The Soul Seekers (3 page)

I swallowed hard, hoping this Vincent would take the bait. He did, turning to make his way back to the table—hands clenched and ready for action.

Marcus, the one sending thick waves of premonition down my spine, stepped in to issue a low command. “We own you, boy. Don’t you forget that.”

“Oh, I haven’t. Believe me. No matter how hard I try, I can’t forget all the wonderful things you do.”

“The rest of the town would give anything to be part of our family.”

“
Family
.”

“Yes. We’ve made Springvale the perfect place to live—no crime, no poverty. You can’t deny what we’ve accomplished here.”

“Take a quick hike to
hell,
Marcus.”

The man leaned in. “Fool! The eclipse comes soon, and we believe someone has found it. You’re running out of choices. Continue the way you are and die with a slow fade into nothing. Join us and live forever. Which one sounds like a better choice,
William Joe Bennett
?”

William—so that was his name. I watched as he thrust out of his chair to gridlock Marcus in the face. “Death, Marcus! I choose death.”

“Anything I can help you with, gentlemen?”

The entire group, including me, turned to focus on Ethel. She stood with arms crossed, a deep line furrowing between her brows. I peeked in between two copies of
Great Expectations
to get a better view.

Marcus grabbed one of William’s books and held it up in distaste. “You can start, Miss Lacey, by removing this trash from your library. Don’t forget, the town council has strict guidelines concerning the material you shelve, and this book does not meet its criteria.”

She plucked it from his hands. “
Strengthen Your Mind
is hardly a threat to the human race. Don’t forget, I own every page in this institution. It was given to my mother, who gave it to me. Your church—oh pardon me—
council
has no right to dictate any of the books in my collection.”

She made a point of shoving it into a shelf behind her—the wrong place, I thought, making a mental note to move it later.

Tossing her head, Ethel spoke with contempt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. Have a good day, and feel free to sign up for a new library card. You’ll be pleased to know they’re laminated now. That’s a little thing we like to call
progress
.”

I smiled behind the shelves. The laminating machine had been my idea.

Marcus turned to William who sat unmoved in his seat, his face a beautiful vision of unreadable stone. A few seconds later the front door closed with a hard shake.

I approached Ethel, who dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Don’t ask, I’ll explain later.” She crossed her arms around her chest. “You know, it’s quite cold back there. I wonder if the air conditioner’s been working, but only coming through certain vents.” She gave a shudder, looking around the library. “Anyway, can you believe the nerve of those men, coming in here to hold one of their little meetings? Did you see the mess they made back there? Books all over the place. They love to get me riled up, I think.”

Reaching out, I pushed in a curl that had shook loose from her well-sprayed coif. “I don’t understand. Why are they worried about certain books?”

“Because they’re morons.”

I held in a groan and whispered, “Well, tell me what you thought of
him
at least.”

“Who? Marcus? I want to kill him.” She gritted her teeth.

“No, not
Marcus
.” What was wrong with this woman? “Not Marcus.” I pleaded with my eyes.
William, William, did you see William?

Ethel sighed. “You’re too young for all this. Don’t get involved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Emma, do me a favor. Get out of town while you still can.” She handed me a book that was missing a label. “Okay?”

“But why?”

Ethel plopped down in her chair. “If you stay here long enough you’ll find out on your own, believe me.”

She turned away, leaving me to stand there with too many questions and not enough answers.

A deafening silence permeated the small space of the back corner that afternoon. There were no words to cure it, so I grabbed a cart and began shelving until all the books were put away. Something caused me to hesitate before heading off—a faint voice in my head—that said,
Don’t leave me so soon.

¤ ¤ ¤

“William Joe Bennett,” I repeated, thumbing through the phone book that evening. The old Southwestern Bell had at last come to use, saved from its duty as a permanent doorstop by the back steps. “He’s gotta be in here.”

I scanned through the B’s over and over, biting my lip in concentration. Springvale had a population of about eight-hundred people; it shouldn’t be that difficult to find one of its few.

Dragging my finger down the page with careful scrutiny for the tenth time, I claimed defeat and closed the book with an exasperated sigh. I headed for Grandmother Carrie in the old afghan-covered easy chair. She and Mom were watching a TV drama.

“Can I borrow your car?” I whispered, not wanting Mom to hear.

She would only start asking questions. She was still in a bad mood over her day at the Springvale Savings and Loan. She said she hated working there, but after being a teller forever at the First National in Colorado Springs, didn’t know what else to do. A glass of merlot teetered in her fingers and her eyes were glued to the television screen.

“What for?”

“I just need to get out. Please?”

Gran glanced to the darkening sky outside and whispered, “Normally I would say yes, but it’s a little late, Emma.”

“It’s only nine. The sun hasn’t even set yet.”

She studied my face for a moment then yanked a thumb to the door.

“Thanks.”

I gave her a quick hug and ran to grab the keys. I just wanted to see—he’s alone, he never eats, never changes his clothes. William Bennett is homeless and needs someone to help him.

Don’t leave me so soon.
I could still hear the words.

The old Bonneville coughed and whined at me for waking it up. I ignored it and pushed the gas pedal as hard as I could to make it climb the slight hill of Walters Street. I turned onto Main as a row of old streetlights began to flicker on, battling the last remaining shafts of daylight that fell through the trees and sides of buildings. A slow drive around the square showed that no one was hanging around.

I drove around again, just one more time, and was about to give up when something flashed across the reflection in my rear view mirror. I hit the brakes, stopping with a tiny squeal of tires, and backed up toward the middle of the block. Idling the car, I looked around for one long pensive moment, jumping in stupid reaction when a leaf fell past the car window.

I pulled into a parking spot by the hardware store and turned off the engine. When something shuffled over by the Springvale Savings and Loan, I turned my head to see what it was. In a mere second there came a knock all the way across the square by the gazebo. The hair on my arms stood up like little soldiers.

“Hello?” I got out of the car and walked over to the structure, slowly moving up the steps to the wooden floor. A cold breeze surrounded me, stirring my senses with the overwhelming scent of something spicy and familiar.

“Is it you?” I asked, but no one answered, only the breeze that grew stronger and held me where I stood.

I felt a touch upon my face, a soft brush of something along my cheek. I closed my eyes in joyful acceptance.

“Emma, Emma,” a voice whispered, or maybe it was the just the leaves shivering all around. It sounded like someone had whispered my name. It
felt
like someone had whispered my name. Before I could answer, I felt a touch upon my lips, soft, so beautiful that all I could do was stand there and take it in, heart racing until I thought I could no longer bear it. It was cold, like ice, before turning into liquid fire, melting everything away. The trees in the park shook at once in a great chorus of whooshes and patters like rain, like waves crashing; but too soon it died down, and with it the caress on my lips.

I reached back to steady myself, daring to open my eyes. When I did the breeze abandoned me, moving down the brick-lined street in little eddies of fallen leaves along the curb. Darkness had set in.

“Don’t go,” I pleaded, turning my head to the side, dejected and confused. My lips were frozen to the touch, and my jaw locked in an effort to hold back the violent shivers.

After standing there for a few minutes listening to the wake of sound, I sat down on one of the painted benches inside the structure and leaned my head back in resignation. “You know, you don’t have to hide. We can talk if you want.”

I stopped to listen again. Nothing.

“If you’re out there, please understand. I can be a friend whenever you need. I know what it feels like to be on the other side of things. Really, I’m a lot like you, head always stuck in a book. I guess that’s what they call avoiding reality, you know? Maybe if you talked to me we’d be halfway sane, like other folks.”

Talk to me, please.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I understand. I don’t know what just happened but I’ve come here for a reason. And that is to help you, if you want. I brought some food.”

I pulled the paper bag stuffed with that night’s dinner and a thermos of milk from my purse, and placed it on the floor. There was a five-dollar bill in there as well—a nice touch, I thought, though he might think it presumptuous. Ten would have been outright charity. I didn’t want to be that pushy.

“Okay, here, I’ll just talk about myself if that makes you feel better. And you can come out when you feel more comfortable.” I closed my eyes for a moment before going on. “You know my name, and I guess you figured out that I’m new to town. We moved here from Colorado Springs. You ever been there?”

Silence.

“It’s something else. Really pretty. Pikes Peak looks over the whole place like a big god, though all the white stuff is pretty much melted this time of year. In the winter the snow is so beautiful to look at. You know, I could see Pike from my window, except for when it was about to storm or something, then I couldn’t see her at all. Then sun would come out.

“Um, okay, so, we left there and came here. We came here. Now I’m supposed to think about a future. How the
hell
am I supposed to do that? I know I should be smart and have it planned out like other kids my age, but I don’t. I was so worried about my dad that I never thought about anything beyond him getting well. I mean, first he comes home and tells us he has cancer, and they do lots of testing. Then there’s chemo and he’s lying in bed all the time—hair’s gone, his face is puffy—he doesn’t look like himself anymore. I start praying—all the time. I wake up, pray. I eat breakfast, pray. Walk to school, pray. Make dinner, clean the house, pray, pray. I prayed so much that God stopped listening. And that made me so frustrated. Forget
my
future, I wanted his future.
His
.”

I tightened my fingers on the bench, remembering.

“One day I was fifteen and everything was put on hold and I was willing to stop it, to give all I had to time or fate or whatever. But it didn’t work. It didn’t work, and I’ve tried to be happy, for him. The only thing I know is, I’m alive and I have to get up every morning. That’s about it. Springvale has become a sort of obsession to replace the death. I hate it and it hates me back and somewhere in there I’ve sandbagged my grief. I don’t think I would have made it this whole summer without our little game, yours and mine.”

I swiped at some tears with the back of my hand and drew up a leg.

“What’s life to me now, you know? I’m seventeen and I’ve never been in love, never had my own car, never gotten high. I’m still a virgin. Apparently, the rest of the world has already ‘done it.’ But I wanted it to mean something. Everybody gets hot for each other, but nobody thinks about all the stuff inside their skin. I can’t imagine doing it without a whole bunch of love. I mean, we get old and it’s not always going to be about skin. I want
more
than just skin.”

A long moment passed, heavy with silence.

“You’re not going to talk to me, are you? I’m weird, right?”

A song turned on from inside the Bonneville—some old ’50s tune—slow, sad. I stood up when I heard it and moved down the gazebo steps, trying like crazy to figure out how it had happened when I was nowhere near the car. Must be the old wiring. It had to be. Maybe the fuses were messed up.

I stopped to listen, leaning over to rest my cheek against a wooden railing. The song kept playing and the breeze stirred up again. I can’t explain how it made me feel: like time was standing still, surrounding me, summoning me. I kept listening, kept waiting. The song played the whole way through, then it turned off and the breeze died once more. I stood there hoping for something to happen that couldn’t happen. It was my brain playing tricks on me. I had wanted to see him so bad that I had imagined his presence to satisfy my subconscious—my loneliness, my grief.