Fury

by Steven James

  The blur of Jarvis Delacroix’s corpse hanging in the lighthouse tower had been troubling enough, but then digging up Betty’s corpse and using one of her leg bones to pry open the trapdoor was even worse.

  And then there was the little excursion under the ice with that demon pulling him down.

  Man, what a day.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Jarvis Delacroix speaking to him in that raspy, long-dead voice: “Two thousand six hundred and seventy-five days. Remember what happened on August twenty-eighth.”

  When he’d first heard the words, he’d wondered what they referred to, but now that he had a chance to think things through, the answer came to him almost immediately.

  Two thousand six hundred and seventy-five days ago was August twenty-eighth.

  And that was the last day he’d been in the barn when he was a kid.

  Just sixty-four days before Grandma died.

  But he couldn’t remember what happened that day in August, or why he’d never gone back to the barn again.

  “So,” Larry said gravely, “Kyle told me someone burned down the lighthouse while you were inside it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And neither of you have any idea who it might’ve been?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Sorry about those oars and that life jacket,” Daniel told him. “I’m guessing they might be gone for good.”

  Larry waved that off, then set his spoon next to his nearly-empty bowl. “Listen, I need you boys to be straight with me. On the one hand I’m wondering why on earth you would have chanced crossing that ice in the first place just to get to a deserted lighthouse, but on the other hand, I’m much more curious why someone would have lit it on fire while you were inside. I need to know what’s really going on here.”

  Daniel and Kyle exchanged a glance.

  “So?”

  Daniel set down his spoon. “It’s going to sound nuts if I tell you.”

  “Try me.”

  Well.

  Okay.

  He decided that since Larry had helped them out as much as he had, he did have a right to know, so he told him about the blurs of the girl in the white nightgown, the strange handwriting in English class, Jarvis’s diaries, and his father’s disappearance.

  He even shared about the psych ward and getting out of there with the help of someone who apparently worked for some sort of clandestine government agency.

  Larry listened in silence.

  “I told you it was going to sound nuts.”

  “Well, you nailed that one.”

  “My mom’s stuck in Alaska and I need to find my dad. That’s why I crossed the ice. I thought the answer to what’d happened to him might somehow lie inside that lighthouse.”

  “And did it?”

  “No.”

  Admitting that was hard.

  Daniel considered bringing up seeing the demon in the lake or Jarvis’s corpse in the tower or finding Betty’s skeleton in the root cellar, but decided that Larry probably didn’t need to know everything. He could tell Kyle all that stuff later.

  “This person on the island”—Larry had finished his stew and was getting a beer out of the fridge—“the one who started the fire, you don’t know where he went or how he got out there?”

  “No,” Kyle answered. “It was a man, though. I could tell that much by his size, by how he walked.”

  “Well, there is a dock around the other side of the island.”

  “I didn’t see it from the tower,” Daniel said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me, not with the snow falling. It’s not that big, but locals would know where it is. I can make some calls, see if anyone else had a boat out on the lake today. It’s a small town and there aren’t that many people who would’ve been running rentals. In fact, if anyone else was, I’d be surprised.”

  “How did the person who set the fire even know we would be there?” Daniel wondered aloud. “How could that be?”

  “It does seem pretty suspicious. I mean, there’s no way it was just a fluke that he ended up there while you were there. Who knew you were going to that island this morning?”

  “Just Mr. Zacharias and Nicole.”

  “Nicole?”

  “My girlfriend.”

  “Ah.” Larry nodded. “Okay. So here’s where I’m at: If someone tried to kill you, can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the state patrol or our local sheriff’s office and tell them everything?”

  “Because the authorities think I had something to do with my dad’s disappearance. They’ll take me in and we won’t be any closer to finding him.”

  “Even after everything that’s happened—I mean, a guy burning down that lighthouse—ou still think they’ll suspect you?”

  “They’ll at least take me in for questioning. Right now we can’t afford that. It’s already way later than I thought it would be before we were gonna head back, and we’re not any closer to finding my dad.”

  “So what do you think is the best thing we can do right now to move forward on locating him?”

  “Kyle and I need to get back to Beldon. That’s where Mr. Zacharias dropped me off. He said he’d contact me through Kyle’s cell phone, but—” He caught himself. “Oh.”

  “What?” Kyle asked.

  “I left it in the root cellar. Sorry about that.”

  “Root cellar?”

  “Under the keeper’s house. I was down there when the guy started the fire. I guess I owe you a phone.”

  “Yeah, well.” He brushed it off as no big deal. “It was time for an upgrade anyway.”

  Larry appeared to be deep in thought. “Honestly, I’m not really sure where to take things from here. I have the sense that we should call your mom, Daniel, and tell her about your near-drowning, but I guess right now that would just make her more worried. And if I called your mother, Kyle—I’m not even sure what I would tell her.”

  “I’ll explain everything to her. Just let me do it in person.”

  “When you get back tonight?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of next month sometime.”

  Daniel couldn’t tell if his friend was being serious or not.

  “Tonight,” Larry emphasized.

  “Okay.”

  “And I have your word on that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. And this Mr. Zacharias you mentioned, Daniel—how are you going to get in touch with him?”

  “I’m pretty sure he’ll find a way to get in touch with us.”

  Larry pulled out his cell phone. “Take this along. With the snowstorm I’m not excited about you two driving back without a phone. I can get it back in the next day or two. Maybe I’ll swing down your way and see my sister for Christmas. In any case, I have a landline for the business so you two can still call me if you need to.”

  “Okay.” Kyle accepted the phone. “Thanks.”

  “Be safe out there. I don’t like the condition of those roads, and they’re not going to get any better.”

  After Daniel and Kyle had assured Larry that they would be fine driving home through the storm, they said goodbye, and left for Beldon in Kyle’s car.

  PART VI

  CARVED NAMES

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-NINE

  5:21 P.M.

  70 MINUTES LEFT

  Nicole Marten was back at her house.

  About half an hour ago, Mrs. Goessel had returned home. The guy who was with her reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Glenn Kramer. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Nicole. Nice to meet you.”

  “You too.”

  “I’m a gun collector.”

  “Um. So I’ve heard.”

  Okay, this is awkward.

  They shook hands, he told everyone Merry Christmas, and when he was gone, Mrs. Goessel asked Nicole if she’d heard from Kyle.

  “No. Not since he left this morning.”

  “Huh. I haven’t been able to reach him eit
her. That’s a little strange, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. Any word on Daniel’s dad?”

  “I haven’t heard any news.” Michelle came to her mom’s side and Mrs. Goessel picked her up. “So, anything exciting happen while I was gone?”

  Nicole wasn’t sure if she should mention the state troopers stopping by, but decided that if she did bring it up, Mrs. Goessel would realize Daniel had escaped from the hospital and might wonder what was going on.

  “Pretty quiet,” Nicole said.

  “And was Michelle a good girl?”

  “She was okay, I guuuuuess,” Nicole told Mrs. Goessel with a wink.

  “How long till Santa comes?” Michelle asked impatiently.

  “Not until morning, dear.”

  “That’s not fair.” She climbed down and resignedly went off to play with Penguin in the other room.

  After paying Nicole for babysitting—and giving her way more than she expected, actually—Mrs. Goessel thanked her. “Michelle always loves to see you. I’m glad you could come over. I just wish I knew why Kyle wasn’t answering his phone.”

  “If he texts me, I’ll let him know you want him to check in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Merry Christmas.

  “You too.”

  On the kitchen table back home, Nicole found a note that her parents had left for her: they’d gone to a Christmas Eve party at the Newtons’ house and would be back around eight.

  She’d forgotten about that. The Newtons. Totally spaced on that one.

  She was frying up a falafel burger when her phone rang.

  Though she didn’t recognize the incoming number, she still hadn’t heard from Kyle or Daniel and thought it might possibly be one of them using someone else’s phone. She picked up. “Hello?”

  “Nicole. It’s me.”

  “Daniel? Where are you guys?”

  “We’re on our way back. The trip up here was, well . . . interesting.”

  “Define ‘interesting.’”

  “It has to do with a little sightseeing in Lake Superior.”

  “Did you say in Lake Superior?”

  “Yeah, but things are good. We should be back in just over an hour, so I’m thinking six thirty or so. Can we meet and regroup at your place?”

  “Sure, I’m here now. Why didn’t you reply earlier? I texted Kyle a bunch of times—and whose phone are you calling from anyway?”

  “Kyle’s was lost in the fire. This is Larry’s.”

  “Wait—fire?”

  “Yeah, when the guy tried to kill me in the lighthouse.”

  “Kill you!”

  “Didn’t quite succeed though.”

  “Yeah, well, I think I caught hold of that much. Who tried to kill you?”

  “Don’t know. We’re still trying to figure that out.”

  “Was this before or after the sightseeing in the lake?”

  “Before.”

  She listened as Daniel recounted barely making it out of the lighthouse in time and then falling through the ice on his way back to the rowboat. When he was done she said, “That’s insane. Did you learn anything about where your dad might be?”

  “I had a blur of Jarvis Delacroix. He told me ‘two thousand six hundred and seventy-five days.’ That’s the last time I was in the barn, that many days ago, back when I was nine. I’m still trying to figure out how that ties in with all this. Oh, and as far as Betty goes—let’s just say, I’m pretty sure she was buried out on Madeline Island. I’ll explain when we get there. See you soon.”

  “Two state troopers stopped by at Kyle’s house looking for you. Keep an eye out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and tell Kyle his mom is worried about him. She wants him to call her.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  Hearing Daniel’s voice was reassuring to Nicole, but also a little stressful, especially when she heard what he’d been through.

  Man, a lot had happened since Friday when his blurs started coming back.

  She thought back to finding that dying wolf with him. She’d knelt beside its body, had promised to find out who was doing this, had vowed to stop him.

  A lot of progress you’ve made there—

  She checked the time.

  5:26 p.m.

  Okay, Daniel had said six thirty, so that gave her just over an hour to look into things, maybe see if she could pull up anything that would help lead to the poacher, or to finding Daniel’s dad, which was by far the bigger priority anyway.

  The two things are tied together.

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  As long as she was moving forward on one front, that was at least something.

  Carrying her purse in one hand, she brought a plate with her falafel burger, some sour cream potato chips, and apple slices up to her room with the other. She laid her purse beside her bed and set the food on her desk.

  During the afternoon she’d only found out when the wolves had been discovered, not when they’d been shot.

  But Ty had found that second one, and she couldn’t ignore that. Of all the people who might have stumbled across the wolf, it seemed like an awfully big coincidence that it just happened to be him.

  Going online, she checked to see if the Bells lived anywhere near the Traybor Institute, where the majority of the wolves had been killed, but found that they lived on the other side of town.

  She reconsidered things.

  After shooting the wolf on Saturday, the poacher had made it through the forest without being seen, even though she and Daniel had been close by. Logically, he’d either walked through those woods or had a snowmobile or car waiting to get out of the area. But there weren’t that many roads around there.

  You and Daniel would have seen a car—or at least heard one.

  Same with a snowmobile.

  Maybe he had a place nearby within walking distance where he could hide, or keep his gun, or whatever.

  Or, he could have been cross-country skiing.

  Hmm. That was true.

  With a gun?

  Sure on a sling, carry it across your back. No problem. There’s even an Olympic sport where they do that.

  When she and Daniel were out near the institute they’d passed a snowmobile trail to a lake with some cabins surrounding it.

  So, one of those cabins out there?

  That would make sense.

  Or somewhere along the network of cross-country ski trails.

  You need to find out who lives out there.

  While she ate, she used her laptop to pull up the county courthouse land deeds at the website she’d been looking into on Saturday, and began to scroll through them.

  After Daniel had finished talking with Nicole, he’d handed the phone to his friend and Kyle called his mom and told her that he was fine and was on his way home.

  Faintly, Daniel could hear Mrs. Goessel on the other end of the line: “I thought you were going to be home hours ago to take over watching Michelle.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “My phone says this call is from my brother—but Bayfield is the opposite direction from Duluth. What’s going on here, Kyle?”

  “I’ll explain it all when I get home. I promise.”

  Daniel couldn’t imagine what his friend was going to say.

  It was going to take some major explaining.

  After the call, Daniel tried to make sense of what had happened during the day, but he just kept coming back to one simple, undeniable fact: someone had tried to kill him.

  And he had no idea who it was or why they would want him dead.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY

  5:31 P.M.

  60 MINUTES LEFT

  Sheriff Byers heard a key in the lock of the door to his room.

  Closing his eyes, he lay still and pretended to be unconscious, but even with his eyes shut he could sense light from the other room sweep in and surround him as the door opened.

 
Footsteps approached the cot and stopped when they were right beside him.

  He doesn’t know you’re awake. You have the element of surprise.

  But you’re cuffed to this cot. How are you supposed to take him out?

  The sheriff still had his right hand free. If the guy came close enough, he could go for his throat—either a strike with the edge of his hand or maybe grab his neck to try to choke him out.

  He could hear the man’s coarse breathing.

  What is he doing? What is he waiting for?

  He didn’t want to assume too much, but if this was the same man who’d attacked him at his house, then it was Hollister, and he was not going to be an easy guy to take down.

  He was a medical student. He bandaged your side. He doesn’t want you dead.

  But then why did he stab you?

  The breathing got closer.

  Yeah, the guy was definitely leaning down toward him.

  Deciding to take advantage of the moment, the sheriff snapped his eyes open while at the same time cocking his arm back.

  A look of surprise shot across the man’s face.

  Yes.

  It was him.

  Brandon Hollister.

  And he was close enough.

  Sheriff Byers slashed his hand forward, driving the side of it into the front of Hollister’s throat.

  It was a solid hit, but a little too low, and it only stunned him for a moment. As he clutched his throat, the sheriff grabbed his shirt, yanked him close and, while Hollister was still catching his breath, threw his arm around his neck, hoping to choke him out.

  Cut off oxygen to the brain, give it ten seconds, maybe fifteen, and he would go unconscious.

  That’s what you need.

  Just a few more seconds.

  Then you can search him for the handcuff key and—

  Wrestling against the sheriff’s grasp, Hollister punched him in his wounded side.

  A crippling wave of pain rocked him and his grip loosened.

  Hollister pulled free.

  Grimacing deeply, the sheriff collapsed back onto the cot.

  “You shouldn’t have done that.” Hollister’s voice was forced and harsh. He’d moved backward, out of reach, and was rubbing his throat. Sheriff Byers saw he had a syringe case and fresh bandages with him.