The Sorrow King (7 page)

“
So you know the feeling.”

“
And that’s how Gethsemane feels to you?”

“
Yeah, except it ain’t nothin simple as a big screen TV. I can’t really put my finger on it. Or, I should say that I
couldn’t
put my finger on it . . . Until the night before last.”

“
What happened then?”

“
I saw the ghosts.”

Connor’s heart triphammered in his chest. He suddenly felt like a ten-year-old listening to his grandmother telling tales from the Kentucky hills.

“
Ghosts?”

“
Well, that’s what I’d call ’em. I reckon they could’ve been hallucinations or somethin. But, boy, when I saw ’em, I sure thought they was ghosts.”

“
How many of them were there?”

“
A whole gaggle.”

“
A gaggle? Like what . . . like five or six or . . .”

Ken interrupted him, “Like maybe twelve or so. Enough to make a fairly impressive little group of ghosts.” Ken had a peculiar grin on his face and Connor almost thought he was putting him on. But that seemed too elaborate and false for Ken. Connor was the type of person to be amused by that kind of thing, not Ken.

“
That’s pretty out there. Where did you see these ghosts?”

Ken pointed to the water tower. “They were walking through the park . . . and they disappeared into that there water tower.”

Connor started to say something but Ken voiced his thought before he could open his mouth, “I know, you think it sounds crazy. Hell, I’m smart enough to
know
it sounds crazy. But I’m also together enough to know I don’t see things like that and when I do see things like that it means somethin bad is gonna happen. Or, maybe in this case, somethin bad
is
happenin.”

“
Like the suicides.”

“
Kids killing themselves. Can you think of anything much worse than that?”

“
Not really.”

“
Last time I saw anything like that was in a town called Glowers Hook.”

“
My parents lived there.”

“
You want to talk about a poisoned town . . . That town is infested with the dead. It’s like every living person has a dead one strapped to his front and back. Ghosts, devils, demons, vampires, werewolves, zombies . . . I never believed any of that shit until I spent a few days in Glowers Hook.”

“
I grew up there. Never noticed anything too weird.”

“
Anyway, it’s strange for Gethsemane. It felt so good the last couple times I was here.”

“
So the feeling’s so strong you want to leave?”

“
Pretty much. This might be the first time I leave on my own before the pork runs me out. I’d always thought if I decided to settle down and buy a house it might just be right here but . . .” He exhaled sharply, “Not anymore.”

Ken took another drink of coffee along with a final drag of his cigarette before pitching it out onto the grass. He put his cup down on the bench and Connor topped it off. He had already finished his and now thought he desperately wanted a second cup. He didn’t really know what to say. How was he supposed to respond to
any
of that?

The silence came back.

Ken was the first to break it. “Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking the town or anything. The poison might only be temporary but I’m certain something
has
poisoned it.”

Connor pointed at the water tower and said, “And you think it comes from right there?”

“
Now I didn’t say that.”

“
You said that’s where the ghosts went.”

“
Yeah, but I didn’t say the dead, the ghosts or whatever, was part of the poison. I only said the last time I saw anything like that the town seemed to be evil. No, usually, I would say the concentration of ghosts would point to some problem on a spiritual realm.”

Connor was slightly taken aback. This was a side of Ken he had certainly never seen before.

“
A spiritual realm?”

“
Yeah . . . like beyond the veil.”

“
Beyond the veil. You sound like that TV psychic.”

“
No, that’s all bullshit. And you know I’m not the most religious type of person but you have to believe there’s
some kind
of unseen world.”

“
No, I don’t know that I really do.” But even as he said that, he knew it wasn’t entirely true.

“
You don’t think there’s anything beyond our concept of reality? What we see right in front of our noses?”

“
Well, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about that kind of thing in a long time.” He hadn’t thought about it because it was the type of thinking that led to insanity.

“
Yeah, me either. Until the other night. And then it kind of brought it all back. You become so used to one idea of the world, one way of seein things, you tend to forget something
else
might exist.”

“
Yeah, I understand what you’re saying.”

“
But you still don’t believe me.”

“
Is it really a matter of believing you? Of course I believe you. You’re not my son. You have no reason to lie to me. I believe you saw
something
.”

“
But you don’t think I saw ghosts?”

“
Maybe you did. I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“
Hell, I don’t really know if they was ghosts either. I’ve been tryin pretty hard to talk myself out of that thought ever since I saw ’em. But I just can’t. The easiest explanation is also the craziest. That’s somewhat of a catch-22 for my old brain.”

“
I understand that. We become so conditioned by what we’re trained to see that maybe . . . everything else just bleeds into the background.”

“
How is that son of yours, anyway?”

Connor laughed a bit, happy Ken changed the direction of the conversation, lifting the heaviness with such a mundane question. Not only had Connor begun to feel a little spooked, he doubted what Ken said. It made him feel guilty but Ken was getting older and his vision or whatever it was seemed a little too over-the-top. Connor had seen his mother lose her mind to Alzheimer’s and knew it was a scary and terrifying thing. At first, when her forgetting and delusions had begun, it had been his instinct to believe her. Until he learned her mind was playing tricks on her and there wasn’t any way for her to be able to distinguish between what her brain was telling her and what was actually happening.

Of course, he wondered if he, of all people, could doubt what anyone said.

He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting there on the bench and talking to Ken. They spoke about more down-to-earth stuff and he was glad he had come to the park. It would probably be the last time he saw Ken now that Gethsemane was “poisoned.” Although, if Ken really thought he had seen ghosts then his mind would probably not be capable of guiding him back to Gethsemane in the future.

He tried to get Ken to come back to the house. There, Connor thought maybe he could get some information about the guy’s family and maybe have somebody come and get him. Hell, he would even offer to take Ken wherever he needed to go if he would only tell him but there was something about the guy that was just so . . .
guarded
.

Ken’s impending senility sat in the back of Connor’s mind during their entire conversation.

It was only after parting ways around four that Connor realized the thing about the ghosts and the town being poisoned had been the only thing resembling a crazy statement Ken had made the entire time. And that made Connor wonder if the statement was crazy at all.

Gethsemane poisoned? Maybe it
was
possible.

Ghosts in the water tower? He didn’t know. It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out, though. It was a fun idea. He loved a good ghost story as much as the next person and he had seen, or thought he had seen, a ghost himself.

Before he left he bummed a cigarette from Ken. Not so he could smoke it but so he could put it somewhere at home and have something to remember Ken by just in case he never happened through Gethsemane again.

Six

Name

Steven had learned the art of being quiet and inoffensive. At school, he was a ghost. Continually receiving good grades, he was somewhere at the top of his class. He had never raised his hand. There seemed to be a silent agreement between him and the teachers. He didn’t raise his hand, remaining quiet and nondisruptive, and they didn’t call on him. He didn’t have any exaggerated physical flaws, the cause of ridicule for so many other students. This allowed him to pass down the halls virtually unnoticed.

All of this used to bother him. Sometimes, he wished he
was
noticed. Sometimes he thought it would have been better to be some kind of mutant so people would make fun of him. At least that way he could have been reminded he was there. But now, as he began his silent scoping of the mysterious redheaded girl, he found his invisibility an asset.

That morning at school, while his father stayed home and stared around the house in a stupor, he felt like he was on the heels of a mystery. Sure, maybe it wasn’t any great kind of mystery but every mystery had to have a solution, an answer. The first answer he sought was the girl’s name. That was what kept him awake the first part of the day, this obsessing on her name, thinking he had to know it. It had to be in the back of his head somewhere. He could put a name to virtually every face in the school.

At lunch, he decided to stay in the cafeteria rather than go out to his truck and smoke a cigarette. This was probably his best chance to learn the identity of the girl. Her name could just be the first thing. So many other things could follow. The sound of her voice. Maybe he could get close enough to smell her. Once he retrieved all of these things, then his mind would be free to do with this construct whatever it pleased. He was pretty sure the whole ordeal would end there—in his mind. If no one else had ever noticed him, he didn’t think anyone of her beauty would notice either, even if she was quiet and reserved and of his same temperament. In fact, if she
was
similar to him in personality, she would never acknowledge his presence.

He saw her at lunch. He did more than just see her. He thirstily drank her image. She wore a tight black shirt that contrasted starkly with her pale skin. The shirt ended just above her low-cut blue jeans, showing a narrow expanse of pale belly. He wondered what kind of underwear she wore. What color were they? He wondered the same about her bra, feeling guilty for thinking these things. He wouldn’t have felt guilty thinking these things about her friends. They seemed to beg this kind of thought. They seemed less innocent than she did.

The girl and her friends were at the end of the lunch line. He maneuvered himself behind them, standing unnecessarily close but completely unnoticed.

He listened intently to the girls’ conversation but the red-haired girl did not speak. Then one of the other girls said, “What do you think, Elise?” and he felt fireworks going off in his head.

The girl’s name was Elise. His first goal had been met.

Now he waited for her response, for the sound of her voice.

“
Oh, I don’t know,” she said distractedly.

He wanted to shout “Thank you! Thank you!” at her, but knew he couldn’t do it. It amused him to even think about what kind of response him shouting would draw. Steven who, for the most part, did not even speak, most definitely did not shout.

The girls moved through the line, Steven hovering about them like some kind of giant barnacle. Elise ordered white milk and a salad. Steven had the usual junk, lingering back for just a moment, waiting to see where the girls were going to sit. He chose a table that was at an angle to them. One where he could watch her but not be seen, slightly behind but nearly right beside her.

Sitting down, he made a pact with himself. Realizing his behavior had taken a turn toward the stalkerish, he vowed to limit it to school. Everything was safe within the confines of the school, wasn’t it? Weren’t most kids so bored out of their skulls they would rather stare at girls or disrupt class or something? Anything but learning.

Sitting there, dictating that pact to himself, he doubted his capacity to honor it.

There were just too many instances where he could see himself breaking the pact.

Would he follow her if he saw her out on the street like he had the other night?

Well, it would be nice to know where she lived.

No.
He was getting way ahead of himself.

He sat on the edge of the table. It was populated with freshman girls who would be too intimidated by his upper classman status to openly make fun of him or tell him to get away from their table. Anyway, it was a large table and he wasn’t bothering them. He just wanted to sit there and stare at Elise.

She sat on the bench, the waist of her pants riding down and her shirt riding up, revealing a larger swath of that flawless pale skin. He wanted to know what that skin felt like. She brushed her long hair over her shoulder before she began desultorily picking at her salad. In very brief, almost unnoticeable glances, he stared at her every detail—her hands sporting rounded fingers that were not incredibly long and delicate-looking but still feminine and somehow erotic, the smooth muscle of her forearm as she held the fork, the almost imperceptible way she chewed her food, the way she feigned interest in eating so she wouldn’t be dragged into her friends’ inane conversation. And yes, he noticed all the other things, the things boys were supposed to notice—the gentle slope of her chest, the faint outline of her bra, the way her ass curved into her legs, the overall
softness
her small frame contained. “Virginal” was, perhaps, the word he was looking for.