Blind Sight

by Nicole Storey

  Suck it up, Girl. It’s never gonna happen. The air in the office was only slightly cooler than the balmy heat outside. A small window unit chugged and wheezed, only managing a stale, tepid draft that smelled of tobacco. Buck was leaning against the counter, thumbing through a magazine and sipping iced tea. He looked up when she closed the door.

  “Come on in outta the heat. What can I do for you?”

  Jordan smiled. She wondered if he owned any other clothes besides overalls. He was sporting a green t-shirt, fishing hat complete with lures, and wire-rimmed spectacles. A lit pipe lay in a chipped ashtray beside him, its smoke making curlicues around his head.

  She pulled the postcard of the lake scene with the deer from her small backpack and crossed the room. She needed an ice-breaker and figured Buck would warm up to her more quickly if he knew she’d purchased a few pieces of his wife’s work.

  “I was hoping to buy a stamp from you and put this in your out going mail.”

  Jordan had already addressed the card to Ms. Reeves. She didn’t include a message, just a smiley face in the return address area, but that would be plenty to assure their neighbor that she and her family were still alive and kicking.

  “Ah!” Buck exclaimed, reaching for the card. “I see you found my store and Janus’ artwork.”

  Jordan nodded. “It’s amazing how she manages such intricate detail on a three-by-five card. Your wife is very talented.”

  Buck’s eyes misted over. He blamed it on the pipe smoke, but Jordan wasn’t fooled. “That’s my Janus; a modern day J.M.W. Turner. She can paint with the best of ‘em.” He turned the card over and his eyebrows raised a notch. “No message or return address?”

  She was ready for this. It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked. “My neighbor collects postcards. She says too much writing takes away from their beauty.”

  Her excuse seemed to appease him. “Well, I guess she’s right about that.”

  He rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a book of stamps, and passed one to her. Jordan slid some change across the counter and affixed the stamp to the postcard. Buck put the card in a wire basket holding bills, brochures, and other miscellaneous mail, saying her card would go out before noon the following morning.

  She was wondering how to bring up the subject of Corbett and his odd behavior when Buck said, “I understand your uncle and brothers are helping out in the search around here. Mighty nice of ‘em, ‘specially when y’all came here to enjoy a family vacation.”

  Jordan shrugged. “We don’t mind. Finding the animal responsible and making your campground safe is more important than fishing.”

  Buck picked up his pipe, taking a pull before realizing the fire had gone out. He fumbled with a book of matches. “You plan on helping ‘em search?” His look was stern and Jordan couldn’t decide on whether to laugh or thump him in the middle of his forehead for being so chauvinistic. She knew he couldn’t help it. Men like Buck and Sheriff Tillson – heck, even Uncle Case to some degree – grew up in a time when women were to be protected and stood well behind the front lines, away from danger. They wouldn’t change. It was wired into their DNA along with quaffing booze, eating red meat, and shooting guns.

  Jordan allayed his fears. “Not me. I’m going over to Wendy’s house tonight to eat pizza and paint our nails.”

  If he caught her sarcasm, he didn’t bother to throw it back. Instead, his head jerked up, surprise on his face. “Wendy Jones? You’re going to her house?”

  “Yes. I met her at the store and we talked – seems like a nice girl. She invited me over to see her pictures.”

  The sudden smile lit up Buck’s face, transforming him into the Santa Claus Jordan had glimpsed before behind his redneck accessories. He looked like a different person.

  “Well, ain’t that something! Wendy is a sweet gal – a little shy, but I don’t think she has many friends. She always takes time to visit Janus, brings her little treats, talks to her about art. It sure is nice to hear she’s steppin’ out of her shell a bit.”

  Jordan ran her hand over Buck’s counter, wondering how to play this. Finally, she settled on, “While I was there, Corbett stopped by. I don’t think she likes him very much – can’t say I blame her.”

  Buck went from Santa to Satan in the blink of an eye. His face went red and Jordan wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam coming from his ears like those old Saturday-morning cartoon characters.

  “Did he bother her?” he asked through gritted teeth. “If he did, I swear, I’ll run over him with his own truck!”

  Jordan snorted, not doubting Buck could do that and a lot more if he got riled up enough. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt her,” she replied, not sure if he knew about her adventures with Corbett earlier. Considering how fast news travelled in a small town like this, he probably did.

  Buck confirmed her suspicions when he smiled, giving her a sly wink. “Yeah, I suppose Wendy was safe enough with you around.” He sighed, the playful demeanor sliding from his face, leaving concern behind. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about that boy.”

  “He told Wendy he was looking for you – something about a job.” Jordan propped up against the counter. “What’s his deal anyway? He seems very… intense for a high-school boy.”

  Ed nodded. “Yeah, that’s one word to describe him. I really can’t say. Corbett was always a cautious boy -- quiet, reserved – at least until about a year ago. Now, he’s jacked up higher than a WWE wrestler.”

  “Drugs?” Jordan asked, playing ignorant.

  Buck took a swallow of tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Doubtful. We don’t have much of that around here; a little weed every once in a while, but nothing that would change a person’s behavior so drastically. Corbett went from timid mouse to spit-fire cat within a year. It was like day and night.”

  “Or from prey to predator,” Jordan mumbled under her breath. More loudly, she asked, “And he wants you to give him a job?”

  Buck scowled. “He don’t want no job, not really. Corbett wants authority. I needed someone to patrol the lake, make sure kids weren’t out there drinking and acting like jackasses. Bradley Short was perfect for the job. Even though he was young, he was fair and had a cool head on his shoulders. He was training to be a park ranger. Corbett wanted the job because he thought it put him in a position to boss kids around. He got madder than a wet hen when I passed him over for Bradley.”

  “Physical altercation?” Jordan looked out the window, as if losing interest in the conversation.

  Buck followed suit, gazing out at the sun-drenched parking lot, but Jordan knew he wasn’t feigning indifference. The man was worried.

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, they did get in a bit of a scuffle from what I heard. Corbett was no match for Bradley, though, even with all those muscles he has now. You know from experience that it takes more than brawn to win in a fight – you gotta have half a brain, too.”

  This was good information, but Jordan needed one more piece of the puzzle. She searched around the room for an opening, her eyes landing on the cover of Buck’s magazine, which pictured a huge black bear. The excerpt beside the photo urged readers to explore the lush beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Outside, a standard police cruiser went by; Sheriff Tillson gave the horn a honk as he passed. Buck looked thoughtful.

  “Do you think they’ll catch whatever hurt those kids?” she asked, looking back to the bear on the magazine.

  Buck followed her gaze and shook his head. “Not if they keep looking for something that ain’t out there.”

  She traced the bear’s image with her finger. “I feel so sorry for them. Wendy said that Amy was a nice girl and accepting of others. She said that was why Corbett wanted to go out with her so badly – because she always treated him with kindness.”

  Buck clenched his jaw in response. He snatched a pen from a faded plastic cup, fingers moving fast as he clicked it open and shut. The sound grated on her ears, but Jordan sai
d nothing. Buck was irritated and she had a feeling his next words would be important ones.

  “He mentioned her when he came by earlier.”

  Jordan said nothing, holding her breath, praying he would keep talking. He did.

  “I swear, that boy has the balls of a bull.” He blushed, murmuring an apology. Jordan brushed it off. She lived with three men; she’d heard worse. “He asked me if I wanted to reconsider giving him a job now that Bradley was out of the picture.” Buck fumed, his eyes narrowing to slits, his face burning red. “That’s how he put it: out of the picture. As if poor Bradley was taking a vacation somewhere instead of….” His hands flapped nervously, not able to put to words what he thought had happened to his former employee.

  “What did he say about Amy?” Jordan asked. She didn’t want to push Buck, but she was desperate to get the information she needed to plan her next move. If she asked too many questions, he’d close off, wondering why an out-of-towner was so curious about a boy she didn’t even know. However, without some sort of proof – no matter how circumstantial – she couldn’t proceed and would have to start over. There was a slim chance that no one summoned the Kongamato, but she just didn’t believe it. From the information she’d gotten from their fellow Slayer, these things were rarely seen. In every case he’d ever heard of, the beasts were sent to kill, usually summoned by a witch or demon. If Corbett wasn’t her guy (and she was pretty sure he was), she had no idea how to even begin looking for the culprit. People in small, religious towns were usually divided into two groups; those who were outspoken and friendly, welcoming newcomers with gifts and kind words, like Ruthy, and those who kept to themselves and were extremely protective of their towns, seeing outsiders as potential threats to their simple way of life. Though the latter were not as numerous as the friendlier folk (thank God for small favors), sifting through them to find who was summoning the Kongamato would be like trying to find a particular sci-fi nerd at a Comic-Con convention. Not every witch advertised what he or she was by wearing necklaces with Pagan symbols and displaying an altar in their homes. As a matter of fact, most witches who practiced – whether for good or evil – kept their extra-curricular activities a secret, blending in to society with designer purses or the latest Craftsman tools.

  Buck looked at her sharply. “Why are you so curious about Corbett?”

  And there it was. His keen blue eyes stated boldly that even good old country boys could tell the difference between crap and Crisco. He obviously smelled crap.

  Jordan sighed. She’d give him a taste of the milk if it meant he’d buy the cow. “Don’t you think it’s strange that Corbett knew all of the victims and had arguments with them before they were attacked?”

  He laughed, a booming guffaw that reached to all corners of the room. He probably believed she’d watched too many Ghost Hunter shows on T.V. Her face flamed with embarrassment.

  “You can’t honestly believe Corbett had anything to do with those attacks!” He continued to laugh, bending over and slapping his knees as he struggled for breath. Jordan waited, hands on her hips to keep from reaching over and throttling the Kris Kringle look alike. Infuriated as she was, even she couldn’t bring herself to choke the life out of Santa.

  Buck sobered up when he saw her discomfort. “Christ on a pony; you are serious!” She neither confirmed nor denied his remark. She kept her face blank, taking a page from Michael’s book. The old man shook his head. “Look, just because you had a tiff with him doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. I’ll admit Corbett is as mean as a wolf with a toothache and he’s a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but the boy don’t have the drive it takes to kill somebody. He’s all bark and no bite.” Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, he continued, albeit reluctantly. He could take the easy way out and tell her to leave, but that would go against his nature. Buck would never be rude to her, even if she jumped up and down on every nerve he had. Jordan figured he had about two left.

  “Corbett spouted some mumbo-jumbo about how our actions determine our fate and that Amy found out the hard way.”

  Jordan smirked, satisfied that he’d proved her point.

  But Buck didn’t agree. “That don’t mean nothing! Hell, Corbett has always been one of those types to hide behind books and use big words to intimidate others. I’m tellin’ you, the boy doesn’t have the common sense God gave a woodchuck.”

  Jordan stared at Buck and he stared back – a faceoff of sorts, neither of them willing to back down. Finally, she asked, “If I keep digging around, are you going to blab to the sheriff?”

  Buck snorted. “Go right ahead. Even a blind squirrel can find an acorn every once in a while; I sure hope you ain’t too hungry, though.”

  It was Jordan’s turn to laugh.

  Buck rolled the pen between his hands, thoughtfully. “I tell ya one thing, he sure as heck ain’t no thief.” Jordan frowned, not following him at all. Thief? She never said he was, although the crimes of a common, every-day filcher would be about as bothersome as a hangnail compared to the supernatural crap pile Corbett was dabbling in. Seeing her confusion, Buck said, “He took my favorite pipe. Snatched it right out of the ashtray when he thought I wasn’t looking. The idiot.”

  Damn. With practiced control, Jordan managed to keep her bubbling emotions in check. Buck had no idea the danger he was in. “You didn’t tell him to give it back?” He shook his head. “Why the hell not?”

  Buck smiled. “Cause it wasn’t worth it. He only did it to get a rise outta me. People like Corbett live for attention. I decided not to throw any more fuel on the fire, so to speak. I’d advise you to follow suit.” He tossed the pen on the counter. The sound it made as it bounced once and then rolled to the floor was as loud as a gunshot in the silent room. Even the rattle-trap air conditioner had faded to a monotonous drone, barely noticeable. “Just let it go,” he pleaded. If only she could. Buck had no idea he was the Kongamato’s next victim, but she nodded to appease him just the same.

  As she turned to leave, Buck cautioned, “You be careful, girl!” She threw her hand up in acknowledgement and walked back into the stifling heat. Outside, the world looked normal. Heat rose from the blacktop parking lot in shimmering waves. People strolled by, laughter filling the air to mingle with the sounds of the wind and power boats on the lake. A little girl in a pink bathing suit, blonde pigtails bouncing merrily, a Popsicle dripping down her hand, smiled shyly at Jordan as her mother guided her into the office. Across the road, a squirrel, oblivious to the noise of people and machines, dug under an oak tree for an afternoon snack. It was a typical summer day, peaceful and happy.

  And that’s the problem, Jordan thought, slamming the door to her brother’s car with a little more force than necessary. It’s when everything looks normal that the damn world falls apart.

  Chapter Eleven

  This really isn’t such a bad place. Jordan stretched luxuriously, watching puffy clouds tinged in gray float across the sky, taking turns playing peek-a-boo with the sun. The increased cloud cover had dropped the temperature at least ten degrees and the wind across the lake was refreshing, even with the humidity. A storm was rolling in. By nightfall, the lake would be a cataclysm of rolling waves and choppy water, macabre dancers illuminated by streaks of lightning. The surrounding forests would be darker than space. Even flashlights would have a hard time penetrating the murk, but her brothers and uncle had hunted in worse conditions.

  They were still asleep. Sitting inside the dreary cabin waiting for them to wake was about as appealing as hanging out at the D.M.V. The water out back drew her like a starving man to a buffet table. She needed to recharge. What better way than reclining on a dock, surrounded by the energy of nature and the impending storm, soaking up the flickering rays of the sun? She’d found a folding deck chair in the hall closet. It was partially dry-rotted and she was sure her left butt cheek was going to fall through soon, but for now, she was content to lie and think.

  A dragon-fly, iridescent wings sparkling, drone
d by as it headed for the lake. Jordan smiled and closed her eyes. She knew she should make a plan to get to Corbett, but that was Uncle Case’s bag. She’d always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl, rolling with the punches (literally), kicking ass and worrying about names and consequences later. Case said a good plan was worth its weight in gold. Maybe so, but she’d never been privy to the finer things in life. Instead of gold, she was more comfortable with silver-plated and plastic, hence her tendency to run in with guns blazing and knives swinging, hoping for the best. Sometimes it worked; other times, Gabe had to pull her ass out of the fire. But she couldn’t change who she was.

  A breeze, smelling of growing things and a hint of ozone, ruffled her hair. Her mind drifted, settling in that warm, comfortable state between awareness and dreams. She was teetering on the ledge, wondering which way she would go when another puff of wind caressed her face, sending Jordan over the precipice and into sleep.

  “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, but I have promises to keep -- and miles to go before I sleep.”

  Jordan whispered the passage from her favorite Frost poem under her breath as she jumped nimbly over a fallen log. She was on a path, one she could see only if she looked at it from the corner of her eye. Straight on, the path was overgrown with majestic trees, lush ferns, and hostas as big as she was. But, if she used her peripheral vision, she could discern a dirt trail – one that hadn’t been used for a while and had slowly been overtaken by Mother Nature.

  At that moment, she was completely at peace. She knew she should be worried about the upcoming night, but she just couldn’t make herself care about anything or anyone. The forest was cool. The giant trees let in just enough sunlight to play across the wildflowers and dapple the ground, making everything seem magical and alive.

  She kept walking, always following the disappearing path. Her pace was steady. She wasn’t running from monsters or having to save anyone. A fleeting thought brushed across her consciousness like a feather: Why don’t I have dreams like this more often?