Wisp of a Thing: A Novel of the Tufa (Tufa Novels) (36 page)

He dressed and quickly packed, anxious to leave Needsville as soon as possible. As he made the last check for anything he might have forgotten, his phone rang.

“Hey,” Doyle said. He sounded very tired. “Sorry we ran out on you. How’s the head?”

“It hurts. But it’ll be okay. Did the cops call you?”

“Yeah. I backed you up. Your friend’s off the hook.”

“Thanks. Did they say anything about Berklee stabbing Stoney?”

“No. And no cops have shown up here. If I know the Tufa, they wouldn’t call the cops even if she’d killed him. Which I guess she may have, judging by how much of his blood she had all over her.”

“You okay with that?”

“I guess. He deserved it.”

“And Berklee?”

“She’s different. Real different.”

“In a good way?”

“I don’t know yet. She’s still pretty pissed off. I’ve had to physically stop her twice from trying to find Stoney with a gun. I pointed out that stabbing him in the dick like she did was probably worse than actually killing him.”

“But she’s not … under his spell anymore?”

“Spell?”

“Or whatever.”

“No, she ain’t. That’s something, I guess. I owe you one for that.”

“I think we’re even. Take care, and give Berklee my best.”

There was a rustle on the line, and then Berklee said, “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“You saved my life.” Her voice was firm, certain, and completely free of the pitiful whine that underlined everything she’d said before.

“Well, I don’t know about
that
—”

“I do. And you did. How’s your friend?”

“She ran off into the woods. I haven’t seen her.”

“Don’t blame her. It’s like having a knife inside you. When it comes out, it hurts more than you can imagine. And if she never really understood what had happened to her in the first place, it’s no wonder she freaked out.”

“Think anyone will ever find her?”

“I doubt it. And I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Take care, Berklee.”

“I’ll try.”

*   *   *

At the very top of the Widow’s Tree, where the trunk grew sapling-thin, clung Curnen Overbay. She swayed in the soft, cool wind, the sun warm on her skin.

She looked out over the valley and beyond. Too far away for human eyes, she saw the straight line of Interstate 81 where it cut through the hills around Morristown. The cars zooming along it resembled robotic insects obeying instinctual migratory urges. Even at this distance, the harsh chemical smell made her sensitive nose wrinkle.

It was nothing, though, compared to the emotions burning inside her. Something huge had happened to her, and she wasn’t yet done changing.

The truth about herself flew around in her head like a butterfly unable to select a flower. She was a child of incest, and the victim of sexual abuse. She was a widow. She’d only barely retained even her basic humanity. If the leaves atop this very tree had blown away even a few moments earlier, she’d be running around in the forest forever, lost to herself and everyone else.

But she’d been saved from that. And now she had a debt to pay.

Or was it? Was it something owed, or something desired? A reward, or a need?

The tree swayed. The wind tousled her hair.

She’d married young, in human terms. Her love had been true, and he had tried his best to defend her against the evil. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t been strong enough.

Rob had been, because Rob had the wind at his back. Rob had saved her. And he’d tried to save the other woman, the stranger.

She put her cheek against the bark. Somewhere far below, back in Needsville, Rob was leaving. Alone.

*   *   *

Downstairs at the Catamount Corner, Mrs. Goins rang up Rob’s bill. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” she said as she ran his credit card through the machine. “It’s certainly been eventful, hasn’t it?”

“I’ll never forget a minute of it,” he said with certainty. “Thanks for being so nice to a stranger.”

She smiled and seemed genuinely touched. “Why, you’re very welcome, Mr. Quillen. Will you be coming back to visit? I noticed you and Bliss Overbay seemed to be getting along real well.”

“I doubt it,” he said wryly. “Vacation romances never last.”

“Now, that’s not true. Look at Danny and Sandy in
Grease.
”

He laughed. “I don’t think that’s an example of real life.”

“Real life is more like a song than you might think. At least, it is here.”

He carried his bag outside and put it into his car. He took one last look around the little town, marveling at the secrets he now knew lurked below its surface.

He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the post office. The old woman sat in her chair quilting, but there was no sign of Rockhouse. Was he dead? Had Curnen killed him? And if so, what would happen to the Tufa? Would they all now follow Bliss? Or would a new leader, even worse than Rockhouse, appear to take over his half of Needsville’s fairies?

He looked down the street toward the mountains. For a long moment, he didn’t know what he was looking for; then he realized he expected Bliss’s truck to suddenly appear in the distance and pull up beside him, followed by an awkward farewell in which he would at least learn what had finally happened at the Pair-A-Dice. He waited a few more minutes before he realized she wasn’t coming. He started the car, backed out of the spot, and drove away from Needsville for good.

*   *   *

Just past the Cloud County sign, an emu blocked the road.

Rob slowed to a stop, but the bird still didn’t move. He honked, leaned out the window, and yelled. Finally, he put the car in park and opened the door.

When he stepped out of the car, the emu trotted off and someone emerged from the bushes.

It was
Anna.

At least, it was for an instant. When he gasped and looked directly, it was Curnen.

She wore frayed jeans with holes in the knees, an old sweatshirt and a denim jacket. From the mismatched look of them, he guessed they’d been scavenged from people’s clotheslines. Her hair was pushed back from her face, and she carried a child’s small pink suitcase, probably also stolen.

Still, she looked …
normal.
She stood upright, and the glazed look had gone from her eyes. She was dirty and mismatched, but then, so were most of the interesting girls he’d known. The child’s suitcase was no sillier than Anna’s Hello Kitty purse.

She waited silently, eyes downcast.

“Uh … hi,” he said at last. He nodded at the suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

She did not look up. Carefully enunciating each word, she said, “I want to go away with you.”

“Did you just
talk
?”

She nodded. “I can talk.” Eyes still down, she said, “He sent me away after his music failed. He said it was my fault. I was a wild animal, he said, and shouldn’t be around people. Or talk to them. Or sing, even to myself.” She raised her eyes. “He doesn’t have that power anymore.”

“Did you
kill
him?”

She shook her head. “Some of us—” She paused as she sought the words. “—don’t die unless we want to. The selfish ones never do. I hurt him. But he won’t die.”

“And you want to leave.”

“Yes. With you.”

“Wow. This is … sudden.”

“Not for a Tufa. I know your song. It hurm … horm…”

“Harmonizes?”

She nodded emphatically. “Har-mo-nize-es with mine. Sorry, the big words are hard right now.”

He bit his lip. “Curnen, I don’t want to say. I owe you a lot, but … you’re not
human.
” Even though he knew it was true, he felt weird verbalizing it. She certainly looked human, and small, and sad. If he touched her, she’d be warm and alive. But in a blink, she could transform into something ethereal, otherworldly,
alien.

Curnen nodded. “I know. But I can be her, too.”

And again, for an instant, Anna stood there before him.

“No!” he yelled, and turned away. “Don’t
ever
do that!”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I won’t do it again, I promise. Some people, some men … like that.”

“Not me.” When he looked, she was herself again. “I’m sorry, I know you want to leave, and I don’t blame you. But I don’t think I could handle it.”

She nodded as if she expected his answer. “That’s how all the songs end. But we each lost half our hearts. If we put our halves together…”

He said nothing.

Sadly, she turned and walked away. Her bare, rough-soled feet skitched against the blacktop.

“Curnen, wait.”

She stopped halfway up the shoulder of the road. Her posture had already regained some of its primal slouch.

“You really
can
leave? I mean, it didn’t go so well for Rockhouse. Or Bronwyn Hyatt.”

She nodded. With a little smile, she said, “I am not chained to this spot. And the winds know I’ll be back.”

“And are you sure you
want
to? I mean, I live in a city, in a real flat part of the country. We don’t have hills. We don’t even have many trees. We have a lot of cars, and corn, and people, and noise.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. “Do you have songs?”

He half smiled. “Yeah. Songs we got.”

She climbed back down to the road. “Then I’m sure.” She touched his face with her rough fingers. “But hear me, Rob Quillen. The pain of your loss will return. Less, but still considerable. I know you’ve worked hard to release it, but it can still take hold of you. I will help you sing away the fury, Rob, but I will not bear it for you.”

“Okay,” he said, although he didn’t know exactly what she meant.

She grabbed his wrist in a grip like a hydraulic press. “You have to understand me. There are no half measures here. I am your girl. I will be your woman. But I will never be your victim. If you ever try to turn me into that, I will sing your dying dirge.”

Her eyes were, for a moment, as cold as any reptile’s. Rob recalled the brief glimpse of Curnen, blood-spattered and wild, with a chunk of human flesh in her teeth. Then it vanished and she was small, and fragile, and
his.
He felt it as surely as he did gravity.

And it felt good. Whatever the source, whether it was his own emotion or something impinged on him by her, it felt good. He felt whole.

“I’ll be careful,” he said sincerely.

“And I’ll be patient.” Then she kissed him.

He gently took her arm and guided her to the car. As he did, he glanced at the Cloud County sign and stopped. Something had changed about it. It still read,
Welcome to Cloud County, Tennessee,
and the painted mockingbirds still flew in the corners. But there was a difference.

“Hey, didn’t that sign used to say something else?” He was certain there’d been more, an epigram or motto of some sort. Of course there had; he’d nearly crashed trying to read it.

Curnen shrugged. “I don’t know. Until now, I could only see the back of it.”

“Huh,” Rob said. Then he helped her into the passenger seat and buckled the belt around her.

Then Rob Quillen and his fairy lover drove away into the west.

35

Twenty years later …

Denton Sizemore had no time to react. One moment the road was empty; then suddenly she was
there,
right in front of him. He hit a deer last year, just after he’d gotten his license, and knew how sickening that felt. This was far worse; the sound his truck made when it struck the woman would stay with him forever.

He dialed 911 on his cell phone as he jumped out of the truck. No one used this old highway anymore, and there were no houses within five miles. The only building was the abandoned remains of an old roadhouse nightclub, its parking lot overgrown with kudzu, two faded wood cutouts of what looked like dice or dominoes still mounted on its roof. This was the last place he’d expect to find a pedestrian, especially one who dashed into the road right in front of him.

He knelt beside her. From the way her eyes stared at the overcast sky, he knew she was dead, and he almost threw up. The emergency dispatcher asked him calmly to describe the victim.

“Sh-she looks about thirty,” he told the dispatcher. “She’s got red hair, and she’s wearing clothes like they did twenty years ago. No, I don’t see a purse anywhere.”

Following the dispatcher’s instructions, he tentatively touched her neck for a pulse. Her head lolled to one side the way it could only if her neck was broken. He nearly screamed.

“Y’all, please hurry!” Sizemore said, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone here with a
corpse
!”

The dispatcher stayed on the phone with him until the police and ambulance arrived. The paramedics quickly loaded the body onto a stretcher and carried it away, while the state trooper sympathetically took his statement.

One of the paramedics, a woman with long black hair, put a hand on Sizemore’s shoulder. He recognized her as one of the Needsville Tufas, although he didn’t know her name.

“Don’t feel too bad about it,” she said gently. “It was an accident, that’s all.” She leaned closer. “And really, this woman died twenty years ago.”

Sizemore didn’t understand the strange comment, but the EMT’s smile and touch eased his panic. She hummed a tune he almost recognized as she climbed into the ambulance and closed the door. Red lights flashing, it drove away into the mist.

NOTES ON SOURCES

All song lyrics are original, with the exception of two stanzas from “Hares on the Mountain,” a traditional English ballad first printed in
One Hundred English Folksongs
:
For Medium Voice,
a landmark 1916 songbook edited by Cecil J. Sharp (1859–1924); one stanza of “Pretty Saro,” another traditional English ballad, first published in Alan Lomax’s
North Carolina Booklet
in 1911; and “Little Omie Wise,” which first appeared in
The Greensboro Patriot
(North Carolina) newspaper on April 29, 1874.

And of course, “Wrought Iron Fences” by Kate Campbell, from her 1997 album
Moonpie Dreams,
and used by her generous permission. She gets honorary Tufa status for that.