Page 103 of Mazywood

“He hit his head pretty hard, Imani,” Sharise said. “But we got him out of the cold—so he’s probably okay. And I believe you heard Mom’s voice, so maybe she’s okay too. But if they’re not… you’ll always have me. Forever.” The last part was what Sharise had been warming up to.

Imani wanted to shove Sharise away. Instead, she sank against her sister and hugged her.

Imani Washington finally released her sobs, crying in her sister’s arms.

Twenty-Nine

“WELL, AIN’T THIS SOME BULLSHIT?” Uncle Ricky said.

Johnny had been dreaming. A nightmare. Some kind of otherworldly creature had taken Tasha, and he was lost in the snow. The worst dream of his life. Johnny opened his eyes, relieved to flee to light and wakefulness.

Uncle Ricky was squatting over him in his black cowboy hat, a stub of a joint pinned between his lips. He pinched the roach to take a drag. It took two full seconds for Johnny to remember that his uncle Ricky had died while he was in college, and that this wasn’t the first time he had seen him today. Uncle Ricky had disappeared in these woods.

Johnny was sitting against a thin pine trunk. He must have fallen asleep. (You mean passed out?) A blur of woods and driving snow all around.

When he blinked, Uncle Ricky’s form stayed fixed. Glaring at him.

“Fuck,” Johnny said. Despite this persistent phantom’s presence, he knew he wasn’t dreaming. Worse than that, he might be dying. His left arm throbbed, and he felt like a log was pinning his chest. His raised knees knocked together as he tremored. Now he vaguely remembered that he had felt an overwhelming need to close his eyes for five minutes and give his shivering limbs a rest. Sweet, sweet rest.

“Fuck’s the right word, all right,” Uncle Ricky said. “As in, ‘What the fuck are you doing sitting on your ass?’ ”

Johnny’s body shivered enough to clack his teeth. He didn’t answer.

“You ain’t the only one who’s cold out here,” Uncle Ricky said. “You think those babies ain’t cold too? They’re waiting on you and you’re out here chilling.”

Chilling. “Is that suh-supposed to be funny?”

“No, it’s not suh-suh-supposed to be funny,” Uncle Ricky said, mocking his shivering.

“Leave me alone!” Johnny tried to shout, but his voice was hoarse.

Uncle Ricky shrugged. “Suit yourself. Thought you were tryin’ to do something today.” He straightened to his full height, which seemed giant now, just like when Johnny was younger. He was at least six foot three. Before Mazelle hurt his knee, he’d been a rare Black high school quarterback in the 1960s. After flicking his roach into the snow, he turned and started to walk deeper into the pine grove, beneath the snow-drooping branches.

Johnny’s sudden wave of panic at abandonment made him scramble to his feet. Uncle Ricky was the only help he had. The snowfall was so heavy, or he had been unconscious for so long, that his own tracks were gone.

“Wait!” he called after Uncle Ricky. “Which way?”

Uncle Ricky turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Just didn’t want you to freeze to death, boy!” he called. He raised one hand to wave at him. “You know where they went.”

“No!” Johnny said, stumbling to move toward him in his snowshoes. The waving hand. “I don’t know! And just tell me why! Why is that monster out here? Why did she feed it?”

“You ain’t figured that out yet?” Uncle Ricky said. Oddly, his hand was still raised, frozen in his farewell wave. “Looked at that burn on your arm lately? She was the monster, Johnny. It was like lookin’ in a mirror, maybe. Grandmother told me she was the sweetest child you ever did see, but not by the time Hollywood was done with her. Said she wished she’d never taken Mother to her very first screen test in Florida, said Mother would have been better off that way. Mother sure never was sweet to us, huh? The only thing she could be sweet to was runnin’ wild in these woods.” Uncle Ricky winked at him, a bitter leer. “Literally eatin’ her young.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I brought my family here.”

“I’m sorry, son, but it was a secret,” Uncle Ricky said. “I tried to keep you away from it. Guess it was all Mother had left.”

Uncle Ricky’s voice was softer too. Fading.

“Where’s Tasha? Where can I find her?”

“Tasha’s with me in the bone room, Johnny.”

His voice was light snowfall.

Horror jittered through Johnny. “What does that mean?” he called, although he had a good goddamn idea. Tears stabbed the corners of his eyes. He tugged his stubborn snowshoes ahead for one step, and another, trying to reach Uncle Ricky’s waving hand. When a gust of flurrying snowflakes cleared and Johnny blinked vision back to his good eye, Uncle Ricky wasn’t there anymore.

The waving hand was a purple glove posed in the tree.