The Black (23 page)

"One more thing," I said.

All the guys working the game booths wore red and white striped jackets, like the band. The guy in the teddy bear booth was taking a break and I saw an extra jacket tucked below the counter. Before you could say "Step right up!" I nabbed the jacket
and the two of us took off, giggling. It was a little small for me, but at least I felt as though I blended in.

Maggie wasn't as convinced. She took a look at me and burst out laughing.

"You look like a clown," she exclaimed.

"Hey, it's not my fault the people in your time dressed like cartoons."

She took my arm and off we went, exploring her vision. Her reality.

"The carousel!" she exclaimed, and we rode the exact same ride that was still around in my day. It probably even played the same tinny calliope music. I don't think our day could have been better and the best part of all was that I got the chance to see something rare.

I saw Maggie having fun.

After a few hours the shadows started getting longer as the sun went down, and the colorful lights that covered pretty much every square inch of every building came to life. It was cool to see how some things didn't change, no matter what era you were in.

Maggie and I decided to ride the Ferris wheel one last time before heading back to our own visions. We boarded the ride, getting a bird's-eye view of the old-fashioned park. I didn't want the day to end. Maggie didn't say it, but I knew she felt the same way. In fact, we didn't say much of anything. After spending so much time laughing and playing like little kids, we both sat back and simply enjoyed the view.

As far as I was concerned, the Ferris wheel ride could have gone on forever.

Until our adventure, my impression of Maggie was that she was a tortured soul who wore the guilt
of her past like a weight around her neck. When she took that weight off, she transformed into a playful, silly girl who was daring and confident. I wished I could have known her under other circumstances.

The wheel stopped when we were at the very top. As if on cue, a fireworks show began.
Playland
was on the shore of Long Island Sound so the colorful explosions doubled with their reflection in the water.

"They had fireworks back then too?" I asked.

Maggie chuckled. "I'm not a dinosaur. I think the Chinese came up with them a few thousand years ago."

"Oh. Right. Cool."

She slid next to me and slipped her arm through mine. I didn't mind.

"Could this be any more perfect?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered.

"How?"

Maggie looked at me and said, "Can I kiss you?"

"Whoa. Awkward."

Maggie stiffened. "I'm sorry. I just thought—"

I pulled her closer. "Don't be. I just meant that you didn't have to ask."

She gave me a coy smile.

"No problem," I added. "You're probably a little out of practice."

"More than you know," she said. "I, uh, I've never been kissed."

"Uh, never? As in . . .
never?"

Her answer was to lean forward and kiss me gently on the lips. I didn't mind that, either. Kissing Maggie was like being touched by a butterfly. A really beautiful butterfly.

We pulled apart, her eyes right on mine.

"Now
this couldn't get any better," I said.

Maggie smiled, but I saw sadness there.

"What's the matter?" I asked. "Not what you thought it would be?"

"No, it was perfect. I just wanted to do that before you decided not to like me anymore."

"What? Why would that happen?"

The Ferris wheel started moving and Maggie slid away from me. I could feel her tension.

"I've never done this before," she said. "I thought I never would."

"Kiss a guy?"

"No. I want to tell you about what happened to me in the Light."

The Ferris wheel stopped. We had hit bottom and the operator opened the bar for us to get out. I didn't move. I wasn't so sure I wanted to leave. No, I wasn't so sure I wanted to hear what Maggie had to say. She got out, turned back, and held out her hand to me.

"Please let me show you?" she asked.

I took off my hat, jacket, and tie and put them on the seat next to me.

"Let's go," she coaxed.

I took her hand and stepped out of the ride car into the wall of swirling color . . .

To arrive at Maggie's vision of her life in the Black. We'd left the color and excitement of a carnival to enter a world where the sky was gray. The trees were gray, and the barn was gray.

We stood in her yard, directly in front of the barn. Maggie said, "I want you to look inside."

17

I wanted to know the truth . . . but I didn't.

Sure I was curious. Who wouldn't be? But I felt like I was entering dangerous, dark territory. I liked this girl who was compassionate enough to want to help me solve an impossible mess. I hated that she was so sad, but I respected her for wanting to take charge of her own destiny. After our trip to
Playland
I was also happy to see that she liked having fun as much as I did. Marsh would like her. But she was sad for a reason and I wasn't so sure I wanted to know the details. Which was worse? Imagining what had happened? Or learning a difficult truth that might change my opinion of her?

"You don't have to show me," I said. "It's none of my business."

"I've been holding it inside for so long, I don't think I can move on unless I admit to somebody what really happened. Somebody who will believe me."

"People didn't believe you?"

"They believed what they wanted to believe."

That gave me hope. Maybe Maggie had been wrongly accused of having killed her parents. Yikes.
Killed her parents.
Strong words.

"Please," she said.

I couldn't refuse. She had done so much for me, and if she needed me to know the truth, then I
wanted to know. I took a step toward the barn and stopped at the big double doors.

"You coming?" I asked.

Maggie shook her head. She was willing to reveal what had happened, but not relive it.

The heavy padlock hung open on the metal latch, just as I saw it before. I flipped the latch open, grabbed the door, and slowly pulled. I felt as if I was opening a tomb. What was I going to find inside? A couple of bodies? A gruesome scene of carnage? A murder weapon? I was hit with the same smell as before. It was a musty, sharp odor that I recognized but couldn't place. I was relieved to know it wasn't the smell of rotting flesh. When I swung the door open so that light could pour in from outside, I was faced with a scene that made total sense . . . and was absolutely horrific.

The interior of the barn had been burned. It was a black hole. Nothing was recognizable. There were lumps of ash that could have been anything but were now piles of charcoal and soot. It must have been an inferno because I didn't see a single spot that hadn't burned. The walls, floor, and ceiling looked as if they'd been painted black, that's how complete the burn had been. It made sense why the paint on the outside of the barn was bubbled . . . It had melted and pulled away from the wood under the intense heat of the fire that destroyed the place.

I didn't need to go inside to learn any more. I stepped
back and closed the door, feeling like I was dropping the lid on a coffin.

"I hated my father," Maggie said.
"
And he hated me. He must have, based on the way he treated me. I was their only child and he thought of
me as nothing more than a nuisance that wasn't worth the food they had to waste on me."

Maggie seemed uncomfortable being that close to the place and walked away. I followed her to the fence that separated her property from the land that would become my grandfather's.

She continued, "When I was little, I thought it was because he had wanted a boy. Somebody who could help him with his work. He made furniture. The barn was his workshop. I didn't have the strength to lift the heavy pieces of wood or empty the scrap bins. He'd hit me out of frustration when I couldn't lift a chair or didn't move as fast as he expected me to."

"What did your mother do?" I asked.

"She was afraid of him too. He treated her as badly as me, but at least in his eyes, she had purpose. She cooked and cleaned, where all I did was eat his food and burn valuable wood to heat the house. But there was nothing she could do. We had no money and no other family. She was trapped. We both were. She'd defend me, but that only turned his rage on her. The fights they had were horrible."

"Did he get drunk?" I asked. "Some guys get violent when they're wasted."

"No," she said quickly. "I almost wish that were the case. At least it would explain his anger. He was just a miserable person and took it out on the people closest to him. There's one thing I will always be grateful to my mother for. She told me that no matter how much he belittled me and criticized and blamed me for everything wrong with his life, it wasn't my fault. It took a while for me to understand, but
I did. I knew I had value. I liked to
write. I was good with numbers as well. My mother did the accounting work for
my father's business but she wasn't very good at it. It turned out that I was much better with the figures and by the time I was ten, I was doing the books myself. But we never told my father. He never would have accepted it. So it was our secret. My father had no idea that I was the one making sure that his bills were paid and the proper money collected."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

"I wanted him to think my mother was doing it. I wanted him to believe she had value because she would be with him for the rest of her life and I planned on leaving as soon as I got the chance."

"I guess the chance never came," I said.

Maggie fell silent. The memories were tough.

"The chance
did
come," she finally said. "My mother had been stealing money from my father's business. A small amount at a time. For years. So small that he didn't notice. I realized it once I started doing the accounting. But I never let on. It turned out she was more clever than I thought. And brave. Do you know why she did it?"

I shook my head.

"To send me away to school. She had saved enough so that I could attend a boarding school upstate. When I found out her plans, it was like a new life had begun for me. I would be out of the house and finally get the chance to do something positive. My mother was a wonderful, caring person."

She swallowed hard as her tears returned.

"It happened the night before I was going to leave," she said, her voice cracking. "My father was working in the barn late to finish a project. He often
did that, and then slept on an old couch. I loved those nights because it meant he wouldn't be in the house to fight with my mother. All the arrangements had been made. I can't tell you how excited I was. I was set to leave the next day. Early. I could have slept through the night and left without him knowing a thing until I was gone. But I didn't want to leave without telling him I was going. That seemed, I don't know, cowardly. Or maybe I hoped he would show some small sign of affection and admit that he would miss me. Whatever the reason, I decided to go to the barn and say good-bye."

My heart was thumping so hard, I felt like my head would explode. I wanted her to stop the story right there but I couldn't ask her to do that.

"I don't know what reaction I expected from him," she went on. "Probably a snarl and a 'good riddance.' I should have known better. When I told him that I was going, all he wanted to know was where the money was coming from. I hadn't even thought of what to say to that question. I stammered and didn't answer, but he answered for me. It turned out he wasn't as oblivious as we thought. He knew the books weren't adding up but assumed it was due to waste or improper bookkeeping. As soon as he heard that I was leaving for school, he realized the truth . . . and he hit me."

She took a deep breath but didn't stop talking.

"Normally he'd hit me with an open hand. Not that night. He balled his fist and swung with his full weight. He caught me on the side of the head and sent me sprawling to the floor. I was so dazed I don't know if he hit me again, but judging from
my bruised ribs the next day, I'd say he chose to kick me a few times for good measure."

I gritted my teeth, my anger rising as I imagined this poor little girl being beaten by an enraged bully.

"When he was finished, he ordered me to go back into the house and pull out the ledgers. He said I wasn't going anywhere the next day and I had to account for every penny
that was missing. I had no argument. He was right. We had stolen from him."

"But it was justified!" I shouted.

"Not in his eyes. I was so angry and hurt, I couldn't even think to argue, not that it would have done any good. The dizziness was so bad, I had to crawl out of the barn on my knees. I stood up outside and tried to clear my head. All I could think was that he would come into the house like an angry bull and it wouldn't just be about me. My mother was responsible for the books. He would be just as angry with her. I couldn't imagine what he might do to her."