Burnt River

by Karin Salvalaggio

  Sleep, when it finally came, was deep and haunted. Ethan grabbed her and dragged her underwater as she swam near the picnic area at Darby Lake. His thick black hair floated around his pale face and his mouth gaped open greedily. Jessie sat bolt upright and gasped. She’d been holding her breath. There’d been a sharp crack that sounded like gunfire. She listened, and seconds later it happened again. She scrambled out of bed, her ankle catching in the tangled sheets. She fell to the floor and the loose floorboards rattled like teeth. She peered down the hallway before jumping across and opening the opposite door. Tara was still sound asleep. A thin film of sweat shone on her skin. Jessie closed the door as quietly as she could and returned to her room.

  Wade answered his cell phone on the second try.

  “Wade. What’s going on?”

  He was winded. “It’s nothing, go back to sleep.”

  “What do you mean nothing? You scared the shit out of me.”

  Wade yelled something, but his hand was over the mouthpiece so she couldn’t make out the words.

  “Who’s out there with you?”

  “A few of us decided it would be a good idea to keep an eye on things tonight. Tyler and Dylan are here as well.”

  “What are you shooting at?”

  “Tyler thought he saw someone moving along the southern boundary. I’m not so sure. The man seems pretty trigger-happy. He’s packing enough ammo to take out half of Wilmington Creek. I’m worried I’m going to find some dead heifers in the morning.”

  “He means well.”

  “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

  Jessie held tight to the flashlight as she walked the length of the corridor. She tried the wall switch, but nothing happened.

  She could barely speak. “Wade, you need to get back up here. The power’s been shut off.”

  “Get in Tara’s room and lock the door. We’ll be right up.”

  Jessie returned to her daughter’s room and stood at the window, straining her ears. The house was so quiet when the power went off. The outdoor lights were still on. It could be that the fuse had blown. It happened sometimes. The house was old and not particularly well cared for. Birds nested in the eaves and mice lived beneath floorboards. They ate through everything, including wiring. Jessie tapped the flashlight and the bulb brightened. The fuse box was in a cupboard in the utility room.

  She walked downstairs on tiptoe, stopping every so often to listen. The tile floor in the kitchen was gritty and cool. Tree branches tapped against the windows. Outside, she heard dogs barking and the hum of ATVs. They must have reached the stables. The sink faucet rattled and a thin stream of water drained out into the empty sink. Jessie swung the flashlight around, hitting all the dark corners. The room was empty. The utility room had a door that led out to the backyard. Inside the room it was pitch black and smelled strongly of laundry detergent and dogs. She focused the beam of light on the outside door. It was shut and the keys were in the lock where she had left them. Clutching the flashlight in her armpit, she opened the cupboard. The main circuit breaker was down. She flicked it and the room brightened instantly. Behind her the hot water heater ticked into life. Above her the lighting hummed. She switched off the flashlight before bending down to pick up a stray sock. There was a knock at the door and she screamed.

  * * *

  “I decided it was probably a blown fuse and I was right. I’m fine. Tara’s fine. That’s what’s important.” Jessie lowered her mug of coffee and returned Tyler’s stare. She’d already had one argument with Wade about not waiting in Tara’s room, and she was quite willing to mix it up with Tyler as well.

  Dylan stepped between them and grabbed an apple from a bowl on the kitchen table. “Well, no harm done. We’ve checked the whole house. No one seems to have been here.”

  Wade grumbled. “That fuse blows all the time. One of these days this whole house is going to go up in flames.”

  Jessie placed her cup on the counter. “I’m going to go check on Tara.”

  Dylan opened the door for her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  He picked up the rifle leaning against the wall. “Yeah, I do.”

  “You’re not bringing that in my daughter’s room.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  They stood in the doorway and watched her sleep.

  Jessie leaned her head on the frame. “Have you ever heard of some hot springs about twenty miles north of town?”

  “No, why?”

  “Something I read in my mother’s journals.”

  “Is that what you’ve been doing all night?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “No offense, but do you really think you can believe everything your mother says?”

  “She drew a map.”

  “Show me.”

  He didn’t ask why she’d hidden the journals under the floorboards. He traced his finger over the crude drawing. “There are some landmarks here that I recognize. Have you asked Wade? He’d know.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I think my mother was having an affair. I’m pretty sure it was a long time ago but there’s a possibility it was with Wade. There’s no way I can say anything to him.”

  He held the map up to the light and inspected it more closely. “Well, we can drive up there if you like. Have a poke around. Why are you so interested?”

  “I want to know if she’s telling the truth. If this place exists, maybe the other stuff she wrote about happened too.”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  * * *

  Jessie woke up in Tara’s bed. Her daughter was braiding her hair. Jessie smiled when she heard Tara humming. She smelled like milk and bread dough. She breathed through her open mouth.

  “Hi, Mommy.”

  “Hi, baby girl.”

  “Why is Uncle Wade sleeping on the sofa?”

  Jessie tried to sit up, but Tara still had hold of her hair.

  “You’ve been downstairs?”

  “Hold still. You’re ruining it.”

  Jessie settled back onto the pillow.

  “Someone left you a present.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It was on the front porch.”

  “Did you open it?”

  She shook her head vigorously. “That would be cheating.”

  “Where is it?”

  Tara slid off the bed and skipped across the room to the dresser. She returned, holding a small box. “See, it has your name on it.”

  Jessie shook it very gently. It hardly weighed anything. She peeled off the card and turned it over. There was no message.

  Tara was breathing in her ear. “Why did you get a present? It’s not your birthday.”

  Jessie peeled back the paper. “There are lots of reasons people give presents. Sometimes you give presents because you want to make someone feel better.”

  Tara smoothed a tear that had slid down her mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”

  Jessie held her breath for a few seconds. “I love you too. Can you hand me a tissue?”

  Tara plucked one from the box on the nightstand and gave it to her mother. “We’re going to be sad for a long time, aren’t we?”

  “We are.”

  “So do you think someone gave you this so you’d be less sad?”

  Jessie removed the lid and emptied the contents into her palm. “I think so.”

  Tara reached over and picked up the necklace. “It’s pretty.”

  Jessie remained silent.

  Tara studied it carefully. “The thingy that closes it is broken.”

  Jessie tried to keep her voice steady. “Here, let me have a look?”

  The heart-shaped locket felt heavy in her palm. It was plain silver and had no markings of any sort.

  “Is there a picture inside?”

  Jessie flinched when Tara reached over to open it. “Let Mommy do it, sweetheart.”

  Jessie dug her thum
bnail in the groove and the locket popped open.

  “Mommy, is that me?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How old was I?”

  Jessie almost choked. “I think you were four.”

  “Are you less sad now?”

  Jessie nodded again.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  11

  Macy crossed through the industrial end of Collier without much more than a sideways glance. The road going through town had been improved since the winter her son was born at the nearby hospital. Route 93 now bypassed the entire length of Main Street, leaving the residents in peace. Macy parked near the town square and stepped out into the heat. The eighteen-wheelers may have gone, but the black soot they left behind had yet to be washed off the sidewalks and buildings. Cracks snaked across the sidewalks and ran up walls. A couple of buildings had been repainted, but for the most part the storefronts were as colorless as the sky. The smoky haze had thickened overnight. Visibility had been poor on the drive up from Wilmington Creek, and several emergency vehicles had passed her heading south.

  It was ten in the morning and the tarmac was already baking. Eager to reach the next bit of shade, Macy struck out across Main Street. A car swerved onto the road from a side street and bore down on her at speed. The horn sounded as the car came to a stop a few feet away. Macy took her time checking the license plate while the driver gesticulated wildly from the other side of the windshield. From the twist of his mouth Macy could tell he wasn’t wishing her well. She flashed a weak smile and waved apologetically. When he rolled down his window and called her a stupid bitch, she took out her badge.

  “Are we finished now?” she said, holding it in his face. “Because we could spend the whole day discussing what an idiot I was just then. How I’d had a temporary lapse in judgment as I went about my otherwise flawless day. But you of course never make any mistakes, do you? I can tell you’re a perfect citizen just by looking at the expired plates on your car. Maybe we should discuss those.”

  The man started to roll up his window, but Macy stopped him.

  “Maybe the next time our paths cross I’ll be the one speeding in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone.” She raised her voice. “You’ll know it’s me because I won’t bother to stop.”

  She felt nauseous. She’d woken up at three in the morning with all the lights in her room on. After taking some more ibuprofen she’d stumbled back to bed and slept through her alarm. When she finally surfaced there were several missed calls from Ray, but no messages. She’d read through the texts they’d exchanged the night before, and her mood soured further. Even in her advanced stages of denial she could see it wasn’t a healthy situation. She made yet another solemn vow to stop drinking, give up on Ray, and get a grip. She couldn’t believe how she’d behaved the night before. She’d been so embarrassed she’d not checked in with Aiden before heading to Collier. She tried to sound natural when she picked up the phone and dialed his number, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

  “Hey, Aiden.”

  He seemed to be in a rush. There were sirens in the background. “Hey to you too. Thought I’d have heard from you by now.”

  “I had a late start so I thought I’d better head straight to Collier.”

  “Just as well. I’ve got my hands full. The wind shifted overnight and that fire south of town tried to jump Route 93. Quite a few early-morning evacuations.”

  “No casualties, I hope.”

  “Fingers crossed. Nothing reported so far.”

  Macy relaxed. “How’s your head?”

  “Tender. Yours?”

  “Same.” She paused, then sputtered, “About last night. We’re okay, right?”

  He laughed. “I’m a little frustrated but I’ll get over it.”

  “Always a bridesmaid but never a bride.”

  “Something like that.”

  A silence followed.

  “So, I’ll check in with you once I’ve spoken to John’s therapist.”

  “I might be out of range for a while. I’m heading south on 93 now.”

  “Okay. Talk later then.”

  In her late forties, the therapist, Janet Flute, had pale eyes, bloodless lips, and a boy’s haircut. Small in stature and stripped of ornamentation, she was someone who’d blend into any background. Her expression varied little and she was so considered in her answers that in the intervening silences Macy found herself spouting out all sorts of unsolicited information. Within the first few minutes, she admitted to being hungover, stressed out, and disappointed with the state of her love life. Janet blinked, which Macy suspected was her way of expressing shock.

  “Christ,” said Macy, gathering herself. “That wasn’t very professional.”

  Janet only tilted her head as if she was inviting Macy to continue.

  “I guess you get that a lot. People confessing.”

  She almost smiled. “That’s generally the idea with therapy, although some people respond better than others. Do you have a therapist?” She reached for a business card and passed it to Macy. “Perhaps.”

  Macy stared at the card. Unlike the one in John Dalton’s wallet, this one was crisp and white. She pocketed it and focused on the task at hand.

  “I’d like to thank you for speaking to me today. I can only assure you that anything you tell me will be kept in strict confidence.”

  “I want to help. John Dalton was a very decent young man. It’s a terrible loss for the community. I think he would have gone far in life if given the chance.”

  “You said on the phone that you were willing to discuss his visits.”

  She opened a thin file. “John only came to see me half a dozen times, so what I have here is a fairly limited impression of him. It may not even be accurate. It sometimes takes awhile to get to the core of a person’s issues. Perhaps you could tell me what you’re looking for.”

  “Was he traumatized by his time in Afghanistan? Was he exhibiting behavior that could have put him in harm’s way?”

  “Recently there has been a lot of bad press about war veterans. All the headlines seem to be about those that are having problems, but very little has been written about the vast majority who’ve adjusted well to civilian life.”

  “I suppose in my line of work I only come across the folks that are struggling, so I may have developed some misconceptions. Domestic violence, drug abuse, and suicide seem to top the list of the problems we’re seeing. I need to know if John was someone we should have been worried about.”

  Instead of answering right away, Janet glanced down at her notes. “I’m sorry, I just want to make sure I get this right. I don’t want to confuse matters.”

  Macy sat back in her chair and fought the urge to check her phone. “Please take your time.”

  “In my opinion, John Dalton was adapting to civilian life well. Like many young men and women who go into service with a strong sense of patriotic duty and a steadfast faith in the military structure, he was well equipped to endure the hardships he faced in Afghanistan. He chose to enlist. He wasn’t forced by economic reasons or peer pressure. It was John’s way of striking out on his own and proving himself. Considering how much action he saw, I’d say he was lucky to come away unscathed both emotionally and physically. He wasn’t displaying any signs of self-destructive behavior or post-traumatic stress. In fact you could say that his coming here of his own volition to sort out issues of, shall we say, a more existential nature, was a sign that he was in a rather sound state of mind.”

  “That contradicts what someone close to him was saying about his behavior.”

  “I can only go by what’s in front of me.”

  “You should know that I interviewed Dylan Reed. He told me that he recommended that John come see you.”

  “Did he tell you why?”

  Macy nodded. “According to Dylan, John was finding his relationship with his mother increasingly stressful. Amongst other things, Annie told him that Jeremy wasn’t his real father.”

&nbs
p; “As you may know, John’s mother, Annie, has been suffering from early onset dementia for some time now.”

  Macy waited.

  “She’s prone to outbursts, flights of fantasy. It’s difficult to tell whether she’s telling the truth or only saying things that she believes to be true. John had difficulty believing what his mother told him, but as he looked back on the problems his parents have had over the years, things started to make sense. But John loved Jeremy as a father. He felt disloyal because he was becoming increasingly interested with finding out the truth as to who his real father might be. Add to this the recent changes in his life—leaving the military, the return home, and the breakup of a long-term relationship—he was feeling a little lost. He came to me because he wanted someone to speak to in confidence.”

  “I take it Annie gave no indication as to who his real father was.”

  “If, indeed, Jeremy isn’t his real father in the first place. Annie isn’t well. A difficult marriage doesn’t necessarily mean it was an unfaithful one.”

  “And these revelations were recent?”

  “Yes, since he was discharged from the army in December.”

  “It could explain why he has been distant with his sister.”

  “He’d found out something that could be devastating for her to know. It would make sense.”

  “You met with John last week?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you leave it? Was he in a good state of mind?”