Deep Down (I)

by Karen Harper

  Hair prickled on the nape of her neck, and gooseflesh iced her skin. The headache she’d meant to treat got worse. The boulders being gnawed on by the waters of Bear Creek, swollen by the rain, seemed to waver before her eyes. Had she run so hard that her brain was oxygen-deprived? She’d never fainted in her life, but she felt woozy now. Too little sleep, too much exertion, pressure, grief and fear.

  And that smell! Out here in the fresh air, could she have carried the scent of that badger fur on her hands? She lifted them for a deep sniff. The stench seemed the same even when her nose was right up to her palms.

  She spun around into the wind, heading back toward the path she’d taken coming in. But ahead, blocking her way, stood The Thing that had haunted her from Tyler’s picture.

  She gasped and froze. Shook her head and blinked. No, she wasn’t hallucinating again. But—but Vern was locked in his storeroom, and she had the Siberian sang hunter’s costume locked in her trunk! Or could Peter have had an outfit like that, too?

  It lumbered toward her, surely a human beast, not a feral one. She wondered if she could be dreaming, but this was pure nightmare. Staring wide-eyed at it, she felt she was seeing double, the vision both here before her and in the unrolling thoughts of her mind’s eye. She knew she must find the courage to let the vision of her mother’s death reveal itself, but not now. Now, she shoved the vision away and faced the reality of The Thing in front of her.

  Think! she screamed silently at herself. It wants fear and panic to devour you. That’s why he—but who was he?—had gone to all this risk and trouble. Think!

  If only she hadn’t exhausted herself running in. If only she could get back to the creek, maybe scramble over the boulders to the other side. The creature, with its size and bulk, would find it hard to follow. But she could be trapped against the rocky sides and pounding water of the falls.

  It came closer, stiff-legged on those big feet—yes, skin wrapped and tied around raised shoes. That and the headgear made it seem gigantic. It was a monster meant for the midnight hours, but the fact it dared to appear in the slanted shadows of daylight made it more real.

  This must be about the same time of day it attacked her mother. The sun was in her eyes but she edged along the creek, trying to get a good angle to flee into the forest a different way from the path it blocked. The beast must have emerged from near the spot Tyler had taken the picture of it.

  When it came closer, still without a word or a sound beyond heavy breathing—only its distinctive smell preceded it—she saw it carried a long, silver knife in one fur-gloved hand and a crude sang-digging spade, maybe of wood tied to bone, in the other. The murder weapon!

  Under the huge hat, its face was covered with a dark hood of fur cut with four holes, two for eyes, one each for the nose and the mouth. The leather apron, which hid its body, and the cape of badger fur and claws swung from side to side as it—he—came closer. It’s a person, she told herself, not some mythic beast! And yet it was a beast, maybe more horrifying because it was a human being under all that, a human being doing this. He must be demented, but who had she met in Deep Down that was this much of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?

  Her mother had fled from this, and that tough, tenacious Beth Brazzo must have fought it. The results of both had been fatal. Somehow, she had to outwit him. She had to survive.

  Despite Junior’s pleas to Drew to not leave him in the cell, Drew tore out of his office to the Fur and Sang Trader. The window sign said Closed, but he banged on the door to be sure. No wonder no one had answered the phone. He frowned at the finality of the word Closed. Damn, he wished his murder cases were solved and closed.

  Fists clenched, he stalked back toward his office. Bringing Jess up to date and helping Cassie keep Ryan Buford off her property and out of her life should be secondary to arresting Peter Sung. He hadn’t even had time to phone the Lexington police when Emmy said she couldn’t locate either Jess or Cassie. Neither had answered the phone at her house. Where were those two? Man, he was in a black mood. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be sheriff here, because the things he should do right now—get Junior’s statement, run him into Highboro and arrange for Peter to be picked up and questioned—were going to have to wait.

  Maybe Cassie had come to the Trader to find Buford but had only found Jess, who had agreed to go with Cassie to face him down. Yeah, that was a likely scenario. Emmy said the women weren’t at Audrey’s B and B, so could they have gone out to the other place Emmy had told Cassie to look for Buford—the old logging road under Snow Knob?

  He didn’t even go back into his office. He’d call Emmy on his two-way. Maybe Seth hated Buford not only because he wanted change around here, but because the wily old guy had guessed he was the one who had deserted Cassie and Pearl. At any rate, he hoped he found Buford before the women did.

  Jessie continued to edge along the creek, trying to watch her footing on the stony bank but unable to look away from what Drew had called The Thing. She forced herself to reason out who this must be. Dear God, she must have been wrong about Vern! But was this Peter Sung or Junior Semple? Why that tracking collar in her purse, if this wasn’t Peter?

  Could it even be Ryan Buford? No, he could never have raced here in time from where she left him and have put on that outfit. It must have taken her almost fifteen minutes to run back here; he’d have to drive to beat that. Still, Drew and Seth must not have come out here at all, so Buford had lied. She’d trusted him, just as Emmy had and maybe Cassie, too. But if it was him, what was his motive? Peter and Vern, even Junior, had reasons to worry about a possible low sang count and the commercial promotion of sang by Beth Brazzo. But Ryan Buford? Still, why would he lie to her but to set her up for this? Somehow this wasn’t Peter’s style, and Junior wasn’t this clever.

  She decided then to risk who it must be. You’re a smart girl, she urged herself on. Take your best guess and best shot. Try to sound rational, calm, in control.

  “Ryan, stop it!” she dared in a loud voice. “The Halloween garb, your combination of Siberian sang hunter and Swamp Ape costume, is ridiculous! You don’t think I really trusted you enough to come back here alone, do you? Once I got in the forest, I called Drew on a two-way radio. He and Seth are right behind me!”

  The Thing stopped, shook its furry head—in denial or rejection?—and growled, the sound so real it shocked her. Then it stalked her again, now only about fifteen feet away. Had she guessed wrong? She’d been praying her strong approach could buy her some time, even some conversation so she could try to reason with him.

  She dropped her bag to free her arms. Her mother must have done that when she fled for her life, for they’d found it abandoned and ransacked near here. Jessie bent to grab a tree limb as thick as her wrist and a stone, not a big one, but one she could grasp in one hand.

  The Thing charged her. She leapt out on two small rocks in the water, then made a stand on the large one, which her mother had called her and Daddy’s island. She prayed it would protect her, but she soon saw she was wrong again.

  Lifting both the knife and the spade, The Thing waded into the stream after her.

  Her instinct was to flee, to plunge into the water, even to run toward the falls. But that might be his plan. He’d tried to make it look like Beth had fallen. Maybe he wanted it to seem that his third victim slipped and drowned or fell over Bear Falls.

  Wait! she told herself. Hold your ground for another second. Do not do what it expects.

  At least The Thing looked unsteady in the water. Its big shoes must have filled. Maybe the leather apron and badger cloak would get waterlogged. Steady, she told herself. Don’t run yet. She felt her mother’s common sense and Elinor’s cleverness pour through her. Draw it out into deeper, swifter water. Even if it somehow outran and overcame Beth Brazzo, conserve your strength. Wait until it’s almost here but not in range to swing that spade.

  Ten feet away, as it went slightly off balance clambering onto a mossy rock, she heaved her stone at its head. Sh
e hit its cheek, knocking its headgear awry. It halted, then lunged toward her, splashing, swinging the spade she countered with her stick. The tree limb stopped the impact, but her limb cracked, splintered.

  Jessie jumped off the rock, as furious as she was fright ened. Her feet slipped on the next rock; she splashed knee-deep into the cold current but managed to scramble up the bank. She could hear it coming after her, sloshing through the water, breathing deep and hard. Dreading the next swing of that spade against her skull, she lifted one arm above her head.

  The weight of the swing was strong; she heard her left ulna crack, even before she felt it. Red pain knifed through her, but she tried to concentrate, to keep going. If that thing jumped her, she’d never get it off.

  With her good hand, she held her broken arm to her chest, despite the pain that caused her to scream through gritted teeth. Keep moving. Run zigzag. Take the trail toward the car. She stumbled back toward the logging road, then decided The Thing might have a harder time going in the thicker woods.

  She darted off the path. But in a splotch of sun, a massive shadow loomed over her, covered her. No way was this monster going to cut her, kill her! Avoiding tree trunks, bouncing off saplings, she kept putting foot before foot, but she was weakening now.

  Oh, she saw her mother again—no, she was her mother. She’d fallen over a tree root and scrambled up, on hands and knees at first, then running, running. It was coming after her in wide strides at a jogging pace, breaking tree limbs, hitting the bone spade against tree trunks. She was sweating but shivering. Stark fear shredded her stamina, her courage. But she knew at the last moment that her mother had been proud of her. She’d regretted giving her away, sending her away…yes, she heard her mother whisper that to her even now.

  Jessie saw the shadow of the spade in the air. It whirred at her again, catching her on her good shoulder. Trying to break her fall, she screamed as she hit the leafy turf faceup to keep the ground from crushing her arm. Huge feet pressed against her hips as The Thing towered over her. Then it sat on her, pressing her down under its weight, putting the long wooden handle of the crude bone spade across her throat, pressing just enough to keep her immobile and nearly breathless.

  What in hell was all this tape blocking off the old logging road? Drew wondered. At least, Jess’s car was here. But there was no sign of Buford.

  He drove right through the tape barrier, yanking it all down behind the Cherokee. Cursing the fact he couldn’t drive all the way into the forest, he actually wished the road had been extended here. Then, off to the right, like a gift from God, he saw the entry to a new, narrow service road Buford must have cut through the trees. How deep into the woods did it go? And, if he took it, would he miss Jess and Cassie, since they’d probably taken the usual hiking path in?

  Two roads, two ways, always choices. Please, God, let it be the right choice, in case Jess and Cassie were in danger. At least they were together. Safety in numbers. Mariah and Beth had to face their murderer alone.

  Chapter 27

  27

  W aves of pain ripped through Jessie’s arm and her entire body. With the weight of The Thing on her, she gasped for air, but it was polluted by his smell. He had brown eyes. It could be Peter or even Seth, but she still thought it was Ryan, however he’d managed to get out here so fast. Her head spun; her captor and clouds above her rotated faster, faster.

  “Finally, you’ve stopped fighting me,” The Thing said, in a muffled voice as his horrid visage leaned close to her. “And you can stop lying to me. My two-way radio doesn’t carry from here, so yours doesn’t, either—if you even have one on you. So I don’t think you have rescuers coming, unless someone else read my note. Compared to the other two—even the power woman—” he said with a snicker “—you’ve put up a good fight.”

  My note! Seth? No, it couldn’t be Seth.

  The stench of him was not just from the badger fur; he’d deliberately doused himself with something else—mothballs? “I’ve got to hand it to you, before we end all this,” he went on, still out of breath. “I admire your cleverness and courage. Wish I’d stumbled on to you instead of Cassandra, because you and I would have made one hell of a team.” It—he—Ryan—snickered again. “You might even have known about birth control.”

  She tried to follow his words. Some way—there must be some way out of this. But he’d forged that note from Seth, so no one else knew she was here.

  His tone went from taunting to irate. “But how did you know it was me?” he demanded.

  It was Ryan Buford! Her head cleared. She knew his voice now, no longer a growl, no longer disguised. Which, meant, of course, he intended to kill her, as if there had been any doubt about that.

  “I just guessed at the lowest of the low,” she gritted out.

  “I thought you went for everything I said,” he insisted with a slight shake of his head. “Want to know my deep, dark motive before it’s lights out? You’re a bright lady—I owe you that. I do regret the fact the world is going to lose a cancer researcher. My grandmother died of breast cancer, and she’s the only one who really gave a damn about me in my entire family.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she dared, more furious than afraid again. She couldn’t help herself. She was absolutely outraged that this smug moron had killed her mother. “Being hurt as a kid’s a perfect reason to become a serial killer.”

  “Shut up! That’s not why!” he shouted, ripping off his huge hat and hood. Ryan Buford in the flesh, red-faced, sweating. If this monster was Pearl’s father, how could she be so sweet? “It’s because this stupid ‘sang’ is ruining everything I’ve worked for,” he raged, his face contorted with fury. “Some very important people in D.C. had to pull me from getting this area logged once because of your sang—a stupid root stupid people think has power. A hillbilly plant that the commie Chinese venerate! How about good old American wood being the big crop here?”

  “Oh, I see. You’re a patriot,” she choked out, her voice dripping sarcasm.

  “I said, shut up. I just want you to know you didn’t outsmart me, even with your big deal education hiding your ties here. Maybe I can save Pearl if I get her out of here in time, away from Cassandra and Deep Down. I’ll be sitting pretty when we close this deal. Cut and get out, that’s my motto. With this area stripped of trees—which people will accept, with a low ginseng count—at least for this year with your mother and you gone—”

  “And Beth Brazzo,” she wheezed and started a coughing fit.

  “Yeah, Ms. Promote-ginseng-to-the-entire-country Brazzo.”

  “Why the outfit?”

  “You know, I thought it would cause general chaos, detract from how much I was surveying. But the sheriff sat on the picture I managed to pose for. Even the photographer did.”

  “As if a series of murdered women wouldn’t cause chaos, too!”

  “Let people think there’s a curse on people harvesting wild things in the woods!”

  “It may take awhile, but the sheriff will find you.”

  “I tried to set up Cherokee Seth, but when that fell through, I fingered Vern. As for this outfit, I’ve used a Swamp Ape suit down south for some laughs, too. Besides, you know about costume parties, don’t you?” he said, bending so close to her face that she could smell his breath—mint—mingled with mothballs. “People in a mask do things they might not do otherwise, and…”

  He kept rambling, but she couldn’t follow him. Leaning forward against her stomach, he was cutting off her air again. Excruciating pain wracked both shoulders, her broken arm—and her hopes for rescue.

  Drew jumped out of his vehicle. He’d scratched it up even more by careening down the crude, narrow service road evidently meant for Buford’s truck. That vehicle was parked just ahead near Bear Creek, a natural dead end. Dead end, he thought. Dead end.

  He got out, grabbed his shotgun and tore along the creek. He could see no one was up ahead at the grandfather tree. Damn, no one in sight anywhere! Why had he been so certain the wom
en would have come after Buford here? If they were back somewhere in the forest, he might have made a fatal error driving in, especially if Buford turned dangerous when Cassie confronted him.

  Just as surely as Jess had her visions of her mother’s fear and flight, facing down her killer, he felt certain Jess was in danger now. Maybe not from Buford, but where was Vern? And Peter might not be in Lexington at all.

  Should he get back in his vehicle or run the path into the forest back the other way? Holding his shotgun before him, he ran.

  Jessie knew she was going to pass out. But before she did and this murderer finished her the way he had her mother, she tried to shut out his words…tried to hold on to the very best things of her life, like memories to take with her.

  Mother and Dad, the beauty of Deep Down. Drew, dear Drew, so young and lost when she first reached out to him and loved him and then they were torn apart. Now they’d found a second chance but too much…too much went wrong…

  Cassie, so different, but so special. Pearl, sweet, elfin Pearl, had come from this fiend who was ranting about being rich and taking his child to live in the very heart of their nation, the very heart….

  Jessie struggled to shut him out again, his words, his face. Elinor, her second mother, was reading her poems…“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…Of the forest primeval, the murmuring…the murmuring”…of Deep Down life slipping away, leaving forever…Poor Drew when he found her body. Dear Drew, it wasn’t your fault…

  She felt the crushing weight of being buried in the churchyard, but then it left her. She sucked in a breath and partly came to, but she knew it was too late. Through tear-filled eyes, she saw the nightmare of a man stand and lift his bone spade, not to dig a root but to smash her skull.

  Jessie closed her eyes but tried to shift away. He dripped water in her face. It brought her back when she wanted to drift away. Caught, her hips caught still between his sopping wet feet to hold her here.