Forsaken - An American Sasquatch Tale

by Christine Conder

  “You stay,” Becky stepped in. “I’ll go check if…” The look in her eyes was sincere and confused, as if she too wasn’t certain either if Mitch hadn’t lost his mind. Ravings of a dying man seemed a distinct possibility.

  “Hurry, please,” Liberty said.

  Becky left the room, nearly at a jog.

  When Mitch opened his eyes and started to talk again, she’d already heard the door to the upstairs open, heard the wood creak as Becky’s feet moved overhead.

  “You need to know, Ellie meant for me to save you, not Sage. But I can’t undo it.”

  “Save me? From what?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Save me from what, Mitch?”

  “The curse.”

  “The curse,” she repeated. She shook her head. “You can’t…” She heard the doors open and close upstairs and felt sick with anticipation.

  “There’s more to the legend. More than what your mother told you about our ancestors.”

  “Ours?”

  “What more?”

  “Ellie and I are like you and Nathaniel.” He made an attempt to lift his arm, whispered, “The amulet.”

  She looked at his bracelet. It meant the world to him, and to Ellie, but it was plain. Their version of wedding bands, Liberty always remembered, but they tended to disappear and she wouldn’t notice them again until they were pointed out.

  “Ellie’s and your bands?” Her head buzzed and she scolded herself. No time to demonstrate how well she could faint.

  He nodded, dropped his arm down as though it weighed a ton.

  She looked closer at the band, and knew it wasn’t her imagination.

  He’d lost so much weight, but the band fit perfectly. Perplexed, she tried to spin it around, but it wouldn’t budge. She drew her hand back sharply. It felt like skin, not metal at all.

  “Lib—” He hitched in a breath and held it.

  She looked up at his chest, hoped he’d let it out again and if he did, she sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be the final one. “Mitch? How are you and Ellie like us?”

  The faint click of a door opened, then shut. Becky had reached the top floor, the one with the dormers.

  Liberty reached for Mitch’s hand again, and took a firm hold of his wrist. The band squirmed and pulsated beneath her fingers as though it were alive. She’d begun to tremble. “Please talk to me.”

  She heard the sound of Becky’s voice. It was muffled, but she called out Sage’s name, over and over. Would her daughter hide in a closet? Why hide at all?

  He started to speak again, but his voice was so soft she had to put her ear next to his face to hear.

  “When our people massacred the Indian tribe, they left their children behind. But they didn’t die.”

  She furrowed her brow. That’s not what her mother told her, but she didn’t want to interrupt and kept her head still.

  “The last woman they killed, the one they all saw dancing near their campsite?”

  She murmured, “I know of her.” She recalled the brutality, the little details.

  “She escaped with her children during the attack on her tribe. She almost made it to the banks of the creek, where a canoe was hidden in the reed, but we were close behind her. She stumbled upon the lean-to and begged the colonist’s children to keep hers safe.”

  No, she didn’t remember this. This wasn’t a part of the legend she’d been taught. “She stroked his cheek, urged him to go on, “I’m here.”

  “She was so beautiful.” He paused as though he remembered the woman himself. “Dark skin and eyes so large you could see your reflection in them. The children didn’t understand her language, but knew what she asked of them and they didn’t hesitate to help. She captivated them. They took her babies into their bedrolls, covered the two up with their blankets and gave them shelter.” He stopped speaking and took a breath. He could no longer do both at the same time.

  “The children heard the screams outside,” he finally continued. “The cries of pain, and were so afraid they wanted to run away but they kept their promise to the woman and stayed with her little ones.”

  He stopped again, and was getting slower to start with every breath. Liberty listened for Becky and didn’t hear any sound at all. She lifted her head up and looked toward the door. Had Becky found her? Had she not, and was now thinking of how she’d break the bad news? My God, what could take so long?

  Conflicted, an urge to go up herself, she looked back at Mitch and jumped. He stared at her, with eyes wide open and irises as black as his pupils.

  “Liberty,” he said, though his mouth did not move.

  She couldn’t pull her gaze away. “Yes,” an acknowledgment she heard with her ears, but certain her lips hadn’t formed the word.

  The tiniest spot, a speck, appeared in the center of the blackest part of his eye and Liberty watched as it grew larger. Became more than a grain of sand, it was a tiny bead, and then, it became the flame of a candle. The orange fire danced and she watched it flicker up and down. They spoke to one another again, and like words in a corridor, they echoed. No other sounds existed. Not Mitch’s respirations, not Becky calling out. There was only the flame.

  “Liberty, are you listening?”

  “I am.”

  “Pay attention.”

  Accelerated vertigo overtook her, not slow motion like her fainting spells, but a whirling she couldn’t control. She fell fast, straight into the flames in his eyes. When the vertigo passed, she saw the fire had grown, and found she wasn’t alone with Mitch. In fact, she was no longer with Mitch at all. She was in a strange place, but felt no fear, only wonder.

  She looked down at her arm, half expected she’d become Sasquatch, the vertigo much like transformation, but there wasn’t fur. The arm was tiny, dark, and golden. Not Sasquatch, but at the same time not hers. She looked to her right and saw a person she knew as her sister, but the girl was not Patience.

  Sounds began to filter in, and the scene around her came into focus. Children, with skin that glistened from the heat, sat shoulder to shoulder in a circle around the fire, mesmerized by the flames.

  She counted quickly, twenty-one children. Not including the sister nor herself. Knowledge filled her and she understood. She was there to bear witness, but no more.

  The beautiful woman Mitch spoke of appeared, the one with huge dark eyes, beautiful hair, and dark skin. She looked like their mother, but was possessed by another. And the woman was broken. A bare thigh popped inward at an odd angle, and her skin was split and pierced in a dozen places across her abdomen and chest. The woman smiled and moved as though she wasn’t, made her way from child to child, bent to whisper in their ears.

  The woman came to Liberty’s side of the fire, moving like a dancer. And Liberty could now see how. Her feet, one bare and the other encased in a tattered moccasin, hovered an inch above the ground. She peered closer at the woman. Though her arms and hair moved, she looked as though she’d been hung on a hook and was paralyzed from the waist down. The woman met her eyes and grinned. Chuneras, the name formed in Liberty’s head as the woman continued her ritual around the ring of fire.

  The children murmured to one another in excited voices, and though the words were clearly in English, Liberty couldn’t grasp what they meant. She watched Chuneras as she bent down to a small, yellow-haired boy and spoke to him. The words that came out of her mouth didn’t match her lips, as if the invisible puppeteer was a little slow in pulling her strings, but the boy nodded his understanding. So did Liberty.

  When the message had been delivered to each child, Chuneras swept an arm across the flames and a vision formed in the center of the fire. Every horror the English men and women had committed against the tribe that night, played out for the children to see.

  Liberty felt the sister grasp her arm as they watched their people get slaughtered like wild buffalo, a flash of steel, knives and hatchets, one horrific scene at time. The brutal images played out uncensored. Every scream heard,
every murder shown. The vision dissolved after the final act of Chuneras’ death. Though painful to watch, the children didn’t cower or cry.

  Chuneras drifted away into the shadows and reappeared a moment later with the four bags of stolen silver. She lifted her arms and the bags levitated above her. Then, with a flick of her wrist, they all tipped over, sprinkled coins like a waterfall into the flames. Instead of dousing the fire, the coins acted as fuel, infused it.

  The silver sparked blue and popped flashes of white, as it danced in the heat like magic corn. Several of the children clapped in surprise.

  Chuneras motioned with her arms again and the blue and white sparks formed a dotted circle and started to spin. Slowly at first, but as she moved her arms faster, so went the wheel. One last wave and the wheel turned so quickly it looked like one solid circle around the fire.

  The children gasped and giggled in delight. When Chuneras clasped her hands together, the circle raced to the top of the lean-to and broke into several individual rings, each spinning above the tips of the towering flames. Small faces followed and looked up, spellbound. Liberty counted the rings though she already knew the sum, twenty-one in all. Turning so fast, at first they looked like tiny orbs. Slowly the revolutions trickled to a stop above every head. And time froze. All movement from the fire and children ceased, and sound left in a vacuum.

  Liberty turned to the sister and saw her upturned face captured in a half grin, the light of the motionless flame still visible in her eyes. Liberty glanced back at the scene and looked to the right where Chuneras stood with her hands together. Despite her injuries, Liberty admired her beauty in a quiet awe. So perfect, a statue. Liberty gasped in surprise when Chuneras turned her head to look at her.

  So void of movement and sound, Liberty could hear the muscles stretch in Chuneras’ cheeks when she smiled. Her lips moved, then a moment later. “Liberty?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you paying attention?”

  “I am.”

  “Watch.”

  Chuneras turned to face the fire and life reentered the lean-to at once, Liberty heard the tail end of her clap again, and the rings suspended above the heads of the children plummeted through the air with such swiftness they left miniature-sized comet tails in their wake.

  Every boy and girl lifted their hands in unison and the rings encircled their arms. With a final clap from Chuneras, the bands fastened themselves down tight on tiny wrists and, in a blink, the flames extinguished. Blackness infused the lean-to, hot orange embers the only light. The moment Liberty focused on the glow where the fire had been, she fell again.

  * * *

  Liberty opened her eyes to find herself on the bed next to Mitch. Tendrils of hair clung to her face in a mess of sweat, and her throat felt parched, as though she hadn’t had a drink in days. She sat up and held his hand, watched as his chest rose and fell in soft bellows. No longer afraid, she moved her hand up to his wrist and felt the silver bracelet. It vibrated beneath her fingertips.

  The legend was true, deep down she knew, though she didn’t know why Mitch had kept it from her. Becky’s search for Sage. Liberty inhaled sharply and turned toward the door as she remembered. Becky already stood there, a paper in her hands.

  “What is it?”

  Becky shook her head. “Mitch told you the truth. Sage lives here—”

  “I know.” Liberty looked at him, whispered, “He showed me, helped me to understand.” Liberty filled Becky in, finished with, “I think you may have been right about your parents.”

  “My parents?” Becky looked perplexed.

  “Yes. You have the white light, but no band. Your parents must have worn them.

  Liberty watched her expression, a mind search visible on her face as she tried to absorb and recall. Becky narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly.

  “Yeah. I guess they did. Truthfully, I’d really never paid attention. I’d totally forgotten until now.”

  Liberty understood Becky’s expression, confused, slammed with new information that changed your life. Changed the meaning of your life. It looked all too familiar.

  Becky thought for a moment, and then said, “I can’t believe it. I just up and left them. I don’t know what to do, I feel so bad.”

  She could relate. “I know.” Though he was sleeping, Liberty lowered her voice to just above a whisper and gestured toward Mitch. “He gave Sage a gift so great…how could I possibly have measured him so poorly?”

  Becky leaned against the doorway, stared across at the wall like Mitch had. Seemed to be watching everything she knew unravel.

  “She wasn’t up there, was she?” Liberty couldn’t wait any longer.

  Becky looked down for a moment, then shook her head to clear the clutter. “No. And I’m sorry to say this, but I think Sage might be in trouble.”

  Becky motioned for Liberty to follow her out. They went to the kitchen area in the basement and Becky flipped on the light above the table.

  “You don’t think she could be hiding, not knowing you know the secret?”

  “No. But it’s just like Mitch said, he did make up a really pretty room for her. Painted a soft purple.”

  Sage’s favorite color. Liberty nodded. “Tell me why she’s in trouble.”

  “This.” Becky laid a picture on the table.

  She picked up the photo and her heart skipped a beat. It was Sage, dressed in a satiny red gown that clung to her body and sparkled in the sunlight, “Look, Becky,” she touched the picture, “it’s all true. She’s outside in this picture.”

  She nodded. “Looks like it’s from Prom.”

  “Prom?” Such a beautiful dream come true. “Wow.”

  “This here.” Becky pointed to the boy in the photo. “Is what I meant by trouble.”

  Liberty’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the boy. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. “Why?”

  Becky flipped the picture over. ‘Me & Victor’ was written on the back of it, inside the shape of a heart.

  Liberty quickly made the connection. “The Victor? From the Adrian photo?”

  Becky nodded. “Gotta be the same one.”

  Liberty looked toward the steps, hoping there was still a chance. “She’s not upstairs?”

  “No.”

  “I need to get Mitch to talk to me.” Liberty picked up the photo and hurried back into the room. His eyes were still closed, but he was also still breathing. She leaned close to his ear. “Please open your eyes. If you can.”

  He made little kissing sounds as he opened and shut his mouth. She tamped down a shriek when she pictured gills on his cheeks. She couldn’t erase it, he looked like a trout that had managed to flip itself onto the bank and was trying to breathe. She closed her eyes for a few seconds to compose herself.

  Liberty leaned close to his ear, “Mitch.”

  He opened his eyes, no more than a slit, and she held the picture up close to his face. “Mitch, look. It’s a picture of Sage and her boyfriend. His name is Victor. I think she’s in trouble.”

  “Sage?” he rasped, though it came out sounding like “Say”.

  “Becky and I went to Victor’s house tonight, and we nearly got ourselves killed. When we were there I heard a Sasquatch wail and now Adrian is gone.”

  Becky stepped in the space between her and Mitch. “Mitch, honey. It’s me. I need you to tell me if Sage drives a car.”

  Mitch nodded weakly.

  “Is it a little gold coupe?”

  He swallowed, nodded again.

  Liberty looked at Becky, first in shock that her daughter even knew how to drive, and then in terror when she made the connection of where they’d seen a little gold coupe earlier. “I have to go. Nathaniel and Gabriel are already there. That’s where I need to be, too.”

  Mitch reached for her, his fingers grazed the sleeve of her robe. “Wait for me.”

  Liberty whispered to Becky, “He’s confused. I’m sorry to leave you here, but I have to—”

  “Wait
,” he repeated himself, and then grimaced as he lifted up his arm. “Yours.”

  Liberty frowned, then slowly comprehended what he meant. When he died she could take the band.

  She remembered Chuneras. Remembered the message she delivered. The protection of the amulet was conditional. In order to ensure the life of their offspring, a full day mustn’t pass before it is bequeathed to another. How could she refuse? He only wanted to protect his son. Wherever he was.

  She looked at his aura and it was expiring, swirls of dark gray, mingled with silky threads of white. He’d been such a strong man in life, she knew he’d be strong in death, whether he wanted to be or not. She had time to get Sage and come back.

  The moment felt so utterly familiar, like this hour and minute had been waiting for her to catch up since before she’d been born. Her mother knew somehow, the visions of white auras. Everything had landed upright and in its place.

  But Sarah hadn’t factored in a lost daughter, a found daughter, a daughter whose life may be in imminent danger. The draw of human life was no match for her maternal instincts. Life without Sage was no life at all.

  She patted his hand. “I love you, Mitch, and I feel so blessed to have had not only Ellie choose me to take her place, but now you. I don’t have the words to thank you. But, I’ll be here.” She leaned down and pressed her lips to the hollow of his cold cheek.

  He closed his eyes and she motioned to Becky to follow her to the doorway.

  “I have to go. But he doesn’t have to know.” Liberty ignored the guilt of leaving Becky alone, with everything she’d just found out. And in Mitch’s final hour.

  “You don’t have to explain to me.” Becky ushered her out. “Go. We’ll be here when you get back.”

  “I’ll hurry,” Liberty said without looking back. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liberty left through the kennel, kept her wits long enough so she didn’t exit as a raging bull. No sense losing her head if she wanted a reunion.

  Flipping the switch to extinguish the outside light, she stepped outside, taking stock of her surroundings. A quick visual search showed the absence of auras, and no human scent could be detected in the immediate vicinity. She listened. The only sounds came from nature. No vehicles were on Little Church Road, or Rimrock Hill.