“Honey, the Smiths called and need a hand with a foaling mare.”
She started as Ben came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. She twisted around, perhaps a little abruptly, and moved out of his hold.
“You startled me,” she offered as an excuse.
He adjusted his glasses, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry, honey. I thought you heard me come in. I saw you at the sink and couldn’t resist giving you a hug.”
She forced a smile that she hated having to force. “I’m sorry, I’m just…edgy lately. I’m sorry,” she added again, and his hurt look transformed to a smile.
“I told you, you’re just being superstitious.”
She dried her hands on the lacy kitchen towel. “I know it doesn’t make sense, I know it’s superstitious. But I can’t help feeling it.”
After another glance at the spider’s web, she forced her gaze back to Ben. Her mother died at twenty-seven. Not just died; took her own life. Katie had just turned twenty-seven. Her birthdays were always tainted by a mother who wasn’t there to give her a silly gift or send her off on a treasure hunt to find trinkets. This birthday had been different. She’d looked in the mirror and seen her mortality.
He put his arms around her again. “You’re not going to die.”
She laughed at the absurdity of the statement. “I know.”
At forty-two, Ben was starting to soften around the edges. His silvery-brown hair shimmered in the light, and his gray eyes crinkled in a smile behind his glasses. He was a loving husband who didn’t deserve a wife who felt as trapped as a bug in a web.
“Don’t I make you happy?” he asked, tilting his head as he waited for her answer.
“Yes, of course you do.” In many ways. In the ways that counted, she reminded herself. Security. A home. Working with the animals at the hospital.
“Am I still your hero, Katie?”
She remembered the months after her mother’s suicide, such an ugly word, the way Ben helped convince the Emersons to keep Katie indefinitely. They had a farm in the outlying area of Flatlands, and six children. Ben had become part of their family, too, helping them out with the cost of treating their animals to help offset Katie’s financial burden. Not that she didn’t earn her keep. The Emerson children worked hard on the farm, from sunup to sundown, except for the hours they were home schooled.
Ben had always been there, though. He’d helped her through her realization that the only reason the Emersons had taken her in was for the extra work hand. He’d been there for her since the day Boots had been hurt.
“Yes, you’re still my hero,” she whispered, feeling grateful and selfish and guilty all at once. He was the best thing that ever happened to her. He was perfect in all the ways that mattered. He loved her and she loved him. She thought that would be enough.
It hurt like hell that it wasn’t.
She felt the tears rise inside her and pushed them down. It had been like this all month, since her birthday. Bertrice, the high school girl who helped part-time at the hospital, teased her about being pregnant. Katie knew she wasn’t pregnant. She was spiraling down a dark hole of irrational fear and depression.
“Don’t I give you a nice life, Katie?”
“Yes, you have. You’ve…given me everything.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe it would help if I got out more. Do you realize I have no friends?”
He looked surprised. “Of course you do. You have me. And Bertrice.”
“Bertrice is a teenager. And you’re my husband.”
He took her face in his hands and said in earnest, “I’m your friend, too, Katie. Don’t forget that.”
She shook her head. “I meant female friends. I was thinking about volunteering at the County Fair.”
“But then I wouldn’t be able to spend the day with you. You’d be busy selling cupcakes or something silly like that. I’d have to wander around all by myself.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but closed it with a sigh. Even volunteering was a selfish act. “I guess you’re right.”
“Don’t be mad because I want to spend time with my wife. A man’s entitled, you know.”
“All right. What about helping at the playhouse? They’re always looking for people to help with sets and sell tickets.”
He put on his fatherly face. “Katie, I hate to remind you of this, but you hardly have time to do your household chores as it is.” He glanced around the kitchen, which was in need of spring-cleaning. It was already mid-summer. The plain white cabinets were in need of a washing, maybe even a coat of paint. The wooden floor needed refinishing.
“I try to keep up with everything. It just gets away from me.” Since Ben was busy with his veterinary outreach, it was her duty to run the house. That seemed fair enough, but between the yard and household maintenance, and the fact that she hated the latter, it seemed too much at times. Not that she’d complain.
Ben squeezed her hands. “Are you going to be all right? I’m only going to be gone for a couple of hours. Remember, they had trouble foaling with this horse before. They want me around just in case.”
She gave him a hug. “You’re a good person. I hope our customers appreciate that.”
They seemed to. They were always thanking him for the free services he provided to those in need. For the strays he helped at no charge. Everybody loved him.
He squeezed her back. “I love you, Katie. Don’t ever forget how much I love you. How much I need you.”
“I won’t.”
He kissed her forehead. “Don’t go wandering around outside. You know how it worries me.”
She nodded instead of reminding him that they could move to one of the neighborhoods in town rather than living out in the woods not far from Possum Holler. It was an old argument she wouldn’t win. The house was nice enough, the Victorian-style cottage lived in by old lady Babbage until she died the year before Katie and Ben married.
She stood at the door and watched their custom van’s headlights disappear down the dark driveway. Their van doubled for a “Bowie,” the official veterinary mobile unit. How lucky she was to be married to a warm, compassionate man.
She walked back through a living room that resembled a Victorian dollhouse. He’d decorated the house just for her right before they’d gotten married. The flowery pink velvet and gold wallpaper closed in the front room with its heavy detail. Two couches imprinted in a pink flower pattern faced off against each other across a prissy coffee table. Even the fireplace was fussy with its frills etched into the marble.
“A place a woman will feel right at home,” he’d announced when he’d bought her here on their wedding night. He’d been so proud, she couldn’t bear to tell him she liked simpler lines and much more light.
So he’d added to it over the years, elegant draperies, intricate light fixtures, and a flowery carpet he didn’t realize clashed with the couches and wallpaper.
All for her.
The sink full of lukewarm sudsy water looked like a greasy miasma. Ben would have bought her a dishwasher years ago, but the tiny kitchen didn’t have room for one. He would do anything for her. Lucky, lucky woman.
Selfish, ungrateful woman.
She tossed the sponge in the water and walked to the back door. The lights mounted outside the kitchen window cast a glow that quickly dissipated into the murky night. To the west, the sky was shadowy blue with a hint of a glow: the day’s last gasp. The yard was a neat square cut into the thick of the woods surrounding them. The simple white gazebo Ben had built was tucked into the far corner, lost in the shadows.
Lost in the shadows.
That’s how she felt, lost in Ben’s shadow and his identity. Maybe she was supposed to be happy with just him and their nice little life. That’s how it was with her and her mama. Just the two of them, closer than Siamese twins. Mama didn’t trust people, but she was adventurous in her own ways. They walked in the woods at night, went skinny-dipping in the tiny creek trailing deep in the woods. Katie had been fearless then. Adventurous,
waiting impatiently to grow up so she could explore the world. She’d never left Flatlands except for one trip to Atlanta with Ben. And her mama had been swallowed up by a darkness darker than the woods behind their mobile home, darker than any monster.
She pushed open the door and walked outside. The evening air felt like the breath of God, warm and slightly humid, scented by the earth. A bright sliver of moon frosted everything in translucent silver. Twigs creaked in the distance, and something scurried across the layer of decaying leaves. Two feet beyond the far edge of the gazebo lay the black unknown. The forest that bordered her yard was a mix of maples, poplars and oaks, a lush menagerie during the day, a place of mystery at night.
There was nothing to fear out here; everything to fear was inside her. She settled onto the gazebo bench and ventured to the edge of that fear.
If she didn’t deserve Ben, then he certainly didn’t deserve her. What did she offer him? Maybe the unselfish thing to do would be to let him go.
And go where, without any money, friends, or prospects? Certainly she couldn’t keep her job at the hospital if she left him. She’d have nothing, she’d hurt Ben, and…
You left your mama for one night, and look what happened to her. If you leave Ben…
A whining sound in the distance pulled her from her smothering thoughts. She tilted her head, trying to discern where it came from. It faded, then started up again a minute later. It sounded like a saw cutting through wood, a sound that always set her teeth on edge. Katie jolted to her feet. No one should be sawing out there. No one should be out there at all. The sound was coming from the direction of Silas Koole’s old place a half-mile to the west, she was sure of it. Nobody had lived there in all the years since he’d been taken away.
She went inside to call Ben on his cell phone, but her finger halted on the final number. She would have to admit she was outside, because the sound was too faint to hear from inside the house. He’d give her that disappointed look, what a selfish wife he had, thoughtless of her hard-working husband, calling him away from a benevolent task.
Whoever was sawing wasn’t exactly lurking in the dark. She’d have the advantage of being the lurker. She’d just investigate and decide what to do when she found out what was going on. No confrontations.
After tucking her feet into sneakers, she set off on a journey that had her heart thudding. Whispers of danger caressed her mind’s ear. Her throat was dry. She hadn’t felt this way in longer than she could remember. Was she crazy to be afraid and to relish the feeling at the same time? The small penlight she’d grabbed from the kitchen drawer lit only a small patch of ground before her feet. Anything more could alert whoever was creating the noise. Her feet sank into the layers of leaves, from last fall and many falls before that. The muffled crunch of leaves seemed to signal to everyone in Flatlands that she was there, trudging through the saplings that brushed softly by her arms.
When her penlight lit a spray of feathers on the ground, she stopped. It wasn’t a dead bird, no body anyway. Only the brown feathers to signify the lost battle.
She didn’t believe dead birds were a bad omen anymore, but it never hurt to be a little more cautious after seeing one, just in case. Which made what she was doing even more foolish. Still, her feet took her forward instead of back to the house.
In a short while, the maples and oaks gave way to a thicket of pines. Some were slash pines, but many were what she called northern pines. Their spindly branches scratched and pulled at her clothes and hair. She shielded her eyes and continued on. It was hard going for ten more minutes, until the pines started mingling with the grand old oaks that surrounded the house where Silas grew up. Like the old oaks by the cemetery, these spread their branches in a canopy. Ivy covered their trunks and dripped from the branches.
Once in a while she found herself wandering to the Greek Revival house tucked into the forest. It was long past white, though it still looked in good condition. Someone had boarded up the windows in the last couple years, probably the Atlanta company that owned it. Sometimes kids partied there, and Katie picked up the garbage. She couldn’t bear to see the place trashed up.
The sound grew louder, the high-pitched whining creeping up her spine. If someone hired by the company was working on the house, why after dark? And why didn’t anyone know about it? The city council had been trying to buy the property the house was on, but the company never responded.
Unease skittered along her nerves when she spotted the light through the trees. Just an innocuous twinkle through the trees as she moved through the dark. The saw ground through another length of board and faded into silence again. Then the staccato sound of hammering. Not enough sound for many people to be making. Her mother’s warnings echoed in her mind: Stay away from strangers. Don’t trust anyone. As often as she’d heard that during her first nine years, she’d never had reason to be afraid of anyone. This was Flatlands, a quiet town established in the early eighteen hundreds that was separated from the surrounding towns by acres of forest. Folks spent their whole lives here. Nothing bad ever happened in Flatlands.
Nevertheless, the murder mysteries she liked to indulge in helped create a scene in her mind of illegal activities being carried out in the night, of the innocent person who stumbles across them and pays with their life. Well, she sure wasn’t going to gasp in surprise or trip over a root and give herself away.
Even the moonlight was obliterated by the trees. Massive trunks covered in etched bark were spaced farther apart now. The thick canopy of leaves left the ground barren of growth. Something cool whispered past her cheek. She stopped, holding her breath before she realized what it was: a strand of the ivy.
She saw the house first, washed in light and rising out of the distance. Music floated through the air, a rock and roll station that faded in and out. Pressing herself against one of the rough trunks, she peered around it. Sawhorses were set up just outside the front door, a door that was now leaning against one of the massive columns. Three portable lights washed the front of the house and the work area in brightness. A black and gold sport utility vehicle was parked nearby, tailgate open. She got as close as she could to the house, which was closely guarded by the oaks surrounding it.
A man walked out carrying a length of wood. Her heart reacted first, not a startled jump but a different kind of jolt. He was tall and lean, his brown wavy hair reaching just past his collar. A blue handkerchief worked as a headband. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved plaid shirt that was left unbuttoned. She glimpsed a hard chest and taut stomach as the shirt opened with his movements.
Silas, a voice whispered in her head.
He stopped just short of the circular saw and, amazingly, looked into the trees surrounding the house. She hadn’t made a sound, except a startled gasp in her mind. He set the wood against the sawhorses and turned down the radio. And he kept searching.
She was able to do nothing more than press closer against the tree.
Silas.
Could it be him, after all this time? It seemed a dream, a crazy dream that spun her insides and made breathing difficult. The last time she’d seen him had haunted her, Silas being taken away. Even though he had been cleared of suspicion in his father’s death, he’d still been an orphaned minor. Katie had pleaded with the Emersons to take him. The two Emerson boys who went to school with Silas said he was strange, unfriendly, that he’d probably killed his father, and no way would they live with Spooky Silas. So he’d been relegated to state protective services, and Katie had never seen him again.
Spooky and mysterious, yet tender and compassionate. He’d touched her little girl soul and left an imprint that hadn’t quite gone away.
Silas walked toward the edge of the encroaching trees, then turned back toward her. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he inhaled, the memory of the lanky teenager evaporated. He was still lean, but his chest and shoulders had broadened. He’d grown even taller. The last time she had seen him, he’d been an adult to her young eyes. Now he was
all man, and the thought stirred her in some inexplicable way.
When he opened his eyes, he looked right at her. She was still certain, despite her hammering heartbeat, that he couldn’t see her. She shrank behind the trunk and waited for him to look elsewhere. Curly green mold that was plastered to the trunk pulled at her hair, but she didn’t even move to disentangle herself. This wasn’t the way she wanted to see him again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see him at all, wasn’t sure it was wise. She’d wait him out, for as long as necessary, and go home.
“Katie.”
Her eyes widened. It wasn’t a question or unsure guess. Her fingers tightened against the bark. She wasn’t sure what she felt the strongest: trepidation, embarrassment, or something she couldn’t define. She squeezed her eyes closed and hoped she’d misheard, because that made sense. As it was, the pulse in her ears obliterated any sound. A second passed, then two, three.
Something skittered down her bare arm. Not a wayward vine. Her senses pieced together the feel of a finger grazing her arm and then the words, “Katie, you all right?”
She jumped and stumbled backward. The loamy ground cushioned her fall, though a bed of marshmallows couldn’t have cushioned her pride.
“You okay?” he asked, reaching down to her.
“I’m fine.” She couldn’t see his expression in the shadows, which was probably a good thing. She accepted his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. She spent as much time as allowable brushing off the damp leaves clinging to her like leeches. When she looked up at him at last, he was watching her. “Hi, Silas.”
“Hi, Katie.” His smile was laced with question.
“I wasn’t…spying on you exactly. I heard the saw and came over to see what was going on.”
His low laugh vibrated through her. “It’s okay. I was surprised to see you here.” He started walking into the glow of light, turning to see if she was following.
“Me, too. Surprised to see you here, I mean.”
Her insides were as jittery as Jell-o as she stepped up beside him. Closer up, she could see that his chest was sprinkled with sawdust. He smelled like a mixture of pine and man, interesting in a way she shouldn’t have found interesting.
Woke Up Dead Page 33
