Jack: Secret Vengeance

by F. Paul Wilson

  Jack recognized the figure now.

  Even if he hadn’t, Miriam’s cry of “Mister Erskine!” would have been enough. She was dressed in some sort of bathrobe. She pulled him in and shut the door.

  Jack stood frozen, staring. He knew he should be heading down the road toward school, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the door to room three. What was going on in there? Obviously Miriam believed that Walt had some sort of healing power—she’d said so loud and clear that afternoon in USED. But did Walt believe it too?

  He must, or else why would he have come? But why at this hour of the morning? To keep it secret? Or was there another reason?

  After Miriam had peeked out, she hadn’t closed the curtains all the way. A bright blade of light sliced into the darkness. Jack moved toward it, drawn like the moths already fluttering against the glass.

  He knew he shouldn’t do this—he felt like a Peeping Tom—but the situation was so bizarre, so far-out, he had to see what would happen between Walt, Miriam, and her baby.

  He leaned his bike against the rear bumper of the station wagon and tiptoed toward the window. Gravel scraped under his sneaker as he stepped onto the walk. He stopped, ready to duck away should anyone take a look. But no one seemed to have heard, so he crept the rest of the way and crouched outside the window.

  Through the one-inch gap in the curtains he saw Miriam standing by an unmade double bed, holding her sleeping baby. Walt stood opposite her, looking stiff and awkward.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said, tears running down her cheeks. “I can’t believe you came. I’d given up hope.”

  Jack was surprised he could hear her so clearly, then realized the window sashes were raised a couple of inches, probably to let a little air circulate in the tiny room.

  “I don’t want to give false hope,” Walt said, his voice thick and hoarse.

  His eyes seemed clearer that usual, but his gaze was darting all over the room, settling everywhere but on the baby.

  “It’s not false, Mister Erskine—”

  “Call me Walt.”

  “Okay … Walt. I know it’s not false hope.” She raised her left arm. “I’m living proof.”

  “Yeah, but that was then, this is now.”

  Yeah? Jack thought. Did Walt just say yeah?

  He wasn’t denying it as he had back in the store. It seemed like now that they were alone, their shared secret could come out.

  “I believe in you.”

  “Belief isn’t enough, miss.”

  She smiled. “My name is Miriam.”

  “Okay. Fine. But this is gonna take more than belief. The timing has to be right, and I don’t know if it is. I think it is, but…”

  Her smile faded. “Oh, it must be. It must! My little Tammy needs you so bad!”

  “I know,” he said, finally looking at the baby. “That’s why I came. But I need something first.”

  “Oh? Oh, yes.” She turned and pulled an envelope from her shoulder bag. She extended it toward Walt. “It’s not a whole lot, but it’s all I’ve got. And if it’s not enough…” She averted her eyes. “… if you want anything else from me, you can have that too.”

  Walt looked at her as if she was handing him a timber rattlesnake.

  “I don’t want anything from you but a promise.”

  She stared at him. “A promise? What—?”

  “This never happened. If this works, you’ve got to promise me that you will never tell a living soul about me. Even if it doesn’t work, this never happened, right?”

  “If that’s what you want—”

  “It’s what I need. If this works, people will notice, and they’ll want to know how and why and where and when and, worst of all, who. The who is me, and I just want to be left alone. So, do I have your word?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “Do you swear on the life of your daughter?”

  “I do. And if it makes you feel better, only a couple of people have seen Tammy. The doctor who delivered her is one, but I’ll never see him again. And my ma, but she already knows about you. I’ll hide Tammy away through the coming year, and won’t let anybody see her till her new arm’s fully grown. That way there’ll be no questions to answer.”

  Walt sagged and seemed to shrink inside his coat.

  “Okay,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Let’s get it done with.”

  Miriam dropped the envelope onto the bed and began pulling at the folds of blanket around the baby. In a few seconds the fleshy little flipperlike flap that passed for the baby’s left arm was exposed.

  Walt pulled the black leather glove from his right hand. Jack had seen his bare hand only once before … last month … with Cody …

  He held his breath as Walt’s trembling hand inched through the air toward her. What would happen? Thunder? A flash of light? A weird glow?

  The hand hesitated, fingers hovering an inch from the flipper. Then Walt took a deep breath and pressed his palm against it.

  No light, no sound, but the baby stiffened and her eyes flew open as she began to wail. Walt snatched his hand back and stared dully at the baby.

  “You did it!” Miriam cried over the high-pitched crying.

  Jack wondered how she knew. Her baby’s flipper looked the same as ever.

  Walt mumbled something as he turned toward the door.

  “No. It worked. I know it did.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I felt it through Tammy. I’ll never forget that electric-shock feeling. You did it. Thank you, thank you!”

  With the door halfway open, Walt turned and gave her a strange look.

  “For what?” His gaze drifted to the crying baby, then he said, “Oh … yeah.”

  They held the pose, Walt staring at the baby and Miriam staring at Walt for what seemed a long time, then he turned and stepped through the door.

  Jack had been so mesmerized by the scene, he’d forgotten to move away from the window. He leaped off the walk and crouched behind the wagon’s front fender. Hearing Miriam’s voice, he dared a peek over the hood.

  “Mister Ers—I mean Walt! Please come back. Tammy’s stopped crying and we can sit and talk. I just want to know how you—”

  “Going home,” he said without looking back.

  But Jack saw that he’d started walking south on 206. Johnson was north.

  Miriam called after him a few more times, then gave up. Jack heard her sob as she stepped back and closed the door.

  Jack’s brain was spinning from what he’d just seen. What had he seen? That was the question. Had anything really happened, or was it all in the minds of Walt and Miriam?

  And where was Walt going? Had he somehow got turned around and lost his sense of direction?

  Jack didn’t like revealing himself, out and about at this hour, but he couldn’t leave Walt walking in the wrong direction.

  2

  “Hey, Walt?” Jack said as he glided up behind him on his bike. “It’s me, Jack.”

  Walt stopped and turned. “Jack? That really you?”

  Jack realized he probably couldn’t see his face in the dark.

  “Yeah, Walt. Where are you headed?”

  “Home.”

  “You’re headed the wrong way.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Johnson’s back that way.”

  “It is?”

  He didn’t seem all there. Then again, he never seemed all there, but tonight he was less there than usual.

  “Want me to show you a shortcut back?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. A shortcut would be good. I’m tired.”

  The shortcut would not only be quicker but would keep them off the road. Jack didn’t want to be spotted.

  They crossed 206 and started walking north. Walt was sort of shuffling. Jack walked his bike beside him, not wanting to admit that he’d been watching, but feeling like he was going to explode if he didn’t ask about it.

  Finally he took a deep breath and said, “I … I saw what happened back there.”

/>   Walt kept looking straight ahead. “Where?”

  “At the Lonely Pine … in Miriam’s room.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I saw you touch the baby.”

  Walt looked down at his right hand—his ungloved right hand.

  “Oh man.” He pulled a glove from a pocket and wriggled his hand back into it. Then he looked at Jack. “How could you…?”

  “I saw you go in. I…” Might as well get it out in the open. “I peeked through the window.”

  “Shouldn’t’ve done that. It’s not right. People got a right to their privacy.”

  He was absolutely right. Seemed like Jack had been prying into a number of privacies lately.

  “I’m not proud of it, but I just had to look. And I’ve got to ask: Can you heal people, Walt?”

  He didn’t answer right away, just shuffled along. Finally he said, “Kind of.”

  Jack felt a surge of excitement. If this was true, if such a thing was really possible …

  “What do you mean, ‘kind of’?”

  “Okay, yeah. I’ve done it.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know. A dying grunt passed it to me in Nam, not long after we took back Hue. I was set to end my tour and I couldn’t wait to get home. I think it wanted to come to America.”

  “It?”

  “Yeah. The healing power. It worked when it wanted to. It came and went when it damn well pleased. When it came, I couldn’t turn it off; and when it was gone, I couldn’t turn it on. But I found a way to put it to sleep.”

  He pulled a pint bottle from the side pocket of his fatigue jacket, unscrewed the cap, and took a long pull.

  “Applejack?” Jack said.

  “Any kinda booze. It won’t work when I’m half lit.”

  “That’s why you’re always drinking? So you can’t heal?” Jack felt disappointment tingeing his wonder. “But Walt … think of the good you could be doing.”

  Walt took another gulp, and Jack resisted the temptation to knock the bottle from his hand.

  “You don’t understand, Jack. There’s a price to pay. It’s yin and yang, man, like a cosmic scale that’s gotta be balanced, like TANSTAAFL.”

  “Tan-what?”

  “TANSTAAFL. It’s from a sci-fi book I read. It stands for ‘There Ain’t No Such Thing as a Free Lunch.’ And that’s what it is with this thing, this power inside me. The healings don’t come free, Jack. Somebody pays, somebody always pays. And that somebody is me.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I. But when I found I could knock it out with hooch, I started drinking every day.”

  Jack was confused. “But … then … does that mean you didn’t heal the baby?”

  “I think I did. I could feel the power awake and ready, felt the little shock when I touched her.”

  “But the applejack—”

  “I kept thinking about that baby and knew I couldn’t let her go through life like that, so I put the booze aside today. It woke up. Now I gotta put it back to sleep.”

  Just like last month, when Mrs. C had told him to stop drinking because he might be “needed.”

  He took another swig as they reached the turnoff into the woods. Jack glanced ahead and saw a deer lying on the shoulder, its head twisted at an unnatural angle. Big roadkill. He hadn’t noticed it when he’d come out, hadn’t looked that way. A thought struck.

  “Can you heal that?” he said, pointing.

  Walt looked, made a face, and shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. Can’t raise the dead. Tried a coupla times, but no go. Just as well.” His voice thickened. “Who knows what price I’d have to pay for something like that.”

  He sobbed and the sound tore Jack’s heart. He touched his arm.

  “Walt?”

  Another sob, then, “I’ve paid a big price, Jack. I’ve lost so much of me I can’t even remember what’s gone. I could have had a good life. I didn’t start out as the brightest bulb in the box, but I had some good wattage. Now I’m just a dimwit drunk who’s hanging on only so I can pass it on to the next guy.”

  “Next guy?”

  “Yeah. Supposedly this thing has hopped from person to person through the ages. Mrs. Clevenger knows all about it. She told me.” Walt turned to Jack. “For a while I had this weird feeling that the next guy, the guy I’m looking for, might be you.”

  A lump of ice formed in Jack’s gut. His tongue suddenly felt like old leather.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. But Mrs. C said no. It ain’t you.”

  Jack relaxed. What a relief.

  He pushed his bike off the shoulder and through the brush that hid the trail.

  “Come on, Walt. I’ll take you home.”

  Didn’t look like he’d get to the school tonight. Too bad Walt didn’t have a touch that could cure a sick lock so it could open.

  3

  “Hey, lazy pants. Wake up.”

  Sounded like Kate’s voice … coming from far away.

  Jack opened one eye and peeked over the edge of his bedsheet. Yeah, Kate’s voice, but not so far away. She stood in his bedroom doorway, wearing cut-off shorts, a Philadelphia Eagles T-shirt, and a smile.

  “You going to sleep all day?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he mumbled, closing his eye.

  Walking Walt home had taken a long time. He didn’t know when he’d sneaked back in the window, but it couldn’t have been too long ago.

  “I talked to Jenny.”

  Jack opened both eyes. “Yeah? What she say?”

  “Not here. I’m going to take a walk down to the lake. Meet me there.”

  “Can’t you give me a hint?”

  She smiled. “All I’ll tell you is it’s verrrrry interesting. And it explains a lot of things.”

  Then she winked and closed the door.

  Jack flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. He felt exhausted.

  Sleeeeep … I need sleeeeep.

  But how could he sleep after what Kate had just said? And that wink hinted at all sorts of secrets and mysteries revealed.

  With a groan he pushed off the covers and rolled out of bed. His jeans and rugby shirt from the early morning excursion lay on the floor where he’d dropped them. He slipped them back on, shoved his feet into his Vans, and headed for the bathroom to throw some water on his face.

  Walking through the kitchen a few minutes later, he realized he was famished. A look at the clock told him why: a quarter to ten. He hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours.

  He grabbed a couple of Eggos from the freezer and popped them into the toaster. While they were heating he pulled the carton of milk from the freezer. He glanced around. No one in sight. He had the container halfway to his mouth when his mother breezed in. He lowered it and turned to get a paper cup from the pantry.

  “How’s my sleepyhead miracle boy?”

  Miracle boy … how could he make her stop calling him that?

  “As miraculous as ever, as in not at all.”

  She beamed. “Oh, but you are.”

  He shook his head as he filled the cup with milk. She’d never stop. Never.

  The Eggos popped up. He pulled them out and dropped them on the counter. He slathered one with Skippy Super Chunk, then pressed them together. A little melted peanut butter leaked out one side.

  “That’s not a proper Sunday morning breakfast,” she said. “I’ll scramble you some eggs.”

  “Thanks, but I’m gonna take a little walk down to the lake.” He banged out the back door, peanut-butter Eggowich in one hand, milk in the other. “See ya later.”

  A beautiful morning—hazy sunshine, gentle breeze, birds calling back and forth between the trees. He angled across Jefferson to North Franklin and walked toward Quakerton, munching and thinking about last night.

  A few hours ago he’d been pretty well convinced that Weird Walt could truly heal people with a touch. But they’d been in the woods then, and such things are easier to believe in the
wilds at night. Now, in the light of day, surrounded by the everyday ordinariness of Johnson, it seemed crazy.

  Walt had told a fascinating story, but that was just talk. What had Jack actually seen? Nothing.

  He passed Adams—Weezy’s street. He had to see her today, but later. First, Kate.

  Repair of spontaneous recanalization of right vas deferens post 1962 vasectomy explained “a lot of things”?

  He wanted to know just what sort of things.

  4

  He’d finished his Eggowich by the time he found her. She sat on a lakeside bench with some sort of textbook in her lap, staring at the water and what Mr. Drexler had called “the little people.” Any more canoes on the lake and there’d be gridlock. Mark Mulliner would be smiling tonight when he counted his rental money.

  “Whatcha reading?”

  “Histology.”

  “Let me guess: the study of snake noises.”

  She gave him a gentle slap on his thigh. “The study of tissues—all microscope stuff.”

  “Sounds like a page-turner.”

  She laughed. “For me it is. It’s fascinating.”

  “As much as the recanalization of a vas deferens?”

  “Spontaneous recanalization—that’s the important part.”

  He did his bad Ricky Ricardo imitation. “Hokay, Lucy. ’Splain it to me.”

  She closed her book and half turned to face him. The breeze ruffled her short blond hair.

  “Do you know what a vasectomy is?”

  He nodded. “Male sterilization. You cut the vas deferens.”

  She laughed. “I’m impressed.”

  “I looked it up yesterday.”

  “Figured. But the vas is more than simply cut. Its cut end is cauterized—burned so it will scar shut—and then stitched for extra measure. Everyone wants to be absolutely sure that no sperm will get into that tube.”

  Jack shrugged. It seemed obvious. “Otherwise, why bother doing it at all?”

  “Exactly. But rarely—very rarely—the two cut ends meet up and form a new connection, a new passage that allows sperm through and undoes the sterilization.”