by Leslie Wolfe
“Why did he leave?” Kay smiled encouragingly. “If the life is good…”
“He wanted to do something else, more artistic. He wasn’t into construction. He hated it, and hated Avery for forcing him to go to school for it, get a useless degree, and all that. What a shouting match that was,” she snickered with a guilty look on her face. “Can you imagine these windows rattling?”
“Do you still see him? Raymond?”
“No, Uncle Ray never came back. Not for Thanksgiving dinners or Christmas, not since he went away. I heard he’s doing well for himself in San Francisco, but we’re not supposed to mention his name, not when Avery is around.”
“Speaking of the devil,” she quipped, “can you announce me, please? I’d like to speak with Avery.”
“Oh, he’s not here,” Lynn replied immediately. “And I don’t think he’s coming back today.” She gave the weather outside a look filled with disappointment.
“How about Mitchell, your dad? Is he in? I just have a few questions.” She decided to share a little more, in the hope it would open some doors. “I’m not sure if you knew, but Dan Montgomery has been killed.”
Lynn gasped, her hands covering her open mouth. “Oh, my goodness… When did that happen?” She seemed wholeheartedly upset by the news, rattled even, a flicker of fear coloring her eyes.
“Last Saturday, it seems. We’re still investigating.”
“He was my uncle, Dad’s younger brother.” Her voice trailed off, loaded with tears. “They were really tight. Does Marleen know?”
“Yes. Have you seen her today?”
“No, she hasn’t been in. I was wondering—” she paused, but then she must’ve remembered Kay’s initial request. “No, Dad isn’t here either. They’re all at the site.”
“In this weather?”
Lynn shrugged again and threw her long, silky hair over her shoulder with a swift move. “It’s not like they’re pouring concrete today, but work still goes on at the site. They have trailers over there, mobile offices.” She stopped for a moment, frowning. “Avery might be over there too. I know Victor is.” She saw Kay’s confused look. “He’s my cousin, Dan’s son. Although, with Dan gone… I don’t know, I really don’t, I’m sorry.” A long, shuddering breath of air left her lungs and ended in a stifled sob. She pulled a Kleenex from the box on her desk and patted her eyes dry with it.
“Where is this site you’re talking about?”
She livened up just a little, but her eyes were still brimming with tears. “Oh, it’s on Ash Brook Hill. You can’t miss it. We’re building the largest hospital ever constructed in this area,” she added, pride coloring her voice.
“Oh, I know where it is,” Kay replied. “It is big.” Huge would’ve been a better term for it. They’d sliced off the top of the hill to pour the foundation.
“When you get there, ask Dad to show you the rendering. It’s going to be amazing. I heard Avery say it’s our biggest project yet, with three hundred beds.”
“Oh, wow,” Kay reacted, in passing wondering why anyone would invest and build a hospital with hundreds of beds in a town of barely thirty-eight hundred, the last time she’d checked the green road sign at the town limits. It probably had something to do with the projected influx of retirees and cottage owners that would bring the population up to almost ten thousand over the next few years. And still, it was huge. Perhaps it was going to be another posh rehab unit for Silicon Valley’s overworked cocaine addicts, or something like that.
“Thank you,” Kay smiled warmly. “You’ve been a tremendous help. My brother is a lucky man.” Lynn blushed. Kay held her arms open wide in an inviting gesture, and Lynn quickly rushed from behind the desk and into her arms with youthful enthusiasm, the hug warm and ending with a kiss on Kay’s cheek. She thanked her and left, feeling grateful again for the ability to walk on dry asphalt to her car.
Driving off, Kay kept her speed as high as the heavy rainfall allowed. She reached the Ash Brook Hill site in only five minutes, and took the unpaved access road to the site, her all-wheel-drive barely able to climb the slope in the foot-deep ruts filled with reddish, chunky mud. The side of the hill facing the interstate had started to slide, threatening the foundation that was still being poured, the limit of the exposed ground barely a few yards away from the edge of the concrete.
As she followed the winding road to the trailer, she turned and gasped as it came into view. Parked side by side and facing the trailer, three identical white Ford F-150 trucks were lined up. The one closest to her had the Power Stroke emblem on the side. Per her truck-savvy colleagues, that meant they were diesel trucks.
She stopped her vehicle by the three trucks and stepped out in the heavy rain, looking around.
The hospital was positioned atop Ash Brook Hill and would dominate the area in a majestic way when finished. But not much work had been completed; it was far from being done. They had leveled off the top of the hill and had only recently started to pour the foundation, but, as she could figure out by a maze of temporary posts and yellow DANGER—KEEP OUT tape, they had an issue with one side of the hill, where the terrain had turned unstable, shifting downhill—the landslide she’d spotted earlier driving up.
Except for the three Ford F-150 trucks, no other personal vehicles could be seen, only construction equipment. A couple of bulldozers, a front loader, several heavy-duty dirt haulers. It seemed all workers had been sent home due to the inclement weather that had soaked her to the bone, making her teeth clatter.
She was about to head to the trailer, eager to have a conversation with the Montgomerys, and wondered if they knew about Dan, if Marleen had already told them. Maybe that’s why they were huddled up on Ash Brook Hill on such a terrible weather day.
A wind gust brought a shiver down her spine that coiled inside her gut, her hair on end, as if she’d felt someone’s breath on her nape. As she turned to look behind her, the blow came hard, bringing pitch blackness into her head. Stars burst in an explosion of searing, unbearable pain. By the time her face reached the mud, they were gone, only darkness remaining.
47
Family
He stared for a moment at the woman slumped on the metallic chair, her wrists and ankles secured with cable ties so tightly they cut into her flesh. Her head hung forward, her blonde hair almost entirely covering her face. He could still see the blood smear on her cheek, mixed with mud that was beginning to dry. At the back of her head, her hair was parted where the blow had split her scalp and blood had congealed, clumping strands together in an unsightly mess.
Mitchell and his heavy hand. He’d raised such a brute… Mother would not be pleased.
He lifted his searing glance and stared at his son. Mitchell still wore his hard hat, and had a blood smear across his forehead where he must’ve run the soiled back of his hand to wipe away the raindrops. He’d plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and held his gaze straight, defiantly, standing a few feet in front of him. The tiniest hint of a smile tugged at the right corner of his lips.
“You wanted this,” Mitchell said, “and I was dumb enough to listen to you. She’s that fed, or cop, or whatever, for Pete’s sake, and you knew who she was when you sent me after her.” He paced the room with an anxious spring in his gait. “We should’ve let her go. She would’ve asked a few questions, then she would’ve been gone. Why the hell do we all bother to get alibis, if we’re going to do stupid shit like this?” His words were filled with fear and anger, spilled quickly.
“Yeah, Gramps, why the hell did we take a cop?” Victor asked derisively. He was half-seated on the scratched desk surface, normally covered in blueprints, rolled-up plans, and technical drawings. “Do you feel like the electric chair? ’Cause I’m way too young for that.”
His arrogant, insolent voice reminded him of Dan. Just thinking of his dead son twisted a blade through his heart and he choked, for a while unable to breathe, suffocated by a grief he’d never felt possible. His son, his own fles
h and blood, shot in the back and dumped over by the asphalt like worthless roadkill… How did he not feel it when it happened? How did Mother let his son be murdered like that?
It must’ve been that scrawny little bitch, Cheryl—that ungrateful, good-for-nothing piece of trailer trash that Calvin had dragged through their door one cursed day. Mitchell, his firstborn son, had given him his first grandson in Calvin, and he’d been immensely proud of the boy until the day he brought her into the family. Still, like a good grandfather, he’d welcomed her into the family, but she’d turned on him and accused him of his grandson’s murder. She gave up his name, and cut him off from seeing those girls, his own granddaughters. She told everyone who would listen that Avery Montgomery had killed his grandson for some made-up reason that only she understood. Only Cheryl could’ve done something as despicable as shooting a man in the back and leaving him to rot by the interstate; it was probably how her people did things in the trailer park. But she had to have had help, and he would not rest until he found out who that was.
“It was Cheryl,” he whispered, staring out the window at the gloomy skies unloading their bounty. “It had to be her.”
“You can’t be sure, Dad,” Mitchell pushed back.
“Yes, I can. I can feel it inside,” he replied, his voice brittle, pounding his fist against his chest. It sounded hollow, just as it felt. “Dan was supposed to bring Julie that night. He went there to get her and never came back. That tramp, th—that snake,” he stammered, “I could snap her neck like a twig with my own hands.” He held his hands in front of him, squeezing Cheryl’s imaginary neck while a hate-filled grimace stretched his lips, exposing his teeth.
“She already got what she deserved, Gramps,” Victor interrupted matter-of-factly. “Now, what the hell do we do about her?” he gestured toward Kay with disdain. He turned to Mitchell and smirked. “Mitchell, what the heck were you thinking?”
“She came to us!” Avery bellowed, so loudly Mitchell took a step back. “Just like my sweet Anna came to my first building and tore my heart open when she did. Mother Earth had spoken! It’s her decision, and she wants this woman. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t’ve come.” He sighed, not in relief but in frustration. “Have you seen how hard it was to get here this morning? The road is nearly washed out, the muddy ruts are axle deep, and you drive powerful four-by-four trucks. She would’ve never made it up here without Mother’s help, just like Anna.”
“This is ridiculous,” Victor replied. “She’s driving a—”
Before he could finish speaking, a hard slap fell across his cheek. Avery’s hand smarted after delivering the blow, and his arthritic wrist hurt, but he didn’t care. “I won’t tolerate any more disrespect in this family! One more time, and I’ll put you into the ground myself.”
Victor finally lowered his eyes, still glinting with rage and humiliation. “I’m sorry, Grandpa, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Then what did you mean, talking back at me?” Victor would someday soon take over the business. With Dan and Calvin now both gone, there wasn’t that much time until that would happen, and by then, he better know how things had to be done. He’d better learn to show Mother the respect she was due, or her vengeance would be swift and the fruits of an entire life of hard work would wash away, taken by the floods of her rage.
Silence was the only reply he got. Satisfied he’d finally got Victor to come to his senses, he walked over to where Kay was seated and grabbed a fistful of her blood-soaked hair. He pulled backward, to expose her face, and grunted.
“You sure she’s still alive?” he asked Mitchell.
“Yeah, she’s just unconscious, but won’t stay that way for long. And it’s almost noon.”
“Damn it,” Avery muttered, pacing toward the design table, where Julie was lying on her back, her hands folded at her chest. “We’re running out of time. Let’s get it done.”
Mitchell looked outside, worried. “Have you seen how badly it rains? We can’t pour concrete in this; it would never set, and come Monday morning when the workers come back, she’ll just lay there, exposed, for them to find.” He paced angrily toward Avery, but stopped a few feet away from him, his clenched fist held up in a gesture of revolt. “You’ll doom us all with your insanity.”
“They,” Avery said calmly, looking out the window. It was raining hard, but it was what Mother wanted. When he laid the sacrifice at her feet, the skies would close, even if for a few moments, enough for the concrete to start setting. She’d gladly accept the sacrifice.
“Huh?” Mitchell reacted. “What do you mean?”
“They, not she,” Avery explained, his tone casual and calm as if he were teaching his son how to simply pour concrete without the human sacrifice. That part didn’t matter to Avery; it was what needed to get done.
“So, you want to bury the cop, and Julie?” Victor reacted, approaching the two men after glancing at the still body of the girl dressed in the perfectly white dress. “Mother never demanded two sacrifices at the same time. And she’s family, your own flesh and blood.”
Avery clenched his fist then took it to his mouth, where he sank his teeth into his finger, the pain he felt easing the intensity of the grief that tore his heart apart. Tears threatened to break, unwanted, nothing but a sign of weakness in the face of delivering Mother’s demands. “It happened before,” he eventually said, speaking against his clenched fist, barely intelligible. “The year she took my grandson, Calvin, right after we’d given her that redheaded girl, Lauren.” He sighed, the long, pain-filled breath of air shattered, as if he was about to break down and cry. Yet he fought the knot in his throat, the burning sensation in his tear-filled eyes, and managed to stifle the sobs. There would be a time for grieving later, in the privacy of his own study, looking at the blue sky and begging Mother to not forsake her lost and heartbroken child.
Victor smirked. “How convenient that was,” he muttered. Mitchell turned and glared at him, as if urging him to shut up.
“No, let him speak,” Avery hissed, feeling just about ready to slap Victor again. His attitude could bring the company down faster than Mother’s rage. If hatred festered in that boy, or contempt, he wanted it exposed and cut out of his soul, the way a surgeon exposes a tumor before excising it.
Victor veered his eyes sideways and zipped up his rain jacket as if getting ready to leave, then plunged his hands into its pockets. “I’m just saying, Calvin was starting to ask the wrong questions around that time, wasn’t he?”
Avery stared at him without a word inviting him to say more, his chin thrust forward and quivering in anger.
“Let’s face it,” Victor added with an arrogant chuckle, “he never really had the balls for what we’re doing. You wanted him induced, but he was too soft for it. Him, his nightmares, and his bloody conscience were going to get us all locked up.” He shrugged indifferently. “I’m just saying Mother took him at a convenient time.” He’d accented the word in a sarcastic way.
Avery took a step forward, his eyes piercing Victor’s. The young man didn’t lower his gray, steeled gaze. “Do you have anything else to add, my dear boy?” he whispered.
Mitchell took a step back and cursed under his breath.
Victor remained still, unwavering. “I’m just saying Julie is family, and unlike Calvin, she’s done nothing wrong. There’s no need—”
“She is blood from my blood, and flesh from my flesh! Don’t you think I know it? That’s what Mother demands. She always chooses the first daughters we sacrifice. That’s what building this house of healing will take!” Avery bellowed, his voice echoing strangely in the small trailer. As if to underline his words, thunder roared outside, rattling the trailer and bringing a glint of fear to Victor’s rebellious eyes.
Avery rushed to the door and opened it. A gust of wind swirled inside like an invisible hand, shifting the fabric of Julie’s skirt, grabbing papers and lifting them up in the air, and bringing rain inside. Yet he stood in the
doorway, indifferent to the water soaking his hair and slapping his face. His fanatical gaze lifted toward the dark skies as he shouted, “I heard you, Mother! Your will is my law.”
48
Awake
The first thing Kay felt was an excruciating, throbbing pain in the back of her head. She quickly realized she was restrained, cable ties cutting into her flesh around her wrists and ankles. Her head hung low, and she wished she could lift it to ease the pain in her split scalp, but she heard voices around her, too close for comfort.
Without moving, enduring through the pain and breathing shallow, she listened.
She recognized Avery’s baritone, and opened her eyes slowly, to take in the scene. She couldn’t see his face, and could distinguish very little from the setting. Her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face, shielding her, but at the same time, limiting her view.
Two other men were present, and argued with Avery over what was to be done with her, and over concrete setting properly. Yet something else had grabbed her attention, something Avery had said about his sweet Anna coming to his first building much like Kay had come to visit, unwanted, but instantly condemned to death.
Her eyesight was blurry, maybe because of the blow to her head, the strands of hair in front of her face not helping her much. Through the window by her side, the sky was a dark, threatening gray, clouds rolling, racing across the sky as they dropped their load of rain. Through the window, she recognized the Ford F-150 trucks that the men drove, which must have been the brand and model of choice for their construction company. That specific truck was one of the most popular with contractors.
But then, as Avery went on and on about the youngest man being disrespectful, she realized she didn’t really recognize the trucks; she knew they were there because she’d seen them earlier, the loud, metallic rapping of raindrops against the roof confirming she was in the trailer office. No, through her fuzzy vision and with her hair making things worse, she could barely see the trucks.