by Jana Oliver
‘You’re not three years old. Lobbing spells around makes us look ignorant and we don’t need the bad press.’
‘But – ’
‘There are people who believe we work for Hell and would love to kill us because of that. We’re trying to get them to think otherwise,’ Ayden replied, her voice tighter now. She gestured at the destruction, including the line of fizzling magic playing along the rafters. ‘This is NOT helping. You understand me?’
The witch mumbled under her breath but the spell she’d been forming died out.
‘Go home, people. Do not start a war ya canna win,’ Stewart commanded.
The combatants frowned at each other, then they headed in different directions, trailing magic in their wakes.
Mort let out a sigh of relief. ‘Better than this morning.’
‘That was ugly. At least the bystanders’ hair will grow back . . . someday,’ Ayden replied.
‘You know, my mother wanted me to be a dentist,’ Mort said as he rolled up the sleeves of his robe. ‘No, I just had to be a summoner. Look what it got me.’
‘A steady job,’ Stewart replied, smiling now that the dual had ended. ‘Someone has ta clean up the magical Hazmat and yer good at it.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ Mort looked over at Ayden. ‘You ready?’
She nodded and began extracting various witchy supplies from the tapestry bag on her shoulder, including candles, crystals and magical chalk.
‘I’ll leave ya ta it, then,’ Stewart said.
As he walked away, he heard them discussing the best place to set the circle from which they’d disperse the residual magic. There was some professional disagreement, but it was good natured, not confrontational. It appeared that the battle at Oakland Cemetery had forged a bond between them, one of mutual respect.
Pity the rest of yer kind didn’t get the memo.
A few minutes after McGovern arrived at the hospital with the hearse, Sadie’s body was rolled out on a gurney. Beck followed behind, then stood near the hearse, head bowed and hands at his side, until his mother was loaded inside.
Riley’s lower lip quivered and her heart ached to see him like this. Once the undertaker had finished, Beck headed in Riley’s direction. His mask held until he reached the truck.
‘Can you drive?’ he asked, a glimmer of tears in his eyes.
‘Sure.’ It took some time to get the seat adjusted right. Throughout the process he stared out of the side window, his jaw clenched.
At Beck’s mumbled request, they made only one stop at the convenience store. When he climbed out of the truck, eyes followed him inside. One guy flipped him off, but he didn’t seem to notice.
He just lost his mother, you ass.
Riley forced herself not to return the gesture.
After some time inside, Beck returned with a bag of ice, a six-pack of beer and some BBQ potato chips. A guy’s idea of a balanced meal. A second bag came her way and inside was turkey sub sandwich, some dried fruit and a can of soda. Her dinner, it appeared. Even in grief, he was still thinking of her welfare.
Once they were back at the room he put his trapping bag next to the bed and tossed his wallet inside. The ice went in the sink, followed by four of the beer bottles. He tucked the fifth under his arm, twisted the top off the sixth bottle and headed back outside. She trailed after him, concerned.
Beck dropped the tailgate and hopped up on to it.
‘You want to be alone?’ she asked. When he shook his head, she climbed up next to him.
He took a swig of beer. ‘I always hoped she’d get over herself long enough to act like I was her son, but she never could.’
‘Was she always this way?’
‘Pretty much. Right after I was born my gran took me to North Georgia. She was worried Sadie wouldn’t take care of me proper. I stayed up there until I was three and then they brought me back down.’
‘Why didn’t they keep you?’
‘Sadie was on the wagon. They thought she could handle things.’ He took a long swig of beer. ‘She promised them she could, but she started drinkin’ a short time after I came home. I was too much for her to handle.’
He’s blaming himself again. ‘If she couldn’t handle a kid, she should have got help or taken you back to your grandparents.’
‘Not her way.’ He tracked a UPS truck along the highway until it was out of sight. ‘She’d go out at night, leavin’ me on my own. She told my gran everythin’ was fine and they believed her.’
‘How old were you?’ Riley asked, surprised he was being this open about his childhood.
‘Four.’
Riley gaped. ‘God, Beck. It’s a wonder you’re still alive. You could have set the house on fire or something.’
‘Mostly I watched television,’ he said.
‘How did you eat? I mean, did she leave you food?’
‘Not really. I remember being really hungry one night so I climbed up on the counter and got a can out of the cupboard, but I couldn’t get it open.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I carried it to the neighbour next door, Mrs Welsh. She was always really nice to me. I made her promise she wouldn’t tell Sadie I’d taken one of the cans or I might get a whippin’. She said it’d be our secret.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘She gave me the can and then fed me from her own cupboard. That way I wouldn’t get in trouble.’ He sighed. ‘She died a couple years back. I do hope she’s in Heaven because she deserves everythin’ good in the next life. She was a saint.’
Unlike your mother.
He cleared his throat. ‘I knew when Sadie came home it was time to hide. Mostly she was too drunk to know I was there, but every now and then she was mad drunk and if I did anythin’ I’d get a lickin’. Sometimes she’d bring some loser home with her.’ He shook his head. ‘Didn’t understand it all until later, but I knew it wasn’t right.’
His fingers tightened round the beer bottle. ‘I kept hopin’ that one of those guys was my daddy, but I don’t think any of them were.’
‘I don’t know how you made it. I would have taken off.’ Then she realized why he hadn’t. What if his father had returned while he was gone?
‘Sorry, you don’t need to hear all this crap. Doesn’t matter now.’
It does or you wouldn’t be talking about it.
‘Did you tell anyone else about this?’
‘Donovan knew most of it. He wanted to put me in foster care, but I told him I’d run away. I found out later that he was the one who paid for my school supplies. It sure wasn’t Sadie.’
Just like a father would do. Her mind flashed back to the first time she’d seen Donovan – the close-cropped blond hair and muscular build. A lot like an older Beck.
She wanted to ask the question, but now didn’t seem the right time. Besides, wouldn’t they have settled all that a long time ago if Donovan and Sadie had ever hooked up?
‘Don’t be a martyr, Beck. Your mother wasn’t worth it.’
He looked over at her and she wondered if she’d gone too far. Instead, he blinked back tears. ‘Yer so damned good to me.’
‘Easy to do when you’re not pushing me away.’
‘I never did it because I hated you or anythin’.’
‘I know.’
He drained the first beer. ‘I’d like to sit out here and think for a while, on my own, if you don’t mind.’
Taking that as her cue to leave, Riley hopped off the end of the tailgate. She placed her hand on his knee. ‘You sure you’re OK?’
‘I’m gettin’ better –’ his voice quieter now – ‘you helped me a lot.’
‘Well, it’s cold so don’t stay out here too long. And if you get drunk you are sleeping in the truck, mister,’ she said, giving him a mock glare.
He cracked a grin and then snapped a smart salute. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
She returned the salute, picked up the empty beer bottle and headed to her room, relieved. As long as she kept him talking, he’d be OK.
&nbs
p; Riley took a shower and dressed for bed. A peek out through the drapes proved Beck was sitting where she’d left him, nursing a beer and his deepest thoughts. Ravenous, she demolished the sandwich and the fruit. Neither were half bad. Another check on Beck. He hadn’t moved.
This might take some time.
Flipping open her phone, she sent a text to Peter letting him know the situation and that it’d be a day or two before she returned to Atlanta. When no reply was forthcoming, she began to doze. The sounds of Georgia On My Mind filtered in from the parking lot, signalling that someone had called Beck. There was muted conversation.
Probably somebody in Atlanta.
Yawning, she crawled under the covers and was nearly asleep when the truck roared to life. By the time she reached the door, Beck was out of the drive and headed up the highway towards town.
Maybe he needed some space. Or the sheriff was back in his office and Beck went to talk to him about the missing boys.
Still, as she crawled back in bed to await his return, a nagging sense of unease tugged at her.
Maybe I should have gone with him.
By the time he was halfway to the funeral home Beck realized he’d left two things behind: his trapping bag and his wallet. He debated about turning round and fetching them, but Riley was probably asleep and that would just wake her. That was the reason he’d not bothered to let her know where he was headed in the first place.
When Beck had pressed McGovern about what was so important at nearly nine at night, the undertaker claimed he had yet another piece of paper for Beck to sign and that it just had to be done tonight. Then he’d asked Beck to park at the rear of the funeral home, which had seemed odd until the guy said something about a freshly mopped showroom floor.
Shaking off his gloom, Beck walked to the back door, hoping to deal with whatever problem McGovern had dreamed up so he could get back to the motel. If he was gone too long, Riley might wake up and worry about him.
He knocked but there was no answer so he tried the knob and the door swung open.
‘Hello?’ he called out. ‘Hey, McGovern! You in here?’
There was no reply so Beck walked through the garage area and into a long corridor towards the interior of the building. His irritation rose with each step. He’d had a helluva day and he only wanted to get back to the motel and climb into bed. Not that sleep would make it any better.
‘McGovern,’ he called. When there was no answer, Beck swung round and headed back the way he’d come. He was halfway through the garage when the undertaker appeared between him and the outer door.
‘Where have you been?’ Beck demanded.
‘Waiting for you,’ McGovern replied. ‘The girl out in the truck?’
That was a weird question. ‘No, she’s at the motel. Let’s get done whatever you need, OK? I’m not in the mood to jack around.’
‘I agree.’
As Beck drew closer, he saw something in the man’s hand and it took him a moment to realize exactly what it was. He ground to a halt mid-step, his full attention on the taser.
‘Hey, look, man, what is this all about?’
McGovern moved closer. ‘It’s all about payback, Denny.’
‘Payback for—’
Twin projectiles hit Beck in the chest, delivering a sharp electric shock that took him down. As he lay on the floor trying to control his twitching and suddenly uncooperative muscles, McGovern walked up to him.
‘You should have left it alone, boy.’
The second jolt from the taser turned Beck’s vision to black.
Chapter Twelve
A thundering headache brought Beck back to consciousness. It felt like a hangover, at least until he tasted the blood in his mouth and the trembling ache in his muscles. He slowly became aware that his hands and feet were tied and a piece of thick tape covered his mouth. With a groan he tried to roll over, but was unable to complete the manoeuvre, entombed in something.
What the hell is this?
He thrashed and it got him nowhere as the sharp stench of plastic nearly made him gag. One of the last things he’d seen right before he’d lost consciousness was a stack of body bags in the funeral home’s garage. It was a good guess he was inside one of them now.
From the sounds around him, he was in the back of a vehicle, maybe even his own truck. He could hear the radio playing in the cab. There was something else rattling with each bump in the road, but he couldn’t sort out that noise.
A cold chill sped up his spine. Was he being taken somewhere for a little country justice? All it’d take was a bunch of drunken locals eager for that payback McGovern had spoken of. A quick toss of a rope over a thick tree limb and Denny Beck would be no more. When the sheriff tried to figure out who’d killed him, there’d be no witnesses willing to say what they’d done to Sadie’s murdering son.
Beck kept wiggling around until he could get one of his fingers close to his mouth. He tensed and then ripped off the tape, then swore at the pain as his lips burned in protest. Next he had to get the ropes off. If he was lucky, he’d be free when it came time for them to hang him. How he’d fight off a lynch mob he had no idea, but he wasn’t going down easy.
He was still working on the ropes around his feet when the truck slowed and made a turn. From the change in tyre sounds they were no longer on the highway, but travelling on one of the side roads, which meant they could be anywhere.
Sweating with the strain, he nearly cheered when the bonds round his ankles came free. Fearing he was running out of time, he dug frantically at the ones on his wrists, using his teeth as leverage. His jaw muscles clenched in protest, but he kept gnawing at the ropes.
The truck pulled up and halted. A minute later he heard the roof box swing open. He was out of time. Beck kicked out at the plastic and shouted his outrage.
‘Figured you’d get that off,’ McGovern said.
‘Why ya doin’ this?’
‘Because it’s the way it has to be,’ the man replied.
Did he find my gun? Beck kept it in his glove compartment so it wasn’t like it was hidden.
He was hauled to the edge of the tailgate and unceremoniously rolled off the edge. Before he could react, he landed hard, his shoulder and skull impacting with the ground. Woozy from the blow, his head swam in protest.
The Guild’s doctor had warned him about this, cautioning him to be careful after the head injury he’d taken a short time ago. He had been careful: he’d just not planned on being kidnapped by Sadlersville’s only undertaker.
What was missing was a tangle of drunken voices boasting about what they planned to do to that no-good SOB Denny Beck. Had he got it wrong? Maybe this wasn’t country justice, but something else entirely.
As McGovern dragged the body bag across the ground, he groaned in discomfort. With considerable difficulty his captor manoeuvred him up, then into something that moved, a boat perhaps. Through it all, Beck’s head continued to pound in time with his heart.
‘Where are we goin’?’ he called out, his mouth dry.
McGovern didn’t answer.
Why is he doin’ this? Beck had never had a problem with the undertaker and the guy should have no beef with him. Maybe it was something with Sadie. Still, that was no reason this man would risk jail time if there’d been bad blood between the two of them.
Beck tried to concentrate on the little details. Besides the sickening plastic stench there was another smell, one he knew as well as any: they were somewhere in the swamp. His mind narrowed down the possibilities. There were only a few entrances to Okefenokee and the one south of town had a main gate that was locked at sunset. The next closest entrance was Kingfisher Landing, north of Sadlersville, the one locals called Poachers’ Landing because it was open to everyone and the easiest way to slip into the swamp unnoticed. Beck bet that’s exactly where they were.
With the roar of the boat motor in his ears, he forced himself to rest. If he was lucky, he’d be given a chance to escape. If not, this was goin
g to be a one-way trip.
As best he could tell, hours passed. The body bag didn’t allow much personal freedom and so his back ached where it met the uneven bottom of the boat. He kept working on the ropes, but only managed to make his mouth sore and his lips bleed.
How far are we goin’?
When the boat slowed and then the motor cut out, Beck knew the moment was near. He’d given up on trying to loosen the bonds round his wrists. Those were there to stay. At least he had his feet free and that meant he could run if McGovern hauled him on to solid ground. Swimming wasn’t going to be an option.
What if he throws me overboard? Beck would drown before he could claw his way out of the bag. Something told him that wasn’t McGovern’s plan or he’d have done the deed already.
The boat rocked as his captor climbed out. Probably tying it off to a small tree.
‘Ya still haven’t told me what this is all about,’ Beck said, trying to sound like he’d given in to the inevitable.
‘It’s nothing personal. It’s just something that has to happen.’
Keep him talkin’. ‘That’s not making me feel good here.’
A chuckle. ‘Always did like your sense of humour. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your mother has a good funeral.’
Beck’s fury grew and he struggled to keep it in check. ‘Ya let me go and I’ll not say a word to the cops.’
The only response was McGovern manhandling him out of the craft and on to the bank. Water splashed around the bag, but it remained intact. More dragging, but this time it wasn’t as easy as his body passed over branches and other swamp debris.
‘Yer gonna kill me, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, it’s come to that. Sorry.’
Nothing would prevent McGovern from doing the deed while he was still inside the bag. Beck had to get him to unzip it.
‘Then at least let me see the sky one last time. I don’t want to die staring at the inside of some damned black bag.’
His captor kept hauling him onward, further from the boat.
Beck forced his pride down in an effort to gain one last chance at survival. If he failed, he’d never see Riley again.
