The Sorrow King (9 page)

By the time Connor came home with spicy burritos and chips and guacamole from a Mexican place in Alton, Steven was holed up on the couch reading Charles Bukowski’s
Post Office
.

“
Hey,” Steven said.

“
Hey,” Connor said, brandishing the bag of food. “Hungry?”

“
You bet.”

Connor had planned this whole evening out in his head. He wanted the boy to crack. It wasn’t anything sadistic. He just wanted to get inside Steven’s head, if only for a few minutes. Maybe it was a bit passive-aggressive but it was something he thought both he and the boy needed.

He put the food down on the floor. “You want a beer?” he asked. He figured Steven was seventeen and, if he had had any friends, would probably be drinking just about every weekend anyway. Plus, Connor didn’t think anything would make him open up better than a little alcohol in the system.

Steven looked somewhat incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

“
Don’t tell me you don’t sneak them anyway.”

“
Maybe once or twice. I figured you’d notice if I took any more than that.”

“
Oh, I would have. And I don’t intend to make this a habit. I just figured that . . . well, hell, we’ve both been going through some really difficult shit lately. Tonight, let’s just get a little toasty and be done with it. Put some things behind us.”

Steven nodded his head. “Yeah. That sounds good. So what movie did you get?”

“
Night of the Living Dead
.”

Steven groaned. “That horrible eighties thing? I’ve seen parts of that. It wasn’t very good.”

“
No.
That was
Return of the Living Dead
. This is the original. Black and white. Classic.”

“
Oh.”

“
You’ll like it.”

Connor went into the kitchen and brought a couple of Rolling Rocks out. He flipped on the TV and they idly watched the news while they ate. Connor couldn’t stand to eat and watch movies at the same time. It obliterated the sound and, when he watched a movie, he liked there to be as few distractions as possible. Besides, it seemed appropriate for it to be completely dark outside before putting the movie on. And maybe there was just the tiniest part of him that wanted to stretch this out as long as possible. He really didn’t want to have what had built itself up in his mind as “The Conversation.” He was just a little bit afraid to have that conversation. He knew Steven. Rather, he knew Steven’s habits but realized he didn’t have a clue about his inner workings. Had no idea how Steven would react to the things he was going to tell him.

Once they had finished eating the huge burritos, Connor went to the kitchen and got them a couple more beers before putting the DVD into the player.

Steven moved up onto the couch, sprawling back and slowly sipping his beer.

Connor moved up into his easy chair.

For now, he was just going to think about the movie. It was one of his favorites and it had probably been ten years since he had actually sat down and watched it from start to finish. But he couldn’t really concentrate. The movie flashed against his eyes and bleated against his ears but his mind was elsewhere. Thinking about what Ken had told him. Thinking about what he was going to tell Steven. Thinking about how everything was going to turn out. Thinking about things he probably should have been thinking about all along.

The movie was over far too quickly.

“
Another beer?” he asked Steven.

“
Sure.”

Connor went back into the kitchen and returned with more beer.

He handed one to Steven and sat down in the chair. Steven sat up on the couch and Connor could tell he wanted to leave the room. He was probably eager to get back into his bedroom where he felt comfortable.

“
Is anything bothering you?” Connor asked. There, he at least asked a question, taking a step toward the conversation.

Steven picked at a burgeoning hole in his jeans. “No, nothing’s bothering me.”

There was a longer than comfortable silence and Connor could tell Steven was desperately searching for something to look at, something to take his eyesight away from Connor.

“
Come on, something has to bother you. You’ve been through a
lot
of shit. I don’t ever want you to get the impression I don’t care. I mean, I know I’m busy at work a lot of the time and when I come home I just kind of sit around and read but I want you to tell me if something’s bothering you.”

“
Really, I’m okay.”

“
Stevie . . . can’t you just make something up.” Connor chuckled. It sounded desperate in his ears. “I’m really trying here.”

Steven took in a deep breath. “Sometimes . . .” he trailed off.

“
Sometimes what?”

“
I don’t know how to say certain things. Sometimes I think if I start talking about what bothers me, I’ll never stop talking about what bothers me and if something is always bothering me then I won’t be the slightest bit happy. Like acknowledging things just busts them wide open.”

“
But you have to let these things out every now and then. You have to unbottle. If you don’t then you’re just going to explode. When I was married to your mother I did the same thing. I went through every day with a smile on my face but I was burning up on the inside because I thought . . . I thought that the less I said the better. I thought that carrying on a facade of happiness was good enough but all it did was hurt everyone involved. If I would have let her know what was bothering me earlier on . . . or if I had let
someone
know what bothered me then maybe I could have figured out how to work through it or, hell, maybe just get out of it altogether . . . If I had done that, I think I’d be a happier person.”

“
Okay. You want to know what bothers me? Just the tip of the iceberg?”

“
I want to know everything.”

“
Why did Mom have to die? I mean, why her? Don’t get me wrong. I like living here with you. If there was a way I could have gone to one house one day and one house the next, I would have done that. But why does she have to be gone completely? And why did it have to be so painful? Why did it have to drag on? I guess it was quick as far as cancer goes but I had to watch her die for over a year. How do you stay happy when something like that is happening? I would come home from school and she would act like everything was normal and I was expected to act like everything was normal, but it wasn’t. She was dying. That bothers me. Her dying bothers me a lot and I guess I wouldn’t be human if it didn’t bother me but I don’t think it could have come at a worse time and I’m just now starting to get used to her being dead and do you know how that makes me feel?”

“
Guilty as hell?”

“
That’s exactly right. Guilty as hell. I feel like there is always this part of me that has to carry around some melancholy and if I feel happy for even a second then I feel guilty.”

“
You know she would have wanted you to be happy. Above all things, I think that was what she cared about the most. She probably wouldn’t mind seeing me crucified and, I don’t know, tarred and feathered or something, but I think she would want you to be happy.”

“
And, deep down, I
know
that. But then there are all these other sad things. Like the kids killing themselves. Why does that have to happen? And it makes me feel like I’m being . . .
hunted
or something. If all of these kids can just pick up and kill themselves then what’s to say I’m not going to do that one day? After all, that’s why we’re having this talk, isn’t it? Because I’m a walking textbook example of a potential suicide. I’m depressed out of my skull. I sleep all the time. I don’t have any friends. I don’t have anybody to talk to and the one friend that I was able to make in that whole school had to be dragged away by his parents because his dad found some stupid job somewhere else.”

“
I have enough faith in you to know you are not going to kill yourself.”

“
Then why are we having this conversation. Are you as guilty about Mom dying as I am?”

“
We’re having this conversation because I thought it would be a good thing for us to sit down and talk because we haven’t really done much of that over the past couple of years.”

“
Well, we’re really talking now.” He didn’t know if Steven was more upset or angry to be opening up.

“
There’s another reason we’re having this conversation, though.”

“
What’s that?”

“
I’ll get to it. I went to the park and saw Ken yesterday.”

“
Ken?”

“
Yeah, Ken Blanchard. I’m sure you’ve heard me mention him before. He’s that old guy who comes through town about once a year.”

“
Yeah . . . Drifter Ken. I think I remember you mentioning him once or twice.”

“
Well, he always has some pretty interesting things to say but it’s all usually pretty down-to-earth. You know, hillbilly wisdom or something. But yesterday he said something I found a little odd.”

“
What’s that?”

“
He said he thought Gethsemane was poisoned.”

There was silence again. Connor could tell Steven was thinking about this, much like
he
had just yesterday.

“
Did he elaborate at all?”

“
As a matter of fact, he did. He said he was sitting in the park and swore he saw ghosts going into the water tower. What do you make of that?”

“
Yeah, I’d believe that.”

“
So, without even really thinking about it too much, you immediately believe some old guy who may or may not be crazy saw ghosts going into the water tower?”

“
Yes. You didn’t tell me he was crazy. Did you think he was crazy before he told you this or after?”

“
After.”

“
If he hadn’t said crazy things before then I’d believe him. That makes a big difference. A preacher tells you he sees God and that’s just an occupational hazard. An atheist tells you he sees God and your belief muscles flex a little.”

“
What the hell have you been reading?” Connor waved the question away. “So why would you believe him?”

“
Because believing in things like that makes the world a more interesting place. Besides, it’s not like he was saying it to get attention or anything. He wasn’t talking to a reporter. He was telling
you
what he saw. There’s nothing wrong with that. People see things in different ways. Some people see war as a way of obtaining peace. Others see war as murder. Some people see clouds in the sky. Other people see objects . . . people.”

“
So if he
really
saw these . . . ghosts, then what do you think it all means?”

“
It means the dead are restless.”

“
What does that mean?”

“
I don’t know. The world of the dead is a separate world than ours.”

“
The veil, right?”

“
Yeah . . . the dead live beyond the veil.”

“
That’s what Ken said. He said there must be some kind of trouble in the world of the dead or they were trying to warn us of something.”

“
So you don’t believe in that kind of thing?”

“
Well, I really didn’t want to believe in that kind of thing. In fact, more recently, I’ve treated that kind of thought like poison. But, as I was walking home, I wondered why I felt that way. Why I so vehemently didn’t want to believe him. Then I put it together. There was an incident that happened before Ken had ever mentioned the ghosts and I had tried so hard not to think about it I just kind of dismissed anything remotely related to it.”

“
What was the incident?”

“
It involves you.”

“
Yeah?”

“
Yeah. It was during your mother’s viewing. You know, where the relatives come to look in the open casket?”

“
I know what a viewing is. I was there.”

“
Yeah, I know you were there. Anyway, almost everyone else had left and I had just finished walking old Uncle Charlie out to his car when I came back in and saw you standing by the coffin and looking down at your mother. I don’t know how long I stood there, watching you. And while I was watching you, I thought I saw something that just didn’t look right. You had kind of like some bluish aura around you. Almost like fog or something and I saw something rise from your mother’s body. It made all the hairs stand up on my arms because I swear I thought it had to be her soul or something. It didn’t last very long. This thing rose from her and mingled with that aura that was around you and the look in your eyes terrified me. And when it was over you were still standing there . . . Just as normal as ever.

“
That, in a strange way, is why I didn’t want to believe Ken. I had myself so convinced what I had seen at the viewing wasn’t anything at all, I
couldn’t
believe Ken because if I believed him then it would make that previous ghost more real . . . And then . . . And then I’d be one of the crazy people who believe in ghosts. I don’t know, I’ve never really thought of the dead living amongst the living. It’s a creepy thought . . .” Connor could have gone on but Steven interrupted him.