Now he was crying while the rifle waved and weaved. He looked like he was struggling against a ghost that was trying to get him to point the weapon anywhere but at me.
“No, damn you! I was dreaming about all the horrible things that—that king—made me do. I did it all, Fan!” he wailed. “But I didn’t want to!” He fell to his knees now and I expected the rifle to go off. It didn’t. “And I don’t want to do this,” he bawled. His face was a white ghost of its former self, contorted so badly I didn’t recognize him.
“There!” he said and was able to point to the north-facing window where the power plant’s cooling tower peeked above the tree line. I saw what he was pointing at. It wasn’t the power plant. In the dusted window sill was a fresh piece of paper, folded in quarters. It looked obviously new and white against the backdrop of rusted old screws and brackets.
I grabbed it. I looked back at him.
“Goddammit,” he hollered again, but not to me. I could tell, he wasn’t having this struggle with me. I could tell he didn’t want to kill me, and he didn’t want to let me go, either, not with my belly representing whatever it did to the demons inside him.
It hit me in those moments and a trickle of tears came. The feeling went out of my core. I felt like, I don’t know, maybe the lips of God reached down and sucked the air out of my body. I felt light, floating even.
What I realized was that Sean Ketwood was a sick man. All this talk of the king and the frogs was a fantasy in a deluded—maybe even seriously ill—mind. “Oh, Sean,” I said with sympathy in my voice. Everything about Denny Munn getting a bullet through his face out by the cemetery, that was Sean’s ill mind. Had to be. He’d found a nest of sick frogs, one badly deformed, and that had only reinforced his imaginings. This was the only explanation that made sense to me in my tired state. Maybe whatever the oncologist hadn’t yet uncovered, maybe that was giving him this delirium.
I reach out for Sean and took two steps towards him. I didn’t believe he would shoot me.
And he didn’t. The sight of my outstretched hand seemed to cause a ripple in him. His charcoal eyes fluttered under red eyelashes and went blue. Then tears bled from those baby blues.
Finally, whatever was bringing the tremors won out. The rifle’s barrel hit the wood floor.
He collapsed. The tears came on stronger. “Go,” he shouted at me and waved his free hand, bowing his head to whatever voice was controlling him—that king of his, what I believed was surely his own frail mind playing the ultimate trick on him.
I still remember what he said. And I remember the cadence in how he spoke, like he was coming out of a dream.
“Go, Dollars. Leave the island. You still can.”
I couldn’t help him. It was Denny all over again. Only now it was a stranger inside, asking for his whereabouts and it didn’t need to ask me: it already had directions. Sean was a stranger consuming himself.
And that’s when I turned and ran out of there.
I was bawling by the time I made a quarter of the distance back to the house. The sun had slipped away and full dark was coming. The cold wind howled and bit into my ears and cheeks. I ran. I ran so hard, I was huffing but I couldn’t catch warmth—or my breath.
A shot exploded somewhere behind me. I flinched and then shuddered. I turned back to the work house, but only for a second. I kept running. I got into Johnny’s old Ford and it started for me on the second try. I drove off and I didn’t go back.
7.
It’s two years since I left the island, left my daily grind of johns and coffee and 7 Up with cherry juice. I paid out a bit to Johnny so he’d let me free of what I owed. He gave me some spiel about how I was cheating him and that I should stay. I didn’t expect that movie ending where he up and tells me he secretly loves me and wants to raise my child with me and have me quit the red light work. But I certainly didn’t expect the venom about how I was leaving his bar to flounder without my partnership.
Like countless men have done in my presence, I shrug. I don’t imagine I’ll ever be back in DC. Don’t imagine I’ll ever speak to Johnny again. And that part’s okay with me. We make peace with what we can.
I missed Sean’s funeral. It was just as well. I don’t think I could have looked at the faces of his two fatherless boys without my heart breaking in two. It should. I know it should. It’s not right that I got away and Sean didn’t. Not right that those two handsome boys are going to grow up without him.
I live with it. Every day, I do.
I toyed with handing the balance of my Little Dippers’ over to Mrs. Ketwood. I was, as they say, this close. I was as far as the counter in the Island Savings branch downtown and only mumbled something to Mrs. Dawkins, the teller, and when she asked me to repeat myself, I only said, “I’d like to close out my account, please. Cashier’s check’d be fine.”
And the worst part? Sean might have had some clarity before the end. And he might have scribbled some of that clarity down in the sheet of paper I took from the work house. I couldn’t find it. Three or four nights after it happened, I woke up in a sweat—having replayed the whole thing over and over again in my fitful nights. I remembered the note. Goddammit all to hell, but I couldn’t find it. I searched my coat pockets, Johnny’s car. I even went out into the field with a flashlight to hunt for it. Wherever that note was, it wasn’t meant to be read. Not by me.
I say again: I live with it every day. One night after a dream, I’ll wake in a huff of fright and worry from the replay with only one thought in my head. If only I’d gotten help for him.
And the next night, my blaring realization will be the polar opposite: he was dying anyway. Dr. Morrow, the oncologist just didn’t know what from or how long it would take to eat him.
Some time in the winter of ’74 and into January of ’75 I started dreaming of Sean again. I dreamed of the note and saw it tumbling from my hand as I ran from the work house. I heard the hunting rifle bang and it was right up close to me, not far away like I think it had been on the evening it happened.
I also saw Sean’s hands. He had beautiful, strong hands, a little calloused from his electrical work, but always trimmed and washed. I liked how he touched me with those strong hands of his.
But in the dream it was what I noticed about his hands that startled me. He was holding a wad of napkins from the Highliner Cafe on Main. And the wad was dark red, turning to rust. Blood. But when the wad fell away, there was no blood on his hand. Johnny’s malamute Duke had sunk deep enough into Sean’s hand to make the blood pour and drip.
But there was no blood a few minutes later. No teeth marks, no rip in his flesh.
In the dream, I looked from the plain, clean hands up to Sean’s handsome face. No aviator shades. But his eyes flickered from blue to charcoal and then back again.
That January, I had these dreams at least a half dozen times.
I awoke each time with the realization that the king might have been real and not a creation of Sean’s mind compromised by illness. The king had been doing the driving that Indian summer, maybe for a long time before that. And everything the man had told me had been true beyond words.
Yet again: I live with it every day.
8.
My oven popped on June 13 of 1975. If Sean was right about the king, then he was right about another thing. I didn’t have a baby. I had two. He’d told me the king liked things in twos. Sean was sure that his young boys were in danger. And now I had a pair as well.
A pair of identical girls.
They’re one now and doing well. I have no intention of putting them in harm’s way and we will not be returning to Dovetail Cove. I have an aunt who’s taken me in and I was working a little until the last while. Don’t get no ideas. I’ve left that behind. The work I mean is cashier at a drug store. But that’s gone now too.
Problem is, I’ve taken ill. I imagine it’s related to what happened with me and Sean. The girls are healthy and, God willing, they’ll stay that way. My oncologist isn’t a
s clueless as Sean’s was. Mine knows it’s cervical cancer. Some cysts that keep getting bigger. I’m fighting sickness and swelling after some surgery but it doesn’t look good for me. You understand why I aimed to tell the whole truth and nothing but. It just doesn’t make sense to re-colour things now.
I still remember the whole ordeal with Sean and with his wife. But more important, I remember what came out of it—and out of me. It was my girls. I love them to bits, more than I thought possible, more than my own life. I finally understand how Sean fought for his two kids at the end. He was fighting something I didn’t understand, maybe something I didn’t even believe in until the January set of dreams knocked some sense into me. But he was fighting for them, right to the wall. Like Sean with his two boys, I probably won’t see my girls grow up.
I suppose that’s my penance. That’s my heart breaking in two. Payment of some kind for letting Sean do what he did.
Nowadays, while I still have some strength, I do midnight feeds in the dimness of my aunt’s stove light here in Portland. I think of those times. How wrong I may have been. And I look down on my girls here in the wee hours of the morning. I remember how they arrived, one after the other, wailing and strong, each of them with matching shocks of brilliant red, curly hair.
~ fin ~
The Dovetail Cove saga doesn’t end here.
LEARN MORE >
In DEATHBED (1971), go back in time and discover how the madness began in Dovetail Cove. In BLED, journey to 1972 with Frank Moort and Teeny who serve up more than pineapple cheesecake at the Highliner Cafe. FLED (1973) sees Charlie Scobie running from the worst kind of trouble. REDHEAD (1974) is about Dollars, the most famous Lady of the Night. In ZED (1975), Tom Mason learns what evil truly looks like. In UNWED (1976), Bexy McLeod faces off against the entire town. In SHED (1977), we find Simon and Rupert dealing with the trials of a new stepfather. In DREAD (1978), Mac and Dave McLeod return home to the island and embark on a murder mystery of sorts, revealing even more terrible truths about the island.
*All Dovetail Cove books tie to each other but can be read in any order.
DEATHBED (Dovetail Cove, 1971) LEARN MORE >
The Dovetail Cove saga begins here—in July, 1971. Farrah’s on summer break and she’s sure to tell you she’s NOT twelve, she’s TWELVE-AND-A-HALF, thank you very much. And tonight, she’s sneaking out to visit her Gran and show her a ‘mystery box’ she’s stumbled across at the Main Street Summer Market, dead certain there’s a story hidden within. And she’s right. Events reach back to 1956 and a shadowy ‘incident’ that started the darkness on the island. Only a handful know the true details of the incident. And even fewer have witnessed this new darkness, but Farrah will catch a glimpse of it tonight…at the edge of her Gran’s DEATHBED.
BLED (Dovetail Cove, 1972) LEARN MORE >
Tina McLeod is on the cusp of a new life. Extraordinary change is rare in her world but this newsflash means she can finally leave her small island town for good. No more pouring coffee for townsfolk in Main Street's greasy spoon, no more living under the weight of her born-again mother. That is, until Frank Moort comes in for his usual lunch and dessert on an ordinary Friday in May.
FLED (Dovetail Cove, 1973) LEARN MORE >
In this noir chapter of the Dovetail Cove saga, it’s May Day, 1973, and Charles Scobie finds himself hitched to Chrissy Banatyne, the daughter of the wealthiest and most talked-about power couple on the island. And, of all the rotten luck, Chrissy’s honeymoon destination of choice brings her home, while bringing Charlie back to an icy batch of memories he’s trying to leave behind. Desperate to finally outrun a violent childhood, a disastrous start to his career, and his estranged family, Charlie believed he could finally set everything right after one last backroom deal, executed on a snowy night—right here in this very island town. Now, Charlie’s gotten used to the high life. Newlywed and wealthy, he has everything going for him. Still, it seems, no matter how fast Charlie runs, he finds himself right back where he started.
REDHEAD (Dovetail Cove, 1974) LEARN MORE >
“My name is Frances Margaret Banks and I’ve killed two men.” So begins the account of Dovetail Cove’s most notorious Lady of The Red Light in her rented room above Lowballs Pub on Beacon Street. When she meets Sean, a seemingly noble client who takes her services despite his beautiful young family waiting at home, she knows the relationship needs to end. And yet, drawn into his world of security, mystique and, yes, even love, Fanny is compelled to maintain ties with Sean, even if they turn out to be fatal.
ZED (Dovetail Cove, 1975) LEARN MORE >
It’s the waning dog days of August, 1975 and Tom Mason’s in Dovetail Cove for the last few weeks of his summer job at the group home. His boss and the home’s owner is Karen Banatyne, one of the wealthiest folks in town. It seems like she’s got it in for Tom; she's the only one standing in his way as he scrimps for a new camera. But Karen has her own problems. A regulatory agency might cut off her funding, plus her hubby hasn’t been seen in a few weeks, and she’s not saying why. Most ominous of all, it seems as though something’s hiding in the hot spring north of the main beach and one of Karen’s ‘houseguests’ is about to come face to face with evil. Tom is too.
UNWED (Dovetail Cove, 1976) LEARN MORE >
It’s January, 1976 and Bexy McLeod gets roped in to helping Dovetail Cove’s retired doc as he deals with St. Dominic’s latest problem. Having tangled with the town’s church-going community for years, Bexy knows she shouldn’t get involved. Wheelchair-bound after an accident left her a paraplegic, she might be the least-sensible choice. Trouble tends to follow the widow and the last thing Bexy needs is confrontation. But now she’s finding herself enamoured with the young woman she’s helping. Bexy may just have to go toe-to-toe with one of the most prominent members of Dovetail Cove’s upper crust…and its head priest.
SHED (Dovetail Cove, 1977) LEARN MORE >
Simon and Rupert spend their days playing in the fields out near the old power station but at night, a visitor comes for them. Older brother Simon shoulders the burden of their stepfather Everett and his greedy dominion over their Mama. But the brothers must now stand together to heal the wounds of their real father’s departure and brace themselves for a harrowing showdown with Everett.
DREAD (Dovetail Cove, 1978) LEARN MORE >
Mac and Dave McLeod are thirty-something bachelor brothers, back in the tiny island town of Dovetail Cove after more than a decade away. They're here for a funeral, despite Mac's looming feeling that things aren't quite right in their childhood home, nor anywhere else across town. It doesn't take long for a mysterious visitor at the wake to embroil the McLeod boys and the island doc in a game of whodunit involving one of Police Chief Birkhead's unsolved files. Things get macabre when the boys discover a link to their parents in the mess. And the visitor who starts it all might just be a walking cadaver gone missing out from under the coroner's nose.
INSTEAD (Dovetail Cove, 1979) LEARN MORE >
It’s New Years, 1979 and a freak snowfall marks the return to Dovetail Cove of one of its lost residents. North of town, at Grandpa Danny Hellegarde’s house, his granddaughter and daughter reunite with him, bringing family secrets, buried trauma and a new turmoil. Danny’s beloved golden retriever has made the wrong kind of friends — and when they arrive at the Hellegarde house in the woods, they bring with them a secret…and a terrible, dark figure.
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About the Author
Jason McIntyre has lived and worked in varied places across the globe. His writing also meanders from the pastoral to the garish, from the fantastical to the morbid. Vibrant characters and vivid surroundings stay with him and coalesce into novels and stories. Before his time as an editor, writer and communications professional, he spent several years as a graphic designer and commercial artist.
McIntyre's writing has been called noir and sophisticated, styled after the likes of Chuck Palahniuk but with the pacing and mass appeal of Stephen King. The books tackle the family life subject matter of Jonathan Franzen but also eerie discoveries one might find in a Ray Bradbury story or those of Rod Serling.
Jason McIntyre’s books include the #1 Kindle Suspense, The Night Walk Men, bestsellers On The Gathering Storm and Shed, plus the multi-layered coming-of-age literary suspense Thalo Blue.
Learn more about the author and his work at:
www.theFarthestReaches.com
Redhead (Dovetail Cove, 1974) (Dovetail Cove Series) Page 7
