Jeremy Finley - The Darkest Time of Night

“Yes, Miss Roxy.” Don winked at me.

“Don, you really don’t have to do that,” I said, fanning myself with the newspaper.

It’s the heat. That’s why I’m sweating. My nerves can’t be this bad already.

“Trying to earn my keep,” he said with a grin. “Any foxes in the garden today?”

“Oh, I think I saw one a while ago,” I said, looking around.

“Not too hot for foxes, I hear. I’ve found the more I expose myself to this Tennessee heat, the more I become used to it.”

Just like you got used to everyone calling you Don. Just like you got used to your sister hovering around you constantly. It didn’t take you long to see how your mannerisms are exactly the same, and how you both have the exact same color of silver in your hair. You knew it as soon as you met. And now… how your eyes light up when she comes to visit you, driving down from Illinois every other weekend.

Has Don told you, Barbara? About our pact, our promise to each other? That, if suddenly, we have blinding pain in our heads, our ears begin to bleed, and we hear a terrible ringing, we know what’s happening. We know they’ve activated us, and God knows what we could do to you and to everyone around us.

Don said that from time to time he saw it happen to patients, when he was being treated in the hospital. He said the doctors whisked them away, and he never saw them again. He says it never happened to him, and I know it has never happened to me.

But if it does, Don and I agree to leave and disappear. Despite the pain I know all too well of having a loved one suddenly disappear, I would vanish in a heartbeat, jump in the closest car and keep driving away, if it meant protecting my family.

And William. What did those monsters mean that he was the conduit? That he wouldn’t harm people when he was activated, but instead, he was the final stage—

“Looks pretty busy in the kitchen right now.” Don motioned with his chin to the house. “I think I’ll break into the back of the shop and get some water. Clean up a bit.”

“Clean up a lot, please,” Roxy muttered.

“I’m just happy to have a job with you, Miss Roxy!” he called out.

“The man thinks because he rents my back room that I like him,” she said, carefully navigating the paving stones through the grass. “Husband enjoys his company, though. Two peas in a pod, those two, pickin’ at guitars, thinking they’re Johnny and Waylon. Ed may have advanced cancer, but he’s healthy enough to stay up and smoke cigarettes with Don. Good thing you’ve found room for him on the payroll, or else all they’d do is play guitar and drink beer. I guess Don’s not planning on going back to Colorado.”

I knew Roxy saw me purse my lips and what that meant. She came to sit down next to me. “Crossword puzzle. The vacuum must be broken. What’s got you all riled up—?”

“Nanna!”

The screen door screeched open, and Brian stuck his head out. “Where’s the Nutella?”

“Pantry, second shelf. Next to the microwave popcorn.”

“I didn’t see it!”

“Jesus, boy, are you hoping the neighbors will be able to help you find it?” Roxy asked.

“Sorry Roxy! Brian waved.

You yell all you want. I could listen to you yell every minute of every day for the rest of my life. From the moment you saw William and said his name, I swear I cried for two days straight.

“Will! Mom says to come inside soon!” Brian yelled, and then slammed the screen door.

“Don’t want to.”

We both turned to the boy crouching down next to a turtle statue, barely visible under a rose bush.

“There’s that redheaded fox we’ve been looking for!” Roxy smiled.

“I know Don saw me,” William said, his hand in his pocket. “And you’re wrong, Nanna, about the turtle.”

I loved his jutted-out bottom lip so much. “No, I’m not, William. You will. I promise.”

“I won’t,” he said glumly, walking over to the chair. I reached out and rubbed his head, careful not to irritate the bump of his head. Already, I’d noticed it was starting to diminish, but he still winced when anyone even came near it. I didn’t dare mention to anyone what that bump could indicate.

“I won’t ever remember.”

“It was your favorite statue, and it will be a memory one day.”

“I don’t remember anything,” he pouted. “I don’t remember that stupid turtle. I don’t remember you, I don’t remember Mommy or Daddy or Roxy or Grandpa or anyone.”

I leaned in towards him. “Here’s what I promise you: One day, when you’re all grown up, you will remember that turtle and how I told you that when you were a really little boy, you loved it. I tell you that every day, so it will become a new memory for you one day.”

You will relearn, as I did.

“But I want to remember it now .”

“I know,” I said, looking down at my watch. Three o’clock.

“William, why don’t you show Roxy where we found that frog yesterday by the fountain? That foxglove is really spreading behind the Peddler, and I may want to make a bed there. I might have Don put the mulch back there.”

I quickly walked towards the shop, as Roxy’s raised eyebrow was like a stick poking me in the back. She knew I hated foxglove.

”Nanna, how long will you be gone?”

“Not long,” I said, giving him a wave without looking back.

I left the garden, pausing only to pick a few daylilies. The red bell jeered at me from the pitch of the roof of the Peddler. Look what happened to your life once you disregarded your father’s warning.

I glared back. I would have it removed this week. I certainly didn’t need it anymore.

Even though it was in deep summer and the trees were heavy with leaves, I could see the iron fence that now lined my property. It had been a massive expense; jaw dropping to get the final bill. But to install an entire eleven-foot tall fence, with extending upper rows of wicked barbed wire, around the entire perimeter of the woods, was an expensive project. And pricier still when I demanded the keyless entry.

I looked back to see Roxy and William deep in discussion near the fountain in the garden. I stepped past the first tree and reached into my pocket for the tiny remote. I’d practiced the code many times, for I was the only one who possessed it. Though my memory was legendary in my family, I still forced myself to recount the code every morning, to make sure it was set in my mind. I didn’t dare write it down. No one would ever be able to enter the woods again.

I had already activated the gate earlier that afternoon. As long as I was within a mile of it, the remote prompted it to unlock. So I had casually stepped outside, punched in the code, and went back inside.

Exactly an hour later, I was now standing directly in front of the gate. You couldn’t tell where the fence would open; there was no visible gate, at my request. The ironworkers who made it had looked at me with confusion at my request, but ultimately worked with a locksmith to design the hidden mechanics.

The remote looked like a small calculator in my hand. Once I touched the right combination, I heard a buzz, a click, and one section of fence opened.

I quickly seized it, for it was also manufactured to close within five seconds. I stepped inside and shut it behind me, making sure it locked.

The woods were bustling with a crush of squirrels, buzzing in the branches above. I was careful where I stepped. I was grateful for the way the woods were stubbornly territorial, trying to cover as much of the earth as possible with tangling underbrush and fallen limbs, preventing encroachment of the outside world. The fence was my contribution to the effort.