The Sorrow King (12 page)

Reaching the park, he sat down on the same bench his father had sat with Ken nearly a month ago. Around the time of the talk.

Maybe that conversation was what had planted some dark seed, just waiting to sprout roots that spread themselves through his mind.

He stared at the water tower, thinking it was just about the strangest color he could think of. White with just the faintest traces of green, almost like it was supposed to glow in the dark. And he thought about what his dad told him Ken had said.

The dead walking into the water tower.

What would the dead want with an old water tower? Were they ghosts? It was possible Ken had seen something that didn’t have anything to do with either ghosts or the dead. Maybe the old guy had just seen a group of Goths and been confused.

Steven looked away from the water tower, putting his face in his clammy hands. Something had to change. He didn’t know what exactly. He didn’t even know if the change had to be for the better. He only knew he could not go on every day feeling like he did now.

While the suicides were not the cause of his depression, it didn’t help his mood any that he felt certain someone else had died tonight. No, he corrected himself, they didn’t just die, they committed suicide. He was sure of it. He didn’t know why. It was just something he felt deep in his bones.

Well, there wasn’t any sense in sitting here on a bench after midnight with his head in his hands, getting ready to bawl. He decided to head back home, curious about whatever it was he had written while supposedly asleep, wondering if it would provide some clue about whoever it was that died tonight. Standing up, he took note of how truly foggy it was. The sidewalk was not even visible from where he stood.

Not that it mattered, he guessed. He could find the sidewalk or impale himself on the fence. He figured it was all the same in the long run. Moving along with the same aimless lack of direction that had brought him here, he moved into the fog, letting its confusion wrap him in its soft hands.

He drifted below the haloes of the streetlamps that seemed very far way, in absolutely no hurry to be home.

While curious, he was terrified to read his notebook. If there was some clue about the dead buried in there, he didn’t think he wanted to be the possessor of that secret knowledge.

He looked deeper into the fog, not knowing what he expected to see. Himself, coming toward him. The faces of the dead, perhaps, all flocking to the water tower because that was where all the really with-it dead people went. Maybe the girl. Yeah,
the girl
. Elise. That was the only thing that seemed truly nice to him and he tried not to listen to himself when his mind told him she was just as much a fantasy as everything else. While he knew her name, knew what she looked like, knew what she sounded like and knew where she lived, everything aside from those simple and somewhat sparse facts was a concoction of his imagination.

So when he saw the dark figure shambling along in the fog in front of him, he didn’t want to think it could possibly be her. From this distance, it could just as easily have been a psychopathic homosexual rapist cannibal, out scouting the suburb for some fresh teenage boy meat.

Nevertheless, he picked up his pace, closing the distance between him and the figure, feeling more sure it was her. He had studied her closely in the past weeks. He knew how she moved. Once he drew to within a few feet, his heart and brain began beating around in his body.

It was her! It was actually her, dressed in a black sweatshirt and a black skirt that flapped below her knees as she walked along in the dark. A thousand thoughts flooded him and it seemed like each thought canceled the next one out.

He could not let her walk away again without saying something to her.

But he didn’t want to startle her by calling out or tapping her shoulder from behind.

He didn’t want to follow her all the way home. That would be creepy.

He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. He didn’t even know what to say.

Then she stopped and he nearly ran into the back of her. He stopped short, thinking, “Oh shit,” before realizing that bumping into her and then saying, “Excuse me,” would have been a perfect way to begin a conversation. But that was him, always—

“
Are you like stalking me or something?” She turned around, nearly face to face with him.

He didn’t know what to say. If he had ever had a dream girl in his life then she was the one and he found himself suddenly gripped by the fear that she would turn out to be completely normal. And by completely normal, he meant completely dull and boring. But, as he stammered for the right words to her point blank question, he looked into her eyes, really looking into her for the first time, and knew she was not dull or boring in any way. Her eyes had a kind of cynical depth. A sparkle like she was keeping a secret she wasn’t going to tell anyone. After looking in, he liked what he found.

“
I . . .” he stammered. “I was just on my way home.” He wiped his sweaty hands on his sweater. His face burned and he knew it was probably red with heat, despite the chill in the air.

“
I’ve seen you at school,” she said, one hand on her hip, the other left to gesture beside her torso. She wore dark-rimmed glasses. He had never seen her wear glasses. “Your name’s Steven.”

“
Yes,” he said, amazed she knew his name. “Steven Wrigley. And you’re Elise.”

“
Elise Devon. You’ve been watching me.”

To say the least
, he thought, knowing now was not the appropriate time for such honesty.

“
That’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been watching you too.”

“
You have?”

“
Ever since the last time we saw each other like this.”

“
That was when I started watching you.”

“
Why do you walk at night? Do you do it often?”

“
Every night since then.”

“
Why?”

“
I’m not sure.”

“
Is it because you were hoping to see me again?”

“
Maybe,” he said, knowing she was pretty much the
only
reason his midnight walks had become so regular. The smoking, the water tower, the clouds, the search for ghosts—those now seemed like excuses.

“
Do you find me attractive?” she said.

“
Yes.”

“
Why?”

“
I don’t know. I just do. I like to look at you and you look like you know more than a lot of other girls.”

“
Know more?”

“
Yeah. You look like you have more depth.”

“
I’ve always wanted to look like I had more depth. You make me sound like an ocean.”

“
I didn’t expect you to be this talkative.”

“
I’m usually not. I find you attractive too, by the way.”

“
Oh . . . thanks.”

“
We should date or something.”

He didn’t know what to think. It felt like a dream. Maybe it was a dream.

“
I’d like that.”

She began walking and he pulled up beside her.

“
So why do
you
come out walking?”

“
I don’t know. The night air feels nice sometimes. Sometimes I feel claustrophobic in my house. My parents fight a lot. My stepmom’s kind of a bitch. And then they like to have make-up sex and I guess they either think I don’t know what’s going on or I’m old enough to handle it. Anyway, it kind of grosses me out and makes me feel uncomfortable, so I go outside. Don’t you think that’s funny?”

“
What?”

“
That I can stay inside while they’re fighting but when it comes to the cries of passion I have to leave.”

“
It’s not so funny.”

“
No?”

“
No. I guess for the same reason there’s more violence than sex on TV. We’re just conditioned to feel more comfortable with violence.”

“
Isn’t that sad? It’s probably so we won’t mind so much when we bomb somebody else.”

“
It’ll just be more television.”

“
Anyway, it’s kind of funny when they fight. Rachel, that’s my stepmom, likes to throw things. Do your parents fight?”

“
No. I just live with my dad.”

“
Divorce?”

“
Well . . . and death. Or . . . divorce and then death is more like it.”

“
Oh,” she said, silenced. He was used to people either remaining silent after he told them that or quickly changing the subject. Elise did neither. She said, “At least you’re not an orphan.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s true.”

“
So, do you live in Green Heights?”

They were coming up on his house. “I live right up there.”

“
Are you ready to go home or would you like to keep walking?”

“
I think I’d like to keep walking. It’s nice to have company.”

“
I’m not going to let you kiss me.”

He didn’t know if he had heard her right. “What?”

“
I said, ‘I’m not going to let you kiss me.’ No matter how long you walk with me. No matter how great the conversation is. I’m not going to let you kiss me tonight.”

“
That’s okay. Why would you think I expected you to?”

“
A lot of boys would. I mean, just because a girl talks to you doesn’t mean she wants to be ravaged by you.”

“
Believe me, I know that. I can’t imagine too many girls wanting to be ravaged by me.”

“
But we could hold hands though. It’s kind of foggy, I don’t want to lose you.”

She held out her small, pale hand and he took it. They continued walking around the neighborhood. He was amazed at how his mood had lifted. It was only a few minutes before that he had wondered about the point of it all and now here he was, knowing moments like this, stolen from the throat of time, were the point of it all. The conversation continued smoothly, jumping from topic to topic. He found out she liked reading and painting and not much else. Her friends bored her. She envied him because he was almost finished with school. He insisted on walking her home when she said she was tired.

Nearly to her house, she said something he had been too weirded out by to bring up.

“
You know what us seeing each other tonight means, don’t you?”

“
No.” He played dumb.

“
Someone else has killed themselves.”

“
What makes you say that?”

“
The last time we saw each other was the night that boy killed himself. I wonder who it was this time.”

“
But what about the others before?”

“
I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe the suicide virus is gaining speed.”

He didn’t like the sound of “the suicide virus” at all.

“
We should do this again tomorrow.”

“
Maybe, we’ll have to be careful, though. If we keep meeting each other then we might be the only ones left.”

“
That’s a bleak outlook.”

“
Yours is every bit as bleak,” she said, looking into his eyes. She had a way of staring at him that, when it was direct like now, seemed to hitch onto something in the center of his body. “And on that note,” she said, taking a small bow.

“
Goodnight,” he said.

“
Goodnight.” She disappeared into her house. He stared at the looming structure, imagining which bedroom was hers. Then he started back home.

By the time he reached his house, the sun had just started to come up and the sky was pink. He opened the door to the house and his dad, sitting there in his chair, turned to look at him. He looked kind of pissed off.

“
Where the hell have you been?” Connor said in a tone Steven didn’t think he’d heard since he was a little kid.

“
Walking,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He knew it would probably turn his dad’s mood around to know he had been walking with a real live girl, but he decided to withhold that particular nugget of information.

“
For like five hours? You cannot keep doing this.”

“
I can and I will.”

“
Steven
.”

“
Dad
. What? What do you want me to say? I’m here. I’m safe. I didn’t fucking kill myself, okay? I’m going to bed now. And I’m not going to school today. If you remember, please call and tell them I’m sick.”

Before his dad could respond, Steven slid into his room feeling a little shitty, cringing when he heard a sound that sounded very much like his dad punching a wall.

Maybe everyone is a little out of character tonight, he thought.

His eyes fell upon the story, scrawled in his nearly illegible handwriting in the notebook teetering at the edge of his nightstand. There was still that curiosity, niggling at his brain. But there was also the reluctance, the reticence, the hesitation outweighing the curiosity. He figured his dream for the night was over and now it was time for him to try and get some sleep. He could deal with the mystery—the potentially really-bad-and-scary-things—tomorrow.