Blue Macabre

by J. W. DeBrock

  BLUE MACABRE

  BY

  J. W. DeBrock

  Copyright 2011@J. W. DeBrock

  all rights reserved

  They’d been arguing, and he’d looked away from the road for just a few seconds.

  They were returning home from a long weekend away, a brief respite in the Smoky Mountains. Returning to their normal lives. They had actually enjoyed themselves most of the time, early Spring in a beautiful area – fresh mountain air, tiny new growth with a verdant covering of green. Chris had felt hope for their relationship, hope and joy and energy for the new life that grew within his wife’s womb. He was optimistic they might actually be able to work out their problems, but as usual, easily irritated.

  She’d been crying, which had made him angry. As he reached across the seat to grab her in the passenger seat, he swerved just enough that the left front wheels of the coupe caught a deep rut right beside the pavement of the shoulder. At that point the car was about a third of the way through a spot that had been blasted out of a hillside. Steep sides formed a narrow canyon over fifty feet high.

  The tires clung to the rut and jerked the coupe hard left. The rear wheels also caught the rut and momentum catapulted the car away at an impossible angle, smashing it into the side of the gorge. The car pinballed across both lanes of the freeway, spinning and smashing its way with a spectacular shower of metal and paint, until it came to an unnatural rest in the center, the passenger side crushed beyond recognition, the driver’s side crumpled but intact.

  Traffic behind the accident quickly backed up several miles. Two medical helicopters transported Chris and Donna once they were extricated from the wreckage.

  His wife and unborn son were gone.

  Chapter One

  Christopher Rawlins and his sister Jenny pulled up in the gravel driveway of her house at Silver Lake, Washington. The sunny morning had warmed into the sort of afternoon that lives forever, even though it was showing signs of fading. The breeze coming across the lake danced across and illuminated the water. They hadn’t talked much on the drive home from the Portland airport, just across the state line in Oregon. He’d seemed to be content with watching the scenery pass, making an occasional comment about this new house or that forgotten clearcut. Washington, the Evergreen State, in its accustomed majesty.

  She parked and shut off the engine. “You doing okay?” She leaned on the steering wheel and looked at him.

  He stared ahead at the house and smiled. “I think so. Actually I do feel a little better.” He turned in the seat to reach and hug her. “Thanks, Jen. Thanks for everything. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’ve always been here for me.” He kissed her cheek and wiped a couple of tears from his own. He reached to open his door, stepped out onto the ground, and felt as if he might somehow step back in time.

  The original structure had been their family’s simple vacation cabin, a treasured hideaway little more than a couple of hours’ drive from their established Oregon home. One large room near the lakewaters’ edge, it had been creatively added to over the space of some twenty-five years. As natural as its setting on Silver Lake, polished wood surfaces and stained glass windows gave daily competition to the surrounding beauty of satin water and velvet hillsides. It was unassuming, comfortable and cozy. There was a nook for any mood – a warm kitchen with a brick floor and tiled countertops, an open dining area with a bay window overlooking the shoreline, a great room with a primitive stone fireplace. An aged claw-foot tub served relaxing hot soaks on demand in the bathroom. Most of its interior walls were rough-sawn wood, but here and there colorful paintings were hung as if to say “enough of nature”. Jenny practiced handcraft of every description, and there were few spots that did not speak of long hours spent creating and loving. Her furniture consisted of some antiques, a few hand-me-downs, and several throwaways. A loft overlooked the great room, providing a haven for Jenny’s roommate Karin. There were two bedrooms, one Jenny’s, the other for guests. The guest room also doubled as a home office, the place where she made her living by keeping records for several local businesses on an outdated personal computer. The most favored feature of the house was a large redwood deck, structurally attached where the house met the shoreline and extending out across the shallows. It was big enough for a party, small enough for solitude, and supported a small stone grill that always turned out something tasty. Chris recalled the satisfaction of idle summers spent there, countless family vacations. He’d often thrown Donna off the end of the deck as they horsed around as teenagers – and enjoyed no other cares or worries other than trying to catch a fish bigger than the one from the day before. And the house always smelled the same, as if it had been built with tools that sealed in forever its own aroma.

  Jenny felt him reminiscing. “I see you’re glad to be back. It’s easy to miss this old place, isn’t it?” She reached to get her purse from the vehicle and shut the door. “Better get your stuff inside. According to the weatherman, it’s not supposed to rain tonight – so it probably will.” She called over her shoulder as she opened the door of the house, “You know how that goes.” A gray cat materialized from beneath nearby shrubbery and whisked past her legs, vanishing into the house.

  He walked around to the rear of her SUV, popped the rear hatch, and heaved his two suitcases onto the ground. He reached further into the back of the car and gently removed a smaller carry-on bag, pulling it close to him. In his mind he recalled the expression on the face of the TSA agent who’d pulled it apart from the rest of the bags coming out of the scanner – and how he’d looked at Chris over the top of his glasses when Chris explained the purpose of the sealed urn it contained and brought out the death certificate and mortuary papers.

  A gust of wind interrupted his thoughts; he looked up and saw a solid bank of clouds billowing over the far west end of the lake. He shut the hatch and carried the bags toward the house, setting them on the landing.

  For the next several minutes he wandered the yard, taking note of unremembered shrubs and flower beds. Ending up at the lake end of the house, he anticipated the scene that had never failed to thrill him. He stepped up onto the deck and the view of the volcano caught his breath. Fifteen miles away by line of sight and nearly double that by car, Mt. St. Helens had fascinated him since childhood. He’d admired her, researched her, hiked her slopes, and brought home treasures from her eruption. As a teenager he’d thought of becoming one of the naturalists who worked for the National Park Service, sharing with visitors her various mysteries and amazing powers. This time of year she was still resplendent under several feet of snow, and he hoped he’d get to take Jenny’s SUV over a few logging roads during his visit – knowing that highway access to the summit would still be restricted due to the snowpack. Now late in the afternoon, the portion of the sunset that conquered the rising cloudbank tinted the shrouded mountain pink; a wisp of steam trailed lazily from her lava dome. Thoughts of trailblazing scattered as Jenny joined him. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I never do get tired of that view.”

  “Yeah. You don’t know how lucky you are to have this place.” With a sigh he leaned against the top of the deck railing and gazed down into the shallows. A school of minnows flittered amongst the pilings.

  She watched as the darkening clouds formed great gray mounds. “Kind of funny, those clouds. We should bring in some firewood from the shed. The way the temp’s dropping, a fire might feel pretty nice. I thought I’d make some cornbread for supper – I left chili in the crock pot all day. Sound okay?”

  “Sure – at least, I hope it will be edible.” He spun and ran from her as she moved to slap him, across the yard to the shed. She pursued him and lunged; he lost his balance and they fell to the ground in a laughing tangle. He overpowere
d her quickly and pinned her down. Something about her softness, her femininity, reminded him of his recent loss. His feelings collided with memories of his wife and their child in her softly swelling belly.

  Don’t worry I won’t smash you

  A big raindrop splattered his hair and trickled down his scalp, breaking his spell as his sister groaned. “Get off! Ugh!”

  “Oh, sorry . . . didn’t mean to smash you.” He jumped back onto his feet and gave her his hand to help her up. “Better get that wood in – we’ll both be soaked soon.” He wiped his temple where the rain lingered.

  She heaped his arms with logs and grabbed some kindling. They jogged back to the house as large raindrops began a steady splatter. Inside, he dropped the wood on the hearth and went back out for his neglected suitcases, tousling his hair as he returned to the kitchen. He went back to the fireplace and dropped down on his knees, arranging kindling and a starter log. Jenny took dishes from the cupboard, and silverware from a drawer. “Want a beer?”

  He poked his head into the kitchen, a knowing smile on his face. “Sure. I’ll need something to ease the pain of your cooking.” She frowned but giggled as he wiggled his eyebrows.

  He helped himself to a beer from the fridge, opened one for her as well, and plopped down in one of the chairs by the table. “It really does smell great. I’ve always secretly thought you were a good cook, in spite of the general concensus.”

  She grinned. “There’s only marginal hope for you. What do I see in you anyhow? Are we really related? Was there a mixup at the hospital?”

  He flexed his biceps. “Must be my good looks, charm, sense of humor, fantastic personality . . .”

  “Don’t forget to include modesty in your top ten list. Why don’t you quit bugging me and go unpack so I can finish dinner?”

  He drank deeply from his bottle and belched before answering. “Only if you think you can live without me.” Wind and rain had begun to lash the roof and windows, drawing his attention. “Damn. It’s really coming down. Better check on my fire.”

  A small flame persisted in spite of the strong winds that sporadically blustered down through the flue. A rivulet of water trickled inside the chimney, sizzling as it reached the grate. “When did the chimney develop this leak?”

  She joined him with their beer bottles, puzzled. “I don’t know. I never noticed it before.” She passed him his beer and turned on the table lamp beside the couch. Trying to see outside through the big window that overlooked the deck, she commented, “Jeez, it’s really coming down. Can’t hardly see the neighbor’s deck.”

  The wind was now screaming across the expanse of the lake, thrashing rain against the windows and churning inky water to thunder against the shore, assaulting boat docks and decks. “Oh shit,” she exclaimed as she saw that one neighbor’s fishing boat was fighting and losing a battle with the waves and rain. A spotlight from the house was a beacon of watery illumination. She shivered and moved to close her louvered shutters across the windows. As she reached for the last one, a brilliant bolt of lightning lit up the room like a strobe; thunder crashed immediately with a boom that made both of them jump.

  “Close one, no doubt. Guess I’d better go unpack before the lights go out.” He smiled at her frown.

  WHAM! The back door blew open and smashed into the wall behind. “Shit! I’m soaked!” A young woman stumbled across the threshold in an effort to escape the drenching.

  Jenny got up. “Hey there you, thought you’d be home before now.” She watched the young woman peel off her raincoat and hang it on a peg near the door. “Come in here.”

  In the great room, the new arrival smiled at Chris and Jenny, wiping her hair with paper towels from the kitchen. She extended a damp hand to Chris. “Hi. Don’t let me drip all over you. I’m Karin.”

  Jenny added, “We’ve been sharing the house for the past couple of months. This is of course, my brother Chris.”

  “It’s nice to finally meet you – as the saying goes, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She shivered and added, “Excuse me while I look for something dry.” She pivoted and headed up the stairs to the loft.

  “And I to unpack,” Chris added.

  He carried his bags to the guest room, flipped the light switch with an elbow, and hefted the suitcases onto the bed. Jenny’s cat Rebecca, nestled comfortably on the pillows, glared first at the light and then at him for the disturbance. He moved to brush her off the bed and jerked his hand away as she tried to impart a nasty scratch as a parting gesture. She slithered out the door and disappeared.

  Glancing around the room, he noticed Jenny’s work area with her old desktop computer. The age of it stirred his interest and he walked around the bed for a closer look at what she was using to make a living with. It was well out-of-date. No telling how many years this relic has been around – she must have gotten it secondhand from Aladdin! He scrutinized a few of the old software boxes perched on a shelf above the desk. Most dealt with tax and bookkeeping programs. The boxes disappeared momentarily as the lights blinked off and on. From a distance he heard Jenny cry “Shit!” Finding himself wondering if there was a surge protector on the power cord to the computer, he checked and saw there was not, making a mental note to remind her about it as he removed the plug from the wall. He turned his attention back to his suitcases, felt repulsed at the thought of unpacking, and opted to just dig out something comfortable. He let his eyes wander about the room as he stripped off, dressing in rumpled sweats. His nose connected with the aroma of fresh baked cornbread and he realized he was starved. He paused to catch some of the conversation coming from the kitchen; reaching to turn off the light he glanced back toward the computer and was surprised to notice a photo of Donna and himself, an old wedding picture, that he’d framed and sent to his sister. The immediate voices faded. He walked back to the desk and picked up the frame, caressing the front of the glass with his fingertips. He lifted the picture to study its details more closely.

  The starving he felt in his stomach turned into gnawing, the voices he heard down the hall into pleading.

  Handcuffs no Chris no not again

  Its okay baby just for a little while

  No Chris no Chris no

  Please Donna you know what I like

  Softness pinching squeezing

  Chris no

  I love you baby, love you Donna

  Fuck me baby

  Twisting noooooooo Chris

  He refocused his eyes, a bitter taste in his mouth. His stomach lurched.

  He replaced the frame near the desktop computer housing, and went to the suitcase holding the urn. As he lifted it from the bag he gagged; he swallowed hard and his head spun briefly. He set the urn in place beside the photograph, gazing into space. Gradually he listened to the immediate voices return.

  “Dinner, bud,” called Jenny. “Chris?”

  She was pulling a cast-iron skillet from the oven. Five candles flickered in the center of the table. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “And what might those be for?”

  Karin carried bowls and plates from the counter. “Let’s just say that Jen mentioned your idea of the lights out thing. I’m too hungry to miss her cooking.” She laid spoons and knives beside each plate. “Let’s eat!”

  He was blowing across his third bowl when the house went dark. “Shit,” muttered Jenny.

  Karin laughed at her. “Guess he’s got an inside track.”

  “Told you so,” Chris mumbled through a thick mouthful. “Good thing you got the candles out after all. You still have those old oil lamps around here?”

  “They’re on the top shelf of the bookcase in the living room. Be a good boy and get them down for me.”

  He slurped a couple of bites more and laid his spoon and napkin on the table with a gesture of finality. “Okay, I can’t stuff anymore in anyhow.”

  Chris retrieved the lamps and lit them while Karin lumped the dishes in the sink. Jenny fetched three beers from the refrigerator. Soon a dim ligh
t pervaded the room, helping to diminish the cloistering effect of the anxious weather. Jenny curled up in her favorite chair by the fire and draped her legs with an afghan; Karin nestled on the sofa and Chris took the creaky recliner opposite. The warmth of the fire was soothing and the blaze hypnotic, although the rivulet of water within the firebox dribbled continuously. Jenny’s eyes were drawn to the windows as wind whistled through their cracks and crevices.

  He rose to put more wood on the fire and then settled back in his chair.

  “I’ll be back,” said Karen as she got up and headed down the hall. “Too much beer and chili on a really empty stomach. Jen, where’s the flashlight?”

  Minutes ticked by as the alcohol warmed them. The storm continued its assault. Waves of shallow lake water hammered the deck pilings.

  “If you need to talk, it’s okay,” Jenny offered to her brother.

  “I know.”

  She stared at the blaze, lost in the colors and patterns. When she looked at Chris sometime later, she saw his cheeks wet with tears. “Hey, come and sit by me.” She held out her arms.