by Ciana Stone
Chance looked at the rack of brochures and randomly took a few. “Oh, thanks. I’m sure these will be a big help.”
She accepted her key from the woman and started out of the office. At the door she stopped. “Excuse me, but would you happen to know a man named Wyatt Wolfe?”
The woman jerked around to look at her and Chance was sure by the look on her face she knew Wyatt. But she shook her head. “Never heard of him.”
Chance looked at her for a moment then smiled. “Thanks anyway.”
She went out to the Jeep and got her things then went to her room. It was small but clean. There was a bathroom with fresh but thin towels, an old television and an even older phone. She tossed her luggage on the bed and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She dialed the number Dianne had given her as Wyatt’s. When he hadn’t answered by the tenth ring, she hung up.
Not knowing what else to do, she decided she might as well explore around the town and the surrounding area, see if she could locate Wyatt’s house. Her exploration did not net her directions to his house. Everyone she spoke to from Gatlinburg to the reservation and on down to Maggie Valley claimed they had never heard of him. Chance was sure they were lying.
By seven that evening she was discouraged and hungry. She returned to the motel, showered and changed into jeans, a knit pullover shirt, boots and a light jacket. She found a small diner near the boundary of the reservation and went in to get something to eat. The diner was full so she took a table off to one side, listening to the conversation around her as she ate. What she heard made her curious. The talk was about someone by the name of Holling. From what she could make out this Holling person was being pretty nasty, harassing the Indians and tearing up their stores and businesses.
She paid for her dinner and returned to the motel to call her office. As she waited on her call to be answered she pulled a notepad from her shoulder bag and started scribbling a list.
“Who’s this?” she asked as the call was answered. “Oh, Steve, hi! It’s Chance. Listen, I think I’m on to something. I need you to have the research department check some things for me. You ready?… Okay, first of all I want everything they can find on someone named Holling—I don’t have a first name but apparently this is some bigwig in Bryson, North Carolina… Yes, North Carolina… What? Well, to begin with the Cherokee have decided to take Uncle Sam up on the legislation that was passed permitting gambling on the reservation… So? So, I think there’s someone here who wants to make sure things don’t work out… No, I don’t have anything concrete but I’m going to get started finding out. I’ll be in and out so if you find anything and can’t get me on the cell, leave it on my voicemail at the office… Sure thing, thanks, Steve. Talk to you soon.”
She hung up and leaned back against the headboard, trying to decide what to do next. If there was trouble on the reservation, maybe that was what had Wyatt upset. But where could she go to get information? After a look at her watch she decided she would call it a day and start fresh in the morning. Maybe if she returned to the diner she could overhear something that would give her a clue.
* * * * *
Wyatt watched the moon rise higher in the sky. Aside from the wind in the trees there was no noise to disturb the silence. He spread out his sleeping bag then rolled up in it and closed his eyes. Within a few minutes he was falling into the land of dreams. Tonight there were no dreams of mutilated men on missions. These dreams took him far back to another point in time.
He saw the same familiar landscape before him and knew he was at Clingman’s Dome. But instead of a silvery moon above him the sky was blue and the sun was just past its midday journey across the sky.
He looked beside him and saw Chance. She was only eight years old. Her hair, the color of summer wheat, blew in the breeze around her slim body and her eyes, only a shade darker than her hair, glistened as she smiled at him.
Wyatt knew he was in the past. He felt like a man but knew that in this dream world he was but thirteen, a boy trying to evolve into a man.
Chance pointed out a bird that circled high about them. “Is that a hawk?”
Wyatt nodded and pointed off to one side. “See, over there? That’s her young. She’s teaching them.”
They watched the mother hawk and the two young, swooping and diving. Chance looked from the bird to Wyatt. “Does the mother teach them to do everything?”
“Sure,” he replied. “She has to or they wouldn’t survive.”
“So she teaches the little girl hawks how to grow up and be mommy hawks?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Then who teaches the boy hawk how to be a daddy hawk?” Chance asked very seriously.
Wyatt looked at her for a moment. Chance was always so full of questions. She could find a question about anything. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t have to be taught.”
“Why? Boys are different?”
Wyatt laughed with the arrogant superiority of a thirteen-year-old boy. “Man, do you have a lot to learn. Of course boys are different. You’re really dumb, you know that?”
“I am not!” She crossed her arms and gave him an indignant look. “I know boys and girls are different. Boys have a penis and girls have a vagina.”
Wyatt almost choked in surprise. “Who told you that?” He tried to hide the embarrassment the words caused.
“Nobody.” She looked away.
“Chance…” He leaned over and looked at her. “Who told you?”
“Nobody! I found it out all by myself.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not! I know it, Wyatt. And I know boys play with their penis, too.”
Wyatt felt heat rise to his face. “Don’t be stupid!”
“I’m not stupid! It’s the truth. I saw you playing with yours in the barn. You were in Baron’s stall and you had it in your hand doing this—” She moved her closed fist up and down.
Wyatt was embarrassed and pushed her over. “That’s a lie!”
“It is not.” She straightened up and faced him with a curious look on her face. “Why do you play with your penis?”
Wyatt didn’t know what to say. He was embarrassed she had seen him in the barn and mad that she had come right out and talked about it. She was such a stupid girl sometimes.
“Because it feels good!” he finally snapped at her. “Okay? You happy?”
“What does it feel like?” she asked as she got up on her knees and faced him.
“I don’t know!” He looked away. “Stop talking about it.” He was so filled with embarrassment that he did not hear the man come up behind them.
“Well, well, looky here,” the man sneered at them.
Wyatt scrambled to his feet and Chance stared up at the man with wide, frightened eyes. The man reached out and grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet.
“You’re a purty little thing, now ain’t you?” he laughed. “And you want to know about peckers, do you? Well, now, I just happen to have a nice one right here just for you, little honey.”
Chance screamed as the man picked her up in one arm and jerked down her pants. Wyatt stared in horror, afraid to move yet knowing that he had to stop the man from hurting Chance.
He rushed at the man. “Stop it! Leave her alone!”
The man’s fist met the side of his head and sent him tumbling. Suddenly scenes of his mother being raped and beaten flooded his mind. He felt a fire ignite in his brain and bounded to his feet.
The man was trying to get his pants down and hold Chance still at the same time. Only a moment ago he had seemed big and intimidating. Now he appeared small and weak. Wyatt felt like he, on the other hand, was a giant. The man looked at him and his eyes grew round.
Wyatt took a step toward him and the man’s face turned pale. He dropped Chance and backed up. “Stay away from me!” His voice was shaking with fear. “You hear me, stay away!”
Wyatt felt his hands wrap around the man’s throat. He saw the man’s face redden as he struggled
to get away, gasping for air. Then he felt his fingers puncture the skin on the man’s throat. The warm blood washed over his hands, spraying his face and chest. It smelled coppery and sweet.
The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and Wyatt suddenly heard the sound of Chance screaming. He dropped the dead man and turned to her. She looked up at him with eyes full of fear as he reached for her.
Wyatt sat up. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath was ragged, sending small bursts of steam into the cold night air.
“My god!” He lowered his head into his hands. “It isn’t possible!”
But something inside told him that it was more than possible. Something told him what he had just dreamed was the truth. The truth that had been hidden for nineteen years. He looked up at the moon, thinking back. The summer he turned thirteen, Maurice and his wife had gone on holiday in Europe. Adeola, the woman who took care of Chance and Wyatt, arranged for them to go stay with Wyatt’s father, John, under the condition that they not mention it to Maurice. Neither child had a problem with that. Maurice paid them scant attention, only bringing Chance out to show her off at social affairs.
Wyatt had no idea what Maurice’s interest in him had ever been. The only times they ever spoke was when Maurice would question Wyatt about the stories Wyatt’s grandfather had told him, and whether Wyatt thought there was any truth to the old tales. As a child, Wyatt had believed his grandfather without question and had told Maurice that his grandfather would not have lied. There were times when Maurice challenged him to prove the stories were true, to produce one piece of physical evidence that validated any of the tales.
Wyatt had not known how to prove the truth of the tales and had often wished he did have something he could flaunt at Maurice.
While he and Chance were visiting that summer with John, they snuck off one afternoon. Wyatt borrowed a dirt bike from one of the older boys who lived near his dad. He took Chance up to Clingman’s Dome to show her the place where the enchanted lake was supposed to be.
He had never remembered what had happened while they were there. All he remembered was going to the Dome, then being wakened in the forest near his dad’s house. He and Chance were both covered with blood and she was in shock. They were taken to the hospital and released after a couple of hours. That afternoon a man’s body was found on the Dome. The dirt bike he and Chance had taken was found near the body. Aside from that there were no clues. No one had ever discovered who had killed the man. Both he and Chance were questioned but the memory of that day was erased from both their minds so there was nothing they could tell the reservation police.
Thanks to Wyatt’s grandfather’s position on the reservation council, Chance’s father was not informed of the event and both children were returned to Chance’s home.
“Could I have killed that man?” he whispered to the sky. “Is that why I couldn’t remember—because I didn’t want to?”
There was no answer from the moon or the stars. There was only the reply of the whispering wind, “We are One.” Wyatt shivered and curled up in his sleeping bag. The stars twinkled overhead and the moon made its leisurely journey across the velvet sky. But his mind was not on the beauty of the night. It was on the horror he had seen in his own mind.
* * * * *
Chance was up early. After showering and dressing she called her office. Dianne, her assistant, told her that Steve from the research department was working on her request and should have something by the end of the day.
She hung up returned to the diner where she had eaten the previous night. Chance lingered over breakfast, trying to overhear the conversations of the people around her. Talk today was centered on someone named Jimmy who was in the hospital and about a meeting some men had about the casino.
Chance paid for her breakfast and got in the Wrangler. She drove to the reservation where she spent the day looking around and asking questions about the new casino. The people were polite but distant, answering her questions in as few words as possible.
By the end of the afternoon it was clear that she was not going to get any answers. She drove to the small town of Whittier. There was one small restaurant open. She went in and sat at the counter. A friendly older woman served her.
Chance asked the woman about the new casino and what the people thought about it. The woman immediately began a lecture on the sins of gambling and drinking. It took Chance over an hour to get out of the restaurant. She wandered around town for a while then got in the Jeep and returned to her motel.
There was a message on her voicemail to call the office. She returned the call and was put through to Rich Lange, her boss.
“What the hell are you doing in Bryson? And where the hell is Bryson, anyway?”
“Rich, I think I may have stumbled onto something. Something to do with the plans for a new gambling casino the Cherokee are trying to build. I think there’s some trouble with the locals and from what I hear it’s getting worse.”
There was a moment’s silence on the phone. “Okay.” Rich’s voice sounded resigned but also grudging. “Let me know what turns up. In the meantime, Steve said to give him a call in the morning.”
“Thanks, Rich,” she replied and hung up.
Now if I could just find a way to get someone to talk to me! she thought to herself. But who and where?
Something occurred to her. She had heard several of the men saying something about Ralph’s. She threw on her coat and went to the motel office.
“Mrs. Carter?”
The woman walked out of the back room. “Could you tell me how to get to Ralph’s?”
Mrs. Carter hesitated a moment before giving her directions. Chance thanked her and went outside to her Jeep.
Ralph’s Bar was on the reservation. It was a weathered, wooden structure that looked like it had been there forever. There were a great many trucks and cars parked around the building. Chance found a place to park, stuffed her keys and billfold in her coat pocket and went inside.
Cigarette smoke hung like a blue haze in the air and the smell of sweat and alcohol assaulted her senses. She looked around for an empty table but didn’t see one. She spotted an empty stool at the bar so went over and sat down, aware of the eyes that watched her as she passed.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender, a big heavyset man with a long graying braid, asked.
“Beer. Whatever you have on draft.”
The man filled a mug and set it down in front of her. “Two bucks.”
She pulled a ten from her billfold and handed it to him. “I’m looking for someone—a man named Wyatt Wolfe. You know him?”
“Why’re you looking for him? He run out on you or he owe you money?”
“Neither. He’s an old friend and I was passing through so I thought I’d look him up.”
“Sorry,” the man said and made change for her ten.
“Thanks anyway, and keep that.”
“It’s your nickel,” he replied and moved to the other end of the bar.
Chance turned her stool and looked at the people. There were several couples dancing on the small wooden dance floor to a tune on the jukebox but most of the people were just drinking and talking.
One table caught her eye. At it sat three men who appeared to be in their early to mid-thirties. They were casting sly glances at her. She watched until one of them looked over at her again and smiled at him.
The man’s eyes widened slightly and he turned away with an embarrassed look on his face. Chance continued to stare and after a few moments he looked at her again. She raised her glass and smiled once more. He returned the smile then turned away said something to the other men. A moment later he got up.
“Hi,” she said as he walked over to her.
“Hi to you. You visiting or just passing through?”
“Little of both. You from around here?”
“All my life. Name’s Billy Hawkes.”
“Well, hello, Billy Hawkes.” She extended her right hand. “Nice t
o meet you. I’m Daven Porter,” she said, giving him the name she had given the lady at the motel—the name she used when she was on assignment.
“Porter?” He gave her a funny look. “That name sounds kinda familiar. Any relation to Cole Porter?”
“No,” she laughed. “Afraid not. So, tell me, Billy Hawkes, what do you do in this beautiful place?”
“Why don’t you join me and my friends? We’re just throwing back a few brews.”
“Sure,” she hopped down off the stool, “I’d like that.”
Billy introduced her to the other two men at the table, Joe Whiteside and Ben Hunter. “Nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down in the chair they offered, with her back to the door.
“What brings you here?” Billy asked her as he signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.
“Actually, I’m looking for an old friend. Maybe you know him. Wyatt Wolfe.”
“Wyatt?” Billy blurted then stammered nervously. “Uh, no. You sure your friend lives around here?”
“I know he’s from here,” she said, thinking that if she kept at Billy he would break down and tell her where Wyatt was. Because as sure as sunrise, he did know Wyatt. “We’ve been out of touch for a few years and the last thing I heard he’d bought some land up here.”
Billy looked at his friends as the bartender delivered the drinks. He stuck his hand in his pocket but Chance stopped him. “Let me get this round. You can get the next one.”
She paid the bartender then turned her attention to Billy again. “You never did tell me what you do.”
“Well, you know.” He smiled shyly. “This and that. How ‘bout you?”
Chance decided to play a hunch. “I work for CNN.”
“CNN?” Joe spoke up. “You mean you’re a reporter?”
“No, actually I’m a producer. They save the on-camera stuff for the pretty people.”
“Well, you’re prettier than any of those other babes I’ve seen,” Billy said earnestly.
“Thanks.” Chance smiled at him. “That’s sweet of you to say. But I like working behind the scenes just fine.”
