completely white. She looked to be thirty-five.

  She stared intently at me and gave me a tentative smile as if uncertain as to how she should relate to me. And I to her.

  I returned the smile and started over, but I felt a restraining hand on my arm. It was again one of the deputies.

  It was then that she began to sing;

  “Now I don’t hardly know her.”

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck slowly stand.

  The raised voices in the hallway came to an abrupt stop and my parents and Uncle Hank glanced back at the woman in the hallway, who was singing to their son and nephew.

  “But I think I could love her.”

  Suddenly, I realized where I had heard that song before and the floor slipped out from under me.

  I heard the words, “Ah, there he is,” crystallizing from the dark ether surrounding me as I regained consciousness. It was the first time in my life that I had ever passed out and I was totally disoriented.

  “Where am..? What..?” I tried to lift my head but felt the gentle restraint of a cold compress on my forehead. The image of my mother came into focus above me. She managed a smile through the creases of anxiety on her face.

  I glanced around at the equipment lining the walls of the confined space and realized that I was on a gurney inside the EMT vehicle I’d seen earlier.

  I felt someone stroke both my legs roughly. “You okay, kiddo?” It was Dad.

  “Shit. Can’t believe I did that.” It was the first time I can remember cursing in front of my parents, and under the circumstances, not a word was said about it. “Sorry about that.”

  “We’re just glad that you didn’t bump your head on the way down.” This from Uncle Hank. One glance at him and I could tell he was having one of the longest nights of his life.

  “Yeah, it’s a good thing she caught him, huh?” a strange voice interceded.

  Mom gave a stern look to whoever had said this and then turned back to me. “You sure you’re feeling okay, baby? I think they should take you over to the ER just to check you out.”

  “No,” I snapped emphatically and gave my mother a little nudge with the hand that I had just regained control of. “I want to know why you guys were arguing about me in the hallway.”

  How I had known I was the subject of conversation, I don’t know, but from the look I was getting from my mother I was sure that I’d guessed right.

  “Your father and I agree that you should be kept out of this as much as possible,” she replied, circumnavigating my question. “For your own safety.”

  “Kept out of what?” I protested. “Dad?” I sat up on my elbows and this time, no one attempted to restrain me.

  Dad stood outside the doors of the EMT unit at the foot of the gurney where I lay. He was giving Mom one of his “I told you so” looks. Mom simply glared back at him.

  “There was some talk that you should be in the room during our inter… our conversation. Both your mother and I agree that it would be a bad idea, and judging from your initial contact with the sus… with her, I would say that my fear was justified.”

  “What’s she suspected of doing?”

  Obviously, irritated at himself for the slip, Dad set his lips and shook his head. “Kathy, I want you and Paul to go over to Pat’s house and wait for me there.” He turned, grabbed Uncle Hank roughly by the arm, and started away. And with that, our interview was over as far as he was concerned.

  I ducked under my mother’s arms and was at the door of the ambulance before she could stop me. I was half aware of the increased number of police cars and unmarked sedans since I’d last been conscious. Red and blue strobe lights lit the faces of uniformed and suited men milling around with a sense of purposelessness. Several barricades had already been erected with the expectation of a crowd, but thankfully none had gathered yet.

  “Dad, if I can help with this, you have to let me!”

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “Paul?” My mother tried to cut me off but this time I wasn’t going to be stopped. I waved her away and she must have seen the Graves stubbornness in that action, because she sighed and dropped her shoulders.

  “You have to understand,” I called out to him. “I want to do something to stop this! You’ve got to understand the frustration I’m feeling, not being able to do anything! You were my age once. Well, you helped her when you were my age, didn’t you!”

  Uncle Hank whispered something to him, and Dad pulled away with annoyance. “Why don’t you just work on getting her down to the station,” he snapped at his brother.

  Uncle Hank sighed and started back toward the church. There were several men in cassocks, one I recognized from sight as the man who gave all the special Holy Day masses, Bishop Boudreaux. He was dressed all in white, his hair silver. It was the sight of this man more than the extra police presence that drove home the seriousness of the situation.

  Dad finally turned. He looked as angry as I’d ever seen him, and as he started toward me, I wondered if I’d finally stepped across that line of respect a son was supposed to show his father. I actually gripped the edge of the ambulance door in preparation for whatever was coming. He locked eyes with me and I fought
the urge to lower my own.

  “You want to help?”

  I continued to look him in the eye and nodded. “That’s all I want to do.”

  “Then I want you to go watch over your mother and your girlfriend.”

  It was the first time that someone had actually said the words “your girlfriend,” but at that moment, it didn’t register with me.

  I climbed out of the ambulance and dropped down to sit on the bumper, watching as my father started back to the rectory. In the distance, I could see the church and the stone crucifix standing atop it.

  Something in the back of my mind struggled and finally broke free.

  I rushed after my father, my mother yelling at me to come back.

  He turned to me, a look of patience long lost on his face.

  “It’s all religious related,” I nearly screamed. “Everything!”

  “What are you..?”

  “Martin’s cousin was Jewish and the second girl was Hindu, right, because her father was from India. I’ll bet the third victim was Muslim. Am I right?”

  My father was staring at me in alarm, not anger.

  “The killings were somehow motivated by the religion practiced by the victim.”

  My father gave me the sort of frown reserved for acid reflux, glanced over his shoulder toward the crowd gathered at the church, and guided me firmly by the arm away from the entrance. “First of all, where did you hear all this?”

  “Nobody. It just came to me. The Middle-Eastern kid, he was beheaded. That’s a ritualistic method used by Muslims, right? And the way they found the second girl, wrapped in a burial shroud and burned, that’s a Hindu practice, right?”

  My father’s expression wavered between surprise and anger. “You’ve been through my office, haven’t you?”

  I lowered my head and nodded, then looked suddenly up again when I realized that he hadn’t downplayed my theory. “So, did I guess right?”

  “I thought I noticed my notes were a little disorganized.” My father cast a troubled glare at me, but they quickly softened again. “You just hit on the strongest theory we’re working from right now.” For a moment, breaking through the conglomeration of unreadable emotions on his face, I saw a clear look of pride there. My father was proud of me! Then just as quick as it appeared, it was gone again. His eyes hardened and he added, “Of course, you didn’t get any of this from me. Got it?”