Page 145 of The Reformatory

The crow cawed again, sounding impatient, and Robert let go of any doubt it was Blue. “Okay—dang,” Robert whispered. “I’m coming.”

The creek stretched in two directions, lined by nearly identical trees and mud banks, but the crow was perched in a thin tree cracked in half like a matchstick above the water, so that was the way Robert went. Upriver, he remembered Gloria telling him, although, without the crow’s help, how would he have known? The water was a still pool, not flowing in any direction, mostly clear but clouding from mud every time Robert took a step. Warm water seeped into his boots, soaking his socks and feet, making each stride heavier as the mud sucked at his soles.

Gloria had said the water would reach his waist, so he held the satchel high on his chest, but even after he’d waded several yards into the warm creek, the water barely reached his knees.

Was it enough to cover his scent the way Gloria had promised? Haddock would know he had come to the creek, but if he moved quickly, Haddock might not know which way he had turned. Robert tried to increase his pace, but he nearly tripped on something solid hidden under the placid green-brown water and he had to move more slowly so he wouldn’t fall, trying not to disturb the water too much so the ripples would not betray him.

Untouched woods grew on either side of the creek, with debris clogging the center from fallen branches he had to walk around. The dog chasing him bayed mournfully again. A stitch in Robert’s side stabbed him as he grew more anxious, straining to see the railroad trestle. He could smell every pore of his skin and drop of sweat on his body, but he hoped the dog would not. How far did he have to walk in the creek? Haddock would see him from a distance!

The crow’s call sounded annoyed this time, although it was hard to tell with crows. The bird slowed ahead of him, circling, but Robert walked stubbornly on. If the crow was Blue, Robert knew what he wanted—but he didn’t have time yet. The dog was too close.

“I’ll set them free when I see the railroad trestle,” Robert said, breathing hard. “I can’t stop and let Haddock see me.” But Blue wasn’t satisfied. The crow made another annoyed sound and swooped close to Robert’s head, making him duck by instinct. “Hey—cut it out!” Robert hissed. “You’re gonna make me drop it.”

It occurred to Robert that Blue wanted him to drop the jar in the creek so it might break and free the ashes. If Robert could be sure that would work, he would have tossed the haint jar away as soon as he got to the water. But if the glass didn’t break, Haddock might find it floating. Redbone wasn’t captured in the haint jar, but all of the spirits inside deserved to get away from Haddock.

But Blue had a different idea. The longer Robert hurried through the water, the closer the crow dove at his head. Hot air flapped from its wings and a talon scratched through Robert’s hair to his scalp. He wasn’t sure, but he might be bleeding. Robert was so startled by the pain that he tripped and splashed into the murky water, soaking his clothes. He held his satchel over his head, clutching the hole tightly closed so nothing would spill out. If the photographs in the envelope got wet, they would get stuck and the images might be ruined.

“You got my picture of Redbone wet!” Robert complained as he stood up as quickly as he could. He didn’t have to look at his shorts to know how wet they were; his clothes clung to him like a second skin. He didn’t try to pull the drawing out of his pocket because he was sure he would only tear it up worse now; he would have to wait for it to dry and hope he could still recognize Redbone’s face so he would never forget him, even when he was an old man.

The crow landed atop a pile of branches collected in front of Robert in the creek, gazing in a way that dared him to keep moving. Robert never wanted to see another haint his whole life unless it was Mama. If he had time, he would have cussed Blue out good.

The barking behind him was still too close, but no closer than it had been before he reached the creek. Had Haddock seen the water yet? Was he trying to decide which way to go? The creek had turned with a slight bend, so Haddock might not see him when he emerged from the woods. Maybe Blue was right: maybe he did have time to set the ashes free first.

“If I get caught, it’s your fault, Blue,” Robert muttered, pulling the jar from the satchel.

The crow shook water from its shiny black wings, waiting. Robert was sure it was Blue because it had grown to be the biggest crow he had ever seen, the size of a young turkey.

Robert had to keep one hand on the satchel, so he pressed the jar against his belly as he tried to open it with his free hand. The lid was tight. Dammit again! Even when he maneuvered his left hand to hold the jar steady, he could not make the metallic lid budge. Petroleum jelly had greased up his fingertips, so he couldn’t get a good grip.

Somewhere behind him, the dog bayed again.

Panic made Robert’s mouth taste rotten. He plunged one hand into the water, feeling around. At first he only clutched pebbles, but finally his fingers landed around a fist-sized stone, slimy with algae. He cradled the haint jar against the crook of his arm and smashed at it with the stone as hard as he could, more afraid of Haddock and the dog than he was of cutting himself.

With the first try, the blow only vibrated across his arm with a dull ache, leaving the bottle intact. His second try, even harder, made a large crack across the word ROYAL in the glass. The third blow with the stone finally cracked open a hole the size of a silver dollar. Still breathing fast, Robert shook the bottle to fling the ashes out. A breeze flew some of the powdery ashes across the bridge of his nose, and Robert coughed, panicked, turning his face away. When he had shaken out as many of the ashes as he could, he submerged the bottle to let the water soak inside and poured out the gray mixture of creek water and ash until the bottle was cleared.

That done, Robert thought maybe he should say something like everyone had done at Redbone’s burial. He had not known the boys, not even Henry Jackson, so he remembered what Tex had said, declaring, “They were children of God. They deserved to live their lives.” Then he added something he had heard Pastor Jenkins say at Mama’s funeral: “Please lead your children home.”

“Amen,” a voice said, and Robert jumped.

Blue was standing on the creek’s bank in black mourning clothes, a crow no more.

Robert forgot his anger when he saw Blue. It was good to see him looking like a regular boy again. Emptying out the haint jar might have been the most important thing he had ever done: bigger than breaking into Haddock’s office. Bigger than running away.

“Did it work right?” Robert said. “Are they free?”

“Yes,” Blue said. “See?” Blue pointed to the water at Robert’s feet, which bubbled as if dozens of tiny guppies were feeding, the circles of ripples colliding. The guilt Robert had felt for helping Haddock capture the haints melted as he watched the creek water dance.

“Are you free now too?”

“Yes,” Blue said. “I won’t have a reason to stay. Not after we’re done.”

“Done running?” Robert said. He tossed the empty, broken bottle into the creek, watching it sink so it would not betray his path. The glass didn’t gleam beneath the water. Good.

Blue shook his head. “I’m sorry, no. I was afraid to tell you…”

Everything was a trick with Blue. Nothing was exactly what he promised. “Tell me what?” Robert said.

“About Haddock,” Blue said.