Blood Brothers: Behind the Closet Door, #2

One

Henry pulled into the parking lot as the rain came down. It was all a bit too familiar. He wanted to get in and out and leave this place forever. After spending the last couple of months in North Carolina, deep in the woods, he had come to an understanding about the way things were. He walked long trails that went through old growth forests and along the river and made peace with himself.

IT WAS NEARLY FIVE o’clock and already getting dark. He waited, studying the rain as it ran down the windows and gutters of the building and spilled out across the brown, dirty grass. He thought about going to get something to eat and coming back later when there would be less people on duty. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed past the diner. The railroad tracks and the trash-strewn grass looked exactly the same as it had in November. He slowed down and looked in the window, and saw a young couple having dinner, waiting for the evening train.

He sighed and kept going. There was nowhere in this town he could get a bite to eat; he'd be spotted immediately. He drove past the feed store and the dying downtown with its empty spaces and for sale signs. He grabbed a pack of crackers from the passenger seat and ate them.

He drove past the cemetery and held his breath like he’d done when he was a kid. A silly superstition. He wondered if she was buried there or in Lakeland and then quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. Still, the image of flowers and hymns and a funeral procession, and a girl with chestnut ringlets in a flowing gown passed through like a ghost and he had to turn on the radio to break the spell.

It was dark then and he turned on his headlights. The windshield wipers were frantically scraping away the heavy rain that was starting to turn into a slushy mess that sounded like BBs hitting the car. He pulled back into the parking lot of the Caitland Nursing Facility and slowed down. He paused for a moment before driving his car around to the back of the building.

There were two cars in the lot and he joined them, parking next to a white Kia. He took out a well-worn envelope that contained a key and Rex’s almost illegible scrawl. The note said: Thanks buddy. You’re the best. Catch you on the flip side.

Henry held the key in his hands and looked at it thoughtfully. After this, things are going to change. He said it like an affirmation and nodded as if to drive the point home.

ONCE INSIDE THE BUILDING, the scent of bleach blended with a darker smell. He tried not to sink into despair. He looked at the old clock on the wall. It was a round, institution-style clock. A kind he was quite familiar with. It was nearly six. There was an orderly watching TV, sitting on one of those spinning doctor’s stools and a nurse standing next to him with her hands on her hips. You know, Al, that girl doesn’t have the sense God gave a mouse.

She’ll wise up; just watch.

Bet you ten bucks she don’t.

I’ll take that bet.

Henry took silent steps along the corridor. He slipped into the room and gently closed the door. There was a dark heaviness that pervaded everything, giving it a palpable weight. He saw the man lying there and started to reconsider. He knew he owed Rex but he didn’t want to slip. He was finally starting to feel like himself again. No voices or hallucinations. Months of personal reflection and simple, clean living had cleared his head. Backsliding wasn’t an option.

He quickly walked over to the man. He noticed his waxy complexion, the look of decay and atrophy. His thinning hair was oily and smelled rancid. He wondered how long it had been since they had bathed him or done anything even remotely kind for the wretched soul.

He pulled a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and put them on. He touched the tube that lead from his body to a machine and squeezed it for a moment. How to do this? He suspected that an alarm would sound if the man’s breathing stopped. He eyed the spare pillow that was sitting along with a brown blanket on a shelf and for a moment had an image of holding it over the man’s face. He wouldn’t put up a fight. His stomach rolled at the thought and he felt inside his jacket to reassure himself that it was still there. An injection then. He took out the kit he’d brought. He hated needles, but he’d practiced on an orange a few times the week before. I can do this, he said with gritted teeth. Rex had filled him in on a few details...a pertinent one, the man was diabetic. An overdose of insulin would be quick and since he was in a coma already, painless. Henry didn’t want him to suffer. He was done causing people pain.

He took out the bottle, carefully unwrapping the syringe. He drew the liquid into the needle and leaned over the man. This will be a kindness. I promise you.

He felt the man’s arm for a vein. He wasn’t an expert but they felt thin and spidery to him. He also didn’t want the mark to be clearly evident. He lifted up the man’s right arm and quickly shoved the needle into his flesh until it hit its mark. He pushed the plunger and then laid his arm back on the bed. The sheets were yellowing and he felt sorry. Nobody deserved to waste away, unloved and uncared for. Well, I’ve taken care of that, he said as he quickly packed up everything and stood.

It really is a kindness. I know you would thank me if you could, he whispered.

He slipped out the door and saw the nurse, her hands still on her hips, the guard still sitting on the doctor’s stool.

I told you she was on to him. I’ve always been a student of human behavior. I could see it coming a mile away.

A real know-it-all, ain’t you?

Either way, I win...

Dammit...

The guard cackled with delight as he took a drag on his cigarette. Henry was pretty sure smoking wasn’t allowed. For a brief moment, he felt a flash of anger and thought about putting a bullet into the back of the guard’s head. Oh well, he thought, at least that poor man in the room won’t have to suffer in such an awful place anymore.

Pay up, ten bucks. Victory is sweet.

Henry backed down the hall and hid in the shadows by the door, waiting for the right moment. He had left the back door open a tiny crack and inched toward it slowly.

Yeah...You got me this time but mark my words; payback will be such a bitch.

Dream on, sweetheart.

Henry took three steps and was out the door. He eased it closed and locked it. He walked through the rain to his car, got in and drove off. The night air was murky and the fog was starting to creep around the edges of the parking lot. He smiled. He was leaving Virginia. Things would be better. Someplace warm. Someplace sunny. That was where he was headed. He couldn’t wait. A new start...it was what he’d always wanted and now he was going to have it.

Two

Blue

Gray skies falling into blue.

I dreamed of shadows

black and dark.

In sunlight, I shivered,

remembering.

And crossed my arms

to ward away this chill.

And face the fresh

resplendent dawn.

And leave the buried bones

to rest.

Henry Peterson

The window was down . Henry kept the speedometer of the silver Mazda pegged at sixty. Humid air, heavy with the sour tang of mangroves, blew in the open window. Florida was just the tonic he needed. He looked into the rearview mirror and smiled. He’d gotten a little sun since he’d been here and it made him look almost normal. His hair, which was usually mousy brown, had developed little flecks of gold; his blue eyes were bright and clear. Virginia was light years away. He tried to let himself relax. Things were good now and they might stay that way as long as he didn’t let himself think about a certain girl he used to know.

It was late afternoon when he pulled into the parking lot. The smell of salt water and the sound of waves crashing put him in a thoughtful mood. He stopped by Dyana’s On the Pier and grabbed a hamburger and a drink and walked as far out on the boardwalk as he could go. He looked at the ocean stretching out in front of him and sighed. It was a good sigh. One of relief, of having been through a dark tunnel and come out the other side to find that the sun still shone, the water still sparkled, and the birds still sang.

He was eating his burger, watching seagulls fight over a scrap of French fry when he noticed a girl with fiery red hair. She glanced at him and looked out toward the sea. She was slim and young, about my age, he thought. He noticed that she was trying to pull her hair back to keep the wind from tossing it around, but wasn’t having much success. He almost spoke but didn’t want to intrude. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the whitecaps scudding across the surface.

It’s kind of windy today. Not really the best day for the pier, but I like to come down here when I can.

Henry turned and looked toward the sound of the voice. The first thing he noticed was her mouth. Her lips were full and natural. Not done up with lipstick. Her hair was blowing in the breeze, surrounding her like flames and her eyes were a vivid shade of green. He was stunned for a moment.

Yeah, I guess you’re right about the wind, but I love it. Henry glanced tentatively at her. He didn’t want to invade her privacy, but then again, she had spoken first.

Me too. I’m Shelby, by the way.

I’m Henry. He stood up, reached toward her and shook her hand. Her nails were done in a meticulous French tip, her fingers long and slender. A grin flickered on his face as he looked back out at the choppy wake left behind by a yacht.

Nice to meet you, Henry. So are you here on vacation?

Henry paused and said, Why... can’t I pass for a local?

You’re way too pale for that, Shelby said.

Pale? I thought I had finally gotten a tan at last. I’m hurt, Shelby.

She laughed and smiled. Henry felt a spark between them, a small one, but a spark nonetheless.

No, I’m afraid not. I’ll bet I can guess where you’re from. Hold on a second, let me think. A seagull flew overhead; Henry watched as it dove toward the water and then swerved up again and headed off into the sky, squawking as it went.

So, where am I from?

I’m thinking, don’t rush me. She blushed a faint pink and he watched as she brushed her hair back. Henry wondered if she was being flirtatious. He hoped she was.

What do I win if you’re wrong?

Shelby put her hands on her hips and tilted her head as if she were thinking of something very important. Henry grinned, hoping it didn’t look like a leer.

I’ll buy you lunch.

Henry nodded but didn’t speak.

Okay... Maryland.

Sorry, I’m afraid you’ll have to buy me lunch now. Too bad I’ve already eaten.

Shelby laughed and he shivered. It reminded him of the tinkling chime of bells which was not a pleasant sound at all.

Tell you what... I work at the Clumsy Parrot. It’s a bar off of Broad Street. Why don’t you come by tomorrow and I’ll set you up with a couple of beers on the house.

Oh, I don’t drink.

No? Oh well, I’ll serve you all the ginger ale you can handle, how about that?

Sounds nice. I’ll be there.

She looked like some kind of goddess the way her hair was blowing like tendrils of fire. She was dressed in jeans and a green top that was no match for her eyes.

Okay then, I’ll see you at the bar.

It’s a date, Henry said as she turned to walk away. He watched her go and for a second wanted to follow her, ask for her number, but he didn’t want to seem pushy and God forbid, needy. What if there was no bar? What if he never saw her again? But, he thought, she seemed so sincere.

HE’D CIRCLED THE BLOCK twice, the afternoon traffic closing in around him. He pulled into the parking lot and sat there with the engine running, clenching the wheel with clammy palms. The Clumsy Parrot was more than just a bar; it was a strip club. He didn’t want to get involved with someone like that. He was just about to drive away when he saw her come out with a heavy set girl in a tank top and jeans. They were both laughing. Shelby had a cigarette dangling from her lips. Henry waved; she bounded to the car. He put down the window, Well, what are you doing sitting out here? she said. Come on inside.

Look, Shelby, I don’t mean to sound like a jerk or anything, but I’m not really into strip clubs. I know it sounds like I’m being all high and mighty, but it’s just not my thing. I’m sorry. Henry was flustered and embarrassed. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It had been so nice to meet someone with whom he’d felt a connection.

Don’t be silly. I only work the day shift. I’m a waitress, not a dancer. The only thing that’s coming off of me is this apron after my shift’s over.

Henry looked at a crack in the asphalt. There was a lone dandelion growing through it; he wished he could sink into the ground and disappear.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. Look, I’ll just go now and leave you alone.

Don’t be stupid, come on and get out of the car, you nitwit. She was smiling, looking like a pixie. Her chin was an almost perfect v.

Okay, but I’m not getting any lap dances or anything, he said smiling.

Don’t worry, all I’m offering is ginger ale.

Henry relaxed. The bantering had started again. He felt them clicking like yesterday. He got out and saw his reflection in the glass of the windshield. I don’t look that bad, he thought. It was rather a surprise to him to think so. He stood a bit straighter, walked over to her and watched her exhale a large plume of smoke.

Does this bother you?

No, I don’t smoke but I don’t see why you shouldn’t if that’s what you want.

I get it...so long as I’m not a stripper, everything’s okay.

Yeah, it sounds worse when you say it.

Don’t worry, I’d never strip; that job sucks. It’s not worth it. My friend Carla makes about five hundred a night but she earns every dollar. I’m only here because my friend Pam hooked me up. It’s just temporary until I can get my bills caught up and go back to school.

What are you studying?

Would you believe I was taking business classes? she said as she flicked ash onto the pavement.

Sure I’d believe it, why wouldn’t I?

Well I don’t exactly look like the head of Merrill Lynch, do I?

You look great to me. You’re a pretty girl, if you don’t mind my saying so.

I don’t mind at all. Come on and I’ll pour you that ginger ale.

Three

The boy walked across the road, watching the sunset. It was the time of day when the world became still; even the birds ceased to chatter. He took a moment to watch everything lapse into this state of rest. The sky was streaked with orange and cornflower blue and the first star appeared over the horizon. He paused with the rest of this corner of the world and took a deep breath.

His name was Wyatt and he was running away. He’d never done such a thing and though he was a confident boy, he found himself turning toward the direction of home every so often. He’d clocked several miles and thought it would be safe to stop for the night. He walked off the road into a little patch of woods. Behind it was an open field. It was November; the corn had been cut, leaving little stubs and scraggly bits of stalk in an odd patchwork across the open land that stretched in front of him.

He sat and opened his backpack. It was not some pedestrian kind that could be bought at Wal-Mart or Target. It was top of the line, made by Merrell, as were his hiking shoes and sleeping bag. He was no pedestrian boy, either. He had lived what some might call a charmed life. His dad, or Da as he fondly called him, had groomed him well. Wyatt had gone to the Prescott School for Boys since his eighth year of life and though it was a boarding school, Wyatt found his place there, thrived, in fact.

He pulled out his nylon bag and a very light sheet of tent material. He took two collapsible poles and assembled a small tent. After that he gathered up a few cornstalks, putting them in a pile. He walked into the woods, selecting some dry fallen logs and small sticks, enough to make a reasonable fire. He returned, stacking them neatly in the right order so they’d burn properly. He took out a lighter, knowing he also had a flint in case the Bic should fail him.

Once the fire was going, he pulled out a canteen of water and a bag of freeze-dried noodles. He put on a sweater, since he could feel the creeping chill of winter moving in. He brought out a small gun. It was his father’s revolver, nothing fancy, but he had good aim and he decided he should try to hunt. He wished he had his rifle with him, but it was too heavy to carry. The foil bag of dried noodles was none too appetizing but he was tired. He’d never walked so far in one day, even though he had been president of the trail club at school.

Just then, he heard rustling in the cornstalks and leapt to his feet. Even if it was a squirrel, it would make a good meal. He pulled back the hammer and stood, eyes staring intently in the coming darkness. A little rabbit leaped into the clearing and ran briskly into the field. In one swift motion, Wyatt leveled the gun and fired, bringing it down.

He made fast work of skinning the brown rabbit and very soon it was over the flames. The smell made Wyatt’s mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since the previous night when he’d left his home. He looked around nervously, wondering if the smoke would draw the farmer who owned this land, but the sky was black by then and the stars were out. The woods hid him from passing cars. The farmer’s house, if there was one, was nowhere to be seen. He savored the roasted meat, wondering if he’d ever tasted anything so delicious. He tucked the dried noodles away in his backpack to save for another time when perhaps he wouldn’t be so lucky.

He crawled into his sleeping bag, looked up at the stars and thought of home. His dad would be heartbroken. That was the only way to put it. His dad didn’t get angry, yell, make him feel guilty or bad, but he was a sensitive man, Wyatt had often sensed his father’s heart breaking for reasons he didn’t understand. He felt a pang of guilt that he would be yet another reason, another weight on his father’s conscience.

Four

Things had gone well with Shelby, and Henry made it a habit to stop by the Clumsy Parrot every afternoon. He sat at the bar and watched as she charmed the men and brought their drinks. He glanced hesitantly as they ogled her. There were times when he could feel himself slipping into an old habit, a twinge of obsession, and when that happened, he’d walk along the pier and remind himself of the fact that he’d been given a second chance. So many things could have gone wrong for him and yet here he was, still alive and better yet, someone liked him. He didn’t care much for Shelby’s job and he judged the men who stared at her when she wore that green low cut top he liked so much. Something about the ocean always set his mind straight. Who am I to judge anyone? He didn’t want to forget that and find himself going down the same road he’d already travelled.

When he’d left his friend Rex on the side of the road after they had escaped in Virginia, he had wondered what would happen to him. He owed Rex his life and he wasn’t about to forget it. He had promised to keep in touch and had, but Rex was so much work. Henry found him exhausting and his idea of friendship was quite different than Rex, who had made the most of his so-called escape from death and had been in the papers touted as a hero. Henry knew someone like Rex would always be able to make the most of every situation and that he didn’t feel what normal people might call guilt. This made him cringe when he thought of the man at the nursing home. It was done, though, and he’d repaid Rex. He hardly deserved happiness, certainly not with a pretty girl like Shelby, but he also had a knack for self-preservation. If it came down to it, he’d save himself. He grinned a lop-sided grin, and decided that a little self-preservation wasn’t such a bad thing.

SHELBY CALLED HENRY often, which made him feel wanted. If he didn’t stop by the bar or meet her at the pier, she’d call him and lightly ask if he’d forgotten about her. He couldn’t tell her that it was actually the opposite. He was afraid of getting too attached. The last thing he wanted was to have it all end badly like