Riddles that Kill: a gripping paranormal mystery

by Lois D. Brown

  She hoped for answers, but worried that what was about to happen would give her more questions. Regardless, she couldn’t stop from following the urge. A growing force inside her core made that a certainty. She was in the same place as everyone else, but not in the same time. Or was it a different dimension into which she had crossed?

  Clouds swirled in the azure sky. Time and space had no meaning. The earth felt younger and older at the same time. So did Maria. It was like being a child all over again, from the wise perspective of a grandparent.

  “Touch it,” said Jim.

  Maria knew exactly what he meant.

  The water in the reservoir. She had to feel it on her skin.

  Reaching her fingers into the wetness, she heard each tiny wave in a mass cacophony of movement. Along with a single voice.

  Mother Earth’s?

  No. It was human. More specifically, it was a man’s.

  Maria called to him. Not with words, but with a growing power inside her.

  I am here.

  And the man answered back.

  So am I.

  A collision of past and present inside of Maria exploded. She thought she might faint.

  The crowd pushed forward, trying to get a better look at what was happening at the water’s edge. A few of the men, including Rod, were trying to hold them back, keeping Maria and Jim safe as they bent down, heads drooped, with the tips of their fingers in the water.

  The first ripple in the reservoir was noticed by just a few. The second ripple caught the eye of more onlookers. By the sixth or seventh ripple a heightened excitement ran through the crowd. Something in the reservoir was moving. Coming closer.

  Slowly.

  Cautiously.

  An ancient skull bobbed out of the water ten feet from where Maria’s fingers brushed the surface. Three more bones—a femur, tibia, and pelvis—followed immediately afterward. No more than one minute later, an entire human skeleton had surfaced from the shallow depths.

  Remains from a time before. Memories of a past long forgotten—until now.

  Maria had called them from the depths, in front of everyone. And even worse, in front of Rod.

  Chapter Six

  Between October 2009 and October 2012 … excavations at ten Native American sites in [Kanab] were undertaken as part of the process for the construction of a new dam and reservoir.

  “Jackson Flat Reservoir,” PLPCO, Utah’s Public Lands Policy Coordinating Office, http://publiclands.utah.gov/ archaeology/archaeology-projects/jackson-flat-reservoir/

  “Definitely Anasazi,” said Jim, who hadn’t left Maria’s side since the “incident.”

  Maria studied the skull she’d bizarrely summoned from the water.

  Jim continued. “You can tell from the skull. The back of it has been artificially flattened. It’s a tell tale sign of that tribe.”

  The more Maria thought about what had happened, the more she wanted to be angry at Jim. It was like he’d hypnotized her and now everyone at the reservoir—and the rest of the town since Kanab’s newspaper reporter was present—knew she was some kind of freak.

  “The body had been buried there for quite some time.” Jim stared at the pieces of the skeleton arranged on the blanket on the ground. He and Maria were the last of the people still at the reservoir site besides a pair of security guards positioned by the EPA for the next few days.

  Jim moved his head up and down. “The original archaeological inspection was not thorough. This is clearly an Anasazi site. The pit houses are not recognizable, per se, but to a professional it’s obvious.”

  “There are pit houses around here?”

  “Absolutely, but I didn’t want to get into it with your friend, Rod.”

  “Not my friend.” Maria sighed. “I mean, I guess he is my friend, but not really. We used to be …”

  “… an item.” Jim gave her a knowing glance.

  “Yeah.” Why did Maria bother even talking out loud to Jim? He seemed to know all her thoughts before she verbalized them anyway. She picked up a bone. “So why couldn’t you just tell people about the pit houses before we stuck our hands in the water? That would have saved us some trouble.”

  Jim shrugged. “Why do you think?”

  Maria recalled the moment her hand touched the water and the strange sensations she had experienced. “You’re trying to teach me how to connect with the Sight, or whatever you call it, but I don’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s weird.” Each time Maria tried to envision what it must have looked like when the bones floated up from the depths of the reservoir at the exact moment she’d put her hand in the water it made her cringe. What did people think of her?

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  Those three words were going to be her new mantra. Honestly, when she thought about it, what she’d done at the reservoir was actually pretty awesome. Before Tehran, Maria would have taken her odd “super powers” and flaunted them as part of her “outstanding” CIA profile.

  But after Tehran things had been different. More real, and yet not. It was all about perception and “trying” to look normal because she feared standing out. She craved anonymity.

  And why, of all the bad luck, had Rod been there when it happened?

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  I don’t care.

  “Earth to Maria?” said Jim, in a way that let Maria know he’d been trying to get her attention for a while.

  “Sorry,” said Maria. “What did you say?”

  “I said Craig Snyder and Gloria McCoy from the EPA contacted Mr. Walden. They told him according to the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, all construction on the reservoir must cease until further notification. As police chief, you’ll need to enforce that injunction. It doesn’t mean he can’t build the reservoir, but it may not be in the same place. We’ll have to get some people in here to take a look.”

  “Okay. Good to know.” Maria bit her lip. There were plenty of people who would be upset about the construction delay. Enforcing the reservoir closure would be a lonely job, and she would have no one to confide in—especially not Rod. He was Mr. Walden’s lawyer, for pity’s sake. No, it was time to buckle down and be her own woman.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Jim eyed her carefully.

  “Fine. I’m fine. Nothing a little hard work can’t solve.”

  Jim patted her back. “Will you promise me something?”

  Maria grinned. “No more pony tricks for today, I hope.”

  “No, nothing like that.” Jim shifted uncomfortably. “It’s just … I get the feeling someone is going to cause you pain—a deep mental anguish. The feeling is strong and it’s got me out of sorts.”

  “You, out of sorts?” laughed Maria. “I guess I’d better pay attention.”

  “I’m being serious,” countered Jim.

  “Sorry. I guess I’d hoped the anguish coming my way had already happened,” said Maria as she recalled the night on the mountain when Rod broke up with her.

  “No.” Jim shook his head, as if he had read Maria’s mind, which he probably had. “That’s not the kind of pain coming. This is dangerous.”

  Maria shuddered unintentionally. When Jim said something like that it felt as certain as if it had already happened. “Jim, can you give me a little more to go on? Like a way to stop whatever it is?”

  Jim raised his arm high above Maria’s head and combed at the air with his fingers. Despite the gentleness of his movements, Maria felt strands of hair lift off her head.

  “May the warm winds of heaven blow softly upon your house,” he whispered. “May the Great Spirit bless all who enter there.” Jim closed his eyes. “May your moccasins make happy tracks in many snows, and may the rainbow always touch your shoulder.”

  Warmth spread from the top of Maria’s head to deep inside her stomach. It soothed her and calmed the rising pan
ic after hearing Jim’s prediction of oncoming trouble.

  Jim lowered his hands. All was quiet for a moment.

  “What was that?” asked Maria in a subdued voice.

  “A Cherokee prayer blessing,” answered Jim.

  “Does it work?”

  “Depends what you mean by work.” Jim folded his arms.

  “Will it keep the danger away?”

  He shook his head. “No. Nothing can do that. But it can strengthen you for the battle. Help you face your foe. Keep your determination strong. And the prayer will put you to sleep if you say it enough times before going to bed.” He grinned.

  Maria cocked her head, surprised. “Were you trying to be funny?”

  Jim looked at her in his intent way. “I am never funny. But it is good to smile. Especially….” He trailed off.

  “Especially what?” Maria probed.

  “Especially when evil is coming your way.”

  Maria started. The pelting of bombs had awoken her. Her hands instinctively reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

  No, it wasn’t the pelting of bombs that had awoken her, but rather she had been awakened from the pelting of bombs in her dream about Tehran.

  Blackness surrounded Maria except for a weakly glowing night light she always had plugged into one of the electrical sockets in her bedroom.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  She jerked and jumped up, landing on her feet. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the blurry outline of a man standing a few feet from the foot of her bed.

  Her arms flew up, ready to strike. But there was something strange about the image. On impulse, she squeezed her eye shut, shook her head, and then cautiously opened her eyelids.

  No one. Her bedroom was empty.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  The noise was coming from the front room. Or, more accurately, her front door.

  “What the….” Maria looked at her alarm clock. It was ten minutes past two o’clock in the morning. Who would be beating down her door at this time of night? She glanced at her phone and saw she had twenty-two missed calls. Before going to bed, she’d determined she needed to get some good sleep after the events of the day so she’d turned her phone on silent on purpose.

  Clearly a bad decision.

  Maria pulled on her bathrobe and called out to whoever was trying to bash down her front door. “Hang on. I’m coming!”

  Seconds later she was in her living room. “Who is it?” she asked the door, still not sure if she was in the middle of a very vivid dream.

  “It’s Pete, Maria!”

  With a twist of the deadbolt and a pull on the door knob, Maria stood face-to-face with her disheveled assistant.

  “Pete, what’s going on?” said Maria, who was now ninety-nine percent certain she was awake. She never dreamed about Pete.

  “Beth,” he panted. “I mean, Justin.”

  “Yes?” said Maria, a mass of anxiety forming in her gut.

  Pete slowed himself. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to contact you.”

  “I saw that. I’m sorry. My phone was on silent. Pete, what’s wrong with Justin and Beth?” Maria held her breath for Pete’s reply.

  He swallowed and finally got the words out. “Justin’s gone. Someone’s taken him.”

  Chapter Seven

  One archaeologist is leading an effort by archaeologists to excavate an area scheduled to be bulldozed to make way for a new dam and reservoir [in Kanab]. His team … found evidence of a culture that apparently thrived for 800 years and vanished about 1000 A.D. After the first body was unearthed, the archaeologist said a Native American warned him that many more would be found.

  “Modern-day project disrupts ancient burial site in Kanab” by John Hollenhorst, Deseret News, Feb. 7, 2011.

  The windows of Beth’s house were aglow, announcing to the night that something amiss was going on. Several of her neighbors’ homes were also alive with activity. A man in cotton pajama bottoms and tousled hair held a flashlight, which he methodically shone back and forth on the outside of Beth’s house.

  Maria leapt from the car the moment she parked. The man, Beth’s neighbor, shouted to those inside the house, “The Chief’s here.”

  Seconds later Beth was on the front porch, face ashen and body shivering. “Maria?”

  It was a plea.

  “Oh Beth.” Maria ran to her friend and pulled her into her arms. Her friend’s flesh was so cold. So fragile. So scared. “We’re going to find him, Beth. I promise. Can you tell me what happened?”

  Maria led Beth back into the house as she got all the details. After the exciting day at the reservoir, the family had gone to bed as usual. Around one a.m. the home phone rang. No one typically called Beth at that hour, and no one used her home phone except for a few of her elderly hair clients who’d been calling it for years.

  Groggily, Beth had answered the phone. On the other end was a digitized voice.

  “The voice was unrecognizable?” Maria asked Beth.

  “Totally.”

  “And what did it say?” Maria rubbed the cold upper arms of her best friend. It felt like she’d spent the night in an igloo.

  “They said they’d taken Justin and if we wanted to see him alive we needed to call the police chief.” Beth choked up but still managed to get the next sentence out. “The voice said we had one week to give them what they wanted or Justin would never come back.”

  A quick intake of air from Maria. “And what did they want?”

  “I-I-I have no i-idea.” Beth began to sob. Her shoulders lifted and dropped with each gasp of breath.

  “Nothing? They didn’t tell you how much the ransom is?”

  “No. They j-j-just said to talk to the police chief.”

  “Okay, it doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. Clearly, whoever it is wants to string us along. We can play that game. We’re going to get the FBI’s best negotiator here by morning. This is going to be okay.”

  On the outside it was Maria’s job to be confident, reassuring. On the inside, however, she was reeling.

  No ransom? No explanation? It was rare to take a child from his bed with everyone in the house. This was a deliberate crime. Justin had been handpicked—but why? Could it have something to do with the incident down at the creek? Had the creep from Vegas who had escaped authorities come back to Kanab? Was he getting his revenge?

  Beth’s husband stepped up and cradled his wife in his arms. His own face was blotchy red from tears as well, but he was doing his best to be strong for his wife. “The FBI is coming?” he asked Maria.

  “Yes. Title 18 of the United States Code.” She continued to rattle off what protocol was in situations like these as she scanned the living room for clues. “When a minor is kidnapped the FBI has jurisdiction, regardless of state lines. I’ve already called them. They know their stuff. We’re going to get the best help we can get.”

  Beth’s husband nodded. “I guess our kidnapper didn’t know the FBI would come. The voice on the phone asked for you.”

  That was another thing that made Maria uncomfortable. That was not standard protocol to request for the law to get involved. Usually it was the other way around. Something didn’t seem right about the whole situation.

  Maria pulled out her cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?” asked Beth. Her tears stopping for a moment.

  “Rod.” Maria walked to the front window and looked out. “I’m going to have him get Search and Rescue here ASAP. We need to start looking now. The kidnapper is closer now than he or she will ever be.”

  Twenty minutes later Rod was at Beth’s home along with seventeen other men and women. Every single member of the Search and Rescue had answered the call to come—even those who considered themselves retired. After hearing Beth’s kid was in trouble, they had all wanted to help. That was the kind of stuff that made Kanab the town it was. The folks cared for one another—regardless of how early in the morning it was.

  Details were relayed to
everyone on Search and Rescue. They were then divided into groups and systematically sent out to search every neighborhood. They were to look in parked cars, comb empty lots and public spaces, and even pull over drivers to ask if they’d seen an adult with an eight-year-old boy. Rod would be their point of contact and stay at the house coordinating the search.

  Pete would contact all hotel owners to see if they’d seen anything suspicious in their lobbies that night. And Maria would scour the inside of the Hills’ home, looking for any traces of who might have been there.

  It didn’t seem like enough. Maria didn’t have a large force—for the most part it was just her and Pete. Typically that sufficed, but with something like this she wished she had a hundred on her staff. She was literally counting the minutes until the FBI arrived with their resources.

  Maria stood inside Justin’s room, looking out the window. According to Beth, the front door was still locked and unforced when she got the phone call. It was unlikely that was the way the kidnapper got in. The window must have been the point of entry. It was a basic double pane, probably left open to let in the cool night air. The screen was a flimsy barrier to protect the boy from the outside world. Of course, in Kanab that should have been plenty.

  The backyard needed to be roped off. That would be one of the best places to find clues. The FBI would want it untouched when they arrived.

  Maria exited the bedroom, walked down the hall, and passed by Rod, who had set up the Search and Rescue main communication radio on the kitchen table in Beth’s house. Brenna and Zach, Beth’s other two children, had been taken to a neighbor’s house who was helping to calm them. Beth and her husband paced in the living room.

  Rod eyed the police tape that Maria had in her hand. “Need some help?” he asked, hesitating.

  At first Maria was about to say no, but then she thought better of it. This was much more important than some silly romantic breakup. There was a kid’s life on the line. “I’d love some help. I want to keep the backyard secure until the FBI can arrive.”

  “Good idea.”

  By the time Maria and Rod had roped off the backyard, Beth’s entire neighborhood was awake. Maria chose two responsible neighbors and asked if they would guard the police line she’d just installed. “Stay together at all times,” she told them. “We can’t have anything tampered with in that yard. No one, and I mean no one, goes back there.”