by Amy Cross
"Oh, Ms. Paternoster," Mr. Porter calls after me, "there's one other thing I wanted to ask you. It's a little awkward, but one of my guns has gone missing. The one I keep in the reception desk. You haven't seen it, have you?"
"No," I say, heading out into the hallway. "I'm afraid I haven't."
"You don't know if your uncle would perhaps have borrowed it?"
"He would certainly have asked first," I reply. "Perhaps you have merely misplaced it?"
"Perhaps," he says.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I feel a little faint and have to steady myself. Mr. Porter was right about my health: I have barely been sleeping over the past few days, and I fear that at this rate I shall end up becoming ill. I just wish there was someone else who could help me work with Albert, but such a mercy seems to be quite out of the question. The entire burden is on my shoulders, and I fear that I am not strong enough. I was so certain that I would be able to heave Mr. Caster out of his depression and return him to his former status, but now I realize that I am too weak to get the job done alone. Perhaps, though, there is one person in Devil's Briar who could help me. Deciding to put off my afternoon's rest for a half hour, I turn and hurry out of the hotel.
Chapter Three
Today
"We'll be sorry to lose you," Dr. Jon Heller says as I sit in his office at the university. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do or say that might make you change your mind? A raise? A new office?"
"It's nothing to do with the faculty itself," I reply, smiling politely. "It's just that I feel I need a new challenge. I've been in Boston my whole life, and I want a change of scenery."
"Well, I can't argue with that," he says, sighing, "I understand completely." He pauses, as if he's worried about something. "To be totally honest with you, Paula, I've been expecting you to leave for a while now. I know things haven't been entirely good with Bill, even before his accident. I take it that when you move to California, Bill's gonna be staying here in Boston?"
"I assume so," I say. "He definitely won't be coming with me." I pause, realizing that I'm going to have to start telling people the truth. "Bill and I are getting divorced," I say eventually. "It's a shame, but that's just how things have worked out."
"And he's up in this town right now?" Dr. Heller continues. "Devil's Briar? I was talking to Ed Raman this morning. He was showing me all the documents you brought back with you. It's kind of hard to believe what's going on. In this day and age, we assume that every inch of the planet has been mapped and photographed, and then a whole town pops up out of nowhere."
"It's all true," I tell him. "I've been there. It's the most amazing thing. A whole community that no-one had ever found before. There's so much work to be done up there, Bill and I barely even scratched the surface."
"Sounds expensive," Dr. Heller replies with a smile.
"But worth every penny," I point out.
"Ed's going this afternoon," he continues. "We felt it'd be better if he spent the morning doing some research and gathering some additional equipment before he sets off. A full team's gonna follow him up in a week, depending on what Ed finds when he gets there. I've got to be honest, if it wasn't for the delicate situation that exists between you and Bill, I'd be packing you off up there to help out. We need our best people in Devil's Briar."
"You'd got Ed," I point out. "And Bill."
"Ed's good," he replies, "but he's not as good as you." There's an awkward pause. "I think we both know that Bill hasn't been the same since his accident. He used to be brilliant. Now he's just good."
"Give him a chance," I say. "I really think Devil's Briar could be his life's work."
"Maybe," Dr. Heller says, though I can tell he's not really convinced.
"I'll be looking forward to reading the reports you write up," I say, glancing at my watch. "I hope you don't think I'm rude, but I have a meeting with my landlord. Everything's moving pretty fast, and I'm hoping to be in California by the weekend."
"Of course," he says, standing up and leading me over to the door. "I hope you have the best of luck out there, and I hope you'll stay in touch. It seems like only yesterday that you first walked into this place as a first-year student, and now look at you. I hope you know you were one of the best students I ever had, Paula. It was a no-brainer to hire you when you graduated, and I was kinda hoping to keep your around the place a little longer." He pauses. "I know I shouldn't try to change your mind, but I feel I should tell you that I was planning to recommend you for my position when I retire in a few years."
"Thank you," I reply. "I really appreciate that, but I have to get going."
Once I've said my goodbyes to Dr. Heller and the rest of the faculty staff, I wander out of the office and head for the exit. It feels weird, after more than a decade, to be leaving this place for the last time, and I'm pretty sure that in another life I could have been happy staying here forever. All I ever wanted was an academic career, and Dr. Heller's job would have been perfect. If only things with Bill hadn't got so complicated, maybe it could have worked out, but I guess you can't go through life avoiding complications. It was worth a try, we had some fun together, and then it fell apart. At least California should be a little warmer than Boston, and I've already got several leads for possible openings at research institutions. For the first time in many years, the future actually looks pretty bright. I just have to get my ass across to the west coast.
"Paula," says a voice as I emerge from the front of the building and start walking down the steps. Looking over to my left, I see Ed sitting on a wall.
"Hey," I say, wandering over to him.
"So this is kind of awkward," he says, smiling sheepishly. "I hope you realize that I've got a terrible hangover, and I feel totally embarrassed about my behavior last night."
"That's good to know," I reply. "I was hoping I'd get to see you before you leave. I didn't want things to be left like that."
"So we're still friends?" he asks.
I give him a brief hug. "If you're ever in California, you'd better look me up. I should be in the San Francisco area." Stepping back, I feel a little lump in my throat as it hits me that I'm moving away from all my friends. I don't really have much in the way of family, so the friends I've made in Boston are basically the whole of my support network. I'll miss them. "Keep me updated on Devil's Briar," I add. "I feel like I've got a vested interest in knowing how it all works out."
"Actually," he says, "there are a couple of things I wanted to ask you about. Do you mind if I walk with you to the parking lot?"
"Sure," I say, as he gets up and starts walking down the steps with me. "So what have you found so far?"
"I was up early this morning," Ed continues. "Despite the hangover, I got a lot of work done. You're right about Devil's Briar being completely absent from the records. We have information on every scraggly little dust-town that's ever existed in the United States, going back hundreds of years, but Devil's Briar... Well, if I hadn't seen the photos, and if I hadn't talked to you, I still wouldn't believe the place is real. It's kind of mind-boggling to think that a whole town could exist without anyone having heard about it."
"Wait until you get up there," I reply. "It's phenomenal."
"I looked through the notes you gave me," he says as we reach the parking lot and head toward my car. "Most of it came up blank, just like the town itself, but finally I struck lucky. Well, maybe. There was a name in the notes. Thomas Paternoster. It's a pretty unusual name, so I figured there was a chance I'd find some other reference to this guy, and I think I've come up with a few things about him. There was a Thomas Paternoster kicking about in Las Vegas in the early 1910s, right when the city was incorporated. Seems he was a bit of a charlatan, the kind of guy who rolls into town with a bunch of grand schemes and then tries to get other people to pay for them. He ended up leaving Vegas in quite a hurry, with some pretty big debts built up. Now, I know we can't be certain it's the same guy, but the rest of the facts fit. He had a niec
e with him, and after leaving Vegas he seems to have made a habit of turning up in various towns, usually in remote locations, and trying to pull off various schemes. I can't work out if he was a con-man or just a dreamer, but he certainly seemed to make enemies wherever he went. By the early 1920s, it seems there were quite a few people who wanted to put a bullet in this guy."
"He must have been pretty popular in Devil's Briar," I point out. "He was the Mayor."
"The last record I could find of Paternoster is from 1923, when he and his niece were run out of San Diego. Some of the locals had actually accused him of devilry and witchcraft, and it seems there was a real danger he might have been burned at the stake if he hadn't made a run for it. When he was gone, the locals actually burned down his house and salted the earth. They really, really didn't like him, but unfortunately there's not much detail in terms of what he actually did."
"So he was dabbling in the occult?" I ask.
"Maybe," Ed replies. "Or maybe it was some kind of fringe science. It's hard to tell. Contemporary accounts aren't entirely reliable."
"Sounds like an interesting guy," I say as we get to my car. "But there's no record of him after 1923? That leaves a two-year gap between the point where he left San Diego, and the point where he arrived in Devil's Briar."
"I've only just begun to research him," Ed continues, "so I'm pretty sure I'll find more as I keep digging. But if I'm right, the guy was generally pretty bad news wherever he went, and word would have spread. Even with the limited long-distance communication methods of the period, he'd inevitably have found it harder and harder to stay under the radar. God knows how he ended up in public office in Devil's Briar, but I wouldn't be surprised if he turns out to have some connection with whatever went wrong in that place. It can't be a coincidence that he seems to have pitched up just before the town died off."
"Sounds like you've got plenty to be getting on with," I say, unlocking the door to my car.
"There's more," he continues, pulling out some folded papers from his pocket and handing them to me. I take a look and see that they're print-outs of satellite photos showing the area around Devil's Briar. "Take a moment," Ed says, "and tell me what you see."
Sighing, I look at the first map. "It's an aerial shot of Devil's Briar," I say, recognizing the layout of the streets with the town center in the middle.
"Look at the next map," he says.
Checking the second print-out, I see that it's the same area, but Devil's Briar doesn't appear to be there. "When was this taken?" I ask.
"The first one is from a couple of years ago," he says, "and the one you're looking at now is from 1985. There are others, dating back as far as the early 1970s. On some of them, Devil's Briar is clear as day. On others, there's no sign of it. It's like the whole town appears and disappears from time to time. How the hell does that happen?"
I stare at the different print-outs. "It doesn't," I say, "but mapping technology isn't perfect. Maybe someone filled in gaps with other sections and thought no-one would notice. If Devil's Briar wasn't in the records, some map-checking lackey probably just grabbed a bit of forest from another picture and pasted it in to cover a blank spot. It's unlikely, but it makes more sense than having the whole town flicker in and out of existence."
"Maybe," Ed says. "I'm trying to pull the original images from the various agencies, but it's gonna take a while." He pauses. "Actually, there's one other thing I uncovered that might interest you, but..." He pauses. "It might seem a little bit crazy, but have you got a spare hour this afternoon?"
"Not really," I reply. Damn it, all I want to do is extricate myself from this whole Devil's Briar thing and get on with my life, but at the same time I feel like Ed is trying to lure me back in. "What is it?" I ask.
"It's something I really need to show you," he continues. "Come on, trust me. It's a half-hour drive, and I swear to God your jaw is gonna hit the floor when you see what I've found."
Chapter Four
1925
"I'm not sure I have anything that can help you," David Haynes says as we stand in the yard behind his shop. I'd hoped that as the town's pharmacist, he might know of some restorative medicine that could help Albert get better, but the man seems unable to help. In fact, he seems more interested in playing with his dog, for whom he continually throws a small red ball; the animal limps after the ball each time, bringing it back to Mr. Haynes. "Can you be a little more specific?" David continues. "What exactly is the ailment you're hoping to treat?"
"I'm not really certain," I reply, trying to be specific without telling him the truth about Albert's condition. "A general depression, perhaps. A malaise. An inability to recover from trauma, as if one has decided not to put up a fight."
"Uh-huh," he says, eying me suspiciously. "So who's the patient?"
"My uncle," I say, feeling that I can't possibly tell Mr. Haynes the truth. Nevertheless, as soon as the words have left my lips, I realize that it's patently ridiculous to expect anyone to believe that my uncle is depressed.
"Mr. Paternoster?" David pauses. "I never would have thought him to be the type of man who requires such help. In fact, I'm finding it a little hard to believe."
"He's a very strong man in public," I reply, feeling that I have locked myself into the lie, "but I would like to be prepared in case he develops a problem at some future stage. The people of Devil's Briar have come to depend upon him, and I would like to be ready to deal with any eventuality. If you have anything that I could use to fortify his character a little..."
Mr. Haynes stares at me for a moment. "You know you can tell me anything in strict confidence, don't you?" he asks eventually. "I'm not a doctor, but I still believe that a person's business is not for public consumption. Anything you tell me will remain between the two of us. I won't tell anyone, not even Dr. Collings."
I take a deep breath, wondering if perhaps I can trust him after all. "You are correct," I say after a moment. "My uncle is not sick, nor is he likely to become so. It's someone else that I'm helping, but please do not ask any more. I merely wish to know if there is anything you can do to help."
"There's linen powder," he replies. "I've heard the stuff can be used to increase energy levels."
"That might be worth trying," I say.
"Of course, you'd need a prescription from Dr. Collings," he continues. "I can't just give the stuff out over the counter." There's a pause, and once again it seems as if Mr. Haynes has intuited some of the qualities of my dilemma. "You can't go to Dr. Collings, can you?" he asks as he throws the ball again, and his dog limps across the yard. "That's understandable. The man isn't known for his bedside manner. Okay, Ms. Paternoster, I think I know everything I need to know about the situation. In an emergency, when Dr. Collings is not immediately available, I'm allowed to issue a prescription for a small amount of certain substances. You must understand, though, that this is not something I wish to have discussed with other people."
"Absolutely," I say, sensing that he might be able to help me after all.
"I mean it," he continues. "I could get into a lot of trouble if it comes out that I'm giving this kind of stuff out freely."
Putting down the red ball, Mr. Haynes pats his dog on the head and then leads me back into the pharmacy, where he immediately starts decanting a white powder into a small jar. It's hard to believe that a simple powder could possibly be enough to turn around the fortunes of a man who has tipped into a trough of despondency, and I would usually scoff at the mere idea of using a drug to treat an ailment of the mind; nevertheless, I am rapidly running out of ideas, and in my desperation I will take any help I can get.
"Might I ask how your wife is doing?" I say, feeling that I should keep the conversation going. The dog comes and sits by my feet.
"She's recovering slowly," he replies. "She took it hard when Gilly died, but she understands it was an accident. She doesn't blame me." He pauses. "She spends most of her time in bed, day and night, but I feel quite certain that she will ev
entually lift her spirits a little. It just takes time for these things to work through the mind, you know?" Screwing a lid on the jar of white powder, he slides it over the counter toward me. "Linen powder," he says. "A powerful restorative, although its effects seem to vary quite considerably from person to person. Use it sparingly, and for God's sake don't advertise that I gave it to you. Dr. Collings wouldn't appreciate that I helped you circumvent his authority, if you know what I mean. That man could cause me some real problems if he found out."
"I understand," I say, "and I'm very grateful for your help."
He smiles. "It's not a problem. As you can see, I'm not exactly rushed off my feet today. Business has been bad over the past week. I swear to God, sometimes I think the population of Devil's Briar is declining a little further every day." He glances over at the window. "Hell, maybe I'm paranoid, but I almost feel like there's less and less people in the streets."
"At least you can busy yourself with your dog," I reply. "What's its name?"
"Lizzie," he says, before pausing. "She's dying," he says after a moment. "I've been trying to get her better, but it's no use. I'm going to shoot her this afternoon. She's in pain, so I figure it's the kindest thing to do. I just wanted to play with her one last time, to remind her of the good times."
"But must you kill her?" I ask, shocked that he would do such a thing when he clearly has a great deal of fondness for the animal. Looking down at the dog, I can't help but think she looks healthy. "Surely she might recover?"
He shakes his head. "She can't walk properly any more, and her leg hurts. She used to be such a proud and strong girl, but those days are over. I know she wouldn't want to live on in pain. It's better this way. I can see it in her eyes. She understands what I'm gonna do, and she's ready." He walks over and picks Lizzie up; the dog licks his face, and I see tears in his eyes.
"It still seems a little harsh," I say.
"My mind's made up," he replies firmly. "I love her too much to let her live in pain."
