by DG Wood
“It could work.”
Carter had opened his mouth for the first time that morning and even took a bite of his breakfast.
“I’m in,” said Peter.
Christopher’s gruesome death hadn’t ruined his appetite. Peter was ready for a second helping of breakfast.
Shane wasn’t far behind.
“I feel bad about what happened, but I need the money. You ready to go back to waiting tables already, S?”
Serena shook her head in response to Shane, while Darkly was distracted by the lovebirds outside. She watched them split apart when Buck pulled up across the street, got out of his pick-up truck, and walked up to his son. Trey took a protective position in front of Victoria. Buck shook his head and walked into the diner.
Gus nudged Darkly and whispered, “Hey, voyeur, something interesting?”
The cowbell over the diner door clanked. Buck removed his hat and walked right up to the cast and crew table.
Marvin leapt up and offered Buck his seat.
“I’ve finished eating, Sheriff. You can have my chair.”
“Have a seat, son. I’ve eaten already.”
Buck placed his hand on the back of Darkly’s chair, but said what he came to say to Carter.
“The inquest over your actor’s death will take place tonight, if you would like to attend.”
“We’ll all be there, Sheriff,” Marvin answered for Carter.
“Is there any question as to how Christopher died?” Darkly asked.
“An inquest is a legal formality. It will only take about twenty minutes. The person who found him is questioned by the magistrate, the cause of death made official, and you folks can go home.”
Carter regained command. “And what if we wanted to stay and finish the movie, Sheriff?”
Buck didn’t respond right away. But when he did, Darkly thought he sounded relieved.
“The town would prefer for you to stay and complete your work, of course.”
“Good.” Carter looked out among his cast. “I think we’re decided.”
Then, as an afterthought that revealed exactly where Carter’s priorities were, he asked, “And what about the body?”
“I’m afraid that unless you can arrange that transport in the next forty-eight hours, we’ll have to bury the body. I can’t keep him here in the diner walk-in any longer than that without breaking the town’s health code. As the enforcer of that code, I have no such intention of abusing it.”
Serena looked at the fork in her hand. Scrambled eggs spilled off, and she dropped the utensil.
“He’s here? Where you keep the food?” she asked Buck.
“He’s sealed in a body bag, ma’am. Perfectly safe. We’re too small a town to have a morgue. During the winter, we keep the dead in the church basement until the ground softens in the spring.”
Buck put his hat back on.
“The inquest will be at the church at seven tonight. Don’t be surprised if a few of the locals show up to watch. These things are a social event on a calendar packed with very little to do.”
Buck walked past Victoria, who had returned to her work and was wiping down the diner counter. Neither acknowledged each other.
Darkly picked up a piece of toast off Serena’s plate and took a bite.
“Finished?”
Serena glared at Darkly.
“They don’t keep the toast in the fridge.”
Bread was one of the few things Serena could stomach in this place.
The inquest was held in the church. A large arm chair and a wooden desk had been set up below the altar. Reverend MacIntyre held the position of magistrate in addition to his divine duties, and clearly relished the few opportunities he had to practice secular law. He wore a flowing, if threadbare, black robe, and a matted, discolored wig piece was perched precariously on the crown of his head.
Everyone from the film’s cast and crew was seated just below MacIntyre. Behind them, the entire town had congregated. Geraldine, Lewis, Ed, and Buck sat behind Darkly’s pew. There was even a gathering of teens at the back of the church. Victoria and Trey were pressed closely together at the end of the last pew. Darkly wore black. It’s true she usually wore black, but this time it was out of respect.
MacIntyre rapped his gavel on the desk.
“I call this session to order. The inquest into the death of Christopher Spalding will now take place. I would like to commend you all on your interest in our town’s civic affairs. I hope to see all of you again this Sunday.”
Macintyre smiled, proud of his little jab. He chuckled a little, cleared his throat, rapped the gavel once, and despite knowing where Buck was seated, looked over and past him into the general direction of the pews.
“Will the law enforcement officer responsible for this case please take the stand?”
As far as Darkly knew, Buck was the only law enforcement officer in this town.
Buck stood up and approached the pulpit. He took his position behind the lectern as though he was going to read a psalm from the giant, gold-enameled Bible that was placed on top of it. He placed his hand on the Bible.
“Please state your name for the court, Sheriff.”
“Buckwald Robertson. I am sheriff of Wolf Woods.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. And do you attest to the truth and accuracy of what you are about to say?”
“I do.”
Buck removed his hand from the Bible, and Macintyre looked down at the paper in front of him.
“Sheriff, when you were called to the scene, was the victim already deceased?”
“Yes, Magistrate.”
“And what in your professional opinion was the cause of death?”
“Bear mauling. Everything I saw was consistent with that.”
“And you have witnessed such a mauling before?”
“Four or five times. Not during. After the fact.”
“Of course. Thank you, Sheriff. Before you step down, would you tell us who discovered the body?”
“Mr. Carter Abel.”
“And is he present in this court?”
“Yes, he is.”
“That is all. You may step down, Sheriff.”
Buck returned to his seat next to Geraldine.
“The court now calls Mr. Carter Abel to the stand.”
Carter got up from his seat next to Darkly and squeezed past Serena, Peter, and Shane to make his way to the pulpit.
“Please place your hand on the Holy Bible, Mr. Carter, and state your name.”
Carter cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”
His voice cracked a little. He was nervous. No doubt still shaken up, Darkly thought. A sensitive guy.
“My name is Carter William Abel.”
“Mr. Carter, do you attest to the truth and accuracy of what you are about to say?”
“I do.”
Carter kept his hand fixed on the Bible. Had it become a crutch, Darkly wondered?
“You may remove your hand now, Mr. Carter.”
“Oh, of course.”
Carter slid his hand into his pocket.
“Do you know what time it was when you discovered Mr. Spalding’s body, Mr. Carter?”
“It was around ten-thirty.”
“I know last night was disturbing, Mr. Carter, but would you take us through the evening?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What you were doing up until you found the body and then afterwards until the sheriff arrived?”
“Oh, right. I, uh, was in my room at the hotel.”
“The Royal Inn?” Macintyre prodded. “It’s a formality, but we must be precise with the facts.”
“Yes, sir. I was in my room. I had finished some re-writes on the scenes for the next day, uh, today. I felt like having a cigarette. You ca
n smoke in the hotel, but I’ve gotten used to stepping outside to smoke. Everyone does in Miami and L.A. I left my room and walked out of the hotel.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, alone.”
Macintyre made a quick note on a pad of paper in front of him.
“I like to walk when I smoke, so I decided to walk around the hotel. When I made it to the back of the hotel, I found Christopher lying by the dumpster. He wasn’t moving.”
“Did you check for a pulse, Mr. Carter?”
“No, I didn’t. I’m not even sure I would know how to do that. I ran back into the hotel.”
“And you contacted the sheriff then?”
“Uh, no. I tried to wake-up the hotel owner, but he didn’t answer the bell. I had Geraldine’s phone number on me, so I called her. She told me she would go get the sheriff.”
“And then what did you do?”
“I woke up my cast and crew, and we waited in the hotel lobby for the sheriff to show up.”
“Are they all present here?”
“Yes. Well, except Jake. He’s guarding the equipment at our base camp.”
“Guarding? Are you worried someone from this community will rob you?”
“No, sir. Although my music player has gone missing.”
“Your what? Record player?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“And did the sheriff come alone last night?”
“No. He brought with him Geraldine, Doctor Ross, and Darkly Stewart. She had been at the sheriff’s house, I believe.”
MacIntyre looked over at Darkly.
“Had she?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, then he returned his gaze to Carter.
“Thank you, Mr. Carter. The court has been advised by Doctor Ross that the fatal injuries sustained by Mr. Spalding were consistent with those inflicted by a bear. He has signed a sworn affidavit to that effect.”
MacIntyre held a piece of paper up for those in the pews to see.
“Doc is unable to attend these proceedings, as he is attending to an illness.”
MacIntyre made a couple more notes before saying, “And Mr. Carter, I have been informed by the sheriff that you are to handle the transport of Mr. Spalding back to his next of kin?”
“Yes, sir. The sheriff allowed my locations manager to use his landline, but he was unable to locate any next-of-kin.”
“None at all?”
“No, sir. I didn’t know him well really.”
“Then I have no choice but to order the burial of Mr. Spalding in the town’s cemetery, in accordance with town statutes.”
MacIntyre rapped his gavel on the desk.
“Make it so. Mr. Carter, I thank you for your testimony.”
“It’s Mr. Abel.”
“I beg your pardon?”
MacIntyre was confused. He hadn’t asked a question.
“You keep calling me Mr. Carter. It’s Abel. My last name is Abel.”
MacIntyre sat back in his chair and adopted a contrite manner.
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Abel.” MacIntyre carefully spoke the last name to give it its due. “No offense was intended. I was reading about U.S. President Carter the other day. A good Christian, tolerant man. His name must have stuck in my head.”
Carter nodded his own head, satisfied with the explanation.
“I was a fan too.”
“Oh my, he’s not dead, is he?” MacIntyre became immediately and genuinely saddened.
“No, sorry, I meant, you know, he hasn’t been the president for over thirty years.”
MacIntyre became more confused. “He isn’t the president of the United States any longer?”
Darkly couldn’t believe it. This town on the edge of nowhere had put its soul and the wheels of justice in the hands of a man who was losing his mind.
Buck cleared his throat loudly, and MacIntyre looked out at the sheriff. The old vicar patted his forehead with a handkerchief and stared momentarily at his gavel with great concentration. He tentatively hit the table with the small mallet, which sparked a renewed comprehension of what the hell he was doing sitting there.
“It is the determination of this court of inquest that the cause of death of Mr. Spalding was bear attack. The crown offers its condolences to the victim’s family, should they ever be located. You may now step down, Mr. Car--Mr. Abel.”
“Thank you.”
Carter moved in front of the pulpit, stopped, and looked back at the magistrate.
MacIntyre looked up from his paperwork.
“You may return to your seat, Mr. Abel.”
“No, uh, sir, there’s something else.”
MacIntyre removed his spectacles.
“Yes, Mr. Abel?”
“When I found Chris, I’m not sure, but I think I may have seen something running away.”
“Ah. You saw the bear, Mr. Abel. Fascinating creatures, are they not?”
Darkly almost laughed out loud at the impropriety of the remark.
“Actually, I thought it was a girl. A naked girl.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Buck needed none of his skills to follow the tracks. It had rained the night before, and the trail was muddy. Clumps of yellowish clay stuck to the bottoms of his boots, giving Buck a couple more inches in height every fifty yards or so. He stopped to scrape the mucky growth off onto tree bark.
It was the ears he saw first. They flew out of the brush. Tufts of chestnut brown hair pointing straight and alert had detected his approach and now turned the tables on the hunter.
Buck didn’t have a chance. He reached for the strap of the rifle hanging over his shoulder anyway and was on the ground a split second later, staring into the yellow eyes of the wolf whose teeth were snapping the bone of his forearm in two.
Buck knew he had seconds before he would succumb to panic and shock. He reached for the knife in his belt, slashed up into the wolf’s throat, and sliced through the jugular.
The wolf yelped and let go of Buck’s arm. It staggered back, shaking its head as though trying to rid itself of pestering gnats.
Blood splayed across Buck’s face, and the wolf shook itself into death. As he turned away from the gruesome scene, Buck quickly learned the wolf was not alone. A black wolf raced down the trail, barreling down on Buck, bent on avenging its mate.
Buck reached for his rifle once again, propped it up between his legs and shifted the weapon’s bolt into place. With one hand, he lowered the barrel, pointing it at the wolf that was now only several feet away. Buck pulled the trigger and watched the animal collapse over its front paws and slide into the mud, coming to a final halt at Buck’s feet.
Buck’s own head fell back into the mud, and he breathed in for the first time since the attack began. He concentrated on keeping his mind clear for the task ahead. He looked down at his arm. Blood was pouring from a severed artery. He knew the odds were against him being able to tie a tourniquet with one working hand before passing out from loss of blood. He had to get his belt off and wrap it around his bicep.
He propped himself up on his elbow and looked over at the wolf that had surprised him. There, her throat cut, lay Victoria. In the last seconds of death, she had curled herself into the fetal position.
Buck felt the dread wash over him, as he looked away from the girl and down at his feet. His beautiful son’s contorted body had replaced that of the wolf. His only child’s eyes were open, staring lifeless into Buck’s.
Buck woke up to sheets wet with sweat. The fever had started. He turned on the bedside lamp and knocked a photo to the floor, the glass in the frame shattering as it hit.
He fell back onto the pillow and ran his fingers through his damp hair. Then, he sat up, swung his feet over the side of the bed, and, without thinking, stepped onto the broken glass.
“Fuck.”
Buck hopped over to the end of the bed, grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, and wrapped it around his foot.
“Great. Now I’m dreaming premonitions.”
Buck looked under the t-shirt. The cut wasn’t deep. He pulled out a shard of glass, wrapped it in the t-shirt, and then hopped over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a medical kit labeled “Please Return to Assistant Director.” The irony after the Reverend’s comment on stealing almost made Buck smile. He opened the small case and rummaged through band-aids and antibiotic creams and grabbed what he was looking for.
Buck rested his foot on the open drawer and shook a small, blue can. He sprayed liquid onto the bottom of his foot and a quick-drying red film formed over his wound.
He stared at the can.
“Unbelievable.”
Buck blew on the artificial skin, then gingerly placed his foot onto the hardwood floor. It still hurt, but at least there was no trail of blood to clean up in the morning.
Buck hobbled out of his bedroom into his dark and silent home. He stopped at his son’s room and peered inside. Moonlight fell across Trey’s bed. His son’s body spooned Victoria’s sleeping figure. Well, this was something Buck was just going to have to accept. They sure as hell weren’t living with Geraldine. He’d put a stop to that plan.
Buck pulled the door to and walked through the living room to his home’s front door. He opened the door, pulled off his shorts, and stood naked in the entranceway. A light breeze cooled the moisture coating his body. He imagined this was what air conditioning felt like.
Buck stepped off his front porch and slipped into the woods just a few feet away. The pine needles felt good against his skin, scratching his constant itch. Buck’s mind started to cloud at the same time his instinct began to take over. He could smell the deer. It was very close. His senses were so acute now that he could tell it was a doe. Shame blurred with joy, and both were replaced by the singular need to feed a deep hunger. He ran with the moon. She would satiate his hunger like nothing else could.