McMenamin looked at him. “My sister-in-law is Japanese.”
Fuck! “Well, you know what I mean, Emac. I’m not saying it’s true, but that’s the stereotype.”
Another long glare from Emac caused perspiration to break out on Broarty’s forehead, despite the coolness of the forest. “Any word yet from your boy Hayden?” he asked.
“My assistant was supposed to be contacting him, but she’s probably screwed up again. You know how it is with the staff.”
“If somebody at Resort Partners screws up, they’re shown the door. It’s called professionalism.”
“Absolutely, and this will be Ms. Valdera’s last screw-up, I can promise you that.”
“This still does not tell me where Hayden is.”
“But isn’t it beautiful out here?” Broarty said in desperation. It was beautiful; streaming rays of sunlight shone down through the tall trees, creating a patched quilt of light on the forest floor. The air was still crisp and moist and smelled of pine.
“That’s what we at Resort Partners offer, beauty,” McMenamin said, seeming to accept the subject change. “If we can’t find it, we make it, and if we can’t make it, we convince people it’s been there all along. How far is it up to the site?”
The first words of How the fuck should I know? nearly escaped Marcus Broarty’s mouth, but he managed to bite them back, saying instead: “Not far.”
“Ever informative, aren’t you? If Mr. Hayden is not going to show up, then that puts you in charge. I’ll leave my car here. We’ll take yours up.”
“Fine.” Yeah, let my car get beat all to hell while yours stays safe!
McMenamin got in the passenger seat of the Jag and Broarty took his place behind the wheel. The extra weight of Emac’s body was going to make the Jag bottom-out on every bump. He started the car up and very gingerly pulled onto the road.
After a few minutes McMenamin said: “There’s an outline on the left. It looks like the first building.”
Broarty saw it, too. He picked up speed (at least as much as he dared), until they got to it. It was a wooden cabin built on a concrete foundation, with a plain shingle roof, on one side of which stood a sturdy stone chimney. The front door, while a bit weather-beaten, was still straight and strong on its hinges and perfectly centered within the jamb. “Jesus, look at that,” McMenamin said, whirring down the window. “It looks damn near new! I feel better about this already. Let’s go further.”
As they went deeper into the woods, the buildings became more plentiful.
McMenamin looked at the structures and shook his head. “Why weren’t there any photos showing these? Is your boy Hayden just a moron or is he deliberately trying to queer the deal?”
Of course he’s trying to queer the deal, a voice suddenly said in Broarty’s head; and he should be dealt with accordingly.
“I think you mean my ex-boy Hayden, Emac,” Broarty said. “It’s a good thing we came up here.”
“My bosses will certainly be relieved.”
Because of our diligence, the voice whispered.
“Marc, go up to those buildings,” Emac said.
Go ahead; I’ll be with you.
Just up ahead of them was the main part of the town, which they could both see appearing bit by bit through the trees. Then the pines appeared to recede, giving them a clear, unblocked view of the heart of Wood City.
“My god,” McMenamin muttered, as he gazed on the town. “It’s like the fucking place was built yesterday!”
All of your problems are over now, the voice told Marcus.
Broarty said nothing. He simply nodded to acknowledge he understood the voice that had spoken, and fully comprehended what he was being asked to do. He was no longer listening to McMenamin at all; only the other voice, the supportive one inside his head.
* * * * * * *
Jack Hayden roared into a parking spot right in front of the Glenowen police station and opened the door to leap out even before he had gotten the key out of the ignition. Dashing inside the trailer-cum-official building, he was greeted by Rob Creeley. “That was fast,” the policeman said. “Should I be writing you a ticket?”
“I wasn’t very far away when I got the message,” Jack replied. “Can I see her?”
“Sure, c’mon in.” He led Jack to the tiny barred cell, the door of which was hanging open. As soon as Jack saw her, he called out: “Dani?”
She was sprawled out on the cot that was anchored to the wall, her face toward the bricks. She did not move. Jack called her name a couple more times, and Creeley added: “Miss Lindstrom, are you all right?” There was a slight twitch of her head this time, and slowly she rolled over to face them.
Jack turned pale as he saw her snow white hair.
She stared at him for a moment as though unable to focus, then whispered, “Jack?”
“It’s me, Dani,”
“Jack, oh Jack, oh my god, Jack!”
Her scream reverberated throughout the brick building, shaking both Jack and the policeman. Dani leapt off the cot and ran to Jack, and without a thought he took her up in his arms as he might have Elley, had she been so distressed. But Elley never got so distressed.
Dani clutched him back as though for her very life.
“Dani, what happened?”
Instead of answering, she dissolved into a series of wracking sobs.
“Talk to me, honey.” The word slipped out as easily as if it had been his wife; maybe easier.
She regained her composure just enough to blurt out: “I went to Wood City. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop. Jack, it’s alive. Wood City is alive.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“The whole place, it’s alive! The woods, the buildings, and that damned mural. They’re all alive.” She buried her face in Jack’s shoulder to cry. He looked helplessly at the policeman.
“Miss Lindstrom,” Creeley said, as gently as possible, “could you be a bit more specific as to what happened to you?”
Dani looked up at him, her face calm. “I was raped.”
The policeman and Jack looked at each other. “Miss Lindstrom, rape is a serious charge,” Creeley said. “Can you identify the man?”
“No, I wasn’t physically violated, I was psychically raped.”
Creeley exhaled loudly.
“Can I speak with you privately?” Jack asked the policeman.
“Jack, for god’s sake, don’t leave me!” Dani cried.
“You’ll be okay as long as you’re here, I promise. You’re safe. I’m just going to talk with the chief a few steps away, okay?”
“Don’t abandon me.”
“I won’t, Dani.”
Jack and Creeley stepped into the main room of the station, out of her earshot. “What have you got?” the policeman asked.
“I wish I knew precisely, but something strange is going on around here, even you have to acknowledge that.”
Creeley said nothing.
“Is she being charged with anything?”
“No. She was brought in for her own safety and well being.”
“Could she leave with me?”
“Where do you plan on taking her?”
“I have a friend waiting back at our motel who might be able to help her. She’s an old woman who seems to have the facility to accept this bizarre shit.”
“By bizarre shit, I assume you mean spending time in a bar that doesn’t exist and being raped by the pine trees.”
“And more. The woman’s name is Althea Kinchloe and she’s been getting visited by an old dead boyfriend.”
“Okay,” Creeley said slowly.
“This is what I’m talking about. You aren’t accepting any of this for a second, and god knows, I don’t blame you, but Althea does accept it. I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself in the situation of watching everything around you turn upside-down, or be surrounded by people who tell you that you can’t possibly have seen what you’ve seen or experienced what you’ve expe
rienced, but it’s not a lot of fun. You start to wonder if they’re right, even though you know they’re not. When someone comes along who accepts it, and who doesn’t look at you like you should be straight-jacketed, it’s rather comforting.”
Creeley studied Jack and came up with the picture of a man who was not quite at the end of his rope yet, but was working on the last yard or so. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, though you have to understand, dead boyfriends, psychic rape and ghost saloons aren’t subjects they teach at UCSBO extension, so it might take me a while.”
“Are you still there, Jack?” Dani called from the cell.
“Right here, Dani.”
“Do you know what happened to my car?”
“If she’s worried about her car, she’s at least starting to think straight again,” Creeley said. “It was left by the roadside when she was brought in. I sent Dorgan out to fetch it and bring it back.”
“Could he take it straight to the Tide Pool Inn?’
“I’ll radio him and tell him to leave it there. Don’t worry about the car.”
“Jack?” Dani called again.
“Coming.”
“Look, before you go, take this,” Creeley said, pulling out his ticket pad and beginning to write.
“You’re going to ticket her car?”
“No, I’m giving you my private phone numbers, home and cell.” He ripped the ticket off and handed it to Jack. “If something happens that you think you need help for, go ahead and call, even if it’s at night.”
“Thank you.” At least the policeman was not totally blowing him off. Maybe he even believed that something strange was going on, just a little. Maybe something had happened to him that he wasn’t telling. He didn’t bother to ask. Instead he went back to where Dani was waiting, sitting on the edge of the cot, shivering silently. “Let’s go, Dani.”
“What about my car?”
“It’s fine. They’re taking it to the hotel.”
“There’s so much I don’t remember.”
“It’s okay. There’s someone back at the motel I want you to meet, someone who might be able to help us
She rose slowly and said: “Can we eat first? I’m hungry. Isn’t that funny? After everything that’s happened, I’m hungry. It seems so dumb to be hungry.”
“Your body still needs to keep going, no matter what. We’ll stop at the first place we see.”
That proved to be a restaurant called McGillicuddy’s. As they approached the door, Jack stopped and knocked on the rough-hewn timber exterior, just to make sure it was real.
Dani ordered breakfast and the waitress, a fortyish woman with dusty brown/blonde hair whose nametag read Trish, soon arrived with a near-overflowing plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns and fruit garnish, and a second, smaller one stacked high with toasted homemade bread, which she set down in front of her. There’s no way Dani’s going to eat all that, Jack thought. But amazingly, eating slowly, almost mechanically, Dani Lindstrom cleaned up every bit of food from her plate. Jack wondered when her last meal had been.
When his cell phone rang, he thought about ignoring it again, but then thought it might be Elley. “I should probably take this,” said, putting the phone to his ear. “Hayden.”
“Jack, where are you?” Yolanda’s voice demanded. The concern, nearing panic, in her voice was tangible.
“Yoli, I’m sorry. I know I was supposed to meet Marc, but I got delayed. What’s wrong now?”
“I got this frantic call from Marcus. He was babbling like an idiot.”
“That’s unusual?”
“Something is seriously wrong up at Wood City. You need to get there.”
“I was actually on my way there when something came up. But tell me what’s happening?”
Yolanda was not someone given to hysteria, or even hyperbole, which made her intense agitation even more concerning to him. “Take a deep breath, Yoli, and give me the details.”
A deep, hollow, despairing sigh came over the phone line. “Marcus called and kept saying over and over that he had done something ‘righteous.’ That was his word”
“Like what?”
A pause, then: “He said he killed Emac.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jack said nothing.
“Are you still there? Jack, please, you have to do something!”
“Christ. Okay, I’ll do something.”
Yolanda hung up and Jack put the phone back in his pocket. “This just keeps getting better and better. There’s an emergency at Wood City and it sounds like I have to check it out. I’m going to drop you off with Althea back at the motel and then head on up.” Without bothering to wait for the check Jack took out his wallet and set down a twenty and a couple of ones, and then got up to go.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Dani said.
“Take the mirror slow, all right?”
“Did I wake up green, or something?”
Jack shook his head. “White.”
She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“Your hair, Dani.”
With a look of alarm, Dani grabbed a strand and pulled it as far as she could into her sight line. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not unattractive,” Jack said quickly. “Besides, if you don’t like it I’m sure it’s something you can color, it’s not like a scar—” Robynn’s face immediately jumped into his mind, and he felt momentary shame for not even giving a thought to her since going to rescue Dani from the Glenowen police station.
He watched her as she made her way through the tables to the marked restroom door, and smiled at the thought that, even with snowy white hair, she was still causing men’s heads to turn and watch her walk. Dani remained in the bathroom for what seemed like an hour, during which time Trish reappeared to collect the money and chirp over the size of the tip, which Jack realized was about seven dollars. He was just about to ask her, or someone from the restaurant, to go check on Dani when she finally emerged. She looked pale, stunned, but she was still functioning. She had tied her hair behind her in a ponytail. “I don’t understand any of this,” she said as they left the restaurant.
“I know, but you still look fine, Dani.”
“I look like something from Star Trek.”
Neither said anything more until they got to the motel. Dani’s car was already in the parking lot; Dorgan was nothing if not efficient. Jack took her to Althea’s room, hoping that she was in, and was happy to find that she was. He introduced the two women and was happy to see a faint smile on Dani’s face when Althea said: “Oh, what lovely platinum hair!” As soon as he felt comfortable leaving them, he went back to his truck and headed for Wood City.
As he drove, Jack insanely found himself hoping that Marcus had killed Emac. With McMenamin dead and Broarty in prison for it, maybe this whole crappy Wood City fiasco would just go away. That would hardly solve all of Jack’s problems, but it would be a start.
The sunny day was beginning to cloud over. Or maybe he was just getting closer to Wood City.
It was only early afternoon, but he was already getting thirsty.
At the turnoff from the highway, Jack felt a drop in temperature, and he was uncertain as to whether it came from the outside or inside of him. As he got closer, he started to shiver. It was not simply the temperature, real or imagined, but something more fundamental; a shedding of life, almost, as though little by little he were dying. Not dying himself, but entering something dead. If being born was entering the realm of the living, then Jack was doing the opposite. He was driving his truck into the womb of something dead.
Instinctively he pulled out his microcassette recorder. Switching it on, he spoke: “Today is May seventeenth and I’m driving into Wood City, completely unaware of what I am going to find here. I have been told that my boss, Marcus Broarty, has experienced some kind of breakdown, possibly one involving our client, Egon McMenamin, of Resort Partners. I do not know what awaits me at the sight, I only know what I am feeling, and that is extre
me discomfort—” He stopped talking when he saw the car. It was a Chrysler luxury job with Nevada plates—it had to be Emac’s—and it was parked off to the side, leaving barely enough room for him to squeeze his truck past. Why would he have left it out here? Jack wondered. But that thought was driven away a second later when he recognized the spot in which he was stopped. It was the place that only days before had been impossible to pass because of a felled tree, but now it was perfectly clear. What’s more, the road ahead was completely free of tangle and brush. Raising the recorder to his lips he said: “Someone has apparently been doing some brush work out here.” But if someone had, they took all the chopped debris away with them, because there are no piles of brush and branches lying around anywhere.
Jack drove past the car and deeper into the woods, until he came to another car, and this one had to be Dani’s, the one that the police were supposed to pick up for her. But that wasn’t what worried him. It was the forest itself. Something was not right. It was all different. In only a couple of days, something had happened to the entire woods.
“What the fuck!” he shouted when he saw the first building.
Jack pulled the truck up in front of it, jumped out and ran to the porch of the cabin. It was built of clapboard, a technique no longer in use, but fairly common in the early part of the last century, and it had a stone chimney and glazed windows. Touching the glass, the putty holding in the pane felt supple. “This is nuts,” Jack uttered, then remembering that he had brought his camcorder with him this time, he ran back to the truck and retrieved it, fumbling to the small video device free of its zippered fabric case. Switching it on, he lined up the cabin in the viewfinder and began talking, knowing that the condenser mike would pick his voice up clearly.
“I am standing on the porch of a complete cabin, which appears to be inhabitable,” he said. “Its walls are made of bevel siding, and I would estimate its floor space to be about six-hundred square feet. The structure appears new, and either I am insane now, or I was insane the last time I was here, but I would swear on every Bible in America that this building was nothing but a ruined foundation just a few days ago.”
The Mural Page 16