Though amusing, the articles were getting a bit too far-fetched, especially one that speculated upon her having been killed after finding a fortune of jewels and gold that an eccentric logging millionaire named Jethro Black had supposedly buried around the turn of the century, so she took a moment to think up a way of refining her search. She also sipped more of her Coke, the anxiety she had been feeling earlier having faded as she focused on the Margaret Jones situation.
The family of the girl didn't seem to get much attention, which seemed odd to her since the family often seemed to be the focal point whenever there was a missing person situation. There also hadn't been anything in any of the articles about a boyfriend, but then maybe that wasn't so strange given her field of study. If she was spending all summer going from one logging site to another, documenting the differences in those that were reseeded and those that weren't, there wouldn't be much time for significant others.
Unless she found someone who shared her interest.
Someone who would travel with her on her research trips.
Someone whose interest wouldn't fade over time.
She paused, the new search string going unsubmitted within the Google box.
Had she lost interest? Was that the real reason why she stopped going on the trips with Brian?
Memories of their first trip together filtered in. They had been in college at the time, their relationship having entered into a “serious” phase, according to her friends, though how exactly they measured such things she did not know. What she did know was that they had been having lunch at a bakery not far from the university when, out of the blue, he asked if she wanted to stay the weekend with him at a haunted house.
“What?” she had asked, her mind picturing a funhouse type of place, maybe one that went beyond the typical walk-through type visits and rented rooms or something. Did they even have such things? And in the spring?
“I've gotten a room up at a bed-and-breakfast in Lake Geneva for the weekend, though it's actually on Lake Como. Many say it's haunted.”
“What!” she said again, though this time it wasn't a question.
“Crazy, right!” he said, enthusiasm showing. “I was reading that the last couple that stayed there actually left after the first night. They had booked it for a three-day weekend and just packed up and drove away that first morning.”
“And you want to stay there because of this?”
“Yeah, I think it would be pretty cool.”
“Did that couple say it was because of a ghost that they left?”
“Well, no, but there have been stories from other guests over the years. Even the owners don't shy away from stating the place may be haunted.” He shrugged. “I put two and two together and…”
“And now you're too scared to actually stay there by yourself and need me to protect you,” she said with a laugh.
“Exactly!” he said.
Alice smiled at the memory of that trip. No ghosts had made an appearance, and aside from a few creepy moments that were easily explained away once daylight was present, nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And if there had been any ghosts lurking within the luxurious room, they had gotten quite a show, as the two found themselves spending most of the first night enjoying each other's bodies. It had been one of the greatest, most memorable trips of her life, one that had set a benchmark for their trips that was never again reached.
Was that what I was looking for when I suggested we go on a “normal” vacation?
The more she considered this, the more she realized that was exactly what she had wanted: a repeat of what they had experienced during that very first trip back when they were in college. She wanted things to feel fresh and exciting, not routine and mundane.
Was that too much to ask?
Was it even asked?
It had been, but not in a way that Brian had understood, which was all that mattered.
But maybe they could still fix it.
Maybe going to Crystal Creek and explaining what she had meant would help.
Maybe—
Her laptop switched off, the battery having died earlier than expected.
She looked up at the clock over the check-in counter.
They wouldn't be boarding for quite some time still.
Now what?
She considered continuing her research on her phone, but then dismissed the idea and instead simply waited, watching as people came and went in the large terminal, her mind simply replaying some of the more exciting moments from their investigations over the years.
We never saw a single ghost, she noted to herself.
No UFOs, vampires, werewolves, or zombies, though the investigation into the latter when down in New Orleans had brought about a terrifying situation involving a deranged lunatic, one that had ended their trip prematurely.
The fact that they had never found anything took a toll on Brian, of this she was certain, but the larger toll was due to the lack of royalties from his book. Even worse, he could never get his publisher to consider any other ideas for books he wanted to publish, their experience with his first one and its poor performance pretty much turning them off from the Brian Goldman name. Seeing this unfold and what it did to Brian had been heartbreaking.
And now he wanted to create a website, one that documented all the oddities he had investigated over the years.
She didn't think it was going to be successful.
Ten years ago, it may have been, but now…
She just had a feeling, one that she didn't dare share with him given how much time he had been putting into it.
Maybe he thinks it too, she said to herself.
Maybe that was why he hadn't made the site public yet.
For nearly a year he had been building it, learning HTML code when possible, hiring out when it wasn't, using 99 Designs for artwork—nearly a year and he still wouldn't allow it to go live. Why? Was it because he knew it would be a flop? Was he hesitating to shield himself from the disappointment that was bound to arrive? Or was he waiting for the right story to be his focal point during the launch?
The Bigfoot video.
An announcement about her flight boarding echoed over the intercom.
15
The lightning didn't let up as they continued through the trees, the bolts that cut down through the air so close that there didn't seem to be a time difference in when the thunder would erupt. One moment a flash would sear their vision, the next the ground would shake as an explosion rumbled through.
And during this, not a single drop of rain fell.
It was nothing but lightning.
Brian felt like he was in the trenches during a World War One bombardment. It was crazy. And terrifying. All he wanted was for it to end.
16
Twenty-five minutes later, lightning still sizzling through the sky, they emerged into an overgrown backyard of a crumbling house, Cheryl halting them for a moment as she studied the structure.
"You know this house?" Brian asked.
"No," she said, hand rubbing sweat from her eyes.
They stood for several seconds, and then Cheryl started walking across the backyard to a door that was locked. From there they went around to the front. This door had a realtor padlock on it.
"Yeah, right," Cheryl muttered while tugging on it. "As if anyone is going to buy anything in this town."
"Now what?" Brian asked.
"We have two options. Either we break inside and wait out the weather, or we go out to the road and start walking."
Brian didn't like the idea of continuing with the lightning above, but he liked the idea of breaking into a house even less. "Any idea where we are?"
"No clue." She crossed her arms and waited.
"What do you suggest?"
"I'd say we break inside, but…" She shrugged and then let her hands slap against her thighs. "It's up to you."
"Let's keep going. The sooner we get back to town the better."
She nodded.
"And who knows, maybe someone will drive by and give us a lift."
"Not likely," she muttered and then shook her head. "Let's go."
Nothing else was said for quite some time, the two following a gravel driveway to an old pockmarked road, one that didn't have any signs on it. From there, they went to the left, Brian unsure what made Cheryl decide to go that way. Eventually that road rounded to the right and grew somewhat steep before leveling out and twisting to the right.
On and on they went, one foot in front of the other, sweaty clothes clinging to them, almost as if the fabric were trying to halt them.
And then they came to a four-way intersection, their side having a stop sign, as did the opposite side. A street sign was also present, one that read: Deepwood Rd.
"Deepwood?" Brian asked. "Does that ring a bell?"
"We're northeast of town, about three miles from the downtown area."
"Three miles?" Just saying the distance added a level of exhaustion that made him want to drop down to the ground and call it quits.
"Or we can head up to my place, which is about a mile from here."
"But then what? We'll eventually have to walk to town from there?"
"Nah, I have a landline and can call the police."
"Okay, yeah, let's do that."
She nodded.
They took a left onto Deepwood Road.
The lightning stopped five minutes later.
Relief followed, though it was muted by the discomfort of the sweat-drenched clothing and the muggy air.
Brian also knew that arriving back at her place wouldn't be the end of the ordeal, especially once the police were called. He had no experience with police investigations as they pertained to finding a dead body, or really anything else, but knew enough from books and TV that it wasn't something you simply reported with an “it's up there and here is my number if you have any questions” type of call. No. They would probably keep him and Cheryl at the municipal building or up at the scene for hours answering questions before they were released.
First things first, however, they had to get back to Cheryl's place. Once there, he was hoping she would have some sort of clothing for him to change into while his stuff dried. He didn't care if it was stuff she had bought from the female section of a store, just as long as it wasn't a dress of some sorts.
Step after step, minute after minute, they headed down the old crumbling road.
And then without warning, Cheryl came to a stop.
"What is it?" Brian asked.
"We'll cut our time in half if we go through this way," she said, indicating what appeared to be a driveway that led up to an unseen house, one that likely had woods beyond it.
"Anyone live here?" Brian asked.
"Nah, another abandoned one that the bank now owns."
"So we cut through there and then what? Through the woods and we're at your place?"
"Pretty much."
"And this time you won't get us lost."
She glared at him for a moment and then started walking.
Brian followed.
This time she did not get them lost and soon, after walking through the woods, which was like walking through a sauna since the trees in this flatter area were trapping the heat, they emerged onto a road, the distant echo of wind chimes signaling how close they were to Cheryl's house.
17
Quinn Parker was pulling into a spot at Sally's Skillet, mouth salivating over the prospect of eating a meatloaf sandwich, when Jeanne's voice echoed from the radio.
"What is it?" Quinn asked.
"Just got a report of a dead body up on the mountain," Jeanne said. "Marlon Gibbs."
"Marlon Gibbs?" Quinn questioned.
"That's what they said," Jeanne confirmed.
"Who said?" Quinn asked.
"Cheryl and that Bigfoot guy from Chicago."
Jesus Christ, what were they doing way up there? "Okay," he said. "Are they still up there?"
"No, they're at her place now."
"Okay, have them come in and file a report. I'll head up there and—"
"Sir," she said, cutting him off.
"Yeah?"
"They also said it looked like he was attacked."
"Attacked?"
"Yeah, by something that busted his head open."
18
Brian took up Cheryl's offer of taking a shower in the guest bathroom while she threw his clothes in the dryer, the warm water feeling amazing on his exhausted body. Afterward, a blue bathrobe was waiting for him on the bed, which he put on, a yawn stretching his face as he belted it.
His wallet, phone, and keys were nowhere to be found.
"Cheryl?" he called while stepping into the hallway.
No answer.
He headed to the stairs, awkwardness creeping in. Here this was his first visit to Cheryl's place, and he was walking around in a bathrobe and bare feet.
Halfway down the stairs, he heard Cheryl's voice.
"I told you, I don't know." Pause. "No, just me." Pause. "No, nothing." Pause. "Yeah, okay."
The call ended.
Brian continued down the stairs and took the hallway toward the rear of the house, where he found a sunken room with two couches and two chairs, a coffee table, and a fireplace. Cheryl was in one of the chairs, clad in her own bathrobe, one that was revealing quite a bit more than he anticipated.
"Finished?" she asked, standing.
"Yeah," he said, eyes trying to stay focused on her face. "You call the police?"
"Yep." She seemed to realize how open her bathrobe was and quickly pulled the edges together. "Chief Parker is heading over to pick us up so we can show him where the body is. Should be here in about ten minutes."
"Okay." The last thing he wanted to do was go back up the mountain, but he knew he didn't really have a choice. Not after what they had found.
"I put your phone and wallet on the counter in the kitchen."
"Okay."
"And I have some clothes that should fit you. My brother left them behind when he joined the military."
"Okay."
19
Quinn was uneasy about having Brian Goldman in the vehicle as they headed up to the scene, the last thing he needed being his name mentioned within an article claiming that Bigfoot was on the prowl in the Crystal Creek region, killing people. Because of this, the first thing he said after being introduced was that he would not answer any questions about the Margaret Jones investigation, nor would he speculate on the possibility of the existence of Bigfoot.
"I understand," Brian had said. "You're in a difficult position, what with the town dying and you needing to find a new position with another department."
"So you agree, anything said within this vehicle and while we're up at the scene is part of an investigation and cannot be printed."
"I understand that you would not like your name associated with the Bigfoot angle of this investigation."
Quinn nodded, but then, after a while, realized that Brian hadn't agreed not to print anything that was discussed within the vehicle or at the scene, and he decided from that point on to keep his mouth shut until they got to the scene. Once there, he would instruct Brian to stay in the vehicle while Cheryl led him to the body. This made for a quiet, somewhat awkward ride.
20
Brian had no problem with waiting in the vehicle. In fact, he preferred it—until he was actually alone, at which point his mind reminded him that a man had been killed not far from where he was sitting and that the only two people who were armed had disappeared into the trees.
Heart racing, he kept his eyes on those trees, scanning them, constantly on watch for anything that seemed out of the ordinary.
Nothing ever seemed to be, but that didn't calm his anxiety.
He checked his phone signal, but as he feared, there was no signal whatsoever.
He then looked over at the radio, its handset hanging from a worn cord that had been draped over the rearview mirror. I
f need be, he could try to radio for help, though whether or not anyone would be able to respond was unknown to him.
Nothing's going to happen.
He scanned the trees again.
All was still.
His eyes settled on the tiny opening that Cheryl and Chief Parker had disappeared into, questions on how long they would be out by the body echoing through his mind. Would they have to wait for a crime scene team to come and secure things? Was there even a crime scene team associated with Crystal Creek, or would they have to come from the county?
Something moved on the left side of his vision.
Twisting toward it, he caught sight of what could only be described as a man-ape creature darting across the edge of the dirt road, hairy body quickly disappearing near where Cheryl and Chief Parker had entered the forest.
Speechless and paralyzed with disbelief, Brian simply sat in the backseat, staring at the swaying vegetation where the creature had disappeared, unable to decide what he should do, criticism toward himself for not having his phone ready to film and catching the creature on camera already forming. Such footage would have brought quiet a bit of attention to his site, as well as interviews with the media, especially when coupled with the footage that Annie had promised him, and the pictures Cheryl had taken of the body and the footprints…
And you failed to capture it.
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity…
Go see if you can see it again!
Never before had he been this close.
And there was no telling if he would ever get another chance like this.
Chief Parker said to stay in the vehicle…
Fuck it!
He opened the door and stepped out onto the dirt road, phone ready, the camera app open.
21
Quinn Parker stood with his hands on his hips, looking upon a rocky expanse of land that would be dangerous to walk upon given how uneven the various surfaces were. Not that there was any need to walk anywhere, his position atop one rock that he had been able to get a good secure footing on allowing him to see that there was no body anywhere within the boulder-strewn clearing.
Crystal Creek Page 6
