Honey Jean

by Monika M. Basile

 

 Honey Jean didn't know what hit her. She didn't know if it was a fist, a rock or even a wayward newspaper thrown by a cock eyed paper boy. She only knew that she was sprawled out on the ground with her dress up over her head and one leg was bent behind her at a precarious angle. She thought she heard the echo of bitter laughter trailing away in the distance. She lay still, afraid to move, afraid to do more damage to her body than had already been done. She gasped for the breath that had been knocked from her lungs when she hit the concrete.

Slowly she turned onto her side and felt a jolt of pain shoot up her left leg. Her lips trembled and she gnawed on her bottom one trying to keep herself from crying. Her forehead ached fiercely where whatever it had been, had smacked so hard it knocked her off her feet. She rubbed the lump with tender fingers and felt the blood ooze down between her eyes. The hem of Honey Jean's dress was stained with blood she noticed as she tried to pull it down to cover her worse for wear panties. Now she knew why mothers always said to wear clean underwear. She had never known her mother and besides, no one expects something awful to happen. No one imagines to be pounded flat out of no where for no good reason.

“That you Honey Jean?” Fred Wilkins the mechanic at Smith's Garage asked her softly. “You okay?”

Honey couldn't answer so intent on trying to hold back the tears she was. Sweat beaded at her brow and the sky began to swim before her.

 “Honey? Honey? Oh lordy I better run and gets the Doc.” Fred did run as fast as his twisted legs could manage.

Doc Bantam squatted down next to Honey and checked her pulse. He looked over her still body and scratched his bald head. “Looks like she passed out. Let's get an ambulance out here. Seems like that leg is busted and the little thing's gone and passed out from the pain.”

When Fred hobbled back, Honey Jean was awake but groggy. Still no tears had fallen down her pale cheeks. She was telling Doc that someone—or rather something hit her. Fred was puzzled. No one had been on the street. It was over a hundred degrees and muggier than a sauna. Though it was nearly dark, the evening cool down hadn't come and folks didn't venture out in this kind of heat. Only Honey Jean could be seen walking down this street rain or shine, day or night, blizzard or heat wave. Fred looked around and felt the emptiness of the road. He looked up to see if something could have possibly fallen from one of the low buildings that lined Spruce Street . There wasn't anything that could have caused that kind of fall—and Fred saw her fall. He saw her head jerk back as if someone had yanked on that pony tail she always wore—saw her body throw itself back and land on top of her leg. No one had been there—no one. He mopped his face with a grease stained bandanna and tried to picture it again in his head, trying to figure if he had somehow missed something.

Sirens sounded in the distance as Honey Jean again insisted, “I heard him laughing…”

Doc shook his head. He was slightly amused and whispered to Fred, “Must have knocked the sense right out of her pretty head. Probably a concussion.”

Doc rode in the ambulance with Honey Jean and Fred drove his old beat up truck behind. And Fred worried over her the whole way there. Honey Jean was alone in the world now that her Daddy had up and died last year. Her Mama died birthing her and that was the only family Fred knew her to have. Fred shook his head as he worked the shifter. He was mindful of the brakes, making sure he allowed himself enough time to stop with his withered legs as he drove along behind the ambulance.

While a surgeon set her leg, Doc signed all the paper work since Honey Jean seemed unable to make heads or tails of it. Fred paced behind him, mopping his brow with the dirty handkerchief, wishing all the while that he was a bit cleaner hanging out in such a sterile place. Finally they sat in a small waiting lounge where they could talk.

“I'm telling you Doc. Ain't no one been on the street when she got hit.” Fred insisted.

“Fred, come on. You keep saying hit and if no one was there how could she have gotten hit?” Doc chuckled.

Fred shrugged muscular shoulders, “Strange things always happen round Honey Jean. How am I supposed to know what happened?

 “That they do and always have and I imagine they always will.” Doc whistled low under his breath. The phenomenon called Honey Jean always brought on a headache if he allowed himself to think on it to hard—and now he had an awful lot of thinking to do about what should be done for her.

            #

Town folks always claimed that Honey Jean had angels surrounding her to protect her. There might even be some truth in it as she always got into one worrisome situation after another and came out with no permanent damage. Most “outcasts” were shunned in small towns—but Honey Jean…well…Honey Jean was just the opposite. She was adored and her eccentricities endeared her further to the town folk. No one made fun of the odd clothing she wore, never had and never would. She was the poorest of the poor as her daddy had taken to drinking after Honey Jean's mama passed and instead of the kids ostracizing her, they shared what they had with her. And not their cast offs either. It seemed to Doc Bantam that most of the kids that had hung with Honey Jean offered her their very best. Folks just couldn't seem to help themselves around her. Somehow they knew she was one of the few in the world who actually deserved their very best. And Honey Jean wouldn't accept their charity. Never. She worked for anything she ever received.

  

Oh she would say a gracious thank you for any donation and then she would start walking. She would walk two towns over, even at the youngest of age, and she would give what she had been given to the orphanage. “I have everything!” she would try to explain when questioned. “I have just enough and that is so much more than so many others have.” And her merry blue eyes would twinkle with mischief, “And besides, I have a secret and that's all I need.”

  

It became a casual remark around town upon sight of Honey Jean, “Whatcha thinks gonna keep you warm this winter Honey when I sees your toes peeking out of your shoe?” Honey Jean would laugh an infectious giggle that felt as sweet as morning church bells. She would hug herself tightly, and folks knew she was just hugging her secret to herself and surely she would be warm enough with having that. Most folks felt that if a secret was what would keep her happy, then she deserved to keep her secret since the rest of her life was an open book for everyone to read.

 

Common knowledge it was that her daddy got drunk every Saturday night and didn't come home, and though the church women came to stay over with Honey, she insisted she was fine. And all the folks knew the sadness of her birth, what with her mama dying like she did. It was upsetting and rarely talked about much anymore. The folks hated to remember what surrounded the birth of Honey Jean. It made them shiver in their beds at night when they thought of it. It made them worry about what lay out there just beyond the woods. It made them damn afraid.

  

Honey Jean Cole came into the world with screams and howls, though howls were never uttered by her mama. The howls came from something in the woods. The night she was born, her mama was picking the moonflowers near the edge of the forest. Bending down, the pains came and took her breath away, but she knew they were too far apart to be calling the Doc yet. So she breathed, like the old women in the church had told her, and she walked like they had suggested, and she was lost before she realized she had stepped off the path.

  

Jim Cole found his baby daughter just on the inside of the woods early the next morning. He had been up for hours, searching for his dear Lenora, after he realized she was no longer curled up beside him. He had followed the screaming and howling for what seemed like days. He was a desperate man trying to find his wife. He did lose his mind hearing her begging the almighty God for mercy, begging for help and salvation—and he could not find her. He heard her pitiful crying as it echoed through the valley and the edges of the woods and he could not find his dearest wife, the woman he cherished, the woman who gave him a reason to live this foul life. And he could not save her. Instead, he ran through the trees, begging God the almighty along with his missing wife, begging God to tell him which direction the screams were coming from, begging God to help him save her.

  

The woods grew silent. Jim stood still, his heart beating like a galloping horse in his heaving chest and he listened to the growing quiet as the sun began to rise. His body trembled with an unknown fear and his ears heard one last howl and then the soft whimpering of a baby. “Lenora!” Jim screamed and took off in the direction of the baby crying.

  

He came upon her just at the edge of a small clearing behind the old fir trees. Lenora had wanted her garden there and Jim had worked most mornings clearing away the brush before going to work. The baby, his daughter lay on a bed of pine needles, untouched. Lenora was no where to be found. Jim crept upon the child, his legs shaking and weak, for he knew right away that something was not right. The birds sang too loudly and the sun shone too brightly and the air felt too still. It almost felt unreal to stand in the forest eyeing his child warily. There was a pool of blood near the babe. Yet, the baby was clean and tucked inside what appeared to be Lenora's robe, as if a midwife had helped to birth her and then wiped her off before handing her to her proud mama.

  

Pieces of Lenora's nightgown, covered in blood, lay tattered and torn among the underbrush he had failed to clear. Her hair ribbon hung from a grape vine. It was tied in a bow. And the look of the forlorn gaily colored ribbon sent chills up and down Jim's spine. His eyes scoured the woods frantically, searching for some sign of his wife. But he knew; he knew she must be dead, and he wished to the almighty God that she was indeed dead rather than suffer at the hands anymore of whoever or whatever had done this.

  

Twigs crunched under his weight as he circled the baby, trying to take in that this was his child. He knelt beside the child and wept, knowing that he hated her on sight. He didn't move for hours from that spot. That is how Fred Wilkins found him those nineteen years before. Jim Cole had been broken by a faceless beast, and Honey Jean was born into the world and spared from harm.

  

It was Fred who picked up the crying baby. It was Fred who pulled Jim to his feet and led him back to the small farmhouse. It was Fred who called the sheriff and old Doc Bantam to take a look at the babe. It was Fred who named the child her ridiculous name when Jim refused to even look at her. And it was also Fred who would not speak of that morning to anyone other than the Sheriff and Doc.

He was all of twenty two at the time. Life had already been hard for Fred, polio was not a pretty thing and his legs were twisted to prove it, in turn he had learned to be strong as he had been given no other choice. He felt a need to take care of Honey but Jim wouldn't allow it as he only knew that Fred had been somewhere near when Lenora disappeared and he did not trust him.

Fred did keep an eye on Honey Jean as she grew up as he felt a certain obligation to the child that he himself did not understand. He had nothing to do with Lenora's disappearance and nothing to do with the sorry way Jim Cole was raising her. He just knew that something about the child was exceptional, mysterious and miraculous and he would somehow ensure, despite Jim's warnings that no harm would come to her even if his protection was from a distance.

Fred never allowed the town folks to speak of Honey Jean and her odd birth in his presence. He did not abide by the rumors that had started on the day she was born. He denied any angels surrounding her and denied any spectacular happenings. He never told a soul that Honey Jean had been a sight to behold there in the woods. He never told anyone what he really saw because he felt that he needed to protect this about the child too.   

He wasn't quite sure why he lied when the Doc and Sheriff got there that morning. He didn't mention the way the forest looked. He didn't mention the stillness except for the sound of a thousand birds singing their sweetest songs. It sounded like hallelujahs recited in bird song. It was what drew him to the woods that morning. He hadn't heard Lenora's screams from his grandfather's place an acre over. He felt the peculiar stillness and heard the birdsong and he could no longer stay in the warmth of his bed. He set to walking staring at the strangeness of the sky, the way the sun seemed to be cutting through the clouds and rays shot to the tops of the trees turning them golden. He never spoke of the echo of the baby's mewling like a forlorn kitten that drew him to the Cole farm. He never talked of the blackness on the edges of the woods and the one spot of light that insisted he come closer to see. He never said to anyone, the Doc, the Sheriff or even

Jim Cole himself, that something actually was around little Honey Jean when he came upon her in the woods. And he never mentioned the darkness gathered outside the circle of light that seemed to surround the infant laying near a pool of her mother's blood.

He lied outright to the Sheriff and knew that Jim was too far gone to say otherwise. “Poor thing was shivering so badly, I gives her a warm bath to clean her up a bit. Found the layette Lenora had sewn, and the booties and blanket the church women had given…. Sure is a beauty…” he said as he gazed at the sweet child.

And she was. Her hair was wisps of moonlit strands and her skin glowed with a peach tinted hue. She was absolutely angelic to behold though Fred wasn't familiar with that word to use it as a way to describe Honey Jean.

The three men looked upon little Honey Jean and were silent a moment. Jim Cole had sat in Lenora's rocking chair, a present he had given her for their wedding. His eyes would not stray to his daughter but instead stared straight ahead out the window. “She's dead. She has to be dead…”

Jim was taken away for awhile and Fred was left to tend the baby. He had sworn to the sheriff that Jim had not been covered in blood and did he look like a man who would have hurt his wife? He had no idea what to do for a baby at all so he just held her in his strong arms and sang in an off key voice the only song he could remember bits and pieces of. And the babe stared up at him with clear blue eyes as if she knew that Fred was out of his realm but trying awfully hard.

She didn't utter a cry but instead cooed and made bubbles from her tiny red lips.

A search party was called and they looked for Lenora but her body was never truly found. Not all of it, just bits and pieces spread out through the woods. A finger or two, an eye, what appeared to be a stretch of flesh from Lenora's thigh and small scraps of bloody nightgown and underwear.

“Must have been a wolf or maybe even a cougar…” the Sheriff decided. And it was left at that though folks wondered. They had never had a happening such as this in the woods and what eats it all? What leaves nothing but tiny pieces and no bones left to speak of? And why was Honey Jean spared? Must be that she had some special protection from above was their only answer.

Fred thought it was a bunch of cock and bull. If Honey had some protection from the good Lord almighty, than she should have lived a much easier life than the one she had been born into. She should have never had a daddy who drank himself silly and then would beat on sweet Honey Jean. That had finally stopped when Honey was ten years old and Fred had seen her swollen lip.

“What happened to you?” he asked her.

Honey looked away embarrassed, “Nothing much. It's okay.” Then she smiled shyly at him and took his hand into hers. “You know Mr. Fred, you can't save the world just now. Plenty of time for that later.” Honey giggled and hugged her sweater around her and then walked up the street.

Fred was taken aback by her words. He always had felt he had been destined for something but figured twisted up legs couldn't do much of anything in world saving. He had dreamed of joining the army but that dream died when he almost died. He only had two things going for him really. One was something everyone knew. He could fix anything with a motor. The other people got a rare glimpse of; he was unfailingly kind and generous.

Fred didn't know what to do to help Honey Jean, to make her life easier, to make her life just the bit of heaven she seemed to make everyone else's she came in contact with. He tried to mind his own business, truly he did. He was used to keeping to himself as his disability seemed to make other people uncomfortable. The thought of her daddy laying his hands on the sweet innocence of Honey Jean sent Fred's blood to boiling. Sooner or later someone would have to make the man understand he could not go on like this.

It was autumn when Fred met Jim Cole coming out of the Cornerstone Tap late one night. Fred had been working in the garage trying to finish up the Mayor's car before morning. Fred spied Jim stumbling past the open overhead doors and his hand began itching fiercely. There was no stopping this moment from coming. Fred went after Jim and scared him sober. His twisted legs had an easy time keeping up with the drunken man. He grabbed him by the shirt collar and pushed him up against the side of the garage.

“Never touch her again.” Fred's voice was low and fierce. “This is a warning Jim Cole. I better never see a mark on that little angel again for as long as I live. Do ya understand me?”

Jim stared straight into Fred's angry eyes and he began shaking. There was something there he had never noticed before and it gave him the most unsettled feeling. “I won't…I never meant to hurts her…I…” he stuttered and drooled, truly frightened that Fred would continue twisting his shirt color until his neck snapped in two like a dry twig. There was a strange light in Fred's eyes and Jim knew he better look away or he would be blinded by the truth in Fred's threat.

Jim Cole never touched his child for any reason again. He still said plenty, still ignored or neglected, still withheld his love from her, but he never laid a hand on her precious body again. And at least Honey Jean's physical person was safe for the most part—her soul was another thing altogether.

          #

Strange happenings around Honey Jean were a common occurrence. Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she traveled. Folks talked of the time Honey, age 15, was in the 7/11 when some out of towners, tanked up on whatever drugs they were peddling, decided they would rob the place. The odd men were aiming to rape Honey Jean, both of them half dressed after tying up Mr. Barkley on the midnight shift. Honey was on the floor, no tears falling, no begs of mercy, just a stillness, a quiet and a deep sadness in her eyes when Fred Wilkins walked in to get a pack of smokes. Their guns lay to the side forgotten and Fred took advantage. His crippled legs started kicking and didn't stop until the begging of mercy came from the men. And Honey Jean's soft whisper of, “Oh no Freddy, please stop. Please stop now.”

Fred came back to himself in that moment of the girl child's pleading. “I want to kill the bastards…” Fred grumbled.

Honey stood up and straightened her dress. She ran fingers, that never shook a moment, through her tangled hair. “They ain't worth the trouble of killing.” Her face was not streaked with tears. Her voice was strong and sure. “Just call the police Freddy, and thank you for coming when you did. You always arrive just in time.” She stood on tip toe to kiss his unshaven cheek.

Fred walked her home after the questioning by police. “Why didn't you scream Honey Jean?”

Honey laughed, “What would be the point of screaming? It wouldn't have made them stop.”

“What in the hell were you doing here at one in the morning anyway?”

Honey wouldn't answer at first and Fred kept prying until she did. “They would have killed Mr. Barkley if I hadn't been here. I was what they thought would be a pleasant diversion…”

Fred was getting frustrated, “Honey Jean Cole you are fifteen years old and gots no business being out in the middle of the night! What is your Daddy gonna say to that…”

Honey slipped her hand into Fred's and murmured, “He'll say nothing Freddy. Nothing at all, you already fixed that.” She kissed his cheek again and slipped into the house quickly.

          #

The day of the fire was another story lovingly told.

Honey, again out in the night, decided to walk to the orphanage. She had been thinking all evening that she was needed there and she just began walking as she always had. She saw the fire a few blocks away and began running. The doors were locked and she pounded and screamed begging them to wake up inside. She noticed the drain gutter and figured she was tiny enough to climb up it without it breaking. She went right on in the smoke filled window and began screaming inside. “Get up!” she screamed and shook warm sleepy bodies.

She grabbed pillows and thin mattresses and threw them out the windows. Then she directed the children to jump right out and pretend they were flying. Some were frightened to do so but Honey Jean promised they would be fine and insisted they do as she said. One by one each child jumped and remained unharmed.

Fred was on his way home from the hospital when he noticed the flames shooting out of the roof. The death of his mother was forgotten a moment as he took in the sight. He stopped the old truck and noticed so many children milling about crying and talking in loud excited voices. “When is she going to come out?”

Fred asked who was still inside.

And when he heard it was Honey Jean, he broke the front door down and ran up the stairs though they were engulfed in flames. He screamed her name through the room and found her body curled up in a ball near a crib. The smoke was fierce and burned his chest when he breathed in. Honey had wrapped herself around a wee baby for protection in her attempts to save him. Fred picked first the babe up and called down to the crowd milling below, “Somebody catch this baby. Damn it do you hear me! Catch this here goddamned baby!” and he threw the babe gently out the window and the baby was caught by the director of the orphanage who had finally made it outside. “Now pile those pillows because I am jumping with Honey Jean.” And he did.

He had gathered her still body into his arms and crawled out the window. He jumped holding onto her tightly, afraid he would drop her, but he didn't. They landed—her unharmed and him with two broken legs. Fred passed out immediately after setting Honey Jean down.

Honey visited Fred every day in the hospital. They became very close in those weeks he recuperated. Neither had ever truly had a friend and eighteen year old Honey Jean did not find it unusual that her first friend would be twice her age. She was thankful just to have someone to listen to the strange thoughts that floated through her head.

One day, Honey was late. Her hair was messed up instead of neatly plaited down her back. A few buttons were torn on her dress. Her face was flushed in embarrassment and she found it hard to meet Fred's inquiring gaze. “Did you ever wonder why I am so strange Freddy? Did you?”

Fred studied the girl carefully, and had taken in every bit of her unkempt appearance. “Never thought of you as being strange Honey Jean, always thought of you as just being better than everyone else…” he replied gruffly.

Honey raised her eyes. Her mouth formed a surprised “oh” in her face. “I ain't ever been better Freddy, just different is all.” She pursed her lips together and began to stumble over her words. “Didn't you ever wonder why they wanted me dead?'

“Who?”

“The others. The ones all around me at every turn…”

“What in the whole wide screwed up world are you talking about Honey Jean? The whole town loves you to pieces.”

“Not the town, but…well…I hear them all the time. It makes it darn difficult to hear the right ones you know…” Honey trailed off. She bent to kiss Fred's cheek and waved good-bye.

Fred pondered that thought the whole night through. It was disturbing and he even wondered if Honey Jean might not be a little bit crazy. Plenty of folks were. There were all kinds of crazy people hearing voices and seeing things not real. Honey Jean had lived a hard life, maybe something had just broken in her. The thought of Honey Jean broken rather made him feel a breaking in his heart too. He thought of all the years he watched her playing and how she never really played with any of the kids. Honey Jean had always lived in her own world but yet seemed to have so much fun in it. He recalled her looking up into trees and talking to the birds and having lengthy discussions with herself as she wandered around town. He remembered her and her “secret” that no one else knew and he realized…more than likely, Honey Jean was plum nuts. The thought of it set the hairs on the back of his neck to rising.

When Fred finally came home, his legs no worse for wear or any more twisted than they had been before, he spent a lot of time sitting on the bench outside the garage. His legs ached something fierce at times and though he was just over forty, he felt like one of the old men with all the resting he needed. Honey would come visit and sit a spell or two. He began to watch her closely, closer than he ever had. He wanted to see it for himself. He wanted to know if Honey Jean might really be insane.

Watching her glide across the park on her way to meet him is when he first noticed the shadows. At first he thought it was his eyes playing tricks on him. He rubbed them and swiped at them with his red handkerchief he always kept in his overalls. Then he blinked and looked again and saw a movement sweep passed her as she was busy looking at the sky. It was somehow like watching the wind with color in it; only the color was dark and almost unnoticeable. And above Honey Jean, above her was a dim light. It should have been the sun but clearly it wasn't as noon had come and gone and the sun was no longer right overhead.

Fred let out a slow sigh and cleared his throat before Honey Jean stepped onto the sidewalk. “Well now,” he said. “Ain't you a sight for sore legs.”

Her smile was brilliant and she fussed over the aches in his legs. She laid a hand on his knee and he felt the warmth of her fingers seep into his leg and the pain disappeared. The pain lingered in his other leg as she had not laid hands on that one. Again he let out a sigh.

“Are you okay Freddy?” she smiled at him.

“I'm fine girl that I am.” It was in the forefront of his mind to ask out right what she had just done to him. But he didn't. He wanted badly to tell her what he had seen swirling around her, to tell her she wasn't strange at all but he had yet to let the whole thing sink in. He wanted to hug her and tell her about the night she was born and how he had found her and all the moments leading up to that. But he didn't. He just didn't know how or if it would make any difference anyway.

But he watched and watched closely. And he began to notice through the weeks and months, that something was after the poor girl. And he also noticed the light was never far behind.

The night her daddy died was something awful for Honey Jean. She had run to his farm, battered and bruised from falling through the woods. This was the only time he had ever truly seen her cry. Her face was smeared with dirt and snot and she wept on his front porch. “Oh Freddy he's just up and died…” and she could say nothing else. He held her then and let her cry on his shoulder and he looked over her bowed blonde head and saw the woods were covered in shadows and that they were so damn close they reached the porch steps. He wondered how she was so brave to run through them all but again he did not ask. And there was no light at all, no stars nor moon or anything to guide her through.

She whispered through tears, “It was supposed to happen. I heard them talking. And now I am truly alone.”

Fred hushed her and reminded her she had the whole town who loved her and Fred too. She was comforted a moment. “I am so lucky to have you Freddy. And you don't even know the reasons why.” Fred wished he could fix this as easily as he could machines, but as he did not know what was happening to Honey Jean, he had no clue what to do to make it right for her. He could only continue to watch. And he did not like in the least what he had been seeing.

          #

The day Honey Jean got hit. He knew whatever was after her was gaining ground. He saw that poor girl fly into the air. He saw nothing there but colored wind and though he did not hear the laughter, he sure as hell believed Honey Jean when she said she had. But how do you convince anyone of something as odd as that? He had tried telling the Doc and he of course thought Fred himself was batty.

Fred decided he wouldn't leave the hospital until she did. Doc Bantam put up an argument but Fred insisted. “I don't like her being alone Doc. I will just stay. I'll have the nurse get me a blanket and I'll be here awhile.”

“Now Fred I know you have some odd need of protecting that child since the day she was born, but you have to look how it will look to folks. You are old enough to be her father…Something is darn wrong with that girl and we need to be facing it…”

Fred stood slowly, his eyes blazing, “I'll just pretend you didn't say that Doc. But if I was you, I'd never say that again…” and Doc let it be and asked the nurse to get Fred a pillow and blanket so he could stay in Honey's room. Then Doc Bantam went to the staff lounge and began to make a few calls. This had gone on long enough and someone needed to get the girl help. Real help and not some misguided sense of protection.

          #

Fred left a few mornings later, before Honey Jean woke, to clean up and gather some items from her house she might need. When he entered Honey's little house he was dumbfounded. He had to sit and catch his breath as he wasn't sure of what he was seeing. He laid on the bare wood floor and closed his eyes, his breaths coming in huge panting gulps. “Oh Jesus save us…” he prayed as he opened his eyes slowly. Every wall was covered with drawings—drawings of each moment of Honey Jean's life. It caused him to shake. An arrow painted in black pointed to the beginning.

Fred could tell that some of the drawings were from years ago in obvious child like scribbles. From the point that she could etch on paper, Honey must have drawn and hidden them. Fred knew Jim Cole would have had her locked up if he had ever seen them. And Fred knew that Honey never let anyone into her house at all since he had up and died, as she was always wandering except when she came home to sleep.

Honey had drawn their little house, her mother, Lenora, wandering through the woods with a big belly. She drew a darkness and a beast howling at the moon. What looked like a baby lying in a pool of blood. “How could she have known? How in the hell could she have know when no one knows but me?” Fred cried when he saw a stick figure of himself with twisted legs entering the darkest woods. She had drawn a hundred white birds over dark trees and Fred kneeling in the light holding the baby. She had several drawings of herself as a child with dark shadows curling around her and a fist hitting her with the word “Daddy” many times. And Fred, the pictures of Fred were many. She drew each time he had protected her and she always drew him in the light and the shadows around her. Her drawings became quite good as she had become older, more life like and realistic.

The self portrait was what caused Fred to shake, his heart to physically clench in his chest and his eyes to spring utterly unfamiliar tears. It was Honey Jean, standing still and a look of horrid sadness in her eyes. There were violent waves of shadows swirling around her. In the portrait, she held her hand out. There was very little light near her in this one and Fred felt as he touched her fingers in the picture as if he truly touched her. This one was the worst.

Because Fred noticed, the shadows in the drawing had actual shape to them, they had faces and they were hideous. And the light above Honey Jean in the sketch—somehow looked as if it was fading…

          #

Honey Jean lay in the hospital bed. Her eyes were closed and the shadows caused by her lashes dusted her cheeks. And the shadows caused by life lingered in the corners of the room. Fred had brought her nothing. He did not want her to know that he had discovered her secret. Sometimes, there is a danger in knowing another's deepest person.  

 

Her eyes opened and it took her but a moment to focus on Fred in the corner of the room. “Oh Freddy! How are you?”

And Fred was overcome and could not do more than swallow and nod.

“The doctor came…”

“Doc Bantam?”

“Him and some others…I'll be in traction a couple of weeks. They said it was a clean break…” her words trailed off behind her and her lip trembled. Tears were forming in her wide blue eyes. She was still, as if she were listening intently. “They are sending me away…” she gulped.

Fred was cold all over at the thought. “Where Honey? Who is sending you where?”

“The doctors, the others…maybe they are right. Just stories in my head…”

Fred held her hand and said nothing. He wasn't brave and did not quite believe what his heart said was the truth. He felt the smallness of her hope in his hand, the gentleness—and her fingers trembled beneath his large ones.

“Freddy?”

“Yeah girl?”

“Here's your chance now. It won't be long and it will be over. Hidden away like the others said. Here's your chance Freddy…” her face was turned towards the window and tears hung on dark lashes.

“My chance for what Honey Jean?” he cleared his throat though he felt close to weeping himself.

“Your chance to be that hero you always dreamed of being…” her eyes closed and she fell into a pain killer induced sleep.

Fred watched her for what felt like moments but a few hours had passed. When he went in search of Doc Bantam, the sun had already fallen behind the forest and the stars winked overhead. Fred pounded on the doctor's door loudly.

Doc had already gotten into his bathrobe and held a book in his hands when he answered the door. Fred did not even know where to begin but he did anyway, “Now that's just wrong Doc…”

Doc ushered him in and Fred refused to leave the porch. “Now Fred just come in. We don't need a commotion in front of the town, do we?”

“She has always taken care of herself. There is nothing wrong with that girl and you know it!” Fred shouted.

Doc Bantam shook his head. “I went to the cabin Fred. I saw the drawings for God's sake. There is a lot wrong with Honey Jean and you are tied up in it somehow Fred Wilkins. You aren't any good to her at this point in her life and she needs to be where people can help her. Things just don't check out right with the girl…”

Fred stumbled backwards down a step at the forcefulness in the Doc's voice. “How can you say that? My God when did any one in this town truly help Honey Jean? Cole beating her all that time and her being poor and hungry and wandering around in the middle of the night. Why do you give a rat's ass now?” Fred moved back up the steps and loomed over the doctor though he was a good two inches shorter.

“The decision has already been made Fred. A court order. You can't change this and unless you want to be banned from the hospital, I suggest you go on home now.”

Fred fumed. His rage was almost beyond his control and he clenched and unclenched his fists. “You stupid asshole!” Fred yelled and turned on his heal.

Fred wandered around the town awhile. His anger was too great to do anything but walk as fast as his twisted legs could carry him. He walked to Honey Jean's house and noticed the thick padlock on the front door that had not been there that morning. “Why are they working so quickly?” he wondered out loud. He picked the lock and slipped inside. He turned the small lamp near the front door on and illuminated the bare room. The walls were bare. All of the drawings were gone though he did see bits and pieces of tape stuck to odd parts of the walls. He knew they had been there.

Fred sat in the middle of the room on the floor. He thought for a long time. Honey's words kept echoing through the rooms, “ Freddy here's your chance… ” except Fred did not know what at all to do to save her from this fate that the Doc and others had decided for her. He got up and wandered through the little cabin touching the places Honey had touched and he thought as hard as he could.

His hand passed through the shadow almost unnoticed, except he felt it before he saw it. It felt awful, like bugs crawling on him, like death and pulling of some sort. “Jesus!” he gasped and pulled his hand out of the darkness. He spun around and saw out of the corners of his eyes that shadows lingered in every crevice and corner of the room. He bolted out the door and left it hung wide open behind him not caring they would figure out someone had broken into Honey Jean's house. He felt the darkness chasing behind him and he cursed his legs that could not move any faster than they did. He made a bee line through the woods towards his farm.

He wondered how in the hell Honey Jean had lived through this her whole little life. How did she keep this a secret? How did she live her life with that kind of thing following her through it? His breath came fast and hard when he broke free from the shadows and ran through the meadow and smack dab into the light that shone in the middle of the night scarce feet from his front porch.

He fell flat on his back and could see it behind his tightly closed eyes. He felt it and smelt it and heard a low humming, and it ran through him like a lightening bolt that surrounded his whole person. He wept as he tried to shield his eyes from the intensity and realized there was no hiding. “Who the hell is Honey Jean?” he shouted out and the light disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

Fred lay still, stunned, listening to the sounds of evening. Each was distinct—the crickets and night owls, the howls in the darkness and the sounds of the wind whistling through the trees. “What do I do?” he cried into the noisy silence. “What do I do?”

Fred woke in the morning to aches and pains and a killer of a headache that felt like he had drunk moonshine the whole night. The birds sang merrily from the trees and he was covered with due. Made his poor legs ache all the more. He sat and stretched wondering how in the world he had got outside. The memory of the darkness and then the light felt like a sharp jab to the jaw. “What do I do to help her?” he whispered into his hands.

          #

The hospital was covered with military men when Fred finally arrived. Men in uniforms and men dressed in suits. Standing around and chatting, acting like they were just shooting the breeze, “Everything is peachy folks…” was the atmosphere they were trying to present. The hair stood up on the back of his neck when he walked past a man in a suit and sunglasses to get through the revolving doors.

He heard Doc Bantam in the hallway near Honey Jean's room. It was raised in anger, “I am telling you she can't be moved yet. Just what in the heck do you think you folks are doing here? This is a darn sick little girl.” Fred came upon the Doc and one of the suited men in front of her door. Both men looked up at Fred guiltily.

“What's goin' on here? Is Honey okay?” Fred grumbled.

The man in the suit tried to block Fred, “You can't go in there right now sir…” he started.

Fred pushed right passed him, “Like hell I can't.” and smoothly entered Honey's dim room. A bubble of plastic surrounded her. The hiss of machines was frightening. “How are you feeling little girl?” Fred asked when he spied Honey Jean curled up in her hospital bed inside of the bubble.

She didn't answer. Fred made his way closer to the bed. Her face was unnaturally pale. “Jesus Honey, what happened?”

Honey Jean's eyes fluttered slightly. Her voice was low and groggy, “Oh Freddy…” and she again closed her eyes. Her breathing was ragged and then grew even, almost silent.

Fred's eyes filled with tears. He had never, in all his years, ever felt more helpless than at this moment. When he tried to reach his hand in to touch her still hand an alarm sounded shrilly. Doc Bantam and the suit entered the room.

“She's contagious. You can not touch her.” The dark suited man stated. “I am Doctor Smith.”

Fred scowled at the hand the man held out to be shaken. “Yeah right. And I am the King of Siam . What the hell is going on here? What happened to Honey? She ain't got nothin' anyone else can catch…” The men tried to usher Fred out but Fred had to look about the room first. He noticed one shadow lingering in the corner and flipped on the light. “She needs the light on. Don't you know that?” he mumbled and followed the doctors outside.

“Let's go on to the lounge Fred. We need to talk.” Doc Bantam said and took Fred's elbow to lead him down the hall. Doctor Smith began to follow and Fred told him to “get the hell away from me you shyster” and kept walking.

Doc Bantam walked around the stuffy lounge. He had no idea where to start to explain all he had learned in the last few days. He couldn't understand it himself and now he was left to explain it to a man with little education and rage growing inside him a mile long. “She is stumping us all here Fred…” he began and Fred glared at him.

“None of your bullshit Doc. What the hell is going on and you know I won't take lightly to lying.” Fred sat heavily in a chair and he would not take his eyes off the doc for a moment as if he might disappear if he looked away.

Doc began to explain about the surgery on Honey Jean. How something was different in her blood. How she had something that didn't quite add up to being exactly what other human beings had. Her blood had somehow mutated. It was the same but different. There was something extra there, and her heartbeat—her heart beat twice as fast as most people and that was while she was sleeping. He explained about the odd things Honey Jean said and how the psychiatric evaluation proved her to be insane, possibly schizophrenic, maybe worse. The doctors were thinking maybe she was thinking her body into being different. Sometimes the human mind could do something of the sort.

“So what?”

“So what?” Doc Bantam was surprised and a bit stunned at Fred's response. “Fred do you not understand what I am telling you?”

“I understand plain as day and what I am saying is, ‘so what?' What do we do to get her out of her? They'll kill her. You know that don't you Doc? They'll cut her into little bits to figure out why she is different. But first they will hurt her mind and try to break her spirit.” Fred was pacing through the room in circles.

“There's nothing to be done Fred. To get her out I mean. The government has taken over.”

“And you let them. Hell you called them!” Fred was clenching his fists again. He wanted so badly to inflict violence on this little man who just destroyed Honey Jean's life as easily as the darkness had tried to. “She doesn't stand a chance against them. Shame on you. She never caused anyone any harm. She never did nothin' to nobody and you sold her soul…” Tears did stream down Fred's face. They were not tears of anger but the deepest sadness of what he feared would happen to Honey Jean. They were unfamiliar to him. He did not ever remember crying though he remembered coming close to it. He wiped his cheeks and thought of Honey Jean and how she rarely shed tears, no matter how awful things got.

“Guess it's got to be me since it sure as hell ain't gonna be you or anyone else that should…”

Fred walked down the hall slowly and out of the hospital. He went home to make his plans. He did not notice the shadows following, nor did he notice the shimmering light above him. He had one thought and one thought only. She has fought her own battle her whole life, now I am fighting it for her. Even if it kills me…I am damn well fighting!

          #

The moon was full. Fred glanced at it furtively as if the moon could possibly tell of his secret doings. He cut a perfect rectangle in the pane of glass that looked into the hospital basement. His body wriggled through it, his legs hooked the window sill but he managed to get down without hurting himself. He was dressed in black. His face smeared with car grease. His hunting rifle was tucked across his shoulders along with a backpack and he had plenty of ammo in his pockets. The boilers hissed loudly and made his heart race.

First he went to the large water shut off valve. He didn't shut it off. He turned it full blast, but shut off half the valves to half the hospital. The pressure would take only a few minutes to build before exploding the sinks and toilets. Then he went to bar the maintenance entrance so old Maynard couldn't get down here to see what the hell was going on. He emptied his back pack. He pulled out the old fatigues that were his fathers. This is where he had gotten it into his head to be a hero. His father had been a twenty year man.

Fred limped towards the fuse box and power supply. He shut this down after waiting a full ten minutes. There were generators to supply power but not full power. He knew the lighting would be amber instead of the stark white and some areas would be completely black. The generators would supply all of the necessary machines. This hospital was old and updates had only been to the newest wings. Honey Jean was in the oldest section. They had tucked her in a corner so as to not have too many notice what was truly going on.

Fred cleaned up his face with the handi-wipes he had stashed in his back pack. He removed the navy blue knit hat and replaced it with an army issue cap. His long dirty hair had been neatly trimmed into a crew cut the night before at his own hands. His face was clean shaven. And now he prayed like he never had in his life.

“God, ya hear me? Make me walk straight just this once. I ain't never quarreled or rallied at ya about these bum legs. But now I need a bit of help. I'll do it slow but you make me walk straight just til I get to her room…”

Fred climbed into the service elevator and pulled himself up the cables until the third floor. Though his legs were twisted, he had learned to compensate with his arms and they were unfailingly strong. Balancing himself on the cable, his legs wrapped around it and hanging on with one arm like a monkey in the jungle; he used a screw driver to pry apart the elevator doors and then swung himself onto the third floor. He stood quietly in the elevator doors which were a hallway away from Honey Jean's room.

He tilted his rifle against his shoulder and began to walk slowly, but straight with only a slight gait, along the wall of the hallway. The guard at her door returned his salute. “I'll take over now, orders for you to go down stairs and see if you can help with this crisis…” The guard took in the stripes on Fred's shirt sleeve and noted the array of medals on his chest.

“Yes sir!” he saluted and allowed Fred to relieve him of his duty.

Honey Jean's eyes were open while she lay still in the bed. Her face was very white and it made her eyes look like holes in her face. Fred stood quietly behind the plastic curtain. “Honey?” his voice was a mere whisper. Her eyes blinked once as if she did hear him but didn't care at this point.

Fred went to work on the machines. He hot wired them to make it look like her body was still attached to them. “Damn well pays to be good at something sometimes…” He mumbled under his breath. Then he stood right in front of her and pulled her into a sitting position. Her eyes were empty as they stared straight ahead. His heart felt a deep pain at the loss of life in her eyes. “Oh Honey don't you let them kill you! You don't let them do that. You have battled worse than them…”

He noticed the darkest of shadows in the corner near the bathroom. A shiver went down his spine. He heard the shadows then. It was a low humming, almost inaudible and then laughter. Awful laughter coming from the four corners of the room. He slid his rifle off his shoulder with one hand while holding Honey Jean up with the other. There were so many voices coming at once in whispers between giggles it made Fred dizzy with fright. He heard shouts down the hallway and then both Doctor “Smith” and Doc Bantam erupted into the room.

“Jesus Christ Fred! What are you doing?” Doc yelped.

“Get the hell out! Do you hear them? Get the hell out!” Fred's voice wavered as the voices grew to an earsplitting crescendo.

Doctor, but not a doctor, Smith pulled a gun out and aimed it at Fred's head, “Step away from her. Do it slowly and you won't be hurt.”

Fred's eyes were wild in fear, “Don't you hear it? They're coming to get her! Jesus, don't you hear them?”

Doc Bantam moved closer to Fred who cradled Honey Jean tightly against his shoulder, “Now Fred, you have been under a lot of strain…Let the poor girl go. She's very sick.”

Fred felt the anger seep through his fear, “She ain't sick you old fart, you're killing her here…”

Smith pulled the trigger and the bullet pierced Fred's shoulder neatly. A bloom of blood spilled across the worn fabric. “I'll end it right here Fred. Let her go. I might miss you, you know. Might hit her…”

The shadows were becoming darker in the room. The noise was deafening in Fred's ears, but they were not so loud that he could not hear Honey Jean whisper, “You always get here just in time…” This is when Fred blew Smith away with the rifle held against his wounded shoulder and the alarms began to sound.

Doc Bantam flew from the room screaming, “In here, help in here!”

Vicious laughter circled around the pair and Honey smiled and turned Fred's face to see her own, “Don't be afraid. It's okay Freddy, now jump.” She insisted and nodded towards the window.

Fred shook violently and glanced towards the window. The sky was darker than death. “We're three floors ups…”

“You have to hurry…I'll catch you Freddy…” Honey Jean said and Fred realized he no longer held her in his arms and instead she stood out side the open window in mid air. A light surrounded her. The light Fred had glimpsed near her many times through all these years. “I'll catch you I promise.”

Fred heard feet pounding in the hall and the shadows only grew larger and were rushing at him and he jumped.

Honey Jean caught him halfway down. Fred felt as if he were falling in slow motion as she cradled him in her arms and wrapped the softest of wings around his battered body. She lay him gently on the sidewalk and whispered, “They always crucify their heroes Freddy. You are exactly what you dreamed you would be. That was the secret I have carried all this time. I loved knowing it Freddy, truly I did.” Then with tenderness she kissed the sweet smile on his mouth. A single tear fell across the bridge of his nose and he closed his eyes.

“You really were better than everyone else.” Fred sighed and he was glad he finally knew Honey Jean's secret.  

   

          #

Strange things always happened around Honey Jean. Still, this was whispered among the town folks for years after she mysteriously disappeared. The old men liked to reminisce while they had their morning coffee. And at least one would say after any discussion of the topic of the sweetness known as Honey Jean, “Sure wish I knew what happened to that poor child.” And glances always wandered to the small cemetery where Fred Wilkins was buried.

No one had attended his funeral. Most felt that he had done something to Honey Jean or had caused her disappearance. Most of the folks even had a difficult time looking at his grave. Doc Bantam still tended to it though the other folks felt him odd for doing so. There was no need for a marker for the Doc to know exactly where Fred Wilkins was laid to rest. Each morning when the Doc came to visit, he found a single white feather laying in the spot.

Folks would think him odder still if he had told exactly what he had seen when he had come back into the hospital room. It made him ashamed. It made him ashamed to know Honey Jean's secret and not be a brave enough man to tell it. Instead, he gathered that single feather each morning and shoved it deep in his pocket until it disappeared by the end of the day. And he tried; he tried desperately to ignore the shadows that he could now see swirling in the wind.

       

 -end-