by Ken Ogilvie
Shortly before dawn, Matthew rose soundlessly to his feet. Hound, sensing movement, watched him as he slipped soundlessly from the shack and padded into the forest. Hound dismissed the idea of following him.
Matthew returned at first light. Hound heard him moving about outside the shack building a fire for breakfast, which as always would include his very bitter coffee. Hound heaved himself up off the cot and stood rubbing his arms to warm himself. He felt a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. He was certain that Matthew was about to give him some vital information concerning Jackie. Perhaps he even knew where she was hiding.
Hound squeezed through the narrow door, stretched out his arms and filled his lungs with the pine-scented air. Matthew fired up the kindling, stuffed under three small quarter-logs that leant together like teepee poles. Soon the flames sprang up and Hound edged closer to the warmth. Matthew retrieved a rusty metal grill, along with a dented metal pot and a cast-iron frying pan. Hound saw several strips of raw meat laid out on a wooden table jammed against the wall of the shack. Deer meat, he guessed.
While Matthew cooked breakfast, Hound went for a stroll in the woods, in the direction he’d heard Matthew going in earlier. He found Matthew’s tracks and followed them for a minute or two, then he turned back, not wanting to appear nosey. When he reached the shack, Matthew was sitting on a tree stump, sipping coffee from a chipped ceramic mug.
Hound stood in front of him. “Okay, Matthew, what’s going on?”
Matthew ambled to the fire, and filled a second mug of coffee, which he handed to Hound. Then he flipped two strips of sizzling flesh. They spat and crackled, and the smoky aroma made Hound realize how hungry he was.
Matthew pointed to a stump beside him. “You found my gift?”
Hound grinned sheepishly. “Not yet. I didn’t want you to think I was spying on you.”
“I thought you weren’t gone long enough. You should have continued. Take it with you when you leave. It’s ancient, and precious.”
“Why do you want me to have it, whatever it is?” Hound asked.
“I cannot say. Have a think about it when you have time. All I will say is that it might be a link to your distant past and to my people of long ago.”
Hound swallowed a mouthful of coffee, while Matthew went back to the fire and forked the blackened meat onto two tin plates. They ate with their fingers, in silence. Hound finished first and waited impatiently for Matthew to continue.
Finally Matthew tossed his plate to the ground. “So what can I tell you about Jackie?”
Hound’s eyes widened. “How did you know I came here to ask about her? I’m sure I haven’t mentioned her.”
Matthew stared into the distance, and waved an arm. “I sensed that you would come. Something in the trees, the wind, the wild animals of the forest . . .” He sighed.
Hound gave a snort. Matthew was putting him on. “I need to find her,” he said, “and stop her killing again. Can you help me?”
Matthew gave him a searching look. “The first thing you should know is that Jackie Caldwell’s mother is alive. She’s living with my mother, Cora. They have been together for more than two decades. Jackie may be with them by now.”
Hound was stunned, elated. This revelation was beyond anything he could have expected. It took him a while to marshal his thoughts.
“Won’t your mother be upset that you’ve told me?”
Matthew stiffened. “We can’t protect Jackie any longer. She has killed innocent people, and we believe she’s become an Odaki — meaning demon. Having tasted human blood, she wants more. I saw it in her eyes the last time she was here. I have seen the same thing in animals that are pushed too hard by humans, and want only to kill them. But animals can be easily caught. Jackie can’t.”
Hound leapt to his feet. “When was she here? Recently? And why didn’t you tell anyone? Especially me.”
“Hold on, Hound. Jackie came here a few days ago when I was away. As soon as I returned, I knew someone had been in the shack. Jackie has used it in the past when she was out hunting. I was sure it was her. She usually comes when I’m not around.” His face became contemplative. “Anyway, I returned and she stepped out of the woods and stared at me. She was holding a rifle in her arms, and my blood ran cold. It was spooky, Hound, and I’m not easily scared. She could have killed me then. Maybe she left me alone because I posed no threat. I believe she respects me in her own way.”
“Why didn’t you report her to the police? They’ve been searching everywhere for her.”
“That was not my concern, until I saw her.” Matthew clamped his mouth shut and turned away. Hound knew it was useless to persist when Matthew was like that.
Exasperated, Hound stormed off to think about what he’d been told. As he marched through the forest, he recalled the gift that Matthew had said he’d left for him. With mounting curiosity, he followed Matthew’s tracks from last night, and before long, he found himself in a forest grove that he’d never seen before. The tracks ended at a mossy alcove. Stepping inside, he spotted a handcarved wooden statue wedged into a dark corner of the alcove. It depicted a tall man with a shaggy beard, dressed in an ankle-length black robe. Hound picked up the carving, and a tingle ran down his fingers and up his arm. It was as if it was charged with electricity. He almost dropped it.
With the carving in his hand, Hound hurried back to the shack to ask Matthew about it, but his friend had vanished. He studied the figure for a while, turning it round and examining it from every angle. The tingle persisted.
He knew Matthew wouldn’t show his face again, so he grabbed the coffee pot, filled it with water from a rain barrel, and doused the last vestiges of the breakfast fire. Then he ran through the forest to find his Bentley.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Jackie slept peacefully for the first time since her incarceration. She dreamt she was a child again, playing with Pinky, her special doll, while her mother cooked her favourite meal of macaroni and cheese. Jackie could smell baking gingersnap cookies made with ginger, cinnamon and molasses, and reminding Jackie of Christmas. Meanwhile, puffy snowflakes swirled and danced about outside her bedroom window. She felt snug and safe. Her father would come home at six o’clock and call for her in his deep, rich voice. She would jump into his arms and he would hug and kiss her. Her perfect life would go on this way forever.
Several hours later, she woke and called for her mother. Lily appeared in the doorway and smiled down at her. But something was wrong. Mama was old and looked weary. Where was the rosy-cheeked woman she was expecting? This strange woman’s haunted expression frightened her, and she covered her face with her hands.
“Daughter, what is wrong?” Lily’s frail voice brought Jackie back to the present, and she moaned as the grim reality of her situation sank in. She was filled with despair at where her life had taken her. She had no hope left, and no future to look forward to beyond death or incarceration. Moreover, she would put her mother, Cora too, in danger if she remained here. She had to go.
“Mama. I must leave now.”
Lily reached out and touched her arm. “No, my daughter. We will go to the police, together, and I will confess my sins and be punished for them.”
Jackie turned away. “No, Mama. Not to the police.” She got to her feet. “I will leave here and go into the forest to die among the birds and animals.”
Lily went to the window and gazed out at the dark forest. Jackie said nothing more, giving her mother time to come to terms with what she had said. If they went to the police, Lily would go to prison, most likely a medium security one, given her advanced age. But she herself would be taken to a maximum security prison, where her mother wouldn’t be allowed to visit her. She liked the idea of ending her days among the woodland animals.
“Mama?”
Lily turned to Jackie, her face etched with sorrow. “I do understand, my daughter. You have chosen your path, but I beg you, don’t just go there t
o die. It is not for you to determine your fate. Only God can decide.” She put her hands together in prayer. “I have dreamt about you, and seen you in the forest. God’s hand will be at work, and you will serve Him. But for this to happen, you must choose to live.”
Jackie gazed into Lily’s eyes. She didn’t want to die, yet what did she have to live for but more sorrow and isolation?
“Mama, I will no longer seek revenge against Rebecca Bradley, now I know it was you who killed her grandfather. I will go into the woods, and when I find the right spot, I will build a shelter and live there for as long as my time allows. But they won’t lock me up again. I’ll die first.”
“So be it, my daughter,” Lily said. You have decided. But stay here tonight. Tomorrow, Cora and I will give you a few things that will help you while you are in the wilderness. God will decide your fate. We will accompany you into the forest and we’ll say our farewells there.” She stepped forward, and they embraced.
Jackie, Lily and Cora spent Tuesday evening largely in silence. Cora had accepted Jackie’s decision without comment. Jackie thought about her vengeful past and was content to leave it behind. Being alone in the wilderness had never frightened her. On the contrary, it gave her renewed energy. It was where she belonged. She would become part of the continuous cycle of birth, death and renewal, her decaying body nourishing the plants and trees. It was a comforting thought.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Hound got to his Bentley and scrambled inside. He started it up and backed down the narrow lane, this time not caring if branches scraped the paintwork. He was anxious to get on the Trans-Canada and find the nearest indigenous community, figuring that someone there might be able to give him Cora Simon’s address. He would phone O’Reilly, and Sykes and Rebecca, and tell them what he’d learned, although he was tempted to just go after Jackie alone. Maybe he could capture her without a shot being fired. With the police on the scene, things would turn ugly, he knew. There would be more deaths, and Jackie would kill Rebecca if she got the chance.
Half an hour later, he was cruising through a scattering of small dwellings on the shores of Georgian Bay. Dogs of indeterminate breed rushed out to bark at his car as he passed by them. He spotted a gas station with a ‘cigarettes for sale’ sign next to it, where he parked and went into an adjacent variety store. A middle-aged cashier was perched on a stool behind the counter, peering through the window at the Bentley. A handsome young man with waist length black hair and prominent cheekbones was slouched beside the cashier, showing little interest in either Hound or his vehicle.
“Hi, guys.” The cashier stared blankly at him. Hound cleared his throat. “Ah . . . I need some information.”
The cashier continued to regard him in silence.
“I’m trying to find a woman named Cora Simon. Would you know where she lives?” Hound waited, and then his expression hardened. He leaned over the counter and loomed over the cashier, bringing his face up close. “You wouldn’t happen to know someone who could help me?”
The cashier blinked, and swallowed loudly. “Sure, mister. Try the crazy women down the road. They’re in a house set back in the woods. There’s a dirt track goes to it.” He nodded over to the west.
Hound thanked the man and returned to the Bentley.
A mile down the road, and no dirt track. He continued driving for another half mile, until he reached the eastern shore of Georgian Bay. He stopped and thought for a moment, then wheeled his car around. On the way back, he spied a clump of bushes obscuring a narrow track that disappeared into an expanse of poplar trees. He turned and rumbled along a bumpy lane until he arrived at a small clapboard house. Three women were seated outside at a picnic table, sipping tea. Hound brought the Bentley to a halt and got out.
All three stared at him in silence. One of the women had dishevelled blonde hair, and pale, heavily freckled skin. Definitely not indigenous.
Expecting more of the silent treatment, Hound skipped the pleasantries. “I need some information about Cora Simon. Anybody here know her?” A slight change in their facial expressions told him they did, and could help him — if they chose to. He returned their steady gaze, determined to stay right where he was until one of them responded.
Finally, a small woman slid out from the far end of the table and came over to him. She was so tiny that the top of her head was barely higher than his waist. She looked up at him and spoke in a soft but clear voice.
“How do you know Cora?”
Faced with that implacable gaze, Hound shuffled his feet. “Through Matthew, her son, but he didn’t say where she lives.” He paused. “I have to find her. It’s important.”
The blonde woman piped up. “Don’t tell him anything. He’s violent.” She hurried off into the house. The third woman observed him intently, while the tiny woman remained standing in front of him, studying his face. After a while, she strolled over to his car and peered in through the windows. Hound followed. She smiled, and indicated that he should get into the Bentley. He did so and, lowering the window, listened to her directions. Then she turned and headed back to the house.
“I don’t know your name,” Hound called after her.
“Esme,” the woman said over her shoulder, “among others.”
Hound watched her disappear into the house. He turned and sped down the track towards the main road, estimating that he would reach Cora’s house within the hour. He still had no idea what he would do when he encountered Jackie. Most likely she would shoot him on sight. He could try sneaking up on her, except she would probably hear him coming. He checked his cell phone, but it had no signal. When he drove into range some twenty minutes later, he called O’Reilly.
Chapter Thirty
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
It was three hours before anyone stopped for Kingsley on Tuesday morning. After one look at his bloody face and dishevelled clothes, motorists speeded up and hastened on. Eventually, a young farmer in a dusty pickup truck took pity on him. The farmer didn’t have a cellphone, and Jackie had taken Kingsley’s and thrown it away, so he was forced to wait until the farmer got to a small town west of Hamilton. There, Kingsley got out and went into a grocery store, where he spun the owner a complicated story involving bands of mysterious thugs. Unconvinced, the man let him use the phone anyway. On hearing what had happened to Enzo, Mario gave vent to a string of obscenities, delivered in a voice loud enough for the owner to hear. When he had calmed somewhat, Mario said he would send some men to retrieve the body before the police found it. They would also move Jackie’s truck to a repair shop, where it would be reconditioned and then sold. He finished with, “I’ll deal with you when you get here, McBride. Stay put. A driver will pick you up in an hour.” The line went dead.
Kingsley contemplated making a run for it, but knew it would be futile. He would just have to take his chances with Mario.
“Can I do anything for you, Mister?” Behind the checkout counter, the store clerk was wringing his hands together. He’d probably heard Mario’s outburst from there.
Kingsley felt his own hands shaking. “Where’s the washroom? I need to clean up.”
“Would you like to call the police first, sir? Or I could do it for you.” The clerk looked like he was ready to dash out the door.
“No!” Kingsley snapped. “Just the washroom. In back, right?”
“Yes, sir.” The clerk’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
Kingsley entered a narrow washroom and examined his battered face in the mirror. Puffy split lips, black eyes, an ugly bruise on his jaw. Greasy hair that hung like wet string around his face. He smelled awful too — no wonder the clerk was scared. There was only so much he could do to fix up this mess. Then he had another thought. It might be a good thing if he looked like he’d been to hell and back. Maybe if he told Mario he’d tried his best to stop Jackie from killing Enzo, but that she was too strong for him, he would garner some sympathy. Mario might even believe
him, knowing how feeble he was. Powerful men often felt protective towards weak ones like him. He could only hope.
After a cursory scrub, Kingsley emerged from the washroom and limped back into the store. He was ravenous, but didn’t want to beg the store owner for any more favours. What he most wanted right now was to wring Jackie’s neck. Ignoring the pangs of hunger, Kingsley wandered about the store for a while, peering through the window. A young couple came into the store and bought a few sundry items, paying him no attention. The minutes ticked on.
Finally, a black sedan raced into the lot. Two tough-looking guys climbed out and scanned the area. Kingsley went out to greet them, having neglected to thank the clerk.
“Hi,” Kingsley said. “Mario sent you, right?” One of the men jerked his thumb at the car and Kingsley meekly slid into the back seat, with the other one beside him. The tires spat gravel and the car roared out of the lot. Kingsley glanced back and saw the clerk standing at the store window. Even at a distance, his relief was evident. Kingsley figured he wouldn’t dare contact the police.
* * *
Mario’s wolfish eyes were once more glaring down at him. “Another royal fuck-up, McBride.”
“Mario, I—”
“Shut your yap,” Mario bellowed.
Kingsley groaned inwardly. Here he was, fighting for his life all over again. Kingsley imagined shattered kneecaps, fingers crushed and amputated one at a time.
“Enzo. My cousin’s only son — dead.” Mario sounded incredulous. I swear I’ll tear that witch to pieces.” Kingsley envisioned them lying side by side, both being dismembered. His life was over. There was no point even trying to apologize.
Mario stared at him, eyes blazing. Kingsley raised his head and with a superhuman effort summoned up the courage to say, “I accept full responsibility for what happened to Enzo.”
