(1995) The Oath

by Frank Peretti

Was that singing he heard? Or was it the wind moving through this old place, sighing through a thousand cracks and voids? He froze. He listened.

  A woman’s voice. A country tune.

  “Maggie!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the street. “Maggie Bly!”

  He heard no response but the wind. He ran in the direction of that singing, hoping to hear it again, praying it would continue. Then he heard it again, this time loud, even boisterous. It was definitely Maggie, Levi thought.

  “Maggie!”

  A gust of wind roared through the cottonwoods, and they swayed crazily, clapping their limbs one against another as leaves torn loose fluttered over the town. Levi crouched and covered his head as twigs and leaves rained from above him. The singing was buried under the sound.

  Then Levi realized what he was hearing was not the sound of wind. No! It couldn’t be what he thought it was. It couldn’t be happening again!

  Panicked, he ran down the road, dodging crooked trees that had taken hold in the dirt street, stepping around trenches carved by years of rain. Then he heard the singing again, and some hope returned.

  “Maggie!”

  Another rush of wind rolled over Old Town like a wave, bending the cottonwoods and rippling the tops of the grass beyond, on its way toward the river. Levi ignored it. He continued running in the direction of Maggie’s voice.

  And then, abruptly, the song ended, in the middle of a note.

  “Maggie!”

  Levi recognized Hyde Hall just ahead, now a cracking, overgrown foundation with three walls leaning precariously inward and no roof, no floor, no front.

  Levi flashed his light here and there, sweeping through the entire structure as he approached. In the middle of the back wall, a tall stone fireplace and chimney were the only things still vertical. Berry thickets and young willows competed where the floor used to be. Levi noticed that one wall was quivering as if it had been struck. A plank near the top of the wall, loosened over the years, clattered to the ground.

  He was momentarily distracted by another flashlight beam far up the road. Someone was approaching on the run. But he didn’t wait to see who it was. His own beam had caught something. He stepped over the foundation wall and into the remains of Hyde Hall then waded through the tall grass to the center of the building where his light fell on a large, square stone, its top almost as flat as a table. Just beyond it, he saw Maggie’s shoulder bag laying on the ground amid spatters of blood. A few yards from the bag was a running shoe, the laces still tied.

  Levi sank slowly to his knees beside the bag and the shoe, and his body began to shake with weeping.

  He heard footsteps hurrying toward him. A beam of light shone on his face, then on the ground, the shoulder bag, the shoe.

  It was Tracy Ellis. She was too late.

  “Did you see anybody?” Tracy asked.

  Levi shook his head.

  Tracy wasn’t in her uniform, but she had her gun in her hand. “Well, come on, help me look—and get away from that bag, it’s evidence!”

  He wiped his nose with his hand. “There’s nobody here.”

  She took only a moment to realize he would be no help and took off without him, shining her flashlight in every direction, searching, scrambling, tripping in the dark.

  Levi just prayed. He knew Tracy Ellis would be beating around in the brush, combing over the roads and trails through Old Town, and even walking up and down the river for much of the night. He also knew she wouldn’t find anything.

  There were six of us altogether: myself and four men whom I will not name, and then there was James Hyde and his son-in-law, Harrison Bly. I don’t know what Nelson Parmenter said or to whom he said it, but James made it clear that we’d better follow his orders, or we would end up the same way. We lashed Nelson to the old rock crusher in front of Hyde Hall, and then we took turns beating him until he was unconscious. James said to leave him there all night, so we did, and when morning came, Nelson was gone, I don’t know where. Folks are saying a bear killed him while he was out hunting, but they don’t know what happened the night before he disappeared. They don’t know what James and Harrison made us do.

  From an anonymous note found in a wall safe of the Sorenson Residence, West Fork, during demolition in 1948, and donated to the West Fork Historical Society

  SIX

  THE OATH

  STEVE HEARD a knock on his motel room door at nine the next morning, a knock he wasn’t expecting and wasn’t ready for.

  He’d had a sleepless night, he’d just gotten out of bed, and the place was a mess. Maybe it was Tracy Ellis.

  He opened the door. It was another sheriff. It was the sheriff. The small nameplate above his badge read Lester Collins.

  “Dr. Benson?”

  Steve was embarrassed. He hadn’t shaved yet. His eyes felt swollen. Had he even combed his hair? “Uh, yes. Sheriff Collins?”

  “That’s right,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Come on in.”

  Great first impression, Steve thought. “Sorry about the state of things in here. I had a long day yesterday, and I’m just barely getting started on this one.”

  “I understand. Things have been pretty hectic for me, too. We’re short of manpower, and I’ve been running in all directions trying to keep up. I would have met with you sooner if I could have, believe me.”

  Steve moved his camouflage gear off the only available chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  Collins took the chair. Steve sat on the bed.

  “We’ve appreciated your help,” said Collins, casting an admiring look at Steve’s 30.06 leaning in the corner. He nodded at the rifle. “Is that what you used on 318?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How has it been, working with Deputy Ellis?”

  Confusing, overwhelming, and frustrating, Steve thought. But he knew it wasn’t really Tracy Ellis’s fault. “We’ve done all right. As well as we’ve been able, anyway. There are a lot of stones unturned as yet.”

  “Well, then you’ll be interested in the news.”

  “Sir?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here.” He smiled as if conveying good news. “I think the final stone has just been turned.”

  Steve was genuinely eager to hear about that. “Oh, really?”

  “I met with the coroner and Deputy Ellis this morning, and the evidence has finally come together to our satisfaction. It was that grizzly you shot, 318. We’re sure of it.”

  Oh, are you now? Steve was in a quandary. How could he question what the sheriff was saying without implying the sheriff didn’t know what he was saying? “Did you get some new information?”

  “Well, final conclusions. From the autopsy of your brother’s body and the autopsy of the bear, we’ve been able to match things up.”

  “The autopsy of the bear? You mean, a subsequent autopsy?”

  Collins lost momentum at that question. “Well, the autopsy.”

  “Sheriff, I performed that autopsy, and I didn’t find anything to establish that 318 was the attacking bear. As a matter of fact, I was planning on revisiting the site of the killing today, hoping to find something I may have missed.”

  “Well, now you don’t have to.”

  Steve didn’t want to argue. He didn’t want to be obstinate. But this was happening just a little too fast. “I’m sorry, sir, but I think I’m missing something here. Are you saying that Deputy Ellis concurred with this?”

  “Of course. The coroner based his conclusion on the pathology report, and we accepted that conclusion.”

  The pathology report. Yes, on paper the pathologist said Cliff had died from a bear attack, but in person, when grilled by Marcus DuFresne, the pathologist had been uncertain about what had caused Cliff’s death. And Tracy Ellis? Her change of mind almost smelled political. If she’d agreed to the bear theory at all, she must have been dragged kicking and screaming.

  Collins pressed ahead. “Anyway, I wanted you to know right away. I k
new it would be a load off your mind.”

  “Uh-huh.” Thanks a lot, sheriff. You’re really a big help. And what about Marcus DuFresne?”

  “Who?”

  “Marcus DuFresne, the game warden. He helped me shoot 318 and do the autopsy. Did he have something to add that I don’t know about?”

  “That could be.”

  Don’t you know, Collins? “You didn’t talk to him yourself?”

  “No, but I’m sure Deputy Ellis did.”

  “Uh-huh.” Steve was not at a loss for words at this moment— only words he could use.

  “You seem uncomfortable.”

  “Well—” Choose your words carefully, Steve. “Of course, you had no real obligation to consult me before reaching your conclusion.”

  “Did you have another conclusion?” The question was almost a dare.

  Steve had his doubts and concerns, of course. Why else couldn’t he sleep last night? But he only admitted, “No. Not yet.”

  Collins smiled to keep things pleasant. “Well, look at it this way. We can put this whole thing behind us now. You can get back to your work at the university, just get on with your life, and most of all, your sister-in-law Evelyn can get on with hers. It’s over. She’s free to go her way and rebuild.”

  She was “free” now? Steve didn’t mean to be offended, but he was. “So . . . you’re saying she’s no longer a suspect.”

  That made Collins edgy. “Right. She never was a serious suspect to begin with. It was just that we had to consider all possibilities.”

  “But now that you’ve closed the case, you say she’s free to go?”

  Collins looked at Steve through half-squinted eyes. “Unless you have good reason for us to reopen the case, yes.”

  POW!

  The soft-drink can, already riddled with bullet holes, took one more bullet and flipped off the top of the log to join several others in the gravel, all bent, twisted, and ventilated.

  Pow! Another can went sailing. Then another. Then another.

  Tracy stood near her patrol car in the middle of an old gravel pit outside West Fork, the favorite spot of the valley’s shooters and plinkers. The policy was pack it in, shoot it up, pack it out, but still the signs were everywhere: fragments of soft-drink cans and plastic jugs, bullet-riddled boxes, spent shells. Tracy had come with a grocery bag full of empty cans, set aside for moments like this. She had awakened that morning expecting a full day, but after this morning’s meeting it seemed she would have time to vent some steam. And after this morning’s meeting, she had plenty of steam to vent.

  She was just reloading her .38 from a box of cartridges on the hood of her car when she spotted Steve’s big camper lumbering down the gravel road into the pit. This guy was a hunter. He’d found her, and it hadn’t taken him long. Now she’d have to talk to him, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. To gain some time, she went to set up more cans.

  Steve rolled to a stop by the patrol car and watched her take position and put on ear protectors. She had to know he was there, but she was plainly ignoring him. He swung the door open, hopped down from the cab, and then paused as she opened up with the revolver and another six cans; one per shot went flying.

  He almost forgot his anger. She was good.

  Tracy lowered the gun, removed the ear protectors, and finally turned her head to look at Steve. She must have discerned his mood. “Want to shoot a few cans?”

  He hadn’t given it a thought before this, but as a matter of fact, he did. It could help. Without a word, he walked to the log to set up six more targets. She went to the hood of her car to reload. When he returned, she had the gun and ear protectors ready.

  “Pretend they killed your brother,” she said.

  Within six seconds every can had flipped and tumbled to the ground.

  He handed her the gun, removed the ear protectors, and waited for her to speak.

  She went to reload. “So you’ve heard from Sheriff Collins.”

  He turned to face her directly. “I want to know if you agree with him.”

  She flipped the cylinder open and let the shells fall into her hand. “Why do you think I’m out here killing cans?”

  “So explain this to me! I don’t—”

  “Maggie Bly is dead.”

  “What?” He stared at her, disbelieving.

  She slipped the reloaded gun into her holster. “She went back to Hyde River last night, and somebody killed her. We found her shoulder bag and one shoe near the river, and some of her blood, but no body—so far.”

  “No body! How do you know she’s dead?”

  “Trust me. She’s dead, and she’ll never be found. Just like— pardon me—the upper half of your brother’s body.”

  Steve joined Tracy by the car just so he could lean against it. “I suppose this has something to do with the weird, backward ways of those people up there?”

  “They—have their own ways of settling things.”

  “Then Collins lied to me.”

  “No, he believes what he wants to believe, and he wants to believe a grizzly killed your brother.”

  “So what does he think killed Maggie?”

  Tracy only chuckled and shook her head. “I got Collins to drive up to Hyde River last night to help me investigate. We questioned Levi Cobb because he had arrived at the scene of the crime just before I did. But all we got was another sermon about sin and repenting. We finally ascertained that he didn’t actually see what happened.

  “We talked to Harold Bly—well, Sheriff Collins did—and they discussed hunting and fishing. Then Les brought up Maggie, you know, just brought her up casually, and asked him where Maggie was, and Harold said that they’d had a disagreement and she’d left him and gone to her mother’s, but they were still in touch, and Les said he was sorry to hear about the disagreement, and then we left.”

  “That was it?” Steve asked, his tone incredulous.

  “Steve, there are no witnesses and no body. Levi says he heard Maggie, but he never saw her. So if Harold Bly says Maggie is still alive, it must be true.” Her sarcasm was obvious. “Case closed.”

  “Well, what if it is true?”

  “Then nothing happened to Maggie.”

  “And if nothing happened to Maggie, then—”

  “Then we don’t have to suspect any conspiracy to commit murder, and we can fall back on the grizzly idea to explain your brother’s death. Simple. Easy. Just the way Les Collins likes it. Once the coroner said it was a bear attack, Collins wouldn’t hear another word.”

  “But why?”

  “It’s the whole Hyde Valley Thing. Harold Bly, the fears, the superstitions, all of it.”

  Steve crossed his arms. “And of course, you’re finally going to explain all that to me.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll just leave the valley, help Evelyn get started again, and just drop this whole thing?”

  He shook his head. “You should have met my brother when he was alive.”

  She nodded with understanding. “Just thought I’d ask.” Now she drew a breath, whistled it out slowly, and tried to think of where to start. “This is going to sound so crazy.”

  “It’s sounding that way already, so go ahead.”

  “Les Collins grew up in Hyde River. He’s really a part of that culture. He’s got a lot of that town in his blood, okay?”

  “So there’s a political connection of sorts.”

  “Well, yeah, right. Those people helped elect him, he has strong ties with them, and he respects the—” Tracy stopped and took a deep breath before saying, “Well, we call it the Oath.”

  “The Oath?”

  Tracy looked heavenward, still groping. “It’s a—oohhh—let’s see. Okay, now you remember I told you there were superstitions and traditions up there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, I don’t know exactly how this one started, but somewhere back in the town’s history a bunch of the townspeople took an oath of secrecy, a pledge tha
t they wouldn’t reveal town secrets to outsiders, and that’s still a town tradition. Needless to say, it makes police work difficult. We can’t get witnesses, we can’t get information, nobody will inform on anybody else—and there are a couple reasons for that. One, if you blab something you’re not supposed to, well . . . remember what almost happened in the tavern? People have been clobbered for saying too much. Not that we in the sheriff’s department ever hear about it, mind you. The other reason is—” She hesitated, then laughed nervously. “Well, you remember Maggie saying that your brother got eaten? You know, eaten up?”

  “Of course. I thought she meant the bear.”

  Tracy shook her head. “That wasn’t what she was talking about. There’s a superstition that goes back as far as the secret Oath, I mean clear back to the founding of the town. There are folks up there in the valley who believe—” She hesitated, then gave a nervous laugh. “—that there’s a—a big dragon lurking up in the woods, a dragon that eats people.”

  She looked at Steve and saw the reaction she expected: a look of total incredulity. She pressed on. “Hey, you heard Levi and Maggie talking about it. You saw how they really believed what they were saying. To a lot of the Hyde River folks, the dragon’s real. They really believe it’s out there.”

  Steve winced at the absurdity of it. “How? How can they believe such a thing?”

  “You’re an outsider, Steve, remember that. It’s hard to understand how powerful a tradition can be if you never grew up here. I don’t know how to describe it. The Irish have their leprechauns, the Scots have the Loch Ness monster, every kid grows up with the boogieman in his closet. . . . Listen, I can still remember my grandmother telling me that if I wasn’t a good girl the dragon was going to come and eat me, and yeah, I believed it. You get that idea pounded into your head right along with Santa Claus and the tooth fairy.”

  “But usually we outgrow things like that.”

  “Santa Claus, yes. The tooth fairy, yes. The dragon . . . no way.”

  “But has anyone ever seen it?” Steve posed the question only to point out its obvious answer.

  “Well, even if they did they wouldn’t talk about it. There are the old tales, though, about people seeing it.”