Bumstead's Well

by R E Swirsky

  Just like the last time he was on the property, he moved with purpose up to the stone well and shone his flashlight down to the bottom.

  "Aahh. This is better," he muttered. The new batteries made his flashlight beam brighter and stronger.

  He pulled his head back out from the well and looked around. He immediately felt the age of this vacant property seep deep into every crack and crevice of his body. The sporadic, encroaching growth of the many poplar trees and bushes in the area made it difficult for him to imagine what this place was like when it once thrived as a business that employed over fifty people at its peak more than a half a century ago. He thought of Jet and the ghosts he spoke of. He glanced over his shoulder almost expecting to catch a glimpse of some beast or shadow from the past passing through the trees behind him, but there was nothing there. It was only the wind rustling the leaves about.

  He turned his attention back down the well and focused the beam of light deep down to the bottom.

  "Bones," he whispered. The word drifted down the well and faded away without the trace of an echo. It was as if the bottom of the well sucked up the word and swallowed it.

  He moved the beam up to the collapsed area. As bright as the beam was, he still couldn't make out what he saw in the exposed dirt.

  "Could that really be bones?”

  He looked at every inch of the area.

  "Is that what you meant, Vincent? Did you see bones in that hole when the wall collapsed?"

  He hoped Vincent was still in town. He made a mental note to drop in on the Pattison home tomorrow with a few questions.

  Dean moved his gaze down to the single white stone that rested at the bottom.

  “Is that… a skull?" It really did look more like the back of a skull than any stone he’d ever seen. "Why didn’t I notice that before?"

  He wished he could be touch it or turn it over to see an eye socket or a jaw. He thought of the rope that was dropped through the opening last time he was here and noticed the rope was gone. He'd have to ask Jet about it.

  Dean saw enough. He would come back tomorrow. He would also bring a way to see for sure if that white stone at the bottom was really just a stone, or if it was a skull as his imagination hoped it would be.

  The sun moved on now without waiting for him, and long, stretched shadows from the surrounding trees now snaked across the grassy field towards where his patrol car was parked. The shadow's surprising creep made him uncomfortable. He hurried down the small hill. He wanted to be well away from this place before darkness descended.

  CHAPTER 65 Day Thirteen - Wed 7:25 PM

  The sun had nearly set when Chris turned onto the dirt road that crossed deep through the trees deep onto the Bumstead property. The diminishing rays of the descending sun were captured only by the very tips of the trees above him and left the clearing engulfed in a darkened shadow. He didn't have much time.

  Chris had no idea Detective Daly left this very spot only fifteen minutes before. He had even passed by the detective on the highway just as he left town. But it made no difference. Chris was on a mission and was determined to take care of business tonight.

  Chris exited his vehicle and looked about nervously to be sure he was alone. The vast silence that enveloped him was deafening and allowed the many sordid memories from long ago to tickle his brain. He could almost hear the cries of little Billy Bumstead as the gunnysack was pulled down over his small body.

  He climbed slowly and steadily up the small rise to the well, puffing and grunting the entire way. He carried a heavy bundle filled with many items wrapped up tightly in an old wool blanket. By the time he reached the well, he could barely stand; his old legs and arms ached immensely.

  Chris dropped the blanket wrapped armload of items onto the ground next to the well. He rested a moment to catch his breath before he unbundled the lot. "The flashlights. Where are the damn flashlights?" he mumbled. He searched amongst the multiple items and shuffled the large river rock he'd brought in the bundle off to one side.

  "Ah yes," he said when he spotted one of the flashlights. "Let's see exactly what we have to work with.”

  Chris leaned over the well and shone the beam of light down to the bottom. There was no question in his mind that it was a skull. He studied the skull, where it rested, and how it was positioned.

  "This should work just fine,” he said confidently.

  It bothered him that Vincent hadn't mentioned a word to him about a skull being down at the bottom. A part of him believed Vincent didn’t know it was even there. He wanted to believe that, but an entirely separate part of him reminded him how Vincent wanted to leave so suddenly after taking only one look down the bottom of the well the other morning. The boy was fragile. He always had been.

  Chris uncoiled the three ropes he'd brought and tied the end of one of them to the post. None of these ropes were like the bloodied hemp rope he removed from the well just a few short days ago and returned to the shed out back. It bothered him to even think about that bloodied rope. He tried to shut his mind to the fact that the rope was no longer tucked away in his shed in the back yard where he placed it.

  "Later," he whispered. "One thing at a time, Chris.”

  He attempted to focus, but he thought about Officer Jet Wu and how he harassed Vincent. His demand to hand the bloodied hemp rope over to him irritated Chris.

  "How dare you pick on my grandson," he mumbled. "Once I'm done out here, you and are I going to have a little private talk about Vincent and that rope. You think I can’t find out where you live?”

  A gust of wind scuttled across the open field and mussed his hair.

  "I have my ways. And believe this, Officer Wu… no one has ever crossed a Pattison and gotten away with it. Not when my father ruled the valley and certainly not now while I’m still around.”

  He forced his focus back to his current task and quickly began to assemble the items as the light continued to fade.

  He fastened one of his flashlights to the first rope with duct tape and lowered it down until the bottom of the well was brightly lit.

  The skull glowed like a prized jewel amongst the other dull, moldy, rough-edged stones. It pleased Chris that it sat perched nicely on the dirt that had fell out from the collapsed area and not wedged between some of the wall stones.

  He nodded at the scene below him. He was certain that he had found a way to snatch the skull from the bottom.

  Chris placed the three pointed grappling hook he brought onto one of the stones that capped the well and immediately began to hammer and pound out the points. He flattened them away from the centre and lifted the hook into the air. He draped some netting over the splayed hooks and let it hang down about twelve inches below. He'd uncoiled a smaller second rope, which he again tied off to the pole, and attached it to the grappling hook.

  Everything was almost ready. He removed his belt and slowly weaved it through netting that hung below the grappling hook until it completed a full circle. He pulled the leading edge of the belt through the buckle and attached the third smaller rope to the first hole of the belt with a small wire. He tugged the rope with a few short soft jerks, and just as planned, the belt pulled the netting closed. He loosened the belt so it remained opened like a large mouth and lowered the entire contraption down through the hole towards the skull.

  CHAPTER 66 Day Fourteen - Thursday 8:10 AM

  "Is this going to take long, Charlie?" Dean asked.

  "Opening a lock like this is a piece of cake."

  Thursday morning arrived with still no word from Jet. When Millie failed to reach Jet at home, Dean called the property manager of Jet’s condo and Charlie Pattison, owner of the Mount Head Lock and Key. He asked them both to meet him at Jet's place as soon as possible.

  "This is a simple Schlage lock. I guess with the added security up front, the builder never thought it necessary to install high end locks on each of the units,” Charlie said.

  "I don't really care about the lock, Charlie. Jet's been
ill since last Friday, and no one's heard a word from him for the past two days. It’s been nearly a week since any one has even seen him.”

  "Isn't this breaking and entering?" the property manager, Dick Johnson, asked.

  "Not when we have his family asking us to go inside. I had them file a missing persons report earlier this morning. His brother's waiting to see what we find out once we get inside. He also had no luck reaching him. He’s booking a flight out in the next few hours.”

  Charlie continued to fiddle with the key he held in his hand.

  "C'mon, Charlie."

  "This takes time to get right. There are a number of pins inside that have to be lifted. If you don't get them all at once, the lock won't open.

  "I thought you said it was a piece of cake."

  "It is. Just be quiet, and let me work here."

  Dean watched anxiously as Charlie worked meticulously for another ten minutes on the key, using a file to square off the pointed tip and then remove the rear shoulders of the key. He filed at the teeth until only five small, triangular-shaped teeth remained.

  "This is just a random Schlage key from a set I replaced last week. What I've just done is made what's called a bump key. Now we just slide it into the lock like this. Hand me that screwdriver.”

  Dean passed him the screwdriver and watched as Charlie pressed his thumb against the upper right side of the key and whacked at the key with the screwdriver.

  The key suddenly rotated sideways on the second smack, and the door was unlocked.

  "There you go," he said. "It's just that easy."

  Dean was impressed, but he made it look dangerously easy.

  "Both of you, stay out here."

  Both Charlie and Dick stepped away from the door. Dean slowly pushed the door open slowly and called out. "Jet? It's Dean. Are you in here?"

  He didn't have to step in very far to discover a grisly scene above him.

  "Good God! No one come in here!"

  The dead body of Officer Jet Wu hung limply above him from the two-story foyer. A rope was tied to the second story balustrade, and Jet's limp body hung beneath it. The rope dug deep into the underside of his jaw pressing his tongue forward so it pushed out grotesquely from between his blue lips.

  CHAPTER 67 Day Fourteen - Thursday 8:55 AM

  "I didn't hear you come to bed last night," Anita said. She was already in the kitchen with a cup of tea when Chris came down.

  “No… I was out quite late."

  Anita stirred her tea slowly. Chris could see the deep concern embedded in her face. Her wrinkles seemed to be etched deeper than ever, and the loose skin under her chin appeared to have become almost transparent overnight. Time was slowly having its way with her and he felt responsible for at least part of how fragile she looked this morning.

  Anita knew quite well where he went last night, but he doubted she had any idea that he ended up at Officer Wu's condo afterwards. Ten minutes after a carefully placed call from the pay phone at the 7-11, where he grabbed a hot dog for his dinner, Chris held Jet's address in his hands. But that little excursion out to Jet’s didn't quite go as planned. It now weighed heavily on his mind. He wasn't about to mention anything about the extra trip to Anita, but he felt the need to offer something to Anita about what he accomplished last night. He abruptly left the room and returned with a small plastic shopping bag from the Sobey's grocery store. He sat down and set the bag carefully next to his feet.

  Anita looked down at the bag.

  "It's taken care of," Chris said simply.

  Chris pointed to a steaming cup of tea on his side of the table. "Is this my tea?"

  Anita gave him a look as if to say, "Who else's would it be?"

  Chris lifted the cup to his lips, took a small sip, and watched her as she stared at the bag. He immediately wished he hadn't brought the bag inside and knew it was a mistake. It was likely to make her even more upset. He decided he wouldn't say a word about what was in the bag unless she asked.

  Anita's eyes remained on the bag. "Chris, what's in that bag? You wouldn't have just left the room and then come back in here with it if you didn't want me to know what was inside."

  Of course she had to ask. That was Anita all over. Her reluctance was clear, but she still pushed forward. "It has something to do with where you went last night, doesn't it?"

  Chris nodded, lifted the bag up, and placed it onto the table between them where it landed with a dull thunk.

  The two of them stared quietly at the bag.

  Chris didn’t really want Anita to see what was inside. "You don't need to see this," he said. "I never should have brought this here." He reached for the bag to take it off the table, but Anita grabbed hold of his arm.

  "No. I want to see what's in there."

  "I made a mistake. You don't need to see this." He tried to pull his arm and the bag away.

  "Chris!" she shouted.

  Chris let go of the bag. Anita pulled it towards her and opened it up.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed. She shoved the bag away. "Why would you even think of bringing something like that into our house?"

  Chris shook his head. "I just told you I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

  Anita waved her hand about and pointed over towards the bag. "Oh, Jesus," she said. She pushed her chair back and stood up. She shook her finger at the bag. "Now that worries me. You get rid of it, Chris. Get rid of it now."

  Chris stood and removed the bag from the table.

  "It's just a skull, Anita."

  Anita stepped away from the table. Her fretfulness increased. "I know what it is, damn you. But which one?"

  He shrugged, and she began to cry. "Oh, Chris. You don't even know who that is. I couldn't stand it if it was him. Get it out! Get it out of here, Chris! Now! Please!"

  Anita continued to cry as Chris tucked the bag under his arm and stepped out of the house.

  CHAPTER 68 Day Fourteen - Thursday 3:01 PM

  "I just don't understand why Jet would take his own life," Dean said.

  "He's been sick. And he did say he was seeing those ghosts," Millie replied. "Maybe there was more going on in his head than we knew about. We didn't really know him all that well. He has only been out here for a few months."

  Dean thought about the ghosts she spoke of and the issues from out on the coast that resulted in Jet’s transfer out here. Jet was in a heap of trouble regarding the accusations laid upon him. Maybe they were heavier on his chest than anyone knew. His investigation of Jet's condo showed nothing at all suspicious. It looked like any another suicide. That was exactly what he wrote in his official report.

  "Maybe there was something going on with him, Millie. It's just a shame, that's all."

  "It sure is. He was terribly sick this past week, too. I know I'll miss him."

  "We'll all miss him, Millie,” Dean said to comfort her. “I will, and so will the others around this place. Did you hear from any of his family while I was out?"

  "His brother came by earlier for his things."

  “Already?” He looked at the time. “Jesus, they only removed his body an hour ago. Officer Heavyhead has been over there with the Medical Examiner since this morning.”

  "He said he caught the first flight out as soon as you called him this morning. He plans on having his brother’s body cremated tomorrow.”

  “That quick? They can do that?”

  “I guess so,” Millie replied. “He said he wanted to take his ashes back with him on the weekend. Today’s Thursday. He didn’t want to wait until Monday. Heavyhead said his body is already on its way up to the Chief Medical Examiner’s in Calgary.”

  Dean nodded. “I didn’t know they could cremate someone so quickly.”

  Millie shrugged and raised her eyebrows.

  “I wish I would have been here when he came by. You should have called me."

  "He just popped in unannounced," Millie said. “I called Heavyhead right away and had him go through the details with Jet's brother. He’s gone to
take him up to identify the body. He was pretty upset. He'll be in town for the next few days if you need to reach him." She passed him a note with the name and number.

  "Thanks, Millie.”

  "Oh, Dean..." Millie said, as she reached across her desk and smiled at him. "Your phone. I remembered to ask him for it like you asked. He made a special trip back out to Jet's truck to bring it here before they headed up to Calgary." She handed it over to him.

  "My phone." He smiled back at her. "Where would I be without you, Millie? I've been so lost without this thing the past week."

  "Now you can finally quit whining about it every single day."

  Dean was glad to finally have his phone back. He sat down at his desk across from Millie and attempted to turn it on. "It's dead."

  Millie rolled her eyes at him from across the room. "Ya think?"

  He plugged it in to charge, ignoring her commentary, and turned on his computer. He tapped his fingers anxiously on the edge of the desk as the screen loaded. "I still want to look at those photos."

  "I thought we were done with that Pattison boy."

  Dean chuckled. "You know me, Millie."

  "Oh, I know you, Dean. You're never finished with anything that easily."

  He shrugged. "It's just a feeling I have."

  "You seeing ghosts now too?" Millie asked and laughed.

  Dean didn't laugh. "Maybe I am," he replied. He opened his desk drawer and ploughed through the multiple cables for the one that fit his camera. He really wanted to get a good look at those photos and was determined to view them before he left the office.

  He thought again about the note pad inside Jet's truck and wondered if he should have collected the note pad as evidence. Evidence of what, he wasn't sure. Everything about this death pointed towards suicide. He saw no evidence to the contrary, but what was written on the note pad still stuck in his brain. He didn't know what was odd about it. Maybe it was because he hadn't been able to make sense of what was written down.