Monarchs

by Rainey, Stephen

  Sheriff Eaton indicated that Lees had been a guest of Miss Martha Blackburn at her family's home in Fearing. "Miss Blackburn has been questioned, but could offer no insight into the accident," Eaton said.

  Lees survived the crash itself and is presumed to have died from drowning, following grave trauma. Evidently, prior to his death, Lees wrote on the trunk of a tree, in his own blood, "MONARCH," followed by an illegible scrawl.

  "We'll continue to investigate, but at this time, we're operating under the assumption that the victim may not have been of sound mind," Sheriff Eaton said.

  An autopsy is scheduled to determine the exact cause of Dr. Lees' death. He is survived by two sons, Andrew V. Lees and Todd T. Lees, both of Greenville; and a brother, Brett H. Lees, of Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

  Courtney could find no further references to that incident or the Fearing Monarch. To her original search string, she added various modifiers — "Folklore," "Monster," "Surber," "Accident," and others — but all came up empty.

  Before she knew it, most of the morning had slipped away, and she realized that getting to the insurance office she had intended to visit before picking up Jan was out of the question.

  As was making a break in Jan's car. How could she have even thought of fleeing? By nightfall, she would be caught and sitting in a jail somewhere, not only destitute but friendless.

  No. She had no choice but to confront whatever fate might await her back in Fearing, even if it meant discovering that her mind was coming unhinged.

  There was no Monarch. Only a mad woman accomplished at playing mind tricks on others, at manipulating people to suit her whim.

  Sufficiently to drive them to their own deaths?

  Why? She had been made to wander into the woods in the middle of the night — she knew this — and for no healthy reason.

  Arlene, Courtney thought. She would go see Arlene. Of all the people in the Blackburn household, Arlene was the only one who had been forthright with her, and surely, having known Martha for many years, she must have some insight into the old woman's inexplicable — perhaps even preternatural — abilities.

  The question was whether Arlene would willingly reveal more to her than she already had. It was up to Courtney to persuade her.

  She closed the browser and stood up, her legs numb from sitting, bemused by how insidiously the minutes had turned into hours. She glanced back and saw the red-haired librarian watching her with a sour expression, the fingers of one hand drumming the countertop as if she had been counting the minutes. Giving the woman a saccharine smile, she made her way out of the library, into the late-morning sunshine, and walked back to the car, irritated at having spent so much time gathering only a thimbleful of information.

  But what a thimbleful. Hints that Martha hid more secrets than she could have imagined. Suggestions of murder. A cryptic but powerful reference to the Monarch. Still, it only opened up more cans of worms and provided no solid answers. She could always try digging for more information using Jan's computer, though doing it at the Blackburn house somehow seemed foolhardy — like playing with fire beneath a dragon's nose.

  As she got into the car and started the engine, her eyes lingering on the library building, a little voice whispered in her ear that she would find no work anywhere in this town.

  She pulled out into traffic and headed back toward the hospice, disgusted that her job search had ended up a total wash. This wasn't just paranoia. The staff at both places had turned cold shoulders to her when she revealed she was staying in Fearing. Had the Blackburns' negative influence spread all the way here, or was it something about the town itself? Or were the two simply interchangeable?

  What choice did she have now but to move on — to find some new location altogether and eke out an existence with nothing to her name but the contents of a few suitcases?

  When she pulled up in front of the hospice building, Jan was just coming out the front doors, and her face lit up with a smile when she saw Courtney waiting for her. But as she headed for the car, her eyes shifted toward the street, and a shadow fell over her features. She picked up her pace until she was almost running.

  Courtney glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a vehicle turning from the side street to pull up behind her.

  A familiar, rusty red pickup truck.

  This time, there was no mistaking the identity of the driver.

  Chapter 14

  "Drive," Jan said, falling into the passenger seat and throwing a bright-eyed glance back at the approaching truck. "Don't speed, just drive."

  Courtney shoved the car into gear and stamped on the accelerator, just as a young man carrying a satchel began to cross the street in front of her. She jerked the wheel to the left, and her heart skipped a beat as the man leaped back to the safety of the curb, avoiding a crushing impact by inches. His satchel, though, thudded over the hood and struck the windshield before falling away, and she saw him in the mirror, stomping after the car and yelling, "Stupid bitch!"

  "Sorry," she said under her breath, but then sighed in relief, for the young man's unwitting intervention had forced Ben Surber to brake and wait for the other to get clear. She went through a couple of intersections on the treacherously narrow lane; at Main Street, she turned right, found no obstacles, and smashed the accelerator to the floor, her eyes glued to the rearview mirror. So far, the red truck had not reached the intersection.

  "Where the hell did they come from?" Courtney asked. "Do they know you work at the hospice?"

  Jan shook her head. "I wouldn't have thought so."

  "They must have found out."

  "Here they come."

  "What do I do?"

  "Turn right up here," she said, indicating a narrow sidestreet. "These roads are a checkerboard. We can try to lose them."

  "Maybe we should go back toward the police station."

  "That's too far to backtrack."

  She grimly agreed and followed Jan's directions, making several turns, first going north, then east. But a couple of more turns put her back on Main Street, again heading west, toward the main highway — hopefully, ahead of the Surbers.

  But at the stoplight at U.S. 17, which would lead them back to Fearing, she saw the truck coming up fast in the rearview mirror.

  "Damn it, there they are."

  She could see Ben Surber glaring at her through the windshield. She did not recognize the passenger.

  "I thought the Surbers were all bluster." She gave her friend an accusing glare.

  Jan winced. "I guess you just never know."

  "Who's that with him?"

  "George Tillery. He was Hank's best friend."

  "Oh. Good."

  When the light changed, she floored it again, and the Jaguar roared away. Traffic wasn't very heavy, and Courtney weaved around car after car, caring little whether the police might pull her over. The more she thought about it, the more she wished she had insisted on going back to the station. The Elizabeth City police would have no connection to their corrupt neighbors in Fearing, and even if they couldn't actually arrest Ben Surber, they would be in a position to intervene if the worst happened. Running was a terrible idea.

  "I don't see them," Jan said, keeping watch out the back.

  "Stoplight coming up."

  "Run it."

  "No way," Courtney said, pressing the brake pedal hard. "Too much traffic."

  "Damn it," Jan whispered, her eyes wildly searching for a way around the stopped cars ahead. No good. It was a major shopping center, and all they could do was wait for the light to change. She thumped the dashboard impatiently. "Come on."

  "We should have gone to the police," Courtney said.

  "Just keep going," Jan said, as the light finally changed to green. The cars ahead crept forward, oblivious to their need.

  At the first opening, Courtney punched the accelerator and whisked past several of the slow-moving vehicles.

  "Maybe they got hung up at the last light," Jan said, her expression showing a little
relief. "Just keep moving."

  "They know exactly where we're going, you know."

  "This Jag will outrun that beater of theirs. You can handle it, can't you?"

  Courtney sighed. "I can handle it. Sit tight."

  Jan reached into her purse and retrieved her phone. "I'll call David. Maybe he can come out this way to meet us." She dialed her brother's number, listened for a few moments, and then tried another. Again, no luck. "Damn," she said. "Wouldn't you know it."

  By the time the four-lane avenue turned to open highway, Courtney was already doing ninety, the Jaguar's engine purring happily. She held it at that speed, her eyes watching the mirror for either the red pickup truck or blue flashing lights. When nothing appeared after five minutes, she began to breathe easier.

  "I think we've lost them," Jan said. "But don't slow down."

  The wide, green fields to either side of the highway slid past in a blur, and the occasional car Courtney whipped around quickly became a dwindling dot in the rearview mirror. After a few minutes, she inched back to seventy, figuring that if they had escaped the most immediate danger, getting stopped by the highway patrol would be pointless. Jan didn't protest, but kept her head turned to the rear glass.

  "Good God," she said. "We're not even safe in Elizabeth City. We've got to do something. I can't let them disrupt my whole life."

  "And what do you suggest?"

  Jan glanced at her. "David will figure something out."

  "Or maybe you could go to the county sheriff. The state police. The SBI. Just because the Fearing cops are corrupt, it doesn't mean there's no remedy. Those men are dangerous. And they're stalking us, for Christ's sake."

  "I know." Jan's eyes gleamed with desperation, but after a minute, she seemed to relax a little. "We'll figure something out. We will."

  "I hope so."

  "How about you? Did you have any luck?"

  She shook her head. "Nope."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I ended up spending time at the library I hadn't counted on."

  "The library?"

  "You never mentioned your Aunt Martha witnessed your fiancé's death. How would that happen to be?"

  "How did you — ?"

  "Just a little research."

  Jan grimaced and heaved a sigh. "Well, as you've probably figured, Martha tends to get out and wander a lot. That's what happened that night. And she ended up on the road where Phillip was driving."

  "Owen Swamp Road."

  Jan nodded.

  "In the article, she said that Phillip was driving like 'something was chasing him.' You wouldn't know anything about that something, would you?"

  Jan gave her a cold stare. "What would you expect from that crazy old bat? Why would you even give her that much credibility?"

  "Um, maybe a few experiences I've had at your place?"

  "You don't get it, do you?"

  "Get what?"

  Jan sighed again. "Courtney, Martha was out in the road in the middle of the night. Phillip came up on her and crashed trying to keep from hitting her."

  The blow to Courtney's gut felt like an iron fist. She gave her friend a doubting look. "Is that the official version?"

  "It's what happened."

  "I didn't see anything like that in the archive."

  "Then your 'research' wasn't very complete."

  Jan's statement shouldn't have stunned her, but for several minutes, she couldn't gather her wits enough to speak. Finally, she managed, "There were other things. It also said Martha was in the car when your parents were killed. But she came out without a scratch."

  "What can I say? She was buckled in the back seat. Mom and Dad were in front and went through the windshield when the car hit a tree. The airbags failed. It happens."

  "And Dwayne Surber's father. He was killed at your dad's farm. Is that why they despise your family so much?"

  "I don't know, Courtney. Probably. That was years ago. I never knew much about it. Still don't."

  "I guess you've got an answer for everything."

  "I thought you wanted answers. Or do you just want answers that fit your particular view, however based in fantasy?"

  "You know that's not so."

  "Oh? I'm not so sure anymore."

  Courtney fell silent, fighting back her rising anger, knowing that arguing with Jan would only sever their friendship's already unraveling ties. So she held her tongue and drove, half-certain Jan was lying to her, but only half-trusting her own convictions. The road behind them was empty. She sped up to eighty, just for good measure, until she reached the Fearing turnoff. From here, she thought, they could get back safely to the Blackburn house. What they might do once they arrived, she didn't know. Best prepare for unwelcome company, she guessed.

  Just before town, a little S-shaped bridge crossed the Moratok River. A number of elderly men stood on the pedestrian walkway with their fishing rods, and a few turned their faces, all sullen and resentful, to regard the Jaguar. More than one pair of eyes glared at Courtney with unconcealed contempt.

  She had to get out of this place. No matter what it took.

  Just past the bridge, Winfall Road branched off to the right. She made the turn onto the last leg of the trip home and picked up speed, just because the Jaguar wanted to. Finally reining in her ire and swallowing her pride, she decided to offer Jan an olive branch, if only to keep the peace. "Sorry, Jan. I'm frustrated and still a little scared. I don't mean to take it out on you."

  "I know, hon."

  "I suppose it's too early for a drink."

  "Not necessarily."

  She could have kicked herself for bringing up the idea, but a couple of drinks would at least mellow her out and make Jan sociable. It wasn't just to drown her woes. "David needs to know what happened," she said.

  Jan raised an eyebrow. "So you do trust him to take care of things?"

  "I know he won't take this lying down."

  "No. But if you think —"

  Courtney saw the old Cutlass in the middle of the road at the same time as Jan. She slammed on the brakes, realizing that the other car was fully blocking the highway just beyond the intersection of a small road to the right. She spun the wheel to make the turn; the tires screamed, and her body slammed against the door as the Jag fishtailed and swerved precariously back and forth before straightening out and picking up speed. She found herself shivering, less from the shock of the near-collision than from having glimpsed the name on street sign as the car slid into the turn: Owen Swamp Road.

  Her first impulse was to stop the car and go find out whether the other driver needed help or a piece of her mind. But Jan reached over, clutched her knee, and said, "That was Ray Surber. Don't go back."

  "Jesus!"

  Jan looked back to see whether the other vehicle was following them. At least for the moment, there was no sign of it. "This road goes back out to old 17, which joins with the main highway north of town," she said, her mental gears whirring. "He diverted us this way on purpose."

  "This is the road where your parents were killed," Courtney said, giving her an anxious glance. "Phillip, too."

  "Yeah."

  "How far are we from your place?"

  "Maybe a mile, as the crow flies." She nodded to herself. "There's an old utility road up ahead somewhere that leads back to our property. Goes right through the damn swamp, though. Haven't been on it in years."

  "You don't know if it's usable?"

  Jan shook her head. "We could end up stuck. I'd hate to risk it unless we have to."

  "What do I do? Keep going?"

  "Yeah, for the moment."

  The trees pressed close to the narrow road on both sides, forming a gloomy tunnel of foliage, and she could see stagnant pools, like inky black moats, around the bases of the trunks. A dank, fishy odor, tinged with sulfur, wormed its way into the car, assailing her nostrils with every inhalation.

  A sick feeling had begun to churn in her stomach even before she saw the pickup truck in the distance, head
ing toward them. Then, as clearly as if the plan had been drawn out on a chart before her, she realized that the Surbers had set a trap, and she and Jan had fallen into it. Ben, in the pickup truck, hadn't wanted to catch them on the highway; he needed only to trigger their flight and then race to Owen Swamp Road north of Fearing, while his uncle blocked their way home and herded them straight into the trap's jaws.

  "God, that's them," Jan said, leaning forward with her jaw agape, equally aware of their predicament. Frantically, her eyes scanned the road ahead, looking for the turnoff that might offer them an escape. With no sign of it nearby, she shook her head in despair. "That utility road is still ahead. We have to get past Ben somehow."

  Courtney shot a glance at the rearview mirror, and her heart went frigid. The Oldsmobile was racing up behind them now, taking up both lanes of the road.

  "We're boxed in," Jan said.

  "Get on the phone," Courtney said. "Try to get David again."

  Jan reached for her phone, but she had no time to make the call. The Surbers' truck loomed larger as it raced toward them, and now Courtney could see Ben's homely features above the steering wheel. Behind them, Ray Surber closed the distance, and she realized that he, too, was carrying a passenger.

  Four men against the two of them.

  "When's the last time you played chicken?" Jan's voice was reedy thin.

  "What? You're crazy."

  "He'll turn. He's not out to get killed."

  "Neither are we."

  "It's our only chance!"

  Courtney had three seconds to decide.

  "Damn them," she whispered. Her foot shoved the accelerator forward.

  She saw Ben's eyes become golf balls as the Jaguar leaped toward him, but he barreled onward, either dauntless or too dull to react. Courtney's heart hammered in her ears, her fingers vises on the wheel, her throat sandpaper dry as she realized the collision was inevitable.

  At the last possible instant, by sheer reflex, her hands twisted the wheel to the right, and she saw Ben throw himself toward his passenger, pulling his own wheel with him. The Jaguar's left fender swiped the truck's with the sound of great claws scraping over metal, and the car lurched to the right, tires screaming. The Jag hurtled toward the shoulder, resisting her efforts to drag it back, and the tires slipped off the pavement, thudding and bumping over soft, rough earth, strengthening the wheel's pull.