The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  No! You can't keep Kitty. Stevie mouthed the words as he thought them. Stupid kid! Kitty's mine. He thumped his chest silently.

  One of the other brothers, the pudgy one, shook his head emphatically. "No way. You know what Mom and Dad say about pets." He dipped his head and rounded his shoulders and said in a low, mock-adult voice, "Four boys are enough to take care of without an animal runnin' around, gettin' under my feet."

  The other boys laughed and continued petting Kitty, stroking its back and rubbing its jowls.

  Stevie didn't like the attention Kitty was receiving. It made him a bit jealous, but it wasn't about him anymore. His plan was working, just like Momma had said it would.

  "Do you think he has a home?" Pudgy asked.

  "I don't know," Tall One said, rubbing Kitty's cheeks between his thumb and index finger. "It doesn't have a collar. Maybe it's a stray."

  "It's awful friendly, though," Pudgy said. "I wish we could have a cat. This one would make a perfect pet."

  Stevie rocked on his fallen tree, holding a hand tightly over his mouth to muffle his untamed laughter. His eyes were wide with excitement. "Good job, Kitty," he mumbled into his hand. "You're doin' great. Make those friends." He shut his eyes tight, clenched his free hand into a fist, and squealed.

  Kitty suddenly pulled away from the boys' touch and bounded through the yard, over the dirt alley, and back into the woods. Back to Stevie.

  Pudgy said something, but Stevie missed it.

  Tall One shrugged and picked up the football. "I dunno. But listen, nobody says anything to Mom or Dad about it, OK?"

  "Yeah."

  "OK."

  "Now go long!"

  Elston Gill was reclined in his bed, covers up to his waist, watching CNN when Maggie arrived. She knocked on the doorjamb and startled him.

  Elston smiled and widened his eyes. "Magpie! You visit again. Why?"

  Though she knew he meant nothing by it, his question stung. She knew she didn't visit him enough. The fact that he was surprised she would visit twice in one week bit into her conscience. He wouldn't be around much longer, and she should be spending as much time with him as her schedule allowed.

  Maggie entered the room. It was dimly lit and too warm. Nothing out of the ordinary. She sat on the edge of the bed and patted her dad's hand. "You mind if I turn the TV off so we can talk?"

  Elston lifted the remote in a shaky hand and clicked off the TV. Smiling, he said, "You good?"

  "I'm fine, Dad. Really. But... I've been thinking about something." She paused to collect herself and shore up her resolve. She wasn't leaving without answers. "I need to know what happened between Great-Grandpa and Philip Yates. I need you to tell me the whole story."

  Elston's countenance fell and his mouth dipped at the corners. "Can't do, Magpie. You ... no need to know. It over. Forget."

  "I can't forget about it, Dad. I'm in it. I'm dealing with it right now. And I need to know what it is I'm up against. The more information I have and the better I understand what happened then, the better my chances of dealing with it now and keeping it under wraps. Or getting rid of it."

  Elston reached for Maggie's hand. "Magpie. Gary good?"

  Maggie pulled her hand away. "Don't change the subject, Dad." That was his classic technique for avoiding any talk of the past. When Maggie was young she'd hear stories about her great-grandpa or Yates and run home to verify them with her dad, the police chief. But Elston would never give her a straight answer. He would either sidestep the question or change the subject altogether. It wouldn't work this time, though. "I need answers this time. I need you to tell me everything you know. People are dying, just like back then, and if you want to protect me and the family, I need to know what's happening. You can't protect me by not telling me. Ignorance won't help me anymore."

  Elston grimaced and clenched his fists. He shut his eyes tight, then relaxed and opened them. Sadness washed over his face. "It bad, Magpie."

  Leaning in close, Maggie ran a hand over his thin hair. "I don't care, Dad. It's my family too. My legacy. My history. I'll keep it safe. I promise."

  Releasing a long sigh, Elston nodded once and blinked slowly. "OK. I tell. Hard though."

  "I know it is. I'll help you find the words." And she did.

  CHAPTER 24

  RIDAY EVENING, Rosa was deep in prayer, seated next to Caleb's bed. Her hand rested lightly on his leg. Her head was bowed low, eyes closed, lips moving silently.

  This was her time with God.

  She normally interceded for Caleb, bathing her son in prayer, begging God to revive him. But tonight she prayed for Joe.

  Early that morning, before the sun had showed its face, she had awakened trembling uncontrollably, her sheets soaked with sweat. A man's voice had startled her awake. Slowly, like tea steeping in hot water, the memory of the dream had replayed in her mind. It was more auditory than visual. She was in a dark room, groping blindly through the blackness, trying to find her way out. In the distance, maybe another room, she could hear Joe calling her name. He was trying to find her, looking for her. Or was he asking her to find him? Maybe he was lost. She wasn't sure. It continued for what seemed hours before a voice from someone, a man standing right next to her, whispered in her ear-Pray for Joe. She turned and felt the darkness, hoping to take hold of the voice's owner, but there was nothing. No one. The voice came again-Pray for Joe. She continued probing the dark, feeling for anything human, but the room was empty.

  Then she heard the deep voice, bold and clear, from outside her dream, somewhere in her bedroom. "Pray for Joe."

  She had roused with a jolt, reached for the lamp on the bedside table, and turned it on. She was panting and sweating like she had just run a mile. The voice still rang in her ears. She climbed out of bed and walked through the house. Of course, it was empty. It had just been a dream.

  So now she prayed for Joe. She wasn't sure how she should intercede; the voice simply said pray. But God knew; after all, it was His voice. She was sure of that. She'd heard His voice before, and it was quite unmistakable. It spoke not only to the ears but to the heart also.

  How much time had passed, Caleb could not tell. Time seemed to be irrelevant here. The darkness made everything stand still while he floated in nothingness, suspended in timelessness.

  He wanted to give up, give in to the oppressive darkness, succumb to the beast that loomed somewhere in the shadows. Put an end to it and be done with it. Hopelessness had begun its awful attack. Slow and calculating. Patient. Sooner or later he would give in to it and allow the beast to have him. He couldn't take much more of this.

  Then the light was there again, the orange glow high above him, hovering, circling, floating toward him, illuminating his face in a warm blaze. For the moment, the hopelessness was dispelled and comforting warmth seeped through his body.

  "Speak for Us."

  He reached for the light.

  "Write for Us, child."

  I will. Use me.

  Rosa felt a quiver run through Caleb's leg. She stopped praying and lifted her head. The bed was trembling now, the headboard rattling against the wall like a machine gun. She stood and looked down at her son. His right hand was jerking about again, as if writing. It was writing! Quickly, she grabbed the clipboard and pencil Roger had left on the table, slipped the pencil between Caleb's thumb and index finger, and held the clipboard under his hand, steadying his arm with her free hand.

  The graphite scratched along the surface of the paper. At first it was just scribbles, circles and lines, dots and dashes. Then letters started appearing. He was frantically writing, like a scribe desperate to get it all down before the inspiration left him.

  S S S S S S. Over and over again, overlapping, intersecting, small, large, his hand stuttered out the letters.

  Then more appeared. A t, an e, a V. And more followed.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had started, his hand stopped and went limp. The pencil slipped out from between his fingers, rolled the l
ength of the clipboard, and clinked to the floor. Rosa turned the paper and studied the scribbles.

  SteV No.

  She didn't have the slightest idea what it meant, but it definitely spelled SteV No.

  A chill spread down Rosa's back. This was incredible. If she hadn't witnessed it with her own eyes, she would never have believed it. From somewhere in his deep sleep, Caleb was trying to communicate. But what was the poor boy trying to say? First it was Jo hold sEcrE, and now SteV No.

  She cupped Caleb's soft face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "I am getting your messages, my son. But what do they mean? Please wake up and tell us. Please, son. Help us understand."

  Then she called Joe.

  Unbelievable. That was all he could think.

  Joe stood in Caleb's room and stared at the paper. A penetrating buzz reached through his arms all the way down to his hands. His heart fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. He was still trying to get over the first message, find some way to process it that made even a little sense. And now this. Another cryptic message.

  The paper he held in his hands looked the same as the first one. There was a maze of scribbles, confusing marks, but in the midst of the disorder it was there, plain as day: SteV No.

  Rosa sat in her chair, hands folded across her lap. She eyed Joe with a steady gaze. "What do you think it means?"

  Joe looked at the paper again and shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know. But I found out what the first message meant."

  Rosa's eyes widened and a smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "You did? What? What did it mean?"

  Joe pulled the other maroon chair around the bed so it faced Rosa and sat. "Jo wasn't me at all. He's an old farmer named Josiah. Josiah Walker. I met him in Darlene's this morning. He said God told him to find me and share the secret. You know, Jo holds secret. Apparently, the secret is something the Gill family has been hiding from the rest of Dark Hills for decades. I'm not sure what it is yet. He had me reading old newspapers from 1922, and I'm supposed to meet him again tomorrow to talk more about it. It's got something to do with animal attacks and some kind of cover-up Henry Gill, Maggie's great-grandpa, was involved in. There may have even been a couple of murders."

  Rosa looked confused. Her brow was firm, lips slightly parted. "But what does that have to do with anything? And how would Caleb know about-" She lifted a hand to cover her mouth. "Oh, my, Joe. God is speaking to Caleb. Giving him these messages. God is moving Caleb's hand. My son is a writing instrument in the hand of God."

  Now Joe was confused. "God? Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely!" Rosa looked at him with scolding eyes. "Joe, God is moving here. He is speaking to people, to Caleb, to this farmer, to me. I heard him last night, clear as if He were standing right next to me, telling me to pray for you. Something is happening here, and God is intervening."

  Joe was still skeptical. He wasn't sure why-what Rosa said did make sense-but he just wasn't ready to believe that God was talking to people, or through people, or whatever. Especially a comatose boy.

  Rosa didn't miss the look on Joe's face. She knew he was having a hard time accepting the truth. His faith had taken some hard hits, and he was struggling to resuscitate it.

  She leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm. "Joe, God does speak to people. Yes, most of the time it is through the Bible. But sometimes He chooses different ways, like using a donkey or a burning bush or writing on a wall, and sometimes it is just that still, small voice that speaks directly to our heart. But He does speak to people. You have to believe that. You have to believe that He can even speak to us through Caleb."

  She stared at Joe for a full five seconds before laying the argument in his lap. "Do you believe that?"

  Joe dropped his eyes to the floor and twisted his hands. "In my heart I do. But my mind says He just doesn't work that way. It isn't logical, isn't rational." He looked at her. "If God's going to speak, why does He do it in riddles like `Jo holds secret'?"

  Rosa took his hands in hers and looked deep into his brown eyes, past the facade, past the I'll-be-OK act, and into his soul where he was tender and vulnerable, hurting and lonely. She had to reach him. She had to help him believe. Belief was the only way he would ever return to God.

  "Do you understand everything you read in the Bible?" She didn't give him time to answer, not that he would have, anyway. "No, you don't, and neither do I. So what do we do? We study it more, we pray, we ask God to give us understanding. We rely on Him to show us what it means. It is called faith, Joe. Faith is the key to everything. When you think about it, nothing this world has to offer makes any sense. It is meaningless. It is a riddle. But faith does make sense. Because with faith we stop trying to figure everything out and just put it in God's hands and let Him figure it out for us."

  Tears were pooling in Joe's eyes, and he quickly dashed them away. "OK. So what does SteV No mean?"

  "Why don't we pray about it?" Rosa gave Joe's hands a gentle squeeze and bowed her head. "Heavenly Father, give us wisdom and understanding to see what it is You are telling us. We acknowledge the difficulty is with our understanding, not Your message, for You are truth. Give us the ability to see clearly what it is You want us to see."

  When she was finished she looked up. Joe was staring at her with a look of anticipation on his face.

  "Anything?" he said.

  She squeezed his hands again and lifted up onto her toes so her face was closer to his. "Give it time, Joe. Give it time. God is in no hurry."

  "Time. That's something I'm not sure we have a lot of."

  Maggie looked at the clock on her wall. It was a round, 1940s' style, analog stainless steel clock with bold black numbers that she'd picked up at a flea market-9:45. Surely, Joe would be in his motel room by now. She had been trying to contact him all day, leaving message after message, without any luck.

  She picked up her phone and dialed the Dew-Drop Motel. Nancy answered.

  "Hi, Nancy, it's Chief Gill. You working a long day, or are you just covering for the evening?"

  "Hi, Chief. I've been here all day. Bill's sick, so I have front desk duty until ten, then Amy will take the overnight."

  Maggie chuckled. "Well, tell him I wish him well."

  "Thank you. I will."

  "Can you connect me with room 5, please?"

  "Sure."

  The phone in Joe's room rang only once before he picked it up. "Hello."

  "Hi, Joe, it's Maggie. Your cell's been off all day, hasn't it?"

  "Oh, hi, Mags. Uh, yeah, sorry'bout that. Told you I hate those things. What's going on?"

  Maggie swallowed, hoping Joe wouldn't notice her hesitation. "Not much. Hey, I don't have long to talk, but I was wondering if you'd be interested in coming over to my place tomorrow night for dinner, say sixish?"

  Now Joe hesitated, and there was no missing it. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Six is fine."

  "You sure, I mean if it's-"

  "No, no. I mean yes, I am sure."

  "OK then. You know where I live?"

  "In your mom and dad's house, right?"

  "Yeah."

  "OK, see you then. Bye."

  "Bye."

  Joe put down the phone and sighed.

  He wanted to see Maggie, he really did. He missed her, even longed for her company. It had been years since he last held her in his arms, but it seemed like mere days. He could still feel the pressure of her body against his, smell the lavender in her hair, taste the sweetness of her lips. Some things are never forgotten. But a voice screamed in his mind, or was it his heart-Danger-Danger-Danger-warning him like a fire alarm.

  He didn't have any hard evidence that Maggie had done anything wrong yet. Sure, she acted a little strange about Cummings's death, but maybe she was just being cautious, following protocol. But she was a Gill, and she had Gill blood flowing through her veins. That meant she was part of the Secret. Or did it? He ran both hands through his hair and rubbed his temples. This whole thing was giving him a headache.
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  He reached for the bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand, popped the lid, and tossed two pills in his mouth, washing them down with a swig of lukewarm water.

  He'd have to be careful, but maybe he could get some information out of Maggie without her even knowing what he was up to.

  He'd have to set his feelings for her aside. Some things were more important than feelings.

  CHAPTER 25

  OE SAT IN a booth at Darlene's, red-eyed and foggy-minded. He didn't sleep well last night. A million thoughts had scattered in his mind, and now he was trying to corral them again. But it seemed as fruitless and futile as trying to lasso a pack of wild Chihuahuas. First, there was the attack on Caleb, then Cujo, then Cummings. Then there was Maggie's strange behavior, the Secret, the newspaper articles, Caleb's cryptic writings, Josiah's voices, Rosa's prayers. His mind couldn't take much more, but somehow he knew there was much more to come.

  He sipped at a cup of black coffee, letting the steam moisten his upper lip and nose. It was a cold morning, and a light rain had begun falling. He hated this kind of weather. It was raw, like an open wound, and he'd rather just spend the day inside. Maybe that's just what he would do. After his meeting with Josiah, he'd head over to Hillside and visit Rosa and Caleb, then go back to the Dew-Drop and relax until it was time to meet Maggie. Maybe he'd take a nap before going over. Yeah, he could use a good nap.

  A young, blonde-haired waitress named Becky had come by with a menu, but Joe had waved her off. He wasn't hungry. Coffee would do, and keep the refills coming.

  The door jangled, announcing the arrival of another hungry customer drawn to the smell of frying lard and Darlene's overpowering Chanel. Joe looked up just in time to see Darlene pull Josiah into a hug and give him a dose of aromatherapy, Number 5 style.

  When she released him, Josiah nodded politely, found Joe, and headed toward him.

  "Mornin', Joe," he said, looking a little sheepish and embarrassed about being caught in Darlene's arms. He slid into the bench across from Joe and removed his coat. "Ugly mornin', ain't it?"