Blue Macabre

by J. W. DeBrock

  Soon after, a wisp of smoke trailed from the meter. Tiny flames appeared in the wiring, quickly spreading throughout the old house.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Suzanne kept a phone within her reach at all times. The night of the fifteenth her anxiety reached critical mass as she tossed and turned in her bed. Early the morning of the sixteenth she left Rachel with her parents and headed for Silver Lake.

  As she exited the freeway and followed 504 on her way out, her anxiety increased with every mile. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, glanced in the mirrors repeatedly, moved her left leg through an infinite variety of positions to ease cramping in her calf. After ten miles she turned off the highway, and a mile or two further again onto a side street. The pit of her stomach convulsed as she coasted into Jenny’s driveway.

  She stared through the windshield.

  The house lay in cinders on its foundation, the pilings of the deck charred and splintered. Karin’s compact car had burned as well. She now had an unobstructed view of the opposite shore – visible previously through the great room window. She struggled through a couple of choking breaths, then flung the car door open and vomited.

  She grabbed some paper napkins from the seat beside her, scented with the fast food breakfast she’d just lost. She got out and leaned against her car, her eyes glassy and unfocused. She took several steps toward what had been the back porch. Her stomach roiled again, and she bent and clutched her knees, choking with dry heaves. Before she stood up a movement caught the corner of her eye. She turned her head to the right and saw the furry shape beneath the shrubbery, the bush singed from the heat of the fire, its outermost leaves black and curled.

  She wiped her mouth again and crawled toward the shrub. Rebecca lay on her side, fur black with soot, blood around her nose and mouth. Suzanne reached to touch her, gently placing her hand on the cat’s side. The thin ribs lifted with barely perceptible breath.

  She got back on her feet and ran to her car, grabbing one of Rachel’s baby blankets from the rear seat. She dashed back to the cat, spread the blanket on the ground beside her, and tenderly eased Rebecca over onto the flannel. She gathered the animal in her arms and bowed her head. She meditated for a couple of minutes and as she laid the cat on the front seat whispered, “That will hold you until I can find help. Feel the love and energy, dear little cat.”

  As she backed from the driveway, tears clouded her sight.

  The edge of a sodden sleeping bag bounced against the deck piling closest to the charred remains of the house.

  Using her cell phone she found the nearest veterinarian. She followed their directions and quickly found her way into their clinic, and a warm room with caring hands. The vet promised to do everything possible. Suzanne gave him her cell and credit card numbers, and asked him to call as soon as he could. She patted the cat gently and promised to pick her up as soon as she was well.

  She clutched the cat’s collar and tag in her hand.

  Driving straight to the state police post, she was quickly surrounded by all of the officers who were there once she asked for Andy. Her knees gave out as they told her of his misfortune. They took her into their conference room and compared notes as to what might have occurred. She learned that Jenny’s house had burned to the ground due to the fact that it was in an area where most of the homes were vacation residences, and not many occupied during the winter. No bodies were found in the house, but that did nothing to allay her worst fears.

  As she prepared to leave, the officers gave her a card to gain her entrance to Andy’s room at the hospital.

  The officer stationed in the hospital corridor at Andy’s room looked at the card and then opened the door for her. “Don’t imagine it will hurt to wake him up again. It’s every ten minutes around here anyway,” he said with a smile.

  Andy was in a private room. She stepped quietly across the floor and stood beside his bed. His eyes were closed, dark circles under each, the skin on his temples purplish and mottled. His hands were resting on top of the blankets. She covered them with her own and spoke his name.

  His eyelids fluttered and opened. “You didn’t return my calls,” she said. “I see you’ve been tied up.” She smiled as he smiled at her – and tears welled in her eyes. “What the hell happened to you? And where’s Jen?”

  He closed his eyes and sighed. “I can’t even begin to tell you.” He reached to push the button to raise the head of his bed. “From what they tell me I was fried within an inch of my life.” His eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid, Suzanne. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand trembling as she held his. “How long have you been here – two days?”

  “I think so, although I’ve lost track of time. Our favorite brother really fucked me over.”

  “Chris did this to you?”

  “Oh yes. I haven’t told anyone else that little fact, though. Told them I just couldn’t remember yet, which is a common thing with trauma.” He nodded at the bedside table. “Could you pour me some water, please?”

  She filled the glass from the pitcher and handed it to him. “I just came from Jenny’s place. It’s gone!”

  “What do you mean, gone?”

  “I mean gone, as in burned to the ground.”

  Andy threw up his hands, and the cup flew to a corner, splattering the rest of its contents across the wallpaper. “The hell!” He sat straight up, groaning, annoyed with the IV and other monitor lines.

  “Your house looked fine. No damage there. It was just her house.”

  “Hand me the phone, will you?” She threaded the handset between the lines and dialed the number he gave. “Sam? Hey, this is Andy Jackson . . . yeah, I’m okay – they’ll be letting me out pretty soon. Listen, Sam, a friend is here visiting me and just told me the house next door to mine on the lake burned. Can you tell me what happened?” Suzanne watched as he nodded and commented, the firefighter filling in the gaps. “No shit? Well look, Sam – thanks a lot. I’ll drop in as soon as I can. Thanks.”

  She said, “No bodies?”

  His face drained of its color, giving his injuries a hideous theatrical cast. “No bodies were found.”

  Jay Prosper stood on the deck of Andy’s house as his buyers walked through their new vacation home. They’d signed their share of the paperwork in escrow, and as soon as Andy was able he’d sign and close the deal. They’d been alarmed to find the house next door in ashes, but Jay had used his expertise as a realtor to calm their fears and assure them that the site would be cleared as quickly as possible. His breath hung before him in a frosty cloud, and trailed him as a shadow when he moved.

  He gazed at the pile of sodden ash and charred timbers that had existed as Jenny’s special place, and lowered his head in respect and sadness. He turned his back to the scene, and looked out across the wintry lake. A large flock of mud hens drifted close by in concentric rings on the water, disappearing as they dived to the shallow lake bottom, popping up like released corks as they fed. Jay walked across the deck for a closer look and leaned on the railing.

  Something rustled the brush underneath the deck directly below where he stood. The noise startled him and he stepped away from the railing. He tried to follow the movement, but couldn’t quite see anything. He walked down the steps to the driveway and bent down to look beneath the wood steps. He jumped when he saw two black eyes staring out at him from the space between the risers. He gasped as a pink tongue came from a mouth.

  He let out the breath he’d been holding as a filthy Cocker Spaniel emerged.

  Jay laughed, and then noticed the dog had a collar with tags. He reached down and unfastened the buckle. “TROOPER,” he read aloud. “Andy Jackson, Washington State Police.” Jay tousled the dog’s ears and asked, “How did you get left out here, then, little guy? I’ll get you back to Andy.”

  The dog reached up to lick Jay’s fingers, and then turned away and trotted toward the lake side of Jenny’s ash pile. “Whe
re you going, boy?” The dog turned around and looked at Jay, and resumed his path.

  He followed Trooper to the shoreline, where several deck pilings stood charred and splintered in the water. The dog picked his way from the edge of the slope into the water, wading in until it came halfway up his sides. He watched the dog nose around one of the posts and then tug on something submerged. He stepped closer to see what it was.

  A human face and arm lay submerged beneath the clear surface. The rest of the body was trapped in what looked like a sleeping bag. Jenny’s sightless eyes stared at him through the ripples.

  Jay Prosper screamed.

  Andy hung up the phone in slow motion and lay back on his pillow. “Oh my God,” he said softly. “Jenny is dead. They found her body in the lake at her house.” He and Suzanne stared at each other, stunned to silence. “He killed her, I know he did. I can feel it. Sally too. And Dave.” He and Suzanne had discussed Karin’s fate. “It makes me wonder what really happened – if his wife Donna’s death was an accident or not.” Suzanne went to him and they held each other for some time.

  “She was in the lake, hidden in a sleeping bag. He must have thought he’d hidden her for good. She’d never have been found if the house hadn’t burned.”

  Suzanne paused in thought. She sighed. “Makes you wonder why the house did choose to burn now . . . it’s been there for years. Definitely makes ME wonder . . .” She sat up and wiped her face with tissues. “It’s time I told you about a dream I had recently.” She sniffled and continued. “At least, I think it was a dream. Very realistic. I might have traveled astrally, but I won’t go into that right now. The gist of it is that I saw Chris’s wife Donna, and her child. She appeared to tell me Chris allowed himself to succumb to his dark side, and that he is reaping the abuse he visited upon her while they were together. She wasn’t sorry to cross over – to die – and finally got out from under his control. Her last words, or thoughts, to me were STOP HIM. Now – are we too late?”

  Andy studied her face. “I don’t pretend to understand just all of what it is you do. But my gut tells me you are totally honest and I have to trust you. Maybe someday you can teach me more.” He straightened his back, and called to the officer outside his door. He grasped Suzanne’s hand. “I do have a name for what HE is. Evil. This mother fucker’s evil.” Andy’s features took a change, accepting a light from within. “Evil, meet fucking justice. Give me that call button.”

  He insisted the doctor on call come see him, and made him authorize removal of the IV, a nurse patching him with bandages. He and Suzanne talked as the nurse worked. The officer who’d been guarding his room returned with a set of clothes. Andy brought her up to speed on Chris’s enlightening conversation the night of the attack, and what he’d seen Karin become. He then insisted on having a wheelchair, and the nurse and officer helped him into it.

  Andy, Suzanne, and the officer went downstairs to the administrator’s office, and there the assistant on duty confirmed that Karin Rawlins had passed away after childbirth, cause of death aneurysm, her infant son remanded to the custody of her husband Christopher. They did not have any other address besides the ruined lake house.

  Returning to Andy’s room, he called his post and began the process of filing charges against Chris. He located his former sergeant and related the story as simply as possible, from Sally to Jenny.

  He and Suzanne left the hospital together. She bolstered him with all the energy she could muster.

  An APB was put out for Jenny’s vehicle.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Although the campground was open year-round, in winter the wind blew across the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca unceasingly, whipping the trees and bushes on the bluff just south of Vancouver Island. They spent half of their time in the SUV, the other half nestled in the cozy dome tent. Chris’s logical mind had planned thoroughly. He’d come up with a clever windbreak, and had everything he needed to care for the baby and himself. He adapted to the two-hour schedule of the infant reasonably well, napping almost as often as the baby. He passed the time planning, thinking of where and how he wanted the two of them to end up. Canada was close and appealing and he had a passport.

  He was plagued with nearly constant headaches, but wrote them off to lack of sleep and tried to control them with large doses of ibuprofen. He’d cleared his mind of unpleasantries, among them any memories of Donna, Karin, or Jenny. They existed in a neverland of lost souls he did not care to revisit.

  The large campground was mostly deserted, save for a scattering of the largest RVs. The ranger on duty, with whom Chris dutifully checked in, hadn’t a clue Chris was camping with a baby. Blowing wind and lack of visitors kept the ranger inside, catching up on clerical tasks he rarely had time to complete in the busier seasons.

  The ranger had gone to town to pick up some groceries and supplies, and stopped in at the Sheriff’s station to soak up the latest chatter. He was amazed to find he recognized a man and vehicle who were the subject of a hot APB.

  The dispatcher in Castle Rock took the call from the Clallam County Sheriff, and immediately called Andy. He in turn called and spoke personally with the Sheriff and the park ranger.

  The BMW flew over the freeway.

  He sat with the baby in the back of the SUV. As the infant nursed the bottle of formula, Chris listened to the patter of rain on the roof. His head was splitting. He shook the ibuprofen bottle and knew he’d have to go into town for more.

  He looked down as he became aware the baby’s movement had stopped. The little one had fallen asleep again, and Chris gently settled him into his carrier, tucking the white blanket over him. He curled up beside the baby, lying on his side on a sleeping bag, tucking a pillow beneath his pounding head. He drifted off also.

  In the dream, he was with Donna and a tiny golden-haired child. They were walking on the beach, and his dream was bright, the ocean sparkling as diamonds, the sky of sapphire blue. Donna smiled at him. Her teeth shone as pearls, her lips rose petals. He and she held the little hands of the child between them. She wore a flowing white dress of a gossamer weave; the breeze flirted with the fabric, floating it around her, delicate as angel wings. The child was naked, his skin glowing, his laughter delicate as the sound of tiny bells. Chris smiled as he slept, the warmth of the beach and the glow of his family encompassing his very being, his happiness beyond compare.

  Donna turned to him, brushing his cheek with a kiss as she bent over and picked up the boy. She carried him to the edge of the surf. Chris stood and watched as she and the child splashed and romped in the water’s edge, the fabric of the dress wet and clinging, her body naked underneath. She and the child were radiant. He laughed and called out her name.

  He was troubled she seemed to not hear, carrying the child further out into the crystal surf. He walked toward them, but could not catch up. For every step he took, the distance between he and his family doubled. Soon he was far away, anxious as he saw the height of the waves around her expand. He cried out in his dream, but no sound escaped. He watched, frozen in place, as the water caressed her waist, splashed against her breasts, she and the child moving away, out of reach, out of sight. He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was alone.

  He ran toward the surf.

  They stopped at the ranger’s office to find out exactly what campsite Chris was in and took a map of the campground. The ranger’s face registered relief when Andy asked him to remain behind to guide the other officers who would soon be arriving. They followed the directions to the last camping loop, and parked near one of the concrete block restroom structures. They got out and bundled themselves up against the wind and rain.

  Andy soon spotted Jenny’s SUV and some other colors through the wet trees and bushes, some yards ahead.

  Chris sat up, a cold sweat covering his skin. His eyes were wide with terror, his stomach nauseated as the dream lingered like a smothering cloud. He reached out and released the rear hatch and as it slowly raised he found
himself looking down the barrel of a gun. Andy motioned him out. He obeyed and stood upon the ground against the side of the truck with the gun in his face. Light rain misted his eyes and collected on his forehead.

  Andy held him there while Suzanne reached for the baby. She pulled him from the carrier and clutched him; the wind whipped their clothing and she bundled him tightly, tucking him into her warm coat against her body. She reached out for the white blanket.

  Andy glanced at her, and Chris darted from the hold of the pistol and ran. Andy gave chase but Chris sprinted down the asphalt drive, slipping once on its slick surface, gaining ground when the path became gravel on its way to the ocean overlook. Andy chased him, adrenalin easing his injuries, vengeance mitigating his pain.

  The trail ended at a small sitting area overlooking the Strait. A split log rail marked the edge of a sandy cliff, picnic tables resting at haphazard angles. Winter storms had ravaged the area in recent weeks. Yellow caution tape was lashed to the fence, whipping in the wind. The edge of the cliff was weak.