Part 30: A Path Through Snow

Previously in the Vines Inquiry— The Call rang anew in the packed diner. The gang, now aware, was able to hear it along with a few unexpected face: Jean, the waitress, and Richard, Frank’s father. The latter two rushed to snatch a Gift while the trio was paralyzed with fear. Richard hinted at Jean’s Inquiry past before using the last gasps of his Gift to shatter the diner windows, injuring Jean and random patrons alike. While everyone fled in the chaos, Frank saw his father head to kitchen and utter a single word before pouring boiling hot oil down his throat: HAIL.

The burning oil swallowed Richard’s scream.

His tongue went first, bubbling; frying with blisters that split instantly like an infected rash. As the liquid fell, it seared and steamed through the soft flesh. There was a crisping sound to it all, the super-heated oil hitting the raw surface of Richard’s body. He shook at the impact, the invasion, and tried to use his free hand to steady himself. His arm flailed about, twitching as it reached for anything solid. When he found the countertop, a stream of oil burst through one side of his throat. It was like his gullet had popped.

Gullet. That was the only option. No one watching could call it a throat anymore. There was no way to process a man pouring frying oil into his own mouth. A gullet. A gullet they could manage. 

Richard collapsed backward and smacked his head on the kitchen sink, though he had little left to fear at that point. Had Frank and co. still been able to see him, they would have witnessed the frying liquid bubble up through Richard’s cheek. They would have ignored the smell. 

And so, Richard Vines, sr. died with a gurgling wheeze. 

Frank couldn’t tell if he was screaming, but his jaw hurt from the pressure. He could see the whites of Harlow’s eyes. It seemed she might never blink again. It was Blevin who broke the spell. 

“We have to go,” he whispered between them. Frank couldn’t move. His shoes were permanently stuck to the floor. He was sure of it. He found the sound of his breath and managed to exhale. The bells, Frank realized, were gone. Her Call had ended. 

“Now!”

Blevin pulled them both down into a crouch as noises resumed from the kitchen. Someone fetching a glass. The sink running. The trio of them moved toward the far end of the diner counter as Richard came out, sipping. 

“Oh my gosh, Jean,” he said, voice pan-fried with a sticky-sweet layer of charm. The pale woman, growing ever-paler, did not answer. “Lester, have we called someone? Jean, listen to me. You’re not dead, hmm?”

He leaned in close enough for a kiss. 

“You didn’t die,” said Richard. He titled his head, examining. “Did you, buddy?”

As Blevin pulled them past diner counter and through the back door, they could hear Richard. 

“Don’t worry, Jean. This will all be over soon.” 

They waited together, huddled in the dark around the back of McCroy’s while the volunteer fire department slipped up icy roads. Most of the diner patrons hung around until the cold was too much for them. They left at the behest of Lester McCroy, promising to return to pay their checks or just flopping down big, Christmas bonus bills.

Richard Vines was one of the last to leave. He held the rag to Jean’s stomach wound, pressing hard amidst her yelping cries, to ‘staunch the blood.’ He was still there, his fingers deep in her wound, long after the waitress had lost consciousness.

Finally, Aunt Toni’s car lurched into the snowy parking lot. Frank leapt up but Harlow grabbed his elbow.

“She’ll help us,” he pleaded. Harlow shook her head. She hadn’t said a word since Frank’s father had shattered the windows with that unknowable not-speech.

“Frank?” Toni shouted above the storm as she crossed the parking lot. Richard shook his head. She was tramping a path in the snow towards the restaurant where Jean lay dying on the counter, but she wasn’t alone.

As Toni struggled through the snow, her first aid kit swinging across her body, Rosalind came out of the passenger side of Toni’s car. Her knee-high boots sent Frank’s mother to the ground on their spindly heels. She cursed to herself and wiped at the snowflakes already crowding into her up-do of dark, burnished hair. 

They all left soon after, even Lester. They’d laid Jean in the back seat of Aunt Toni’s SUV and headed up-island towards Hughes House. The car slid at first, but Toni’s snow tires found purchase and then they were on their way. As they piled into the car, Frank could hear his mother ask: “Any luck in the woods?” 

Only then did the trio come out of their frozen hiding stances to face the abandoned parking lot. Tire tracks and footprints were already disappearing in the heavy snowfall. The storm was the worst it’d been and showed no signs of stopping. 

Safe now, or at least alone, Harlow tried to call her mother, but her phone had no signal.

She went to the payphone by the diner’s front door, borrowing some quarters from Frank. Harlow leaned close to the diner to shield herself from the squall. Blevin joined to act as a human barrier.

“Is privacy dead along with us?” she sniped. Blevin’s face fell into mush and he trudged over to Frank.

Frank thought he should console, or at least explain Blevin’s error, but he was stuck in, mesmerized by the sight of McCroy’s. 

Three of the five windows were totally gone. The lights flickered against the snow falling in through the open frames. The TV was halfway through one of those Claymation specials that were already classics before Frank was born, broadcasting to no one but the bodies that had been left. Down-island, the fire department sirens just barely penetrated the pines, promising help too late.

“We need to go,” Blevin said again. He looked down-island, nervous.

Frank swayed where he stood. The jukebox had gotten to the final song he’d put in. “God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman” began with a single bell and flourish, promising tidings of comfort and joy to whatever might linger in McCroy’s.

“Yes, Momma. I’m fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” Harlow put a finger in her free ear, blocking out the howling squall. “I will. I promise. Yes, Ma’am. I will. I love you, too.” 

Frank watched the diner trying to carry on, even as the storm dampened the red-and-green paper ribbons they hung each year. The cookies by the register would be getting soggy soon. He had heard Blevin, and knew the man was right. They couldn’t be found here. Not that they’d be blamed for what happened. They just didn’t have time to waste. The song answered the question on all their minds. 

“To save us all from Satan’s power, when we were gone astray...”

 “What can we do?” whispered Blevin.

Frank blinked rapidly; his daze broken like a snuffed out fire. “We’re gonna get in the holiday spirit.” There was a raw edge on his words. Ragged. “They wanted me home for Christmas? Then let’s go home.”