Superman's Cape (15 page)

As the distance from the station to Maysville grew shorter and shorter, Jacob felt better. His mind cleared. His body got stronger. He couldn’t help passing a glance to the floor, now and again, to see what the troll mites were up to. But they stayed away. Jacob knew the direction. He knew where they were going. And as long as they stayed the course, the troll mites wouldn’t have a chance to play.

Jacob lifted his hands in front of his eyes. Turning them back and forth, he smiled.
The shakes are gone
, he thought and gripped his fingers tight and tapped at the air in front of him.

The door in his mind was still closed. Forgetting the emptiness from before, Jacob went searching. He knocked on doors. He waited. He listened. Frustrated, he knocked again. But nothing. He knocked until he felt thumping in his head. For the time being he resigned to the vacuous empty that was all he heard.

Jacob struggled to turn around to where Jill sat. She shot a quick smile to him then finished a text message. Pushing her voice against the sound of the van, she asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine … tired. Very tired. But I feel good,” he nodded.

Jill looked to the back of the van, “do you want to trade seats? It might be more comfortable for you.”

“I’m good, a little air helps wash out the smell,” he said smiling and motioned to Steve’s spittle cup on the dash.

Jill’s smile changed to a grimace as she shook her head, “I know, right – that is nasty. Listen, been meaning to ask you. Have you ever been on a field report before?”

He thought about the question. A hint of embarrassment tickled his neck and cheeks as he tried to come up with something clever to say. This was his first time.
First time for everything
, he thought. His mind was blank. Embarrassed – but blank.

“Nope … first one. It’s my virgin field report.” And from the corner of his eye, he saw Steve take note of the admission before reaching to spit more chaw juice. Steve straightened his back and turned a shoulder toward Jill. His eyes engaged in the exchange.

“How about you, Jill? I know you’ve never been on a field report with me, so how about one of the other engineers?” he barked over the noise of the van.

Jill hesitated. Her cheeks flushed. “Nope, this is my first. It’s
my
virgin field report, too,” she admitted with a shallow and nervous smile showing.

“No shit! I got two newbies in my van. Not sure Andy planned ahead on this dealy!” Steve trumpeted and laughed as a tobacco ridden thread of spit fell from his mouth onto his chin.

“Well, I’ll learn ya. Learn ya both quick enough to call ya veteran field reporters by end o’day. We’ll pop those
cherries
!” Steve chimed in a raucous laugh.

“Dude!” Jacob interrupted. “A little much, don’t you think – I mean, cherry? Really?” he finished and motioned in Jill’s direction.

Steve’s laugh quieted. He raised his brow. “What?? But you guys started it,” he added defensively.

“You guys started it, with the … with the … the virgin talk
this
, and the … the virgin talk
that
,” he rebutted as another dribble of tobacco juice spilled.

Jill giggled at the attempts to squash the rudeness.

“I’m fine,” she laughed, “I’m a big girl … no cherries here!” she finished and kicked her feet up and down. And to Jill’s quick counter they all laughed.

A moment later, Jacob continued, “Anyway, I’m fine. I’ve got this. I can handle a few minutes outside.”

Jacob watched as Steve wiped the spit from his chin and said, “You’re only talking about studio time. This here is some field time. Sure, it’s reporting. But there ain’t no studio lights or boomed microphones. There’s just me and you, and then there is my camera.” Steve lifted his cup to his lips and then paused. He looked Steve square, no smiles, no laughing, “You up for this?”

“Just tell me where to stand and count me down to one,” Jacob answered and nodded. He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

“I’m here to help too. What can I do?” Jill asked, her voice continuing to struggle over the noise of the van.

Jacob turned to her and smiled, “You can cover me if I can’t do this. And by the way, thank you.”

“I got your back,” she answered, smiling, “You’re getting some color. You look better.” Jill leaned in and tapped a finger kiss on the dimple in his chin.

“Well, the first thing you can do is help me unload the equipment. We’re heeere!” Steve howled, slowing the van to a crawl, and then eventually stopping along the side of the road.

Jacob felt and heard the gravel on the road carry the van’s tires before coming to a rest in front of the missing boy’s home. His first thoughts were of the troll mites. But it was just road gravel. Nothing more.

He moved his eyes past the condensation growing on the windshield. Squeezing his eyes, he saw a low grassy hill creeping fifty yards or so to a large green tent where he guessed the search was being concentrated.
Looks like an army tent,
he thought as a flurry of heads bobbed up and down over the crest of the grass. Jacob was impressed with the size of the operation. People moved with a mission. A single focus. They reminded him of army ants with a hidden agenda masked in the chaos. A few yards in front of the army tent, Jacob saw a small white trailer. The front door sat at the center with stairs and a landing that looked older than the trailer. The landing was made up of lumber that had warped and faded to an ignored gray.
That’s where they’ll be
, he thought. The sudden thought came with a thump in his head. He shook it off and tried blinking it away.

Home?
he wondered strangely as a dense cut of pain spoke up from inside his head. One of his eyes drifted down to the right. Vision in the drift eye began to die. The only images offered were shadows of red and blue. His other eye remained focused on the boy’s home as Jill and Steve started to unload the van. Light exploded from the rear doors. The open doors flushed the inside of the van with air that crossed over his face and body. He grabbed his head and with his hands he pushed against it until the pressure righted his sight.

“Jacob, you ready?” Jill asked peeking in from the back.

“Yeah, one minute. Just gimme a minute.”

Jacob opened the passenger door to the van. He swung his feet out from his seat and dropped down onto the ground. He felt the grass swallow the soles of his shoes. The rains from the night before softened where he stood, motivating his next step. He took a small step, then two. Mud tried to hold onto his loafers but fell from his shoes as he stepped again. Another few steps and he found himself at the back of the van, easing on his suit jacket while listening to Steve’s instructions. Steve talked fast. He paused short and most times it was to throw shots of tobacco-filled spit to the ground.

Jill passed Jacob a microphone for the broadcast. Jacob wrapped his fingers around the handle and stopped to look at it. Nothing wrong. No troll mites. No thumps in his head. Jill assured him the microphone was fine. But he couldn’t find a grip that felt normal. It felt awkward. As though new or unrehearsed. Instinct took over and he pulled his left hand up to hold the microphone. Jacob didn’t feel it happen. Instead, he watched it happen. With the microphone in his left hand the grip was strong. It was comfortable.
OK, so I’m left-handed today,
he thought, and turned around in time to see the silhouette of a woman and a young boy appear on the landing of the trailer.

The trailer door opened and Sara stepped out on to the small landing. Jonnie followed along at her side and the two were met by a dozen faces she did not know. Faces who didn’t know her but knew who she was. They knew that her son was lost somewhere in Croatan National Forest. And they knew why she moved to Maysville. This wasn’t their first visit.

Restlessness stirred as she moved about the landing. She didn’t like the blank faces with wanting eyes. She didn’t like the uneasiness the cameras brought with them. Resting her fingers on her wedding band, a damp breeze slipped over her bare skin and goose flesh rose on her arms. She wanted to go back inside and pull her shawl from the couch. She wanted to wrap herself up in it. To pull it tight around her as though protecting her from the words she would hear in the next minutes.
An empty security
, she thought,
but a warm one
. The cold on her arms moved to her chest and threatened to chatter her teeth. She shuffled her feet again and tried to step away from the unsettled feeling.

The eyes on the blank faces were hungry and she could see the questions forming as a few of their bodies began to move closer. She could see the questions perched on the anxious lips of their empty faces. Sara turned away from them.
Not yet
, she thought,
I’m not quite there – not ready
.

Sara glanced over at the Captain’s tent and at the group of volunteers helping in the search for Kyle. Half of them were in the woods while the other half remained behind to run the radios and to make the phone calls and brew the coffee. Turning back to the faces, Sara felt the eagerness growing on them. The sound of cameras and microphones and feet jockeying for a better lawn position joined the sounds of the morning. Dread began to settle in anticipation of the questions spilling from their mouths.

Some of the faces wore large dome-shaped headphones and some faces held cameras on their shoulders. Sara subconsciously wrapped a protective arm around Jonnie. She took notice of the faces that stood ready for her, the hands clutching their small pads of paper. A few were penciling scribbles she was sure would be a list of the questions they would ask. These were the folks with the microphones and hidden earpieces.
Reporters
, she thought, and instinctively pulled Jonnie closer to her; almost behind her.

The sun was breaking behind the trailer. It jutted morning rays through the cloudy remains of the previous night’s storms. Sara stood in the dark shadow cast by the trailer while the sun stretched its morning arms. The determined light reached just high enough over the roof of their home to visit the hollow faces looking back at her. She watched as the pushy streams of sunlight faded in and out between the resting clouds. She watched as the hunger in the faces turned to disappointment and irritation with squinting eyes. A small satisfaction bubbled inside her when the faces started raising their hands over their eyes in a struggle to see more than just the silhouettes of her and Jonnie.

“It’s okay, Jonnie, just stay close to your momma,” Sara said while rubbing his back as he passed an uncertain stare over the crowd. This wasn’t the first time Sara stood in front of reporters. Anxiety hiccupped deep inside as she brought her hands together to roll her wedding band. This was her second time. The first time included a small group of the same muted faces who were polite enough and maybe even felt for her loss. But they wanted that loss and her pain played out for their viewers. They wanted the rawness of the story, the story of the man who spoke up and died.

Sara was outside to see the Captain. She wanted to offer him her help. And as promised, she wanted to introduce the team in the big tent to Jonnie. She sat on Jonnie’s bed for a few minutes after he woke up and told him where Kyle was. When Jonnie saw Kyle’s empty bed, Sara told him that his older brother was lost in the woods. When Jonnie began to cry, she picked him up and told him to pray.

Kyle knew what starvation was. Sure, it was a big word, but starving to death was something he was already familiar with. At least as much as a boy his age could be. He had seen starvation and the results of it first-hand. It was last summer at his friend’s house, where his eyes first saw the bones of a skeleton. His friend said he had something cool to show him. He said that it was crazy wild and waved his hands with excitement as he spoke. Kyle remembered the smell when they entered his bedroom. It was a dead smell. A rotting smell. Not as strong as the bog’s carcass smell, but Kyle knew for certain it was death.

Kyle’s stomach turned when the smell first hit him. His friend seemed immune to it. His friend motioned him to the glass cage on the ivory wood bureau and showed him a collection of small bones with thin wispy brown and white fur. Now, the fur and bones were lying atop the pale bedding inside a hamster cage. Kyle recognized this, barely, as Patches, his friend’s hamster.
Just how long did he leave him in there
, he wondered. All that was left of Patches was the thin remains of his body. An oddly perfect outline shape. Completely laid out with paws stretching to all four corners as though grasping or stretching for that final moment of life. It was a few seconds before Kyle realized what was missing. Patches’ head. At that point, his friend lifted his hand into view, and between his thumb and forefinger was the small skull of his pet.

In the corner of the hamster cage sat an empty bowl where a few shavings of the pale bedding lay shuffled around it. His friend confessed to forgetting to fill the bowl with food before he and his family left for vacation.
I would have fed him
, Kyle thought. But then he saw the water bottle. Kyle suspected the empty bottle with the dry steel ball was the likely cause.

You deflated him,
he thought while his friend giggled and poked around Patches with a pencil. Kyle remembered wanting to punch his friend. He wanted to surprise him with a smack against his nose. One that was hard enough to bloody it up. Bloody it up bad. He wanted his friend to cry just like he felt like doing.

Wind shook the trees and startled Kyle. He pulled his mind from the place where his friend showed him the little hamster skull. He pulled his mind from a place where Patches was still alive and running back and forth and throwing backflips from the top of his wheel. Kyle sighed in resignation of being in the woods. He crumpled the images in his head like a frustrated artist, and tossed them out of reach.