Bury the Children in the Yard (6 page)

10.

Maria
hadn’t
wanted to follow the butterfly. She chased him chasing the butterfly through the woods. They were not on one of the main trails. This trail was narrow and unmaintained. Hardly a trail at all.

Strange feelings tugged at Joel. This was the first time he had ever felt badly when in the presence of Maria. They jogged down a slight hill and the thought, more like a warning, popped up in his brain ... and she just kept yelling at him to stop.

Something bad was going to happen.

And looking ahead in the oddly luminous night, he noticed the woods didn’t look right. He wanted to heed her warnings but he couldn’t stop.

The woods ahead of them were melting.

No longer individual rigid structures, the trees and shrubs became something like richly colored water. All the daytime green, painted purple in the night, slowly ran down the canvas of the horizon and peeking through was something that looked like ice.

The butterfly swam through the air as if desperate for this new, surreal landscape. Joel watched it disappear into the waterfall of the woods and staggered backward with a blinding light and shocking force. Like a block of ice hitting him in the chest.

11.

Try as he might, Joel was not able to dismantle the bed. It was like the whole structure was made from a single piece of metal. That meant he would have to use the bed itself as a weapon. He squeezed in behind the head of the bed and waited, readying himself, his muscles tense.

He didn’t know how long he waited for Snow. He was about ready to give up. There was probably a camera set up somewhere, watching his every move. He didn’t have much faith Snow was going to open the door and walk into the trap Joel had laid for him. But he wouldn’t give up there. He would give it a few more minutes and if Snow had still not come back then Joel planned on going over to the window and pounding on that. He would use the bed if he had to. Rage made him strong. Rage made him burn.

Just when he was about ready to give up, Snow opened the door. Joel drove the bed forward. The foot of the bed slammed into the doctor, knocking him into the far wall.

Now, however, the bed obstructed the doorway so Joel had to waste precious moments pulling the bed back into nearly the same position it was before. By the time he did that, Snow stood in the doorway, a gun in his hand. The gun was white, small and sinister-looking.

“Stop,” Snow said.

“I didn’t think doctors carried guns.”

“I didn’t think patients tried to kill their doctors.”

“You fed me lies before. Who are you?” If he was going to die at the end of this man’s gun then he felt he at least had the right to know why it was he was dying.

“You’ve seen me before. I’m surprised you were so shocked to see me here ... in my home.”

“What do you mean I’ve seen you before?”

“And I’ve seen you. I’ve watched you for a long time. Actually, that’s not true. I’ve watched Maria for a long time. And then you came along. Did you ever feel like you were never alone?”

“You were the one.” Joel should have seen this before. The shivers in the bushes. The man on the beach who had only been mistaken as elderly. This man was Joel and Maria’s collective unease.

“Do you know what it was like watching you take something I’ve wanted for so long?”

“You’re sick.”

“Yes, Joel. I’m glad you realize that. In fact, I don’t think you know just how sick I am. Do you know how many times Maria has moved in the last ten years, ever since she turned twelve?”

“She moved around a lot.”

“It’s not because her dad was in the military. Everywhere she went, there was someone there, stalking her, making her feel like a victim ... or at least a potential victim. The police were called a number of times but they could never find anything. Not as long as I had this place, all wrapped up in ice and hidden just slightly behind reality.”

“But that’s insane.”

“Who’s to say what’s insane anymore? You’re here aren’t you?”

“But why ... why her?”

“Let’s just say that I’m not fully human, Joel. I’m not a god. Nothing as glamorous as that. But I was close. An angel maybe. I wasn’t always a bad person. I was given this home and the ability to change some things. To
influence
some things. But then I saw this girl one day. It was in Maine. I’ll never forget it. She was in the lake and the undercurrent was pulling her down. I had the ability to become the undercurrent, to change it. And that was what I did. I became the undercurrent. I released her and she swam to safety. But I couldn’t stop watching her. And it didn’t stop there. Over the next several months, I couldn’t take my eyes from her. Eventually, I was told I had to quit this voyeurism or risk losing my powers. It was an easy choice to make. But I didn’t lose all of my powers. Only the ones that gave me any sense of self-worth. So I hope you understand what I am about to do. I hope you understand because I have sacrificed everything I once had to have Maria here, in the closest thing I have to a home. And you are not going to keep me from that.”

Snow raised the gun and fired at Joel. Joel threw himself to the side, the bullet catching him in the left arm. A spray of red cascaded across the pristine winter room. Joel rolled toward Snow, knowing only that he wanted to be close enough to get him out of the way. Instead, he made himself an easier target. He looked up to the gun hovering only inches from his face.

And then he heard a loud sound.

Metal on bone. Bone or ice?

Joel saw the metal bar hit Snow’s head. And he saw Snow’s head erupt in a frosty shower like a shattered ice cube. And then Snow changed. He shrunk, becoming the butterfly that had lead him to this place. Standing where he once stood was Maria.

She smiled down at him.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

“What about him?”

“He’s just a butterfly.”

12.

Joel followed Maria out of the house, into the heat, into the summer. He held Maria in his arms, looking back the way they came. On the floor of the forest was a large block of ice and, inside that block of ice, there was a frozen butterfly, its wings spread wide. He had to look hard to see it. It could have just as easily been a bubble in an ice cube. This, he realized, was Maria’s sculpture.

“I’m still not sure I understand,” Joel said.

“Well, that’s because you never believed in angels.”

“I’d never given it much thought.”

“Snow was a foolish one. Self-righteous. Always thinking he was the only one being punished.”

“What do you mean?”

“When an angel wants something that is human, they become human themselves, possessing only powers of destruction.” Maria approached the block of ice and put her hands onto it. Joel watched as the block melted into a puddle, the butterfly wriggling in the middle of it, before the puddle burst into flame.

“Are you ...” Joel started.

“You were eleven the first time I saw you. You were flying a kite in your backyard. I made myself an eleven-year-old girl, knowing one day we would meet. I hope that doesn’t frighten you. Snow had no idea I had fallen from grace when he tried to save me. That was probably what attracted him to me ... because I was so much like him.”

Joel didn’t know what to think. He was just glad to be alive. He was glad Maria was alive. Everything else would have to come after those two facts. There were so many questions.

“You’re not going to freeze me in a block of ice?”

“No. I promise.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to be okay with that. How do you know
I’m
not an angel?”

She grabbed his hand and put it on her back. He rubbed the smooth scars between her shoulderblades.

“Because you don’t have these.”

The Spot

1.

“That was nice,” Mary said.

Joe kissed the top of her head and reached over onto the nightstand for his cigarettes. Mary lay pressed against him, on her side, her left arm slung over his chest. Fortunately, Joe was able to fit a king-size bed into his apartment and they were able to gravitate toward one half of it in order to avoid the dreaded spot splashed across the other half. Tomorrow he would change the sheets. It would be the first time in a while he had had to do that.

Joe lit his cigarette and offered one to Mary. “No thank you,” she said.

“Would you like me to turn on the TV?”

“I’m fine. I’m actually quite tired. I think I’ll go.”

“No, stay. You don’t need to be out this late.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

Joe smoked his cigarette and wished the TV was on but Mary seemed to be asleep now, looking so peaceful with her eyes closed, that he didn’t want to disturb her. He imagined he would be joining her when he finished his smoke.

Mary was a blind date, set up by his friend Abe, from the office. He had never seen her before tonight. He wondered if he would ever see her again. She didn’t really seem like his type any way other than physically and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual, as evidenced by her current heavy slumber. Joe crushed out his cigarette and, turning out the light, thought,
Christ, I hope she doesn’t snore.

Sleep claimed him in a matter of minutes.

Later, something yanked him from that sleep.

She’s just tossing and turning,
he thought. He reached over to calm her and, instead, felt something cool and slimy on his fingertips.
Oh, the spot
, he reminded himself. But the spot was moving. Panic gripped Joe and he opened his eyes, groping for the bedside lamp and knocking it off before he could turn it on.

The lamps from the street let in enough pale light for him to see adequately.

Mary lay on her back on the other side of the bed. Her legs were open, her knees forming two mountains beneath the sheet.
Maybe she’s ready to go again,
Joe thought. Getting up on his knees, he yanked the sheet back. The panic came back, flushing his cheeks and speeding his heart. The spot had gathered itself up and was halfway inside Mary.

“No,” Joe whispered between clenched teeth. A sickening sweat covered his body. Frantically, he reached for the spot, but his fingers went right through it, coming away damp but unable to stop its journey. Feeling like a gynecologist, he got down on his stomach between Mary’s legs, watching as the last of the spot slithered up into her.

He collapsed back onto his side of the bed, insane thoughts racing around in his head. By the time he could form a logical thought he had himself convinced it was all a dream. That was impossible, wasn’t it? Come couldn’t do that, could it? It was shot out of the body and, if it didn’t find an egg to fertilize, it died, right?

Joe became aware of Mary’s back against his side. See there, it had to be a dream. She wasn’t lying like that a few minutes ago. But the thoughts continued to swim around in his head. Reaching over Mary, he rubbed his hand around on the sheet, seeing if he could feel the spot. Feeling nothing, he got out of bed and turned on the light.

Slowly, he walked around to the other side of the bed.
I’ll see if that damn thing’s still there.
He pulled back the sheet. Bending down close to the mattress sheet, he looked for any sign of it. It was possible that it had dried, he supposed. Midway down the bed he saw something that looked like it could be an outline. The more he looked at it, the more he had himself convinced this had to be the dried stain of the spot. It
was
warm in the room and he
did
have the ceiling fan on its highest setting. It was entirely possible the spot had dried in the hours since it had been expelled from his body.
It was only
, he reasoned,
like a teaspoon of fluid anyway.

He went back over to his side of the bed, nearly giddy with relief, and turned off the light.

“Is something the matter?” Mary asked.

“No … go back to sleep. I just, I don’t know, must have had a dream or something.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I hope we can laugh about it.”

He smoked another cigarette in the dark before closing his eyes and begging sleep to reclaim him.

He woke up later than usual the next morning, feeling well rested. Rolling over, he threw his arm across the empty bed. In Mary’s place was a note.

Thanks for everything.

We’ll have to do it again sometime.

And her name was signed at the bottom. Joe felt relieved. Even though his dream of last night was little more than a distant memory, he didn’t care if he ever saw Mary again.

2.

When he ran into Abe’s wife, Shirley, nearly a year later, Joe didn’t think he would have even been able to recognize Mary if he saw her. Abe had transferred out of the office and, with that, went any connection to Mary whatsoever. Walking out of a deli with a loaf of bread cradled in his arm, on his way home from the office, he felt a tug at his elbow. He stopped and turned, half-expecting to see a bum wanting a little change.

“Joe Hauser!” Shirley’s beaming face met him.

“Shirley,” he said. “I haven’t seen Abe in forever. How are you guys?”

They stood there in the light drizzle, exchanging small talk about their lives. It amazed Joe how little could happen in a year. Just when Joe was ready to bring the conversation to an end and head home to start his dinner, Shirley turned serious and asked, "Did you hear about Mary Tanner?”

“No. I haven’t seen her since that date that Abe hooked us up on. How is she?”

“I guess you
haven’t
heard. Mary’s dead.”

“Oh my God. How did that happen?”

“I just heard about it this morning. I don’t know if anybody
really
knows what happened. They think she was murdered. Her neighbors in the apartment called the police about sounds of a struggle. The police searched her apartment and, well, there was blood everywhere, but Mary wasn’t there.”

“Jeez, that’s a shame.” Joe hated that kind of thing. It had the ability to throw a pall over his entire day. He was beginning to resent Shirley for even bringing it up.