Everflame (15 page)

Joe thanked the Doc, brought Edgar outside and sat him up on the horse. He then mounted the horse himself and they headed for home.

• • •

Weeks went by and Rachael never returned to Shein Farm. Joe began to think that it was for the best. How would the two of them ever be able to get past the events of that night? He still loved her though, and hoped that she was all right. For weeks, Rachael was all that he could think about. Crying himself to sleep at night, yet unable to motivate himself to search for her. He knew that this was his punishment. He knew that he deserved everything that he got.

Edgar still wasn’t speaking. Sheriff Daniels had been by a few times
, but he couldn’t get Edgar to even acknowledge his presence. At the end of the last visit, Sheriff Daniels declared the case closed and told Joe that he wouldn’t bother him any more. He said that Mrs. Barton would just have to deal with the fact that Edgar was blind and mute and that the blacksmith was never going to come back. The Sheriff didn’t say anything about Rachael. It was nothing any of the townspeople wanted to talk to Joe about. They all believed that Rachael had run off with the blacksmith and they felt great pity for Joe.

Doc Aron had been by as well.  He had done multiple checkups on Edgar.

“I’m sorry, Joe. Blindness is all that afflicts the boy. He just doesn’t
want
to talk.”

Joe wasn’t sure that Doc was right about Edgar’s speech, but about a year later, Doc’s diagnosis was proven correct. One night, Joe woke to find Edgar standing at the end of his bed, screaming. The boy had scared Joe so badly that he was sure he wa
s going to have a heart attack.

“Edgar!” Joe yelled over him. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

The boy stopped yelling but didn’t say a word. He just stood at the end of Joe’s bed, staring at him in the darkness. The vision chilled Joe to the bone. The scars across Edgar’s face had healed a dark red and brought an eerie emphasis to the milky-white orbs that were Edgar’s eyes. Joe had tried to make Edgar wear a cloth around his eyes, given the fact that they were useless. However, Joe had wanted Edgar to wear the cloth simply to avoid the boy’s gaze. Much to Joe’s dismay, Edgar would not keep it on, taking it off as soon as Joe put it on him. Joe shivered as he looked at Edgar standing there, looking like a corpse in the moonlight. Joe jumped out of bed and escorted Edgar back to his room.

Unfortunately, this did not spark the beginning of regular speech for Edgar. He continued to be silent with the exception of random outbursts every few months. On one occasion, Joe and Edgar had been seated at the dinner table in the middle of a meal, when suddenly
, Edgar began to speak.

“I ate that boy,” he said and twirled his fork in his hand as the light glinted off of its edges.

“What?” said Joe, and slowly placed his own utensils back on the table.

“I tore his flesh away with my teeth and then I swallowed it.”

Joe put one hand to his head as the other reached for his whiskey glass. That was all he could do to cope now. Joe couldn’t leave the farm very often, due to Edgar’s blindness, leaving him unable to do his work. They were barely getting by, surviving mostly on charity from villagers who had taken pity on them. Joe felt trapped, so he escaped to the bottle. Soon, his actions became as random and wild as Edgar’s.

Joe would rant and rave and drink himself unconscious on most nights. Choosing to keep himself in rooms far away from the boy he called son. Sometimes
, he would run outside and scream obscenities at the sky until he was hoarse in the throat. It never affected Edgar at all. He took the same place, every night after dinner, in the rocking chair out on the porch, staring out into the blackness of his world. He never changed his demeanor and never reacted to Joe’s tirades, with the exception of one particular night when Joe had decided to make the boy the target of his animosity.

Edgar was sitting in the rocking chair, staring out into nothingness, unaware of how red the sunset was this night, when Joe started in on him. Sweaty and slurring, Joe plopped a chair down on the porch next to Edgar and stared
drunkenly into the boy’s eyes.

“What are you starin’ at?” Joe paused, so drunk that he couldn’t
keep his eyes straight. “I
said
what are you starin’ at!” Joe screamed, inches from Edgar’s face, blasting him with spittle and noxious fumes. Edgar didn’t even flinch. “You can see him, can’t you? I bet he’s talkin’ to you right now, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. I knew it. He won’t talk to me anymore. I failed! I was not faithful…I was disobedient.” Joe stumbled to his feet, picked up the chair and heaved it off the porch. “Do you know why I failed, son? Do you know why he won’t talk to me anymore? Huh? It’s because I didn’t kill you.” A manic grin came over Joe’s face and he began laughing wildly. “Can you believe that? He wanted me to kill a baby! But now I know why. Now. Now I know why.” Joe sauntered over to Edgar and put his reeking face, inches from the boy’s. “Because he knew that you…would ruin…everything. You brought that blacksmith here and he ended up dead. You made your mother leave. You killed that poor Pritchard Barton. And look at me.” Joe stood to full height and took a few steps back, spinning around. “You ruined my life!” Joe stumbled and fell onto the porch, then he began to cry. Lying on his back, he bawled like a child. “But that’s what I get, for not having enough faith in him. That’s what I get…you know, that was the last time he talked to me. That was it. After I brought you here, he never talked to me again. After that, I had to go find odd jobs in other villages so that your mother wouldn’t think less of me.” Joe stopped his crying and sat up. “But you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? Do. You. You don’t even know what I was. Well I’m gonna tell you. I’m gonna tell you everything. Whether you want to hear it or not.” Edgar hadn’t moved a muscle until this point, but now he turned and looked directly at Joe, his useless white orbs burrowing into the drunk. “It was
he
who used to talk to me, Edgar,” continued Joe. “The Holy himself. He would tell me to do things for him. It was easy at first. Little stuff…I think he was testing me…but then, he wanted me to kill…he would tell me who to kill and where to find them, and after I did it, I would find my pockets full of gold. I was an assassin for the Holy himself. And I never asked questions. Not once. Until you.” Then Joe started crying again. “I’m not your father…and Rachael wasn’t your mother. I killed your parents because the Holy told me to, and I was supposed to kill you, but I didn’t. I was too weak. I didn’t have enough faith in him, and now look at what’s happened.” Joe put his hands to his face and continued to sob. “You won’t even talk to me.”

Edgar stared
into the blackness, toward the man before him, and moved away from the rocking chair, kneeling down so that he could be face to face with Joe. He grabbed Joe’s hands and moved them away from his face. Joe stopped crying and looked at Edgar as the boy said:

“You should have killed me, Joe.”

Chapter 13: Ghosts

Seven years passed since Edgar had lost his sight. He was now a full-grown man. In fact, he had grown quite bigger than Joe. Joe’s problem with alcohol hadn’t helped his dwindling stature. A once-proud man, standing at full height, Joe now limped everywhere that he walked, humpbacked and slouching. No longer able to take care of Edgar, it was Joe who needed help. In fact, Edgar had become quite able to take care of himself. It had taken a few years for Edgar to adjust to his blindness, but his other senses had become far more acute, and he was now able to move along, unassisted, even through areas he had never been to. The blindness had made his hearing more acute and he had somehow developed a kind of sixth sense, able to sense his surroundings through the movement of air or possibly through temperature change. It had become virtually impossible to come within twenty feet of Edgar without his knowledge. Not that Joe was in any shape to be sneaking up on anyone these days. Now it was Joe who spent the majority of his time sitting in the rocking chair, gazing off of the porch.

With Edgar’s new ab
ilities, he had regained a once-lost freedom. He began to spend his time wandering the forest that bordered Shein Farm. He would go on long hikes through the forest, testing his ability to retrace his path accurately. He was constantly trying to increase his distance each day, as an explorer would blaze new trails through new lands. On occasion, after walking a great distance, Edgar would seat himself under a tree and meditate. Keeping perfectly still and calm, animals would often come right up to him before realizing that he was there. Edgar had begun testing his ability to catch squirrels by staying still until they were close enough to grab. He had been successful on one or two occasions.

The anger and frustration that had once boiled inside of Edgar had begun to ebb away into a cool serenity. Through his meditation, he had come to terms with what ha
d happened to his eyes, to Blue and to Murray. Edgar had even come to terms with Joe, not with any conversation, but within himself. He now pitied Joe more than anything. Of course, Joe had killed his parents, but the man was obviously insane, believing that the Holy himself had commanded the act. Joe wasn’t causing harm to anyone any longer, with the exception of himself. Edgar felt that the man had received his punishment already. He had lost his wife, his physique and his mind. Joe was a shell of a man.

Edgar still wondered about his mother from time to time. He felt just in referring to her as thus. He had truly loved her and she had truly loved him. She had raised him as best as she could and he couldn’t blame her for what had happened with Murray. He also couldn’t blame her for fleeing Joe that night. Edgar’s curiosity about his mother rested in the events that took place after that. Where had she gone? Why had she not returned? Was she alive? Edgar had assumed the worst. He assumed that she had died. He could not understand why else she would not have returned. She certainly would not have returned for Joe…but for him? Sometimes Edgar thought about trying to find her
, but the prospect always seemed overwhelming. He had become more able and more in tune with his surroundings, but these were small steps in contrast with a quest to find his mother. And although he tried not to think about it often, there may be a good reason that she never came back.

On this particular day, Edgar walked slowly through the forest, moving just a bit further than he ever had before. In one hand, he carried a staff that he had whittled from the thick branch
of a dying tree. The other hand Edgar used to protect his face from low-lying branches. The day was warm and dry and the ground cracked underneath his feet. Edgar was sweating quite a bit now, as the day crept into afternoon. Feeling he had made a good distance, Edgar searched for the shade of a large tree to rest under. Once found, he removed his flask and drank deeply. The day seemed warmer than usual and Edgar found himself growing sleepy in the shade of the tree. His thoughts began to wander and he found them resting, once again, on the issue of his mother’s disappearance. Edgar found frustration begin to worm its way into his thoughts. He should be able to search for his mother; he should not allow his disability to limit him. Not only that, but how could he give up on her? What kind of man was he, to assume that she were dead? That is something Joe would do; something Joe had done. What if she were in trouble? Edgar’s worries would not leave him alone.

All of these thoughts about Edgar's mother raised another issue in his mind as well. What would he do with his life? What would be his purpose? If Edgar could not even go out into the world to inquire into his mother’s whereabouts, did that mean he would have to spend the rest of his life on the farm? He couldn’t allow that. In fact, he hated being at the farm. It was the reason he had begun to venture into
the forest in the first place.

Edgar leaned back against the tree and took a deep breath, staring out into the blackness of his world. He directed his senses outward, allowing himself to hear and feel the forest. The warmth of the sun poured over him and he could feel
, from the direction of the heat, that it was only a few hours past midday. As Edgar allowed his consciousness to converge with all that was around him, he began to feel an absolution. He would not stay at the farm much longer. He would go out into the world, and though he did not know what his ultimate purpose would be, he became very sure of one thing. He would find his mother.

Edgar felt a light breeze
, heard the sound of a lark in the distance and his breathing became light and easy. It was not long before he fell into slumber, beneath the branches of the large oak tree.

• • •

Edgar woke and immediately noticed that the heat of the day had changed drastically.
How long have I been asleep?
he wondered. Edgar stretched his arms and legs and began to get to his feet. As he tried to shake off the sleep, he became increasingly aware that something was very odd. He felt the heat of the sun upon him, but it was a much cooler heat than he had ever experienced. It was making it very difficult for him to discern what time of day it was. Also, though the heat was cooler, it somehow seemed to be more intense, as if the sun were closer to him. Something was wrong. He thought his senses must be confused due to the recent nap, so he decided to sit back down underneath the tree until things had returned to normal.

Though, as Edgar sat under the tree, he was sensing that things were increasing in their weirdness instead of normalizing. After a moment or two, Edgar came to the conclusion that he had not woken from his sleep after all
, and was, in fact, still in a dream. He decided to relax and allow himself to be carried through the dream. Edgar felt the sun of his imagination moving across the sky. It was moving at a much faster rate than the real sun ever did. He started to view his dream as a mystery. This sun was cooler, closer, quite possibly smaller, and moving more quickly than the sun of the real world. He allowed his senses to flow outward, unimpeded, toward the imaginary sun. He used his memories of light and heat to conjure an image of what this sun looked like. He held the image there in his mind’s eye. His imagination painted a picture of a dusky sky with a small sun traveling over the land, a few hundred feet above the ground. His imagination began to release the thought that the heat source was a sun and instead embraced an image of a mystical orb of light, and the orb seemed to be moving in his direction.