Sleep Savannah Sleep

by Alistair Cross

  Jason leaned in close and spoke low. “How do you think it will look when everyone finds out that the day before Savannah Sturgess went missing, you were fucking her mouth in the woods behind the fairgrounds?”

  Redding’s jaw dropped.

  Jason let it sink in. “I don’t think it would look good at all, Sheriff.” He pushed his chair out and stood. “Especially if she’s dead - and believe me, she’s dead, and her body will be discovered. Quite possibly with your DNA all over it.” He stepped to the door, pointing a finger at Redding. “I want Tabitha Cooper’s body exhumed, Sheriff. Tomorrow. And I want to be there when it happens.”

  He closed the door behind him and left the station.

  12

  Unearthing

  At two the next afternoon, Jason pulled into Shadow Springs Cemetery where a noisy backhoe was already digging into the earth. Milling behind a series of wide orange screens near the grave of Tabitha Cooper were Marshall Redding, Flynn Garvey, Scott Sturgess, and Coop. A few other men were there too - probably cemetery workers - and one woman in a beige suit.

  Coop paced nervously and as Jason approached, he could see the man’s face twitching and sweating. He hadn’t thought about what this would do to Coop - it was his grandmother they were digging up, after all.

  His hands in his pockets, Jason moved to the sheriff’s side, unable to look at Coop.

  “Mr. Crandall.” Sheriff Redding wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  Jason cleared his throat. “I didn’t think there’d be so many people here.”

  Redding’s brows rose in amusement. “Well, you don’t just dig away at a grave with a shovel, Mr. Crandall.” His tone made it clear that Jason had made an enemy. Not that he blamed the guy.

  Coop, wringing his hands, didn’t seem aware of Jason as he wandered toward the sheriff. “I just don’t understand,” he said. “I can’t see why this is necessary.” His nervous tic was on a rampage on his face.

  “We’re just following a lead, Coop, like I said.” The sheriff’s tone was level.

  “So why is he here?” Coop hooked a thumb at Jason. “And those two?” He nodded at Flynn Garvey and Scott Sturgess.

  Redding didn’t answer.

  Flynn Garvey glanced up, his eyes red and vacant, and gave Jason a half smile. Scott Sturgess, shoulders slumped and face pallid, didn’t seem aware of anything but the backhoe’s slow methodical progress. Jason felt a pang of guilt for putting them through this. What if I’m wasting their time and upsetting them for nothing? What if they don’t find anything? But no. He knew there was something here. There had to be.

  As the backhoe dumped buckets of dirt into a small trailer, Jason stared closely at the soil, hoping to spot anything that might have been buried along with the casket - something that might give an answer to why Savannah had led him to the other woman’s grave. But Jason saw nothing.

  After several more bucketfuls, the backhoe operator hopped off the giant yellow machine and began attaching nylon straps, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. He was in his early-to-mid-twenties in blue jeans and a black t-shirt that said, STRIPPERS LOVE MY POLE. As he looped chains around the bucket and attached them, the suited woman - an Environmental Health Officer, Jason realized - wrote something down on a pad. Then the two cemetery workers hopped into the hole and began digging around the casket with shovels.

  As they worked, Jason watched as Coop compulsively lifted his red baseball cap to wipe sweat on his forearm, his face twitching as if it were in the midst of a seizure. Jason wished he knew how to apologize to his friend. But how can I say I’m sorry for something I can’t even explain? The truth was just too hard to swallow. Coop wouldn’t understand. Hell, I don’t even understand.

  After several minutes, the workers climbed out of the hole and the operator returned to the backhoe. It roared and grumbled, and Jason stared with a sense of disbelief as the silver coffin was slowly raised. It hovered eerily in mid-air for a few moments, then the operator set it on the ground with surprising grace. It didn’t make a sound as it touched down. The cemetery workers hurried over and as they brushed dirt away, Jason glanced at the sheriff. From the corner of his eye, Redding glanced back. “I hope you’re right about this, Mr. Crandall.”

  Jason swallowed. “Me too.”

  But as one of the workers produced a long metal key, knelt at the foot end of the coffin, and began twisting it, Jason was suddenly racked by doubt. What if I’m wrong? What if the visions and dreams were nothing more than the ramblings of my over-tired, stressed-out brain? What could any of this possibly have to do with Savannah Sturgess, anyway? What was I thinking? He felt like a man who’d just used a stick to bash in a beehive.

  The man raised the lid of the coffin and for a long moment, everyone was silent. Flynn and Scott took no interest in the dead woman and Coop fell several steps back, eyes wide, face pale, his mouth a capital O. As if to punctuate his horror, a droplet of sweat fell from the tip of his nose.

  Redding gave Jason a pointed look, and finally, with a sense of dread, Jason drew closer. With eyes that didn’t want to obey, he forced himself to look down into the casket.

  Tabitha Cooper looked unreal - an effigy of herself. The glue between her lips had come loose in one corner of her mouth, giving her an eerie smirk, and some of the makeup had chipped and cracked, exposing blue-black skin beneath. Livor Mortis. Apparently, she’d died face-down. Her hair was as dry and dead as cotton in the wintertime and her hands looked like deflated balloons resting on her chest. The smell was faint, but it was there - death and chemicals - as if someone had sprayed Lysol to cover the reek of moldy fruit in a tiny, hot room. A little dirt had fallen in, speckling her white, silky dress. Jason shuddered.

  “Well?” Redding’s tone was derisive.

  Jason stared at the body; there was nothing there to back his claims. He had to find something, anything, that would prove he wasn’t crazy. The dirt,” he said at last. “I think we should check the dirt. All of it.”

  Redding sighed. “Whatever you say, Boss.” He directed one cemetery worker to sift through the soil in the trailer and the other to dig deeper in the earth beneath the coffin.

  As pale as sun-bleached bones, Coop drew closer and stared down at his dead grandmother.

  “Coop,” Jason said. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “Why are you even here, Jason?” Coop asked.

  Jason hesitated, not sure how to answer. “I’ll explain later, okay? It’s … complicated.”

  “The sheriff won’t tell me anything. Only that he got a lead on the Savannah Sturgess case. I’m guessing it came from you.”

  Jason nodded. “Yeah.”

  Coop looked at him with pain in his eyes. “But what does it have to do with my grandmother?”

  “Coop. Why don’t you come over for a beer later and we can talk about it. Right now, I just can’t get into it.”

  Coop lifted his hat and ran his arm across his forehead, then frowned back at his grandmother’s corpse. “It just seems so … unnecessary to do this.”

  “You’re just going to have to trust me, okay?” But Jason wasn’t even sure he trusted himself.

  Coop opened his mouth to speak when the worker in the gravesite cut him off.

  “Sheriff! We’ve got something!”

  As one, they crowded to the hole, leaning forward to peer down into the darkness.

  At first, Jason saw nothing except the worker’s back as he crouched, clearing soil away.

  “What is it?” called Redding, his voice edged with impatience.

  The worker turned his head and stared helplessly up at them, his face white, his eyes wide. “It’s … uh … You’re going to want to see this, Sheriff.” He stepped out of the way, revealing his find.

  Jason’s stomach folded over on itself.

  The long ribbons of once-silky hair were so lifeless and clotted with dirt that at first, they looked like the matted gray tendrils of a very old woman. But there was no doubt about the corpse’
s identity. Even with her head half-caved and her eyes and mouth clogged with dirt, Savannah Sturgess was unmistakable.

  “My God.” The words fell from Jason’s lips.

  It was hard to believe that the grotesque gray mask staring back had once been the face of a beautiful woman, but despite the ravages of death, Jason recognized the slightly upturned nose and the bee-stung lips, now peeled back in a rictus of pain and terror to expose dirt-gritted teeth. A blue choker encircled her throat and Jason saw the blue strap of a matching top over one exposed shoulder. And if there’d been any doubt about the woman’s identity, a few bloodless fingertips also peeked above the soil, each of them tipped in blue polish that looked too whimsical, too alive for the lifeless hands they adorned.

  The slightly-sweet reek of decaying flesh rose and for a moment, Jason’s stomach threatened to empty itself right there.

  And then, all at once, the crowd became animated, buzzing and talking.

  Coop gasped, eyes bulging.

  The sheriff was on his radio, hollering for back-up.

  Flynn Garvey’s knees gave out and he crumpled, sobbing uncontrollably.

  But it was Scott Sturgess’ scream that cut through the moment. “NO!” His eyes were wild as if he’d gone insane. “NO!” He threw himself into the hole, half-clambering, half-freefalling. “Get her out of there! Get my baby out of there!” He collapsed on his daughter, pulling at her, keening and digging. “Get her out! Get her out! Oh, GOD, get her out!”

  Those screams were primitive, soul-ripping - and they would haunt Jason for the rest of his life.

  Other law enforcement officers were called, as well as the fire department, paramedics, and the coroner. The unnecessary bystanders were sent home - except Scott Sturgess who refused to leave the grave. Coop had left without a word, looking dazed and horrified. Flynn Garvey, torn up and unable to drive, had gotten a ride home from a spare cop.

  Jason, too, left the scene, but didn’t make it to his car before the reality of what he’d seen settled in and began to take effect. After vomiting his guts up under the privacy of a weeping willow, he realized he wouldn’t make it to the kids’ schools before they let out. He got in the car, instantly rolling down the windows for fresh air, and made a call to Dottie Blanchard. She didn’t ask questions - thank God - and happily agreed to pick them up.

  For long moments, Jason sat there, a thick, sickening weight hanging over him - a feeling of culpability for the death of Savannah Sturgess and the pain it would bring her loved ones. He wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. Perhaps it had been a selfish exercise in self-preservation - an effort to be free of Savannah Sturgess. Did I even care about the family? Did I even think about what this would do to them? On the other hand, he told himself that at least now they had some answers. Nothing could be worse than not knowing, could it? Tell that to Scott Sturgess, argued another part of Jason. And what about Coop? I didn’t give his feelings a second thought.

  Finally, he started the car and headed home, navigating the slow narrow roads of Shadow Springs in a shocked blur. He was on autopilot, making his way thoughtlessly, his mind grappling to accept the impossibility of it all - The dreams were right. Somehow, they were right. And the things he’d just seen - the crushed skull and discolored skin, the jutting blue-tipped fingers, Scott Sturgess flinging himself upon his dead daughter, sobbing and clawing and screaming. And of course, there had been the smell - the sickening reek of decay that wafted up from the site as Scott tugged Savannah’s body to the surface. Even now, it set Jason’s stomach reeling.

  Before he knew it, Jason pulled into the drive and went into the house. Inside, Brent lay on the couch, clad only in a pair of red jockey shorts, a bowl of cereal resting on his stomach as he gazed intently at an episode of The Walking Dead, his shoes, laptop, and dirty shirt scattered on the floor around him.

  When he looked up at Jason, his face fell. “Dad? What’s wrong? You look-”

  “Where’s Amber?”

  Brent’s eyes narrowed. “At Dottie’s.” His tone went hard and clipped and he spooned cereal into his mouth. “I wish you worried half as much about me.”

  “It’s not that,” Jason said. “It’s … I don’t want her to overhear.”

  “Overhear what? What are you even talking about?”

  Jason hesitated. “They found Savannah Sturgess’ body.”

  Brent paused, his spoon suspended. “What? Where?”

  “In the cemetery. Under Tabitha Cooper’s grave.”

  Brent sat up, milk slopping over the side his bowl onto the couch. He stared at Jason long and hard. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Why would I kid about this, Brent?”

  More staring. “In the cemetery?”

  “Yeah. Obviously, someone was hoping she’d never be found and-”

  “And what does it have to do with you?”

  Jason blinked. “What?”

  His son eyed him for an uncomfortably long time. “How did you get involved in this, Dad?” There was accusation in his tone.

  Does he think I killed her? “It’s a long story, Brent.”

  The boy was getting angry. “Why are you always getting wrapped up in things that don’t have anything to do with you?”

  “Brent, listen-”

  “No, you listen to me, Dad.” His eyes blazed. “While you’re worrying about stupid Savannah Sturgess, I was trying to convince Amber that it’s okay to get a ride from Dottie, a complete stranger, because you told her never to go home with anyone but you!”

  “Dottie’s not a stranger, Brent.”

  “You don’t even care that I have to pick up the slack because you’re busy worrying about people we don’t even know!”

  Jason couldn’t believe his son was feeling picked on at a time like this. “I’m sorry, Brent. I’m not trying to lay extra responsibility on you.”

  “Well, you are! You keep getting involved in things that have nothing to do with us, and I have to pay for it.” Brent’s face was red. “That’s why you got beat up, you know, because you don’t mind your own business!”

  “That’s enough, Brent. You don’t know the whole story about this Savannah business.”

  “That’s right, I don’t, and neither does anyone else, but how do you think it looks, Dad?”

  Jason’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I have to live here, too, you know! People will think you were sleeping with her - or that you killed her - and that will go over really well for my non-existent social life!”

  Jason’s jaw tightened. “Believe it or not, Brent, I wasn’t thinking about your social life.”

  “Of course you weren’t. You never think of anything but yourself! And Amber!”

  “That’s not fair, Brent. I did what I thought was right. It’s not about you or me, it’s about the Sturgess family. This is bigger than you or me.”

  Brent glared. “If it’s not about you, then why are you involved? Tell me.”

  “It’s a-”

  “Long story, I know. They’re all long stories, but I have a right to know. I’d like to be ready for whatever rumors are going to spread around about you.”

  Jason considered his son’s words - He’s right. He has a right to know - and after giving it some thought, he sat down on the end of the couch. “All right. I’ll tell you.” He paused, not sure where - or even how - to start. “I need you to keep an open mind, okay?”

  Brent waited, eyes hard, jaw set.

  And Jason told his son everything: the dreams, the visions, all of it. As he explained, Brent watched him, his skepticism - and his mounting impatience - obvious. When Jason was finished, his son continued staring at him in silence for several long seconds.

  At last, he said, “So, now I have to explain that my dad is the local fortune teller, is that it?”

  Jason sighed, defeated. “You don’t have to explain anything to anyone. And you know I’m not a fortune teller.”

  “Well, then you’re the
guy who’s being haunted.” He made air quotes around the last word. “And that’s not any better. It’s worse! People will think you’re crazy!”

  “This isn’t about what people think, Brent.”

  “It is to me!” Brent stood.

  “Look, just calm down and-”

  “No! You’ll do anything to ruin my life here, the same as you did in LA!”

  Jason had no clue what that meant. How did I ruin his life in LA? What?

  Brent stalked up the stairs, putting as much force into his footfalls as possible. A moment later, he slammed his bedroom door with the same degree of drama.

  For a moment, Jason sat there, the ever-faithful tick of the grandfather clock the only reminder that time was still moving forward. He’d made a terrible mistake telling Brent all of that. Of course, he doesn’t believe me. Why should he? He must think I’m out of my mind. And it was true that he hadn’t thought about what this would do to his kids. In a small town like this, there were bound to be rumors. Not to mention, Brent had made a very good point - this kind of involvement put Jason right in the middle of a murder case. Not the best place to be. But it was too late for that now.

  Finally, he got up, dumped Brent’s now-soggy cereal down the disposal, and headed to Dottie’s for Amber. As he walked, he wondered, What will people say? Did I just incriminate myself? How will this affect the kids? And by the time he arrived, he was convinced he’d made a very big mistake getting involved.

  13

  Unrest

  The next day, he sat in Dottie’s kitchen, sipping too-strong coffee, the morning sun filtering through the yellow curtains, tinting the room a cozy shade of gold. But Jason, still haunted by memories of Savannah’s corpse, wasn’t cozy at all. He’d hardly slept last night and he hadn’t eaten a thing all day. He couldn’t even bring himself to touch the toast Dottie had set on the table. He knew that as soon as he bit into it, he’d see Savannah’s crushed, disfigured head, and smell the rotten-meat pungency of decomposition.