by R E Swirsky
He stretched his one arm up as high as he could above the other once more, and just like in his dream, his fingers touched the opening of the limestone stones that capped off the top of the well. But there was nothing to hold onto. He grabbed feverishly back onto the rope and pulled himself higher once more until the back of his head touched the underside lip of one of the stones and both of his hands rested only inches below where the rope dropped over the edge.
Vincent began to laugh and cry at the same time. He was spent.
"Gramps," he whispered under his breath. "It's just… one… more..." He extended one arm up and through the opening above and scrambled his bleeding fingers across the top of the stones until he grasped onto the outer ridge. He hung there for a few moments, unmoving, with one hand stretched out from the well opening. He clung to the outer edge of the stone until he compiled his last bits of energy from his withered body and pulled himself free.
Moments later, Vincent lay on his back atop the open earth with the hot August sun burning strong against his withered and exhausted body.
CHAPTER 32 Day Five - Tuesday 9:50 AM
"Can you say that again, Billy?" Millie asked into her headset.
Millie was the dispatcher at the police station. She had been the dispatcher for the past twelve years, and she made it her point of knowing who was doing what, with who, and where they were doing it. She loved the switchboard and the gossip that went with it. Billy Huckleberry’s story baffled her.
"Uh huh," she said. "But that's impossible, Billy. They're burying that poor kid today. Probably right now. I'd be there myself if I could have had someone cover my shift for me."
Dean Daly walked into the office to finish closing up the paperwork on a reported break-in from last night when he overheard Millie. He dropped his radio and keys on the desk and listened curiously.
"Take it easy, Billy. Dean just walked in here. I think you should probably talk to him," she said looking at Dean. "Not me! Uh huh. You'll have to tell him yourself, but he's not going to believe it either. That kid you got there is pulling a stunt, and it's really not very funny."
"What's all this about?" Dean asked.
Millie covered the microphone with one hand. "You are not going to believe this one. It's Billy. I'll send him over on line three."
"Just keep calm, Billy,” she said after removing her hand. I'm patching you through to Dean right now."
Dean waited until the light blinked and then picked up. "Detective Daly."
"Hi Dean. It's Billy Huckleberry."
Billy was the local owner and operator of Huckleberry towing. Billy had a contract with the RCMP. Dean knew him well.
"What you got, Billy?"
"You're not going to believe this, but I got a kid out here with me that's in quite a state."
"Uh huh, I'm listening."
"Well, I was on my way back from a tow out on 63 and I seen this kid off in the trees. I wasn't going to stop but he spotted me passing by and started waving his arms high in the air, and so of course I slow down to get a better look. I watch him as he staggers out from the trees, stumbles, and then falls face down in the ditch. Even from where I was out on the highway I could see he looked like hell, man…all messed up. And you know me, Dean, I've got my First Aid and deal with a lot of trauma, so of course I stop..." He pauses. "Hold on a sec."
Dean waited. He could hear Billy calling out loudly to someone in the background. A few minutes passed before Billy returned.
"You still there, Dean?"
"Yeah, I'm still here, Billy."
"Oh, good. Well, I'm out near where we towed that blue Toyota from the other night, and… Shit! Sorry, but this kids really got me freaked out right now. I'm just not exactly sure what I should be doing with him. I really think you need to come out here."
"Just take it easy, and tell me what the problem is."
"When I got to him, he was still lying face down. Just laying there looking like a dead man. But then I notice something odd. It's hot as shit out here today and he's wearing a heavy fleece coat. I speak to him, and he just moans. I know he's not hurt that bad as he just walked out from the bushes so I turn him over and this kid is a mess. I mean a real mess, Dean. He's covered in dirt and mud from head to toe like he's been rolled in it. Even his hairs all matted with mud. And here's the worst part: His hands are raw like meat. His fingers and knuckles are chewed up. Full of cuts and scrapes. And he's full of blood. His hands have all kinds of wounds, and some of his fingernails are broken. Even on his palms, I can see they've been bleeding a lot. He's got blood on his arms, clothes and even smeared across his face. I don't know what to make of it, and so I ask him what happened to him. He puts his fingers to his mouth and whispers out only one word. Water."
Dean can hear the stress in Billy's breathing and waits for Billy to continue.
"You still there?" Billy asks.
"I'm still listening. Carry on."
"Shit, Dean. He can barely speak, this kid. His voice is all raspy and wheezy like. I seen this before, Dean, and this has all of the signs of severe dehydration. He scrawny as hell, too, so I don't think he's eaten for a while neither. So I run over to my truck and grab him one out of my flat of water bottles that I keep in there all the time. He sucks the entire bottle back like he hasn't had a drink in a week. I sit him up and try to get him to talk. He starts smiling this crazy happy smile, and you know what he says to me, Dean?"
“No, I don't, Billy. What does he say?"
"This creeps me out so bad, cause I'm looking at his hands, trying to figure out what he did to get them all cut up and beat like that. It almost looks to me like he's clawed his way out of somewhere. He just says ‘bones.’ One word, ‘bones.’ And then I ask, ‘What did you say?’ He stares back at me. ‘Down in the ground,’ he says. I asked him what his name is, and he says it's Vincent. I almost laugh. There's only one other Vincent I know, and that's because of that big crash on Friday. I then ask him where he came from, and he just points to the ground and he's still got this crazy grin stuck on his face.
"What did you just say his name was?"
"So he finally spit it out, did he?" Millie commented from across the room.
Dean frowned at Millie and waved one arm at her to hush.
"Vincent. And all I can think of is he's clawed his way out from a grave. I'm thinking he's been buried alive! Someone's buried this poor kid alive!'
"Did he say what his last name was?"
"Pattison. He said his name was Vincent Pattison. Dean, this kid is saying..."
"I know! I get it! I'm coming out there right now, Billy. You just stay put and keep that boy right there. You hear me? He mustn't go anywhere until I get out there. And you be sure to leave him looking just as he is now unless he needs medical attention. Does he need medical attention? An ambulance?"
"I think he's mostly fine really. He was limping sort of when he came out from wherever he came from and the cuts and amount of blood I see make it look mostly like just abrasions and minor cuts. I don't see any serious bleeding right now. He looks dehydrated. I'll check him over real good while you make your way out. You'll see me on the side of the road by the Bumstead property."
"I'm on my way."
Dean hung up the phone and grabbed his keys and radio. "Millie, where is the Pattison boy being interred?"
"Now, why would I know that, Dean?"
Dean forced a smile at her. Millie really didn't get around much. She was slightly overweight with a bum knee that kept her seated most of the time, but she had ears that could snare a line of gossip from across any room. "Millie, you know everything that goes on in this little town of ours," he jested. "Really, I need to know. It's important."
"The Crawford cemetery. Up on top of the hill with the rest of that lot." She looked at the clock on the wall. "I expect the family will be heading up there shortly."
Dean made note of the time. "Do you know where Jet is at?"
"Maria Webster's got him out at her place.
Something about the neighbour's dog again. You want me to get him on the radio?"
"No, no. I'll take care of this one myself. I'll call you in a while. Please keep what you know about this boy Billy's got just between you and me for now, if you don't mind. Just have Jet call me when he's done."
"As you wish, boss," she replied.
Dean knew Millie well. He doubted this story would stay quiet for very long.
CHAPTER 33 Day Five - Tuesday 10:37 AM
Chris stood off to the side, away from the gathering crowd, so he could puff away on a much-needed cigarette. He picked a spot beneath one of the many decades-old elm trees simply to keep out of the searing August sun as much as possible. The mourners continued to arrive at the cemetery in preparation for Vincent's burial. Each new arrival blended quickly into one of the many scattered groups on the small tree-covered hill that held the last one hundred years of deceased Pattisons. It would take a few minutes before the rest of the attendees finished parking their cars and made their way up to the top of the grassy hill. Chris spotted his son with his wife under their own elm tree, and he could not help but turn his ear to listen in on their disturbing conversation.
"...and sitting up there at the front like that," Charlie uttered with disgust. "Who does she think she's trying to fool? I'm not fooled. Let me tell you that much."
"Well, Vincent is her son," Barbara replied. "Where would you have her sit? At the back? She is Vincent’s mother and you'd like to see her sitting at the back?"
"Well maybe not right at the very back. And what was with that black veil? She was the only one dressed like that today at the church. I don't buy it for a second. No one shows that much grief for a son they never knew." He gestured sarcastically with his hands. "And remember that display of constant sobbing."
"Maybe she is grieving, Charlie. Maybe she's grieving about leaving him ten years ago and now regrets it deeply because she never got to know him."
"Bullcrap, I call that! Look, here she comes," he said and pointed. "And she's still wearing that silly veil."
"Shhh. Keep your voice down. People are looking."
"You saw her shoulders going up and down as if she was crying. I bet she wasn't even crying. She was probably laughing under that veil. Laughing about how she's got everybody fooled."
"Your mom says she has been a real help around the house."
"See! That's exactly what I'm talking about. She's just playing it up and fooling them all."
Barbara shook her head. There was no arguing with her husband today. "All I know is your mom says she has been a big help. Your dad's actually getting to sleep through the night and now even has time for afternoon naps if he wants. She is helping. That’s a big house to look after with just the two of them alone now.”
Chris had heard enough. He crushed his cigarette into the grass and moved away from his son towards where Anita stood with her sister's family who came down from Edmonton.
It bothered him dearly that he wasn't the only one who didn't believe in Arlene's sincerity. But she certainly had been very helpful since she arrived. Her current attentive behaviour to Anita contradicted his expectations. He had expected so much less from his youngest daughter. He knew what she had been up to; he tracked her and inquired for updates from his paid watchers every few months. But it was her recent rekindling of an old relationship with one character named Joey Klondike that disturbed him the most. How they suddenly hooked up permanently, he didn’t understand, but Joey Klondike's past use of his daughter left a fowl taste in his mouth. Arlene had not mentioned Joey’s name once since she arrived. Chris almost expected to see Joey at her side when he picked her up at the airport. He already decided that he may never tell Anita what he knew, about Joey Klondike and Arlene’s activities in general. With her progressing dementia, he knew it wouldn't be long before she would have difficulty remembering many more things than just what happened yesterday. She would soon forget friends, cousins, grandkids, and one day, she would forget him. He wanted to make sure she remained unburdened by such things.
The many groups suddenly fell silent as the hearse with Vincent's body advanced slowly up the long, elm-tree-lined road. The funeral director began pointing and ushering people to take their places.
CHAPTER 34 Day Five - Tuesday 10:41 AM
Billy Huckleberry was kneeling over the young man when Dean approached. He was just like Billy had described; dirty, disheveled, and bloodied. Other than bringing him to a sitting position, it was obvious that Billy had not moved him from where he had collapsed in the tall dry grass that lined the ditch. The hot August sun blared down from the sky, but the young man shivered in front of Billy.
"How is he?" he asked.
Billy responded with a quick nod towards Dean and kept his attention focused on the young man. "I think he's going to be okay. He has a slight fever, and like I said before, I really think he's suffering from bad dehydration. This boy really needs to go straight to the hospital. I've given him some water, but he could have kidney damage if he was dehydrated for too long. He says he's been down there for four days."
Dean's brain did the math. He didn't like that four days meant Friday. Dean dropped to one knee, and looked hard at the lad in front of him. "You okay, son?"
The young man smiled back and coughed.
Billy said “down there.” Down where exactly? He didn't want to ask that question just yet.
He certainly looked about the right age. The fact that he also fit the description of Vincent Pattison conflicted with a desperate pounding in his brain that clicked away as it counted down the minutes until another young man, also named Vincent Pattison, was to be lowered into a grave on a hill not far from where he knelt.
"What's your name, son?"
"Vincent," he replied in a weak raspy voice. "I just want to go home. Can you take me home?"
Dean shook his head. "Not just yet. My friend Billy here says you've been buried somewhere for the last for days. Is this true?"
The young man nodded. "Four days, down..." he said weakly and coughed. He pointed to the trees behind him. "Can you take me home, please?"
Dean looked down at the young man's hands. Billy had cleaned them up, but Dean could see the cuts, the rawness, and the broken fingernails. "You mind if I take a few photographs first?"
"I really just want to go home."
Dean stood up, pulled out his smart phone, and pointed at it. "My camera. I don't like the company issued units." He proceeded to take pictures of the young man where he sat and asked more questions that he thought needed answering.
"So tell me, Vincent..." He called him by that name even though he thought it couldn’t possibly be true. In the few years he knew Chris, he had only ever met Vincent a few times. He vaguely resembled the image from his memory. He snapped a few more pictures of Vincent’s battered hands.
“…what's your last name?"
"Pattison."
"Ayuh. And your dad is?"
"My Gramps… I mean my grandfather is Chris Pattison. You know him."
Dean swallowed hard. He remembered how difficult it had been to tell Chris, and, even worse, how Chris had seemed to die a little inside. He worked hard to keep his composure.
"Do you drive, Vincent?"
"Uh huh."
"Where's your vehicle?" Dean quickly scanned the forest and out across the road. "I don't see your vehicle around anywhere."
"I lent my truck to a friend," he replied. "On Friday night."
"A truck?" Dean asked. "On Friday night?"
"Yeah. A Toyota."
Dean felt a lump in his throat, and he coughed to clear it. He really didn't like what he was hearing, and it meant that he needed to move quickly.
"Who did you lend it too?"
"Aaron," he said and frowned angrily.
"Why the angry look?"
"Because when I find Aaron, I'm going to beat the crap out of him. And Roger too!" he said.
"Shit," Dean replied softly at hearing Roger's n
ame. He had heard enough.
"Billy!" he shouted.
Billy was busy returning his medical supplies to his truck. He turned to see what had Dean so agitated.
"Help me get this boy into my car! Now! We gotta move!"
"Why? What’s up?”
Dean waited until Billy came alongside to help him walk Vincent over to his car. "He's not lying. I believe this boy may actually be Vincent Pattison."
"I am Vincent Pattison," Vincent barked out gruffly. He was clearly annoyed and confused by Dean's disbelief of who he claimed he was.
"Where exactly did you say you were the last four days, Vincent?"
"In the ground. I told you that already."
Billy nodded as if to say I told you so.
"Where exactly in the ground, Vincent? Could you show me where if you had to?"
"Uh huh. It’s right there on the Bumstead farm. We found an old well. I was supposed to spend one night down there."
Dean shook his head. "A well?" He was suddenly very angry at Vincent, and he wanted to yell at him for being so bloody stupid. Because of their foolishness, a young man no one even knows is dead and is about to be buried in the plot marked for Vincent.
“Oh, a well. He was down in a well,” Billy commented feeling sheepish for believing the young man had been buried alive. “He sure looked like he was buried alive to me. You know… the hands… I thought…”
Dean shook his head as the two led Vincent to his car. ”You bloody stupid kids. Jesus Christ.”
"What?" Vincent responded bewildered. "It was just a dare."
"Just a dare," Dean repeated.
"It was supposed to be for just twenty-four hours, but they never came back for me. They never came back!" He lifted up his raw hands, for Dean to see. "Why didn't they come back?" he asked. "I almost died down there..."
"Well, you're not dead. And Billy, please don't say anything about this young man to anyone until I call you later. I mean nothing. You tell no one what just happened here. Are you clear on this?"