Silas: A Supernatural Thriller (12 page)

I would sit there for hours, until a crescent of the sun poked over the horizon. At that point I’d meander downstairs and cook Wendy breakfast. When she woke she’d eat her food and depart for
The Spinning Wheel.
We hardly spoke to each other, as if we’d used up the reservoir of well-wishes between us. Then, when she left, I’d lie down on the couch, allow Silas to wedge himself in the space between my legs, and get a couple hours of much-needed sleep.

This schedule did have its advantages, for the nightmares were absent during the day.

17

Come the end of July, a month and a half after my fateful discovery at the Mancuso farm, Wendy offered me her version of the Final Solution.

“Ken,” she said one night, handing me a manila envelope, “I want a divorce.”

I stared at the package in her hand. It seemed so meaningless. I grabbed the envelope, opened it, and flipped through the pages, feeling conflicted. We hadn’t discussed the future of our relationship in weeks, but I guess her resolution was inevitable. We’d become clandestine strangers existing in the same house, never sharing even the most innocuous of niceties. Although I understood this, I still felt a twang of panic. Things weren’t supposed to end this way.

“It isn’t right,” I said.

Wendy shook her head, but there were no tears in her eyes. “I know,” she said. “
You’re
not right, Kenny. You haven’t come back to work since…well, you know when. I’ve tried to be there, to help you. I really have. I suggested therapy and you said no. You’re shut off from me, from
everyone.
I mean, I could understand the seclusion if you were actually
working on getting better.
But you’re not. You’re wallowing. You just sit in that empty bedroom all night doing God knows what. It’s dragging
me
down, too. I can’t go on like this any more.”

“I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“
Sorry’s
not gonna cut it this time. Our whole history
together’s
been one huge roller coaster, only without the excitement. Trust me, I’ve wanted this to work as much as anyone. But it’s not. I love you, but you’ve gotta
want
to change, Kenny. That’s the only way this could work. But I don’t think you want to. Change, that is.”

“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I asked.

She pointed at the documents in my hand. “I have. I actually had those drawn up a year ago. Before the store opened. But things got better after your heart attack, so I held off. I’ve always had faith in us, but we’ve been stuck in a rut for ten years now. It’s been the same routine, day in and day out. I’m thirty years old, babe. I need to get on with my life. I want to have a
family
.”

I bowed my head. “So what happens now?”

“You sign the papers and let me go.”

“I see.” I felt a tear drip down my cheek and my strength abandoned me. “Do I have to do it right now?” I asked. “Can it wait a couple days?”

“I guess so,” Wendy sighed. She seemed so cold in that moment, so unfeeling. “Think it over. If you decide you want to make an effort, then fine. We’ll see if I’m up for it…eventually. But I still think we need a break from each other.”

“You mean a
break-up
?”

Wendy twirled on her heels and walked away without answering. “I made up the bed in the spare room,” she shouted. For the first time that night I heard emotion in her voice. “You can sleep in there for a while if you can’t find another place to stay. You’ve been spending most of your time in there anyway, so it shouldn’t be that much of a stretch for you.”

Her feet pounded up the stairs. Silas, sprawled out on the floor in front of the dishwasher, lifted his head. He let loose with a disgusted-sounding snort and then put his head back down as if it wasn’t worth the effort.

“I’m with you, bud,” I said. I placed the unsigned documents on the counter, cracked a beer, and sat in silence for hours.

18

Despite the trauma infiltrating my personal life, I refused to let up my watch. Wendy and I stayed separate for the most part, keeping to opposite ends of the house. A simple deed like going to the bathroom became a practice in stealth, waiting until the toiled flushed and the water stopped running before poking my head out the door to make sure she was gone so I could make my move. The threatening papers sat unsigned on the kitchen counter, the same place I left them. The depth of my misery reached new lows and I seriously considered taking my own life on more than one occasion.

Whenever that thought came to mind, the stalwart guardian residing in my brain took over. It showed me Jacqueline’s pure visage and wouldn’t let me abandon her. I was glad for it, this passionate section of my being. It validated my existence and allowed me to dive into the mission with every scrap of energy I could muster.

Then, a week after Wendy told me she wanted a divorce, my paranoia seemed to pay off.

It was Thursday. I sat with Silas, perched at the window of the spare bedroom as usual, when, at
three o’clock
in the morning, a vehicle rolled down the street. It approached slowly, headlights glaring, creeping along with the sluggishness of a stoner. It was a van, and a big one at that. Its spectral appearance gave me the shivers.

Silas cocked his head ever so slightly and glanced at me sideways.

“I know, boy,” I whispered. Dread crept its way into the back of my throat and my insides twitched. “I hope it’s nothing.”

The van stopped in front of our house and I held my breath. It lingered there, threatening as a rabid wolf, before creeping forward, only to stop again when the Talbot mailbox came into view. I saw someone shuffling in the driver’s seat and I started shaking all over.

“Pull it together, Ken,” I mumbled, and glanced at Silas. He’d straightened, staring at me while his tail swooshed behind him, as if he expected me to go outside and play with him.
If he isn’t worried
, I thought,
then why am I?
The warring factions of my brain argued about what to do next.

The conclusion I came to, against my better judgment, was to check out the situation.

I crept through the house, careful not to disturb Wendy. Silas followed at my heels, silent as a burglar. After fastening the leash to his harness, I took a deep breath and twisted the doorknob. The metal felt colder than it should have. I opened the door and stepped out into the balmy night.

The van didn’t move as I approached. Its motor hummed, sounding like the grumbling stomach of a hungry lion. When I drew closer I noticed the decal on its side, glimmering in the moonlight.
STAFFORDVILLE HVAC SERVICE
, it read. Seeing the name of an actual business calmed my nerves a bit, though the tinted windows kept me on edge. I swallowed hard and rapped on the window.

The interior light clicked on and someone rolled down the window. A somewhat overweight man stared at me from inside the cab. He had thick muttonchops that ended just below his jaw and a pair of glasses rested on the tip of his nose. The guy looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while. His pudgy cheeks quivered as he chomped on a piece of gum. I stifled a chuckle. The stranger looked like Ricky Davenport’s blue-collar doppelganger. Even Silas, who’d approached the van as wary as I, seemed to ease a bit. His surly haunches dropped and he sat down on the blacktop.

“Hey, dude,” the guy in the van said. His words came out slurred because of the ungodly huge wad of gum in his mouth. He leaned forward, revealing a button-down gray shirt with the name
Nick Goodman
stitched above the right breast pocket. He looked at me with an odd expression, squinting like he couldn’t see me clearly.

“What can I do you for?” he asked.

“You’re parked in front of my house,” I replied. “Just curious why that is.”

The man named Nick laughed. His expression softened, as if he’d seen a ghost and finally realized it was only a coat rack. “Oh shit, sorry ‘bout that,” he said. “Just checking out the neighborhood.”

“Why?”

 
“Got a service appointment tomorrow morning. Electrician stuff.
Nine o’clock
sharp at
32 Chestnut Street
.” He handed me a yellow slip of paper with the company’s name on the header. Sure enough, the address and appointment were printed on it.

“So why are you here
now?
” I asked.

Nick grinned, and I found the gesture somewhat comforting. “Got a big case of insomnia over here,” he said. “Can’t sleep at night. And since I never been here before, I figured I’d take a drive and figure out where I gotta be. Thought what the hell, I ain’t sleeping anyway.”

“I know the feeling,” I said while shaking my head.

“You too, huh?” he said. The sound of his voice, slightly nasal yet gruff, like a redneck
Trekkie
, made me chuckle. “What’s so funny?” Nick asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just think it’s rather comical for me to be out here right now. I guess I’ve gotten paranoid in my old age.”

“What, you think I’m some
sorta
serial killer or something?”

“Sort of,” I said, nodding in embarrassment.

Nick smiled, wide and toothy. “Well hey, nowadays you can’t be too careful, right? You seem like a
nicely
fella
. Salt of the earth. Real. I don’t blame you.”

Silas shuffled out from behind me on four surprisingly wavering legs. His head swayed from side to side and he snorted as if he’d just woken up. He lifted his muzzle in Nick’s direction.

“That your dog?”

“Yup.”

“What’s his name?”

I petted the soft fur on top of my bud’s cranium. “Silas,” I replied.

Nick slapped his hand twice against the van door. A hollow thud echoed through the empty streets, rising above even the litany of insects engaged in their annual nighttime chatter. “
C’mere
, boy,” he said in a childlike tone. “Come to Uncle Nicky.”

Silas obliged, lifting himself up on unsteady rear legs and resting his front paws on the door. His tail wagged slowly and he stretched his thick neck to get closer to the one calling him.

“Good boy,” said Nick. He reached down and rubbed Silas beneath his jaw. “You’re a gorgeous animal,” he said, then turned his attention to me. “You must be one proud papa.”

I nodded.

“Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Nick the electrician declared after a few more lingering moments of Silas love. “I gotta be back here in a few hours. Should see if I can get some shut-eye.”

Silas dropped back down on all fours, meandered like he didn’t know where he was going, and then seemed to right himself, taking his usual position by my side. He was acting very strange. I passed it off to exhaustion.

“Okay then,” I said, offering a salute. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

“Same here,” Nick replied. He allowed me to step back before putting the van in gear, then winked at me and said, “See you soon, old friend.”

With that odd comment Nick the electrician drove off. The van again became a massive specter as it drove away. Its taillights looked like a pair of menacing, red-flashing eyes. Uncertainty came over me, a feeling akin to not remembering if I’d left the refrigerator door open, and I shivered. The night’s blackness closed in on me and I spun around, beating a quickstep to the front porch while dragging a still-sluggish Silas behind me.

Once inside, I unhitched the leash and made my way to the living room. I took off my sandals, collapsed in my recliner, and kicked up the footrest. Now in the safety of my own home, my frayed nerves began to settle.