_____________
Lac-de-l’Est, Quebec, Canada
The Wendigo stood back in the trees, watching the activity on the U.S. shore of the lake. He’d hated deserting the boy, but the warden and his partner had shown that they would not give up the chase as long as they thought he had the kid.
He remained in place until they mounted their sleds and raced away to the south—no doubt headed for St. Pamphile. He believed that as long as the Indian game warden was alive, the man would not give up the quest. He had to go back—not immediately, but soon.
A sudden hunger cramp bent him over and he wrapped his long arms around his middle. Still bent over he studied the ice fishing shacks, looking for a sign of inhabitants. Farther up the lake he saw a shack with two Bombardier sleds parked outside and a thin stream of smoke streaming out of a shiny metal pipe in the side. He ran out of the shelter of the trees and onto the ice—dinner was almost ready.
37
Dowd Settlement
Laura Wells stopped her rented four-by-four in front of the porch to the Dowd house and got out. She glanced around the yard, admiring the rustic beauty of the place. She smelled the enticing odors of freshly chopped wood and wood smoke. She heard the door open and close. She turned to see a young woman standing on the porch.
“Kin I help you?”
“I’d like to see Amy Dowd.” The woman’s in-your-face attitude startled Laura. But, rather than back down she became more dedicated than ever to getting the story she’d come here for. “And, you are?”
“I’m Francine, her sister-in-law. Amy’s inside, but she’s busy right now.”
“My name is Laura Wells—”
“That s’posed to mean somethin’ to me?”
“I don’t suppose I could inconvenience you to tell Amy that I’d like to talk with her about her nephew, Dwain.”
Francine paused before giving a curt “Wait here.”
In a matter of seconds Amy came to the door. “Come on in, Laura.” She turned, walked inside, and waited for Laura to scale the stairs and join her. When the reporter entered the large family room, Amy walked past her and headed for the kitchen, beckoning Laura to follow her.
When Laura entered the kitchen she immediately felt at home. The warmth of the room made it feel smaller and cozier than it was and the combination of coffee, cigarette smoke, and baked goods created a smell that was reminiscent of her grandmother’s kitchen. “This is lovely,” she said.
Amy indicated for her to sit. “Can I take your coat for you?”
“No, thank you,” Laura said, “I’ll just drape it over the back of this chair.” She removed the heavy parka and hung it on the back of the chair as if it were on a hanger. She sat down and let her chilled body soak up the dry heat from the woodstove.
“I have coffee or tea. Would you like some?” Amy offered.
“Coffee, please.”
Amy turned to a large cupboard, opened the door, and took out a mug. “Is a mug okay? Or, would you prefer a cup and saucer?”
For some strange reason, Laura felt as if the Dowd woman was mocking her. She let the slight bounce off her. “Mug will be great.”
Amy removed a second mug from the cabinet, took an old metal percolator from the top of the stove, and poured coffee into the mugs. “Cream?” she asked.
“No, I prefer mine black, no sugar.”
“Of course. Now I remember, you’ll have to forgive my absentmindedness…. There’s been so much going on around here it’s all I can do to remember my name.”
“Amy, that’s perfectly understandable. Don’t worry yourself.”
Dowd nodded, carried the mugs to the table, and placed one in front of her guest. She sat across from Laura and before she could say anything, her sister-in-law appeared in the door holding a large basket of folded clothing. “Thanks for the use of the laundry, Amy.”
“It’s no problem, Francine. Have a good rest of the day.”
Once Francine had departed Laura said, “She’s a good sentry.”
Amy smiled. “As you’ve probably already learned, we Dowds take care of our own. Francine is a little blunter about it than most of us.” She sipped from her mug and said, “Now what brings you out here?”
“The murders.”
Amy nodded. “I suppose that’d do it—what do you want to know from me?”
“First, how’s your brother doing? John told me that he’d been severely injured.”
“Buster? He’s still in the hospital. The doctor in the clinic in Pohénégamook—wherever that is—said that it was a good thing that they took him there and didn’t try to go all the way to Fort Kent. The stub of a broken branch speared him in the side, just missing his stomach; if they’d tried to remove it Buster could have hemorrhaged and might have died.” She got up, walked to a shelf over the sink and picked up a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”
“No, my mother and grandmother were smokers. To be truthful, even though I’ve never smoked, I do like the smell.”
Amy returned to the table, sat down, and lit a cigarette. “The doctor said that the piece of branch that was in Buster kept pressure on the ruptured blood vessels, keeping him from hemorrhaging.”
Laura took a drink of coffee. “This is very good,” she said.
“Thanks, I drink too much of it though.”
“And your nephew and your father? How are they doing?”
“Hard to say. Dad hasn’t done much other than sleep, since he got back. Dwain, he’s worse than he was the first time he was with that psycho. Still stays out in the barn and won’t say anything to anyone.”
“You might want to get him into Fort Kent and have him undergo some counseling.”
Amy snorted derisively. “It’s not that I disagree with you. But you try and get my brothers and father to listen. They think that Dwain will come around, he just needs some time to get over things.”
“But your grandfather, isn’t he a Vietnam veteran? He should know about PTSD and its effects. If they don’t deal with it now, it will only get worse and will have to be dealt with later on.”
“Linwood Dowd, and all his descendants for that matter, are not about to admit that any of their kin are crazy.”
“Crazy? I didn’t say anything about him being crazy.”
“Tell them that.”
“Can I see him?”
“Who, Dwain or Dad?”
“Either … both.”
“Not up to me. You’re welcome to go out and see if Dwain will talk to you.” She sat back, took a final drag from the cigarette, and ground the butt in an ashtray. “Beats me how that boy hasn’t froze to death.”
Laura finished her coffee and put her coat on. “Would you like to come with me while I talk to him?”
“Don’t think it’ll matter either way. He ain’t talked to no one since he got home—just sits there with his arms wrapped around his gut, rockin’ back an’ forth. I ain’t ever seen that boy with so little life in him. He won’t talk, he won’t respond to anythin’, and he won’t eat.”
“That does sound strange.”
“That isn’t all,” Amy said. “None of the animals will go anywhere near him—not even Shep—and that dog loves that boy to death.”
_____________
Amy Dowd led Laura Wells out of the house. The wind blew across the yard at thirteen miles per hour, gusting to twenty-five, making the minus-thirty-degree weather feel like it was somewhere between minus fifty and minus sixty-eight. The cold hit Laura like a frigid wall. As the two women walked across the yard to the barn, ice crackled and crunched beneath their boots. “No one has been able to talk Dwain into going inside the house?” Laura asked.
“He can’t stand heat.”
“Be that as it may,” Laura responded, “this is too cold for anyone to survive. Does he have any type of heat out here?”
“No. We tried and tried to get him to come inside, but he won’t. Finally, Grandpa said, ‘Leave him be. He’ll come in when he’s r
eady.’ So that’s what we done.”
Entering the barn, Laura detected a subtle rise in temperature, which she credited to being out of the wind. Nevertheless, the temperature inside the huge barn still had to be minus thirty. She wondered how anyone could leave a boy in such a place—if Dwain had been her nephew, she’d have physically taken him inside. Her nose began to feel numb and, in spite of wearing heavy wool socks and winter boots, her toes began to sting from the cold.
Amy guided her to the far back corner of the barn, where the weak sun could not reach, therefore keeping the interior from warming up by even a degree or two. Laura shoved her glove-clad hands into the pockets of her parka. Amy stopped in front of a small stall and said, “Dwain, there’s someone here to see you.”
Far back in the darkest corner of the stall Dwain sat on a bale of hay, staring at them. “Hello, Dwain. Do you remember me? My name is Laura Wells.”
Dwain remained sitting silent.
“Would it be all right if I came in?” Wells asked, hoping to get some type of response from him.
“Dwain,” Amy said, “answer the lady—you been raised better than what you’re acting.”
Laura touched Amy’s arm and said, “It’s okay, Amy. I understand what he’s dealing with. Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll stay here with Dwain for a few minutes.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t think it’ll be a waste of time,” Laura said. “Will it, Dwain?”
His shrug was barely discernible in the dim light.
Laura said, “Really, Amy. We’ll be fine.”
Amy looked inside the stall and then at Laura. “Okay, it’s your time.” She turned her head back to her nephew. “You be civil Dwain, ’cause if you ain’t your grandfather will be out here and you don’t want that—he’s really put out with your attitude.”
Laura stood in place, watching Amy until she was outside. She turned back to Dwain. “I’m really tired of standing. Is it all right if I come in and sit down?” She took her left hand out of her coat pocket and pointed to a bale inside the stall and perpendicular to the one upon which the boy sat. She stepped inside the stall and he leaped to his feet. Laura immediately froze in place and looked at him. My God, she thought, he’s grown at least six inches in the five days since I saw him last! Another thought came to her: If what John says about the Wendigo is true, how tall must it be now? She sidled over to the hay bale and sat on it, ignoring the freezing cold that penetrated her jeans and butt. “This is a close as I’ll get, Dwain. I just want to talk to you.”
He sidled away and sat on a bale across from her.
Laura sat silently, studying the dusty barn and pretended to be fascinated by the cobwebs that hung from the rafters. After a few moments she detected him relaxing ever so slightly. “I know what you’re going through, Dwain.”
She watched his face, which looked sullen. He shrugged again as if he didn’t believe her.
“When I was about your age I was in a store that was robbed. The men that did it took me hostage when the police showed up.” She studied his face, hoping for some indication that she was getting through to him—he gave her none. “It was the most helpless I’ve ever felt. Did you feel that way when … ?”
She paused to give him opportunity to respond. Again she waited for several long moments before deciding that he was not going to answer.
“I was scared every minute that they were going to hurt me. Did that happen to you?”
“No.”
Laura felt as if she’d won a major victory and waited to see if he would go into more detail. When he didn’t she said, “But there must have been a time when you thought he might hurt you.”
Dwain gave her a look that bordered on being scornful. “No. He’s a nice guy.”
“But, he’s killed people.”
“I didn’t see him kill anyone.”
“What about the man named Askook?”
“That,” Dwain said, “was self-defense. That man attacked him first.”
Laura sat back and leaned against the wall. Her feet and face were numb with cold and she became concerned about frostbite. “But, he held you against your will—didn’t he?”
“NO!” Dwain was on his feet, glaring at her with his fists clenched. “He did not…. I went with him because I wanted to.” He exhaled and she realized that there was no cloud of chilled vapor coming from his mouth. She blew and saw her breath immediately cool and turn into a cloud before her face. What is going on here? She wondered.
He dropped back onto his seat and said, “No one understands him. You’re just like them—always sayin’ bad things about him … tryin’ to turn me against him. Well, you ain’t gonna do it, no more than they did. In fact, I want you to leave now. I want to be alone.”
“But—”
“GET OUT!”
His shout startled her and she jumped to her feet. Her first impulse was to get angry, but then she realized that although he was only thirteen years old, she would be no match for him if he became violent. She walked out of the stall and stopped in the center of the barn. “If you want to talk, Dwain. Remember I know what you’re going through.”
His eyes seemed to flash and she heard him mutter, “Screw you.”
38
Lyndon Station
John Bear was sitting in the dining room at Del’s, waiting for Laura to join him for dinner. When he saw the look on her face as she entered the room, John knew something serious was weighing on her. She took her heavy parka off and threw it into the booth across from him.
“Bad day?”
“I went out to see Dwain Dowd today.”
“Oh, how’d it go?”
“There are some strange things happening with that boy.”
“Such as?”
“He stays out in a freezing barn and won’t eat anything they bring him. Then there’s the physical change.”
“What sort of physical change?”
“I swear he’s grown six inches since the last time I saw him.”
“Really?”
Del walked over and placed a menu and glass of water in front of her. She looked at him without picking up the menu. “You still have salmon, Del?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll have that … and a Manhattan—strong.”
Del looked at her companion. “John?”
“The usual.”
Del nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
As soon as they were alone, Laura turned to John. “The thing that concerned me the most was …” She seemed reluctant to speak.
“What?”
“When he spoke there was no steam coming from his mouth.”
Laura bent forward. “John … the only way that could happen is if his breath is as cold as the air outside—and it was thirty below in that barn.” Her point being made, she sat back.
“I’ll take a run up there tomorrow. I hear that Buster got out of the hospital today.”
_____________
Dowd Settlement
Louis held the battery-operated lantern high as he guided his brother Buster into the barn. “This is friggin’ nuts, Buster. The doctor only released you when you promised to stay in bed for three to five days. You should be in bed, not tramping around in the cold.”
“Screw him. I want to see my boy. If that goddamned Indian did somethin’ to him, I’ll kill the bastard.”
“Stop talkin’ stupid,” Louis said. “He’s gone. You heard Earl. He left Dwain and run off into Quebec. We’ve probably seen the last of him—he’s Canada’s problem now.”
“That may be so, but Dwain is my problem.” Buster leaned on his brother’s shoulder as they slowly walked to the rear of the barn. When they reached the stall where Dwain had sequestered himself, Louis said, “He’s in here.”
Buster pushed away from Louis and stumbled his way into the enclosure. He saw his son sitting on a bale of hay and moved toward him. When Buster turned and fell backward to sit besi
de his son, Dwain leaped up and moved to another part of the compartment. He sat so that he could watch both his father and his uncle without having to turn his head.
Buster gasped in pain and watched the boy. “How you doin’ son?”
Dwain stared at his father.
It seemed to Buster that his son didn’t know who he was. “Do you know who I am, Dwain?”
“Yeah.” Dwain’s look was as surly as his tone.
“And who is that?”
“You’re Buster….”
“I’m your father damn it! Be respectful when you speak to me.”
Dwain’s eyes seemed to flash when he answered, “Yes, sir.”
Buster became enraged at his son’s insolence and tensed to go after him. Pain ripped through him and he paled, slumping back onto the cube of hay. In spite of the subzero temperatures he broke out in a sweat.
Louis darted to his brother’s side. “Damn it, Buster. I warned you not to overdo it.”
Buster held his right hand up, halting Louis. He looked at his son, “You can’t stay out here Dwain. It’s freezin’. I want you to come in the house with me.”
Dwain sat still and showed no indication of moving.
“Damn it boy, if you defy me I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”
Dwain stood up. “I’ll go in.”
Louis helped Buster to his feet and said to Dwain, “Go in, Dwain, we’ll be right behind you.”
The boy walked out of the stall and Louis and Buster saw him in the transient illumination of the spotlights that lit the yard. “Jesus,” Buster said. “He’s grown almost a foot!” He hissed in pain.
Louis half-carried Buster out of the barn, keeping his eyes on his nephew. “Brother, I think the day is past when you can take that boy across your knee—”
_____________
Dwain lay on his bed in front of the open window. The curtains flapped with each freezing gust of wind. He stared at the ceiling through eyes that were dull, as if he were devoid of intelligence. The reality was that he was so hungry he couldn’t sleep. He sat up in the bed and looked out at the moon reflecting off the pristine snow that covered the field between the house and the woods beyond.
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