Old Wounds

by Vicki Lane

  “You can see there’s not much of anywhere to hide things in here.”

  They were both crowded into the little building. A rectangular box, of about nine feet by five feet, the chicken house’s bare, uninsulated board walls and hay-strewn floor were unpromising. One red hen eyed them warily from a nest box, while the others milled about the metal garbage can where the laying pellets were kept.

  “I clean it out every spring and I’ve certainly never seen anything hidden down here.” Elizabeth reached into the can and tossed several handfuls of feed out onto the bare ground of the chicken yard. With a flurry of feathers, the chickens raced to gobble up the pellets. The red hen, with an agitated squawk, abandoned the nest box and half jumped, half flew between them and out the door.

  “Idiot biddy! In such a hurry she broke a couple of eggs.” Elizabeth reached into the nest box and retrieved the eggs, throwing the broken ones out the door. Quickly abandoning the laying pellets, the hens hurried to suck up the bright yellow yolks, pecking and jostling one another aside.

  “Cannibals,” Elizabeth muttered. “You should see them with chicken bones. It’s a regular feeding frenzy.”

  Phillip was making a careful examination of the interior of the little structure. “Sam built this, right?”

  “Yep, pretty soon after we got the house done. Rosie used it for a clubhouse for a while—till I got chickens. It was really cute—she kept books in the nest boxes and had cushions on the floor—oh, yuck, the hay in this nest’s all covered with egg. If you’d move outside a minute, I’ll clean it out.”

  Elizabeth fetched the old hoe that hung outside the chicken house and used it to scrape out the slimy hay. “There’s a loose bale of hay just under the barn shed over there. Would you bring me about a quarter of it? I’ll go on and clean out all four nest boxes and put in clean hay.”

  She was pulling the old litter out of the last nest box when Phillip returned with an armful of fresh hay. He stepped into the house and began to pile the sweet-smelling dried grass into the first box. “There we go, ladies, clean sheets for your boudoirs—”

  He stopped and dropped the rest of the hay to the floor. “Look at this, Elizabeth. Why is this third nest shallower than the others?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he felt for the bottom of the nest box. “Outside, the bottom’s the same as the others, but inside…” He reached for his pocketknife. Moving with a contained impatience, he inserted the blade at the edge of the false bottom and lifted.

  The small flat aluminum box was filthy with dust and powdery dried chicken droppings that had sifted through the cracks around the edge of the false bottom. Phillip gave her a grin of wild glee and reached for the little tin.

  “I believe we’ve got it—Sam’s Egg of the Phoenix!”

  It was all there—the fading snapshots documenting the horror of that long-ago afternoon and the videotaped deposition. Phillip had played just enough of it to make sure that it was still functional. She had watched as Sam’s face, nervous and unhappy, filled the screen, but after the first few sentences, she had left the room.

  Soon Phillip had come looking for her. She was sitting on the bench at the foot of her bed, staring out the big windows. He sat beside her and took her hand.

  “I’ve talked to Del. He’s flying in tonight to pick up the tape and the photos. I’ll meet him at the airport and hand them over personally.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

  She turned toward him. “I am. It was sad seeing Sam on that tape. But I was just thinking that, with your help, he’s finished what he meant to do. The end of his chapter. I’m ready to turn the page now and find the end of Rosie’s too.”

  47.

  ONE MORE DAY

  Sunday, October 30

  Two masks.

  One proudly displayed, smooth and painted, fashioned from a large gourd. The other, half hidden under an old towel, crudely formed from an abandoned hornet’s nest—an amorphous mass of gray, papery material; ragged holes forming two empty, staring eyes and a small mouth, perpetually open in a soundless scream.

  Rosemary awakened with a jolt, still seeing the images that had dominated that last incoherent dream. She showed me the gourd one, but she didn’t tell me who it was supposed to be. And I only saw the other one by accident, before she covered it back up and pretended it wasn’t anything.

  She got out of bed quietly and began to dress.

  “Rosie, where are you going?”

  Jared rolled over and favored her with a lazy smile.

  Phillip and Elizabeth were eating lunch and listening to the rebroadcast of Prairie Home Companion when the ring of the telephone chimed in with the Powdermilk Biscuit theme.

  “That’s probably her now.” Elizabeth pushed back her chair and darted to the study. She emerged almost immediately and handed the telephone to Phillip. “For you. The sheriff.”

  “Mac?…Sorry, I must have turned my cell off…. I was going to call you…. There’s an interesting development….”

  Elizabeth listened as she finished her soup, but her mind was preoccupied. As soon as he gets off the phone, I’m calling Laurel. She and Rosemary are probably up by now and just sitting around yacking.

  Phillip was telling the sheriff about their discovery, explaining the location of the hiding place and their speculations about the single bone. “It could be human—but I’m no expert…. After all this time, uncovered bones could certainly have been dispersed by animals…but we may be jumping to conclusions…. I’ll bring it in this afternoon. And I’ve got some other good news—but I’m forgetting, you called me. What’s up?”

  Uh, oh, it looks like there’s something wrong. Elizabeth felt a sudden uneasiness as she saw Phillip stand and begin to pace, phone to his ear.

  “You’re kidding me!…Mac, what the—what’s going on here?…Okay…right…right. Okay, I’ll be there in…” He looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

  He set the telephone on the table and looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

  “What? Phillip, what is it?”

  He shook his head. “They’ve been excavating more of the basement over there at Mullmore, looking for Maythorn. This morning they found more remains.”

  She stood and picked up her empty bowl. A dull ache established itself in her heart. “So Moon killed them both—Tamra, if it was Tamra, and Maythorn. So the bone we found must be from an animal.”

  He shook his head again. “No, maybe not. Mac says the second skeleton’s an adult—probably a woman. He’s thinking if the first skeleton is Tamra, this might be her mother—Bib’s wife. They’re bringing Bib in for questioning.”

  Elizabeth slammed down the phone in frustration. Laurel wasn’t answering her cell, nor Rosemary hers. She said she’d be back after lunch. What time is it, anyway?

  James’s shrill bark caught her attention and she hurried to the front porch. Rosemary was hiking up the road, accompanied by Ursa and Molly.

  Instant relief flooded her and she went inside to do the dishes with as nonchalant an air as she could assume.

  “Mum? I’m back. I passed Phillip on the bridge—I thought he was staying here.”

  “Hey, sweetie.” Elizabeth hugged her daughter, a little harder and longer than usual. “He had to go into Ransom. I’ll tell you about it.”

  Rosemary held the flat stone in one hand, then brought it to her eye and peered through the little hole at her mother. Just Mum, thank goodness. Yesterday, today, and always.

  “This was definitely Maythorn’s. She called it the Looker Stone. It was something Granny Thorn gave her and it was very precious to her. She kept it with her most of the time. There was a leather pouch for it, but sometimes she stuck her finger through the hole and carried it that way.”

  Mother and daughter were both silent, staring at the little stone as if willing it to divulge its story. At last Rosemary spoke.

  “I’m staying over one more day. I’ve called
my department head and made arrangements about tomorrow’s class. Jared and I are going back to Mullmore tomorrow afternoon to look for Maythorn’s notebooks.”

  She met her mother’s surprised stare. “He couldn’t do it today; he needed to go see his dad and talk over the plans for his defense.”

  Her mother didn’t speak but reached out and took the Looker Stone. She turned it around and around, studying it with apparent fascination.

  Rosemary watched her mother. She’s worried about something, but I know her, she’ll bite her tongue rather than interfere if she thinks it’s not her business.

  “Mum, Jared’s sure that Moon didn’t kill anyone. I want to help him. We’re hoping there’ll be at least a hint in the notebooks about who Maythorn was afraid of—who the booger she talked about was.”

  When her mother remained silent, Rosemary reached for her hand. “What’s the big deal, Mum? It’s just one more day.”

  HALLOWEEN

  1986

  IT WAS WARMER in the cave and I curled up in the dead leaves way back under the lean of one of the sisters. My heart was still beating so hard that it was like a drum, filling the room with thunder. I lay still, feeling the burn of the cut down my leg but knowing that when daylight came I could get away. She would hide me from him; I knew that she would. I called her again with my mind and asked her to help me. My eyes got heavier and heavier and I knew that I was falling asleep, like a rabbit, snug in its hole.

  The sharp crack of a dead branch snapping woke me and I opened my eyes to see a beam of light coming from the entrance tunnel. The light swooped and danced on the walls and I choked back the scream that wanted to come out.

  Then I heard the booger call me. Little Indian, little Indian, I know where you hide. I stayed still, hoping the way in would be too small for him but the sounds kept getting closer.

  Your Cherokee blood gave you away, little Indian. There were scraping, pulling sounds as he inched through the tunnel, talking all the while.

  Oh, little Indian, it was a slow game, but a good game for a Halloween night, tracking you through the dark woods, one red drop at a time, right to your hiding place. The best Reaper Game of your life—and we’re not done yet.

  He laughed and began to sing. Here comes the reaper to take you apart; here comes the reaper to cut out your heart—and then he was filling the narrow entrance and I remembered how wild things always had a bolt hole—another way out. But there wasn’t a bolt hole in the Cave of the Two Sisters, not unless I could turn myself into a bird and fly up through the open place high above my head.

  I shoved the Looker Stone onto my little finger to keep it near and made myself small against the rock face. I was shivering all over but still I tried not to cry. The booger pulled himself all the way in and his eyes were as cold and silver and sharp as the blade he held. His hair looked white in the dimness and he said Little Indian, little Indian, say your prayers and go to bed.

  I pushed up against the wall, wishing I could melt into it. He came at me with the knife and grabbed my hand. At first I thought that he only wanted to pull the Looker Stone off, but then I felt the cold blade slicing through the knuckle of my little finger. I screamed with pain and with the fear of what was coming. The sound filled the cave and I watched my finger and the Looker Stone fall to the sandy floor. They were still stuck together and he kicked them both away from him. Then he turned to me and I could see the booger looking out of his silver eyes. He caught my bleeding hand and pulled my arm out straight.

  We’re just beginning, little Indian, he said, and ran the knife from my shoulder to my wrist-bone. The sharp blade sliced through the shirt sleeve and left a bloody track down my arm. He watched the blood soaking into the cloth, then he smiled, as if he was remembering something, and reached for my pointer finger. All of a sudden there was a terrible sound that filled the cave, like some giant bird was in there. The booger jumped back and turned around to see what it was.

  And I picked up one of the branches me and Rosie had drug in for a pretend fire. It was thick and long, like a baseball bat, and I swung it with all my might. I got him on the side of the head, right at the temple where I knew the bone was thin, and he fell over. He didn’t move and I hit him again and he still didn’t move and I knew that I’d killed him.

  Good, I thought, and crawled over his legs and out into the chill night air. With the bleeding stump of my finger pressed against my shirt, and the blood running from the cuts he’d made on me, I ran through the woods of that black Halloween night. The giant bird was screeching in my ears and I felt sick and dizzy, but I ran, on and on down the long gravel driveway, past the dark buildings. I was almost to the hard road and my legs were heavy. My head felt light, as if I was flying, and then I fell. Just ahead I could see the dim outline of a truck and I began to crawl to where I knew she would be waiting for me.

  48.

  ANOTHER HALLOWEEN

  Monday, October 31

  “Do you ever get any trick-or-treaters, these days? I remember once Laurel and her friends got too sophisticated for trick-or-treating, there were years no one ever made it all the way up here.” Rosemary sat on the cushioned bench, lacing up her hiking boots.

  Elizabeth pointed to the oven. “I’ve got a pan of brownies baking. Morris Roberts brought his stepkids up in his truck last year. Took me by surprise. I didn’t have anything remotely treatlike in the house so I ended up giving them money. This time I’ll be ready. And Dorothy called to let me know that Calven was coming too.”

  She came to sit beside Rosemary. “Are you still planning on bringing Jared back to dinner?”

  Rosemary’s head was bent over her boot and her fingers were busy pulling the laces tight. “Mum, would you mind very much if I canceled? When I asked him to come here, Jared said he’d already made reservations at that new place in Biltmore. We thought we’d look for the notebooks and then just go straight on in to Asheville. I’ve already put my stuff in my car. If I stay in Asheville tonight, I can get an earlier start in the morning.”

  At last she raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mum, I should have told you sooner.”

  Somehow, Mum can make me feel ten times worse by what she doesn’t say. I should have told her right off what my plans were. Just putting it off to avoid that look, I guess.

  Rosemary found herself humming as she strode down the hill to meet Jared…. Rode till he came to Miss Mousie’s hall; Gave a knock and he gave a call—a hum, a hum, a hum, a hum….

  Jared’s car, an elegantly simple Saab, was parked by the barn and he was standing beside it, checking his watch. Looking up, he caught sight of her. “Four o’clock on the dot. Our reservation is for seven-thirty, plenty of time to find those notebooks, if they’re where you think they are.”

  He looked at her little car. “All packed? Why don’t you follow me over to Mullmore? That’ll save us a few minutes, not having to come back for your vehicle.”

  They were turning up the gravel road of the next holler—the road that led to Mullmore’s iron gates—when a utilitarian pickup truck came rattling down the road, its bed full of costumed children. As the truck inched by them, its strange cargo began to howl and gesture in their direction.

  Rosemary smiled, recognizing her mother’s neighbor Morris Roberts and his brood. There was a small boy in a Superman outfit and another with the black, pointy-eared mask and cape of Batman. An older boy had no mask but was wrapped in gauze from head to toe. She raised her hand to wave and then caught sight of the two other children—both in ordinary clothes, each wearing a mask from her dream. One, smooth and painted, made from a large gourd. The other crudely fashioned from an abandoned hornet’s nest—ragged holes forming two empty, staring eyes and a small mouth, perpetually open in a soundless scream.

  But there was a difference. As the child with the hornet’s nest mask turned to face her, she saw that the mouth had been ringed with bright red lipstick and iridescent blue paint decorated the staring eyes.

  She sat th
ere in her car, watching the truck and its nightmare passengers crawling along Ridley Branch toward Miss Birdie’s house. Am I hallucinating or something? Those were the booger masks from my dream.

  Blinking her eyes, she shook her head to clear it of the rags and tatters of old memories. Jared’s car was moving forward now and, with a quick tap of his horn, he recalled her to the task at hand.

  The iron gates were open and another car was parked just inside. She pulled in beside Jared’s car, ready for the walk up the drive with its cracking and fallen-in pavement.

  “Whose car?” she asked, as Jared came to open her door.

  “Uncle Mike’s.” Jared’s face betrayed an odd annoyance. “The foundation’s going to put the house on the market and Mike came out earlier to make an inventory. I thought he’d be gone by now.”

  The great front doors of Mullmore were open, but Jared led her quietly around to the basement entrance on the side of the house. “You thought they were down here, right? Let’s get started.”

  Rosemary hesitated, looking at the yellow crime scene tape across the door. Jared brushed it aside with an impatient gesture. “The sheriff’s people finished this morning. I talked to Blaine and he said it was okay for us to go in.”

  “Jared, I was just thinking—now that they’ve found the second body…set of remains…whatever it was, Phillip said the sheriff is looking for Tamra’s father. That makes things look better for your dad, doesn’t it? Maybe we should just forget about the notebooks.”

  A strange reluctance to go down those stairs, back into that basement, was creeping over her. Memories of the Reaper Game, played in the claustrophobic darkness…

  Jared fumbled through a set of keys, at last selecting one and fitting it into the lock. “Rosie, nothing’s certain. They’re only guessing that those remains belong to Tamra and her mother. At this point, after the confession he made, Dad’s going to need all the help I can give him. If you think you know where Maythorn’s notebooks are, let’s go find them.”