by Laura Kemp
She sighed, “We hoped nothing would come of my grandfather’s stories but then you cut your knee climbing that silo—got that scar and Robert knew he had to act fast.”
I looked up, found her face framed in sadness. “What stories?”
Iris got up from her place and wandered to the window to look outside at a world splashed in sunlight. Bending over, she worked the latch and opened our conversation to the birdsong that spilled through the screen.
“Calvert Cook,” she began, her back to me as I held my glass. “Knew the Shaman well.”
“Butler?” I whispered.
“He loved Odessa very much. Wanted a veil of protection to cover her and Cal should anything ever happen to him, but the medicine was too powerful, too alluring, and it attracted the attention of a young man who wanted to cheat death.”
“Jonas Younts?” I asked, and Iris turned.
“You know?”
I nodded.
“When Jonas left Back Forty Farm the night of the murders, he went to Odessa’s house and stole the medicine bag. Then he tracked the Shaman down, forced him to perform black magic in order to get what he wanted.”
I frowned. “What was that?”
“Esther Ebersole.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’d heard the men in town talking about how the Shaman could resurrect a body. Odessa’s dimwitted brother Johnson swore he’d seen it done to one of their barn cats and Jonas thought—”
“That he could bring her back to life.”
Iris nodded. “He must have been crazy with grief. But something went wrong and it turned him into an unnatural creature.”
“Iris—”
“Something that would never die.”
“What happened to Butler?” I asked, my heart racing to beat the band, my palms beginning to sweat.
“He was never heard from again.”
“Do you think Jonas killed him?”
She shook her head. “They never found a body. Grandpa Cal told me Odessa looked day and night for him.”
My mind went to a dark place, imagining for a moment what I would do if Dylan vanished without a trace.
“You’re very strong, Justine,” she said.
“No, I’m not.”
“Grandpa told me the girl with the scar on her knee would put an end to it all.”
“Anyone could have a scar.”
“He said her brother would speak with his mind instead of his mouth.” She paused, looked at me long and hard. “Does he?”
“Stop trying to convince me I’m something I’m not.”
“Don’t punish yourself for Robert’s decision.” She covered my hand with her own. “He left because he loved you, because he wanted to face your enemy so you wouldn’t have to.”
I swallowed, thinking again about Pam and her speech on the deck of Cabin Three. “I don’t have any enemies, Iris.”
“I would beg to differ.”
My comeback died in my throat as I stared into the lemonade- bits of pulp floating as freely as an amoeba in a Petri dish. “You’re scaring me.”
“You need to be.”
“Fighting a group of roughnecks is one thing. Tackling some sort of immortal monster disguised as my handyman is not in my job description.”
“Then go.”
I tried to laugh, tried to take another sip of lemonade but the taste made me sick. No way was I going to clean up the mess that Jonas Younts and Butler had stirred up. This was their problem, and if I drove fast enough I could probably make it to Grand Rapids by dinnertime.
“You want to leave us all behind? Then do it.”
“I don’t—” I began, but found my resolve weakening as I thought of the person who’d been killing girls who looked like me. A person who could have let me fall into Lake Huron but didn’t.
Iris came closer, the birdsong at her right shoulder as she splayed both hands on the red gingham. “You want answers? Close your eyes and make it happen.”
“I can’t control it.”
She pounded her fist on the table. “You can!”
I started, my eyes wide and then did as I was told. I thought about the yellow liquid wavering in the glass before me, thought about Pam and Rocky sitting on the steps of Cabin Three—and Dylan, his back exposed to the sun as the medicine wheel rotated in a shimmer of radiance.
I saw Jonas Younts sink to his knees, Esther Ebersole in his arms as Abraham took a step closer and aimed the pistol for a second shot. The next instant Abraham’s body jerked forward as though spun on an imaginary axis. He stumbled, gripping his stomach as fluid oozed from a gaping wound in his abdomen.
I saw Jonas cry out, saw Abraham fall at his feet as another shot split his head in two.
I was just turning to run when a second figure emerged from the shadow of Abraham Ebersole’s barn. A large man with wide strides, a shotgun clasped firmly in his hand as he closed the distance between himself and a grief-stricken Jonas Younts.
“What do you see?” I heard Iris ask as if from a great distance.
“I thought Jonas was Red Rover but…there are two of them.”
She drew a sharp breath. “What does the other one look like?”
I squinted, tried to look at the man, but his hat was low and his chin covered in whiskers. He pulled Jonas up by the scruff of his neck and tossed him towards the house.
Jonas yowled in pain, scrambled towards the front porch as the large man heaved the body of Abraham Ebersole over his left shoulder and made for the house. Moments later he returned for Esther.
“He’s staging a scene,” I said, my hands slippery on the wet glass between my fingers. “He wants to make it look like they were killed inside the house, that the man who did it had a grudge against Abraham for cheating him out of that gelding.”
I waited a moment, then moved—my feet leaving no marks as the barnyard melted into a forest scene.
“Look closely,” I heard Iris say. “Tell me who he is.”
“It’s dark,” I managed. “They’re chasing Butler.”
“Stay with it,” Iris was at my side, supporting me. “Just a bit longer.”
I heard her, felt her bony fingers grip my shoulder as the large man overtook Butler and began beating him around the face and shoulders, dragging him back towards Ocqueoc Falls.
I followed, until I came to the island in the marsh where the circle had been drawn. A snakeskin was deposited in the center. A fire was lit and lock of long, dark hair I assumed was Esther’s held against the licking flames. Butler was hoisted to his feet as the large man pointed the shotgun at his head, demanding the resurrection be performed or Odessa and Cal would pay for it.
I watched as Butler took the medicine bag in his hands, shook out the totems and began putting them inside the wheel while Jonas and his mysterious companion looked on.
And then he looked up, saw me standing in the shadows and shifted his aim. I dropped to my belly as blood rushed through my ears and eyes and nose—a surge of adrenaline propelling me through the underbrush on all fours.
He’d seen me, in my own time and place and I didn’t know how it was possible, but it meant Iris was right and Adam and I had one hell of an enemy.
“Justine!” I heard Iris cry. “You need to come back now.”
I was aware of that. But damned if I knew how.
“He killed Abraham.” She stopped short, began shaking me. “He’ll kill you, too.”
I didn’t need her to paint a picture as I lay on my stomach surrounded by ferns and a mishmash of pulpy wood and mud. I felt myself sinking, felt myself suffocating in the soft earth that cradled the Falls. I thought of Dylan and what would happen if I didn’t make it back.
A picture of him weaving his way through the bleachers, hot dog in hand, came to my mind. And my hands, gripping the sharp metal beneath my seat until my hand exploded in pain.
Pain!
I searched for something to jam into my leg, grasped a piece of bark and felt it
come apart in my hands.
“Justine,” Iris cried. “Think about something in the room, something concrete.”
I tried to imagine the glass of lemonade and how cool it felt between my fingers but all I could see was the earth and sky in a continuous loop and the water rushing up to greet me in a frothy foam.
A shotgun blast rang out. A small tree splintered beside me.
“Stop!” I heard Jonas yell. “Leave her be!”
The large man did not answer. He shot again and this time the shell embedded itself in the earth I’d rolled over two seconds before.
I heard the click, knew he was out of ammunition as I looked up into his darkened face, the butt end of the shotgun raised high to crush my skull. I grimaced, the strength I needed suddenly materializing as I reached up and took hold of the end. One twist and the gun was free and flying through the air.
I heard him grunt and the next instant he was upon me, his heavy hands around my throat as I fought to pry them apart.
“Too tight?” he smiled, his breath rank and foul.
I gasped, flashes of light exploding behind my eyelids.
He laughed while turning to glance at my writhing legs and the long, white scar that lanced my left kneecap. “Nice to meet you, Muffet.”
I gasped again, the only air I had left as I felt a searing pain swipe at my cheeks. I touched my face, saw my grandmother standing over me and realized she had just slapped me.
Hard.
“That was a close one.”
I blinked, touched my cheek again.
“Now he knows who you are.”
“Iris—” I began, my hands going to my throat in an effort to rub the memory of his hands away. “Is he going to kill me?”
“He’ll try.”
“What do I do now?”
She sank into the chair opposite.
“Kill him first.”
Chapter Twenty
Twenty-four hours had gone by since the incident in Iris’ kitchen, hours that I passed in a state of almost complete paranoia compounded by trying to figure out how someone could almost kill me in a vision. The same person who’d glimpsed my scar and called me by my pet name.
I was debating how to break the news to Dylan when he dropped by for a surprise visit while I was cleaning Cabin Five.
“Oh, hey,” I smiled while pushing my hair behind my ear, suddenly bashful. “What’re you doing here?”
He tried to smile but couldn’t. “It’s Dad.”
I tossed my dust rag on the counter and crossed the distance between us. His arms closed around me as he buried his face in my hair.
“We thought he’d be better by now,” he mumbled. “And now Mom’s talking about getting rid of the nurse and putting him in a home.”
I pulled away, looked into his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged, and in that simple gesture, I sensed his vulnerability, his embarrassment at having tracked me down in the middle of my workday. “You think I’d be used to her passive aggressive bullshit by now. This is all because of what happened at the game.”
I reached up, touched his face and asked, “What can I do?”
He tried to smile again and succeeded. “Make him better.”
I closed my eyes, put my forehead against his, grateful I hadn’t told him anything about Brad or Jonas or Red Rover yet, wanting to protect him for as long as I possibly could.
“There is something you can do,” he said, tracing my jaw with his thumb and I looked at him, suddenly desperate for a physical release of my own. I brought his lips to mine and in an instant he had me around the waist, pulling me against him.
Moments later I was leading him to the sectional couch, my own troubled thoughts driving my desire.
“Where’s Pam?” he asked.
“Stuck at the front desk.” I smiled against his mouth, tracing his bottom lip with my tongue. “Shouldn’t be done with paperwork for an hour.”
He splayed his hands on my back, lowered me to the cushions. “Which is fifty-two minutes more than I need.”
I giggled, loving his humor even as my body began to ache with the need to possess him.
His fingers found a bare expanse of my hip. Working downward, he had my shorts unbuttoned before I could draw a pleasured breath.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, and I felt his hand slide under my T-shirt and unclasp my bra. The next moment his lips were feathering the soft shell of my ear, leaving it only to travel down my throat to my breasts, where I felt my nipples pucker inside of his warm mouth.
I heard someone moaning and realized it was me. I reached up, grasped the wooden arm of the couch, and turned my head to the side.
He was kissing my stomach now, my belly button, my hipbones, tracing lazy circles with his tongue and I felt my fingers curl against the couch, soft against the flush of my palms.
Moments later he returned to my side, put his arms up as I yanked his shirt off. His pants came next, and before a minute had passed he was naked beside me.
I reached up to touch his chest, to smooth my fingers over his tanned flesh.
“Feel better?” I asked, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Much,” he smiled, and I hooked my arms under his while resting my heels in the soft hollow just behind his bent knees.
I’ve had the same dream since I was a kid…
Had it included a picture of us making love in Cabin Five while the sunshine fell into a welcoming lap of water outside the picture window?
Did it include anything beyond the summer? Next week?
Tonight?
When it was over I kissed his ribcage, his collarbone, then rose up on my elbows and looked into his eyes.
“We’d better get going,” he smiled, “my eight minutes are up.”
I giggled, sat up and allowed him to help me back into my bra. Even this simple gesture was filled with kindness as his hands brushed over my shoulders, adjusting the straps, bending his head to kiss where he had touched and in my heart. I wanted to repay him in some small way for what he had given me.
The next moment, I was removing my necklace, placing it around his neck as though it would help in some way. I wasn’t sure how he would take it, what he would think it meant.
“Why would you give this to me?” he asked. “It’s from your dad.”
I smiled, reaching up to touch it, the silver so beautiful against his tanned skin. “I don’t know. It just feels right.”
“Are you sure?”
I leaned closer, kissed his lips lightly. “You said you liked it.”
“I do,” he replied, shifting his weight on the couch, his elbow grazing the coffee table where I had laid my purse.
The next second, he upended it, the contents spilling onto the area rug.
At once Dylan knelt to help me pick up, his fingers going still as he came across a business card that had fallen from some random pocket I hadn’t checked in months—a memento from the first time I’d interviewed Brad.
“What’s this?” he asked, flicking it between his index and middle finger.
I felt my face go hot and hugged my shoulders, wishing I’d thrown the stupid thing away the moment he’d given it to me. “It’s nothing.”
“You sure?”
I didn’t answer, just reached out and took the card and stuffed it back in my purse.
Dylan stood slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “A friend of mine owns a shop downtown. Said a guy was in there last week asking about you.” He let the sentence die, looked at me for a beat before saying, “He left the same card.”
I felt like I’d been dumped in an ice bath.
“He said you were looking to buy car insurance.”
“Dylan—”
“Let me guess,” he said. “The guy with the full plate?”
I cleared my throat, bent over to retrieve his shirt and handed it to him.
He took it in one hand, pulled it over his head but didn’t speak, didn’t smile, just sto
od and waited.
“We were together for a while, but it never went anywhere,” I paused. “He was married.”
I sensed his disappointment, his displeasure, and wilted beneath it.
“I’m not proud of it,” I said.
He would not meet my eyes. “Why was he in town?”
I couldn’t answer and so I reached up, my fingers glazing his collarbone and for the first time felt the intensity of the love he’d been unable to verbalize and knew I had to tell the truth.
“He called a few weeks ago and I broke it off,” I whispered, the complexity of his emotions making speech difficult. “He didn’t take it well.”
His heart was beating quickly. His muscles tight. And still, he waited.
“He wanted me to go back to Webber with him.”
“Woah,” he put up a hand, backed away. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, frightened now.
“Why did it take a business card for you to come clean?”
“I tried to at the softball game, but Avery came up and then—”
“I asked you what was bothering you. You lied to me.”
I glanced away, hurt by his words but grateful he was talking. “I wanted to forget it—pretend it never happened and I know it was wrong and I should have told you.”
“Yeah,” he ran a hand over his hair, capped his head with it. “Makes me wonder what else you’re hiding.”
I looked down, deep shame staining my cheeks as I pushed my hair back again in what was becoming a nervous gesture.
“Did he try something?”
I looked into his eyes, saw the anger and frustration and knew I had to tell the truth or risk losing him forever.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened, the lips that had given me such pleasure minutes before a thin line of disgust. And I wondered if he would rip the necklace off and throw it back in my face.
But he didn’t.
“Did you kiss him?”
I swallowed, my face anguished, and Dylan didn’t approach me or take me into his arms to comfort me as he had in the past.
“Yes,” I managed to choke out. “But then I told him to leave.”
“After you kissed him?”
“He kissed me!” I cried, terrified by how fast my heart was beating, by what I would do to make him stay. “And I hated it.”
