Hidden Bones (Dead Remaining), page 3
“Is it true what he said?” the mayor asked Susan, casual yet still businesslike. “I heard about those murders down in California. Terrible stuff. Were you really there?”
Susan took a long sip of her beer. “Afraid so.”
The mayor made a show of shivering. “I didn’t really put two and two together until the kid with the ponytail said something; otherwise, I wouldn’t have ever known. You and your town were all over the news.” After a beat, she nonchalantly asked, “Do you still have a bunch of journalists following you around?”
“Not unless they’re good at hiding,” Susan said with a chuckle. The mayor didn’t seem to share her amusement. “No, they’ve been leaving me alone for a while, thank God. Why?”
The group watched as the bouncer sauntered back through the entrance. There was enough blood on his hands to be seen from clear across the room. “There’s something seriously wrong with these people,” Madison whispered at Jake’s side, and he nodded in agreement. Something was definitely off at the bar, maybe with Clancy as a whole. During his brief exploration of the town earlier that day, the locals were hardly what anyone would call warm. The crowd had been a little better during the show, but, after the one-sided brawl he’d just witnessed, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t eager to move on to Seattle.
The mayor sipped her drink. Jake could practically hear the gears in her head turning as she crafted the perfect statement. “I love Clancy and the people who live here. We may be small, but we have a lot of pride in our town. Most of us strive to bring us closer to modernity, and we welcome visitors from out of town because it keeps many of our businesses afloat. A few folks in town, however, are a little . . . unhappy with all the attention we’ve received from those Kincaid movies.” She smiled. “It’s nothing personal against tourists like yourself; sometimes people in small towns get a little too used to their privacy.”
“Okay,” Susan said guardedly.
Mayor Moulden smiled good-naturedly. “Don’t look so worried. All I’m trying to say is that I would consider it a personal favor if you didn’t mention the incident with the bouncer on social media or to the press.”
Susan shook her head. “Oh, I wasn’t—”
“And maybe you also shouldn’t advertise that you’re here. I’m truly very sorry about what happened in your town, but you can probably understand why we wouldn’t want Clancy associated with child murders, even if it’s indirectly. A lot of folks would be unhappy if the press came up here looking for you.” She glanced at Eric. “And you. I hope I’m not offending, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t do my best to look after Clancy.”
“You couldn’t get me to talk about the murders if you paid me,” Susan said.
Eric said, “Ditto.”
“Good.” The mayor relaxed. “I know it sounds paranoid, but I have to show the people of Clancy that I’m hearing them and have their best interests in mind. Sometimes, it can be hard to make everyone happy.”
Eric and Susan both made polite statements about taking no offense, but Jake suspected that they just didn’t care. They’d be out of there in no time, and he was willing to bet that they were as eager to get to Seattle as he was.
“Hey, wasn’t your friend Darla supposed to come and meet us?” Chuck asked, filling what had become an awkward silence.
“She sure was,” Madison said. “I wonder why she didn’t come. She used to be so reliable, but that was before she took up with that deadbeat.”
Jake let out a loud yawn. It was considered poor form for members of a headlining band to depart the hosting venue shortly after a set. But, he figured, the rule no longer applied once it was revealed that the venue’s staff had a propensity toward beating out-of-town visitors to a bloody pulp.
“How long will you guys be staying in town?” Mayor Moulden asked lightly. But, after her previous comments, her sentiment was clear: How long until you’re gone?
Not soon enough, he thought.
CHAPTER 3
“It’s like the aftermath of the apocalypse,” Susan commented as she and Eric drove down the one road that led to downtown Clancy, where they were in search of thicker socks that would better accommodate her brand-spanking-new hiking boots. Which, according to Eric, was a rookie mistake.
“Right. It’s weird—where are the people?” he asked. “Does nobody walk in this town?”
“More like: Does anyone live in this town?” She took in the bleak surroundings, made all the more ominous by the murky Pacific Northwest sky overhead—she wondered if the sun ever shone in Clancy. The cheerless surroundings indicated the negative. It would be difficult to stay optimistic in such a place, though it didn’t seem that the locals had much to be happy about.
Vacant houses dotted the outskirts of the town square with all the appeal of busted teeth. The majority of them had faded FOR SALE signs staked into overgrown front lawns. Without stepping foot in any, a buyer would already know that the inside reeked of mustiness—the air on the Olympic Peninsula was so damp it was like breathing steam.
The main drag itself was no better. Every other shop was out of business, with dusty front windows boasting vacancy signs as faded as the ones they’d seen on the houses. “When was the last time you saw one of those?” Eric asked as they passed a DVD rental shop that, oddly enough, seemed to still be functioning; a gigantic Dylan Kincaid cardboard cutout sat in front of it on the sidewalk. Still, it was hard to tell which businesses were truly open, since there were no crowds inside them or even on the street. There were only a few stragglers scattered about, most middle aged and looking down on their luck. “Have you seen any kids here?”
Susan shook her head; come to think of it, she hadn’t. No young moms pushing strollers either, which one would expect to see on the main drag of a tourist town. Also no teenagers hanging at the tables of coffeehouses, though there didn’t seem to be many of those either. All she’d seen was a drive-through coffee stand a mile or so down from the hotel. “I haven’t seen any old people either, have you?”
“No. What demographic does this community serve—what do people do here, do you think?” he asked. Having been raised in Philadelphia, he probably had a hard time conceiving of a world so small, even after living in Perrick, which in comparison to Clancy seemed as big as Los Angeles.
Susan shrugged. “There’s got to be some kind of long-standing industry here. Think of all the younger people who were at Jake’s show last night. Logging, maybe?”
They parked the car and went into a touristy drugstore called Clancy Fancy. The inside was a peculiar mishmash of camping supplies—hiking poles, propane stoves, bug spray—and Dylan Kincaid memorabilia: Darkest Thrills novels, Dylan Kincaid action figures, and “Mrs. Kinkaid” T-shirts. The middle-aged man inside greeted them warmly and introduced himself as Ben Harvey, taking both their hands into his as if they were old friends. He wore round wire-frame glasses, a sweatshirt with a logo for Clancy Fitness—“Come sweat it, you won’t regret it!”—and glaringly white high-top tennis shoes straight from the eighties.
Immediately pegging them as outsiders, he asked if they were in the market for a Dylan Kincaid tour. “I’ve got a van stocked with all the complimentary snacks and cold drinks you can eat. I’ll take you around town to spots featured in both the books and the films.”
Eric held his hands up. “We’re only in the market for hiking socks for the lady. Her boots are brand new.”
“Ouch, breaking in new boots on a hike? I hope you like blisters.” Ben made a pained face, and Eric gave Susan a look—told ya! “Yah, I didn’t peg you two for Darkest Thrills fans, but I had to ask anyway. Could use all the business I could get.” He looked around his empty store, emphasizing his point.
“Business slowing down?” Eric asked, and Susan shot him a look. It didn’t seem polite to ask, particularly since the answer seemed apparent.
Ben didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, hell yes. I’m sure you’ve heard that they’re not making any more Kincaid films. Books either, with that writer fellow dying four years ago—which, coincidentally, was about the time my business started going to pot—imagine that.” He gave the pair a wry smile.
“I’m sorry,” Eric said.
Ben flapped a hand. “Nah, got other businesses keeping me afloat. I’ll be good.”
If you say so, Susan thought.
They made polite chitchat about their travel plans and the weather back in California as Susan picked out long wooly socks that were thick enough to use as a pillow—take that, blisters.
“Know of any good hiking spots?” Eric asked while they were being rung up. “Locals only?”
“Do I ever!” Ben brought out a map from underneath the register. He looked like he was winding up to provide lengthy descriptions of each spot. Susan hoped this wasn’t going to take forever; their time in town was limited, and she was eager to enjoy some fresh air. He flattened it out and pointed at various spots along the peninsula. “This one’s the prettiest. Lots of fauna, and the trail is quite challenging.”
Susan let out a quiet groan. “How challenging?”
Eric chuckled. “We’re not trying to get too crazy.”
“Right, no K2 trails today,” Susan seconded.
The man laughed, moved his finger north along the map. “Of course, if you’re not looking to exert yourself, you should try this one. It’s a poky little trail, but you’ll see some pretty views. There’s also a waterfall near the end.”
Eric and Susan peered at the map. She asked, “These seem a long way out of town. Aren’t there a bunch of trails right in this area? I thought that’s what you guys were famous for—besides Dylan Kincaid. It seems every tourist website I saw about Clancy mentioned the forests here; they’re world famous.”
The man’s smile wavered. “Oh, well . . .” He waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, the trails around here are no good. They’ll be crowded, and unfortunately, many of them are littered with trash from tourists who aren’t as nice as you two.”
Susan was dubious about the crowd thing, given how desolate downtown was. She would feel mean pointing this out to Ben, though, given his earlier comments about his dying business that was rooted in tourism. “We’re not fussy. Really, we just want to stretch our legs. We don’t want to drive too far.”
He rooted around below the register and pulled out two small pieces of paper that looked like tickets. “If you’re looking for exercise, here’s two free passes to Clancy Fitness. I own it.”
The couple took the passes and thanked him. “Maybe we’ll come in after our hike,” Eric said.
Ben frowned. “Oh, I thought you’d come and work out at the gym instead of going on the hike.”
Susan said, “I’d never hear the end of it if we did that,” and Eric grinned. Ben seemed displeased by the statement. “Do you want your passes back or . . . ?”
Ben shook his head and provided them a smile that seemed forced. “No, no—of course not! Just . . . watch yourselves on the hike. Don’t stray off the trail, you hear?” he said, making it unclear whether he was delivering a warning or a threat.
“Everyone might be weird in this godforsaken town, but the nature sure is on point,” Susan said, spinning around at the opening of the Mugachopee National Forest, her arms spread wide. They’d driven only a couple of miles from Clancy Fancy, yet it felt like they were in a different world.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp, clean scent of what she thought might be redwoods—she wasn’t exactly versed in the names of tree species in the Pacific Northwest, but she knew that redwoods were big and that these trees were huge. The emerald green that enveloped them was so vivid it almost hurt her eyes: ferns sprouting every which way down low, as if trying to caress her legs; moss cascading down from high up in branches; the earth beneath her feet, squashy and damp, like walking on a rain cloud. Orange and purple mushrooms popped up in clusters. Somewhere in the distance, an animal of indiscernible species called to its mate.
She asked, “This doesn’t seem real, does it? It feels like we’re in a surrealist painting. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”
Eric wriggled his eyebrows at her. “You.”
“You sap,” she ribbed, though she was secretly pleased, and not only because of the compliment. Eric had been acting strange since their arrival in Clancy, and he’d only been getting moodier. It was comforting to see him behaving lightheartedly.
In the time they’d been dating, he’d never once hidden the details of his schizophrenia from her—at least, she didn’t think that he had—but lately she’d been wondering if he didn’t sometimes downplay his symptoms, perhaps in an attempt to spare her from pitying him. Or save face. Eric, she’d found, had a lot of pride in this regard; he loathed the idea that anyone might feel sorry for him because of his illness, which he liked to think he had under control.
She believed that he did, typically, but she’d also been reading up on schizophrenia via online forums, and it seemed that a common complaint among sufferers was the sudden onset of depression. She suspected this could be the case with Eric, whether because of the ordeal he’d suffered through at Death Farm—she might have felt okay, but that didn’t mean that he did or even should—or because he was simply despondent in general. She knew that she was unique in this regard, her ability to let most things roll off her back.
Whenever she’d tried to broach the subject with Eric during the last few weeks, he’d cheerfully assured her that he was fine, just fine. His actions lately, however, suggested otherwise. She’d felt him tossing and turning in bed next to her night after night, yet in the mornings, he’d pretended that he’d slept well.
What was more concerning was Eric’s behavior in Clancy. He was upbeat when he was aware that he was in her sights, yet he allowed his expression to fall in relief when he believed she wasn’t watching, as if he’d been wearing an uncomfortable mask of happiness that had been pinching his face. He’d been candid with her about recently switching his meds, so perhaps his odd behavior was a by-product of the adjustment.
It also could have been Clancy itself that was making him behave strangely. After watching the drunk kid get the daylights beat out of him by the bouncer the night before, as well as the standoffishness they’d been confronted with by every single person they’d encountered in town, she wasn’t too fond of the place either. She was looking forward to heading to Seattle, where they’d hopefully face less hostility; she had to stop herself from counting down the hours, she was so eager to leave. If it wasn’t for the natural beauty laid out before her now, she might consider their stay in Clancy a few days of vacation wasted. But, Eric seemed happier today, so she would take what she could get.
“You ready to get the show on the road?”
Eric jogged up to her side and playfully paddled her behind with both hands. “Let’s hit it. I’ll race you!”
“Whoa, there—you just simmer down, Flash!” She laughed. “We’ve got all day.”
He winked at her. “I like to show off. Lead the way.”
Her heart sank when the pinched look slowly returned to his face. She hesitated, wanting to ask if he was okay, ultimately deciding that she did not want to spoil the mood by quizzing him. Not yet, anyway. She began hiking up the sloping trail, already feeling her lungs tightening in exertion. Every so often she peeked over her shoulder to see how he was faring. He looked sweaty and ashen, as if he was struggling to keep up with her leisurely pace. “You good back there?”
He gave her a thumbs-up, his mouth spreading into another phony smile.
About a mile in on the trail, she could no longer stay quiet when he began massaging his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if in real agony. “Are you okay?”
“All good!”
“It’s not, though,” she said, stopping. She rotated around and cocked her hip. Enough was enough. “You’re as white as a sheet. What’s going on—are you sick?”
He waved away her concern. “Okay, my head might hurt a little. Nothing to be concerned about, just a tiny migraine.”
“I knew something was wrong. Do you want to go back to the car? I won’t mind if you want to.”
“Nah, I’m fi—”
CHAPTER 4
Eric was not fine.
The pressure in his head was so great that he felt as if his brains might squirt out his ears at any moment, like a geyser releasing built-up steam. He coughed, trying to get a handle on his breath, clawing at his neck as his throat started to close. He moaned, an ugly, startled sound.
“Oh my God!” Susan shouted from a galaxy away. “Eric!”
A terror like none he’d ever felt seized him as the world around him went pitch black. “I can’t see!” he shrieked, crying out as he rubbed at his eyes and discovered them still open. “I’ve gone blind! Help me!”
“Hold on—I’m calling an ambulance!” And then: “Shit! I don’t have any reception! I’m going back—”
“No! Don’t leave me here! Don’t leave—”
His knees gave out, and he dropped to the ground on all fours. He scrambled off the trail in a panic, his hands and knees going cold from the dank earth. The ground fell out from beneath him, his body pitching forward at a slope . . . and then he was tumbling, tumbling, shrubs lashing his face, branches clawing at his body, biting into his flesh. He groped every which way, grabbing fistfuls of air, his screaming mouth filling with moss and muck.
“Susan!”
His skull vibrated like a gong as he headbutted a tree trunk, halting his descent. He held his aching skull, dizzy and sick, hearing voices—an argument in the distance, getting louder, louder, as if he was tuned in to a staticky radio station far away but was quickly closing in on the tower.
(. . . wasn’t me! I swear I didn’t do it!)
(Quiet, you filthy beaner!)
Suddenly, he could see.
But it was all wrong—he was wrong.
He was down in a crater in the earth, gazing up at two men he did not know and could not recall ever meeting before in his life. This might have had something to do with their figures, which were blurry and shifting, like wet watercolors smeared by a paintbrush. Yet, he could sense them staring down at him coldly as he continued shouting up at them in a voice that was not his own.
