Alex Bledsoe - Wisp of a Thing

He took a shower, letting the warm water rinse the dried blood from his hair. The lump seemed bigger and more tender, probably due to the blow from the mike stand, but miraculously, the stitches still held. He’d get a real doctor to look at it as soon as he reached Kansas City. He shampooed around it, and felt much better as the sense of cleanliness spread. More than just the previous day’s blood and dirt had washed away; for the first time since Anna’s death, he felt content.

He dressed and quickly packed, anxious to leave Needsville as soon as possible. As he made the last check for anything he might have forgotten, his phone rang.

“Hey,” Doyle said. He sounded very tired. “Sorry we ran out on you. How’s the head?”

“It hurts. But it’ll be okay. Did the cops call you?”

“Yeah. I backed you up. Your friend’s off the hook.”

“Thanks. Did they say anything about Berklee stabbing Stoney?”

“No. And no cops have shown up here. If I know the Tufa, they wouldn’t call the cops even if she’d killed him. Which I guess she may have, judging by how much of his blood she had all over her.”

“You okay with that?”

“I guess. He deserved it.”

“And Berklee?”

“She’s different. Real different.”

“In a good way?”

“I don’t know yet. She’s still pretty pissed off. I’ve had to physically stop her twice from trying to find Stoney with a gun. I pointed out that stabbing him in the dick like she did was probably worse than actually killing him.”

“But she’s not… under his spell anymore?”

“Spell?”

“Or whatever.”

“No, she ain’t. That’s something, I guess. I owe you one for that.”

“I think we’re even. Take care, and give Berklee my best.”

There was a rustle on the line, and then Berklee said, “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“You saved my life.” Her voice was firm, certain, and completely free of the pitiful whine that underlined everything she’d said before.

“Well, I don’t know about that —”

“I do. And you did. How’s your friend?”

“She ran off into the woods. I haven’t seen her.”

“Don’t blame her. It’s like having a knife inside you. When it comes out, it hurts more than you can imagine. And if she never really understood what had happened to her in the first place, it’s no wonder she freaked out.”

“Think anyone will ever find her?”

“I doubt it. And I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Take care, Berklee.”

“I’ll try.”

At the very top of the Widow’s Tree, where the trunk grew sapling-thin, clung Curnen Overbay. She swayed in the soft, cool wind, the sun warm on her skin.

She looked out over the valley and beyond. Too far away for human eyes, she saw the straight line of Interstate 81 where it cut through the hills around Morristown. The cars zooming along it resembled robotic insects obeying instinctual migratory urges. Even at this distance, the harsh chemical smell made her sensitive nose wrinkle.

It was nothing, though, compared to the emotions burning inside her. Something huge had happened to her, and she wasn’t yet done changing.

The truth about herself flew around in her head like a butterfly unable to select a flower. She was a child of incest, and the victim of sexual abuse. She was a widow. She’d only barely retained even her basic humanity. If the leaves atop this very tree had blown away even a few moments earlier, she’d be running around in the forest forever, lost to herself and everyone else.

But she’d been saved from that. And now she had a debt to pay.

Or was it? Was it something owed, or something desired? A reward, or a need?

The tree swayed. The wind tousled her hair.

She’d married young, in human terms. Her love had been true, and he had tried his best to defend her against the evil. It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t been strong enough.

Rob had been, because Rob had the wind at his back. Rob had saved her. And he’d tried to save the other woman, the stranger.

She put her cheek against the bark. Somewhere far below, back in Needsville, Rob was leaving. Alone.

Downstairs at the Catamount Corner, Mrs. Goins rang up Rob’s bill. “I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” she said as she ran his credit card through the machine. “It’s certainly been eventful, hasn’t it?”

“I’ll never forget a minute of it,” he said with certainty. “Thanks for being so nice to a stranger.”

She smiled and seemed genuinely touched. “Why, you’re very welcome, Mr. Quillen. Will you be coming back to visit? I noticed you and Bliss Overbay seemed to be getting along real well.”

“I doubt it,” he said wryly. “Vacation romances never last.”

“Now, that’s not true. Look at Danny and Sandy in Grease. ”

He laughed. “I don’t think that’s an example of real life.”

“Real life is more like a song than you might think. At least, it is here.”

He carried his bag outside and put it into his car. He took one last look around the little town, marveling at the secrets he now knew lurked below its surface.

He shielded his eyes with his hand and squinted at the post office. The old woman sat in her chair quilting, but there was no sign of Rockhouse. Was he dead? Had Curnen killed him? And if so, what would happen to the Tufa? Would they all now follow Bliss? Or would a new leader, even worse than Rockhouse, appear to take over his half of Needsville’s fairies?

He looked down the street toward the mountains. For a long moment, he didn’t know what he was looking for; then he realized he expected Bliss’s truck to suddenly appear in the distance and pull up beside him, followed by an awkward farewell in which he would at least learn what had finally happened at the Pair-A-Dice. He waited a few more minutes before he realized she wasn’t coming. He started the car, backed out of the spot, and drove away from Needsville for good.

Just past the Cloud County sign, an emu blocked the road.

Rob slowed to a stop, but the bird still didn’t move. He honked, leaned out the window, and yelled. Finally, he put the car in park and opened the door.

When he stepped out of the car, the emu trotted off and someone emerged from the bushes.

It was Anna.

At least, it was for an instant. When he gasped and looked directly, it was Curnen.

She wore frayed jeans with holes in the knees, an old sweatshirt and a denim jacket. From the mismatched look of them, he guessed they’d been scavenged from people’s clotheslines. Her hair was pushed back from her face, and she carried a child’s small pink suitcase, probably also stolen.

Still, she looked… normal. She stood upright, and the glazed look had gone from her eyes. She was dirty and mismatched, but then, so were most of the interesting girls he’d known. The child’s suitcase was no sillier than Anna’s Hello Kitty purse.

She waited silently, eyes downcast.

“Uh… hi,” he said at last. He nodded at the suitcase. “Going somewhere?”

She did not look up. Carefully enunciating each word, she said, “I want to go away with you.”

“Did you just talk ?”

She nodded. “I can talk.” Eyes still down, she said, “He sent me away after his music failed. He said it was my fault. I was a wild animal, he said, and shouldn’t be around people. Or talk to them. Or sing, even to myself.” She raised her eyes. “He doesn’t have that power anymore.”

“Did you kill him?”

She shook her head. “Some of us—” She paused as she sought the words. “—don’t die unless we want to. The selfish ones never do. I hurt him. But he won’t die.”