Burnt Road: Dante

by Neal, Toby

  “No. It’s not good for you to do it. It’s something I do to feel better.”

  Melody crawled past him on her hands and knees, faced the wall and put her hands on it. “Maybe it will work for me, too—to stop thinking about what they did to you—what you suffered for me, so I didn’t have to.” She slammed her forehead into the wall.

  “Melody, no!” Dante’s shout tore out of his ravaged throat. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her into his arms. His myriad bruises screamed out, but there was one good thing in the world, and she was in his arms. He pulled her close, wrapping himself around her, cupping her head and drawing it to his shoulder.

  Melody burst into tears, and this time the hot liquid on his burned, bruised flesh felt good, like a healing ointment. “Don’t ever do that again, Dante! Never, ever!” Melody sobbed.

  His heart squeezed. “I won’t do it anymore, because if you felt the way I do seeing you do that to yourself…” Dante drew a deep, shuddering breath and folded her tighter. “I can’t bear it.”

  “So now you know.” Melody’s voice was muffled by his chest. “It’s unbearable.”

  Her hand came up to stroke his shoulder, and he winced. She brought her hand back down and curled it in her lap.

  It was okay as long as Melody didn’t touch him; he could hold her if he was the one doing it. That wouldn’t be enough for either of them for long, but it was something.

  * * *

  Dante lay on one of the beds in the back of the wagon. The late afternoon sun sifted down through the white canvas overhead. The exertion of helping get the horses hitched up and getting the wagon out of the barn and rolling steadily along the dirt road had wiped out the last of his energy reserves.

  The gentle rocking of the wagon reminded him of his baby swing.

  Dante remembered things from early childhood that no one else in his family could believe, but that his mother verified were true. They were mostly impressions and sensations. He had been a fussy baby according to Mama, colicky and hard to satisfy, a possible precursor to the autism which had emerged when he was a toddler. He remembered the crank-up swing she’d put him in while she cooked or cleaned. The sensation of swinging soothed him, as did Mama’s voice, singing along with her kitchen radio.

  Closing his eyes, Dante could see Mama belting out the Beatles as she held his big brother Luca’s hands, tugging on him to dance in the kitchen. His idol, twelve-year-old Luca, as tall as Mama and already wider in the shoulders, laughed in embarrassed happiness as he spun her around. The light from the window had sparkled on Mama’s shiny black hair, and her brown eyes smiled.

  Dante could take out that memory and sink into it whenever things were bad.

  “Know any songs you can sing?” he asked Melody through the open flap. She was seated on the bench, handling the reins like an old farmhand. “Like, Beatles songs?”

  “Yeah.” Melody, smiled over her shoulder at him. “I love the Beatles. What do you want to hear?”

  “Any of them. If you sing to me, I don’t think I’ll have bad dreams.” He could hope that was true, at least. “You can do it. You can do anything.” Dante’s eyelids were heavy. A floating sensation had replaced the nonstop pain signals jangling along his frayed nerves. “You’re my Melody.”

  “Ha. Okay. I’ll try.” Melody had a sweet voice, and she made funny mouth noises for the trumpet lines. Though she wobbled a bit here and there, Dante felt the old songs wrap around him, taking him back to the happy memory in the kitchen, a time before his father died. A time before he knew he was different. A time before the world was tipped off its axis by Scorch Flu.

  A time before he was tortured by a brutal sadist in the living room of an abandoned model home in the Las Vegas desert.

  The rocking of the wagon lulled and settled him as Melody’s voice soothed and comforted. Dante drifted off to sleep, and this time he didn’t dream.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Melody

  Night was falling, the blue sky darkening, the air chilling, and the landscape growing hazy in the low light when they reached the first campsite. It was marked by a fire pit and a corral for the horses.

  They’d packed hobbles, pieces of leather that attached to the horses’ front legs, but a corral made Melody more comfortable. She didn’t want to tie anything up, horses included, even to keep them from wandering away, or for their own safety.

  Dante woke as Melody was unhitching Beauty and Sweetie. He stumbled as he climbed out of the back of the wagon and she hurried to his side.

  “Stay in bed, I got this.”

  “You do?” His eyes were glassy from the pain pills, but she could also see sorrow and aching in them that the drugs didn’t dull. Dante blinked and turned away.

  “How are you feeling? Do you want more pills?”

  Dante shook his head and winced. Every part of him must hurt. Melody’s eyes traced the bruises on his neck; they were darker than they’d been the day before. The facial swelling had gone down, but the color had saturated. He was healing. It looked worse today, but he was healing.

  “Well, Mister. I’m the nurse around here.” She put a hand on her hip and cocked it, injecting her voice with a tone of authority. “And Nurse Parker says, get back to bed.”

  A tiny smile twitched on Dante’s lips.

  Melody helped him back into the wagon and got him settled in the narrow bed. He tried to refuse the pills she offered, but Melody raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I thought we agreed that I was the nurse. You can play doctor next time.” She winked. Dante tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. At least he tried.

  Melody cared for the horses, giving them fresh water and healthy rations of grain. She prepared a simple dinner for her and Dante, heating up cans of soup over the fire. Dante barely ate anything before falling back to sleep.

  After cleaning up, she stripped out of her clothing and climbed into the bed across from Dante, the puppies at her feet. Their warm bodies and even breaths were small but welcome comfort. Melody hadn’t slept in almost twenty hours; yet, her body still buzzed with energy, a need to do something, to help Dante, to keep moving.

  She took deep calming breaths to release that energy and allow her mind and body to rest.

  The sound of Dante thrashing in his sheets woke her. His low moans echoed off the wagon’s canvas. It was dark in the wagon, and she could just make out Dante as he rolled back and forth. “Pretty. Pretty boy,” Dante whispered, his voice harsh and not his own.

  He punched out, his fist connecting with the canvas and smacking loudly. Melody threw off her blankets and stood, reaching across the narrow space between them to grab his shoulders. She shook him. “Dante, wake up! Wake up!”

  His eyes flew open, glinting in the darkness. His expression softened as he recognized her. “Did I hurt you?”

  Melody’s throat tightened, making it impossible to answer so she just shook her head. Dante nodded, releasing a long exhale and closing his eyes as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He bit down on the scab until blood trickled free.

  Melody reached over to the kitchenette and grabbed a towel, placing it on his lip for him, but he shuddered at her touch. She stepped back and Dante rolled away from her, toward the canvas wall. “I’m fine. Please. Don’t look at me.”

  Melody held herself still, repressing the urge to grab him, hold him against her breasts, caress his hair and tell him how much she loved him. But that would be selfish. Touching Dante would be for her. What Dante needed was space.

  Lying back down in her own bed, the puppies settled at her feet again, snoring softly. But sleep didn’t come, and when the first whispers of dawn bled through the canvas, Melody got up. She made breakfast and Dante emerged just as the hot cereal was bubbling.

  He didn’t look at her as she passed him a bowl. “Thank you.” Dante took the cereal and sat on one of the logs around the fire pit.

  Melody balled her fists, digging her nails into her palm to keep herself from speaking,
from trying to convince him that he was okay.

  Dante needed time and space. Melody was determined to give it to him.

  They set off, following the map toward the next camping spot. As they entered the heart of the conservation area, the rough dirt path wound up between steep cliffs, and the temperature dropped as the elevation increased.

  Melody’s arms ached from holding the reins and her mind spun as she tried to concentrate on the landscape instead of the dark memories swirling at the edge of her consciousness.

  She sang to Dante as they went. Melody got through all the Beatles songs she knew that weren’t about love or heartbreak. Then she sang “Over the Rainbow,” her heart throbbing with each chord.

  In the afternoon, Dante felt well enough to join her on the bench seat. But whenever the wagon jolted and her arm brushed his, Dante jerked away. Melody suppressed the rejection and hurt that tried to drag her down.

  This wasn’t about her.

  They arrived at camp just as the sun was setting, throwing splashes of red and orange over the landscape, saturating the colors that were already there.

  Dante hunched in front of the ring of stones, his shoulder blades moving under his shirt as he stacked and lit the firewood.

  His movement was not nearly as stiff as the day before, yet the bruises were bolder than ever. They had turned deep purple, which meant they were on their way to yellow, and then would finally fade away.

  Worry pierced Melody’s chest. What if Dante never recovered mentally? His physical recovery was a given; he was a strong, young man whose body would heal.

  But mentally he’d always been different, always experienced things more keenly. Would he be able to recover enough for them to build a life together?

  That night, Melody was awoken again by Dante’s nightmares. He thrashed and fought, screaming. Melody held her pillow tight and cried into it, quieting her sobs and letting it soak up her tears.

  Dante had to do this himself.

  Nightmares were part of the process. For years after her rape, Melody dreamed that Brian’s hand was around her neck, and she felt his invasion of her body. She’d try to lift her arms, to scratch at his face, but was never able to move.

  And while she appreciated when her mom woke her from the nightmares, the fact was that she had to go through them to heal. So, she didn’t jump up and grab Dante, touching him in a way that would only make him more upset. Instead, she hugged herself, fighting the loneliness and the depression hovering around her, threatening to be there forever. Maybe Dante would never get better. Maybe she’d lost him.

  Dante sat up, his eyes open. Melody pretended to be asleep, peering at him through her lashes as he took deep struggling breaths before throwing off the covers and bringing his feet around, planting them in the narrow aisle between their two beds. He rubbed his hair, dug his fingers into it and pulled. Melody winced, feeling like it was her hair he was pulling, like it was all happening to her.

  Dante stood up and the moonlight coming through the slit in the back flap of the wagon caught his bare chest, illuminating the scar over his heart. It was scabbed and healing, but would be a permanent reminder of what he had endured.

  Dante pulled on his boots, not bothering with pants or a shirt even though the night was chilly. Wearing just boxer briefs, he climbed out the back of the wagon. The moonlight caught the chiseled features of his angelic face, the lips Melody ached to kiss, and the golden eyes she’d fallen in love with as he turned back to look at her. Her breath stopped. His brows furrowed as he stared right at her.

  He looked almost angry. Good. Anger would help him recover.

  Dante turned away, the flap closing. His footfalls retreated. Melody crept out of her bed and peeked through the gap. Dante stepped into the corral and Sweetie came up to him, leaning her head into his chest. Dante reached out and rubbed her mane, cupped her muzzle and laid his forehead between her ears, stroking the mare’s neck.

  Jealousy burned in Melody’s chest. She wanted to lay her head against Dante’s, feel his fingers in her hair, know that she brought him some comfort. Instead, she gathered up the puppies in her arms and holding them tight, got back into bed.

  Melody woke to the smell of coffee. When she emerged from the wagon, Dante handed her a plate of breakfast, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you.” She took the plate, sad that he was back to avoiding her gaze.

  Dante nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” Melody fought the urge to take a step forward, to lay her hand on his cheek and make him look at her. She wanted to make him see her again, the way he’d seen her before.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do now. What I can be. I miss my computers. In that world, I can fly. Be anything. Do anything. But I’m nothing now.”

  The plate of beans slipped from Melody’s hand and hit the ground. The puppies ran over and began to eat it. “You can be anything you want, Dante.”

  “That was never true about me,” Dante kept his eyes averted. “Now it’s even less true.”

  “You’re wrong.” Melody’s chest burned with anger, the rage she’d tapped into bubbling up from her gut. “You can absolutely get over this, Dante.”

  “Get over this!” Dante yelled, turning away from her and covering his face. “I’m not getting over this. There is no getting over this.”

  Melody reached out and grabbed his arm, unable to stop herself. He twisted to break her grasp and broke into a run, sprinting away.

  Melody watched him go, his strong legs propelling him forward. His hat flew off, and his curls were a waving black flag behind him.

  They were in a valley with mountains to the west and canyons to the east.

  Dante ran toward the canyon.

  Melody started after him, then stopped herself. He was leaving her. He was running away and he didn’t want her to follow.

  She had to give him space. She had to trust that he would return.

  When Dante finally came back, his cheeks were pink with exertion, his brow sweaty and his limbs shaking. He was carrying a big armload of branches. “Had to get more wood.”

  A feeble excuse, but Melody nodded. She had packed up and was just waiting to hitch the horses to the wagon. “Thank you for coming back.”

  “I’m sorry that I left you.” He dumped the wood into the back of the wagon. “I promised that I wouldn’t do that. I broke my promise.”

  “Do whatever you need to, Dante. I don’t judge you. I love you.”

  Dante’s eyes met hers briefly, and tears welled in his golden gaze. Melody felt them reflected in her own eyes. They burned at the corners and slid down her face.

  “I love you so much.” Her voice was choked but Melody pushed on. “I want you to know that I understand. I’m going to give you the space you need. When you’re ready, you’ll come back to me.”

  Dante turned away without responding. A sob convulsed her chest, but she bit down on her lip, letting the pain settle her emotions.

  What if he didn’t come back from this?

  Melody wouldn’t think about that. She pushed her fears away and concentrated on hitching the horses to the wagon. They climbed up onto the bench. Dante took the reins and at his small flick, the horses started forward.

  Melody had the map open in her lap and she traced the route with her finger. They were headed toward the canyon now, and then the road would wind along the edge before they’d take a path down, descending into the canyon and crossing a river. They’d spend the night in what looked like an open field at the base of a large mountain. According to the notes, the dude ranch’s customers would have turned back at that camp, returning to the ranch in a loop.

  She and Dante would not go back. She suspected they would have to abandon the wagon and continue on horseback, but they wouldn’t know until they got there. The map showed a small town at the far side of the mountain, and Melody hoped they’d be able to find more maps and resupply there.

  Melody was still looking down at the map, making a me
ntal list of necessities, when she heard the harsh buzz of a rattlesnake’s tail. The wagon lurched forward as the horses heard it, too, and Melody slipped, almost falling off the side. Dante grabbed her, pulling her back onto the seat. She threw the map into the back of the wagon and clutched the bench.

  “Hold on tight!” Dante yelled as the horses plunged forward, out of control.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dante

  Dante braced his feet on the lip of the wagon bed and held onto the reins, shifting pressure from one to the other. Both horses had their heads down and tucked as they fled from the threat of the rattlesnake, so his pulling was in vain.

  Worse yet, dead ahead of them was the canyon. “Whoa!”

  Melody clung to the bench, white-faced, her eyes on the approaching disaster of the ravine.

  He had to get closer to the horses. Reassure them. Pull their heads in, talk to and calm the frightened animals. Dante passed the reins to Melody.

  “Hold them in! Alternate your pressure. Talk to them with your fingers!”

  He jumped down from the seat and, keeping his balance by resting his hands on the horses’ straining backs, stepped down onto the singletree—the tongue of wood the horses were hitched to. Adrenaline blasted the last of his angst away and strength coursed through him as he reached for Beauty and grabbed the horse by his headstall. “Whoa, boy. Steady.”

  Beauty tossed his head, eyes rolling, and tore the leather from Dante’s grasp. Sweetie neighed in panic, and they both increased their speed. Melody cried out as the leather reins were yanked out of her hands by the animals’ tossing heads. The reins flapped down on the horses’ backs, adding to the cue to run.

  Dante pulled himself up onto Beauty’s heaving back. The gelding screamed in fright and rage as Dante slipped and slid back and forth, finally able to get enough purchase to pull himself upright, tightening his legs. He gripped the gelding awkwardly, impeded by straps and the singletree between the horses. The pain of the rough ride was overwhelmed by the urgency of the situation. Bent low beside the horse’s sweating neck, Dante reached for the flapping reins. Looking ahead, his heart gave a stutter at the sight of the fast-approaching canyon.