Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller (45 page)

The old man laughed as he tousled the boy’s hair.

“That’s the thing about life, son. You can’t always know what’s over the hill. Keeps things interesting.”

Little Jon frowned. “Maybe it was just luck, Grampa.”

Gramps had fallen a touch of gray; the sparkle in his eye had diminished. He gazed out across the meadow where the deer had passed. He spoke softly.

“You ever hear of
Titanic,
Little Jon?”

The boy shook his head.

“No,” Gramps said. “Suppose you wouldn’t.” He paused. “It was a big ship. The biggest. Least it was for some twenty-odd years, anyway. Your Gramma and me … we took a trip on it. On its very first voyage across the Atlantic. This was way back. Way before you were born. Around 1912, I think. It was a grand ship. The papers said it was unsinkable.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Did it sink, Grampa?”

The old man smiled. “No,” he said. “But we did hit an iceberg. You know what an iceberg is?”

“My mom showed me a picture once. They’re
big.
”

Gramps nodded. “We were asleep in our cabin,” he said. “We hit a dandy. Tore a big hole in the ship.” His eyes grew as he put out his arms, as wide as the spacious cab would grant. “So big it could swallow a whale.”

“Holy.”

“There wasn’t much of a fuss. At first people didn’t think much of it. More curious than anything. Seeing this big wall of ice next to the ship. But the Captain had everyone put on a life jacket. Just in case. Good thing, too. About an hour later, the ship
did
start to sink.”

“Did people die?”

The old man nodded. “A lot of people died. Hundreds.”

“But you didn’t. Or Gramma.”

“They put Gramma in a lifeboat. I stayed behind.”

“How did they stop the ship from sinking?”

Gramps regarded the boy grimly.

“They didn’t, son,” he said. “They didn’t.”

~

“You said it didn’t sink, Grampa.”

“It did.” The old man paused, his usually bright expression suddenly lost like a whisper. And then, with a hint of a sigh, he did something curious. He slipped two fingers to his right temple. And tapped it.

The boy looked at him quizzically.

“I fixed it,” Gramps said.

“How?”

“Some people … people like me … we have a special gift. Do you know how you knew about the doe?”

The boy shrugged so innocently it was adorable.

“You knew because it happened before,” the old wizard said. “You remember … don’t you.”

Little Jon thought long and hard; the wheels turned.

“I
do
remember,” he said. “You were doing something with your hand.”

“The Sense,” Gramps told him.

“The Sense,” the boy said, saying it as if he understood.

“It’s strong in you, son. Like a bull.”

“Grampa?”

“Yes?”

“Is that why I can feel you?”

“Sure is.”

“It’s like you smell or something. But not a smell.”

“It’s a feeling, son. Like when you feel someone behind you.”

“But a lot stronger.”

“A
lot.
”

“Sometimes I get that feeling with Jenny.”

“Who’s Jenny?”

“Just a girl. She lives across the street.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t feel it with my mom and dad. Just you … and Jenny.”

“Stiffs,” the old man said.

“Stiffs?”

“Stiffs. They don’t have the Sense. Most people don’t.”

“Huh.”

“You have to be careful around people,” Gramps said. “People with the Sense.”

“How come?”

“Just mind me,” Gramps said. “Just mind me.”

The boy stirred.

Gramps knew what he was thinking.

“It’s like a trick,” he said. “Like magic.”

“Magic?”

“Remember what I said? About people like me?”

“You have a special gift.”

“And so do you.”

~ 21

“It’s called the Turn,” Gramps said, after a car had passed. He drew a long gaze across the meadow where the deer had been. “People like me … people like
us,
Little Jon … well … we can turn back time.”

“We can?”

The old man smiled at the innocence. “We can,” he said. “Like magic.”

“Show me,” Little Jon said. “Show me!”

“I already did.”

The boy considered. “The truck? And the deer?”

Gramps winked.

“Is that how you stopped the ship from sinking? How you saved everyone?”

Gramps nodded solemnly. “I didn’t save everyone, son. They lost about thirty sailors that night.”

The boy paused, deep in thought. And then: “Can
I
do it? Really?”

Impishly, the old man raised a brow. Tapped his temple.

~

“It’s something very special,” Gramps said. “
You’re
very special.”

The boy smiled.

“Son … I want you to remember something. Something I learned a long, long time ago.”

“What?”

“Do you remember how you felt when you saw that big old moon through my telescope?”

“It was big! It was so neat!”

Gramps nodded. “There’s only one
first
time,” he said. “You take hold a that … hold it right here.”

The old man pointed to Little Jon’s heart.

“I will, Grampa.”

“The Turn’s a powerful thing, son … it’s a precious thing. But there’s something you must never do.”

“What?”

“When the time comes … and you’ll know
when
… never …
NEVER
… open your eyes. You understand, Little Jon?”

The boy’s eyes widened.

~

Little Jon sat with anticipation as the old wizard raised a hand to his temple; watched him place two long, thin fingers there. Despite their simplicity, the movements were smooth and precise, the skilled clockwork of the best magicians. The old man nodded to him, and he did the same.

“A little higher,” Gramps said. “Like me. There. Keep your fingers together. Just the tips … good. Good.”

“Did it work?”

The old man laughed. It was the sweetest sound.

He brought his hand down, slipped it into his pocket, and produced a small red box of playing cards. He drew the top card and left the rest untouched. He showed it to the boy.

“Nine of diamonds,” Little Jon said.

“Nine of diamonds. I want you to focus, Little Jon.”

“What’s
‘focus’?
”

“Thinking really hard,” Gramps explained. “Think as hard as you can about that nine of diamonds.”

“Okay.” The boy still held his fingers to his temple, but now his eyes were shut tight.

“Keep your eyes open for now,” Gramps told him. “Keep them on the card.”

Little Jon stared intently at the nine of diamonds.

“See the card, son … see
through
the card.”

“
Through
it?”

“In your mind,” Gramps said. “Focus on it. Put all your thoughts into that nine of diamonds. Nothing else.”

The boy doubled his efforts. His lips curled, and out came his tongue at the side of his mouth, as if this might induce the Turn. His eyes were wide, growing bolder, and at that instant, he looked just like the boy in the faded photograph Gramps had on his night table, of Little Jon’s great-grandfather bouncing Gramps on his knee.

“I don’t think it’s working, Gr—”

Suddenly, Little Jon started, yanking his fingers from his temple.

“Grampa!”

“It’s all right … did you feel it?”

“It was like a buzz … like a bee was inside of me!”

Gramps laughed. “A bee,” he said. “I guess it is like a bee. Try again. It won’t hurt.”

“Promise?”

“Well … maybe a little. But you’ll be all right.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Little Jon looked doubtful—squirmed a bit on that big bench of a seat—but he summoned the nerve and placed the tips of his fingers to his temple.

On the seventh try, he did it.

“Nine of diamonds,” he whispered. This time, he kept repeating it, as if it were the only words he knew.

“That’s it …”

“Grampa!”

“Easy, son … you’re doing fine—”

“
Grampa!
”

“Just a little longer—”

“Something’s
happening
—”

The boy gaped at the raised hairs on his arm. Old Gramps was the same. Even some of the hairs in his beard were rising.

“
GRAMPA!
”

“It’s alll riiight, Liiittle Jonnn—”

“You look funny! You
sound
funny!”

“Iiitt’sooookaaaayy—”

“I’m
hot! I’m burning! I’m BURNING!
”

“—oooo yooooo seeeeeee iiiiiit?”

“See it? See what? I don’t understand—”

“—
FOHHHH … CUSSSSSSS
—”

The boy screamed, screamed as loud as thunder, but there was no sound. Later, in his dreams, he would scream again, at not the storm, at not the melting waxwork of his grandfather, at not the mist … but at the terrifying nothingness. At the exact moment that Little Jon Richards had shut his eyes tight.

And kept them shut.

~

Gramps reached into his pocket, fumbled a bit, and took out a small red box. Playing cards. The old man drew out the full deck and kept them face down.

The boy studied them a moment, then regarded his grandfather with a knowing grin.

“Nine of diamonds,” he said. He was beaming.

Gramps flipped the top card, and laughed.

~

“Did you see it, Little Jon?”

The boy knew implicitly what the old man was on about.

“Uh huh.”

“Well?”

“It looked like a big wheel,” Little Jon said. “Really old. Like the wooden kind on an Old West wagon.”

“A wheel, huh? Know what it looks like to me?”

“What?”

“A string,” Gramps said. He pulled the boy’s nose. “I just pull on it.”

“I turned the wheel back, Grampa! It felt
real!
”

Gramps laughed. They both did.

~

“Grampa?”

“Son?”

“Your eyes look funny. And you look kinda red.”

“Just the Turn,” Gramps said. “Look at your hands.”

The boy turned them over and back. “Huh. Neat.” He looked up. “I didn’t notice this the first time. When you did it.”

“Sometimes it shows … sometimes it doesn’t.”

“It’s kinda itchy.”

“It’ll pass.”

“What was that white stuff?”

Gramps shrugged.

“I saw some fog, Grampa.
Purple
fog.”

Gramps shrugged again. “It’s all part of it, Little Jon. It’s all part of the storm. Were you scared?”

“… A little.”

The old man patted him on the head.

“Hope it didn’t hurt
too
much.”

“I’m okay. But I feel weird, Grampa.”

“Tired?”

“Uh huh. And my arms are a little sore. How come?”

“Turn takes a lot outta you, son. It’s a gift to be sure … but it’s not something you mess about with. You understand?”

The boy nodded.

~

Gramps fanned the cards out, face down, like a magician.

“Pick a card, any card,” he said, slyly.

The boy drew one from somewhere in the middle.

“Try to guess what it is,” Gramps said.

“Seven of hearts.”

The boy flipped it over. Ten of clubs.

When they came back, the old man held out the cards as he had before.

“Pick a card, any card.”

Again the boy picked one near the middle.

“Well?” Gramps asked. “Do you know what it is?”

“Ten of clubs,” Little Jon said boldly. Confidently.

He flipped the card.

Four of spades.

“How come, Grampa? Didn’t it work this time?”

Gramps nodded. “Perfectly.”

The boy considered a moment.

“I think I understand,” he said.

~

They drove and got a hot chocolate. It was noontime sunny, and despite the slight chill, they were sitting on a park bench overlooking a half-frozen pond filled with ducks. Spring could not be far.

“Grampa? How far can we
go?
”

“Far enough,” Gramps said.

“Could I see the dinosaurs?”

“Not that far, Little Jon.”

“How far?”

“Far. Even ten seconds is a long time.”

“Ten
seconds?
That’s not very long, Grampa.”

The old man sipped, drawing a long gaze over the pond. Suddenly, he seemed much older, as if he had lived
two
lifetimes.

“How long would you hug your mother if you knew she was never coming back?”

“A lot longer than that,” Little Jon admitted. “I wouldn’t want to let go.”

“So if all you had were ten seconds, wouldn’t you hang on to her like a big old bear?”

“Yeah … I guess.”

They sat silently for a minute or two.

“But
how
far?”

“Drink your cocoa, son.”

“A day? A week?”

The old man chuckled. “
Far.
”

“Can we go forward? Can I spin my wheel the other way?”

Gramps shook his head. “No more than I could push my string.”

“Hmph.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I wish I
could
go forward. To see what’s coming.”

“That’s a whole different kettle of fish,” the old man said. “Time
there
—the
future
—it hasn’t happened yet. You understand?”

“There’s nothing to go
to,
” the boy said.

Gramps nodded, and tapped his temple.

~

They sat without a word, enjoying their warm cocoa.

“Grampa? How come I can’t look?”

Gramps was sipping. He stopped.

“You mind me, son. You don’t look.
Ever.
”

“But why?”

The old man sighed.

“Darkness,” he said. “All you’ll see is darkness.”

~

Gramps pushed him on a swing for a while and then they drove back. They were but minutes from home when they struck the bird.

Little Jon braved the cold and cupped the fragile creature in his hands. It stayed alive for a minute, perhaps two. Suddenly, time was such a precious thing.