Shadow Man (11 page)

I'm going nuts. I'm screaming in this truck like someone can hear me. I have to have a drink. I am going to get drunk. No reason not to. No one to stop me. I could keep on driving, nobody would care, nobody would even try to find me.

Except for Jennie's father. He'd hunt me in hell. He looked like he wanted to kill me, downtown. Stopped his car right in the road and ran up to the truck.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he shouted. “You're supposed to be looking for Jennie!”

“I am,” I said.

“In the liquor store?”

“I was getting some cigarettes, do you mind?”

“You listen to me!” His eyes were wild. “I know I should feel sorry for you, but I don't, God forgive me. I despise you. I want my daughter back!”

“You'll get her back,” I said. “She'll turn up when she's ready.”

“We can't take that chance! We've got to find her!”

“We could get more people to help us look.”

“No,” Harding said. “I don't want them to know she's pregnant.”

“Are you kidding? They already know,” I said. “This is a small town. What's more important: your daughter or your pride?”

“You talk about pride, you worthless bum? You killed your own son! You ruined his life!”

He was screaming at me. I got out of the truck. Joey Hammer ran up and grabbed me. He said, “Calm down, Franny. Just calm down. Wes is upset. He don't know what he's saying.”

Ask Joey; he was there. It was an accident. The baby climbed out of his crib. He'd never done that before. He learned real quick. Then Katherine was screaming—

I've got to keep driving. I'm going to start over. This time I'm going to do things right. Some women think I'm still good-looking. Not my wife; she can't stand the sight of me. Thinks I'm a no-good drunk. I'll drink to that. Soon as I can find a place to pull over, I'm going to break open that bottle.

The ocean's so big it makes the sun seem small, like a little toy ball. I should keep on driving. But then I'd never get to see my grandchild, Gabriel's son or daughter. Katherine had boys, so she might like a girl. I can picture the baby in my mind. She's got yellow hair and twinkly eyes. Her daddy looks so proud! He's laughing and tossing her into the air, and the baby's laughing too. Her mama's watching them, smiling.

But that's not Gabriel. Gabe is dead. That's not him and Jennie with the baby. The couple in the picture in my mind come close, and I'm looking at Katherine and me.

37

David McCloud

When Frank comes home, I'll have to tell him Gerald's in jail. Then he'll get mad like it's all my fault. Like, I'm the oldest, so I should set an example. As if anybody cares what I think. They think I'm a joke because I don't have any money, and if you don't have money, nobody takes you seriously.

I don't think that's right. You should get some points for doing your best. So maybe you aren't some big-time genius. Maybe you're just some guy on the bench. Maybe you don't even make the team. Maybe you're just some fan in the stands. Maybe you're the damn pigskin.

I shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. It gets me. Trouble is, once I start, I forget to eat. Sometimes Gabe would make me a sandwich. He'd say, Buck up, Sport! You gotta keep up your strength! It's a great life if you don't weaken.

I miss him so much. He's only been gone for half a day and sometimes I don't see him for weeks, like when I take off or get a job or something. But this time feels different. His room looks so different. I was in there a while ago and nothing's changed; his clothes are everywhere, his bed's not made. But it just feels wrong, like a stranger's been in there. I laid down on the bed and put my head on his pillow. It smelled like Gabe.

Oh, Gabe. I'm dying.

While I was in there the phone started ringing, but it stopped by the time I got out here. I thought Ma might've got it, but her door was closed. The whole time I was with her she didn't say nothing, but at least she patted my head. That's something.

Then the phone rang again—it's been ringing all morning—and it was Sheriff Reese saying Gerald was down at the jail. So when Frank comes home, I'll have to give him the news. If he ever comes back again. It's like people keep leaving, but they don't come back. Like maybe this place is haunted. Like maybe if I opened my mother's door, the room would be empty. She'd be gone.

I wish Uncle Tom would call. He'd make things better. He used to be around a lot, before the big fight, when all that stuff got said. Everybody looked so sad and shocked. Then they got mad and started yelling.

I may not be too smart, but I'd sure do things different if I was king of the world. For instance, starting right now there'd be no hard feelings. People wouldn't say mean things, and if they did, they'd be sorry and apologize and people would forgive them.

There wouldn't be any yelling or hitting or wars or killing. Everybody would be happy. And if you made a mistake, you could try again and nobody would laugh at you.

I should eat something. My hands are shaking. These cigarettes make me feel lousy. Pretty soon I'm going to get myself together; quit smoking and drinking, and start eating right, and take some vitamins, and get a job so Gabe would be proud of me. He always said, Don't let them get you down. Pick up the pieces one at a time and don't try to climb the mountain in an afternoon. Something like that. I knew what he meant. He always cheered me up.

I wish I could tell him, Thank you, Gabe. I wish I could say, I love you. I wish I could say, I'll always be your big brother and I will take care of you and none of this happened, and I'll give you a good example.

Oh, Gabe. Little buddy, little brother.

Someone's knocking on the door. I can't find my shirt, but I put on my sunglasses so people won't know I've been crying.

I open the door. Uncle Tom is on the porch. His face looks real old and tired. He hugs me and says, “I'm so sorry, David,” and I'm bawling in his arms like a little boy.

38

Gabriel McCloud

Dear Mrs. Sanders,

I'm sorry what I said after class the other day. I didn't mean that stuff. Your a good teacher the best I ever had its not your falt I'm quitting school. But what's the use? I'll just end up at the mill so I might as well start now and make some fulltime money. Eight bucks an hour and medical benefits. I can use that my teeth are bugging me. I don't like the mill the saws are to loud they can really drive you crazy. They give us earplugs but they don't work good. The other thing I don't like is your hands get cold because there aren't any walls just these tin roofs and the wind freezes your fingers. But you might as well get use to it and then it won't bug you. Like Shadow Man! Ya! That guy could eat stones but it didn't do no good they pulled his plug.

Thanks for offering to help me write the people at the comic but it would just be a waste of time. They've already bumped him off or maybe he'll turn up fighting nazis or communists. I don't care that much its just a comic.

So anyway I just want to say I'm sorry I'm quitting and I won't graduate but I'll be there in spirit. Ya! With all my friends that's the one thing I'll miss. But there's no sense waiting to start my real life I might as well make some big time bucks. Maybe I'll even get you a present or pay for that book I lost. Ya!

Thanks a lot anyway. Yours Truely,

Gabe McCloud

39

Jennie Harding

This will kill my parents. They will think they failed me. I wish I could explain that it's not their fault. They were wonderful parents. They've always loved me.

But we don't live in a bubble. I've seen the world. I see it every night on the news on TV. We watch while we eat dinner. As I'm piling food on my plate, I'm looking at starving children. Or watching a story about something that's disappearing: elephants, the rain forests, the ozone layer. Or hearing about wars, lots of wars, or plane crashes or epidemics or serial killers.

Too much is wrong. It's too big; we can't fix it. I can't help anyone. I couldn't even save Gabe. As close as we were, I couldn't reach him.

The air is almost too wet to breathe. The waves are crashing. Jack is scared. I am stroking his fur, trying not to freak out. I'm afraid it will hurt when the water fills my lungs. I'm afraid I'll wish, too late, to change my mind.

I used to be scared about labor pains. Then I thought: It couldn't be too bad, or there wouldn't be so many babies. My mother wanted lots of kids, but she had to have an operation. Once I asked her if it hurt to have me. A lot, she said, but you were worth it.

I wish I could tell my folks how much I love them, one more time, so they won't be sad. They would've been so mad when they found out about the baby. They would've said: How could you be so stupid?

I'm not ashamed of loving Gabe. Love takes strength; it's not a weakness. If you don't love people, you might as well be dead. Like Gabriel's father; he's a vampire, he drank up his whole family. I used to want to blow my top at him, but what was the point? He couldn't change the past. He couldn't even change himself.

I'm worried that Donald will take this badly. I'm one of his only friends. He's too shy to open up with most people. He's ashamed of his occupation.

One time I said, “If you don't like it, quit. There's no law that says you have to be a mortician.”

He said, “My father would kill me.”

“With a knife or a gun?”

“With a look,” Donald said. But I'd made him smile and that's half the battle. “I mean, he acts like he's given me this wonderful gift and I'm too much of a knucklehead to appreciate it.”

“If he wants to be a mortician, that's his business,” I said. “But you don't have to carry on the family tradition. He only gets one life; he doesn't get yours.”

“He gets everybody's, eventually,” Donald said. His mother has convinced him that she'll die if he leaves home, but she doesn't have to stay there; that's her choice. Donald should be free to do what he wants. He'd like to be a veterinarian. He'd be good at that, he's so kind and gentle. Donald is one of my favorite people.

I hope he doesn't take this personally. I hope he doesn't think: If she were really my friend, she would never have left me behind.

I didn't mean for this to happen. Killing myself was the furthest thing from my mind. I thought I'd be talking to Gabriel tonight, then this weekend we'd go to Mendocino—

The last wave hit the rock so hard the spray fell like hail. I'm so sorry Jack's here. I'm so sorry about the baby. She's depending on me and I'm betraying her. Gabe wanted a boy. I'm sure it's a girl. She stirs in her sleep. I pat my belly. Don't be scared, baby; Mommy's here.

I'm so sorry about my folks. I'm so sorry about everything. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt my family.

40

Francis McCloud

I park the truck and lean my head out the window. The sun feels good on my face, like warm hands. Me and Katherine would hold hands and watch the water and listen to the waves. They sound so peaceful. Like maybe it doesn't matter if you die, a thousand years from now the sea will still be breathing, the tide will still be going in and out.

I'm not surprised Gabe and Jennie had a special place. Kat and me had lots of special places; stretches of beach full of shells and bottle glass, or no undertow, so we could go skinny-dipping.

We always figured we made Timmy at this one place we had. We'd only been married for a couple of months. I wasn't too pleased when I found out. I'd wanted time together, just the two of us. Then she had him and he was so—beautiful. I couldn't believe we'd made him with our love. I'd stand there and watch him asleep in his crib and listen real close to make sure he was breathing. When Katherine nursed him I felt so proud, like this is my wife and my baby boy. I'll kill any man who hurts them.

And then that man was me.

After he died, it seemed like nothing was right. It wasn't the same between Katherine and me, even though we had the other babies. And I beat on the boys. I shouldn't have done that. That's what my father done to me and my brothers. We loved our mother, so we couldn't touch him, but after she died we cut him dead. We never went and saw him again. My brothers moved away to different parts of the country. I haven't seen them in years. Seems like loving our mama and hating our father was all we had in common.

I never meant to be like him with my boys. I wanted to kiss them and love them. But I couldn't; I was frozen, and that made me mad. It made me so mad I went crazy. There's no excuse, it's too late to change it. My wife and my sons hate me.

Once Kat told me, “You never loved me. You don't love me 'cause you don't know how.”

I do the best I can, but nothing went the way I planned. It wasn't just Timmy; it was everything. Her brother calling me a crook, in my own house. Like I'm some low-life bum! The scum of the earth! All this crap about stuff that was none of his business. And what does Katherine do? She don't say nothing. She just looks at me!

Damn you, Gabe! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't open this bottle and drink the whole damn thing. All you are is a ghost. You don't even exist. That ain't my boy at the funeral parlor. My boy is gone. He ran away. He'll be back someday. I almost killed him, drunk as a skunk on this same stuff. His mother looked scared, but he didn't. He said, “Go ahead and shoot me, you crazy old fart! You've already killed everybody in this house!”

Oh, Mama, please! It hurts so bad! God, do you hear me? If you hate me so much, why don't you kill me?

All I need is a sip, a taste to clear my head. I open the bottle and lift it to my lips—