Shepherd's Watch

by Angie Counios

  “Yeah, but before you freak out—”

  “A little late for that!”

  “Fair enough, but I’m just borrowing it.”

  “Borrowing? As in stealing then returning?”

  “Well, I guess if you put it that way…”

  I slow the car to make a u-ball.

  Charlie turns to me. “Come on, let’s just go. Your parents are waiting on us.” .

  “No way. We made a deal. Hell, we made a bet—”

  “Yeah, we made a bet and I won and you closed it out by buying me doughnuts. The contract is done.”

  “Charlie! You can’t go around stealing shit all the time.”

  “Hey, I’m trying to keep a promise to your parents, but more research is needed.”

  “On what?”

  “The university couple.”

  “Barry couldn’t remember their names, if his story is even true. How are we going to research anything about them?”

  “Maybe we don’t have to.”

  chapter 91

  Before leaving town, Charlie has me stop at the local pharmacy. He’s in and out quickly and we’re soon on our way back to the cabin.

  “What? Did you steal something from there too?”

  “I bought this, thank you very much,” he says pulling out a magnifying glass.

  He opens up the roll of film and squints at it through the glass lens. As the car bounces along, I can just make out the handwriting on the box the microfiche came in: “May-June 1996.” Of all the films in the library, why that one?

  And it’s like he reads my mind. “I’ve been thinking about everything,” Charlie says. “There’s Terry and Rita and the book, the bags, and the deer.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “And I’ve been wondering if we’ve been thinking too small.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ve been focused on the present, but we haven’t considered the past.”

  “Like when the couple arrived?”

  “Exactly. They might have arrived sometime in the ’70s, right? If what’s going on now is connected to them, what else has happened that might be connected to them?”

  “You aren’t talking about aliens again, are you?”

  He taps his nose. “Remember that farmer who mysteriously disappeared a long time ago?”

  “The one who they say still mows his field?”

  “That’s the guy. While you were inside getting doughnuts and sweet-talking Laurie, I did some research and found out that’s only half the story. Turns out, he did show up again, a few towns over, shacked up with a lady-friend. Needless to say, his wife wasn’t too happy about it. So nothing to do with our hippy couple. But those two hunters that got lost? Well, the one hunter that returned? He said that after they got separated, he—get this—holed up in the shell of a yellow van in the middle of the forest.”

  “Holy shit, Barry’s story really does have some truth to it.”

  Charlie nods.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve solved the ghost lights too?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Then what’s with the microfiche?”

  “The only other unknown.”

  I look at him.

  “The missing kid,” he says.

  “The one from the ’90s?”

  “Bingo.”

  chapter 92

  Charlie scours the 1996 microfiche until he locates a news article about a missing girl, but even with the magnifying glass, the fine print is too difficult to read on the drive home. The rest of the research will have to wait.

  Our arrival home—together and on time—buys us good will from Mom and Dad, and to solidify this, we spend a couple of hours with them. They challenge us to a game of ladder-ball and trounce us. When Heather gets back from the beach, Mom swaps with her to retire to the deck with a glass of wine. We get destroyed even worse; Heather’s not going to let Charlie beat her at anything.

  Our colossal losses mean that we’re on the hook to make supper and set the table, and we agree, although I can’t wait to read what’s on the film and I’m sure Charlie is just as curious. Afterward, they send us out to chop wood and get the firepit ready while Mom and Dad wash dishes. Heather follows us down, so we’re unable to talk, but Charlie keeps the mood relaxed by challenging my sister to a marshmallow-roasting contest with me as the willing judge. Heather finds some nice coals, and when Charlie sees her advantage, he crowds her spot.

  “Hey, enough, or you’ll ruin both of them,” she cries out.

  “All’s fair in caramelized sugar and war,” says Charlie.

  “Wow, you really do try to ruin everything, don’t you?” Heather says, but she’s smiling.

  When the golden and gooey marshmallows are presented, I make a show of studying their shape and colouring.

  “You better be careful choosing the winner, little brother,” Heather says. “After Charlie goes home, you’ll still have to live with me.”

  “He has to live with you and eat that overcooked tripe? Why would you make him suffer twice?” Charlie goads, earning a scowl from her.

  I taste them both. “Tonight we gather to measure the merit of the marshmallows. And although one might think they would taste the same, the honour of greatest toaster goes to”—I pause for dramatic effect—“Heather.”

  She cheers while Charlie boos. “The jury is rigged! I never stood a chance.”

  “Don’t be a poor sport,” Heather scolds. But she’s still smiling.

  “Fine, I’ll let it go,” Charlie says amiably, “but will you please afford me the privilege of one of your marshmallows since mine are so poor by comparison?”

  She shoots him a dirty look but obligingly digs into the bag and stabs another one onto her stick.

  “If I’m murdered in my sleep,” Charlie stage whispers to me, “you won’t have to look too hard for the guilty party.”

  chapter 93

  After spending some time around the fire with the family, Charlie goes up to bed. I follow shortly after. By the time I join him, Charlie’s already got the magnifier and microfiche in hand.

  “It’s hard to see.”

  I grab a flashlight and position it behind the film, projecting it onto the wall beside the bunk bed.

  “Nice thinking, Shepherd.”

  I keep the light steady while he turns through the roll.

  “There.”

  The image of a small child splashes over the wall.

  He moves the film back and forth to focus it. “Pull the light back a little more so it’s bigger.”

  I follow his instructions and the shadowy image of the newspaper fills half the wall. We read it together, but Charlie skips through it quickly, finding the important parts. He reads aloud, “ ‘Police continue search for Joanna Grassing, age two, after she disappeared from her campsite last weekend…’ ” He scans down the page, “ ‘…was berry-picking with her mother and stepfather while camping at Dyson’s Point…’ This happened on your home turf, here, buddy.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t even born,” I protest.

  He reads some more. “ ‘They weren’t at the campsite but travelled west…’ ” He drops the roll as he thinks about it. “Right into the burnt area?”

  “That’s prime picking,” I say. “Blueberries love scorched land. They thrive like crazy.”

  Charlie lifts the film up again. “Searchers scoured the area, working down to the water and across for a mile. A child that age, that size, could never have gotten far.”

  “Unless someone found her beforehand.”

  Charlie unspools the film until he stops at a headline: stepfather brought in for questioning. He works his way down the page. “ ‘Police question the parents of two-year-old Joanna after neighbouring campsites reported hearing an argument the night before her disappe
arance.’ ” He looks over at me. “This pisses me off so much.”

  I’m not sure if he’s mad at the parents or the police for questioning them, but he doesn’t elaborate. He reads a bit more before his hand drops. “It’s certainly motive.”

  “For who? The step-dad?”

  He glares at me. “No, the hippy folks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Barry said they were done with mankind. What if they overheard the fight at the campground? Maybe the hippy couple think they can look after the kid better than her own parents.”

  “Or maybe she just wandered off…”

  He ignores me. “So they think she needs protection—”

  “Or she drowned. Or was attacked by a wild animal.”

  “They would’ve found a body.” He rolls the film back. “Look, they brought cadaver dogs, searched the area, found nothing.”

  “Charlie, I think you’re reaching.”

  “So where did she go, then, Shepherd?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  “Okay, let’s pretend: what if she survived?”

  “She’d be what, twenty-two?”

  “And she’s still out there, living life in the woods.”

  “Killing deer and people?”

  “But also reading classic novels and helping lost teenagers.”

  I’m not buying it. “It could be anybody.”

  “Agreed. Or it could be Joanna.”

  “Or the hippies. What’s your point?”

  “I think it’s time you and I go introduce ourselves.”

  chapter 94

  On Wednesday morning, Charlie and I get permission to take out the canoe, which is none the worse for wear even after being half-submerged, with the promise that we absolutely won’t leave the shoreline or do any exploring in the woods. Neither Charlie nor I is interested in undergoing the same ordeal twice. But just to be safe, Charlie packs rain ponchos and a roadside survival emergency kit.

  Our plan seems straightforward enough. Since Charlie has cell reception down by the water, we’re going to wrap his phone in a plastic bag, along with my number on a piece of paper, and shove it into the hole where we found the burnt book.

  “What if they don’t know how to use it?” I ask.

  “It seems they can read. Let’s write out some detailed instructions.”

  Charlie writes everything simply and clearly, and includes drawings that detail how to locate the “on” button and how to send a call. He even includes a diagram for where to listen and how to speak into the phone. While I admire his skill at making a cellphone understandable to someone who’s never used one, the more we explain, the more complicated the whole thing seems.

  As we push the canoe out into the water, I have to ask, “How do we know this will even work?”

  “We don’t. We just have to hope we get lucky.”

  “But what if it doesn’t?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  I can see him trying to work through all the possibilities as he paddles, so I counter quickly. “We’re not sitting around waiting for them, okay?”

  “Why not?” He must have already been considering this.

  “Run-ins with these people didn’t work out so well for Terry or Rita.”

  “But if we wait in the canoe—?”

  “For how long? And if they have weapons, like guns or spears or something? No way.”

  He surveys me with disbelief. “Spears? Really, Shepherd? Do you really think they’re that primitive?”

  “Who knows? They might ask us for supper and we might be the meal. The point is that we don’t know anything about them and that’s the trouble.”

  He lifts the oar and pauses, thinking it over.

  I continue, “This plan with the phone is as far as it goes. Either way, after this, I think we need to tell someone and leave it alone.”

  “Like the cops?”

  “Sure,” I say, hoping to reason with him. “Gekas listened to us last time—”

  “After repeatedly getting in our way.”

  I shake my head. “We weren’t exactly the most helpful—”

  “Well, you weren’t—”

  “Oh yeah, you’re the model citizen.”

  He shrugs and paddles again.

  “Charlie, you may not like it but whether we hear from the forest people or not, I’m going to tell someone.” I know he hates handing control over to others but I’m hoping that if I draw the line, he’ll be reasonable.

  “You really think I’ll let you wear the big boy pants?”

  I just keep rowing, but I can feel him studying me.

  “All right, Shepherd. You can have your way this time.”

  We paddle up to the beach, and I stay in the canoe while he climbs out. As I watch him walk up the shore, it occurs to me that if someone really is out here, they very well could be hiding in the woods, watching us right this moment. In fact, if they’re as dangerous as it seems they might be, they could rush either of us and there wouldn’t be much we could do.

  “Hurry up,” I say as Charlie approaches the tree line.

  He looks back at me. “You worried we’re going to get attacked?” He scans the woods. “You know, it’s possible. They could get you with an arrow, or maybe I step into a snare, or some naked man could rush out and drag me off into the trees.” He leans down beside the fallen tree and checks to make sure The Great Gatsby is still there.

  “Shepherd, would you leap out of the boat and come save me from the naked man?” He tightens the bag with the phone, smoothing its surface, and slides it in beside the book. “What would you do? Grab the flare out of my bag? Or maybe the bear-banger? Would you chase after me and try to scare them away? I don’t know if that’d work, but I sure hope you’d at least try.” He jumps down the bank and splashes back toward me, then drags himself back into the canoe.

  “All good?” I ask.

  He picks up his oar. “I think so.”

  As we row away from the beach, he looks back at me. “Seriously, would you risk your life to rescue me?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “Cool.” He starts rowing again, “Because I wouldn’t hesitate to save your sorry ass.”

  I don’t need to question whether or not he’s telling the truth.

  chapter 95

  She sees them push away from the lake’s edge just as she arrives.

  The deer’s head warning didn’t seem to have worked. They’ve returned and they’ll likely come back again. There is no choice—she must follow them.

  They row their canoe along the shore and she pursues them, out of sight, silent, in the shadow of the tree line. When the trail grows too thick, she retreats into the bushes, but she can still hear them, a constant chatter like noisy squirrels.

  They draw her further away from her home and closer to their world. The sounds of the forest fall away and the disruptive noise of civilization and mankind interferes with her thoughts. She hears the loud roars of boats that belch smoke and leak foul-smelling fluids, and the buzz of motorized carts that rip and tear apart her forest.

  A vibration of fear rises from her core. It catches at her heart and makes her breathe hard, like she’s chasing a rabbit. She dislikes being this close, but instinct tells her to carry on, to track the boys, to remove the threat, to keep the forest her own.

  They float ahead, but a cabin built on tall wood piles at the top of a ridge stands in her way. She comes to a halt. Light pours out of it—too much—every window is an eye that studies her. She shrinks low and creeps between the spruce trees and cool shadows like a lynx approaching a grouse.

  The boys pull their boat alongside a dock and a dog rushes toward them. Dogs are smart and, like her, can hear and smell things that these people can’t—but they’re also a threat
, alerting people to her presence and protecting them from a perceived danger.

  She crouches down onto her belly, not wanting to be seen by the creature. The boys and the dog walk up the path where they meet more people—an older man and two women—and they all talk and laugh. This makes her angry and she exhales a slow growl, regretting it immediately. The dog hears her and it rises, moving to the edge of the property, clearly intent on searching her out. She stays still and silent, watching from the low grass, knowing that it senses her but doesn’t yet know exactly where she is.

  The dog barks and pushes into the trees, hoping to flush her out. She wishes it would go away because if it gets too close, she’ll have to hurt it.

  Now the older woman is yelling. “Ollie! Get over here!” but the dog doesn’t stop, so the woman calls it again. Finally it halts in confusion and looks back at her.

  The younger woman says, “It’s probably a raccoon.”

  “Aren’t they nocturnal?” one of the young men asks.

  The dog, Ollie, hasn’t left his spot and the hairs on the back of his neck are raised, but the woman shouts his name one last time and he goes back to the people, dissatisfied.

  They walk into the cabin, taking the dog with them, but she remains. She watches them move around inside their ugly, extravagant home, talking and laughing, and a faint image floats across her memory.

  It’s time for her to go, to leave this world of noise and waste and return to the rivers and the trees, the starry skies and the wind in the leaves and the forests where the animals walk. She retreats, moving back in stealthy silence, not taking her eyes off the building and its bright lights and many windows.

  Although she dislikes the world of man, this journey beyond her boundaries hasn’t been in vain. She’s found the den where her quarry lives. And if the time comes, she knows how to hunt them down and snare them.

  chapter 96

  For the next few days, we wait patiently.

  The biggest weakness in our plan is Mom and Dad’s choice of cell phone carriers. Although Charlie’s phone has great reception, mine doesn’t always pick up a cell tower and the best solution is to hang by the water, where we only get a signal strength of three bars.