The Bones of Summer (28 page)

“How long have you been here?” he asked, the darkness seeming to give him permission to speak.

“A while. Waiting for you to wake.”

“Why don't you turn the light on?”

“Soon. But not yet. I am waiting on the Lord. I do not yet know how He wishes me to proceed.”

“Is he here then? The Lord?”

Craig's father laughed. “He is always here. He watches you always, to see if you are doing good or not. He has always watched you, Daniel. From the moment of birth until now. In spite of my best efforts, he has found you wanting. But now, well I think now there is hope. Your penitence appears more honest than your mother's would ever have been.”

The mention of his mother brought Craig's head up sharply and he heard the gasp hissing between his clenched teeth. “What do you mean? Did—did you
kill
her? She never left at all, did she? Not in the way you told it.”

The shape in front of him drew away and the low humming began. He knew he had to wait it out until the noise stopped if he was going to get any kind of reply he could make sense of. While he waited, the chair underneath his buttocks seemed to become harder and more unforgiving, and the air turned colder. All the time, his mind was racing for a way to take in what might have happened, a way to connect with his father. He had to find something that would reach him. Either way,
he had to know.

When next there was a pause in the humming, he took his chance.

“Please,” he said, “if you tell me, then I can learn from ... from her mistakes. I want to know salvation. I need to be accepted by the Lord.”

His father sighed. “You don't know how much I have longed to hear you say that. I pray to my God that you are telling me the truth. Are you, Daniel, my son? Are you telling me the truth?”

The answer came fully formed into his mind. “Yes. I have the words of the Lord in me now. I have to tell the truth.”

“That is true,
yes
, that is true.” His father's voice rose in pitch and speed as he continued to speak. “Out of the mouths of babes and children.... Yes. Not like your mother. No, she never told me the truth. I watched her try to ruin you. I saw how much you loved her, the effect she had on you, how she lied for you, tried to protect you from the punishment you needed. She wanted to leave me, I knew it. She'd even talked to Andrea about it. It was easy enough to find out her plans. I couldn't let that happen. If she'd left me, the Fellowship would have counted it as my sin. I knew what I had to do. To save you both. The Lord told me what I must do and how to do it, and I obeyed Him. It is good that one man die for the sake of the people. Oh yes, yes, it is good.”

Everything then in Craig's head turned to crimson. He couldn't catch his breath properly as the pictures he'd kept in his thoughts, all the jagged pieces of the puzzle, began to slot slowly into place. His eyes filled with tears but his voice, when he was able to speak, was as calm as stone.

“You killed her then,” he said. “I'm right. You killed my mother.”

“I
saved
her,” his father replied. “She needed salvation. She was walking the path to hell, in danger of losing her faith. Because of what I did, she's in heaven now. I saved her, Daniel, and I'm going to save you.”

Once more his father stepped forward and touched him on the face. More than anything, Craig wanted to flinch away from his fingers but something inside told him not to. As his father's hand stroked his cheek and wiped away his tears, another slow realization began to form in his mind.

He opened his eyes. He needed to know. This time for sure.

“Tell me,” he said quietly. “Did you kill Michael, the man I met here on the farm? The man you found me with seven years ago?”

His father laughed. “Of course. I must sweep aside all the obstacles in your path to keep you on the right way. If you hadn't left, then by now my task would be complete and the Lord would be pleased.”

Craig nodded. His body felt light, as if he were floating above in the room somewhere, looking down on them both. He glanced up at his father, the greater darkness in the shadow of the room.

“Let me go,” he said. “I'm ready now. For whatever the Lord wants.”

“Don't be a fool; don't try to deceive me. You must not add that to your sins. If I release you, you'll run and your only destination will be hell.”

“No. It won't. I won't run.”

There was a long silence. Then Craig heard the sound of footsteps padding away. A moment later, the light came on and he blinked with the shock of it. He felt his father's fingers under his chin, lifting his head.

“Tell me again.”

“I'm ready,” Craig repeated. “I won't run from you. This isn't some weird thriller where I get tied up and someone has to rescue me, is it? That isn't going to happen. This is real life. Anyway, you're not going to kill me. You never wanted to, did you? If you did, you would have done it before now. You just wanted to save me. To frighten me into being saved. And you've succeeded in that. I'm terrified. My mouth feels like sand and I can't stop shaking. But you want to talk, and so do I. So untie me and we'll talk. I won't run; I'm not capable of running. Or fighting. You only have to look at me to see the truth of that.”

When Craig finished speaking, he felt out of breath. He didn't know if his father would believe him—but it was the truth, all of it. Neither did he have the strength to force any more words through his throat. His mouth was too clogged with them.

“All right,” his father said at last. “All right.”

It was the work of a few moments only for his father to release him from the chair. He kept the rifle trained on Craig throughout. Then he retied his son's hands in front of him with the rope.

“Please,” Craig whispered. “I need some water again. The ... the Lord can't do his work in me while I'm thirsting like this.”

A long silence. Then his father reached for the water bottle once more. Placed it on the carpet in front of Craig.

“Drink then,” he grunted.

Trying to lift the bottle made Craig's arms shake and he dropped it. His father muttered something under his breath. He took the bottle, unscrewed it, lifted Craig's face upward and placed the top of the bottle into his mouth. Just as he had before.

This time, for a few seconds Craig found he couldn't swallow, then instinct kicked in and he sucked at the now-warm water. There wasn't much left but it tasted like the best drink in the world. All the time, he could hear his father muttering, perhaps even praying, but tried to ignore him.

When the water was finished, his father pulled Craig to his feet, using the rope. From necessity Craig swayed against him, saving himself from falling by clinging to his arm.

In spite of his promises, he could try to run. Get out of here. Or push his father over, grab the rifle, overpower him. Ring the police. But he knew he wouldn't do any of those things. He wanted to see this through to the end. Come what may.

Without warning, his father pushed Craig in the side. He took a step away. His father pushed again. Another step. They were heading toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Craig panted and his father grimaced at him, spittle flecking the edges of his mouth.

“Talk,” he said. “You wanted to
talk
.”

They continued their journey. Downstairs, his father pulled open the front door.

“The truth lies outside,” he whispered.

Shivering in the winter air now filling the hallway, and unable to stop, Craig's answer came out staccato. “All
right. Where
then?”

His father laughed, a harsh sound. “We talk at the hill.”

“I-I can't talk, or listen, if-if I'm cold. You have t-to get me something to wear. To k-keep me warm.”

“No,” his father said. “It's part of your suffering. The Lord has decreed it.”

So, naked and shivering, Craig followed his father out into the yard, the rope tugging on his hands. The full moon lit up the dark hump of Andrea's body and he had to turn away to avoid gagging. His father didn't even seem to notice.

The two men turned toward the hill, Craig following wherever his father led. The moon made it easier, once his eyes got used to the gloom. He could sense the old man's purpose; he was walking his own path to a kind of conclusion now. Then, perhaps, Craig would know it all in full. What had happened to his mother. And Michael. What his father had done to them.

On the slow climb up the hill, thorns snatched at his bare legs and the ground was chill and slippery beneath his feet.
Frost,
he thought. There'd be a frost tomorrow. He wondered if he'd live to see it, and then whether it mattered.

Finally, they reached the top. The last time he'd been here had been with Paul. And before that, years before, with Michael. Hands raw from the rope, he gazed into the valley of blackness. He couldn't stop shaking from the cold and perhaps from something else too.

“I killed him here,” his father said. “Here where you committed your sin and blasphemy against the Lord. He deserved to die, the
sodomite
, and you did too, but I pleaded with the Lord for you and he granted me your life.”

Briefly, Craig shut his eyes. “Tell me.”

His father began to talk as if he were speaking only to himself. Or to God. His words came out faster and faster as he continued to say them. “I knew something was happening. The way you would look at him, that sodomite Michael, when you thought no one could see you. Your whole body would light up, burning with sin and shame, and all the time you thought nobody noticed. Well, I noticed and God noticed. We saw how you had fallen into the snares of hell. I spent two whole nights praying for your soul, but still your heart was hardened. To the pure all things are pure, but to the evil all things are evil. I had to save you. So that afternoon, before I killed the man tempting you, I came home. I knew I had to speak to you, force you to give him up, but you weren't there. The tractor was abandoned and all the barns were empty. The cottage too.

“So I prayed to the Lord and he told me to come here. To the hillside. The place where you went to get away. To commit sin. I took the largest of the spanners you'd left near the tractor and I went in search of you. When I found you, you were lying with the man, naked and without shame. I knew then what I must do.”

Craig swallowed. He noticed his shivering had stopped and he could no longer feel the cold. It was as if he'd moved somewhere farther away, where cold and pain and even memory could no longer touch him.

“What did you do?” he asked. His voice didn't sound like his own. “After we fought?”

“You took the spanner,” his father replied. “You tried to use it against me. The sodomite got in the way. So you fell back and knocked yourself out against the tree. A blessing from the Lord. So again I took up the weapon I'd brought and I killed the tempter with it. Later you left our home and I knew that I must hand you over to Satan. The devil would have his way in your life and then, after that, you would return here. All would be well then, all would be well, all will be well.”

For a long moment, Craig felt as if his father was talking about something that had never happened at all. Or at least only to someone else. Then he began to cry. Quietly. The tears wet his cheeks but he didn't try to wipe them away.

“What did you do with Michael's body?” he whispered.

“You wouldn't wake up,” his father replied. “Not ‘til the morning. I took you home and put you to bed. Then I came back, when the night was dark enough for all sins to be covered, and buried him.”

“Where?”

“Why, here. Of course.”

“Here.” Craig groaned and sank to his knees. From somewhere outside himself, he became aware of the distant sound of cars. He wasn't sure but the noise of them might have been there for a while, and it was only now that he realized what it was. The sound of cars driving up to the farmyard below. He glanced at his father, but his face in the moonlight showed no concern. He was gazing out over the valley, lost in his own world.

Craig had to keep him from realizing. If his father thought someone else might be about to discover what had happened, Craig had no idea what he might do.

“Why did you bury him here, on the hill?” he said.

“The dog returns to his vomit,” his father intoned. “The sinner is unsaved so must lie in the fruits of his sin.”

"Michael wasn't a sinner. He didn't deserve to die."
Craig couldn't help himself. His heart was beating so fast that it was forcing the words out from within him. And he still had so many questions to ask. Now the farmyard was bereft of the noise of cars, but Craig could hear doors slamming and someone shouted. His father continued to pay the disturbance no heed.

Instead, without warning, the older man turned and slapped him. Hard. Taken by surprise, Craig fell, scrabbling in dirt and cold grass as words pierced the air around him.

“
Yes. He deserved to die
, but I am not unmerciful. No, I placed him where he'd be for always, until the great Day of Judgment. Just as I did with the deserter, the sinner who needed her sins purged. The woman
I made clean
.”

As his father continued to shout, standing over him and waving the rifle in his face, globules of spit fell on Craig's head and neck. At the same time, he could hear other shouts farther off, and then what might have been the sound of running. Boots on grass and gravel, rustling in the trees.

Finally, at the corner of his eye, only a few yards away, a shape.

Without looking, Craig could tell it was Paul. In spite of what had happened between them, he knew it was right for him to be here. Now.

Paul made a sudden movement and Craig turned toward him at last. His frame was a black shadow against the trees. He couldn't see anyone else with him, but there would be others. Somewhere.

“Stay there.” Craig's voice sounded as clear and calm as if this were a summer day, and not the middle of a winter night with no glimpse of morning. “It's okay. I'm fine.”

“Who's that?” His father spun around, striking out wildly at unseen enemies.
"Who's there?"