by Eden Maguire
'OK enough to end up here?' his dad muttered, glancing back at the trailer. 'Take a look at yourself, Zak. This is not good.'
'What do you know? What do you care?'
'I care. I always cared.'
'Yeah, words. What do they mean exactly?'
Michael pursed his mouth up tight and frowned. When he spoke again,
the phrases came out in painful jerks. 'It means not a day goes by when I don't think about what I threw away when I walked out on your mom.
Maybe not even an hour. For ten whole years I was this guy living alone thousands of miles away from the people he loved floating, drifting, trying to find a reason to go on putting one foot in front of another. Not finding it.'
Zak had turned his head away but now he was definitely listening.
You know how many times I moved on, working in one lousy job then another? After twenty new towns in Germany and Switzerland, France, Spain I stopped counting.'
'So? You're stil the one who walked out. That doesn't change.'
Michael nodded. 'I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'm saying I stil care. No, that's not the word.'
Say it, I thought. Tel him the right word. I knew how I'd be feeling if it was my dad standing here trying to explain why he left. I would need to hear that word.
Michael dug deep. His voice wasn't much more than a whisper. 'I love you, Zak. I love you, Brandon and Phoenix more than my own life.'
Michael's apartment at Centre Point wasn't much of a step up from the empty trailer on the Forest Lake road, but no way was Zak ready to go back to his mom's house.
'I'm through with being treated like a little kid,' he told his dad and me as I drove them back to town. 'Being there - in that house - it messes with my head.'
'So you can stay with me,' Michael agreed. 'I don't care, Zak, so long as you stay away from Nathan Thorne.'
'I told your dad al about him,' I confessed. 'And his big brother, Oscar
he's the one to watch.' Arriving at Michael's block, I parked and let them out of the car. I watched them enter the building with a feeling of relief. Am I doing OK? I asked.
Silence. Phoenix didn't answer me.
From which I assumed that Hunter had cal ed him back to Foxton again. Hunter! Suddenly my mind tuned into my daily mantra - Hunter can't stop me now!
Right now, in the current silence of the car park, I wasn't so sure. I stared at the row of overfil ed garbage bins, the graffiti wal s, realizing I was a world away from the magic of Foxton, which is when the real panic set in.
'Hunter, don't listen to Phoenix,' I said out loud. 'I can deal with this.' Stil silence.
if you're thinking of giving up and pul ing out of Foxton altogether, don't do it!' I begged. 'I'm tel ing you - things are coming together. I've got a list of names I need to check out, there are people I have to see.'
I was staring at the same old white plastic bag as before, eddying around the yard, whirling against my tyres, flapping and drifting. And then I remembered, tomorrow was a big day for Hunter - the anniversary of his death.
I know what to do! I thought, turning the car and heading for home, straight to my laptop.
It didn't take me long to find a genealogy website cal ed who-r-u.com, pay the subscription and type in the name, Hester Lee, with an approximate birth date of 1905, place of birth, Foxton, mother's name, Marie, father's name, Hunter. Once and for al , with the recorded registration of Hester' `$9 birth I would settle Hunter's doubts and set his mind at rest.
Mil ions of people check their family history online, so the site was easy
to use. I quickly fol owed the trail, found that Hester Lee married John Turner on the 28th June 1925. The marriage certificate was signed on the bride's side by her aunt, Alice Harper. Her mother was listed as Marie Lee
(deceased), her father as Hunter Lee, rancher, also deceased.
This should have been enough. It was official and beyond doubt - Hester was Hunter's daughter. And it made me wonder, had the overlord done this already? Surely, with his superpowers, he would have been able to check the certificate himself.
But then I thought, why not find out more? Staring at the names on screen, it was an itch that had to be scratched. I tapped more keys and found
that Hester and John had a daughter, Alice Marie, born 5th January 1927.
Alice Marie Turner, an only child, married Wesley Ashton in August 1949. They had two children - Torn, born 15th June 1950 and Jane, born 2nd March 1952. Jane Ashton, aged eighteen and unmarried, gave birth in September 1970 to a baby girl cal ed Laura. Jane died in childbirth.
I sat for an age, staring at the screen.
I wasn't focusing on a poor, lonely, castout kid cal ed Jane who died giving life. No - Ashton is my mother's birth-family name. Work it out careful y with me, go back through the generations. I am Marie and Hunter Lee's great-great-great granddaughter.
I sat at my computer and let day turn to night. I don't know how many times I checked the information and stil came out with the same result.
How could I not? I always knew my mother's mother died giving birth to her. She was reared by her adoptive parents, Tom and Lucil e Bunton. No one talked to her about her teenaged mother's pregnancy and death.
Obviously the Buntons found it too hard to discuss. And Laura herself had
conspired in this, carrying the burden of their secrecy al her life. As far as I knew, she never tried to discover more about her background than Tom and Lucil e had been wil ing to tel .
I am descended from Marie and Hunter Lee. His blood runs in my veins.
I set off before dawn on Tuesday to tel him.
He already knows! I told myself. The way he looks at you. The photo of Marie. The fact that he ever let you through the barrier to meet the Beautiful Dead in the first place. Now it al comes together.
Stil I had no choice I had to talk to Hunter.
My driving was crazy, my head in a spin. I'm related to a walking dead man!
The mountains loomed ahead, the road snaked around Turkey Shoot Ridge. A fire-red sun crept over the horizon.
At Foxton I turned left onto the dirt road, towards a bank of black cloud. It sat to the west over Amos Peak, threatening a big storm. Ten metres below me, green water raced along the bed of the creek, swirling past boulders and kicking up white foam.
By the time I reached the aspen ridge, the first fat drops of rain hit my windscreen. I abandoned my car under the trees and ran towards the water
tower, fighting a strong wind, pushing on with my news, pul ed along by the fierce new bond I'd forged with Phoenix's overlord. I didn't for a second stop to wonder what Hunter's reaction would be.
The rain came fast now, battering the metal water tank, bouncing off the rocks. I staggered on, soaked to the skin and half blind, towards the house and barn, stepping back in my mind through decades to the day more than a hundred years earlier that Peter Mentone pul ed a gun on Hunter and shot
him through the head.
I ran through the meadow and across the yard. Rainwater cascaded from
the roof of the barn, the cold wind drove into my face. Any moment now,
Phoenix would step across my path, take my hand and lead me to Hunter.
Or Iceman or Dean one of the Beautiful Dead must surely appear. Yes, there was rain lashing across the val ey and wind howling through the trees, but there was as yet no thunder, no lightning. They were here on the far side, quietly sitting out the storm.
Was it raining like this al those years ago when Mentone arrived on
horseback and found Marie alone in the house? Did he check the barn first?' as I did now, to find out if Hunter was there?
I pictured the kil er tethering his horse to the post and stepping through the wide door into a space stacked high in those days with hay and straw. The split log barn was new then, the smel of sawn pine fil ed the air. Hunter's axe, spades, forks and scythe were stacked neatly against the wal ,
his horses' harnesses gleamed
on their hooks. Marie's horse grazed out in
the meadow, but of Hunter's there was no sign.
Mentone knew he was in luck. He wasn't welcome here when his hard-
working neighbour was home. With Marie, it was different - she usual y had a smile on her lips and a few kind words for him. He heard the rain on the barn roof, dodged the waterfal spil ing over the edge of the roof as he stepped back out across the yard.
Would he knock at the house door, as I did now, or would he turn the handle and walk right in? Marie would be standing at the stove with her back turned, or maybe upstairs working in the smal bedroom. But then again - no. Even in the rain, with the door closed, she would have heard Mentone's horse approach. She would be facing him with a smile when he
opened the door, ready to be polite.
Peter, come in out of the wet. How are you doing today?'
'I'm good, Mrs Lee. How about you?'
'Good too. Hunter isn 't home, but I've got coffee on the stove if you'd like some. '
He closes the door behind him. Somehow the rain cuts them off and narrows the whole wide world to one smal room with a rug on the floor, a lit stove and a coffee pot boiling. Mentone sees only Marie's face - her dark-brown eyes fringed with thick lashes, her wide, smiling mouth.
is there something I can do for you ? ' she ofers.
He takes the coffee. In that split second, as her fingertips accidental y brush his, something clicks in his brain and he decides to act on what he's been fantasizing about doing for a long, long time, which is to find Marie alone in the house and take much more than coffee. He drops the cup and grabs her around the waist. The cup smashes on the floor; hot liquid spil s. 92
Marie gasps and pul s back.
His arm is tight around her waist, her struggling excites him. He likes it when her coiled braid of almost black hair gets caught in the hook they use to hang the lantern from, her comb comes loose and her hair tumbles down her back. He presses her against the window, she clutches at the curtain, brings the pole tumbling down.
There are no words from Marie after is there something I can do for you?' She's fighting to save herself, knowing why Mentone's here, realizing too late that he 's been waiting for this moment her alone, Hunter out since daybreak and God alone knows when he'l be back. Marie kicks and scratches but she doesn 't scream. She's not made that way.
Mentone is stronger. He lets her fight a little - he 's enjoying the fear in her eyes, her hair around her shoulders, the knowledge that he can raise her clean off her feet and do whatever he wants when he wants. He lifts her blue skirt, her white petticoats.
Hunter appears on the ridge. From tinder the aspens he sees Mentone 's horse standing in the sheeting rain, gal ops down the hil . He runs into the house, finds the two of them, Marie down on the floor and helpless, looking up at him like a hurt, trapped animal. Hunter rushes at Mentone, knocks him sideways, grapples with him and pins him to the floor, kneels over him, raises his fists and begins to punch him in the face and chest.
Marie is free. She gets to her feet and, afraid now that her husband wil kil her attacker, tries to pul Hunter away, maybe even gives Mentone the split-second chance to free one arm, reach for his gun, aim and fire.
Bang! One shot. Hunter fal s.
Bang! I hear it echo through the century. I see Hunter topple, hear Marie scream at last.
Bang! It's not then but now. Not a shot from a gun but the barn door slamming shut. I hear footsteps splashing through puddles.
The door to the house flies open and there stands Henry Jardine, with Sheriff Kors right behind him in the porch, and the rain hammering down.
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93
'After al the warnings I gave you?' Jardine quizzed. He stepped inside the house, glanced around at the table, the racks of dusty plates on the dresser, the unlit stove.
I came up with the usual lame excuse. 'You know I don't sleep much, I'm fol owing up my research.'
Kors fol owed Jardine over the threshold, took off his hat and shook the drips from the brim. 'I take it you saw the two guys fol owing you?'
I drew a sharp breath, shook my head then tried to cover up the fear.
'A couple of guys on Harleys,' Jardine went on. 'We checked them out the bikes are registered with Robert Black and Vincent Hal .'
'Yeah? That's news to me.' My comment was about as unconvincing as it's possible to be.
'They're on our radar.' The sheriff walked to the bottom of the stairs. 'We like to monitor their activities.'
'So where are they now?'
'You lost them along the dirt road out of Foxton. We watched them pul up by the creek then we drove on here ahead of them.' Deciding not to check the upstairs room, Kors ran a finger along the dust on the table. 'Don't you want to know the reason why we have Hal and Black in our sights? I'l tel you anyway. The day Phoenix Rohr was stabbed they were
present at the crime scene.'
I made out I didn't know. 'With a hundred other guys,' I muttered. 'Anyone in El erton under the age of twenty-five was there that day.'
Kors gave me a hard look. 'You act like you don't want us to find your boyfriend's kil er.'
The use of the 'kil er' word and the pressure of the situation suddenly got to me and my legs buckled. Jardine slid a chair under me just in time to stop me slumping to the floor. 'Take it easy,' he warned his boss, then turned back to me. 'We're on your side, remember, Darina. Al we want right now is for you to tel us why Oscar Thorne's guys are on your tail.'
Drawing a deep breath, I started to explain. 'It's complicated. You al know Oscar supplies ... substances, il egal drugs to dealers in town. H,94
spent time in jail for it last year. It didn't stop him dealing. Now his kid brother, Nathan, acts as his go-between.'
Jardine and Kors tucked away this useful piece of information. 'And?' Kors asked.
'And Phoenix's brother, Zak, and a couple of other kids hang out with Nathan in an old trailer on the Forest Lake road. I happened to be there when Nathan pul ed out a bag of white powder. I guess the situation quickly got back to Oscar and he put Hal and Black onto me.'
'These are people you do not - I repeat not want to mix with.' Jardine did his protective uncle thing, while Kors busily computed the facts.
'Those two guys are suspected of being into everything you ever had nightmares about - drugs, automobile theft, serious assault, dangerous driving. So don't think that tailing you at a safe distance is al they have in mind.'
It was my turn to process new information. 'Why, what wil they do to
me?'
'How good is your imagination?' Kors interrupted. 'Try staging a traffic accident for starters. A mysterious case of hit and run.'
'Oh, God!' My legs trembled even more.
'Or mugging in broad daylight. And these guys carry serious weapons.'
Up on the ridge, the first flash of lightning darted across the sky, fol owed by a growl of thunder. Rain drove into the porch, wind rattled the window panes. Now I knew there was no chance of the Beautiful Dead sticking around on the far side.
For a while the sound of thunder drowned out the roar of bike engines and the first we saw of the Harley riders was through the frame of the open door when they were already halfway down the hil , about to cut across the meadow towards the house.
'Lucky for you we're here,' Kors muttered, stepping out onto the porch.
The two bikers spotted him and his uniform. They reacted fast, wheeling away, back up the hil side, bouncing over the rough ground, swerving and leaning their bikes at crazy angles to negotiate the rocks and gul eys.
Kors and Jardine ran up the hil after them. Their aim was to reach the car they'd parked out of sight under the aspens and chase Hal and Black out to Angel Rock.
Meanwhile, I stayed on the porch, shaking from head to foot. And this i95 how Hunter and Phoenix found me, soaking wet and terrified, when they braved the storm to come back to the far side.
'I was right al along.'
Phoenix spoke to Hunter as they appeared in their halos of white light. I told you this was too dangerous. Darina has to stop right now, before something real y bad happens.'
'Something bad has already happened,' Hunter said. 'She grew careless
again. If this carries on, and outsiders keep coming here, our secret won't be secret any more.'
As the light around them faded, lightning flashed a second time. It forked through the black clouds, fol owed almost instantly by a sharp crack of thunder. 'You shouldn't be here!' I cried.
'True,' Hunter agreed, calm in spite of the danger he and Phoenix were in. 'We only came to take care of the intruders you brought with you.'
'Go back!' Guilt struck hard and I ran to take both of Phoenix's hands to plead with him. Was it my imagination that he was paler, colder than ever, his grasp less strong? 'The storm is bad and it's getting worse!'
'I can't leave until after I deal with our visitors,' he whispered.
'So go up to the ridge,' Hunter ordered. 'Set up the barrier, drive al four of them away.'
Phoenix had no choice - he must obey his overlord. 'Wait here with
Hunter,' he told me, holding me by the shoulders and forcing me to look
straight into his eyes. 'The guys on the bikes didn't get past Angel Rock before they wrecked their machines. The cops didn't even make it that far.'
I hung on to his hands, desperate not to let him go. 'You're sure? You can hear what's happening?'
He nodded then pul ed free. 'Wait here,' he said again then strode out.
I ran to the door after him, watched him sprint across the drenched meadow and up the hil as another fork of lightning flickered across the sky.
'This isn't right!' I went to plead with Hunter, who stood impassively by the window. His face was blank, his eyes stone cold. 'The electric storm -
Phoenix won't make it through!'
'He knows what he has to do,' Hunter muttered. 'If he fails, yoi P6
understand what wil happen.'
The storm wil overpower him. The electrical charge of the lightning wil drain his superhuman strength. Death wil claim him.
'So was it worth it?' Hunter asked me calmly as he read my thoughts. 'Real y, Darina - whatever you came here to tel me, was it worth risking everything for?'