Crossroads

by Laurel Hightower

The voice came from over her left shoulder, where it always was—where he always was, but she wasn’t going to look.

The voice came from over her left shoulder, where it always was—where he always was, but she wasn’t going to look.

But this cross, here in the hollow where her only son’s life had ended, this felt closer to him.

But this cross, here in the hollow where her only son’s life had ended, this felt closer to him.

Her favorite time of year. At least it used to be. Before.

Her favorite time of year. At least it used to be. Before.

See you tomorrow, kiddo.” “I’ll be here.”

See you tomorrow, kiddo.” “I’ll be here.”

Trey, no seat belt, was launched through the shattered windshield, neck broken on impact with the tree his cross now stood under.

Trey, no seat belt, was launched through the shattered windshield, neck broken on impact with the tree his cross now stood under.

That it can be you. That one day, one night, you might get that call.

That it can be you. That one day, one night, you might get that call.

his pit mix, Tootsie,

his pit mix, Tootsie,

The cat was a stray Trey had brought home four years before. He found her, sopping wet and almost too small to survive, on the site of a construction gig he’d worked that summer.

The cat was a stray Trey had brought home four years before. He found her, sopping wet and almost too small to survive, on the site of a construction gig he’d worked that summer.

The cat purred while she ate, with a gratitude unusual in her species.

The cat purred while she ate, with a gratitude unusual in her species.

She wasn’t going to go through life uncomfortable, and the baking made her happy.

She wasn’t going to go through life uncomfortable, and the baking made her happy.

when she saw a shadow move through her kitchen window.

when she saw a shadow move through her kitchen window.

and she recognized her ex-husband’s aftershave.

and she recognized her ex-husband’s aftershave.

“You’re only supposed to use the key in case of emergency,”

“You’re only supposed to use the key in case of emergency,”

She was a counselor, though she usually refrained from wielding it against her family.

“You still get those dreams?” he asked, his expression softened. He was back on safer ground now, their shared history, the small things he still knew about her from the time before everything hurt so much.

Chris had dreamed for years now of suffocation, of sliding beneath a soft surface of dirt and dying as the air was pressed from her lungs.

Because he was standing there. In the pool of castoff light from the streetlamp that stood at the front-most edge of her yard. His hands dug into the pockets of his sagging jeans, hair sliding over his eye. He was real, and solid, and he was smiling up at her.

Chris had always loved ghost stories, and she was a sucker for books and movies about the supernatural.

primary among them being the realization that her son’s voice hadn’t returned.

How could her own mind close her out of the fantasy she needed to survive?

If Chris had to face the knowledge head on that her son was dead, she would drop to her knees and give up.

“A crossroads demon?”

She’d cut herself, she remembered, and it was her blood that had sparked the internal conversation with Trey.

but they’d wilted quickly, and somehow had added to the depression of the place.

She tried not to feel like she was burying him again, but somehow, she did.

the one that held the locks from his first haircut, and several of his baby teeth.

She stared down the barrel of years of that silence and wished for the courage to end her own life.

she took the kitchen knife, one of the nice ones Beau had left her when he moved out, sharpened and ready. She began to draw the blade down her arm, not across, as she knew from countless television shows and books, and had seen firsthand at a few fatalities. She started strong, the blade biting deep into the flesh just below her elbow, but it hurt more than she expected. She gasped and stopped, mesmerized by the sheet of crimson that rolled down her arm.

Fuck

She looked back when she heard the leaves rustling behind her.

She went to the window, and there he was.

He cocked his head, lifted his arm, and patted it in the same place she’d cut herself. His forehead wrinkled and his mouth turned down.

The next day was the anniversary. Two years since she got the call that would forever change her life. Terrified but focused, because at that point there’d still been hope—they hadn’t found him yet.

and had time to bind her bleeding ankle before dinner.

For the next six weeks, Chris’s world was bliss. Each day, she’d go to work, stop by the cross to make her offering, spend her evening with Dan and Tootsie, then be up in the small hours for her nightly visit with Trey.

He’d been appearing at the same time every night, like clockwork, but then he was a minute late. Then two, then five.

He looked paler, thinner; less substantial. And his demeanor was...she didn’t want to say sullen, because that wasn’t it, not quite. But he wasn’t happy, and their interactions became touchier.

“Darlin’, you cut yourself more than anyone I know. You training with throwing stars over there, or what?”