“Ben came by the station tonight to drop off that arrowhead. He seemed pretty distraught. Said you’ve moved out.”
She swallowed her impulse, which was to let loose with a string of invectives that would set her husband’s ears ablaze. How dare he dump our personal shit in my office? “Not permanently. We’re going through a rough patch, and I needed a little space.”
Her partner’s eyebrow appeared frozen in a perpetual expression of disbelief. Was she really that bad a liar? “Space from Heidi?”
Great. Now she was a terrible mother too. “It’s only a couple of days. Heidi’s too young to understand what’s happening. Trust me, she’ll be happy to get her dad all to herself for a change.”
She saw the suspicion in Jorge’s dark eyes, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have time to convince him. She had to get to Kinew and tell him his hunch had been right after all. They’d just been at the wrong house.
“I have to go. Call me tomorrow.”
“What about talking to the neighbors, doing the grunt work?”
Her shoulders tensed. “We have plenty of people who can do that. I have another angle I’m working.”
“Where are you staying, Maria?” At her look of disbelief, he went on. “If you’re not with Ben, you must be staying somewhere.”
The unspoken question hung in the air, poisoning the space between them. She decided to leave it there. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t given it much thought. I’ll probably get a hotel room.”
“You’re always welcome to stay with us.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that, but like I said, this is temporary. It’s really not a big deal.”
But it was a big deal. She and Ben had never before spent a night apart by choice.
“Be careful,” Jorge said. It took every bit of her resolve not to explode at him. Did he actually think she’d leave her husband and daughter for a man she’d just met? Did he really think so little of her?
She leaned in to kiss his cheek, pretending she’d misunderstood what he was getting at. “Thanks. You too. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Maria headed for the door before he could cause any more damage, before she was forced to tell more lies.
“On the back step,” he said.
She turned. “What?”
“On the back step. That’s where we found the hoof prints.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Eloise Wallace was unable to sleep.
She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her husband’s snoring. A sound that was usually irritating, but that she currently found comforting. His snoring made everything seem so normal, when, in truth, nothing was.
Their son wasn’t in his bed. He was out there, somewhere, doing God knows what with God knows who. She’d discovered his nocturnal wanderings a few days ago, but hadn’t been sure how to bring it up. She hadn’t told her husband yet, because he would lose his temper, making everything worse.
Eloise turned onto her side, attempting to relax, but the niggling feeling of panic followed her. Before that dreadful camping trip, she could have asked Reese anything. He might not have answered, but her son had always been unfailingly good natured and cheerful. He’d loved to tease. Theirs had been a playful, light-hearted relationship, and she’d enjoyed their banter. She’d been proud that her son still spent time with her when the women she worked with complained about never hearing from theirs. Reese was different. Reese was special.
Reese had changed.
Of course, that was to be expected after going through something so traumatic. That’s what Eloise kept telling herself. Anyone would change after losing his friends in such a violent manner.
She told herself this as she watched her son go from a wisecracking, prank-playing young man to a snarly, foul-tempered beast. Everything pissed him off these days, and good luck getting him to smile. It was like living with a bear.
She’d tried her best to be patient, to reassure herself these changes were only temporary. Eventually Reese would heal, and then she’d have her son – her friend – back.
But things got worse.
There was that disgusting smell in his room, for one. Whenever he could be coaxed to leave it for a bit, she opened the windows, but it never did any good. It smelled like an animal had been in there. A dead animal.
And her son, well, he did his best, but like most men, he wasn’t much of a housekeeper. When he fell too far behind on his laundry, she’d help him out if she were feeling altruistic. No more. Not since discovering the pile of crusty, reeking sheets and towels in the back of his closet. Crusted with what, she didn’t know, and didn’t want to know. While she was sure it was something harmless, something like—
blood
—chocolate syrup or red wine, it was disgusting. Reese could take care of that mess on his own.
There was a part of her – a part she tried to ignore, but which spoke much louder late at night – that told her she should call the cops. But that was silly. Why would she contact the police? It was no crime to have sheets stained with—
blood
—chocolate syrup or whatever, and look what had happened the last time the police had gotten involved. Reese had nearly lost his sight. He appeared to have made a miraculous recovery recently, but still. Her son could have been blind or worse for the rest of his life. No, whatever was happening, she’d have to handle it on her own.
She steeled herself for the confrontation to come, and pretended she wasn’t scared. Why should she be scared of her own son? Reese, who’d been rescuing spiders from the house and putting them in the garden since he was a boy? He was the kid who wouldn’t hurt a proverbial fly. She had nothing to worry about.
Eloise tucked her trembling hands between her knees, praying the pressure would keep the bed from shaking. The last thing she needed was for her husband to wake up. This was her show, hers and Reese’s. Ray had handled the sex talks; she would handle this. Whatever this was.
She watched the clock. Her son normally came home around five o’clock, before any of the neighbors left for work. He’d mastered the art of opening the front door and slipping inside without a sound, but she’d known he was there because she could hear him breathing.
4:58.
A light clicking noise on her front step, one she hadn’t heard before. It almost sounded like high heels, stilettos. Oh God, was he cross-dressing now? Well, she supposed there were worse things.
Eloise eased out of bed, careful not to disturb the mattress any more than she had to. The key, she’d decided, was confronting Reese before he got to his room. She had to catch him in the act. Otherwise, he’d claim he was just up to use the bathroom or something like that.
She hadn’t raised any fools.
The carpet was soft under her feet. She crept toward her bedroom door, the door she’d deliberately left open, and down the hall. The light coming in the windows that flanked her home’s entryway was surprisingly bright, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She blinked, waiting, her hand clutching the stair post to steady herself.
More clicking. Now that she was out here, it didn’t sound like high heels at all. An image of a horse sprang to mind, but she pushed it away. What would a horse be doing on her doorstep?
The doorknob turned, slowly. Eloise was taken back to every horror movie she’d watched as a teenager, even though she told herself to be sensible. This was her son, for Christ’s sake, not some Creature from the Black Lagoon. Still, her fingers tightened on the post.
The door whispered open. She bit her lip, pulse pounding. She had to wait until the right moment. If she confronted him too soon, he would leave. If she waited too long, he’d escape to that room of his and there was no way in hell she was going back down there.
For a second, Eloise thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. The silhouette in
the doorway wore some kind of bizarre hat, a thing with huge antlers, like you’d see in the old Flintstone cartoons. Maybe this wasn’t her son at all, but an intruder. As far as she knew, her son didn’t own a hat like that. The thought made her stomach flip.
The accompanying stench drove her backwards. She lost her grip on the banister and retreated, clapping a hand over her mouth and nose to keep from retching. It was the same odor she’d noticed in her son’s room, but far, far worse. There was no way anything that had come from her could smell like that, and yet she knew the truth, as a woman always recognizes her own child.
“Reese?” Shaking so violently she could barely control her fingers, she hit the light switch.
Her son stood in the foyer, wincing as he raised his arm to block the light. The strange hat, or whatever it had been, was gone. Must have been a trick of the shadows.
It took a moment for her vision to adjust, for her to get a good look at her boy, the young man who had watched television with her, picked her wildflowers on Mother’s Day, made her tea when she was sick with the stomach flu.
“My God, Reese, what did you do?”
And Reese, his face and body streaked with blood and gore, positively covered in it, burst into tears.
“I don’t know. Help me, Mom. Please help me.”
* * *
The awkwardness in the room was so thick Eloise imagined it could be sliced like a cheesecake and divided among them. Everyone would have an equal piece.
Or perhaps she was in some bizarre alternate universe, with Rod Serling in the corner narrating the cause of her distress. It would make about as much sense.
For the first time in her life, she wished she were a smoker. It was a nasty habit, but it would have given her something to do with her hands. Faced with a distinct lack of cigarettes, she stirred her tea over and over again, spoon clinking against the side of the cup.
The silence was suffocating. Why didn’t anyone speak? Why did they keep staring at her like she was the unfortunate result of some science experiment? Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. “How long have you known?”
“We didn’t know, not for sure. We only suspected. As you can imagine, it’s not the easiest thing to wrap one’s head around,” the chief said.
No. No, it wasn’t. She hadn’t liked this man when he’d visited her home before. He’d come across as aloof, as if he thought he were better than anyone else. Better than her, certainly. But he was different now, kinder. Almost sympathetic, not that she wanted anyone’s sympathy. Reese was still her son, and she’d be damned if anyone pitied her for his existence. This was a temporary setback, that was all.
“So, if he is this…wendigo, what then?”
“We don’t believe Reese is truly a wendigo, Mrs. Wallace, but we think he might have been possessed by one that night at Strong Lake.”
“But why?” The question was as useless as asking why bad things happened to good people. They just did. Even so, she had to ask. Why her son? Why hadn’t that filthy wendigo-whatever-it-was preyed on someone else? Her son hadn’t done anything wrong.
“I don’t claim to be an expert, but we think it might have something to do with Reese’s heritage. Both your son and Detective Greyeyes have been experiencing vivid dreams, where they are living in another time and place. Before she died, our medicine woman told Reese he was a descendant of the so-called lost tribe, an indigenous community that used to live in the Strong Lake area before European contact.”
Eloise inhaled sharply through her nose. “That’s impossible. My people were British.”
“My ancestor, Little Dove, was raped by a settler. She became pregnant as a result and we believe Reese is descended from her child,” the detective explained. She’d introduced herself as Maria, but Eloise couldn’t bear to call her that, could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. If it hadn’t been for her, Reese would never have been arrested or beaten by that ghastly cop. Even learning that Archer was dead hadn’t made her feel better.
“This is ludicrous. You’re getting your information from dreams?”
“They’re more than dreams, Mrs. Wallace.” The detective shifted in her chair. “Let’s just say they’ve begun to affect our reality. I’ve had to move out of my own home to protect my husband and daughter, and you’ve seen what’s been happening to your son.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She’d never be able to erase the image of Reese covered in blood from her memory, no matter how hard she tried. Eloise put down her teacup and buried her face in her hands, seeking composure. “I don’t understand what a wendigo is.”
“Essentially, it’s an evil spirit. Our people once believed that those who ate human flesh during times of famine would turn into wendigos. In that sense, it was most likely a cautionary tale designed to ensure peoples’ civility. Some also believe extreme greed can make a person susceptible, but there’s no reason to think that’s the case with your son,” the chief said. “My guess is he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Our community has long thought that campground is cursed. They won’t go near it.”
“Hey.” Reese appeared, his hair wet from his shower. She was relieved to see none of the blood remained. He was her son again, same as before. “Thanks for coming.” He shook the chief’s hand and gave the detective a hug.
“Thanks for calling us,” the detective said. “You did the right thing.” She looked over at Eloise. “You’re both doing the right thing. We know how difficult this must be.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you do. We had a normal life, a good life. We’re good people. I don’t understand why this is happening to us. We didn’t do anything wrong.” Eloise heard her voice crack and knew she’d burst into tears if she said much else, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t fair. She’d been a good mother, done her best for both of her sons. Reese had been doing so well; he’d been planning to pursue his MBA. He wasn’t some psychotic killer. He couldn’t be.
“It’s unfortunate, but you’re paying for the sins of your ancestors. Reese happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong DNA,” the chief said.
“But what do my ancestors have to do with any of this? They came here with nothing, and worked themselves nearly to death so their kin would have a better life. I’m not sure what crime they’re guilty of. Certainly nothing worthy of this.”
Reese massaged her shoulders. “Easy, Mom. No one is attacking you.”
“No, they’re attacking my great grandparents, who aren’t here to defend themselves.”
“We don’t mean to make it sound like an attack on anyone, but we can’t ignore the fact that some of the settlers murdered an entire nation of our people. Women were raped, children were stolen from their parents. The spirits want vengeance, and one of them is using your son to get it,” the detective said. “Another tried to use me.”
“That is horrible, of course, absolutely horrible. And I don’t mean to sound like I’m making light of anything your people suffered. But that was so long ago, ancient history. Why is this happening now?” Eloise asked.
The detective’s face hardened as she turned to look out the window. The chief rested his hand over hers for a moment.
Did I say something wrong? Eloise wondered. It had seemed like a perfectly natural question to her, but the detective was clearly upset.
The chief gave her a wry smile. “Perhaps the spirits have no sense of time. Perhaps they don’t know too much time has passed for them to be angry.”
“It is very difficult to forgive someone who has never apologized, who doesn’t realize forgiveness is required,” the detective said without meeting Eloise’s eyes, her voice low and soft. “It is difficult to forgive someone for a sin when the sin itself has never been acknowledged.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with my son.”
Before the detective could respond, Reese changed the subject. “If I am being used by this thing, this…wendigo, who killed Dan’s mother? It couldn’t have been me. I was locked up.”
The chief glanced at the detective, and while Eloise struggled to figure out what the hell was going on, her son turned the color of spoiled milk.
“Oh no, hell no. You didn’t kill her.” He covered his mouth like he was about to vomit. “You couldn’t have. You’re a cop.”
“I don’t think I did. I hope I didn’t, but the truth is, I really don’t know what I did while I was under the influence of the arrowhead. I nearly killed my own daughter.” The detective twisted her hands, lowering her eyes. “I didn’t wake up covered in blood like you did, but I suppose anything is possible.”
“So what do we do?” It hurt Eloise to hear the hopelessness in Reese’s voice. He’d already been through so much. The possibility he might have a monster living inside him was unfathomable. “How do I get rid of this thing? I can’t keep going around murdering people. Can you lock me up?” He directed his last question to the detective.
“There is a ceremony our people have, known as the wiindigookaanzhimowin, that is mostly performed as a satire these days, a warning of the dangers of greed,” the chief said. “Still, many of these old traditions were created for a reason, and if done well, I believe it might be able to drive the wendigo’s spirit back into the trees where it belongs.”
“I’ll try anything, but what if the ceremony doesn’t work? Rose’s medicine didn’t help me, and you said her magic was powerful.”
“If it doesn’t work, the wendigo will continue to slaughter every one of the settlers’ descendants until there isn’t a white man, woman, or child left alive in this town.” The chief shrugged. “In other words, we’re all basically fucked.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
As the turnoff for the campground appeared in the distance, I found it difficult to breathe.
“I never thought I’d be back here.”
Those Who Came Before Page 26
