Pitch Green

by The Brothers Washburn

  Miss Cathleen’s frown deepened. “My, you are asking a lot of questions, aren’t you?”

  “Well, this is a library, after all, and I always ask the librarian lots of questions.”

  Miss Cathleen’s face said she had been caught. She sighed and said, “Well, you are welcome to any book here in the library, but we don’t have any books on John Searles, or on that old mansion.” She glanced at Camm with concern in her eyes. “It just looks horrid. That was all I was saying.”

  Camm thought for a moment. “Is there anything else, like old newspapers or magazine articles?”

  The librarian’s eyes flickered, but her mouth screwed up tight. Camm didn’t relent. “Oh, so, there are old newspaper articles. Where can I find them?”

  “I didn’t say we had any. Anyway, anything that old is not here; it’s been taken to storage,” Miss Cathleen scowled.

  Camm forced herself to remain calm. She had stumbled onto something, imagining herself conducting an investigation, like Agent Allen, and trying to be logical in her approach.

  “What are the dates of the newspapers in storage? I need to see them. It’s for an assignment. I’d really appreciate any help you can give me. Where can I find those old newspapers?”

  “You don’t want that old stuff for a school paper. It’s just old, I don’t know how old, but it’s not here anymore.”

  “Where is it?” Camm asked tenaciously.

  “Where you can’t get it.”

  Camm smiled an endearing smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Really, I’m just doing research. Please, won’t you help me? Where are the articles about John Searles and his mansion?”

  “They came and took all the old newspapers and locked them up in the old library. I don’t have a key. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  “Who came and took them to lock them up?”

  Miss Cathleen’s frown came back. “Mr. Samuel. He came by last week and asked if that woman FBI agent had been here. When I said no, he took all the old newspapers and locked them in the old library. He is the only one with a key. He was very businesslike about the whole thing.” She turned away.

  Camm knew where the old library was even though it had been closed up her whole life. It was a small clapboard building within walking distance of the current library. Camm left her car in the public parking lot and walked to the old library. She thought a car in front of the old building might look suspicious.

  Surveying the building, she was surprised it used to be the town library. The whole building was maybe twenty by forty feet in size. Oleander bushes had overgrown near the front, partially blocking the front door, which Camm could see was securely locked with a dead bolt. She walked around the small building to check it out. There were a couple of small, high-set windows on one end and a double-hung window in the back. Camm remembered something Cal had taught her about double-hung windows.

  She returned to her car for a pocketknife. The closest thing she could find was a flathead screwdriver. Going back to the window, she tried to insert the screwdriver between the sashes at the center of the window, but it was too thick. She checked the ground for something she could use, but saw nothing. She looked in her wallet. No credit cards. But a laminated school ID might work.

  When she slid her school ID between the sashes, it caught the latch. With a great deal of effort, wiggling her ID back and forth, while constantly checking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching, she was finally able to unlock the window.

  The window had not been opened in years, and Camm couldn’t budge it. Grabbing the screwdriver, she wedged it under the bottom sash, hoping to get some leverage. Putting all her weight on the screwdriver, she tried to pry the window up.

  At first, the screwdriver just bowed under her weight, and she was afraid it would break. Then, the window creaked up a few inches. She was able to get her hands under it, and while squatting down, she pushed with her legs to slowly raise it. The window groaned loudly as it inched upward in jerks and starts. By the time she had raised it a foot or so, Camm was out of breath. She now had just enough space to skinny through.

  Once inside, she patted herself down in a futile attempt to clean off the dust. It was late in the afternoon, and she didn’t have a flashlight. Fortunately, the windows let in enough light that, though dark and gloomy, she could still find her way around.

  An old wooden desk sat by the front door next to several empty bookshelves. Everything was covered with the white alkaline dust that was ever present in Trona. On the desk were a few old books and several stacks of yellowed newspapers. Camm looked at the books first; they all had to do with dynamite or explosives. She smiled, understanding why they had been removed from the library. No reason to educate a bunch of bored boys on bomb making.

  The newspapers were different. Trona did not have its own newspaper, so most people subscribed to the Daily Independent, which was based in Ridgecrest, the closest town to Trona. Although it routinely ran the Trona news, the papers on the desk were too thick to be the Daily Independent. They were all copies of the Los Angeles Times from the 1940s. The Daily Independent probably hadn’t even existed back then.

  Camm rifled through the newspapers. Most of the headlines had to do with the events of World War Two, covering a two-year period. But not all issues were there. Camm wondered why Mr. Samuel had picked out these particular papers for storage.

  There was no chair with the desk, so Camm lifted all the papers onto the floor and sat next to them with her back against the desk. She doubted that Trona would be on the front page of the Los Angeles Times, so she went through the news section of each paper. It took her several minutes before she finally found what she was looking for.

  On and off, over a period of many months starting in 1941, a hodgepodge of articles focused on the bizarre and horrifying events that had occurred in a sleepy little desert town. Camm’s heart rose into her throat as she read, her eyes fixated on the words. She was losing the light as the sun set, so she had to hurry, finishing just as it got too dark to read. Not planning to take the newspapers with her, she hid only the ones she knew Agent Allen would want to see. Then, she squeezed herself out the window, scraping her back as she went.

  Once outside, Camm leaned against the wall, going over the things she had just read in her mind; they chilled her blood. Much of what Sarah had said now made sense to her. While she still did not know what had attacked Cal and her the night before, she now understood it had not been the first time. She wished there were a way to stop Cal from going back until she could bring all of this to Agent Allen’s attention.

  She had finally gotten the window to close, and was making another futile effort to pat the dust off her clothes, when a loud, harsh voice almost startled her out of her skin.

  “What are you doing here?” It was Mr. Samuel, standing by the corner of the building, glaring laser beams at her.

  Camm forced herself to stay calm, giving Mr. Samuel a tranquil, but bewildered look, and continued brushing the dust off her clothes with both hands.

  “I’m trying to rid myself of your plant’s grit and grime, that is what I’m doing,” Camm said with an even voice.

  “You have no business here. What are you doing here?”

  Mr. Samuel always looked and sounded so angry. Camm wondered what he had to be so angry about all the time. She pursed her lips in a thoughtful pose. “No, no, I really don’t have any business here, except to brush myself off.”

  Mr. Samuel gave her a suspicious look. “Why are you here? You don’t need to be snooping around.”

  “I was just cutting through the block to get to my car, parked in the library parking lot over there, when I tripped in the dark. I’ll be on my way now.”

  He hesitated a moment before continuing in the same grumpy voice. “You’re that girl who was with the nosey FBI agent, aren’t you? You were at the mansion with her and also at Sarah’s house. Why are you nosing around here? There’s nothing here.”

  “I di
dn’t think there was, until now,” Camm replied curtly. “Like I said, I was just walking by and tripped in the dark. Why are you trying so hard to get rid of me? Maybe there is something here you don’t want me to see.”

  Camm pretended to look around, twisting her head this way and that. Turning to the window she had just climbed through, she stood on her toes and leaned against it, her hands like blinders to each side of her face, feigning to peek inside the old library.

  Mr. Samuel became more agitated and stamped his foot. He hastened toward her, shaking a fat finger in her face. “Don’t you look in there!” His face was screwed up in anger, turning a lovely shade of crimson. “Don’t look in there! There is nothing in there for you! You’re trespassing on plant property. You must leave now.” He made shooing motions with his hands. “Go on, now, get out of here!”

  Camm should have just left, but her personal stubbornness overcame her better judgment. She did not like being startled, and now Mr. Samuel was trying to intimidate her. She wouldn’t be intimidated. She understood his kind; he was a bully. She hated bullies and couldn’t resist pushing back, remembering what Agent Allen had said to him at Sarah’s house.

  “What are you so afraid of, Mr. Samuel? I walk by here and you freak out. What are you afraid I’ll see in there?” Camm inclined her head toward the window of the old library. “Are you afraid I’ll see a green rat or something?”

  As soon as she said it, Camm regretted it immensely. Mr. Samuel must know what was inside the mansion or he wouldn’t be protecting it so much. Until that moment, he had no reason to suspect she had been in the mansion on her own, or had seen the painting of the green rat in the deep basement. But now, he had reasons to be suspicious of her.

  Her words froze him in his tracks. It didn’t seem possible, but his face got even redder, and his hands clenched into fists. He deliberated a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. Camm wondered if he was going to ask her what she knew, but then guessed he couldn’t admit knowing anything about some painting in a stone dungeon littered with human bones.

  After what seemed an eternity, he said, “Get out of here!” It was almost a whisper, but there was so much malice and urgency in the way he said it that Camm opted not to respond further. Turning her back to him, she quickly walked away.

  VIII

  Camm mentally kicked herself all the way home, angry with herself for mentioning the green rat to Mr. Samuel. Before, he had only been suspicious and guarded, but now that he knew she knew something, he would only be more apprehensive.

  At home, she received the cold shoulder treatment from her mother, which made Camm feel even worse for the way she had responded to her earlier. Camm lay on her bed, pretending to read a book, but her mind was preoccupied with the thought of returning to the mansion that night. After a while, her dad poked his head into her room to announce that he was taking her mother out for the night, and that Camm was on her own for dinner.

  As an only child, Camm was used to taking care of herself and fixing her own meals. Tonight, she was too nervous to eat. She would have to leave soon if she wanted to beat Cal to the mansion. If he got there first, he would lock the door behind him to keep her out. She peeked through the window, making sure his car was still in front of his house. It was.

  Collecting her gear, she found two flashlights and made sure both worked with fresh batteries. She decided to take gloves, though she figured her fingerprints were already all over the mansion. Standing indecisively in the middle of the hall, she had a nagging feeling that she should be bringing something else. With a sigh, she turned and headed down to her parents’ bedroom.

  Her father’s gun safe was unlocked, as usual, and well stocked with firearms. As a little girl, she had been fascinated with it. As she got older, she had grown more cautious. She didn’t dislike guns, but she wasn’t a gun nut either.

  Cal, on the other hand, loved his guns. He always took several different kinds of guns with him when he went shooting in the desert, which was often. Camm occasionally went with him, mainly because it was a good excuse to get out in the desert and explore. Thanks to Cal, she knew how to clean, load, and fire most types of guns, though she was not by any means proficient at it, like Cal.

  She knew Cal was bringing his father’s .357 Magnum revolver. Camm did not like handguns, so she grabbed her father’s twelve-gauge shotgun and a full box of shells. Packing up her gear, she thought she should feel ready for the night’s activity, but she only felt scared. Very scared.

  As her Bug approached the mansion, she couldn’t decide where to park. Considering the events of her last visit, she wanted to park as close to the backdoor as possible so as to facilitate a quick getaway. But she was afraid the über-suspicious Mr. Samuel would drive by to check on things and see her car parked there. She settled on hiding it behind some salt cedar trees at an abandoned house not too far from the mansion’s backdoor.

  Glancing back at her car as she walked away, it did not look all that well camouflaged, and there seemed to be an unnecessarily long distance between the car and the mansion’s backdoor—she’d just settled for the worst of both worlds.

  Once the sun had set, the hot desert wind emerged out of nowhere. As she walked across the barren yard toward the mansion, the wind raked her hair across her face, its deadly breath sucking moisture from her eyes and skin. Though the gusting wind blasted Camm with heat, she found herself shivering and covered in goose bumps.

  At the backdoor, her stomach tightened as she held her breath and pulled on the doorknob. Surprisingly, the door swung out easily. She breathed again, disappointed. She was hoping the door would somehow be locked so she couldn’t get in. She dreaded going in so much that if she had eaten anything for dinner, she would have thrown it all up right then and there. With the shotgun held tightly in one hand, and the ammo, gloves, and flashlights packed in her shoulder beach bag, she summoned her courage, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.

  Once inside, she pulled the door shut behind her, but her hand seemed suddenly stuck to the inside doorknob. Fear was turning her blood into ice water, and her stomach into a tightly wadded knot. Everything in her being screamed at her to turn around and leave; this was the wrong place to be. Although all she could smell were the malodorous fumes from the plant, the stench of death was what filled her nostrils.

  Yanking her hand off the doorknob, she felt her way quickly across the kitchen to sit on a hard wooden chair in a corner. From where she sat, she could see both the backdoor and the door to the dining room. It was almost pitch black, but she felt safer not turning on the flashlight. While she could see only dimly, she felt invisible sitting in the dark corner.

  As she nervously waited, Camm considered locking the door and leaving, but she knew that would break her promise to Cal—she had sworn by her heart. With the door only locked at the doorknob, Cal could easily kick it in. If she were to secure the deadbolt manually, she would just be locking herself in, and that was out of the question. She sighed. There was nothing else to do but sit and wait for Cal, which was easier said than done.

  The house was full of a strange collection of random noises—Camm jumped at each new sound. She could hear her own pulse beating in her ears. The thought that she could be aging a year with each passing minute crossed her mind. Who knew how long it would take for Cal to show up. If he didn’t hurry up and get here soon, instead of finding Camm in the corner, all he’d find would be a mindless white-haired old lady holding a shotgun and drooling on herself. Somehow, that image of herself was not helping Camm feel brave.

  She leaned her head back against the plastered wall and closed her eyes. She willed her heart to slow, her breathing to calm. It was no good. She would only gain a little control before the house creaked or thudded, or sand blew against a windowpane, and her vital signs would soar again to new heights. She sat in a dark room, with dark thoughts, and darkness in her heart.

  After what seemed an eternity, she heard the whine of Cal’s Camaro a
nd tires grinding on gravel. His car pulled up to the backdoor and the engine cut off. She heard the car door open and slam shut. Cal’s big feet crunched on the hard-packed dirt toward the door. Evidently, he did not see her car, which was conspicuous enough to anyone who bothered to check.

  Why doesn’t Cal ever think of these things? It seems like I always have to do all the thinking!

  Still, she was happy Cal had finally arrived. She stepped out into the room, ready to greet him. The door opened, and she could make out his tall silhouette against the moonlit night before he shut the door. Appearing only as a form, without depth or color, he walked purposefully across the floor, shuffling his feet as he made his way cautiously in the dark.

  “Cal,” she whispered loudly. His body jumped several inches as he spun around toward the direction of her voice. His right hand was poised at the pistol in his belt.

  “Cal,” she repeated, “it’s just me, Camm.”

  “Holy freakin’ crap!” his tense voice cracked. “Don’t ever do that to me again. I almost shot you. And besides, I forgot to bring a fresh pair of shorts, which I think I need right now.”

  Camm smiled in spite of the situation. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare, uh, to startle you.”

  “Whatever.” Cal’s voice was filled with relief. “You still owe me a new pair of boxers.”

  Camm giggled as she walked over to his form in the darkness.

  Cal gave an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t ask you to come here tonight, Camm. This is dangerous. We don’t know what we’re up against, and I don’t want you to put your life at risk. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can do this alone, you know.”

  “I know.” Camm slid one arm around his waist. “I know you don’t need me, but I want to be here.” She winced. “Well, I don’t want to be here, but I want to be with you, to do this with you. I don’t want you to do this alone. After all, I brought you here last night. I started this.”