I watched the first person take a swig of the container Mrs. Anderson had handed them. They passed it onto the next person, and after each one would drink, they would turn and walk away from the bonfire. They formed a single line as they headed to their vehicles parked across the field in a plowed area. They got into their vehicles and drove down another path on the opposite side of the field that must have led to another way out of Mrs. Anderson’s farm.
After each man had left and gone, only Mrs. Anderson remained. She still stood in front of the fire, her eyes seemed to be focused on the burning poles that were now blackened and burned through. She stood all alone and very still for a long time. She was also facing in my direction, so I leaned back against the rock, let the coldness settle in until I felt completely numb, even with all of the layers of clothing on, and hoped that she wasn’t going to be there for a long time. There was no way I could get out of here while she was facing me like that. She would see me for sure if I made any sudden movements.
I listened to my heart beat within my chest like a drum for a while as I waited. I realized I was scared to death. Never had I expected their meeting to have gone in this direction. Never in a million years could I have ever pictured my father or Buck Brady joining in some sort of ritual like this. Did they believe that they were truly doing good? Was that it? I tried to find some way of reasoning with the logic behind it. I couldn’t. It was too creepy for Seneca, way out of the range of normal. I could only decide two things: Mrs. Anderson was not right in the head, and everyone that believed what she said were under the influence of her insanity.
I memorized the other name she had called out as I repeated it again and again. Lucas Banesberry. She had said that he had been powerful, too. What significance or relation did this man have to Emry? It would have to be my next step in finding out anything I could about this Lucas. I doubted I would forget the name. I doubted I would ever be able to forget this night and all its sinister charm. Halloween had been a few months ago. Maybe someone should have told them. Oh, that’s right. They think Emry is the one worshipping the devil.
I wanted to bend my neck over again and see if Mrs. Anderson was still standing there. I was too terrified yet. I couldn’t let her see me. I was all alone in these spooky woods, the shiny things dangling above my head, taunting me with their strangeness. I guess this was the kind of thing that Emry had warned me to be careful about. He had had a bad feeling, and he had been so right. Mrs. Anderson had just had a pep rally for her miniature army she had created in Seneca, Ohio, the most normal place in the entire world where nothing out of the ordinary happened. Wow. Even I surprised myself at how blind I had been my entire life to believe any of that. Seneca was turning out to be the epitome of weird. Maybe every place was like this. Or, maybe I had just been so out of it my entire life that I genuinely had no clue about what was going on in the world around me.
I realized that I was beginning to not be able to feel my feet. I sat still for a few more moments listening to the silence of the night, trying to get enough courage to look around the rock again. You have to do this, I told myself. You can’t sit here all night and freeze to death.
I turned around slowly and placed one gloved hand on the rock to brace myself as I cautiously moved my head far enough away from the barrier of the rock to get a good look at the bonfire. No one was there. Mrs. Anderson had gone, but she hadn’t walked down the same path as I had come up to get to her house. I was grateful for that anyway. She would have seen my footsteps on the way down. But where had she gone? I scanned the area one final time before deciding it was probably safe enough to stand. I took a few steps away from the rock. Nothing. Still silence. No one was in sight. All the cars had gone, and Mrs. Anderson had seemed to vanish into thin air.
I was trying to debate what I should do. Should I go down the same path as I had come up where I would have to cross in front of Mrs. Anderson’s house in order to get back to my car, or should I cross this field and go down the lane that the cars had driven down and see where it led me? But then I thought that Mrs. Anderson had probably left down that path herself. I wanted the way with the less chance of me crossing paths with her. I finally took a deep breath and headed the way I had come up. Hopefully I wouldn’t fall down the slippery hillside.
My feet tingled and burned with every step. I was freezing. I made my protesting body work as I trudged my way down the hill, my eyes wide and alert for any signs of danger as I repeatedly scanned the area in front, around, and behind me every few minutes. This had been such a bad idea. What if I had been caught? I probably would be the one burning in that fire right now. Buck would have gladly thrown me in.
When I had reached the bottom of the hill and also the edge of the woods, I hesitated at the back of the house. There was a dim light coming from one of the windows. Mrs. Anderson must be inside. I tried to listen to see if I heard any voices coming from within. I heard nothing and continued to walk very slowly around the side and stopped again before I headed into the open area in the front of the house. I put one hand on the siding and peered around. I looked at the front porch. No one was there, and no car was parked out front either. Taking a deep breath, I tried to compose myself. I knew I had to force myself to keep going. I trudged on, starting out slow as I walked directly in front of her home, and then I saw movement from inside one of the windows. I started to sprint as fast I could with what I was working with, deep snow and layers of clothes, and before I knew it, I was already halfway up the road and my car was in sight, still sideways, up the other farm lane.
I wanted to kiss my steering wheel once I got inside. Had I really made it out of there without being seen? That seemed impossible in itself. I still had to get my car out of here and far away from this place. I think I would have rather been sleeping in Lainey Tritt’s house of horror right now than spend another moment in the presence of Mrs. Anderson.
The car roared to life, and I was grateful the battery hadn’t given out on me in this bitter cold. I released the emergency brake and turned the steering wheel hard as I attempted to maneuver the car into a straight line. It didn’t work, but I was still somehow sliding down the lane, my front end suddenly coming forward, and I slid right out onto the road. I put the car into gear and away I went.
The thought of my house was now a welcoming one at the moment. I had never missed my bed so much in my entire life.
Chapter 13
I got to the library early the next morning. I waved to Jeannie, the librarian, as I went in. She waved back. She was used to me being here. I hadn’t even bothered going to the antique store yet. It had been a few days since I had gone to the store, since the night that I had changed there from coming from the prison and then going to the bar. It surprised me at how little I even cared if it ever opened again. My mother was up and around once more. She could go tidy it up if she wanted to. I was probably through with that place. I felt as if this attitude was partly her fault. So much had happened in the recent months. I didn’t want to be in Seneca anymore. I didn’t want to be in Ohio. But the one thing keeping me here was Emry Logan. Then again, if it hadn’t been for running into him and falling madly in love, none of these other things would have probably occurred either. It had been a gradual cycle, an awakening that had only been brought on by a matter of chance and events. I could only imagine how dull my life would have continued to be if I had stayed in that slump for the rest of my life. The sad thing was that I could picture it happening that way, too.
I began my morning by plopping down in a chair and going on the computer searching for anything that would give me a clue into who exactly Lucas Banesberry was. Periodically I would take a sip of the piping hot coffee that sat beside me. I had never been much of a coffee drinker before, but today I decided I liked it.
After a couple of hours of searching, I felt frustrated. I could find nothing on any Lucas Banesberry. Then looking through some old newspapers that had been scanned onto the Internet, I came across an obituary.<
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Lucas W. Banesberry, birth March 14, 1947, death September 28, 1965. Son of Lawrence and Juanita Banesberry of Elverson, Pennsylvania. Brother of Adam Banesberry. Faithful son, loving friend. He’ll be deeply missed by all who knew him.
This couldn’t be the same Lucas Banesberry I was searching for. I set the obituary down and tried to find out more information on anyone else with the same name but came up empty handed. I looked down at the printed out piece of paper beside me. I took another gulp of coffee while holding it up and taking another look at the dates again. If this was him, it had happened a long time ago. For Mrs. Anderson to have known him, she would have been fairly young herself. I guess I had been expecting to find someone still alive, perhaps in another prison, some article telling what crime that had committed and so forth. I sighed. This had to be the one. There was no other information on anyone else by that name. Elverson, Pennsylvania. Where was that? I went online to find a map. It was near the border of Ohio. I glanced down at my watch. Then I stood and headed for the door, tossing the half empty coffee cup into the trash on my way out.
I wasn’t sure exactly what I was expecting from this sudden trip to Pennsylvania. Then again, most mornings I woke up unsure of how the day was going to unfold anymore. Surely someone in Elverson knew something about Lucas Banesberry. Maybe they’d remember what had happened to him or lead me in the direction of someone that did. As always, my nerves were getting the best of me, but today wasn’t nearly as bad as what I had experienced last night at Mrs. Anderson’s little field ritual. The memory of the night’s events was still haunting me in the bright sunlight of the day. Seneca was repulsive.
I picked up a GPS on my way out of town. I had never been very good at reading a map, and it just seemed simpler this way. I was grateful that I hadn’t ever been much of a money spender. I had gone to the bank and gotten out plenty of cash for the trip for gas and food, even a hotel room if need be.
As the highway winded on before me, Emry crept back into my mind again. His face was always there, his beautiful eyes staring into mine. I thought about him every second of the day. All of my actions revolved around him. He had freed me, helped me gain a sense of independence I had never known before, and now I must help free him. I could only imagine what he was going through. What had they done to him for kissing me? Were they still punishing him? Such a beautiful creature. It was pure torment to think of them injuring his face or for him to be in any kind of physical pain, pain that had been caused by my sneaking in to see him.
I wondered if he thought about me as much as I did him. Would he question when he’d see me again or what had happened to me? I was convinced we were on equal ground when it came to our love for one another. Our connection was too strong to ever doubt that it could fall short in any way. My chest ached for him to be near me again. I wanted so desperately to go back to the prison and see him again, but I knew for sure that they would be on the lookout for my being there. I knew it would be an impossible task and a waste of effort to even try. My car lurched forward as I pressed on the gas a little harder. It was as if I thought by getting to Elverson at a faster rate, I could somehow speed up the time we were suffering apart so that it might end quicker. I missed him so much that it was as though I could literally feel my heart breaking. It was the worst kind of pain I had ever experienced before, the not knowing, the inevitable future already mapped out for us yet snatched away for the moment, possibly to never be.
Stop thinking like that , I commanded myself. Such negativity pouring out from me. I had to remain optimistic about my future, our future, or else I knew I’d be hopeless and make careless decisions. There was no room for errors in this game. This was a battle between good and evil, although I wasn’t exactly sure yet who was on either side, and I would bet that those battling didn’t have a concrete grasp on the side taking part yet either. I decided to turn on the radio and settled on the first station that had an upbeat, happy song on it. I tried to block out all the pain and all the anger that had been building up lately. I had to put it all behind me and move forward.
After what had seemed like a long time of driving, I sighed a breath of relief when I saw a sign that said welcome to Pennsylvania. According to the GPS, I was almost at my goal. I drove a little further and then began to see businesses that had Elverson in their title. So I had made it. Great. Now what?
I pulled into a little diner that was made up of a small rectangle building that had been painted a dull pink color called Tillie’s. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot. I thought maybe I’d go in and check the place out, see if anyone in there knew anything about the Banesberry family and maybe even grab a bite to eat. My stomach growled viciously just then at the thought of food, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten a thing yet today.
The inside of the diner was very much like its exterior, rundown but still tidy and clean. I sat at a little booth with black and white checkered seat cushions and looked around. The soft sound of a country music station on the radio was playing, and other than a couple people talking to a waitress up at the counter, the room was very quiet.
“Here’s our menu,” a waitress said, plopping a copy down in front of me. “Can I start you out with a drink?”
I looked up at the lady. She looked very tired. “Yeah, I’ll take an iced tea, please.” She nodded. “I’ll be right back with that.” My eyes scanned the menu for a few moments, but it was as if I couldn’t truly concentrate. Should I say something to the waitress about the Banesberry name? She didn’t look that friendly to me. I reread the same words that I had just looked over in the menu, trying to focus once again. I just wanted a sandwich. Where was the sandwich section?
“Here you go.” The waitress set down my drink.
That was fast, I thought.
“Have you decided?”
I frowned, my eyes finally finding the right section I was looking for. “I’ll take the turkey club.” “With fries?”
I nodded.
“Coming right up.”
“Oh, hey,” I said, wondering how the words were going to sound coming out of my mouth. The waitress turned her head to look at me again, a curious expression on her face. “I was wondering if you knew anything about anybody named Banesberry in town?” “Waynesberry?”
“Banesberry,” I corrected her, saying it more slowly and more pronounced this time.
She put her finger to her lips as if thinking for a moment. “No, sorry. I actually have only lived here for a few months though.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks,” I mumbled through my obvious disappointment.
“I’ll go ask my boss. I bet he’d know.”
Before I could say anything more, she had turned and disappeared around the corner. After a few minutes, the waitress had returned with both my food and an answer for me. “My boss said that the Banesberrys have a place at the end of Birch Street. Just keep going straight on this road,” she instructed me, pointing out of the window. “Pass the courthouse in the middle of town, and then you should run right into Birch. Turn right and he says it’s the last place.”
“Thanks,” I said to her, a little more cheerfully. I stared down at my plate of food and quickly reached for the ketchup bottle to dump all over my fries. I sat there and thought while I ate. What was I going to say exactly when I knocked on the front door of their house? Hi, nice to meet you. I’m looking for someone to tell me how Lucas Banesberry died. It sounded rude, even though he had been gone for a long time now. I decided maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to overanalyze and think about what I was going to say exactly. I should just see what happens and wing it. Dwelling on it only made the nerves in my stomach increase, making it difficult to eat, even though I felt almost sick from hunger. I tried to pay attention to the words coming out of the speakers on the wall of the diner. I was getting better at distracting myself when need be.
I ate quick and was surprised when I put my hand down to get another fry that everything on my plate was gone. I had b
een hungry. I should take note to take better care of myself, I thought. I threw money on the table to cover my bill and the tip and put my coat on. I felt better on a full stomach, a little less agitated. I got back in my car and headed back down the road, destination Birch Street.
I had to turn around once as I missed the road. It had crept up on me too quickly, and I hadn’t turned on my GPS for it. When I got on Birch, it was a short road with only a few houses. The fourth house was the final one, right where the road turned into a dead end. It sat right next to the road, a faded green color that looked abandoned. I parked the car and stood in front of the house. Brown dead weeds that had grown above my head were waving fiercely in the winter breeze as they carried themselves halfway up the beams that held up the porch roof. I climbed a few steps up to the porch. The wood underneath me creaked in agony as if it had been a long time since someone had put weight onto the beam. I stepped back and looked up at the second story windows. Nobody had lived here in years, maybe even decades.
I felt that freaked out feeling, very much like the one I had had inside Lainey Tritt’s starting to overwhelm me again. This place felt like a gigantic tomb just waiting for me to go inside before crashing down and burying me underneath its heavy, rotted roof. I ran my hand along the peeling paint of the banister attached to the steps. A few flakes of paint flew into the air as I released them. I sighed.
I had to go in. I knew it felt wrong and everything within me screamed not to, but I couldn’t just stand here hesitating all day. Maybe there would be clues inside, who knew, but I had driven all this way and would find something out even if it meant going in alone.
Strange in Skin Page 20