ACT TWO

Needless to say, Saturday night was a bust. Dras and Rosalyn's usual routine was interrupted by stark reality and the situation ruined any chance of Dras enjoying the exploits of Donald Cushing: Vampire Killer. The following Sunday wasn't much better.

Dras and Rosalyn sat with Dras' mother on the front pew at The Good Church of the Faithful while Jack Weldon preached in his bold and magical way. The congregation was captivated by his sincere and impassioned presence. Even Dras, despite being so sleepy from his Midnight Matinee viewing, couldn't help but listen intently. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he caught Jeff and a few of his buddies about halfway back, their heads low, whispering and elbowing each other as they passed notes and snickered, drawing disapproving stares from the likes of toad-faced Miss Jenkins behind them.

Dras shook his head at his disrespectful jerk of a brother, then turned to Rosalyn. She did not come from a religious family and only attended church when Dras' mother insisted. Usually she was courteously quiet and attentive while listening to Jack—for she genuinely loved Dras' father—but today it seemed the stories of the North Woods still lingered in her mind. Her eyes were distracted, her face blank.

Making sure his mother wasn't paying attention, Dras discreetly scribbled a note on his church bulletin and placed it in Rosalyn's lap.

She casually glanced down and read: you okay?

Rosalyn nodded affirmatively, though she didn't look at Dras. Dras frowned and prepared to write another note to press her further, when he felt his mother slap him sharply on the thigh. He flinched and looked up to see her shaking her finger at him, her eyes nearly crossed with indignation. He slumped and turned his attention back to his father, grumbling.

He'd just have to check on Rosalyn later.

 *      *      *

After church, the Weldon family was on display, as usual. The congregation circled Jack, commenting on his "wonderful" sermon. Dras' mom stayed close to her husband, always his biggest fan. Jeff snuck around back with some of the rowdier teenage boys to steal a smoke, hoping Leonard Fergus or one of the other deacons didn't catch them.

Dras, meanwhile, searched the dispersing crowd for Rosalyn. She managed to avoid the traditional Weldon family handshaking, as she was from Trysdale, the tiny country community on the outskirts of town. No one from Trysdale seemed able to earn the respect of Greensboro proper—small town prejudices—so very few people went out of their way to say anything to Rosalyn Myers outside of a "Good morning, young lady." Her trailer park origins were only compounded by the fact that her dad had just committed suicide, leaving her a twelve-year-old pariah in the eyes of the upper crust. She just wasn't "from a good family".

Dras managed to shuffle through the old ladies wanting to pinch his cheeks and broke free of the church. At last he found Rosalyn, wandering alone in the yard, staring at her toes.

"Hey," he greeted, out of breath. "I lost you for a sec."

"Sorry. Just needed to think."

Dras shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to play it cool, like Jeff had done the night before. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I really miss my dad," was all she said.

Dras couldn't begin to imagine what she was going through. His own dad seemed like the strongest man alive. He worked in construction, building houses for people in the community, and still had time to lead the bustling congregation at The Good Church of the Faithful and do all kinds of charity work. Sure, the man was very busy and had little time for goofing off with his youngest son, but Dras knew that, should he ever really need his dad, Jack Weldon would move heaven and Earth to be there for him. The thought of losing his dad was as alien to him as a third eye.

Before he could think of anything to offer in reply, Rosalyn's mom pulled up to the church in her station wagon and sounded a quick toot of the horn. Instantly recognizing the familiar sound, Rosalyn looked up, her dark eyes gloomy, to see her mom leaning across the front seat, calling through the rolled-down passenger side window.

"Rosalyn!" the woman began, bleary-eyed and puffy-faced. "I've been looking everywhere for you, young lady. You weren't at Dras' house."

Rosalyn frowned, pointing out the obvious. "It's Sunday, Mom. The Weldons are always at church on Sunday."

Her mother blinked, considered, then shook it off. "Oh. Well, come on. I don't want to have to get your sister out of her seat."

At the mention of Annie, Dras glanced toward the back seat where the tot was nestled in her car seat, wearing an oversized T-shirt stained with chocolate and Kool-Aid, dried day-old food stuck to her fat cheeks, and sucking on a sippy cup of amber liquid that the boy hoped was tea. She ignored the Weldons and amused herself by playing with a naked Barbie doll.

Rosalyn noticed the state of her sister, too, and her eyes grew heavy with heartache. Though the thought of returning home to her binge-drinking mother did little to ease her current woes, she knew Annie needed her.

Mrs. Weldon exited the church just then and entered the scene, standing behind the sullen Rosalyn like a patient, but fierce lioness. The woman placed protective hands on the girl's shoulders, as if defending her from an attack. "Hello, Meredith," Dras' mother said in a friendly, but firm, voice.

Rosalyn's mother glanced up and showed a toothy smile. "Hey, Louise."

"We were hoping Rosalyn could stay with us for lunch. We're making spaghetti, her favorite."

Meredith chewed on her lip, then fixed her gaze on Rosalyn. "You want spaghetti? I'll make you spaghetti. Come on. Get in."

"We'd love to have you, too," Louise added, softening. Dras was too young to remember, but his mother had told him stories about how once upon a time, she and Meredith were best friends. They took some college classes together and actually had a lot of fun with each other. In fact, that was why Dras and Rosalyn played together to begin with. But somewhere along the way, Meredith grew into her "Trysdale Trash" reputation, and now the friend Dras' mother once had was lost.

Meredith nodded at the offer to join the Weldons for lunch, but quickly declined. "We need to get back. Rosalyn, I need you at home, taking care of your sister. She's too much of a handful for me alone. You know that."

Rosalyn hung her head. "I know." She opened the door and climbed in with her mother, leaving Louise's guarding hands behind. Dras' mother wrapped a loving arm around her son and he admitted to himself that his mom was alright. She was always on his case about what comics he read and movies he watched, but he knew that she loved him and would die fighting for him.

When faced head-on with Rosalyn's mother, he was very thankful to God to be the son of Jack and Louise Weldon.

"I'll call you later," Dras told his friend in an upbeat tone.

Rosalyn smiled in return, but the gesture was faint. "Okay. See ya."

Then Meredith drove the car out of sight, leaving Dras to watch and worry that one day, he would lose Rosalyn just as his mother lost her best friend.

 *      *      *

Upon returning home, Rosalyn gave her sister a bath, nearly crying as she scrubbed off the dirt and food that her mother had let build up on the child.

"I'm so sorry, Annie," Rosalyn mumbled, gently washing her as Annie hummed and examined a plastic boat. What she was sorry for, Rosalyn couldn't say for sure. A part of her was sorry that she left Annie overnight with her mother. A year ago—heck, two months ago—it wouldn't have been a concern. Rosalyn's father was great with Annie, with both of his daughters. While Rosalyn's mother was out in the evenings attending school board meetings and trying to elevate her social status in their small town, he stayed home, laughing and joking with his kids. He and Rosalyn would tickle Annie's toes together, or he'd get out his guitar and play a new song that he'd been working on. It was all folksy Americana stuff, not anything remotely like what the kids were listening to on KDZY back in Greensboro, but it spoke of country living, of family, of hard work, and Rosalyn loved every bit of it.

All she wanted now was to be with him again. Maybe that was why she told Annie she was sorry. If the talks were true about the North Woods, if the dead waited out there, ready to be contacted, then that's where Rosalyn needed to be.

Among the dead.

Night fell, and Rosalyn put Annie to bed, then went downstairs, where her mother snoozed soundly on the couch, the television still on and a bottle of hooch sideways on the floor. Instinctively, Rosalyn put the bottle away, took the throw blanket off her father's chair—the one he covered himself with on nights when he fell asleep in his recliner listening to old records—and pulled it up to her mother's neck.

Her two charges tucked in for the night, Rosalyn checked the clock on the microwave. It was just shy of nine o'clock, far too early to be done with the day. She knew Dras would call soon, and while the thought of chatting it up with him for a couple of hours usually lifted her spirits, tonight it seemed hollow. Rosalyn felt like she had outgrown her small town life. Her dad was gone and he took all the magic of her childhood with him. In his place was a cold vacancy, as the walls of routine grated across the sands of time, closing in on her.

Suddenly she flash-forwarded to ten years later and saw her mother a complete lush, Annie a wayward child, and, as for her…well she had no idea where she'd be in ten years. Probably in the same place she stood now. Cleaning up after her mother, taking care of her sister.

"What about me?" she mouthed. "What about what I want?"

There was only one thing she wanted now. She wanted her father back, and she was going to find him tonight. On a mission, she rushed up to her sleeping sister's room and carefully leaned over to give her a kiss.

"Good-bye, Annie. I love you. I'm sorry."

Then Rosalyn left her home behind, and she did not look back.

 *      *      *

Peggy McDowell heard a knock on her door. She answered it and met Rosalyn Myers, the young girl's face as bright as the stars that twinkled overhead in the navy-blanketed sky.

"Hi, Peggy."

"Rosalyn," the old woman breathed, petting the calico cat in her flabby arms. "I didn't expect to see you. Come in, come in."

Rosalyn entered, the color in her cheeks restored now that she had a plan. The old woman returned to her messy kitchen, shooed away two of the seven cats that shared the trailer with her, and poured oil into her signature lamp. Rosalyn noticed the elderly woman had sandals on her feet, and her heart skipped with excitement.

"You're going, aren't you?" Rosalyn asked, trying hard to contain her enthusiasm. "You're going out into the North Woods tonight."

Peggy wrapped a shawl around her neck to ward off the chill of the woods, her eyes distracted. "I hope you won't try to stop me, Rosalyn. I've…I've grown to really enjoy our talks. You've been so kind to me and kindness has been hard to find these days. But…" her thoughts drifted until she shook them straight. "I don't belong here, I'm afraid. My Wallace is out there. I hear him. At night." The woman looked out the small window above her sink, staring into the dark of the trees that bordered her back yard, a mix of horror and bliss swirling in her haunted eyes. "He says I can join him. It's where I belong." Then, coming to, the rambling woman hurriedly snatched her lamp and turned to the young girl. "One day, I hope you fall in love with someone special. Then you'll understand."

"But I do," Rosalyn quickly interjected. "That's why I came."

The old woman paused, a quizzical look on her sagging face.

To Be Concluded Tomorrow…

Copyright © 2008 Greg Mitchell, All Rights Reserved