"What about the woman they found in waters last night?" Marie posed.
"You think that was suicide?"
"According to reports, those closest to her claimed she was depressed."
"I just find that so hard to believe," Nastacia remarked. "The lady had four kids; she wouldn't do that."
"Why not?" Marie asked. "If she couldn't find work to put food on the table for those four kids and no one—even the ones who claim they were 'close' to her were helping her, etc., I could see how hopelessness could set in and she could lose all sense of logic and commit such a dreadful, irreversible act."
"Having no money or food is no reason to end your life," Nastacia replied. "There are a lot of people out there doing much worse than that and they tug on and survive and push against those dreadful thoughts."
"How can you judge like that, Nastacia? I personally don't agree with committing suicide, but at the same time, I feel that none of us has a right to dictate the extent of how a person should feel when confronted with the woes of life. Think about it: If that's the mentality we all had, when people who are hurting cross our path, would we ever feel compelled to help them or would we simply say, Other people are doing much worse, so be strong and keep moving on? We'd certainly come across as callous and possibly feed a stronger sense of hopelessness within the person. I understand your point-of-view, but the element missing there, my friend, is compassion."
Nastacia looked shocked. "You think so?"
Marie nodded. "I know that in there is the missing element…" she pointed at Nastacia's chest, "…but getting that across to a person in desperate need is imperative. The right words along with appropriate action could possibly save a person's life."
Nastacia smiled. "See why I always liked you? You never have a dim perspective on life."
Marie smiled and got up. "I could use a cup of coffee. Want any?"
"Need you ask? Nastacia got up and followed her into the kitchen.
* * *
The street was clear that time of night. No vehicles had passed for at least forty-five minutes to an hour. The dimly-lit lampposts near the docks revealed nothing more than dozens of boats rocking quietly above the deep, murky waters. Raven Flottemore got up from the rusty boulder she was sitting on, her face drenched with tears that had flowed literally non-stop for hours. If only Tommy hadn’t left, she kept thinking; If only I was good enough. Flashbacks of her life over the past nineteen years of her existence had accompanied her to the docks that night. Mostly none of it had been good, to her vivid recollection. Then came Tommy Fishburne: The handsome boy who had swept her off her feet at the tender age of sixteen. She thought their love would last forever. After all, it had lasted two and a half years without as much as a serious falling out— that is, until Jessica Thompson came along: A tall, slender seventeen-year-old with dark, auburn hair and long, shapely legs to match. Just hours before Raven had sauntered to the dock, Tommy had broken the news that he and Raven's relationship had run its course. It was over.
Sitting at the dock was where she sometimes went to think before Tommy came into her life. Didn't seem like she had to do much 'thinking' during their whirlwind romance, but now she was back to basics—wetting the ground with her tears.
Raven stood for a few moments looking out at the water that glistened beautifully in the moonlight. The thought that she had never learned to swim scurried through her mind, but only for a second. Though sad, she knew that she would pick herself up like she always did and move on with her life. She turned around and headed for the yellow bicycle she had parked against a nearby tree when something snapped inside. Raven felt it hit her like a ton of bricks. Stopping suddenly, she turned her head abruptly towards the water with widened eyes and dilated pupils, then shifted her body in alignment. Slowly walking back towards the dock, she kept her gaze on the body of water ahead. On arriving at the edge of the platform, in an unbroken daze, she calmly walked off the pavement landing feet first into the sea. She plummeted quickly toward the bottom, making no attempt to retreat to the safety of the dock.
III
"Oh, my goodness!" Marie exclaimed after turning the page. "That's the young lady from the bookstore!"
Amy leaned over the kitchen table to have a look. "Who?" She asked.
"She was at the book signing the other day. I could never forget her purple hair—not a sight we see around here every day."
"This says she was found drowned at the docks yesterday," Amy noted, squinting her eyes in order to read the fine print. "She was fully clad; autopsy to be performed, but they speculate that it might be another suicide."
Sadly, Marie said: "She looked so happy when I saw… her." At that instant, a vision flashed before her.
"Mom?" Amy perceived that something had happened. "What's the matter?"
Marie's eyes darted across the room.
"What is it?"
"She was in a daze when she walked overboard—just like I saw those people in my dream. This girl didn't kill herself." She eyed the photograph again.
"Are you sure, Mom?"
Marie nodded. "They've got it all wrong. Her family mustn't believe for a moment that she committed suicide because it's not true—with or without the autopsy, it doesn't matter. Finish your breakfast honey. I have to go out for a while; I'll be back soon." She got up to leave.
"Where are you going?" Amy asked.
"To see this girl's relatives. I must speak with someone close to her."
Amy stared with uncertainty. It was completely out of character for her mother to inject herself into outside matters even though privy to information that most people didn't have. Amy stood up after her. "You always said that you wouldn't put yourself out there because of what people might think, Mom. Are you sure you want to go to these people and tell them things they may not understand?" Amy's concern was obvious.
Marie looked at her lovingly. "Sweetheart, when I finally worked up the nerve to submit that book for publication, I had already put myself out there. I don't too much care what anyone thinks anymore; I'm done being a slave to other people's opinions.
"That a Mom!" Amy smiled, proudly giving Marie a gentle nudge at the arm. "Okay, I'm coming with you."
The expression on Marie's face revealed what she was thinking.
"I was also 'put out there' when you wrote your book, remember?" Amy noted. "The difference between us, Mom, is that I never cared what anyone thought of you. Nothing they could ever say or think can cause me to look at you any differently than I do now. You're the most wonderful person I know and I'm so proud to be your daughter."
Marie pulled her close. "I feel the same way about you, sweetheart. Let's get dressed!"
The neighborhood was lined off with cars on both sides on the narrow road. Marie moved through slowly as a number of children were playing in the streets.
"There's the house!" Amy pointed.
"How do you know?" Marie asked.
"I doubt that all those people standing around in the yard with such gloomy faces are there for a party."
"Check the address again."
Amy looked at the blue post-it in her lap. She had scribbled down the Drakes' address from the phone book. "Yup, this is it." She confirmed.
Marie carefully pulled to the side of the white, picket fence. "The dock where she drowned is only about a mile from here," she said. "She could've easily walked the distance."
"She didn’t though."
"I know."
Marie approached a woman in the front yard; Amy closely behind her. The woman could easily pass for an old-timer, yet Marie sensed that she wasn't a day past forty. She, herself, had beaten her out by a couple of years.
"Excuse me. Can you tell me if Annie Drake lives here?" Marie asked.
The woman returned a suspicious eye. "Who's asking?" She glared at Amy, then back at Marie.
"My name is Marie Adams. This is my daughter, Amy. We just came by to offer our condolences to Mrs. Drake."
"She's ins
ide the house." She pointed with her chin. "Go right in there."
"Thank you," Marie said before heading to the front door with Amy.
Despite the steel door being widely ajar, Marie knocked lightly. Two women and a much older man were sitting in the living area. It was evident that the women had been crying. One was holding a white, crinkly handkerchief.
"Hello, we're sorry for the intrusion…" Marie started, "…but I was hoping to speak with Annie Drake."
"Can I help you?" One of the ladies responded, slowly rising from her chair. She was in her sixties, thin—rather frail-looking.
"My name is Marie Adams and this is my daughter, Amy. We heard the news about Raven and came to offer our sympathy."
"Marie Adams?" The other woman interjected. "You're that writer, aren't you? You wrote that book called…I can't remember the name, but they had a big advertisement on the radio and TV about it lately.
"Yes. I'm afraid that's me," Marie answered.
"I heard your book deals with some rather touchy issues. Don't know if I'm down with some of that stuff."
"Dorcas! How rude?!" Annie exclaimed. "Don't worry about her, Mrs. Adams," she gestured with a hand. "You and your daughter, please have a seat. So nice of you to come all the way here just to offer your condolences."
"Thank you, ma'am. We felt that it was the least we could do." Marie glanced over at Amy who was sitting down. The look on her face bore a subtle nudge that screamed, Get to the bloody point of the visit!
"Um…Mrs. Drake, I was wondering if I could speak with you privately for a minute… if you don't mind," Marie added.
"Certainly, you can, dear. Let's go on the porch there where it's nice and cool." Marie started to follow her when Annie looked back at Amy who had not gotten up to join them. "Are you coming, young lady? It's really much cooler out back."
Marie and Amy locked eyes for a moment. "No, ma'am. I'll wait here." Amy smiled. Marie and Annie walked out the back door.
"How old are you, dear?" The woman in the living room asked Amy.
"Seventeen," Amy answered stoically. From the uncool remark the stout woman with the large ears had made to Marie, Amy sent a clear message of dislike by quickly retrieving her cell from her pocket and getting busy.
Would you like a glass of punch or something, Mrs. Adams?" Annie asked as they both sat at the round, wooden table.
"No, thank you. I'm fine," Marie replied.
"Dorcas! Offer the young lady something to drink!" Annie shouted toward the door.
"I'm fine… really," Amy quickly responded before Dorcas had the chance to ask.
"Please forgive my cousin for her inhospitable remark inside there. She's always had a problem controlling that big mouth of hers," Annie said.
"It's nothing... really," Marie returned mildly. "My experiences as stated in the book are foreign to many of those in the predominantly religious denomination of this town. I expect that type of response to some degree. All of us are ultimately entitled to our own beliefs and opinions."
"I'd like to tell you that I've been brought up in the church; been a believer all my life, and to be honest with you, I've heard of some of the things you mentioned in your book from other believers—not that many—mind you, but at least a handful of 'em. Unlike a lot of people I know, I always keep an open mind about such matters as I feel deep down in my heart that there's a lot of things I don't know nor understand. How can a person believe they have all the answers to the universe! Such presumption!" Annie spoke passionately. "I've read your book and I found it to be very interesting and inspiring."
"I appreciate your kind words, Mrs. Drake," Marie replied. "I thought I should mention that Raven was at my book signing the other day. When I saw her picture in the papers this morning, I was shocked to learn of her passing."
Annie nodded sadly. "Stay right there. I want to show you something." She got up and disappeared into the house, returning a minute later with a copy of the royal-blue jacketed Miles of The Stone in hand. She sat down next to Marie and turned the front cover. "Read there to the bottom of your signature."
Marie leaned in. "The first book I read from cover to cover. Marie Adams changed my life," she read softly.
Marie was struck with both shock and sorrow. A mere stranger, so impacted by her book, had ended up dead just days later. She slid her finger over Raven's scribbled note.
"Thank you for giving my niece the hope she had desperately sought all her life, Mrs. Adams." By then, a tear had snuck down Annie's face and Marie was deeply moved by this revelation. She got up slightly to position her chair directly facing Annie. "Mrs. Drake, I know there's speculation that Raven took her own life, but I felt compelled to tell you that I strongly doubt that she did that.
Turning away for a moment, Annie slowly closed the book, then gave Marie her full attention again. "Mrs. Adams, Raven has been with me ever since she was four years old. Before she came here, she suffered a lot of abuse and rejection at such a tender age. Her mother, who was my sister, was a drug addict and she couldn't be a good mother to the little girl with that frame of mind she was in, so I took my niece in—particularly since her father was not in the picture either. I didn't want Raven ending up in the foster care system when I was right here and could do what I could to help her. Unfortunately, when she was just ten years old, her mother died from a drug overdose. In essence… Raven didn't know a mother's love or a father's love. I did my best to fill my sister's role over the years, but I couldn't all the way." Annie paused for a moment and tapped her eyes with the handkerchief she had balled up in her hand. "Raven craved, more than anything, her mother's love. You see? When she met a young man named Tommy, I almost immediately saw the difference in her. She was so much happier and I was glad to see that for a change. On top of that, she was an old soul—always seeking knowledge and wisdom. You can say, that's how come she ended up with your book. After reading it, she was so inspired that she offered it to me to read. She started talking different: She told me she knew her life was headed in the right direction from that point; that she wanted to be a psychiatrist and work with some of the children in the system. She said she was gonna get married some day and have three kids. This was just a week ago. Raven saw a marvelous future ahead, then the day before yesterday, her boyfriend—out of the blue—broke up with her. She was devastated. I can only imagine how she felt. She spoke about how they had all these plans for a life together and she truly loved him with all her heart. I said all of that to you, Mrs. Adams, to say this… I do believe that my niece committed suicide. She had even attempted it once before."
Marie was stunned by the disclosure. Yet, what flashed before her in the kitchen that morning took precedence in her mind. "Mrs. Drake, I understand your sentiments and I'm very sorry that your niece had to endure so much difficulty at such a young age, but I maintain that Raven did not kill herself."
Annie peered at Marie. "What makes you say that, Mrs. Adams? Why are you so adamant about it?"
"I don't want to sound… well… crazy or anything, but this morning, after seeing Raven's picture in the newspaper, a vision flashed before me. I saw Raven—it was obviously the night she passed."
Annie didn't blink.
"Did she have a yellow bicycle?"
"Yes, she did." Annie knew the color of Raven's bicycle did not make the headlines.
"Well, I saw her heading for the bicycle and before she got to it, she turned around as if in a daze. Her eyes were colorless, pupils widely dilated and she robotically walked toward that water and into it," Marie explained.
"What are you saying, Mrs. Adams?"
"I'm saying that something influenced Raven to drown herself. She didn't do it off her own volition," Marie reluctantly continued.
There was a lull; Annie quietly stared.
"I gather from what you said earlier, Mrs. Drake that you believe in God. Am I correct?"
"Yes, I do," Annie replied proudly.
Marie wasn't sure how to go on. "Do you beli
eve in evil—in the devil?"
Annie nodded. "We don't mention him that much in our church, but I know he's real. Are you saying that Raven was possessed by the devil?" Her eyes widened as the apparent implication hit her.
"That's not what I'm saying," Marie shook her head. "I don't believe she was possessed in the sense that we know it, but I definitely think that her stepping overboard was not something she would have done if she were in her right mind. She was not in control."
"Well… if this is true and Raven didn't willingly take her own life, how would we ever know for sure and why would such a thing happen to her?" Annie delved, though up on the fence about the whole thing.
Marie paused for a moment, giving what she was about to say next serious forethought. She leaned in a little closer. "Mrs. Drake, I have not shared this information that I'm about to tell you with anyone outside of my home. I know that this might sound a little weird to you…"
"Yes?" Annie waited anxiously.
"Something just awful has landed in this town—something purely evil. Raven was not the first of its victims and unfortunately, I don't believe that she'll be the last."
"Evil? In what sense?"
"It's demonic."
Annie looked away briefly and thought earnestly about what she had just heard, then she looked back at Marie. "If this is true, what can we possibly do?" She asked.
"I'm not sure," Marie answered, not feeling even slightly optimistic about the situation. "I guess only time will tell."
"My goodness," Annie shook her head slowly, "my pastor would never believe this if I told him. Pastor Henry doesn't believe in these things, you see? Anything supernatural… paranormal, he'll come up against in a heartbeat. Mrs. Adams, I don't know you personally, but for some strange reason… as crazy as I admit your story sounds… I believe you. After Raven gave me your book to read, I did some reading up on you and I found out some really interesting things: How you've helped certain charities behind the scenes, especially those that focus on the children and the elderly. I admire that. That's really nice." She glanced over at Miles of the Stone. "What stood out to me is that you are a deeply spiritual woman—not as religious as some of these folks around here claim to be and Lord knows many of them only talk the talk. You've just had some highly unusual experiences that most traditionalists, I guess you can call them, might have a little trouble identifying with. Anyway, like I said… I believe you."
Infestation: A Small Town Nightmare Page 2
