Hemlock Veils

by Davenport, Jennie

  “How do these Paddock brothers have so much power?”

  Willem shook his head, lifting the corner of his mouth in a condescending grin. “You have no idea. They have followers everywhere. The cops’ve tried to arrest them, but they have nothing on ’em. No proof.” He stepped closer, his eyes more intense than she’d seen tonight. “You think you can change the world and spread your goodness, but some people are invincible. Beth, your ideas are naïve as fuck.”

  She shoved him again, her rage building almost enough to blur her vision. “Why? Why would you get mixed up in that? You really think I can save you this time? It’s you who’s naïve!”

  Willem swallowed hard. He looked around, blinking and squinting and blinking again—a nervous twitch he’d acquired sometime during the past year—trying to eliminate the invisible sand in his eyes. “Frank.”

  Elizabeth almost laughed. “You’re crazy if you think Mr. Vanderzee would give you a cent.”

  “You can convince him.”

  “Will.” She grabbed his shoulders, looking him squarely in the eyes. He still blinked and she tried hiding the panic in her voice. “He despises what I do for you. Everything I’ve ever given you—it hasn’t been without a lecture first. He would never loan me a cent for you.”

  He didn’t even appear injured. “Then…don’t try to convince him.”

  She studied him, trying to grasp his meaning.

  “Don’t ask,” he emphasized. He sniffed, wiping a finger over his nose, and never dropped his lifeless, blinking eyes from hers. He didn’t care what she would lose by risking everything for him, as long as he was saved.

  “You…want me to steal from him?”

  “This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you, and I mean that, Beth. It’s just…a hundred K.”

  Her eyes widened. “Just a hundred? You said you needed a little cash.”

  “Well, to someone like Frank, that is a little.”

  “I’m not stealing from my employer! How can you even ask me to do that?”

  “What about me, Beth? Huh? How can you not care that my life is on the line?”

  “Don’t. Don’t turn this on me.” She shoved him, then opened her door and shoved him again, landing him in the hall. She ached to cry. She ached to change everything about her life that had brought her to this point. “Don’t drag me into your life anymore, Will.”

  She closed the door in his face and he begged through it, pounding his fists and sobbing as though his life was being taken at that very moment. She folded her arms over herself as she leaned against the door, trying to remain detached. Trying to block out the sound. Trying to breathe.

  She closed her eyes. I love you, Will.

  After an excruciating minute, his shadow passed the open window, then paused. When she moved the curtain, she found him on the sidewalk, phone to his ear.

  “Juan…I can’t. I tried to get it, but…” Willem broke, choking on a sob he tried to hide.

  He ran his hand over his perspiring head and paced, clearly not fond of what he heard on the other end.

  “No.” He grew desperate. “Just…relax. I’ll find a way, I swear. I’ll get it to you. Just give me ’till tomorrow night.” Short silence. “No, no. I won’t fuck up.” Pause. “Yeah. I know what’ll happen to me if I do.”

  One-hundred-thousand. He wouldn’t get it.

  And he wouldn’t survive. The knowledge was so palpable it took Elizabeth’s breath. And she found herself overcome with the memory of Willem at seven years old, one hand in hers and one in their father’s, laughing as they raced through Hazard Park. He laughed because Elizabeth and her father had let him win. It wasn’t long before he fell and cut his knee, and where Elizabeth would have wanted their mother at his age, Willem wanted her. He crawled into her arms, weeping. And while she bandaged his knee, he made her promise she would always be there to take care of him, even when he was a grownup. I couldn’t live without you, Bethy, he’d said.

  Even then, when her father hadn’t fallen sick yet and she was barely twelve, she’d been the only mother Willem had ever known. And just like she’d promised then, she’d promised him every year after. Always mending the wound, always making it better. Always holding to an unrealistic hope that her love for him would be enough.

  Only it wasn’t, and never had been.

  ***

  “Remember three o’clock, Elizabeth,” Mr. Vanderzee said through Elizabeth’s earpiece. Not even the phone could mask his arrogance. “Not a minute past. Mr. Fluckiger will be ready and waiting.”

  Thankfully, he couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Vanderzee. Three. I’ll be there.” Was it just a coincidence that this crisis with Willem happened to fall on the same day as her monthly meeting with Heritage Financial to discuss the status of Mr. Vanderzee’s accounts?

  The line clicked without a goodbye, as it usually did, and Elizabeth ripped the earpiece from her ear, burying her face in her hands in Mr. Vanderzee’s large kitchen. Spacious granite countertops, high-tech appliances, dozens of mahogany cabinets filled with every ingredient imaginable—all stocked by her of course: it was her dream kitchen, and her favorite place in Mr. Vanderzee’s mansion. He let her make it her own, in a sense, only because he had a weakness for what she could create here.

  When he’d first hired her as his housekeeper twelve years ago, she’d hardly spoken a word to him. He’d been away most of the time, but three months after hiring her, he’d fallen sick. After a week of waiting on him hand and foot, a strange and unique bond formed between them. He had a certain respect for her, one she saw even through disrespectful words. There were certain things he could never bring himself to do—certain affection a man of his status simply couldn’t show his lower-class housekeeper. But he cared about her. She saw it in the way he attempted to buy her a better life, in the way he was so protective of her—especially with her brother. Soon after that week, he’d fired his other help and deemed her his “Everything Girl.”

  Her days hardly veered from the routine: arrive at Mr. Vanderzee’s at precisely six a.m., start his coffee (he’d given her a limitless allowance to spend in his kitchen, and after a rather exciting month of experimenting, she’d mastered a coffee brew so perfect Mr. Vanderzee said it should take over every coffee chain in America), lay out his clothes, make him breakfast, drive him to the office in a Rolls-Royce far too exquisite for her taste, return to Vanderzee Mansion, clean, clean, and clean some more, be at his beck and call in case certain errands needed running or impossible things needed to be asked of her, return to the office at the end of the day to drive him home, and finally, cook his dinner.

  Sometimes he would even let her eat with him. It wasn’t until after he finished and the dishes washed that she was free to go home. When she had been in nursing school, her days would end after picking him up from the office, but to Mr. Vanderzee’s dismay and delight, she’d needed more money to pay for Willem’s rehab. Mr. Vanderzee was always opposed to the way she came to Willem’s rescue, but he also loved her cooking, more than anything else she did, and couldn’t deny her request to work through the evening if it meant another meal cooked by his Everything Girl. Her days were long and exhausting, and at every moment she felt pulled in every direction; but being on Mr. Vanderzee’s payroll made taking care of Willem possible.

  The peculiar old man had a curved spine and liver spots atop his bald head. He was welcoming and at the same time cold. He loved her and at the same time despised her. He kept a watchful eye as though she might turn on him at any moment, yet he not only trusted her in his kitchen—her kitchen, as he now called it—he trusted her with his most personal and favored of all assets: his bank accounts.

  He was the founder and CEO of a global accounting firm, as well as an entrepreneur who, in his younger years, began many companies he still held shares in today. Or so the rumors went. He was known as one of the wealthiest businessmen in the western United States, and highly respected—or feared—by most. But there was
one thing Elizabeth had always found odd in his trust of her. He had a countless supply of experienced and ingenious accountants readily available at the tips of his fingers, yet Elizabeth managed his money. Elizabeth, who knew nothing of money and had never cared to. She had told him this in the beginning, but he insisted. He gave her strict directions about what went where and when, but that was all he’d ever said on the matter, other than, “I trust you, Elizabeth.” And she was the only one he trusted. No one touched his accounts, most of the time not even him. With someone like her, he said—someone naïve on the matter—he didn’t need to worry about scandals and misdeeds.

  And here she was, sitting at his oversized dining table that looked more like a conference table, imagining how simple it would be to do as her brother asked: steal from her trusting employer, Mr. Vanderzee.

  Really, it would be simple. He had three accounts, one of which had always struck her as odd. It never served a purpose she could see. He never wanted anything withdrawn and never spoke a word of its function. Like a second savings account, it only accumulated money. It was his smallest, barely 1.2 million—chump change in comparison to his other accounts, which themselves were chump change to the wealth he had invested. And never did he keep tabs on it; never did he give it a second thought. Her instructions were simple, and as long as she kept adding to it, he never laid eyes on it. Even the bank trusted her with Mr. Vanderzee’s money—with his life. It was her they associated with Mr. Vanderzee’s accounts, her they let make every decision. If money needed to be withdrawn or transferred, no one would ask.

  She’d never stolen a cent in her life—never stolen so much as a crumb. And the previous night, after Willem had left her apartment, it hadn’t even been a question for her. No matter what, she would never betray Mr. Vanderzee that way. She would never let anything—even a death threat—take her integrity.

  But as the day had worn on and the same haunting image of Willem frequented her mind—the one of him as a child, making her promise to always protect him—she found her determination waning. She found her palms sweaty and her hands trembling. She found her head aching and her stomach in knots. She found her mind distant and her heart heavy. Even Mr. Vanderzee had stepped outside his cold boundaries that morning and asked what troubled her. She would never tell him, though, never ask for the favor. It would only weaken her in his eyes, and he would always refuse. So she’d simply smiled and taken his dishes to the sink, side-stepping the question.

  But she had to do something.

  Willem. Shot point-blank in the head.

  A swelling sickness rose in her stomach, leaving her faint, and she ran to the bathroom just in time for the recently polished toilet to catch her heaving stomach. How she threw anything up was beyond comprehension, since she hadn’t eaten since the evening before. And she threw up until her stomach was a hard knot, having nothing left to give the toilet.

  Still, no tears. Just a sick stomach, clammy hands, and an acrid taste in her mouth.

  She flushed the toilet, washed her face, rinsed her mouth, and left the bathroom. Picking up her phone, she dialed Willem’s number, all the while fingering the locket around her neck. Her father had given it to her for her fourteenth birthday: a long silver chain with an engraved circular locket at the end, stuffed with a picture of her as a child on one side and a seven-year-old Willem on the other. He’d told her it was so she would always remember who Willem really was. So she would remember they were a pair.

  “Beth,” Willem answered in a panic. “You change your mind?”

  Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth. She hated herself, along with him. “I’ll meet you and the Paddock brothers tonight. I’ll have it all.”

  Chapter 5

  A light knock roused Elizabeth from a sleep so deep even dreams eluded her. With half her face in the pillow, her eyelids opened with difficulty. She could tell by the gray-lit motel room it was just barely past sunrise, and her heavy eyelids began to close again. The knock sounded a second time, louder than the first. A timid voice followed, muffled through the door. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ashton.”

  Elizabeth tried not to groan while escaping the sheets twisted around her. She wiped her eyes on her way to the door and opened it to find Anita Thurman, eyes apologetic and hands holding Elizabeth’s jacket. The neckline of her flowery, simple blouse was lower than her sweater had been the previous night, displaying a small golden cross dangling from her neck. Her hair—auburn with an accent of silver—had been neatly pinned back with gold-colored barrettes on both sides and her almost nonexistent eyelashes were free of makeup.

  “I’m very sorry,” Anita said. “I didn’t want to wake you, but Sheriff says the sooner he and Brian can get your car back here, the better. They’ll be waiting at the diner for you.” She held out her jacket. “Here. You left this in the office last night.”

  Elizabeth took it while tucking her hair, which was a ratted mess, behind her ear. Her jacket wasn’t just dry. “You…cleaned it?”

  “Oh, it was nothing. Just wiped some of the mud off is all.”

  “Anita, thank you. For all the trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, Ms. Ashton. We’re just happy to have you, as temporary as it may be.”

  “Please, it’s Beth.”

  “All right, Beth.” Anita smiled, displaying a charming set of crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes. There was a certain shyness, or innocence, Elizabeth liked about her. She began walking away, but turned back. She took Elizabeth’s hand with a slight hesitation, letting her smile fall. Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “I’ve been thanking the Lord all morning.” At Elizabeth’s confusion, she went on, “Bill and I pray for the safety of this town every night, and I’m just grateful you were included in His protection.”

  Elizabeth only smiled, squeezing Anita’s hand.

  “Are you…doing all right since…well, since last night?”

  “Really, I’m fine,” Elizabeth replied, trying to keep her voice light and her smile gracious. She hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror since her pit stop the night before, but the sight must be something awful since everyone treated her like the battered victim she wasn’t. It had been that way ever since she’d fixed up Eustace’s hand at the diner, ever since they’d learned about her encounter with the monster. And perhaps Elizabeth should be bent out of shape. Perhaps she was crazy, since the recent events of her normal life distressed her more than a deathly encounter with a beast from another world.

  “I just hope you realize how blessed you are to be standing here, Beth. And I know you probably want nothing to do with this place now, but you’re always welcome here.”

  Elizabeth nodded, speechless. Knowing she was welcome anywhere, even a place as small as Hemlock Veils, warmed her heart in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Anita gave one last smile and squeeze of Elizabeth’s hand before walking away.

  When Elizabeth closed the door and turned, her breath caught. The trees were fuller and more spectacular than she’d pictured, and the forest’s edge closer to her window, just a few yards. She could understand why staying here might be terrifying for someone who feared the monster in the forest.

  Especially since the twigs at her eye level—two stories high—had fresh breaks.

  ***

  Elizabeth walked the curve of Red Cedar Loop with her eyes upward, admiring the cedars that gave the street its name. They surrounded the narrow street on both sides, their branches draped with ropes of moss. And with the air crisp and the previously gray sky now clear, the beauty of nature moved her as it never had before. The storm had dampened everything, but birds squawked and sang all around as though life was always delightful. Even though the motel was behind her and the diner on the corner up ahead, she felt like the only soul atop the earth. In that moment, a thread of peculiar energy, palpable and hair-raising, tethered her to the environment. She liked to think it was the same connection her father had once felt.

  Surely that was why these peopl
e who lived in such terror stayed in the place they feared: it was simply too beautiful to leave behind.

  Upon reaching Clayton Road—the main street in town and the only way in and out, according to Eustace—she rounded the corner instead of crossing to the diner. A couple of people mingled outside it and stopped their conversation to stare at her. Did the blue-and-silver Maybach 57 at the curb also hold gawkers? What was such a luxurious and expensive car doing in a small town like this in the first place? Curious or not, she couldn’t go inside the diner yet, not when her locket was out here somewhere.

  The narrow pathway at the edge of the hemlocks—the same one she and Eustace had emerged from in the middle of the night—showed itself, and the moment she crossed into the damp and ever-so-green forest, the air changed. Like she’d stepped into another world entirely, a world where the normal cares of life didn’t exist and she could simply be herself. She could simply breathe. And in that moment, with dense vegetation brushing against the arms of her jacket and wet leaves beneath her boots, she knew she was destined for this place.

  The farther her feet took her, the more she felt it. She walked a narrow valley in the crevice formed by rising hills on either side of her. Vivid green and earthy brown were the only hues in this other world, from thickening foliage and clinging moss, to naked branches and the slender trail that led her.

  A large fallen trunk blocked the trail, as she’d expected: the same that had taken her to the ground and whose blanket of moss looked more like green shag carpet. As she approached, a small splash of red stood out, a color that didn’t belong. Sheltered by the ferns, it decorated the cedar that stood tall behind the fallen trunk. She’d leaned against this tree last night, when the beast breathed her in. A meager stab of guilt penetrated her heart, simply for being the cause of this blood. According to the old man, he’d never been lucky enough to hit his target, but thanks to her distraction, he’d been successful for the first time in almost fifty years.