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Authors: Nancy K. Duplechain
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Jonathan?”
“Eleven. He’ll be sleeping, but Miss Celia told me to stay out late and have a good time.”
“When’s the last time you got to do that?”
He thought long about it and gave a dry laugh. “Not since I was in the Army.”
“Is he still having nightmares?”
Lucas suddenly looked uneasy, and I quickly regretted the question. He nodded slowly and put his beer down. “Not as often, but when he does have them, they’re worse.” He hesitated before continuing. “He says the Dark Man is getting closer. I try to tell him there is no Dark Man, but he just cries and says he’s real and that he’s getting closer. I ask him closer to what, but he just shakes his head and says he doesn’t know.” He smiled, embarrassed. I smiled, too, but it was to hide my fear.
“I know it’s probably just a kid having a recurring nightmare and all. And I know I was probably overreacting when I told you about the night of the accident, but Leigh, I …” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. “It probably wouldn’t bother me so much if …” Now he looked really uncomfortable. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. It looked like we were oblivious to the rest of the bar patrons. Willie Nelson left for the night and Crystal Gayle took over with, “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” It seemed as though whoever programmed the jukebox had an affinity for blue eyes. Lucas turned back to me and had a hard time looking me in the eyes. He started to play with the label of his beer bottle and looked like he was chickening out.
“I promise I won’t laugh,” I said, secretly hoping that he wouldn’t tell me at all. I was already starting to shiver with the mention of the Dark Man.
He grinned sheepishly and his hazel eyes looked up at me. “I’d almost rather you laugh than think I was … weird, I guess.”
“Believe me, I’m a running contender for weirdo of the year. You’d have to be pretty special to compete with that.”
He grinned even wider and his eyes smoldered as they pierced me. I felt a blush coming on, and I tried my best to hide it. I took a sip from my beer and hoped he would look away. I was relieved when he glanced down at his bottle, where he was still playing with the label. “I’ve noticed some things at work, certain cases we’ve had in the last few months. Reports of … strange things happening?” He looked at me, gauging my reaction. I nodded once for him to continue. “David and I had to investigate some pretty unusual things in the last year, and they got progressively weirder with every case.”
He sipped from his beer, the label now in shreds, lying on the table. I could see he was waiting for my response. The only question I could think to ask—the only one that could naturally follow a lead in like this—was one I didn’t want to know the answer to. I made myself ask it anyway, if nothing else but to be polite. “What strange things?”
He looked over his shoulder again and then turned back. He gazed toward the pool tables and watched the light-hearted games for a moment, not really paying attention to them. It almost seemed as though he was looking past them. “Ghosts,” he said, softly, looking at me with eyes that were both serious and weary.
I took a longer sip this time. I put the bottle down, trying to compose my thoughts. He had no more label left to peel, so he distracted himself by pulling at the corner of a stack of napkins partially sticking out of the napkin dispenser at the end of the short table. After a moment, he got bored and picked up a bottle of Tabasco sauce and started turning it around in his hand, pretending to read the label, but unable to concentrate. After a minute, he murmured, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
I smiled politely at him and tried my best not to hurt his feelings. “It’s just very hard to believe in that kind of
“Eleven. He’ll be sleeping, but Miss Celia told me to stay out late and have a good time.”
“When’s the last time you got to do that?”
He thought long about it and gave a dry laugh. “Not since I was in the Army.”
“Is he still having nightmares?”
Lucas suddenly looked uneasy, and I quickly regretted the question. He nodded slowly and put his beer down. “Not as often, but when he does have them, they’re worse.” He hesitated before continuing. “He says the Dark Man is getting closer. I try to tell him there is no Dark Man, but he just cries and says he’s real and that he’s getting closer. I ask him closer to what, but he just shakes his head and says he doesn’t know.” He smiled, embarrassed. I smiled, too, but it was to hide my fear.
“I know it’s probably just a kid having a recurring nightmare and all. And I know I was probably overreacting when I told you about the night of the accident, but Leigh, I …” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. “It probably wouldn’t bother me so much if …” Now he looked really uncomfortable. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. It looked like we were oblivious to the rest of the bar patrons. Willie Nelson left for the night and Crystal Gayle took over with, “Don’t It Make My Brown Eyes Blue.” It seemed as though whoever programmed the jukebox had an affinity for blue eyes. Lucas turned back to me and had a hard time looking me in the eyes. He started to play with the label of his beer bottle and looked like he was chickening out.
“I promise I won’t laugh,” I said, secretly hoping that he wouldn’t tell me at all. I was already starting to shiver with the mention of the Dark Man.
He grinned sheepishly and his hazel eyes looked up at me. “I’d almost rather you laugh than think I was … weird, I guess.”
“Believe me, I’m a running contender for weirdo of the year. You’d have to be pretty special to compete with that.”
He grinned even wider and his eyes smoldered as they pierced me. I felt a blush coming on, and I tried my best to hide it. I took a sip from my beer and hoped he would look away. I was relieved when he glanced down at his bottle, where he was still playing with the label. “I’ve noticed some things at work, certain cases we’ve had in the last few months. Reports of … strange things happening?” He looked at me, gauging my reaction. I nodded once for him to continue. “David and I had to investigate some pretty unusual things in the last year, and they got progressively weirder with every case.”
He sipped from his beer, the label now in shreds, lying on the table. I could see he was waiting for my response. The only question I could think to ask—the only one that could naturally follow a lead in like this—was one I didn’t want to know the answer to. I made myself ask it anyway, if nothing else but to be polite. “What strange things?”
He looked over his shoulder again and then turned back. He gazed toward the pool tables and watched the light-hearted games for a moment, not really paying attention to them. It almost seemed as though he was looking past them. “Ghosts,” he said, softly, looking at me with eyes that were both serious and weary.
I took a longer sip this time. I put the bottle down, trying to compose my thoughts. He had no more label left to peel, so he distracted himself by pulling at the corner of a stack of napkins partially sticking out of the napkin dispenser at the end of the short table. After a moment, he got bored and picked up a bottle of Tabasco sauce and started turning it around in his hand, pretending to read the label, but unable to concentrate. After a minute, he murmured, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
I smiled politely at him and tried my best not to hurt his feelings. “It’s just very hard to believe in that kind of
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