“Miriam,” he hiccups, “I’m here honey.”
Turning her haunted eyes to him she smiles a sad grin as she reaches out with her bandaged hand, brushing it against his cheek. The touch is electric. Bending over her, he bows his head to kiss her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” he confesses with his eyes on the hilt of the knife protruding from her shoulder. “I should’ve listened to them…I should’ve done what they wanted.” He says this last part while holding her bandaged hand.
“No Roger,” she laments, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m proud of you.” Looking up at Lynne on the other side of her she adds, “Of both of you.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Roger insists, “Everything they did to you is my fault.”
…As her muscles lose their tension and begin to relax, she reaches into her pocket removing the piece of hard plastic. Taking it from her, Roger holds it up for them all to see.
“It’s a digital recorder,” Caleb recognizes as he takes it from Roger and presses play. After a moment they hear two distinct voices:
“You actually did it—you killed Laughlin? That wasn’t necessary. I told you he didn’t know anything.”
“And I told you that was a chance I wasn’t willing to take. As they say, dead men tell no tales.”
“I can’t, I can’t do this anymore. This is not how it was supposed to be. Jesus, what is wrong with you Magnus? He was an innocent. I swear you take some kind of sick pleasure from betraying my ideals. You haven’t changed at all; it’s just like South Africa all over again.”
“Don’t be so dramatic Whitney, South Africa was strictly a business decision; you know that.”
“I can’t believe I ever thought I could trust you again.”
“You didn’t, you’re not here because you trust me; you’re here because you need me. You need what I can give you.”
“And what does Magnus Tait need?”
“I want for nothing and need little else.”
“What is this?” Roger asks her but she’s already drifted into unconsciousness.
Caleb and Lynne exchange glances before he explains, “A private jet belonging to Magnus Tait landed at Pearson yesterday. His name is on the guest list for this conference.”
“He’s who helped Randle?” Roger asks.
Opening his eyes, Roger stares up at the ceiling of his living room. In the next room he can hear Miriam humming while she busies herself.
He wants to make her happy. He wants to be able to forgive himself—wants that more than anything. He wants to be able to say that he took Lionel’s advice and told her everything.
He wants to…
But he knows it would be a lie.
Closing his eyes again he’s transported back in time to relive what he has not yet told her.
“Hello?”
Even after forty years of marriage, her voice still sounds as sweet to him as the very first time he heard it. “Hey honey,” he says into the phone.
“Roger dear,” Miriam beams, her voice as inviting to him as a calm pool on a warm summer’s night. “How are things going in D.C.?”
“It’s D.C.,” he offers in reply, “There’s always one or two or twenty representatives who think they know everything that this country does and does not need.”
“That well huh?”
Sighing Roger says, “I’ll manage.”
“You’d think after Iowa that they’d have no problems increasing your budget.”
Shifting the phone from one hand to the other, Roger takes a deep breath and adroitly changes the subject. “So how are things going there?”
“Lonesome,” he imagines the smile on her gentle lips as she sighs, “But I’ll manage.”
They share a comfortable moment of silence between them that can only come from years of familiarity before Miriam asks, “Is your flight still the same?”
“Yeah, I’ll be home in a couple of days.”
“I’ll be waiting. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Hanging up the phone Roger signals to the hotel bartender to bring him another soda and lime.
“It’s tough sometimes isn’t it?” a voice at his elbow says before taking the stool next to him. “Sorry,” he smiles, “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation. The wife I presume?”
“Yes,” Roger slowly answers before asking, “What’s tough?”
“Hmm?” the man arches his eyebrows in confusion.
“You said it’s tough sometimes—I’m just wondering what is tough.”
“Ah,” he raises a finger saying, “Leaving loved ones behind to go on these preternaturally boring business trips.” Extending his hand he introduces himself, “Magnus Tait. I believe I saw you in the budgetary meeting earlier.”
Taking the proffered hand, Roger responds, “Roger Whittaker, please to meet you. You work for the government Mr. Tait?”
“No,” Magnus vigorously shakes his head, “I have private interests in the outcome of these meetings. As they say, there are never enough slices of the pie to go around.”
“How true,” Roger sips his drink while eyeing the phone on the bar’s surface.
“So how much longer are you in town for Roger?”
“A couple more days,” he answers with a weak smile, “Unless I decide to fly on home early.”
“Yeah,” Magnus grins, “It is nice to have a sweet lady to go home to.”
“You married?”
“Only to the divorce lawyer,” Magnus jabs a playful elbow against Roger’s arm, “But that doesn’t sound like anything you’d know about.”
“Well,” Roger downs the rest of his drink as he stands up saying, “I should get back to my room. Nice meeting you Mr. Tait.”
“And you,” Magnus whispers to his back, “Very nice talking with you Roger.”
His eyes open again to the pleasant sound of Miriam humming; to the safety and security of a happy marriage. A marriage built on no secrets and supported by nothing but.
What did I do to you Miriam?
Standing up he heads for the door knowing where he has to go. “I’m going out for a bit Miriam,” he hollers toward the kitchen, “Be back soon.”
He closes the door without waiting for a reply.
Chapter 27
Hope, North Carolina
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Tyler watches as rain clouds move across the sky blotting out the meager sunlight. Knowing that it won’t be long now until the downpour reaches him, he hurriedly continues his work.
He bends over to dip a beaker into the water that’s lapping at the eastern shoreline of the island. Filling it up quickly he jams a stopper into it with his thumb and sets it in the wire rack by his feet before moving onto the next sample.
As he does he happens to glance back to the village to find the tall lanky form of Paul Chase cutting towards him. Great, he muses, my shadow.
Knowing what’s coming, he turns his head away to resume working.
“Missed you at breakfast mate,” Chase says while plopping himself down on the grass a few feet away.
“Yeah,” Tyler mumbles, “Wanted to get an early start before the weather churned up the waters too much.”
“You found anything in them samples you been taking all week?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Tyler admits—his voice tight and short.
As usual, Chase pays no attention to the obvious fact that Tyler is not in the mood to talk.
“Just like you thought then,” Chase rips a handful of grass out of the ground and casually begins shredding it between his fingers, “The red tides got nothing to do with all this.”
Tyler stops working for a moment to glare at him silently before lowering his head again.
“Must make you wonder why you’re here mate?”
Dropping another beaker into the rack he glances over at Chase smiling back at him.
“Well,” he intones, “Makes me wonder mate.”
Rest
ing his hands on his hips, Tyler turns to face him head-on. “And how’s your work going?” he pointedly asks, “Found any ghosts yet?”
“Still working on it mate.”
“And when would that be?” Tyler raises his voice, “Seeing as how every time I turn around you’re there. When exactly do you do any work Paul? Why are you here?”
Tossing the bits of grass into the breeze Chase comments, “Bit testy this morning ain’t we?”
“No,” Tyler grinds his teeth saying, “Just clear.”
“Clear about what?”
Exhaling slowly Tyler begins to nod his head saying, “OK, all right, you want to do it that way, fine.” Frowning at him he explains, “When we first met on the way here you said something that seemed out of place to me but I couldn’t figure out why at the time.
“You mentioned Croatoan being written all over this place despite telling me that you’ve never been here and that detail being classified information. Then you let on that you didn’t know anything about Roanoke and The Lost Colony, so you couldn’t have remembered the word from there.
“So tell me Paul,” he lowers his voice in an effort to sound menacing, “How did you know about Croatoan? Why have you been shadowing me since I got here? What are you really doing here?
“Answer me now or I go to Cummings with my suspicions and we let him get to the bottom of it.”
“Well, well,” Chase smiles at him in response, “And here I thought I had the active imagination mate.”
They stare down each other for a moment before Chase relents and with an exasperated sigh explains, “I’m here to help find out why the people who belong here aren’t here.
“I’m here because I was asked to lend a hand mate. And I’m sorry you think I’ve been following you around; I thought we were just being friendly. You want to go to Cummings and make an ass of yourself mate, don’t let me stop you.”
Standing up he looks down at Tyler and simply shakes his head before turning and walking away.
“Paul!”
Stopping, he waits for Tyler to say something more.
“Croatoan,” he says to his back, “You never answered me about how you knew about it.”
He resumes walking away—his smile hidden from sight as he calls back, “You’re right, I didn’t.”
Swanquarter, North Carolina
The scent of pine trees and cut wood fills the rustic cabin.
Seated in a hand-crafted lounge chair, Cole Hewitt takes in his surroundings. The spacious room is dominated by the large fireplace along the length of one wall and an oriental rug covering three quarters of the hardwood floor.
Above the fireplace an oil painting of a wooded scene draws his attention. The detail in the image is remarkable, showing a lone cabin on a bluff above a creek that is running from a towering waterfall in the distance.
The shelf above the hearth is cluttered with turquoise carvings of various animals and numerous framed photographs. It’s the photos that resonate the most with him. They are everywhere that he can see—on the walls and along every flat surface.
In each of them he sees the smiling faces of a happy couple; a man and a woman who made their life here very rewarding. The contrast between the image of the man in those photos and the man himself seated before Cole is stunning.
The lines in his tanned, leathery skin are far more pronounced while the once manicured beard is now wild and unkempt. His brown eyes once filled with joy and love now conceal a deep sadness and a wariness that Cole has to wonder at.
“So,” Cole clears his throat to begin, “On the phone you said you had proof of what happened in Hope?”
Squinting at him over his bulbous nose, Jebediah mutters, “I also ‘member telling y’all to come alone.” His eyes pointedly shift to Jeremy who’s seated on the sofa.
“He’s my photographer,” Cole explains, “He’s with me.”
“Ain’t no need of him,” Jebediah declares, “Ain’t taking my picture. Y’all want what I got—he ain’t with y’all.”
Fishing in his pocket, Cole grabs the keys to their rented truck and tosses them to Jeremy. “Wait outside.”
“What!?!” Jeremy exclaims, “You can’t be serious.”
“Go.” Cole instructs without mirth.
Jeremy stands and grabs his camera bag. Casting a last disbelieving look at Cole he stalks to the door muttering under his breath about audacity and crazy people before slamming it behind him.
“We’re alone now,” Cole starts again, “What have you got?”
“What have y’all got?”
Blinking feverishly Cole says, “I don’t understand.”
“I tol’ y’all on the phone—I don’t talk till I get paid.”
“Listen to me Mr. Earl,” Cole replies, “I need to see what you have before I can pay you for it. I thought we understood that. I give you my word that you won’t be cheated here.”
After a moment of silence, Jebediah grunts and reaches behind his chair to bring forth a thin manila folder covered with brown stains. Setting it on the carved oak table between them he gestures for Cole to have a look.
Opening the folder Cole finds a single nine by twelve photograph of a man in black fatigues walking through woods near a shoreline. In the bottom right corner the picture is date-stamped July 26.
Looking back at Jebediah, he asks, “What is this?”
“Proof.”
Getting a by now familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Cole asks, “Proof of what? It’s a man in the woods.”
Leaning forward, Jebediah snatches the photo out of his hands, shaking his head at him as he does. “I thought y’all smarter than that,” he admonishes, “This here’s a Black Creek soldier on the shores of Hope.”
Still not getting it Cole prompts, “And?”
“And,” he responds handing the photo back, “Lookit the date.”
Looking down at the date again it hits him with the sudden force of revelation. A sharp intake of breath precedes him saying, “This is dated a week before the people disappeared.”
Jebediah just leans back in his chair smiling triumphantly as Cole puts all the pieces together.
“Black Creek didn’t arrive until after the disappearance. That’s what everyone has been told. But they were here before any disappearance…they were here when it happened!”
Growing excited now he asks, “Why were they here?”
“I need payment Mr. Hewitt.”
“You’ll have it!” he offers, “If I have to pay you myself I will. Why were they here? Do you know?”
He nods slowly before telling everything that he knows. “I been in this here cabin more than twenty years Mr. Hewitt. Y’all can imagine the things a body’d see here in that time. Nothing I ever seen came close to what I witnessed that night.”
He points at the photo again saying, “The night I took that.”
Silence crowds in on them as Cole waits patiently for him to continue. After a lengthy pause he carries on, “I was on my boat that night; fishing. It ain’t great fishing like it used to be, but I can usually still catch my own and keep me fed.
“I was out in the Sound when I seen the lights over on Hope. Naturally I wondered what was afoot and went in closer for a look-see. How I sometimes wish I hadn’t. It weren’t till I got closer that I heard the shots.”
“Shots?” Cole inquires.
“Gunshots Mr. Hewitt,” he explains, “Y’all live like I do, out here, come to know that sound well. This weren’t no handgun going off—t’where a rifle. A lot of rifles.”
After another pause, Jebediah says, “I ain’t the easily spooked kind, y’all understand. Still and all, that noise got to me something fierce. Y’all know, I think sometimes that I shoulda went over there to check it out, but I didn’t.
“The screams and the crying—like y’all never heard. I high-tailed it back to my shore and took that there photo. Y’all see, even then I knew what had happened.”
Sensin
g the burden of guilt that he’s feeling, Cole offers, “You did the right thing Mr. Earl. It wouldn’t have been safe for you to go over there.”
“I know it,” he barks, “Don’t change a thing though.”
“You say you knew what happened,” Cole asks, “How did you know? All you heard were gunshots and some screaming—could’ve been anything.”
“Y’all daft?” he looks at him askance before saying, “The sound of that many rifles ain’t never good. Sides, that ain’t all of it.”
Cole slides closer to the edge of his seat as he waits for him to speak again.
“Spooked as I was, couldn’t sleep that night. Around two in the morning I went down to the shoreline to clear my head. Them bright lights was still burning.”
Lowering his head as he recalls it Jebediah drawls, “I made a rash decision then. Climbed back into my boat and started paddling for the island. There were no moon at the time to give me away and something deep in me was gnawing at me to…do somethin’.
“Mighta been Maggie,” he wipes one of his gruff fingers under his eye as he says, “She was always ‘bout doing right. Anyhow, I swung around the other side of the island and seen it.”
The tension in the room is electric as Cole asks, “Saw what? What did you see?”
Raising his eyes to lock on him, Jebediah stares at him a moment before asking, “Sure y’all want to know?”
All Cole can do is nod and wait.
“There were barges docked,” Jebediah says as his eyes glaze over, “And a bunch of Black Creek men tossing bodies onto them. The bodies were wrapped in tarps and it was dark but…y’all can tell a body when y’all see one.
“I turned tail; got out of there fore they added me to the pile. Decided then and there the best I could do was get the truth out when the time was right.
“And that’s the terrible truth of it Mr. Hewitt. No one disappeared in Hope. For whatever reason—and I can assure y’all I don’t know—Black Creek executed them people in cold blood and dumped their bodies at sea.”
“Did,” Cole stutters, “Did you take a picture of any of this?”
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