Scott Nicholson Library Vol 1

by Scott Nicholson

  As okay as anybody in this new future where my lover attacks me and my shrink has a pentagram scar and cops let perverted Creeps roam free and headless bodies float downstream.

  “He’s keeping an eye on you, but I’m keeping an eye on him.” A cat padded across the porch like a moving shadow.

  “Well, if you don’t trust him, why do you let him work for you?”

  “He’s mountain. Knew some of his kin, and kind of felt sorry for him when he fell on hard times. He might not be innocent but so far I can’t find a crack in his story. And I spend a lot of time looking. That’s why I keep him close.”

  “He seems to be doing all right for himself.” Julia fidgeted, changed her purse strap to the opposite shoulder. She caught herself wondering if her door would be unlocked. Or if Walter would be hidden in her closet, waiting for her, a man who had a key to her house.

  Julia moved to the porch steps, feeling lost herself though she was only a few feet from the railing. A light came on in one of the apartment buildings, and Julia wondered if it was coming from the Creep’s window. Would he dare to come back for a second helping of whatever pleasure he’d stolen in her room, or to finish the job of stealing the engagement ring?

  And what if Walter had a secret agenda, and his kind face was only the mask of a sociopathic killer?

  No. Julia refused to believe it, not of the man who had sat across from her in the living room last night. She couldn’t see those same gentle but strong hands wrapped around a throat, squeezing, squeezing, fingers digging into soft flesh. That face with the cheeks that creased when he smiled couldn’t twist into a punishing, murderous mask. And his Christian faith seemed sincere. Walter simply wasn’t capable of harming anyone without a good reason.

  But then, Mitchell had kept his own violent urges carefully hemmed in, hidden behind eyes that disguised whatever strange storms brewed inside his head.

  “Cops been out again,” Mrs. Covington said.

  “Good. They said they would follow up on the breaking and entering.”

  “They wasn’t doing much following. They went inside your house for a while.”

  “Inside? Where did they get a key?”

  “Seems like nobody needs keys to get in the Hartley house.” Mrs. Covington stopped rocking, and the cat hissed, leapt to the porch, and scurried away. “Company’s coming.”

  Julia looked at the dim outline of the woman’s face, with its wizened roadmap of wrinkles. The wind changed a little, rattling the leaves. Beneath it, hushed at first but rising, came the sound of a car engine on the road. Headlights swept around a bend and sliced across Mrs. Covington’s house. It was Walter’s Jeep.

  “Speak of the devil,” murmured Mrs. Covington.

  Walter parked in front of Julia’s house, got out and walked over to the porch. He carried something that Julia couldn’t make out.

  “Howdy, Mrs. Covington,” he said, adding more quietly, “Hi, Julia. I came by to see how you were doing.”

  “How do, Walter,” Mrs. Covington said. “Say, is your Aunt Peggy going to make her apple butter this year?”

  “Soon as the apples finish falling.”

  “She always was the best cook in the Triplett family, in my book. Don’t go telling your momma that, though.”

  Walter’s grin flashed in the weak light from the apartments. “I’m not as dumb as I look.” Then, to Julia, “I took a look at that appliance you gave me to fix.” He held up the bag he was carrying.

  “Great,” Julia said, not wanting to talk about possessed clocks in front of Mrs. Covington, who probably already thought Julia was batty, the way she double-checked her locks, kept her windows shut in the heat of summer, and rarely ventured outside after dark.

  “When you going to come finish up the mulching?” Mrs. Covington asked Walter.

  “It’s on my list.” He moved closer to Julia. “Did you ever hear back from the police?”

  “The Creep’s out,” she said. “I guess he’s got friends.”

  “Figures.”

  Mrs. Covington watched in darkness. Julia said, “I’ve got to go, Mrs. Covington. See you tomorrow.”

  “All right,” she said. “Mind my words, hear?”

  “Good night,” Walter said to the old woman, whose hand flickered in a wave.

  Julia walked toward her house, Walter beside her. When they were out of range of Mabel Covington’s hearing, Walter said, “She’s a strange old thing, ain’t she?”

  “Everybody’s strange around here,” Julia said.

  “Everybody. What’s that supposed to mean?”

  It means if I weren’t afraid that a Creep might be waiting in my house, I don’t think you would be stepping foot across my threshold again. It means maybe I’m not crazy at all, maybe it’s the rest of the world, and by my solitary saneness I’m the piece that doesn’t fit the Life Puzzle.

  “I’m just tired and babbling.” She fumbled in the purse for her keys, tucked the canister of mace in her hand, and unlocked the door. Before entering, she glanced at Mabel Covington’s porch. The woman had lit another cigarette, and its glow bobbed with her rocking. Julia stepped inside and turned on the lights, blinking against the brightness.

  “Leave the door open, if you don’t mind,” she said to Walter.

  “The bugs will get in and eat you alive.”

  “It’s not the bugs I’m worried about.” She slipped the mace into her pocket where she could quickly retrieve it if needed. She didn’t sit in her chair, hoping Walter would take the hint.

  “Your eye looks better,” she said. The swelling had gone down, though the flesh around his eye was red.

  Walter took the clock from the bag and set it on the coffee table beside the baseball cards. “Like I said, I’m not any electronics expert, but I couldn’t find anything wrong with it. The circuit boards look sound, and I’ve never heard of a microchip just going off the deep end.”

  “So your diagnosis would be to throw it away and forget about it?”

  “Sometimes something’s broke and you just got to go replace it.”

  She moved to the hallway and yawned, even though her pulse was racing. “I’m tired, Walter. Long day.”

  Walter nodded, not looking at her. Was he thinking of her bedroom waiting just a few yards down the hall? Or of his lost wife?

  “Thanks for checking the clock,” Julia said. She wondered if she could reach the bat under the bed if he decided to attack. She tried to look sleepy over the fear, and then became angry at herself for doubting the only person who had helped her.

  “She got into it, didn’t she?” Still Walter stared at the floor, or maybe past years.

  “Got into what?”

  “About my wife.”

  Julia put her hand in her pocket, touched the mace. “Well . . . “

  Walter clenched his fists. His face tightened, the crease in his cheeks no longer cheerful. “She was probably in on it.”

  Julia didn’t know if Walter was talking about his late wife or Mabel Covington. “Mrs. Covington?”

  Walter went to the open door without looking at her. “Nothing. The past don’t matter none.”

  He was going to walk out. He was going to act like nothing had happened. She couldn’t let him do that. She didn’t want to lose this little bit of whatever feeling stirred inside her chest every time he was around.

  Julia hurried after him, wondering if Mabel Covington was over on her porch, watching and straining her ears for tomorrow’s gossip. “Walter, the past does matter. Especially if it hurts.”

  Walter turned in the doorway, a sad smile across his face. “No. If it hurts, you forget it. You bury it deep as hell, like you do your favorite childhood pet when it dies. Then you get on your knees and pray, but mostly what you do is wonder why the Lord would do such an awful thing.”

  Julia found herself spouting Dr. Forrest’s aphorisms. “No. You have to dig it up, bring it to the surface, acknowledge its power over you. And then you can heal.”

&nbs
p; Walter shook his head. “Sounds like the slogans on that New Age crap in that little crystal shop downtown.”

  “You’re religious. What do you think God wants you to do about it?”

  “Keep living. Finding something worth hanging on to, a reason to get out of bed in the morning.” Walter finally met her eyes. His gaze was hot, the gray in his irises gone, a bright golden color radiating there. “And hanging on to faith despite it all. If this world fails you, at least you got the next.”

  Julia wondered why his anger hadn’t scared her. Unlike Mitchell’s, Walter’s anger was directed toward something larger, something beyond his reach. If he was a Creep, his belief made him even more threatening, because it touched a larger mystery she couldn’t understand.

  Walter looked out the door to the dark forest. “We were asleep in our tent, up in the woods north of town. I woke up in the middle of the night and she was gone. It was pitch black, the moon was down, there was hardly a star in the sky. I wandered all over the woods looking for her, yelling her name until I was hoarse. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall off one of those cliffs.”

  Tears glistened on Walter’s cheeks. He turned away and continued. “When morning came, I drove all over the mountain, calling for help. We looked for a solid week. Never did find any sign of her. It was like she up and walked off the face of the Earth.”

  Julia wanted to touch him, to hold his hand, but she hardly knew how to deal with her own emotions, much less comfort someone else. “What do you think happened?”

  After a long pause, in which Julia could hear the cold chirping of crickets outside, Walter said, “I figured she was close by. She left her shoes in the tent. They found some of her footprints the next day. Other footprints were found up there, too, so the trail got confused. The hounds hit on her trail for awhile, but then it disappeared into a creek. Even if she was sleepwalking or something, that cold water should have woken her up.”

  “I’m sorry, Walter.”

  “It ain’t your fault.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Forget it,” he interrupted. “That was a long time ago. When something bad happens, you can either freeze up like your busted clock yonder, or you can get over it and move on. She’s with the Lord now, so maybe she’s better off anyway.”

  Get over it. Was Walter like her, only half alive, part of him having been fatally wounded years ago? Even his Christianity wasn’t enough to fix his damage.

  Julia folded her arms across her chest. “You’re not telling me the whole story,” she said.

  “There ain’t no story,” he said. “Hell, most of the people in town think I did away with her. Do you know how it feels to have eyes latched on your back when you walk down the street? Like somebody’s always watching from the shadows?”

  Oh, yes. Julia knew what that was like. She was the poster child of panic and paranoia.

  “Sorry to keep you up,” he said. “You don’t need my problems. You’re the one that had a Creep break into her house.”

  “Thanks for watching out for me. Helps me sleep better.”

  “Got that deadly bat handy?” he asked.

  “I’m ready for anything.”

  “I’m praying for you.” He waved goodnight and left. Julia looked at the clock and the baseball cards and hurried after him.

  From the door, Julia called, “If I can ever do anything for you—”

  He was gone, lost in the dark, and she heard the Jeep’s ignition fire.

  “Just let me know,” she whispered.

  She thought of his parting words, and considered a possible double meaning for them. Maybe praying for her didn’t mean he was asking God to help her. Maybe he was asking God to make Julia his possession. If she were braver, or more scared, she would ask God herself, but she was afraid she might get an answer.

  She closed and locked the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The phone call woke Julia sometime before dawn. She rolled over, kicking at the blankets, trapped for a moment in some strange dream in which she’d been buried alive. The bed was damp with sweat. She squinted for the clock before remembering that it was in the trash can.

  She fumbled for her cell phone on the dresser and nearly knocked it to the floor before finally getting it to her ear. Only important calls came during sleep, usually with bad news. But lately, there had been no other kind of news. “Hello?” she said, trying not to sound groggy.

  “Julia.”

  “Dr. Forrest?”

  “You’re not obeying my orders.”

  “Uh?” Julia fought into a sitting position.

  “I told you to stay away from that man. He’s not conducive to your healing.”

  “Which man?”

  “You know. Did you dream?”

  Julia tried to remember, though she knew only bad things waited in the gray shadows of semi-consciousness. “Yeah. I think Daddy put me in a room, except the room was really a box, and I couldn’t breath, and I beat on the sides trying to get out—”

  She realized her arms were sore, and wondered if she’d been lashing out in her sleep.

  “You know what that means, don’t you, Julia?”

  “No,” Julia said, afraid to find out.

  “Your father oppressed you for years before the actual ritual abuse occurred.”

  “But I was only a small child. How could I remember all of that?”

  “The memory is in the meat, Julia. Some women have reported experiences of attempted abortions, memories made while they were still in the uterus.”

  “Before they were even born?” Julia was wide awake now, her heartbeat racing, any relaxation she might have gained from sleep long gone.

  “We’re just beginning to understand memory and how the mind stores information. It’s possible that memory works at a cellular level, so that even the moment of conception is recorded somewhere. Of course, it’s the retrieval system that’s flawed. That’s why you need help.”

  Julia thought of Walter’s words, about how sometimes the past is best left alone. “Maybe it’s not such a good thing to remember all that.”

  Dr. Forrest sighed. Julia wondered if the woman ever slept.

  “Julia, we need to heal you. We need more survivors. There’s strength in numbers. It’s all about the truth. And it’s all about sharing.”

  “I . . . why didn’t you tell me before that you had been abused, too?”

  “Because I’m the doctor, Julia. And the only reason I told you was so you’d know that you’re not alone.”

  Julia tried to wipe the darkness from her eyes. “What time is it?”

  “A little after four.”

  “Why are you calling?”

  “You need me, don’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tell me what else happened in Memphis.”

  “I’ve told you everything.”

  Except for the part about the wooden blocks spread across my table and the silver skull ring and maybe one or two other things which either I have forgotten or am lying to myself about.

  “Julia. Don’t keep secrets from your therapist.”

  “I’m not keeping secrets.”

  “You talked to a detective. You went back to your childhood home. You saw the barn where you were the victim of Satanic ritual abuse. Why didn’t you call the police and tell them about remembering the barn?”

  Who had told her those things? “Because I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what? Never be afraid of the truth.”

  “Because I don’t think the police would have believed me. I don’t think they would have believed me about Mitchell’s assault, either.”

  “Am I the only one you can trust?”

  No. Maybe she could trust Walter. Or could she? Her pulse throbbed in her temples, and she rubbed at her forehead. “Yes, Dr. Forrest.”

  “Then you’ll do what I say?”

  “I want to get better.”

  “Come to my office today. There’s someone I want
you to meet.”

  “Today?” Julia thought about her staff meeting at the paper. She still had a lot of work to catch up.

  “Ten in the morning.”

  “I don’t think I can make it.”

  “You’ll come. You want to be healed, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to become the person you’re supposed to be.”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to be free.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “He owns you, Julia.” The earpiece clicked as the doctor hung up.

  Julia put down the phone and sat on the edge of the bed. He owns you. The darkness around her grew substance, pressed against her like a thick black jelly.

  The smallest of noises came from her window, like a bird’s feathers scraping glass. Julia turned in the direction of the curtains. Two red specks glowed there.

  Julia nearly dove into the blankets, to bury her head and let the panic consume her and maybe take her breath for the deepest and final time. The eyes couldn’t have been red. It must be the Peeping Tom, back for a second helping.

  Her face flushed with anger. She wanted to make sure he would never peep again. She reached under the bed, grabbed the Louisville Slugger, and ran to the window.

  She heard the voice, plainly, clearly, “He owns you, Jooolia.”

  She dropped the bat. The twin red specks disappeared.

  Eventually dawn came, the gray light filling the room. Julia numbly took a shower, dressing in the bathroom. She kept the bat close. When she was dressed, she called the Elkwood police desk. She gave her name and asked if the investigating officer in her Peeping Tom case could meet her at Dr. Forrest’s office at ten. When the communications officer asked for more information, Julia hung up.

  The morning was dark, oppressive clouds spread in a solid drab sheet overhead, the air still. Even the colored leaves seemed washed out, yellows and reds edging toward brown. A soft fog hid the surrounding mountains, and the smell of coming rain fought with the sweeter odors of autumn decay and grass. No one stirred at the apartments across the street, and Mabel Covington’s rocker was empty.

  Julia arrived at the Times office to find Rick waiting by her desk. “Gee, you look terrible,” he said, stirring his coffee with a pencil.