Dreams of Desolation, page 5
“Help,” it said.
“What the fuck?” Morgan was stunned.
“Did it just ask for help?” James asked.
“It couldn’t have,” Morgan said.
“Please, help me,” the raven said.
“This can’t be happening,” Morgan said, laughing.
“I’m hungry,” the bird continued.
“This is too weird,” James said, backing away from the bird.
Amazed by the creature, Morgan reached into her pocket and pulled out the protein bar her father had given her earlier. She took off the foil wrapper, broke the bar into a few pieces, and threw some towards the beggar. The raven pecked at it, unsure of its contents, then suddenly devoured the piece. It croaked, asking for more. Morgan threw a few more pieces on the ground, and the bird continued eating. It croaked again, but Morgan didn’t throw anything else. Instead, she knelt and extended her palm out to the bird.
“I don’t think you should do that,” James warned.
“It’s fine, dad,” she responded. “Come here, little guy, it’s ok,” she said, waving a handful of crumbs.
The raven didn’t hesitate. With a flap of its wings, it jumped over and started pecking at Morgan’s hand as her heartbeat accelerated. She felt scared, having never encountered wildlife like this, but a comforting feeling washed over her. She studied the raven carefully. It was larger than she expected ravens to be and seemed that it had been through more than its fair share of fights. Some of its feathers were missing, and others were torn. As Morgan looked closer, she could see the most noticeable feature of the bird was that it only had one claw. The right one was intact as usual, but the left was gone, cut off where it should join the leg. After the bird finished the crumbs in Morgan’s hand, it stared at her, its black eyes reflecting the black stone in Morgan’s locket. With a low croak, it purred almost like a cat, as if it was thanking Morgan.
“You’re welcome little guy,” Morgan said as she caressed the raven’s neck with the back of her hand.
The raven jumped with its only claw and flew back towards the forest from whence it came. Morgan and James stared into the distance, bewildered by the experience. They looked at each other and laughed, allowing the nerves they both felt to dissipate. After the ravens were gone, Morgan stared at the fresh roadkill.
“Poor wolf.”
She felt sad, but at least its death served a purpose.
“I’d forgotten ravens could mimic human voices,” James said.
“I never knew they could do that,” Morgan said.
“Traditionally, they only travel in pairs. It’s quite rare to see an unkindness,” James responded.
“Unkindness?”
“A flock of ravens. Quite ironic, we refer to them in that way. They’re very noble and pretty brilliant creatures. They’re even smarter than parrots and crows.” James explained.
“How do you know so much about them?” Morgan questioned.
“When I was a kid, we didn’t have social media to entertain us, and I didn’t have any friends, so I spent a lot of time watching birds and learning about them,” James confessed.
“What a nerd,” Morgan joked.
James cracked a smile and put his arm around his daughter. Turning from the grim sight in front of them, Morgan stared into the distance of the hill previously covered by the birds. Now, with the birds gone, she could make out what hid in the forest. Behind the rod iron gates, preceded by a long brick paved roadway, she could make out what seemed to be a rather large structure. All she could see sticking out of the forest was the roof, its chimneys, and a large rotunda in the center.
“You think anyone lives there?” Morgan asked.
“I’m not sure,” James said.
“Well, it can’t hurt to ask for help,” Morgan said, crossing the road.
James followed without hesitation. They stood in front of the gates, which towered over them twenty feet in the air. Morgan attempted to push the gate open, but of course, it was locked. To her left, she saw an intercom system—and perched high above, she saw a camera attached to a stone column. Morgan pushed the speaker button hoping for a response, but there was only silence. Again, she held down the button and held it down.
“Hello? Is anyone home?”
A garbled voice came through the speaker—Morgan pressed the button again.
“Please, can you help us? Our car broke down a few miles back. Hello, hello?” she repeated, but her plea went unanswered.
Either no one was home, or no one wanted to answer.
“It was worth a shot. Come on, let’s get going,” James said as the empty road filled once more with the sound of sirens.
This time, a group of police cruisers sped towards them faster than the previous cop, and again, Morgan and James backed away from the road as the first of three squad cars sped past them. Morgan’s gaze followed the first and second cruiser as they zoomed past, but as the third patrol car approached, Morgan’s instinct kicked in. She threw her hands in the air and jumped up and down to get the officer’s attention. She screamed at the top of her lungs as the squad car sped past them, but she continued jumping and screaming, hoping that the cop would see them in the rearview mirror and stop. It worked. The brake lights lit up as the car came to a stop, and the sirens and flashing lights ceased. The reverse lights came on next as the car backed up.
“Good thinking, Morgan. I would have just kept running.”
As the squad car came to a stop in front of them, Morgan read the bold words painted in blue and gold on the side of the vehicle—Whispering Pines Police.
CHAPTER FOUR
Decaying Heart
T he robust police officer stepped out of the car, and adjusted her aviator-style sunglasses. Morgan observed her black leather boots, torn and stained—mud crusted in the
soles. The officer studied James’ and Morgan’s anxious demeanor and flushed complexion—apparent signs of distress.
“Everything alright here?” she questioned.
“It’s a long story, but our car broke down. We’ve been running for a while now, trying to get to the nearest gas station. We have no reception, so we can’t call roadside assistance. We would appreciate a ride, officer,” Morgan pleaded.
“I’m Officer Jones.” she paused as she stared at them, standing in front of the gates, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No, we’re from Kingston, a few hours south of here. My name is James Stark. This is my daughter, Morgan. We were on the way to drop her off at college, but we got a flat tire, and the spare is also flat,” James explained.
“The white SUV down the road?” Jones asked.
“Yes, officer. My mom and my friend are waiting for us. We’re trying to get to campus in time for orientation tomorrow,” Morgan said.
“What school are you going to?” Jones kept questioning to make sure they weren’t getting over on her.
“Brixton University,” James replied.
“Ok, get in. I’ll give you a ride. The nearest gas station is about seven minutes away,” Jones finally caved and opened the door to the backseat.
Morgan scooted in first, followed by James as they both settled into the worn-out vinyl-covered seats, penetrated with the scent of fast food. Officer Jones took her time fastening her seat belt, checked her cell phone, and checked James out in the rearview mirror. She didn’t bother turning on the siren or the lights. Instead, she drove slower than the speed limit. Morgan and James were both relieved to have some help—the last thing they wanted was to arrive late and feel rushed, unloading all of the luggage. Staring out of the window, into the groves of pine trees, Morgan held onto her locket as she often did when she felt nervous or out of place. Other than police chatter on the radio, Officer Jones stayed quiet, so Morgan broke the silence.
“This is my first time in the back of a squad car. How about you, dad?” she asked, realizing that she had never asked him that before.
“Nope, this would be my second time. I was arrested for disorderly conduct when I was twenty-two. Got in a bar fight because two guys were flirting with your mom. I spent the night in the drunk tank, and that’s the only time I’ve been arrested,” James confessed.
“Seriously, dad? I never took you for the jealous type.” Morgan joked. “I hope this is the only time I have to be in the back of a cop car,”
“I hope so too, Morgan,” James said.
“Thanks for helping us, officer,” Morgan said, realizing she hadn’t said anything to Officer Jones.
“Don’t worry about it,” she responded.
“The officers that were in front of you, what happened?” Morgan asked.
“I’m not at freedom to disclose any information as of right now,” Jones said.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan said quietly.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just don’t like giving information as it’s developing. I like knowing the facts. Most of the time, we respond to calls only to find that people have exaggerated beyond belief. They say someone is armed and dangerous to make us get there faster, but when we get there, the story has changed. They always say, ‘It looked like a gun.’ Whatever is happening now will most likely be public information by the end of the day. News travels fast in Whispering Pines,” Jones said, keeping her eyes on the road.
Silence filled the car again as they whisked through the country road. Morgan looked up beyond the trees and saw more flocks of birds, and wondered if it was the same ravens that devoured the dead wolf cub. Seeing the animal’s remains brought back memories of her horrendous eighth birthday party. She had almost erased that night from her memory, but the image was engraved in Morgan’s mind. Whenever she saw an animal become roadkill, she remembered her fluffy white dog. She wanted to forget that it ever happened, and she almost did as the car approached the city marker—a huge sign that displayed the city slogan.
“Welcome to Whispering Pines, City of Dreams”—however, someone had taken the liberty of spray painting the sign in red, crossing out the word Dreams, replacing it with Death.
“City of death?” James questioned.
“Vandals… We used to repaint the sign every time it was vandalized, but we gave up after sixteen years. Whoever is responsible really hates this city,” Jones said, grabbing a handful of French fries from a brown paper bag.
“Should I be worried? Do a lot of murders happen here?” James became even more anxious about his daughter spending the next four years of her life here.
“No more than normal, I suppose. We get a few calls a week about bar fights or domestic disputes, but we’ve only had a handful of heinous crimes, for the history books,” Jones responded, not soothing James’ anxiety.
“What’s the worst call you’ve responded to?” Morgan asked.
“Morgan, that’s not very polite,” James said, shocked by her forwardness.
“It’s ok. People ask me this all the time, and I always respond with the same three instances. The first was a highway accident. A truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and veered off into a compact car. The family of three was killed instantly, crushed between the truck and the median. The second was a bank robbery involving a hostage situation. It became a twelve-hour-long stand-off, ending in a shootout. A pregnant woman, the bank manager, and two officers lost their lives, but so did the three perps.” she paused to take a sip of her oversized gas station cup filled with Diet Coke.
“And the last?” James asked, now intrigued by the stories of a seasoned officer.
“The last was the worst one. It became known as The Dark School Massacre—it happened at the high school on Halloween. A group of kids and teachers were hunted down and killed savagely after a school dance. One victim’s face was beaten so severely, it took DNA records to identify the body. All of this happened during my first year on the force. After that, well, nothing really shocks me anymore. I show up to a crime scene and make sure all the boxes are checked off on my report. It’s become a rather monotonous experience. I became a cop to try to make a difference, but you can’t predict crimes. You can only try to help those afflicted by them,” Jones said.
Morgan was speechless and regretted asking the question in the first place. She thought her dog dying on her birthday was a terrible memory, never realizing that other people in the world experienced worse things than her.
“Well, here we are,” Jones said, pulling up to the front of the gas station.
“Thank God. I have to pee something awful,” Morgan said as she bolted out of the backseat and ran to the side of the convenience store.
“Thank you, officer,” James said, shaking her hand.
“No problem at all. Listen, I know how hard it can be for parents to let go of their children. I’ve been through it twice myself. It’ll be ok, though. This isn’t a bad place, and Brixton is one of the best schools on the east coast. If you need anything, feel free to call,” she said, handing him a business card.
“I appreciate it,” James said, realizing she had been flirting with him.
As Officer Jones climbed back in her patrol car and slowly drove away, James took a deep breath and headed into the gas station. The last time they visited Whispering Pines, the station’s pumps were outdated, and the paint on the facade was nonexistent. The pavement was cracked and full of potholes. Today a large vinyl banner that read ‘Under New Management’ hung over the entrance. The gas pumps were modern and accepted credit cards, and a car wash and an extra parking lot for semi-trucks had been built around the back of the convenience store. He walked into the mechanic shop and greeted the cashier, a young man with shaggy brown hair dangling over his eyes.
“How’s it going, Kyle?” James asked, reading his name tag.
“Going good. How can I help you, sir?” Kyle answered, flipping his messy brown hair back.
“I got a flat tire, and my spare’s no good.”
“We can help with that,” Kyle answered as he continued to ask the car’s make and model.
Morgan flushed the toilet and continued to wash her hands. She stared at herself for a moment in the mirror and then wiped the sweat off her face. The bathrooms weren’t as updated as the rest of the establishment. The toilets had no seat, and the doors on the stalls were full of vulgar graffiti. Black spots filled the edges of the mirrors, the faucets had more rust than chrome, and the porcelain sinks were now yellowed and full of crud—resulting from years of neglect. Morgan was fixing her hair as the door swung open and filled the bathroom with harsh sunlight, and an older woman stepped inside.
The woman’s long blonde hair appeared greasy and disheveled. Her lips were chapped—almost bloody from the cracked skin. It seemed that she had been walking against the wind for years. Her dress was torn, dirty, stained by sweat, and what Morgan believed to be other bodily fluids. The second she entered the bathroom, the pungent stench of her person filled the room. The woman desperately needed a shower.
“Hello,” Morgan said as the woman approached the mirror next to her, but the woman didn’t respond. Instead, she pulled out toothpaste and a toothbrush from her worn-out black leather purse and began to brush her teeth. As Morgan observed her, she felt the same repulsing sensation as when she saw the roadkill get eaten. The twelve teeth that remained in the woman’s mouth were chipped, tarred, broken, and some were almost nonexistent. Morgan began to walk out of the bathroom but turned around and attempted to converse with the woman again.
“Is everything ok?”
The woman didn’t answer. She just continued brushing her teeth. Morgan thought she should just walk out of the bathroom and continue on about her business, but something about the woman intrigued her. She stared at the mirror into the woman’s reflection, waiting for her to answer. Her wiry, dull hair did nothing to compliment her pale, almost grayish complexion.
“Nothing is ok. If anything was ok, I wouldn’t be brushing my teeth at a truck stop. If anything had gone ok, I wouldn’t find myself stuck in this armpit of a city. I really do hope you’re only passing by. Everyone who lays roots in this doomed city regrets it. If you even think about it, you’ll end up just like the rest of us.” her creaky voice paused as she looked Morgan up and down. “I was about your age when I came here. I was naïve and optimistic. Something inside me still had hope in people, but now look at me. I’m in my forties, and the people just keep getting worse. Every new person I meet talks sweetly. They think I was born yesterday. They swear they’re not like anyone else, but they turn out worse than the rest,” the woman said as she finished brushing her teeth and continued to wash her long blonde hair with a few pumps of hand soap over the sink.
The woman’s words made Morgan pity her and wondered what could have happened in the past for her to end up bathing in a public bathroom. She should have walked away, but Morgan’s downfall had always been helping those who didn’t want her help in the first place.
“I’m Morgan. What’s your name?”
“What’s it to you? You’re just like the rest of them. That’s how it always begins. What’s your name? What can you do for a twenty?”
“What? No, that’s not what I meant. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help you out.”
“Nothing you can do will make anything better for me. There’s something in the water here, turns people wicked. Mark my words, young Morgan. The only way out of this goddamn place is death.” the woman said with conviction as she continued taking care of her appearance.
Morgan was about to offer some inspirational advice of her own but walked out of the bathroom when the woman took off her shirt, exposing her bare chest. She knew that the woman wasn’t in her right mind, but the things she said made her contemplate if she had made the right decision coming to Whispering Pines. So far, the experience was not a pleasant one, but Morgan was not the type to give up because of one bad day.
“Morgan,” James said.
“Hey, dad. Are we good to go?” She said, hoping to leave as quickly as possible.
“Yes, thankfully,” James replied.
