Marcus opened the tiny fridge. “You want something to drink? Water? Tea? Soda?”
“You mean pop?” Sarae teased.
“Soft drink, then?”
“Nah, I’ll have tea.”
He handed her a bottle of tea and she twisted off the cap and took a drink, thinking about what she’d read in an old newspaper about Heather. “It was kind of a sordid case,” she said.
“Aren’t they all,” Remy said.
They were at least parked outside of Heather’s range, far enough from the cabin where she’d died, so the ghost wouldn’t be coming down and interrupting the story.
“Heather had an awful husband,” she said. “She’d been trying to get the police to help her leave him, but they kept saying it wasn’t any of their business. She finally left with the children, but he came after her. He took the children and killed her. He claimed he was defending himself. Got off scot-free.”
Marcus crossed himself. “That’s terrible.”
“And really common,” Sarae added. “It didn’t even go to trial.”
“Nice criminal defense system you got there,” Remy said.
“Is yours any better?” Sarae asked pointedly.
Remy started to reply, but then seemed to think about it. “No,” he said. “No, I can’t say that at all.”
He was honest, at least.
“Anyway, Heather’s husband and the kids left the state. I don’t know where they moved to, though I feel bad for those kids.”
“So, how do these other kids fit into this story?” Remy said. “Why does Heather act like this about Chloe and Lauren? I know about some of this other stuff, but I would just like to know what you know.”
“I think Heather really misses her kids, you know? She tells me the same story she told you – that about ten years after she died, the parents brought Chloe and Lauren up to this cabin. They were just babies, and Heather fell in love with them. So Heather kind of watches out for them – as much as you can watch out for someone, of course, when you’re a ghost. But taking care of Chloe and Lauren makes her feel useful.”
Sarae looked at her hands. She couldn’t help but pity Heather, even though she was more than a little annoying and demanding.
“Here you go.” Remy cut the egg dinner into thirds and slid it onto three plates without using his hands or a fork. He opened up a box and put three croissants on the plates, then put a little salad on the side and sprinkled each with almonds.
Sarae was ready to eat when the plate landed in front of her. It was a big egg dish, and smelled delicious. He’d snuck some mushrooms in there, too. Remy set a package of chilis down in the middle of the table and sat down next to Marcus.
Night was falling outside, and the crickets were singing in the high grasses and in the forests around the RV.
“The owls are taking a while,” Marcus said.
“It’s a big forest,” Sarae said. “They’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I don’t even know if we’ve had much in the way of search crews out, looking for the girls. I don’t think they send those out unless foul play is suspected.”
“Can we make a campfire out here?” Marcus asked.
Sarae shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“We have to be careful about fires in California. You really don’t want to be the person who sets a wildfire that destroys entire cities.”
“Ooh,” said Sarae. “Yeah, I really don’t think you have to worry about that in Missouri.”
So they soon sat around a nice little crackling fire, eating their food. “Too bad you don’t have marshmallows,” Sarae said, polishing off her omelet. “To roast over the fire,” she explained to Remy’s puzzled look.
“Who even does that?” Remy said.
Sarae shrugged. “All kinds of people do. ‘Tis the season for campfires. It’s Halloween, or close enough. You go to the pumpkin patch and get a half-bushel of apples and wander through a corn maze and go on a hayride and sit around a campfire and roast stuff.”
“Any stuff?”
“Well, not any stuff.”
“Roast a turkey?”
Sarae made a half-shrug with her hands. “Well … I guess you could but I wouldn’t recommend you eat it ….”
“It just sounds lame if you ask me,” said Remy.
“Look, Remy, I know you are the master of snark, but some people don’t really feel the need to go out raving at clubs or whatever you guys do out in California.”
“Not that you have any clubs,” Remy added.
“They’d get shut down by some evangelical church anyway,” Sarae told him. She was really starting to wish that she could leave. Fantasies about hot guys were one thing, but this guy was being kind of a jackass.
“This place is incredible,” Remy griped. “Nothing but the most pristine events here. Do the evangelicals also shut down the meth users?”
“I’m sorry that I can’t fix the world’s troubles,” Sarae said.
Marcus’s hand landed on Remy’s shoulder. “None of us can,” he added.
Remy said “Oops” and laid off.
Then it got quiet and a little awkward around the fire for a while. The stars were coming out overhead. Sarae wished, with all her heart, that she could get into her car and drive home. But no, Zoe was still out in the woods, searching through the large forest with the large owl. She couldn’t just drive off and leave her friend here. Zoe had been the only friend she’d known, really, over the last year, two years, however long it had been since the disaster ….
“I could get some marshmallows,” Marcus offered.
Sarae felt a grin tug the edge of her mouth. “It’s a fifteen minute drive to the stores.” She checked her watch. “Well, no, the stores are going to close by the time you get there.”
“The stores close at 10?” Remy yelped.
Sarae grinned at his evident distress. “Well, yeah, they do. Who the heck is out that late?”
“I am, for one.”
“Oh! Well, I’ll call the stores and tell them the rules have changed because you’re in town now.”
Remy glowered a little. Well, well!
Just then a familiar breeze gusted around her shoulder, blowing back her hair next to her ear. “Hello,” said a little owl voice.
“Zoe!” Sarae cried, overjoyed and a little bit relieved. “You’re back!”
The little owl backwinged down to her shoulder on silent wings, then billed through her hair a little bit, which tickled.
Overhead, a great shadow blocked out the stars for an instant, and the great horned owl glided in to land on the log next to Remy.
“We found something,” Zoe said, loud enough for everybody around the campfire to hear.
Sarae went cold. They’d found the girls, she thought.
“We haven’t found the girls, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the great horned owl said in a deep voice, the feathers on the front of his throat moving. Sarae heard Marcus’s sigh of relief. “We found something that may be of interest. But it’s not for the faint of heart.”
“What is it?” asked Remy.
“It’s an animal,” said Zoe gently. “A deer. You’ll have to follow us.”
Everybody around the campfire fell silent.
“Well?” said Sarae. “Let’s go check it out.”
For All the Saints
Remy had only one flashlight in the RV, and he gripped it tightly as they walked toward the forest. Sarae had her phone with a light on it, as did Marcus.
A sliver of a moon was getting ready to set in the west over the tree-covered hills, so that light wasn’t much help, but the starlight was surprisingly bright, though faint. The mosquitoes were buzzing around his head and biting and driving him crazy until he finally whispered a charm that kept them at bay.
Damn, that forest looks dark, thought Remy as Sarae led the way toward it. She was talking some nonsense about how they needed to watch where they put their feet so they couldn’t trip over anything or fall down a hi
ll or something. Marcus seemed to be listening. That would be sufficient. Remy had more important things to think about.
He started working on a couple of knots in the case. While Sarae had run off to fight with electrical whatevers, Heather had told him about Chloe’s stepfather. He had come up to the cabin after the girls had disappeared and had picked up some of their things. Then afterwards, Mr. Miller had told the sheriff that he didn’t know where the girls had gone.
Obviously a lie. And if there was anything fishy ….
Something snagged Remy’s feet, God knows what, and he pitched forward down a very long hill through what felt like a thorn patch and dead leaves. He crashed into some puny trees – he only knew they were puny because they broke when he crashed into them – and finally came to a stop among the roots of some arboreal giant, where he lay dead.
He wasn’t actually dead but at the moment he felt dead. Close enough.
Sarae ran and slid down the hill to him. “Oh my god, Marcus, we killed him.”
That sounds accurate, Remy thought, the world whirling around his head.
Sarae knelt down at his side. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? I’m sorry I ever came to this godforsaken goddamn state,” he said, laying his arm over his eyes. Okay, there at least was one part of him that wasn’t broken into pieces.
Sarae brushed leaves off of his hair. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” She brushed leaves off his face.
But now her hand was moving more slowly. Tenderly. She had such a small hand.
Remy took his arm off his eyes and looked at her now.
Sarae had laid her phone on his chest with its flashlight app still on, so it shot a beam of light up into the thick leaves of the forest canopy that arched high over their heads. Curiously, the effect reminded him something of an old cathedral back in Los Angeles. The scent of old, polished wood, the ceiling high overhead, and a marble angel leaning over him, offering him a blessing.
“I … didn’t mean to be so forward,” Sarae said softly.
“I don’t mind,” Remy said.
And he took her hand in his.
He could pull her down onto his body right here. Let her cover him. His mouth opening to hers. Sliding his hands over her sweet body, over the curves of her waist. He’d roll her over, straddling her body, his eyes deep in hers. He’d kiss her, deep and probing, her body opening to his like a flower.
Just then, Marcus sauntered up behind Sarae, interrupting Remy’s train of thought.
Marcus said, “If he is dead, I get the RV.”
“What!” Remy sat straight up in indignation. “Only if you can pay on the note, Mr. Marcus.”
“Sounds like he’s fine to me,” he said.
Remy fumed a little but tried to straighten his clothes and hair. He hoped his erection wasn’t showing. He drew up his knees.
“Oh, stop teasing Remy,” said Sarae, swatting Marcus’s leg. “Help the poor man up. You just spoiled a … nice moment,” she suddenly added, abashed.
Her eyes met Remy’s. A longing look. As if she’d been thinking the same thought he’d been.
Oh, that woman. There were depths to her.
He wanted to plumb them.
Just then something jabbed Remy on the ankle.
“What the hell!” he shouted, scrambling back to his feet before he got eaten alive by ants or beetles or whatever was living on the soil.
“Did you even bother to bring a flashlight, Mr. Remy?” Sarae said, laughing. She leaned on him, putting her hands on his back.
Move your hands lower, he thought. Lower! But alas, she did not get the message.
“I probably destroyed this shirt falling down this hill,” he said, “and you laugh?”
“Here’s your flashlight.” Marcus picked it up off the ground and handed it over.
Remy clicked his flashlight on. A tangle of plants and trees like something out of a horror movie sprang into sharp relief, with a shitload of black shadows scissoring everywhere.
The moment had fled. Remy, to his surprise, was disappointed.
“I almost feel like it would be easier to navigate the woods without flashlights,” said Sarae dubiously.
“Are you insane, woman?” Remy cried. “Have you never watched a horror movie?”
Sarae scoffed. “Pfft. Horror movies get everything wrong about us.”
As far as Remy was concerned, everything he’d seen about this place had been spot-on so far.
He plunged into the forest after Sarae and Marcus, this time being more careful about where he stepped. At least Hinto and Zoe was there to guide the way. If they got lost in this godforsaken patch of hell, the owls could lead them out.
There’s more than one reason that I never wanted to see this place again, he thought.
Sarae was walking close at his side. So close that he could smell the light perfume of her body. He wanted to know what she felt like. How she’d feel under him.
Remy had made love with a few women over the years. Maybe more than a few. He never really felt the need to lay around and play around. At the same time, he’d never really wanted to get too close to them.
Had Sarae gotten her owl because of a great tragedy in her life, the way he had?
That was the problem he’d had with all the other women. In the end, none of them had endured what … what he’d endured. There was only so far that someone who’d never experienced this kind of great pain could go.
But maybe Sarae had.
And to be understood .…
Remy felt a pang in his heart. Making love with her would have been easy. She wanted it as much as he did. He wanted to bring her to the edge over and over, make her feel so much pleasure. He wanted to pound her hard as she wanted, or as gently as she wanted.
But the hard part would be to build a relationship. To show all those damaged parts of his heart to her.
Remy grimaced. He wasn’t sure how good he’d be at that.
Just then, Hinto glided in and landed on a branch just in front of him, the branch dipping low with his weight.
“Hark,” said the owl. He turned his head to look into the forest.
The three stopped.
Remy could barely hear the sound of crying.
One of the trapped dead was ahead, crying in the woods.
“Do you hear that?” Sarae asked. Quietly.
Remy was listening to the words of the dead. “Thirteen years … thirteen years….”
“Keep going,” Sarae said quietly. But now there was a tremor in her voice.
“Why is there a ghost here?” Remy asked.
“In the old days, the forests were down in the flat floodplain, around the river, while grasses grew in the hills,” Sarae said. “When the settlers moved in, they built up in the hills. Over the years, the hills went all to forest where their homes used to be.”
She took his flashlight and searched the forest floor.
“Here,” she said, and there was a low, straight line of stones that had been mostly knocked down over the years. “A house once stood here,” she said.
“And look.” She turned the flashlight to some iris leaves. “Irises, still growing in the woods. These aren’t wildflowers. When I see them in the woods, that tells me that a house once stood here.”
Out of the forest came the sad voice of a ghost.
“Those flowers were mine,” she said. “I planted them … a long time ago.”
Out of the trees, in wavering light, came the glowing figure of a mother and her baby. It was a young woman wearing an old-time dress from the late 1800s. The baby wore a long, white christening gown.
“But I can’t find no relief,” the young woman sobbed. “He’s dying and I can’t stay him. Help me.”
Blood and gore dripped down her legs.
“Childbirth,” Sarae said in a thick voice, her eyes huge and staring at the sad mother and baby. “Oh, my God.”
Out of nowhere – just like that – Sarae suddenly began to
sob.
“I’m sorry … I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hand to her face. “I don’t know why I’m crying … oh, my God.”
Marcus went to her, took the flashlight out of Sarae’s hand, shushed her, and folded her gently in his arms. Sarae began to sob into his chest like a lost thing.
“It’s okay. Let me do this one,” said Remy.
He understood Sarae’s tears. Maybe she did suffer a heartbreaking loss, the way he had. But he felt that grief too. We’re all surrounded by ghosts, he thought. The dead of our pasts are always seeking us out. But she and I don’t get the luxury of being able to ignore them. Or walk away. We just work with them, as best we can.
He took his velvet bag of powder from his pocket, lifted out a pinch, and began to sing:
Saints who are troubled
Saints who are grieving
Go now to your rest.
The voice of compassion bids you rest.
Rest!
Then Hinto’s great voice broke through the veil with a single note. The great horned owl opened wide his great wings and called in his language, his deep, vibrant voice.
Their singing opened a gap in the air – a shining, starlit path.
The sad mother gasped as the white light fell gently over her exhausted face. Her babe’s arms lifted and the child made a soft, happy crow.
“Thank you, thank you,” the young mother said. She kissed her baby, who sat up in her arms and began singing in its tiny voice a wordless song of joy.
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “My only regret was that we could not have helped you sooner.” Remy bowed deeply.
A smile broke over her face and she curtsied, baby in her arms.
A wind blew out of the starlit path. Her dress and hair and the baby’s white gown blew in the wind. Then the wind gathered around them, gently lifting the ghosts, and wafted them in across the river in the bright mist beyond.
Overjoyed, Remy sang something in French, sacred words of his ancestors that were not to be shared.
Then he raised a hand and closed the path behind the sufferers – who were sufferers no more.
In the Midnight Hour Page 6