I rolled my eyes. "Why are their kids everywhere I turn. Please, leave me alone."

  "I can't do that."

  Pointing as I walked toward him, I yelled, "Get out."

  His eyes widened and he popped out of his seat. "You need to listen to me."

  He slid one row over, but I pushed a desk out of my way so I could catch him.

  He held up his hands. "Whoa, you're mad. I understand, but—"

  "You have no idea. I'm tired and I don't have time for your shit."

  He smiled as he backed away from me, which made me more annoyed. He jumped over another row of seats and ran out.

  I grabbed all my crap and stuffed it into my bag. I stalked out of the school in a huff, moving away quickly.

  Peter was waiting and followed after me. "I need to talk to you."

  "Go home and... go scare some other people. God, why are you doing this?"

  He caught up with me. "Do you know who that man was?"

  "Bankward, who works at the bank," I grunted. "Don't make a pun joke."

  "See? That's what I'm trying to explain to you. You have no idea who he is, what he does. Matt, stop!"

  I stopped and turned to him, wanting nothing more than to drop to the ground. I'd never been so exhausted. My whole body ached, but I kept myself on my feet. "What I do know is that when you come around my life takes an even deeper downward spiral."

  Peter lowered his eyes as he turned his face away. "He's the elder of the town."

  "You mean like the mayor?"

  "No, Christian, this is Middwood, the backwoods. He's an elder. He owns the bank. He owns the town.”

  I paused for a second, maybe more. I frowned. "So?"

  "He came here to fire you."

  My heart sank, and I could taste Peter's bitter truth in my mouth. "I deserve it. If I had my car, I would be out of here."

  "If you had a car that’s what I'd be telling you to do, but you don't, so you are in danger."

  "In danger?" I said dismissively.

  Peter looked at me with wide eyes. "He runs the town, and when there is a problem that Frank can't handle Bankward steps in. Bankward hates stepping in, and he's an asshole. However, you, you broke not one, but two of the town rules last night. Not only that, you also made every kid in Middwood break them, too."

  "So, what does that mean? I have to say a few Hail Marys, walk backward in the moonlight? Why is everyone batshit crazy? I mean what are they going to do, kill me?"

  Peter thrust his fingers from his temples toward me. "Yes, finally, you understand! When people break the rules, they end up dead."

  "Oh." I faltered. "Wait. Are you serious?"

  "Come on, man. I thought teachers were smart. When you go into Bankward's office you need to act like none of it was explained to you, get on your knees, offer your first born, suck his—"

  "I get it."

  "Do you?" Peter crossed his arms and did the one hand thing. "You seem to be taking it lightly."

  "Well, I haven't slept since I got here and I'm a bit... out of it."

  "Well stop by the Bucket, down a coffee, then go see Bankward. Just kiss his ass and don't be a jerk. Blame it all on me."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm a troublemaker and I can handle the consequences."

  "I'm not going to drag you into this."

  "Don't worry about me."

  "You broke the rules too, and I don't want you to get punished."

  "Doesn't matter. I'll explain all of that later. Go."

  I took a few deep breaths as I stepped away from the boy. If Bankward killed me, no one would come looking for me. I swatted that thought away. That was insane. If Bankward fired me I wouldn't have anywhere to sleep. Worst of all, I'd be outside with them, the ghosts.

  "This isn't another trick, is it? To make me look stupid?"

  Peter put his hands on my shoulders. "No. I promise."

  "But—"

  "I swear. I don't want you to get hurt."

  For some reason, I believed him. If nothing else, I knew Middwood was a backwoods town and that I shouldn't put anything past the locals. Fear grew inside me as I decided to trust Peter.

  "Okay. Okay." I walked away already planning the conversation with Bankward. I stopped and turned. "Hey, thanks for the ..." I motioned my index finger to him, then back to me.

  "What are friends for?" he grinned.

  Once I was out of Peter's line of sight, I broke into a steady jog down the hill. Not only did I need to pump some blood to my brain, but I also needed to get to the bank, and fast.

  50

  Once I got to the bottom of the hill, I crawled. At first I thought I was itchy from sweating despite it being full fall weather, but I wasn't cold. The top of my shoulders ached.

  My brow scowled in furrowed contemplation. I stopped. What was bothering me?

  I took a break from the puzzle as a dark car sped down the highway. It was going fast and weaving just enough to make me step farther onto the shoulder. As the car got closer, my heart rate picked up.

  Move, move, my mind repeated over and over, racing with images of an event blurring so fast I couldn't make them out.

  In complete juxtaposition to what was going on in my head, my feet sidestepped even farther away from the highway, closer to the railroad tracks. My eyes were fascinated by the blue car like it was the first I'd ever seen. My brain simply repeated the word like it was the only word I knew, Car, car, car, car.

  I braced to feel the breeze of exhaust fumes, but instead of passing the car pulled into the shoulder, the rocks beating against its bottom like drunken curses. My feet continued to side-step as the vehicle corrected back into its lane, continuing its flight down the road. I caught a glimpse of the couple in the car, who appeared to be arguing while staring directly at me.

  I followed the car with my eyes for at least half a mile as it continued down the road.

  There was a pop inside my mind and what felt like a caffeine rush pulsed through me. I broke into a sprint. I had to get to my meeting with Bankward, but more than that, I needed to get off the highway.

  51

  At Keeper's Bridge, I slowed to a jog and looked over my shoulder at the empty highway. Still uneasy, I stopped. Closing my eyes, I listened for the sound of the angry car but heard only the rustle of a light breeze and the burbling of Looney Creek. I let out a sigh of relief and shed one layer of worry from my shoulders.

  I dipped my head, wiped the sweat from my brow, and launched into another jog. Eddie watched me, but when I looked up to explain about the crazy driver, I was met with cold, stern eyes. Eddie held his hand up like a pistol and kept his aim on me as I crossed the bridge. I didn't stop moving, I couldn't. I didn't even allow myself to consider it. Instead, I focused my attention forward like a robot and continued to the bank. One fire at a time.

  I turned left, and in the middle of Main Street on the left, I came to Middwood Bank. I paused outside. I didn't want to appear too out of breath when I met with Bankward.

  The bank's architecture appeared to be like some of the buildings I'd seen in books from the 1920s. The exterior was decorated with brick, wood, and mudstone. It had three large, plate-glass windows with pillars between each. The upper story had gabled dormers.

  I walked through an offset entryway into the main lobby. My hard-soled shoes echoed through the cavernous space.

  A young man came to greet me. "Yes, sir, how may I help you?" he asked, eying me with some suspicion.

  "Matt Christian here to see Mr. Bankward, please."

  "Oh. You. Wait here," he instructed, then went to a stairwell to the left of the teller line.

  I tried to shake off his dismissive attitude. I swallowed hard and readied myself to go in. I had no problem kissing a bit of ass. Pride is for men who make more money than I do. I had to appear confident in front of the scary Mr. Bankward.

  There were three teller windows with curved, brick adornments above each. I was admiring the copper plates on the walls when the young man cleared his throat behind me. "This way."

  He led me up a stairwell that displayed more copper plates. Fancy.

  At the top of the stairs, there was only one room. I was ushered in through the heavy, wooden doors and directed to take a seat.

  Bankward's office was grand, the doors, the floor, and the furniture all made of rich wood. All together they gave the room a false warmth.

  I sat alone in one of the two upholstered chairs facing his massive desk. I peered out the arched window to my left that looked down on Main Street. In front of the window stood an upright Zenith stereo with an open box of records beside it.

  I wish I had that at the house, I thought.

  To the right was a bookshelf that only housed two or three books. I strained to read the titles, but with my eyes and smudged glasses, it wasn't going to happen. Since I was already in the shit, I didn't want to look like I was snooping around.

  Next to the stereo I spotted the crowning jewel of Bankward's office: a floating coal deposit on a two-foot-tall granite base. Of course, it wasn't floating, but the three thin metal rods boring into the rock from the base gave it that illusion. The inscription read, "Coal, The Official State Mineral of Kentucky."

  My back was to the door of his office, and I didn't like that. I turned around in my chair to watch the door, playing nervously with my beard. The wait felt like an eternity, and my neck was starting to kink due to all my craning.

  I returned my eyes to the Zenith. There was a light-green, forty-five-rpm vinyl leaning against the box of records. Since I had moved to Middwood, I hadn't heard any recorded music.

  I got out of my chair and crouched in front of the record box. Zero Records was the biggest print on it, followed by Loretta Lynn.

  The door behind me opened.

  I straightened. "Mr. Bankward."

  Eying me and pointing to the record, "Are you a fan of Honky Tonk Girl?" his tone was steady.

  "I-I was just looking," I stuttered.

  He walked past me, rounded his desk, and sat. "She was born and raised in Kentucky. She's a talent."

  "Mr. Bankward," I sank into my chair giving my best humble tone. "I just wanted to apologize for earlier. If you had come any other day, you would've seen I manage my class quite well."

  By the amused look he tried to mask with his developed poker face, I could tell he saw straight through my bullshit. "You don't say," he scratched the edge of his nose with his pinky finger.

  "The students are already showing improvement in their writing and arithmetic. It's just we had a student, Peter Janowski. He showed up and—"

  He was stern. "You can't let one student disrupt your class, Matt."

  "No, sir, of course not, but he started in on some nonsense about ghosts and Joshua Johnson, and the class became hysterical."

  "You don't say." Mr. Bankward searched my face for signs of something, but I did not know what. After a brief moment, he continued, "Well, stories of ghosts are popular in Middwood."

  "I don't believe in ghosts."

  "You don't?" he asked intrigued.

  "No, sir."

  "Well, Matt, real or unreal, the town has a certain way that it runs, and you are to abide by that. Whether or not you believe in ghosts, you are to follow the town rules." He paused and cocked an eyebrow at me. "Franklin did tell you about the town rules, right?"

  I nodded.

  He folded his arms on his desk. "What are the rules, Matt? Please, recite them for me."

  I cleared my throat.

  "No, stand up and do it. It will be like a lesson; I'll be the teacher, and you be the student."

  Hot blood flushed my face as I rose out of my chair. Maybe the bastard would like for me to get on my knees and lick his boots, too.

  "Never turn your back on an open window. Never go out after dark or before the sun comes up. And ...run if you're out after dark."

  He narrowed his eyes. "What's the third rule?"

  "If it's dark and you're out, run home?"

  "That's not the third rule." He narrowed his eyes. "Who told you that rule?"

  "Scarlet."

  "Scarlet?" he asked with raised eyebrows. "When did Scarlet teach you the rule."

  "Last night."

  "Last night? So, you lied to me? Franklin didn't teach you the rules?"

  I'd rather take a pounding than listen to this man, but my conversation with Peter about me being in danger came forward in my mind, not to mention he had me by the balls when it came to my job. "I didn't lie. Mr. Mullis told me the first two. Scarlet told me the third."

  "There. Franklin only told you the first two rules." He nodded. "Now I understand."

  "Yes, sir."

  "But still, you knew the first two, and you disobeyed them?"

  "Yes, sir. I was trying to instill responsibility in the children. See, I assigned homework and the children—"

  He waved a dismissive hand through the air. "I'll save you the breath, Mr. Christian. I don't care what you assigned or what they did or didn't do. Are we clear?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He pressed his palms on the top of his highly polished desk and stood. "You damn well better be. ’Cause if anything happens to my Allison or any of those kids because some big-city idea comes to your small-as-shit brain, then I will beat your ass into the dirt, and you better hope I don't come alone."

  With small nods, I stayed silent as I took in his words.

  "Good." Bankward straightened, then opened his arms and gave a smile like I'd just walked in to ask for a loan. "But listen, you can avoid all of that by just following the rules."

  I sat quietly, and for whatever reason, I found my gaze on the floor between my shoes.

  "But, Matt—Matt, look at me."

  I met his gaze, trying to hide the anger in my eyes.

  "Matt, I know it's hard to understand, but you just need to realize that what you did last night pissed off the entire town, because it affected their children."

  I exhaled so hard I got dizzy. He was right. I screwed up. "I understand that now." I shook my head, pondering what to say next. I sighed. "I am sorry, Mr. Bankward. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to one of the children because of my own prideful stupidity."

  "You have those children one hour after sunrise to three o'clock. You are never to think or make decisions beyond your position. We won't have this conversation again. Are we clear?"

  "Yes, sir," I affirmed.

  He stared into me. "We'll start over and forget all about it. I'll have Franklin clean up his mess, and he'll take care of the town for you."

  I mouthed the words, but it made me heavy as lead to do so, "Thank you, Mr. Bankward."

  He grinned. "Great. I will be over in a few weeks to check in on you and your progress with the kiddies."

  He got up and went to his stereo. He picked up one of his records and then regarded me. "Have a good day. Class dismissed."

  "Yes. Thank you."

  I left Bankward's office with my ass chewed into pieces and stuffed into each pocket. Halfway down, Bankward turned on the Zenith, and heart-breaking country music poured down the stairs after me. Stepping into the lobby, the teller lines went silent. I tried to avoid the looks I got as I walked out. The clerk who had greeted me held his judgmental eyebrows high and his lips pursed.

  I was a grown man, but I had gotten in trouble and had been sent to the principal's office, and everyone knew it. No wonder there were no parents at the school waiting to talk to me earlier. Middwood had its own punishment system, and it was effective.

  Stop thinking, I told myself as I walked out and stared up at the steeple on the Methodist Church. The conversation with Bankward, the words of Mrs. Judy, Eddie, and the looks from the clerk looped in my head, churning with the events from the night before until I found myself working to hold in my screams.

  I shook myself when I heard Eddie yell out curses that were nearly drowned out by the roar of an engine. I turned to see the blue car cutting across the little parking lot and heading straight for me. I quickly stepped back into the bank and watched through the glass door as the car rocked to a halt and a tall, slim man with barely any hair barreled his way to the bank's entrance.

  Everything slowed down, and I became aware of seconds that seemed to hold on and stretch before they diminished into nothing, only to be replaced by another second. The man's feral growling, his skewed demeanor was unnerving. I focused on the object gripped in his curled arm: a rock. The stone resembled the shape and size of a human heart. The projectile left his hand and tumbled in the air. My chest pumped—upper chambers, lower chambers. Me, and everything around me, remained nearly frozen.

  As the rock got closer to me, my focus moved to one side of it, where a painted white cross flashed.

  52

  The shattered glass of the door rang in my ears for several minutes after the rock connected with me, the impact sending me backward until I collided with the cold, smooth floor. My face burned.

  Time resumed and gasps and screams from behind me echoed through the lobby. I touched my cheek to feel where I'd been hit. The left side of my face felt flat from the blow, but after a few touches, I found my cheek merely gashed. A mineral taste filled my mouth, and the top row of my teeth were in the most excruciating pain.

  “Oh, shit," I groaned.

  The broken glass door to the bank opened, and a pair of dark shoes approached me. I expected to look up and see the crazed man, but was instead met with the wide-mouthed shock of the pharmacist, Bill Self. The pain dug into my gums, and I had trouble pronouncing my words. I pointed to my face with pissed determination.

  Self gawked at me. "Holy grits!"

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "You just had the shit knocked out of you, son. That's what happened. Are you okay?"

  "I-I don't know."

  "Come on, let's get you off the floor." He called to someone behind us. "Call the sheriff."

  "Yes, sir," an effeminate man's voice answered. It must have been the snooty clerk.

  "Tell him it was Gary Shindle."

 

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