by K. F. Baugh
“I might need to squeeze in a little visit to Benson’s office too,” Sage murmured and put the book back on its shelf. The building creaked and moaned in another gust of wind. “But first some research on Oriel.” The old newspaper microfiche files were in the basement.
At the top of the dark stairs, a shiver trailed down her back. What’s the matter with you? She chided herself. Why did she feel so jumpy? Was it because Gus wasn’t at her side? Fear of the Skinwalker was one thing, but this vague sense of worry was unfamiliar and confusing. Sage gave herself a mental shake and forced her feet down the yawning staircase.
Without windows to let in the moon’s gentle gleam, the basement lay in utter darkness except for a few glowing power strips. Sage slipped the flashlight from her pocket and turned it on. The sounds of the storm faded away as she moved through the bookcases to the far corner where the dusty, neglected microfiche machine resided. After collecting a few film reels from the filing cabinet next to it, she inserted one into the machine and eased atop a rickety stool. Scrolling through back issues of the Black Mills Herald, Sage focused on the 1960s and ‘70s, when Terrance Storm had first purchased Oriel.
World Renowned Scientist to Purchase Crumbling Ghost Town, read a headline from 1973. Terrance Storm Buys Township of Oriel from Last Remaining Resident For Undisclosed Sum and Study of Rare Marmot Species to head Oriel’s Scientific Research, were others.
Sage knew the details she needed weren’t only in the big stories; they’d also be found in the notices, blurbs, and obituaries in the backlog of the newspapers, so she forced herself to slow down and read through the minutiae of 1970s life in Black Mills.
Nothing new stood out. Storm had bought the defunct uranium mining town of Oriel from Old Hank, the last remaining resident, for an undisclosed sum of money. He planned to make it one of the premier research centers of North America, while in Disney-like fashion, retain its old ghost town appearance.
Sage sat up from her hunched position and stretched. Flicking on her flashlight, she replaced the microfilm in its box, put it back in the cabinet, then absently retrieved another. The Oriel Research Center must have been an expensive venture. What could have persuaded Storm to pour so much money into a location that was accessible only four or five months a year? Especially back in the ‘70s, when many of the roads were either one lane or dirt? Why not locate your research area off an interstate? Or at least in a larger city?
Sage used the machine’s dim glow to fit the next roll on the spool. After a few moments of confused reading, she realized these newspapers were from the 1930s. Annoyed she’d gone back too many decades, Sage began to remove the film when a headline from a Sunday edition caught her eye:
Healing Uranium Mine Receives National Recognition
The now defunct uranium mine, Dante’s First Circle, was converted into a small sanitorium in early 1910. Infirm visitors once came to the area because of claims that the mine and surrounding hot springs cured various ills including arthritis, respiratory disorders, women’s disorders, and other health issues. Dante’s Sanitorium is small, housing only 5-10 residents.
“We don’t get that much interest way out here in the middle of nowhere,” says Ralph O’Malley, descendant of the founder of the lodge and health spa. “Folks only come up to Oriel if they’re really desperate for a cure.”
This might be about to change, thanks to Alice Dodd, a Californian socialite whose Rheumatoid arthritis was cured during last summer’s visit to the sanitorium. Friends and acquaintances from her home town of San Francisco were shocked at the change in Dodd’s health and word spread like wildfire. The editor of Life Magazine, a friend of the Dodd family, decided to run a story on the sanitorium. A writer and photographer will arrive next week to document the serpentine caves of Dante’s First Circle.
Owner O’Malley is excited at the prospect of some free publicity, but doesn’t think it will lead to more infirm patients making their way to Oriel. “We’re just too far off the beaten path,” he says. “I think most folks will forget the story as soon as they finish reading it.”
The Black Mills Gazette isn’t nearly as skeptical, but we’ll keep you updated.
Sage scanned the immediate issues following the announcement, but concerns over Germany’s invasion of Czechoslovakia, Poland, and France began to obliterate all other headlines and soon World War II was in full swing. She found a small notice in a 1943 issue that the sanitorium was closing its doors because it hadn’t had a patient in several years and O’Malley’s three sons had all enlisted in the US Army’s 10th Mountain Division.
“Can’t run the place on my own,” O’Malley was quoted as saying. “I’m moving to Denver so I can keep up with the news of where my boys are.” The short notice went on to say a man named Nicholas Benson was buying the Dante’s Sanitorium and had plans to open it under a new name after the war.
Sage leaned back in her chair. A sanitorium? She’d only ever known Oriel as the Research Station. And Nicholas Benson—-he had to be related to Property Tax Officer Anders Benson. But if someone named Benson had bought the sanitorium, why did all the headlines of Oriel’s purchase by Terrance Storm say that Old Hank was the last remaining inhabitant of the town?
Reverting to a more recent film reel, she scanned for Hank’s name. Nothing. Sage sighed and stood. The search could continue after she took a pitstop at the restroom and found a clock to gauge how much time she had left. Sage flicked the flashlight on again, but after a brief sputter, it died.
“Are you kidding? What is it with me and flashlights?” Sage jiggled it a few more times before giving up. Hopefully, Elena had extra batteries in her desk. Fingers groping, she felt her way through the darkness and forest of bookcases.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, the grating, scratching sound of the storm resumed, louder now and more frantic than before. Sage stopped to listen and her stomach dropped. “That’s not a storm,” she whispered.
Scrabbling, tearing claws ripped at the door, tore at the windows. An eerie howl rent the air and was joined by several others. Sage dropped her flashlight and bolted back downstairs.
Heart ricocheting a frantic beat in her ears, she raced to the furthest corner of the basement. Crouched next a bookcase, she tried to listen. The books and distance muffled most of the sound, but not all. Another howl sounded, followed by the shattering of glass.
The floorboards directly above her creaked, and Sage choked back a gasp. Something clicked and scraped above her in an irregular beat.
Suddenly, the loud report of a shotgun layered over the top of everything else. Sage fell backwards. Another shot. Then another. Then silence.
Minutes ticked by. Was the thing dead? Sage forced herself to focus but still couldn’t get any sense of the presence upstairs. Her power to regenerate and heal was gone; had her perception abilities disappeared as well? An even deeper terror gripped her as she realized just how blind and helpless she was without her gifts. If something was coming for her, it was only a matter of minutes before she’d be cornered in this basement.
Sage stole through the darkness, guided by the dim power strips. The soft gleam of an ancient Exit sign flickered to her left. Sage tried the door, but it was locked. There was nowhere to run.
Even though she couldn’t see anyone, Sage knew that meant nothing. Usually prey never saw their predators until it was too late. She forced herself to stand still. Listening. Waiting for her pursuer to strike.
The exit door behind her swung open. Sage spun and crouched on the floor.
“Who’s down here?” a voice called, followed by the sound of a pump action shotgun being cocked.
The corona glow of the Exit sign lit a small figure. Relief flooded through Sage. “E-Elena?”
“Sage? Is that you?” The woman sputtered. “What on earth are you doing in here?”
“What are you doing here?” Sage asked, slowly rising.
“Trying to scare away that pack of damn coyotes.” Elena snapped.
“P-pack?” Sage steadied herself against the bookcart next to her.
“Yeah. I woke up because of the windstorm and saw them circling the building. They were acting crazy. Trying to break in through the door and the windows. Thought they’d give up and go away after they saw it was no use, but then a big one tried to jump through the window. Had to scare them off with my gun.”
A shudder ran through Sage, and she felt a surge of pathetic gratitude for the sturdy old building. And Elena too, despite the outrage that radiated from her bedraggled, bathrobe-draped form.
“You didn’t answer me. What are you doing here?” Elena demanded shrilly, her shotgun still pointed at Sage’s midsection
“I’m just … just trying to find some answers. That’s all.”
Elena’s features flickered in the wavering green light. “You’re a wanted fugitive. Did you know that?”
Sage nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t do anything. I promise.”
The librarian lowered her gun a few inches and sighed. “Whether or not that’s true, you’d better come with me.” She gestured to the stairs behind her with the gun.
“I’m not sure it’s safe—”
“The coyotes are gone. And I want you to move, so right now, that’s your only option.”
Sage hesitated. If she rushed Elena, she might be able to overpower her before the gun went off.
Elena sighed. “Look, I’m not going to turn you in. At least not until we’ve talked.”
“But I still need to—“
“My house is next door. And I’m not asking.” She raised the shotgun once more and trained it on Sage’s head.
Out of arguments, Sage swallowed. She’d better play along for now. Besides, she’d rather be stuck with Elena than the coyotes, the Skinwalker, Olson, or whoever else had it out for her. She eased her way past the gun and up the basement stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sage drummed nervous fingers against Elena’s kitchen table as she waited for the older woman to finish preparing the tea. Elena had declared that the two of them needed something to calm their nerves and ordered Sage to sit down while the large pot brewed. In Sage’s mind, the shotgun Elena kept within hand’s reach negated any of the relaxing properties of the herbal tea.
“Honey?” Elena asked after she poured Sage a steaming mug.
“Sure.”
“Lemon?”
“I guess. Look, Elena, I’m sure you’ve—”
“Drink your tea,” Elena ordered in a don’t-mess-with-me librarian tone. Sage obediently took a sip.
“Now then. I’d like you to tell me what in the hell is going on in this town?”
Sage choked and tea went all over the table. Avoiding the librarian’s eyes, she grabbed a napkin from the pile in the center of the table and wiped up her mess. “I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Oh, Sage, spare me your wide-eyed innocence.” Elena gestured to the shotgun on the table. “We both know things are spiraling out of control. And you and Tim Burgney seem to be mixed up in all of it.”
“I haven’t killed anyone, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Sage clenched the damp napkin in her hands.
“I’m not. You’ve been in this town for nearly five years, and I’ve kept an eye on you the whole time. You never know how foster kids are going to act. But I was pleasantly surprised by you.” Elena looked down at her mug. “And I appreciate how you help Liddy. She needs someone like you.”
“Oh. Thanks, I guess.”
“And I know Tim. He’s the handyman at our church and as harmless as a flea. But someone sure wants to make it look like you two are the Bonny and Clyde of Black Mills.”
Sage let out a weary sigh. “You’re right. But I don’t understand why. It’s like Tim and I are stuck in a rabbit hole. The deeper we go, the less we know.”
Elena tucked her bristly white hair behind her ears. “Well, lay it on me. Let’s see what we can figure out.”
“You?”
“Yes, me. I used to be a forensic scientist in Boston before my husband got a job here and dragged me to this God forsaken mountain town 30 years back.”
Sage shook her head. “It’s probably best if I don’t. What if you get pulled into this too?”
Elena took off her bifocals and rubbed them on her shirt. “Looks to me that I already am in the middle of this. Fugitive sitting at my kitchen table and all. Besides, don’t worry about me; I know how to take care of myself.”
Sage looked at the shotgun and shrugged. “Fine.” Maybe someone who had lived here 30 years would be able to figure out the puzzles she and Tim couldn’t.
Haltingly, Sage tried to explain the events of the past week, an exercise in futility since she didn’t understand most of them herself. Even though Sage left out the more unbelievable elements, like the Wind and the Skinwalker, the story still sounded ridiculous, even to her. Elena refilled their tea several times through the conversation, asking occasional questions to clarify, but other than that remaining silent.
Sage finished with her findings at the library, her suspicions about Anders Benson, and her discovery of the Uranium Mine turned sanitorium.
“I’d never heard about Dante’s Sanitorium. Have you?”
“Oh, yes.” Elena stood and retrieved a pad of paper and pencil from a kitchen drawer. “I’m a member of the historical society, and I’m writing a book on the history of Black Mills. Have been for the last 20 years, though.” She snorted. “It’s one of those ongoing projects.”
“But Dante’s Sanitorium?” Sage prompted.
“Oh yes. It wasn’t well known, not even in its heyday. Mostly just older locals used it, but there were some kids too. Ones with different diseases, illnesses. Seemed like the doctors only sent the terminal cases there for a visit. Of course it was a silver mine back before any of that. In the 1800s.” She began to sketch what looked like a map on the piece of paper.
“So the Benson guy that bought it. Why isn’t he ever mentioned as a resident of Oriel? You only hear about Old Hank as the last remaining inhabitant.”
“Because Benson was part of Dr. Terrance Storm’s group. The Oriel Biological Research team. He was one of the guys who came and scoped out Oriel before Storm bought it. Guess Benson wanted the Sanitorium even before Storm came to a decision,” Elena said as she tore off the map and held it out to Sage. “That’s where Dante’s was located. Is that close to where you and Tim found the underground lab?”
Sage studied the drawing. “Yes, it is. Right up against the edge of the mountain face on the North side of the valley. But what I don’t understand is what an old silver and uranium mine, a sanitorium, marmots, and genetic mapping have to do with each other. And why are the stakes so high? Why is whoever’s running things in Oriel willing to kill for this stuff?”
If Elena had an answer, she didn’t offer it. Instead, she walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out bread, cheese, and lettuce.
Sage played with the handle of her mug until she registered its honey-coated stickiness and set it down. Was Elena having second thoughts about helping her? Or wondering how she could contact the police? Sage pushed back her chair just as Elena turned around to face her.
“The sanitorium is where they started collecting data.” Elena jabbed at the air. “Don’t you see? They’d have unlimited access to a controlled group of subjects in the people of Black Mills, since they were the only ones who even cared about its existence. And who, primarily, visited the sanitorium?”
“Sick people?” Sage answered when Elena pointed at her.
“And what did they want from the sick people?”
“Umm …” Sage felt like she was in school again. “Germs?”
“No, information! The field of genetic research was being pioneered right at the time that Benson and Storm bought Oriel. They’d be able to get reams of data from subjects with potential genetic disorders at the sanatorium, but no one would suspect anything. People wouldn’t even be careful about
that sort of thing then because they’d have no idea about medical privacy issues, especially up in a little town in the middle of nowhere.”
“But that still doesn’t explain what’s going on now. Why are they trying to kill Tim and me?”
After Elena placed the sandwiches she’d made in a plastic sack, she washed off several pieces of fruit and placed them in it as well. “That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? But my guess is, if you’ve got a secret research station in a secluded mountain town, the answer probably isn’t pretty. Or legal. And that’s why they’re trying so hard to pin everything on you and Tim before they kill you.”
A bag of chips and bottle of water followed the fruit into the bag before Elena handed it to Sage. “And that’s why you’d better scoot right back to Tim and figure this out, or neither of you are going to make it.”
The thought of reuniting with Tim made Sage’s stomach clench. “I’m not sure if dragging Tim—”
“I don’t care what’s going on between you two,” Elena snapped and slapped the counter. “You’ve got a duty to this town. The rest of its population is probably in danger or the Oriel Research Station wouldn’t be so desperate. You have to find out what they’re doing. If they’re going to hurt the people in this town. You have to stop them, Sage.” Elena grasped the table with white knuckles.
“I knew Tabitha and Shaun. Watched them from the time they were babies coming to the library reading group, giggling in the stacks first with friends, then with boyfriends and girlfriends. They had their whole lives ahead of them. And Sheriff Davis too. He was a good man and didn’t deserve that kind of death. His wife and boys didn’t deserve it either.”
Sage let the librarian’s words sink in, while Elena pulled a paper towel off the roll and hastily dabbed at her eyes.