Scratch, page 11
The shaft opened into a larger chamber. Abandoned tools and helmets were scattered around the room. Warped boards covered the opening of another tunnel carved into the far side of the room. Larry set the shovels down and began to remove the boards. A dry, dusty smell crept out of the Boneyard.
“I can’t go in,” Larry said when he finished. “You do what you have to, but I’m done.”
“That’s okay, Larry,” Jim said. “You wait outside. We’ll be back in a little while.” Larry nodded, a look of shame on his face, then took a light and retraced his steps back out of the mine.
“In there,” Jim said to Elmer and Joe, and pointed at the door to the Boneyard with his pistol. Elmer was beyond protest, and Joe numbly led him inside. It was a dead-end chamber, a large hole scratched out of the mountain and used for storage when this was a working mine. The walls glittered blackly in the flashlight glare. The floor was comprised of loose dirt, and Joe saw a row of several raised mounds.
“Get down on your knees!” Ed’s voice was loud in the confined space. He shoved Elmer down, and Joe had to grab him by the shoulders to keep him from falling on his face. The ground was rough under Joe’s knees. Colored lights danced in front of his eyes and he began to sway.
Scratch danced around the Boneyard, salivating as he drank. He shuddered with joy as he licked dark emotion from each of the participants.
“Let me do it,” Ed said.
“Whatever,” Jim said. “Let’s just get this done.”
Out of the corner of his eye Joe saw the shotgun barrel press against the back of Elmer’s head. He heard Ed’s excited breathing.
Nothing happened. The shotgun pulled away.
“Well?” Jim said.
“I… I can’t.” Ed wiped sweat off his brow. Ed liked to cause pain, but this was too much. This was the first time he had been involved this directly. He felt his courage die.
“Shit,” Jim said, then casually lowered his pistol against Elmer’s head and pulled the trigger.
The explosion was the thunder of God in the enclosed space. Joe flinched. He heard something wet splatter the wall, and saw Elmer slump to the floor next to him. He began to tremble and pee as he searched for the words to the only prayer he knew.
“Our Father, who is in Heaven,” he began. “Harrowed be your name…”
A second explosion filled the room.
“Grab a shovel.” Jim opened his pistol and ejected the spent casings. Two empty shells dropped to the floor.
For Scratch, it was orgasmic.
* * * * *
In a trailer in Bucktown, Mona Dinsmore paced in the small living room, trying unsuccessfully to put Little Joe to sleep. He was fussy, and she was exhausted. She had worked a double shift, and had to be back early in the morning, and that bastard Joe wasn’t home yet. Probably out drinking with his friends again, even though he knew she needed him to watch the baby tomorrow. If she didn’t need his income she would just leave.
In Appleton, Adam watched as his wife and daughter drifted into sleep. Michaela had worn her angel costume all day, and he was sure she would want to wear it again tomorrow for the trip to Canaan. They had spent the day relaxing and playing, and anticipating the life ahead of them.
He planted light kisses on both of his girls, then went back to the living room. He stretched out as much as he could on the couch, and drifted off into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.
In Pittsburgh, the front door of Adam and Holly’s apartment swung on broken hinges. The chill fingers of night air painted the bare walls with a damp caress. Billy Haught sat on the carpet in the living room. It was empty, as empty as his life, as empty as his soul. The cocaine in his system – unusual for him, but he needed courage for kidnapping and murder – gave a razor edge to his frustration and anger. He didn’t know where they had taken his daughter, but he would find her. He would find them all.
And he would claim what was his.
PART TWO
Down in the Valley
CHAPTER ONE
“We have to be lost,” Adam said as the Taurus lost power going up another steep hill. A rocky cliff towered above the narrow road to the right and plunged into a deep valley to the left.
“We’re not lost.” Holly didn’t take her eyes from the road map on her lap. “I’m sure I recognize this road.”
“And the last time you were here was when?” There was a playful note in Adam’s voice. “Oh yes, I remember now. When you were four! I’m sure you know exactly where we are.”
“I was five,” Holly said without looking up.
“Oh, excuse me. Five. That makes all the difference. C’mon. . . Admit it. We’re lost. We drove through both East Jesus and Bumfuck over an hour ago and I think I saw a sign that said ‘Middle-Of-Nowhere, Just Ahead.’”
“You’re a funny guy,” Holly said. “No wonder I married you. I look forward to a lifetime of wit.”
“How’s Michaela holding up?” Adam asked. Holly turned her head to look into the back seat where her daughter slouched. Her head hung to one side, eyes closed under her veil of hair. The wings of her angel costume were beginning to look wilted.
“Mike’s fine,” Holly said. “She’s still sleeping.”
“Maybe you should wake her.”
“Why?”
“So when she comes back here in thirty years she’ll recognize the roads.” Adam flinched to the side as Holly punched him lightly in the arm.
“I’m really looking forward to seeing Grandma's place again,” she said. “I know I haven’t been here since I was a kid, but I have all kinds of memories of the place.”
“You don’t talk about it much,” Adam said as the car started up another rise in the road. “At least not since I’ve known you.”
“I don’t think about it much. I came to visit, but never actually lived down here. After Mom moved up to Appleton she never came back. I think she was embarrassed by her hillbilly roots. She didn’t talk about it much, either. Still doesn’t. She tried to talk me out of coming again this morning before we left. Just wants me to sell the house and property.”
“You didn’t tell her about Billy?”
“No,” Holly said. “She’d go crazy. She doesn’t know that Grandma’s is a place to hide from him as well as everything else. I do really want to see it again. I’m sick of Pittsburgh. It’s small, as big towns go, but it’s still a city. I want to live in the country for a while. I can work on my paintings anywhere. There was a lot of money in Grandma’s will, too, so we can get by. I can paint and you can. . . ”
“Recover from my breakdown?”
“It wasn’t a breakdown,” Holly defended.
“Yeah,” Adam said. “Yeah, I think it was.”
“You just care too much. That job would take its toll on anyone.”
“Yeah,” Adam grunted and returned his attention to the road, shutting down the conversation. Holly frowned and stared at her husband’s profile. He was getting over his depression, she knew, but periodically it still glanced out from under his façade. She knew the change in locale and lifestyle would be stressful, but it was the escape they both needed, for now anyway. They hoped the peace and quiet of the country would settle into them like a soothing balm.
“Answer me something,” Adam said from behind the steering wheel.
“Hmm?”
“See that sign?” Adam pointed at a yellow road sign ahead of them. “What’s it say?”
“Winding Road Next Three Miles,” Holly read as they passed it. “Why?”
“They feel a need to tell us that now?” Adam said. “What the Hell have we been on for the last thirty miles? If the road winds anymore we’re in danger of rear-ending ourselves.” Holly smiled and ruffled his dark hair.
“My little city boy,” she said. “Hang on. We’re almost there.”
The car crested the mountain and rounded a sharp turn. Both Adam and Holly gasped audibly at the view. Adam slowed the car to a stop so they could take it all in. A long valley surrounded by the Appalachian Mountains spread out before them, painted with the palette of spring. The rain of the past two days was over, replaced by warm, sun-drenched air. The shadows of small clouds chased each other across the hills. They could see the outspread wings of hawks surfing on air currents below them. Small houses, separated by distance, peeked from behind the new foliage of the forest. Far to the east end of the valley Adam and Holly could see a small settlement. The spire of a church steeple crowned the town.
“There!” Holly said, pointing. “That’s gotta be Canaan. See? I told you. We’re almost there.”
“At least there’s life here,” Adam said. “Though I keep expecting something out of ‘Deliverance.’ When do the banjo-playing inbreds show up with their guns?”
“Why?” Holly asked while folding the map, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You wanna play Piggy? Got something you want to tell me about, Mr. Mansfield?”
Holly sighed and turned her eyes back to the view. “Wow. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. Look at the trees. I didn’t know there were so many shades of green. And the flowers. . . Oh Adam, we’re gonna love it here.”
“Yeah.” Adam reached over and took her hand. He scratched absentmindedly at the flecks of oil paint that always stained her nails. “It looks really peaceful. I need that right now.”
“We need it,” Holly confirmed.
Adam put the car into gear and began the steep descent into the valley.
The road sign hadn’t lied. The blacktop road, pitted with potholes, slithered down the mountainside in sharp serpentine curves. The car crawled slowly, hugging the inside of the road in an effort to avoid the steep drop into the woods on the far side. There were no guardrails, and several trees wore the scars of one-night stands with cars that drove too fast.
Spring flowers watched their passage from the shade of the trees. Branches played London Bridges above the road, and several had fallen down into the mulch filled ditches. Groundhogs, squirrels and rabbits ran kamikaze missions across the road in front of the car. A deer with two spotted fawns watched their slow approach then scrabbled up over the bank and disappeared into the trees. Crows and buzzards lifted from their carrion meals in raucous protest. A flock of turkeys dawdled their way from one side to another, forcing Adam to stop until they had passed.
Five dirty children waved from the weed-filled yard of a house that couldn’t have more than two rooms. Holly waved back and smiled and Adam beeped the horn. The children’s mother, still in her twenties yet gray and worn by life, nodded then went back to hanging threadbare clothes on a line strung between the house and a tree.
“I’m used to seeing poverty in the city,” Adam said. “I guess I didn’t realize that it really existed out here, not in any real way. I have images of rural life, but they’re all based on the Beverly Hillbillies and Hee-Haw. Something to laugh at, but not really real. What do they do for a living out here, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “I know that this used to be a coal field. The hills are riddled with old mineshafts, but I don’t think any of the actual mining companies are still in operation. There are some north of here that people probably drive to. I imagine there’s a lot of Welfare. Generations of families who know nothing else. They probably hunt year round to supplement their meals.”
“Man.” Adam shook his head. “I saw so much of that kind of poverty at work, but in the city there are food banks, and shelters, and a McDonald’s on every other block which at least paid minimum wage. The despair here must be palpable.”
“Maybe,” Holly said. “But this is the only life they’ve known. Anything else would probably feel alien.”
“Momma?” Michaela said from the back seat. Her voice was low and filled with the confusion of sleep. “I’m hungry.”
“Hi, sweetie,” Holly said. “We’re almost there. Did you sleep okay?” Mike rubbed her eyes and yawned widely. Holly dug through the knapsack that rested at her feet. “Here’s some apple slices.” She opened the plastic container, then handed the fruit to her daughter.
The car rounded another sharp turn and then descended a steep hill. The tree cover broke as they reached the bottom of the valley. The wooded hills rose above them on either side of a wide creek. The road leveled out and paralleled the stream, then rose slightly as it entered a wooden covered bridge.
“I remember this!” Holly said. “Oh Adam, stop. I remember this bridge.” Adam pulled the car over and parked on the berm of the road. Holly popped open the door and leapt out, then took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with air seasoned by green and pollen and earth. She spun with arms outstretched, her curly hair and light summer dress forming a spiraling canopy around her. Dust puffed up around her sandaled feet. She turned to Adam, a smile lifting the light freckles on her cheeks.
“It’s beautiful here!” she said. “Get Mike. I want to go see the bridge.”
Adam shook his head as he watched Holly turn and skip toward the bridge. Her love of life and its simple pleasures was one of the things that had made him love her. For all of her obsessions with wings and flying she was the earthiest, most grounded person he knew.
“Come on, Mike,” he said as he unfastened her seat belt and lifted her out of the car. “Momma wants to play.” Mike wanted to be let down, so Adam lowered her to the ground. She ran with a child’s awkward gait to join her mother.
“Let’s go look at the bridge,” Holly said as Mike took her hand.
It was cooler under the roof of the bridge. Starlings, surprised by the intrusion of visitors, flew out of the nests that perched on the wooden beams. The boards were gray with age; spots of red, like old fingernail polish, showed the color they had once been painted. Graffiti marked the walls and beams, wooden petroglyphs that detailed the history of the valley. “George and Evelyn, 1939,” was carved inside a crude heart with an arrow through it. “Trust Jesus” in blue spray paint. “Fuck this cold dark place” in black.
The creek could be seen flowing beneath the bridge through the half-inch wide spaces between the floorboards. Mike hesitated, afraid to walk over the space below. Holly picked her up and rested her bum on her hip and walked to one of the two square openings on the upstream side. Adam joined them, resting an arm on Holly’s other hip.
Water crashed over a small falls about a hundred feet upstream. Short-lived rainbows rode the rising mist into the damp green foliage. The stream widened and became a deep pool before rushing over the shallows that hid in the shadow of the bridge. A million shards of light swam on the surface of the creek, then shattered and spun as a frog dove into the depths from the bank. Fish signaled to one another with reflections from their silver bellies. Flies and mosquitoes flew formation through clouds of gnats. Water-skeeters walked like Jesus on the water. A water snake snatched one in its mouth, then plunged its head beneath the ripples and glided away.
“Listen,” Holly said, and cocked her head to the side.
“What,” Adam asked after a moment. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Yes, you do,” Holly said. “Just not what you expect. Listen. It’s just nature here. I don’t hear cars, or planes, or anything that’s not natural.” Adam listened more closely. He suddenly became aware that he had never paused to hear the world before.
“Lemme down.” Mike wriggled out of Holly’s grasp.
“Ready to go?” Adam asked. Holly nodded and they followed Michaela, her fear of the spaces beneath her feet forgotten, back to the car.
The bridge rumbled its protest as the Taurus drove through. Each board lifted slightly as the tires passed over it, then settled back into place with a groan. The pavement was even more broken on this side of the bridge. The road came to a T just a few yards beyond the creek. The hillside in front of them rose sharply, fronted by sheer rocks wet with spring water and moss. Nailed to an old tree that grew at an impossible angle from the bank was a sign:
Canaan 3 Miles
Dead End Road
CHAPTER TWO
A few people were out in Canaan when the Taurus drove into town. They smiled and nodded their greetings, faces etched with the curiosity reserved for strangers to their community. Shelly Tanner, wearing too much makeup and shorts that were too short, struck a pose and smiled. Nellie Claremont, arthritis in full bloom this morning, looked up from the Bible on her blanketed lap, then rose a gnarled hand in greeting. Rita Halliwell watched the car through the slightly parted shades of her upstairs sitting room and was immediately on the phone to Reverend Toland.
They saw the tall steeple of the First Church of the Blessed Angel across the creek where the road ended. It was fronted by two large oak doors with garlands of spring flowers adding color to the scene. Tall fir trees stood vigil around a small cemetery that slept to the left of the church. To the right was the parsonage, the largest house in town. A long porch embraced two sides of the first floor. A steep shingled roof crowned the third floor attic.
Abigail Molnar was struggling to open the door to the laundromat while balancing a full basket of dirty clothes. Her daughter Stephanie, long dark hair in her eyes, stopped to watch the strange car. Jack Hardy lounged on a wooden bench in front of the store, an old briar pipe clutched between his teeth. The bluetick coonhound at his feet raised a lazy head to look. A stream of drool connected his tongue to a wet spot on the concrete. His tail whisked rapidly against Jack’s pant leg.
Adam pulled the car into the dirt lot next to Jack’s old red and white Ford truck and killed the engine. He unfastened his seat belt and opened the car door. Holly turned to help Michaela with her belt.
“Whoa!” Adam said as the coonhound loped over to him and began to bark. “Easy boy.”
“Blue!” Jack yelled. “Stop that!” He stood from the bench and walked into the lot. “He ain’t gonna hurtcha’ none. Just excited to see a new face.”
