by Laurel Dewey
The boy whispered in her ear again. “Follow me. Be quiet.”
Jane moved behind the boy and down the long driveway. When they reached the road, the boy checked behind them to ensure their privacy. “He’ll be down here any second,” he whispered.
“Who?” she whispered back.
“Jude.”
Jane nodded. “Right. I already have him pegged.”
He regarded her carefully. “I need to show you something. Got a flashlight on you?”
She shook her head and walked with him to the van in the field. Once inside, she grabbed a blanket and covered both of them. The boy climbed into the passenger seat and scanned the darkness around him.
“I don’t know your name,” Jane said.
“Sage. Yours?”
She contemplated honesty but fell short. “Anne. Anne LeRóy.”
He looked at her with penetrating eyes. “That’s not your name,” he stated.
She met his stare and raised it. “That’s what I want you to call me.”
“Fair enough.” He looked out into the coal night. “It is kinda funny, you know? You calling yourself Iris and Gabe calling himself Werner.”
Jane wrapped the blanket around her chilled hands and lap. “Okay. So you know about that. What else do you know?”
“That I’m supposed to help you. That’s what he told me,” Sage offered, turning around and looking closely into the distance.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Jane asked.
“Why do you think?
Jane nodded. “Okay. So what is Jude’s problem?”
Sage sighed. “Whoever was after Gabe, got to Jude first. Then Jude sold him out.”
Jane felt her blood boil. “What was he worth?”
Sage shook his head, showing disgust. “Thirty bottles of Silver Whiskey. It’s Jude’s favorite.”
“Right. Jude’s a real connoisseur.”
“He’ll sell you out, too. You and your friend.”
Jane turned to the boy. “To who? You got names?”
“No. Gabe never mentioned names on purpose. He told me that if anything happened to him, it was meant to be.” He swallowed hard, staring into his lap. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“I knew it,” Sage whispered, trying to hold back his tears. “I don’t want to know how it happened, okay?”
Jane nodded. “Okay. So Gabe said you were supposed to help me?”
He got a hold of himself. “He told me to wait for the day when his older sister, Iris, showed up. He said when that happened, the ‘wolf was gonna be at the door,’ and you had to work quickly. It was like his own little…prophecy. But he was right on with everything else he ever told me so I believed him.” He turned to Jane with a shrug of his shoulders. “And he was right again.”
Jane looked at the kid in shock. Her head was spinning with a million thoughts and fears. “The wolf at the door” had to be either Rudy or Romulus. “You said you had something to show me?”
Sage nodded. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, he brought out a folded postcard and handed it to Jane.
She turned on the interior light and looked at the card. It was the exact one she had that came next in the sequence. Jane turned the card over. Gabe wrote three words on the card, “YOU’RE NOT DREAMING.” She felt dizzy, even though she was seated.
“You okay?” Sage asked.
“No. But it’ll pass.” She looked at the photo again. “You know where this is?”
“Yeah. It’s way up on the mountain, about five miles east of here. It’s where Gabe used to camp during his days off.”
Jane tried to work out the timing of everything in her head. “When did Gabe give you this postcard?”
“He didn’t. I found it about nineteen months ago.”
Jane realized that was when Harlan had his transplant surgery. “Nineteen months…so, you didn’t see him?”
“No. Jude sold him out in late August of that year and when Gabe got wind of it, he left. He showed up again here the night of September 15th. I found it slipped under my bedroom door in the morning.”
Jane couldn’t believe what she heard. “Wait, you’re saying Gabe broke into your house and left this without anyone knowing he was there?”
He twisted his face into a questioning smirk. “That was the least of his talents. You never knew him?”
“No.”
“Oh…wow…okay. Then you wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me. You’d be shocked what I believe these days.”
He gauged her sincerity before he spoke. “He taught me how to meditate. My parents were okay with it since it was hippie enough to be cool but not creepy enough to be dangerous. And they loved Gabe.”
“So you learned to meditate and then what?”
He resisted answering.
“What?” Jane stressed.
“I moved a spoon on the kitchen table.”
Jane shrugged her shoulders. “So what?”
“With my mind.”
Jane sat back. “Oh. Yeah. That is different.”
“You don’t believe me! See! I should have never—”
“I believe you,” she interjected.
He looked at her closely. “You really do, don’t you?” He thought about it. “You’re not gonna ask me to prove it to you, are you?”
“No. You’re not Barnum, I’m not Bailey and this ain’t a circus.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” She slid her hand into the side pocket of her leather satchel, removing the postcards. Finding the one that matched Sage’s, she held it up to him. “There’s more proof, just in case you need it.”
He nodded.
“So, are you going to show me where this place is?”
“Yeah. But not tonight. Maybe tomorrow? We can take the 4-wheeler up there. Your van will make it if the roads are okay but if we get a rain, probably not.”
“We’re doing this tomorrow, Sage. You say the word and we go.”
He looked around. “I swear to God he’s out there watching us.”
“I know the feeling, kid.”
“No, I really mean it. He’s watching us. I just know.”
Jane sighed. “That’s your third eye working overtime, kiddo.”
He smiled. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Gabe slid something else under the door that night. But I don’t really know what it means.” He reached up to his neck under his t-shirt and pulled a pendant out, strung on a piece of leather. “Any ideas?”
It was a tiny bronze pinecone pendant.
∆ ∆ ∆
After Sage returned to the house, Jane stayed at the van and waited for Harlan. Hours passed and he finally showed up with three covered dishes of food in tow. For twenty minutes, he told Jane about all the stories he heard and how much fun he had.
“And you know what?” he asked her, crawling into the back of the van. “I finally figured out what happened to that Amos boy, Seth.”
“Who?”
“The song? Remember?”
“Ah, right.” Suddenly, Jane felt out of the loop again.
“I feel like I’ve been let out of prison, Jane!”
“I see that.”
“I never met that many folks who wanted to talk to me. I swear this heart is a chick magnet.”
She pulled a blanket out of a bag. “Maybe it’s not your heart, Harlan. Maybe they just like you.”
He considered it. “Nah. It’s him. It’s all him.”
She removed the 9mm from her waistband and locked it in the glove compartment.
“Hey,” Harlan offered, a bit sheepishly, “about what happened at the table regardin’ how you and Hank got together and—”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” she replied succinctly.
“I’m just sayin’—”
“Really, Harlan, we do not have to talk about
this. Put it to bed.”
He leaned closer. “What happens at the CSA, stays at the CSA.”
“That’s highly doubtful.” She told him about her short but informative visit with Sage and their plans for the following day. Harlan wanted to come along but Jane instructed him to stay at the CSA and “work his magic” to deflect her absence. “And whatever you do,” she cautioned him, “do not get into any conversations with Jude. That son-of-a-bitch sold your heart out.” She explained everything she knew about the little weasel. When she was done, she thought Harlan was going to find him and pummel him into organic compost. “We have to be smart, Harlan,” she warned. “You can’t give that s.o.b. more ammo to hurt us.”
“I don’t get it, Jane. Why would Gabe purposely lead us here if it was a set-up with Jude?”
She’d already contemplated that question. “Maybe there was no way around it. Maybe in order for us to find out what the next postcard reveals, we have no choice but to put up with the lowlife.” The comment seemed to appease Harlan but Jane still questioned the obvious complications. It almost seemed to Jane as if the entire process had to take place in order for the intended ending Gabe set forth. It was that kind of theorizing that kept her mind fitful and apprehensive. She needed to occupy her mind with something besides imminent danger. Digging around in the van, she came across a piece of paper at the bottom of the cooler Hank delivered to her. Unfolding it, she recognized the writing in Patois, a somewhat sloppy French dialect popular in the Caribbean islands.
It read: “Mwê ni èspwa pou la yonn kilès ki sa fè mwên tjè feb antyè ankò.”. Jane already knew the translation that was written beneath it: “I hope for the one who can make my tender heart whole again.” She’d found the odd phrase in a diary during her last case and asked Hank to figure out the translation. She stared at the small piece of paper, realizing that she wrote the words in Patois at the top and Hank wrote the English translation. It was akin to a love letter, Jane reasoned, with the phrase echoed back to her. Nobody could ever accuse Jane Perry of writing a love letter but there it was in her hands. He put it at the bottom of the bag on purpose so she’d find it after she pulled out the chicken salad. But by that time, vitriol had robbed her of a peaceful parting.
“I got a question for you, Jane,” Harlan asked, setting up his bedding for the night. “You think Marion loves her husband the way she loved Gabe?”
Jane considered it. “No. I don’t. But I think Gabe was the kind of guy who was only meant to live a short time. People like Gabe who have that kind of intrinsic power don’t last long. They burn up in their own orbit. This world can’t contain people like Gabe because they can’t be shoved into a neat little box that satisfies the status quo.” She looked out the window. “You know what I bet? I bet Marion has something of Gabe’s that she deeply cherishes.”
“Like what?” he asked, popping the cap off another bottle of pine needle beer.
Jane wasn’t sure where this was all coming from. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling, you know? In my gut?”
“Maybe it’s another one of them postcards?”
“No. It’s not that,” Jane stated, still staring off into the night sky. “It’s much greater than that. It’s her connection to Gabe.”
While Harlan finished making his bed and enjoying the beer, Jane found her cell phone and checked the voicemail. He didn’t speak at first and the dead air worried her. But after a few seconds, she heard Hank’s voice.
“Hey…look, I don’t know where in the hell you are right now. I hope to God you’re safe.” He let out a sigh. “Okay, here’s the deal. I took the bait and I checked out the videos of the red-haired guy you mentioned. You’re right, Jane. You hear me? You’re right. The guy at the Quik-Mart and the guy standing behind Crandall are one and the same. And based on the background scenery I blew up in the screen capture, the Quik Mart in the shot is not the same one where you got your car ripped.” He let out another frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what to make of it, but I think you stumbled on something pretty damn deep. Please, Jane…please be careful. Don’t just…don’t disappear on me.”
The call ended abruptly. Jane hit the replay button and listened to his message several more times before turning off the phone and drifting off to sleep. She felt herself falling into a deep, resonating slumber. Then, as if the poles shifted, she quickly found herself standing in a long, sterile hospital ward. On either side, were glass-walled rooms with tightly drawn gray curtains. There were no doctors or nurses but Jane could feel the fears and hopes of the patients on the other sides of the glass walls. It took her a few seconds, but she realized there was no sound around her. Even her footsteps on the shiny gray floor fell like cotton balls on a pillow. The farther she walked, the longer the aisle became until it was a never-ending stroll into nowhere. Then, in the distance, she heard the distinctive sound of wheels on a cart rolling across a vinyl floor. The whir of the spinning wheels increased as Jane spun in circles, attempting to source the location. Finally, the wheels came to a halt. Jane turned and saw an empty stainless steel gurney in front of her. A beautiful long, shiny ponytail of red hair sat on the left. On the right, was a single, empty syringe. She picked up the syringe and questioned whether it belonged to the others she’d seen carpeting the floor of the old man’s office. The second that image came to mind, she dropped the syringe, realizing this wasn’t a dream. Layers of clear, critical thinking aren’t usually present when one is in a dream state but at that moment, Jane was considering end runs and assorted game plans she usually reserved for her daytime reality.
Suddenly, she heard a team of footsteps moving closer behind her. She turned and looked into the gray haze that filtered closer to her body. The steps became more pronounced as fear gripped her hard. The haze grew denser until it swallowed her body and choked her. Struggling to breathe, Jane gasped once and then again. Risking it all, she took in a deep breath and opened her eyes. The starry sky out the front window of the van lay directly in her sight. She sat up with a start, checking to make sure Harlan was still there. He was sound asleep, softly snoring on his side. It took her another two hours to fall back to sleep.
∆ ∆ ∆
The next day started early. Awakened by the loud sound of an iron dinner bell triangle at six thirty, Jane and Harlan sleepily made their way to the camping showers before the happy band of other guests were out of their tents and vehicles. With no hot water, Jane realized where Gabriel might have gotten his idea to end his shower with a blast of icy water. It was certainly bracing and an easy way to speed up the crew so they didn’t linger under the showerhead.
After a breakfast of oatmeal, poached eggs and one of the best bowls of raspberries Jane ever tasted, the guests broke up into small groups and busied themselves with the free educational opportunities. Harlan eagerly chose a class on “Building Better Soil With Waste” because as he said to the crowd, “I just love the smell of cowpies in the mornin’.” Jane grabbed her third cup of coffee in a paper cup and ducked outside. She hadn’t seen Sage that morning yet and began to worry that something was wrong. Strolling into the front yard, she scanned the second floor of the main house, searching for any sign of movement.
“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Jude said.
Jane spun around, shocked that he crept up on her so quietly. “Nothing,” she replied with an abrupt sting. “I’m just looking.”
He gazed at her a little too long before talking, taking snips instead of drags on his ash-laden cigarette. “Why aren’t you in one of the classes?”
“I thought maybe you were teaching something.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. What’s your specialty around this joint?”
He regarded Jane with his squinty eyes. “Well, I figured your brother would have let you in on that talent.”
Jane wanted to grab his wiry neck by his tattered collar, pound his head into the welcome sign and stab him in the neck with a pitchfork. But she had to pl
ay this one closer to the vest. “He did, actually.” She moved a few inches toward Jude. “And he gave me a message for you. He told me to tell you to ‘fuck off.’” She turned, heading down the driveway. “And you know my brother. He said it in twelve different languages!”
Jane expected the cancerous tumor to follow her but, thankfully, he stayed put. By the time she got to the road and turned around, Jude was walking back into the house. Noticing a Wi-Fi antenna on a nearby house, she wondered if there was a possibility of stealing some Web time on her computer. She started toward the van when she heard the throaty engine of a large car coming up the road behind her. Jane turned and saw an old black Lincoln Continental with blacked out windows driving toward her. It was the same sound of the motor from the black car that appeared to be hovering close by when they arrived the day before. She turned in the direction of the van in the field and quickened her step. With each hastened punch of her cowboy boot in the dirt, she could hear the rapid acceleration of the Lincoln. She only had another thirty feet to go when the car swept up on her left side and veered in front of her. Jane stopped, reaching in her waistband for her weapon before realizing it was still locked in the van’s glove compartment.
The darkened passenger window slowly rolled down as the male driver, dressed in all black, leaned toward Jane’s direction. “Get in.”
CHAPTER 23
Jane jogged to the left but the driver gunned the Lincoln in reverse, blocking her escape. She hefted her body across the wide trunk, skimming as fast as she could against the hot metal, before falling somewhat short of her dismount. Stumbling, she raced toward the mouth of the field where the fencing opened up but the Lincoln easily turned and lurched forward, blocking the entrance to the field. Jane turned, looking down the road and tried to figure out where to run when the driver rolled down his window.
“What in the hell are you doing?” he asked her in a firm but somewhat off-hand tone.
He was a tall man, Jane deduced, with olive pockmarked skin, broad shoulders and a shock of black hair. His dark eyes were focused and showed hints of past cruelty. His vibe was “all business” and cutting to the chase.
