Dark Benediction

But he clammed up and refused to discuss anything about the matter. That night I awoke at two a.m. Something had made a sound. I stole out of bed without disturbing Cleo and went to prowl about the house. A glance down the stairway told me that no lights burned on the first floor. I went to Kenny’s room and gingerly opened the door. Blackness.

“Kenny—?”

No sound of breathing in the room. Quietly I struck a match.

The bed was empty.

“Kenny!” I bellowed it down the hall, and then I heard sounds—Cleo stirring to wakefulness and groping for clothes in our bedroom. I trotted downstairs and turned on lights as I charged from room to room.

He was not in the house. I found the back screen unlatched and went out to play a flashlight slowly over the backyard. There… by the hedge… caught in the cone of light… Kenny, crumpled over a garden spade.

Upstairs, Cleo screamed through the back window. I ran out to gather him up in my arms. Skin clammy, breathing shallow, pulse irregular—he muttered peculiarly as I carried him back to the house.

“Glad you found it… knew you’d find it… got me to the right time… when are we…?”

I got him inside and up to his room. When I laid him on the bed, a crudely drawn map, like a treasure map with an “X” and a set of bearings, fell from his pocket. I paused a moment to study it. The “X” was down by the fork in the creek. What had been buried there?

I heard Cleo coming up the stairs with a glass of hot milk, and I returned the map to Kenny’s pocket and went to call the doctor.

When Kenny awoke, he looked around the room very carefully—and seemed disappointed by what he saw. “Expecting to wake up somewhere else?” I asked.

“I guess it was a dream,” he mumbled. “I thought they came early.”

“Who came early?”

But he clammed up again. “You’ll find out in about four months,” was all he’d say.

He wouldn’t last that long. The next day, Doc Jules ordered him to stay inside, preferably sitting or lying down most of the time. We were to carry him outside once a day for a little sun, but he had to sit in a lawn chair and not run around. Transfusions became more frequent, and finally there was talk of moving him to the hospital.

“I won’t go to the hospital.”

“You’ll have to, Kenny. I’m sorry.”

That night, Kenny slipped outside again. He had been lying quietly all day, sleeping most of the time, as if saving up energy for a last spurt.

Shortly after midnight, I awoke to hear him tiptoe down the hall. I let him get downstairs and into the kitchen before I stole out of bed and went to the head of the stairs. “Kenny!” I shouted. “Come back up here! Right now!” There was a brief silence. Then he bolted. The screen door slammed, and bare feet trotted down the back steps. “Kenny!”

I darted to the rear window, overlooking the backyard. “Kenny!”

Brush whipped as he dove through the hedge. Cleo came to the window beside me, and began calling after him.

Swearing softly, I tugged my trousers over my pajamas, slipped into shoes, and hurried downstairs to give chase. But he had taken my flashlight.

Outside, beneath a dim, cloud-threatened moon, I stood at the hedge, staring out across the meadow toward the woods. The night was full of crickets and rustlings in the grass. I saw no sign of him.

“Kenny!”

He answered me faintly from the distance. “Don’t try to follow me, Dad. I’m going where they can cure me.”

I vaulted the fence and trotted across the meadow toward the woods. At the stone fence, I paused to listen—but there were only crickets. Maybe he’d seen me coming in the moonlight, and had headed back toward the creek.

The brush was thick in places, and without a light, it was hard to find the paths. I tried watching for the gleam of the flashlight through the trees, but saw nothing. He was keeping its use to a minimum. After ten minutes of wandering, I found myself back at the fence, having taken a wrong turning somewhere. I heard Cleo calling me from the house.

“Go call the police! They’ll help find him!” I shouted to her.

Then I went to resume the search. Remembering the snap, and the “X” by the fork in the creek, I trotted along the edge of the pasture next to the woods until I came to a dry wash that I knew led back to the creek. It was the long way around, but it was easy to follow the wash; and after a few minutes I stumbled onto the bank of the narrow stream. Then I waded upstream toward the fork. After twenty yards, I saw the flashlight’s gleam and heard the crunch of the shovel in moist ground. I moved as quietly as I could. The crunching stopped.

Then I saw him. He had dropped the shovel and was tugging something out of the hole. I let him get it out be-tore I called…

“Kenny…”

He froze, then came up very slowly to a crouch, ready to flee. He turned out the flashlight.

“Kenny, don’t run away from me again. Stay there. I’m not angry.”

No answer.

“Kenny!”