The Gingerbread Boy (8 page)

I’m feeling my age these days. I don’t quite have the pluck I used to. I think the cats have noticed, too, and go out of their way to rub against my legs or sit with me when I’m tired. Sometimes I wish you were here to talk with, but this is not a good house to visit. Someday I will find the courage to explain. Maybe I’ll be free to visit you in late spring. That would be the high point of all my years. You’re like a daughter to me. I may seem like a cantankerous old toad to most people, and I am a cantankerous old toad to most people. I have decided to show you otherwise
…

As Hazel poised her pen to write the next word, a terrific banging vibrated on the floorboards above her head. The pounding continued, louder and louder, until pictures rattled on the walls. She jumped as a sepia-toned photo of her and her mother popped off the wall above her, bounced off a mahogany desk, then crashed to the floor and shattered.

She gasped and thrust her good left hand against her heart as she groped for the door. What would happen next? Hopefully one of the cats hadn’t innocently crept into Eugene’s room, for there was no longer a compassionate veterinary assistant like Catherine in town to aid in the healing of a feline’s crushed head. Hazel felt badly that she hadn’t told Catherine the truth about what happened to poor Cinder that day long ago, or what had happened to her own wrist the next day for that matter. One day, she would remedy that mistake. As soon as this was all over.

Above, Eugene continued to thrash on the floorboards, and a wail of obscenities could be heard over the pounding. Hazel scurried up the stairway.

Chapter Four

Catherine couldn’t understand why Daniel drove such a dilapidated van if his band was doing so well. He explained that the turquoise monolith, nick-named Bruiser, was like a buddy to him. Even for a van, Bruiser was great on snow and ice, and besides, Daniel had gotten it as a trade-in for a classic guitar ten years ago.

She studied his profile as he drove through the inky darkness that night, hoping her staring was inconspicuous as they bounced along a rutted country road flanked by evergreens. He was silent, smiling to himself, at peace. The faint glow from the dashboard lights made Daniel’s coppery eyes shine in the dark like new pennies. He must have sensed her staring, for he glanced silently at her, winked, and turned back toward the road.

Catherine couldn’t remember feeling as full of wonder as she did now, in Daniel’s presence. So many people had skimmed through her life without touching her in any real way – without truly
connecting.
People she could spend two hours walking down a street with and still feel she was walking alone.

But everything about Daniel was different.

Feeling dreamy, her eyes grew heavy. She longed to rest her head on his shoulder, and smiled at the irony of that thought. Two weeks ago the idea of resting her head on anyone’s shoulder would have been unimaginable. Not anymore. Daniel was such a paradox. She thought of the energy and excitement he created on stage, compared to his peaceful, contemplative nature now. But then, maybe he wasn’t such a paradox after all. She’d listened closely to the lyrics he’d written. Some conveyed peace and harmony, others fear and questioning. It was message music, often speaking of God, although the band was not openly promoted as a Christian group. Daniel’s voice was elastic and beautiful. No wonder both Beth and Penny were drawn to him. Catherine herself had spent much of the night standing next to Joey at the soundboard, her eyes glued on Daniel’s overwhelming stage presence.

After the fight, it’d been a wonder he’d wanted to complete the show at all. Both she and Joey had tried to talk him out of it, but Daniel was stubborn, bruised and battered or not. And so the band had gone on, playing to even louder cheers than before.

Daniel, as Joey had said, really was an epitome.

The screaming of brakes yanked Catherine from her slumber. Her eyes snapped open as her seatbelt tightened, sparing her from hitting the windshield. She braced herself as the van spun in a circle in the middle of the road. Shadowy forms of trees, fences, signs…and a vague human form whirled in the headlights. Once…twice…then the forms slowed as the van skidded against a tree trunk with a thud. She gasped and clutched her arms against her stomach, fighting not to vomit. She was about to turn to see how Daniel had fared from the spinout when a figure lurched into the headlights. Then the man in the road stopped, and gazed straight through the windshield at her.

The man was Daniel.

What?

Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. How could it be Daniel? He was sitting right next to her! Stiffened in terror, she turned to look at the driver with almost glacial slowness to find a grizzly skull staring at her from inside Daniel’s clothes. From this abomination seeped an aura of misery so complete that a scream rose in her throat…

…and a door heaved open from someplace beyond.

Out of the darkness a bare-chested figure raced to Catherine’s side, a knife gleaming in his hand. Reality took focus as Catherine stopped screaming and pulled her hands to her mouth.

“What’s wrong is Calvin here?” the man yelled, glancing around the room for an intruder.

Catherine shook her head, opening and shutting her eyes. It took a few moments for reality to settle in. She wasn’t in a van; she was sitting up in a bed in the dark in a spare bedroom in Daniel’s house. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment.

“It was just a dream,” she murmured.

Ever so slowly, Daniel lowered the knife. He looked comical silhouetted against a hallway light with his hair bunched up around his face and pieces of down clinging to the strands. Catherine looked away, forcing back a grin as she then noticed that Daniel had pulled his shorts on backward. He looked confused, then glanced down at himself. Then he looked up with a sheepish expression and pointed a finger in the air. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, backing out of the door.

Catherine sighed, shoulders slumping, and rested against the headboard.
What a dream that
was.
Thank goodness it was only a dream. The rawness of the nightmare dissolved into fragments by the time Daniel sauntered back into the room.

“Which was the worst nightmare,” he asked, sitting near her on the edge of the bed, “your dream, or seeing me race in here looking like a dufus?”

Catherine lowered her eyes, trying not to chuckle. Daniel tipped her chin with his finger. “You don’t have to answer,” he said, “I’m just glad you’re all right.” He paused, then, “Do you want to talk about the dream? Was it about your old boyfriend?”

“No. I dreamed we had an accident in your van,” she said. “We almost hit someone in the road. I knew you were driving, but the guy we almost hit was
also
you.” She shuddered as some of the dream’s horror returned. It was a struggle to force the last part out of her lips. “When I turned to look at you in the driver’s seat, there was a
monster
sitting in your place.”

Daniel’s hand lowered from her chin. He clasped his fingers together on his lap, and raised his eyebrows.

“That was a hum-dinger.” he said.

Hum-dinger? Catherine thought. Who said words like that nowadays? Daniel was growing more interesting by the moment. “I don’t know why I dreamed such an awful thing,” she finally replied. “I never have nightmares. Maybe it’s from sleeping in a strange place, or maybe its because of the scare Calvin gave me.”

“Did the monster look like Calvin?” Daniel asked.

Catherine shook her head, then paused, adding carefully, “No. I got the feeling it was you.” A chill crept down her spine as she remembered the misery that had seeped out of the creature, and dread filled her again. Daniel noticed the goose bumps forming on her arms, and gently pulled the covers over her
.

“Dreams can be something, can’t they?” he asked. He settled back down on the bed next to her. “Sometimes you can go back and pick out one of the day’s events that triggered them. Maybe you dreamed I was a monster because of my bruised face.”

Catherine nodded. “That’s probably it.” She decided not to tell Daniel that her ‘monster’ had actually been a skull… and of the feeling of death and despair. That she would keep to herself.

“How do
you
feel?” she asked, longing to reach out and trace his battered face.

He smiled. “Stiff and sore, but I’m fine. Your friend packs a wallop. How is your cheek?”

“I can barely feel it where he hit me.”

“Good.” A vague fire glimmered in Daniel’s eyes as he clenched his fingers into fists, “I still can’t believe he hit you. I know we talked about it a little on the way here,” he added hesitantly, “but, did I hear you say that this Calvin guy…”

“Better known as Cave Pig.”

“All right. That fits. That this ‘
Cave Pig’
came all of the way from Maryland to see you, and that he lives here now?”

Catherine tensed, felt her stomach clutch. It was hard to admit, even to herself, that she was connected with such a weirdo, especially now that he was a dangerous weirdo. But it was nice of Daniel to take her to his home, she’d been so afraid Calvin would return to her house last night to get revenge. But would Daniel want anything to do with her after this? Ever so slowly though, she nodded. “I think he lives in the area someplace. He said he rented an apartment in town. Drove hundreds of miles to see me,” she added, imitating his haughty voice.

Daniel looked at her steadily. “You’re worth it.”

Catherine blushed.

Daniel peered closer at her, and the puzzled look on his face transformed into a kind of wonder. “I like to see a lady blush,” he said. “Most have no sense of modesty these days.”

Catherine pulled her blankets lower, secretly savoring the compliment. It was time to voice something which had been puzzling her. “There is something I don’t understand,” she said hesitantly, “Look what you do for a living. The kind of women most bands attract, well, aren’t usually the kind I think you’re trying to reach.”

He looked at her directly, but his voice was so low she could barely hear it. “It’s never been my plan to attract groupies. That’s not what my band is reaching for.”

She remained silent, listening closely.

“Most rock and roll bands give off subliminal messages. Sometimes they’re intentional, sometimes not,” Daniel continued, a distant look in his eyes. “Sometimes subliminal messages evoke violence and confusion, though, and I want to balance that out with a positive message. It’s tricky. You can’t be preachy, or you’ll scare off the exact people you want to reach. But once you
get
them to listen, you can try to hold onto them, plant good seeds in them. As they hopefully begin to feel better about the world, and about themselves, they become searchers. Then all we do is pray they’ll listen and think more. It takes time. Music is a tool.”

Daniel looked at the ceiling. He seemed frustrated. “I grew up hating this kind of music, too,” he admitted. “It was considered wicked and a lot of it is. I grew up afraid of it, even afraid of the radio. Some of the villagers thought the sounds it made came from an evil spirit, and I wasn’t so certain they weren’t right.”

“Villagers?” Catherine asked.

Daniel looked at her. “My parents were missionary linguists in Peru. They worked with tribes of Achual Indians, descendants of headhunters. When I was twelve years old my father passed away, and we moved back to the States. My mother couldn’t stand to go back to Peru without him, so she stayed here to raise my sister and me. Finally I became… Americanized.”

Catherine leaned back against the headboard, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry to hear about your father,” she said a little uncomfortably.

He tipped his head in thought. “Thank you. It was a rough time. But my mother was great and helped me get through it.”

Catherine stared intently at him, as if she could absorb some of his depth. She’d thought Daniel was complex, but this was incredible
. A jungle life.
No wonder Joey had called him Mowgli. He was once a jungle boy himself. “What language did your parents speak?” she asked.

“Some local tribal dialects, plus Spanish and Portuguese.” Daniel replied.

“Do you speak any of it?”

“It’s kind of fractured, but I can speak a little Portuguese if it benefits me.” he said, then added a few words Catherine found incomprehensible.

Her eyes widened. She cocked her head slyly. “All right, how did
that
just benefit you?”

Daniel chuckled. “I just said, in Portuguese, that you are much too lovely to be spending time with a bum like me.”

Catherine raised her eyebrows and shook her head. How could she tell him how fascinating she found his background, when her own father had been a cruel alcoholic, and her mother a promiscuous factory worker who ran around with anyone who would take a second glance at her? How could she tell him how she and Tony had to clean out cow stalls to help make a living and then explain that the same brother had vanished off the face of the Earth? How dysfunctional was that? Could she even admit that her best friend back East was an eccentric seventy-seven-year-old lady that little kids called ‘Witch Hazel?’

Catherine closed her eyes against unsettling thoughts

You have no right to be in Daniel’s house,
a voice in her mind scolded
. The fact you’re here now is a fluke. Daniel is just playing with you.

Catherine recognized the voice in her subconscious as Beth’s, again. Why did so many people’s opinions flood her mind in times like this? Beth’s, Hazel’s, and sometimes, even Tony’s? Didn’t she have a will of her own?

“Tell me more about South America,” Catherine said before Daniel could ask any questions about her upbringing. That could only lead to disaster in what she hoped might otherwise be the start of something interesting.

Daniel folded his arms, “I don’t want to talk all about myself, it sounds vain.
Let’s hear more about you.”