Peggy Martin sat on the exam table in the emergency room of the Oakwood Island Hospital, wet towel in hand. She spoke without hesitation when Doctor Kingsley walked in.
“Who died?”
“What?” Doctor Kingsley inquired as he marveled at the chart as she was the second patient with irritated eyes within the hour.
“Who died?” Peggy Martin repeated. “I overheard someone saying something about somebody dying.”
Doctor Kingsley ignored the question and got to the point. He was busy, impatient, and didn’t have time for gossip. Besides, he would have heard if someone had died in the hospital while he was on duty.
“What seems to be the problem?” Doctor Kingsley inquired as he took a small flashlight from his pocket and put a hand under Peggy Martin’s chin to steady her head while he looked into her eyes. Peggy Martin assumed he had read her chart and knew about the gunk she got in her eyes while taking out the trash. What Peggy Martin didn’t know is Doctor Kingsley was also checking to see if she was on drugs.
“What happened here?” Doctor Kingsley repeated.
“I was taking out the trash and something sprayed me in the face. It got in my eyes too,” Peggy Martin blurted, stating the obvious. “It happened so fast I don’t know what it was. It burns, Doctor Kingsley. I think it might be infected. At least that’s what it said when I Googled it,” Peggy Martin added. She wanted Doctor Kingsley to know that she already knew she had an infection.
“Yes,” Doctor Kingsley replied. “I see that,” he said as he continued examining her eyes. “Well whatever it was you got in your eyes, it doesn’t look like it did any damage but it sure did cause irritation. There’s no infection yet,” Doctor Kingsley said, contradicting his patient’s self-diagnosis as he pocketed the flashlight and grabbed something from the table behind him and began looking into Peggy Martin’s ear. “But you need something to prevent it from getting infected and to help with the itching. I’ll prescribe some eye drops for starters.”
Doctor Kingsley felt Peggy Martin’s neck, checking glands, further assessing her condition.
“I have such a hard time with those,” Peggy Martin replied. “I blink too much. And leaning back makes my sinuses run down my throat and makes me gag a lot. One time I threw up too. Google talks about it being something wrong with my sinuses but I don’t want any operations.”
Doctor Kingsley bit the inside of his cheek, trying to not say what was on his mind.
“Keep using the cold compress as much as you can,” Doctor Kingsley said, gesturing towards the towel Peggy Martin held in her hands. He turned and scribbled on a prescription pad. “It will help with the itching. But get this prescription filled as soon as you can. If it’s not better in a couple of days, come and see me.” He handed her the paper, smiled his best bedside manner smile, stepped back and opened the door of the room to find a nurse standing there.
“Cindy?” Peggy Martin blurted, pausing when she realized she couldn’t remember Cindy’s last name.
Both Nurse Cindy and Doctor Kingsley turned to look at Peggy Martin who spoke quickly.
“Cindy, who died?” Peggy Martin asked impatiently.
“Oh,” Nurse Cindy replied in surprise to have Peggy Martin asking her this. “Someone in the psychiatric wing passed away,” Cindy added, earning herself a look of disapproval from Doctor Kingsley. Cindy knew she wasn’t supposed to say anything. You don’t want family to hear about a loved one’s death through rumors and gossip.
“Get that prescription filled,” Doctor Kingsley replied. “And next time you’re not feeling well, come and see us.” Doctor Kingsley left out the part where he wanted to tell Peggy Martin to stop consulting Dr. Google.
Chapter 17
The Gift of Sight
The morning light ushered in through dirty windows as Jack sat in his cabin in the woods on Oakwood Island. He sat crossed legged on the floor, his head bowed down and his long grey hair hiding most of his features. Before him was a small clay bowl containing a smoldering sweet grass braid. Small tendrils of smoke floated around him. He chanted in a low, muffled voice that could barely be heard, had anyone been there to hear it. The crow had returned to him the last few days as if all was normal again. Because of this, Jack felt a renewed sense of determination for what had to be done. He felt that the crow was an omen. When he had a difficult time communicating with the crow, it had left him thinking he was on the wrong path. Perhaps his intentions were wrong. Perhaps they will do more harm than good, he thought.
He had to end the curse of evil which had befallen the twins and been handed down through generations. This cannot be allowed to continue, for the well-being of everyone the twins encountered, he thought. The clarity with which he saw through the crow was better than ever. His ease of communicating to it that morning had put his troubled soul at rest, at least for the time being as he sensed he was doing what had to be done.
“Be my eyes, old friend,” he had told it a short while ago, much like he had many times before. Like before, the bird seemed to know exactly what he wanted. It had flown high above Oakwood Island, finding what it sought. A single spirit unlike the others it saw. The island Jack saw through the crow contained many troubled spirits, most were harmless wandering souls, beyond help. But some held more sway on the living and had intentions. The one he sought now he thought had intentions, but he knew not what kind or how much sway it might have at this point.
The crow swooped down and landed on the branch of one of the many weeping willow trees on the hospital grounds. Through the crow’s eyes, Jack saw the spirit of Sparrow Whitefeather as she watched four young children as they waited outside on a park bench in the late morning sunlight.
Jack recognized the Cudmore foster children right away; the two older teenagers who were often caring for the much younger twins, Lily and Patrick. The spirit of his Grandmother seemed stronger than ever, shimmering as she approached the children. But before she could reach them, a new spirit came to be, between her and the children.
Jack’s physical form, seated in his cabin, jolted slightly at the sight of the new spirit.
Norah Jenkins’ spirit was faint and seemed to shimmer with a multicolored aura, something Jack had only seen a few times. The multicolored aura, he believed, meant her spirit was tainted. During his recent visit to the hospital, he had been told that she had pneumonia. He recalled something about fluid in her lungs but now wasn’t sure. Whatever the cause, seeing Norah’s spirit Jack knew that Norah had died.
Sparrow’s shimmering spirit pointed to the little girl who sat on the bench, looking at what was left of her doll, a torso with a now bald head. The spirit of Norah Jenkins raised her arms before her with the palms of her hands facing outwards as if she was warding off Sparrow, to protect her children.
Through the crow, Jack saw Scott Cudmore exiting the hospital entrance. The older children, who were oblivious to the spirits around them, began gathering Lily and Patrick as they prepared to leave. Jack focused on the pair of spirits and saw that both of them were now staring directly at him somehow; as if they could also see through the crow, seeing him where he sat in a trance-like meditation. Norah’s spirit held a hand out, palm up, as if in invitation for Jack to come to her. Sparrow Whitefeather’s spirit pointed at Lily and gave Jack a stern look.
Jack’s meditation broke suddenly, as if he’d been shoved out of the mental link with the crow. He found himself sitting on the floor of his cabin. The small clay bowl of incense before him was crushed, as if someone had stepped on it. Broken pieces of the bowl were covered in the ash from the burnt sweet grass.
Next to the bowl was something that had not been there before. Surprised, Jack picked it up and looked at it closely. It was a rib bone that had been carved and sharpened into a dagger. He remembered the weapon from his youth, having seen it in his grandmother’s home. Sparrow had kept it on a high shelf, a memento of someth
ing that she never bothered to explain to Jack. It had been packed up and stored away with all her belongings when she’d died. Now it was here.
Jack glanced about, noting that his windows and doors were still closed. No one had been inside while he meditated. An uncharacteristic shiver ran down Jack’s spine. Something was warning him.
Chapter 18
No Time to Waste
With his pants still on the bed, wearing his dress shirt, underwear, and socks only, Burke sat at the desk in his motel room, flicking cigarette ashes into an empty soda can as he held his old cell phone to his ear. The phone on the other end of the call rang on but no one answered. Burke ended the call as he heard the voicemail pick up yet again on what was his third try in the last hour. He had hoped that by now, Jin had found his cell phone and he would be able to reach him to find out exactly what he was up to.
Burke put his cell phone in his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Unfolding the paper, Burke scanned it over, desperately looking for a potential clue he might have missed the other times he had read it. The note must have been wedged in his door when he left that morning. Perhaps it had been tucked under his door. He wasn’t sure, but he had missed it. He found it pinched into the door when he returned to his motel room, after lunch at the Old Mill. He had to have closed the door on it when he left as that was the only way it could have been in the door the way it was. Then again, maybe it was the chambermaid who put it there, he thought as he looked at his cigarette with a twinge of guilt for smoking in a non-smoking motel. He was getting rusty, his best detective days behind him.
The paper contained no other evidence and so Burke pushed up his glasses and read the note again.
Burke
Meet me at Ocean’s Edge Road near the Stuart’s house. You’ll see my SUV parked on the side of the road near the place where Danny’s remains were found. Meet me there and hurry. There are things you need to see for yourself to understand why this is more important than solving an old case.
There’s no time to waste as I need to do this now before it’s too late.
Jin
It was obvious to Burke that Jin felt strongly about this. Burke was obsessed with solving the pile of mysteries from this damned island. Jin had also wanted to solve many of the same mysteries but now he spoke of dangers that were of greater importance than solving past crimes, no matter how brutal. The longer Jin remained on Oakwood Island, the more convinced he was the fungus was spreading. The more convinced he was that it was becoming a real threat to all life on the island.
Burke put on his pants in a rush, zipped them up and grabbed his keys and shoved the note back in his pocket. As he was rushing out the door, Burke remembered an old saying his mother had used many times when he was growing up.
“Time to shit or get off the pot,” Burke said aloud. With the motel room door closing behind him, his cell phone started ringing. He answered it without hesitation.
“Jin?”
“Are you out of your friken mind, Burke?” Coroner Harold Randolf blurted excitedly. “You want to exhume decomposing bodies to look for mold?” The coroner had obviously received his message requesting exactly that.
“Not me… Jin Hong. He’s a plant scientist that used to work with Danny, the dead kid. He’s got a Ph.D. in ecophysiology or some shit like that.”
“More like eco-dum-ass-ology if you ask me,” Harold Randolf blurted, clearly frustrated. “If you think I’m going to go to the families of the deceased and ask if we can dig up their loved ones to look for mould because a former detective who’s half out of his mind and his sidekick are asking me to, you’ve seriously overestimated our friendship.”
“So, is that a no?” Burke asked with a slight grin as he flicked the ash from his cigarette and took a drag. “Hello?” Burke added as the line went dead. “I guess that’s a no then.”
Chapter 19
God Help Me
Scott Cudmore sat at his rolltop desk while speaking to his father-in-law on the phone. Miriam’s father, Reverend Nathanial Masterson, was a descendant of brothers who were some of the original settlers of Oakwood Island. Scott, an atheist, didn’t exactly see eye to eye with his father-in-law on the topic of religion. While Reverend Masterson thought very highly of Scott Cudmore, a man who dedicated his life to children in need, he thought Scott should go one step further and enroll the children in Sunday School at his parish church. Scott had refused to do so as he believed that religion should be taught as part of history and not a belief system. For that reason, they always tried to skirt the topic of religion and spoke of everything else, but not that.
“Miriam told me about the porcupine incident,” Reverend Masterson said, referring to Samantha’s injuries.
“Doctor Kingsley gave her antibiotics and a cream for the itching,” Scott replied.
“And Bradley,” Reverend Masterson inquired. “Is he any better?”
“It’s not gotten worse,” Scott replied. “Miriam is going to talk to Kingsley about that specialist he told us about. We’re thinking he should see the specialist as soon as possible.”
“I’ll be praying for them, son,” the reverend replied out of sheer habit before quickly changing the subject. “How are the twins?”
Scott always dreaded this question. The good reverend had actually been against Scott and his daughter taking in Lily and Patrick. As a man of God, he preached doing good for his fellow man and loved that Scott did this, helping as many orphans as possible. However, he felt that the twins needed too much. He was afraid that the burden would be too great for his daughter to bear. Unlike Scott who was a full-time caregiver at home, Miriam had a demanding full-time job which heaped a lot of responsibility on her, above the caring for orphans at home as well. As a father, he worried about the well-being of his daughter.
“The twins are fine,” Scott replied. “As fine as they can be.”
“Miriam told me what happened… what happened at the hospital.”
“They’re fine,” Scott replied with an air of annoyance. He knew his wife couldn’t keep anything this significant from her father. Especially not something the town’s folk would gossip about. The death of former nurse Norah Jenkins reignited the rumors of her being the biological mother of Lily and Patrick. A rumor that Scott now believed to be true, mostly because when he asked about it at the orphanage, a few of his old co-workers skirted the subject, but nobody actually denied it.
“Scott?” he heard someone say. Scott pivoted his chair and saw Samantha standing by the patio door. “You know that old guy that lives in the woods?”
Scott pulled the phone away from his mouth but kept it pressed to his ear.
“Jack Whitefeather. What about him?”
“He’s parked out front and he’s staring at us. It’s giving me the creeps,” Samantha added, her eyebrows up high and her eyes wide in fear.
Scott got up from his desk chair, walked to a front window and peered outside. He saw Jack Whitefeather’s truck parked on the opposite side of the street before his house.
“Can I call you back?” Scott asked the Reverend but didn’t wait for a response and ended the call. He turned back to see that Samantha had gone back outside to watch Lily, Patrick, and Gavin who were playing in the sandbox. Clay, Peter and Colin were still in their bedroom playing their video games. He could hear them chattering as they clicked away on their controllers.
Why was Jack Whitefeather parked in front of his house? He recalled a discussion between him and his wife about Jack once. Scott was convinced that Jack was narcoleptic. How else could anyone explain him being seen sleeping in his truck all over town. Maybe this was what was happening now. Maybe Jack had been napping in his old Ford and had just woken up but was too groggy to drive so was waiting until he felt up to the task. Maybe that is it, thought Scott. But he was watching them. Watching the kids, from what Scott could see
.
Jack Whitefeather isn’t one of those creepy guys who goes after kids, Scott thought. While Jack was a strange one, Scott knew that Jack never hurt anyone unless they had it coming. There were a few stories about Jack, rumors mostly. Of how the old man often knew things he shouldn’t and how he was almost always present during or shortly after horrific and tragic events that happened on the island.
A chill went up Scott’s back as these thoughts coursed through his mind. What if Jack knew about these things before they happened? What if he was here because something was about to happen to his family? What if that was why he was watching them?
Scott shook off the chill and dismissed these thoughts as crazy. Scott didn’t believe in magic or superstitious crap. He clipped the cordless phone to his belt, went outside and walked across the street towards Jack’s old red truck.
Jack locked eyes with Scott as he watched him approach.
“Can I help you, Jack?” Scott asked.
“You know who I am?” Jack Whitefeather inquired.
“Everyone knows who you are, Jack. It’s a small island.”
Jack frowned at the thought that he stuck out that much. The residents of Oakwood Island were few in numbers, sure, and he did have a distinct look about him, he supposed, which was why he preferred to do his watching through the crow, on most days.
Jack pointed to the house across the street. “That’s where Ben Augustine had his accident. Fell off the roof.”
“The old Ketchum house,” Scott replied. “He was working on the roof and fell. I remember. The new owners are moving in soon, I think.”
“Mr. Ketchum had a heart attack in that house, didn’t he?” Jack asked, still looking at the house across the street from inside his truck. He sat up straight in his seat, the adjustment making it creak in the process.
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