Blackwater Lights

by Michael M. Hughes

  “Used to be non-denominational—Pentecostalist. Lots of testifying, speaking in tongues, that kind of thing. All white people. In the early eighties a black preacher took it over. Another odd bird. Some say he just bought the church outright. Most of the congregation left.… Blackwater isn’t the most racially enlightened town, you might have noticed, and the idea of a black man even setting foot in this county was a bit much for most people. He still has a few people in his congregation, maybe fifteen or twenty, I’d guess.”

  Ray sighed. “You sure it was the eighties when he showed up? He wasn’t here earlier? Like ’72, maybe?”

  “I’m pretty sure. Yeah, it was definitely later than ’72. But I’ll check.”

  “But what about up here? Near the edge of the map.”

  Denny shrugged. “Some wealthy homes. A construction company owner has a second home there. And a philanthropist guy who pumps a lot of money into charities and the like.”

  Ray inhaled. “Crawford?”

  “Yeah.” Denny tilted his head. “You know him?”

  “I know of him.”

  “Huh. Interesting. He’s a bit of a mystery man. Likes to be left alone. I think I’ve seen him twice in the past ten years. I don’t even know if he actually lives there.”

  Ellen’s eyes were puffy and red when she finally arrived. She smiled dismissively. “Allergies,” she said.

  A scruffy waiter brought beers for Ray and Denny and a coffee for Ellen. Ray poured his beer and held out his glass. “You guys … I’m really grateful for the help you’ve both given me.”

  Denny looked at Ellen with a raised brow, then back to Ray. “No problem.”

  Ellen clinked her coffee mug against their glasses. “My mother always said the way God measures people is how they treat strangers in need.” She smiled at Ray. “Not that you’re really a stranger anymore.”

  Denny held his beer glass aloft. He looked like he was going to say something, but just nodded.

  Ellen pulled her Marlboro Lights out of her purse. Denny stared at them as if they were sticks of dynamite.

  Ray leaned forward. “Denny, I need to catch you up on a few things.”

  Denny nodded. “Sure,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  Ray told Denny what he had told Ellen earlier that day.

  “Holy moley,” Denny said. His face had gotten splotchy. “I knew Crawford—”

  Ray held his finger to his lips. Ellen hissed.

  Denny drew back. “Oh. Sorry.” He looked around. The bartender stood watching a pro wrestling match on the TV. A few others had arrived and were having dinner, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. “I knew he was rich. But not that rich. And the”—he lowered his voice—“drugs. That’s unusual.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty of drugs around here,” Ellen said. “Trust me. I have three meth-head cousins and a niece who eats pills like they’re breath mints. But nothing like what you’re talking about—Ecstasy and designer drugs.”

  “And what about your friend Kevin?” Denny asked. “You still haven’t talked to him? Do you think he’s okay?”

  Ray wiped moisture from his beer glass. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to speak to him. He had to leave because of an emergency, but he should be back anytime now.”

  Ellen lit a cigarette and held it behind her back. Denny frowned but she ignored him. “I have to think that your friend is somehow involved with them,” Ellen said.

  Ray turned. “Why?”

  “Think about it. Kevin is rich, right? A millionaire?”

  “At least,” Ray said. “He passed that mark awhile ago.”

  “Well, who do rich people hang out with? Especially in a town this small?”

  Denny nodded. “Other rich people.”

  Ray sighed. “But he wouldn’t get involved with people like them. I know him. I’ve known him since we were kids. He works in a sleazy business, but he’s not sleazy himself.” He saw the expressions on the others’ faces. “Well, he’s a little sleazy, sure. But not … like them.”

  Ellen shrugged. “But he brought you here, right? And then just up and disappeared? Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”

  Ray looked at both of them. “Yes. It is. But you don’t understand. He’s like a brother to me. He wouldn’t lie, and if he did, I would know it. He’s a shitty liar. And when he called me and begged me to come here, he was scared. Like I’ve never heard him before. And he said in his email that his office in Portland burned down. The cops thought it might have been arson. So if anything, the two of them might have done it—torched his business—to get him away from here.”

  “Well, you’ll know soon enough,” Ellen said.

  They sat in silence. Denny motioned to the bartender for another round. Ellen excused herself and went to the bathroom.

  Denny leaned closer to Ray. “I found out some things,” he whispered. “But it’s stuff”—he tilted his head toward the bathroom—“that you might not want to discuss in front of her. The other subject we talked about.”

  “It’s okay,” Ray said. “I told her about the lights. And she’s trustworthy.”

  Denny stared. “Okay.” He seemed surprised. And not convinced.

  When Ellen returned, Denny turned the map to face Ray. “On my blog, I’ve written about the archaeological and other anomalies in and around town. And they seem to cluster in this area to the north.”

  “Where the camp was. Or might still be,” Ray added.

  Denny nodded. “There’s a waterfall near the African American church. There are some petroglyphs on the rocks—symbols carved into them. An unknown language.”

  “Naked Connie Falls,” Ellen said.

  “What?” Denny asked. “You know the place?”

  “Of course. Every kid in high school knew it.” She looked at Denny. “Well, most everybody. We used to go swimming there, in the falls. It was always cold as hell. A girl named Connie took acid and got naked and let some guy take pictures of her and they got spread all over school.” She held up her hands. “Naked Connie Falls.”

  Denny stared.

  Ray laughed into his hand. “What else is there?”

  Denny slid his finger. “Here, which, now that I think about it, is pretty close to Craw—” He caught himself. “To his property. It’s a cluster of five tall rocks. They’re very unusual in appearance.”

  “The Hand,” Ellen said.

  “That’s what the locals call it,” Denny said.

  “You’re a local.”

  Denny’s smile froze. “Okay, we’ll call it the Hand. Anyway, it’s been dismissed by most academics—at least the few who even know about it—as a natural formation. There’s no evidence of anything remotely like it being built by Native Americans, so, in their stunted minds, it couldn’t be man-made. The usual debunker nonsense. But not everyone agrees. I certainly don’t.” He moved his finger toward the center. “Here is your friend’s house, Ray.” Still farther. “Here is the cemetery in the center of town. Built on top of the Indian mound. Another anomaly—and no one’s sure why it was built or who built it, despite what the history books say.”

  Ellen stubbed out her cigarette. “Okay. I’m sorry, but what does this have to do with anything?”

  Denny’s face reddened. “Maybe it means nothing.”

  “Hold on,” Ray said. “Go ahead, Denny.”

  “It could just be coincidence. I’m the first to admit that. But sometimes …” He laid the edge of the Purple Burro’s menu against the map and drew a line with his pencil. “Look at this. From the Hand … and the Falls … to the center of the cemetery mound in the middle of town. A perfectly straight line.”

  Ellen shook her head. “It’s interesting. Sure. But it’s a line. A line.”

  Denny blinked. He turned to face Ray. “And after what you’ve just told me tonight, Ray, let’s say we extend the line even farther to the north.” He moved his finger a few inches. “Almost into the next county. A guy who throws some pr
etty fabulous parties lives right here—on the same line. Two points means nothing. Three, still nothing but coincidence. But four places of interest? I start paying attention.”

  Ellen pursed her lips. “Okay. That’s weird.”

  Denny nodded. “In Europe it would be known as a ley line.”

  Ellen nodded. “Naked Connie would have agreed.”

  Ray snorted. Denny didn’t.

  “L-E-Y, not L-A-Y. And someone else’s property is on this line, too. Remember? Right here, at the end of this long road.”

  “Kevin’s house,” Ray said.

  Ellen stared at the map. “Okay. So, for some reason, Mr. We-Can’t-Mention-His-Name and your rich friend set up their homes on this imaginary voodoo line. I’ll buy that. Maybe they even believe in magical energy lines. But how does this help you, Ray? How does it help you find this camp and figure out what happened to you there?”

  Denny eyed her icily. “Because … let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that Mr. You-Know-Who does, in fact, have something to do with Ray’s camp. You believe he might, don’t you, Ray?”

  Ray nodded. “It’s just my gut. But yes.”

  “Then one might logically expect the location of the camp—”

  Ellen finished. “To also be somewhere on this ley line. Some special spot.”

  Denny nodded. “Yes. Which, if ‘Dottie’s Dotings’ is right and it’s to the north, would leave either the falls you’re familiar with, near the old church, or possibly somewhere on his property. There’s a pretty major cave system around there, and a lot of the land is so hilly it has never been logged. It’s old and wild.”

  The three of them sat quietly, looking at Denny’s thin pencil line.

  “So what’s next?” Ellen asked. “I could take you to Naked Connie Falls. When I get off work tomorrow.”

  “No,” Ray said. The forcefulness surprised him. “I’ll go by myself. This is mine to figure out.”

  Ellen seemed hurt. But he didn’t want to put her at risk. The more he uncovered, the more he worried that he was getting himself into something potentially dangerous.

  “What do you know about this church, Denny? Could I just go and sing hymns with them for an hour? Maybe walk around the property afterward?”

  “I don’t know. They keep to themselves.”

  “I’ll pay a visit.” Ray finished the last of his beer. “And then I think I’m going to see Lily again.”

  Ellen’s eyes widened. “What? Don’t you think that’s a little risky?”

  “If she’s part of it—and he’s part of it—then I might be able to get something out of her. And maybe I’ll find out what happened the other night. After I blank-taped half the evening.”

  “I really don’t think that’s—”

  Denny held up his hand. “No, I think he’s right. But get her to come to you. Someplace public.”

  Ray nodded. “Something tells me she’s the key to this.”

  Ellen slowly shook her head.

  The bartender gave the last call. Denny’s face was flushed. “I think I’d better get going,” he said. He took his wallet out of his pants pocket and dropped it on the floor. He leaned beneath the table to pick it up, and bumped his head loudly on the underside. “Ouch,” he said.

  Ellen grimaced.

  Denny lifted his head. “I’m a real klutz sometimes.” He rubbed his hands in his hair. “My mother used to tell me I was lucky I lived past the age of five.”

  “Can I give you a lift?” Ray asked.

  Denny took out some cash and shook his head. “I’m fine. Really. Just a little buzzed, that’s all. Anyway, I walked. It’s not far.”

  Ray squeezed his arm. “Thanks, Denny. I mean that.”

  Denny smiled. “Sure.” He nodded in Ellen’s direction. “You two have a good night,” he said, and walked, a bit wobbly, out the door and into the night.

  “He likes you,” Ellen said.

  Ray finished his beer. He was feeling a bit wobbly, too. “He’s a sweet guy.”

  She laughed. “No, I mean he likes you. It’s plain as day. He’s jealous of me. And he has a crush on you.”

  Ray paused to consider it. “Huh. I didn’t quite get that.”

  “Well, it doesn’t surprise me at all. Look, he lives with his mother, working in a rinky-dink library in a town so small you can blink and miss it. And here comes this cute guy from Baltimore—a guy who just happens to have seen the lights his very first night here. A guy who needs help solving his own mystery and asks him for help. Denny’s always been big on mysteries. How could he not fall in love with you?”

  Maybe she was right. Now that she said it out loud, it made sense. The way he’d seen Denny looking at him … he’d interpreted it as interest, even intense interest. But Ray hadn’t felt a sexual vibe, and he considered himself pretty good at picking up on that kind of thing. “He seemed pissed that I’d invited you here. But I thought it was just because he didn’t want me to spill our secret.”

  Ellen wiped a finger around the rim of her empty coffee cup. “Maybe he sees something … oh, never mind.” She looked up at him. She seemed to be considering saying more, but instead grabbed her purse. “They’re getting ready to close. Will you walk me to my truck?”

  Ellen drove a blue Chevy pickup with patches of gray primer. A robot air freshener hung from the rearview mirror. He stood behind her as she unlocked the door. She turned to him, her eyes looking up into his. “I want to help you. My life is a little hard right now, having to take care of William and work all the time. But if you want to go check out the Hand, I can get someone to cover my shift and take you one afternoon. Before you have to go home.” She smiled. “Maybe we can make a picnic out of it. I could bring William along. I’m sure he’d love to see you and talk your ear off again.”

  “That sounds like a plan,” he said.

  Ellen took his hands. “Please be careful, Ray. It might be silly, but I … I really worry about you. This is all pretty weird. And Crawford—it sounds like he’s a real sketchy character. Lily, too.”

  “I’ll be okay,” he said.

  She looked into his eyes. She had a simple, unadorned prettiness that revealed itself slowly. And her eyes were captivating. As tired and weary as they were, they were alive and warm and gentle. And concerned.

  She squeezed his hands. “Goodnight, Ray.” She turned and climbed into the truck.

  He stood and watched as she drove off.

  Chapter Eight

  There were only a few cars outside the Church of the Open Door. The building had once been painted white but was now a faded, ashen gray, with paint flaking and peeling off in strips. The steeple dripped with layers of pigeon droppings, and the stained-glass windows had gone grimy and dark.

  The doorknob was a tarnished brass lion head. When Ray reached for it, the door opened and swung inward.

  A burly black man stepped into view. His hair stuck out in pointy, inch-long dreadlocks. The guy who had been driving the white Cadillac in the parade.

  “Can I help you?” he asked. No trace of a West Virginia accent. A definite East Coast Yankee.

  Ray smiled. “I saw your sign, in the parade. I thought I’d come to check out the church.” He tried to see through the doorway, but it was dark inside.

  “Services are over for the day.” His eyes were cold. He crossed his thick, muscled arms.

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Ray said. “Well, is the church open? Is it okay if I just sit for a little while, since I drove out here? Just to pray for bit?”

  “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t going to budge. “We only open the church for services. Maybe you can try the Methodist church in town.”

  “Let him in.” A voice from the darkness.

  The burly man glared at Ray and held open the door. Ray stepped inside, his stomach knotting. He had hoped to sit in the back of the church during a service and maybe slip away quietly to wander the grounds to see if anything clicked.

  When his eyes adjusted to the d
arkness, he saw the old preacher standing near the wooden pulpit, his face shadowed. The dim light coming through the dirty stained-glass windows barely illuminated the rows of rough wooden pews. The air smelled like pine. The door closed behind him, and Ray realized if the two of them wanted to hurt him, he was at their mercy.

  The old man walked toward him. He was dressed in the same hideous white suit he’d been wearing in the parade. His eyes met Ray’s, but they showed only curiosity. “How may I help you, friend?” His voice was deep but quiet. His face was littered with pocks and patches of scarred pink flesh, but his features were strong and deeply lined.

  “I saw your car in the parade,” Ray said. “I thought I’d check out your church.”

  The old man nodded and held out his hand. “Then I welcome you. I’m Micah, pastor of the Church of the Open Door.”

  Ray shook his hand. Dry, rough, and firm for such a small man. “Ray Simon. I saw the cars outside. I thought I could just come in.”

  “Well, we are a little wary of strangers showing up at our door. Had some trouble, years ago. Of the cross-burning variety. You understand, I’m sure.”

  “Of course,” Ray said.

  “But now I see you are a good soul, Mr. Simon. Why don’t you have a seat?” He motioned to a pew. “We can have a little chat.”

  Ray sat. This wasn’t going the way he wanted it to go.

  Micah waved his hand. “Mantu,” he said to the younger man, “give us a little privacy, please.”

  Mantu nodded uneasily and walked outside.

  The door closed. “Ray—may I call you Ray?”

  “Of course.”

  “I never doubt the intentions of a soul who comes to me seeking counsel. The Lord delivers; I just do His bidding.” He crossed his hands in his lap. “So please, tell me: what brings you to our humble assembly?”

  “I’ve been wanting to start going back to church. But I can just come back when you have a service. I don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother at all.” He turned and the light from the window hit his face. His eyes were yellow and one pupil was cloudy. Dust motes sparkled in the thin wash of sunlight. He leaned closer. “You have the look of someone who has been touched by the Lord’s grace. Do you know the story of the Pentecost and the tongues of fire that danced on the apostles’ heads?”