Not Done Yet - 17. True Colors

True Colors

Sara was talking to Chris. That was unusual enough, but Chris was gathering up the gear after practice to take it back to the field house, when Sara just happened to come around. At least, that’s what she told Chris. “It’s not like that, Chris. I think he’s sweet, and funny. I really do. When he smiles, the room lights up. He’s really a nice guy. Just ask Mary. They’ve been together since school started.” Of course, when she mentioned Mary, Chris got a funny look on his face. “It’s just that he never seems to quite fit in. He never quite knows the right thing to say.” She told him a lot of other things that day, too, sitting right there next to him. “Just think about it.” She said she thought Chris’ batting average was bound to improve if he just got a little more attention from the coach. She smiled at him, too. A lot. It all made such good sense. She said she thought his uniform looked good on him, too. It was practically the last thing she said before she left, and it stuck with him.

When she turned away to leave, Sara’s smile didn’t match the glitter in her eyes.

Practice today hadn’t gone well for him. He was still having trouble connecting with the ball, and the coach had mentioned it. Twice. But Sam just kept getting lucky at the plate. “I just need to relax, so I can play up to my potential.” When he finished racking the gear, he picked up his pack, and pulled out his phone. Craig’s number was at the top of the list. The contact name displayed was Not My Drug Dealer. Chris had thought it was funny, when Craig told him to caption the number with something inconspicuous, to give the phone number that name. It rang through, and Craig answered on the second ring. They made arrangements to meet up later, “to talk.” Chris checked his wallet, and it was still stuffed with his allowance money.

*
Sara didn’t know the other boys on the baseball team, but she was friendly with a couple of their girlfriends. One of those was Julie, and Julie was kind of a gossip. Whatever she heard, lots of people knew about pretty soon afterwards. Sara caught up to her at lunch, and asked if Julie would give her some advice, since she was “more knowledgeable” about relationships. That’s how Sara said it, and Julie looked flattered as they walked outside to talk. When she walked back in by herself a few minutes later, Julie looked thoughtful, but it wasn’t long before she had her head together with a couple of other girls - girls she was tight with.

*
Mary got a couple of mysterious calls that night, but thought they were just misdialed. When she said something to Sam about it at school the next day, he looked at her hard. “What is it, Sam?” she asked.

“Maybe just a coincidence, baby doll, but I got some odd calls last night, too. And Daddy got three. He started asking me questions, actin’ kinda funny. I never seen him like that before. It was like he took off his sense of humor, and hung it in the closet for storage. It was weird. I got some strange emails, too, and I don’t give out my email address. Nobody calls us or sends me emails except for a few folks, and they didn’t do this.”

“Sam, what do you think we ought to do?”

“I’d say, just keep on living, but keep your eyes and ears open. Have you noticed anything else? Anybody actin’ different?”

“No, but I’m going to start watching for it. This is feeling a little spooky, but I’ve got to go to class.”

“I’ll walk you, Mary.” He closed his locker and turned to walk with her.

“Oh, Sam, you don’t have to do that. We’re just overreacting. Go on or you’ll be late. I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…” Sam reached over and squeezed Mary’s hand, smiled, and turned away. He didn’t see Mary peering both ways before she started off down the hall in the opposite direction.

*
That evening, after Sam got home from school and fed the livestock and mucked out the stables, he and his dad sat down at the table to eat as usual. Charles was restless, and got up from the table a couple of times just to go look out the window out front. He said he thought he heard something, but Sam wasn’t so sure.

They finished up supper and cleaned up the dishes. Just as they were settling down in front of the television, they heard noises from the livestock outside. It wasn’t very loud, but they were used to the sounds the animals normally made, and they sounded restless. “Something’s going on, Dad. I’m gonna go check on ‘em.”

“Don’t go out there, Sam. Get the big flashlight, and I’ll be right back.” Charles walked down the hallway toward his bedroom. When he came back to the den where Sam was, he was carrying a gun and a white cloth bag slung over one shoulder, the strap across his chest.

Sam’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Daddy, what are you doing?! When did you get a gun, and why?!”

Charles looked at his son as he calmly cracked open the breach of the old shotgun and removed two shells from the white bag. He slid them into the shotgun and closed the breach. Sam watched his father click off the safety and heft the gun, testing its weight, before starting toward the door. Sam shook himself and walked quickly to the door, too.

“This gun’s been in our family for a long time. It came from a stagecoach. The driver had been shot coming into town. Hasn’t been call to take it out for years, but I know the feeling I’ve got crawling up and down my spine. We’re going out the door soft and slow. Leave the light off ‘til I tell you otherwise, and stay close.”

He opened the door and both men slipped out, closing the door again behind them. As they rounded the corner of the house, there was a commotion from the direction of the barn.

Charles touched his son on the elbow and jutted his chin toward the noise, then stalked quietly from tree to fence. Sam followed a few steps behind, the heavy light in his hand, unlit. A shadow behind him lurched and struck, and Sam crumpled with a groan. Charles looked back and didn’t see his boy at first, but then he noticed two shadows – one on the ground, barely moving, and another crouched above it.

The shotgun blast split the night, and Charles levelled the gun barrel at the second shadow as it ran off into the darkness. He moved to the figure on the ground, and saw it was Sam. The noise from the barn had stopped with the first shot, but with a cry of anguish, Charles fired the second shot into the air, cracked the breach, and when two spent shells flew out, he slid two more into place. He flipped the barrel up quickly to close and lock the breach again and looked around, like he’d practiced it a hundred times. He squatted and found his son groaning softly, so he set the safety on the gun and gathered Sam into his arms and carried him and the shotgun back into the house.

He laid Sam on the couch. His son was bleeding heavily from a gash on his scalp. Charles ran for the phone and dialed 9-1-1 while he darted into the kitchen for a clean towel and dampened it. He talked to the operator while he applied the towel to the wound and held it firmly in place to stop the blood flow. He set the phone on the floor next to the couch, the connection still live, and tended to his son, tears streaming down his face.

When the ambulance arrived, Charles called the only person he could think of. Jessie Batisse didn’t live too far off, and her son was good friends with Sam. They spoke quickly, and Charles barely had time to climb into the ambulance before it drove off with Sam to the hospital.