Chapter 3.21: The Only Other Thing He Cares About

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June 16, 11:31 am

Pil stirred from a nightmare so painful that he struggled to keep it from his waking mind. The dream quickly fled, but he couldn’t banish the tears on his cheek, the image of Michelle’s terrified face as she went up in flames, or the sensation that a brutal vice was clamped onto his heart. With a gasp, he forced his eyes open, and the room swam into focus. And as it did, the reality of Michelle’s death threatened to crush him again with its cruel weight. For several minutes, all he could do was wait for that anguish to pass and search desperately for a reason to go on.

He looked down, and he found it.

Thankfully, Keith was sleeping deeply, his head on Pil’s lap, and no traces of tortured dreams clouded his round face.

Thank god for the Oxy, Pil thought. He considered taking one himself, but the desire quickly passed. It was up to him now to get himself and Keith out of this. It would be what Michelle would want of him.

He gently stroked his friend’s hair, and in his sleep, Keith’s hands flexed, as if he was trying to grasp something ethereal.

Slowly, Pil became aware of hushed voices drifting through the hall. At first he thought he was hearing a conversation in the dining room, but then he realized it wasn’t a conversation. You can’t call something a conversation where there is only one voice. It was more like overhearing one side of a telephone call. And even though he couldn’t hear any words clearly, the tone of Howard’s whispering was enough to cause him a rush of anxiety that gathered in his shoulders and refused to leave.

He gently dislodged himself from under Keith’s sleeping form, being careful to put a pillow under his head and not bump his friend’s burned arms. But he was sleeping soundly, and didn’t stir. Clearly, half of an OxyContin had been enough, combined with his general state of exhaustion, to put him out for the count. He paused for a long moment to linger on Keith’s peaceful face and wished that he could just stay there with him. But something was going on in the dining room, and every instinct he had told him it was important that he get in there. As gently as he was able, he eased himself off the couch. Keith moaned, but did not awaken.

Quietly, Pil crept out of the living room, but some deep foreboding made him hold back in the shadows of the hallway, listening. Through the open door he could see Howard’s back as he stood at the dining room table. But the boy’s gaze was darting back and forth as he engaged in the conversation with Billy and Richard.

Pil had finally accepted that the two ghosts were truly there. Michelle had believed Howard from the first, and had put her trust in this strange boy. But Pil hadn’t wanted to believe that what Richard’s murderer was saying could be true. And even though he had originally railed against him, Pil now knew that Michelle had been right, and Howard could be trusted. He had gotten them back here safely, when neither he nor Keith were in any condition to take care of themselves.

Pil listened, finally able to peek into the dining room and hear what Howard was saying. But it didn’t feel like eavesdropping at all. It was more like peering in at an inmate of an insane asylum, watching him arguing with his imaginary friends. The boy in Richard’s big shirt was so worked up that Pil didn’t worry that he would turn and see him standing in the hallway. And based on the intensity of the conversation, it wasn’t likely that either of the two ghosts would notice him either.

“Absolutely fucking not, Richard,” Howard was saying. “The answer is no! There is no way I’m letting anybody back into my head. You have no idea what that’s like. I’m not doing it. I don’t care if this whole fucking city burns. I’m just not!”

Pil chewed on that in his mind for a second. So the two of them are trying to convince Howard to let himself be possessed again? Why in God’s name would they want him to do such a thing? He didn’t blame the boy for being angry. Like Howard, Pil knew exactly how much of a violation possession was.

“And besides,” Howard went on, sounding as if he was trying desperately to get his emotions under control. “Right now, my priority is protecting those two men out there. It’s what you asked me to do. To get Keith out of here. I’m still going to do that. It’s what I was trying to do before everything went to shit. I failed at the gas station, and now Michelle’s dead, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. And that’s another reason I can’t abandon them. Richard, I can’t save this city, but I can save these two. I can save Keith. Be fucking grateful for that.”

Pil felt his throat closing up at the mention of Michelle, and how Howard blamed himself for her death. His first impulse was to rush into the room and reassure the boy that he didn’t blame him for what had happened. But something kept him firmly rooted in place, continuing to listen.

“You and Billy go to Dugway,” Howard said, “if that’s what you want to do. When you get there, find somebody else to use. Hopefully, a soldier with a gun. But you’re staying out of my fucking head.”

All at once, Howard’s agitation quieted, and he turned to his right shoulder, as if he was looking at one of the two ghosts, who had spoken to him softly. The boy smiled.

“It’s okay, Richard. After killing you, I think it’s the least I can do,” he said.

Pil felt for Howard in that moment, so tormented by the guilt of what he had been forced to do, that he was now committing to save him and Keith, almost out of penance. Michelle had definitely been right about the boy’s character. Pil didn’t think that he’d have that much strength and courage, had the shoe been on the other foot.

It was at that moment that the one-sided conversation went off the rails.

Pil could tell that something serious had shifted—not because of anything Howard said, but just because of the demeanor the boy was projecting. Indeed, he didn’t even speak for the better part of a minute, but the anxiety and disgust that welled up in the boy’s body was shocking. And yet, not as shocking as what he said, when he finally spoke again.

“Richard, weren’t you listening to me?” Howard asked. “You have no idea how much of a violation it is to be possessed. I told you it feels like rape. It fucking is rape! Who knows how many times you’d have to possess Pil to make him into a medium? How could you do that to him?”

Pil’s vision went blurry.

Had he heard that correctly? Was Richard proposing to turn him into a medium? Howard had explained to them last night that the way this had happened to him was through multiple possessions by the ghost of Justin Kimball, and that it was something that almost never happened in the world of the dead. Becoming a medium was something that could only happen through the traumatic process of being possessed over and over again. Howard was convinced it had nearly destroyed him.

And now, Richard was proposing to do that to him?

He had no idea why Richard would propose such a thing, but it infuriated him, and every uncharitable thought he’d ever had about Keith’s lover poured over and through him.

That son of a bitch, Pil fumed. That unmitigated, selfish bastard…

Pil cleared his throat and stepped into the doorway.

Howard turned around, looking like a deer caught in the headlights, and Pil took a single step forward and into the room. He knew that when he was angry, he could be a terrifying sight to behold, and he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he was as angry as he was in this moment. He just glared at Howard and then looked about the boy at the empty room. Part of him wanted to grab Howard’s crowbar, which was lying across the table, and take his best shot at where he thought Richard might be. Even though he knew that doing so would accomplish nothing more than sending the bastard back to the living room behind him.

“What the fuck did I just hear?” Pil asked, his jaw clenched so tightly that he thought his teeth might crack. He was vaguely aware that his right hand was flexing into a fist, over and over again, as he glared at the boy.

“Uh, Pil… Try to stay calm,” Howard said, looking around him as if he hoped the two invisible presences would somehow come to his aid.

“Don’t fucking look at them, Howard,” Pil growled, stepping into the room. “I’m right here. I want you to look into my eyes, and tell me exactly what the hell they are telling you they want to do.”

Howard sank heavily onto the table behind him, leaning back on the dark wood surface. Pil could tell that he was inching one hand behind him, just in case he needed the tire iron to protect himself. And that gesture made him even angrier.

“Okay, I’ll explain,” Howard said, and Pil could tell that he was trying desperately to ignore the other two voices that were yelling at him right now. “Shut up, Richard,” Howard finally said, lifting a hand up to his left. “Just be quiet and let me tell Pil what you were… suggesting.”

Slowly, Howard took a breath and began.

“Richard is suggesting that you and Keith would be safer if one of you were able to see the ghosts. That you could protect yourself—and Keith—better, if you were a medium.”

“Like you?” Pil hissed.

“Yes, like me.”

“And just how is that working out for you, Howard?” Pil asked. Thankfully, he felt his rage peaking, and beginning to decline. If it hadn’t, he might have done something he would later seriously regret.

“That’s what I’ve been telling them, Pil. It’s not something they have any right to ask. And it’s not something they should expect anybody to do… And Richard, would you fucking shut up!”

The sudden burst of anger from the boy warmed Pil. Somebody needed to put that invisible, self-righteous bastard in his place.

“I agree, Richard. Just shut the fuck up and let Howard talk. I can’t see you, and I can’t hear you, and if I could, I’d probably have a hard time not punching you in the fucking face. So just shut up.”

The entire room was silent for several heartbeats. Finally, Howard cleared his throat and pointed to a chair at the end of the table. “Uh, Pil, Billy suggests you take a few breaths, and sit down…”

“I’m fine here.”

“Okay.”

But Pil heeded Billy’s advice and took a few breaths to calm himself before continuing. “So, Howard, I heard you say that you were committed to taking us out of this city. Getting us to safety. Thank you for that. And I also want you to know I don’t blame you for what happened to Michelle. You did everything you could to protect us, and…” his anger was still simmering, but the sudden mention of Michelle’s name had brought his grief up to a level that almost eclipsed it. “…and we’ll always be grateful to you.”

Howard looked at the floor, embarrassed.

“Now, just so I understand this,” Pil continued, once he got his voice under control, “why is Richard proposing that he make me a medium? After you agreed to take us out of the city. Why does he think I need to be one too?”

Howard started slowly.

“Pil, you know that what is happening here, in this city, is because of… somebody. A ghost. A particularly powerful one.”

“Drouillard,” Pil said.

“Yes, George Drouillard. The Wanderer. Billy and Richard, and an old woman I haven’t met named Tuilla, they’re convinced that he has inhabited a body, and that he’s stuck in it. And that if somebody can kill that body, then Drouillard will be pulled into… whatever is beyond… along with that soul. And that just maybe, that will stop what is going on here.”

“So, the morality of all that aside, what’s stopping them from doing it?”

“Well, a couple of things. The first is that they’re ghosts, and they can’t affect the world of the living. So they need a living person to do it, or Richard needs to possess somebody. I told them I’d be glad to kill Drouillard, but I can’t, because I need to protect Keith. To help get the two of you out of town.”

Pil put together the pieces in his mind. Richard and Billy wanted Howard to kill Drouillard, and the only way they could get him to go with them and do that would be to convince him that Keith would be safe with another medium.

With him.

He could imagine Richard’s thought process, and what galled him was that the man wasn’t wrong. He knew Pil was bigger and stronger than Howard, and so more likely to be able to rip apart any ghost that was threatening Keith. And maybe Richard no longer believed that Howard could protect them, since he had failed at the gas station. Even more logical, if craven perhaps, was Richard’s thought that he’d rather have Pil with only one person to protect, rather than Howard, who would have two. It all made perfect sense from Richard’s perspective. But it was still a pathetic, selfish thing. And in that, it was classic Richard Pratt. He had always sensed that the man would do anything to get what he wanted, no matter if it meant that other people had to suffer.

His disgust and hatred of Richard Pratt flared anew.

“Howard,” Pil said, his voice steady. “Can you point out to me, please, exactly where Richard is standing?”

Howard blanched, and Pil knew he was calculating whether Pil would leap at the man if he knew where he was. But slowly, he gestured to his left, to a spot near the end of the table.

Pil quietly turned and closed the door to the dining room, hoping that what he was about to say wouldn’t wake up Keith in the next room. Then he turned and walked slowly up to the empty spot of air Howard had indicated. He could sense nothing of the man there, although he wished he could. At this moment, he wanted to speak directly to Richard’s face, not some empty spot of air.

“Are you aware, Richard,” he began slowly, “that Michelle is dead?”

The empty air didn’t answer.

“Have you given even a moment’s thought to that? This was Michelle. She was Keith’s best friend. She knew him in high school, and I venture to say she knew him, and loved him, far better than anybody else in his life, and that fucking includes you. Michelle was my wife, and I loved her. And she loved Keith. And she was fucking killed by something that, as far as I can tell, you might have put into motion.”

“Richard says…” Howard began.

“Richard, I told you to shut the fuck up,” Pil said, without turning to look at Howard. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m not here to listen to you. Right now, you need to listen to me. And you need to hear me.” Pil took a deep breath.

“Richard, you are a fucking selfish piece of shit. I never had any idea what the hell Keith saw in you. Keith is one of the sweetest, kindest, and most gentle men I have ever known, and he adored you with every cell of his body. He still does, as far as I can tell, and I know that he always will. But to my mind, you have been nothing more than a user. You might have loved him, but you always loved yourself far more, and you made everything in your life with Keith about what you wanted. We all supported Keith because he loved you so much, but you need to know that to Michelle, and to me to, you were pathetic. You never deserved him. And you still don’t.”

Pil could feel Howard looking at him now, as if he was trying to decide whether to relay what Richard was saying, but Pil put his big hand out and pointed at Howard’s chest.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Howard. I’m not done.”

Howard subsided and put his head down.

“So have you even taken a minute to wonder how the death of Michelle has affected Keith? Or how it has affected me? Or are you just so concerned about this little war game you and Billy are playing that you can’t take the time to even wonder? Just how is it, you selfish son-of-a-bitch, that you’d suggest putting me through what Howard has been through, just hours after losing my fucking wife? How can you even think it is your fucking right to even consider it?”

He half expected Howard to interrupt, but the boy was still just looking at the floor.

“What Howard told you is absolutely right. I don’t give a fuck about your little war. I don’t even, really, give a fuck about what happens in this city. This thing has already taken from me the one person who meant more to me than anything else in the world. And what it has left me is…” His voice failed, and for a long moment, he tried to make the next words come out. But they wouldn’t.

“What it has left me is… The only other thing I care about.”

“Keith,” Howard whispered. But Pil wasn’t sure if it was him speaking, or him repeating Richard.

“Yes, Keith,” he said, finally. He found he could no longer stare into that empty spot of space. He felt Richard’s invisible eyes on him, and he turned away.

“Yes. The only thing I care about now is Keith. And keeping him safe. And getting him out of this nightmare. And I can feel your eyes on me, Richard. And I don’t care in the least whether you’re feeling fucking jealous or displaced or angry or happy. Because I don’t care about you in the least. I never really have. But I have always… loved Keith. And if I’m going to have any reason to live after this thing is over, it’s going to be because I got him out of here.”

Howard stood up and walked over to him. He could sense the boy standing silently beside him, as if he wanted to put a hand on his arm, or even hug him. But he didn’t, and for that, Pil was grateful.

After a few moments of silence, Howard whispered, “Richard would like me to say…”

“I told you, Howard, I don’t care what Richard wants. And I don’t want to hear what he has to say. So just butt out.” Pil finally took that chair that Howard had offered when he first came into the room and put his head in his hands, staring at the floor.

“I’ll do what you ask. But not for you, Richard. I’ll do it for Keith. As far as I’m concerned, Keith is worth it, and he may be the only thing in this city that is. I’ll do whatever I can to keep him safe. But Richard, you need to understand that I blame you for all of this. For everything that is happening. Keith never wanted anything except for a quiet, happy life. Richard, you’ve stolen that from him. I’m taking Keith out of here to keep him safe. And if I have anything to say about it, we’ll never come back. And Richard, you can go to hell. Literally.”

Now Howard did touch him. He came around in front of Pil, and knelt at his feet, looking up into the big man’s face, and put a hand on his knee. There was an acceptance there that surprised Pil, as if the rant he had just finished had done more to change the boy than either of the two invisible presences in the room.

“Pil, are you sure? This isn’t going to be easy. You know what it’s like to be possessed. It’s a brutal thing. And there is no way to know how many times Richard will have to do it before you become… like me. Before you become a medium.”

“I understand,” Pil said simply.

After a moment, Howard spoke again. “And Billy wants to make sure you understand one more thing. If you become a medium, you’ll never again be anything else. It’s permanent. You’ll live between the world of the dead and the living, forever. Billy wants to make sure that your heart is ready for that.

Pil’s eyes swelled. “Could it mean I’d see Michelle again?”

Howard looked up before replying. “Billy says no, that’s not likely. The chances she’ll return are slim.”

“But, there is a chance?”

Howard grabbed Pil’s hand. “Billy says yes. There is a chance. You should pray she doesn’t. But there is a chance.”

Pil was silent for a long time. But then put his big hand over Howard’s. He took a paper napkin off a holder in the center of the table and wiped his eyes.

“Then, tell them I’m ready,” Pil said.

The Last Handful of Clover is a supernatural thriller by Wess Mongo Jolley. Thanks for reading! If you are enjoying this story, please consider supporting the author on Patreon.

For more information (including maps of the story’s world and a contact form) visit the author’s website.

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