Shadows Burned In (21 page)

“No, goddammit!”

The Trinity carried him along roughly. Kitts remembered the
cardboard armor still duct-taped to his arms and legs.

Why didn’t you throw it away, you retard?

It was soaked and weighing down his tired limbs.

Jesus, worse than Stu, stupid fuck
.

He struggled to stay afloat, trying to remove the soaked
cardboard from his arms. When the deadwood hit his forehead

crack

he fell backward in the water, forcing the air from his
lungs. Stunned by the blow, Kitts went under again. His old-man reflexes
betrayed him. His lungs demanded air, but only found the cold water of the
Trinity. His limbs faltered next, weighing him down as real panic set in, but he
thrashed toward the graying light of the surface. Struggling demanded energy
and energy demanded air, and the river in his lungs made him cough and gag,
drawing in more water.

For thirty seconds, maybe more, seizures hit him as Kitts
willed
his lungs to create oxygen from water. The pain in his side was nothing
compared to the burning desire for air and the certain knowledge his brain
would live as long as it could—God’s final, sick joke—knowing his body was
dying, aware of every moment slipping away from him. Kitts cursed God, Ramirez,
Stu, Death itself. Convulsions for air rocked him again. He clawed at the prism
of light flickering ever further away on the Trinity’s surface. Slices of the
moon taunted him like reflections off a blade.

Sinking, his fighting feeble now, he saw the faces of
children shimmering in the water. Every child he’d ever touched in secret.
Millicent from behind the convenience store. Four-eyed Brad, behind the stacks
in the library. Jimmy Schulenberg under the Little League grandstand. Others
whose names he didn’t even remember. They watched him from above, each pair of empty
eyes, as he slowly descended.

He expected them to laugh at him, to smile at least, finally
seeing justice served, the natural order of things restored. But their pale
faces, rippling in the river, simply stared—vacuous, silent witnesses. So Kitts
cursed them too, railed at them for not reveling in his death as he’d reveled
in their fear, for failing to appreciate the universe returning itself to balance
through his death.

As his body burned the last of the sugar in his bloodstream,
movement ceased. Kitts could no longer hear the roaring river. Instead, he
listened to the dull, slowing throb of the blood in his ears. At least the pain
in his side was gone. Kitts felt nothing now, nothing in his bones, not even
the iron chill of the river. His brain measured his last moments by the lazy thump
of his heart, slower, slower . . . slower. A dimming circle of darkness closed
in from the sides of his vision. The children with their staring eyes were gone,
replaced by

a catfish swimming close, brushing him with its whiskers

a grain of dirt hanging suspended in the water

a lone bubble of precious air escaping his motionless
lips

until they too washed out of existence, melding into the
gray curtain of the Trinity. The river itself, and the life it carried, seemed
to be moving away from him even as it bore him down.

He could hear nothing now. Feel nothing.

Silence.

Death.

Kitts stared down. The black circle at last enveloped his
vision. Yet still his brain functioned, aware of its own solitude in the void. Of
its own, absolute aloneness in death. God’s final, sick joke.

He planned to spit river water in God’s eye when he saw Him.
But his last conscious thought took even that small measure of satisfaction
away.

Ya won’t be seeing Him, Kitts
, his brain said in
Stu’s Czech accent. Then oblivion swallowed him whole.

Chapter 19

“What do you think ghosts are?” asked Elizabeth. When the
old man had suggested they talk of Old Suzie and ghosts, Michael hadn’t looked too
enthusiastic. A long silence had followed as Elizabeth glanced at Michael and
Michael glanced at Elizabeth and they both looked at Rocky, who stared back,
waiting for one of them to begin. So Elizabeth had.

“Well,” said the old man, “I don’t rightly know. Some folks
think they’re the spirits of the departed hanging around because they either
don’t know they’re dead or they don’t want to admit it. Others say they’re just
recordings on the fabric of time.”

“What does
that
mean?” Michael asked, perplexed.

“Well,” the old man said, rubbing his chin, “you see, all
living things create an electromagnetic field. Your brain runs on electricity.
Thoughts fire off, travel around your brain. When you burn your finger, your
skin sends an electrical impulse to your brain and you register pain, so you
pull your finger away from what burned it.”

“We learned about that in life science class,” Elizabeth
said. “Electro-something-mical reactions and all that stuff.”

“But what does that have to do with ghosts?” asked Michael.

“I’m getting to that. You see, electricity is energy. Like
fire, another form of energy. You ever see any pictures of Japan after the
Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs?”

“The
what
bombs?” the children asked in unison.

The old man just looked at them. “You mean to tell me they
don’t teach you about World War II anymore?”

Michael said, “Ohhhhhhhhhh. That’s when the U.S. and those
other countries fought the Germans.”

“Right.”

“To free the Jews.”

“Um . . . well, that happened, yes. But not just to free—oh,
never mind. But the Allies—that’s what the U.S. and their friends were called,
by the way—didn’t just fight the Germans. They also fought the Japanese.”

“Oh,” said Michael, still a little confused. “Yeah, they
make great anime.”

Again Rocky stared a moment, reflecting Michael’s expression.
“
Anyway
, to end the war, the U.S. dropped atomic bombs on Japan. Do you
know what atomic bombs are?”

“No. I guess we haven’t gotten to those in history yet,” offered
Elizabeth.

“Yes, well, the atomic bomb was the most terrible weapon
devised for its time. When an A-bomb exploded, everything for miles around was
leveled. And the people were vaporized.”

“Vaporized?” Michael sounded like he was pronouncing the word
for the first time. “Like with lasers?”

“Sort of. They disappeared. They left only one thing
behind.”

Michael and Elizabeth leaned forward, wrapping themselves
around the old man’s words.

“
Shadows
.”

The children’s eyes grew wider.

“You can still see them today in the cities. Shadows burned
right into the concrete by the energy of the bombs. Prone, screaming, totally
surprised, disbelieving of their own deaths. Impressions from their present on
ours, like there was no time in between.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and pictured what he described,
making a mental note to go back through her history files and search the Web
for photos. She wondered how they’d compare to what she’d created in her head.

“And you think that’s what ghosts are?” she asked after a
moment. “Leftover images?”

“That’s one way to describe them,” he said, nodding. “Or
maybe they really are just people that don’t realize they’re dead yet trying to
go on with their normal lives. Waking up every morning, making their breakfast,
doing their daily business, and going to bed every night. Or maybe they’re just
people who
know
they’re dead and don’t
want
to be. Maybe they
don’t want to go to the afterlife because they know what’s waitin for ’em.
Nobody really knows for sure. What do
you
think they are?”

“I think they’re evil,” offered Michael, glancing at the hidden
corners of the parlor.

“Evil?” Rocky asked. “Why?”

“Because they scare people,” said Michael. “They wait till
it’s dark and everyone’s asleep and then they wake up and walk around the house
and
creak!
on the stairs and
scrip-scrape!
in the attic and scare
you. If they weren’t evil, they wouldn’t try to scare you like that.” His voice
confirmed he’d just delivered an indisputable fact.

“Is that so?” asked the old man.

“Yep.”

Rocky nodded a dubious acknowledgment. “What do you think,
Elizabeth?”

She glanced at Michael from beneath her eyelashes, then
looked away. She didn’t want to disappoint him. “I dunno.”

“Sure you do. You know what you think, anyway. What do you
think of Old Suzie then?”

Oh, great. Michael will hate me for this
. “I think
she wasn’t so bad. Just a lonely old woman trying to find something happy in
life when there wasn’t very much happy in it for her. I dunno.”

“But she was a witch!” Michael exclaimed.

“How do you know that?” asked Rocky.

“Well—because—that’s what everybody says.”

“Uh-huh.” The old man turned to Elizabeth, asking, “So what
do you think Old Suzie’s ghost is like? If there
is
one, you understand.
Not that I’ve ever
seen
her ghost, let’s just be clear on that.”

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” prompted the old
man.

She rolled her eyes the way kids do when they have to do
something for an adult but they want the adult to know they don’t
want
to
do it. “I dunno. I guess she has a nice ghost.”

“A nice ghost?” Michael was staring at her, trying to
comprehend blasphemy.

“Yeah. I mean, if she was looking for happiness in life,
maybe she’s looking for happiness in death too.”

Rocky seemed to consider that, the sides of his mouth
curling up a bit.

Michael looked dumbfounded. “What’re you talkin about?”

“I think she disagrees with you about what ghosts are really
like,” said the old man. Elizabeth was looking at the floor, the ceiling,
anywhere but Michael’s face. “I think she thinks ghosts can be good too, not
just evil. Is that about right, Elizabeth?”

She shrugged her shoulders, sure she had disappointed
Michael. “I guess,” she muttered.

“So, if ghosts are good,” said Michael, “how come everyone
thinks they’re evil?”

The old man rubbed the grizzle on his chin. “Well, that’s a
good question. Not
all
ghosts are good, mind you.”

“A-
ha
!
There
, see?”

“But Michael, some
are
. Some are good, some are bad.
Just like people. I mean, think about it. Ghosts are just used-to-be people,
after all.”

“But Suzie was good,” said Elizabeth. “Basically, I mean. People
just thought bad
of
her.”

The old man smiled openly at that. “That’s a great point. Kinda
like when you first came into this house, you were scared. Then, after we
talked for a while—after you got to know the house, you might say—you weren’t
afraid of it anymore, were you?”

Elizabeth looked around the parlor, over her shoulder to the
kitchen with the cockroaches, at the stairs leading to the second floor’s
unexplored rooms and whatever hid in them. “No,” she said timidly. “I guess
not. Not really.” But Elizabeth seemed not entirely convinced.

“Do all bad people become bad ghosts? Why don’t all good
people just automatically go to Heaven?”

The old man leaned back in his chair, stretching out. “Now
that’s
a big load of questions in a little bit of words!” He brushed off the knees
of his coveralls and the dust hung in the firelight. “No, to answer your first
question, Michael, I doubt all bad people become bad ghosts. Some see the error
of their ways, I imagine. Again, kinda like living people do in life. And some
good people lose it when they die—just go off the deep end. Become bad ghosts.
As to your other question, I can’t answer that.”

“I always thought of God as Gandalf,” said Elizabeth out of
nowhere.

Rocky raised an eyebrow. “Gandalf?”

“He’s a crazy old wizard in an old 3V adventure,” said
Michael. “He wears long robes and has a long, white beard and gets mad at
people too easily, but he also has a lot of patience with them in the end. All
in all, he’s pretty cool. He does magic.”

The old man laughed and said, “Well, that’s about as good a
description as any, I suppose.”

“Gandalf
isn’t
crazy,” Elizabeth said.

“She likes to pretend she’s a heroine in her own 3V game,”
Michael explained, “named Elsbyth.”

“Michael!”

The boy retreated.

“Elsbyth?” wondered the old man.

Elizabeth flitted her eyes at Rocky, a little embarrassed at
having to explain her fantasy. “She’s who I’d most like to be,” she said
simply. “I feel like I can do anything when I’m her.”

“Is Old Suzie’s ghost here?” asked Michael, trying to change
the subject.

“Not at the moment,” the old man said, casting his eyes
about for Michael’s benefit. “Would you like me to call her?”

“No.” The word was quick, precise, and entirely audible.

Rocky said, “Well, just let me know. Maybe I can dig her up
for you.”

Michael swallowed hard and Elizabeth elbowed him in the side
to tell him it was all right, it was just a joke. Michael smiled sheepishly
with a look on his face that said,
Yeah, I know, I was in on it all the
time. I was just playing along, y’know, pretending to be scared
.

“I would’ve liked to have known her,” said Elizabeth.

The words died on the walls, and then there was silence. A
breeze, fresh from the north, passed from the front to the back of the house.
It sounded like someone settling down to rest after a long, work-filled day.

“I think you
do
know her,” said the old man.

Michael looked from one to the other, uncomprehending again.
Elizabeth was playing with a leaf on the floor, crunching it between two
fingers, folding it, then unfolding it and staring at the new leaf lines lit by
the crackling glow of the fire. Rocky was sitting back in his armchair, face
hidden again.

“If Suzie was such a good person,” Michael finally asked,
“then why didn’t she go to Heaven?”

Elizabeth was silently grateful for the question. She’d been
wondering it herself. Good ghosts didn’t make any sense. Good spirits should go
to Heaven automatically. Right?

“Oh yeah, your second question. Well now, that’s a poser,”
said the old man. “Maybe to get into Heaven she had to find in death what she
couldn’t in life, like Elizabeth said. Still looking for that happiness before
moving on. But we’re not even sure Suzie’s ghost is here. Are we?”

Elizabeth looked up. “I’m sure.”

Rocky leaned forward so she could see his eyes. “Really? And
what makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “I just know.”

He shrugged in return and sat back again. “Sometimes that’s
all you’ve got.”

“I wonder what it takes to get into Heaven,” said Michael.

“Another poser!” said the old man. “Well, it’s always been
my philosophy—and I’m just speaking for myself now, you understand, ’cause you
can’t tell nobody nothin about religion
or
politics—that there’s a great
big book up there. God keeps track of how many times you made other people
smile and how many times you made ’em sad, like a pros-and-cons list. And if
the pros outweigh the cons, you’re in.”

Elizabeth turned her head to the side. “You really think
it’s that simple?”

He nodded. “Most things are simpler than people try to make
’em, once you strip away all the fooferall.”

“So God judges you by how many people liked you when you
died?”

“Not quite, Michael. For me, it’s kinda like a tug of war,
and your soul is tied in the middle of the rope. All those lives you touched in
a positive way come together and pull one way, making a light that leads you to
Heaven. And if you were just awful to more people than that, well, they pull
you the other way. The light gets blotted out by the blackness. Kinda like an
eclipse.” He leaned forward again as he said the last few words and blinked his
eyes at them, as if bringing himself out of a trance. “Sorry, kids. Didn’t mean
to preach.” He chuckled at that. “No sir, not for a minute. That’s just what I
think.”

“That’s what I said, Sheriff. She ran away this morning,
came back, and now she’s gone
again
.” David Jackson’s voice was tired.
He
was tired.

Sheriff Larry Applewhite put another check next to the
comment he’d written in his notebook and nodded. He saw this kind of thing all
the time. A child, spouse, or relative runs away from home only to turn up a
few hours later. Unless it was a child, he usually waited for twenty four hours
before beginning a search, and then only after an official report had been
filed. As it was, Jackson had called him at home and asked him to come out
because his daughter was missing. Since she was a child, he’d come right over.
Preliminary questioning had determined that Elizabeth had been dismissed from
school earlier in the day and taken a walking tour around town, probably to
wear off her own anxiety over the school thing. After that had come to a head,
she’d run away again.