Serenity Engulfed

by Craig A. Hart

  Shelby looked up to see Quinn staring at him with raised eyebrows.

  “What?” he said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re a teacher who’s waiting for a student to confess he cheated on the final exam.”

  “Nothing quite that serious.” Quinn laughed. “I was just noticing you didn’t tell the sheriff about Leslie’s cellphone. Unless you’d already reported that, of course.”

  “No, I didn’t. To both things.”

  “Why not? Don’t you trust her?”

  “You writers sure like to ask questions.”

  “It’s kind of our job.”

  Shelby nodded. “Fair enough. To answer your question, I don’t not trust Sheriff Hammer. But I don’t trust her either.”

  “You’re sort of in a trust but verify zone?”

  “Something like that. I want to keep an ace or two up my sleeve. I don’t have any reason to believe she’s not on the up and up, but I also know enough about law enforcement to know they can get in the way. And I’d rather not have a showdown with Hammer if I can avoid it.”

  “That intimidating, is she?” Quinn said, only half teasing.

  “She’s something, all right. I realize fully trusting her might increase the odds of finding Leslie, but it might also do the opposite.”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Now who the hell could that be,” Shelby growled, not feeling at all in the mood for more company. He got up from the table, walked to the door, and answered it.

  On the porch stood a young woman, her face mostly concealed in the shadow of a wide-brimmed hat.

  “Mr. Alexander?”

  “That’s me. Can I help you?”

  “My name is Angel. I’m friends with Carly and she said you might be able to help me.”

  Upon hearing Carly’s name, Shelby stepped aside to let the woman enter. He motioned toward the kitchen table.

  “Have a seat, Angel. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Soda?”

  “I’ll take some water, please.”

  Without being asked, Quinn got up from the table and headed to the kitchen for the beverage. Shelby nodded to one of the chairs, and Angel took the cue. She lowered herself gently down, wincing as she did so. Once seated, she sat very straight, clearly uneasy and nervous. Her long fingers twisted around one another like writhing snakes.

  Shelby sat down one chair over and turned his seat to face her. “You say Carly sent you?”

  Angel nodded. “Yes. She didn’t call you?”

  “No, she—” Shelby broke off as he remembered the call he’d ignored. “Actually, she did, but I missed it.”

  “Oh.” Angel sounded genuinely disappointed. “I was hoping she would have filled you in on the details before I arrived.”

  “No, sorry. I haven’t heard a thing. I’m afraid you’ll have to start from the beginning.”

  The young woman visibly cringed. “I’m afraid it’s a bit uncomfortable to talk about.”

  “I can’t do much if I don’t even know why you’re here.”

  Angel hesitated and then reached up and slowly removed her hat.

  Shelby swallowed an exclamation of dismay at her appearance. She had probably been lovely before someone took a sledgehammer to her face. Shelby felt the old anger rising inside and struggled to keep it in check.

  Angel placed the hat on the table and sat quietly, her head bent forward, unblinking eyes glued to the table top.

  At last, Shelby said, “Who did that to you?”

  “Grant. A man named Grant.”

  “Does this Grant have a last name?”

  “Bachmann.”

  The name sent a shock down Shelby’s back. After a pause, he said, “Any relation to the Bachmanns?”

  Angel nodded and it was clear even that slight movement caused considerable pain. “Yes. He’s Sid Bachmann’s great grandson.”

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Shelby said to no one in particular. He struggled to maintain an outward calm, although his insides were beginning to roil and sour. “I didn’t think I’d ever hear that name again. At least, I hoped I wouldn’t.”

  “Who are the Bachmanns?” Quinn asked, returning with the water.

  “A local family who used to be a big deal in town,” Shelby said, bile rising in his throat. He knew his voice sounded strained but kept his face a stolid mask.

  “But not anymore?”

  “Let’s just say they fell from grace.” Shelby’s tone made it clear he did not wish to discuss the matter further. He turned back to Angel. “Grant Bachmann beat you, did he? Can’t say I’m surprised. I don’t know him, but apples don’t fall far from the tree. What was the reason?”

  Angel took her time taking a drink from the water glass. “He…wouldn’t pay what he owed.”

  “Ah,” Shelby said, focusing on the issue at hand in an attempt to ignore the nausea in his stomach. “He’s a client, then.”

  Angel nodded. “Yes.”

  “Of a business you’d rather not advertise to the police.”

  Angel nodded again.

  “Understood. Is that where you met Carly?”

  Another nod.

  “You can talk here without fear or shame,” Shelby said gently. “When it comes to prostitution, I neither approve nor disapprove. Many of the sordid events come about because it’s forced underground and into the shadows. You won’t be judged.”

  A tear ran down Angel’s face and landed in her water glass with a tiny plop. She turned the glass around and around, staring into it. At last, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Alexander. I do believe you, but that sort of freedom is hard to accept, after everything I’ve been through.”

  “I understand. Carly used to talk about the societal struggles she faced, even after leaving the business. About how difficult it was to find a place among the so-called upstanding citizens. But tell me, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Angel said. “Carly just told me you had a reputation as a fixer.”

  “You must place a lot of trust in Carly, to go see someone based on her word alone.”

  “I do trust Carly, more than anyone—but it wasn’t only on her word alone.”

  “Oh? And who else knows about this?”

  “No one. But I know something about you. At least, I’ve heard things about you.”

  “It’s dangerous to make a decision based on rumors.”

  “But these were more than rumors. These were stories passed down in my family.”

  Shelby looked at the woman, noticing for the first time hints of a Native American heritage. “You are Odawa?”

  Angel nodded. “As you no doubt know, the Odawa place a lot of stock in those kinds of stories.”

  Quinn interrupted. “Wait, are you telling me Shelby has made his way into Indian lore?”

  Angel tried to smile, but it faded quickly from the pain. “Just within my family.”

  “To what do I owe that honor?” Shelby asked.

  “Not to what. To whom—my great-great-grandfather. I think you knew him as Old Tom.”

  Shelby sat back and slumped slightly in his chair, looking at Angel in amazement. Some of the unsettled nausea that had come over him at the mention of Sid Bachmann receded. “You’re related to Old Tom?”

  “Yes. I never met him, but he’s become legendary among our people. Apparently, he used to tell stories of your fights and brag that he taught you everything you knew.”

  “That’s Old Tom,” Shelby said, a fond smile forcing its way to his face. “Takes all the credit he’s due and then a little more. He taught me all I know about the woods and nature, but fighting came later.”

  “Old Tom used to say you were the only white man he trusted, even though you were only a boy when you left Serenity. There was a time during which you stopped appearing in the news and disappeared from most native talk. Then your name began cropping up again, although in much different ways than before
. This time you were helping people, often those who had nowhere else to turn. My grandfather reintroduced your name to the lore, in part to honor Old Tom, and that is where I first heard of you. That’s why, when Carly mentioned you, I knew it was a sign from the elders that I should come see you and ask for help.”

  “I see,” Shelby said. “And your grandfather knew Old Tom?”

  “Quite well.”

  “Is he still living?”

  “Yes, but he’s been ill for several months. Cancer, they think.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d love to meet with him, if you think he’d see me.”

  “He probably would. I’d introduce you, but…we aren’t on the best of terms.”

  “They don’t approve of your life?”

  Angel shook her head, her eyes showing pain beyond the mere physical. “No. They say I bring shame on the family and tribe.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “It’s nothing new. I was a troubled teen, getting into drugs and alcohol. It progressed from there.”

  Shelby cleared his throat. “Focusing on the problem at hand, other than putting a scare into Grant Bachmann, I’m not sure what use I can be.”

  “That would be a start,” Angel said. “Maybe knowing he’s being watched would make him think twice next time.”

  Shelby shrugged and stood up. “I’ll think it over, but even if I did have a talk with him, I don’t know that it would make a difference. These types have short memories. Besides, I’m involved in another piece of business having to do with my daughter. I’m sure you can understand that’s my priority right now.”

  Angel nodded, disappointment clear on her face. “I understand.” She got to her feet, wincing as she moved toward the door. Then she stopped and dug a scrap of paper out of her pocket. She handed it to Shelby. “My number. In case you need to contact me.”

  Shelby took the paper. “I’ll let you know.”

  As soon as the door closed behind Angel, Shelby turned and moved toward the kitchen sink. He ran cold water and splashed it over his face, then stood with his hands braced on the counter, staring through the window and into woods, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

  Quinn had followed him and now reached up and gripped his shoulders. “Shelby? Are you okay?”

  He didn’t move or reply.

  “Shelby? Speak to me or I’m calling an ambulance.” Quinn’s voice was thick with concern.

  Shelby shook his head. “I…don’t need an ambulance.”

  “You look like you’re having a stroke.”

  “I’m fine. I just…haven’t heard the name Bachmann in a long time.”

  “Grant?”

  “No. The other.”

  Quinn paused, replaying the conversation. “Sid? Who is he?”

  “He’s nobody.”

  “He has to be somebody, Shelby. I thought you looked funny during the conversation with Angel. Now you’re white as a sheet.”

  Shelby turned from the sink and fixed his face into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sorry. I’ve been feeling a little off all morning and had a sick feeling. I just need to lie down for a little. Are you staying in town? Could we perhaps get lunch sometime before you head back?”

  Quinn looked at Shelby, her suspicious eyes making it clear she didn’t believe a word he was saying. “Are you sure you’ll be okay if I leave? You’re acting strange and seem to be in a sudden hurry to get rid of me.”

  “I’m fine, really. A quick nap will do wonders. Probably something I ate.”

  Quinn backed slowly toward the door. “I’ll be checking in on you. If your symptoms worsen, call an ambulance first, then either me or Mack.”

  As soon as Quinn left the cabin, Shelby retreated to his bedroom. He turned in to the adjoining bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. His stomach roiled and he tasted the bile rising in his throat. After a few minutes, the feeling subsided without incident. He stood up and turned on the faucet. Cupping his hands, he drank in the gathering water to wash the sour taste from his mouth.

  Back in the bedroom, he fell backward onto the bed, his feet dangling, feeling inexplicably drained.

  Sid Bachmann.

  He hadn’t heard that name in years and had worked hard to erase the name from his memory. Now, with the initial sickness past, he now felt ashamed of the strong reaction. His face reddened and this in turn caused more embarrassment. Here he was, a sixty-year-old man, hardened and tested by years and rough living, brought to his knees in front of a toilet by the mere mention of a name.

  Sid Bachmann.

  Shelby shifted fully onto the bed and lay his head on a pillow. He was exhausted but feared going to sleep. He hadn’t suffered the nightmares in many years, but for the first time in a long time, it seemed a real possibility. But he needed rest, and with real, physical effort, he managed to close his eyes.

  12

  “I can’t say that I’m thrilled to be going back out to the Ellis place,” Mack said. “The last time I was there, I almost didn’t walk away.”

  Shelby made a turn onto the road that ran past their destination. He had awakened from a fitful sleep with fire in his belly and a new determination to find Leslie.

  “Stop worrying,” he said. “We pretty much wiped out the Ellis clan, and the last Ellises I met weren’t nearly as bad as the ones you met. And killed.”

  “Hey, they started it.”

  “So they did, so they did.”

  “Seriously, though, how likely is it that Leslie is at the Ellis place?”

  “Likely enough that I’m driving out to check,” Shelby said. “You’re lucky I’m not going door to door in town and demanding to check the premises.”

  “I’m a little surprised you aren’t,” Mack replied, his voice carrying not the slightest hint of humor.

  Shelby nodded grudgingly. “You’re right that this is a long shot. But it’s also the easiest answer. The Ellises and I have never seen eye to eye, as you can well attest. If Leslie isn’t there, then it gets a lot harder, because the possibilities become so much greater. We’re operating under the assumption that Leslie was taken by someone who has a grudge against me: hence the cellphone on my porch. The Ellises certainly fit that bill, but outside of Serenity, the list gets longer.”

  “So for all we know, Leslie could be long gone by now.”

  “You always know how to cheer me up, Mack.”

  “Sorry about that,” Mack said regretfully. “I have a big mouth.”

  “Forget it. You were only telling the truth. I think—”

  Mack suddenly pointed ahead. “I think that’s your turn.”

  Shelby slammed on the Jeep’s brakes and whipped into the turn. “Almost missed that one.”

  The dirt and gravel road leading up to the Ellis house was only slightly more overgrown than Shelby remembered, suggesting it wasn’t as busy a place as it used to be, but neither was it deserted. Memories of his previous visits flooded into his mind—the horrors that had played out there were not ones he wished to revisit.

  Through the trees, Shelby saw the house ahead. It wasn’t a large structure, but seemed to loom as they approached, and he felt an unpleasant feeling constrict his chest. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but rather dread. The idea of the Ellis family gaining strength in the area was not welcome news, especially if it had anything to do with Leslie’s disappearance. The Ellis brothers had committed some heinous acts, some on each other—not the kind one wished to be involved in the kidnapping of one’s only daughter.

  Shelby would never forget his own experience in the basement of that damnable house, and nearly broke into a cold sweat as a picture of Leslie being chained there popped into his head. Mack glanced over at him.

  “If you’re going to puke, open the door. It takes forever to get that smell out of a car. Take my word for it—you never want to ride in the back of a cop car. The worst kind of shit happens back there.”

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “Bullshit, you are.
If you’re as jumpy as I am, you’re about to run for the hills like your ass was on fire.”

  As the Jeep approached the house, the front door opened and a man stepped out. At first, Shelby thought he was coming to meet the car, but when the man looked up, his expression registered surprise and trepidation.

  “You recognize that one?” Mack asked.

  Shelby nodded. “That’s Jim Ellis. He has a son named Jimmy. I didn’t know they were still in the area, though. I assumed they went back up north.”

  “As in the Upper Peninsula?”

  “Right. As I recall, they don’t think much of trolls, as in those living south of the bridge. Even their own family members. Jim said something about leaving here being the best thing he ever did.”

  Mack looked thoughtful. “Perhaps we can use that to our advantage.”

  The Jeep came to a halt with a gentle rock and they both got out. Shelby noticed Mack had adjusted his jacket, no doubt to allow easier access to his shoulder holster. Shelby hadn’t yet donned his birthday present, but his pistol was in the waistband of his pants, its cool weight reassuring.

  Jim Ellis stood still, watching the two visitors walk slowly toward him. Then he said, “Can I help you?”

  Shelby raised a hand in greeting. “Howdy, Jim. It’s Shelby Alexander.”

  Jim nodded in recognition and smiled, although the smile appeared rather shaky.

  “And this is my friend,” Shelby added, jerking his head toward Mack. “I’ll vouch for him.”

  “What you two want?”

  “Just some questions, that’s all,” Shelby said. “We’re looking for someone.”

  “I ain’t seen em.”

  “But I haven’t told you who we’re looking for yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I ain’t seen em. All that’s been around here have been Ellises.”

  “Who’s been around besides you and your son. How is Jimmy, by the way?”

  “Oh, him? He’s fine. Growing like a goddamn weed. Can’t keep the kid in clothes or groceries.”