Robbie awoke to the sound of something moving next to her. She turned her head towards it, her head ringing, the roar of blood in her ears. Two eyes looked back at her from only a few feet away. A mirror. I’m looking at a mirror. But why … the girl in the mirror had short, dark hair. It isn’t me at all, it’s someone else, another girl, her eyes are so dark, and the look in those eyes, so filled with despair, with fear, with pain. The other girl closed her eyes, a tear coursing down her cheek.
And Robbie started to scream.
October 21st, 2005
Chapter 2
Chalk Valley – 20:00h
The brief rainstorm had dissipated, the thunder had rumbled to an end, the fat, dark smears of storm clouds curled back like a bruised lip across the moonlit horizon. The rain had left the yellow field grass damp and flattened against the ground. Bluebottle flies stirred from the blades of grass, drawn to the sound of the boys’ footsteps and the traces of rank perfume of what lay in the valley below. The beams of their flashlights bobbed in front of them as they walked, sweeping over the brush alongside the path as they searched for firewood. Any wood sitting out in the open was now too damp to burn, so the boys moved deeper into the forest. The flies had been bad enough in the open, but in the thick of the forest they were bloodthirsty, swarming in from all around and descending on the new arrivals.
The teenagers were already partly stoned from the drive up, so they just laughed and swatted the flies away. One boy stepped off the path where the ground was soft and slick and his foot slipped. The second boy laughed as his friend skidded down the muddy slope of the ridge towards the river before he came to a crashing halt at the bottom of the ridge after finally managing to grab onto a tree root. He was covered in black mud and was laughing almost as hard as his friend.
He smelled something that stopped him, a putrid, rotted stench that made him catch his breath. Goddamn, what is that …? He heard the high pitched whine of a deerfly dive-bombing in behind his ear, then two more as they attacked the back of his neck. He turned to run up the slope, then saw his flashlight lying on the ground a few feet away, its beam weak and flickering. He bent to pick it up, nearly gagging from the stench. The flashlight died. Damn, c’mon bitch! He shook it. Nothing. He smacked it hard against the heel of his hand. It flickered to life again, its beam casting a white pool of light on the ground. There was something odd there - like a white chalk drawing of a person on the black mud. The white line was moving. No. It was churning. When he took a closer look, he realized that the line was actually hundreds, maybe thousands of glistening white maggots, each one the size of his baby finger tip, all squirming and wriggling beneath the light around what appeared to be the remains of a human body. Its ravaged, leathery skin was alive with flies that rose in a dark buzzing cloud as the boy stumbled backwards, before they settled back down again. The body was face down, the skull turned partly to the side, the single exposed eye socket was empty and dark, crawling with small red ants, its mouth wide open in a silent shriek.
The boy screamed out loud.
Highway 1, Blind River, BC - 20:30h
The twin beams of Dave Kreaver’s headlights converged before him, cutting a broad white swath through the darkness of the road ahead. The air was filled with the sweet, slightly rancid wet cedar smell from the lumber mills that lined the river’s edge. A pair of headlights appeared in his rear-view mirror as tiny pinpricks of light. Eighteen wheelers ground past him in the oncoming lanes, gearing down in lumbering echoes as they descended the hill, their loads swaying across the orange dividing line as they rushed along the highway just slightly out of control. The headlights in his rear-view mirror were now the size of dimes. The little towns along the Fraser all seem the same these days, Kreaver thought. Whatever unique characters and charm they once possessed had eroded over the past decade, diluted into an amorphous sameness of neon signs for the Costcos, Futureshops, Save-On-Foods, Tim Hortons and Subways that now lit the edges of every town that mushroomed along the highway.
The headlights in his mirror had swelled to the size of quarters. Slow it down, buddy, he thought. The lights quickly flooded the mirror, making Kreaver squint. It appeared to be a truck or van. He watched in the mirror as the vehicle swerved over the median behind him as though to pass, then back onto the gravel shoulder, spewing up a cloud of dust, before swaying back onto the asphalt and straddling the median. Kreaver checked his brakes as the light coloured van then moved up alongside him clocking at what had to be a hundred and fifty klicks an hour. The van’s windows were dark, making it impossible for Kreaver to see the driver’s face until it was lit by the headlights of an oncoming truck. The driver wasn’t even watching the road, he was looking down at something beside him, a map, or more likely reaching for another six-pack of Molson’s. Kreaver didn’t care what the other driver was doing at the moment, he just wanted to be clear of this van, all of his senses were on full alert like mini alarm bells going off inside of him. The van swayed towards him again.
“Fuck you,” Kreaver growled, checking his brakes. The van shot in front of him and rode off the asphalt up onto the shoulder again, tossing up another cloud of dust. The truck in the oncoming lane roared past them, blaring its horn. Kreaver gritted his jaw, pressed hard on the brakes, the tires squealed underneath him and his car shimmied but held. The van kept moving onto the shoulder then off the road, sending up a shower of yellow-orange sparks as its bottom scraped up over the gravel. Only then did the driver seem to realize what was happening and try to slow down, but the van’s backend swept out to the side. It would have rolled over if its tail end hadn’t clipped a stand of poplars first. The van’s inertia made it spin out on the gravel, until it finally shuddered and stalled.
“Goddamn.” Kreaver pulled over onto the side of the road about twenty feet behind the van. His heart pounding, he flicked on his hazard lights and climbed out of the car. He hesitated for a second, then decided to leave his gun behind. He left his headlights on, the car alarm pinging in protest as he shut the door. No movement from anyone in the van ahead. He called 9-1-1 on his cellphone. The operator promised to send someone out within ten minutes. Kreaver sniffed the cool evening air, no smell of gasoline yet, a good sign. He was within six feet of the van when he heard the engine trying to turn over, resulting in nothing but a dying series of metallic groans and clicks. The driver’s door opened with a sharp creak and a man staggered out, his hand held to his head, and kicked the side of the van.
“Hey. Hey! Just what in hell were you trying to do?” Kreaver asked.
The other man just stood there in the white banner of light cast by the headlights, wavering on his feet, his expression blank as he stared at Kreaver. Probably in shock. Or drunk. Or both. He was average height and weight, with dark hair and a lean, pale face. His eyes were unusual, however, almost black, and wide with rage. Kreaver instinctively stepped back, half-thinking that the man was going to try something, and found himself wishing he’d brought his gun afterall. The man blinked, the anger lifting like a veil. “Oh sweet Jesus. What happened?”
“You had a little accident. Are you alright?”
The man paused, still blinking. “Yeah, yeah thank God. I ... I can’t start my car.”
“No kidding. I think what we need is a tow truck, and maybe an ambulance for you.”
The man shook his head, stepping closer to Kreaver. “No, I’m okay, thanks though, I appreciate your concern.” He smiled and offered his hand. “My name’s Phil.” Kreaver shook his hand and took a closer look at him. The man’s eyes were rimmed with red, his breath was sour. No question he’d been drinking.
“I’m Dave Kreaver.” He noticed something in the shadows within the van. “You got a passenger in the vehicle?”
Phil smiled. “Yeah, my niece. She’s okay, she was asleep.”
“She slept through that? Let’s see how she’s doing, okay?”
“You know, really, she’s okay. If you can just help me get the van started, or —”
Kreaver walked over to the van and peered through the tinted window. A young girl maybe fifteen, sixteen, pretty face, short brown hair, sat in the passenger seat. She looked unconscious. He tried the passenger side door, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. “I think she might be injured.”
“Oh Jeez, really? Maybe I better get her to a hospital.”
Kreaver went around to the driver’s side door, wishing he had his flashlight. Another car approached, slowing as it came near them. Then the roof lights came on, spinning like circus tops, a cop car. “Fuck,” Phil said under his breath. He put his hands in his pockets, pulled out some cigarettes, offered the package to Kreaver, who shook his head.
“Not a good idea right now. Your gas tank might have ruptured.”
“Yeah, okay.” Phil’s hands trembled as he put the cigarettes away. He seemed nervous all of a sudden.
The police got out of their cruiser. One of them, a woman, shone her flashlight on the scene. “Hi. Everybody okay?”
Phil smiled. “Yeah, we just had a little accident, Officer, nobody’s hurt thank God. We’ll let the insurance companies settle things. I just need a boost if you could —”
The policewoman shone her flashlight first in Phil’s face, then in Kreaver’s. “Hey Sarge.”
Kreaver held up his hand to block the harsh light. “Hey Kimberly, come here and help me, there’s a girl in the van who may injured. Fred, can you call for an ambulance and a tow truck. And keep an eye on our friend here.”
“You’re a cop?” Phil said under his breath.
Kimberly Lee came over to help Kreaver while her partner, Fred Andersun, returned to the cruiser. Kreaver opened the driver’s side door. The car smelled rank with beer and cigarettes. Empty cans littered the floor. The girl sat back in her seat, unmoving, her mouth open. Her blouse was partially unbuttoned, her bra was showing, and the white skin of her belly. Her jeans were undone, pulled partly down, exposing the top part of her pink panties. Kreaver reached in and tapped her arm.
“Wake up. Miss, wake up now. Come on, honey, wake up.” He touched her small, pale hand, picked it up and waggled it. No muscle tone, no reaction whatsoever. “Shine the light in her face please,” he told the patrolwoman. She did so as Kreaver held the girl’s eye open. The pupil contracted in the bright light to a black pinpoint in a round circle of blue, but the girl herself didn’t flinch. He checked her breathing, shallow but regular, then took her wrist to check her pulse, rapid, thready. Kreaver climbed out of the van.
Lee was looking at him, worried. “Is she okay?”
“She’s alive. You keep an eye on her while I talk to my new friend Phil about his niece.” Kreaver felt a hot coal of rage burning in his gut as he walked back towards the cruiser.
Andersun got out of the cruiser. “The ambulance will be here any minute. Everything okay, Sarge?”
Kreaver shrugged. “Not sure. Where’s Phil?”
The patrolman looked puzzled. “You mean that guy?”
“Yeah. Where is he?”
The patrolman bit his lip. “I don’t know. He can’t have gone far.”
Kreaver looked down the dark stretch of road in both directions, then into the darkness at the side of the road. Phil could have taken a dozen steps into the brush and disappeared if he’d wanted to. And apparently he had done just that. “Dammit.”
“Why the heck would he run?”Andersun asked.
“I don’t know. I need to use your radio.” Kreaver called dispatch and had them send out another cruiser. They would need to run a search on the van, on the girl, on everything they could. Andersun’s question was a good one. At most Phil could be charged with drunk driving, maybe reckless endangerment, corrupting a minor, but why add on evading a police investigation and fleeing the scene of an accident?
The patrolman had no luck in finding Phil on foot. “Sorry, Sarge, I guess I should have been watching him. I just never thought he’d take off like that.”
“It’s okay. Kimberly’s going to take care of the girl. I need you to do a search on motels and hotels within a ten kilometre radius. Stop any hitchhikers and taxis you see with passengers inside.”
“Okay. What did the guy do anyway?”
Kreaver stared off in the darkness. “I’m not sure yet, but it can’t be good.”
Chapter 3
Chalk Valley - 21:45h
Detectives John McCarty and Tony Laupacsis drove along Highway 1 in an unmarked navy blue Caprice. Just before crossing the Causewell Bridge that led into Hell’s Gate Canyon they came to West Gimly Highway, a narrow two lane of faded asphalt pocked with potholes that followed the U-shaped bend of Chalk River. It sloped sharply uphill, following the line of the valley ridge. Three kilometres further along, a small white sign hanging under a low overhang of tall firs indicated Concession 48. McCarty pulled the cruiser over to the side of the road in front of a line of parked patrol cars. A rough dirt road extended from the upper ridge of the highway to a small meadow, where it continued as a beaten down trail through a field of knee-high grass towards the valley ridge where half a dozen uniformed cops were gathered. The moon was high in the sky, casting everything in a cold, silvery glow.
“The body’s about five hundred feet or so down the pathway over there, Mac,” said one of the cops, waving his flashlight towards a clearing on the ridge, where a length of yellow tape had been strung across the black mud path that led down below.
“Did you call the coroner?” asked McCarty.
The other cop nodded. “I kept everyone away from the body site.” The patrolmen had made the teenagers wait on the rock and told them to not touch anything. The kids were scared enough to do the unthinkable for teenagers – they did exactly as they were told without question. They had also realized too late that they had never even bothered to hide their party accoutrements, although they were all clearly underage. A case of beer, a bottle of white Bacardi, some bags of Doritos and a ziplock containing half a dozen joints sat out in the open. McCarty and Laupacsis talked to the teenagers for a few minutes. McCarty sensed they weren’t they weren’t hiding anything, they were just a frightened bunch of kids, so he took down their names and let them go home. All except for Peter Caiden, the boy who had found the body in the first place. Peter was a tall, gangly seventeen year old with a swath of angry red pimples across his forehead and a wispy blonde beard and mustache. His clothes and face were caked with dry grey mud.
“You guys party here a lot?” McCarty asked the boy.
“No?” he replied, uncertain what he should say.
McCarty smiled. “Listen, Pete, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you get out with your buddies for some pops or a few spliffs, understand? I’m just trying to figure out why there’s a dead body in the woods.”
The boy nodded. “Well, we came here maybe a couple of other times, like two, three weeks ago, but that’s it. We didn’t even know about this place before.”
McCarty looked at the ground, noted a few crumpled beer cans, scattered cigarette butts and the circle of scorched rocks that marked an old campfire. “Who found it?”
“We all did. I mean, we were headed to our usual spot down near the bridge and found this place kind of by accident.”
Cuthbert and Morris arrived just then. Cuthbert had a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “We got some company,” he said, jerking a thumb up towards the night sky. Helicopters.
“News crews already?” McCarty asked. At this early phase of the investigation, he wanted to allow himself and the team to get oriented to the crime scene without spotlights, noise, cameras and questions they weren’t ready to answer yet. McCarty took a couple of flashlights from the duffle bag. “You two stay up here and sort things out,” he told the detectives. “Set up the base camp right here. Tape it off. We can get the trailer down, right?”
“I guess,” Cuthbert shrugged.
“Okay,” Laupacsis said to the boy. “Can you show us to the body?”
A black dirt path cut from the grassy f
ield to feed deep into the valley forest. The detectives carried the flashlights as they followed the boy, walking down the slope along the path, like a children’s game, pushing aside the tangles of bushes, stepping over the naked roots that jutted from the ground, the sound of their footsteps smothered as they moved deeper into the forest. The deerflies were biting at their arms, neck, face, every inch of exposed skin they could find. The detectives kept swatting at them, but almost instantly more arrived to replace their fallen comrades, swarming in it seemed from everywhere. “How much closer are we?” McCarty asked the boy.
“It’s just down here.” The first officers on the scene obviously didn’t have a chance to mark things off yet. “We’ll be there any second now. Just keep to the left.”
McCarty lingered behind the others. The tiny branches that tore at his face and clothes seemed to grow denser every minute. He stared up at the trees for a moment. The leaves and branches hanging high overhead were so thick they choked off any remnants of the dying daylight that tried to reach the ground, making the forest dark and silent as a tomb, except for the incessant whine of the deerflies and occasional chirruping of birds. Laupacsis and the boy were just up ahead, standing with another patrolman who had been assigned to protect the scene. Yellow tape had been strung up around a small square in the forest.
At their feet, lying in a pool of yellow-white light from Laupacsis’ flashlight, was what was clearly a human skull, face down, turned slightly sideways as though it was looking up at them. A single clump of long, reddish-blonde hair remained on the skull, tangled with dirt and leaves. The knobbled ridge of vertebrae was covered with a thin skein of brown parchment-like skin, while a fingerless arm stretched out before it, reaching into limbo. A thin white line of maggots surrounded the remains, wriggling in the black dirt, trying to escape the beams of the flashlights.
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