Devil Crossings

Dusk Light

Eden cut the engine of the jeep and sat still. The staccato beating of rain didn’t quite drown out the cold tenor of the voice. A voice he had worked hard to forget for the last eight years.

Eden, it said, louder.

He shuddered, and the key slipped from his fingers, disappearing beneath the driver’s seat. Lightning illuminated the empty road ahead of him and something grey streaked past. 

He gasped and ducked below the steering wheel, scrambling for the key. I have to get out of here. His fingers met with cool metal, and he jerked up and slammed the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered, a pitiful sound that made his blood freeze.

Did you really think you could escape me, Eden? The voice chuckled. Eden knew he wasn’t imagining it. The voice was too heavy, too real, as if someone had climbed into the battered jeep with him. Too real.

The torrent of rain didn’t let up. It was now impossible to see anything, but his eyes scoured the dark, unforgiving land beyond his windshield. Surely someone would stop by and help him. His eyes flitted over the clock in his dashboard. 11:31 p.m. Yeah right.

Eden collapsed into his seat, eyes shut and mouth pressed into a thin line. He was stuck, stranded in a nightmarish dream.

A little over dramatic, don’t you think? Something warm embraced him. He gasped. The world quieted, the raging storm around him pausing just for a moment. 

A knock on the window.

He jumped, and the warmth disappeared. The storm raged on, lightning flashing, and the low rumble of thunder engulfing the world. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Light blared through the driver window and Eden  blinked several times as his eyes tried to adjust.

The light dimmed, and he found himself looking at a yellow poncho, the words Ravenwood Briar Police Department emblazoned on the front. 

The hammering of his heart slowed and he rolled down the window, wincing as rain pelted him.

“Can I help you officer?” He forced a smile. 

The officer took a step back revealing his face. Eden couldn’t stop the surprise from showing. “Joe?” 

Joe Carter squinted at him. “Who’s asking?” His voice was gruff, nothing like the prepubescent thing he remembered from middle school. He was taller and more muscular, with stubble on his jaw and a hard look in his eye. He was familiar yet completely alien.

“Eden. Eden Heartfield.” 

Joe’s eyes widened and Eden was once again blinded by the light shoved in his face. 

“Eden Heartfield? No way. We all thought you did a runner years ago.”

Eden winced at the blatant use of “we.” In Ravenwood, there was no me, my, mine, and I. The town operated as a single unit. What one person thought, everyone thought, so it was highly likely that everyone thought he ran away.

Joe’s expression grew serious. “Just what do you think you’re doing out here in the middle of a goddamn storm?”

Eden frowned. “Gee, I don’t know. Thought I’d sit out here and slowly freeze to death. Maybe catch a few lightning bolts.”

“I don’t remember you being this mouthy before they found you-” he stopped.

Eden cringed. Bad memories arose, of masked men and fire and blood. Of jilting laughter and tears. The voice returned. You’re so pathetic. Anything can get you in tears.

An awkward silence settled between them. The rain couldn’t even penetrate the silence.

Finally, Joe spoke up. “Do you need a ride to your grandparents’ house? My cruiser’s relatively warm.” He swung his light over to the police cruiser behind them. 

Eden pursed his lips. The offer was tempting, but. . . “How did you know I was going to my grandparents’ house?”

“Who else would you be visiting?” Touché. 

There wasn’t really a choice. He could stay and wait for the storm to pass, while slowly losing his sanity, or he could hop into a police cruiser and arrive in town looking like a criminal, causing all sorts of gossip amongst the old ladies of the sewing circle. The former was almost preferable.

“Sure.”

***

Ravenwood Briar

Home to the World’s Best Apple Pudding Cake

Below the cheery sign, someone had taken red paint and covered the population number, then crudely wrote above it, “Always growing, Always expanding.”

Eden snorted. If that wasn’t a lie he didn’t know what was. Ravenwood Briar’s true motto was, “If you ain’t born here, you ain’t welcome.”

The cruiser pulled into the town square, a desolate patch of land that held a clock tower, City Hall, and the police station within ten feet of each other.

Joe cut him a glance as if he were waiting for Eden to say something. He didn’t. 

“I’ll have one of the boys haul your jeep in the morning. I don’t believe anyone’s awake now.”

He took a left turn into a dimly lit street where all the houses were photocopies of each other, down to the white fence and freshly cut daisies. It was nice to know some things never changed. Like you, the voice whispered. 

He turned from the passenger window and studied Joe. Only twenty years old and the man already resembled the old geezers they use to make fun of when they were younger. In five years he would probably start growing a beer belly and marry one of his high school classmates, preferably someone on the cheer squad. It was sad how predictable his friend had become.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

The cruiser slowed to a stop. “What do you mean?” His tone was less than friendly.

Eden treaded on dangerous waters. “You used to talk about leaving this godforsaken town and making something of your life. Said you weren’t going to be your father, or your father’s father. Now you’re wearing a uniform and talking about the boys doing your work. You probably eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday at the Stop & Pick,” he didn’t wait for Joe to confirm this, “What happened?”

Joe’s stare turned frigid. “What happened? I grew up, something you obviously didn’t do.” He stamped down on the gas pedal.

Eden thought they might crash, but he held onto a tiny string of faith.

Some things had to stay the same.

***

Heartfield House loomed overhead like an overbearing king, all dark columns and old English wonder. It was different from the other houses on the block, yet, if you asked anyone else, it was a typical sight. England was riddled with old things.

Eden stepped out of the cruiser without a thank you or goodbye. Shutting the door, he trudged up to the house.

He knocked on the door. No response. Frowning, he twisted the door handle and discovered it was unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. Warmth engulfed him, as well as the scent of baked pastries. He shut the door quietly behind him. 

“Hello?” he called.

An old, withered voice answered him. “Eden? Is that you? I made apple pudding cake, just for you.” He could hear his grandmother scrambling in the kitchen. The voice was quiet.

He smiled. Some things never changed.