Adam's Woods (21 page)

And what, really, was his home? This apartment in Pittsburgh? No. It had never felt that way. He didn't like the city, just prized its ability to drown out his past. But now, since he had faced his brother's death that purpose had been served. He had thought of Lincoln Corners as home on his first drive up there. Maybe not so far off base.

He didn't think that his father resented his mother for making him leave. In some ways he was sure it brought relief. Just as Mary didn't condemn him now. But they had left together, and his father chose and then didn't look back. He suspected, without any implication from Mary, that if she returned and he stayed, it would be over before it began. Maybe not right away, but when the relationship finally withered and fell away, any analysis would trace it back this moment.

At the base of all of this, beneath the human tendency to look for an easy out and beyond the potential of what he might have with Mary, Eric found that he did want to see it through. See how this all ended up. It had started decades ago, when his brother had been ripped from his life, and how could he walk away from the possible resolution of the single most influencing event in his life? He knew Harry meant well, and there was surely sense in what he said. If Mary weren't here to force reconsideration, he might have followed his advice. And just as surely regretted it later.

He understood that he shared more than facets of his father's appearance. Shared his spirit too, and if he could call and speak of this to only his father, he knew he would approve. He remembered Pastor Burroughs' words on truth. That true things were hard. He took one last desiring look at his plans to flee and dismissed them. Amen.

"...need to rent a car tomorrow. Eric?"

"I'm sorry, Mary, was just thinking. No, you don't need to rent a car. I'm going back. But let's just give it a day or more. Can you do that?"

She paused, starting straight ahead, and then slowly nodded yes. "I can do that. I'm glad Eric. I would face it alone, but I'd rather have you there with me. But are you sure? After Adam. I know it's got to be hard for you."

He stood up and crossed the small distance between them that a moment before had been a chasm and put his arms around her. She hugged him back, without any reservation, and he began to understand a little bit more what home felt like.

"Yes, it might be hard. But for Adam, that's exactly why I have to do it. And for you."

Mary had gone to bed about an hour before. With the blanket and pillow situated on the couch, he knew that if he went back to the bedroom, she would welcome him. As much as he wanted to do that, Eric remained in the living room. He didn't want their first time to be the result of external forces putting pressure on them, the words they had said to each other, their judgment impaired as a result and clarity coming too late. First, there were the murders and what they meant and what they connected to and what they might reveal.

But it didn't make it easy. To distract himself, he pulled up the story and read the last chapter. And began to write.

The boy, standing next to Sean in the cabin - if standing described floating in the air above the floor and apart from the walls - looked the same as in the field, dressed in clothes from a Revolutionary War painting in a history book. Fascinated, he forgot about the man until he roared again. The cabin shook so hard Sean thought for sure it would fall apart. And then it would be over.

"I gave you a chance, Sean. Ask Silas what I can do. He knows. And if he's forgotten, he'll remember very soon."

Then silence. A bird, from far away but a bird, sang a short, sweet song. Sean wept to hear it, a commonplace noise taken for granted in his previous life, now as wondrous as an oasis in the desert. He waited for another, holding his breath, but the silence closed in again, wrapping around and through the woods, as it had the town. But he had heard it, the song still sounding in his head.

He turned his attention to the ghost. The boy's eyes were wide open, his jaw slack, as if he himself had just seen a ghost. It almost made Sean giggle to think of it, surprised at this lightness of mood. And then the boy spoke, in two drawn out syllables rising into a question at the end.

"Si-las?"

"Is that your name? Silas?" Sean asked.

"I...yes. Yes it is. My name is...Silas. He took...everything that I was. You have to stop him, Sean.”

"How can I stop him? He killed everyone Silas. My mom and dad and my brother Jake. My friend Randy. Everyone." Sean fought to keep the tears from spilling.

"Yes. That's what he does. My mother and father as well. My sister was only two years old."

Sean thought he might feel more like a boy again, being with another, but he realized that although Silas appeared as a boy, his voice and bearing were not. If the clothes indicated colonial times, then probably this spirit was over two-hundred years old.

Silas said, “He can't come in here, but he might find another way to get to us. Maybe not to you, but possibly to me. I might know how to send him away. It might even destroy him, if that can be done. But I think he can at least be undone. And all of us might be freed."

"Why can't he come into the cabin?"

"He can't come in here, because it was built by children, with innocence and especially with hope. Not only yours, but the others', too. It was in your sweat, your blood when you scraped your hand or pricked a finger on a splinter, the oils of your skin when you touched the pieces used to assemble it. It soaked into the wood where it now resides. It used to reside in you as well, in all of us, but he drove it out and feeds on the fear and despair that remain. But he can't drive it out of something that cannot feel, so you're safe for now, as long as you stay inside."

Sean felt a tremendous relief and sense of triumph at this declaration, but then he wondered what he would eat and drink, and his heart fell. A temporary solution against the inevitable, at best.

As if reading his thoughts, Silas continued, "But you can't stay in here. If you did, long enough, he might leave for a while. But he would come back. Because the fear of him would live in you forever, and he would know. It draws him. It's what drew him in the first place. And he would never allow you to get away."

"But then where can I go? He wouldn't let me leave before. I tried." Sean hated the whine in his voice, like a little kid. The realization of his responsibility for bringing the man struck like a hammer blow. He killed his mom and dad, and Jake, and Randy, the policeman and everyone else.

"You have to find the body, and bring it back here. I don't know if it will be enough, because it's never been done. But it might."

"What body? Do you mean a dead body? He has them all." Sean was confused, and angry. Silas wasn't making sense. He now thought of the demented faces on many of the other children. Maybe Silas was no different, just appeared that way.

"No, the body that brought him here. In the woods."

"What?"

"Sean, your fear opened the door. But it wasn't the door itself. Something happened here, long ago. Someone, another child, was murdered. And the people don't forget that. They can't. It's embedded in the soul of this town, just as this wood is treated forever. They likely did not speak of it often, and some may have not even been aware of it. Children are sensitive to the fear, to that unseen current running throughout their existence. A child can’t explain it away or ignore it or understand it. And sometimes there is one child more sensitive to it than others. And in him, or her, it collects and builds. And when it's enough, he feels it, smells it, tastes it. And he comes."

Sean shook his head. "I was just afraid of stupid ghost story books."

"Yes, and I was afraid of tales that my older brother used to tell by the light of the hearth before bedtime. Of creatures that walked in the woods and would eat little children. But those fears are a place to attach the nameless one beneath, and give it expression, the ghost stories only a means."

"How do you know all of this?"

"I've had two centuries to figure it out. Watching him when he didn't know I watched. From inside. You saw his eyes. That's where we are. Inside. It's so dark, but he let's us see out sometimes. It's driven some of them mad, and I will go that way too, which will be a blessing if I can't get away. He sends us out to show the next one; you, this time. His collection. His trophies. When you were unafraid, he lost his grip, and I escaped. Some of the others did too, but they didn't know where to go, and he's taken them back. If he takes me, I'll never have the chance to get out again."

"But how, Silas? How will I find the kid that was killed? As soon as I step out of here, he'll kill me. And then we'll both be lost." As he spoke, he noticed his breath escape in a white plume and he shivered. The cabin had grown cold. Summer nights could be cool, but not like this. He stepped to the gap in the back, where the man had looked in on him. The ground was covered with snow. At least a foot. The trees had shed their leaves and their branches appearing as sinister fingers reaching into the sky.

"He's done this. To force you out. This place belongs to him now. But it will help you in your search, and that he doesn't know."

"Know what?" Sean asked, shivering constantly now.

"That the land remembers. The land knows. And now that it's barren, it will show you, if you look. But you have to go. You'll freeze to death if you stay here. Go back to your house and dress warm. Then go find the body. It will be all bones now. Bring as much as you can. Break a piece of wood from the cabin. It will protect you but you must not let go of it. No matter what. Because he always holds one back. He will try to use that against you..." Silas' increasingly short sentences faded to silence, and Sean noticed that he had dimmed, barely visible against the warped wood of the cabin wall.

"Silas, what's happening? Hold what back?"

"He's calling me. I will wait here...if I can. Go now, Sean."

"You have to tell me more. I can't do this, Silas," Sean screamed, edging on hysteria. Silas didn't answer. Sean could only make out his form if turning so that the apparition appeared in his periphery. And then only just. He wanted to break down and cry, wanted to wait here while Silas found this child. He'd done enough, and it was someone else's turn. But Silas couldn't and there was no one else. He knew that only too well.

With a cry of helpless rage, he turned around and grabbed a board and pulled. The rusty nails that held it in place squealed and fought him for the right to the scrap. They yielded with a final protest and following a sharp crack he held the wood in his hands, an arms-length piece of two by four that had been coupled with another board beneath to make a slat to stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Not too large, so he could carry it. Sean looked it over for something that would identify it as the talisman that Silas claimed it to be. It looked like an ordinary piece of wood. The nails poked out of the top, and he supposed he could use them as a weapon, but doubted it would do much good. No, if he went, he had to trust the hidden power of this wood, based on the word of a child's ghost, that it had properties to ward off a demon. But having a plan, and some hope, was better than none at all, and the cabin had kept the man out. But that was an enclosed space, and what if the magic hadn’t seeped in deeply enough, or not enough of the sacred materials had been applied to this one piece? Maybe he should choose another. But how could he trust that one, when they all looked the same? He stopped his increasingly panicky thoughts. Silas was right. He needed to go. It was too cold to stay here.

With the wood in his hand, and one more glance at Silas, Sean mustered his courage, opened the cabin door, and stepped out into the fresh snow, so beautiful in its pristine state. He expected the man to attack him at once, held the wood out like a cross to a vampire and turned in a circle. Only silence. Slowly, he began to walk towards the clearing and his house.

Eric sat alone in the house in Lincoln Corners, trying to think of something besides the bodies. But what else was there? His life, Mary's life, and, he had assumed, the entire town's life, was consumed with the discovery. But the town did not know, went about its quiet business in total ignorance of the story that Eric thought had a shot at making the national news; especially when the reporters came to dig up secrets as the forensic team dug up the bodies, and found out about Adam. Some of them might even remember.