Popcorn Thief (8 page)

“The thing that left the gouges in Lexine’s face,” Franklin
said, trying to at least clarify what he meant. “Yeah. It attacked me. Put me
in the hospital last night.”

Aunt Jasmine turned a baleful glare at Preacher Sinclair.
“Preacher, what are you gonna do about this thing?”

“Me?” the preacher asked. “I’m not sure why you think I
should get involved.” His dark skin couldn’t hide how he paled at the thought.

“Didn’t you say this thing is evil?” Aunt Jasmine said,
turning toward Darryl.

“That’s what the tramp said, how he described it. Franklin?”
Darryl asked. “What would you say?”

“Its
intent
is to
kill,” Franklin said quietly. “It sees anyone who’s special as competition.
It’s a predator. But—it also likes to cause pain.” He shivered,
remembering how helpless he’d felt in the face of its fury and hate.

“See?” Aunt Jasmine said. “An evil creature that likes to
cause pain, that’s not of this world. Should be right up your alley, preacher.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Preacher Sinclair said. “We’ll
talk, after the funeral,” he added, nodding at Franklin.

Great. Another day spent hunting in the woods, searching for
a creature Franklin wasn’t sure he wanted to find. Just what he needed.

* * *

Franklin sat back down with relief after finishing the hymn,
“There is Power in the Blood.” He couldn’t believe how standing for even a
short while left him tired and aching.

Preacher Sinclair started, leaning on his pulpit, in his
purple robes and long white scarf. “Lexine was a child of God, called back to
him too soon. Maybe he needed her back by his side, or maybe she needed to be
carried for a while.”

While Aunt Jasmine was nodding, Franklin shook his head.
Lexine had been a strong-willed woman who’d stood on her own two feet for a
good long time. She didn’t need anyone to take care of her.

Most everything the preacher said, Franklin disagreed with:
She’d never finished high school, but she’d been one of the smartest people
Franklin knew; she hadn’t kept a garden because it was simple or uncomplicated,
no, but because it was part of the cycle, life and death, growth and harvest.

Finally, Preacher Sinclair stopped his stomping around the
front of the church and called for people from the congregation to say a few
words.

Aunt Jasmine was too torn up to say anything, so Darryl got
up first, and talked about Lexine’s fire and how she’d whooped his ass, more
than once. May talked about how Lexine liked to get crazy with her sometimes,
and the trouble they’d cause. Jason told about Lexine’s gentle side, a part of
her that she didn’t show many folks.

Finally, they all turned to Franklin, and he realized they
expected him to get up and say something. He swayed when he stood, and fresh
sweat broke out across his shoulders. The painkillers made him woozy, but he
still walked tall to the front and stood behind the reading lectern.

“Lexine was special,” Franklin said. “She knew God’s spirit,
and offered comfort to those who needed it, shelter until they could move on.
She followed God’s will—though maybe not all his commandments.” That
brought a chuckle. “She was strong and crazy good and lived such a big life,
all the time. I’m gonna miss her, so much.”

That was about all Franklin could say. As he walked back to
his pew, a light flared at the back of the church, something warm and
welcoming. It wasn’t a spirit or a ghost, though it had that kind of feeling to
it.

Maybe it was just Lexine saying
thank you
.

* * *

After the funeral, everyone gathered in the community room
downstairs. The church ladies served punch for the kids, sweet tea and coffee for
the adults, along with fresh-baked cookies. The back doors were wide open so
the kids could run in and out of the room, despite the heat of the day.

Darryl helped Franklin shed his jacket, though Franklin
didn’t roll up his sleeves—he didn’t want anyone getting a better look at
his wounds. He felt vulnerable enough as it was. He sat at one of the round
tables covered with the good, white-linen tablecloths, sipping his ice tea. He
kept his back to the wall, where it’d be protected, and people wouldn’t bang
into it by accident.

A pretty white woman with brown hair and hazel eyes came up
to him. She wore a bright yellow dress. “Mr. Kanly?” she asked. “That was
beautiful, what you said about Lexine. And you’re right. She was very, very
special.”

The woman seemed so familiar. “Nurse Julie!” Franklin
finally exclaimed.

“That’s right! I wasn’t sure you’d remember me. You were
kind of out of it.”

“Of course I’d remember a pretty nurse like you,” Franklin
said. “How did you know Lexine?”

“We belonged to the same…group,” Julie said.

“What kind of group?” Franklin asked, curious. What did
Lexine have to do with a pretty nurse all the way over on the far side of the
county?

“It’s a group who get together to do good works,” Julie said
seriously. “Not like a charity, but to pray for the world, sometimes.”

Franklin hadn’t known Lexine was the praying type. “Really?”
he asked. “I hadn’t known about it.”

“Lexine wouldn’t have talked about it to anyone in your
family. She did say that she might have invited you along, sometime, though.”
Julie paused. “I didn’t realize, until I saw you get up at the service, that
you were the cousin Franklin that Lexine had talked about.”

“So it’s like a prayer circle?” Franklin asked. He didn’t
want to join anything like that: He had enough to deal with already.

“Not exactly,” Julie said. She looked over her shoulder to
make sure no one was listening too closely. “We’re a group of pagans.”
 

* * *

Franklin wasn’t sure how he felt about Lexine being in a
pagan group. She’d never been a church-going kind of lady, but Franklin hadn’t
had any doubts about her being a good person.

But maybe she’d been getting too close to her spirits if
she’d been believing in things beyond her spirits, like other gods and such.

Franklin hadn’t ever had any problems with his
faith—it’d always been his duty to help ghosts move on to Heaven, if
that’s where they was headed, to get closer to God.

“So you’ll come? To our service for Lexine?” Julie asked.
The noise in the community room had died down some, as people were starting to
say their goodbyes and final condolences to the family.

“Yes, I’ll come,” Franklin said. They weren’t witches, she’d
assured him. But they didn’t believe in the God he did.

“Good!” Julie said. “It’ll be Saturday night. I’ll come and
pick you up, because you shouldn’t be driving yourself yet.”

After pocketing Franklin’s address, carefully written out on
a napkin, Julie stood up to go. “I think you’ll like our group. Maybe feel at
home there. I know Lexine did.”

“I’m sure I will,” Franklin assured Julie, though he wasn’t
sure at all. Lexine had sworn the only place she ever felt at home was in her
cabin in the woods, far away from everyone, surrounded by nature.

After Julie had gone, Franklin thought about getting another
iced tea. He knew he’d be expected to go back to Aunt Jasmine’s house, to be
with the family, but really, he just wanted to go take a nap. It was about time
for him to take another set of pain pills as well.

Preacher Sinclair came to sit at Franklin’s table just as he
was fishing out one of the prescription bottles from his jacket pocket. The
preacher had taken off his purple clergy robes and just wore a white dress
shirt, with a bright blue and purple striped tie, and light gray slacks.

“I’m sorry to see you in such pain,” the preacher started
with. “Both your physical and mental anguish.”

“Thank you, sir,” Franklin replied. “I’ll be all right,
though.” He just needed a couple days rest, or so the doctors had assured him.

“So what exactly happened? What attacked you?” Preacher
Sinclair asked. “I’d thought it was some kind of wild animal who got Lexine.
She did live pretty far out in the woods.”

“It weren’t no animal,” Franklin said. “It was a
creature—a spirit.”

“A spirit? Like a devil? Or a demon?”

Franklin shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s not from
Hell—it’s just—not human.

“I see,” the preacher said. “And why do you believe that?”

Franklin blinked, trying to come up with something other
than the truth, but he was too tired, too doped up on pain killers. “Because I
saw it. Gray, like a dust devil, with long black whips, like barbed wire,
wrapped around it. It’s evil, reverend. I could feel its
intent
. It means to kill me, and anyone else like me.”

“Are you sure, son?” Preacher Sinclair asked. “Grief can
make people see and do a lot of strange things. I speak from experience, from
when I lost my dear wife, years ago. The devil came visiting me every night.”

Franklin doubted it was the devil—just the preacher’s
pain. “I’m sure,” he said, then added dryly, “I didn’t give myself these
injuries, you know.”

The preacher chuckled. “I’ve heard folks talking about you,
too. That you can see things like ghosts.”

“Yes, sir,” Franklin said. “I generally just see ghosts
though. Humans who have died and need help passing on.”

“To where?” Preacher Sinclair asked.

 
“To Heaven.
They’ve not been fearful,” Franklin said. “They’ve just needed to settle their
business here on earth so they could move forward.”

“Interesting,” the preacher said. “And you think you’ll be
able to help this spirit—pass along?”

“God willing,” Franklin said. He had to stop this thing
somehow. Rock salt weren’t doing it, but he didn’t know what they could use.

“I see. Well, then, I suppose we’re going to have to spend
some time together.” the preacher said. “See if you can show me this spirit.”

“It’s dangerous,” Franklin warned. He had the stitches to
prove it.

“I am a man of God,” Preacher Sinclair said. “My faith will
protect me.”

And maybe it would—because little else seemed to work
against this thing.

MAY RODE BACK TO FRANKLIN’S FARM with
Darryl, instead of going to Aunt Jasmine’s. “Ma’s got enough support for now,”
May said. “She don’t need me until later. I’ll go next week, have dinner with
her a couple of nights. Bring the kids, give her something to yell about.”

Franklin nodded, barely awake. The pain meds had helped his
back and arms feel better, but now, he could hardly keep his eyes open. Hopefully,
Mama would be waiting for him back in the kitchen by the time he got back home.

They bounced across the road and into Franklin’s driveway.
The house sat quiet and abandoned, even the fields looking dry in the dusty
heat of the day. Sweet Bess wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Had she been trying to warn him off, before? Keep him out of
the house while that thing was there?

Franklin’s heart just about hit his shoes as he stepped into
the kitchen. It was a right mess. Dishes broken and scattered, glass
everywhere, and the shards painted with his blood.

But more importantly, no ghosts was waiting for him.

May peeked over his shoulder,
tsked,
and said, “Sweet Jesus.” She looked critically at Franklin.
“You go lay down before you fall over. Darryl and I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?” Franklin asked. “You don’t need to. You
could go home—”

“Henry’ll take care of the kids, and as I said, Ma don’t
need me right now. You do. Go to bed.” May looked at Darryl. “Now, I know
you’re about as useful as tits on a frog. So you’re gonna do exactly what I
say, and we’ll get this place cleaned before you know it.”

Franklin kind of wanted to stay and see that.

“Go,” May ordered, pointing toward the back.

Franklin obeyed, slipping into the quiet sanctuary of his
room. He pulled down the shades and lay down on the bed, trying to find a
comfortable position to lay in. He finally found one propped up on his side,
and he slid into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Franklin awoke, evening had settled in around the
house. Dim light pressed against his drawn shades. He couldn’t hear anything,
and wondered if his cousins had left.

He took a deep breath, and regretted it. Damn, that hurt. He
was probably way overdue for his pain meds. But he felt refreshed in a way that
he hadn’t that morning, and while the pain was sharp, it also slid away
cleanly. He knew he was already on the mend.

Franklin slowly rolled out of bed, taking care as he stood
up, but the room didn’t shift or sway. He opened the shades and looked out on
his popping corn. Crap. Looked like something had blown down three of the
stalks on the end. Had it been the creature? Gloria? Or maybe even Sweet Bess,
who could be a demon when she put her mind to it?

With a sigh, Franklin left his room. He was surprised to see
May still sitting there, sunk into the ancient green couch, watching TV with
the sound turned down way low. She’d changed out of her funeral clothes and
into an old, green T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts.

“’Bout time you got up,” May grumbled as she stood up.

“You didn’t have to stay,” Franklin protested.

“You gonna change those bandages on your back all by your
lonesome?” May asked.

“Uhmmm,” Franklin said. He hadn’t thought of that, though
now he remembered Julie mentioning it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s get those bandages
changed, then I’m going home. Darryl’ll be by tomorrow to do them the next
time. Doctor said three days, right?” May said, steering Franklin toward the
guest bathroom, next to what had been Mama’s room.

It was as tiny as Franklin’s bathroom, but he’d cleaned it up
from when it had been Mama’s personal grooming station and there had been
lotions and creams and gels and stacks of nail polish and four different
curling irons and three straighteners and every product and gizmo known to
woman. It still carried the overly sweet scent of all that, only much fainter
now.

“He did,” Franklin said. “How did you know?” He didn’t
remember telling Darryl, and he sure as shit hadn’t told May.

“That nurse, I think her name was Julie? Caught up with me
at the funeral. Now, sit, and take off your shirt,” May directed Franklin,
using a matter-of-fact tone.

Why wasn’t May teasing Franklin about Julie? Surely she’d
seen them sitting together. Franklin sat on the closed commode wedged between
the sink and the shower, then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. He should have
changed out of it after the funeral, but he’d been too sleepy.

May helped Franklin drag the shirt off, then gave a low
whistle. “Dang, Cuz, you really hit the ground hard.” She lightly pushed his
head to one side. “Shoulda landed on this instead. Would’ve done less damage.”

“Maybe so,” Franklin said, relaxing.

May worked quickly and professionally, peeling off the old
bandages and taping fresh gauze down, starting with his back, then doing his
arms.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Franklin asked quietly, not
wanting to disturb his cousin or the quiet mood that had descended on both of
them.

“Studied to be an EMT once,” May said. “Never wanted to be a
nurse, no goody two shoes. But scraping folks off the highway always sounded
like fun.”

“Really?” Franklin said. He’d had no idea. “What happened?”

“Carlie, my baby,” May admitted. “Not that I would’ve
graduated or anything. I was just farting around, mostly.”

“You’re good at this,” Franklin said quietly. “Maybe when
the kids get older, you could go back.”

“Maybe,” May said. “But then, chances are, they’ll be having
babies.”

“And you could be the cool grandma who saves people’s
lives,” Franklin pointed out.

May grinned at him. “Never could stay away from danger, you
know. Always rushing in—”

“When the sane folks are rush out. I remember,” Franklin said.
Mama had said that about May, more than once, and also that she had more
courage than brains.

Franklin didn’t know what Mama would say about his injuries.
The gouges were puffy around the stitches holding the skin together. He’d have
scars on both his arms, and probably his back as well.

“All set,” May said as she finished with the last bandage.
“Now you,” she said, pointing at him, making him want to lean back. “Don’t be
doing anything stupid. The doctors did a good job with these stitches, but that
don’t mean you can’t rip them out pretty easy. You
rest
. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franklin said meekly.

“Lord, why can’t I teach that to my kids?” May said with a
laugh. “Y’all gonna have to come over some night and show ’em what manners
really are.”

“I’m sure they know,” Franklin said. “But they probably
won’t use ’em until they’ve left the house and the world shows ’em they have
to.”

“When you’d get to be so wise?” May asked, with a grin. “You
want help getting into a new shirt?”

Franklin thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, please.”
He stood, still easily, and actually, his back felt better now, and went and
fetched another button shirt, a green one that Mama had always liked, with
short sleeves, this time.

“Naw, not that one,” May said. “You’re gonna wear that one
when Nurse Julie comes to pick you up. Get me another one.”

Franklin should have known May would only hold off on her teasing
for a while. “I don’t have many,” he said, coming back with an embarrassing
red, white, and gold Hawaiian shirt that Darryl had gotten him as a joke for
Christmas one year.

“Well, now that I know this is your style, I’ll just pick
you up some,” May said as she helped him into it.

“May,” Franklin said warningly.

“What? I can’t help it. Want you to look good, Cuz,” she
said. “Now, there’s pot roast in the fridge, some meatloaf, seven-layer salad,
and a bucket of coleslaw.”

“What?” Franklin asked. May hadn’t cooked all that while
he’d been asleep, had she?

May shrugged. “People always bring food to a funeral. Darryl
went and raided Ma’s kitchen for you.”

“Thank you,” Franklin said. He blamed the pain, the
medication, and everything else for the way his eyes suddenly pricked.

“I’d give you a hug, but I don’t want to hurt you none,” May
said. “Now, what did I say you should do?”

“Wear the green shirt when Miss Julie comes calling,”
Franklin told her with a grin.

May expertly
thwacked
him on an undamaged part of his arm. “Not that.”

“Rest.”

“I mean it. Or I
will
come
over and sit on you until you do.”

“I will,” Franklin said. He wasn’t sure he’d be up for much
of anything anyway.

“You gonna be okay on your own?” May asked as they neared
the door.

A light caught the corner of Franklin’s eye. Mama was back,
sitting at the kitchen table. She seemed to be whole again, looking like she’d
never left.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Franklin told May with relief.

* * *

Though night was fast approaching, Franklin still went out
into his rows of corn behind the house. He wasn’t far enough outside of town
that he got a full view of the stars, but he could still see a few shining in
the deep purple sky. A car swished by on the road going into town, then
everything settled down. Franklin breathed in the quiet.

He didn’t ever want to leave this place. It was home to him,
as comforting as that good pot roast in his fridge, as filling as that side of
mashed potatoes he’d had with it. How was he gonna pay the taxes this year? The
hospital stay had just taken another chunk of his savings, and he wasn’t going
to be able to work for a day, maybe two.

His cousins didn’t have any cash, and he couldn’t ask Aunt
Jasmine for money, either, even if Lexine might have a nice insurance payment
coming. He’d just have to figure it out, and either win that Kentucky State
Fair blue ribbon, or maybe take a second job.

Franklin mourned the three fallen stalks, the leaves already
wilting, the corn almost, but not quite ripe yet. The stalks had just been
pushed over, not twisted, so he figured it had been either Gloria or Sweet
Bess, or heaven help him, yet another ghost. He reached down and picked up one
of the fallen soldiers, grunting with pain. He was weak as a kitten, but he
still dragged it away to the compost heap, then did the same with the other,
panting and sweating by the time he’d finished that simple task.

One side of the fence around the heap had been knocked down,
and something had been rooting around. Since they’d been going after food
scraps, Franklin figured it were something real, not ghostly. There were plenty
of critters around—coons, rabbits, deer, wild dogs, and cats—could
have been anything.

Franklin reached down to pick the fence up and stopped as
soon as he felt the weight of it. The stalks had been light enough. With his
back as it was, though, he shouldn’t lift the fence. Normally, he wouldn’t have
even noticed it. May really would sit on him, or worse, if he tore his
stitches.

Frustrated, Franklin let the fence lay where it was, with
the stalks on top of the heap, forming a green X.

Back inside, Gloria had joined Mama at the table. Franklin
poured himself a glass of sweet tea and sat down at the table with them. He
kept the lights down and stayed on the edge of his seat, unable to lean back.

“You okay, Mama?” Franklin asked, getting a glare in return.
He looked at her arms, but didn’t see any scars—they seemed smooth and
all filled out, though the creature had gouged them but good.

“You seem better,” Franklin said. “How about you, Miss
Gloria? You had a run-in yet with that creature? How is it connected to you,
and to Karl?”

Gloria tapped her bright nails on the table, an almost
soothing sound, except for the source.

The creature had been in Karl’s fields, Franklin was sure of
it. It hadn’t attacked Karl, though, when he’d shot it, but had come here, to Franklin’s
house, instead. So did that mean that Karl wasn’t special? The thing hadn’t
attacked Ray, but had just focused on Adrianna.

“What’s so special about Karl’s fields, then?” Franklin
asked Gloria. “What’s that thing want with them? Is that why you wanted me to
steal Karl’s corn, so the creature wouldn’t get it?”

Franklin didn’t get a response. He hadn’t expected one, not
really.

There was something there, though, he was sure of it.

However, Karl would never invite Franklin to come and tour
his fields.

And going on his own was sure to get his backside full of rock
salt.

Franklin was still gonna have to try.

* * *

Morning was hard, harder than even when Franklin’s alarm
went off too damn early. He wasn’t sure he could move, and when he did, he
wasn’t sure he wanted to keep going. Everything hurt. When Franklin sat up on
his narrow bed, the pain took his breath away, and he had to just sit for a
moment before turning and sliding his feet onto the ground.

Damn it. Maybe once he got going, it’d be okay.

Franklin gave himself a sponge bath, knowing a real bath or
a shower was out of the question for a few more days. It felt good to wash off
all the sweat from the day before. He looked at his face in the mirror: Though
his dark skin camouflaged the black bags under his eyes, if he looked closely,
he could see them. The whites were bloodshot as well. It looked like he was
coming off a three-day bender.

The joke about the other guy wasn’t funny anymore.

Franklin gingerly made his way to the kitchen, where just
Mama sat. “Morning, Mama,” Franklin said as he opened the fridge. Maybe breakfast
today would just be leftovers. He couldn’t see cooking anything. He pulled out
the coleslaw, carrying it with both hands to the counter, then reached up for a
bowl without thinking. “Ouch!” Damn, he was sore.

Worry spilled out into the room.

Franklin looked around, only to see Mama staring straight at
him.