The Devil in Canaan Parish (21 page)

“Palmer, I guess it isn’t a secret how I feel about you.”

I blinked, unsure of where this was going.

“That being said, you are Sally’s husband and the father of her unborn child, and so I do extend to you the respect and courtesy that is your due.”

I waited a moment for him to continue.
 
He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, and he closed his eyes briefly and then opened them to stare at me again.

“But I want you to know that I love Sally.
 
I’ve always loved her, and I don’t apologize for that.
 
I can’t love her more than as a dear sister now, I know that, but I love her just the same, and I would do anything in my power to protect her, do you understand?
 
Anything.”

I nodded, too confused to think.

“And I don’t apologize for that either. Do you get me?”

“Yeah, I get you.” I lied.

“Good, glad we got that straight.”
 
And with that, Blanchard turned on his heel and headed back to his children.

I could only guess at what Blanchard meant and chalked it up to yet another thinly veiled threat of what he would do to me were he to find out I had ever hurt Sally in any way.
 
I shuddered to think of what he might do if he knew what Sally had endured over the past few months, and slowly, I began to realize myself that she had been through an ordeal.
 
As much as I had hated her, what I did was criminal.
 
I was beginning to wonder if I had caused irreparable damage to Sally’s mind.
 
It could be the only explanation for the madness that was happening at my house. Never would I have ever dreamed that Sally would accept another woman’s child, especially from someone whom she considered little more than dirt, and yet here she was, already maternal, wrapping a protective shield around Melee and the baby that I knew I would never penetrate.
 
It was just too strong.

The last floats from the parade passed by and then it was at an end.
 
The crowd dispersed, milling back into the center of the town square and getting ready for the music and dancing that would stretch on late into the night.
 
I, on the other hand, had lost my appetite for fun.
 
Instead I began to make my way back home. Feeling as though I needed to get some fresh air, I decided to walk.

It was a warm night for February, even for South Louisiana. The trees were already beginning to pollinate, and I saw a thin film of green covering the cars I passed along the way. The azaleas were just beginning to bloom. I felt the balmy air close around me, and it did not clear my mind.
 
Rather it seemed to press against me, crowding my thoughts back into my head. I could not stop thinking about Sally, Melee and this strange child with two mothers. I didn’t know if I could love it because it didn’t truly seem to be mine.
 
I had served my purpose in making it grow in Melee’s womb and now it belonged only to her and to Sally, and I felt that my relationship with it would always be immaterial.

As I neared my house, I saw Gabriel Johnson coming out of my driveway on his bicycle.
 
I was surprised to see him, once again.
 
It was, after all, a holiday, and I hadn’t asked him to do any projects around my house lately.

“Hey Gabe,” I called to him as he pedaled up to me.

“Hey Mr. Bram, how was the parade?” He pulled his bike up and stopped, one foot on either side.

“Oh, fine,” I answered.
 
“How have you been?”

“Real good, sir, real good,” he grinned at me.

“Came by to visit Melee again?”

“Yes sir, she uh, well she’s my friend, sir.” He shifted a bit on the seat, and stared at the ground.

“Mmm hmm,” I mumbled, “Well, I expect you’re the only friend she has around here.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, meeting my gaze, “she don’t uh. . .she don’t get out much.”

“No, she doesn’t, I suppose,” I wondered if he had any idea why.

“But that’s your business sir,” he added.

“Well, of course you’re free to visit any time,” I assured him, hoping that I sounded casual enough.

“Thank you sir,” was the response.

“I mean, you seem to be the only person near her age that she knows.”

“Yes sir, I expect so,” I could tell he was getting uncomfortable with the conversation, so I decided to change the subject.

“So, how is your mother, Gabe?”

“Fine, sir.
 
Just fine,” he said through gritted teeth, and I saw a hint of anger flash across his face.

“Your, uh, your father hasn’t been coming round again, has he?”

Gabe stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to decide something.

“No sir,” he shook his head. “No, I ain’t seen my father in a long time.”

“You sure about that?” I questioned.

“Yes sir.
 
Yes, I’m sure sir,” he affirmed, gripping the handlebars. There was a hard edge in his voice that I couldn’t quite interpret.
 
What was he hiding?

“Well, you have a good evenin’ sir,” he mumbled, and without waiting for a reply he pushed off and pedaled away.

I thought about the exchange as I made my way back to the house. I had to suppose he was telling me the truth. I only hoped that if their father was back, Gabe or Izzy would feel that they could come to me.
 
Why would they protect the man who had almost killed their mother? It didn’t make sense, but then very little had made sense to me for a long time.

I let myself in through the back door, and as usual no one greeted me. Melee and Sally were locked in the bedroom as always. I rooted around in the kitchen for something to eat, and took a glass of milk and a sandwich up the stairs to the spare room that I had occupied for the past three months. Having nothing better to do, I went to bed early. I had been hoping to get a good night sleep.
 
It had been a long time since I had really slept well, and this evening was no different.
 
Not long after I drifted off, I began to have the most horrible nightmare I think I’ve ever had in my life.

I dreamt that I was lying in my bunk in the prison camp in Japan. It was nighttime, and I could hear the sounds of the men around me -- some snoring, some moaning in pain and some muttering nonsense, their frightened tones letting me know they were having a nightmare.
 
I got up to go to the latrine, and as I stepped into the black night, I was struck by how quiet it was out in the camp.
 
The prison guards who normally patrolled were missing. I suddenly got the strange feeling that we were alone, and that there were no guards around, although I could not imagine where they had gone. I paused for a moment, listening to the silence and staring out into the darkness, wondering if now was my chance to escape.

Everything in me screamed that I should not do it. At any moment, I knew a guard could see me and shoot me in the back, or worse, shoot me in the leg, drag me back, and then flog me senseless the next day in front of the entire camp. When I was gasping for mercy, he would run a bayonet through me or cut off my head.
 
Despite this knowledge and the paralyzing fear it generated, I felt compelled to go, and so before I could stop myself I was hunched over, running from the latrine to the barracks and further out to the edge of the camp. I tried to keep my body in the shadows as much as possible, but there was a full moon out and the camp was flooded with an eerie light. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears and fought to control the panic welling up in my chest. I made it to the fence, a flimsy wooden thing that served little more than to mark the borders of the camp. The next moment I was scaling it. When I reached the top, I took one last look behind to see if I had raised the alarm, and then I saw it – a dark figure moving slowly toward me.
 

It was not a guard. It did not move like a soldier.
 
It was tall, inhumanly tall, and covered an impossible amount of ground with each stride it took.
 
It glided along as if it did not need to hurry, as if my capture was inevitable. The moon was shining behind it, casting what would have been a face in complete shadow. It had no weapon, but I knew that its purpose was to kill me. In terror, I flipped myself over the top of the fence and came down hard.
 
I heard the bone in my right ankle snap and felt white hot flames of pain shooting up my leg.
 
Now I was hobbling along, dragging my foot beside me. Just beyond the fence was a ditch, built from the sweat of the soldiers living in the camp. It was used for water run-off from the torrential rains that sometimes swept through. The ground was muddy and slick. I slid down the first side, a shock of pain washing through me as my foot stopped my fall. Nausea overcame me and I rolled over in the mud and vomited. When I rolled back over, I saw my demonic pursuer sailing over the top of the fence behind.

I knew that it would reach me in just a few more strides, and I struggled to my feet. I began to sob uncontrollably, the tears pouring down my cheeks and my breath coming in ragged pants as I fought my way through the mud that sucked me downward with every step.
 
I reached the other side of the ditch and looked back.
 
The black figure was standing at the top of the ditch now.
 
It paused for a moment and stared at me, and then slowly raised its arm to point at me. I felt myself screaming, trying furiously to scramble up the other side. My frenzied scrambling did nothing but pull huge clumps of mud down the sides and into the ditch.
 
I could not climb it.

I knew that my killer was right behind me now, and I shrank into the side of the ditch, pressing my back into it and covering my eyes with my hands.
 
I waited for death, but the thing did not strike.
 
I could feel it towering above me and for one instant took my hands from my face and looked up. It was bending over me, its arms extended toward my neck and I knew it meant to strangle me. I braced for the feel of its cold fingers encircling my neck and squeezed my eyes closed again, knowing that this was the end and praying for it to come quickly.
 
The next moment my mind went black and everything faded into nothing.

Chapter Fifteen

I woke up gasping and clutching my throat. My cry echoed around the tiny room for a moment, and then all was silent. I eyed the clock next to the bed and saw that it was after midnight. My clothes and sheets were soaked in sweat, so I sat up in the bed for a moment. It had been years since I’d had a dream like that.
 
After the war, I had them nearly every night that I wasn’t drinking. Most of the time I’d try to drink as much as possible during the day so that I’d pass out.
 
The liquor would drown out my dreams, and sleep became a black nothingness, a period of unconsciousness to break up the nightmare of my waking hours.
 
After I married Sally, the dreams came less frequently, and she would be there to calm me in the night, until finally they subsided altogether. I suppose I was naïve to think that they would never come again.

I knew that I would not be able to fall back asleep, and so I got out of bed to try and bring myself back into the present. The moon was shining brightly into the room, and I walked over to the washing stand to splash some cold water on my face. I grabbed the towel and held it over my eyes, beginning to breathe normally again.
 
When I pulled the towel away and glanced down out the window, I saw something that made me freeze. It was a figure standing just beyond the driveway under the cover of a row of azalea bushes.
 
Just like the figure in my dream, I could not see its face. I knew immediately that this must be Melee’s devil, and yet this was no demon.
 
It was clearly a man.
 

My fear quickly turned to anger, and the next instant I was running across the attic, barreling down the steps, fumbling with the kitchen door and then leaping down the back steps and out into the night.
 
I ran around to the side of the house where I had seen the stranger, but he was gone.
 
I stopped in my tracks, listening intently, trying to determine if I could hear him. There was nothing but a strange silence. The usual chirp of crickets and call of night birds was noticeably absent. I felt a suppressive feeling of dread in the air as though the stranger had left a wake of malice behind him.

I ran down the driveway and out into the road and stood there turning back and forth, searching up one way and down the other, straining my eyes in the hope that I would see some kind of movement in the shadows.
 

“Who are you?!” I shouted.
 

I waited for a reply but heard nothing.

“What do you want?!” I shouted again.
 

A dog started barking in the distance.
 

I stood thinking about my options, wondering if I should get in my car and hunt for him, and then thought better of it.
 
Whoever it was, he was gone and hopefully would not be back.

I went back to the house and after letting myself inside, locked the back door and then walked to the front door to make sure it was locked too.
 
All was silent.
 
If Melee and Sally had heard the commotion of my running out into the street and yelling for the stranger, there was no sign of it.
 
I was grateful for that.
 
It meant that I could spend the rest of the night alone.
 
I turned off the kitchen lights, poured myself a brandy and proceeded to sit in the dark in a large leather arm chair, smoking and slowly sipping my drink. Tomorrow was Ash Wednesday, I thought, flicking my cigarette into the ashtray. Peg Blanchard would be giving up chocolate as she did every year. Her husband would abstain from alcohol and complain about it at every opportunity. I would not need to do anything more than I already did.
 
For years my life had been one long Lenten season of abstinence and deprivation. The time with Melee was a momentary lapse in my solitary and celibate existence.
 
Now that it was over, I was even more acutely aware of my loneliness, and I felt it like a pang of hunger in the pit of my stomach.