I’ve taken on your fear of Mudgett.

Dear Trevor,

Our bargain is done. I’ve taken on your fear of Mudgett. I could be mistaken, but I think I actually felt it come upon me, in a strange sort of way. I have no feeling of dread, just a slight acknowledgement of a new presence.

I don’t fear Mudgett any more than I did before. Why should I? He can’t do anything to me. This place I reside in may have a million drawbacks, but Mudgett’s presence is not one of them. And I believe I would relish a good dust-up with the little punk.

It makes sense, when you think about it. Just because I took on your fear of him doesn’t mean it should weigh as heavily on me as it weighed on you. He can do nothing to me. “Bear each other’s burdens.” Genius. It’s easy for me to bear your burden. That’s why God told us to do it. That old Bible really gets it right sometimes.

You may not yet agree with this, but I can’t wait for you to meet Mudgett again.

You asked what you owe me in return. I don’t know. For now, how about if you just file away an IOU? Once I figure out what you can do for me, I promise I’ll cash it in.

Keep me posted.

Dad

With God as my witness, here is my bargain with you.

Dear Trevor,

A bargain. “An oath of The Other.” That’s what your Mrs. Henry called it. Let’s make a bargain, Trevor. Let’s do something that makes a difference in your life. Let’s solve this problem of Will Mudgett—of your fear of him. Is it possible? Is it mystical nonsense? Is it true religion or just wishful thinking on my own, impotent part? What the hell. Let’s find out.

With God as my witness, Trevor, here is my bargain with you. I will take your fear of Will Mudgett. I will bear the fear for you. With God as my witness, I am willing to be the bearer of your fear. When you next see Mudgett, I want you to remember that your fear of him is no longer your own. I’m taking on that fear, so you can’t have it. It is no longer your property or your burden. It is mine. I pledge this to you, Trevor, in clear view of God Almighty, should he actually prove to exist.

“Bear each other’s burdens,” Trevor. That’s what the Bible says, right? Let’s try it.

Dad

I’m starting to think Mrs. Henry is a nut.

Dear Dad,

I talked to Mrs. Henry again today, but I’m starting to think she is kind of a nut. Here’s a drawing of her I did in class when I should have been reading. I like it. I worked on it some more when I got home. Can you tell what I mean about her kind of ex-hippie style?

Mrs. Henry really believes this stuff about The Other and all her other kooky crap. I think she’s one of those people who probably thinks ghosts and angels and all that sort of thing are real.

Then again, who am I to talk? I’m writing letters to my dead dad.

I asked her if she’d tell me more about this idea of what she meant by a bargain. What kind of bargain could I make with a dead person that, like she said, God would honor?

“You’re a writer, aren’t you, Trevor?”

“Sort of.”

“You are. You’re someone who values words. Few people do, you know. We say, “God bless you” when someone sneezes without thinking what the words mean. Talk about taking the Lord’s name in vain. We pray at dinner. We say, “Bless this food to our bodies,” but if someone asked us what we meant, we wouldn’t know how to answer them. Our words might as well be grunts. But what if you made a real agreement—a verbal contract? What if you made an oath before God, say, to keep your room clean for a month? Would you do it?”

“I guess I would.”

“Would you or wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

“Why?”

“Well, because I made a promise in front of God.”

“And God would hold you to it. God takes such oaths seriously. It is an oath of The Other. Such oaths transcend time and space. And such bargains are never to be entered into lightly.”

Mrs. Henry stared at me for a minute. I think she was wishing I would fall down in amazement at the brilliance of her words. I think teachers wish that a lot. I guess I was kind of amazed, though.

“But what do you mean by a bargain?”

“Oh, that part is simple. A bargain is simply an exchange of goods or services at a price. You get something in exchange for payment.

I still don’t really know what she meant, and Mrs. Henry wasn’t going to spell everything out for me. But there was something there. I could tell.

A little help here would be great, Dad. Any ideas?

Your son,

Tom

The only blood to be found in this place seems to be on the boat.

Dear Trevor,

Don’t worry about David Gilman and his “wussy boy” comment. He’s one of those guys who says whatever sounds cool that day. Tomorrow he’ll be making fun of his best friend if he hears someone doing that.

David Gilman is the stupidest kind of bully. He is not worth considering. Your Mrs. Henry, however, is a different matter. She is certainly worth a study.

I think I understand what she is saying with her theories. If God is more than bunk, than time and space and life and death have to be meaningless to him. Otherwise, what would the point be of praying for your brother to have a safe trip.  You’re praying that God will somehow go with him into the future, in another location, and impact the surface of the road he drives on and keep other cars from running into him. Would it be possible, Mrs. Henry is postulating, to pray for something that also happened in the past? Would it be possible to make an oath with someone, with God as your witness, who was on the other side of the world or even, dare I say it, dead? I have an idea or two on how we might test her theory, but it would be great to hear more from Mrs. Henry.

Boxing has become a bit of a hobby with Carl and me. We wrapped our fists in a couple of Sung-Hee’s dish cloths and punched a sack of beach sand and rags. It doesn’t have the heft of your heavy bag, but then again, either do my punches. I can’t seem to hit the bag hard enough to tire out my hands. Carl derides me for my weak arms, but his don’t seem to hit any harder.

We tried a little sparring as well. Carl slipped a hard jab through and hit me right in the nose. I expected blood to come out and kept touching my nostrils with my rag-wrapped hands, but no blood.

The only blood to be found in this place seems to be on the boat and its bloody woman captain. As far as I can recall, the boat hasn’t been here in a while, which means we should be seeing it any day. I long for and dread its appearance, as well as the appearance of newcomers. Believe me, any diversion is precious, but each newcomer who arrives and then leaves is another painful reminder that I am still here.

Dad