The Last Harvest(74)

“Ruth, is that you?” Sheriff doubles back, flicking on the light.

She’s standing in front of the couch, her body a tight wire, pointing at the wall above the mantel.

“I’ll be…” Ely stares at the wall. “Strange time of year for flies … wouldn’t you say so, Clay?”

Tilford swats the air in front of him. “Looks like you need an exterminator.”

“He’s coming … he’s coming for all of us,” Mom whispers.

“Who’s coming?” Ely asks.

“Just ignore her—”

“The seed will inherit the earth,” she says. “And the sinners will rejoice as the blood of the golden calf rains down on the innocent…”

“Okay … I told you this wasn’t a good time. She’s not feeling well,” I say as I take Sheriff’s arm, leading him to the front door.

“… and animals will fornicate with humans,” Mom yells from the living room. “And the stars will fall down from the sky. The gateway to the underworld will open up, swallowing all that is good and holy and right…”

I get them out the door and we all seem to take a deep breath at the same time.

“Looks like you’ve got a real problem in there, Clay,” Sheriff says.

“The mom, or the flies?” Tilford chuckles.

“Look, I know, okay?” I drag my hand through my hair. “She’ll be fine in a few days. It’ll pass. I promise.”

They start to walk back to their car when Sheriff says, “Oh and Clay … one last thing.”

I turn, my shoulders collapsing a little.

“How long has it been since you got a haircut?”

“About a year, I guess.”

“So, you started growing it out after your dad died? Any particular reason?”

“I always kept it buzzed for football, but when I stopped playing, I just didn’t feel the need.”

“But now you’re playing again … and on the council. Interesting.” He presses his lips together and bobs his head. “I’ll make a note of that.”

*

AS I pass the living room, I flick off the light again.

I can’t even look at her. It hurts too much.

I take a shower. The water’s scalding hot and never wanes. I try not to think about the reasons why—Mom stopped bathing weeks ago and Jess is gone. It makes me shudder in the warmth.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, I drag my hands through my hair, pulling it back from my face. It’s weird how Sheriff was asking me about my hair … and all that talk about the mark … asking me if I was hiding it in plain sight.

And that’s when it hits me.

My hair.

The priests checked my body, but what if it’s on my scalp.… like Miss Granger’s?





48

I GRASP the sides of the sink to steady myself and take in a few deep huffs of air before I start rummaging through the cabinet, looking for my clippers. They’re in the back, wedged between an empty box of Tampax and some Elmo bubble bath. With shaking hands, I turn it on. The blades are rusted, the batteries old, but it still works. My eyes are blurry, stinging with tears, as I rake the clippers along my scalp, shearing off clumps of heavy dark-blond hair.

“Please don’t let me have the mark. Don’t let it be true.”

The dull grinding sound, the fine strands hovering in the air like bits of spiderweb caught in a breeze, my raw scalp, the hair clogging the pipes, the desperate sucking sound of the drain … it reminds me of that night I found Dad in the breeding barn—the drain in the floor clogged with intestines and viscera.

With every pull of the razor, horrible images flash through my mind. The bull, blood gushing from his throat. Lee’s scarred skin stretched tight over jagged teeth. Jess looking back at me on that cot with dead eyes. Jimmy kneeling at the altar offering his gift to God. Ben strung up on the goalpost like Christ. The nuns cutting out their tongues. Noodle suckling from the dead calf. Ali crawling out of the cow. “I plead the blood” echoing in my mind.

“Stop!” I scream. I shut my eyes, trying to get away from the memories, but they’re always there, scratching at the surface, begging for release.

I force myself to look at my reflection, inspecting every inch of my scalp. I let out a huge burst of pent-up air when all I find are the familiar bumps and planes of my skull.

“Thank God,” is all I can manage to say. “Thank God.”

*

AFTER I pull myself together and get everything cleaned up, I wrap the towel around my waist and go into Jess’s room, sinking to the edge of her bed. She can’t have been gone long, because she’s been taking the food. I saw a shadow pass under her door. Heard her footsteps. I’m sure of it. But I’ve been seeing all kinds of things lately. I look toward the window. Maybe she’s been climbing the drainpipe, coming in and out as she pleases. I just can’t believe she’d leave Noodle here with Mom, knowing the state she’s in. I want to wring Jess’s neck.

I get up and open her window, hoping by some miracle that when the sun comes up, she’ll be in her bed, or better yet, waiting for me in my truck with those awful boots pressed up against my dash.

I search her room, looking for any kind of clues, but she’s taken down every photo, every personal item. I think about how opposite we are. All I do is cling to the past and here she is trying to erase it. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for her … living in this house … living under this cloud of death and depression. She’s the only one who had it right and I brushed her off like she was nothing. Like she didn’t matter. I think about her out there with Lee Wiggins and my blood boils. I think about him touching her and I want to kill something.