Inside the Echo

by Jen Blood

  I put another log on the fire, watched until it had caught in the blaze, and stood once more. Dry clothes.

  I glanced at the broken window Jack and Hogan had taped. It was a rough patch job at best, wind making the tarp balloon every few minutes or so. Still, it was better than leaving it open.

  I took dry socks, long knit underwear, and a matching top from my backpack, and lay them on the bed. My jacket went on a hook not far from the fire, ski pants beside it. Socks went on the back of one of the chairs, pushed close to the woodstove. My shirt was added next, then pants, until I stood naked and shivering in front of the fire.

  Suddenly, a gust of wind ripped through the room, tearing the canvas from the window. Casper woke with a start, jumped up, and began barking. At the same time, a low cat call pierced the air.

  Never let it be said you didn’t grow up fine, sweetheart, Brock said.

  Chapter 27

  I RESISTED THE URGE to cover myself or cower at the sound of Brock’s voice, and instead went to the window. With the cold stabbing through me, I got the tarp back in place and re-taped it as securely as possible.

  Ignore me all you want. We’ve already established you can hear me.

  I put my dry clothes on with my heart pounding, palms damp, and then settled myself on the bed. Casper was still on his feet, warily eying the window.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I said. “Settle down. We’re all right.”

  Reluctantly, the pit bull padded over and pawed once more at his blanket by the fire. I wished yet again that Phantom were here. Her calming presence had gotten me through many a long night before. An unexpected wave of grief washed over me at the thought of her mortality, the painful knowledge that our working relationship may be in the past.

  As though sensing my darkening mood, Casper got up again and came over to the bed. Without waiting for an invitation, he hopped up beside me.

  Now that’s an ugly dog, Brock said. What the hell are you doing to my business?

  “Fixing it,” I said aloud. I got under the blankets on the bed, and Casper snuggled in against me.

  I knew you heard me, Brock said, with a touch of smugness in his voice that I remembered well.

  I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, letting Casper’s warmth seep into me. I stretched my arm out and he lay his head on it immediately, with a happy little whimper. His body wriggled as his tail wagged, and I laughed out loud at the sloppy kiss that landed on my cheek.

  “Sleep, sweet boy,” I said. “I don’t know how long we’ll have here.”

  The pit bull closed his eyes with a sigh.

  You can’t go back to just ignoring me, Brock said. Sorry. This genie’s not going back in the bottle.

  In movies, the dogs always seem to sense whatever presence might be lurking in the ether, but that isn’t generally the case for me. Phantom occasionally reacts to things I hear that no one else could, but I can never be sure whether she actually hears something, or is just reading me. Right now, Casper certainly didn’t seem bothered by anything.

  Makes you wonder if it’s all in your head, doesn’t it? Brock asked.

  “Shut up.”

  A crash just outside the cabin cut our conversation short, and had both Casper and me out of bed and on our feet in an instant.

  “It’s just me,” Jack called from just outside the door. I wrestled Casper away from the door while my heartbeat returned to a semi-normal rhythm. Brock made no comment, though I kept waiting to hear his voice once more.

  After a minute of chaos, I eventually opened the door for Jack, who stood hunched and shivering just outside the door. A cold wind and still more rain burst through as soon as there was an opening, so I quickly stepped aside to let him in. Jack shed his boots upon crossing the threshold, but kept his jacket wrapped around him tight.

  “You found other searchers for Hogan to join up with that soon?” I asked. They’d barely been gone half an hour.

  “There was a team not far from here. I didn’t want to leave you alone too long.” He warmed his hands in front of the fire, hopping a little bit in place to speed the warming process.

  “You could have stayed longer. We’re fine.” He glanced at me, about to defend himself, but I stopped him with a raised hand. “Not that I don’t appreciate the thought.”

  His teeth were actually chattering, and I wondered whether he had a stitch of dry clothing left on his body.

  “Why don’t you get something dry from your pack? You’ll feel better once you get dried off, get all that wet away from your skin.”

  “That would mean taking off clothes, though. I think at this point they may be fused to my skin.” He paused. “Not to mention how cold naked sounds right now.”

  “Briefly naked,” I said. “I promise, it’s worth it.”

  I turned around to spare his modesty, and faced the wall. He hesitated another few seconds, and then I watched his shadow as he shimmied out of his wet clothes and stood for a moment in front of the fire, letting the flames warm him. Then, as though remembering himself and his situation, he pulled dry clothes from his pack and dressed.

  “Okay,” he said, after little more than a minute.

  I turned to find him in long underwear and knit, long-sleeved T-shirt, still shivering.

  “It gets better a lot faster from here,” I assured him.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  I got back in the bed and under the blankets, feeling guilty at leaving him out in the cold. We hadn’t really counted on spending the night somewhere, so neither of us had the gear for this. I’d brought the dog’s blanket because I never went anywhere without it, but I’d neglected to bring a sleeping bag for myself. I doubted Jack had thought to bring one along if I hadn’t.

  “Did I hear you talking to someone in here when I got back?” Jack asked, while I was still wrestling with the logistics of who should sleep where.

  “Just Casper,” I said immediately.

  I caught a glimpse of something unreadable on his face, but he nodded. “Ah.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He looked at me evenly. “You’re not a very good liar.”

  I didn’t know how to counter that. If I doubled down by saying I wasn’t lying, I only dug myself in deeper. Which I really had no interest in doing.

  “You know that voice I keep hearing?”

  “The one that nearly strangled you back on the trail?” he said grimly. “I’ve got a vague recollection, yes.”

  “You asked before who it sounded like – if I recognized ite.”

  “And you said you didn’t.” He looked at me, eyes searching mine. “But that wasn’t true, was it? Whose voice are you hearing, Jamie?”

  I hesitated. The words got lodged in my throat for a second before I finally spit them out. “Brock Campbell.” The name felt like poison on my tongue. Jack’s reaction made it clear he felt the same way, though he didn’t look as surprised as I would have expected.

  “Do you have any idea why? This has never happened to you before?”

  “No. Sometimes I hear the voices of the dead. Or maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of the future—”

  “Like the vision you had of you one day saving my life,” Jack said.

  “Right. Like that,” I said. Back when Jack and I were fighting for our lives in Littlehope last winter, I’d made the mistake of telling him about a dream I’d had – one I felt sure would come true: One day, though I didn’t know when or how, I would save his life. The dream had made a big impression on me. Apparently, it had made an even bigger one on Jack, who seemed unable to forget it.

  He was still standing by the fire; still shivering. I sighed, and nodded toward the bed. “If you don’t mind sharing with Casper and me, it’s warmer here.”

  He hesitated only a moment before coming over to climb in beside me. There’s not a lot of space in a double bed when it’s shared between a full-grown man, woman, and dog. Somehow, we still managed to keep about some space between Jack and me. I lay back wit
h Casper beside me, Jack on his other side. Sleeping like this seemed implausible, if not downright impossible.

  “What else do you see?” Jack asked, as we lay there. “Supernaturally speaking, I mean.”

  “Not that much. Bear’s the one who sees things. Glastenbury was an exception I still don’t really understand. If I see things, it’s usually more an impression, you know?”

  “Not really,” Jack said. “An impression of what? Can you give an example?” He rolled over to face me, propped up on an elbow with his cheek resting on a fisted hand. Firelight played across his features, his eyes intent on mine. It took significant effort not to notice just how inviting he looked.

  I considered his question. “Well… Take you, for example. There’s this kind of light just over your left shoulder – sometimes bright, sometimes dim. But it’s been there from the time I met you.”

  He sobered. “A light. What do you think it is?”

  “Honestly?” I said, after a moment of hesitation. “I think it’s your wife. Lucia.”

  I didn’t say the name lightly, but regardless of the gravity I may have attached when it passed my lips, it was clear Jack wasn’t ready for it. A shadow crossed his face. He lay back in bed, silent for one endless moment.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I am,” he said. He sounded surprised. “Sorry. I guess I’m not used to talking about this kind of thing. I’m definitely not used to people saying they see my dead wife over my shoulder.”

  “No, I guess not. You did ask, though,” I pointed out.

  “I did,” he agreed. “I want you to feel like you can talk about things with me. And I really would like to understand some of what you go through.”

  “Maybe we should just pace ourselves with that.”

  “Maybe so.” A beat of silence passed between us, while the storm continued to rage outside. Casper, meanwhile, snored contentedly by my side. “We should try to get some sleep. I’d like to get back out there as soon as the storm slows down.”

  “Okay.” Another beat passed, and I closed my eyes against the uncertainty and the storm and the knowledge of Jack Juarez lying just a dog’s-width away. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

  “Goodnight, Jack.”

  Chapter 28

  I’M SURROUNDED BY SOIL. Mountains of it. It smells like clean earth, spring, and there’s nothing I want more than to sink my hands in, elbow deep. Bear is beside me, but he’s a little boy again – no more than three. Chubby, dirty cheeks and a mop of dark blond hair, his father’s dark eyes always watching me from that intent little face. Phantom is beside him, seated patiently.

  “We need to bury it,” I say to my son.

  I look down, and realize that we’re standing on a box. A huge box – as big as a field, stretching as far as the eye can see. Despite the size, though, Bear doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods seriously. He has on overalls that a friend of mine made for him in Washington, denim with grizzly bear patches at the knees. He refused to wear anything else when he was little, running naked whenever I had to wash them.

  “Do you want me to use my hands?” he asks. I nod, because I don’t have a shovel and I can’t imagine where we’d find one.

  Phantom lays down in the soil while we work, while a presence I can’t shake bears down on us. He’s getting closer. If we can’t cover this up in time, he’ll escape. And we’ll never be safe again.

  “I’m tired, Mom,” Bear complains. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Just keep covering it,” I say. “Think of it like it’s a game. Scoop up the dirt from here, and dump it down over here.” I bend and scoop up a huge armful of soil, and I can feel the worms squirming against my skin as I hold it, pivot, and drop it on the box. It makes a hollow sound when it falls.

  Bear imitates me, but I can tell he doesn’t want to play this game. Neither do I.

  And then suddenly, in the bizarre time jump of a dream, he is gone. Phantom is, too, and I am alone standing on a box the size of a football field, trying to cover it up using a pile of sand that wouldn’t fill a litterbox.

  Brock watches me.

  He is whole now. Smiling. “You’re really going to keep doing that?” he says.

  I keep covering the box, desperate to find more dirt. “I’ll do what I need to do.”

  Brock sits down a few feet away and watches me. His eyes are dark, his presence darker, and I don’t know what he’ll do or when he’ll do it, but I know I’m not safe. Not as long as he’s here.

  “People need to know what you did,” he says.

  I don’t look at him, continuing to pile more dirt on.

  “You’re acting like you’re one thing, but we know you’re something else,” he continues. “I know better than anybody, exactly what you are. You think covering it up with a little bit of dirt can hide that?”

  “Leave me alone. Just go back where you came from.”

  “Go back where you put me, you mean,” he corrects me. I don’t acknowledge him. I get down on my knees, more desperate than I can remember feeling in years, and try to scrounge for something more to cover the box. There’s nothing there, though. There’s no way I can hide this thing.

  “Look at me when I’m talking to you, sweetheart,” Brock says. I don’t – I can’t. I’m shaking. Furious and humiliated, out here in the dirt trying to bury this thing that won’t stay buried.

  “I said look at me,” he says, the words a growl at my ear. And suddenly he is behind me. I can feel him, more real than anything else I know. His arm around my neck, his body pressed tight against me.

  “Let me go.”

  “I’m never letting you go again,” he says. “Beg all you want. You know how I love you on your knees.”

  I fight him, twisting to get away, my heart pounding hard enough to ache in my chest. I scream, when I feel him hold me tighter. “Get away from me!”

  “Jamie,” another voice says. A voice grounded in reality, not this nightmare dreamscape I can’t get away from. Jack. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

  #

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack asked, for the third time in as many minutes. I was on my feet in the cold cabin, trying to get my heart settled back into a normal rhythm.

  “It was just a dream,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t challenge me on what was technically the truth, instead leaving me in peace as I went to the woodstove and put another log on the dying embers. We’d been asleep for almost three hours, a lot more than I had expected. An icy rain continued to fall outside, but it was winding down. Casper lay by the fire now, having gotten up at the same time I had. He was already out again. I sincerely doubted that Jack or I would get any more sleep, though.

  I sat on the floor and stared at the slowly growing blaze, trying to shut everything else out. The image of Bear flashed through my mind: a little boy in his favorite overalls, trying to hide that giant box. I felt a leering presence, a dark-throated behemoth that seemed to wrap around the entire cabin. There was no escaping Brock, it seemed.

  “You’ve probably been wondering how I know Hogan,” I said, when silence no longer felt like the safest option. I’d been thinking about what I should tell Jack – how much I should say. Now, the rehearsed speeches fell away. I swallowed past fear, guilt, rage. Grief.

  Jack said nothing, though I had no doubt that he was listening.

  “I met him when he worked as a detective with the Maine State Police,” I began. “We worked a few searches together. I was still pretty green, just getting into search and rescue.”

  “And when was this?” Jack asked, when I paused.

  I thought about it. “About ten years ago. I’d been living out west, in Washington, but Brock…” I stopped. Heard the voice in my head. Pictured Brock’s face. “Brock wanted me to bring Bear to Maine, and help him out.”

  “I know he’s mine, Jamie. I deserve to see my son.”

  “You have a son because I was fifteen, and di
dn’t know what the hell I was doing—”

  “That’s not the way I remember it,” Brock says, and I can picture him through the phone: blazing eyes and irreproachable certainty. “I’ve got the paperwork. You told me you were eighteen. And you were more than happy to come to my bed. I’ll show them your signature. Tell them what kind of woman you are. And they’ll give me full custody of my son; you’ll never see Bear again.”

  “So… I came back to Maine,” I said, pushing past the memory suddenly overwhelming me. I had to force the words out.

  “There’s a rumor that Brock Campbell was Bear’s father.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I didn’t have the energy to lie about it anymore. Outside, the wind howled and sleet pounded the windowpanes. I didn’t look toward the window, half afraid that Brock would be there, his face pressed to the glass. Waiting for a way back in.

  “We… Uh, yeah. I went to camp there when I was in high school. I already knew that I wanted to be a dog handler, and he was running a program.”

  “How old was he?” Jack asked. The tension in his voice was palpable, something I could feel from across the room.

  “He was forty-two then.”

  “And how old were you?”

  “I lied on my application,” I said. “I’d gone there the year before for the kids’ program, but I didn’t feel like I’d learned anything there. He never actually attended the camp then, so I figured he would never find out if I faked it the following year so I could go to the adult camp. He thought—”

  “How old were you?” Jack pressed.

  “I was fifteen.”

  The words hung there. Rebounded off the walls. I waited for Brock’s input. This time, he was silent.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, though his voice was still tight. “Keep going.”

  It took me a second to find my place – and my courage – again.

  “Anyway… I went back years later, when Brock asked me to. And he was actually really good with Bear. I would have found a way to leave, to get Bear away from him, if it weren’t for that.”