Chapel of Ease (32 page)

As I climbed in, he said, “I was starting to get worried.”

“I got worried twenty minutes ago,” I said truthfully.

“I heard a shot.”

“It wasn't at me.”

When we were out on the road and headed home, I said, “Have you heard from your friend Doyle?”

“No,” he said tightly. “I haven't.”

“Should we try to find him?”

“We'd be driving right into a herd of Durants with a bonfire handy. I'd just as soon not.”

I touched my face and realized my cheek was numb where splinters from that first shot had sprayed into it. I felt the tiny ends protruding from my skin. The visor had a mirror with lights on either side, and I saw that a half-dozen shards stuck into me.

“You all right?” C.C. asked.

“I've got some splinters.”

“I'll pick 'em out when we get back to the Parrishes'.” He squeezed my hand, all it was safe to do as he drove.

The bag with the box sat on the seat between us. I wanted to pick it up, to feel the weight of whatever we'd found, the tangible proof that there was an answer to
What is buried in the chapel of ease?
But instead I flashed back to the spectral trio's near-pantomime I'd witnessed, and wondered if this act of desecration had been the reason for their appearance this night.

 

27

When we got to the Parrish farm, the porch light was on and Thorn waited on the swing. As we came into the light, she saw my face and said, “Good God, what happened to you?”

“Oh yeah. It's nothing.”

“It looks like you ran across a herd of little bitty Van Helsings who thought your cheek was Dracula.”

The absurdity of that image made me laugh. I leaned against the nearest porch post and felt my legs begin to wobble with exhaustion.

“Shh, Mom and Dad are sleeping,” Thorn said.

“Has Doyle Collins come by here?” C.C. asked.

“No.” As C.C. turned to look back toward the road, she saw the bag over his shoulder. “What's in there?”

C.C. took the box from the bag. In the light from the porch, it looked even older and more worn, the wood faded to gray and the lock a sculpture made of pure rust.

“Is that it?” she asked softly.

“That's what we found, yeah,” C.C. said. “We don't know what it is yet.”

The two of them exchanged a look; then she said, “Let's go inside and find out, then.”

“I can't,” C.C. said. “I have to go look for Doyle.”

“I'll go with you,” I said.

“No,” he said sharply. Then his expression softened, and he touched my cheek. “You stay here, so I know you're safe.”

I started to protest, but the simple affection and worry in the statement cut me off.

“Find out what's in here,” he added, and handed me the box. The weight of the thing surprised me, but at that moment, I was more concerned with C.C. I looked up into his eyes and said, “Be careful.”

“I will. Take pictures for me, okay?”

“Okay.” He got back in his truck and roared off, leaving Thorn and me on the porch.

“I hope Doyle's okay,” I said.

“Me, too,” Thorn said. “He's been C.C.'s only real friend for a while. He used to fight bullies with him in school, so C.C. never had to stand alone.” Then her attention went back to the box. “So that's what all the fuss is about.”

I looked at the box again. Its antiquity made it seem sad, somehow. “It's what we found.”

“You really have no idea what's in it?”

“Nope. We didn't open it.”

“Why not?”

“There were … complications.”

“Durants?”

“Yeah. And…”

“What?”

“Haints.”

She put her hands to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“What?” I said, tired and annoyed.

“It's your accent.”

“Oh,
I
have the accent?”

“You do here.” She looked closely at the box. “I reckon we won't learn much more by staring at this, will we?”

“Reckon not.”

She giggled. “You're doing it again.”

“Oh, shut up. Wait until you hear how people pick on you in New York. Where can we look at this?”

“If you can be quiet, come on into the kitchen.”

We went inside, and Thorn spread newspaper on the table before we set down the dirty box. She turned on the light over the table, and I finally saw it clearly.

The box's corners dovetailed together, and the rusted heads of tiny nails were flush with the wooden surface. The top had two big hinges, and a latch closed with the small, ancient, rusted padlock.

I flicked the padlock with my fingertip. “How do we get that off?” I asked,

“Rub its G-spot,” Thorn deadpanned.

“Ha.”

“Step aside.”

She took the lock in her hand and twisted it slowly. When it wedged against the latch, she turned it harder, and one end of the shank popped free. She removed the lock and placed it beside the box on the paper. “That might've been worth something,” she said sadly.

“The lock?”

“Yeah. People love anything that might be from the Civil War. Reenactors come all over themselves for stuff like this.”

“Maybe you can fix it and sell it.”

“Are you kidding? I can't stand reenactors. They think if the war had gone the other way, the world would be perfect.”

Now nothing stopped us from opening it. We stood silently, the crickets outside providing the background chorus. Ladonna or Gerald snored softly behind their bedroom door in counterpoint. At last I said, “Well…”

“It's what you came for.”

“Yeah, but…”

“You're kidding me. Second thoughts?”

I saw the sad face of Byrda's ghost in my mind's eye. “I'm just not sure, all of a sudden.”

Thorn snickered. “Yeah, that figures. All men are afraid of commitment, even the gay ones. Well, I'll leave you and your box to talk it over. I'll be on the porch if you want me.”

“Wait, you're not curious?”

“Oh, sure, I'm curious. But I'll find out later. I'll leave the moment of discovery for you.”

She closed the screen door softly behind her, leaving me speechless. I quietly pulled out a chair and sat down, then rested my chin on my folded arms and stared at the box. There was a slight gap under the lid; it would take nothing to reach over and lift it, exposing the secret that Ray had wanted so badly to keep.

As if cued by my thoughts, Ray said, “Well? What's stopping you?”

It says a lot that in four days, the presence of the ghost of a friend no longer made me want to run screaming from the room. I didn't look at him as I replied, “I'm not sure, man. Maybe it's you.”

“Me? All I am is dust in the wind. Isn't that what ol' Miss Azure said?”

“She said you were just pretending to be Ray.”

“Well, there you go. If she's right, what you do makes no difference to me now.”

I touched the side of the box reverently, with just my fingertips. “Is this really what you were talking about? The secret of the chapel?”

“You mean, is that what I was writing about?”

“Yeah.”

“It is.”

“And you know what's inside it?”

“I said I did.”

“Yeah, but do you? Like you also said, all that mattered was getting the show onstage. You would've said anything to make that happen.”

“Touché, man. You got me there. But in this case, I really do know what's in there.”

“How? The ground didn't look like anyone had dug it up recently.”

“Maybe I did it years ago.”

“Why are you being so fucking enigmatic?”

“I'm a haint, it's what we do.”

This made me turn and look at him. He was as solid as Thorn had been, still dressed in his denim jacket, his black hair tied back in that disarrayed ponytail. His skin was paler than I remembered, but hey, he
was
a ghost. He crossed his arms and smiled, thoroughly delighted by my discomfort.

“You're enjoying this,” I said.

“I'm having a little fun, yeah. But like I said, it's not about me. It's about you.”

I lifted the lid an inch. It resisted a little, and when I pulled my hand away, it stayed in place. Through the gap, I saw what looked like the frayed edge of a piece of fabric.

“So close,” Ray taunted.

“Stop it!” I snapped. “If you'd just told us about it when we asked you, none of this would've happened. You do realize that if C.C.'s friend Doyle is dead, it's basically your fault.”

“He's not dead.”

“How do you know?”

He looked at me like I was stupid, then pointed at himself. “Haint?”

He had me there. “Well, if you just tell me what's in the box now—”

“Why should I tell you? It's right there. Lift the damn lid and see for yourself.”

Annoyed, I stood up and lifted the lid. “Fine!”

Whatever was inside the box was wrapped in old, faded cloth. It filled the space and gave no hint of the shape beneath it. One frayed edge ran the length of the bundle, begging me to lift it just as the lid had done.

“So close,” he said again.

I whirled on him. “Look, tell me what you want me to do here! Do you want me to open it or not?”

He leaned toward me. I wondered if I'd feel anything if I tried to push him away. He said, “I want you to do what you want. That's what you've done all along, isn't it? You went against my wishes, against the advice of C.C. and Miss Azure, against the hopes of the girl who buried this in the first place. You think it was meant for you? In what fucking world could
that
be right? You're just muscling in on history because you can't stand to not know something.”

He tried to poke me in the chest on the last few words, but his finger simply went through me. I felt nothing. He looked down at his hand partly inside me, pulled it out, and burst out laughing. So did I.

“Shh, you'll wake Mom and Dad,” he said, still giggling.

“The ghost in the woods was solid,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, well, he's had a lot more practice than I have.”

I calmed down and looked back at the box. I recalled all the guesses we'd posted on that board backstage at the Armitage. Did the box contain gold from the Civil War? A Bible that gave away family secrets? A diary that named illicit lovers? Letters that revealed once-world-shattering secrets? Maybe the remains of a dead, possibly illegitimate, baby? Or just keepsakes from a romance that could never end happily, things that mattered only to the person who buried them?

And did I have the right to know?

The answer was suddenly, totally, obvious.

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

“I might've, if you'd gotten me drunk,” Ray said. I looked up sharply, and he winked. “Just kidding. Gotcha.”

I carefully, reverently, closed the box and pushed the latch back into place. The lock itself was useless now, but I placed it on top. “I guess the secret—”

Ray was gone. I was alone with the box and its secrets, which I now knew I'd never know. I was never
meant
to know.

Something scraped at the glass on the back door. I jumped. In the light, I saw a ragged hand, small and feminine, raking its filthy nails along the outside of the pane.

I got up and opened the door. In the darkness just beyond the shaft of light huddled a small human form. She cocked her head, and the thick strands of her dreadlocks swayed with the movement.

My first thought was the girl from New York, Bronwyn Chess's spy. Then I remembered the attendants of the forest king.

I looked farther into the darkness. Was that an enormous deer standing immobile down by the fence, or just a trick of the shadows and darkness?

I looked back at the girl. Her murky silhouette now resembled something canine.

I should've been afraid, but I was totally calm. Whatever these creatures, these
beings,
were, they had clearly followed me here, and expected something. And I knew what.

“Wait,” I said, and retreated inside. I picked up the box, making sure the lid was closed, and carried it out the door. I placed it on the ground at the very edge of the light. The girl/dog didn't move.

“I'm sorry,” I said sincerely. “I meant no disrespect.”

I turned to step back into the house. Before the door closed, I glanced back out. The box, the girl, and the deer were all gone.

I sat down at the table again and began to laugh. I was still laughing when Ladonna came out, wrapped in a bathrobe, to see what was so funny. Without knowing the cause, she joined in.

Then our laughter was abruptly cut off by the sound of gunshots from the front yard.

 

28

I'd heard gunshots in the city before, and had learned to tell them from the noise of old cars backfiring. Here in the mountains, the noise was more plain, without the artificial buildings to bounce off. There was an echo, but it was a classical one, long and distant as the hills passed the sound around.

Ladonna and I ran to the front door. Multiple sets of headlights blazed through the window, and when we went out onto the porch, they blinded us. C.C. stood in the yard between us and the vehicles, Thorn beside him. Someone behind the lights let out a self-satisfied whoop.

Ace and Tom ran from the darkness, barking and growling. They stopped beside C.C.

“You best get them dogs under control if you don't want 'em full of holes,” a voice said from behind the lights. I recognized it: Billy Durant.

“Ace, Tom, get up here,” Ladonna said. The dogs obeyed, and she held the door for them to go inside.

“What do you want, Billy?” C.C. demanded. There were three sets of headlights, and the rattle of old engines filled the air.

“We want that city faggot,” Billy said. “He blew up our shed.”