6

I sat there for a few minutes, diddling with my smartphone. The service was too bad out here to do anything other than check my text messages, and there weren’t any new ones anyway. I put the phone down on the seat and looked out the window.

The cornfield was really something. The stalks looked like great waves cresting as the wind bent them slightly. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be hidden inside those giant stalks, to look up and see the sky through the corn silk and tassels and feel small and insignificant, but also a part of something larger.

My thoughts turned—as they often did—to my father. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d wanted at first? To be a part of something larger, to touch the natural world and find out there was something divine there? I wanted that too, but so much about the idea of the divine troubled me. Jeb Walsh, for instance. How did a man like that become so powerful, so influential, if there was divinity in this world? Was it like my mother believed? That there was a perpetual war being waged between evil and good?

Maybe. I know I felt that within myself sometimes. That my own heart was a battlefield, a place scarred by the toil of casualties and the false promises of peace.

I sighed and turned my attention back to the house. Whoever owned it did have some money. Ronnie had been right about that. All brick and two spacious levels. I figured it set somebody back a pretty penny. The yard was a mess, but that was an easy enough fix. Clean up the trash, cut the grass, and weed-eat a little, and the place would be as—

Something caught my eye. A toy truck sitting near the front steps. One of those dump trucks, its bed filled with dirt. There was something else there too. A ragged old doll. It took me a minute to understand what that meant. Kids.

I was out of the truck and jogging to the door as soon as I realized how bad this could be. Ronnie Thrash trying to get money from someone with young kids around. Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I was almost at the door when something moved in the cornfield.

I stopped cold. There had been a rustling in the plants, and now I heard a high-pitched whispering. I stepped toward the field for a better look, but there was no one there, only the massive stalks moving in a slight breeze, the corn silk floating out from the dark green husks, the widespread tassels waving against the blue sky like paper claws. And then in a flash, like the flicker of lightning, I saw someone step across one of the rows and disappear. I moved to see down the next row, but it was empty. The rows beyond that weren’t really rows. They were jumbled with stalks, as if whoever had planted them had lacked the skill or patience to lay the seeds in straight lines.

An angry voice from the house broke my trance, and I remembered the urgency of the present situation. Whatever was in the cornfield would have to wait.

Once inside, what I saw made my face flush with anger. Ronnie stood over a woman, who held a small child in her lap. He wore a ski mask and held a gun aimed at the woman’s face.

“Back away from her,” I said.

Ronnie jumped, surprised by the sound of my voice.

“Jesus,” the woman said. “What now?”

“Wait outside, Earl. This ain’t what you think.”

“You’re waving a gun around in that woman’s face. Not to mention the little boy in her lap.”

“She owes me money, Earl. We talked about this.”

“I ain’t got no money to pay,” the woman said. She seemed remarkably calm considering the situation. The child seemed calm too. He was watching Ronnie closely, his mouth opened in a look of deep fascination, but otherwise appeared unperturbed.

“Put your gun away, Ronnie. Then we can talk about this.”

“Fuck you, Earl. I know you ain’t gonna shoot me in front of these people. That ain’t your style.”

He was right. So instead of shooting him, I flipped my gun around and took three giant steps across the room. Ronnie understood what I meant to do on the second step and swung the gun around on me. I kept coming because I was pretty sure Ronnie didn’t mean to shoot me either. On the third step, he tried to get his hands up to ward off my blow, but it was too late. I hit him in the forehead with the stock of my 9mm. He went down. I took his gun out of his hand and started to unload it. Empty. Jesus.

The woman laughed.

“What?” I said.

“It’s just funny because he bragged about having you watching out for Lane. And now you come in and whip his ass.”

“Momma?”

I turned and saw a girl no more than twelve standing behind me.

“What?” the woman said. “You finally decide to come in out of the cornfield?”

“What happened to Uncle Ronnie?”

“Wait,” I said. “Uncle Ronnie?”

The woman sighed. “You wouldn’t think a man would pull a gun on his own kin, now would you?” But that’s just Ronnie. The boy ain’t never been right. He thinks wearing that damn mask is going to fool the kids. Damn, you didn’t have to hit him so hard.”

Ronnie groaned in protest but was either too groggy or in too much pain to make any sense.

“So this has happened before?”

“Not in a while. Lane had put an end to most of it, but now Lane ain’t home half the time, and Ronnie has been asking for money again.”

“Is it true? About the investment?”

“Yeah, we promised we’d invest, but what can you do?” She nodded toward the girl standing by the door. “This one is eating us out of house and home, and now she wants to join every damn club at the school. They ain’t cheap, none of them.” She turned to me, putting her hands around her mouth, and whispered the next part. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t so damned weird, you know?”

I shot her a sharp look. She shrugged. “It’s true. Virginia’s always been weird. Her daddy was a one-night stand. What can I say? She don’t want for nothing.”

Except respect, I thought, but didn’t say anything. I figured I’d said and done enough already. It was time to get Ronnie out of there. I’d follow up with a call to Mary about getting these kids some help, but I wasn’t counting on much. I’d seen situations worse than this one, where local authorities couldn’t do a damned thing. It was maddening, but out of my control.

“Let’s go,” I said to Ronnie, reaching down to help him to his feet.

“Not without my money,” he said.

“You aren’t taking money from these people.”

“She’ll spend it on drugs if I don’t. I was going to invest it for her. Give these kids a chance at college.”

I pulled him to his feet and handed the empty gun back to him.

“Come back in a couple of weeks,” his sister said, “and ask nicely, and I’ll loan you a little.”

“What about Lane?”

“We’re quits. Caught him with one of them trailer park sluts. I’m just waiting until he comes back from out of town before leaving.”

“Where are you going to go?” Ronnie asked.

“I’ve got a man up in the Fingers who’ll take care of us.”

“Shit, Wanda.”

She shrugged as if to suggest it was all out of her control, that she was simply along for the ride.

“So where did he go?” Ronnie asked.

“Hell, if I know. Said he’d be back on Wednesday.”

“Well, shit, I ain’t coming in to work tonight, then.”

“Work?” I said. I was so confused.

“Lane pays Ronnie to watch the cornfields,” Wanda said.

“Watch them? Why?”

Ronnie glared at me and pulled the ski mask off. His forehead was bleeding a little, but I figured he deserved that much. “Don’t worry about it.”

Then he did something I hadn’t expected, something that made me realize I’d stepped right into the middle of a family dynamic I’d probably never understand.

“Can I hold him?”

His sister looked at the child in her lap. “Briscoe, you want to go to your Uncle Ronnie?”

Briscoe grinned tentatively.

“Hey, big boy,” Ronnie said.

Briscoe held out his arms and Ronnie took him.

It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so completely fucked.

“I’ll be in the truck,” I said.

The girl, Virginia, was waiting for me outside.

“You’re Earl Marcus,” she said.

I smiled. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“I read the newspaper.”

Her fast and completely serious answer disarmed me a little. In fact, nearly everything about her was disarming. She was a child, but her countenance was not that of a child’s. Her face was serious, unrelentingly calm, and full of subtle expression, as if she were used to talking to adults instead of kids her own age.

“I want to hire you.”

“Hire me? For what?”

She looked around, her eyes settling on the cornfield. “There’s something in that cornfield, and it’s hurting people.”

“What do you mean? Have you seen it?”

“Once. From my window upstairs.” She pointed up to the window on the second story of the old farmhouse.

Before she could say anything else, Ronnie came out. He was grinning, and I shook my head in disbelief. He was one deeply fucked individual.

“We ready, Earl?” Ronnie said. “Quit hitting on my niece. I know she’s a little hottie, but she’s too young for your old ass.”

Virginia rolled her eyes. I turned on Ronnie. “Apologize.”

“What the fuck?”

“Apologize to her. That was inappropriate, even for you.”

“Fuck you, Earl. You need to apologize to me.”

“Let it go,” Virginia said. “Just remember what we talked about.”

Ronnie climbed into the truck. “Come on, Earl. Time to get out of here.”

I nodded at Virginia and got in the truck.

As soon as I shut the door, Ronnie said, “Thanks for nothing, asshole.”

“It didn’t look like you were getting very far,” I said. “Do you really think she was going to give you the money?”

“Eventually,” he said. “But now I’ll have to get it somewhere else.”

He was backing out of the driveway when another truck slowed down on the road and turned in.

“Oh no. Hell no.”

“What?”

“It’s Lane.”

The pickup truck pulled up next Ronnie’s. Of course, Ronnie’s was so jacked up and tall, I was looking down on the driver.

“I better make nice,” Ronnie said.

He killed the engine and climbed out.

I had a feeling things might not go well since Lane had obviously returned earlier than expected, so I climbed out too.

Lane Jefferson was built like a tree stump—short, compact, thick, and hard as pinewood. He wore a holstered pistol and a scowl as wide as his face.

“Hey, Lane,” Ronnie said.

Lane looked at Ronnie and then at me. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Earl Marcus,” I said.

His scowl went away. “From the newspapers?”

“From Ring Mountain.”

He laughed. “Modest. I get it. Hey, you still dating that cop from Atlanta?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s she like?”

It was a weird question. “She’s nice.”

“Really? I’ve always found women in positions of authority to be real bitches.”

“She’s not.”

“Nah, she definitely is.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” And then he turned away and headed toward the house.

I followed him.

He stopped at the door. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah, take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“What you said about Mary.”

“Fuck you. You’re standing on my property. I’ll say what I like.”

I clenched my fists, itching to use them, but I made myself breathe deep. Relax. What did it matter what this asshole thought?

“Sure,” I said.

He laughed again and went inside.

*   *   *

“Let’s go,” Ronnie said.

“No. Not until I’m sure he’s not going to hurt her or one of those kids.”

Ronnie lit a cigarette, and we leaned against one of his big front tires, waiting.

The house was quiet. I was beginning to think maybe it was okay to leave, when the door was flung open, and a suitcase flew through the opening.

The suitcase was followed by some toys and some random articles of clothing and finally, Wanda, carrying Briscoe.

They both looked okay. “Virginia!” Wanda shouted. “Get your ass to the car!”

I walked over and helped them load up the car.

“Thanks,” Wanda said. “And take care of Ronnie. He ain’t so bad.”

“You take care of these kids,” I said.

“They’ll be fine,” she said, and pulled away.

I looked at the house and saw Lane Jefferson standing at the door, an almost imperceptible grin on his face, as if he were privy to a joke he’d never share.

*   *   *

I’d been dreaming about the black water off and on for nearly a year before I realized how it ended. The dream came in several variations, but certain details never changed: it was night; there was a train or at least the sound of a train in the distance; and I was always in the middle of a train trestle suspended over black water, a field of corn blowing darkly to my right and something (or someone) I could not quite make out coming from my left. Mary wasn’t always in the dream with me, but the sense of her was. Sometimes she was below me, already in the water, and I knew I had to jump over the side to find her. Other times she stood right on the train trestle with me, her eyes wide with something like fear, but not quite. One way or the other, I always made the plunge into the black water. And it always rose to meet me, welcoming me inside its silky folds. Then came silence and total darkness. A sudden peace.

In the mornings, I woke up, feeling despair about the juxtaposition of the sensations in the dream. The panic of falling, the utter sense of impending doom seemed to contradict the peaceful resolution. I couldn’t make sense of it.

Until this morning.

Last night I dreamed of Jefferson’s cornfield. I was running through it, being pursued by someone or something I couldn’t see. Mary ran in front of me, and I urged her forward as we slipped out of the cornfield and into the woods. I looked behind me to see what was chasing us but saw nothing except for the bright headlight of a train. We were running on train tracks now as a great gorge in the land opened before us. A wooden train trestle ran across a glistening expanse of water. The Blackclaw River.

And then I saw it was the same dream I’d been having. The only difference was that I knew this was a real place. The black water I’d been dreaming about was the Blackclaw River. The cornfield blowing in the wind was Jefferson’s.

Mary slowed, but I told her to keep going. We’d beat the train and the invisible pursuer behind us.

Once out on the trestle, I felt it vibrating underfoot. We’d made it halfway across when I saw the dark figure waiting for us. It was a tall, faceless man, holding a knife. Mary stopped. The train bore down on us.

“Jump,” I said.

The last thing I remember before waking was the black water of the river, rising to take us in.

But I woke up with a new understanding. Call it intuition, or maybe it was just the experience of interpreting my own lunatic dreams for so long, but I knew how the dream ended.

The peace was the knowledge that Mary was okay. The darkness was my own death.