Danny
Danny ran because he didn’t know what else to do.
The cornfield behind Doc Pete’s didn’t look so long from the window, maybe about as long as a football field, but Danny had been running for what seemed like a few minutes and he wasn’t even halfway across it yet. He was afraid of stopping because the crop of corn had been cut down to the bases of their stalks, and he didn’t have nothing to hide behind. He didn’t want Doc Pete to see him running away.
Danny couldn’t remember everything Carl had said to him, but he knew that Carl seemed scared and upset and didn’t want to go to jail. He had seen Carl’s kids around town, and they always smiled at him when Carl wasn’t looking. He didn’t want Carl to be put in jail because of him and leave them kids all alone with just their mama. Danny knew how hard it was to be without his own papa.
Danny didn’t care so much about the deputy. If he went to jail, that is where he probably belonged, but if the deputy got in trouble, so would Carl. Danny couldn’t do that to Carl and his kids.
Still, it didn’t make sense why he’d be blamed for what happened to Mindy. Didn’t make any sense at all.
His heavy boots clomped over the thick layer of snow that covered the cornfield, crunching it right down to the hard dirt beneath it. The snow went up past his ankles and made it difficult for him to lift his feet out and keep them moving forward. His lungs burned from the cold, and he could feel his heart pounding hard in his chest.
He wanted to stop, but the forest was up ahead a little ways more. Once he got there, he figured he would rest for a bit. Catch his breath and think about where he should go.
His boot laces got tangled up in a cornstalk, and he fell forward onto the snow. He put his hands out to catch his fall, but he hit the ground hard, and it sent a shock of pain through his jaw that made him cry out into the night air.
Danny rolled over onto his back between the rows of corn and could feel the tears leaking from his eyes. The snow underneath him felt real soft, like a fluffy feather pillow. The moon shone down at him through a falling blanket of snow, and he didn’t want to get up. He just wanted to stay put and rest for a minute.
Get up, Danny.
Even with the wind howling all around him, Danny heard the talking in his head clear as day, like it was right there next to him. This was the third time in the last few hours that the talking in his head had said something to him. Months, sometimes years went by and he didn’t hear the talking in his head. He was in an awful lot of trouble, and that’s probably why it was back again so soon.
Just a little further. Then you can rest.
The very first time he heard the talking in his head was when he was a little kid. Around six or seven. After the accident. He had been looking for Donald Duck Cola bottles along old Route 6, and it was real hot. August was always the hottest month in Pennsylvania. The sun burned the back of his neck, and sweat rolled into his eyes, stinging them and making it hard for him to see. He kept wiping the sweat onto the shoulders of his T-shirt and kept his eyes searching for bottles hidden in the brush. Back then Donald Duck Cola came in all sorts of flavors—lemon-lime, grape, black cherry, and his favorite, strawberry. All the bottles had a picture of Donald Duck on the front, and Danny liked Donald Duck better than Mickey Mouse because his voice sure sounded funny. He had a pretty good collection going. Almost twenty bottles.
Danny had been searching in the bushes when Mr. Dempsey’s car pulled alongside of him—the car was a brand-new Chrysler Imperial, and Mr. Dempsey was one of the first people in town to drive around in a fancy car like that. Because it was so hot outside, Mr. Dempsey had all his windows rolled down. Mr. Dempsey was a short little man with thick-framed glasses, and his head barely peeked over the big steering wheel. He smiled a toothy grin and called out to Danny.
“Hey, Danny. Whatcha doing?” Mr. Dempsey had a funny smile on his face. Danny remembered how small Mr. Dempsey’s teeth had looked. Danny thought maybe he still had his baby teeth, but that didn’t make sense. Grown-up people didn’t have baby teeth. The Tooth Fairy took them away when you were little. But Mr. Dempsey’s were small. That was for sure. Maybe the Tooth Fairy didn’t visit him at night.
“Looking for Donald Duck bottles, is all,” Danny replied.
“Oh, yeah? You know, if I’m not mistaken, I got a half dozen bottles or so in my refrigerator back home. Nice and cold. Why don’t you hop in, and we’ll both go and have us a soda?” Mr. Dempsey lived all alone up on Terrytown Mountain Road. A lot of the menfolk in town didn’t like him so much. They said he was “funny,” but he didn’t ever make Danny laugh.
“Whadaya say, Danny? It’s hotter than heck out there. How about we go for a little ride?” He leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open. “Think I might have a fresh batch of cookies in the jar, too.”
Danny sure was thirsty, and a cookie sure sounded good right about then.
Don’t get in the car, Danny-Boy, the talking in his head warned him.
Mr. Dempsey patted the car seat and gave him a wink. “Come on, Danny. Hop on inside.” Danny had his hand on the door handle.
Go home now, Danny. Run!
Danny did as the talking in his head told him to. He took off running and went straight home but didn’t tell Uncle Brett about anything. Uncle Brett always said real bad words about Mr. Dempsey. Words that Danny didn’t know. Mr. Dempsey moved out of town a few years later. His garage had burned down one night, and the next thing Danny knew, he had up and moved away. One day he was there, and the next he was gone, and Mr. Dempsey’s leaving sure seemed to make a lot of the men in town pretty happy. Uncle Brett told him that he probably moved to San Francisco to go live with all the other fruits.
The talking in Danny’s head was back again tonight, but he felt sleepy and his jaw hurt and he didn’t want to move anymore.
Get up, Danny-Boy. Not safe out here. Keep walking.
Danny did as he was told. The talking in his head was always looking out for him. It never told him to do something wrong or anything that got him in trouble. He struggled to his feet—his jaw throbbing and complaining with each jarring movement—and started tromping through the snow again. He dug his hands in his pockets and put his head down to block his eyes from the hard-falling snow.
He plodded forward until he stepped into the forest—pitch-black—and immediately felt better. The woods were quiet and peaceful, and the snow wasn’t falling as hard down under all the trees.
Danny liked that the talking was back again. He had missed hearing from it. He wished it would visit him more, not just when he seemed to be in trouble or scared. He wondered if the talking in his head was a little angel or something else he couldn’t see. Maybe this time it would stay with him for a while so he wouldn’t be so lonely. And maybe it would help him figure out what he should do next.
