Jack pushed his chair back from the table and stood up suddenly, stretching his back. “As we discussed already, I didn’t regain consciousness for nearly three weeks,” he continued. “So, I missed out on Genovene’s final assault on our property, as well as her probable relocation to your family’s neck of the woods in Mississippi.”
He turned away from Agent McNamee and began pacing near the center of the room. For the moment, he seemed completely absorbed in his thoughts. Peter allowed Jack his space for the moment, not wanting to interrupt the flow of information passing through Jack’s lips. He waited patiently for him to continue, and a few minutes later he was rewarded.
“We’ve already discussed that our yard was left completely barren of everything that’d been there before this unfortunate event, except for the tool shed,” said Jack. “But, other than the Palmers, did anyone ever tell y’all what became of the twister that night, after it finished its second pass on our place?”
“It’s always been hard to determine what happened exactly,” Peter replied, turning in his chair to watch Jack continue his nervous stroll across the floor. “But to answer your question, I believe the prevailing thought back then was that it dissipated back into the atmosphere.”
“Well, there’s more to it than that, I assure you,” said Jack, stopping to directly face him. “I believe Genovene’s main objective after getting her revenge on us was to find a new home. Obliterating the rest of our property on her way out of Carlsdale was just an added bonus. Keep in mind there’s an eyewitness to this, other than the Palmers. Kyle Stinson was still hiding in the far-left corner of their backyard, shaking helplessly, yet surprisingly unharmed. But he was still curious enough to watch everything going on nearby.
“Interestingly, he never saw the Palmers while all this shit was going on. It baffles me how both their stories are similar in ways, although I think you’ll see Kyle’s account is a bit more complete.
“According to what he told Jeremy, he was huddled next to the wall and promising Jesus he’d change his life if only he lived long enough to do it, when he suddenly heard the train whistle sound returning. Despite his obvious terror, he bravely peered over the wall again after he also heard Banjo bleating in similar fear. Kyle tried to get him to move closer to the wall, but Banjo refused to budge. He just stood where he was, trembling and crying hysterically as this goddamned twister closed in on the back portion of our ruined property.
“The tornado-cloud zigzagged across the yard, bouncing violently off the tool shed as it raced toward Banjo’s corner of the yard. Kyle panicked and ducked back down into the corner of the Palmer’s yard, hoping the tornado didn’t crash through the wall. All the while, Banjo’s awful cries pierced the twister’s whistle.
“Kyle braced himself for the worst, but suddenly, the cloud’s sound changed. He looked up and was greatly relieved to find it’d lifted off the ground. It climbed high into the sky with its funnel end leading its charge forward as it sped to the west. In a matter of seconds, it vacated the area, leaving a death-like stillness in its wake.
“His curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted himself back above the wall to witness the final result of the cloud’s wrath. Under the moon’s revealing glow, his view was the same as it remains today, and without any trace of our beloved pet.”
Jack slowly returned to the table and sat down. He eyed Peter thoughtfully and then spoke again. “After what you shared with me earlier about your nephew, I’m convinced now more than ever the cloud headed for Mississippi. Knowing how reclusive this bunch is, they would’ve sought a place offering them lots of potential victims while remaining off the beaten path, so to speak. There were too many witnesses to stay in Carlsdale.”
“Bienville National Forest.” Peter said softly.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m thinking,” said Jack. “Even though you were able to tie yours and my experiences together long before today, believe it or not, I figured that’s where Genovene and her kin ended up immediately after reading about your nephew’s disappearance in a couple of tabloids,” Jack explained. “I remember Bobby’s story. But to be honest, I forgot his first name long ago. I mean, eight years is a long time when you consider I was only a kid back then. I never forgot the other details that made national headlines, and each tabloid’s report gave me enough clues to piece together what’d happened.
“Not to purposely touch on your pain, and I realize you’ve already put some pieces together from the information I’ve revealed so far. But, if you’d like me to share my own ideas on what happened to your family as it relates to Genovene, then I certainly can do that.”
Peter tapped the end of his pen against his bottom lip while he carefully considered Jack’s proposal. “Go ahead,” he finally told him.
“All right,” said Jack. “One thing in particular that made me immediately think of Genovene was how your sister, Mrs. Northrop, stated she felt like she was being watched by some unknown voyeur hiding in the woods behind her beautiful home. According to the news story I read, and that you touched upon earlier, she’d felt like this for a few weeks before her son’s disappearance. I guess her husband and others thought she was overreacting a bit and didn’t give this notion any serious consideration until it was too late.”
Jack hesitated before going on, studying Peter’s face to accurately gauge how to proceed with this delicate subject. He could barely recall The Star’s images of Eileen Northrop in his mind. He only remembered she was truly beautiful, which Peter confirmed when he showed her picture to him earlier. What a contrast it was to the tabloid photos taken of her later, just a month after her beloved son’s abduction, depicting an emotionally worn and haggard woman, with only traces of her beauty left.
Peter returned Jack’s steady gaze, this time effectively hiding his true feelings from his counterpart across the table. Instinctively, Jack recognized this was his normal demeanor, and the outburst that happened near the beginning of this interview was a rare event for him. He smiled ever so slightly. “Go on, Jack...please,” he said.
“Very well,” said Jack. “That was only one clue, though. There were others, like the hot spring and rock formation, which were discovered in the forest while the authorities searched for the little guy. Although this was mentioned in passing, its significance wasn’t lost on me, which I’ll explain further in a moment. Also, the other story I read told of the zoologist you mentioned earlier, who identified the reptilian footprints alongside Bobby’s scent. The fact this scientist said he’d never seen anything like them grabbed my attention. I now had enough information to figure what likely took place in Mississippi. If I’d known then about that golden haze you mentioned earlier, it would’ve removed any doubts I had at the time.
“By the time the cloud reached the forest, I imagine it took on a more peaceful appearance so it didn’t draw any unwanted attention to itself. Perhaps it drifted softly through the trees as a mist. I figure it moved through the forest until it reached the very edge, where Genovene surely noticed your loved ones’ neighborhood. Once she and her kin found their newest hunting ground, they would’ve retreated deep into the forest. As soon as they found a small brook or spring, I believe they burrowed deep into the ground beneath the water source. In fact, I’d be willing to bet my life the individual rocks that make up the rock formation in the forest came from directly beneath the forest’s floor. From the looks of it, the National Enquirer’s photograph of the formation, the mist or cloud might’ve returned to its cyclone form and drilled itself into the earth’s crust. That’s what I think, anyway... So, what do you think about my thoughts on this, Agent McNamee?”
“Well, for one thing, I wish you’d just call me ‘Peter’,” the agent chuckled, perhaps surprised at how painless Jack’s musings actually were. “Did you ever share your thoughts back then with Jeremy?”
“Yeah, I did,” Jack replied, smiling weakly. “As you can imagine, he thought it was a stupid notion at best. He changed his tune
considerably once we took a trip to the old bridge site and the clearing.”
“So, there’s more still?”
“Yeah, there is. But we’re nearing the very end of what I’ve got to say. By now I’m sure you’re glad I’m almost finished.”
“That’s hardly the case, Jack,” Peter assured him. “Please go on.”
“All right,” said Jack. “As you know, I was in a coma for nearly three weeks and my grandfather was in one for almost as long. Grandpa spent another three months in intensive care to recover from his fractured hip and thighbone, not to mention the ruptured spleen and lacerated kidney that had nearly killed him. His head injuries were almost as bad as mine, too, although the fact he was able to heal so quickly at his age borders on miraculous. By the end of the year, he was pretty much fully recovered.
“I’ve still got a long scar across the top of my head, but considering what might’ve been, I’d say I’m damn lucky to be alive. We all were. Jeremy recovered the quickest, but the torn ligaments in his left knee eliminated his dreams of playing football again. His shoulder and neck healed within two weeks of the accident, which was fairly amazing in itself considering how much pain he endured during his first few days in the hospital.
“It was a strange feeling waking up to find I’d missed three weeks of my life. Jeremy was there along with my aunt and uncle. Grandpa had woken up a couple of days earlier, but was in no condition to leave his room. It was good to have some family there to welcome me back to the world of the living, and by the next morning I was able to visit Grandpa in his room. A few days after that, we were able to go to our new home in Tuscaloosa, which was my aunt and uncle’s guesthouse located in the rear of their property.
“By this time, a few things had changed in our world, other than the fact we no longer lived in Carlsdale. Wanting to focus on something I enjoyed, I checked on my favorite sports teams. The Braves were still winning, and you could tell even then that the Falcons were going to suck. That especially bothered me, being they were my dad’s team and they’d made it to the Super Bowl the previous January. One upsetting thing my family had to tell me about, though, was the fact Carl Peterson and Sheriff McCracken were both dead.
“It didn’t help matters that all five of us, including Uncle Monty and Aunt Martha, could hardly go anywhere without being followed. I mean, your buddies at the bureau would always be nearby, all spiffed up in their goddamn suits and sunglasses!” Jack laughed at this and Peter smiled, aware this jab was not toward him personally.
“Shortly after school started that year, Grandpa, Jeremy, and I decided to revisit our old home in Carlsdale,” Jack continued. “Jeremy and I wanted to return as soon as I was healed up enough to do so. But Grandpa steadfastly refused to let us do it. When he finally relented, it was with the strict understanding we’d visit only what remained of our property. Reluctantly, Jeremy and I agreed to these terms. We made the trip the second weekend in September, and Uncle Monty and Aunt Martha decided to join us.
“One of the sedans I mentioned earlier followed us all the way from Tuscaloosa down to Carlsdale, tailing us by a couple hundred feet on Highway Forty-three. As soon as we exited onto Baileys Bend Road
, it didn’t follow us further. Perhaps, whoever was in the car knew where we were headed and didn’t need to physically confirm this. Once we turned onto Lelan’s Road, my uncle whistled under his breath, while my aunt whispered ‘Great God Almighty!’. Grandpa, Jeremy, and I sat in solemn silence as my uncle’s Navigator crept up the road to our former home.
“The field we almost died in sat to our left. A large fir was impaled upside down into the earth near the very spot where Jeremy’s truck came to rest in the ditch. I realize tornados can leave behind some pretty bizarre reminders from their visitations, like an occasional piece of straw drilled into a telephone pole and shit like that. But, I’ll bet very few of them leave behind a token as disturbing as what we were looking at right then. It made me shudder to think just how close we’d come to getting killed.
“Uncle Monty almost stopped the truck, but Grandpa urged him to keep moving so we could get on with the reason for our visit. As soon as we reached the Palmer’s place everyone gasped at the barrenness of the land where our beloved farmhouse once stood. We all got out of the car to investigate everything, catching a glimpse now and then of someone peeking through the curtains at the Palmer’s—those fucking nosey assholes! It really bothers me that nothing, I mean absolutely nothing was harmed on their property, not even a goddamned daisy!”
“That’s one of the things Agent Mark Jenkins said about the scene at your former home,” Peter said. “He’s been with us eighteen years now, and over the last few years he and I’ve gotten to be great friends, Jack. He’s another guy acutely interested in your family’s history.”
“Then I guess he must’ve been as amazed as we were at the condition of the tool shed,” said Jack. “I mean, aside from not receiving a scratch from the twister, I noticed for the first time its paint was free of nicks and any signs of wear—which one would expect, as old and vulnerable as the damn thing is. Grandpa swears to this day that he’s never painted it.
“When we finally decided we’d seen enough, we drove back home to Tuscaloosa. That was the second to last time I visited our old home. Grandpa soon sold it to a wealthy Australian named Malcolm Donohue. Mr. Donohue, as I’m sure you know, purchased the Johnson’s farm and eventually the Palmer’s place, too.”
“Most of Carlsdale, actually, Jack,” Peter told him. “He purchased the woods and clearing you mentioned as well. He’s building an amusement park incorporating several ancient Mississippian Indian ruins recently uncovered near your old home. At least that’s what the original permit lists as his proposed development plan. From what I understand, he has completed the first few phases, while the remainder of the project is on hold. An NCAI petition to insure the protection of the ruins is currently under review before the Alabama Supreme Court, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens with that.”
“Really? Well that explains what Jeremy and I discovered around Thanksgiving that year,” said Jack. “Do I have time to share it, or will your recorder run out of space?”
“It’s still got about half an hour left,” Peter advised. “Regardless, I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”
“I’ll try to make this quick,” said Jack. “Grandpa was strictly against any of us returning to Carlsdale, since he felt we’d already seen everything of importance there. To him, it was better to remember our old place as it once was.
“Jeremy and I managed to live with this mandate for a month or so. But, we really missed our friends. Grandpa remained strong in his resolve to keep us from going back, until Thanksgiving break. He finally relented because our old buddies were out of school that Friday, as were we.
“Grandpa’s orders were for us to stay away from the woods and the river. We promised to obey his wishes; fully knowing we’d visit those very places before the day was over. If he’d felt up to it, I’m sure he would’ve insisted on joining us, just to make sure we stayed out of trouble.
“Me and Jeremy were excited. My brother had purchased a brand new truck just two days earlier with the insurance money he received for his previous one. He could hardly wait to show Freddy and Ronnie, and I was looking forward to having him show it off to my buddy Lee as well.
“Though it wasn’t as awesome as his other truck, the Dodge Ram he’d purchased was still a beauty. Metallic dark purple in color, it shimmered in the sunlight out on our uncle and aunt’s main driveway. This one came equipped with a shiny chrome spoiler and headers. The tires were oversized, too, just like his last truck, and the chrome wheels were the most expensive ones he could find in Tuscaloosa. Everything else was top of the line as well. For my first few trips riding in it, I was pretty fearful I might scuff up the interior or spill something. That’d been pretty bad for sure!
“We arrived at Freddy’s home in Demopolis late that morning, and
went out for lunch with him and Ronnie. Then we left them to visit Lee. It felt strange driving along Lelan’s Road in a truck with Jeremy again. It was much weirder than when we went there with the rest of our family back in September.
“Lee, as I believe I told you, lived right across the street from the field we wrecked in. He and his family have since moved to Birmingham. I imagine Mr. Donohue had a hand in that, too, especially since the Hornes lived just a few houses away from us. That afternoon, Lee and his family were fixing to head over to Mobile for the rest of the weekend, so we didn’t visit long with him either. We now had plenty of time to visit our old home again, and everywhere else we planned to go.
“We didn’t spend much time that day at our former residence, as the only thing we desired to see was the old tool shed again. Jeremy and I still couldn’t get over the fact it’d remained unscathed by the tornado’s furious assault. It was here that I discussed Bobby’s disappearance with my brother. He recalled hearing something about it on the news one night, though he hadn’t paid enough attention at the time. I shared what I’d learned about Bobby’s abduction in Mississippi, including the stuff about the reptilian tracks and the newly discovered hot spring in Bienville National Forest.
“He asked me where I’d obtained my information, since he was unaware of most of what I told him. I confessed that for the most part it’d come from The Star and the National Enquirer. My brother looked at me as if trying to decide whether he should burst out laughing or scold me instead.
“‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding!’ he told me. ‘You got your facts straight from a couple of grocery store tabloids?’ He threw his head back and laughed heartily, he was so tickled at this.
“‘Jack, they’re goddamn gossip papers for Christ’s sake!’ he scoffed, looking at me incredulously. ‘You’ve got to be careful what you read into that shit, man! I mean, come on, was the article you read plastered right smack between the story about the baby with three heads and another stating Elvis is alive and well amongst the Aborigines?’ He placed his hands on his hips in an effort to keep from doubling over in his amusement, his face wearing the smirk I’d learned to loathe so dearly.
The Golden Talisman Page 35
