By the Light of His Lantern Page 39

  The blood was hers. She lay next to him, on her back, side by side like they’d been stargazing together. Her shirt was soaked red. Her hands, too. She looked at him with pleading eyes. She had the look of someone who couldn’t find the right words to say. The tip of her tongue. Those eyes implored him to understand, and to act quickly. She closed her mouth and swallowed. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper.

  “Help.”

  It was a couple seconds before his scattered thoughts assembled themselves. He sat himself up, onto his hands and knees. All his joints popped. He got one foot underneath himself and made to stand, only to be caught off guard by the effort. When he did stand, he wobbled, and his head spun with dizzying stars. He paused, reoriented himself. He took a quick look around and one of the first things he spotted was a cell phone. He picked it up, groaned as he bent for it. He was mistaken. It was only most of a phone.

  “No phone,” she croaked. She coughed. “There’s no phone.”

  She rested her head back and closed her eyes.

  Lewis stood at the bottom of the stairs. Whatever had happened down there, he thought, might still be waiting somewhere in the house. He gave one more look around the room before starting up. He stepped in something wet on one of the stair planks and ignored it. Each step was its own trial. He leaned from side to side—left, right, left, right—hands on either side of him for balance. He reached the top of the stairs and, without much pause, saw the open front door—sunlight slanted through—and hurried for it. As he approached the doorway he felt the afternoon warmth move up his legs, his torso, until he was standing in it, shielding his eyes. He’d forgotten how bright it could be. Enough to cause the pounding in his head to solidify into something more constant, something sickening.

  Too much, too soon.

  Eyes guarded under his hand, he moved out onto the porch. Not anticipating his own weight he nearly collapsed down the first step. Eyes peeled, he shuffled onto the lawn. The world was alive with sound. Ordinary sound. Extraordinary sound. The vibrant green of the grass took his breath away. He lowered his hand, eyeing the street, the surrounding neighborhood. Anyone, anybody. A passing car. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “Hey!” but his voice was weak and hoarse. It drove on. As it passed, his attention was drawn to the neighbor’s yard, where an older man was coming out of his garage with a rolled-up hose in hand. Lewis staggered toward him. He waved his arms. The old man looked up and stopped in his tracks.

  “I need help,” Lewis said. “Someone’s hurt.”

  “Are you all right?” the old man asked.

  Voice cracking, Lewis exclaimed, “Someone’s been hurt!”

  The old man appeared flustered, panicked. “Who?”

  “Call an ambulance! Please…”

  The old man took a couple steps backwards, then made a run for the front door. Lewis turned back to the house, hurried inside. On his way toward the basement stairs something caught his eye. A framed picture resting face up on the coffee table. He only glanced for a second and that was enough to recognize her.

  He loomed over the photo. She smiled up at him. He’d never seen her smile before. Everything came together for him then, even though he’d had the pieces already. It was as he had figured—the curse. He thought it possible it could be many other people, though the reasons he could guess seemed petty in comparison to this. This was deserving, he thought. He couldn’t blame them.

  Weighed down by his own heart, he returned to the basement and found the young woman just as he’d left her. She was still alive. She opened her eyes when she heard the stairs creaking under his feet.

  “Help should be coming.” He knelt next to her. “How bad is it?”

  She moved her hands so he could see where she was soaked in blood. Besides that, it was hard to tell, and he didn’t think he could handle getting a better look. Her face was white and dull like soap.

  “How do you feel?” Lewis asked.

  Her voice was a bit stronger than before. “Like I’ve been shot.”

  Lewis removed his shirt. He bundled it up, put it to her stomach, and moved her hands over it.

  “Hold that there. I think that should… help.”

  She did, and she was alive enough, it seemed, to keep a firm hold on it.

  Lewis found himself staring at her, and only noticed how long he’d been staring when she opened her eyes and stared right back.

  “I can’t believe…” She paused. “…it worked,”

  She closed her eyes, swallowed, and said nothing. Lewis wasn’t sure what she meant. Maybe it didn’t matter, he thought.

  He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

  She took a deep breath of air, held it. When she let it out, her entire body shuddered.

  “This wasn’t you,” she said. She gave a tiny groan, shimmied in place. “I did this… to myself.”

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

  She nodded. “My mom… did this to you.” She paused, gathered some strength. “She wanted… to take it back…”

  He looked toward the stairs, thinking he’d heard something. There was nothing. Any moment he expected to hear sirens, but it was quiet as far as he could tell. He was becoming jumpy with anticipation.

  She nudged her chin toward the cardboard box sitting next to them. “Yours. Some letters… your wallet, I think.”

  He regarded it plainly. “How long have I been here?” he asked.

  She had to think—had to build herself up. “… couple weeks.”

  Lewis had another question but hesitated. The answer might not have been good for either of them. “Where is she? Your mom.”

  She took her time responding again, and in coming up with her answer she appeared increasingly pained by the effort. After enough of that, all she could do was shrug. Lewis’s heavy heart grew heavier still.

  They waited a minute more in silence. The longer they waited, the greater his fear creeped up on him—the idea he was in the last place he should be. He was a murderer, after all. He was in his victim’s home. Whether or not the violence that had taken place in his absence had anything to do with him directly, he couldn’t help feeling like he must be responsible somehow.

  “You should go,” she said. The next breath she let out was thin and ragged as a breeze. “Take your stuff and go.”

  Truth be told, he considered it. He left her, grabbed his wallet and his keys from off the ground. He slipped them into the pockets of the sweats he’d been dressed in. It would have been the easiest thing, he thought. He could run upstairs, go around to a back door, maybe. He could leave and they’d never know he’d been there.

  “Hide that box,” she said. It was full of letters. “I won’t tell.”

  Her head was turned to watch him, blinking slowly, exhausted. She knew he thought about it. Of course he thought about it. He continued thinking about it, amongst other things. He scooted the box away into the corner of the basement next to several others.

  Now’s your chance.

  That was the last thing she’d said to him in that other world, he thought. But this wasn’t what she meant.

  He went to the young woman again, kneeled next to her, checked the rolled-up shirt and saw it was soaking up plenty of blood. Her hands were merely sitting on top of it now. He looked around them, looking for anything else that could help. He had no idea what he was looking for.

  “Here,” he said, and he held it down himself. She winced. Another deep breath. After a moment of holding it for her, she relaxed again. “I’m so sorry.” His words trembled. “Your sister… I…”

  In the distance, wailing sirens. They’d arrived. Very quiet, their whining. Growing closer, louder.

  “Tell them you found me…” Her wide, enduring stare was urgent. “I don’t know you.” With a bloody hand she reached up and wiped his forehead. He cringed, leaned away.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Now it looks like nothing,” she said. He didn’t know what she meant.
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  In no time, they were there. He listened as multiple cars pulled up, the slamming of car doors. He remained next to her, watching her watching him. He thought over the last two weeks of hell he’d endured, and recognized the hell she was currently in, the hell he’d left her in, and her mother. Soon there were people upstairs, heavy boots stomping overhead. Police and medics. They announced themselves, called into the house.

  With a voice he barely recognized, he called back.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aftermath

  There were a few seconds of confusion when she opened her eyes and her brain couldn’t remember where she’d been last, where she was meant to be now. The room was strange, her place in it stranger. It was dimly lit, dark almost. Just as it started to come back to her, and as she started realizing why everything smelled so sterile and old and plastic, she noticed the man sitting in the chair next to her and her confusion only heightened.

  “It’s you,” she said.

  He sat forward. “It’s me.”

  He was smiling, which was the damnedest thing. She hadn’t seen him do that in the longest time. Even before Joy died, he hadn’t been happy. Not as far as she could tell. But he appeared happy now, which was incredible because she knew there was nothing to be happy about. She knew the worst of it. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe no one had discovered the disaster that was her home, or the tragedies therein.

  At remembering that, she fell apart.

  “Hey…” he said, and she targeted his attempt to comfort her from miles away. It was not the time for comfort. Shouldn’t he know that?

  “I saw them, Calvin,” she said. “I saw both of them.”

  “Saw who?”

  “I was dying, and they both came to me. Joy was there, and Lara was there, too, and I knew. Oh, I knew…”

  “Catherine.” His arm was on hers. “Lara’s fine.”

  Well, then, she must be dreaming. The tears that had started refused to stop, and she refused to believe.

  “She was there. Rob shot her and I wasn’t there to—”

  “Lara. Is. Fine.” He emphasized each word, and his resting hand squeezed her tighter and tighter, hurrying to get through to her before she got any more worked up. “She’s here, alive. She was in the ICU for a couple days, but she’s stabilized now.”

  She held his gaze, disbelieving, and after a moment when it finally started sinking in, when she realized it wasn’t a dream, that he wasn’t lying to her or confused himself, she closed her eyes and melted into her hospital bed with relief. It was impossible, she thought. But if he insisted…

  “You probably saw the people who found you and called for an ambulance. I spoke with them, apparently they knew you.”

  Her eyes snapped open. “What?”

  “Yeah, I forget what she said her name was. Jennifer? She said you give her daughter piano lessons?”

  A strange sensation washed over her, drizzled between the grooves of her brain like sizzling ice. Surreal.

  “Kellie…” she muttered.

  “She said it was her daughter who sent you off the road. You weren’t driving, though.”

  “My god…”

  “Seeing as the accident didn’t kill you, or the sickness you had when they brought you in, you could almost say she saved your life sending you down that ravine. The man you were with… Robert? They told me he died in the accident. Who knows what might have happened if he hadn’t. What was the story with him?”

  Catherine had nothing to say, she was too busy processing. Her eyes were fixated coldly on her lap, blinking stupidly.

  “You there?” Calvin asked.

  “Oh… sorry. He was Lara’s boyfriend… or friend, or something. You saw him in her car earlier, I think? He wanted to steal money from me.”

  “Hmm. I know this sounds bad to ask, but was Lara involved in that?”

  Catherine shrugged. “I guess. It’s more complicated than that. I mean, I’m not angry with her…” Explaining everything to Calvin felt too strenuous, too tedious. Maybe another day. “How long has it been?”

  “Today’s the third day. They said you were incredibly sick when you arrived. Flu-like symptoms, but they couldn’t say for sure. You were severely dehydrated. They did all they could to keep you going until eventually… I guess you started recovering. Your fever’s gone. You’ve been in and out of consciousness, but with all the meds, never for long. This isn’t the first time we’ve talked, actually, but I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You weren’t really there, you know? Do you remember seeing Ned at all?”

  “Huh? Ned?”

  “Beth’s husband. It was the craziest thing. I ran into him yesterday, when I was here to see you. Beth was here, too. As a patient, I mean. They released her last night.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Ned said she was sick the same as you. He wondered if maybe you both got food poisoning or something. You were a little out of it when he was here, so you didn’t say much. Worst case of food poisoning I ever saw, if he was right. Anyway, yeah, I think Beth is recovered as well.”

  Catherine was immeasurably grateful to hear it. If anything had happened to her, she didn’t think she’d ever forgive herself. It almost felt too good to be true, that nobody she cared about suffered due to her idiocy. She needed a moment to take it all in—the relief.

  “When can I see Lara? I want to see her.”

  “She’s okay, I promise. She asked me to keep an eye on you, and to tell you she was all right. You should both be resting. Apparently you were close to dying yourself.”

  Catherine exhaled through pursed lips, turned her head toward the window next to her bed. The curtains were dark. Then she remembered something else. Her body jolted at the thought. It was just as she was about to ask, that Calvin spoke almost as though having read her mind.

  “I know it all seems horrific, and it is… but all things considered, the both of you were incredibly lucky. They only got to Lara in time thanks to some random passerby who noticed something was wrong. Can you believe that?”

  “Who?” Catherine blurted. “I mean… how did they find her? Who was it?”

  “A young guy, I guess. Saw the front door open and nobody around. Went to check and I guess he heard Lara downstairs, calling for help.”

  “Was that… was there anyone else? Anyone with Lara?”

  Calvin wrinkled his brow. “No, I don’t think so. Who else do you mean?”

  Catherine was flustered. Luckily her medicated drowsiness masked it.

  “I don’t know. I just… Where is he now? The man who found her?”

  “I have no idea. Lara said she’d never seen him before. Just turned up. And if he hadn’t, who knows how long she’d have waited for help down there. Maybe no one would have helped her. Isn’t that crazy?”

  Catherine nodded. “So he’s gone, then?”

  “Yeah. I think they asked him some questions and let him go.”

  Catherine didn’t want to say any more. It was a lot of news for her mind to chew, but at that last notion she finally felt the first swell of relief in her chest. She’d forgotten what it felt like to take a full breath of air. She let it out slowly. It was almost over, she thought. It was ending. She didn’t know the details of what she’d done to him, and she might never know. He was alive, at least. And so was she. So was Lara. There they all were, back to the start. Although it wasn’t just that. Things would be different now, too, somehow. Something was changed. She wouldn’t be able to put her finger on it for weeks to come, but already she felt it, saw it, breathed it. It was intoxicating.

  Hopefully one day he would come to feel it, too.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Catherine parked her car and waited. She rolled her windows down, though it was almost too hot for even that to help. She fanned herself, turning this way and that, waiting. In her rearview, the restaurant doors opened and a young couple carried their Korean barbecue takeout to their car.

  “Where are you…” Catherine sa
id, sweat dripping from her temples.

  Not long after, the very car she couldn’t wait to see pulled into the parking lot. She could barely make Beth out behind the wheel as she swung into an empty spot, her windows glared by sunlight. Catherine jumped out, slammed her door shut behind her, and nearly skipped across the blacktop toward her best friend’s car. As Beth climbed out, she hardly had time to shut her door before Catherine threw her arms around her.

  “Woah!”

  “Oh my god, oh my god,” Catherine said. She squeezed her tight, both their sweaty bodies displeased by the contact. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you, too!”

  Catherine hugged her a moment longer. When they separated, she held her at arm’s length.

  “I know we already talked on the phone, but I just can’t tell you enough how glad I am you’re all right. I’m… I’m just so glad to actually see you all right.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad to see you too!” They stood smiling at one another, until Beth gestured toward the restaurant. “But can we please get the hell inside. I’m going to melt.”

  They headed in, where they were promptly seated and handed their menus.

  “I thought you didn’t like this place since last time?”

  “I don’t,” Catherine said. “But I know you do.”

  Smiling, Beth rolled her eyes. “All right, I guess. If you say so.”

  Catherine couldn’t take her eyes off her, and after the third time looking up from her menu, Beth couldn’t ignore it.

  “Listen, I’m flattered, but I’m not on the menu.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I know. I’m just…”

  “Really happy. I get it. So am I.”

  Catherine opened her menu finally, knowing she wouldn’t care much for anything she saw.

  “I still feel so guilty about everything… I don’t know what I’d do if anything truly bad had happened to you.”

  “Well stop feeling guilty. I’m fine. I mean… for the most part.”

  “For the most part?”

  Beth shrugged. “I still hear things sometimes. Not as often as before, and not as… loud. Better than it was, at least. I already told you that.”