Resonance

by A. J. Scudiere

  “Another case?” It was Jillian’s voice, though hard to recognize, it was shaky and soft and lacked all her normal confidence.

  “Yup.” Finally Landerly leaned back, “We’ll name the disease after you two as punishment for this escapade. Now get out of my office. Go home. Pack and get your asses back here by five so I can hand you the paperwork.”

  “Yes, sir.” His voice was strong, even if his belief wasn’t. And Jilly was falling all over herself to thank the man whose name she had so expertly forged less than a week ago. She was gesturing wildly and Jordan reached up to pluck one of her hands out of its flightpath and used it to drag her out of the office.

  She trailed him down the hall, hand still tucked in his, getting tugged along. When they got to the office she released herself from his grip and sank like pudding into her wooden swivel chair, leaning it back and bringing her hands to her head as though she could hold all the thoughts in. “I can’t believe he didn’t fire us.”

  “Yes, and we’re not waiting around to let it happen either.” Jordan grabbed her purse and handed it to her, before yanking her up out of the chair. “I’ll drive, you’re in no shape.”

  In seconds he had pulled her down the hallway, waving the ID card miraculously still in his possession at each coded entry and finally emerging into the bright sun. Jilly raised her hand to shield her face, then pawed inside her purse for a moment before producing sunglasses and keys.

  He pulled the keys from her hand and dropped them back into the leather bag. “You shouldn’t drive. I’ll drop you off then swing by and get you on the way back.”

  “No, really, I’m-” She cut herself off when she saw how badly she was shaking. “All right, thank you.”

  He settled her into the passenger seat of the crappy little Cavalier, then closed her in and jogged around to the driver’s side.

  “Do you think-”

  “Landerly said-”

  “You go first.” He braced his arm on the back of her seat and looked out the rear window while he backed out of the spot doing all he could not to lay some serious rubber on the pavement in his hurry to be away.

  “Do you think we’re really onto something? That there really are more cases?”

  Jordan sighed. “It has to be. The only alternative I can figure is that Landerly is sending us into the mountains and a hitman will follow us. You know, so no one will ever find the bodies.”

  “So, we’re going up into the Appalachians.”

  “I have to say I’m freaking out about that.”

  Jilly looked sideways at him again. “Why?”

  “I’ve seen Deliverance.”

  Jillian listened to the deep sigh Jordan heaved into the door of the car. In sleep, he had wedged himself between the seat and the window, stuck at an awkward angle that seemed to bother only her.

  His remark about being sent to McCann County to meet up with Landerly’s hitman ricocheted in her brain. But it morphed as it went. Landerly wouldn’t need a hitman; McCann was itself Purgatory, or so it would seem.

  The Rav-4 bounced along the horrid road, and Jillian had thoughts about not getting reimbursed for the damage to her car. She tempered them with thoughts about not getting fired. Darkness had come to cover them like smog while she drove, along roads that needed little instruction. Blinking to keep her eyes open, she was assaulted by the bright glare of a green interstate sign bouncing her brights back at her. McCann, 1 mile, population 232. That was telling. That they included the population on the sign. And that the population included a significant digit in the ones spot. Ouch. Jordan had been right about Deliverance.

  Jillian looked at the glowing digital numbers on the dash, they were going to arrive early, and she wondered how that could be possible. The drive had seemed interminable; she couldn’t even sing to the radio to stay awake, not with Jordan sleeping in the passenger seat.

  Their turn was highlighted by a small brown sign atop a metal post, with one word “McCANN” and an arrow pointing the only direction there was to go down the dirt trail. She had the distinct feeling she was entering a land where a sixth grade education would be considered intelligent.

  Jordan bounced around in his seat, his shoulders and head periodically knocking about. Surely he would wake right up, keep her company. But he didn’t. When she felt the frown cross her face she realized that she had been anticipating his presence. Landerly had done a good job putting the two of them together. They communicated well about what needed to be done, and they worked well together to be certain that it was achieved. She hadn’t ever felt that Jordan wasn’t pulling his own weight, nor had she felt she’d been carried. And he was good company. Which was more than she had expected. Most people had found her cold and distant, and she understood that. Pretty much she was cold and distant; she lived in her own world where the need to achieve drove her every waking moment.

  Funny how Jordan had become her personal life now. He had other commitments and friends in the outside world of Atlanta. In the few weeks he had been here, he had made more connections than she had in all her five years at Grady and in Atlanta combined. On the way out he had taken time to call his friend Martin and cancel his Wednesday night racquetball game. For a brief moment she had regretted that she didn’t have anyone to call.

  The road went on forever, made worse by the fact that it was little more than ruts in the hard-packed earth and any sort of speed was an unattainable goal. At least it had been used recently. Small bushes and grasses had been flattened in the middle of the parallel ditches that had yet to pop back up and look alive. Beside her, Jordan finally stirred, his eyes opened, his jaw worked and his voice uttered a soft, What? Before he shook himself fully awake and realized that he knew exactly where he was. In that moment he began apologizing for sleeping through such a long portion of the ride.

  “So make it up to me by checking out the map to James Hann’s place so we can get the key to the house where we’re staying.”

  Jordan complied, looking over the hand-drawn lines that Hann had faxed to Landerly earlier today. Google had come up with nothing. Not surprising since McCann itself didn’t register on most maps.

  According to the shakily scrawled fax there were five roads in McCann. Parson, Main, Lintle, Shields, and Squirrel. Jillian had to admit that ‘Squirrel’ bothered her. And that, of course, was the road where the rented house was marked with a wavery X on the map.

  Jordan turned the map one way then the other, “I take it we’re on Main.”

  “To the best of my knowledge.” Her casual shrug was lost in the movement of the jostling car.

  Trees had closed in over the road, overgrown and hanging low, scraping the top of the small car. It was either romantic or horrifying and Jillian squashed the urge to look into the backseat for stowaways. She was searching desperately for road signs, and when she was ready to sigh with weariness and frustration, Jordan pointed low. A hand-lettered wood two-by-four was nailed to the base of an old tree. Parson Rd.

  That was good enough for her. And she cranked the wheel of the Rav4 hand over hand, wishing that she was already at the house on Squirrel.

  The road was even worse than Main, if that was possible. Branches whipped the windshield at a ferocious pace, slowing them even more. Just when she was ready to comment, Jordan broke the nearly rhythmic thwapping sound, “Landerly hates us. He does not expect us to return.”

  Jillian had to laugh.

  It was that or cry. She’d had no more sleep than Jordan, and while she was glad they weren’t fired, never had she imagined this kind of sick punishment.

  Just then the trees broke, and a small house stood probably a half mile back off the road. No front lawn or porch lights illuminated the outside, but lights were on in the windows, and given that it was approaching eleven, Jillian was willing to turn the car down the gravel driveway and take her chances that this was the Hann residence. A porch light flashed on in welcome even as she pulled up next to the garage.

  In the dying
residuals of her headlights Jillian noted the dilapidated horse barn and matching shed tilting precariously in the background, but her attention was diverted by the older man walking down the stairs. He looked nicer than what she had expected in these parts. His jeans were clean and unpatched, like his red plaid flannel shirt. And his face was just enough weathered to appear kind.

  She plastered on a smile and threw open the car door. But he spoke first. “You must be Dr. Brookwood. Miss Greene didn’t tell me you were so pretty.” His smile reached his eyes and he held his hand out to her, somehow managing to convey comfort and friendliness with his remarks.

  He held out his hand again as Jordan approached. “I’m James Hann. And I have a set of keys to our rental house. Just come inside and Melissa will get you a drink.”

  Jillian started to protest, “Oh, thank you, but-”

  Jordan’s elbow in her lower back cut her off and his voice overpowered her own, “That would be great. It’s been a bit of a drive.”

  So she bit off her retort and followed the two men up the short stairs. The inside of the place reminded her of her Aunt Lenora’s house. There was a whipstitched cover for the Kleenex box in the shape of a church, complete with a steeple and open doors. Sampler pillows dotted the old brown couch in shades of pastel, broken only by the hideously yellow crocheted throw.

  James introduced his wife Melissa, a woman who appeared to be in her fifties like him, who brooked no protest about popping out of her seat to get drinks even as he settled in. Jillian let Jordan handle all the talking, since he was the one who had accepted this invitation anyway.

  She felt herself drifting asleep with her eyes open until James Hann’s voice cut through the filters she had thought were turned off. “Y’all are married, right?”

  While she tried to hide the startled look she was sure had materialized on her face, all thoughts vaporized at Jordan’s immediate smile and knowing nod. “Of course we are.”

  Snapping her jaw shut, she turned to stare at him. Then worked furiously to cover the expression that she knew had clouded her eyes. If there was one thing she had learned at the CDCP, it was that Jordan said some wild stuff, but he could be trusted. So she forced a grin, praying it looked less demonic than it felt.

  His smile was far more genuine, and he reached across to lightly brush her fingers. “Jilly decided to keep her last name. Dr. and Dr. Abellard . . . well you’d never know who was who.”

  Hann accepted the iced tea his wife was holding out to him without even acknowledging her presence, which of course prompted another negative reaction that Jillian fought hard to tamp down. Then she was discretely passed a bumpy glass full of tea and garnished with a lemon and a mint sprig. Garnish! At eleven thirty at night! And Jordan smiling and talking about them being married. It was the damn twilight zone.

  “I noticed you don’t wear any rings.”

  Jordan held out his hand for Hann to inspect. Could the night get any weirder? She just couldn’t wait to hear this. “I’ve got a bit of a mark from it.”

  Jillian couldn’t see anything but a pristine ring finger, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “We can’t wear our rings when we work. They get caught on the gloves.” He smiled at her again, and she saw genuine humor in his eyes. He knew that she had no idea where he was going with this and he wasn’t going to explain. “And Jilly here won’t let us bring them on trips. They might get lost.”

  So she turned back to Mr. Hann and nodded as if she agreed. “You know. They’re too important.”

  James nodded to her conspiratorially. “Melissa would have my hide if I lost mine.”

  In a few minutes she had guzzled her tea, far thirstier than she had known she was. Then Jordan was taking her hand and pulling her up off the couch. He had the keys to the house on Squirrel firmly in his other hand and the Hanns’ blessings.

  Mr. Hann watched from the doorway, while Jordan folded her into the passenger seat of her own car, then smiled as he held his hand out discretely for the keys. She slipped them to him, wondering even as she did it why she was going along with it all. A smile and a wave later Jordan had them turned around and bouncing back up the driveway, and Jillian could keep her mouth shut no longer.

  “We’re married?”

  He laughed. “This is not like Atlanta. They just rented us a house and they’d probably rescind the offer if they had known we weren’t married. Sin is sin.”

  “What?”

  “Did you see all the God stuff in there?” He looked both ways for the non-existent traffic at the end of the drive, “They would have insisted that you stay with them. Is that what you wanted?”

  “You’re serious.”

  He just raised his eyebrows and held up the keys to the house. The keychain read With Jesus all things are possible.

  “Well, holy Mary, mother and Joseph.” She hated when he was right and she didn’t have the wherewithal to even catch on.

  It was fifteen minutes of relative silence later that they parked the Rav4 in front of the rental. Jillian fought the urge to cry. It was straight out of the Apple Dumpling Gang. Weathered wood siding, hanging loose in several places, the porch had a slight tilt to it, and in the windows she could see curtains with red roosters prancing back and forth.

  She prayed that the beds didn’t sag too much.

  Jordan hopped out and reached into the backseat to grab both duffle bags and headed to unlock the front door. Following right behind him, she was assaulted by the stale smell and stagnant air in the place. Jordan made a face that must have mirrored her own and immediately dropped their luggage and went around opening the windows. The night air was a welcome addition into the house.

  Jillian wandered the place, snapping on lights. The kitchen was a countrified hell - roosters covered every surface. Wire mesh lined some of the cabinets in a way that could have been charming were it not part of the whole overdone theme. The hallway boasted a linen closet that was stacked with chenille throws and a variety of outdated floral print sheets. The one bathroom was cramped and pink, but Jillian thought the sink looked about as good as any could right now.

  The faucet handle didn’t give when she turned it. And so, with a much harder crank, she sent the thing spinning and started a horrifying series of moans and gurgles that culminated in a brown thick liquid spewing from the faucet.

  “Now that’s what I call hard water.” Jordan laughed from behind her.

  Jillian spun around, furious not at him, but that things could be this bad at midnight when she hadn’t slept in four days and hadn’t even begun to unpack. She started to turn off the offending spigot, but Jordan’s hand on her shoulder stilled her, “Let it run, it’ll clear up.”

  With that she turned and left the faucet to its own devices and started opening the doors at the end of the hallway. One was a master bedroom, if the term was applied loosely. The bed was queen-sized and looked like it had been furnished from a barn somewhere. The other bedroom sported a single pressed into the far corner with only a lone pillow and no headboard.

  “I’ll take this one.” Jillian went back for her bag, but Jordan beat her to it and argued chivalrously that he would take the smaller room. In a few minutes she got him to concede and he lowered her bag to the floor, then called from a little further down the hallway “The water’s good now, bathroom’s all yours.”

  She’d have to see that clean water to believe it, but sure enough, when she re-entered the water ran clear and pristine. Except for a smudge in the bottom of the basin there was no evidence of the sludge it had been turning out a few minutes ago.

  Rapidly she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face before heading back to her room and changing into her flannel pajamas. The bed both called to her and repulsed her. But exhaustion won out over unfamiliarity and she lifted the layers of sheets and blankets to slide beneath. She was rolling over to punch the pillow when the world dropped out from under her.

  Eyes wide, she sat up and promptly slid off the end of the bed
where the foot of it had fallen out from under her. She just gave up. Mumbling swear words, she yanked the covers off, and tromped down the short hall dragging them after her. Jordan’s door was ajar and he was centered on the large bed in a draping sprawl, t-shirt and sweatpants bunched in a way that would be uncomfortable to all but the truly tired.

  Jillian sighed. “Scoot over.”

  6

  David reached into his pocket and felt like a fool. But he smiled at the stewardess and ordered a scotch even as he corrected his mental error to ‘flight attendant’. His fingers tightened around the three inch wide cylinder he had shoved there earlier. There were four more in his carryon, each with one end covered in plastic and tied down with a rubber band. He figured if he made so much as a false move he’d be shot by those plainclothes police officers that were supposed to be flying around as protection for regular US citizens these days.

  The core sample he had taken from the McCann hotspot was hardly a weapon, unless someone used it to publish his data before he did. But he had watched the guy in front of him in the security line get a travel shampoo bottle confiscated and get rebuked for trying to get ‘these things’ on the airplane. How was shampoo even dangerous? Yet here he was with a solid, eight inch long piece of hard rock in his pocket. That could do real damage upside someone’s head-

  “Thank you.” He accepted the scotch from the smiling blonde in the navy suit with the tie neck cloth that reminded him of his cousin Ester’s Girl Scout uniform. He shouldn’t even be thinking about the damage he could do with the rock-club. He just prayed they didn’t arrest him when he hit the ground.

  Removing his fingers from the core sample he aligned his napkin with the edge of the tray, then the glass into the corner created by the scalloped edges pressed into the paper of the napkin. It was a habit he had inherited from his father - that and the habit of picking up rocks and trying to hear them speak. This one was begging him not to let it get confiscated. This one, compared with the four nearly identical pieces in his bag, was the whole reason he was on this stupid flight. Why he was headed back into McCann County again.