by J. R. Tate
“No, I didn’t see it when I came out here with the realtor.”
“Would it have made a difference? Why do you think they just buried her here by herself?” Rusty kneels beside it, moving some of the grass out of the way to view the cross better.
“This highway apparently runs parallel to an old trail that wagons took. She possibly could have died along the way. That’s what they did back then. Just buried people where they could.”
He looks up at me, appearing un-amused at the history lesson. “You mean to tell me you bought a house along a wagon trail where there could possibly be tons of unmarked graves right where we stand? Not to mention this marked one?”
I look toward the pond and back to the child’s grave. “It never crossed my mind, Russ. But I doubt there’s tons of unmarked graves. At least whoever owned this house did upkeep on this one.” Just my luck – I’ve bought land that’s haunted. “It’s just a grave – no need to go reading into things, Russ. Not every person comes back as a ghost.”
Shaking his head, he stands up and brushes his jeans off. “How about this, Dad? We run across one more grave, and we go back to the damn city. I’ve seen enough scary movies in my day and this…” He points to the cross, “This is about the time I’m screaming at the TV to get the hell out of there while you still have a chance. Let’s not be the stupid people who stick around for no reason.” He lets out a laugh and gently slugs my shoulder.
“I’d say you’ve seen one too many movies. I took care of the ghosts. They told me they wouldn’t be back. They have no reason to lie.” Of course, those ghosts won’t be back. Will more come? It’s a question I shove aside. No reason to get scared. “I’m gonna go check out the pond. You never know – could be a cemetery submerged underneath. That used to happen a lot back then too.”
I wink at Rusty and duck out of the way as he swings at me again, both of us laughing as we approach the water. It’s got fog rising just above the surface. Vines and trees drape over it. There’s a wooden dock on the other side, rotting and unsafe to use now, but something I’m sure I could repair and fish off of. It all looks like it hasn’t been touched in decades and I put my foot down on the wood, feeling it break from my weight. It’s not a big pond, but with the mist rising, it is kind of creepy.
“I don’t guess we can swim in this?” Rusty asks, kicking a rock in the water.
“No. I wouldn’t. I’m sure it’s full of water moccasins. Not even sure if there’s any fish in it, but sort of cool, right?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Sure, if you want to be the main character in an Alfred Hitchcock production. This shit is creepy, Dad! How about we go back to the house? At least something can’t push me in and drown me!”
“Suit yourself, city boy. I can’t wait to get this dock rebuilt. I’ll be out here more than in the house.” He’s right, but I’ll never say it out loud. It does have an eerie feel to it, but at the same time, I’m fascinated with it. This is my land and it’s mysterious. My curiosity is running wild, and I can’t wait to explore more of it. I just have to keep my imagination in check. If I can control that, it won’t seem so weird.
I follow Rusty back to the house, but my desire to stay outside trumps going in to unpack. It’s almost like I’m accepting that Rose is gone if I do this. Buying the house didn’t do it, but unpacking is like the finalization that we are here to stay. I hope she doesn’t feel like I’ve abandoned what we had.
I stop at the bottom steps of the back porch and look around. “Hey Russ, I think I’m gonna stay out here and do some more looking around. I think some gutters on the front are falling down and I might get some of the mowing done.”
“Suit yourself, Dad. I guess I’ll unpack my stuff.”
“Sounds good. Any idea where my tools are?”
Rusty arches his eyebrow and smirks. “My guess is they’re in a box somewhere in the house.”
“Nice, smart ass.” Going in the house, I sift through several boxes before I finally come across some of them. Carrying them out to the front, I slide the ladder from the bed of my truck and prop it up on the side of the house. Our old lawn mower is next to the garage, and I make sure it’s full of gas. Maybe some physical activity will do me some good – it’ll help change the channel in my mind.
Climbing up the ladder, I push a rusted part of the gutter and match it up to the screw it had fallen from, noticing it’s stripped. I knew the house was a fixer upper when I got it – it was part of its charm. It’ll take me a while to get it where I want, but that’s the fun of making a house your own. I’m sure Rusty doesn’t agree, but that’s why he’s inside and I’m not. I hope he gets used to the country living soon.
Years of leaves are packed, and I pull them out, the moisture dripping from my hand. It has a musty stench, and I wonder how many years of fallen limbs and leaves have accumulated.
“So you’re the new neighbor.”
The voice makes me jump, but I catch myself on the ladder and look down. Rusty would have a field day if he was out here – the guy looking up at me is older, his thinning grey hair sticking up in the breeze. His beady eyes squint and he folds his arms over his chest. I can’t tell if his tone is sarcastic or if he means well.
“Yes sir. My son and I just moved in.” I step off the ladder and extend my hand for him to shake, but he just stairs at it. “I’m Nathan Gallagher and my son is Rusty. He’s inside doing some unpacking.”
“You should have him out here with you doing the manual labor. Have a woman do the unpacking inside. Your wife should do that.”
If the guy wasn’t ancient I’d say something, but I let the chauvinistic remark slide. He’s from a different time, and by the looks of him, hasn’t been into town in ages.
“He’ll come help me in a bit. What can I do for you?” Now my tone seems inpatient, but if he wants my respect, he’ll have to give me some in return.
“Just wanted to come over and see who got suckered into this place.”
“Suckered into the place?” I ask. I’m not sure I even want to know. He seems bitter. Maybe he knew the people who had this before. Regardless, I shouldn’t let his attitude sway the fact that so far, I’m enjoying the place.
“If you knew the history behind this place, you would’ve never considered buying. You ever wonder why it sat vacant for so long?” The old man who still has not told me his name leans back against my truck and looks at the roof.
“You gonna tell me it’s haunted? That I should be scared? If you knew my history, you’d know I could give two shits about what could possibly going on inside. Nothing compares to what I’ve gone through.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “It’s not necessarily inside. And it’s not necessarily this house by itself. Read up on this highway. I’ll let you discover for yourself.” He turns to leave, but stops. “It’s good to have a neighbor again. I’m about half a mile south. Just hope to see someone finally stick around. Only a select few of us have been here as long as we have. You’ll understand why, soon enough.”
“I didn’t catch your name,” I yell toward him.
“Hershel Roberts.”
I nod at him as he makes his way back to his truck farther down the driveway, and go back to work. The sun is already beating down on me, and I want to show some progress on the overgrown jungle I have to mow. Maybe I’ll feel somewhat accomplished today. And as if I didn’t have enough to think about, Hershel Roberts comes into my life to add more. One of our next steps is getting internet hooked up. Between the grave of Lenora Dawson and now the apparent history of this area, I have some research ahead of me. I know it’s best not to do it, but just like everything else, my curiosity will not let it rest.
Chapter Four
Nathan
The next day my alarm blares at five thirty. I hit snooze and roll over, and it dawns on me that it’s the first night in a while that I slept decently, and by decently I mean that I didn’t wake up every hour. Today is my first shift back after moving
. I took a week off to try to get everything in order, and for the most part, we’ve gotten things unpacked. It’s an organized chaos. I still have some repairs to do and some yard work, but things are coming along fine. It actually looks like someone lives here now.
Sitting up, I amble to the bathroom and take a quick shower. I see something in the corner of my eye and move the shower curtain, but there’s nothing else in the bathroom with me. Lathering the shampoo in my hair, I swear I hear the same voice saying my name, but I push it aside. I don’t have time for this. The last thing I need to be is late after my week off.
Finishing, I towel off and slip into my pants and department shirt and smooth my fingers through my wet hair. I skip on shaving – I’ve never had a full beard except when I was in the hospital, but the darkness growing in seems appealing, or maybe I just don’t want to deal with it right now.
I don’t wake up Rusty. He doesn’t start school for another few days, and he’s been very helpful. I want him to enjoy his last few days of freedom. Hurrying out the door, I grab my keys from my pocket, checking to make sure that I have my cell phone. When I look up, Hershel Roberts is standing at my truck, in the same spot he was yesterday when I first met him.
“Jumpy?” He asks, his face stoic.
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Off so fast?”
I feel uneasy with this man. Now he knows I won’t be home. What if he tries to do something to my place? What if he bugs Rusty? Glancing at my watch, I make a mental note that if I don’t hit traffic, I’ll be right on time. But the chances of no traffic are slim to none. So much for not being late.
“I’m headed to work. What brings you by so early?”
He shrugs and smiles. I notice his teeth for the first time – and if I didn’t think before I spoke, I’d say something about a toothbrush.
“No particular reason, Mr. Gallagher. Just a beautiful morning out here. Thought I’d take a walk. See what’s lurking.”
“As much as I’d like to stick around for that, I’m late, Mr. Roberts. I’ll be home later.”
“What is it that you do, Mr. Gallagher?”
I hesitate as I open the truck door. This guy is all sorts of creepy. If I engage in conversation, he’ll stick around. But if I’m rude, will he retaliate? It’s hard to say.
“I’m a firefighter. And call me Nathan.”
“Well that’s just perfect, Nathan. Stay safe.”
I’d think he was sincere if he wasn’t holding that smirk. It’s like he knows something I don’t, and for all I know, he does. I hope he doesn’t keep randomly showing up like this. Eventually I’ll have to put a stop to it. Forcing a smile, I slam the door and head down my long driveway to the highway. It’s sad that I have to go to work to get rest. This past week has been trying. I hope my tour today goes quick, but I also hope the calls aren’t too overwhelming. I just want to edge back in to routine.
Traffic is light on Highway Six-Thirteen, and I find myself getting lost in the scenic drive. Trees line the roadway, and for the first time I notice all of the historical markers. I’m not a stranger to this part of the county, but I’ve never really taken the time to look at them. Maybe one day when I have some time, I’ll stop and read them – after all, Hershel mentioned history and it would be good to know some of it and see what has happened on or near my land.
Bringing the truck to a stop at a four way, I wave on the car to the right of me. As they edge into the intersection, a child glares at me through the window in the back seat, never taking his eyes off of me as they pass by. I keep eye contact with him, and watch as the car disappears around a curve. The vehicle behind me honks, reminding me that it is my turn to go. Nodding, I wave in the rear view mirror – my simple apology for having my head up my ass.
I need coffee and I need to wake up. But who am I kidding? My mind is going in so many directions… I just need to gain focus on my shift and nothing else. Too many lives depend on it.
The rest of the drive to the firehouse is fast, and I wave at my chief as I approach. He pulls me aside, his brow furrowed. “How’s the move?”
“Good. Everything is falling into place.”
“Yeah? You been going to, you know?” He moves his hands to get me to finish his sentence. Not once has he said the word counseling out loud, as if he does, it’ll spread to him like I’m some contagious psychopath.
“Yes, I’ve been going. Everything is good there, too. How’s the past week been?”
“Busy. A bunch of bullshit calls. I swear, it comes in waves. We must’ve had about ten calls alone where people thought they left their ovens on. We go knock their door in and everything is fine.”
I pat him on the shoulder and laugh. “At least you got to knock the door down. There’s a small bit of satisfaction in that.” I adjust my duffel bag on my shoulder. “It’s gonna sound weird, but I was starting to miss even the frequent fliers. Ms. Hensley call any?”
“You would say her name out loud, wouldn’t you?” Firefighter Jones walked in the garage, reporting for tour. “She’s like Beetlejuice, man! You say it any more and she’ll come out of the wood work.”
“And maybe she should. She’s overdue for a call! Maybe this time it’ll be more than a stubbed toe or a headache,” another guy says as we go to the lockers.
I open my locker and the picture on the inside makes my heart skip a beat. It’s Rose, dressed in a bikini from a few months back when we took a random trip to the lake. I pull it off the door and stare at it, my gut clenching at the sight of her.
“Hey, Lieu, what do you got there?”
I put the picture up in the top shelf out of the way before Jones sees it and push back the emotion. “Damn, Jones, mind your business, would you? How about you guys get out there and start washing the rig off? Looks like the night crew took it mudding or something.”
With a few grumbles and moans, I have the locker room to myself again and slide the photo out. She hated me taking pictures of her, but the way she looked on the edge of the water, in that bikini – I couldn’t help myself. Her hair blew in the wind, her eyes squinting from the sun. Damn, even after everything, I miss her. Even after she betrayed me and didn’t believe me, I still have this nagging sensation deep in my gut that won’t let her go. Just like the guilt I feel now that she’s gone, it won’t go away.
I grab my helmet and look inside, right under the strap where I keep a picture of the three of us. It’s the same picture Rusty had found in the box, and I slip the picture of Rose in behind it. Walking to my office, I sit behind the desk and stare at the blank computer screen. It’s good to be back, but am I truly ready? It’s a question I really have to consider. It’s not like an office job where I can wing it and push through – I have to be one hundred percent certain my head is in the right place or my brothers on the job will be put in immediate danger.
Swiveling the chair, I look out of the window to the street below. The men are gathered around the rigs, some busy shining it, the others jacking their jaws about who knows what. I wish I could go back to a time where I can just stand around, shooting the shit with no other major concerns. But after everything I’ve seen, things are different. Things have changed, and I feel like the odd man out. Even though the guys here have no clue what went on, I’m still paranoid that deep down, they have an idea.
My chief walks in my office and knocks on the doorframe as he enters, looking at the pictures on the walls that he’s seen a thousand times. I’m not sure why people do that – does it make things less awkward? Leaning forward, I clasp my hands together.
“You sure you’re ready, Gallagher?” He sits down and folds his arms over his chest.
“Yeah. I’m good. Why?”
“I figured you’d look rested, but you look like you haven’t gotten a wink of sleep. You’ve got tons of paid time off. There’s no shame if you need to use more of it.”
I let out a deep sigh. He’s just doing his job. He has to make sure his lieutenant isn’t broke
n goods. “Sir, if I stayed home any longer I’d have driven myself crazy. There’s a lot more to get done, but I need back on the truck. You of all people should understand that.”
He shakes his head and smiles. “I just hate everything that has happened to you, Gallagher. I’m on your side. Just say the word, Lieutenant.”
I arch my eyebrow and lean back in my chair. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, of course.”
“Can you not treat me like I’m damaged goods? I’m here to work. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Deep inside, I wonder if it’s even true. Am I here to work? Am I going to freeze up in a fire? It’s doubts we firemen face every day, but never say it out loud. And when it’s go time for a call, we man up and get through it, just like I’m going to do now.
“You got it, Gallagher. I’ll leave you alone and let you get caught up on things before the calls come pouring in.” He stops at the door and turns around. “It’s good to have you back.”
“It’s good to be back,” I reply, finally turning my computer on. Now, if we’d get dispatched to something, maybe my nerves would calm down a bit. It’ll only take one to get me right back on track. One surge of adrenaline. One save. And any doubts about where I need to be will be history.
I sift through mounds of paperwork that accumulated – and though it has only been a week, it has piled up to overwhelming amounts. There are a few incident reports and vacation requests, and I move through them fast. The reports are nothing major – with the way the department bureaucracy works now, we have to document every damn thing, whether it’s a huge accident or a broken fingernail.
I feel like I’m making a huge dent in everything, when finally, the alarm sounds for a fire seven blocks over. It’s a row house, and if I’m not mistaken, a vacant neighborhood notorious for drug dealers and squatters. Abandoning the paperwork, I slide down the fire pole and step into my turnouts, feeling the rush I’ve been craving for days now. Climbing up to the shotgun seat, I nod at Lewis, nudging him as he puts the truck in gear and merges out onto the street. The siren blares and I pull the chord, blaring the horn loud to clear the way in front of us. Of course, some people don’t move, and though we’ve all been on the job for years, it still surprises us. How can people be so stupid?
