August's Eyes
Page 22
“I’m trying.”
Pat didn’t want to leave Sarah’s side, but if John was still alive, he didn’t want him to be alone either. He slid the phone from Rik’s back pocket and dialed nine-one-one.
Suddenly, Sarah gasped.
Tears spilled down Pat’s cheeks as he told the nine-one-one operator where they were and that several people were in need of medical assistance.
They wanted him to stay on the line, but he hung up and handed the phone back to Rik.
“Yes, oh God, Sarah,” Pat said.
Her eyes fluttered open.
“She’s okay,” Rik said. “Sarah, can you hear me?”
She looked Rik in the eyes and nodded. “Dr. Soctomah? Where’s John?” she asked.
She was trying to get up.
“Sarah,” Rik said. “Let us go – Sarah.”
“He’s by the shed,” Pat said.
She was up and stumbling beside Pat as they hurried to John’s side.
“There he is,” Pat said.
John lay in the mud, the door to the shed locked beside him.
“What happened?” Sarah cried.
“He saved my life,” Pat said. “But…but Caswell had that gun.”
Sarah dropped next to John and reached for his face.
“John, can you hear me?”
His eyes twitched open.
Blood dribbled down his chin as he gasped for air.
“S-s-s-s-sorry,” he sputtered.
“Oh, John,” she said. “So am I.”
“L-love you,” he said.
Sirens echoed down the back road.
His breaths grew shorter fast.
“I love you, too.”
And just like that, he stopped.
“John? John!” Sarah cried.
Her head dropped to his chest as she bawled.
Rik placed a hand on Pat’s shoulder.
Pat met his gaze and shook his head.
Dr. Rik Soctomah walked over to Pat and opened his arms.
Pat hugged the man and cried against his shoulder.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Alvin Caswell spent a week at Maine General Hospital before he was transferred to a cell at the Hanson Union County Sheriff’s Department. He was found guilty of two counts of kidnapping, two counts of attempted murder, and two counts of murder in the first degree for the killings of Edward Fuller and John Colby. Caswell was eventually sentenced to life in prison. Shortly after his conviction, he confided to detectives that his cousin Llewellyn Caswell had confessed to him that he had murdered Steve Norton, Ethan Ripley, and Eden Silko.
John Colby gave his life saving his friends. And that’s what was carved on his headstone. He was laid to rest on August 21st in Fairbanks Cemetery in accordance with the note Sarah found in his dream journal:
Hi, guys.
I’m not sure who is reading this, but I wanted to write it as I’m not sure I’ll make it back this time.
I have been a selfish asshole. I have been caught up in my own worries and troubles and concerns my whole life. I haven’t been fair to myself or to the ones I care about.
To Dr. Soctomah: Thank you. Thank you for dragging the lake with me. I needed to see what I refused to see. You gave me that ability and that strength.
To Pat: You are the coolest, most amazing and inspiring young man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting and I am happy to call you my friend. I hope your company is a great success. I know it will be. You’re too ambitious for it not to be. Take care of your mom and that baby sister of yours. I love you, kiddo.
To Sarah: I have hurt you so bad. Just know that nothing you did caused me to make the mistakes I made. You deserve the world and if I get back and you are willing to let me try, I will work to give you just that. Keep the magic in your eyes and love in your heart and please write that damn book! I love you now and for always.
If I don’t make it back, I do have one request. I would like to be buried next to Ethan Ripley in the Fairbanks Cemetery. I promised myself that I would never leave him alone again. I know it might be a hard thing to do, but I have to keep that promise for a friend.
-Love, John
* * *
Counting Crows played from the boombox behind them. Johnny stared at the door to the farmhouse that for so long had instilled such fear in them all. He was thinking of their own August and everything after.
“He’s gone for good,” Ethan said.
Johnny smiled.
“I thought this place would, I don’t know, disappear,” he said. “That you guys would be free, ya know?”
“Hey, you guys want to ride?” Henry asked. The kid still wore thick glasses with one eye painted black, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to cruise around on the dirt bikes they had found.
“Last one out of the cemetery has to sleep in their old grave,” Henry yelled as he started for one of the bikes.
“Shouldn’t we be running?” Johnny asked.
“He needs the head start,” Ethan said. “Listen, thanks for everything you did.”
“Oh, I don’t think I did that much, man. You wouldn’t have even been here if not for me.”
“Yeah, but they all would have. You saved them all.”
Johnny gave his friend a slight grin.
“About what you were saying,” Ethan said. “About destroying this place. I’m glad we didn’t. We have Graveyard Land all to ourselves,” Ethan said. “We have each other. And now that it’s ours, we can make it whatever we want it to be. That’s freedom. You helped us do that.”
“Well, you guys did it too, you know. I would have been gobbled up by him if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”
“Yeah, you know, you’re right,” Ethan said.
He punched Johnny in the thigh, giving him a gnarly Charlie horse before bolting off toward the dirt bikes.
“That’s dirty,” Johnny said, limping after him.
“I don’t want to sleep in the dirt tonight. Been there, done that,” Ethan said just before kick-starting the bike. “Come on, Johnny,” he yelled.
And this time he did, happy to be with his friends.
Epilogue
Sarah tried to keep her breathing under control. Pat and his mom were gathering the bags for the hospital as Sarah’s mom tried to keep Ada at bay.
“How are you doing, hon?” Trisha asked.
“Oh, you know, never better.” Sarah clenched her teeth as another contraction hit, and howled behind her teeth.
“Oh, that baby is coming,” Trisha said. “Let’s get you up. Pat, bring the car around.”
He smiled at Sarah before flying out the door.
“I wish John was here to see this,” Sarah said, taking Trisha’s hand and letting her pull her to her feet.
“He is,” Trisha said. “Come on, you don’t want to have that baby in the back of a car. Trust me, it’s no fun, and it’s a freaking mess.”
“Mom,” Sarah said, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Go now,” Janice said. “I’ll bring this little jumping bean. We’ll meet you guys over there.”
“Did anyone call Dr. Soctomah?” Sarah asked.
Pat appeared at the porch steps. “I did. He’s meeting us there, now come on.”
* * *
That May afternoon, Sarah gave birth to a healthy baby boy.
Holding him to her chest, she looked up from his precious face, and glanced around the room. Her mother stood with Trisha and Dr. Soctomah had a hand on Pat’s shoulder as Pat held Ada up so she could see the baby.
It suddenly occurred to her that she and John had a family all along.
Her heart felt so big it could burst.
“Can I hold that baby?” Ada asked.
“Not yet,” Sarah chuckled. “Do you want to say hello t
o him?”
“Okay,” she answered.
Pat carried her over and leaned close enough for his little sister to see the baby.
“What’s your name?” Ada said to the baby.
“His name is John Patrick Colby.”
“Hey,” Ada said, “like my Paddy?”
Sarah met Pat’s gaze. Tears streaked his face.
“Yep,” Sarah said, crying too, “just like your Paddy.”
Pat reached over with his free hand and squeezed Sarah’s.
“Hi, Johnny Paddy,” Ada said.
John Patrick cooed at her, and Sarah couldn’t think of any better proof that there was indeed magic in this world.
Acknowledgements
I wanted to say a thank you to my wife and kiddos for putting up with a struggling writer. This one was written during the Covid-19 pandemic, so finding the right headspace was a constant challenge. Late nights, early mornings, and trying to figure out how to deal with whatever crazy news each day would bring had my anxiety at an all-time high. I wouldn’t have been able to finish this book if not for the love, the space, and the understanding of my family. I love you!
Thanks again to my fantastic editor. Don D’Auria is the best in the business. I have believed it since the days of the Leisure Horror Book Club, and having worked with him on my own books since 2014, that notion has only been confirmed time and time again. Thank you, Don.
The idea for this book came to me in 2014. My family moved to a new place a town over from where I grew up. One of the things I started to notice was the amount of cemeteries around this fairly small town. I remember thinking it should be called Graveyard Land. And that was all it took. I wrote the first three chapters and set it aside. I never ended up going back into the manuscript until it came time to write my next book for Flame Tree Press.
My wife has been a social worker for most of our marriage. I’ve heard plenty of real-life horror stories (minus the names, of course). We’re both fans of true crime documentaries and podcasts (My Favorite Murder being my personal favorite), and we both grew up on a steady diet of Unsolved Mysteries. I’d never written about serial killers, but I knew it was just a matter of time. My antagonist here certainly represents many of the real-life monsters that have made headlines over the years. I do not condone such heinous behavior, and my heart goes out to anyone that has ever had these nightmares come true.
Lastly, it wouldn’t be a Glenn Rolfe book without the music…
While I am a child of the 80s, it was the 90s that broke my teenage heart over and over again. From my parents’ divorce and getting lost in that broken home shuffle, years of fear and confusion sandwiched between the death of a rock icon and my own father’s passing, it wasn’t until I was among my friends that I found a place to belong. And it was the music, always the music, the soundtrack to many nights of leaning on one another and laughing with one another, and sometimes, crying with one another that shaped my journey into adulthood. Albums such as Soul Asylum’s Grave Dancers Union, Gin Blossoms’ New Miserable Experience, and Counting Crows’ August and Everything After spoke to me. We were all struggling, but we were all doing it together. Music has that power. Long before the internet came along, it was songs and artists that connected us. As long as we had our records, we were never truly alone.
To anyone reading this book, you are never alone or forgotten.
About this book
This is a FLAME TREE PRESS BOOK
Text copyright © 2021 Glenn Rolfe
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
FLAME TREE PRESS, 6 Melbray Mews, London, SW6 3NS, UK, flametreepress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Thanks to the Flame Tree Press team, including: Taylor Bentley, Frances Bodiam, Federica Ciaravella, Don D’Auria, Chris Herbert, Josie Karani, Molly Rosevear, Mike Spender, Cat Taylor, Maria Tissot, Nick Wells, Gillian Whitaker. The cover is created by Flame Tree Studio with thanks to Nik Keevil and Shutterstock.com.
FLAME TREE PRESS is an imprint of Flame Tree Publishing Ltd. flametreepublishing.com. A copy of the CIP data for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress.
HB ISBN: 978-1-78758-578-2 • US PB ISBN: 978-1-78758-576-8
UK PB ISBN: 978-1-78758-577-5 • ebook ISBN: 978-1-78758-579-9
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