As the PT Cruiser’s driver’s seat began to grow uncomfortable beneath him and he realized just how far he’d strayed from home, he began to dread the long drive back.
And yet, he continued to pass driveways instead of turning around.
Finally, as he drove over a bridge, he spotted a perfect place to pull over. It was a little graveled drive at the far side of the small river, where fishermen could park and unload their gear.
Eric pulled off the road, but instead of turning around and starting home, he nosed the vehicle into the shade, put it in park and killed the engine.
He opened the door and stepped out into the morning sunshine, stretching his back and legs. The fresh air felt good and he realized that he needed this break.
He closed the door, then quickly opened it again and retrieved the phone that he’d deposited in the cup holder after his conversation with Karen. (He had barely won the battle with the seatbelt to get it out of his pocket; he wasn’t about to try and wrestle with it to put the stupid thing back.)
When she first started making him carry the phone, he had a bad habit of forgetting it. And Karen had a bad habit of getting mad at him when that happened. It wasn’t an ideal situation. It led to more than a few trivial fights. Over time, one of them had to give.
It wasn’t her.
Cell phone properly deposited in his front pocket again, he locked the PT Cruiser’s doors and strolled down to the river’s edge to enjoy a few minutes out from behind the wheel.
Suddenly, and for the first time since waking from the dream that first night, he had no pressing desire to drive. He thought for a moment that he had beaten it, that he had finally driven far enough or long enough to have his fill of traveling.
But now he found himself being drawn along the riverbank and under the bridge.
Within minutes, he was around the bend and the rational part of his mind screamed at him to turn around.
This was far worse than his compulsion to drive. Now he was out in the middle of nowhere, utterly exposed and unprotected from the elements and in danger of becoming hopelessly lost. And yet still he walked.
At least he still had the phone. But how useful would it really be if something happened to him out here? As far as he knew, there was nothing for miles and miles but farmland and forests. How far could he go into this wilderness before he wandered out of the service area altogether?
A path appeared in the trees along the river bank and he found himself drawn there as surely as he’d been drawn to the river from his car. Leaving the water behind him, he made his way up a hill, through some thick brush and onto the neatly mown lawn of a modest, Victorian-style house.
His first thought should have been that this was private property and he had no business being here, that he’d be lucky if the owner didn’t mistake him for a burglar and shoot him dead where he stood. Instead, he was compelled to walk to the back yard. Specifically, he felt drawn for some reason to a large, metal gate in the fence.
He walked up to this gate and rested his hands on the topmost bar. Beyond it, a narrow dirt path, little more than two dry wheel ruts in the tall grass, led away a short distance and then turned and disappeared into a field of tall and healthy corn.
“Ah. You finally showed up.”
Startled, Eric turned to find an elderly woman hanging laundry up to dry just a few yards away. Even with his attention fixed on the gate and the path beyond, he was surprised that he didn’t see her before now. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“No reason to be sorry,” the woman told him. “At least you showed up. Better late than never, right?”
He wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He’d meant that he was sorry to be trespassing on her property, yet this woman acted as if she’d been expecting him. But that wasn’t possible. Even he didn’t know how he came to be here.
“But we did think you’d show up two days ago.”
Two days ago? That would’ve been right after his first dream. “I’m sorry, but show up for what, exactly?”
The old woman turned and looked at him. She was very skinny, with long, silver hair that was neatly tied back, deep creases around her mouth and an ugly blotch beneath her right eye. “You’re going out there, aren’t you?” She gestured at the corn behind the gate.
Eric turned and gazed out into the field for a moment. Somehow, he didn’t like the idea of going out there, but she was right. The same strange compulsion that had lured him into this woman’s back yard was definitely pulling him toward that field. Looking back at the old woman again, he said, “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She stood looking back at him for a moment, considering him. Then she went back to her laundry. “Ethan always knew you’d come. Ethan’s my husband, by the way. He always believed.”
“That’s impressive. I didn’t even know I was coming until I got here.”
If the woman heard him, she made no attempt to acknowledge it. “I can’t say for sure that I ever believed it. Not until yesterday. Not until I saw him.”
“Him?”
She didn’t look at him as she hung a man’s work shirt on the line. “The other one,” she replied as if this made any more sense than “him.” “I saw him with my own eyes, walking into the corn there. Scariest damn thing I ever saw. It was like he was only half there…all faded…like somebody standing in a thick fog…except there wasn’t any fog. He just faded into the sunshine. Damn scariest thing…”
This conversation was only getting stranger. Eric turned and looked out at the little road again, wondering what was waiting out there.
When he looked back, the old woman was staring at the work shirt she’d just hung on the line. “Ethan fell the other day. Hurt his back. His hip, too. Doctor thinks he might not be able to walk so good anymore. Probably need a cane. I hate to see that. Once you get as old as us, you have to keep moving. When you stop moving, that’s when you die. That’s what my daddy used to say. He lived to ninety-eight. Made sure he walked at least a mile every day while doing his chores. Went out of his way if he had to. Then he hurt his hip and he couldn’t walk anymore. Pretty soon, just like he always said, he never walked again.”
Cheerful. He’d wager she was a laugh a minute at bingo night.
“You said you were expecting me?” asked Eric, hoping she would give him some sort of answer as to why he was here…or at the very least not tell him how she lost her mother.
“Oh yes. Definitely.” Then she fell silent again as she withdrew a flowered housedress from her basket and hung it on the line.
“Okay.” Apparently that was all he was going to get. Again, he turned and stared off past the gate. It was hard to look at the woman. There was something terribly sad about her.
“I gave him a red ribbon before he went in. That’s good luck. Did you know that?”
“No. I didn’t.”
The old woman finished hanging her clothes and then picked up her empty basket and began walking toward the back door of the Victorian house. Without looking back at him, she said, “You should get going. I haven’t been to the cathedral in a lot of years, but I remember perfectly well that it was a real long walk.”
“Cathedral?”
But the woman was apparently done with their conversation. She entered the house and left him standing alone in her back yard.
Eric stared out into the cornfield for a moment. This was beginning to get spooky. He’d assumed that these urges to get in his car and drive were all in his head. He thought this even as he found himself getting out of his car and walking along the riverbank. But this woman had just told him that he was expected, as if he had been drawn here intentionally.