The Last Dupont

by Rachel Renee

  CHAPTER ONE

  It’s been over twenty years since I’ve even given much thought to the little town I spent the first five years of my life in. Crimson Falls was no longer on my radar until the phone call just hours ago requesting me to travel to the place where my sister had died in childhood, my father was killed before I even got to know him, and my grandfather, the same story. My mother and I were the only two that escaped the place that took the lives of our other family members. The last one, my grandmother, its most recent victim. Or maybe it was just old age that ended her life. At least that’s what I want to believe. The lawyer stated it was a heart attack that took the woman my momma referred to as Gladys and never allowed me to visit.

  I have vague memories of her, my granny, and the odd way she would interact with us girls. I remember her smile, but then the meanness that quickly followed. The house, the squeaky stairs inside and out, and the porch that wrapped completely around the front is what still drifted in from time to time about the place I used to live.

  Momma told me stories about Granny, why she always seemed so angry and distant to Samantha and I. She’d had a lot of loss in her life and by keeping the little girls at a distance she believed that maybe she could spare them. I never understood that way of thinking, and to this day, struggle to comprehend it. Momma also constantly talked about Samantha, which kept the memory of my sister alive for many years, until Momma’s own passing away from cancer. I’m alone in this world, or at least without a living relative. Besides my dog, Rusty, who’s been my one and only companion for the last three years. I don’t know why, something else I didn’t really understand, but I never really fit in with the people in Georgia. Momma said it was because of where we came from; I also overheard some people at the restaurant I work in talk frequently of my last name. As far as I’m concerned, my last name means nothing to me. How could a last name mean anything if there was no one there to carry it on?

  Years after the fateful night that took my sister from this world, Momma finally told me the whole story. Samantha and I had come down with the chicken pox. There had been a family at the store a few days before, their little girl sitting amongst us as we talked with our momma about our day. The next morning, the little girl’s mother was in looking for an ointment or elixir to help with the rash that her daughter had developed overnight. Momma worried that whatever it was, her daughters were susceptible to the same fate. Little did she know at the time, she was right and one of her girls would not see it through.

  Samantha had contracted the chicken pox, just as I did. Only, hers developed inside, instead of the usual physical display that plagued me. Apparently, as it grew rapidly in the Samantha’s throat, the sores lining her esophagus caused somewhat of an allergic type reaction, restricting the airways. Accompanied by her extreme temperature, and the slow reaction time, Samantha had no chance of survival. Back in the fifties, chicken pox wasn’t something that was widely known. Especially in the small town. Samantha’s body was sent into the city by Dr. Phillips, and after the coroner examined her, Momma found out what really happened.

  Up until that point, and even afterward, Granny and Momma refused to believe it was some virus that took Samantha. It was the cursed town that claimed her for its own. Ever since I was old enough to know the truth, that’s all I heard about. Chicken pox may have ravaged me, but something much more sinister was at play within my older sister. The same way my father died just years earlier on the same day. And my grandfather before that was taken from the earth way too early. Apparently, up until the death of Samantha, Momma didn’t believe in the curse and refused to even think that such a thing was possible. Afterward, though, as Samantha was laid to rest at ten years old, Momma claimed she knew without a doubt that a curse and not a virus was what took her baby away from her.

  Me, however, just like Momma had doubted previously, refused to even give thought to such nonsense. Curses? That’s the stuff of nightmares and ghost stories, not real life. So, after the phone call from the lawyer, I packed my bag, loaded up my 1950’s, green Chevrolet Apache pickup truck with a few personal items, and guided Rusty, my sheppard, into the passenger seat before heading to Crimson Falls. Curses be damned, I’m coming for what is rightfully mine.

  The drive ahead of me will be long and tedious. I’ve never driven as many hours or as far a distance before, well, at least not since arriving back to Georgia twenty years ago. I was five, and don’t remember anything about that trip. Hell, I don’t remember much about that first year of living in Georgia. Momma’s family was from the small town of Blue Ridge, a population just as small as Crimson Falls. When she left her family more than ten years before, to follow Daddy back home to his estate in the Falls, she was shunned.

  She thought that her family would forgive her, but alas, even after all Momma had gone through, they would not invite her in. That was not something she had planned for. Momma, being the strong woman that she was, didn’t let that stop her. With the money that Granny had provided us with for the travel, the little bit Momma had put aside from the sale of our home many years before, she moved us into a small house on the outskirts of Atlanta, Georgia, and started a new life, just the two of us. Momma got a job waiting tables at a little family-owned restaurant. The Anderson’s hired her on the spot, said they knew by the determinization in her eyes she would work hard. Because it was a family-owned establishment, they understood our plight and allowed Momma to bring me in during her shifts, as long as I stayed in the back booth and kept quiet and out of the way during the busy times.

  The Andersons had a daughter, Jenny, who was just a little bit older than me. Eight to my five. She would sit with me in the booth from time to time and play dolls or read me stories. I was quiet and unsure of myself. I would complete the motions that made me alive, but inside, I felt anything but. After that first year, I grew to think of Jenny as a big sister since I’d lost mine. Jenny filled in most of the roles that Samantha had. On school days, Jenny and I would walk together, the Anderson’s oldest son, Jacob, making sure we got back and forth safely. After school, we would sit in the booth and do our homework, Momma stopping by from time to time to help with math. My worst subject. It had been Samantha’s worst too. I remembered that much. Momma would always spend as much time as she could at the general store helping Samantha try to understand. She even used grocery items to give examples, but just as I struggled grasping math, Samantha never really understood the concepts.

  Jenny grew up though, and the three-year gap that wasn’t an issue before became a huge hindrance on our relationship. I became a bothersome little sister at times, but I knew when I wasn’t wanted and would steer clear of all things Anderson. Until Momma died, I kept my distance from the restaurant. If I needed Momma for anything, I’d wait outside, peering in through the glass front like the creep I was and wait for the coast to be clear. After Momma passed however, the Andersons decided they needed me to fill her place. Which reminds me, I need to run in and let them know I’ll be gone for a while.

  Tires squealing as I pull off the blacktopped road, I take an immediate left and then right, heading in the direction of The Anderson’s. Really catchy name they came up with for their restaurant. I always laugh when I think of it. They could have named it anything, but decided their namesake was the way to go. Pulling up to my place of business, I put the old truck in park and turn to Rusty.

  “You stay put, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” His nose sniffs the air in my direction but he turns right back to his passenger window, peering at the people walking along the sidewalks. Rusty doesn’t make too much noise. He’s happy to alert me if someone is coming up to the door or if something seems off when we’re out walking, but any other time, he’s all tail wags and giant tongue kisses.

  Rusty found me right after Momma died. I say he found me because I was wandering down Main Street, completely lost in the city I’d grown up in. With Momma gone, I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was just on the outskirts, near t
he woods and park where Momma and I would venture when she and I were off school and work at the same time. Here comes this tiny bundle of brown fluff bounding out of the tree line, heading straight for me. He was at my feet before I registered what was happening. I jumped back, startled by his tiny yaps and scratchy claws. Then I remember laughing at myself before bending down to pet the wily little thing.

  “Where’d you come from?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “Where’s your family?”

  I picked him up as I pondered and he nuzzled right up under my chin. His wriggling subsided and he was still, softly panting into my neck as I stroked his soft fur and searched the area for anyone who may be looking for their lost pup. After putting up signs with no response, I decided he would stay with me, at least until I knew what I was going to do with my life. A few years have passed since then and the two of us have become a family. We watch out for each other, share meals, and enjoy each other’s company. What more could a girl ask for?

  “Morning, El. What are you doing here?” I hear before I’m even through the front door. Jean, my boss, is carrying an empty tray, standing right inside the restaurant.

  “Come to let you know I’m heading out of town for a few days.”

  Jean is staring at me with wide eyes. “Where you going?”

  “Crimson Falls.”

  “Where?” If possible, her eyes open even bigger.

  “Back to the Dupont homestead.”

  “Why would you do that? Your momma hated that place, said she’d never step foot back in that area or that home.”

  “Momma is gone and now, apparently, my granny is too. I’m the only one left to take care of the estate.”

  “You could just let it go.”

  It was my turn for the wide eyes. “Why would I do that? Granny had money and the man on the phone said she left the house and everything in it to me.”

  Jean glowers at me, her lips twisting in confusion. “I really don’t think going back there is a good idea.”

  My head shakes to and fro. “This is not a choice. I have to go. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  “Take someone with you. You shouldn’t go alone.”

  “No.” That is also not a choice. “I’m doing this on my own. Well, I mean, Rusty is coming along. He’ll protect me.”

  “Just be careful, girl. You call if you need anything.”

  “I will.” I reach out, giving Jean a hug. “Thank you for trying to look out for me. Nice to know there is still someone alive who cares.”

  “There’s more of us than you know.”

  I feel my lips turn up, a tinge of happiness trying to sneak in. Other than giving me a place to work, they rarely offer up any assistance. Why she’s changing her tune now, I don’t know. With a quick wave, I turn on my heels and head right back outside.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It took me thirteen hours to get to Crimson Falls. Rusty and I stopped a few times to stretch our legs, use the bathroom, or to eat. We slept at a rest stop somewhere along the route for a couple hours when I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Rusty woke me, his deep growl breaking the silence of the vehicle. My eyes shoot open, head jerking from the window as the officer outside of it stares down at me, a smirk on his lips.

  “Time to move along,” he calls.

  “I was just resting. This is a rest area, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but it’s time to move along. Not too safe for a woman alone this time of the night.”

  “Who said I was alone?”

  “I’ve driven by this old truck three times and not once did I see anyone other than you.” He tips his hat toward the dog, “And your pup there.”

  I don’t say anything but reach my hand out to turn the keys over in the ignition. “We’ll leave. Do you think I could take a quick bathroom break before we head out?”

  This whole conversation is taking place through the closed window. I watch as the man’s head turns left and right, checking out the parking lot. “I’ll wait while you go.”

  “I need to walk my dog, too.”

  “How about we walk around the building while you run inside and use the facilities?” I don’t know this man, but he says the area is dangerous, and he is an officer, so maybe I should believe he’s just trying to be helpful.

  I nod my head, touching the lock, releasing us to the outside world. Rusty moves across the seat toward me as I open the driver’s side and accept the hand of the officer who’s trying to help me out. I trust that Rusty will alert me to danger as he did when the man approached the car, so I let him jump over me and out of the vehicle before me. When the dog hops out and wags his tail, I know I’m safe to proceed.

  “Do you have a leash?”

  “Rusty doesn’t need a leash. He won’t go anywhere without me. I’ll just run to the restroom.” I look down at the dog who is receiving a head scratch from the man in uniform. “You do your business too.”

  I hurriedly use the restroom and wash my hands, throwing cold water on my face before exiting the bathroom. Rusty and the officer are waiting right outside the building for me. “You’ve got yourself one hell of a dog,” he tells me.

  “I know it. But thank you for saying so.”

  It has taken me all this time to really look at the man. The lighting is better by the building, so in my defense, it’s really the first chance I’ve had. He’s younger than I expected him to be. His green eyes are intense and his smile is warm and calming. “Where you heading?” He pulls me out of my perusal with his words.

  “Your plates say Georgia, but you’re traveling in the opposite direction. Where are you heading?”

  “Crimson Falls.”

  “Visiting a relative?”

  “Something like that. That’s where I’m from. My granny just died and I’m the only one left to settle the estate.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that.”

  “We weren’t close. I mean, I haven’t seen her since I was five.” I don’t know why I feel the need to tell this man my life story.

  “Still. Sounds like she was the last of your family.”

  There’s nothing left to say and we’ve reached the truck at this point. “Thanks for the lookout. Guess we better get back on the road.”

  “You be safe out there.” The nice officer opens the driver’s side door for me, moving aside to let me enter.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, bounding into the truck and grabbing ahold of the handle to close it once Rusty’s tail is securely out of the way. With one last wave, I put the truck in reverse and back out of the parking spot. As I peer back in the rearview, the man is standing in the spotlight of the building, looking out over the truck as I enter the highway.

  I pull into a gas station with about thirty minutes left until I reach Crimson Falls, and those penetrating green eyes come back to my thoughts. Not so much the man, but the scenario. It was nice to be looked after, someone to tell me I wasn’t safe and made sure I was until they couldn’t any longer. Just gets me thinking about my momma. Why did she really keep me away from Granny and Crimson Falls for so long? With any luck, I’ll find some answers on this journey.

  “Mornin’ ma’am. What can I do for you?”

  I’ve pulled up to the gas tank, rolling down my window for the attendant outside my door. “Fill her up, please.” Rusty is on top of me, his head out the window, sniffing at the man on the other side. His giant paw digs into my legs, but he’s so happy to see another human being, I let him have his moment before pushing him off.

  The man gives him a pat on the head after allowing Rusty to sniff him and deem him worthy. “Nice pup.” He smiles warmly, his teeth looking as if they haven’t seen a toothbrush in some time.

  I push Rusty off my lap and peer out at the man working to gas up my vehicle. “Where you heading?” he asks when he catches my eye.

  “Crimson Falls.”

  “What takes you there?”

  “My granny,” is all I say.

  “I’v
e been working at this filling station my entire life. You’ve never been through here before. First time?”

  I feel my face grow rigid. People sure are nosey. “Yes,” is my answer.

  The attendant continues to do his job, wiping the windows and filling up the gas tank. He doesn’t speak another word until I’m ready to leave. After I’ve handed him the cash and started to roll up the window, he states, “You be careful out there. I don’t know if you’re aware of the legend of that area, but it isn’t always the safest place to visit.”

  I shrug my shoulders, not sure what to say other than “thanks.” I want to ask the man what he’s talking about, but if he means the supposed curse, I don’t want to hear it. Human beings are so gullible.

  I give a toot of the horn as I pull out into the road once more. “Whatever we encounter, I’ve got you, so I’m not worried.” I reach out, scratching the head of my pup. “I don’t know what we’re going to find at Granny’s, Rusty, but maybe we shouldn’t plan to linger. We’ll meet the man, get the keys, and get what we want out of the house. Curse or no curse, you’re warned off something too many times, you should at least take a little caution.” I talk to the dog like he’s going to continue the conversation but he does nothing more than fall to the bench seat and curl himself up in a ball to sleep once more.

  The window stays rolled down so I can enjoy the crisp autumn air for the remainder of our drive. Reaching over, I turn the radio up and listen to The Beatles sing their latest release, The Long and Winding Road and think how fitting the lyrics are on my current journey. Rusty gets jealous of the wind after a few minutes, trying to step on my lap, making me swerve. At a stop light, I reach over and roll his window down a bit as well so I no longer have to share my space.