The Reaping (28 page)

And look at me now.  I was learning the wisdom of rat
ionale
over rash love, and I was learning it the hard way.

I walked to the tree and knelt to pick up the package.  After only a second’s hesitation, I ripped open the paper and tore into the box. 

There, beneath several gauzy sheets of white tissue paper, was the sweater I’d tried on at the mall the night I’d gone shopping with Leah and her mom.  It was the one I’d been wearing when I’d seen Derek for the first time (outside of a dream that is), when he’d walked by behind me.

I brushed my fingertips over the soft cashmere; it was like touching a cloud.  And even in the dim light, I could see the warmth of the deep apricot color, just as beautiful as I remembered. 

Gently, I pulled the sweater from the box and held it up.  An envelope fell out as the sleeves unfolded.  Laying the sweater aside, I picked up the envelope and slid my finger beneath the glued edge to loosen it.

Inside was a card.  On the front was a picture of a huge silvery moon as it shone down on a snowy clearing in the woods, much like the one I’d just left (minus the snow).  I opened the card and it was blank inside but for a few handwritten words.

You glowed like the moon in this, only much more beautiful.

I thought of my new plan and, for just a moment, reconsidered.  I reread the card then held the sweater up to my face, rubbing the fuzzy fabric back and forth across my cheek.  Then, with a pang of regret, I laid the sweater back in the box and put the card on top.  I slid it back under the tree and went to the kitchen for a pen.  I wrote on the blank envelope: 

Too many blondes in the clearing.  Don’t try to find me, just be gone by the time I get back.

I laid the envelope on top of the card and went into my bedroom to pack a bag.  When I’d stuffed some toiletries, several pair of jeans, socks and underwear, a few bras and several sweaters into the bag, I carried it into the kitchen.  I quickly added to it my father’s gun, an atlas, two granola bars and the package from Byron Allsley.  It had all sorts of information I might need.

I turned down the heat, made sure the doors were locked then, without a backward glance, grabbed my bag and headed for the garage. 

I drove through town toward the interstate.  When I reached the intersection, I sat staring at the blue I-77 sign.  Somewhere deep inside, I knew that if I proceeded, I would be passing the point of no return.  Carrying out my father’s wishes would forever change my life, even more than what it had already changed.  I could feel it.  It buzzed in the air inside the car, like the crackle of destiny.

Images of my father and Leah, the Kirbys and, yes, even Derek drifted through my mind.  I thought of the memories I was leaving behind, as well as the possibilities.  But I knew it was something I had to do.  And now was the time.  I might not get a second chance.  So, throwing caution to the wind, I pushed on the gas pedal and guided the car up the entrance ramp and set out to find Byron Allsley and my sister.

********

My inner turmoil fueled me all through that day and into the evening.  I teetered between devastating heartbreak and iron-clad determination and I let them drive me.  I stopped only for gas, refusing to look back or dwell on my decisions.  I was going forward, consequences be damned. 

When I’d stewed about as long as I could stew, the tears came.  I began to cry about half way through West Virginia. 

I grieved, grieved like I should have grieved months ago.  Only I had more to grieve now.  I grieved the loss of my father and Derek.  I grieved for my sister and my mother, for Leah and my future, the life I could’ve had, should’ve had, but could never have now.   I cried for miles and miles, pushing myself relentlessly. 

By the time I started seeing signs for the Ohio state line, I was overcome with fatigue.  I watched the billboards for hotels.  When I saw a reputable name, I noted the exit number and then watched for the sign. 

Once I was off the interstate, the hotel was easy to find.  It was a huge monstrosity that sat right off the exit.  Relieved, I pulled into the lot, parked, and then made my way into the lobby. 

A bell chimed as I pushed through the door.  I was instantly assaulted by bright lights.  The harsh fluorescents hurt my eyes and worsened the headache that I’d developed half way through West Virginia.  I assumed it was a result of the climate and/or altitude change because my nose was stopped up, too.  Between that and the puffy face from crying a river of tears, I felt pretty rotten.  

As I approached the front desk, I saw the back of a maroon vest-clad attendant as she rounded the corner into the mysterious place behind the reception area.  I leaned on the counter to await her return. 

Several minutes later, the attendant still had not re-emerged.  I had begun to get impatient, my fingers hovering over the little service bell threateningly, when a man materialized through a door behind the desk.  He straightened his little maroon bow tie as he approached me at the counter. 

“May I help you?” 

The man’s face was narrow and pointed.  His sloped nose was dramatically exaggerated by a weak chin that resided beneath a row of overly-prominent front teeth.  His tongue flicked out to wet his already-glistening lips, making me shiver in revulsion. 

He had combed all that was left of oily brown hair over his balding scalp in one long swoop from left to right.  I was sure from the looks of it that he couldn’t possibly have washed it even once in the past week.  All in all, my immediate impression was one of a weasel (if a weasel was pink, walked on his hind legs and talked in a whiny, nasal voice that is), right down to his beady eyes.  They looked out at me from behind thick, black-rimmed glasses, watching me more like those of a hawk, sharp and cunning.

“Yes, I’d like a room please.  One night, king bed, non-smoking,” I said confidently, as if I’d done this a thousand times.

The man nodded and asked to see my identification.  I handed it over, hoping that he wouldn’t note my date of birth.  When he began typing the information into the computer, I slowly released the breath I’d been holding.  

When he was finished, a form printed out and he had me sign the bottom.  After tearing away the perforated portion of the paper, he handed me a card key and directed me to my room on the third floor.

“Enjoy your stay, Carson,” he said with a creepy smile.

“Th-thank you,” I said.  The way he said my name triggered some visceral response that made me distinctly uncomfortable.

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked back out to the car.  I shook it off and chastised myself for such ridiculous suspicion.  Being alert and aware was one thing; being cripplingly paranoid was quite another.

Dragging from the car my bag that once weighed about twenty pounds but now felt like it weighed about a hundred, I carried it inside to the elevators and punched the number three button.

Once I got to the room, I was thankful it was a Marriott and not a really cheap motel.  I’d had the misfortune of staying in those before with Dad and that just wouldn’t do tonight.  I ached from sitting most of the day, I was tired of the road already, and I was emotionally exhausted from life in general.  The only things I wanted were a hot bath and sleep and I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing either of those in a lesser establishment.

After I’d locked and chained the door, closed the curtains and pushed a chair up against the doorknob, I took my bag to the bathroom and turned on the water in the bathtub. 

When the mirror was steamed up from the heat, I peeled my clothes off and slipped into the tub.  I sank down as low as I could, which left the water just grazing my chin.  I closed my eyes and listened to the steady drip of the water from the leaky spigot, letting the rhythm soothe my overtaxed mind.

I must’ve dozed off because I could’ve sworn I heard someone whisper
it’s almost time
and touch my cheek.  I awakened with a start and looked around.  I was relieved to see that I was alone.

After my bath, I put on clean underwear and went around turning on every light in the small room.  Much to my surprise, when I laid down, I went to sleep almost instantly.

That night I had the same dream I’d had many times before, the dream about the black house in the field.  I would awaken in the hotel room then for some reason I’d go outside and find myself right back in the field, walking toward the house with no windows.  It was all part of the dream this time and it ran on an endless loop.  Three times I dreamt of waking before I actually woke and the last time, I saw the girl who looked just like me.  She was whispering, “It’s almost time.” 

When I awakened (for real), it was six minutes after three.  I was still tired, but I was edgy, too, like something unpleasant and unavoidable was just around the corner.  It was a very unsettling feeling, but one that had plagued me quite regularly for the past few months, only not quite as intensely.  I knew after about thirty minutes that I wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep tonight so I got up to hit the road early.

Once I was dressed, I wasted no time packing my bag and heading to the lobby for check out.  There was a young girl behind the desk this time.  Though she looked bleary-eyed, she gave me a bright smile as I approached.

“How can I help you?” 

“I’d like to check out please.”

“And so early, too,” she said pleasantly and waited for me to comment.  When I didn’t, she continued.  “Your room number?”

I handed her my key and told her my room number.  When she punched the number into the computer, a frown came over her face.   “Did you say ‘three-o-six’?”

“Yes.”

She typed the number in again and her frown deepened.  “We don’t have anyone checked into that room.”

“Can you type in my name and see if it comes up that way?”

“I can try, but it should still be associated with that room number,” she said skeptically.  “What’s your name?  I’ll give it a try.”

“Carson Porter.”

She typed my name in the computer and still nothing came up.  “Who checked you in?”

“Um, I don’t know his name, but he was an older man with glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“Yeah.  And thinning brown hair,” I said, opting for that description rather than saying he had a hideous comb-over.

She pursed her glossy lips.  “The thing is, I can’t think of one person who works here that wears glasses.”

Something tickled the back of my mind, like I was missing something, but I just couldn’t pin it down.

“Alright, well how can we work this out?  Do you want to just check me in again or…?”

The girl looked left and right then leaned across the desk and whispered conspiratorially.  “You know, it’s not your fault.  And it’ll be a mountain of paperwork for me.  Why don’t we just call it even?  You can just consider it an early Christmas gift.” 

I would’ve sounded like an ungrateful clod had I done anything more than just thank her and be on my way, so that’s what I did.  Plus, far be it for me to cause her any extra work.  That wouldn’t be very kind at all.

After stopping for a cup of coffee—something I was quickly becoming addicted to—along with a muffin, I turned toward the interstate ramp.  By lunch time, I was well into the middle of Ohio.  I pulled over on the highway to check the atlas once more before proceeding to Weston, the town where Byron Allsley practiced law. 

It wasn’t hard to find and it was just before five o’clock when I turned in to park in front of the brick building that boasted a huge LEWIS, LEWIS & SCHMIDT sign.

I was a little confused by the empty lot.  I got out and walked to the door, looking as I went for an employee parking lot that I might’ve missed.  When I reached the door, the sign that was taped to the glass told me all I needed to know.  CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS, it read in large, bold print.  Then, below it, in smaller letters, WILL REOPEN MONDAY, DEC 27.  I realized then that my plan had a couple of fatal flaws.  I had been so upset and desperate to get away the previous morning that I hadn’t even considered the weekend, let alone the holiday.  It was Thursday, two days before Christmas, and apparently Mr. Allsley had given his employees a nice long holiday break.