Nevermore: A Novel of Love, Loss, & Edgar Allan Poe (4 page)

“What did you see?” she asked.
 
She rose, stepped closer to Anita and reached out to offer support.

"I…I'm not sure," Anita said.
 
"It was…like smoke, but not exactly.
 
Silver.
 
I saw silver, tied to your paper.
 
It unraveled and the colors…oh the colors.
 
It was like a rainbow.
 
Like nothing I've ever seen."

"She is free now," Lenore said.

She led Anita to the other chair, across from her.

"I need to do the same for the others.
 
As I work, I need you to talk to me.
 
Watch, if you will – I have never shared this with another – but talk to me.
 
Tell me the stories you know of this man – this bad one – that you fear.
 
Tell me what it is you know, and I will show you my art, whether it's a gift or a curse you can decide for yourself.
 
Know that when I set him free, the word freedom is a relative one.
 
He is trapped here in this world – in this existence – but he is no longer part of it.
 
He should have passed on to the light, or to the dark, but he should not be here.
 
He is trapped.
 
When I release him, whatever fate he originally earned will be his.
 
He will not be free to harm you, or any other.
 
If it is proper, he will be judged."

Anita stared at the picture.
 
The Indian woman's features were bold and bright.
 
Her eyes gleamed.
 
The likeness was so real, so perfect, that it seemed she might turn her face and smile at them.

Lenore returned to her seat, and Anita took the chair opposite her.
 
She composed herself, ordered her thoughts, and then she began to speak.

"His name was Thigpen.
 
Abraham Thigpen.
 
He was supposed to be a lawman.
 
That is what he said when he took a room.
 
No one questioned him.
 
He was well dressed, and armed.
 
He had a badge.
 
I remember that it shone like silver, and he wore it on the lapel of a long, dark jacket.
 
He said that he was tracking a man – a dangerous man.
 
Again, no one doubted him.
 
This is a place that attracts shadows.”

Anita paused.
 
She glanced at Lenore, but got no response.
 
The eraser brushed lightly at the drawing, dragging aside a clump of leaves.
 
The pencil dropped to the paper, and the line of a man’s nose was joined where the leaves had been.
 
There were still twigs crossing the man’s chin, and a final leaf tangled in his hair to be changed.
 
Anita continued.

“He stayed here almost a week.
 
He was an arrogant man, and crude.
 
The longer he stayed, the more he drank, and each night he grew closer to losing control. I remember him because…”

Anita paused again.
 
Lenore wanted to glance up.
 
She was aware of the story, aware of the words, and she sensed the pain behind them, but she could not allow herself to be distracted.
 
Anita would have to continue in her own time.

“…he tried to have his way with me.
 
I work in the tavern, but that is all.
 
I serve drinks.
 
I clean up.
 
Sometimes, if they need me to, I cook, or tend to the rooms.
 
There are other women – there are always other women.
 
They are here for the men – to take their money and offer…what I do not.
 
This man, this Abraham Thigpen, did not respect this.
 
He put his hands on me again, and again.
 
I asked him to stop.
 
Others asked him, and then told him, but he would not be denied.
 
He believed that I was toying with him; that is what he said.
 
He told me that he was a lawman from a very big city, and that he had seen women like me before – holding out – playing hard to get.

“I am engaged to be married.
 
My fiancé Roberto does not come to the tavern.
 
It is a hard thing for him.
 
He does not like that I have to work, and he does not like that I work so closely beside drunken men.
 
One night, against my wishes, he came to see me.
 
He must have sensed that I was upset, that something was not right.
 
It was a night when this man – Thigpen – was drinking too much ale.
 
He stood by the bar; trying to tell stories of the men he’d brought to justice.
 
I think that by this time, the other men had started to wonder how long he would remain – and why he was not out in the world, bringing more men to justice.

“I was doing my best to ignore Roberto, who sat at a table in the corner.
 
He had ordered beer, and he was not used to drinking it.
 
It was a very busy night.
 
To make my way through the crowd I had to come very close to many customers.
 
Sometimes I brushed against them.
 
Sometimes they joked, or reached for me.
 
It is part of my job – not a part that I enjoy.
 
Roberto did not understand, and he grew angry.

“Then I had to serve ale to Abraham Thigpen.
 
He was already very drunk.
 
His eyes did not seem to focus on me, but on some point behind me, and his words – though directed at me – barely made sense.
 
I brought his drink and turned to leave, but despite being drunk, he moved very quickly.

"He stood, and put his arm around me.
 
Before I knew it he had spun me around, groping me with his hands...and his tongue.
 
I pushed away, but he was strong.
 
I slapped him as hard as I could, but he did not release me.
 
No one moved to stop him, and I was afraid.

"Then Roberto was there.
 
Before I knew what had happened, he was at my side, and Thigpen was staggering back.
 
I remember there was blood; the man held his hand to his face.
 
Roberto wanted to follow and attack him, but I managed to wrap myself around him and hold him back.

"By this time everyone was moving and shouting.
 
Men held Thigpen back, and others grabbed Roberto and pulled me away."

Anita fell silent for a moment, and then continued.
 
Her voice was lower, and it was thick with new emotion.

"Roberto is not a rich man," she said.
 
"He works on one of the farms.
 
He migrated here with his family – we are treated little better than slaves.
 
I have good work here, but …

"They took Roberto away.
 
They took him down to the road, and several men – men I'd served drinks and meals to, beat him.
 
They left him by the trail, and remained close by to be certain he did not return.

"This Thigpen, he grew very cold, and very quiet.
 
He did not scream at me … he talked to the owner of the tavern.
 
I am not sure what he said, but it must have been a threat.
 
They gave him more to drink, and I was called aside.
 
I was told…I was told that if I did not go to that man's rooms and treat him well, I would no longer have a job – and Roberto would be arrested.

"When I asked why – when I begged that it not be so, I was told that Roberto had struck a lawman.
 
That his life should be forfeit and that I should be glad – proud – that I had the chance to redeem him."

L
enore listened, her grip tightening on the pencil and the eraser as the story whirled slowly into darker and darker shadows.
 
Though she worked as she always had, something felt different.
 
She hurriedly finished the details on a young man whose features she'd exhumed from the lines and whirls of the tree's bark.
 
She felt the soft rush of his escape.
 
She did not even glance at the others, but moved straight to the image of the man she now knew as Abraham Thigpen.

Of all the faces she'd found, his was buried most deeply.
 
She started at his chin, working her way up one shade and angle at a time.
 
She was not ready to meet the gaze of his eyes, even dead and spirit trapped in the swamp.
 
She had never known them, those that she drew.
 
Not before they were free – almost never after, though a few had been recognized over the years.
 
Good, bad, whatever, she didn't
know
them and now this.
 
Now this –
evil
– so close beneath her fingers, so intertwined with her mind.
 
The words continued – as if in some way Anita had been drawn into the process.

Something dark – with wings – flashed across the periphery of her vision.
 
There was a sound – like a thud – but it floated to her from far away, and though she thought it might be important, she couldn't concentrate on it.
 
The walls blurred.
 
The room faded.
 
Her fingers worked, and she was aware of the work, but she did not see the image.
 
Anita's story claimed her, and suddenly she stood outside herself – outside the tavern – on the long wooden porch that led down the front of the building.

Ahead of her, a tall man lurched drunkenly down the North Carolina side of the Halfway House.
 
He held a girl – Anita – by the wrist, dragging her after him.
 
Lenore tried to move toward them – tried to call out.
 
She could not.
 
She was there, but at the same time, she was not.

"Please," Anita sobbed, pulling back against Thigpen's grip.
 
"Please do not do this.
 
I want to go home."

The man turned, and Lenore saw his eyes flash a bright blue – cold, like chips of ice.

"Shut your mouth, girl," he said.
 
"You will do exactly what I say, or your new home will be a place far from here.
 
There are jails for women like you – places where you could be locked away and forgotten.
 
Your man, as well.
 
He attacked me – I could have him killed."

"Please," she said – softer.
 
She no longer fought, and he ignored her.
 
He stopped by one of the doors, fumbled in his pocket, and produced a key.
 
He was obviously drunk, but it did not seem to prevent him from functioning – a sure sign of a man more used to spirits than sobriety.
 
An odd way for a man of the law to behave.

He dragged Anita through the door, and slammed it closed behind him.
 
Lenore tried, again, to cry out.
 
She moved as if to follow, but the world shifted once again, and she found herself suddenly inside the room.
 
She had not moved, but the world shifted, and she was there.

Anita lay sprawled across the bed.
 
Thigpen stood over her, leering.
 
In one hand he held a flask.
 
With the other, he began to unbutton his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal a chest matted with thick, dark hair.
 
His face – the same face from the image she'd drawn – was dark and filled with lust.
 
He tipped back the flask.

"Take off your clothes, girl," he said.
 
"Take them off now, or I will be forced to do it for you.
 
I assure you, I will enjoy that, if it is necessary, but they
will
come off."

Anita was crying.
 
Her hair was a mess, and she looked like a crumpled flower.
 
She wore a long, dark skirt, and a white blouse.
 
She gripped the bottom of the blouse, sliding it slowly up.
 
Thigpen stood, wavering from side to side, and watching.
 
He tipped the flask again, took a long drink, and must have emptied it, because he tossed it aside.
 
He staggered toward the bed, reached for the next button on his shirt, and tried to take another step forward.

The alcohol was stronger than he'd imagined, or perhaps he'd just been too far gone to notice.
 
As he neared the bed, his feet became tangled.
 
He fell toward the bed so quickly that Anita had to scramble aside, falling to the floor, to avoid having him land on her.
 
She scrambled across the rough planks until she came up against the wall, then she turned back, hands flat on the floor, ready to press up and run.

There was no need.
 
Thigpen had fallen face-flat on the bed.
 
He was not moving, and after a long moment, deep snores filled the air.
 
Anita sat very still, drawing one hand up to her breast.
 
She listened…but there was nothing.
 
Very slowly, she pressed off the floor and stood.
 
She crossed the room to the door at a run, turned, and stopped with her hand on the doorknob.