The Soul Thief (8 page)

First thing he saw were the white walls of the hospital. A white curtain hung on his right, separating his bed from the next. He wiggled his toes under the white blanket.

Oh dear lord.
That
was a mistake. Just that little movement woke up the rest of his body.
Everything
hurt. From his fingernails up to the roots of his hair, down his shins. Even the soles of his feet.

He’d been stabbed, right? Franklin thought about it, trying to feel the wound.

It felt…different. Like there was still a part of the knife stuck inside him, a hard line of silver pain.

That damned idiot hadn’t come back and stabbed him a second time, had he?

But Franklin couldn’t find any other parts of his body that hurt like the knife wound.

He was reaching for the nurse’s call button, to get someone to tell him what the hell had happened, when Julie came bursting in. She was in regular clothes, not her nurse scrubs, a snug-fitting purple T-shirt that would have made Mama frown and jeans. Her soft brown hair was mussed, like she’d been in a hurry that morning. She looked nice, her eyes more green than brown.

Franklin couldn’t help the happiness bubbling up inside him at the sight of her. “Hey darling,” he said, reaching out his hand for hers.

Julie took his hand, then leaned over and kissed his dry lips. She smelled wonderful and womanly.

Not that he was in any shape to do anything about it.

Huh. It might really be love if he felt like that about her even when the rest of him felt like he’d been dragged along three miles of gravel road.

When Julie straightened up, she fixed Franklin with a glare.

Where’d Julie learn to do that? To make him feel so guilty just with a look? Or was it a woman thing? That now Mama, May, and Julie all knew?

“I don’t
ever
want to find you here again. I mean it, Franklin Kanly,” Julie said. She held onto his hand when he would have pulled it away. “You scared me silly when I got the call that you was here.”

“Sorry,” Franklin said. Though it wasn’t really his fault. It weren’t as though he stabbed himself.

“I got stabbed. By that blade. Eddie’s knife,” Franklin said. The line of hard metal pain in his side flared at the mention of it. “What the hell is that thing? What was it made for? Do y’all know the history of it?”

Julie shrugged. “I don’t know. Eddie’s always had it. Used it as a power focus for the group, when we were praying and chanting.”

“We need to talk to Eddie,” Franklin said.

“Okay,” Julie said, nodding. Then she grinned. “Road trip.”

Franklin chuckled. “Oh, don’t make me laugh,” he said. “It all hurts too much. What happened to me?”

Sheriff Thompson walked through the door to the room just at that moment.

“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. What happened to you?” the sheriff said sourly.

Julie nodded at the sheriff as she moved to the other side of the bed, sitting in the visitor’s chair there and taking Franklin’s hand again.

Franklin was glad for the support as the sheriff continued to stand there staring down at him with his hard eyes.

“Well?” the sheriff said. “I’m waiting.”

Franklin cleared his throat. “I came home from Darryl’s last night. Late. About two-thirty in the morning. When I walked into my house, there was a man there.”

“Describe him,” the sheriff said, taking a notepad and pencil out of his sheriff’s jacket pocket.

“He was a white man,” Franklin said. “Little taller than me. Cold gray eyes. Was wearing blue scrubs, like what Julie wears sometimes.”

The sheriff nodded, writing things down. “Go on.”

“He was wearing a white mask, like a doctor’s mask,” Franklin added.

“A surgical mask?” Julie asked.

“Sure,” Franklin said. He didn’t know the name for them.

“Gloves?” Julie asked. “Like white surgical gloves?”

“Nope,” Franklin said. “His hands was bare.”

“What did he want?” the sheriff asked.

“An old knife of mine,” Franklin said. “It were the oddest thing. He made sure I had my phone with me, told me to call 911, before he stabbed me.”

“I looked at your report,” Julie added. “You were stabbed in an area of the torso where there couldn’t be much damage.”

“So this guy was probably a doctor,” the sheriff said.

“Or a nurse,” Julie pointed out. “I’d know exactly where to stab a man to do both the most damage as well as the least.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Franklin said, “That’s my girl,” as he squeezed her hand.

“Why did he want that knife?” the sheriff asked.

“Beats me,” Franklin said. “But I think he was crazy. He talked about how the history books would remember me for it. How me and the knife were important.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows went up toward his hairline. “So what kind of knife was this?” he asked, continuing.

Franklin didn’t see any reason to lie. “It was from her friend,” he said, nodding toward Julie. “Eddie.”

“The cra—I mean, the leader of the pagan cult we visited last year?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes. We mean to go down and talk with Eddie to see if she can tell us about the blade,” Franklin added.

“Good luck with that,” the sheriff said.

Franklin remembered that the sheriff had thought Eddie was useless the year before, when they’d been chasing the creature.

“Now tell me about your other wounds,” the sheriff said. “The ones that look like they came from thorns.”

“I was helping Darryl with a thorn bush out in his backyard,” Franklin said, puzzled. Why did the sheriff want to know about those?

“The scratches and punctures were all infected. Just like the ones you got last year,” the sheriff said dourly. “From that…whatever.”

No wonder Franklin hurt so much.

“Now, I knew you was up to something,” the sheriff added, pointing his pencil at Franklin. “You gonna tell me that thing is back?”

“No, sir,” Franklin said. “It really was just a thorn bush in the back of Darryl’s yard. Ornery critter, yes, but not about to come after anyone.” He hoped.

“You sure about that?” the sheriff asked. “’Cause you really shouldn’t be lying to me about that kind of thing. Even if I don’t quite believe what happened.”

“I’m sure,” Franklin said. It had been an epic battle, but he was sure he’d won. Mostly.

After the sheriff had left, Julie gave Franklin a hard look. “Just a thorn bush?”

Franklin was glad he didn’t have to lie to her. “Yes, ma’am. The blade was buried underneath it.”

Julie was quiet for a moment. “It really has some power to it, don’t it. This blade.”

“’Fraid so.”

“Then let’s break you out of here. Get your scripts filled, and go down to see Eddie.”

Franklin lay there thinking after Julie left to go badger the staff and the doctors. Eddie had refused her gift, would only sometimes let it move her.

But she was a good healer. She’d eased his soul the first time he’d seen her.

Somehow, he doubted she’d be able to do anything about the current pain in his side, the way it felt like the blade was still there.

Haunting him.

Ξ

Franklin enjoyed the ride down to the next county to see Eddie. The sun had found its strength, being just after noon, though it weren’t nearly as hot as the coming summer promised to be. Blue sky arched above them, going from horizon to horizon. Lots of green crops in the fields flew by, mostly sorghum and soy.

The last time Franklin had been so injured, it was mostly his back, from where the creature had picked him up then splatted him down on a bunch of broken glass. It had made sitting anywhere for any length of time painful.

This time, it was his sides that were aching—the left side, and shoulder, from where the bush had tagged him, and along his right, where the weight from the knife still held him down.

Julie had called ahead, but there hadn’t been an answer. Eddie didn’t believe in cell phones, and if she was out back in her shed, she wouldn’t have heard the phone ring.

Still, Franklin was relieved when they drove up, a little past the house, and Julie pointed out the beat-up Jeep that belonged to Eddie, meaning that she was still there.

A tall wooden fence, painted white, ran from a corner of the house and blocked off the backyard from the street. Julie didn’t bother knocking, just went through the gate as bold as brass.

Franklin knew that Eddie weren’t the kind to keep guns to shoot trespassers, unlike Darryl. Still, he ducked his head and looked around the yard carefully before he stepped through.

The tall white fence went all the way around the yard, keeping out the prying eyes of the neighbors. Just in front of it grew a wild assortment of flowers, roses, and other bushes. The main house sat to the right, with what looked like a real nice screened-in porch facing the yard.

The shed sat to the left, under a large old oak tree. It weren’t too big, smaller than a one-car garage. It had the look of an artist’s studio, with red-painted wooden shingles covering the outer walls, white trim, and a gray tiled roof. Sweet incense oozed from it, floating over the bright spring grass.

“Eddie?” Julie called as she walked toward the studio. The door was closed this time, instead of a black curtain covering the opening.

Franklin hurried across the grass to join her.

As she was lifting her hand to knock on the door, it swung back. Eddie peered owlishly at them.

“Good morning,” she said, though it was well past noon.

“I tried to call—” Julie said.

“No, no, I’ve been back here all day. I wouldn’t have heard.” She wiped her hands—covered in some kind of white material—down the front of her already white-smeared work apron. She looked the same as Franklin remembered her, a large, older white woman with tanned skin and wild white curls. Her blue eyes peered at them from atop a large nose, the kind good for sniffing out trouble. She had an easy smile, though, and looked happy to see them.

“Come on in,” she said, stepping back into the studio. Workbenches lined three of the four walls, while a tall bookcase filled the fourth, its shelves lined with drying pottery, as well as a few books. Under the cloying sweet smell of incense lay the earthy scent of clay.

Most of the pottery pieces were little figures, like matching sets of suns and moons, horseshoes, and clusters of stars.

“Today’s a day full of luck,” Eddie explained as she walked over to the sink in the corner and washed her hands. “All these pieces will bring folks even more luck, particularly when made on a day like today.”

Franklin had no idea if any of Eddie’s work would actually bring a body luck. He also didn’t think that was what her gift was, to make small figures. She should be working like Julie did, to cure folks, heal them.

However, he knew it weren’t polite to say anything. Not that he ever would. He’d told her once that the spirits could move her more if she’d let them.

She’d claimed to be too old to learn new tricks.

“So how are you?” Eddie asked, stepping back from the sink and drying her hands. “I’m glad to see you. Both of you,” she added, glancing at Franklin. Then she put her towel down and stood with her hands on her hips. “But I can tell this isn’t a social call. You got something you need.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Julie said. She drew Franklin forward. “We need to know the history behind that blade of yours. The one you gave me last year. To help protect me from the creature.”

Eddie shook her head. “There ain’t much to tell, I’m afraid. I got the knife from an antique dealer in town.”

Franklin sighed. He really hoped this wasn’t going to be a wasted trip.

“Should we go talk with him?” Julie asked.

“Naw, fool didn’t know what he had.”

“What did he have, ma’am?” Franklin asked.

Eddie shrugged. “All I knew was that it was an object of power. So I took it before he could sell it to someone who might misuse it.”

“Can you tell us anything else?” Julie asked. “Anything at all?”

“Well,” Eddie started, then sighed. “I always kept that knife in a circle of protection. I didn’t ever leave it out. The only folks who ever saw it were people from our group.”

“Why did you keep it hidden?” Franklin asked. “What made you feel like you had to do that?”

“The knife was powerful,” Eddie said. “When it was outside the circle, I felt sometimes like it was calling to me.”

“And you just gave it to Julie? Without any instructions?” Franklin asked. He wouldn’t give in to his anger. But he also was never coming back here again. He’d be happier if Julie never came back either.

“I knew she’d give the knife to you,” Eddie told him sharply. “And I knew that you’d be able to take care of it.”

Franklin shook his head, bewildered. He hadn’t known that he needed to do something more with that knife. He’d given it to Darryl for protection.

And look what had grown out of it.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Franklin said, reaching for Julie’s hand and tugging her back toward the door. “Y’all have a nice day.”

They was halfway back across the yard before Eddie stuck her head out of her studio. “Wait,” she said, following after them. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I know someone who can.”

Franklin waited, his patience just about run out.

“Her name’s Beulah. She lives up at the end of Old Mill Road. You’ll find the turnoff for it at the end of Main Street. She’s…well, she’s kind of odd. But I think she’ll be able to tell you something about the knife. You’ve touched it recently, right?”

“Been stabbed with it,” Franklin said dryly.

“Oh,” Eddie said. “Then yes, go talk with Beulah. Tell her I sent you.” Eddie paused, then looked squarely at Franklin. “May I?” she asked, reaching toward his injured side with her hands spread wide.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Franklin said.

Eddie didn’t actually touch him. He still felt the warmth from her palms radiating his skin.

Unfortunately, she didn’t do much else. The wound still ached in a long, drawn-out way.

Either she wasn’t following her own spirits and calling again.

Or the knife was much too strong.

Franklin didn’t really want to know in either case.