Fiction
Fantasy
The evening sky faded through a few shades of orange as Tad rounded the last corner of wooded path behind his house. The trees on either side of him seemed to stretch like black fingers. His feet and legs were sore, but he wouldn’t show weakness in front of Chester. The doctor had warned of the slight bulge at his waistline, and one trip around that shaded jogging path each evening should do the trick.
“C’mon, Chess, almost there, old boy,” Tad teased the wheezing basset hound.
C’mon, old man, he thought with a labored smile, almost there. Tad looked up, glancing through a gap in the trees to the pale bungalow beyond. It’ll need some paint this summer. He stopped, stayed by a rumble deeper than Chester’s huffing and his own labored breath. Something growled. The breeze. Just the breeze. Tad quickened his trot out of the shade and across his back yard.
“Daddy, are there any tigers out there?” Andy lay in the middle of a sprawl of drawings; his collection of artwork had taken over the deck. The boy was too thin. Tad wished he could share some of his extra weight for the benefit of both.
“What? Out where, buddy?” Tad leaned on his knees and puffed to catch his breath.
“Behind the house. Out there, in the woods.” Andy pointed one pale finger toward the path.
Tad smiled, painting wrinkles around his eyes. “No way. No tigers. Not in the common ground.”
“Too bad. Maybe I should use a little more orange. The man said it would work.” Andy held up a bright crayon and went back to his coloring.
“What man?” The boy either hadn’t heard the question or chose to ignore it. Tad shook his head and squinted at the boy’s drawings for a moment before catching Chester in his arms and slipping inside.
“Did you have a nice jog?” Gina sat at the kitchen table, her brown wisps of hair tucked behind either ear. She held a letter in her hands and didn’t look up.
“It was more of a wog—y’know, walk-jog.” He frowned when she didn’t laugh at the joke. “What’s this talk about tigers?” Tad dropped the squirming dog to the ground; Chester scurried across the tile to his water dish. “He seems to be really obsessed with tigers.”
Gina gently laid the folded letter on the table as if she handled a delicate piece of crystal. “What now?”
“Tigers?”
Gina shook her head. “He’s been watching Animal Planet. Maybe we could take him to the zoo—”
“At least he isn’t drawing that strange man anymore.” Tad flicked on the faucet and filled a glass. “He mentioned him, though. Don’t you think he’s too old for that nonsense?” He took a sip.
Gina didn’t look at her husband as she shrugged her shoulders. “He’s not hurting anyone.” Her fingers crawled to the folded paper. “It’s a letter, from Nick,” Gina said, changing the subject. She shifted in her chair. “I’m worried about him…he sounds so distant. He is so far away.”
“He’s a Marine, babe.” Tad sat down across from her. “He has trained for this.”
Gina shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. “Both of my boys…”
Snuggled together on the living room couch, Gina read a chapter from The Hobbit to Andy. Tad scooped him off to bed, cradling the boy in his arms like a baby. Too easy to lift him, he thought. As his father tucked him under his blue comforter, Andy’s eyes flickered.
“Daddy, I added some orange…for my tiger…” The boy sighed and rolled toward the wall.
Tad sat on the bed for a moment, listening to the small sound of his son’s breath. His eyes roamed the bedroom, looking past Harry Potter posters and the picture of Andy with his big brother in Marine dress uniform. His tiger. Tad stood, walked to the desk, and picked up the drawing.
He had used a lot more orange. The tiger waited in a wooded scene, stalking in a dense stand of trees next to a path. Jagged, black trunks and branches came together as a sturdy cage for the big cat. The path looked a little like the jogging trail behind the house. Tad took another look at the boy’s face.
A week later, they drove to Kansas City for an appointment with Andy’s pediatric oncologist. After the check up, Andy read quietly in the waiting room while his parents met with the doctor. Dr. Whitlock leaned across his desk, shifting his gaze between Tad and Gina. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I’m sorry, really.” Both parents knew their boy was sick; neither was ready for the doctor’s prognosis.
“Chemo…again?” Tad’s voice floated away, vanishing with the whisper of cool air blown from the office vents. His eyes rose above the desk, scanning a wooded landscape painting on the wall. Something moved.
Gina shifted forward, clasping her hands in front of her. “This time…this time will it work? He gets so…weak…”
Dr. Whitlock shook his head. “I can’t say, Mrs. Brachtel. If you want a second opinion, please…”
A streak of brilliant orange snaked through the painting, but Tad forced his eyes away. He faced the doctor. “No. No, I—we trust your opinion, doctor.” He glanced back at the painting, but the woods were silent. “It’s just hard to see our boy in pain.”
Tad drove home while Gina dozed in the passenger seat and Andy slept in the back. He focused on the waving cone of light in front of the car, the light that led down familiar highways into their own town, their own neighborhood, and finally their own street. Kansas City is so far. Maybe we should get an apartment. Gina can stay with Andy.
Tad’s thoughts were arrested as he swung the car into their driveway, and noticed the house was dark. They always left one lamp glowing. He gently clicked the headlights off. A small light, a flashlight beam, danced inside the house. Tad nudged his wife.
“Gina, Gina.”
She roused, mumbling, “Are we there…?”
“Call the police, babe. Someone’s in the house.” Tad slipped quietly from the car as his wife reached after him.
“Don’t do something stupid,” she called.
He waved her off, crept to the front door. With heart hammering at his ribs, Tad pressed against the siding, watching the flashlight beam bounce. The police. The police will be here soon. A few minutes passed, icy and thick, slow like cooling tar. Sirens sounded. The back door slammed shut, and Tad tore inside, through the front door with its smashed lock. You’re not getting away.
Tad scurried through the house, yanked the back door open, and burst onto the deck. The hint of a dark form slipped into the common ground just before the trees burst with a blue and red wash. He turned and saw two police officers rush between his house and the neighbors.
“Stop, sir!” The first officer waved to him.
Tad obeyed, suddenly feeling very foolish.
Gina slipped around the corner behind the police and found her husband on the deck. “They were close…in the neighborhood. Mr. Warner had called in a suspicious man earlier.”
Tad leaned against the deck stairs, panting for breath. His eyes followed the tree line for a moment, watching the dance of police flashlights in the brush. “You and Andy should stay with the Haakes tonight,” he offered. Gina nodded, shivering.
While Gina returned to the car, Tad returned to the house, quickly gathering a few things in a duffle bag before checking Gina’s jewelry box, the spare cash drawer. Evidently the burglar had just entered the house when they pulled down the street, because all seemed as it should be. He dropped the bag in the trunk and slammed it shut.
“I’m going to stay…find out what happens.”
“Please…you didn’t listen to me earlier, don’t be a hero.”
Tad smiled. “Look, the cops are here. What harm could I do?”
The boy stirred in the back seat. “Don’t worry Dad…the tiger…the tiger will get him…” Andy’s voice was small, far away. Tad reached to the back seat and patted his son on the head.
“It’s just a formality, sir.” The officer held a clipboard stacked with white paper. “Just routine paperwork. You said nothing was gone?”
Tad shook his head. “Nothing. I think you surprised him before he had a chance to take anything.”
“Next time you should really wait for the police in your car, just to be safe.”
Tad rubbed his hands together and nodded. “Sorry…I don’t know why I felt compelled to do something.”
“He didn’t put up much of a fight. Muttered something about a mountain lion out there in the woods. Nuts. Between you and me, I bet his urine tests come back positive.” The policeman clicked his pen and slipped it into a pocket. “Anyway, thanks for your cooperation.”
Tad smiled, but his eyes were somewhere else. “Yeah...no problem.”
Andy’s chemotherapy started, and he stretched into a pale copy of a twelve-year-old boy. Tad fought hard to remember his son before cancer. “Tell me about your new pictures, buddy.” He shuffled though a pile of drawings, scanning for hints of orange. “You’ve drawn more tigers, I see.”
“No. Not more tigers, Dad. Only one. The same one. I’m sure he lives out there, in the woods.” Andy turned to the window. “He’s here to help us, protect us. I only wish I had enough orange for another…for Nick.”
Tad noticed the box of crayons on the desk. The orange sat on top, and it had been worn to a minute nub. “Maybe we can buy some more, buddy. We could all use a little protection now and then, huh?” Tad forced a smile, kissed his son on the forehead, and slipped out of the room.
He found Gina at the kitchen table. Her fingers wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate and brought the steaming beverage to her lips. Tad watched for a moment at the end of the hallway as her attention shifted between the mug and the windows. She looks tired. Too tired. He coughed lightly as he stepped into the room.
“Oh…he asleep?” She forced a smile of her own.
“On the way.” Tad sat in a chair. “He looks so spent. The chemo is really zapping him this time.” He picked at the corner of a napkin, an abstract gesture belying his discomfort at the topic.
“He’s a fighter. Tough, like his father.” She patted Tad on the shoulder.
“Like his brother,” Tad looked at Gina, tightening his jaw against tears.
Tad’s eyes popped open and sucked in the midnight blue of his bedroom. The alarm clock on his nightstand showed 3:14 AM. He rolled over, watched Gina’s sheets rise and fall for a few moments, and crept from the bed to the window across the room. The night was black without a moon, and only the faint whisper of streetlights brushed against the tree line behind the house. Tad stood at the window with his eyes fixed on a shape that paced on the edge of those woods. No, no.
He broke from the window, rubbing his eyes against his imagination. A glass of water, then back to bed. The rest of the house was still, waiting for something. Just as he crept past the boy’s room, Andy called to him.
“Dad,” he whispered. “Dad? I’ve been waiting for you.”
Tad stopped, his heart hopping irregularly. “Andy…you should be asleep.”
“The tiger is nervous, Dad. He’s worried about Nick.”
Tad took a few steps into the room, feeling with his toes for loose toys in the dark. Chester gave a small grunt and shuffled out of his way. “Buddy, we’re all worried about Nick. He’ll be okay.”
“No. Dad, we need to send the tiger to Nick. Tonight.”
Tad stopped, rubbed his face with one hand, and let out a light sigh. “We can send your brother some pictures in the morning, okay? Get some sleep.” He turned and crept to the hall. “Gina?”
She stood just outside Andy’s door, arms crossed, and face wrinkled with confusion. “What are you two talking about at three in the morning?”
“Shhh…” Tad held a finger to his lips. “He’s worried about his brother. Wants to send him some of his pictures.”
“We can do that.”
Tad blinked. “He wants to send them tonight.”
Gina nodded. “We can do that. If it will help him sleep, I’ll do anything. Get your shoes on, I’ll address the envelope. You can drop it off at the night slot at the post office.” She pushed past Tad to Andy’s doorway.
Tad shook his head and shuffled down the hallway to find his shoes.
Within a month, they moved a hospital bed into the house and filled Andy’s room with metal boxes and wires. Andy looked like a skeleton buried in the white sheets. He had lost another fifteen pounds, and it seemed as though the wires and tubes suspended him just above the bed. Tad sat on the corner of the bed, holding a roughly drawn self-portrait signed with an untidy “Andrew” in the lower right corner.
“Who’s this, buddy? This man with you in the picture?” Tad knew the face; Andy had drawn him before.
Andy’s lips spread in a tiny smile. “Just a friend. He’s out in the common ground, too. Waiting for the tiger to come back.”
Tad stood and dropped the picture on Andy’s desk. “Nick’s coming home in a week, buddy. His deployment is over.”
“Safe.”
Tad nodded. “Safe.”
“Good. I knew he would be.” The boy closed his eyes.
Tad bolted upright from his sleep that night. Someone was in the house again; he could feel their presence. He slipped from bed and quietly pushed his feet into his slippers. No he couldn’t see any lights in the hallway, but Andy’s door was open. A cool burst of air seemed to blow from the kitchen. The back door.
Tad hurried through the kitchen and onto the deck. A dark mass shuffled under a small sliver of moon in the backyard. Tad moved down the steps and hopped down to the wet grass, nearly slipping, but the figure didn’t flinch. It was a man, from the size and shape, gliding across the lawn.
“Hey!” Tad called.
The man paused, turned, nodded gently toward Tad, and resumed walking.
“Stop…I’ll call the police!” Tad rushed across the lawn.
The man reached the edge of the trees, the common ground. He turned, and the pale moon lit up the face Tad had seen in Andy’s drawing that night. Something in that face, maybe the silver shimmer from the moon, pierced Tad’s chest. The man smiled, and backed into the woods, blending with the shadows and fading from sight.
Tad stood for a moment, shivering against the cold, damp air, eventually dropping to the ground. A cry burst from the house—Gina’s cry. Andy was gone.
The sky cleared, leaving only a few patches of stretched cotton clouds over Greenwood Cemetery. Gina had already returned to the car, leaving Tad to spend a moment with his oldest son at Andy’s grave. The two men stood in silence until Nick reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper. The wind faded, and the only sound was the light crinkle as Nick unfolded one of Andy’s drawings.
“I want to leave this here, for Andy,” he said. He wedged the picture in some flowers next to the headstone. “Dad? You ready?” Nick patted his father’s shoulder. The two men walked back the car, their feet crunching against the cemetery gravel. “That picture…I remember getting that one.”
Tad stopped walking.
“Yeah. We were on patrol in a really hot area. IEDs and ambushes everywhere. This one man comes walking up to our squad…he’s not responding to any commands. Then boom, down—something blindsided him. I was only twenty feet away, Dad. He was strapped to about fifty pounds of high explosive with bits of glass, nails—nasty stuff. Whatever knocked him down tore through his vest. The explosives were scattered harmlessly. It looked like a lion or some kind of bear did it, but we didn’t see anything.”
Tad closed his eyes and shook his head. “Tiger. It was a tiger.”
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Copyright 2008, Aaron Polson. All rights reserved. Aaron teaches English by day and somehow finds time to write between grading papers and changing diapers at night. He currently resides in Lawrence, Kansas with his wife, two sons, and a rather sturdy—almost supernatural—tropical fish.
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