Boys Life

am. Supposed to be. But everybody’s got the dream-eyes, Tom. Everybody sees snippets of some quilt or another. You’re real close to this one. Closer than I am. That’s why.”
    Dad worked the river pebbles. The Lady shuffled her cards and waited.
    “At first,” he said, “I was havin’ those dreams right when I went to bed. Then later on… they started comin’ on me when I wasn’t even asleep. Durin’ the day. I just have a flash of that car, and that man’s face, and I hear him callin’. He says the same thing, over and over: ‘Come with me, down in the dark.’ I hear that mud-gurglin’ voice, and I’ve… I’ve come close to goin’ to pieces over it, because I can’t shake it. I can’t get any rest. It’s like I’m up all night, too scared to let myself sleep for fear of…” He trailed off.
    “Yes?” the Lady prodded.
    “For fear of… listenin’ to that dead man, and doin’ what he wants me to do.”
    “And what might that be, Tom?”
    “I think he wants me to kill myself,” Dad said.
    The card shuffling ceased. Mom’s hand found mine and clenched it hard.
    “I think he… wants me to come to that lake and drown myself in it. I think he wants me to come with him, down in the dark.”
    The Lady watched him intently, her emerald eyes gathering light. “Why would he want you to do that, Tom?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe he wants company.” He tried for a smile, but his mouth wouldn’t work.
    “I want you to think very, very carefully. Are those the exact words?”
    “Yeah. ‘Come with me, down in the dark.’ He says it kinda gurgly, because I guess his jaw’s busted or there’s blood or water or mud in his mouth, but… yeah, that’s it.”
    “Nothin’ else? Does he call you by name?”
    “No. That’s all.”
    “You know, that’s funny, don’t you think?” the Lady asked.
    Dad grunted. “I wish I knew what was so funny about it!”
    “This: If the dead man has a chance to speak to you-to give you a message-then why does he waste it on askin’ you to commit suicide? Why doesn’t he tell you who killed him?”
    Dad blinked. Now the clickings of the pebbles stopped. “I… never thought about that.”
    “Think about it, then. The dead man has a voice, however torn up it is. Why doesn’t he tell you the name of his killer?”
    “I can’t say. Seems he would if he could.”
    “He could.” The Lady nodded. “If he was speakin’ to you, that is.”
    “I’m not followin’ you.”
    “Maybe,” she said, “there are three plugs in that socket.”
    Realization crawled over Dad’s face. Over mine and Mom’s, too.
    “The dead man isn’t speakin’ to you, Tom,” the Lady said. “He’s speakin’ to his killer.”
    “You… mean I’m…”
    “Pickin’ up the killer’s dreams, like I’m pickin’ up yours. Oh, mercy! You’ve got some strong dream-eyes, Tom!”
    “He doesn’t… want me to… kill myself because I couldn’t get him out?”
    “No,” the Lady said. “Of that I’m sure.”
    Dad pressed his free hand to his mouth. Tears blurred his eyes, and I heard Mom sob beside me at the sight. He leaned his head forward. A single tear dropped to the table.
    “Cuttin’ deep,” the Lady said, and she put a hand on his forearm. “It’s a good hurt, though, isn’t it? Like cuttin’ away a cancer.”
    “Yes.” His voice cracked. “Yes.”
    “You want to go outside and walk around a bit, you go right ahead.”
    Dad’s shoulders trembled. But the burden was leaving him, ton by ton. He drew a deep, gasping breath, like the breath of someone whose head has just broken the surface of dark water. “I’m all right,” he said, but he didn’t lift his face up just yet. “Give me a minute.”
    “All the minutes you need, take ’em.”
    At last he looked up. He was still the man he’d been a moment before; his face was still lined, his chin a little saggy. But in his eyes he was a boy again, and he was free.
    “You interested in tryin’ to find out who that killer might be?” the Lady asked.
    Dad nodded.
    “I’ve got my own host of friends across the river. You get to be my age, you’ve got more of ’em on that side than this. They see things, and sometimes they tell me. But they like to play games with me. They like to throw me a riddle or two. So they never come right out and answer any question directly; it’s always a sly answer, but it’s always the truth. You want to involve them in this matter?” It sounded like a