Strange Magic (6 page)

Grinning wickedly, the Stranger turned over the remainder of the cards, revealing the secret of his trick. Every single card in the deck had a picture of the jewel-encrusted dagger. Tossing them aside for the moment,
the dark-clothed maniac moved in closer to his scarlet-soaked victim. Heedless of the sloppy gore, he shoved her hard, violently slamming her against the front door.

Reversing his grip on the blade, he viciously drove the razor-sharp dagger into the area between her eyes. The long blade sank to the hilt, piercing her brain and exiting out the back of her skull to embed itself in the thick wooden door. When the Stranger released his grip, her body remained in a standing position, firmly nailed in place. Her feet, now clear of the red-stained carpet by an inch, continued to spasm uncontrollably.

Always an affectionate man, he kissed Widow Pruit tenderly on the lips before turning away, leaving her suspended body to twitch and die on her own. He stooped down and retrieved the scattered cards, returning them to his slightly bloodied overcoat.

After exiting the house by the side-door kitchen entrance, he drove his recently acquired pickup off the street and into his new garage.

“Home sweet home,” he whispered to the antique trunk as he unloaded it off the truck bed and dragged it into the coppery-tainted smell of the blood-splattered hallway.

Safely inside, he unbuckled the trunk’s thick leather straps and opened the lid. He wanted to make sure the journey to Billington hadn’t damaged anything. Inside, the magic trunk was empty, save for a single thin sheet of white paper. It turned out to be a note telling other prospective renters who might come calling that the vacancy had been filled and the apartment was no longer available. It was signed: Kathleen Pruit.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about other renters. I’d better go hang this where it’ll be seen. I’ll put it on the front
door; the last thing I need is a parade of nosy apartment seekers. Screw that.”

In the front hall, the old woman’s corpse was still fastened to the door. Her lower extremities had finally stopped their dance. The dark man couldn’t fully swing open the door because her body brushed the near wall, getting in the way. Fortunately, it swung open enough that it wouldn’t cause a problem. He thought he’d have to search around for a hammer and nail, but was pleased to see tools would be unnecessary. The long dagger pinning the old woman had exited out the other side of the door. The Stranger simply stuck the piece of paper onto the tip of the knife, then smiled at his handiwork for a moment before closing the front door.

Silently, he wondered if apartment hunting was always this much fun.

Susan eased the vehicle to a stop in the narrow paved driveway near the crest of Derby Hill, at about the same time the Stranger was showing old Mrs. Pruit his version of a good card trick.

Like a flash, Kemp was out of the car, unlocking the front door, and dashing upstairs for a quick shower. After a long night in the holding cell, the hot, steamy water did wonders for his aching, tired body. On another day, he might have lingered in its warm, wet embrace, but not today. Today he couldn’t afford such luxury; he was in too much of a hurry. His excitement swelled at the thought of spending some much needed quality time with his daughter. He had scrubbed clean, toweled off, shaved, changed clothes (he still had a closetful here), and was ready to go by eleven fifteen.

“I’m all set, Susan,” he yelled excitedly. “Let’s go pick up our little pride and joy.”

Susan poked her head out of the kitchen doorway and made a time-out signal with her hands. “Easy, big guy, slow down. You’ve been running around like someone set your feet on fire. Come have some lunch.”

“Lunch? Couldn’t we go pick up Amanda first, then eat something together?”

“No we can’t. I called over to Mrs. Henderson’s while you were in the shower. Amanda’s not there right now. Edith had some housework to get finished and her husband, Earl, volunteered to take Amanda off her hands for a while. They went uptown to Harvey’s for lunch and won’t be back for about an hour.”

“We could still have lunch together,” Wilson reasoned. “I like Harvey’s too. We could go uptown and meet them over there.”

“No way. The Hendersons just started babysitting Amanda. No way we’re gonna barge into that restaurant. Earl’s trying to do something really nice and if we go charging in there, he’ll think we don’t trust them. Good sitters are hard to find, Wilson, so just forget it. I told Edith we’d be round at twelve thirty and not a minute sooner. Understand? You’ll just have to endure the next hour with little old me. Who knows, you might even enjoy it.”

And Kemp did enjoy it, every minute. It was comforting to see how easily they could fall back into familiar routines. He had helped out in the kitchen, whipping up a simple lunch of vegetable soup and ham sandwiches and big frosty mugs of ice-cold milk.

They’d laughed and giggled throughout the entire meal, each recalling happy memories of better times they’d once shared. Time passed quickly, almost too quickly, and soon it was time to go pick up their daughter. Together, they cleaned up the dishes and were on their way.

Edith and Earl Henderson lived nearby in a modest but immaculately well-kept stucco house on Milberry Lane. It took only minutes to make the short trip. Earl and Amanda must have just arrived themselves and
were walking up the front steps when Susan pulled the silver Honda into the gravel driveway.

Wilson happily watched his seven-year-old daughter turn and throw her arms in the air when she recognized the car, squealing with delight as she raced across the grass to greet them.

She was a small child for her age. In almost every way she was the miniature image of her mother. Her brown hair was long and curly, stylishly pulled back with two pink butterfly berets that perfectly matched her frilly dress. Her eyes, even more striking than her mother’s, were like twin electromagnets, drawing attention wherever she went. She was quite literally perfect, so beautiful he sometimes had a hard time believing she was related, much less his own flesh-and-blood daughter. She was the kind of girl destined to break many a young man’s heart, and already capable of breaking his each and every time Wilson was forced to say good-bye.

“Daddy!” she shouted, leaping into his arms.

They laughed and hugged and smothered each other with kisses, neither feeling the need to say anything. For now, it was enough to hold each other close and enjoy the moment. Wilson was so happy. Tears of joy trickled down his scratched cheeks. The world was a far better place for him when his daughter was safely in his arms, as if she released him from his heavily burdened conscience. For the few brief moments they hugged, he was no longer a pathetic drunk, the laughingstock of the town, but simply her father, a man who in her big lovely eyes could do no wrong.

“I missed you, sweetie,” he whispered in complete honesty, setting her gently back on the grass. “I’ve been pretty busy lately. Sorry I haven’t been around.”

“That’s okay, Daddy. You’re here now and you never have to go away again.”

She reached up and grabbed hold of his hand as she spoke. Her tiny fingers gripped him firmly, as if hoping the force of her hold on him might somehow make her words come true. Wilson smiled, thinking how wonderful life would be if only things were that easy. Children have such a magical way of simplifying things. It’s the grown-ups who screw up and complicate everything. Still, he would have given anything to make his little girl’s wish come true.

“Well, I’m not sure about never having to go away, but I can promise you we’re going to spend the whole day together. You, me, and Mommy. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic!” she squealed, finally releasing his hand to dash over and excitedly hug her mother.

Over Amanda’s snuggling head, Susan lifted her eyes to meet Wilson’s. The teary-eyed look she gave him said everything. Without a word being passed, they knew they had to keep trying to work out their problems, for their daughter’s sake more than their own. Amanda was now the driving force; she was living proof their love was worth fighting for and saving. For her, they had to be willing to overcome all obstacles, to move heaven and earth if necessary.

Together, they said good-bye to the Hendersons before piling into the small Honda for the short drive home. For the remainder of the day they simply hung out around the house, relaxing, laughing, and goofing around. It was a priceless, unforgettable afternoon, just like they used to enjoy before he drank himself out the front door.

After a delicious supper of barbecued pork chops,
Wilson’s favorite, the inevitable time of departure was at hand. When they’d first broken up, they’d made an agreement on visiting rights. He could stop over anytime he wanted, but it was an unwritten rule he leave no later than eight o’clock. He badly wanted to stay, but didn’t bother to ask, hating it but knowing it wasn’t an option. Remarkably, they accepted his leaving better than he did. The three of them, Amanda to a lesser degree, understood they’d made a few small steps in the right direction today and taking it slow was probably a good idea.

Susan drove him home, accompanied by Amanda, who hung over the front seat holding her father’s hand. The dilapidated house he rented on Morgan Avenue always depressed him, but he put on a brave face as he kissed his wife and daughter good-bye. He was climbing out of the passenger side when Susan grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside the car.

“Would you maybe like to come to church tomorrow morning? Maybe Father Harris can help us build on today. What do you say?”

Wilson wasn’t sure. He didn’t mind going and it would certainly be great to spend more time with his family, but Father Harris worried him greatly. Patrick Harris took every opportunity to drill Kemp on the sins of alcohol. He meant well, of course, but it wasn’t the kind of speech Wilson felt like listening to so early in the morning. He hesitated for a moment and thought about politely declining the offer until he noticed the hope dancing in their eyes.

“I’d love to,” he replied. “What time?”

They agreed to meet on the front steps of St. Michael’s at a quarter to ten the following morning. With
that settled, he turned once more to leave. This time it was his daughter who caught his arm.

“Daddy?” she timidly asked. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something. It’s been so long since you lived with us, are we ever going to be a real family again?”

Her candor temporarily stunned him. It was amazing how fast she was growing up. Instead of brushing her openness aside, he thought it over for a minute, giving it the serious consideration it deserved. Finally, he took hold of her little hand.

“Listen closely, sweetie. I know you don’t quite understand the reasons why Mommy and Daddy aren’t living together, but you have to realize…no matter what, we’ll always be a real family. Nothing will
ever
change that. You and your mother will always be special to me. I’ll never stop loving you. Never! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so. I love you too, Daddy.”

“Why thank you. That’s all I needed to hear. Although we still have some big hills to climb before we can be back together, as long as we keep loving each other, I just know we’ll find a way to work things out.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, her innocent eyes widening with renewed hope.

“Why sure I do, and so should you. There’s an old saying that no matter how large or overwhelming the obstacles are, never give up because love can overcome anything.”

Maybe a bunch of crap and not the greatest words of wisdom ever passed along, but at least he’d tried to clear up his daughter’s concern. Whether she understood or not, it seemed to please her. He kissed her again and stepped quickly from the car, not wanting Amanda to
see the tears forming in his eyes. He wasn’t convinced there would be a quick reconciliation and didn’t want the child to see his reflection of uncertainty. Without looking back, he ran to the front door, hurriedly unlocked it, and slipped inside.

The familiar stench of alcohol immediately assaulted his nostrils as soon as he closed the door. It was barely detectable, probably most people wouldn’t notice, but he did. To him, the carpets and walls smelled of vodka, as did the furniture and drapes. In fact, the odor seemed to drift toward him, almost stalking him within his own home. It was as if the entire house exuded vodka, sweating out of every tiny crack, like syrup running from a maple.

Welcome home
, the ghosts of his past failures whispered.
We missed you…

He ignored his conscience easily enough, but it was harder to disregard his nose. The sickly sweet odor repulsed him, causing his stomach to turn over, yet at the same time, exciting his thirsty taste buds and drawing beads of perspiration on his wrinkled brow. He followed his nose down the front hall to the cluttered kitchen, where the half-filled bottle patiently waited, still sitting on the counter where he’d left it yesterday morning.

Wilson vowed he would leave the familiar clear poison untouched, especially after the wonderful progress he and Susan had made, but once again he’d forgotten how powerful a disease alcoholism can be. Wilson soon found himself reaching for the bottle. As the liquid fire touched his eager lips, he was already loathing himself for being so weak, so stupid. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the front door swing open.

It was Susan.

“It’s just me, Wilson. I was wondering if you needed me to iron your suit for church—”

She cut herself off midsentence, utterly shocked to see him with a bottle of booze. Her initial surprise quickly turned to anger. After all, he’d only been alone in the house for a few minutes. Didn’t he have any control at all?

“Susan? What are you doing—?” Wilson started, childishly trying to hide the evidence behind his back.

“You bastard!” she cried. “Here I thought we were getting somewhere. Stupid me, I should have known better. All those sweet things you just said to Amanda about love and hope, were they
all
lies?”

“Of course not, Susan, please don’t think that. Look! I’ll pour it out…here, you can watch.”

Wilson quickly moved to the sink and upended the bottle. Susan silently watched until the last drop disappeared down the drain. This small gesture was obviously hard for him to do, and it satisfied her to see it, but still, it fell short of calming her mounting rage. He’d reversed every gain they’d made, dragging them back down to where they always seemed to wallow. Before she could lose her temper, she turned and stalked to the door.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d better not show up drunk for church. And you can iron your own damn suit!” Fuming, she stormed out, slamming the door shut behind her.

Kemp walked to the kitchen window in time to see his wife back out the drive and slam the Honda into gear before speeding off. Amanda had spotted him from the front seat and managed a quick wave before they disappeared from view. In his loneliness, he found himself waving back to an empty road.

Without giving it much thought, he reached up and removed an unopened bottle from the cupboard. Unknown to his wife, every good drunk had a spare stashed in case of emergency.

Against his better judgment and obvious lack of willpower, his hands began unscrewing the cap. Why couldn’t he stop? The first swallow assaulted his palate with a familiar flavor: the bitter taste of failure. He was not only failing himself, but more importantly his wife and daughter. He thought about all the things he had just said to Amanda, and how she’d looked up at him with such hope, trust, and love.

“Yeah. Love can overcome anything, sweetie…except for maybe your old man’s stupidity.”