Free Michael Lister - Soldier 02 - The Big Beyond by Michael Lister

known as spotters, who took turns watching the sky for enemy aircraft from a station on top of the Dixie Sherman. Like the other volunteers, she had been trained to identify aircraft—both ours and theirs—by sight and sound.
    The last time I saw her, what I thought would be the final time, I had seen her there on the roof of the Sherman.
    When she had opened the door of the small wooden lookout shack and saw me standing there agitated and holding a brown paper bag, she shook her head.
    “Not tonight, soldier,” she said.
    “But I brought your favorite,” I said, holding up the whiskey.
    “Every time she’s close enough to get her poison in you,” she said, “you show up here wantin’ me to cut the wound open and suck out the venom.”
    She had been talking about Lauren and she had been right.
    Although not nearly as beautiful or regal as Lauren, there was something about Jan that made me think of her. It was in her attitude, her posture, the hunger beneath her plaid skirt and white blouse. She was right. I only used her for temporary relief. Very temporary. And not just because I was so limited in what I could do. The next morning I would always feel far worse, my self-inflicted sickness and inexcusable cruelty toward a girl whose only sin was letting me, making me hate myself all the more.
    She had closed the door and gone back to work. I had spread out my overcoat on the step, sat down, and started drinking.
    I took a few pulls on the bottle and thought about what I was doing. I couldn’t blame Lauren’s power over me or Jan’s weakness against me. I alone was responsible for the damage I was doing. I had become a carrier and was infecting her. I had to stop.
    Standing up slowly, I had placed the bottle down on the step I had been sitting on and walked away. When I reached the exit door, I told her I was sorry and that I wouldn’t be back, but I wasn’t sure she heard it. And here I was back to see her, though for a very different reason.
    The night I had called Pete with all the info on Frank Howell and the rest, I had gotten the impression that he was not alone. If I was right, then Jan was the most likely person whose presence I had detected. I hadn’t been the only one who used Jan.
    The Ritz theater was all right. There were always plenty of people around—both inside and out—enjoying the pictures, sure, but enjoying each other more.
    The manager, Bud Davis, was always finding ways to support the war effort, including hosting several war bond drives in front of the theater, which included special shows, demonstrations of amphibious vehicles, parades, and celebrities. He was even the one who came up with the slogan, “Your war bond may be his ticket home.” He also hosted a free scrap metal movie and invited fourteen hundred boys and girls below the age of fourteen to donate a piece of scrap metal and see a free movie.
    As I moved around the lobby looking for Jan, I avoided Bud and anyone else who might recognize me. It wasn’t difficult to do. The crowd was active and talkative and easy to blend in to.
    Unable to find Jan in the concession stand or lobby, I stepped inside the theater to look for her.
    On the screen, Hitchcock’s small-town malevolent masterpiece was playing, the bright, innocent, but brilliant Charlie played by Teresa Wright telling her namesake uncle Charlie played by Joseph Cotten, “I have a feeling that inside you there’s something nobody knows about … something secret and wonderful. I’ll find it out.”
    She’s right about the secret part, but not the wonderful. I knew because I had read the story by Gordon McDonell, “Uncle Charlie,” that the movie was based on.
    I thought about how much I used to read, how little I had lately, and how much I missed it. I recalled using certain words I’d picked up from all my time between the covers, and July, Lauren, and Ruth Ann all having the same reaction—”You gotta get out more, fella, and stop reading so much. Have