The Soul Seekers (2 page)

The best story—the one that repeated in my brain every day—was of him parked against the curb on a vintage Harley. I’d see myself running in his direction with only a slight pause to look back at Springvale’s town square, shops, bronzed memorial elm, and the looming Springvale Savings and Loan. He seemed to be ready, revving the motor the second I climbed onto the seat behind his back, my arms sliding into a locked circle around his torso. With a loud roar the motorcycle would jet away from the curb and race toward the interstate.

I liked that dream.

“Hello Ethel,” I called out Friday morning, rushing in through the front glass door and past a mess of boxes she’d spread on every table in the front reading area. “What’s this?”

“Oh! They want me to put together all the reference books on Indiana history printed after 1956. Said it’s very important that we ‘do not misrepresent Springvale through frivolous and unfounded claims.’ What are those idiots so worried about?”

I reached over to extract a pencil from her stiff mass of curls. “Hey, what’s wrong with ignorance? Consumers choose it seven to three over intellectual thinking.”

I ignored the quiet chuckle I heard coming from the back corner. He did that sometimes—laughed at my jokes. I’d tried asking Ethel about him, but she said she had no idea what I was talking about. All she did was read those paperbacks. How she could miss Superman in Levis every day of her life astounded me, though it also made me happy. He was my secret to keep.

“Oh no, they forgot to put in the second part of the list!” She dropped a pile of books and spun around. “I’ll be back. Watch the desk.”

When she left, I pulled out my sketchbook and hovered a pencil above the page of pure white canvas. I’d taken up drawing again and had forgotten how much I loved it. I liked the act of creating something on paper, and the way it felt to release and not have everything stuck inside my head.

I began to sketch out a square jaw with a sensitive mouth. Dark tossed curls sat above an expressive, handsome forehead and the bluest of blue eyes. I had to use my imagination for that part, since I’d never actually looked into his eyes. If I could just get a closer, more intimate look.
Yeah,
I thought,
if only
.

“Excuse me,” I’d say, sitting on the table right in front of him. “Do you mind if I draw you for a second? I need to get really close.”

I heard the sound of shuffled feet, and looked up to see the blur of someone passing through the row of bookshelves on my left. He’d broken protocol and gotten out of his seat in the middle of the day! I shoved the sketchbook back into its cubby and grabbed the first thing I could find—one of Ethel’s romance novels. I pretended to read it, holding my breath as he turned the corner and approached the front desk. He stepped up, hesitant, then leaned in to inspect my name tag, the act of which resulted in a wild production of beats inside my chest.

“Emma Shay,” he whispered, as if reading a placard in a museum.

I felt his eyes move up to my face, leaving a burning trail behind.

“Where does she live? Where did she come from?” His voice was like music, threading into my mind and down warmly into the pit of my stomach.

For another second he hovered close. I sat still while he reached out to touch a strand of my hair. It was the softest touch—if I hadn’t seen it out of the corner of my eye, it would have been untraceable. A butterfly could have landed there and made the same fluttery sensation.

He let the strand fall away, pivoted, and made his way back through the shelves to his corner.

Still not breathing, I blinked twice and realized the page I was pretending to read was a hot and heavy love scene. Gross! I tossed the book down in complete embarrassment.

I was shaking when Ethel sprinted through the door with a piece of paper waving in her right hand. “I left it in the car. Stupid me. Okay, so how’s about you help me get this all sorted out? Emma?” She came over to my side with a worried look on her face. “It’s freezing in here! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” It wasn’t the cold making me shake, and I couldn’t tell her the real reason. I didn’t understand it myself.

His eyes were blue, amazing blue. God made only one pair and the rest of us are screwed blue. They were the kind of eyes a person could get lost in forever.

I clutched at the bedspread and winced at Mom’s words.

“True, Emma and I do have a connection, we’re very much alike. She needs someone to trust and you push her away, Pauline. Can’t you see that? She’s going to turn out just like—”

There was a moment of silence, but it brought no relief. It was like a storm building power before coming to destroy a perfect little town. Footsteps headed for the staircase, ascending each lift with quick, heavy treads.

“I’ll talk to her right now!” Knuckles rapped against the door in fiery rhythm.

I sprung from the bed, wiping my sweat-covered hands across my denim thighs.
Act natural, be calm. Mom needs calm.

“What?” I opened the door the same way I always did—slow and with a bit of nonchalance.

“Grandmother Carrie wants to know when you’re going to sign up for college. As you know, I think it’s just fine for you to have a year off, what with your dad and all.”

I picked up a strand of my hair and examined its ends. “I don’t think any of the acceptance letters have reached the new address yet. Anyway, I’m still weighing my options.”

Mom turned to yell down the stairs. “She’s weighing her options!”

“Mom,” I whispered, “please don’t fight. I hate when you guys fight.”

She slipped an arm around my shoulder. “Aw, hon. We’re just having a discussion.”

“Well, can you two at least keep it down?”

“Yeah. We can try—
I
can try. You need to go down there and tell Gran yourself what your plans are for the future. You know, that woman tried to control my future when I was your age, and now she’s trying to control yours. It’s never enough for her. You’re my child and I—” Her eyes closed and she shook her head. “Listen, do what you want. What’s it to me? I’m done.”

The pungent smell of liquor stung the inside of my nostrils.

I watched her leave and stood for a moment, anger spreading through me. Karen’s song was over and had turned into a happy tune. It was sickening and bright: love would never die, life was beautiful. I walked over and grabbed it off the record player, ignoring the scratching needle that dragged along its surface.

I felt just a bit horrible for destroying my favorite record—it was the same one I’d listened to many nights of Dad’s chemo. I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs, cheeks burning. Gran was at the stove with a spatula hanging from her hand.

“You want me to get a life?” I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. I thought I saw the slight flick of a smile. “Yes.”

“Can I borrow your car?”

“You certainly may.”

I grabbed the keys off the hook on the pantry door and went to yell up the stairs. “I’m going out!”

Mom popped her head into the hall. “Where?”

“I don’t know. You said you’re done. Well, if you’re done, I’m out.”

Her mouth opened then closed into a firm line.

I had to admit, it felt good to shake things up a little. Real good.

There was just one problem with being wild and rash. It created a backlash of thought and feeling that I was unprepared to handle. I drove the car across the Little Indian River bridge and up the wild, curving road toward the bluffs, all while wiping away a torrent of tears. It was the first time I’d cried since his death. But instead of relief I felt pain, so much pain, like a fire building in my throat.

A sign appeared in the headlights of Grandmother Carrie’s Pontiac, alerting me I’d reached the highest point and would have to park or turn around and go back home. I decided to park, and after a slight pause and one last swipe of tears, yanked up the brake and stepped out onto a platform of loose granite, just a small part of the vast landscape called the Ohio Valley.

Sitting up on a boulder, I could see a shaded outline of hills curving out for miles. Jagged tips of limestone stood all around, reaching up to the moon like daggers—they were a fortress wall keeping the rest of the world out of Springvale, protecting time and its threats.

Worst of all was knowing I was so far away from home . . . and Dad. I couldn’t feel him anymore; he was fading, being replaced by this podunk little town I’d been forced to live in.

“It’s not fair,” I muttered into the darkness.

Crying out, I grabbed a handful of rocks and hurled them into the darkness, listening to each ping as they landed. Some hit in a second, others took much longer, going way down to a river rushing by in swooshing waves. I stood up to see, grabbing another handful along the way. With my feet planted firmly on the ground, I yanked my arm back to get a good pitch only to halt at the feeling of shock that came from within my tightened fist.

A coin had made its way inside the jumbled mass of stone. I picked it out to inspect it under the faint moonlight. It wasn’t an easy task—the thing sizzled with some sort of electricity and felt viciously cold like dry ice. I could barely make out the carvings: the letters
SS
on the front, and on the back, a gothic face just showing through years of layers of mucky verdigris.

I turned it around a few times, trying to ignore the prickly feeling of déjà vu which had seeped in. It made me feel nervous. I had the thought that I was
meant
to find it, that I had moved all the way from Colorado Springs to Springvale, just to find this coin. The idea made me furious.

“Let’s just see how long it takes you to reach the river.” I closed my palm and drew my arm back for another pitch, but one bad step had me falling forward, helped by the rolling current of pebbles under my worn out sandals.

My stomach seized as I slid over the edge. Screaming, I reached toward anything that might be secure but could only find a set of vines coming out of the rough wall. I grabbed at them quick, and pushed my legs into the sheared cliff below to stop my body from its frightening, pendulous sway. A river of pebbles slid over the planes of my face, over my body, and into the darkness. I took a long breath through my nostrils with my lips clamped tight, and then, like a fool, looked down. Through the shadowed moonlight I could see just how far the bluffs sunk into the valley, and it wasn’t for the weak. Anyone who fell from this distance, very simply, would die.

“This is your chance, Emma,” a quiet voice announced in my head, and a vision of my falling, floating body consumed me for a moment. It was the ultimate escape: no more pain, no more arguments, no more me. Then I saw everyone crying—those who had made me cry when I was alive were now crying because I was dead.

Shutting off the vision, I looked up and gritted my teeth. Springvale was a rotten place to live, but death? I clutched hard at the vines, and after a few panting breaths, somehow pulled myself up over the edge with just one tiny slip before finding a secure hold. I crawled up and over to the side of the boulder and held on, sharp breaths forcing their way into lungs that had been too scared to work.

The coin flashed at me through the long, messy strands of my hair.

For a moment I ignored it, but after a few more ragged breaths, reached out to grab the thing—and held it tight.

Suddenly, he looked to the front door. “Son-of-a—”

I craned my neck fast to see what had captured his attention, only to curse at the muscle cramp that resulted. Moving a book, I peeked through the shelves and saw five men step inside the library. They were dressed in business suits, and each had thick black glasses. The way they stood together, the way they surveyed the whole place felt menacing to me, like sharks on a hunt.

Superman remained seated as they approached his table. “Hello, Marcus
. Gentlemen
.” His tone was civil, but I could detect a hint of sarcasm, laced with fear. “What brings you in today? Bored with the job? Running out of members? You think I’d be desperate to talk to you, being stuck here my whole life with nowhere else to go, but ironically enough, I’m not.”

One of the men spoke, using a voice like nails on a chalkboard. “We came to deliver some important news.”

Superman looked around at the group with a chuckle. “I’m dying to hear it. Go ahead and tell me—”

I’d bumped my nose into a book and had caused it to fall off the shelf, garnering the attention of one of the group’s shorter members. He looked my way and began to approach.

“Vincent!” Superman shouted, standing to attention. “Uh—aren’t you going to insult me? Come on, I’m good for it, you ugly little troll.”