After Silence

I passed the hamburger stand where the murderous gang had stood, but it was empty and only full of lonesome yellow light. A few more rights, lefts, two red traffic lights, another right turn, and I was on our street. Welcome home, Daddy. Lincoln rode his bicycle down this street. We had walked the dog together here. “Lincoln, there are some packages on the lawn. Would you give me a hand bringing them in?”

Lily’s car was nowhere to be seen, but Mary Poe’s black Jeep was parked in our driveway. I pulled up to the curb and turned the motor off.

“I’ll count to fifty and go in. Just give me to fifty and I’ll go.”

The lights were on in the living room and, far away as it was, I tried to see through the window if there was anyone in there besides Mary. No movement, no forms going back and forth. I was counting to fifty in my head as I watched. At fifty I would go. Nothing moved.

Something tapped loudly on my window. I jumped. My mind screamed it’s Lincoln, Lincoln’s back. He’s here, he’s dead but he’s here…

The face at the window was a woman with tan skin and dark hair. Thirty-five or so, she was pretty but there were a great many lines on her face that showed both her age and her experience. I was so spooked by her tapping that I didn’t understand when she gestured with a finger for me to roll down the window. I shook my head. She was close enough so that when she spoke I heard through the glass: “Could you put your window down? Please, only a minute.”

I rolled it down halfway. Calming down, I realized I knew her face from somewhere. Was she a neighbor? What was she doing out here at this time of night?

“Thank you. Do you know who I am? Do you recognize me?”

“No.”

“I’m Little White, Mr. Fischer. Lincoln’s friend, Little White.”

When I saw her the night before, Little White was sixteen years old with a head of spiky white hair and a face so clown-white/deathly pale you’d have thought she wore special makeup. This woman was close to my age, had short dark hair and… freckles. Yet the longer I looked, the more that familiar young face came to the surface through this one. The eyes, mouth… they were the same. I had seen her so often in the months she’d hung around with Lincoln.

“Can we talk a minute?” She waited. I didn’t move. “How about Anwen Meier, Mr. Fischer? How about Lincoln shooting at you on the road?”

I looked again at the house and got out. We stood no more than three feet apart. She was wearing a dark chic dress, a gold bracelet, high heels. I remembered what she had been wearing yesterday: dirty jeans, a T-shirt saying “Nine Inch Nails,” combat boots. Now this thirty-something woman, elegant and attractive, her perfume drifting over subtle and flowery, was saying they were one and the same.

“You’re not really surprised, are you?” The voice. Yes, it was the girl’s voice too, only slightly deeper.

“No.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be. Lincoln told me what he did to you in New Jersey. He told me why too.”

I said nothing.

“I saw him today. Before he did that.” She pointed at our house. “He told me he was going to do it, but I couldn’t stop him. He called from the plane and asked me to pick him up. Told me to come alone and not tell Elvis. He got very upset and begged me to be there when he landed. That wasn’t like him: Lincoln never asked for anything, so I said sure, okay, I’ll come.

“I can’t tell you how bad he looked when I saw him. In the car at first he didn’t say anything, just kept clicking his lighter open and closed till it got on my nerves. I asked him what the hell was going on and he told me. About you and your wife and how she kidnapped him. And about how you told him he was an angel.

“After he was finished telling me his whole story, he asked if I believed him. Know what I said? I’ll believe it if you prove it. That’s the only way you can ever really know, right? He said, ‘Okay, pull over and I’ll prove it.’ I didn’t know what to expect, but I pulled into Loehma

“He started telling me things about myself no one in the entire world could have known. Things I’d even forgotten, they were so deeply buried.

“I was still shaking from it when he said, ‘That’s now, that’s who you are today. Now I’m going to show you your immediate future.’ When it was over and he brought me back, I had no doubt in the world that that was what the next few years of my life were going to be.

“And you know what? They were total shit. First, thanks to Elvis, there were bad drugs which landed me in the hospital twice for long stays. Then a withdrawal clinic. I got out and, to spite my parents, married a painter who decided beating me up was more fun than painting. Worse, he wouldn’t let go or give me a divorce until my parents bought him off. And even after that he made trouble for me, the psycho.

“I mean, my life was one big horror story after another. Seeing them unfold like that, I knew they’d happen, because the way I was, they made sense. Lincoln showed me every disgusting and pathetic thing that was going to happen to me those next eighteen years. Unbelievable. Eighteen more years of that! I’d be a living disaster area for as long as I’d already been alive till I finally got hold of myself and got it together. Great, huh? Lots to look forward to.” She had been speaking nonstop for minutes but paused now and smiled. “Your angel showed me the ghost of my Christmas Future and it was real, all right.

“Then he brought me back and said, ‘That’s it. That’s what your life is going to be like.’ I asked what I could do to stop or change it. Nothing. But there was one thing he could do if I wanted: he could make me older. He said when I was thirty-four my whole life would change and begin to be satisfying. He could skip me up there if I wanted, over those gruesome eighteen years, but with my whole history in my head, so I’d end up the same person. It’d just be like going over a bridge, and the water down below was the bad years.”

“How do you feel?”

“Better than ever, and it’s only been a few hours. The fu

I knew she wanted to talk more about it, but I couldn’t. I needed to ask other questions. “What did Lincoln say at the airport? What did he tell you?”

“He made me promise not to tell. He also said not to tell you what I think of you and your wife.” She stopped, considered this, went on. “The only thing he asked me to do specifically was give you this.” She put her hand in her purse and pulled out a pistol. “He used it on you yesterday.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he thought you’d want to use it on yourself. I have to go now. I did what he asked.” Turning away, she walked down the dark street, some of her perfume still in the air.

“Wait! How could he save you if he was so upset? And why didn’t you stop him from killing himself?”

“Because we were friends and wanted the other to have what they wanted. Because of what you did, Lincoln wanted to die; that was his choice. He was my friend, Mr. Fischer. He’d do anything for me, even at the end. Too bad you didn’t know him.” She turned again and left. I had no desire to call or follow her. She meant nothing to me, and if her story was true, so what? Lincoln was dead. My fault. My dead angel.

I slid the gun into my jacket pocket and walked across the street to the house.

“Mr. Fischer?” The two Gillcrist boys came up and Bill pointed toward Little White. “Do you know her? Is that why you were talking to her? My mother told us we’re never to talk to anyone like her. She’s all old and dirty. But you did. Do you know her?”

Before unlocking the door, I rang the bell to alert whoever was inside. I hoped Lily wouldn’t be there, because I wanted to see things first and hopefully hear the details. Give me time to think it over before doing anything.