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Davies swallowed once, loud and hard, then swung the light over to the front door. Spiderwebbing the frame from every conceivable angle were more strips of yellow tape emblazoned with large, bold, black letters: “Keep Out by Order of the Cedar Hill Police Department.” An intimidating, hand-sized padlock held the door securely closed.

As he looked at the padlock, a snippet of Rilke flashed across his mind: Who dies now anywhere in the world, without cause dies in the world, looks at me—

And Jackson Davies, dropout English Lit major, recent ex-husband, former Vietnam vet, packer of body bags into the cargo holds of planes at Tan Son Nhut, onetime cleaner-upper of the massacre at My Lai 4, hamlet of Son My, Quang Ngai Province, a man who thought there was no physical remnant of violent death he didn’t have the stomach to handle, began muttering. “Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn,” and felt a lump dislodge from his groin and bounce up into his throat and was damned if he knew why, but suddenly the thought of going into the Leonard house scared the living shit out of him.

Unseen by Davies, the ghosts of Irv and Miriam Leonard sat on the glider a few yards away from him. Irv had his arm around his wife and was good-naturedly scolding her for slipping that bit of poetry into Davies’s head.

I can’t help it, Miriam said. And even if I could, I wouldn’t, Jackson read that poem when he was in Vietnam. It was in a little paperback collection his wife gave to him. He lost that book somewhere over there, you know. He’s been trying to remember that poem all these years. Besides, he’s lonely for his wife, and maybe that poem’ll make it seem like part of her’s still with him.

Could’ve just gone to a library, said Irv.

He did, but he couldn’t remember Rilke’s name.

Think he’ll remember it now?

I sure do hope so. Look at him, poor guy. He’s so lonely, God love ’im.

Seems antsy, don’t he?

Wouldn’t you be tasked Miriam.

That was really nice of you, hon, giving that poem back to him. You always were one for taking care of your friends.

Charmer.

What can I say? Seems my disposition’s improved considerably since I died.

Oh, now, don’t go bringing that up. There’s not much we can do about it.

How come that doesn’t make me feel any better?

Maybe this’ll do the trick, said Miriam. “Who laughs now anywhere in the night, without cause laughs in the night, laughs at me.”

Don’t tell me, tell the sensitive poetry soldier over there.

I just did.

They watched Davies for a few more seconds: he rubbed his face, then lit a cigarette and leaned against the porch railing and looked out into the street.

It’s not right, said Irv to his wife. What happened to us wasn’t fair.

Nothing is, dear. But we’re through with all of that, remember?

If you say so.

Worrier.

Yeah, but at least I’m a charming worrier.

Shhh. Did you hear that?

Hear what?

The children are playing in the backyard. Let’s go watch.

A moment later, the wind came up, and the glider swung back, then forward, once and once only, with a thin-edged screech.

Jackson Davies dropped his cigarette and decided, screw this, he was going to go wait down by the van.

He turned and ran into a phantom, then recoiled. The phantom stepped from the scar of shadow and into the flashlight’s beam, becoming Pete Cooper, one of Davies’s crew managers.

Davies, through clenched teeth, said, “It’s not a real good idea to sneak up on me like that. I have a tendency to hurt people when that happens.”

“Shakin’ in my shoes,” said Cooper. “You gettin’ the jungle jitters again? Smell that napalm in the air?”

“Yeah, right. Whacked-out Nam vet doing the flashback boogie, that’s me. Was there a reason you came up here, or did you just miss my splendid company?”

“I just...” Cooper looked over at the van. “Why’d you bring the Brennert kid along?”

“Because he said yes.”

“C’mon, fer chrissakes! He was here, you know? When it happened?”

Davies sighed and fished a fresh cigarette from his shirt pocket. “First of all, he wasn’t here when it happened, he was here before it happened. Second, of my forty-eight loyal employees, not counting you, only three said they were willing to come out here tonight, and Russ was one of them. Do you find any of this confusing so far? I could start again and talk slower.”

“What’re you gonna do if he gets in there and sees... well... everything and freezes up or freaks or something?”

“I talked to him about that already. He says he won’t lose it, and I believe him. Besides, the plant’s going to be laying his dad off in a couple of weeks and his family could use the money.”

“Fine. I’ll keep the other guys in line, but Brennert is your problem.”

“Anything else? The suspense is killing me.”

“Just that this seems like an odd hour to be starting.”

Davies pointed at the street. “Look around. Tell me what you don’t see.”

“I’m too tired for your goddamn riddles.”

“You never were any fun. What you don’t see are any reporters or any trace of their nauseating three-ring circus that blew into this miserable burg a few nights back. The county is paying us, and the county decided that our chances of being accosted by reporters would be practically nil if we came out late in the evening. So here we are, and I’m no happier about it than you are. Despite what people say, I do have a life. Admittedly, it isn’t much of one since my wife decided that we get along better living in separate states, but it’s a life nonetheless. I just thank God she left me the cats and the Mitch Miller sing-along records, or I’d be a sorry specimen right about now. To top it all off, I seem to have developed a retroactive case of the willies.”

A police cruiser pulled up behind the van.

“Ah,” said Davies. “That would be the keys to the kingdom of the dead.”

“You plan to keep up the joking?”

Davies’s face turned into a slab of granite. “Bet your ass I do. And I’m going to keep on joking until we’re finished with this job and loading things up to go home. The sicker and more tasteless I can make them, the better. Don’t worry if I make jokes; worry when I stop.”

They went to meet the police officers, unaware that as they came down from the porch and started across the lawn they walked right through the ghost of Andy Leonard, who stood looking at the house where he’d spent his entire, sad, brief, and ultimately tragic life.

5

On July fourth of that year, Irv Leonard and his wife were hosting a family reunion at their home at 182 Merchant Street. All fifteen members of their immediate family were present, and several neighbors stopped by to visit, watch some football, enjoy a hearty lunch from the ample buffet Miriam had prepared, and see Irv’s newly acquired pearl-handled antique Colt Army .45 revolvers.