The Folds Read online

  Danny drank from his bottle and reviewed the notes in his journal as he aimlessly wandered the streets. He preached his victims’ names and dates of death loudly and waved his arms wildly about as he relived vision after vision. All passersby would either step out of the way or go so far as to cross the street and stare at him.

  It was almost eleven when he climbed the stairs to his small and clammy garage apartment. He opened the door and flicked the light switch. One dull and yellowed bulb hanging from the middle of the living room ceiling sputtered on, barely illuminating the old, putty-colored walls. Pizza boxes, hamburger wrappers, and burrito tissues were strewn across the kitchen floor. Ashtrays overflowing with extinguished cigarette butts littered the room. Oil- and grease-stained shirts, shorts, jeans, socks, and underwear lay on the backs of the couch and chairs and across the kitchen counter. Dishes, pots, and pans, sticky with food and mold, filled the sink. Trash heaped as high as the refrigerator handle spilled out onto the plaid, cracked, and curling solarium floor.

  He tossed his notebook on the grimy kitchen table and hobbled to the stereo with the bottle of Wild Turkey still in his clutches. He turned on his favorite Dream Theatre CD, Awake, to prepare him for making another entry on his wall. The walls were littered with Polaroids, ripped pages of scribbled notes, and obituaries. Like a timeline that a child creates in elementary school, the walls bore witness to Danny’s history of pain and years of suffering. From floor to ceiling, starting with the first vision he recorded in 1986, Danny hung his pictures and handwritten notations in chronological order. The collection of ghastly predictions completely covered three of the living-room walls with the fourth wall more than halfway concealed.

  The notes and obituaries had red X’s and green circles scattered about them. The first few of his recorded visions were marked predominantly with red X’s, whereas the most recent entries consisted primarily of green circles and checks. He tested himself constantly by staying in his visions for as short a time as possible, yet see how much he could remember. Danny circled those parts of the premonitions that coincided with those found in the obituaries: dates of death, cause, where, even down to the point of time of death and who would be the one to find them. Red: wrong; green: right. As he sat at the table and wrote in his journal, James Labrie sang his favorite song, “Voices.”

  At 3 a.m., in an emotional, drunken fit of rage, Danny exited his apartment. With his whiskey bottle in hand, he stumbled down the stairs and staggered out into the street. With all the candor of a town crier, he spewed forth the names and dates of those who had already met their demise. He also recited the names of those whose had not yet come to pass, including the conditions under which they were to die. Curtains, shutters, and doors parted open a bit to see from where, or from whom, the disturbance was coming.

  As he approached the end of his street, he noticed that the stained-glass foyer of the First Baptist Church was dimly illuminated and could see movement inside. He unsteadily climbed the narrow red-brick staircase and cracked open one of the large, white, solid wood double doors. Like a restless child peeking down a hallway for a glimpse of Santa Clause at Christmas, Danny poked his head in and softly called out, “Hello? God? You in there?” Upon receiving no response, he laughed and pulled the door open to let himself in. The foyer was empty, but the candles were lit. Through the bottom of the sanctuary doors, he again noticed a shadow of movement. With his curiosity piqued, he decided to enter the sanctuary. It was the first time for him to be in a church since his father’s death in 1976. Taking a few steps down the aisle between the sections of pews, he looked about for who, or what, created the shadows.

  “Oh, there you are!” Danny exclaimed sarcastically to the cross above the podium. “Well, here I am, Lord! What? No response? Hmm?” His anger and bitterness quickly surfaced as he confronted God. “You know, I was told to praise you, to love you, obey you…trust in you. I did everything asked of me and you do this to me in return?” He took another large mouthful of bourbon from the almost empty bottle before throwing it at the cross. “I trusted you!” he screamed as the bottle shattered on the wall. “You took everything I had! I loved you and you took them from me! Why!?” He fell to his knees, unable to support himself or control his emotions. Images of Tommy and Jessica flooded his memory, adding fuel to his fire. He leaned over and grabbed a hymnal and Bible from the pew back cradle and ranted belligerently as he threw them at the cross. “I hate you! You hear me? I hate you!”

  Franklin Pate, the baby boy Danny saved years ago on Christmas Eve, approached stealthily from behind and offered his testimony. “He has a plan,” he said softly, interrupting Danny’s rampage.

  Danny stopped throwing the books to turn and stare in disbelief at who was speaking to him, then asked, “He what?”

  “He has a plan for you. He has a plan for all of us,” Franklin repeated.

  “Oh, that’s just great!” Danny responded condescendingly. “He planned for my friends to die then, right? For my father to die and have his head blown off in front of me? Hmm? Jess? Her too!? The only one I ever loved to die in my arms? He planned that?”

  “He plans for all of His children to be with Him,” Franklin replied simply.

  “Then what’s His brilliant plan for me? Huh? Why leave me here alone?”

  “You’re not alone! You—”

  “Oh don’t start the whole ‘Footprints in the Sand’ crap!” Danny interrupted as he took a few steps toward Franklin. “Why don’t you—?”

  “Hey!” Pastor Pate hollered from across the sanctuary. “Let’s all just calm down now.” He walked toward them between the rows of pews.

  Danny, drunk and barely able to stand, grasped the armrest at the end of the pew for balance.

  Instead of reacting with a harsh chastisement, Pastor Pate soothingly inquired, “How you doing tonight, Danny?”

  “I’m sorry for all of the yelling. I just, um, I don’t feel so good. I think…I think I’m gonna…” Danny collapsed onto his hands and knees and threw up violently on the carpet.

  “Franklin, can you go start some coffee and bring some towels please?” Pastor Pate asked, holding on to Danny as he continued retching.

  “Oh no! Let me go!” Danny declared upon hearing the pastor’s request to Franklin. “I ain’ stayin’ here!”

  “Hey now. Stay for a while and rest a bit. Hmmm?”

  “No! Let me go!” Danny demanded as he stood.

  “Look, you’re drunk, you’re upset, and—”

  “I said let me go!”

  “Danny! Come on now, stop fighting! Just calm down!” Pastor Pate pleaded gently. He overpowered Danny and wrapped his arms around him as he flailed.

  “Let go! Please, just let me go! Let me go!” Danny spewed with tears streaming down his cheeks. He desperately clutched at the pastor’s robe, trying to his ignore his pain and deny his hunger for the touch and love of another human, any human. This was the first time for him to be comforted by a man since Johnny Lee held him at Tommy’s funeral in 1978. Memories of Tommy and his love flooded Danny’s brain. He and the pastor collapsed as he sobbed and wailed uncontrollably, unleashing nearly eighteen years of pent-up grief, anger, and confusion.

  Franklin squatted at Pastor Pate’s side, equipped with a couple of warm, wet towels.

  “Hush now. You’re gonna be fine. Everything’s gonna be just fine,” the good pastor soothed.

  Danny wept so intensely that his body started to convulse and shake.

  “Hey now, keep still. C’mon now. Breathe. Breathe for me now, Danny. C’mon, slow down.”

  With his hands still clenched on the pastor’s robe, Danny passed out, going limp in Pastor Pate’s arms. Franklin helped to lay Danny on the carpet.

  “You did fine, son, just fine,” the pastor complimented Franklin with a twinkle in his eyes. “Why don’t you say a prayer for him while I get a room ready, okay?”

  Pastor Pate left the young boy gingerly rubbing Danny’s face with the warm towel.
As he opened the sanctuary door to enter the corridor of classrooms, he could hear Franklin softly recite, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…”

  SECRETS REVEALED

  Pastor Pate called Charlie Doyle early Monday morning to let him know that Danny was okay and not to be worried as he never showed up to open the garage. They talked for a few minutes about what had happened late Saturday night, what Franklin said, and how upset and sick Danny had gotten from drinking. He also mentioned that when he peeked in to check on Danny, it appeared as if he hadn’t stirred one bit. Here it was, Monday morning, and he was still asleep after having been placed in one of the spare guest rooms at 4 a.m. Sunday morning.

  From down the street he could hear Charlie’s ’62 International tow truck, rumbling its way toward the church. Charlie pulled to the curb in front of the wrought-iron gate with a small wave to Franklin as he played on the swing set. “Morning, Franklin!” he called out, not quite sure if the boy would be willing to talk again.

  Franklin jumped out of the swing set with a not-so-perfect landing and fell forward to his hands and knees. But like a jackrabbit, he was quickly back on his feet and raced across the lawn. He gripped the metal fence and pressed his face tightly against the staves. “Did you see me, Charlie? Huh? Did you see me jump?” the boy asked, smiling broadly.

  “I sure did! You keep on practicing and soon you’ll be on the roof!”

  “Really?”

  “Sure ya can! Ain’ nuthin’ holdin’ ya back ’cept you!” Charlie confided.

  “Did you hear that, Daddy?” Franklin asked excitedly.

  Pastor Pate lovingly put his hand on his son’s head as he approached the gate and simultaneously answered Franklin and greeted Charlie. “Good morning, Charlie. No, I didn’t, son. What did he say?”

  “Charlie said if I keep swinging hard I can swing onto the roof!”

  “He said that to you?”

  “Yeah!” he quipped. “I’m gonna practice some more!”

  “Okay, well, you be careful… I’ll be back in just a while,” the pastor said with a kiss on Franklin’s head. He unlocked the gate, closed and locked it behind him, and smiled at his son. After climbing in the passenger door of the truck, he called out to Franklin, “If Danny wakes up before I return, just tell him I’ll be back in a few minutes. Okay?”

  “All right!” Franklin hollered as he turned and ran away to the swing set.

  As Charlie pulled up to the old two-story house, Pastor Pate commented, “I’ll go on upstairs and get him some clean clothes.”

  “Okay. I’ll check his car for insurance or a driver’s license,” Charlie replied.

  Pastor Pate climbed the stairs, opened the unlocked door, and hesitated briefly before entering the musty, dirty room. Danny had gone so far as to cover the windows with his newspaper clippings and journal entries, allowing for very little light to enter the room. Meanwhile, Charlie raised the garage door to reveal Danny’s ’75 Impala, covered in dust and filled with cobwebs. He opened the passenger door and plopped himself down on the dirty seat to take a look in the glove compartment. In the vehicles owner’s manual was a letter of insurance dated to 1985 and the certificate of registration with Danny’s full name on it. He took both the letter and certificate, closed the car door, and dropped the overhead door behind him as he exited.

  “You won’t believe what I found!” Pastor Pate declared loudly upon hearing Charlie coming up the stairs.

  Later that afternoon, in the quiet of his study, Pastor Pate called the Texas Department of Public Safety.

  “Department of Public Safety, how may I direct your call?” a polite woman’s voice answered.

  “Yes, can I please speak to a Mrs. Tommy Albright?”

  “Hold please,” the voice requested.

  The pastor waited patiently while listening to the phone courtesy music play Patsy Cline’s “Back in Baby’s Arms.”

  “Sarah, you have a phone call holding on three,” a voice called out as Sarah made her way past the operator’s console.

  “I don’t have time right now! You’ll have to take a message or let them know I’ll—”

  “You really need to take this call!” the operator politely interrupted and exited her cubicle to follow Sarah to her office.

  “Uhhhh!” she grunted in frustration with the operator in tow. “I need to get this month’s schedule done for Huddleston and Farley. I don’t have time to lollygag!” After unloading her armful of paperwork on the desk, she pulled out her chair as she greeted the holding line. “Albright!” she answered shortly and took her seat. “Yes, this is Sarah Albright. Good morning to you, sir. How can I help you? “What?” she asked, looking up at her coworker with tears in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  A PERSONAL RESURRECTION

  Tuesday. Danny fluttered his eyes open to see the cream-colored ceiling of the guest room. What time is it? How long have I been asleep? These were two of the many questions swirling through his mind, along with, How did my clothes get changed? Things seemed very out of place.

  The windows, with their almost sheer lace drapes, bathed the entire room with white brilliance. He raised his head and chest to take a look about, propping himself with his elbows at his sides. It was a simple room with one double bed and a small closet with two sliding doors. A double-bowl hurricane lamp with hand-painted bluebonnets rested on a small nightstand next to the bed. There was also a dresser, a padded armchair with a dark floral print, and one extra door leading to the back courtyard. He looked around for his glasses, but didn’t notice them on either the dresser or nightstand.

  He stood and stretched then slowly ambled to the door leading to the hallway of classrooms. “Hello?” he bashfully called. After getting no response, he closed the door, sat in the armchair, and slipped on his boots. While lacing his boots, a bright-red image flashed by the window followed seconds later by a horde of laughing children. He exited the spare room to the courtyard where the day care children were playing.

  The late-morning sun was so intense that he had to place his hand above his eyes and turn his head down and to the side. He also couldn’t help but notice how bright and magnificent the colors now seemed to be. Roses in bloom that usually appeared dark and crimson now glowed a brilliant red like a stoplight. Yellows, greens, lavenders; all things glimmered in fresh and radiant hues. He walked a few steps to the corner of the building and spied Pastor Pate sitting under one of the oak trees. Just at that moment, Franklin and a swarm of children darted past him. Franklin, now nineteen years old, blended right in with the other children, running and laughing as if he didn’t know he was different. But then again, Pastor Pate never treated Franklin differently from the other children.

  “Good morning!” Pastor Pate called out jovially.

  “Good morning, Danny!” Franklin echoed and rushed to Danny’s side. He lunged into him and lovingly surrendered a tight, short squeeze before running away again with the other children.

  “Hey now!” Danny huffed and raised his arms in the air, not quite sure how to take the greeting. “Good morning!” he retorted confusedly, but only after Franklin had already rounded the corner.

  Danny took deliberate, slow strides to the small concrete picnic table to sit with the good pastor. “Morning,” he offered quietly. Franklin raced to the table with the other children and lunged this time into Pastor Pates left shoulder.

  “There’s my boy!” the pastor boasted, hugging his son. “Franklin, will you please get Rip Van Winkle here some coffee?”

  “You want that black?”

  “Sure, black is fine,” Danny replied to Franklin and, like a bolt of lightning, off he charged. “Man! I feel good!” Danny commented as he stretched once more before sitting down, then pointed behind him. “That’s a great bed! I ain’t slept that hard in years!”

  “Glad to hear it,” the pastor replied as he picked up his newspaper. “Three days and nights of sleep can do wonders for the soul.”

  “Three?” Dan
ny repeated, confused.

  “It’s Tuesday. You’ve been asleep for three days,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “Three days? Shut up!”

  “Three days. You know what else happened in three days?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Christ arose from His tomb three days after His crucifixion. God rolled away the stone sealing the cave that Christ’s body was laid in. Later He appeared before His disciples in the flesh.” He let the statement sink in for a moment before offering more facts. “Jonah was delivered safely to Nineveh with a message from the Lord after being in the belly of a whale for three days.”

  “Then there’s me,” Danny interjected smartly. “I was asleep for three days. So what? I ain’t no Messiah and I ain’t in no whale.”

  “No,” the pastor agreed. “But this is twice now that your being here has changed the life of someone.” From out of nowhere Franklin appeared at Danny’s side with a fresh cup of coffee. As he gingerly set the cup and saucer on the table, Pastor Pate looked over Franklin’s shoulder and noticed Whitney entering the back of the courtyard. “Franklin, why don’t you go see if Whitney needs help with anything inside?”

  Franklin turned abruptly and ran to the courtyard, calling loudly, “Whitney! Whitney!”

  “I can understand maybe the first time when he was out on the porch at Christmas, but sleeping for three days? What does that have to do with anything?” Danny asked, then took a sip of his coffee.

  “Your three days of sleep didn’t help anyone but you, but…you came here.”

  Danny sat silently and watched the children play as the pastor continued.

  “You know, Franklin has been here ever since you left him. You had nothing to do with him being put here, but had it not been for you delivering him to me, he would have frozen to death. And that’s no coincidence, bizarre twist of fate, or mistake. God planned for you to be here at that time, that place, that night to make a choice to protect him. And since that night, even though I’m the only father he’s ever known, until Saturday night he had yet to speak a word to me or anyone else.”