Dark Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  There was a cabinet to the right of the stove. He opened the first drawer and found tableware. He took a big spoon. He opened the next drawer down. It was deep and cluttered with odds and ends. He went to the next drawer. Towels. The next one had what he wanted: knives.

  Billy touched the blades like a blind man. They were sharp, thank goodness, and sturdy, but he had no idea what kind he might really need. He settled on a short, thick bladed one and a longer serrated one. Just as he closed the drawer, he heard a creak of wood and behind him the door started to open.

  Stashing the tools under his shirt, Billy turned around expecting to see Duncan. Actually, he expected to see Duncan like maybe ten feet tall and his eyes all glowing red behind those stupid eyelids of his. Instead, Teresa, the human question mark was standing in the doorway.

  "Are you alright?" she asked.

  "I'm good. Yeah. Thanks," he answered. He even managed to chuck his chin up a little like he was cool with everything.

  Which he wasn't.

  It would be stupid to feel relieved just because it was Teresa who had found him. He and Hannah had no friends in this place. Every single one of them drank the same Kool Aid. Still, if he was going to be found out, Teresa was probably the best one to stumble in here.

  She walked into the room. In in the moonlight, her silver hair sparkled and her expression was softened by weariness. She wore a thick robe curled up to her neck and long in the sleeves. It had some sort of embroidered thing on it that looked like Mickey Mouse.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  Billy shook his head. "Hannah can't sleep. I was going to try to fix her something to help sleep."

  "I just came to do the same thing. We're not supposed to, you know. Not after dinner."

  Teresa puttered while Billy crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the knives and the spoon under his shirt. He hoped that she didn't turn on the light and see the hilts of the knives through his shirt or the guilt on his face. If that happened, he would have to do something bad to keep her from telling Duncan. If the choice was Teresa or Hannah there was no contest. Still, he would hate to hurt Teresa. He would hate to hurt anybody.

  But Teresa didn't light a lantern, and she didn't seem much interested in him. She got the kettle, filled it with water, found a match and lit the stove. The sudden flare of the flame startled Billy. Teresa stared at it a minute and then put the kettle on.

  "I used to do this every night after my husband left me. I thought a cup of tea would help me sleep. It didn't. Some worries are too big for a cup of tea." She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Nobody should have worries that big when they're young."

  "I don't think old people should either," Billy answered.

  "You're right. It all should be easier, shouldn't it?" Teresa mused. "Or at least fairer. Maybe that's it. That was Duncan's dream to lead odd people to a place where they would be accepted. He believes he is blessed, and a prophet, and that together they can heal sad and broken people. Poor boy. It's going to be so hard for him when he realizes he can't heal anything and he can't make life fair."

  "I think it's going to be kind of hard on the rest of them. I mean, they're the ones that need to be better," Billy pointed out.

  "True." Teresa watched the pot as if she didn't expect it to boil. "And they need to be better in a different way than they think. That's the biggest problem."

  "Are they really your kids?" Billy asked, wanting to leave but knowing he had to play it through with the tea.

  "Oh, yes." She turned around and looked at him. "Duncan was a beautiful little boy, but shy and unsure of himself. I tried so hard to get him to come out of his shell. His father had no use for him. It was such a pity."

  "What about the lady?"

  "Penelope? That's her name. When Duncan was little he called her Pea. She's beautiful and special. That's what they call people like her. Special."

  "Is she a prophet like Duncan says?" Billy asked.

  "No." Teresa shook her head. "At least I don't think so. She's a biblical savant. She knows every verse in the bible. I don't know how that happened. Me, a nurse's assistant from San Dimas gives birth to a biblical savant. Craziest thing. Can you imagine?"

  Billy shook his head, but Teresa didn't notice. Billy was just the sounding board she was bouncing her memories off.

  "And, yes, before you ask, I tried to kill them. And me. That was the only way I could figure out how to save them. I couldn't get help, you see. My husband was gone. I had no family. Every government agency passed me off to another one. Charities told me that I had a job, and that I should be grateful I could provide for them. I didn't have two cents to rub together. How was I going to pay for the kind of help we needed? Pea could get violent. I had no idea what she would do if I left her alone with Duncan. He should have been in school. What a mess. Me. Alone with these two odd children who I loved so dearly.

  "Anyway, I did leave them alone. Duncan learned all sorts of things even though he didn't really go to school. I went to work. Duncan cared for Pea. Pea talked to him in verse and he figured out what it meant. We had a beautiful big bible at home. I don't even know where I got it. Anyway, I guess that's how Duncan came to believe that was his job in life – to interpret the Bible."

  "How does he know what everything really means?" Billy asked.

  "Oh, he doesn't. He never did. He just takes what he wants and fashions it into directions that seem to make sense. He contrives stories to justify what he wants and how he thinks life should go. I think it comforts him. I think it makes him feel useful in the world."

  Teresa brightened. She was happy to have someone interested in what she had to say.

  "The way he talks is so convincing that people believe him. Desperate people. Lonely people. People who just don't fit in anywhere. You can't blame them. It's a lovely thought that our lives are directed by a beautiful young woman who talks to God and a handsome, happy young man who brings the message. Who wouldn't like that?"

  "Me. Us," Billy said. "Hannah and me."

  "I know." Teresa shrugged but the hump on her back didn't move, only the shoulder in front of it. "It was quite hysterical tonight. I got caught up in it myself. But I know Duncan can't marry that girl. We'll figure out a way to put it off. Spring will come, and you'll go away."

  "We want to go now," Billy said.

  The kettle whistled just then. Teresa took it off the stove and brought it to the counter. She opened a cabinet and took down two mugs.

  "Do you want some, too?"

  He shook his head. "No, just Hannah."

  "Alright." She reached in the cabinet again and took down a tin of tea bags as she talked. "You can't go now. That is one truth from Duncan. The river is bad."

  "But if we could go, which way would we head?"

  "If you could?" Teresa dipped the tea bag and thought about that. "I honestly don't know, Billy. I've been here too long. Robert goes off in the boat and comes back. People come to the store, but I don't know where they live. I don't know their names.

  "Just stay here. We'll take care of you. Duncan will calm down. Pea will say something else, and he'll forget about getting married. He might even try to heal us all. I might suggest that to him. You know, the healing before the wedding. That would be just like a sign, wouldn't it? That's a thought, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, good idea. Maybe that would work," Billy agreed.

  "There, that should do it." Teresa took the tea bag out and offered the mug to Billy. When Billy reached for it, she pulled it back. "Wait. Melody keeps some special things in her cabinet. She's very good with herbs and such."

  Teresa turned around, opened another cabinet, tiptoed up and felt around. When she found what she wanted, she unscrewed the cap and put a little into Hannah's tea. She was smiling when she turned around.

  "Tell Hannah it will be fine. This will help her get some rest. You should sleep, too."

  She pressed the mug into his hands and then patted his face. Billy put his shoulder to the
swinging door. He looked back to see her cleaning up the kitchen, putting things away. He wanted to say something to her, but Billy couldn't think of much so he just said:

  "Night, Teresa. Thank you."

  "Goodnight, Billy. It will all be better in the morning."

  "Sure."

  He carried the mug of steaming tea in one hand and took the knives and spoon from inside his shirt with the other. He saw no one on his way upstairs. He opened the door of Hannah's room and locked it behind him.

  "Here. Teresa said this would help you sleep." He handed her the tea and showed her his tools. "And you'll sleep a whole lot better when we get that thing off you."

  An hour later the cast lay in pieces around the bed and the tea was drunk. Her bruised and swollen leg was examined and both of them decided it was hurt but not broken. When Hannah was tucked in for the night, Billy sat at the foot of the bed watching her until he couldn't keep his eyes open another minute. He was so tired he couldn't even be afraid anymore. For the first time since he'd been in this place he was in a quiet room. No prayers, no weird hours for him to be awake or asleep, just silence and dark and Hannah.

  She was turned on her side, one hand under her cheek, her high-necked blouse all buttoned up. Dragging his blanket with him, Billy lay down behind her. He didn't think twice when he put one arm under his head and the other over her hip. He pressed his body gently against hers. When she didn't wake up, Billy Zuni closed his eyes. Sleep came so fast the only thought he had before he drifted off was how right it felt to lie close to Hannah Sheraton.

  ***

  "Guillard?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I was thinking?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What was with the glove?"

  "What glove?"

  "The one you found at the scene," Archer answered. "Did you ever figure out if it was the truck driver's? Was he wearing gloves when you found him?"

  "One," Andre said. "His other arm was gone, remember?"

  "Yeah."

  Archer put one arm behind his head. The bed in the six-room motel was too soft, too narrow, and too unfamiliar for him to fall asleep easily. The information they had received about the prints on the key that opened the back of that container was not exactly soothing.

  "Think you could have someone take a look? You know, check the size, the manufacturer, stuff like that. Just a look to see if there's anything interesting."

  "Sure, Archer. I'll call Cressi in the morning. The glove should be in the locker."

  "Thanks. 'Preciate it."

  "No problem."

  "Still. I appreciate it."

  "Archer."

  "Yeah?"

  "Just so you know. I'm with you until we find out what happened to them. One way or another"

  "'Preciate that, too, Guillard. Night."

  CHAPTER 20

  "He did a number, didn't he?" Nell said.

  "I think it was a she," Josie drawled.

  "Funny." She looked Josie up and down. "You know, I really hate your guts right about now."

  "For bringing you out here?" Josie asked.

  "No. I hate you because a bear mauled you and you look like you had your beauty sleep and then some. You and Andre are cut out of the same cloth. Ticks me off royally."

  "Yeah, I'm sure I'm a sight to behold." Josie started to laugh, but like the old joke she stopped because it hurt when she did. "Did you find the satellite phone?"

  "Not yet."

  Nell bent down and grabbed what was left of the tent shell and held it up for Josie to see. The material was shredded on one side. Five slashes had destroyed it, three of which made contact with Josie. Nell took the stakes out of their sleeves and folded the whole thing up as best she could. She picked up the bottle of scotch and tossed it at Josie.

  "You need more of that."

  "You are cruel." Josie said.

  "Do it," Nell ordered.

  Since Nell had been right about everything so far, Josie did as she was told. She took the bottle of booze, opened it. Gingerly she brushed the snow pack away from her torso. Nell had applied it to stop the bleeding and reduce the swelling. The slash marks were red and raw, but not deep enough for stitches. They ran from her side to the middle of her back.

  Josie picked up the bottle of scotch, breathed deep through her nose and before she let it out, she poured the alcohol onto her wounds to clean them. She let out a yelp, and then bit it off with her lower lip between her teeth.

  "Damn, that hurts," she muttered. When she could unclench her teeth again, she said, "I don't think I've ever been so scared."

  "Nature is a scary thing."

  "You're telling me? I'd rather tangle with a shark at home. At least we have lifeguards in civilization. And we have hospitals and cars to get you there." Josie struggled to her feet. On her right side, her jacket, sweater and shirt beneath it were cut to pieces, but she'd have to make do. "I'm good now. Let me help."

  "Just see if your stuff is together."

  Nell tossed the pack toward Josie who let if fall at her feet rather than reaching for it. She was mobile, but she wasn't going to risk making things worse. Nell had informed her in no uncertain terms that if Josie was in a bad way, Nell would be hiking out alone to get help. Josie wanted none of that, so she bent her knees and unzipped the pack. There were no claw marks on the fabric, and it was still bulging with her belongings.

  "Hey, I found an extra sweater. Can you help me get out of this one?" Josie unsnapped her jacket.

  Nell was by her side in three steps, easing the parka off Josie's shoulder. The ruined sweater was more problematic.

  "Bend forward," Nell directed. "Put your arms out in front of you. That shouldn't hurt as much as it would if we tried to get this off with your arms up over your head."

  Josie did as she was told, taking her own sweet time to do it. Finally, she was in position and they got the ruined sweater off. Nell had the fresh one rolled up and ready to go.

  "Okay," she said. "Here it comes."

  Josie looked up, ready to tell Nell to take it a little slower this time, but she never got the words out. Her sudden silence had less to do with the fact that she was standing half-naked and freezing in the middle of Alaska than with what she was looking at standing at the edge of the clearing.

  ***

  Hannah bucked and the sound she made while she did it was as close to someone strangling as Billy figured he'd ever heard. He bolted out of his sleep, and sat up against the wall in case she was ticked at him for being in bed with her. She wasn't. In fact, it was doubtful Hannah had any idea he was there. Her eyes were rolled back, her mouth was open, and her hands clawed at the blankets. Her head whipped one way and then the other.

  "Hannah! Hannah! Hey, wake up!"

  He screamed at her. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms. The seizure was so violent he could hardly keep ahold of her. He pushed her down into the mattress and held her there as best he could. She was out of control, so he threw himself off the bed and dashed for the door. He stopped when he heard a crash.

  Hannah's hand had hit the bedside table hard and everything on it jumped. Billy rushed back and put the lamp and glass on the floor. Hannah groaned, and moaned. She was spread out on the bed in the most improbable contortion of limbs. Her chest heaved and her eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling. When she started to roll again, Billy had no choice. He ran for the door, threw it open, and went screaming into the hall.

  "Help. Help me. Someone. Anyone. Help!"

  He pounded down the stairs taking two at a time. On the second floor he ran up and down, banging on each door.

  "Help! Hannah's dying! Help!"

  Foster stuck his head out to see what the commotion was, and then he ducked back inside again.

  "You freakin' freak," Billy screamed at him. "Teresa! Melody! Anyone. Help! Help!"

  No other door opened. He took the final flight of stairs, jumping the last three steps and skidding on the rug. He turned toward
the living room. It was empty. He threw open the front door. Glenn was where he always was, chopping wood. It was day, not night. He called to Glenn:

  "Glenn! Glenn! Hannah's sick. Hannah's. . ."

  "Billy. What's happened?" Teresa hurried from the dining room, wiping her hands on her apron. He grabbed her and pulled her.

  "Come up. Hannah's dying. Come now."

  Teresa went as fast as she could, up the stairs, calling down the second floor hall for Melody before Billy pulled her on and twirled her into the room.

  "Oh my lord," Teresa gasped.

  Melody rushed in and stopped in the doorway. Hannah had thrown herself around again. This time her legs were scissored and her head hung over the side of the bed. Drool dripped from the corner of her mouth and made spots on the floor. Her body jerked like she was being electrocuted, her fingers twitched, her face was chalky.

  Teresa rushed to the bed. "Help me, Billy. Help me get her upright."

  "What's happened? What's going on?" Melody rushed to the bed, putting her good hand on Hannah as if that might help right her. Suddenly, Hannah's neck arched, her back jackknifed, and a second later she lay across the bed and vomited.

  Melody cried out. Teresa stepped back. Billy wailed and took her in his arms.

  "Hannah, what's wrong. What's wrong? Wake up."

  "Get away, Billy. Go away," Teresa barked.

  "I'm not leaving you alone with her. I'm not leaving you. . .you tried to kill. . ."

  Before he could finish, Teresa drew back and struck him. His head flew back and his long hair snapped around his face.

  "Get out of here," she ordered. "Get out of here now."

  Melody took his arm and hurried him to the door. She shoved him into the hallway. "If you want to help her, go away. Let Teresa and me see to her."

  Melody slammed the door and before he could open it, he heard her throw the lock. Billy slammed his open palms against the wall. He slammed them again and again and downstairs Duncan heard the commotion as he came into the house.