Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  The limbs around and on top of the grave had hidden it for maybe a season. After that, the leaves rotted off and left only interwoven branches, like two hands crossed over a dormant heart. I pulled them away and grabbed my rake to scrape the site clean of any other debris. The ache in my shoulder grew with each movement, but the burning need to know only glowed brighter.

  I pulled my small hand spade from my pack and knelt at the edge of the grave. The cold earth seeped through my jeans to my knees as I shoved the wide edge of the shovel into the damp dirt. It sank in easily. My heart thumped with heavy beats, as if filled with tar instead of blood. Putting pressure on the handle, I turned a small bit of earth up and out of the depression. I dug the way I’d been taught, the way I knew would preserve whatever I found. Slowly, methodically. Another slice into the earth, another push deeper into the mystery. Five turns of the spade later, each one creeping inward, I hit something springy. Something unnatural.

  Wiping the sweat off my brow, I shucked my heavy coat and tossed it onto the ATV. I stepped into the grave, careful to plant my feet where I’d already dug, then took a small hand shovel to the spot. I dug around the anomaly, trying to be careful despite my desire to hurry, to finally discover what I’d been searching for. I excavated around the shape until I hit something hard. Scraping the dirt off the top, a sob rocketed from my lungs and tears overwhelmed what little resistance I had put up.

  A shoe. I’d found a shoe. Blue canvas with a white sole. The only type of shoe I’d ever seen my father wear. I’d found him.

  “Daddy.” I choked on my grief. Bottled for too long, it had fermented into something uglier, something bitter, and I hated whoever had done this.

  Bile rose in my throat, and I darted out of the grave as my breakfast pushed its way into my mouth and out onto the unforgiving ground. Acid burned my throat, my mouth, and I didn’t stop retching until I was completely empty.

  I stood and leaned my head on the nearest tree as I tried to calm the shake in my hands. Who did it? I breathed deeply, forcing myself to go about this more rationally. I needed to find clues, something to point me to his killer. The grave was the only place I could look for them, but the thought of digging him the rest of the way out horrified me, sent my skin crawling. I dry-heaved and clenched my eyes closed as endless tears streamed down my cheeks.

  A scuffing sound at my back caught my attention. I turned and reached for the gun tucked in my jeans, but someone grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked me back and then shoved me face-first into the tree.

  I crumpled, blood streaming down my face.

  “I told you to stay out of these woods.” The scratchy voice, the unkempt beard. Recognition flared right along with a burst of fear. Danny loomed over me, my pistol in his hand. He flipped it so he had it by the barrel. The butt of my own gun was the last thing I saw.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “HEY!”

  My right cheek stung, and my ears rang.

  “Hey, wake the fuck up!” Someone yelled and slapped me, the sound like a shot.

  I opened my eyes and tried to back away, but I couldn’t move. My wrists and ankles were bound.

  Danny reared back to slap me again.

  “Stop!” I struggled away, but bumped into something sturdy and fell to my side. I blinked hard, but only one of my eyes opened. The dim interior of the shack greeted me as Danny yanked me upright and shoved me against the wall.

  “Stay put.”

  I sucked in air to scream.

  He clapped a filthy hand over my mouth and leaned down into my face. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  I breathed out hard through my nose.

  “Nobody would hear you anyway.” He sat back on his haunches, the dim light seeping through the doorway only illuminating half his face. The matted beard seemed even filthier, the spit streaks forming two dark lines from each side of his mouth. He scratched at his sallow skin with one hand and pointed my gun at me with the other.

  “Let me go.” I glanced toward the door.

  “Nowhere. That’s where you’re going.” He scratched harder. “I told you to stop digging. Told you to leave well enough alone.” His voice grew to a shout. “I told you to go back!”

  I cringed against the wall as his face contorted into a mask of rage.

  “Please, just let me go.” I coughed. The pain in my head blossomed like the cruelest flower, and I tasted blood. “Please.”

  “I can’t! You done found your daddy.” He yanked on his beard. “That’ll get back to me. I can’t have that. No I can’t.” He shook his head. “Sure can’t. No, no, can’t. No.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” I leaned forward, trying to look into his eyes, trying to convince him my life was worth more than a bullet and another shallow grave. “Please.”

  “Stop saying please!” He stood, but kept the gun trained on me. “I can’t change it. Not now. Too late.” He sagged against the opposite wall. “Why didn’t you listen? Why?”

  “I had to find him.” Dizziness took hold, and I dry-heaved. The effort felt like a spikey sledgehammer to my face.

  “You found him. So what?” He bent over and stared into my one good eye. “You think he wanted you to die out here, too?”

  “Why did you kill him?”

  “Does it matter?” He shrugged.

  “Yes!” I screamed with what little force I had left. “Tell me why.”

  “You want a story before bedtime, is that it? You want to know it all before I kill you and bury you in the same grave?” He mumbled under his breath too quickly for me to follow. “You know what curiosity gets you?” He cackled, his missing teeth like the holes in his sanity. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He pushed off the wall, and I tried to make a move toward the door. All I managed to do was make it easier for him to rip me off the ground and drag me out of the shack.

  He took hold of my hair and yanked me toward my father’s grave. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you all you need to know about curiosity.”

  Agony and disbelief punctured every soft tissue of my body as my knees hit the forest floor and he dragged me along by my hair. My screams didn’t stop, but he wasn’t concerned with the noise anymore. He sped up, rushing through the woods. I skittered along the ground, kicking and twisting as the pressure on my hair increased until I feared it would rip out. He threw me into the grave, then grabbed my wrists. After a few moments, he grunted, and the pressure on my wrists eased; he’d untied me. He scrambled out of the grave, my gun still in his hand. He grabbed the small spade and threw it to me.

  “Dig!”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Fucking dig or I’ll put a bullet in your forehead right this second.” He shook the pistol at me. “No loss now that I’ve fucked up your pretty face.”

  He stepped closer and stabbed his tatty shoe into the dirt. “His head was about here if I remember correctly. That’s where I want you to dig.”

  Tears coursed down my cheeks as I took the spade with trembling hands. I thought of throwing it at him, but I knew I was kidding myself. One shot and it was over. I was going to die here.

  “Dig!” His scream was animalistic as he began muttering to himself again.

  I pushed the spade into the earth and hit something only a few inches down. A tink of the shovel blade and all forward progress halted. I knew the sound, the feel. It was a skull. My father’s skull.

  “Please, don’t make me.” I stared up at him as horror ripped through my mind. “Please.”

  “You need to learn.” What might have been remorse passed across his face. “This is what happens when you keep pushing and pushing and pushing. Now dig. Learn your last lesson. Dig.”

  “No.”

  He fired a shot into the dirt. “Dig!”

  My body turned to ice, my heart to forgotten stone. I had no way out. Digging was the only thing that would prolong my life, give me some semblance of a chance. I gripped the shovel with freezing fingers and moved a few inches t
o the left of where I’d just planted the spade. The shovel blade sank into the dank earth, nothing halting its progress. I twisted it slightly, then leaned on the handle.

  A skull pressed up through the earth, pushing through the secrets and the lies until the dappled sunlight hit the dingy bone. I sobbed as bits of flesh stayed behind and strands of hair just a few shades darker than mine snaked through the dirt. I sat back and threw the spade away.

  “See, girl? See?” He walked over to me. “Your daddy, he asked too many questions, too. Wanted to know things. Him and Lillian.” His voice cracked. “My Lillian.”

  “You killed her.” A tremor went through me as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “Both of them.”

  “I’d never hurt my Lillian. No. No. That wasn’t me. That was him. Not me. No.”

  “My dad?” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at my father’s skull any longer. The cheeks I’d kissed, the face I’d loved before I even knew what love was.

  “No, fool woman! The one who runs things around here. The one who told me to do this.” He pointed the gun toward my father’s skull.

  “The mayor?”

  He cackled, the sound sick and wrong in the cold, quiet woods. “Try a little closer to home. Cozied right up, didn’t you? Did you know he likes to chase ‘em through the woods? Hunt them?” He ended his laughter on a wheezing note.

  Did he mean Garrett? No. “Garrett had nothing to do with his sister’s death. You’re lying.”

  “You think I’m just some mad dog killer, don’t you?” He tapped the barrel against my forehead. “That I just killed your daddy for kicks.”

  I winced, but he kept me still, his arm tightening around my shoulders.

  “I’m not a mad dog. No, no, no. I’m a kept dog. I get table scraps if I behave. But you, you were like a little bunny out here, running through the woods, whee! And I chased you, but instead of snapping you up in my jaws”—He shrieked and clapped his remaining teeth together—“I warned you.” His voice lowered to a hurried whisper. “I tried to tell you. Just like your daddy, you didn’t stop asking questions. Just like Lillian, you have to die. Just like both of them, your blood will be on my hands.”

  “You said you didn’t kill her. Lillian. You said—”

  “I didn’t stop it. I haven’t stopped any of the killing around here. Done a fair share myself. Now I’ll add you to my list.” He sighed and pressed the barrel to the center of my forehead. “I really do keep a list, you know? It’s long, longer than my beard, longer than your pretty brown hair, longer than Lillian’s was.” He mumbled quick words.

  “The mass grave in the woods.” The photo from Lillian’s memory card resurfaced, though this time my body was piled in with the others. No.

  “Seen some of my handiwork, eh? I didn’t know you’d ventured over there, but I guess a gal like you gets around.” He cackled and pressed the metal harder into my skull. “Lots of graves in these woods. Lots of señoritas and señors and whoever I can get for cheap.”

  I couldn’t follow his words, only the shine of his barrel. “Let me go.”

  His finger rested on the trigger. I couldn’t see anything else. Just the cold metal and his dirty index finger flirting with my death.

  “They always say that.” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “I never do.”

  I shoved my elbow into his side with all the strength I had and grabbed for the gun. A deafening shot went off, and my right ear burned and rang. I fought with him, both of us grunting as I tried to wrest the gun away from his bony grip. He shoved me to the ground as we struggled, my hands around his on the butt of the gun. He punched me in the jaw and ripped the gun away from my desperate fingers. It was over. I stared up at him as he leveled the pistol.

  Another, quieter shot went off, and warmth sprayed across my face.

  “Drop it!” Someone shouted through the constant scream in my ears. More pops, like fireworks going off on the next block.

  Something large landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me and blocking what little vision I had left.

  Everything went quiet except the whine in my ears, and I realized this is what dying feels like.

  THE SHADOWY WOODS flew by in a rush. I bounced along like a bag of potatoes, lifeless and heavy. It was cold, getting colder, and I couldn’t seem to gather my thoughts. The pain in my head didn’t stop and dimly echoed from other places in my body. And I cried. Not because of the sharp aches like razors across my mind, but because of the man in the grave.

  After what I imagined were hours, the jostling stopped. Strong arms lifted me.

  “She doesn’t look so good.” A familiar voice. My ears had stopped ringing, but sound only came through in muffled tones.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Another voice, this one laced with worry. Sheriff Crow. “Help me get her into the truck.”

  “Yes, sir.” The fuzzy shape moved away. Rory, maybe?

  “You’re going to be all right.” The sheriff walked gingerly, cradling me close to him. “Hear me? You’ll be okay.”

  I tried to respond, but nothing made it past my swollen lips.

  He laid me down, my head slightly elevated. The engine cranked, and faint warmth poured against my left arm.

  “We’ve got you, Ms. Vale.” Rory. The back of my head rested on his leg as he pressed down on my forehead. More agony bloomed where he applied pressure, and I tried to swat his hands away as the truck began to move.

  “Stay still.” He didn’t move his hand. “I have to stop the bleed. Shh. Please, let me help you.”

  I dropped my hands, my fingers prickling as feeling returned. Try a little closer to home. Garrett. Cozied right up. Garrett. I dry-heaved, my body convulsing as everything inside me rebelled at the thought.

  Rory leaned over and pressed his forearm across my hips to hold me still. “Sheriff!”

  “Keep her steady, goddammit! I’m going as fast as I can.”

  “I don’t know if she’s going to…”

  Their words faded away as my thoughts circled Garrett like a murder of crows. The man I’d slept with, the one I’d come to love—he was responsible for my father’s death. He’d played me this whole time. But what was he trying to hide? My thoughts scattered until an unwavering determination remained. I would find out. Garrett would answer my questions. And then he would pay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “—ABOUT FIFTEEN HOURS, GIVE or take. I’ve given her something for the pain every two hours. Lessened the dose a little while ago.”

  “When do you think the swelling will go down?”

  “Days. These injuries are pretty bad, and head wounds take a while to stop swelling and bruising.” A cough. “Do you have any leads on who did it?”

  “That’s an ongoing investigation, Doc. Can’t say more.”

  Someone squeezed my hand. “You’ll heal, dear. You’ll heal in time.” The hand disappeared. “I’m going to get something to eat, then come keep an eye on her.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone.” Sheriff Crow’s voice grew louder.

  I forced my good eye open and blinked several times to clear the film. I lay in bed in a darkened room with a wide window looking out onto woods. The walls and ceilings were made of rough-hewn logs, and the décor was rustic with two sets of antlers on the wall near the door.

  “Elise?”

  “Yes.” My voice came out in a croak.

  “Here.” After a beat, a straw pressed against my lips.

  I drank as best I could. Sheriff Crow took the cup away and wiped the water off my chin.

  He stared into my good eye. “You had me worried there for a minute, young lady.”

  “Makes two of us.” My voice scratched through my throat.

  “You’re safe here. I was trying to get you to the hospital, but you sort of had a fit on the way and then lost consciousness. I radioed up to the Lodge, hoping like hell Doc Lewis was here or nearby. We lucked up. He was on his way.” He swiped his
hat off and dropped it on the small wood table next to my IV stand.

  “Can you talk, or would you rather wait?” He took my hand, grasping gently.

  “Talk.”

  “What happened out there?”

  “I saw a grave. That day when Garrett was shot.” His name felt like a curse word on my tongue. “I went back out there myself to see if it was…” I swallowed hard.

  It was too late now. My secret was out. The sheriff and Rory must have seen the grave, the skull.

  I took a deep breath. “To see if it was my father.”

  He squinted in confusion. “Why would your father be buried in Blackwood like that?”

  “He died there. Vince Gallant.”

  A spark of recognition lit, like a popping ember in a fire, and he opened his eyes wide. “Vince Gallant was your daddy?”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m out here. To find him. Find out what happened.”

  “Hell.” He ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “I haven’t thought about him in a while. Didn’t know he had a daughter.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Yeah. Went to high school together. I was a couple years ahead of him. Then he came back around about two years ago or so. Didn’t see him after that.” He shook his head. “From the looks of that grave, he’s been here the whole time. What the hell happened out there?”

  “Danny killed him.”

  His expression soured and he moved close again. “That crazy old coot.” He paled. “Jesus. If we hadn’t been out looking for poachers nearby, we never would have heard you screaming. Heard the shot.”

  “I’m glad you found me.”

  “Me too.” He squeezed my hand. “That day’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. First time I’ve ever killed a man in the line of duty.”

  “I can’t imagine how that must feel, but thank you. You saved my life. He was going to kill me.”

  “Then that makes it all worth it.” He scooted closer, the legs of the chair clacking against my bed frame. “More than worth it.”

  We sat in silence for a while as I replayed the scene in the woods. Other than Danny’s words, I had nothing to go on. And I couldn’t sort through them. Why would Garrett want me dead?