Terrence
May 2, 1943
Outcast. Nothing felt lonelier. ’Course the whites shunned Terrence, just like they always had. Every chance, Peachie gave him the evil eye and that stupid smirk, like he knew he was rubbing salt in the gash left from missing Carter. Then, there was the waiting. Waiting and wondering when Peachie would strike at him.
Worse than the whites shunning him was the blacks that didn’t want anything to do with him either.
“Go on. Get outta here,” they’d say, whenever Terrence tried to sit with them in the cafeteria.
“Yeah. You ain’t nothing but a dark-skinned white boy.”
He did pretty good ignoring all that. But then they’d snicker and say something like, “Sure is too bad about your boy, Carter.”
It was all Terrence could do to get away before the hurt inside erupted so hot he knew he’d do something that’d get him in trouble.
Hell. What’d all those jerks expect? A white and a black thrown together in a cell. They all must’ve hoped Terrence and Carter would let the same hate that pits one color against another in that godforsaken place explode within the four walls of their tiny cell. Must’ve been a big disappointment, all right. Sure, it took a while for the two of them to tiptoe around their hate, but somehow they’d figured it all out. Even got to be friends.
But Carter was gone. Terrence never could get anyone to tell him exactly what happened. He could tell the guards got a kick out of teasing him with pieces of information about that day in the shower. But they never let on about the whole story.
Maybe it was best he didn’t know everything. Might not be able to control his anger if he did. Didn’t matter anyhow. Carter was gone, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Outcast.
The only person he could talk to about it was Mr. Blake. He sure didn’t want to worry Momma with his talk about what it was like to be an outsider on the inside of a prison. She worried enough about him already. But with Mr. Blake, even if there was nothing he could do about it, at least he listened. By the time his weekly visits rolled around, Terrence had plenty he needed to get off his chest.
It helped some when Mr. Blake would tell him he was doing real good on his studies. The best news came when he told Terrence maybe he could even get out early, with his good behavior and the way he was doing with his studies. He tried not to get his hopes up, but it was awful hard not to.
He ran his fingers over the 384 marks on the wall. Even if he didn’t get released early, he’d passed the halfway point—346 days to go. Every time the thought of leaving early popped into his head, he’d push it back, and wouldn’t allow himself to get his hopes up. April 12, 1944. That was the release date he’d keep waiting for. If he got out sooner, it’d just be icing on the cake.
He ought to be reading his social studies chapters, but in the lazy hours after lunch, he always got sleepy. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a little bit.
There he was, on the side of that creek, fishing with Daddy again. The sky was blue, with wisps of clouds drifting by. After a while, those clouds turned to dark, monster billows and the water that had calmly trickled by began to rush.
“Beautiful day, ain’t it, son?” Daddy asked, smiling.
“Well, it was, but it’s looking a little stormy now,” Terrence replied. “Think we should go in?”
“What you talking about, boy? Them skies are blue as I ever seen ’em.”
Terrence looked up, confused. The sky was black.
Daddy grinned and watched his bobber. “Pickens are kinda slim today, ain’t they?”
A rustling across the creek caught Terrence’s attention, and he tried to make out two men. Nobu? What was he doing there? And was that Mr. Kimura standing next to him? Looked like they were fishing together. Terrence never knew Nobu liked to fish.
“Hey, Nobu!” he called.
Nobu and his father both looked up from watching their bobbers.
Mr. Kimura slipped into water that had begun to rage.
Nobu grabbed for him, but missed. “Papa!” He yelled and jumped in.
“Nobu, wait!” Terrence called. What could he do? How could he help? He cast his fishing line toward his friend. “Grab the line,” he yelled.
He looked to his daddy for help, but Daddy just watched his lazy bobber. He sat with his back against a rock, head propped with one hand, seeming to enjoy sunshine.
But it had all turned dark for Terrence. Why couldn’t Daddy see what was going on?
“Daddy!” he called.
His father closed his eyes. “I said, ‘patience,’ son. Them fish’ll be biting soon enough.”
Terrence yelled at Nobu again. “Did you get the line?”
Nobu held up his arm, showing he’d wrapped the line around his jacket. “Let some line out! I need to reach Papa!”
No, Terrence couldn’t do that. He had to save Nobu. He struggled to reel him in, his pole bending like it was going to break.
“I said let the line out! Not in.” Nobu was struggling to untangle his arm. “Let me go. Let me go. I have to save Papa.”
The torrential waters carried Mr. Kimura down the river. Terrence saw panic in his eyes. He’d seen it before. That day in the park. The memory made Terrence sick to his stomach. And the sicker he felt, the faster he reeled Nobu to the shore.
As Nobu splashed toward where Terrence stood on the bank, the glare in his eyes fired off more memories of that day in the park. He stood on the muddy shore, tangled in fishing line and called after his father. “Papa! I’m sorry!” He struggled to free himself from the line, but it had turned to barbed wire, and the harder he fought it, the bloodier he became.
Mr. Kimura disappeared into the raging water.
A ravaged Nobu stood in front of Terrence. “Why? Why did you kill my father?”
Terrence’s own voice woke him.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
He sat up on his bunk and rubbed his eyes, wet with tears.
“Hey, you!” A guard clanked on the cell door.
Terrence took his sleeve and wiped his eyes. “Yeah?”
“Got a surprise for you.”
What now?
He turned to the guard.
Carter?
It was Carter, all right. He had a patch over his eye and his sly smile was missing several teeth. But heck. It was the best smile Terrence had ever seen.
Carter limped into the cell and groaned as he lowered himself into a chair. “Miss me?”
Was he still dreaming? “What the—”
Carter snickered. “Hey, man. Put them eyes back in that black head of yours. You look like you seen a ghost.”
“Holy shit!” Terrence leaped off of his bunk. He had the urge to hug Carter, but thought better of it. “You’re white enough to be a damn ghost. A scary one, too.” He pulled out a chair. “Where you been? What happened?”
The grin faded from Carter’s face. “Been laid up in the infirmary.”
Terrence crossed his arms and studied Carter’s bruised face. “Looks like you got beat up pretty good.”
Fear flashed in Carter’s eyes—quick as lightning—before he rose from his chair and turned away. He clutched the cell door and kicked his foot against it, over and over.
That bad. Terrence took a deep breath. Yeah. He shoulda been with Carter that day. “Hey, we don’t gotta talk about—”
“It was Peachie started it all.”
“Always is.” Terrence was walking on glass. Didn’t want to say something that might shut his friend down.
Carter leaned his head on the bars. “Yeah. I was minding my own business, just trying to get out of that shower fast as I could. Before Peachie and his boys could hassle me.”
Guilt punched Terrence again. “I shoulda been there.”
“Damn right you shoulda been there.”
His heart sank, until he saw Carter’s dumb grin.
“Man, it wouldn’t have done no good.” Carter slid his tongue through the empty space where teeth had been and reminded Terrence of a snake. “You woulda just got beat up, too.”
The sudden quiet felt like a monster, lurching, ready to eat up whatever else Carter had to say. He hesitated to ask what happened next.
“I’d just finished rinsing off, and started to grab my towel. But Peachie grabbed it first. ‘What’ll you give me for it?’ he asked. I told him to just forget it. Figured it’d be best to drip dry. So I started to leave the shower to get my clothes. He grabbed my arm and said, ‘Guess you ain’t so brave without your nigger here to protect you.’”
Terrence clenched his teeth. Fucking asshole.
Carter rubbed the back of his neck and slithered his tongue through his teeth again.
It was going to take some time to get used to Carter’s new habit.
“Someone pushed me. I slipped,” Carter continued. “Went down real hard. My head got kinda fuzzy. Man, all of a sudden, it was like I was raw meat set out in front of a pack of wild dogs. They started kicking, calling me all kinda names. I couldn’t breathe, and every time a foot got my rib, it felt like I’d been stabbed.”
Something sour burned in the back of Terrence’s throat. The kicks. Like stabbing. His throat tightened and he couldn’t breathe. Carter was lucky to be alive. If only Mr. Kimura had been that lucky. Blinking his eyes, he tried to shake the vision out of his head. He studied Carter’s patch. “What happened to your eye?”
Carter touched the gray patch. “Someone stuck his foot in it. Don’t know whose it was, but guess it don’t matter. It got infected, and the doctor said it couldn’t be saved. Anyway, I blacked out right after that. Not sure how much time passed before I woke up in a hospital bed.”
“Bastards.”
Carter smiled, and ran his tongue over his gums again. “So, anyways, bet you couldn’t wait for me to get back.”
“Get back? Man, I thought you were dead.”
“Dead?” Carter’s eyes widened.
“Yeah. That’s what I figured when I couldn’t get the guards to tell me anything, and all that time passed without knowing anything. Even Peachie and his gang think you’re dead.”
“They do?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Man, there’s gotta be something we can do with that.” Carter lisped through a toothless grin.
The inmates lined up for dinner, and for once, Terrence couldn’t wait to run into Peachie. With what he and Carter had planned, they’d scare the shit out of him. Maybe then he’d leave them alone.
Terrence shuffled into the cafeteria behind other inmates from the block. Carter hid behind Terrence like they’d planned.
Keeping an eye out for Peachie, Terrence sniffed the air. Smelled like they were having spaghetti. Not again. Probably made from last night’s leftover meat loaf. They never cooked the noodles enough, and they sprinkled it with a smelly white powder they called cheese.
There he was. Peachie, strutting in through the door across the room, like he was king of the world. His gang followed behind like a posse.
Terrence reached back and tapped Carter. Stay hidden.
They waited until Peachie found a table. His boys pulled out chairs on either side, like Jesus and his disciples at The Last Supper.
Terrence sat catty-corner and watched him snarl.
Carter snuck up and stood behind Peachie, quiet and still.
Peachie glared at Terrence. “Who the hell do you think you are, boy?”
Terrence ignored him.
Peachie slammed his hand against the table. “You hear me? Ain’t no place at this table for no nigger.”
Terrence scratched his eyebrow. Another signal.
Carter removed his eye patch and blew on the back of Peachie’s neck.
Peachie raised his shoulders and shuddered, then whipped around.
Carter met his gaze with his left eye bulging open. But where his right eye should have been was a gaping, mangled socket. He flashed his wide, toothless grin.
Terrence had to admit—Carter looked like a ghoul, all right.
Peachie gasped and leaped off of his chair, knocking it over. Backing away, he fell over it. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were dead. They even sent me to solitary.”
Carter didn’t flinch, just glared at Peachie.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Peachie cried.
His gang gawked, too, their knuckles white as they clutched their spoons.
Terrence slurped a spaghetti noodle. “Something wrong, Peachie?”
“It’s … it’s Carter. I thought he was dead,” Peachie said, mouth and eyes gaping.
“He is dead, you big jerk.”
“But, he’s right there.”
Terrence twirled pasta around his spoon. “I don’t see anything.”
Guards began to shove their way through the cafeteria. “What’s going on here? Break it up,” they yelled.
Terrence nodded his head at Carter. The final signal.
“Hey, you! Fatso!” Carter said to Peachie.
Terrence hadn’t thought Peachie’s eyes could bug out any more, but they did when he heard Carter speak.
“I was dead. And one of you killed me.” He pointed at Peachie. “You!” Then, his glower and accusing finger pointed at the other boys. “Or was it you? Or you?” A wicked grin crossed his crazed-looking face. “I’ve come back for one reason and one reason only—to get the one that killed me.” He grinned and slithered his tongue where his teeth had been. “Don’t you know? When you come back from the dead, you got all kinda new powers.”
Peachie turned even whiter than the white he’d been before. Terrence thought he’d bust with laughter, until the guards arrived to break up all the fun.