Evening in the Yellow Wood

by Laura Kemp

  “They closed the case.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said as I pushed forward, my knee screaming in protest. “Because he’s after us now.”

  “Justine,” he rasped, his breathing shallow and I wondered how much blood he’d lost and if he was starting to go into shock. “I can’t…”

  “We have to move.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered as we stumbled along, Rocky beside me, guiding me, leading me through the forest as night sounds slurred together in a fluid symphony. “But Jamie Stoddard and Red Rover are connected in some way.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” he managed, his voice labored, and I felt him lean into me for support and wished I could pick him up and carry him without destroying his pride and what was left of my kneecap.

  “He lured you out here to get to me. I don’t understand why he didn’t kill you when he had the chance.”

  “Screw him,” he muttered, and I quickened my pace, sparkles of darkness forming a veil across my eyes. My pulse snagged on itself, the feel of Dylan’s arm coming undone as the earth slipped from beneath my tennis shoes.

  “I kept hearing things in the woods so I shot off some rounds to scare whatever it was off,” he continued. “Then I heard your voice and so I took off running, tripped over that stump, and hit my head on a rock.”

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I must have been out for awhile, because when I woke up it was bleeding.”

  “Shit,” I cursed, my fear as close as my own skin. “I think he already tried.”

  “To what?”

  “Kill you,” I gasped, barely able to keep us both on our feet.

  HE’S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER

  I started, saw nothing but the thin beam of my flashlight and the wet woods it illuminated.

  GET TO IRIS

  “Can you lean on me and try to run?”

  “Yeah, but…why didn’t he kill me? What stopped him?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t care. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

  I felt his body tighten, knew his movements as only a lover could and braced myself as he took off at a shuffling run. As we ran, I felt him holding me, felt myself holding him and knew that if either one fell the other would die in this dark wood.

  “I’m sorry,” his voice was at my ear. “For getting mad at you. I shouldn’t—” He staggered, tried to move faster. “I had no right.”

  “You had every right,” I returned. “I should have trusted you.”

  Rocky’s bark drew our attention and I glanced to the river. On the other side, just through the trees, I saw a man walking at the same pace, his eyes shining like dark flames.

  I pushed forward, the trailhead not far when I heard him wading across the water.

  “Hurry,” I breathed. “He’s coming.”

  “Leave me,” Dylan whispered, and I was reminded of every cheesy movie I’d ever been forced to sit through. “I’m slowing you down.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “You’re the important one, not me.”

  “Stop it!” I hissed. “I barely made it through two days without you. Why would I leave you out here to die in the woods?”

  He tried to comply, tried to move beyond the pain in his ankle and I listened as the night sounds suddenly ceased. Red Rover was near, his large arms and hands dripping water as he climbed the sloping bank a few yards behind us.

  I bent low, heaved my body forward with all the strength I had and felt Dylan’s feet leave the ground. We flew across the uneven terrain, the trailhead finally in sight.

  A branch crackled beneath a heavy boot and my heart did a somersault. Rocky heard it, growled and darted off to circle behind. I heard him bark, saw his dark form leap at something and took the last chance we would ever be given.

  “Run!”

  Dylan heaved himself forward and came up against the side of the truck. Scrambling for leverage, I yanked the door open, heard Rocky howling and shut my heart to the sound.

  “Justine!” Dylan cried, tossing me the keys. “Get in!”

  I listened for the dog, was greeted with silence and jumped inside. Seconds later I was fumbling for the ignition when Red Rover stepped from the forest just in front of us, the brim of his hat sheltering the face he’d never had.

  “Start it up!” Dylan yelled. “Lock the doors.”

  One turn of the key and it wouldn’t start, and so I called upon my grandmother, mother, father…everyone who had ever owed me a favor to suddenly jumpstart the truck so we wouldn’t end up on the front page of the Lectern.

  Another crank and the diesel roared to life.

  Red Rover was now at the hood, his large hands clasped together as he raised them over his head, ready to bash the front end like a sledgehammer.

  “Go!”

  I slammed on the gas as the truck lurched forward and Red Rover was thrown into the windshield. Glass splintered but didn’t break as he slid the length of dented metal and dropped into darkness.

  “Is he dead?” Dylan whispered.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Can you drive?”

  I nodded, put the truck in reverse and hit the gas.

  We were halfway across the parking lot when I saw Red Rover stand and step forward.

  GET TO IRIS

  Fifteen minutes later we were at her door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Iris!” I screamed, well aware we might wake the neighborhood, Dylan slumped against me.

  A light appeared behind the paisley curtain she used for privacy on the nights her granddaughter came looking for protection from a homicidal maniac.

  “Iris!” I screamed again and was rewarded with someone unlocking the door. Moments later her eyes were staring at us from the small opening between the door frame and house.

  Dylan grasped the edge, ready to break her small chain if she refused us entrance, but she didn’t. She merely stepped aside as we stumbled into her kitchen.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  I nodded towards Dylan while helping him to a chair. “I think he broke his ankle.”

  She hurried to her freezer, filled a Ziploc baggie with ice and wrapped it in a dishtowel.

  “Thanks,” Dylan said while pressing it to his ankle, relief untwisting his features before they settled on my knee.

  “What’s that?” he nodded at my brace.

  I shook my head, unwilling to heap more shit onto an enormous pile.

  “And your arm?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Tell me,” he ordered. “Now.”

  Iris stood watching us, her green eyes darting between.

  “Red Rover came after me in a vision,” I paused. “I didn’t think it was possible, I thought I was safe but…obviously not.”

  “You mean like Freddy Krueger shit?”

  I stood, trying to answer as best I could. “Maybe…I think…I don’t know. I was really normal in Webber, I swear. Nothing exciting ever happened.”

  “He attacked you,” Dylan paused, and I could tell he was thinking hard on something. “And you still came after me?”

  I wanted to tell him I loved him, but the words died on my tongue as Iris stepped between us and laid a hand on my shoulder. “She’s a tough cookie, Mr. Locke. But strength will only get her so far.”

  I looked across the table at Dylan while sinking into the opposite chair, my adrenaline still pumping like a piston. Turning to my grandmother, I asked, “Mind locking the front door before the huge bastard who almost killed us breaks it down?”

  She raised an eyebrow, unmoved by my sarcasm. “Red Rover?”

  I nodded. “He used my voice to trick Dylan,” I glanced in his direction. “I don’t understand why he didn’t kill him out there.”

  My grandmother leaned against the counter and crossed her arms across her flannel nightgown.

  “I do.�
��

  She pointed at my necklace and Dylan looked down, somewhat surprised that it still hung there.

  “You mean—”

  “It protects you. Protects him.”

  “It looks like my tattoo,” Dylan began, his fingers stroking the silver circle as I had in the past. “But why me? I don’t understand. I just met her.”

  “Have you?” Iris asked. “Go back in your thoughts.”

  I looked at him, saw his confusion and thought back myself, to the moment I’d stumbled across the website at Camp Menominee. Johnson Cook’s words floating by like bits of autumn leaves on the air.

  “I’ve never met her,” he paused, a small smile reaching his lips. “Believe me, I’d remember.”

  I thought of Odessa in the vegetable garden, Butler by her side as their fingers touched, the dirt beneath her nails showing me how my people had always worked the earth. The next moment Odessa leaned back as someone blotted out the sun and Butler stood, rubbed his hands on his canvas pants and then tipped his wide-brimmed hat.

  A woman was there. Slim and pretty and holding a baby, her smile telling me that she cared about these people when so many others did not.

  Mrs. Karsten stopped by to tend to Cal and she and Dess has become friends even so that Dess wants to be godmother to her babe in arms.

  “Dylan,” I asked. “What was your mother’s maiden name.”

  He seemed puzzled. “Villareal. She wasn’t from around here. Or least her Dad wasn’t. Grandma Karsten owned a big farm out past Posen.”

  “Karsten,” I repeated, the knowledge exciting me. “Odessa and your grandmother were friends. She even became godmother to her babe in arms.”

  “Babe in what?” he asked. “How do you know this? Should I even ask?”

  I smiled. “When Grandpa Cal got sick a woman named Mrs. Karsten came to tend to him.”

  “You’re marked, Dylan,” Iris said. “Unfortunately, the medicine is limited to the necklace so you’re out of luck when she takes it back.”

  “I’m not taking it back,” I spoke up, my fear swelling in my throat. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Like hell. You’re as banged up as me.”

  “Stop,” I held my hand up, wanting him to think before he gave it back. “Where did Dad get this?”

  Iris sighed, rubbed her arms as if a sudden chill had taken hold in August, perhaps relieved to be telling the story after a lifetime of secrets.

  “Grandpa Cal had them made. One for the girl with the scar on her knee, one for the boy who could speak with his mind. Silver to open your mind to the powers you possess, the medicine wheel to protect you as you journey through life’s four stages. He blessed them himself with a ritual Butler taught him.”

  “Ritual?” I asked.

  “The Brave Dance,” Iris explained. “An Ojibwa warrior would perform it before battle when he called his animal spirits to guide and protect him. Grandpa knew you would need it.”

  “Woah,” Dylan put a hand up, and I knew the third degree was going to start soon. “What do you mean by that?”

  Iris turned and opened the refrigerator, always ready to fill our stomachs in times of stress. “Just what I said. Butler screwed up and granted eternal life to a couple of jerks and you’re going to take it back from them.”

  Dylan didn’t answer at first, which I saw as a very bad sign. I dared a glance and wondered how long it would take him to run from me and my crazy destiny if he hadn’t been icing his ankle.

  “A couple of jerks?”

  Iris nodded. “Jonas Younts and Red Rover forced Butler to perform a resurrection ceremony in the hopes of bringing Esther Ebersole back to life. But you can’t force black magic on a man who doesn’t know how to perform it. And so a mistake was made that you and my granddaughter need to fix.”

  “So, you’re telling me,” he began slowly—another bad sign. “That we’re supposed to fight that thing we saw in the woods?”

  “You look surprised, Deputy Locke.”

  He did not appreciate her humor. “She ran right over him with my truck and he didn’t even break a fingernail.”

  “There’s a way to kill him,” Iris explained while pulling out a jar of pickles and setting it on the table. “But I’ve only got the basics.”

  “The basics?” Dylan echoed, and I leaned over, placed my hand on his to calm him down.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “If Butler died in the woods how did Grandpa Cal know how to make the necklaces?”

  Iris chuckled, then unscrewed the cap and took a pickle for herself. “Does a Shaman ever really die, Justine?”

  I shrugged, defeated. “I don’t know.”

  “In body, yes—we all do. But his spirit was different than yours or mine. His spirit lingered. And still does.”

  “So, you’re saying the dead guy has all the information we need to stop these two from killing us?” Dylan asked, and I could sense his anger, his powerlessness—something he never handled well—and hoped he would give Iris a chance to explain.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” she shot back, sensing his hostility. “It would have been too risky to write it down so Butler gave what he learned to the boy who couldn’t speak.”

  “Adam!” I said suddenly, surprising myself. “I’m the only one who can hear him.”

  “What better way to protect a secret?”

  I touched my forehead, suddenly alive with the thought. “But he’s never said anything… I don’t understand—”

  “The spirit of the Shaman comes when it’s needed. Your brother will know when the time is right.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Dylan asked, his anger breaking free. “Are we supposed to challenge these two to a fist fight and hope he comes up with a suggestion?”

  My grandmother looked at me. “You really should have talked about this before tonight.”

  I glanced across the table, my annoyance shifting. “I haven’t seen him for the last two days.”

  He seemed annoyed as well. Beyond, actually. “I just needed some time to cool off. Although a phone call telling me you’d been sliced and diced would have been appreciated.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Would’ve been happy to if you hadn’t left your cell phone with some slut named Chelsea.”

  His seemed shocked at first, then his brows came together as though trying to remember something that had happened years before. “Was that her name?”

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “And for not knowing her name she sure knew a lot about my daddy issues.”

  Dylan shook his head, rubbed at his temple with his left hand and I saw how long his hair had gotten in the last two days, how it was thick and golden and starting to curl around his ears and hated how I could still want him at a time like this.

  “I had a lot to drink. I don’t remember everything I said.”

  “That doesn’t make hearing it any easier.”

  “I’m sorry,” he acknowledged. “I wasn’t myself. I’m not myself without you.”

  I felt the color rise to my cheeks as Iris chuckled, a smile on her face that belied the situation. “First thing you need to do is find those totems.”

  I glanced at Dylan, my anger subsiding. “I thought Jonas Younts had them. He stole the medicine bag to bring Esther back to life.”

  Iris smiled. “Robert got a package in the mail the day before your mom took you down to the pool. The totems were inside.”

  “What?” I asked, unable to believe that the lost pieces of my life were forming such a fantastical puzzle. “Who would do that?”

  “Who do you think?”

  “Jamie Stoddard,” I whispered, not realizing what I’d said until it was too late.

  “What’s he got to do with this?” Dylan asked, his tone defensive.

  “Calm down,” Iris reached out and touched his arm. “You have to put your anger aside or you’re not going to be able to help her.”

  “Maybe I was never meant to help her.”

  I looked
at him, unable to process what he’d just said.

  “You have no choice, Dylan,” my grandmother insisted, and I was grateful to her because speech wasn’t something I was capable of at the moment.

  “Everyone has a choice,” he returned. “And if Stoddard’s a part of this plan then I’m out.”

  “It’s not like that,” I just managed. “He never wanted to live forever. He just wanted Esther Ebersole back.”

  “Who is Esther Ebersole and what does she have to do with this?”

  “Your tattoo,” I changed the subject, not wanting to go into detail about Jamie’s love life, a strange spark of hope forming where their rivalry was concerned. “When did you get it?”

  “Junior year,” he admitted

  “Before or after Jamie pulled you out of the river?”

  “Before,” he said. “I mean…spring break had ended and we were fishing for trout after the thaw.”

  “Did Jamie know you had it?”

  He looked at me sideways. “Probably. We had gym class together.”

  “That’s it!” I banged the palm of my hand against my forehead. “He knew who you were that day on the riverbank—that you were chosen to protect me and he saved your life because of it.”

  Dylan looked down, a year of repressed rage slowly rising to the surface and spreading across his face. “So, I’m supposed to believe that Stoddard’s a hero? That it was all part of an elaborate plan to kill the woman I loved?”

  For the second time in five minutes, I felt breathless. The words came so easily to him when he spoke about her, and here I was, asking him to risk his life for me.

  “J—” Dylan began, sensing his mistake.

  “No one’s holding you here, Dylan,” I said. “Go if you want to.”

  “Justine—”

  “Go.”

  I looked at his face, masked by pain and fury and heartbreak, his knuckles bloody, his ankle twisted and swollen and felt my strength grow with my words. The spirit or thing or God that was greater than me and had always been greater would take care of me as it always had, with or without Dylan.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good,” I said. “Then shut up and get your head in the game.” Turning to Iris I asked, “Where are the totems now?”