Headlights(103)

“And maybe after a while we forget the house altogether and realize we were never confined to it totally, we only thought we were. And the people we love exist elsewhere too, not just there, and not just in that way. The house, and the night, matter equally.”

Her words settle around us, the snow still falling. Beings, in the white, all around.

“So … all these … people? Animals? They’re just—” I say.

“They’re not looking at us, most of them. They’re just … beyond. They’re just right at the edge of our light, and we’re not supposed to be able to see them. But you and me, I think it’s like we’ve got special antennas, we pick up radio signals from both sides. Or to go with the house metaphor, it’s like we’ve got night vision goggles. Or something.”

“So we see them, but they don’t see us. Or they’re not really looking. Most of them.”

“Yeah, exactly. And maybe…” She trails off.

“Maybe?” I say.

“Maybe it’s like, you get away from the house. You do, eventually. Turn and embrace the night. But every once in a while, maybe a car drives by. And its headlights are shining through the dark, reminding you of that particular kind of light of your old house, that forgotten kind. And even though the night is far more beautiful, far more luminous and expansive than the man-made three-dimensional home ever was, maybe when we remember it, we get nostalgic, curious because of what it activates in us from memory. We lift our heads, so to speak, and think what is that, and think we should walk toward it. Maybe … like the radio signals…”

“Beings like us,” I say. “We catch their attention by…”

My shining boy.

“Shining.”

She nods. “Maybe our headlights just, for some reason, shine a little to the other side. Our signals sometimes just get a little crossed.”

I take this in. And it feels … right.

And I’m not alone in it. For the first time.

I squeeze her hand once more, Hannah.

We are speeding through the snow, through an unknown world, to face someone I never thought I would again.

And yet, still, the ache in my chest is something I want, for once.

The radio goes to static, then back to the song. Hannah Lawrence’s hand, warm and solid in mine. Like it was always here, and I just had to reach out and take hold of it.

“And…” I say, now picking up her train of thought. The two of us in sync, connected now. Maybe forever. I hope forever. I hear it almost perfectly. “Maybe they’re shining back, in the only way they can.”





2



It should take two and a half hours to get to Sterling Correctional Facility, but with the snow, it’s longer. Hannah doesn’t roll down the windows. She wears the nose plug again, but she’s relaxed. A little more settled in herself. I’ve never been out here. Have always known it was where Calvin was, so have avoided it. Like so much.

It’s a problem, trying to get into a prison. Having to show ID, having to get the prisoner to sign off on visitation, scheduling it ahead of time, being in the logs and on the cameras. Except I have one idea. One card I’ve known I had for a long time that I haven’t ever had a reason to play.

I pick up the phone and call the prison, ask for a guy I haven’t seen in years. Tom Banks, one of the security guards. They put me through, and I ask him to call me back on this number from his cell.

“Stansfield. It’s so good to hear from you. How are you?”

I hesitate. “I have a major favor to ask,” I say.

I test with my sense in the other-space again, decide to tell the truth. We need to get in, and there can’t be a record. We need to talk to the prisoner without his approval. But all of this could get Tom into a major shitstorm of trouble.

“I’m so sorry to ask,” I say. “I wouldn’t if I had any other way.”

“Stansfield, I’ve owed you for so long. If I can help with anything, I’ve got you.”

I tell him what I need. He agrees.

I hang up, grip the wheel tighter.

“What did you do to get that kind of loyalty?” Hannah asks.

I take a breath, put on my blinker to take the exit. “Long time ago, when I was good at my job. His son was kidnapped on a road trip at a rest stop, taken across state lines.”

“And you found him.”

I swallow, hold myself steady. As we drive toward the prison.

Past all the ghosts, all the echoes of life on earth. Millions of years, the rise and fall of apex predators, of eras and species.

“This is it, I guess,” I say. And Hannah grips me tighter.

Out in the snow-covered landscape sits the imposing geometric complex, the large sign in front, American and Colorado flags behind it.

We’re here.

I pull into the lot and through the snow, park and open the door before I can convince myself not to. The cold’s barely hitting. I’m nervous. I’m so fucking nervous. Thirty-four years old, and the idea of seeing my old man is far more terrifying to me than a world full of ghosts. Hannah walks close to me, presses in against my side. We skirt around a ghost wolf, lingering near the entrance. I don’t know the rules, don’t know if it matters if we touch them or not. Don’t know if they can hurt us. But of course they can. They have, haven’t they?