“I stayed alive by those stories. Those stories kept me from losing my mind. And yes, I’m fine, but you have to admit, you want to know happens next,” she said.
“The hell you say! I have no desire to ever hear that story again or any version of it,” he said, pulling the book Wee Willie Winkle from the shelf. “Next time read this!”
Tameka’s mind was on the fabric bins. That’s what she was interested in and excited to work on next. However, her intimate relationship with her husband would soon take a front seat to all her careful plans and ideas.
Day Fourteen – I Messed Up
JIMMY DON WALKED INTO the Sheriff’s station in a tizzy. Frantic and anxious, he needed to speak with Jefferson Huckston alone. The big, burly, beer-bellied boss man closed his office door, already out of patience for anything the dumbest Macklemore had to say.
“Huckston, I’m in trouble,” he told the Sheriff.
“Jimmy Don, when are you not in trouble, you foolish imp? Spit it out so I can get over to the diner for my lunch. Ethel made that chili pie that I like so much,” he told Jimmy Don, rubbing his rounded belly. The tight office space seemed too small to hold the size of the man let alone the vastness of his domineering persona.
Rubbing his hands over his knuckles, Jimmy Don didn’t know how to approach the subject. He opted to jump right into the situation. “I had a girl up in the shack. Since it’s been raining non-stop, I haven’t been able to get back up there to check on her. She’s expecting a little one any day now, and I’m worried,” Jimmy Don mumbled.
“Expecting? As in pregnant?” the Sheriff asked, doing the math. “Please tell me this isn’t your brother’s bride-to-be that you said never showed up?”
“Maybe. She was acting like she was too good for me and better than me and all, looking down on me like I was a piece of shit on the bottom of her shoe. She deserved what I gave her,” he said with some defiance.
“Would you feel the same way if some man did that your sisters?” Sheriff Huckston asked him.
“Screw you! It’s not like you don’t take first hump on every Asian chickadee who comes through these parts, so don’t try and get self-righteous with me. You are as knee deep in this crap as I am,” Jimmy Don said.
“Yep, but I didn’t take my brother’s fiancé ‘cause I was jealous. You are an idiot and going to bring us all down,” the Sheriff told him. “Get on an ATV, get up the hill, and find out ASAP.”
“If she is still alive?”
“Just find out whether or not there is anything left of the both of them,” Huckston told him.
“And then what?”
Jefferson Huckston touched his Sheriff’s badge, feeling sorry for the day he put it on and climbed in bed with the Macklemores. It had been a downhill shitstorm from day one of drugs, death, and the stealing of lives. He was at an end for all of it. Retirement was around the corner, and he planned to take his share of ill-gotten gains and head to Florida for a life on the beach.
“We will deal with whatever comes,” Huckston said in a soft voice. That bad feeling he often didn’t ignore set in his craw, and he took it as a sign. Ethel’s chili pie suddenly seeming unpalatable, and he took a seat, staring through the glass window, watching Jimmy Don’s back. Had he been smart, he would have put a bullet in it years ago, to put the rabid dog down. Instead, he’d opted to keep it as a pet.
The damned thing just bit him hard on the hand that fed it. To make matters worse, Harley never believed him and had been snooping about, getting in deeper to his business and its inner workings. As much as he didn’t trust Jimmy Don. He sure as hell didn’t trust Harley.
THE ROADS WERE THICK with mud, slowing down Jimmy Don’s efforts to get up the mountain. The thick underbrush lay cross-hatched over the normal back path he took to get into the site, but now, it was so dense with broken debris, it would take a large piece of equipment to clear the entryway. He opted instead to go around the road, driving slowly over leaves, downed tree limbs, and foliage, coming to a clear section and looking up the hill for the shack.
It was gone.
The entire building was gone with nothing remaining but the potbellied stove. He scrambled through the wood line, fighting tooth and nail to get to the flooring where the old building stood to find just the damned stove and the chain which had held Aisha Miller’s leg.
“No! No! No!” he yelled as he turned around in circles looking for a clue, evidence, something. The heavy rains washed away any trace that she’d been there, footprints or the direction she had gone had she gotten free.
He searched until the faint hints of sunlight hid behind the looming clouds, first going north, seeing if she tried to make it to higher ground. He went east, backtracking his steps to the old stove, trying to determine if she’d gone towards where he and his boys processed product, but no traces could be found. His heart thudded in his chest and his final attempt included trying to go down the hill to the road, but the fallen branches, limbs, and dense woods seemed to have thickened with the heavy downpour of rain. The only thing he was able to locate were rain-soaked pieces of roofing and the sides of the old shack strewn about as if a tornado had come, lifted it off the foundation and snapped it in pieces.
Maybe the same had happened to her.
And the baby.
The idea of the loss of the child hit him harder than he’d expected, and a sadness crept up his leg, clinging to him like a reminder of the terrible thing he’d done. He looked down, realizing he was standing in a bed of poison ivy.
“Shit!” he mumbled. “This is just what I don’t need.”
JEFFERSON HUCKSTON stood on the doorstep of the station as the first trucks from the State of Georgia road services rolled in. Several Forest Rangers came as well, along with the Army National Guard and more federal officers.
“Shit, just what I don’t need,” the Sheriff mumbled as the leaders of all the groups made their way over to him.
“Sheriff,” one Army Colonel told him. “We know a great number of the roads are out and we are here to make an assessment of the area, help clear away the debris, and get the roads opened up on the mountainside. Do you have any way to communicate with folks up there?”
“Just cell phones. A few of ‘em may have old CB radios, but thus far, we’ve only received a few calls from the folks that live up high. Most of ‘em have their own supplies and live up there to avoid dealing with the likes of me and you types,” Sheriff Huckston told him.
“Good to know, but we still have a job to do,” the Colonel said.
“Let me know where I can help,” the Sheriff said. Thinking a bit more on the subject, he volunteered two very relevant pieces of information he thought the newcomers needed to know.
“First thing you need to know is that there are two properties up there with signs which read no trespassing’ and don’t come no further. For the safety of your people, heed the warnings,” he said, looking at the Colonel and the other forest rangers. “Two, Ethel at the diner makes a fine chili pie and it goes as fast as her baked potato soup, so get in early for supper, or you will have to eat whatever she can scrounge up.”
“Thanks for the advice, Sheriff,” the Colonel said, walking away. He immediately didn’t like the Sheriff or the scruffy looking man who strolled up as he sauntered away. Both men seemed like they were bad news and a concern hit him hard like a blow to the temple.
Heed the warnings.
Was that a threat?
JIMMY DON WALKED UP to the group of men, scratching the side of his face, where the skin had broken out in small red bumps. The Sheriff, taking a quick assessment, looked at the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t going to like what the fool had to say.
In a lowered voice, Jimmy Don said, “The shack has been ripped apart like a tornado tore through in a temper tantrum.”
“Any evidence that someone had been living in the shack?”
“Nope. I couldn’t find a trace of anything in three directions. The heavy rain washed away any
chances of finding a clue,” Jimmy Don said.
“Scraps of clothing or something of the sort where the dogs could pick up a trail to follow?”
This was the moment of truth for Jimmy Don. “I messed up, Jefferson. She wasn’t wearing any clothes,” he said, feeling shame.
The Sheriff leaned back against the wall, watching the newcomers file into the diner. From across the street, he could eyeball the joint and see that almost every seat was taken with the exception of one at the counter which Ethel reserved for him. He would go over, get his serving of chili pie, and then come back and put in his retirement papers. If the girl had gotten away, there were six options on that mountain. Two were Macklemore operations, one was a crazy old soldier, and the other was a religious cult of white supremacists. Those four would take care of the issue if she showed up on their doorsteps in the middle of the night.
What worried him were the last two: Nathaniel Mann and the Neary place. He knew one of the sons had come back to the old cabin, but he didn’t know which one. All three were Federal Agents like their old man and nothing but trouble in his estimation. The last thing he wanted or need to tangle with were those fellas.
Today, Jimmy Don had walked into his office and opened a big fat can of twisted up problems he didn’t want to untangle. It was time to leave. He whistled as he headed to the diner with the sound of Jimmy Don calling in his ear, asking what they were going to do.
“Sheriff, Whaddaya want me to do?” Sheriff? What should I do?”
“Go home, Jimmy Don,” he called back as he crossed the street, opening the front door to the diner. He sat his rounded bottom on the chair, listening, but not caring about the chatter around him as more rain came down. It would be at least another week before any real work could start on the roads.
He had a week.
A week was all he needed.
Jimmy Don on the other hand, wasn’t as obtuse as the Sheriff believed. He knew of the six locations she could have escaped to as well. There would never be a reason to run uphill in a rainstorm. If she got away, she ran downhill. Only one of two places she could be.
He would head back up that mountain and check for himself.
Day Fifteen – Cushions and Blows
SHE SAT THERE, IMMOBILE, for damn near forty-five minutes, just staring at the back of the ugly chair. Zeke knew how long she was in the one spot, frozen in a thought in her head because he’d sat there counting down the minutes on his watch as he stared at her. Wherever she disappeared to in her head was a peaceful place and he almost envied her ability to shut it all out. A certainty touched his face with the knowledge that this one act is what she did to Jimmy Don when he tried to interact with her. He could only imagine what the silent treatment did to Jimmy Don. The frozen, silent stare at the chair was freaking him out and he believed she actually liked him, unlike the man who held her hostage.
How deep in her head she must be to shut out everything around her and focus down to a single moment. He lifted the crooked coffee mug to his lips, sipping the coffee which Mann had deemed to be so much better than the normal murky black brew Zeke perked in the old pot. This was good.
So was she.
In the instant it took him to raise and lower the cup to his mouth, she was out of the trance and taking apart the chair. Efficiently she worked like a bee carrying pollen to the hive as it prepared for the arrival of its new queen. Using the pieces removed from the lounger, she utilized each section to become a pattern that she cut replacement pieces out of the bold masculine fabric she’d found in the bin. The stuffing and forms he’d purchased at a craft store, she molded and reshaped the chair, and before Michelle even woke up from her mid-morning nap, the ugly plaid chair looked brand spanking new.
“That’s amazing,” he said.
“Try it out. Tell me if it’s comfortable,” she told him as he sat in the chair. It felt 1200 times better than the old one worn out by his Dad’s butt cheeks and sweaty back. The chair was now his, ready to be shaped by his very own butt cheeks and sweaty back.
“I love it,” he told her. Baby in arms, she leaned down, puckering up for a kiss, which he happily provided. He wanted to rip apart the couch so she wouldn’t be able to sleep on it tonight and had to share the bed with him, but it was too soon. The sex he really wasn’t that interested in at the moment, but he longed for the comfort of human touch and another warm body to tell him that he wasn’t alone.
“I’m glad. This afternoon, I am going to make some fresh curtains for the room, and hopefully tomorrow, we can start painting. The rain is easing up finally,” she said.
Zeke tried moving his shoulder, which was stiff and achy. “I hate all the rain. Truly, if I wanted to live in a rain forest or be miserable for three weeks, I would have gone to Seattle. At least I would have gotten some decent coffee.”
“My coffee is decent, and it doesn’t rain all the time in Seattle. Did you know they have one of the country’s largest teenage homeless populations? There...Mesa Arizona, and believe it or not, Portland, Oregon, so the rain is a relative thing to most people,” she said, humming as she warmed a bottle for Michelle.
“How can rain be a relative thing?” he asked, leaning back in the chair, loving the way it felt.
“I love this rain, and as it relates to me, it hid my tracks,” she told him. Zeke sat forward in the chair as she went about testing the milk to ensure it wasn’t too warm for her daughter’s hungry mouth. “Jimmy Don was dumb. By taking my clothing, there is nothing with my scent on it for the dogs to track. The rain washed away my footprints, and all of the sogginesses will not leave any real evidence of which way I went. Therefore, as far as I am concerned, the rain is just God’s way of making sure that evil man can’t find me.”
Zeke bounded to his feet, moving across the room as quickly as his aching leg would carry him. Instinctually, he pulled her and baby both into an embrace. His lips rested against her temple.
“You are my family. She is my daughter and you are my wife. I dare any man or woman to come up this mountain and try to take either of you anywhere. Do you understand me, Tameka?” he asked, squeezing them so tightly, Michelle complained by crying. “I’m sorry, Pumpkin.”
“I know, but all will work out in the end. I’m confident of it, but what I am not confident of are our food stores,” she said, looking at the pantry.
“I have more can goods in my car, and if need be, I can go hunting and get some more meat,” he said, hitting his chest with his fist.
Her eyes were wide in amazement. “Are you serious? You mean to actually take a gun, go out, shoot, kill, and skin something to eat?”
“Yeah, this is our hunting cabin. There is good deer up here, rabbits, birds, and more,” he said. “Would you have an issue with me doing so?”
“No, it just kind of turned me on for a minute there, thinking of you out there with a weapon, collecting your family some dinner,” she said with a smile.
Zeke stepped back. He wanted to ask what else turned her on, but he didn’t feel right about flirting at this point. The man who was trained to handle any situation, was out of his depth.
“Pity,” she said, handing Michelle to him. “That was your cue to flirt with me as ask what turned me on, Zeke.”
Instead, he leaned down, nibbled a bit on her neck and planted a tender kiss right below her ear. Firm hands pressed into the small of her back as he whispered, the deep voice reverberating real low into her lobe, “No need for me to ask. I plan to discover it all for myself, and in the end, the one thing I hope will turn you on would be me,” he said, kissing her neck again before moving to the door.
He grabbed his rain slicker and car keys and headed out the back. “I’ll only be a few,” he said, pulling the hood over his head. In the garage, he too zoned out, confused, uncertain and bewildered by his wife. At times, she seemed to be back in the shack as a captive, tuning out the world in her head, while at other moments, she acted as if the life they were living had been planned out s
ince college.
He wanted it to be real.
“Lord, I need something in my life to be real,” he prayed silently as he took out the last of the bags of canned and dry goods. Whenever the weather broke, he would make more shelves to store food since the kitchen was so small.
“A pantry,” he said in an aha moment. “We need a pantry.”
JIMMY DON HAD RETURNED to the woods, following the back trails. Most had been washed away, leaving unsteady pathways and death drop hillsides. Had she come this way, she would most certainly be dead, especially being so pregnant. Rounding the bend, he noticed the clearing of the road. Climbing slowly up the back side of the hill, he peered over the rocks. He spotted the cabin belonging to the Mann’s. The land was loaded with booby traps and automatic lasers to cut a man to bits before they even reached the front door.
If she tried his place, she was dead.
That left the Neary place.
She was there.
He could feel it.
ZEKE TOOK A FEW ACETAMINOPHEN tablets to ease the ache in his shoulder, but he could not get comfortable. Sleep only visited him off and on for an hour at a time, and the hours it did manage to take hold were fraught full of nightmares. The silent scream which never left his mouth as the gunman pulled the trigger, hung around tonight as his arms came up to protect himself. The memory of the pain shot through his leg, forcing a whimper out of him as he turned fitfully, fighting the pillow.
In the other room, Tameka could not sleep either, listening to the easing of the rain. A foreboding came along with the cessation of the rain, which counted down the days until Jimmy Don and the Sheriff would come knocking at the door. She’d never met the Sheriff, but her captor’s boasting about his partnership with a round-bellied buddy left a sour taste in her mouth. The fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. Her eyes went to the window. The darkness shielding what she didn’t wish to see.
On a Rainy Night in Georgia Page 12
