Crossing (15 page)

“Kinda on a spur-of-the-moment type of thing?” he asked.

“Type of thing,” I said, nodding.

With surprising quickness, he stuck out a hand. “Jan’s father. Jack. It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Kris,” I said, shaking his hand. He had a feeble grip, wispy. He let go of my hand with an approving look.

“I know,” he said. He must have seen the puzzlement on my face and chuckled pleasantly. “Jan tells me everything.”

“Where did she go? Maybe I can go help her,” I suggested.

“Don’t worry about it. Come in and wait. She’ll be back soon enough.” He sidestepped to let me through. Then he closed the door behind us.

It had been cleaned up since the last time. The tins and empty cans were gone. The pile of dirty dishes in the sink had been washed, dried, and put away. The furniture now aligned with the contours of the room. Even the cat was gone, from the kitchen, in any case.

“Looks like somebody’s been doing a little housecleaning,” I said.

“Jan,” he responded glumly. “She started cleaning things up this morning. Said it was a pigsty.” He shook his head sadly. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why not?”

“She was a bad, bad, bad girl this morning. I get back after being out all night, I’m tired, tired, tired. Barely recognize this place, it’s so clean. She left no stone unturned. Every drawer opened, every nook and cranny dusted and cleaned. Nosing around, snooping all over the place, meddling into my things. Sometimes I don’t know why I bend over backwards so much for her.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“She should have listened. Should have just left things alone. She shouldn’t have…” He shook his head swiftly from side to side as if in denial. “It doesn’t matter,” he said at last.

I looked out the window. “You said she’s out there? How long has she been outside?”

Something in him suddenly mellowed. He massaged his neck slowly, his lips upturned at the corners. “What were you thinking, coming out here in the cold? Must be pressing, whatever you came to see Jan about.”

“Just…you know. She’s never missed a day of school. Just thought to drop by.”

“OK,” he said cheerfully. He pulled a chair out from the table, its legs squawking against the floor. “Hey, have a seat.”

He pulled out another chair across from me and sat down. He was younger than I’d first thought, boyish. But fastidious. The kind of person who would have trimmed his knuckle hairs had he had any. His face, in fact, was completely devoid of any facial hair. A gleaming egg. A shiny, happy, jolly egg.

“Was Jan not feeling well today?”

“Huh?”

“Jan. She wasn’t in school today.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” he said hurriedly, dismissively, “she has a touch of the flu, under the weather, that kind of thing, you know?”

“She’s outside, though?”

He smiled, glowing with pride. “She’s got spunk, that girl, you know what I mean?”

“Maybe I should go out and help her. If she’s got a cold, maybe she shouldn’t be out there.”

“Don’t you want to stay in here?” He looked suddenly hurt. “Are you comfortable?” he asked, concerned. “Are you warm enough? Are you dry? Why don’t you take off your jacket? You really should be warm enough in here.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m just worried about Jan.”

“Don’t you worry about her. I’m looking out for her. She and I, we’re tight that way,” he said. “I look after her. I make sure she’s safe. I make sure she has no troubles with nothing and no one.”

I studied him a little more closely. “Is it just the two of you out here?”

He flicked his eyes at mine, then just as quickly flicked them away. “There’s three of us, actually.”

I waited for him to go on. “Who else?” I asked when he didn’t elaborate.

“Well, there’s me. There’s Jan. And now there’s you.”

I paused, then asked, “Think she’ll be back soon?”

A quizzical expression landed on his face. He ignored my question. “You look as if you have a slim build inside all that clothing. Do you?”

I paused. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “There’ll be time for that later.” He stood up suddenly, showing again the disconcertingly lithe quickness. “Tea?”

“No. No, thank you.” I sniffed. Even in the cold air, a muskiness hung, a misplaced stench.

I listened for signs of others in the house. It was quiet.

He came back from the counter, a glass of water in hand. He sat watching it with careful intent, like a hunched cat ready to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. He faded away; I sensed his mind drifting out the window, floating over the darkening town. His nails were trimmed to nubs; his hands seemed flawless, without a single crease or hair. As if made out of white marble, and as pale. He had Jan’s eyes. Other than that, there wasn’t much more of a resemblance.

And for the first time, I observed he had a cold. His nose was running, a single streak flowing out of his left nostril down to the tip of his nose where it hung precariously like a teardrop. It dropped, finally, falling into his glass of water.
Blop
. He took a sip.

“Jan’s told me all about you.” He studied me, then continued when I didn’t respond. “Everything. She says you’re a good singer, that you like this girl Naomi at school, that you go to church, that you were once chased in the woods. Don’t look so shocked; I told you she tells me everything. She even told me that you’re a great kisser.” He looked at me closely, his eyes traveling down to my lips. “I could have told her that.”

I did not say anything.

“She told me you were here a few nights back.” He gave a goofy grin. “And you heard me snoring, she said. I get like that when I get tired. And boy, have I been running around all over town. It’s fun, get to see all kinds of stuff.”

He took a sip of water.

“Do you know what else she told me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Told me you rejected her, that you called her—” his mouth twisted into a painful grin “—a slut.” He shook his head. “You hurt her, you know, when you said that, when you rejected her.”

The walls of the room seemed to shift inward. Enclosing me. “I…I…”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” he said, smiling now. “Jan’s a tough girl. She’s had it hard so far. She’s tough as nails; she’ll get through. It’s just that…” His smile disappeared. “I don’t like it when people hurt her anymore.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Boys hurt her. I tell them to stop. They never do.” He looked at me with a whiny expression. “Why won’t they stop? Why does it have to come to…” And again his voice trailed off.

Blop
. Another drop fell from his nose into the glass of water.

“She’s a wonderful person, did you know that? Most people can’t see it, can’t see how special she is.” His tongue snaked out and moistened his lips. “She’s done with hurting, I tell you. No more. Crossed the country to give her a new start; no more hurting for her.”

Blop
.

“Whoever hurts her is dealt with now. I’m not putting up with anything, no more. A mean word, a mean look, a mean anything, doesn’t matter, there are consequences now. Daddy is looking out for her now.”

“I didn’t mean to…maybe she just misunderstood me.” He broke out laughing. “That’s what they all say. It’s amazing. Each and every one of them. When I have them cornered, when they’ve lost all hope, they always start to beg and plead and cry and sob. You should hear them.
Oh, I didn’t mean to laugh at her. Oh, I didn’t mean to tease her about how stupid she is. Oh, I didn’t mean to say she sings like a toad. Oh, I didn’t mean to punch her
.” His eyes clenched on mine. “
Oh, I didn’t mean to call her a slut
.”

For what seemed like an eternity, he held my gaze as if daring me. I pulled my jacket sleeve back and looked at my watch. “Wonder when he’ll get here,” I mumbled to myself.

“Who?”

“Mr. Matthewman.”

“Who’s he?”

“Oh, a teacher at school. We were wondering why Jan didn’t come to school today. He said he’d drop by to check on her after I told him I was coming here first. Should be here any second, actually. School’s so close by.”

He looked at me with friendliness twinkling in his eyes; his lips, however, steely and knotted, sneered. “I thought you said you came here on the spur of the moment,” he said, “just as you were passing by.”

“Oh, you know. In a manner of speaking.”

“‘In a manner of speaking,’” he mimicked back at me, his voice high-pitched and affable. “Kids these days. Think they’re all so high and mighty.” He stared at me, his cheeks, now rosy, pliable as margarine. “‘In a manner of speaking.’ Why can’t you just speak plain English? ‘In a manner of speaking.’ What the hell kind of English is that?”

He glared at me, disgust raging in his eyes now. He shook his head, suddenly slapping himself with a vicious slap. Again, with that disconcerting speed. The sound resonated around the room. When he looked back at me, his eyes were moist, his face soft, friendliness emanating from him once again. “Would you like some tea?”

“No.”

“Are you warm enough?”

I nodded.

“Do you want to take off your jacket? Make yourself comfortable?”

“I’m OK.”

“I bet you’re very skinny,” he continued, barely waiting for an answer, “like all Orientals are.” He cast a careful look at me. “You know, you speak really good English for an Oriental.”

The chair under me creaked.

“I’m very good at differentiating between Orientals, as a matter of fact,” he continued. “Many people have difficulty distinguishing between Koreans, Japanese, and Chinese; but for me it’s never been a problem.” He leaned back, concentrating. “Koreans have rounder faces with big, protruding cheekbones. Japanese have narrow eyes, pointed noses. Chinese have stubbier noses, wider faces.” He looked at me. “Don’t you find that to be true?”

“I don’t—”

“‘In a manner of speaking.’” He giggled. “Say, ‘In a manner of speaking.’”

Then I heard it. The smallest of sounds coming from down the short hallway. A minuscule scratching sound. Then it ceased.

The room fell into a silence. Outside, snow began to fall in thick columns, darkening the interior of the house even more.

“Well, I best be going now,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Whatever do you mean by that?” he asked leaning forward. The smell of toothpaste floated over to me. “You just got here.”

“Jan’s not here. I should go.”

“Don’t be silly. Relax.” He smiled.

I looked down. Pools of melted snow had gathered around my boots, darkening the wood floor.

He looked at me studiously. “You’re Chinese, aren’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

He smiled at me. “I’ve never had a Chinese before.”

I leapt up and bolted for the door.

He responded with cheetah-like quickness.

Even before my chair—sent flying as I jerked upwards—smacked against the wall, he was lunging across the table at me. His fingers grazed against the front of my jacket, but that was all he got.

I pushed off and moved towards the door, each step a maddeningly slow plod.

His failed lunge stalled him. But not for long. I felt him gathering himself, leaping towards me even as I reached for the door.

I got maybe seven or eight strides outside, felt my speed gathering under me, my boots kicking out well against the snow, feeling a sudden surge of power and belief—

When I felt his fingers grip around my neck.

I screamed as he pushed me facedown into the snow. The air was knocked out of me. I tried to curl, but his body fell atop mine. He grabbed my hair and sledgehammered my head into the ice-hard ground. My vision went red. He slammed my head down again; my vision blurred. I cried out. His hands gripped my hair anew; then I heard the sound of hair being ripped out by its roots. My head was shoved down again, skull slammed; I almost blacked out. My body collapsed on the ground, sagged heavy about me.

He picked me up like a rag doll and slung me over his shoulder. He made little fuss. He walked back into the house; his boot prints in the snow were small, that of a little boy playing with glee and abandon in the winter’s first snow. Delicate, prissy prints. A slight hum escaped his lips.

He believed me to be unconscious.

He dumped me like a sack of potatoes on the kitchen floor. It took everything I had to stifle a yelp of pain. I felt him staring down at me, observing. I hid behind my mask of unconsciousness, evened my breathing. A cold draft scrabbled along the floorboards with the smell of wet cat hair. He stood over me as if claiming me, then he walked away, his small, limber feet swishing like a geisha’s, barely audible even on the aged, creaky floorboards. I heard him opening drawers in the room down the hallway, the clink of metal clipping through the stillness. Cold, grating, precise sounds, that of a surgeon lining up his tools on a metal tray. The sound terrified me.

I lay for a long time. I could have made a break for it then, I suppose. But my head was swimming and pounding, I barely felt my legs under me, and I knew, with his scissor-snip quickness, any attempt to escape was futile.

Finally I collected my feet under me and stood up, praying that none of the boards would creak. He believed me to be out cold. The element of surprise was on my side now, and I would take him out with a swift stab of a knife.

If only a knife were to be found. The counters and tabletop were completely bare; all the knives must have been moved to the back room. I could hear him sorting through them at a leisurely, meditative pace.

I stared out the window. Through the descending drifts of gray snow, I could just barely make out the surrounding woods. It looked a million miles away in the darkening dusk. Before I could give it another thought, I edged my way down the hallway.

Ten more steps.

The snow suddenly intensified, plummeting down now in fierce droves outside.

Five more steps.

It was darker along the hallway; I splayed my hands out in front of me.

Two more steps.

And then I was in the back room.

His back was to me, broad and hefty, stooped over a table. He was humming softly, which was why he didn’t hear me approach. I stepped right up behind him—if he took a step back he would have stumbled into me—and slowly reached forward for a hunting knife just to the right of him. He was so short; bent over, his head came up no higher than my stomach. My fingertips landed on the cold sting of the blade.