Page 47 of Call Off the Dark

It felt almost like a fog rolled into the room, making Wade’s words indistinct and without meaning. For several long moments, Helen stared at him before finally finding the ability to question him.

“What are you even saying, Wade? What do you mean, ‘dead’?”

“I mean exactly that. My brother is dead.”

She made a sound of disbelief and flung her arm in the direction of the kitchen. “He’s out there.”

“Something is out there.”

“Something? Is that not your brother? Is someone posing as him?” She’d seen movies where long-lost family members showed up after many years of being gone, only for it to be an impostor trying to con the family. But if Wade’s real brother was dead, why would Wade even let this man claiming to be Isaac join them for dinner? Why were they just sitting here on the bed while the impostor was alone in her kitchen?

“No, it’s him,” Wade said. “That’s Isaac.”

“Okay, so he is your brother then,” Helen repeated, trying to comprehend his meaning.

“Looks like him, talks like him. I mean, it’s definitely him,” Wade said, then shook his head in dismay. “But I’m telling you, Isaac is dead.”

“If he’s dead, why’d you just sit there eating dinner with him?”

“I’m in shock. I don’t know what to do.”

“How did he die?”

Wade’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“You really don’t want to talk about it?” Helen repeated. “Oh, we’re talking about it, Wade. Right now. Talk.”

“I mean, I don’t want to talk specifics. It was a tractor accident on the farm, and I witnessed it, and it was horrible. I’ll never get the images out of my head.”

Helen softened a little as she read the trauma on his face. It appeared her husband was also the keeper of nightmarish memories, and all this time she’d never known. But still, the disturbed look in his eyes couldn’t convince her the man in her kitchen was dead.

“Wade, no,” she said, soothing but firm. She had been trying to summon the ghost of her late husband for almost two years to no avail. She was fairly confident at this point that the dead didn’t haunt the living; the living haunted themselves.

“Yes, Helen. He’s dead.”

“You must be wrong. He must have survived whatever accident you witnessed.”

“He was practically cut in half.” Wade shuddered at the memory.

Helen imagined the man in her kitchen lying in a field of wheat, cut cleanly in half, two separate pieces. Legs and pelvis scattered five feet away from his chest and head. This was too much.

She burst out laughing and stood, wanting to be away from Wade. “Why are you saying this? Why are you even saying things like this?”

“Because it’s what happened.”

“He must have been hurt bad, and you left town. So you don’t really know!”

Wade stood and rested his hands on Helen’s shoulders, stilling her. “I stayed for a week. We buried him.”

“Like, in the ground?”

“In a casket, in the ground. Dirt on top. A big fat eulogy. All of it. And now I need to figure out what to do.”

He stepped away from her, crossing his arms, and stared at a point on the wall behind her. It was a posture she’d seen many times when he shut her out to sift through something on his own.

The bedside lamps flickered, and Helen thought of the flash of the disheveled woman she had seen standing in the kitchen. So unnerving, but really, that was just another example of how one’s mind could play tricks on itself. Wade’s mind was the one breaking down this time though.

“Can we back up?” she asked. “I know you don’t want to talk about the accident, but I need to know.”