Fairlane Road Read online

  “And not that much of that has to do with sending a kid off to college—I mean, that’s a big and important step, sure—but if I was the one motivating Jezebel to do it, and kept doing things like influencing her or pushing her, then somewhere along the line, whether early or later in life, she might have a kind of crisis, and wouldn’t be sure if the choices she was making were her own choices, or choices made based on what she thought I would want, or what anyone else might want. She has to make her own choices, push herself, for her, not for anyone else, especially not me. I can help her, support her, and there’s nothing wrong with being a teacher to your kid, in addition to being a parent, but the end goal shouldn’t be about you—the parent—it should be about her. Not necessarily what I think is best for her, not what society says is best for her, but what actually is best for her, from her own point of view.”

  Goode clapped his hands. “My god, Andrew. You’re giving me chills. I couldn’t agree more, though I’d be damned if I could ever put it as well as you.”

  “I apologize if I seem a bit passionate about the whole thing. It’s one of those things I can just, you know, go on and on about.”

  “Not at all. Sure beats talking about the weather.”

  “That it does. Retirement in a place like this does this to a person, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, well, if that’s your version of rambling, I may have to visit more often.” Goode smiled, and Andrew smiled back.

  “I appreciate it. It’s funny what two guys can get talking about, from one subject to the next.”

  “Yeah.” Goode finished off his beer with a smack of the lips. “Man did I need this. When did you get so damn wise, Andy? Couldn’t just be age.”

  “Thanks for the reminder.” Andrew winked.

  “Ah, you’re not so old.”

  “No, I know it.” Andrew looked off again toward the road, then up at the sky through the rooftop of trees. “You know, it’s funny… it’s been about six years since I retired, but I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I was a much younger man before the whole Knox family ordeal. Wasn’t even a full ten years ago, but some things that you see… they age you, make you older inside. Must be why some old people you meet seem so young, and some young people seem so beyond their years.”

  “Yeah. Wow… I’ve never even thought of it that way. Makes a lot of sense to me, though. Like Jezebel. She’s always seemed a lot wiser than her age. Though that’s probably a symptom of being raised by you.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Can’t take all the credit. She was born more stubborn than I’ve ever been.”

  “Now that is saying something.” Goode, smiling, set his empty beer bottle aside and stood up, taking a moment to stretch his back. “I guess I’d better get back to it, as much as I’d like to stay.”

  “Drop by anytime, my friend.”

  “Absolutely. Thanks for the beer.”

  Andrew stood as well, and shook the young detective’s hand. “Thanks for chatting, and for informing me on what’s going on. I… well, it’ll take me awhile to wrap my head around it all, but then again, that’s how it was with the whole Knox mess back in the day, too.”

  “Yeah. At least we caught the son of a bitch, huh?”

  “Yep. Good news after all that.”

  They exchanged farewells, and as Andrew Jean sat back and lit another cigarette, he wondered: if they had caught him, and Knox really was going to be locked up, why did he—Andrew—feel so uneasy, and why did he still feel so scared and so inexplicably threatened?

  Why indeed.

  Chapter 2:

  Vanished

  Jezebel emerged from the forested enclosure which shrouded Fairlane Road, and squinted from the blasting sunlight that hit her, using the opportunity to lift a hand up both for the sake of shielding herself and to wipe tears from her eyes. Even after so many years, leaving the forests of Fairlane Road never failed to bring her to tears. That was how wonderful it was to her.

  She had meant to stay longer, maybe for most of the day, but had been too troubled by her father’s prior insistence that she not go out to the woods at all, so rather than stick to her usual routine, she had decided to humor him by returning home early. He had always been kinder and smarter than most people she knew, especially other parents she knew, and as she got older her appreciation of how he treated her had grown to the point that she chose to cater to his requests or actions not for the sake of obeying, but purely out of love and respect. So she had cut her trip to the woods short and now here she stood, at the edge of the forest, where Fairlane Road began and met with the end of Forest Street.

  From one world to the next, she thought, wiping away the last of her calm tears as she began to plan out the rest of her day. She decided that she would visit Edgar Forgael—Old Mr. Forgael, as she had known him throughout her childhood—on the way to her house. His small house was just around the corner here, and was the closest inhabited home to Fairlane Road in all of Lamplight—a fact that Edgar found ceaselessly amusing. Like her, he wasn’t afraid of the road and never had been.

  She set off down Forest Street, walking around the corner and under shelter of the tunnel of trees that made up most of the street, and then came up to Edgar Forgael’s small house. Its white paint was old and chipping, peeling away in some places, but it was, to her, always welcoming, always inviting, like coming home. She couldn’t keep from smiling slightly as she crossed the lawn, stepped up onto the porch, and knocked three times on the screen door’s frame.

  “Just a minute!” came the old man’s voice from inside. A moment later he shuffled to the door, dressed in a white button-up shirt and slim jeans despite the heat. And, as always, he wore a straw hat. His beard was bushy and was a speckled shade of gray. “Well-well, if it isn’t Jezebel.” He smiled and opened the screen door. He was the kind of person who smiled with his eyes, more so than his mouth.

  “Hey, Edgar,” she said, hugging him. “Thought I’d stop by on my way home.”

  “I’m glad you did. Wanna sit outside here?”

  “Sure!”

  “I’ll get you some water. Or maybe a glass of wine?”

  Jezebel, having turned twenty-one just a few days ago—a fact she was not yet used to—chuckled at the suggestion, even felt a small rush of excitement. “I think I’ll take you up on that, actually. If you weren’t joking.”

  “Of the many things I tend to joke about, my dear, wine with a good friend is not one of them.” He winked and then vanished briefly inside, and emerged again a minute later with a glass of wine in each hand. They sat together at the small garden table Edgar kept on his front porch. He had that in common with Jezebel’s father: one of his favorite pastimes was sitting out on his porch. “So how’s your father been?”

  She sipped at the wine—red, her favorite—and then swirled it around the glass, letting it breathe. “He’s good. Doing better, actually, since he started with the medication.”

  “Ah, he mentioned something about that, last I saw him.” The old man smirked with his glass of wine halfway to his lips. Jezebel had always thought he had the slyest of any smile she’d ever seen. It gave the impression that he was withholding a delightful secret. “I must admit, I’m surprised he started on it. Your father’s never been the type to trust many things outside his own control. Not as long as I’ve known him, anyway.”

  “He’s always been like that, huh?” She grinned.

  “He has indeed. It’s part of why I’ve always liked him, and always felt like I could trust him, as well. Around here, I believe the proper phrase to describe him would be to call him a straight fellow, if you know what I mean,” he said, and as always, Jezebel enjoyed the way he spoke. His voice was soft and high, friendly, wi
th every syllable meticulously pronounced, almost like an accent.

  “Yeah, I guess he’s pretty cool, you know, for a dad,” she said. “Really though, I know some people would think it’s kind of sad, but he’s my best friend as much as he is my dad. It’s always kind of been that way, as you know, but now that I’m not only an adult, but officially twenty-one, it’s just… it’s nice, seeing him as another person and not just a parent.”

  “Ah, yes,” Edgar spoke between sips of wine. “That is, I believe, one of the most important parts of our development into adulthood, when we realize our parents are people, and that your life is very much separate from theirs, and it’ll always be that way past a certain point. It can be sobering for some, scary or liberating for others. As for me, it kind of saved my relationship with my own parents, which was never a very healthy one when I lived with them.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about your parents,” she said.

  “That’s because I don’t like to feel my age.” He chuckled. “Truly though, when you’re old enough to see your parents as equals rather than strictly parental, beautiful things can happen.”

  “Makes sense to me. Not that he and I ever have any real problems, it’s just… it’s nice.”

  Edgar smirked again. He looked at her without saying anything for a few seconds, his face an expression of admiration. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

  Jezebel blushed. “I got it cut just two days ago actually.” She ran her hand the length of it. Before, it had fallen almost halfway down her back, but now it hung just above her shoulders, splaying outward wildly.

  “It suits you. By the way, do I tell you too much that you must have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen?”

  “Only every time you see me.”

  “Yes, I thought so. You get many guys your age telling you the same thing, being now twenty-one?”

  Jezebel laughed, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Actually yeah, it’s funny you mention that. My dad brought me to the speakeasy by the hardware store on my birthday, you know, to introduce me to bar life. I knew I wouldn’t like it but he said I at least had to try it. Part of turning twenty-one and all that. And he left me alone for like half an hour while he mingled with some of his buddies who happened to be there, and I think I counted five different guys who all started their conversations by complimenting my eyes.” She threw back her head with slight laughter, shaking her head and picturing the scene. “I mean, I know that no one really has the same eye-color as I do, but it’s just so unoriginal. One of them seemed pretty genuine though, and three of them got sort of angry because they thought I was lying when I told them I wasn’t wearing color contacts.”

  “Young men can be touchy and very… specific, with their emotions, especially if alcohol is involved.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to notice that.”

  “Speaking of which, anything ever come of that boy you were telling me about last time? Forgive me if I don’t recall names too well.”

  Jezebel sighed through her nose. “Billy. And no, he was just good at pretending to be, you know, a good, genuine person. I guess it was a good thing while it lasted. Fun, but… I guess it just ran its course.” In her life she had slept with three people, the first one when she was sixteen, and she thought now that all three since then had been mistakes, even Billy Jones, who had been so kind, treating her so well and so generously until she had agreed to sleep with him, at which point he had stopped wanting to do anything else and had not been shy about expressing this. Jezebel laughed. “I don’t know what it is about so many guys, or at least the ones I’ve been with. Or maybe it’s not guys, it’s just people, in general. How selfish they can be. Selfish and… and base.”

  “Those kinds of people do seem to be breeding in record numbers these days.”

  “Yeah. Billy… he’s… well, he’s still a better guy than Arnie Tracy, though.”

  Edgar laughed with her. “Not too high a bar, if you ask me.”

  “You should hear my dad rant about the Tracys. He says he wouldn’t mind sneaking over to their house in the middle of the night and lighting their confederate flag on fire.”

  Edgar almost choked on his wine mid-drink. “Ha! Sounds like your dad,” he said. “That Arnie kid still bothering you?”

  “Something tells me I’ll never quite be rid of him. Pretty depressing thought, really, if you think about it.” She stared down into her wine glass, which was now half empty. A soft wind blew, ruffling the trees all around, blowing strands of hair across her face. “Getting all the wrong kinds of attention from the wrong kinds of people. Kind of a weird, cruel thing, how it’s still possible to feel lonely despite all that.” It was only after the words were out that she realized she had just openly admitted to her loneliness, which she considered to be a well-guarded secret about herself.

  “You know, there’s something to be said about being lonely around other people. Says something about your soul, and the type of heart you have, I think.” He gave her a reassuring look, and she smiled at him.

  “Maybe.”

  “I mean it. You don’t need me telling you about just how special you are, Jezebel.”

  “Thank you, Edgar. I appreciate that. You’ve always been able to… well, I don’t know, help.”

  “Well I do my best.” They finished off their glasses of wine. “You want any more?”

  “Mmm… no thanks,” she said. “Next time, maybe. I should probably head home in a couple of minutes.”

  “Sounds fine to me. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. How’s it been down Fairlane Road? I’ve not gone the past few months.”

  Jezebel set her empty glass on the table and stood up, surveying Edgar’s front lawn and the quiet street for a moment as she did. Edgar saw the sadness that came over her eyes, darkening her features, and it was as though she might start to cry. “It’s getting harder to leave there, to be honest,” she said in a low voice, barely above a whisper. Her heart’s aching came through vividly. “It’s almost like… like I’m full there. Like it fills me up just to be there. It doesn’t matter what I do, or what I see, I just feel full, in a way that I never do, ever, no matter how hard I try, when I’m here. And I have to force myself to come back, because… well…” She bit her lip and took a long, deep breath. “That’s the thing. Finding reasons to come back, other than you, and my dad, and some silly hope that maybe things’ll get better. It’s the hardest thing, sometimes.”

  Edgar kept his eyes on her, studying and analyzing. He couldn’t think of what to say. “They can get better. It isn’t silly to hope, Jezebel.”

  “I know.” She forced a smile. “I’m sorry. And thank you. I’ll… I’ll be back, soon, but I should go.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  She looked at him for a moment as though she could see through him, right at his deep concern and caring for her, then smiled a little more sincerely and was off to the street, headed for home.

  * * *

  As she walked, Jezebel tried not to think about how two teenage boys had been murdered on this very street yesterday—right outside Ms. Hart’s house, which she had walked past a few moments ago—but that was where her mind went. The killer had been caught, but unease still danced across her skin, making her want to check over her shoulder in case she was being followed. But she kept her eyes on the asphalt of the road and the scattered shapes that the sunlight made through the tunnel of trees above. Jezebel normally loved noticing these small details, taking pleasure in the subtle beauties and intricacies of the world around her, but her mind was too troubled today. She kept thinking of blood. She kept thinking of those two boys. She kept thinking about what could possibly be so wrong in a person’s mind that could drive the
m to murder two innocent people.

  A soft wind blew, and Jezebel stuck her hands in the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders. It seemed too early in the year, to her, for the wind to be chilled the way it was, but she had always loved every season equally. She lived in each one as it passed as presently as she could. If autumn came early, she would greet it and be content.

  Jezebel walked along another curve in the road to the last straightaway of Forest Street, at the end of which was the bridge across the river, and then the overpass a few miles farther, and downtown beyond. Her house sat before the turn to the bridge, and she smiled when she noticed her father—hardly more than a shape from this distance—sitting out on the porch like he normally did.

  He and Edgar should get together more often, she thought.

  She stopped walking when a silver car with a single flashing siren on its roof roared onto the street from the bridge, speeding in her direction. Jezebel stepped off the asphalt, her heart pounding, as the car rubbered by, taking the curve without slowing. Through the passenger window she glimpsed a familiar face under blond hair. It was one of the detectives, the one who was a friend of her father’s. She watched the car speed away in the direction of Fairlane Road, and then she hurried to her house.