The Death Farmer by Theresa C. Gaynord

 

The house was burning. And for a moment it seemed like it was taking in tempestuous breaths between the shooting flames and falling pieces of wood reduced to ash. The moon rose empty, a bad sign, now it passed into the clouds as white waves of smoke disappeared among a starless sky. The volunteer firefighters in the small southern town, drunk on bourbon just a few hours before, had no idea they would be standing alone in corridors without passages. Their cries along with those of little Sarah, trapped in her room, echoed through the spatial emptiness. 

 

"Where are you Sarah?" Firefighter Steve Padula asked before falling to his knees. 

 

Leaning over him was the shadow of a woman, "I can't find her Steve. I can't find her." 

 

"I've always loved you, Kelly. All I ever wanted was your happiness." 

 

The two of them slipped into an embrace as the flames engulfed their bodies whole. 

 

The heat continued to rise building pressure. 

 

In the walk in closet of her room, Sarah, laid down with her rag doll, Missy, and fell asleep. 

 

The windows exploded one by one as isolated blasts started to reduce the home to rubble. 

 

Tears and shock ran down Alan Parker's face while he held his son, Mitchell in safety. His other son, Kevin was holding an oxygen mask to his face by the fire trucks, ambulances and police vehicles. All that appeared in the distance beyond the mayhem were two large blue eyes belonging to an old woman, Clara, holding her black cat, Rowan, who was pushing and flexing his forelegs with half-sheathed claws. 

 

Today, the mail won't come to the Parker estate. Instead the sun will shed its light over the open graveyard, capturing with silence, the frozen faces of death. 

 

*** 

 

l. 

 

Alan Parker stands over the foundations of Saint Michael Bridge staring at the flowing water beneath his feet until he feels light-headed and dizzy. He thinks about the wealth he and his family have accumulated over many decades and how it too is floating away like the surface ripples of the mighty, muddy waters. He has just come from the church across the way where he donated a sizeable amount to the alms box, lit three candles and had Father Armando Oliviere listen to his confession. From the riverbank Mitchell age nine, and Kevin age twelve, watch their father go through his weekly ritual from the seats of their mountain bikes before riding to the local swimming hole. Alan Parker is unaware of his children's presence as he exposes a white cloth from beneath his windbreaker. After holding the rag to his mouth and forehead, muttering a few prayers, eyes shut in deep concentration; he tosses the object into the river and walks away. 

 

Mitchell and Kevin race their bikes in the woods avoiding trees, shrubs, and small animals. They are pumped full of energy and competition. The wind blows cold as they speed through a tunnel of thick foliage. 

 

"Slow down you dork. I can't keep up, " Mitchell says. 

" It's those pee wee legs of yours, pump harder, fool, " Kevin responds. 

 

Mitchell is always conscious of his small size and skinny legs. He longs to be like his big brother who has a strong, massive build for his age. 

 

Mitchell pedals faster and faster in an attempt to catch up to his brother. 

 

Kevin finds the chase funny until a ghastly fear suffocates him to the point where he feels his spirit leaving his body, as everything before his eyes begins to turn, like a film playing. 

 

Faster and faster they travel down the path they had taken thousands of times before. Mitchell and Kevin know every step, every turn, and they can smell their way through every low hanging moss. But today is different, like a claustrophobic dream that keeps rising with anxiety higher and higher. Just then, the front wheel of Mitchell's bike hits a protruding rock. Mitchell is thrown from the front bumper and strikes the ground hard. Kevin counterbalances his own body as he clears his head to look back. Mitchell is lying on wet earth, blood dripping out of his mouth and nose where small air bubbles of breath are slightly gurgling as he moves. 

 

"Hang on Mitch, I'll get help. Please hang on." 

 

2.

 

A sharp, hard slap registers across Kevin's face leaving a notable handprint, one that burns among the fluorescent hospital lights. 

 

"I told you to watch over him!" Alan Parker exclaims as he sneers at his eldest son. 

 

"Like you watched over mom and Sarah?" 

 

Alan Parker's face flashes hot with anger in Kevin's presence and he contains himself enough to respond, "You would never have the strength to endure what I have endured, little man. You are guarded by the tenderness of childish infatuations and silly games. The kind that almost got your brother killed today!" 

 

“You hate me don’t you? You never meant for me to make it out of that fire alive, did you?”

 

“Don’t you challenge me boy!” Alan Parker says as his face distorts with immense disgust.

 

By six o' clock the next morning Mitchell is sitting up in bed reading the comics and having breakfast feeling no worse for the wear except for a nasty bump on the side of his head. 

 

"Next time, wear a helmet, " the doctor says as he writes in Mitchell's chart, making the rounds to the rest of the patients in the children's wing. 

 

"The doctor told me you will be able to come home tonight, " Alan Parker says as he stands over his son's bed. 

 

"Way to get attention, doofus, " Kevin playfully says as he reaches for his brother's hand. "I'm glad you're ok." 

 

Mitchell smiles, rolls over, away from his father and brother, "I saw them last night. They were here, Sarah, Mom and Steve. They were here. They were here, dad. They were here." 

 

Alan Parker draws back from Mitchell's bedside and sighs. It is a sigh full of disappointment, knowing that truth has been spoken in a soul-to-soul connection kind of way. 

 

The room seems to pick up on the sixth sense as the light flickers around the walls revealing a pent-up Father Oliviere passing slowly by the doorway of Mitchell's room. His eyes meet those of Alan Parker's and they widen in horror at the encounter.

 

3.

 

During the ride home Alan Parker and Mitchell exchange jokes through licks of chocolate ice-cream while Kevin rides quietly in the back seat. The range-rover doesn't seem to mind the sudden weather change as heavy rain begins to fall making visibility an almost impossibility. Through the mauve decline of bluebirds, butterflies and fireflies, the faint sounds of drums are heard. The beat is habitual, ritual, through the swells of rhythms, which are getting louder and clearer. Behind the thick orchards that line the roadway, a black cat darts out into traffic. Alan Parker swerves violently before slamming on the brakes, coming to rest on the side of the road. Everyone is buckled in and no harm comes to the Parker family. The rattling noise of drums continues, bristling around the car. From the rear view mirror Alan Parker sees old woman Clara cuddling her cat before she disappears into a luminous purple wind. He feels her energy swoon inside his head with bloody blows that leave him nauseous from the migraine. Sometimes the geography of a place holds its hands so far from one's breast, that it pushes you away in defense. That is how Alan feels every time he passes past old Clara's place, past the place so close to his former estate where one evening ended in total devastation. 

 

"Are you okay, dad? Kevin are you okay?" Mitchell asks. 

 

"Yeah, I'm fine. And you,Dad?" Kevin enquires. 

 

"I'm fine, just tired. That damn cat is always roaming around here darting in and out of traffic. Old Clara should put him down before someone else does." Alan replies. 

 

"Ah dad. Rowan's a good kitty. And Old Clara, well, she's good to Kevin and me. When she sees us, she always offers us some lemonade and a warm hug." Mitchell says. 

 

"Yeah, Rowan's a good kitty. A good kitty filled with night kills and vindictiveness, " Kevin replies with brief laughter as he stares at this father mockingly. 

 

4.

 

Rachmaninoff is playing on the cd in Alan's room. Even after taking a relaxing shower, he cannot sleep. White petals of fresh flowers fringe the corners of picture frames that hold the images of Sarah and Kelly. Men cry from the graves of their loved ones but Alan Parker cries alone in his room. Kelly's dresser still holds the cold cream she used along with a variety of toiletries. Alan picks up the cold cream and opens it, taking a whiff of the sweet vanilla scent. It is the fragrance of innocence that nourishes his pale green eyes. Lying on his bed, Alan is taken back to the first time they met. The rainbows are canceling each other out as speckled geese play in the dunes of drifting sands between episodes of total river immersions, incessantly hunting tiny fish. Kelly swims taking in the sun, oblivious to their presence. He remembers seeing her at church, the sway of her hips, arms raised to God singing His praises. She is special, a free spirit that enjoys trotting along the speckled geese in her bra and panties. 

 

"Hey! Hi, " she yells and waves as a young Alan swims in closer to her. 

 

"So what's your name?" Alan asks. 

 

"Kelly Anderson, " she replies and continues as she stares intently at him, "oh you have soul-mate eyes." 

 

It chills him. 

 

***

 

Father Oliviere is also having a hard time sleeping tonight. Tomorrow marks the one-year anniversary of the fire that killed most of his friends. He sits at the edge of his bed with prayer book in hand. The book falls open to a page that holds a wedding picture/thank you card of Kelly and Alan Parker. 

 

"Do you like poetry, Father?" A very young Kelly asks, and before the priest has time to answer she continues, "I think Bob Dylan is poetic." 

 

Father Oliviere smiles and says, "One push of the button 

And a shot the worldwide 

And you never ask questions 

When God's on your side." 

 

*** 

 

Alan Parker is sweating profusely as he tosses and turns in his bed. 

 

"What exactly are soul-mate eyes, anyway?" Alan asks as he swims closer to Kelly. 

 

"The ones you have when you look at me, " she says as she splashes some water over his head. 

 

"You're really weird Kelly Anderson." 

 

"Yeah, I get that a lot." 

 

Kelly swims over to the riverbank where a multi-colored blanket awaits her arrival. Alan follows her and lies down beside her on the blanket. Kelly looks over to Alan and recites, 

 

"I drove until I found the grove of apple trees heavy with fruit, and left the car, the motor running, beside a sagging fence, and entered his life on my own for maybe the first time. A crow welcomed me home, the sun rose above, austere and silent, the early afternoon was cloudless, perfect…" 

 

She cocks her head with a smile before pushing her shoulder up against Alan's body. 

 

"So what's that from?" 

 

"It's an excerpt from a poem by Philip Levine." 

 

Kelly lies down taking in the sun and cloudless day. Alan scans her body noticing a slight swell on her belly. He passes his hand slightly over it, "I take it he wasn't your soul-mate. So what's his name?" 

 

"Steve. No, he's not my soul-mate." 

 

"He doesn't want to take care of the baby?" 

 

Kelly shrugs, "He wants to make something of himself before... He says he doesn't think he can make me happy." 

 

"So I'm your soul-mate, huh?" 

 

"Well, you have those soul-mate eyes." 

 

*** 

 

Old woman Clara likes to keep the furniture of her home covered in burlap sacks. Dead flies inhabit her cat Rowan's milk bowl. Her dining room table smells of rotted wood yet she sits there stitching loopholes around a white and blue cloth. Further examination shows the cloth holds a picture of Kelly Anderson on one side and her son Steve Padula on the other. Seven ritual candles of various colors are placed strategically around the round table. Old woman Clara mutters an incantation while busy at work, stitching. 

 

“Oh, Seven Great Powers, you who are so close to our divine Spirit, 

with great humility I implore your intercession. 

Hear my petition and grant them peace. 

Oh Olofi, I trust in the words ask and you shall receive. Let it be so!” 

 

The smell of burnt candles and incense mixes in with the musty smell of wet burlap. And old Clara is absorbed by all of it. 

 

*** 

 

Father Oliviere feels severe stomach pains. He sits up in bed, still asleep, and gasps. 

 

"Bless me Father for I will sin, it's been a very long time since I've been to confession." 

 

Father Oliviere sees Alan's Parker's face blend into his own, as the image starts to appear smaller then bigger and bigger until he has a clear visual of Kelly, Steve and Sarah, in flames, reaching out to him. 

 

He awakens, runs to the bathroom and throws up. 

 

*** 

 

Kevin is pacing back and forth in his room holding a picture of his little sister Sarah. 

 

"Isn't she beautiful, Kevin? Your baby sister, red hair and all." Kelly reaches out to Kevin with one hand and pulls him closer to her hospital bed. Sarah is peacefully sleeping by her side. 

 

"She's got red hair, like me, something to taunt Mitchell with. My baby sister is just like me." 

 

A serious look flashes through Kelly's face as she pulls her son sharply next to her so that they are nose to nose. 

 

"She is your sister, Kevin. Do you understand? She is your sister." 

 

Kevin is in a state of shock and fear but replies, "I understand, mom. I understand." 

 

Alan and Steve arrive at the hospital at the same time and run into each other as they enter the room. Shaking hands they greet one another amicably but Steve's presence is unnerving. 

 

"So why are you here, mate?" 

 

"I came to visit a friend and her newly born baby girl, and as the humble firefighter that I am, I came to congratulate my boss, the man on the board of fire commissioners. Look at her, such a doll, " he says as he takes closer steps to baby Sarah, "She has red hair, like me." 

 

*** 

 

Mitchell is sleeping soundly in his room. It took him awhile to adapt to the new home which is a lot smaller than the Parker estate was. A breeze flows gently through the open window and the moonlight is shining in upon his face. There seems to be no special reason why the light should focus on him. But it does. 

 

5.

 

Alan Parker has an avocado salad for breakfast as well as a tall glass of vodka before heading out to the upper riverbank where he has planted a variety of flowers for the past year. It would seem a near impossibility for anything to grow there but the garden is rich and vibrant. It was the same riverbank where he noticed the first crescent moon as a child and felt the outrage of betrayal as an adult. He could almost smell the alcohol, and the idea that was still fresh in his head even after a year has passed. Alcohol allows a fire to grow undetected. Faulty wiring would appear on the report. That's it, faulty wiring. 

 

As Alan starts his car he can swear he hears the hoot of a barn owl and dogs barking. There's a heightened sense of surrounding that was never present before. The humidity seems to be at an all time high yet the trees are slightly swaying over a cloudless sky, paying homage to God. The smell of vanilla permeates through the interior of the vehicle and Alan is lost within the scent. Suddenly a black cat appears on the roadway. It's Rowan. He swerves to avoid him. The car fishtails into an oncoming truck. Alan sees them, Kelly, Steve and Sarah, happily together in his line of vision as the car bursts into flames. 

 

*** 

 

That same morning Father Oliviere awakens to the smell of roses, the smell of sanctity. To be continued...