by E A Comiskey
Stanley chuckled a little to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not just a man. I’m a hunter.”
“You’re human though.” He paused. “Right?”
“Yes, I’m human, but as long as I was distracted, her little minions had free reign to do their damage. I’m not boasting when I tell you that I’m the finest hunter who ever lived. My work was diminishing her power.” He shifted, carefully. “Every incarnation of evil I slay is a blow to her, but the skinwalker is something special to her. In its human life, it made a deal with her. Its soul is trapped in a cage of her design. She does not want it freed. She’s trying to distract me.”
“Why doesn’t she just kill you?”
Stanley shrugged. “We were good together.”
Richard’s fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the blanket folded back over his midsection, but he said no more. His brain whirled with thoughts and questions. They swam in a tangled mass under the foggy surface of the narcotic shot they’d given him in the emergency room.
“You said you would call your family,” Stanley said some time later.
“So?”
“You have other children?”
Richard still stared at the black rectangle. It wasn’t just dark. It was inky. It seemed quite possible that answers to all of life’s biggest questions could reside within that void. “Just the one daughter.”
“Are you going to call her?”
“No. She’s a flake.”
The sheets on Stanley’s bed rustled as he repositioned himself. “You should call her,” Stanley said.
“I told you, she’s a dang flake, a dirty hippie. Ran off with a Negro man to sing to the trees or some such.”
Did these long pauses between bits of conversation really exist, or were they just an effect of the drugs? Sleep weighted Richard’s eyelids, but he resisted. Too many things existed in the world that could attack a man while he was vulnerable. Sleep was foolhardy, an invitation for disaster.
“The car is gone, Dick.”
“What?”
“The car and everything in it. It’s gone. She took it.”
“The money?” Richard had thought a lot about that metal box full of twenties, most of the time trying to figure if they were genuine or counterfeit.
“And the guns, the swords, the crystal dagger, and the ceremonial athame. Even your prune juice and the clothes from Walmart. All of it.”
It sure was a lot of money. Must have been ten thousand dollars or more in that case.
“We’re trapped here, Dick. We don’t have a ride.”
Richard finally turned his head to look at Stanley. In his hospital gown, with his leg propped up on pillows, he looked very much like the old man he was.
“We don’t have a ride,” Stanley said, “and we have work to do. There’s a hidebehind at the tri county state line, southeast of the Crow Reservation. I’m sure of it.”
“And only twenty-four days to get to the skinwalker in Tombstone.”
“Twenty-three by the time we get out of here.”
Richard rubbed his eyes. His lids rasped like sandpaper. “Why did she disappear, Stan?”
“You took one of her tools and used it against her. The bigger the tool, the more damage it will cause. The phone wasn’t much, but it got her to give us enough space to get help.”
“She’ll be back for us.”
“I imagine she will, and probably not very happy about what happened.”
Darkness pulled at Richard, even as the light of dawn slipped through the cracks around the window blinds. “I’ll call my granddaughter. She’s all right, all things considered.” With a leaden arm, he reached over and lifted the handset from the phone that sat on the table between them.
His granddaughter answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Burke?”
“Grandpa? Where are you? Are you okay?”
A little tendril of comfort wrapped around his heart. Maybe they hadn’t visited much, but they were worried when he was gone. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?” she asked again.
“I had a little accident in—”
“An accident? What kind of accident?”
“I’m fine, kid. I’m fine. I need a ride, though.”
“Okay. Just tell me where you are.”
“Well, I’m…” he looked around the hospital room. No denying it. “I’m fine, but I’m at the Spearfish Regional Hospital.”
Her soft gasp reached through the line, but to her credit, she stayed calm where her mother would have been hysterical. When she spoke her voice was steady, “Spearfish, South Dakota?”
“That’s right.” Had he ever been so tired? Why did people crave these drugs? They made a man feel like he was drowning on dry land.
“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Promise you’re okay?”
“Fine, fine.”
“All right then. I’ll—”
“Burke?”
“Yeah?”
“Nevermind.” How could everything be explained over the phone? He didn’t have the strength for it. Better to tell her in person after a nice long rest. “Thank you,” he said.
After a long pause, she answered, “You’re welcome, Grandpa. Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
He was so tired, he fell asleep with his hand still on the phone after he hung up.
When he woke, Stanley was watching the midday news. A bowl of cold boiled oats and a cup of apple juice waited for him. He looked over at the other man. “You might have to help me convince her to take us to Tombstone.”
A wide grin crept across Stanley’s face. “I’ve always been good at talking women into things.”
Chapter Fourteen
Burke
Traffic in the Chicagoland area had been spectacular. It was always congested, but that day it came to a dead stop. Every few minutes, the entire line of cars would inch forward like an injured serpent. Horns blared. For what purpose? Where did they want the other drivers to go? The highway was a tar pit and everyone in the city was stuck in it together.
The entire time she sat there, her thoughts spun like so many electrons around the nucleus of her grandfather. He really was a terrible person. He was mean and hateful, racist, demanding, and rude. But in those old photos, he had appeared to be so full of joy. Maybe he had been a different person in his youth.
Everyone goes through hard times. What excuse did he have for reacting to his difficulties in such a way? Sure. He lost a wife. Burke had lost a husband, but she didn’t treat people like something unpleasant on the bottom of her shoe.
Especially not based on their race. For decades, he’d been cold toward his own daughter for choosing to marry a Black man. It didn’t matter that the Black man was well-educated, kind, hard-working, and faithful. He was good for one of his kind, but his kind could never be good enough for Richard’s daughter.
The daughter he barely spoke to anymore.
And if he hated her father for his skin color, what did that say about her own place in his heart? She should let him go to Tombstone and die in the desert alone. She’d put up with enough abuse in her life from the world at large. Why should she put up with abuse from her own flesh and blood? What was the value of a grandfather who couldn’t see past her tawny skin and recognize his own blood running through her veins?
His own blood.
He was family. Family doesn’t give up.
Every time her mother signed a Christmas card or picked up the phone to call him, she’d told Burke again, “Family doesn’t give up. He wasn’t always so bad, Burke. He’s had a hard life.”
In those old photos he had looked so open and kind.
By the time she got to the other side of the city, her energy was gone and her nerves were shot so she decided to rent a room at the Fairfield Inn in Joliet. The hotel was nothing special, but it was clean and she could stretch to her full length on the bed. There wasn’t much more she wanted after being in the car all day.
&
nbsp; The next day was enough to convince her that everyone east of the Mississippi lived in the greater Chicago area. Between Chicago and Des Moines, the road was virtually deserted. She’d planned to spend the night in Iowa, but as she watched for the blue signs telling her which hotels were ahead, her phone rang. She tapped the green button and immediately switched it to speaker.
“Hello?”
“Burke?”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. Gratitude, relief, annoyance, and anger exploded out of her, making her voice sound uncomfortably similar to her mother’s. “Grandpa? Where are you? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, but he didn’t really sound so good. His voice held a tremor and his words were almost slurred. Was he drunk?
“Where are you?” she asked again, calmer now. This was infinitely better than crossing North America on a hunch.
“I had a little accident in—”
Fear trumped everything else. Her mother had been right. He couldn’t take care of himself, and she was the one who’d put off searching for him. If he was hurt, it was her fault. “An accident? What kind of accident?”
“I’m fine, kid. I’m fine. I need a ride, though.”
She took the exit for a rest stop and pulled into the first spot she came to. “Okay. Just tell me where you are.”
“Well, I’m…” He paused. “I’m fine, but I’m at the Spearfish Regional Hospital.”
His words sent a shiver down her spine. Thank you, God, for keeping him alive long enough for me to have another chance to do the right thing, she prayed silently. A petulant little girl in the back of her mind added, even if the old man never does. Aloud, she asked, “Spearfish, South Dakota?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Promise you’re okay?” Des Moines wasn’t exactly on the way from Michigan to South Dakota, but she was a lot closer than she would have been.
“Fine, fine,” he agreed in that soft, sleepy tone.
She did a quick calculation and figured she could make it by morning if she could manage to stay awake that long. “All right then. I’ll—”
He interrupted her. “Burke?”
“Yeah?”
“Nevermind. Thank you,” he said.
Family doesn’t give up. In her entire life, she had never heard the old man thank anyone for anything. He demanded. He expected. He didn’t thank. He especially didn’t deign to thank Black folks. She swallowed hard. “You’re welcome, Grandpa. Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”
The sun was just turning the sky pink when she pulled into the parking lot of the little regional hospital. She found her grandfather and the other man who’d been missing sitting up in their beds watching the news.
“You got here fast!” her grandfather exclaimed.
She took a seat in the ugly green vinyl chair in the corner and would have gladly slumped down and slept there for the rest of the day, given the chance. “I was already driving. Mom was a mess. You should have told us where you were going.”
He had the grace to look ashamed. “I should have.”
“It all happened rather fast,” the other man said in a charming British accent that warmed something in her feminine heart she never before realized was chilly. “I take full responsibility.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Kapcheck, but my grandfather is a grown man. He should have known enough to pick up the phone and spare us all a good deal of grief.”
“We’ll tell you the whole story,” her grandfather promised. “You’ll understand then.”
“I can’t wait to hear it,” she said. “In the meantime, I’m going to let Mom know you’re still alive.” She pushed herself to her feet and trudged down to the waiting room to make the call on her cellphone. Her mother was teary with relief.
“Let me know as soon as you’re headed back this way,” she said after Burke assured her at least ten times that Grandpa was not at death’s door.
“I will. I gotta go. I’ll call you later,” Burke promised.
She got back to the room just as the nurse was dropping off the discharge papers.
Chapter Fifteen
Richard
“No,” Burke said. “Absolutely not. You’re out of your minds.”
Richard exchanged a glance with Stanley. For the past thirty minutes they’d been sitting in the same Dairy Queen they’d eaten in a little more than twenty-four hours earlier. Burke had listened respectfully while her grandfather told her about the strigoi, the skinwalker, the bowrow, The Devil Herself, and the need to make a quick swing through the general vicinity of Wray, Colorado.
The incredulity in her expression was clear from the start and only grew as he talked, but to her credit, she didn’t say a word until he wrapped up his speech with, “And…so…there it is. The car is gone and we need a ride.”
Now it was time for Stanley to take over. “Miss Martin—”
“Mrs.”
“Of course. My apologies. Mrs. Martin, I promise you neither your grandfather nor I have taken leave of our senses. I know how it must sound to you—”
“It sounds like you were completely accurate when you said this is entirely your fault,” she said. “My grandfather was safe and well cared for until you got him mixed up in some crazy cross-country quest.”
“It is my fault,” Stanley agreed, still smiling his most charming smile.
“No,” Richard said.
They both turned to stare at him.
“It’s not Stan’s fault.” He scratched at his cheek. He hated talking about feelings. Men weren’t supposed to talk about feelings. Men were supposed to take action. But it occurred to him in that moment that he was helpless to take action unless Burke agreed to go along with their plan, and the only way he could think to convince her to do that was by telling her how he felt. “I was dying in that place,” he managed.
Her eyes widened. “Mom said she checked them out. They’re really well rated.”
He waved away her words. “It was a fine institution, Burke. Well, if you don’t count the monsters. But it wasn’t Everest. It was…being old.”
“Grandpa—”
“No! Blast it, you need to hear me out. I’m old. I get that. I’ll be lucky to see another ten years.” He grunted. “Heck, it would be a miracle to see another ten years. Luck would only buy me five. I’m not talking about a number. I’m talking about being treated like an old person. After I fell, your mother put me in that place. She put all my things in boxes and gave it all to the Salvation Army. She gave away your grandmother’s things, Burke. Things I’d saved for longer than you’ve been alive. She gave away my mother’s books. A whole lifetime of belongings swept away like so much rubbish.”
At the sight of the tears in her eyes, he felt a lump in his throat and looked away. Talking about feelings was one thing. He wasn’t going to start crying like a little girl. A few deep breaths helped the feeling pass and he went on. “Everything that ever defined me was gone. My wife. My child. My job. My home. Even the ratty old underwear I was used to. It was all gone, and I didn’t get a say in any of it. Then I was tucked into a nice soft bed and told to relax.”
He slammed a fist on the table, causing the girl to flinch. “I don’t want to relax. What does that even mean? Sleep until I die? Do nothing? Life is hard. Pain and growth go hand in hand. Nothing good ever came from relaxing. Not a single darn thing, but what else was I going to do? I had no purpose. Society had no use for me. I was just sitting there, sucking up resources.”
“That’s not true, Grandpa.”
“It is true. Stan will tell you.” He turned to the other man for support. “You know how it is to be treated like an old man, right? I mean, you must be…” he trailed off. “How old are you, anyway?”
Stanley’s eyes widened a little. They darted toward Burke and back again. “Oh, I’m not sure my story is relevant here.”
But now that Richard had thought of the question, he was really quite curious.
Stan looked like an old man, acted like he was in his prime, and dressed like a juvenile delinquent with a trust fund. “No, really, how old are you?”
“One hundred, forty-six,” Stanley said before picking up his coffee and sipping it.
Richard and Burke just sat there, staring at him.
He shrugged. “I’ve lived an unusual life.”
Richard forced his gaze back to Burke. “Uhm…so…like I was sayin’, I’m glad for this adventure. This quest, as you call it. It’s dangerous. I hurt like I ain’t hurt in all my life. I never been so tired, and my bowels are tied in a knot because the doggone Devil stole my prune juice, but blast it all, I’m alive.”
Her tears broke through the dam of her will and spilled down her smooth cheeks, forming little rivers in the curve of her nose. “Oh, Grandpa.” She sighed. “Mom is going to be so angry.”
Again, the men exchanged a little glance. This one, triumphant. “She’s been angry all her life, kid. Nothin’ you were ever gonna do about that.”
She rolled her eyes. Richard resisted the urge to tell her that her eyes looked like two oysters in a bucket of snot. Best to keep quiet as long as she was going along with the plan.
“Fair enough.” She wiped away her tears on the cuff of the pink sweatshirt she wore, and a long, slow breath seemed to fortify her. “Okay. So, how far is it to Wray, Colorado?”
“If we leave now, we should be there by nightfall,” Stanley answered.
Burke nodded. “Okay.” Another long breath. “Nightfall. Okay. And what are we going there for?”
Richard stood up and gathered his trash. “He can tell you about it in the car.”
She nodded again and began to stand. “I’m going to get some coffee. I’m going to need it if I’m driving all day again.”
“Dick?”
He stopped and looked at Stanley, still seated. The crutch they’d given him at the hospital remained untouched. He held the stolen phone in one hand. “There’s something I want to show you before we hit the road.”
Richard returned to his seat and took the little device. The screen displayed a picture of a handsome young man with a shock of dark hair that fell across his forehead and a smile similar to Stanley’s. No doubt, the boy had his pick of the ladies. He passed his finger across the screen and came to the article.
