Where Darkness Dwells (32 page)

"Yes. I know everything."

Then you know.

"What do you mean?"

It's not over. We need your help. You need to finish what we couldn't.

6.

Picking fruit was a common chore for Jacob. If he wasn't picking peaches or strawberries or persimmons from his own property, he was off at neighbor farms picking fruit for three cents a bushel. As long as he could remember, his mom had taught him about the value of even a single penny. She would often say that if you gathered enough pennies and stacked them together, you could eventually stand atop your copper pile and reach out to touch the moon. He had taken on the habit of collecting his pennies and rushing home to stack them as high as he could. They never came close to reaching even a foot high before toppling. By the time he realized he would never build a tower high enough to allow him to touch the moon, he still enjoyed the sight of the copper pieces growing before him.

"She acts like she believes Sheriff Bergman." Ellie stood on a stool to reach the nearest branches.

The creek trickled ten feet from the last row of trees. The bent-grass trail left by his brother skirted the peach orchard. Jacob and his mom had followed it when they began their search, losing it soon after crossing the creek. The trail was gone now, fresher grass growing over his brother's footsteps.

"It's easier for her. There's no convincing her otherwise. It'll just start an argument. Once you start an argument with my mom, you might as well just admit you were wrong. She's stubborn."

"Sounds like someone else I know." Ellie picked an overripe peach and tossed it at him.

It splattered against his shirt, but he didn't do anything more than glower at Ellie's smiling face. "Well, even if she believed us, someone still has to pick these peaches before they rot. We need to build up our stores."

They filled the baskets to brimming, finding the fruit to be both bountiful and at the peak of ripeness. Before they started back, Jacob sized up the remaining fruit hanging from the trees. They could come back two more mornings and fill more baskets and still not get all of it.

"Ready?" He took one handle of Ellie's basket while she lifted the other. They would trek back to the house, then return for the other basket.

"Let's go."

They worked their way back to the house, Jacob slowing his pace to account for Ellie's shorter strides.

"I was wondering about Cooper," Jacob said, trailing off.

"I knew he had nothing to do with it from the moment I met him."

"I'm just not as trusting a person as you."

"I suppose."

"But still, if he had nothing to do with it, then he at least has something to do with finding Jimmy."

"What's cooking in your brain, Jacob?"

"I think I ought'a follow Cooper around, see if he knows more than he lets on."

"Your mom would pitch a fit if she knew you went off like that. Besides, Greta said he doesn't know anything."

"Maybe if I follow him around, I'll see something Cooper doesn't. Maybe I can help find out where my brother is before Cooper's supposed to."

"I don't know, Jacob. Greta would'a said you had something to do with finding Jimmy if you're supposed to."

They were silent as they closed in on the house. Jacob was trying to figure out how he could get away, at least for a little while, when Ellie dropped her basket handle without warning, spilling bruised fruit in a semi-circle.

"Ellie, why didn't you tell me you were going to drop it!"

Jacob glared at her, but she seemed unconcerned about the plight of the peaches. Her eyes were trained on the road, at a solitary figure walking toward the driveway.

"I… I think that's my dad."

7.

"Janie, you gotta believe me. I'm a changed man. I come for Elizabeth, now, and we ought to get home. We got work to do at the farm that ain't gonna get done on its own. Besides, we got fences between us need mending." Mr. Banyon had a fresh shave and wore a clean set of clothes, but his eyes were bleary red, as if he hadn't slept much lately. While always a thin man, he had a mangy, raw appearance. When he entered their house, Jacob had sniffed the air for any sign of alcohol. To his surprise, he didn't find the slightest trace.

Jacob looked from his mom to Mr. Banyon, then back again. Ellie peeked out from behind his mom as if she were a brick wall strong enough to turn away a tornado's wrath. His mom furrowed her brow, and she stared at Mr. Banyon, stared and didn't say a word for a long time.

Ellie's dad seemed to realize he still wore his hat. He took it off, pushed back his hair from his eyes and held the hat in front of him. His hands were shaking. He tried to hide it, but couldn't quite get a handle on it.

"I appreciate you looking after Elizabeth like you done. It was a kind and Christian thing for a neighbor to do, but we must be on. Come on Elizabeth," Banyon said, his voice strengthening. He extended his hand, trying to coax Ellie out from behind his mom. The girl didn't move.

"Your kind and Christian neighbors buried your son, and where were you?" Jacob said.

"Jacob, hush now."

"Janie, I can't explain how or why, but I seen the light. I know now how awful a father I been. I know this and I'm never going to walk that path again. I swear. I swear on Mabel's soul I ain't traveling that road again."

"When was your last drink, Charles? Is that why your hands are shaking? You need a drink? Want me to fix you a whiskey? Will that make everything better?"

"No more, Janie, I promise. I swear it."

"What happens when you can't stop the shaking, when your rage returns from deep inside and you need to let off steam? If you're not drinking, will Ellie take the brunt of your anger?"

"Three days, Janie, I'm sorry to say it's been three days since my last drink. God, I wish it could be ten years, or that I never took up the bottle in the first place. So much would be different. But I can't change any of that. It's all been lived. All that time is gone now. My wife is gone, my boy. All I got left is my Elizabeth standing there behind you. I need her, and I think she needs me, even though she's tough as shoe leather, that girl needs her Pa."

Mr. Banyon was weeping openly, tears falling freely down his cheeks. Jacob could see his mom's will bending. Her face softened, her eyes falling to Ellie. The girl looked so sad, as if she didn't ever want to leave. Maybe Jacob was reading his own feelings into her expression; he couldn't be sure either way.

"Elizabeth, girl, I'm sorry for letting you down." Banyon extended his hand to Ellie, and she took it cautiously, but didn't leave the security his mother provided. He hunched over until he stood eye to eye with her. "You've been so strong for so long. I promise you I won't let you down. I can't change what's past. All I can do is make sure it never happens. Tomorrow or ever again."

Banyon couldn't help it any longer. He covered his eyes with his still-shaking hands, blubbering like a child.

Jacob never thought he would see the day when Charles Banyon showed a hint of weakness, or even that he possessed the slightest bit of kindness within his soul. And here he was doing just that. He was feeling all emotional himself, as if he too would start crying. He bit his lip until the feeling subsided.

Ellie left his mother's side, and while small even for her nine years, her inner strength made her seem much older. She offered a quickly-fading smile, then once again took hold of her father's hand. Mr. Banyon hugged Ellie, hugged her as if she had just saved his life. The man sniffled away his tears and after wiping his cheeks with his shirtsleeve, seemed ready to get on with living.

"Thank you, Miss Fowler. Jacob, take care," Ellie said. She left the house, still holding her father's hand as if he were a child. Mr. Banyon didn't say another word, just followed Ellie as if she lent him the strength to take his next step.

"Are we just going to let her go with him?"

His mom closed the door, shutting out the afternoon heat. "I don't think we've got a choice. Charles has promised to dry out before, and has always ended up backsliding. With the dry laws, he sobered for a while. But temperance was never his strong suit. Not since Mabel died. A loss like that is hard to recover from. But somehow, looking into his eyes just now, I think I want to believe him."

"Mom, he won't ever change." Jacob could understand his mom's weakness for Charles Banyon. She of all people would understand the loss of a spouse. But how long could someone use an excuse? Can an excuse forgive being a sour spirited and altogether malicious person?

"I'll keep an eye on Ellie. We won't let him go bad on her. I won't let it happen."

His mom turned away from their discussion and parted the curtains of the front window. He joined her, watching Ellie and her dad walk home.

A door opened from one of the back bedrooms, and Louise walked out, her hand gingerly rubbing her stomach. Jacob gave her a glance, and when he looked back to the road, the Banyons had gone around the bend beyond their driveway, out of sight.

"I never felt so miserable in all my life," Louise said. When they didn't respond, she came closer, speaking up, "Where's Ellie?"

8.

Ethan Cartwright never aged, never felt the erosive power of the passing years. He wore his purple scar proudly, the lone physical imperfection the Underground had failed to remedy. It was a sigil representing his strength, his ability to outlive a wound that would surely kill most men. But, like all the others living here, the Underground's curative powers never reached his mind. There, in a mire of hatred, paranoia and egomaniacal self-reverence, his dreams ran rampant, inflicting damage that could never heal. And there, in his dreams, he saw one night played out methodically, one second after another unchanged from the night of its tolling. One night unembellished, a night of his reckoning, a night that informed his every waking thought.

Ethan woke with a start, the image of blood splashed across his son's cheek stained into his wakened vision. He pushed the blanket away and ran his fingers over his sweat-soaked chest. His scar burned. His fingers lingered there, as if they could smooth away the damage.

He blinked in the trembling candlelight. The image wouldn't leave him:

Jasper's cheek streaked with blood from his jaw to the fine blond hair over his ear, his eyes filled with sheer terror. Of all the details of that night, he could never remember whose blood tainted the pure white surface of his son's skin. It could've been any of the runaways. They'd all bled plenty. Or it could've been Joss Parkins, the slaves' owner. It could've been his own.

Ethan had been wounded deeply across the meat of his forearm, hacked straight to the bone. The younger runaway, Benjamin, had gotten hold of Vic's machete, and empowered and desperate, wildly swung the weapon. The first strike cut into his master's shoulder, the next struck Ethan's arm. Sinking to his knees while cradling his arm, Ethan's vision found Jasper. The boy, blood-splashed and unhinged, was cowering away, cowering not just from the rampaging runaway, but his own father, too.

"Ethan?" Thea touched his shoulder, and he was fully awake. "You can talk to me. Tell me what happened."

A minute lapsed. He finally turned to look into her eyes, but she didn't look away, even though she was obviously frightened.

He'd never spoken about that night, not even upon reflection with Arthur Scully, but now he found himself opening up. "We didn't know what would happen. After everything that happened, every one of us was exhausted and bleeding badly. We didn't go to the surface, not right away. We were too weak. Too ashamed of nearly losing everything to three slaves, a group including a skinny girl and old man. We learned enough the following morning, when we dragged Parkins to the surface. We'd thought he'd died, everyone did. How can you not die when your head's nearly cut off? But then, as we moved through the tunnels, he started moving. Turns out he did die, just not forever."

Ethan paused, seeing the scene plain as day. The details never eroded.

"It's okay. It's over."

"But it's not. Jasper's dying."

He saw in her eyes that she didn't know what to say. But she brought him to her, pressing his cheek against her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair.

He continued: "Parkins had died, sure enough, but he was rising. We thought we should get him to daylight, see if we might find a doctor for him. How else would we get the second half of our payment if he was dead? When we got to the surface, the sunlight seemed to melt his skin. He rotted before our eyes. We didn't know what to do. When he collapsed in front of us, dead now for sure, we went back below ground."