Alex Bledsoe - Wisp of a Thing

“I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. Nothing hurts anymore. At all.”

She hugged him again. “I’m really glad to hear that. Really.”

“But I still need to talk to Stella.”

“Y’ain’t gonna find her this way,” a new voice said.

Rob and Bliss both turned. An old man now sat on the hood of Rob’s car. He wore overalls and a sweat-stained Jack Daniel’s baseball cap. The shade from the bill hid his face. Something about him struck Rob as familiar, but with all his recent odd experiences, he couldn’t place it.

Bliss stepped toward him. “Where are they?” she said through her teeth.

The old man spit on the ground. “Rockhouse knows this boy’s been diggin’ around.” He indicated Rob, then pointed at Bliss. “And you spooked him good this morning. So he’s moved things.”

“He can’t just move things,” Bliss insisted.

The old man grinned; he showed only three teeth. “Rockhouse can do a whole bunch of things he don’t tell people about.”

“I’m not trying to spook anybody,” Rob protested. “I just want to talk to my friend’s wife.”

The old man snorted. “Nobody dragged her anywhere, you know. She went on her own two feet.”

“Well, Pops, if that’s true, why does everybody want to keep me from hearing her say it for herself?”

The old man shifted his foot, and suddenly Rob recognized him: Jessup, the strange tree gnome from his dream. Now he was normal sized and dressed in regular clothes, but the face and voice were the same, and he rested an identically swollen foot on the car’s bumper. “All right, no need to get all cattywompus about it,” Jessup said. “He’s moved down to the Pair-A-Dice.”

Bliss gasped. “No way.”

“Yes indeedy way. Moved his whole bunch down there. Maybe for good, I don’t know. Least until all this blows over.”

“That’s… he can’t do that.”

“He surely did.”

Bliss turned to Rob. “The Pair-A-Dice is neutral ground, it’s where we can all meet and play together without fighting. If he’s moved his bunch into it, he’s broken his own agreement with the community.” She turned back to the old man. “You’re sure about this?”

“Course I’m sure!” the old man said. “Go see for yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“Oh, I will.” She stamped back to her truck.

Jessup slid from the fender and, favoring his swollen foot, moved aside. “Will Stoney be there?” Rob called to Bliss as he opened his car door.

“Where else?” She was already in the seat and buckled up.

An impossibly strong gust of air struck then. Rob knew the Kansas straight-line winds, and this was stronger. He covered his eyes and peeked between his fingers.

The wind sheared the leaves from the trees with the ferocity of a bladed weapon. Where moments earlier, the colors of autumn were everywhere, now he saw bare branches appear, still swaying from being suddenly denuded.

“Oh, no,” Bliss said, so softly it was barely a breath. The Widow’s Tree waved in the distance, more branches newly stripped. She had no time.

Before Rob even turned his key, Bliss gunned her truck’s engine, made a wide 180 turn across the uneven ground, and roared away. Rob knew he couldn’t find the Pair-A-Dice by himself, and wasn’t even sure he could remember how to get back to town. He tried to catch up, but the rental car just couldn’t handle the roads like the truck. By the time he reached blacktop again, she was long gone.

Doyle wiped his hands as Rob finished an extremely condensed version of the last twenty-four hours. He left out most of the really strange bits, including the poetry fragment and the fall from the cliff, but it was still a wildly improbable tale, and hearing it spoken aloud only reinforced that.

“So the upshot of this is you need directions to the Pair-A-Dice?” Doyle summarized as he closed the hood on the old Chevy pickup. “Or did I miss something?”

“I need help, ” Rob said. “Even if I find it, I can’t just march in there by myself.”

“No, if Rockhouse’s people are crawlin’ all over it, that wouldn’t be too bright,” Doyle agreed. “But really, this ain’t any of your business. If your buddy’s wife wants to be with Stoney—”

“I just want to hear her say it !” he almost yelled. “And I want someone else to hear it, so we can both go to the cops and tell them Terry’s wife is not a crime victim.”

A car pulled up outside, and a moment later, Berklee appeared silhouetted in the garage door. She wore low-rider black pants and a top that revealed her navel. She carried a small cooler, evidently Doyle’s lunch. “Am I interrupting anything?” she asked guardedly. “I can come back later.”

“ You know,” Rob said to her, now unable to keep the desperation from his voice. “You know what Stoney Hicks can do. I just want to make sure my friend’s wife is with him because she wants to be, and she’s not being forced into anything.”

Berklee froze as if Rob had just pointed a gun at her: eyes wide, mouth open in a gasp that never quite appeared, weight rocked back on her heels. She and Doyle exchanged a quick glance. Then she composed herself and said carefully, with tight faux casualness, “I’m not sure I know what you mean. I knew Stoney in high school, but—”

“Oh, come on, ” Rob snapped.

“Uhm,” Doyle said quickly, “as a rule, we don’t mess in Tufa stuff.”

“I thought you were part Tufa, both of you.”

“Yeah, and you’re part Japanese or whatever—”

“Filipino.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t go to the Philippines and start telling ’em what to do, would you?”

He had a point, which took some of the steam from Rob’s annoyance. He threw up his hands and said, “Look, you don’t want to help, don’t. No one else in town seems to care, either. It’s just some stranger, she’s there because she wants to be, nobody’s business, yadda yadda. Just give me directions to the damn place, and I’ll go do the best I can by myself.”

In a tone neither angry nor annoyed, Berklee asked, “Why do you care?”

He looked at her seriously. “Because I know how Terry Kizer feels, and I can help.”

Doyle and Berklee exchanged another look. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” Doyle asked.

Rob went outside the garage. The winds were still stripping the trees, making the branches sway and crack, and he squinted against the peppering dust. He’d given it his best, most persuasive shot, and if it didn’t work, then he’d just have to go into the Tufa den alone. If he could even find it.

The tall tree he’d seen from the mountain outside the cave waved in the wind. Its limbs were now almost totally bare; only a few leaves remained, fiercely rattling like flags on a ship.

All his recent exertions caught up to him. His shoulders throbbed, his head alternately pounded and itched, and his black eye tingled maddeningly. Even his hands hurt. A musician should take better care of his hands.

At last Doyle and Berklee emerged from the garage. Neither looked happy. “All right,” Doyle said. “Daddy’ll watch the station while we’re gone. What exactly do you want us to do?”

Rob felt an immense flood of relief. “Doyle, you don’t know how much I appreciate this,” he said with genuine feeling. Then he turned to Berklee. “Are you sure you want to go? It might get a little rough. And, you know, Stoney’ll most likely be there.”

“If he’s not, then your friend’s wife won’t be, either,” Berklee said. She had a distant, haunted look about her. “And yes, I want to go.”

He nodded. In answer to Doyle, he said, “All I need you to do is stop anyone from messing with me once I get going.”