Burning Crosses - Part 13 - Patty

My feet skimmed the corridor of a road deep in the forest, as I walked steadily along the dirt path with immense evergreens creating a wall on either side. My bare arms swayed back and forth at my sides like two pendulums. The sweet aroma of magnolia permeated the air. I could hear the footsteps beside me, keeping up with my long strides easily. When I turned my head, I found my cousin strolling next to me, a wide, crazy grin smeared across his face.

He stopped walking and faced me, the grin leaving his face. He brought a hand to his mouth and the other to his temple. I frowned, not understanding. Suddenly, he began to cry. His eyes were screwed tightly shut and his lips were pulled back over his teeth as he let loose the most terrible sobs I'd ever heard before. The kind of crying you hear once, but never want to hear again. It tore at my ears; a ringing sound filled them, almost blocking out the terrible noise.

I backed away, but I felt my feet rock over the edge of something hard and wooden. I careened backwards, away from my cousin, and into a pond. His face faded before me as the surface covered my face. But when I slanted my eyes sideways, I could see the corpse again. Floating beside me, its foot attached to a chain. The remnants of a mouth were stretched in a grimace.

"I'm sorry!" I heard Ben's voice explode through the surface, choked only a little bit by tears.

With a start, I was wide awake, but this time, my nightmare didn't bring to me Mom and Dad. Instead, I found myself trapped within the walls of a gigantic, all-white bedroom scarcely illuminated by the early-morning light. The only thing to bring me to reality was the familiar-scented pillow, the one that still smelled of my aftershave and the sun block Mom used to make me wear whenever I ventured outside.

I scrubbed my hands through my hair, yawning widely. Every bit of my body ached – my shoulders, back, face, thighs, and belly. My head pounded, still, from that wretched nightmare, and a sour taste lingered in the back of my throat. I bent forward at the waist, my hands clasped behind my neck.

There had to be some unknown reason these nightmares were haunting me so bad. And if there was a ghost trying to get my attention, why was he haunting me, of all people? Why not haunt one of those professional psychics who actually knew how to interpret what spirits really wanted? Something about my fear of drowning came into play here; that and the corpse that habitually haunted my dreams as well. And the gun tangled in the threads of seaweed at the bottom of a darkened pond, blood swirling all around.

I couldn't shake off the memory of hearing Ben crying the night before, and then having a dream in which he was crying. There was something weird going on, I knew, and Ben was somehow linked to that crazy happening. But I was fazed on how I'd find out the truth.

I staggered clumsily out of bed, throwing the heavy comforter in a bundle at the foot of the bed. It was only five-twenty in the morning, but the nightmare had chased away whatever fatigue had been lodged inside of me. I changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt. Before I served this penance, I should probably take a walk and clear my head before I went totally crazy. Now, I needed time to myself more than ever. And what better way to get to know the farm better as well as clear my head, than to walk around?

I thundered down the winding staircase. Though I turned a keen ear in the direction of Ben's bedroom, in case he started up again, I heard nothing. The house was heavy with silence. I walked straight out the backdoor and into the morning mugginess of a new summer day. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the sound of a car horn blasting, followed by the choked cooing of a morning dove. A cat hissed as soon as I stepped off the glazed steps. But the lack of activity, of people bustling about to get here or there, and not having Mom's Teresa Brewer to awake to in the morning, made me realize how much of an alien I was in this small town world. I smoothed my lips with my tongue and started for the well. I wondered if I'd see that strange creature reflected upon the surface yet again.

I pushed through the thicket leading to the well, my bare arms and shirt catching on briars, my basketball shoes smashing rotten berries that had fallen from the canopy of the trees. At last, I found myself facing the well. And standing next to the stone structure, twisting the knob to draw a bucket from the depths, was a black girl.

She was about my age, if I'd venture a guess, but dressed in clothes that resembled garments my mom wore back during the beginning of the Second World War. Her black, wavy hair was fastened at the back of her head with two ivory combs. When she raised her head, I found myself looking at one of the prettiest girls I'd ever before seen in my life. Her brown skin was smooth, the pores invisible, unlike those I'd seen on a lot of other peoples' I'd encountered at school. Large, doe-eyes rested in a round face above a prim nose and a puffy, bee stung mouth. Confusion drew her almost nonexistent eyebrows together.

"Hello," I stammered, stopping dead in my tracks. Jack had warned me about talking to black people in that list of rules. And those harsh warnings he'd given me were enough to make me hesitant to speak to this girl. But I couldn't help myself; I was a quarter-black myself, after all.

"Hi." Her words were drawn out, almost mechanical, as if there was a recording of a voice stuffed inside this girl. She turned her attention on the bucket of water and dumped it into a large, metal basin at her feet.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets. "Do you live over in one of those cabins?" I pointed at the cluster of old sharecropper cabins with my chin.

Without looking up at me, she nodded. "Yeah."

I was just about discouraged by her lack of conversation, but I could tell by the look in her eyes that she didn't trust me. But why should she? I was mostly white and she was a black person – and they didn't have the privileges in this country that we did. I wished I could get this girl to talk more. I really wanted to talk to someone who was a quarter of what I was; I hadn't seen many black people up in Boston, but here, standing next to one, was practically a grand opportunity for me.

"Ya just move here?" she suddenly asked, dropping her bucket back down into the shaft.

"Yesterday. I came here from Boston to live with my father."

She smiled knowingly. "I kin tell. Ya have an extremely heavy Boston accent," she commented. Resting one hand on her hip, she nodded at me. "Who's yer father? Maybe I know him."

"Jack Steele," I said cautiously, hoping that, for her own sake, she did not know my father. He wasn't exactly someone I'd want to know, had I been in her shoes.

Her eyes dropped down into the well, along with the bucket. "That's th'strangest thing, fer he never tole anybody he had a son. But he's th'well-respected pastor of this town; I doubt a man of that power and respect would wanna let on about any 'indiscretion' from his past, iffin yer even that in his eyes." Her face took on a kind, inquisitive expression. "Well? Why'd he keep ya secret all this time?"

I smiled tightly. "You are completely right, for I am his little indiscretion, his illegitimate son. He had an affair with my mother many years ago and got her pregnant." Why was I telling this strange girl about my life? It felt weird, spilling out the doomed secrets of my past, all of which I hadn't known about until Dad died a few weeks earlier.

"I guess it always could be worse, heh? Ya could always be like yer cousin, Benny – born outta a horrible assault when his ma was only thirteen. I s'pose ya know all 'bout that already, though." She smirked.

"No…I did not know that." Maybe that's what Ben was crying about the night before – shame of his past and what he'd been a product of. Suddenly, I felt incredible compassion for my cousin and his own cross to bear. A child from an assault! Boy, am I darn glad I didn't have it as bad as he!

She clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise. "Ooohh!! Maybe I shouldn't have tole ya that!" she exclaimed. "Iffin ya didn't know, it probably wasn't meant fer ya to know till later." She turned back to the well and wound up the rope again, pulling the bucketful of water up from the dark well. When I didn't say anything as a response, she said, "Ya see, my sister dates yer cousin, so I know some of th'nitty-gritty details 'bout that family." She gave me a quirky smile.

I laughed. "Well, then Miss…miss…" I paused, realizing I didn't even know her name!

"Patty Slade." She dumped the water into the metal basin. "I work down in Heaven at th'library, helping put away books and find books for people and the like. I also spend time at the theater, where your cousin acts; th’main reason why he and my sister, Larissa, are an item." She winked at me. Straightening up, she added, "And if you need or like books, especially those on th'supernatural, I'll be happy to know ya." She held out her hand.

I took it, smiling back at her. "Clayton Steele. I prefer being called Rune," I immediately said. "I take it you hooked both Ben and your sister up?" I guessed, withdrawing my hand from hers.

She nodded with fresh zeal. "Durn right I did! Those two fit together as well as a pot and its lid. Benny had wanted to date her, he used to confide in me, and so I managed to hook those two up on a blind date at midnight. It was a picnic underneath th'moonlight, a most splendid affair." She looked all starry-eyed when she said this, as if she still could remember the intimate details of Ben and his girlfriend's first date.

"That's pretty cool." I tried to smile, for her sake, but memories of last night, when I'd heard Ben crying so hard in his bedroom slapped away whatever joy I might have. Especially since I'd peered in at him and found him fast asleep. Now that was a mystery to ravage my mind all night!

"I'm trying to talk Larissa into marrying him," she dropped her voice. "My dad doesn't like Ben very much, though, thinks that yer cousin is out to humiliate Larissa. Th'last time he caught those two together, he threatened to snap Benny's neck."

I sucked in my breath. "No wonder he was crying last night!"

She tilted her head to the side. "Crying? He doesn't seem th'kind of guy to cry, but sometimes, people will do things that'll surprise ya."

I leaned against the well. "Yeah? You're probably right about that." I turned my head over my upper arm to stare down into the water below. The memory of my cousin's wailing grew intense until it seemed as though he were actually crying, right beside me. I shuddered and backed away from the well, rubbing my bare arms quickly. At least I didn't see anything reflected down there this time, though.

She lifted the metal basin up and balanced it against one of her voluptuous hips. "Well, Rune Steele, I'd best be gitting back to my house so my mama kin start cooking. I hope to see ya in town, at th'theater, or at th'library sometime soon." She smiled at me.

"See ya later." I gave her a mock salute and turned back toward the house.

I walked away, my heart singing and my gait light. For some reason, I found myself already attracted to this girl – not just her looks, though that department definitely measured up my preferences, but also her personality and the vibes that eluded from her. I would definitely keep a lookout for Miss Patty Slade whenever I took a stroll around Heaven. Even if that meant defying one of Jack's silly rules.

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