Chapter 4: Moonlight

Dan finished his coffee, put the mug down, and stood up. I’ll check again.

He had gone through the entire cemetery several times, but he hadn’t seen the ghost of the boy again. Dan understood that ghosts existed. As far as he was concerned, they had to exist. The burden of evidence was with the naysayers.

 

Jessica didn’t believe, he thought, then chided himself. Don’t bring her up.

 

It was always a challenge to function normally after seeing his ex-wife. It drained him, emotionally, to speak with her. Every syllable uttered was a painful reminder of how he had never spoken enough during their marriage.

 

Then, there was the issue with the children.

 

Children, he thought. I need to look for that boy again. What help does he need from me?

 

Dan shook the thoughts away. He knew he needed to find the boy and help him if he could. Some ghosts, he remembered from television and movies, needed help. Others did not.

 

No, Dan thought. Others want the opposite. They want to destroy the world.

 

Dan stretched a little to work out the kinks in his back. One more loop tonight. Then I’ll go to bed. I have twenty-five pages to read to keep on my goal.

 

The idea that he would soon be reading served as a pleasant distraction while he prepared for his last walkthrough of the night. He picked his mug back up and carried it to the sink. After rinsing and drying it, he set it on the floor beside the coffeemaker. Dan left the small room, exiting the building by way of one of the front doors. The night was clear, the light of the moon and the stars stunning in their brilliance. Dan smiled at the old headstones, the way some of them leaned, and others sank a few inches.

 

Mentally, he marked off the headstones which would require movement or repairs of some kind. He proceeded slowly along the perimeter of the fence, pausing to commit a section to memory. The old urge to write, to research, and to create sprang up within him, and Dan found himself staring at an ancient, slate headstone.

 

The epitaph carved into it concerned returning to the dust from whence the reader came, and he smiled. Yes, Dan thought, chuckling. It would be good to research these people. Get some new information.

 

Then, his thoughts collapsed upon themselves as the sound of gunfire and screams exploded in his memory. He shuddered, rooted to the ground as reality faded before the onslaught of the past.

 

A terrible cold swept over him, and Dan closed his eyes, trying to shut down the memories before they became too much for him to bear.

 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Each word was a command, not a suggestion. Hours of therapy had been reduced to a single word. He was unable to do anything other than focus on the most basic bodily function of all—respiration.

 

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he shivered violently, trying to warm himself as he continued to squeeze his eyes shut. His hands balled into fists, and his breath rushed in and out through clenched teeth. Once again, he smelled the heavy, iron-rich stench of too much blood.

 

“Are you unwell?” a soft voice asked.

 

Dan gasped, turned around to respond, and saw nothing.

 

His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his throat and, for a brief moment, he wondered if he had gone mad.

 

I’ve been worrying about this, he thought, feeling detached. Is it possible I’ve driven myself into insanity? Yes, anything is a possibility. If I recognize it as a problem, doesn’t it mean that I’m not insane? Or are there moments of lucidity, like now? Here’s another question: do I care if I’m insane or not?

 

Before he could answer himself, a dark shape dashed between a pair of granite obelisks, catching his attention.

 

I think that was a person, Dan thought. He cleared his throat nervously and said, “Hello, if you’re there. You have to leave the cemetery. We’re closed from dusk to dawn.”

 

From behind the obelisk on the left came a child’s mournful voice.

 

“I can’t leave,” the child replied. “This is where I have to live now.”

 

Fear and uncertainty were batted aside by concern for the unseen child.

 

“What do you mean?” Dan asked. “Did your parents make you leave?”

 

“No,” the child answered. “They’re dead.”

Chapter 7: Acceptance

“Dan!”

 

Dan put his saw down and looked over his shoulder.

 

Garrett Pence, the man in charge of the cemeteries and parks, strolled up the narrow road, his hands in his pockets. Dan picked up his water bottle, opened it, and took a long gulp as Garrett closed the distance between them. By the time Dan had finished his drink and set it back upon the ground, Garrett reached him, offering his hand.

 

Dan shook it. “What brings you out today?”

 

“Just work,” Garrett responded. “Want to sit down?”

 

Dan nodded and sat, resting his back against one of the sawhorses. Garrett took out a pack of gum and offered a stick to Dan, who shook his head. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

 

“How are you doing out here, away from everyone?” Garrett asked.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Do you see the kids at all?”

 

Dan shook his head. “No. They don’t want me to.”

 

Garrett frowned. “I thought the judge awarded you shared custody?”

 

“He did,” Dan replied. “I won’t force them to see me, though.”

 

“Dan,” Garrett murmured, sighing with exasperation. “How are you going to mend bridges if you won’t even talk to them?”

 

Dan stiffened. “I won’t.” He looked down at the grass, picked a few stems and added, “They don’t like me, Garrett, and I don’t know how to talk to them. They’re too old now.”

 

“Dan,” Garrett began, then stopped. “Too old?”

 

Dan nodded.

 

Garrett frowned again, then his eyebrows raised. “Are you comparing them to the kids from Clayton High School?”

 

Dan swallowed nervously.

 

“Hey man,” Garrett said. “You have to try and work past that. Otherwise, all you’re going to see every time you bump into a teenager is the school.”

 

Dan slumped as he whispered, “I can’t get past it. I try. I try every day. But I see them. I hear them. Hell, Garrett, I feel them. Do you understand that? Can you?”

 

Garrett shook his head.

 

Dan continued. “One of them, she died in my arms. Right there, she died. I could see her go. Out of her mouth, like someone stuck a hand into her throat and pulled her soul out.”

 

“Damn,” Garrett sighed. “Have you talked to anybody about this?”

 

“Not about all of it.”

 

“Remember Courtney Lee, from high school?” Garrett asked.

 

“Yeah,” he replied.

 

“She runs her own practice in town now,” the man informed him. “You could probably get in and see her. Hell, if you need it, I can give her a call and ask if she can squeeze you in. You look terrible, Dan. You need help. And sooner rather than later, okay?”

 

Dan opened his mouth to argue, but then he closed it. He had seen his reflection in the small mirror over the sink. He knew how bad he looked. Worse, he knew how terrible he felt.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed finally. “If you could call her, that’d be great.”

 

Garrett clapped him on the back. “There, it’s settled. Now, what are you working on?”

 

“Putting in some new boards along the back wall, between my room and the rest of the school.”

 

“You sure you don’t want to stay with me?” Garrett asked, looking at the schoolhouse. “Don’t imagine the room’s very big or comfortable.”

 

“It’s big enough and comfortable enough,” Dan assured him. “It’s what I need.”

 

Garrett was quiet for a moment, then added, “Kids can’t see you if you only have a place big enough for a hammock, Dan.”

 

He nodded but didn’t reply.

 

Garrett sighed. “Do you even want to see your kids?”

 

Dan looked down at his hands. “No, not yet. They don’t need me. I wasn’t a good guy, Garrett. Before the shooting. I wasn’t a good guy.”

 

Silence fell over them, and they sat there, listening to bird songs and the chatter of squirrels. Beneath the sweet sounds of nature, Dan Tate still heard the screams of dying children.

Chapter 17: Found

 

A hand touched Dan’s shoulder, and he shuddered, scurrying away from it and inadvertently striking his head against a headstone. He swore as stars exploded in front of his eyes.

 

“Dan!”

 

He tried to focus and succeeded. Jessica stood in front of him, her car parked a short distance away. Aaron and Emily were in the vehicle, eyes wide and filled with disappointment as they looked upon their father.

 

Shame burned his cheeks, and he looked down at the ground between his legs.

 

“Dan,” Jessica said again, her voice lower. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

He never spoke to her about the shooting. Not once. His silence had been too much. The final spike driven between them, the proverbial straw and the camel’s back.

 

His words were barely a whisper when he replied. “Nothing.” Dan reached up, took hold of the top of the headstone and, trembling, pulled himself to his feet.

 

Jessica looked at him, then shook her head in disgusted disbelief.

 

“I have change from the shoes,” she muttered, reaching into her pocket.

 

“Keep it.” Dan’s voice was rough. “Buy the kids lunch. I know they don’t eat Happy Meals anymore, but I don’t know, maybe something else.”

 

Jessica tilted her head a fraction of an inch. “Dan, what’s wrong?”

 

“Clayton,” he managed to utter before his throat closed up and his lips pressed together, his fear rendering him mute.

 

“Oh hell,” she sighed. “You need to get some help. Believe it or not, the kids, they miss you. As difficult as you were, you’re their dad. I’m not going to preach to you about this. We’ve been over it too often. Maybe, if you can get your act together, you can salvage your relationship with them.”

 

Jessica looked at him, and Dan saw the woman he had fallen in love with twenty years earlier. Black hair that fell in curls to her shoulders, olive-toned skin, deep brown eyes.

 

He nodded. “Okay. Please, tell them I’m sorry. I’ll, I’ll try and see someone. Garrett, he recommended a therapist.”

 

“Do it,” she said. “Do it and give your kids a call, Dan. I’ll take them out to eat. Tell them it was from you.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

She gave him a tight smile, turned, and left. He clung to the marker as she got back into her vehicle and put it in gear. As the brake lights flashed, Dan raised a hand in farewell and was surprised when both children returned the gesture.

 

Then they were gone, and he was alone.

 

For a few more minutes, he remained upright courtesy of the headstone. When he felt strong enough, Dan stepped away from it, bent down and picked up his backpack. He walked on tense legs to the schoolhouse.

 

Later, when he was in his room, his pack forgotten on his chair, he sat in front of the wall with a box of penny nails on the floor before him. With a sigh, he opened the box and took out a handful of the fasteners. He picked out a single nail and set it on the floor, parallel to the wall. A second followed it, then a third.

 

As he sought some sort of control and peace, nail after nail followed. Ten, then twenty. A hundred and two hundred. Hours passed, and still, he worked on his organization.

 

His phone chimed, telling him it was six in the evening and time for dinner. Dan had missed lunch, and his stomach growled and twisted. He got to his feet, wavered for a heartbeat, regained his sense of balance, then went about the familiar and comforting routine of preparing and eating dinner.

 

When he finished, Dan sat down in his chair, stared at the wall, and wondered when Garret would return with information about Courtney Lee.

 

Dan closed his eyes and tried to take a deep, calming breath, but all he could manage were ragged inhalations. His exhalations sounded like the dying gasps of a steam engine.

 

Should I just kill myself? he thought. It wasn’t the first time such an idea had crossed his mind. Until he actually did commit suicide, he doubted it would be the last.

 

No. Dan shook his head. That would be too much for the kids. I can’t do that to them. No.

 

He yawned and considered getting up and going to his hammock. Such an act would require him to move, and Dan felt incapable of movement. I can sleep in my chair tonight. Or at least for a little bit.