“Stop it. Just stop it. Mom told me everything. How you killed him and staged it to look like a suicide. I hate you. I’m glad you’ll be my sacrifice.”
“No! That’s not what happened!” I shout.
Broken from his reverie, Dustin looks at me as if he had been completely unaware of my existence until now. “What the hell would you know about it?” he screams.
“She’s telling the truth, Chad. I didn’t kill him. But I did receive a letter claiming he was responsible for your disappearance. Your mother wrote me; she said you came to her after he broke your heart. After he told you to kill yourself. I was enraged. I never wanted to hurt you. I was trying to protect you!”
Dustin hesitates, and I know this is my best chance. “Dustin! He loved you. Terrell loved you. Don’t do this.”
The teen’s eyes shoot daggers through me. “How could you possibly know that? And who the hell are you? Why are you defending this creep? Oh, wait, let me guess. He’s sleeping with you, right? Probably told you that you’re special? Well, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not sleeping with him. And I know because Terrell told me himself!”
“How is that even possible?” he asks me skeptically, but I can tell I’ve caught his attention.
“Because I can talk to ghosts, Dustin.”
Everyone holds completely still for two heart beats, then Dustin, Diane, and Sally erupt with laughter. Meanwhile, Chad gives me the most quizzical look I’ve ever encountered.
“I know it sounds crazy, Dustin. But it’s true, and I can prove it!”
“How? How can you prove it?”
“He told me you wanted him to leave town with you, but he said no because he didn’t think that would solve anything. The two of you spent the night together. You left before morning. It broke his heart, Dustin. He waited for you, prayed he’d see you again. But you never came back.”
Dustin’s face contorts with grief. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?” Tears stream down his face, and he loses his grip on the athame.
“Don’t listen to this nonsense,” Diane screams.
Dustin stands there, torn between what’s in front of him and what he wants to believe.
“No. Ghosts aren’t real,” he whispers.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that. Chad, hold on!”
While we were vying for our lives, the island’s spectral residents had come to watch the action. Now, they give every indication they want to help. “I hope this works,” I say to myself.
Bundling up all the fear and anger from the past twenty-four hours isn’t difficult. Will sending it flying toward the ghosts affect them the same way as the creep who resides in the police station bathroom? With no time to give it any further thought, I push with everything I’ve got. The air ripples. It knocks everyone to the ground, except for those of us who are tied to one of these damn x-frames.
The ghosts break into a million shards before reforming. It’s like putting on a pair of 3D glasses and watching them come to life on a massive IMAX screen. Chad’s mouth hangs agape. I follow the direction of his gaze, and it becomes apparent he can see the ghosts. Everyone can. Startled, Diane drops Chad’s gun.
Dustin clearly isn’t sure whether this is really happening or he’s losing his mind, but he picks the athame back up and cuts me and Chad free. “Go,” Dustin says, while pointing toward the woods.
“Not without you,” Chad says. Each word is infused with a mixture of awe, terror, and swagger. He’s going to be all right.
Chad turns toward Diane and Sally. They’re both too terrified to run, which is at least partially thanks to Wayne’s spectral form standing a few inches in front of them. My heart wrenches at the sight of him. “I told you I’d see you again, Alex. And for the record, I could have fallen in love with you, too. In fact, I think I already did.”
Obviously confused – and somehow appearing a bit jealous, even with everything that’s going on around him – Chad strides boldly to the two women and picks up his handgun while declaring, “You’re under arrest.”
I toss him some of the rope, and he binds their hands and feet together. “How are you going to explain your roll in this, Chad? If you haul us in, you’ll go to jail, too.” Diane says.
Chad picks up his handgun from the ground. “Maybe that’s for the best,” he sighs. “This ends now. No matter what.”
Before we can discuss our next move, a wendigo crawls into the clearing. Chad tries to take the athame from Dustin to protect us, but his son calls him off. “Stop, Dad. You don’t understand.”
The battered form of the wendigo manages to crawl to Dustin’s feet before collapsing. This is clearly the same beast Wayne battled with. I can’t believe it’s alive, and I also can’t understand why Dustin doesn’t want to finish it off.
“It’s all been a lie, hasn’t it, Mom?”
Diane refuses to respond to her son’s accusations, but Sally snorts. “Of course, it’s a lie, you idiot!”
With his eyes clear for what must be the first time in months, Dustin draws close to the injured beast. Before anyone can try to stop him, the teen drops to the ground and gently strokes the creature’s matted, brown, blood-soaked fur.
“It’s going to be okay,” Dustin says quietly. Chad tries to intervene again, but his son holds up both hands and asks him to back off.
“Here goes nothing.” Dustin’s hands work slowly and methodically at first. My vision is partially obscured by Chad, but I see pieces of the creature tossed to the side. Is he dismantling it?
“Oh, my god,” Chad says in a thin voice.
“Help me sit him up, Dad.”
As they prop up what remains of the wendigo’s body, two things become clear. First, the wendigo isn’t dead. And second? It’s not a wendigo, after all. Instead, it’s a confused, broken looking young man who was covered in the wendigo’s skin and fur.
“What’s your name, son?” Chad asks.
The former wendigo’s eyes are dull and possess no hint of recognition.
“He doesn’t know right now, Dad. But I do. This is Josh. Josh Felton.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The distinctive crunching of fallen, desiccated leaves interrupts a lot of stunned, random questions about Josh and how he got to the island. All of us spin in the direction of the noise, including our two prisoners. Please don’t be another wolf.
Chad hands the athame back to his son and arms himself with his police-issued handgun. They strike a defensive pose and we all collectively hold our breath.
Voices drift into the clearing and I tense up even more. How can we know if this is good or bad news? I glance at Diane and Sally, but they seem every bit as surprised as the rest of us.
Suddenly, Todd bursts through the tree line, and he’s brought the cavalry with him. A group of seven police officers and two park rangers step forward and bark at Chad and Dustin to put their weapons down. They instantly comply, and then Chad says, “I’m Sheriff Chad Hambler from Munising. Boy am I glad to see you guys!”
The newly introduced tension melts as the officers confirm Chad’s identity. He quickly explains the situation and three of the men split from the group to escort us to the boats.
“How, Todd?” I ask. My curiosity about how he pulled this off when the boat keys are still in my pocket is almost as big as my gratitude.
“The boat’s ship-to-shore radio, of course,” he grins. It’s clear he’s been damaged by his time spent on the island, but unlike the others, he was here for a relatively short period of time. The joy of escaping and becoming a hero to his saviors has brought new life into his face and eyes. I can’t help but wonder how he lost so much weight in such a short period of time, but I figure that’s a question for another day.
We’ve been walking for a few hours when we approach the area where the wolves attacked me and Wayne. I stiffen out of fear, but then something unexpected fills my path. There are two wolves lying dead on the ground.
“Looks like these b
oys got into a fight over food and ended up killing each other,” one of the park rangers says sadly while shaking his head. I don’t tell him I was the food in question. Also, there goes my theory that another beast – perhaps even a real wendigo – was responsible for saving my life.
“Thank you,” I whisper to the fallen canine who hurled itself at my initial attacker. A shudder runs down my spine as I realize that either of them would have eaten me alive if given the chance. I’m so glad we’re going to be leaving this island soon.
♦ ♦ ♦
Being processed through the local police department is a time-consuming, tedious process. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Well, not much, anyway. After everything that’s happened, I want to sleep for twenty-four hours and then have some time to myself to mourn Wayne.
All of this must be clear on my face because Chad puts on a brave, exaggerated swagger as he approaches. “Hey, pretty lady. Can I give you a ride home?” The familiar flirtatiousness has tinged his words. This is wholly inappropriate at a time like this and it should probably tick me off. But it makes me chuckle instead.
“Yes,” I smile.
“You’re free to go,” one of the officers says. “But don’t leave the Upper Peninsula without checking in with us first, okay?”
My heart sinks at the realization that I could be stuck here for who knows how long. I want to go home, pet my cat, and stop hemorrhaging money. “You’re a key witness,” the officer explains as he signs me out of the station.
♦ ♦ ♦
At least an hour has passed with nothing more than the soundtrack of snores emanating from Dustin, Todd, and Josh. Chad’s large SUV deftly cuts through freshly-fallen snow. I’m glad he didn’t bring his police cruiser.
“Did you love him?” Chad asks.
I’m stunned. Not just by the question but by the timing of it.
“Honestly? Yeah. I think so.”
Deafening silence fills the space between us while I count to five. Before I can say anything else, Chad says, “He was one of the best people I’ve ever met. You two would have been really good together.”
The raw humbleness in his voice is a nice replacement for his almost constant sensuality. It also might have been enough to make me seriously consider him again if there weren’t still so many unanswered questions. For example, what in the world did Diane mean when she said he’d go to jail, too?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Hi, Mrs. Felton! I’ve brought Josh home!”
The ghost’s presence is almost overwhelming to me, but Josh can’t see or hear her. To help them say goodbye, I decide to give her a little jolt of my energy.
The rims of his eyes fill with tears. This is most assuredly a bittersweet moment for the teenager. Yes, he’s finally free, and yes, he gets to talk to his mom. But this will be their last conversation ever.
Before I walk out of the room, Mrs. Felton says, “Thank you, dear! You did it! I never had any doubts. I’m forever grateful.”
“Happy to help,” I say as I walk out of the room, knowing that was our last conversation, too. By the time Josh exits the room less than half-an-hour later, Mrs. Felton has left the massage studio. I send Leslie a text with the good news as Chad takes me back to the hotel.
My car is in the hotel parking lot as the Copper Harbor police had promised, so at least I’ll be able to wander the town if I want to. First, though, it’s time to sleep. Until June.
♦ ♦ ♦
Is it June already?
My cellphone loudly announces that someone wants to talk to me. Sighing at the interruption, I accept the call and hear Chad’s voice on the other end.
“They’re going to have us both testify, Alex. So, I guess you have to stick around for a little while longer.”
“But…”
“I got the district attorney’s office to agree to pay for your hotel room, car rental, and food expenses since you’re a lead witness. Does that help?”
My attitude promptly improves before it even had a chance to make its worst impulses known.
“Oh, and one more thing. I got them to agree to backdate the payments all the way to your first day here since that’s when you started investigating the mystery. You can drop the novelist ruse, by the way,” he teases me.
“Consider it dropped,” I happily reply.
“On another topic… um, look. We should probably talk. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“So, wait a minute… those mines were first used six-thousand years ago? And they were abandoned under mysterious circumstances that were later connected to the wendigo legend?”
“Exactly,” Chad says.
“But what does that have to do with any of this?”
He takes a deep breath and then launches into a long explanation.
“The indigenous people were the first to mine the island. They truly believed in the wendigo legend, so when their brethren started disappearing during the winter, they decided that miners were being killed off by the beasts.
“After they stopped coming to Isle Royale, everything seemed okay. For about a year, anyway. Then the winters turned harsher than ever. Their villages were struck by disease and famine. Eventually, some of them got to talking about how mild and prosperous the previous few winters had been. And somehow, they came to the conclusion that the wendigo required a sacrifice.
“This went on for centuries. One teenage boy was taken to Isle Royale and offered as tribute to the wendigo each winter. As you can probably imagine, this didn’t go over very well with the earliest European settlers. Over time, the practice stopped. Until tuberculous and a bad drought hit the U.P. at the same time.
“Desperate for answers, some of the men in Copper Harbor pleaded with the Native Americans for help. That was when the story of the wendigo was reintroduced. Thinking it was just crazy enough to possibly be true, a young man was forcibly taken to Isle Royale and sacrificed.”
He pauses, and I pick my jaw up off of the ground. I can’t wrap my brain around the idea that anyone ever believed there was a link between the wendigo and misfortune, let alone that they thought the answer was to sacrifice teenagers.
“Chad?”
“Yeah?”
“How does all of this connect to what just happened? And, more importantly, how does it connect to you?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Three Weeks Later
I’ve never seen the wheels of justice move so quickly. I suppose that’s one of the perks of small town living. The backstory Chad told me has just been repeated in the small, crowded courtroom. Murmurs ripple through the crowd, but none of them sound surprised.
“What happened next, Mr. Hambler?” the middle-aged district attorney with salt and pepper hair asks.
Chad is obviously uncomfortable in his dark blue suit. His hands persistently fidget with a red tie that’s slightly too short. “From what I understand, the ritual sacrifices only persisted until the Italian Hall Disaster in 1913. After that, people lost their taste for sacrifice, and it also became increasingly more difficult to head to Isle Royale unnoticed.”
“How did Mrs. Hambler and Ms. Jenson get involved in all of this, then?”
“They come from a long line of miners. And, apparently, ritualized sacrifice was also part of the family.”
“Are you saying that Ms. Jenson and Mrs. Hambler are related?”
“Yes. They’re cousins.”
A collective gasp escapes from a few of the jury members. It seems so staged that I double-check to make sure I’m actually sitting on a hard, wooden bench in the Munising courtroom instead of watching a legal melodrama on TV.
“And why did they return to Isle Royale? What motivated the murders?”
“Objection, your honor!” barks the defense attorney as veins pop out on his thick neck. He reminds me of a dog, but not in a friendly way; more like a fighting dog that enjoys ripping others apart.
“Sustained. Counselor, let
me remind you that speculation doesn’t help anyone.”
“I have no further questions for Mr. Hambler at this time, your honor.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Diane takes the stand. She’s cold as ice, of course, and they don’t get much out of her. I didn’t expect them to, either. The most noteworthy thing about her testimony is a fresh batch of accusations against Chad. The judge shuts this down, though, and orders the jury to disregard it because Diane and Sally are the only ones on trial right now. Additionally, the district attorney seems to be concerned that allowing Diane to keep casting aspersions on Chad will make her more sympathetic to the jury.
Sally’s temper and disdain for everyone is clearly going to be their undoing, though. The district attorney presses her repeatedly, and I sit spellbound by the entire spectacle.
“Of course, we used the wendigo legend to our advantage. It was a drug operation, you idiots!”
Sally’s eyes open wide as she realizes her mistake. The defense attorney does a literal face palm. One thing is now written all over his bulldog face: I’m going to lose this case.
Diane’s countenance turns murderous. Luckily for Sally, Diane’s hands are currently cuffed together.
Meanwhile, the district attorney smiles. The police found evidence of drug smuggling in the mine, but until just now, the two women had vociferously denied being connected to it. That’s another set of charges that’s most likely going to stick.
“Why bring the kids into it?”
With a look of resignation, Sally sinks herself in deeper.
“Someone had to make, package, and transport the drugs, right?”
“There’s something I don’t understand,” the district attorney begins.
“How shocking,” Sally interrupts. They’ve got her cornered, and her sharp, jagged, nasty claws have come out. I’m not surprised.
Ignoring her, he says, “Why did you make the boys believe they were actually able to turn into a wendigo?”
Missing in Michigan: A Paranormal Mystery (Alexa Bentley Paranormal Mysteries Book 1) Page 11