by Amity Green
“Daddy sold it when we moved.” She regretted the statement the second it was out there. The woman likely grew up on the ranch. She might have been born there.
The old woman snorted her distaste for the news. “The best of the Caleman men died at the bottom of the mine.” She looked straight at Savannah, bleached gaze boring deep.
Savannah ignored the jab at her father. The old chick’s opinion about Jack Caleman was a side note. He would be okay just as soon as she found out how to make the cat-man go away. She decided to get to the point.
“Some odd things have been happening at our house, now that we moved. My parents have completely changed.” She sighed, wondering how much of the story to divulge. Considering the two hour drive, she went for broke. “My little brother had sort of an accident and my mother took him, and they left.” She searched the old woman’s face for anything but stoicism, but found nothing. “It’s been a few days and she hasn’t called. I mean, I’m sure she took him to the hospital. Our mother’s brother lives in Alabama, so that’s probably where she went. We don’t have a huge family. My sister locks herself in her room and won’t talk much. It’s hit and miss with Dad. Sometimes he looks and acts like himself, and other times he just stares at the art in our living room.”
Stella smirked.
Savannah stood, still looking at her great aunt. It was all she could do not to cry. “This probably doesn’t mean a thing to you,” she said, grabbing the back of her chair to push it in. The trip would have yielded more information if she wasn’t so thin skinned, but that’s where life had left her. She’d confirmed what Dad said about having a crazy aunt. Or two. At least she knew how to drive a stick, finally. She had to regroup by the time she got home.
“The cougar is beautiful, isn’t he?” The words came softly. Stella’s gaze dropped to her lap.
“You mean the mountain lion? The one in the painting?”
The old giant nodded. Obviously, the woman was never chased down a dirt road by a live one. Beautiful, it wasn’t.
“How did you know that was the painting I was talking about?”
“Of course, I know, silly peahen. All a mountain lion is, is a cougar.”
Savannah shook her head, staring. “I know that. I meant the painting.”
“Rebecca was gifted. Very talented.”
“She captured the cat perfectly.”
Stella gave a bark of laughter, shocking Savannah. “She captured more than that,” she said, amidst laughter that erupted in a series of guffaws.
Holy shit. “She was still there when I was little.”
“Yes, the poor dear.” Stella shook her head. “She was tormented. They took everything away from her, you know. They even took her canvases. Her paintings were all she had after the tragedy.”
“Um,” Savannah said, then stopped talking. There was likely some protocol in the hospital about telling people about a death in the family.
“Momma’s with the angels.”
“Yes.” Savannah breathed easier, taking her seat again.
Stella looked at her deeply. “You’ve the look of your father,” she said, and sat back. “I think you likely know more than I do, by now.”
“No, I’m sure I don’t. I just need to know what’s happening to my family. It’s horrible.” Despite her efforts, it still came out sounding like a plea of desperation.
“Weren’t ya raised goin’ to church?”
“Yes, when I was little.”
“So you’re Christian, then.”
“I—”
“Don’t you remember your Bible studies, child?”
“I haven’t been to church in years. We just sort of … stopped going.”
“Well, well.” Stella regarded Savannah with apparently renewed opinion. “Most would turn to faith at such a horrible time.”
“This is getting a little off track. I didn’t come here to talk about my religious beliefs.”
“Or lack thereof,” Stella said, with another smirk.
“You don’t have to be so judgmental. I came here for some help. I didn’t know who else to ask.” What a big, old hag.
“Mommy didn’t care to take you and your sister?”
Savannah felt her mouth fall open a little. It came out as a statement, more than a question. “Hag” quickly upgraded to straight up “Bitch.” Like the old woman meant there was a message there and Savannah hadn’t quite picked up on it. She flashed back to the accusing tone of her mother’s words. She’d called them both sluts ….
“She was pretty hateful the last time I saw her.”
Stella leaned in, putting both long arms on the table. She rolled her hands over, palms to the ceiling displaying jagged, lumpy scars at the base of each hand. It looked like she’d tried to cut each wrist with a chainsaw. Savannah slid back in her chair.
Stella grinned. “Forgive me, child, but I’m no longer miserable here. He’s come back, and that’s all that matters to me. He’s all that I’ve cared about since I was younger than you are now.” The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “Your horror is my salvation.”
“Who’s come back?” If Stella was talking about the “cousin” who’d been visiting, she was even more lost than before. The amount of dread in her stomach told her the old woman was talking about the stranger she’d called “Witcher”.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” she whispered. The look on her face matched the one Mother had worn the day she hit Molly. “He thrives on the play between husband and wife. No wife, he’s thrivin’ on somethin’ else.” She bit back a snide giggle.
“Look, I don’t know nearly as much as you think. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so.”
Stella didn’t respond, just held the same, accusing expression.
“He makes you happy?” Savannah asked, changing from the subject to the interrogator.
Stella’s facial features relaxed. “Yes.” She looked up, seeing something that lie beyond the tiled ceiling. “He’s all things, and everyone. We dance at night. We laugh at the sunrise.” She brought her gaze level once more. “He has many names.”
“Okay,” Savannah drawled. “I think I’ve had enough.” She rose from her seat.
“Don’t you want to know my favorite?”
“I’d say that’s Charlie.” She pushed the chair in.
Stella smiled up at her, teeth streaked red and pink from the overdose of lipstick, obviously delighting in completely confusing her. “Ancient as the heavens and the earth. The good that comes from blackness. Beautiful angel of Genesis. He walks from the cave on four legs and takes the men of two. You’ll not find that in the Bible.” She winked, then closed her eyes, looking like she savored the last of her favorite meal.
“I don’t understand. You mean the mountain lion?”
Stella smiled. “Think of him and he’ll think of you.”
“What do you mean?”
Stella opened her eyes, smiled fading. “It’s time for you to be going. Charlie won’t come if you’re here.” She stood. “Run along, now.” She nodded toward the door.
“Take care.” Savannah really wanted to argue for more time, just a few more answers but the grave look on the large woman’s craggy face changed her mind. Savannah walked toward the door. She couldn’t complain about ending up talking to a crazy person when she’d come to a nuthouse. No need to ask about a diagnosis. Schizophrenia was obvious, religious nut, a close second contender.
“Dance to the chime, child,” Stella called. She put her hands above her head to rest on imaginary shoulders, stepping in circles to a tune only she could hear. Her sliver-streaked hair swung with her movements, brushing her hips.
For the first time, Savannah considered her own mental stability. The old woman knew too much. Her mention of the chime was scary. Stella might babble, but there was clarity hidden in her words. The trip was far from a loss. She had confirmation that whatever evil was at work was linked to the creation of the cat picture. She couldn’t expect to find s
anity when she’d come to a looney lock up to pick her crazy great aunt’s brain for answers. She got some. The evil started up back at the ranch and followed them to Victor.
Outside the door, the secretary and male nurse leaned against the opposite wall, talking. When they saw Savannah, they smiled. Savannah hoped she didn’t look as rattled as she felt.
“Good afternoon, Stella,” the man called.
“Good as any. Charlie’s coming so we can read!” she answered, still dancing.
“Okay then.” He closed the door.
Once back at the front desk, Savannah asked, “May I use your phone before I take off?”
“Of course. There’s one back here,” the receptionist said. The two stepped behind the counter into an additional office. “Just dial a nine, and then the number.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”
“Take your time, sweetie,” she said, and pulled the door closed, all but a sliver.
Savannah quickly dialed 9-911.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” a man’s voice said on the line.
Keeping her voice low, Savannah continued. “My address is ten, six twenty-one Phantom Canyon Road, in Victor. A strange man in a suit and tie has been coming inside the house. My little sister is locked in her room and we need help.” That was a lie, but Molly would be home by four and if Savannah didn’t make it back before the bus dropped her off, that’s exactly where Molly would be. The phone call was insurance.
She ended the call as soon as she could and left. By the time she made it home the place would be full of cops. Certainly, they’d know what to do. If not, she’d wait for them to leave, toss Molly in the truck, and simply leave. They’d figure out where to go on the road.
***
Chapter 12
There wasn’t a single emergency vehicle in the driveway. Savannah walked inside, intent on heading straight upstairs to see if she’d beat Molly home. Once she closed the front door, she was abruptly jerked to the floor by her arm.
Her dad flattened her, face down on the hardwood and placed a knee in the middle of her back. Savannah yelped, expecting Dad’s hatchet to come slicing down on the back of her neck. The keys to the truck were ripped from her grasp. She struggled to turn over and get up, but he leaned his all his weight on her, making it hard to draw breath. The sound of his belt sliding free of his work jeans ripped through the room.
“You know better than to lie, Savannah,” he growled. The first smack of the belt came down with a forceful sting. She cried out. “I had every cop in the county out here—” Smack “looking for an intruder—” Smack “wearing a goddamn business suit!” Smack. He moved his knee and let free with a full on whipping session across her back, butt, and thighs before she managed to get to her knees. It was the first time she’d seen her father’s true face in days. His brown eyes sparkled with fury and resentment.
“And what’s worse? You have your little sister so screwed up she won’t even come out of her bedroom!”
Savannah backed away. The tender skin of her back tingled with pain where her shirt touched. Between that and her torn up, bruised arm and chest, she wanted to double over and curl up in a ball. Instead, she matched his gaze.
He looked surprised that she wasn’t crying, but still pissed off.
“Where are the police?” she asked.
“They came, looked around, tried to talk to Molly just minutes ago. You should have seen how scared she was. I told them you’d taken off without permission,” he replied, breathing hard. “You’re lucky they didn’t hang around to write you a ticket for calling them for no reason.”
“No reason? Are you kidding me? Where’s Mom? Where’s Chaz? Who the hell are you today? I wish they would have stuck around,” she yelled back. “How could you send them away, with everything that’s been going on here?” Nausea rumbled in her gut. If she threw up, it would be par for the course.
He shook his head, squinting. “This lying has to stop, Savannah. You’ve already driven your mother and Chaz away. Who’s next?” The belt buckle clinked as he threaded leather through the loops on his jeans.
Words wouldn’t come. How could he say such things with conviction? “You didn’t answer me.” She shook her head, staring at him. If he managed to convince the police everything was fine, and that she’d made the whole thing up, it would be hard to get them to come back. Why would they listen to a teenage girl that they believe to be liar? The officers might even buy into the rumors about her family being nuts. Finally, she managed to speak. “Haven’t you been here for the last week?” Witcher’s voice sounded in her mind. “Although, he is me …”
“I’ve been here, all right. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’re crazy!”
Molly’s bedroom door slammed shut. Savannah glared an accusation at her father and turned to run upstairs, but Jack grabbed her arm again.
“You leave her alone,” he warned. “She came home to find every cop in the county out here looking for her. Get outside and—”
“I know. Check the horses, right?” She jerked her arm free.
“Muck stalls while you’re at it. And you think long and hard about what you’ve done.”
“You can count on that,” she said and stomped outside. Life, apparently, would go on without a hitch in Jack Caleman’s world.
* * *
“Molly?” Savannah called as she came through the front door. Her neck and shoulders groaned with stiffness from the long drive home and the additional work in the stalls. She’d had enough. She’d rest, grab her sister, saddle two horses if she couldn’t find her keys, and simply leave. If Dad stood in the way, they’d have it out again. He couldn’t outrun her mare across the hillside.
“Molly?” There was still no answer. No footsteps sounded anywhere in the house. She filled a tumbler with water and headed to her room, stopping to try Molly’s door. The handle didn’t turn.
“Molly, I’ll be in my room. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. It was great to hear her voice.
“Okay.” She turned to her room. Kicking free of her boots, Savannah sat back on her bed for just a second to rest and to gather her thoughts. She couldn’t remember the last thing she’d eaten. As much as her body screamed for a nap, she shook it off each time her lids threatened to close, staring at the colorful prism on her Pink Floyd poster. Her head had never felt so heavy and she gave up, hugging her pillow to her chest, resting her eyes for just a few moments.
* * *
“Savannah?” Molly’s voice called from the hall.
Savannah got out of bed and opened her door into the hall.
Molly’s bedroom door was closed so she knocked. The handle twisted in her grip, letting the door swing open easily. Molly’s curtains were drawn. Savannah blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Molly huddled on her bed in the corner against the wall.
Savannah flipped on the light. “Hey, you thirsty?”
Molly didn’t reply. Her hair hung forward and her face was cradled against her folded knees. One hand rested palm side up on the bed.
“Molly?” Savannah placed the water on the bed stand and sat beside her sister. “You okay?” She reached, nudging Molly’s leg, which caused Molly to fall over onto the mattress. A rivulet of drying blood trailed beneath her jaw.
“Molly!” Savannah reached to clear hair from her little sister’s face. She climbed onto the bed, pulling hard to get Molly into her embrace. Her head lolled to the side. The pink eraser end of a pencil protruded from Molly’s right ear, driven flush with her cheekbone. Crimson laced the gold backing of a rhinestone stud on her earlobe. Her slender arms hung cold. Molly’s face was pale, but she looked like she would blink and start talking any second. That wouldn’t happen. She’d been pushed too far.
Savannah cradled her against a shoulder, resting her chin on Molly’s head. She rocked gently as a scream built, Molly’s bangs growing damp with tears.
“No, no,” she
said, over and over. Minutes went by. The pain from teeth marks in her shoulder went from a dull throb to a stabbing dart of pain from the pressure, so she eased Molly back onto the bed. Emotion knotted inside her chest. She tucked her little sister in with shaking hands, grief giving way to white-hot rage.
“Witcher!” she screamed.
Everything went dark and her head toppled, her chin bounced against her chest.
Savannah’s whole body twitched and she jerked awake, reaching to catch her glasses when they slid to a cheekbone. Her vision cleared, her own bedroom coming into view. She bolted from the bed, fully awake.
“Molly?”
Her door creaked and swung closed, the doorknob latching by itself.
Witcher stood beside her window. “Molly is fine. Do you know the term ‘counting coup’?” He turned, awaiting her response.
Of course she knew the term. There was no way she was up for a conversation about history. “Get out of my room.”
“The people that lived here before you, some of which you share blood, used that tactic at war. A warrior would touch an opposing tribesman without causing harm, showing the other warrior that if he’d so chosen, he could have taken his life, but rather spared him.” He leaned against the window frame. “Thus, counting coup.”
His language had changed, the vocabulary becoming diverse. His accent had mellowed, but he still sounded stuffy.
“You’re no warrior,” she countered.
“I am that and much more, for I grow stronger each time you think of me. Stop being short-sighted, Savannah. I’ve been here as long as light.”
“What do you want?”
“Your love. Nothing has changed.”
Savannah bit back a foul-mouthed description of all the ways he could screw off. “You just threatened to kill my sister.”
“I love you so much. Don’t you see what I could have done when you left me?” He nodded toward the hall. “She was here, and she is not you.”
“So what, if I leave you’ll kill Molly?”
“I’ll merely let her find a pencil. Molly will do the rest herself.”
“She’s this way because of you,” Savannah said through grit teeth. Her lip trembled. “You did this. All of it. To my whole family.”