by Greig Beck
“Wow, that is old.” Mitch blew air between his lips. “I never knew.” He craned forward. “And they made these?”
His brows came together as he looked at a group of strange-looking statues upon a raised dais.
“We believe so, but we don’t exactly know how. Or even where the unique material came from.” She briefly turned to him. “It’s petrified wood, but from no tree anyone can identify.” She peered in at the statues. “It’s been dated to around 10,000 BC—that’s 12,000 years old.”
Mitch stared. The statues were intertwined with roots and slightly eroded now, but the detail was still unbelievable. There were several men, women, and even a child. Their fingers and even hair could be picked out. But it was their faces that were the aspect that pinned Mitch’s attention—they wore ghastly expressions of pain or terror. Or perhaps torment.
He recognized them. “You know, I think I’ve seen something like these before. Down near the old Angel Mine, there looked to be very weather-beaten versions of these out front at the mine’s mouth.”
She tilted her head. “Why would you go there?”
“Um, well…” He gave her a lopsided grin. “I don’t know; I was just exploring, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s safe. My mother…” She stopped. “I’ve never been out there…and never will,” she added. “Might be similar, but I doubt it. Probably just some weird geology that had been sand-blasted, or an old tree stump fashioned by some of our harsh summer gusts.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Mitch looked back at the agonized faces. “Not exactly uplifting images.”
“No, not at all. And the conundrum is that the first American Native Indians who lived around these parts led a Stone Age lifestyle, meaning they only had stone tools and weapons. So, it’s still a mystery how they even worked the stone-like material, or what they were meant to represent with their, um, extreme visages. The one thing all the local tribes had in common was the name of a powerful god: Adotte Sakima—the tree god.”
“Adotte Sakima.” He tested the words as he continued to stare, and the more he did the more unsettled he became by the statues. They were tiny perfections that were beyond anything he’d seen before, especially from an artist that created them so many millennia ago.
One of the men had a slightly balding pate, the woman had an adornment through her earlobe and a small lump like a mole on her lip, and the child’s tiny hand was curled as if it was holding something that might have once been a toy.
Mitch hadn’t seen that level of sculpting complexity even on statues from the ancient Romans, and perhaps only from sculpting masters like Michelangelo.
But the horrifying expressions? He didn’t get it. “What could generate such fear?” he breathed out.
“Men only fear God and the Devil,” she replied softly.
“Maybe the tree god was their devil, huh?” He glanced at her and then back to the statues. “When and where were they discovered?”
“Just after the town was settled,” Samantha replied. “They were found deep below the ground in some limestone caverns. We can only assume the first people must have taken them down there.”
“Why?” he asked.
She shrugged. “No one really knows. But there was one man, a Native American, from the Otoe people—Johnson Nightbird—who was the closest thing we had to an expert and helped us set up the display.”
Mitch straightened. “I’d love to talk to him. Is he still around?”
She bobbed her head. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive, as he must be 80 by now. If he is, he’d be over in Red Rock, Oklahoma.”
Mitch nodded. “Might have to look him up one day.” He checked his watch. And then smiled broadly. “Thank you, Samantha, you’ve been very informative and entertaining; I think I’ve learned a lot.”
His eyes flicked back to the statues.
“See you at the cookout,” she chimed.
He pulled his eyes away. “Hope so.” He headed out the door, glad for the fresh air and sunshine.
Without a doubt, those things unsettled him more than they should have. They say soldiers have an intuition and an inbuilt radar for danger—and for some reason, his radar was flashing right now.
CHAPTER 07
The send-off for Old Ben Wainright was an afternoon cookout at Mayor Keith Melnick’s large house just on the outskirts of town. Mitch was looking forward to the formal goodbye for Ben, but really, his main interest was talking to Karen again—there was something about the spunky vice mayor that turned his head.
He stepped out of the shower, toweled himself down, and then used his fingers to brush his hair. He stood just looking at his reflection for several moments and thought he still looked passable.
He worked out and was in good shape but had a few flaws now. He reached up to his chest and shoulder to feel some of the most obvious shrapnel wounds; purple circles and strokes, and some surrounded with reddish flesh where the damage went deep and that still ached when he did bench press. As a physician, he knew what that meant; he’d pay for it when he was older. But that was something he’d worry about another day.
In another 30 minutes, he was pulling into the driveway of Melnick’s large house set on a huge expanse of very manicured lawn. Fruit trees lined the fence line, creating a never-ending bounty that glowed red, orange, and purple in the warm sunshine.
There was a good crowd already, and fronting up he spotted the town attorney, Ralph Gillespie, talking to Karen who stood beside a boy that looked remarkably like her, so it was safe to assume it was her son.
Mayor Melnick spotted him and waved. Though he felt like a bit of a small fish among the town heavyweights, he guessed as he was their soon-to-be doctor, he’d end up knowing all their secrets soon enough.
“Mitchell, glad you could make it.” Melnick toasted him with an iced cool-looking, highball-style drink and grabbed his arm. “Got some people for you to meet. Settling in? Found everything you need? How do you like Eldon so far?”
Mitch grinned, knowing all the questions probably weren’t expected to be answered. Just the obvious ones.
“I love it here. I’d say it’s just like home, except this is better.”
Melnick was extremely satisfied with his answer and grabbed his forearm, steering him toward a group of older people. At the same time, he motioned for a waiter to bring him a drink.
“They’re mai tais.” He winked. “My own recipe. Got a bit of a kick to them.” His laugh was a soft wheeze.
Karen caught his eye and he waved. She made a show of waving back and nodding, and she obviously used it as an excuse to extricate herself from Gillespie and headed toward his group, dragging her son with her.
Ralph Gillespie tagged along behind, but the look he gave Mitch said he didn’t care for the intrusion.
“Mitch, meet Benji. Benji, meet Mitch,” Karen said, looking from her son to Mitch. “Mitch is our new doctor.”
Benji stuck out a small hand and grinned. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
Mitch gripped the small hand. “Likewise. And it’s just Mitch to my friends.”
The boy smiled and continued to study him for a few more moments before half-turning to his mother.
“He looks like Batman, doesn’t he, Mom?”
Mitch chuckled at Karen, who now also scrutinized him. Mitch knew what Benji was referring to. Just like Gladys had mentioned, many times in the past people had said he reminded them of a young Ben Affleck…except with a few scars. He could certainly live with that.
He leaned closer to Benji and put a finger to his lips. “That’s because I’m Batman. Just don’t tell anyone, okay?”
“Great, we have a doctor who’s a superhero.” Karen grinned.
Mitch chuckled. “All doctors are superheroes—it’s lesson one at med school.”
He took another sip of his mai tai and grimaced. “Yech.” He stuck his tongue out, much to Benji’s amusement.
Karen laughed. “The secret Melnick recipe, hu
h?”
“Oh yeah.” Mitch toasted her. “And should have stayed secret.”
Mitch was enjoying himself and found Karen to be interesting and charming. He hoped she felt the same. But after another 30 minutes went by, Mayor Melnick moved in among them.
“Okay, Mitch, what have you done with him?” Melnick smiled good-naturedly, but it was clear that this entire expensive event was for Ben Wainright, so the guest of honor better front up. And because Mitch was the guy taking over the practice, Old Ben had somehow become his responsibility.
“Anyone called him yet?” Mitch asked.
“I’ll do it now.” Melnick pulled out a paper-thin phone and examined his contacts before letting it dial. He waited, and then his brows drew together. “That’s odd.” He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it. “It says the number is no longer in service—was canceled days ago.” He frowned. “He’s still in town, right?”
“Sure is, I just met with him yesterday morning,” Mitch replied. “I haven’t seen him since then, but he didn’t say he was leaving. Well, not immediately.”
Shelly, his receptionist barged in, having overheard. “He should be here. He’s usually very punctual.”
“Well, even if you’ve left town, you don’t cancel your mobile phone.” Ralph Gillespie had joined, and a small crowd was now gathering.
“He should be here.” Shelly folded her arms.
“Do you think he’s all right?” Karen asked.
Mitch felt in his pocket. “I’ve still got his spare house keys. I can take a quick run out there.”
“I’ll come,” Shelly piped up. “Maybe he just has car troubles, and now that his phone isn’t working, he can’t tell us.”
“That must be it,” Melnick agreed. “Mitch, go get him.”
“On it.” Mitch walked fast to his car, and though the party continued, it had formed into clumps only talking softly, and right up until he was driving away, their eyes were on him.
In the car, Mitch cracked the window to let in some fresh air and relief from the clouds of Shelly’s perfume. He half-turned. “Had Ben, Doctor Wainright, been feeling okay before he retired? Acting normally?”
She hiked her shoulders. “He didn’t talk that much to me in the office. But he was always polite, just a little sad, distant sort of.” She seemed to think a little more. “He was always quiet, except for the time we had the fire.”
“Fire? In the office?” Mitch’s brows shot up.
“Yeah, a few years back. Just after I started. The sandwich toaster overheated.” She grinned sheepishly. “And it was next to a stack of papers, files.”
“And they caught fire.” Mitch tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. “Shelly, was it your sandwich toaster?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah, Ben made me do a lot of extra photocopying work of his records after that. Took me weeks.”
“And does Doctor Wainright have a no toaster rule now?” Mitch asked.
“Yep, plus no coffee machine, or even juicer.” Shelly’s mouth was pressed in a line.
“Okay, I think we’ll keep that rule for now.” Mitch grinned and concentrated on the road.
They came off Newton Street and turned into Mills Street. He slowed the car.
“There it is, number 2. That’s Doctor Wainwright’s place.” Shelly craned forward. “Ooh, and he’s burning rubbish at this time of year—very naughty.”
They pulled in at the column of smoke. It was a well-kept cottage with a slatted fence, vines growing through it, and a rusted post box just peeking over the top. They sat watching the rising smoke for a few seconds.
“Would he have forgotten about the party?” Mitch asked.
“No. He’s old, but not out with the squirrels old, if you know what I mean,” she replied.
Mitch was first out of the car, and he immediately smelled the chemical stink of plastic burning.
“I don’t think he’s burning leaves. Or even squirrels. Come on.” He walked briskly up the path and then bounded up the few steps to the landing. He pressed the bell.
“Just open it.” Shelly came up quickly behind him.
Mitch half-turned. “Just give him a second.” He waited.
Shelly cupped her hands around her face and peered in through a window. “Nothing moving inside.” She came back and stood on the other side of the doorframe. “Come on, he might have fallen down. He’s old, remember?”
“Yeah, okay.” Mitch sorted through the keys, choosing one that looked like a front door key. He stuck it in the lock, and it turned first go. He pushed the door open and peered around inside.
“Hello? Ben?”
Mitch concentrated but heard nothing but the deep and ponderous ticking of a large clock somewhere further in.
“Doctor Wainright.” Shelly’s voice flooded the cottage, but after a few more seconds there was still nothing but the clock again. “Come on,” she said and led Mitch in.
She quickly went from the living room to his bedroom, opened a closet door and found it empty. Same for the drawers, as all the clothing and personal items were gone.
“Strange. Looks like he’s all packed up,” she said and turned slowly. “Try the kitchen and washroom.” Shelly was obviously speaking to herself, as she sped out of the bedroom.
Mitch tried to keep up. “Slow down.”
The house looked like it had been vacated and even the refrigerator was empty.
“What’s he been living on?” Shelly pursed her lips and then slowly let the refrigerator door close. She then quickly crossed to the window over the sink and peered out into the backyard.
“There’s his bonfire and also the only place left to look—the shed.” She pulled open the backdoor, stepped down the few steps, and marched across the 50 feet of grass to the small wooden structure.
Mitch followed and saw that the rubbish pile was still smoldering and giving off toxic chemical gasses. Then he saw the reason—within it were the remains of jackets, pants, and even leather shoes. There was also a laptop computer, something that could have been a blackened mobile phone, and piles and piles of papers, books, and melting plastic folders.
Just at its edge was another set of keys. Mitch crossed to the smoldering pile and carefully reached in to grab them.
“Ouch.” The carbon-encrusted keys were still hot, and he tossed them from hand to hand for a few seconds.
“Hurry up,” Shelly hissed over her shoulder.
“Something is very wrong here,” Mitch said as he caught up.
She grabbed the large door handle and turned to him. “Maybe he already left.” She tugged open the paint-peeling door that skidded along the ground. Now wider, it allowed the single room to be flooded with light.
Shelly gasped, eyes bulging. Mitch looked in over her shoulder, and even though he had seen horrific things as a military medic, this took him by surprise.
Ben Wainright was hanging by the neck; face black and tongue protruding like a fat, dark slug from between his lips. A small stool was overturned below him and also a small pool of fluid, undoubtedly urine.
“Stay there.” He rushed inside to grab the body. Immediately, he felt the cold, stiffness of rigor mortis in the cadaver and he let it go for a moment where it now swung, making the rope stretch and squeak.
Shelly hadn’t moved but finally managed to close her mouth. “He…hung himself? Why did he hang himself?”
Mitch righted the stool and was about to step up, but then thought that it was a good question. Though the probability was he did commit suicide, in the event it was something else, he should avoid disturbing the body.
He backed up, bumping into Shelly. “I don’t know, but we better not touch anything else. Let’s call the sheriff.” Mitch grabbed her arm and led her out of the shed, but she kept looking back over her shoulder as if expecting Wainright to jump out at them.
Mitch dragged the door shut and sighed. He knew he’d need to make calls to the sheriff, to the mayor, Karen, and all this while they�
�re back at the party sipping on Melnick’s mai tais and waiting for their guest of honor, who was now rudely swinging from a damn noose.
In 30 minutes more, Sheriff Dan Kehoe was on his way, and the mayor was breaking it to the party that their beloved Doctor Ben Wainright wouldn’t be making it for cake, ever.
“Shelly, as the resident medical professional that has to act as both physician and coroner, I have to hang out here for a while. But you don’t. Do you want me to drop you somewhere? I doubt the party will be continuing now.”
She looked back toward the house and slowly shook her head. “I want to know why he killed himself.” She folded her arms. “I’ll wait…with you.”
It was barely ten minutes more before Sheriff Kehoe arrived. He was alone and as he got out of his car, his face was grave.
“Show me,” was all he said.
CHAPTER 08
Eldon, Oakland County, Missouri – 2 weeks later
The ground began to shake.
Mitch had just come into the practice and was standing in front of Shelly’s desk when it hit. He stopped to hold his arms wide a little like a tightrope walker.
“Whoa.” He looked up, arms out, newspaper in one hand and coffee in the other. “What was that?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Probably a little quake. We get ‘em now and then. I heard they come from down deep and are due to some big old caverns collapsing, and not when the planes or plates or something moves. Nothing really to worry about.”
“Tectonic plates,” Mitch added. “And you mean the mines?”
She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “No, I think I remember it was more like the big sinkhole type ones wa-aaay deeper down. Eldon sits on ground that’s a little like honeycomb. The deep limestone melts away, leaving big holes.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Good for spelunking.”
“For what?” She grinned. “Spunking?”
“Spel-LUN-king—caving,” he said on his way to the office.
“Oh, that.” Her mouth turned down. “I’d hate that ‘cause I hate dark places.”