When she returned to the destruction site, Granger had made good progress, and had stopped so they could clear away the cement.
“We’ll remove the big chunks while you keep hammering,” Milton offered.
“Nah, I can use a breather,” Granger said, stopping to take a drink.
“What do you think?” Eliza asked him. “Are we about fifty percent?”
“On this slab,” Granger replied. “We’ve still got the other one to do, too.”
“If you find what you’re looking for in this section,” Milton said, “I can take out that other slab on my own. You all don’t have to do it. You’re helping enough as it is.”
Granger nodded and went back to the jackhammer. The loud piston started up, and he pressed the tip of it against a new section of cement. Eliza watched as it rippled and then fractured under the force of the tool, the tip of it sliding through the crack and into the ground. He lifted the hammer and slid the tip to a new section several inches away, and inflicted another crack.
Almost two hours later, they had cleared away all of the large cement chunks, leaving only small rock-size pieces. Milton said he’d have to sieve the soil to clean the rest of them out, but that it was good enough for digging. He produced two shovels, and Granger and Robert began turning over earth.
“Be gentle,” Eliza urged. “Don’t damage it by accident.”
Robert gave her a smile and carefully plunged the tip of the shovel into the dirt, pressing down with his foot.
They overturned more than half of the area, poking through each shovelful as they went.
“I can’t imagine she would have buried it deep,” Granger said. “Kids don’t have the patience to make a deep hole, especially if they have to dig through hard dirt.”
“It was a flowerbed,” Eliza said. “The soil might not have been very hard.”
“Hold on,” Robert said, pausing and letting his shovel drop to his side. He knelt and reached into the soil he’d just overturned, pulling out something long and thin, caked with dirt.
“Nah,” he replied after examining it. “A bone.” He tossed it back to the ground and picked up his shovel.
Eliza tried entering the River once again as they dug. Darkness clouded most of her vision, with the blue mist slowly swirling in the distance. She focused down, on the ground they were working.
Nothing.
They kept digging, slowly and carefully turning over the soil. The minutes ticked by, with Eliza carefully watching every clod of earth. It was slow going, but they were making progress.
Granger stopped when he turned over a shovelful and something odd and lumpy appeared in the soil. He knelt and dug through the dirt, tugging on two leather strings. Slowly, he extracted a small leather bag, cinched at one end. It was dark and stained by the soil, clods of which still hung from it.
“That’s it!” Eliza said.
Granger carefully pulled open the drawstrings and reached inside. He withdrew something shiny that glinted in the sun. It was tubular, about six inches long, made of metal.
Eliza looked over his shoulder. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I think it is!” Granger replied. He pulled a metal cap off one end. “Look, here’s the eyehole.”
“Let’s take it inside,” Eliza offered, “and get out of this sun.”
“I’ll put the tools away,” Milton said, “in case I get a walk-in. Want the place to look respectable, or they’ll just turn around and drive off.”
“I’ll help you,” Robert offered, and they began moving the wheelbarrow and jackhammer.
Eliza and Granger walked inside, taking the kaleidoscope to the kitchen. Granger tossed the dirty leather bag into the sink, and held the device up for her to inspect.
She took it and examined the tube. It was made of shiny brass, and had unusual etchings encircling the middle.
“This seems much better built than a child’s toy,” she said, turning it around in her hands.
“It does,” Granger replied. “Those engravings are interesting, too. Not what I’d expect.”
She looked at one end; it was domed crystal, designed to maximize the light that the device needed in order to produce its effect. At the other end was the metal cap. She pulled on it and it popped off, revealing a small eyehole, surrounded by more etching.
“Do I dare?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Granger said.
She held it several inches away from her eye, trying to peer into it from a distance. It wasn’t possible to see inside.
“I’ll try if you don’t want to,” Granger said, removing a flask from his hip pocket. He brought it to his lips and took a swig.
“Is that protection?” Eliza asked. She knew Granger made his own; a concoction designed to offer some degree of insulation from malevolent forces in the River.
“It is,” Granger replied. “Tucked the flask away when I knew we’d be digging.”
“Can I have some?” she asked.
He passed her the flask and she took two large gulps, feeling it burn as it dropped into her stomach. She handed the flask back and readied the kaleidoscope, waiting to give the protection a few moments to radiate through her body. When she felt it beginning to work, she brought the eyehole closer, and tried to focus inside the device.
She turned so that the crystal end was facing the direction of the overhead light in the kitchen. The image inside the kaleidoscope lit up, exposing twelve exact triangular reflections in a beautiful geometric pattern. As she moved it, the images changed.
“Oh!” she said, shifting around as she spoke. “It doesn’t have things inside it. It’s using whatever image comes through the crystal.” She turned it toward Granger’s face, and saw the patterns change to a skin tone.
She turned it in her hand, trying to decide which of the twelve images was the original; the device worked on the principle of multiple reflections of a single image, and when she was younger she always enjoyed trying to distinguish which image was the real one, and which were the reflections.
“This thing is very well built,” Eliza said, the device still at her eye. “The mirrors inside are in great shape, even after all those years buried in the ground.”
“Here, let me see!” Granger said, and she lowered the kaleidoscope. Granger looked like a little kid who could barely contain his excitement at trying out a new toy. He took the device from her hand and held it up to his eye.
“Oh!” he said. “You’re right. No little colored plastic bits that tumble around when you turn it. Just the image that refracts through the crystal.”
“Do you think it does anything unusual?” Eliza asked.
“What, like River unusual?” Granger replied, with the kaleidoscope still at his eye. “One way to find out.” He handed it back to her.
She raised it to her eye and looked at the patterns. Slowly, she let herself slide into the River, waiting to see what might change.
Darkness swallowed up the room, and the light entering the kaleidoscope dimmed, leaving nothing but blackness. Frustrated, she was about to lower the device from her eye when she saw tiny specs of light begin to develop; they slowly grew in intensity, looking like stars in the night sky. At first she thought they were the same pattern, reflected by the mirrors of the device, but the more she stared at them, the more she realized they were separate patterns, each distinct within their triangle of reflection.
What are these? she thought, looking at each one independently, trying to extract a meaning.
It was a V-shaped collection of tiny dots that caught her eye first. Then the boxy cross of another.
Gemini, she thought. And Taurus.
She dropped from the River. “Constellations,” she said, looking at Granger. “The signs of the zodiac, I think.”
“In there?” Granger asked, pointing at the kaleidoscope.
“Yes,” she replied. “Everything goes dark, but tiny stars show up in each of the reflections. I’m not that good with constellations,
but I recognized two of them.”
“How odd!” Granger replied, just as Milton and Robert entered the kitchen.
“Well?” Robert asked. “What’s inside?”
“Stars!” Eliza replied, handing the kaleidoscope to him.
They each took a turn, Granger and Robert dropping into the River while looking.
“Yeah, those are constellations all right,” Robert said, lowering the device.
“I’m jealous,” Milton said. “I just see reflections.”
“The stars aren’t a reflection,” Granger said. “The properties of a normal kaleidoscope are being overridden somehow.”
“The River is dark here,” Eliza said. “There’s no light to take in. It might behave differently if it wasn’t here, at this place.”
“True,” Granger replied.
The phone rang, and Milton left the room to answer it.
“But what does it mean?” Robert asked. “What do we do with it?”
“Yeah,” Eliza said. “What now?”
“Well, I have a few tests I might be able to run on it,” Granger said. “I’d have to take it back to the shop.”
Milton returned. “There’s a Don on the phone for you, Granger.”
Granger’s eyes widened, and he turned to leave the kitchen. They could hear him talking faintly in the other room. When he returned, he was smiling.
“Don has information on Horace Lyons,” Granger said. “He wants to meet up again.”
“He couldn’t just tell you over the phone?” Robert asked.
“No, he insisted on a meeting,” Granger replied. “I think he’s getting off on the whole thing, to tell you the truth. Meeting with him is his payoff for him digging up the info.”
“When?” Eliza asked.
“Tonight,” Granger replied. “Same spot, two hours from now.”
“Great,” Robert said unenthusiastically. “That’s just going to delay your analysis of that thing.”
“Doesn’t have to,” Granger replied. “I can take this back to Madison. You two can go and meet with Don. We’ll talk on the phone in the morning, and compare what we’ve both discovered.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Eliza replied. “Robert?”
“Sure,” Robert replied. “I want to get cleaned up before we go, though. I stink.”
“I’m heading out, then,” Granger replied. They exchanged quick hugs, and Granger was out the door.
As they walked back to their room, Robert said, “Care to join me?”
“For the shower?” Eliza asked. “Sure, why not. We only have an hour before we need to leave.”
Chapter Eleven
They found Don in the same booth, wrapped up in the same heavy coat and hat. He started to slide out of the booth to greet them, but Eliza stopped him.
“You don’t have to get up!” she said.
Don kept sliding, swung his feet out, and stood. “That would be rude. My mother raised me better.”
Eliza gave him a quick hug, followed by Robert, and they slid into the booth.
“No Granger?” Don asked.
“He had to go back to Madison,” Robert replied. “It’s just us.”
“So, about Horace!” Eliza said. “You found some stuff?”
“Sure did,” Don replied, producing another packet and dropping it on the middle of the table in exactly the same manner as he’d done with the first one. Robert reached for it and opened the top, sliding out the documents.
“He lived not far from your B&B,” Don continued, “from 1958 to 1972. A little house on twenty acres.”
“Any idea where he went after that?” Eliza asked.
“Six feet under at Natches Road,” Don replied. “It’s a small place and it filled up in the late seventies, so there have been no new interments there since then. It’s out of the way and not well cared for; most of the people buried there were poor. One resident is a famous serial killer by the name of Gerald B. Metoxin. He strangled fourteen people before they hanged him. Plenty of other felons there as well; seemed like that’s where the county liked to plant them.”
“Fascinating,” Robert replied, looking through the various articles and photos in the packet. “You’ve got the address of the cemetery right here.”
“Thought you’d probably want to check it out,” Don said, “since it’s not that far from the B&B.” She turned to look at Eliza. “You are going to check it out, right?”
“Probably,” Eliza replied.
“Can you…” Don paused, then lowered his voice and leaned toward Eliza, “…communicate with them? The dead?”
“Uh,” Eliza replied, glancing up at Robert. “Sometimes,” she replied.
“Sometimes,” Don repeated. “Not always.”
“No, not always.”
“Why is that?” Don asked.
“Well, it mostly depends on what state they’re in. If they’ve moved on, you can’t reach them no matter how hard you try. If they’re still around for some reason, it’s easier or harder depending on if they want to talk or not.”
“If they’re still hanging around,” Don said, his eyes widening with a conspiratorial glint, “isn’t it because they still have something to say? They hang around for a reason, right?”
“From what I’ve encountered,” Eliza replied, “yes, there’s usually a reason. But that doesn’t mean they always want to talk about it, or tell you the truth.”
Don looked disappointed. “Darn it, I was hoping you’d be able to communicate with this guy!”
“He might talk,” Eliza said. “No way to know until we try.”
“What do you think he’s done?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” Eliza replied. “That’s one of the reasons we want to talk to him.”
“What’s interesting is that he was supposedly a salesman,” Robert said, looking at a page from Don’s packet. “He is supposed to travel for his job, but he stays at this boarding house, and then quits his job to live a few miles away for the next fifteen years.”
“Something happened to him at the boarding house, didn’t it?” Don asked, becoming excited again. “Am I right?”
“We think so,” Eliza replied. “But what, exactly, we’re not sure.”
“Oh, I hope he’ll talk to you!” Don said. “I’d love to watch.”
“It doesn’t work if you’re not gifted,” Robert said. “It would make it harder for us to reach him.” Eliza could tell he was trying to dampen Don’s enthusiasm.
“Oh, I don’t think I could tag along anyhow,” Don replied. “The idea of contacting the dead scares the bejesus out of me.”
Chapter Twelve
Robert stopped the car at the edge of the road. There were no streetlights, but the moon had risen and provided some light as they walked from the car, down a steep ditch, and back up to the edge of the little cemetery. Trees growing within its confines had been allowed to live, while all others in every direction had been leveled for farmland. The cemetery looked like a dark oasis in an otherwise flat and barren landscape.
A fence of two wooden poles marked the boundaries, but was little more than a marker; it wouldn’t stop anyone who wanted to cross it. Not seeing an entrance proper, they stepped over the wooden fence and made their way into the cemetery. Grass had never been planted here; it was wild with weeds and brush, and it had been a while since someone had cleared it out.
“There must be few family left,” Eliza said. “It looks like no one comes here. No fresh flowers anywhere.”
“You’re probably right,” Robert replied. “These old cemeteries seem to drift into decay if someone doesn’t tend them.”
“And occasional vandalism,” she replied, pointing to a broken tombstone.
They searched among the markers, looking for Horace Lyons. Many of the graves bore dates well before 1900, on stones that were losing their engravings to the weather. Robert’s flashlight darted from gravestone to gravestone as they traversed the cemetery, searching. He stopped, and Eliza
looked down at the marker.
“That’s not Horace,” Eliza said, reading the engraving.
“No, it’s Metoxin,” Robert said. “The serial killer Don mentioned.”
“Oh!” Eliza replied, looking more closely at the gravestone. “Just his name and the years he lived.”
“It’s not common for them to put, ‘Here lies a serial killer’ on the tombstone,” Robert said.
“No, you’re right,” Eliza said, stepping back. She had a desire to ensure she wasn’t standing over the body, so she looked down and moved farther from the marker. “We wouldn’t even know about this character if it weren’t for Don.”
“Makes things a little creepier, doesn’t it?” Robert asked. “Want to drop? See if we can find Metoxin, too?”
“No!” Eliza said, pushing him onward. “I don’t!”
They continued their search, winding back and forth along the rows. When they reached a section in the back, Eliza noticed the dates becoming more current.
“Here we go,” Robert said, settling on a plain, unembellished marker that laid flush on the ground. “Horace Lyons.”
“Killer of Wanda,” Eliza added. “No room for that to fit on such a tiny stone.”
They heard the sound of a car approaching on the road, and Robert quickly turned off the flashlight. The car sped past. Eliza could see the red tail lights through the trees, slowly receding into the distance.
“Don’t turn the flashlight back on,” Eliza said. “My eyes have adjusted to the moonlight. Let’s leave it off.”
“Alright,” Robert said, searching the ground for a spot to sit. They chose an area free of weeds and brush, directly over the grave.
“Ready for this?” Robert asked.
“Let’s just hope he’s there,” Eliza replied. “Or we might have hit a dead end that stops this entire thing.”
They closed their eyes and slipped into the River. Eliza waited, calling occasionally for Horace, but he didn’t appear.
I guess we’ll need a trance, Robert said.
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