Shadows Burned In

by Chris Pourteau

  “No,” she said. “He’s been really nice to me. And Michael too. We’ve just been talking. I met him earlier today—”

  “Earlier today?” Incredulity again.

  “Mr. Jackson, I’m really good with my baton.” Applewhite turned back to Elizabeth. “You sure, honey?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she replied in her 3V voice, out loud for a change.

  The sheriff nodded, knowing it was so, and stood up, looking over to the other culprit. “Michael Miller, your momma know you’re out?”

  The boy, hands in his pockets, looked at the floor. “No, sir.”

  “Then I think it’s best she knows you’re all right, at least.”

  The boy frowned, knowing that translated into being grounded. “Yes, sir,” was all he said.

  Applewhite turned to the old man. “You really shouldn’t have that fire burnin, Rocky. Ain’t safe in an old house like this. Don’t make me look up the ordinance.”

  The old man shrugged. “Forgot to pay my electric bill this month,” he said, motioning at a shady corner. “And the boy seems a bit skittish of ghosts.” He smiled at Michael.

  “Hey!” exclaimed the boy. “I weren’t no more scared than she was.”

  “Liar!” Elizabeth proclaimed.

  “All right.” David’s tone was less than patient and more than tired. “That’s enough from both of you. It’s too late to be arguing. Elizabeth. You’re coming home with me. As for you, Michael, Sheriff Applewhite will take you home, won’t you, Sheriff?”

  “Sure,” said Applewhite as he thought about it. Part of him was convinced Jackson might have more in store for Elizabeth than a good talking to. He’d seen the way the girl had drawn away from him at first. But it was hard to distinguish what might be a telltale sign of one thing from a simple case of the I-got-caughts. Sometimes I really hate this job. He made a judgment call and felt more than anything like he’d just tossed a coin in the air. Not liking that feeling, Applewhite decided to sit the fence. “Y’know, I can drop y’all off too, on the way to Michael’s.”

  “That’s all right, Sheriff,” David said. “It’s just a walk up the street for us. Night air might do us some good.”

  The sheriff hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Why don’t you take the kids out on the porch, Mr. Jackson? I want to talk to Rocky here for a minute.”

  David gave him a look that said, Uh-huh, you take your club to that old pervert, which Applewhite shrugged off. Elizabeth felt her father’s hand on her shoulder and moved a little faster in front of him so she wouldn’t have to. They made their way through the entryway and out the front door.

  “What’s on your mind, Sheriff?”

  Applewhite turned back to him and leaned against the wall. He had the passing thought that he might go straight through the wood rot and into the kitchen, but the old wall held his ten-too-many-hotdogs frame.

  “Once things cool down in their house,” he began, sounding like a doctor who’s seen all he needs to see in the test results, “word’ll spread that you’re livin here. That in itself ain’t a bad thing, though Frank McFreod will come down and bend my ear the wrong way about it. This is private property, after all.”

  “But Sheriff, there ain’t nobody livin here. Ain’t been in years.”

  “Doesn’t make any difference. The long-story-short of it is, you don’t own the place. But like I said, that ain’t the biggest part of it. Hell, McFreod knows he can’t sell this place. Too many spook stories. And it’s too dilapidated. Nobody in their right mind’d buy it. And there ain’t too many folks—Jackson there is a notable exception—beatin down the doors of Hampshire lookin for a home anyway.”

  “So what’s the big deal? I ain’t hurtin nobody by stayin here.”

  The sheriff paused a moment and looked at the old man. Rocky had always struck him as someone who didn’t like charity. Would’ve been offended if you’d offered it to him. That’s why Applewhite had suggested the job of cleaning up the animals who got hit along the highway. Nobody else wanted to do it, and it gave the old man a little spending money. But he earned it, and that was all the difference to men like Rocky. Besides, the fuckers from the county were always a week behind the sideswipe schedule.

  “I didn’t think you wanted charity, Rocky,” was all he said.

  “Didn’t say I wanted it.”

  The sheriff looked hard at the old man, and if Applewhite had been a woman, he might’ve gotten choked up at what he saw there.

  Abject surrender.

  Humiliation.

  He saw in the drifter’s eyes the gray certainty that Rocky had chosen this course for himself. And now it was just a matter of playing out the hand. Fate forced down his throat.

  The old man turned away from the probing gaze.

  “Well,” said Applewhite, wiping his mouth and standing up straight, “it doesn’t matter anyway. McFreod doesn’t matter. What matters is Jackson thinks you had designs on his daughter—”

  “I never touched her!” The old man’s voice rose, a shield.

  “I didn’t say you did. Never thought it, even. But that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is that he thinks you did. He’s a protective man.”

  The old man knew what was coming now. His voice broke. “A good father,” he said.

  But the sheriff clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Well, his daughter might have something to say about that. But what I was gettin at was, he’ll tell the other parents that you’re here and what he thinks you had on your mind. And then one of the local bluehairs will bake a rum cake, ’cause that’s my favorite, and bring it to my office and, just as they start to shamble out the door, will say, ‘Oh, by the way, can you run that nasty old pervert down at Old Suzie’s house out of town? Thanks, Sheriff.’ And then I’ll be right back here tellin you what I’m tellin you now. Only it won’t be your choice to leave then.”

  Rocky leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “I have a home here,” he said simply. “Finally. It just ain’t fair.”

  The old man looked up at him, hoping to find—something. Applewhite decided to let the cliché in his head die in his throat. No use tellin him what he already knows.

  “Tomorrow, Rocky.” The sheriff walked by him and stopped. The dog, chin flat on the floor, stared up, watching the sheriff. Applewhite cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, old-timer,” he said, heading out the front door.

  As he stepped onto the porch, Michael walked up to him. “Can we go home now, Sheriff? I’m sleepy.”

  “Sure,” said Applewhite, placing a hand on the boy’s head. “It’s no wonder, either. Your momma’ll make me a pecan pie for bringing you home.”

  “Really?” Michael’s eyes lit up. “Can I have a piece?”

  “Sure. If she’s still letting you have sweets after she grounds you.”

  The light faded a bit. “Oh yeah.”

  “Well, I’ll put in a good word for you,” grumbled Applewhite. “But you only get a small piece.”

  Michael looked up at him, beaming. “Deal!”

  The sheriff glanced over to Jackson and his daughter. He was kneeling down in front of her, talking low but hard. It’s late, bub, thought the sheriff. Let it go for tonight. “Y’all sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?”

  David looked over, a little irked at being interrupted. “No, that’s okay, Sheriff,” he said in a fake phone voice. “We were just getting ready to walk on home.”

  Applewhite nodded. The thought came to him that the girl, Elizabeth, might’ve been safer with old Rocky than walking home alone with Jackson, but he dismissed it. Truth be told, it was as groundless as Jackson’s suspicions of the old man had been. “All right then, come on, Michael.” He led the boy to his squad car, muttering in answer to Michael’s excited tittering, “No, I’m not going to run the siren. It’s too damned late for that. And I’ve got a headache.”

  As the sheriff’s car pulled out of the driveway, gravel popping like muted firecrackers, David and E
lizabeth watched them go.

  “Come on, honey,” said David. “Let’s go home. It’s late. And your mother’s worried. Damn near worried herself to death.” He was so relieved to have her back safe. He turned an eye up to the stars and aimed a thought at the center star in Orion’s Belt: Thank you, God.

  They began walking across the wide front yard, the grass stroking their shoes with midnight dew.

  Chapter 21

  “I’m sorry, Daddy,” Elizabeth said for what seemed like the millionth time. She didn’t really care about the punishment this time; she was just tired. It had been a long day, full of fear and fun and frustration. Now all she wanted to do was go home and crawl under the covers and dream of riding in Rheanna.

  “I know you are,” he began, not really knowing where he was headed, “but you can’t just run off like that.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  “It’s about being accountable, Elizabeth. I mean, webschool is the same thing. You got kicked out because you played your game too late. And then instead of staying home and reflecting on that and maybe catching up on your studies, you ran out today without permission. And then, after your mother and I talked to you about it and we agreed no more webgames for a week, you go and run off again.”

  “I know, Daddy.”

  But he wasn’t listening. His fear had given way to his need to lecture, to reestablish control. “I moved us here because I thought it would be safer for you. And then you go and run off. Again. Did you know there’s a child molester escaped from prison up in Huntsville? Did you know that? What if he came down here and found you? Hell, how do you know that old man in that house wasn’t him?”

  “Daddy, Rocky’s a nice man. He just kept me company.”

  “Elizabeth, you’re too young to tell the nice men from the not-nice men. Your mother’s right about some things, and one of them is that people will take advantage of you if you give them half a chance. And being irresponsible is like handing them a key to your room.”

  My room, she thought. Wouldn’t I like to be there now . . .

  “Being irresponsible is just plain—unsafe.”

  “That’s it!” shouted her 3V voice. “No more. Enough!”

  “Is that all that matters, Daddy? Being safe?” She stopped and stared up at him, fearful but defiant, her heart thumping a million miles a minute. “I’ve been safe all my life. I want to have fun. I want to—”

  “Stay alive till you’re eighteen!” he said. David’s face was on fire. He had uprooted them, brought them here, paid the tuition for the best webschool he could find, and come looking for her in the middle of the night for . . . what? Fun? “Then you can go to college. Having fun is half of what it’s for.”

  “I’ll be dead by then!” Elizabeth shouted. The hurt pumping through her chased the fatigue away. She felt like she wanted to cry and hit her father at the same time. Her voice was fueled by all the quiet moments alone in her room, all the times she had silently cursed him. Her stomach hardened around butterflies, her fists clenched. “I’ll end up just like you!” Elizabeth pummeled him with her tone because her fists couldn’t. “I never want to be like you!”

  For the first time, David realized what it all meant . . . the running away, the leaning away from him when he was near her, the retreating to her room (now, he saw, simply to get away from him)—she hated his guts.

  She couldn’t stand being around him.

  His own daughter.

  David remembered those precise feelings and never having the courage to voice them. Even that day when Queenie had . . . when Queenie disappeared. Or the day his old man lay delirious in the hospital bed. He started to shake as the realization sank in. His hands felt cold and slick. He felt detached, like on those nights when his mother used to come visit him in his bedroom. Like he was standing outside himself, watching someone else use his body, speak with his voice. He wanted to tell Elizabeth to run away, that she was absolutely right to be furious with him, afraid of him even.

  Children always know, he thought.

  Despite thinking exactly the opposite, he spewed a line at her from the Adult Handbook: “You’re too young to know what’s right for you!” Adrenaline coursed in his arms as he gestured over her to make his point.

  Elizabeth flitted her eyes back and forth, watching her father’s arms. Without even realizing it, she guessed their distance from her, their power, and identified an escape route behind her. Her eyes returned to her father’s.

  He saw her gauging him, planning her escape from his physical threat. Again he saw himself in her. Again his heart ached, seeing God’s ironic sense of humor. He wanted to lower his arms around her, protect her, but knowing she would run from him kept him from moving. That really would send him over the edge. Instead, to fill up the space between them, he said, “Your mother and I have done everything we can for you. We moved here for you!”

  Elizabeth glared up at him with brimming eyes. “That’s a laugh, Daddy! We moved here for you!”

  Watching from outside himself, from over his own shoulder, David wanted to say, “You’re right,” but the man who was his father’s son stood over Elizabeth, fists working, enraged. Feeling like a spirit displaced from a reality it could no longer touch, he struggled to regain control of the burning anger that possessed him.

  Elizabeth tracked his fists, knew that she should take her escape route now, before it was too late. But a greater part of her, the one that dared face down Mallus in Rheanna, wanted to make her stand. “Go on, then! Show me who’s right!”

  (that’s enough)

  “You’re gonna learn what it means to be responsible and follow The Rules,” said David, his voice flatly reading lines of déjà vu, one fist arcing back.

  Elizabeth’s breath hitched as she prepared to run. Time slowed as she focused on his fist. David tensed for a blow he struggled not to deliver. Then, a sharp, insistent growl came from beyond his peripheral vision.

  David looked to his left. Rocky’s dog stood there, steady as a statue. Her lips curled away from her fangs, the crinkle around her eyes framing fiery slits. The will drained from David. He stared at the dog, her rumbling snarl warning him. He had stepped through a looking-glass into an alternate universe where black was white, up was down. Good was evil. Sapped of their strength, David’s arms fell to his side.

  He felt himself reenter the sweating reality of his own body. He heard quick, crunching sounds and ripped his eyes away from the dog to watch Elizabeth running across the grass and up the street toward their home. “Elizabeth, wait! I’m . . .” But he didn’t finish. It was an insult to her to even think of saying it. He looked back to the dog. She hadn’t moved an inch. He saw himself reflected in her eyes and a voice spoke in his head.

  If you ever move to hurt her, ever again, I’ll come back for you. And make it right.

  A man’s voice speaking through the dog. The crazy thought scared the shit out of him because he knew it wasn’t crazy. It had just happened. Hadn’t it?

  David looked past the dog, her ears still flat, and saw Rocky standing on the rotting porch, staring at him. Had it been the old man’s voice he’d just heard? Had it been in his head or had Rocky actually spoken? Not that it mattered. Not really.

  “No.” The word breathed out of him. “Never again.”

  He slowly backed away from the dog. She watched him warily as he went but made no move to follow. Turning his back on the scene, David walked home by way of a dozen streets he hadn’t seen in thirty years.

  Elizabeth could feel him in her doorway.

  She couldn’t see him because she had the covers over her head, but she could hear him there, breathing. She didn’t move. Maybe if she was still, he’d pass her by.

  David watched her listening to him. He wanted to go to her, put his arms around her, but he knew she would pull away.

  And can you blame her? he asked himself. You frighten her.

  His chest deflated with the thought. How could reality have become so inv
erted? How could he have become the thing he’d hated most? He’d guarded against it, dodging from wall to wall to avoid it as he’d walked the pathway of his life. And all that caution for what? The shadows had outmaneuvered him by hiding in the light.

  Everything was reversed in this parallel universe. So familiar and so wrong at the same time.

  Her words flew up at him inside his head.

  (I never want to be like you)

  Maybe she’s right to think that way.

  David wanted desperately to tell Elizabeth she was wrong. That he’d stepped back from the brink. But he couldn’t bring himself to enter her room, her sanctuary. A holy place of ownership, a sacred circle into which no evil could step. And that’s what he felt like at the moment—an evil thing.

  (she’s afraid of evil)

  Twisted inside.

  But he couldn’t make himself leave the doorway either. He was afraid if he did, he might miss his only chance to tell her he loved her, to make things right, like the voice had said. To make her understand that it wasn’t him that had almost . . . But that was a lie too. It had been him. And that’s why he couldn’t move now. Nothing he could do, nothing he could say, could change that he’d almost struck his own daughter in anger.

  Goddammit, I can’t just stand here all night.

  Hiding under the covers, Elizabeth felt him move into in the room. She lay very still, unconsciously starting to plan her escape route again. When he sat down on the bed next to her, the bedsprings creaking under him, a great calm descended over her.

  Elizabeth thought it through as the seconds passed and was surprised she wasn’t hyperventilating, shivering, something. But she wasn’t. Animals can sense earthquakes, she knew. Cats and dogs, elephants and horses, even insects start to act funny before an earthquake happens. She’d found it true in humans too. You can sense—see, hear, smell, feel, taste, know—something’s coming, and so you prepare for it in your mind. You pull in the patio furniture and tape the windows and duck and cover inside because that’s the safest thing to do when facing a natural disaster.