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I stayed in the trailer with Jared’s ghost for the rest of the night, never sleeping, never daring to close my eyes for longer than a blink. I was trapped there with him—subject to his whims, like I had always been. A part of me knew I deserved to be haunted and even craved the abject terror because it mirrored the punishment I seemed to have dodged, at least for the time being.
Many times during that long night, I thought about leaving the trailer so I could perhaps be free of this hallucinatory spell by standing in the open and confessing my crime, but I wasn’t going to jail, not for Jared. And even if it didn’t come down to that, there was no point in going home either.
“Go away,” I told him. “I’m not going to be a prisoner again, no matter how much you haunt me.”
Maybe I slept at some point. The darkness had become a pale gray, making the familiar shapes in the bedroom discernible once again, and then at last, morning sunlight streamed in from around the edges of the closed curtain. A light breeze made the shade bang against the window.
The trailer door swung open, like a miracle, and Jim stepped inside. My relief at seeing light again and at being in the presence of another living and well person was such that I slid over to him when he came in the bedroom and sat down on the mattress. His body drooped as he leaned forward over his knees. He looked tired for once, whereas usually he crackled with impatient energy.
I threw my arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as I could. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”
“Hey now,” Jim said, patting my forearm with an awkward flap of his hand. “No need to carry on like that.”
“Okay, okay.” My voice was soft, edged with unexpected tears. “I’m sorry. I just... I was just so scared waiting here by myself.”
Jim gave a weak smile. “You’re gonna be all right, kid. Don’t worry about it.” He kissed me on the mouth. I couldn’t help but notice how old he looked, older than my father even.
“So, you didn’t tell the police I was here?”
“What do you think? I’m some kind of rat fink? Is that what you think?” Jim pulled away from me.
“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” My elation switched to a sort of panic at the sudden intensity of Jim’s tone. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just...”
“Well, be careful what you say, then. There’s nothing I hate more than a rat. And I’ve got no use for the goddamn fuzz either. People are better off settling their own problems.” Jim pulled off his boots one by one.
As I watched, it occurred to me that maybe part of the reason Jim kept me close was to prevent me from being an easy target for the police. In his system of measurement, the consequences of aiding a fugitive fell on the light side compared with any action that could lead to another person’s imprisonment. “I don’t think that about you. In fact, no one I’ve ever known has helped me as much as you have.” I risked placing a hand on the top of Jim’s smooth head.
Jim covered my hand with his and brought my fingers to his lips. “You are some sweet kid. A pretty one too. Don’t mind me, all right? I can never get any sleep around this place. You know what I mean?”
I kissed Jim’s mouth with a hard pressure, the first time I had ever made an initial sexual gesture toward him. Jim gave a muffled laugh. “Maybe you’re not such a kid, after all. This is also very tempting, but I’ve got to get some rest.”
“I could make you some breakfast first. Coffee too.”
“You go on ahead. I’m going to get some sleep.” Jim took off his pants and stretched out on the bed. “Just so you know, Hinkle doesn’t have any idea that the police were here asking about you. He thought it was just the usual bullshit I’m always dealing with, like some townie complaining that a joint is rigged or some shit like that.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking about the bright new day, about the many days in front of me. “So I don’t have to leave?”
Jim’s eyes were closed. Maybe he was already asleep, but then he answered. “Yeah, it looks like the coast is clear for now, at least. Besides which I’d get a raft of shit from Hinkle if you was to leave now, owing money.”
Jim had brought home some nice big sacks of groceries the day before. I was going to go to the kitchen to cook an outstanding breakfast for myself to celebrate having made it through the night. “All right, you get some sleep, then.”
“Hey, hang on a second.” Jim reached over to grab my hand. His touch filled me with a warm liveliness, a sensation of being singled out in a good way, of being seen and visible. This affection, which people on television and maybe in real life, too, indulged in with casual indifference, felt unique and special, something intended for others but not for me. “You know, though, there’s no way of knowing for sure if everything is really squared away with the police. If you want, I got a buddy who could drive you up to Canada. You’d have to figure it out from there, but the fuzz wouldn’t be able to touch you.” Jim kept his eyes closed while he spoke.
Being outside the reach of police who may or may not have still being looking for me seemed like meager compensation for being dropped off alone with nothing in a foreign country. “No. No, thanks,” I said. “I’d rather stay here.”
Jim opened his eyes and smiled at me. “Good,” he said, squeezing my fingers. The gesture made me realize that he thought I wanted to stay to be with him. I left myself hold his hand for a moment longer. Maybe he was right.