314 Book 3 (Widowsfield Trilogy)

by A. R. Wise

  “No, Alma, he’s not,” said Rosemary. “He’s so much more than just one soul now. He’s one of The Watcher’s creatures, and he knows that we’re taking him back. He’s going to try and kill every one of us if he can. That’s why you have to trust me. I’m the only one you can trust.”

  “I don’t even know you,” said Alma.

  “But I know you,” said Rosemary as the teddy bear dangled from her finger. “I know everything about you, and that’s why you have to trust me.”

  Alma looked at Ben as she backed further away. Then she turned back to Rosemary and asked, “What are you planning on doing? At least tell me how you’re going to end this.”

  Rosemary pointed in the direction of the bathroom, although she couldn’t see Ben from her vantage on the bed. “We’re going to put that thing back where it belongs. And then we’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure he never gets out again.”

  “And how are we going to do that?”

  “That’s what we have to figure out.”

  Alma sighed and then let out a quick laugh. “You don’t know? You’re leading us back into hell and you don’t have any clue if it’s going to do us any good?”

  “I know that you were able to do what Oliver and his boss have been trying to do again for sixteen years. You went into that cabin and you opened up the doorway back into The Watcher’s world. For whatever reason, you’re tied to his world, and together we can go back there and end this. You’re the only one that can.”

  “Why me?” asked Alma.

  “The Watcher used you,” said Rosemary. “He used you to help control Ben.”

  “How?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” said Rosemary. “But one thing I always understood about The Skeleton Man was that he felt unloved. He had a hatred of fathers, and felt like no one cared about him. The Watcher needed him to feel that way. He needed him to feel helpless and alone, but when your mother used Chaos Magick to give you back your memories, Ben saw that you loved him. The Watcher tried to use you to help drive your mother insane. He wanted you both dead, but it didn’t work out that way.”

  “Mom took me back to Chicago,” said Alma.

  Rosemary looked weary as she shook her head. “No she didn’t, Alma. You’ve repressed the memory. Your mother drove you off that cliff.”

  “No she didn’t,” said Alma, but her conviction was nearly lost. “She took me to my grandparent’s house.”

  “You went into the reservoir with her,” said Rosemary. “But somehow you managed to get out. You swam to shore, and that’s where the police found you.”

  “No, that’s not true,” said Alma, but again her tone revealed how uncertain she was.

  Rosemary continued without acknowledging Alma’s disagreement. “I used the accident to convince Oliver that you were dead.”

  “How?” asked Alma.

  “I messed with his head a little,” said Rosemary as if proud of the fact. “He hired me to help him put Widowsfield back together the way it was in 1996, but there’s no doubt in my mind that he was never planning on letting me leave. If I hadn’t screwed with his head, then I bet he would’ve killed me for real.”

  “So you can screw with people’s heads too?” asked Alma. “Just like Ben.”

  “It’s not the same thing,” said Rosemary.

  “How can we be sure you’re not lying to us?” asked Alma as she eyed the woman in suspicion. “How do we know you’re not manipulating us to get what you want, just like how Ben was messing with me?”

  Rosemary rolled her eyes and then regarded her bleeding wound. “I’m the only one that’s been stabbed so far. If this is all part of some master plan of mine, then I suck at planning.”

  Alma laughed and nodded in agreement. “I guess that’s true.”

  Rosemary held out the beaded, wooden necklace that she’d been holding. “Here, do me a favor and put this on our friend.” She pointed at the hotel guest that had stabbed her.

  “What for?”

  “Hopefully this will help him forget we were ever here. We need to cover our tracks.”

  Alma took the necklace and then did as Rosemary asked. She lifted the unconscious man’s head and slipped the necklace over him.

  “Tuck it in, under his shirt,” said Rosemary.

  Alma did as she was asked. “How does that work?”

  “Hopefully he gets up with a hell of a headache and believes that he was mugged by a girl that he brought back here from a local bar. That’s all.”

  Alma smiled, but she wasn’t sure if she should trust the gifted stranger or be frightened of her.

  CHAPTER 15 - Liars

  Widowsfield

  March 14th, 1996

  Oliver had been escorted to one of the two Z-Drive tugboats that were floating beside the Eldridge. He was in the rear tug, with the second only ten yards ahead. Each of the tugs were connected to the Eldridge by a winched cord that was fitted with a hook that looped through a hold on the battleship’s side. Oliver had been assured that two of these tugs would be plenty to pull the battleship where it needed to be. Apparently these little, single-operator tugs were very powerful.

  “We’ll get him out to the middle and then detach,” said the fat captain. He was a short, round man that looked to be in his mid to late fifties, with pure white stubble and wearing a camouflage hat. He was smoking a pipe, and the smell of his tobacco was thick but aromatic. “Might want to grab hold of something. It can get a bit bumpy when we first start her up.”

  Oliver complied, although he had to search for something to hold onto. He was in the small cabin of the tug, and the captain’s girth left little room to maneuver.

  The crew aboard the Eldridge was sparse, but there had to be at least five on there with Vess. Oliver wasn’t sure if he was jealous of the men that were required to man the ship or if he pitied them.

  The reservoir wasn’t very deep, and the massive chain of the anchor on the Eldridge didn’t have long to turn before the ship was ready to move out. Men lined the edge on the dam’s side, ensuring that the boat was moving away from the fragile wooden observation deck as it got going.

  “I think I’m going to go outside,” said Oliver, frustrated with the cramped space.

  “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Grab a ring, just in case you get knocked off the back. I sure the hell won’t hear you screaming once the motors get going.”

  “A ring?”

  “A life preserver,” said the captain without turning and with a tone that insinuated that Oliver was an idiot.

  “Oh, okay.” He opened the cabin’s door and was greeted with the cacophonous groan of the Eldridge’s anchor settling in place after being hoisted. It was a unique sound, like a broken gear within a mighty machine that was clanking and grinding itself to death.

  Oliver was carrying a notebook where he would record every detail about the experiment from his point of view. He’d always been a fan of bringing along notebooks to keep track of daily events. They proved to be a trustworthy journal when memory failed, which it often did.

  He retrieved one of the life preservers from the rubber side of the tug to appease the captain, although Oliver was fairly certain the fat man didn’t care whether his only passenger swam to shore or not.

  In the distance, the Jackson Reservoir was as still as a pane of glass. But the raising of the anchor had caused ripples in the water to stretch out ahead of them, and Oliver watched as they grew more and more faint. The ripples seemed to stretch to nearly the center of the reservoir before they fell out of sight, and he took in the beautiful serenity of the area. Despite being stuck in the Ozarks, Widowsfield was actually a gem of a town, hidden away from the populace at large. Avid outdoorsman had known about this area for years, and took advantage of the lakes that carved their way through the rocky landscape. However, the recent upsurge of popularity of nearby Branson had brought more tourists this way, and none of the locals seemed too pleased about it.

  Olive
r looked at a cliff-face on the other side of the reservoir, above which was a scenic overlook where tourists could park and take pictures. All of the roads that led to the reservoir had been temporarily closed, so Oliver wasn’t concerned about being spied on by any hapless tourists. Instead, he marveled at the shape of the cliff, and began to discern faces in the jagged outcroppings. It wouldn’t take a leap of imagination to think that the rocks had been carved to look like faces, but Oliver knew that was an example of simple pareidolia. That was the scientific name for seeing faces in things, which he’d learned while studying about conspiracy theories that had once convinced people to believe in faces on Mars.

  However, despite how he knew that those jagged rock faces were certainly just natural formations, it was stunning how much they resembled human faces. It was almost as if the world was staring back at him.

  The z-boat’s engine kicked on, and Oliver was quick to grab hold of something. Within a few seconds, the small craft thrust forward, causing Oliver to stagger back, and the wire that had been slack moments earlier to snap taut with frightening strength. The front of the boat kicked up, causing the entire vessel to slope backward at a dangerous angle, and the water behind them seemed to boil as the underwater motors roared. The boat ahead of them moved without restraint, and Oliver realized that the cord on its pulley was mounted to the opposite side of the Eldridge to prevent them from causing the ship to turn at an angle. After a few moments of churning water, the Eldridge began a slow and steady crawl out into the middle of the Jackson Reservoir, but it didn’t go quietly.

  The enormous vessel groaned and banged, as if being torn apart. Oliver’s heart raced as he feared that he was listening to several months’ worth of work being literally torn asunder. He wondered about the welds, and the cheap labor they’d employed. He tortured himself with thoughts of water spewing into the belly of the ship from cracks in the hull. But, as they moved forward, the Eldridge didn’t show any signs of breaking apart.

  The tug finally settled, and the front end came to a rest back on the water, its engines faithfully pulling the Eldridge along. They moved at a snail’s pace, but the gigantic battleship was making its journey to the center of the reservoir.

  Oliver glanced down at the water, and saw something moving beneath them.

  It was hard to discern anything beyond the churning water that the engines sent up, so Oliver moved to the side of the boat where he could get a better look. He’d heard rumors that the reservoir had been stocked with catfish, a common occurrence in the area that helped keep the bottom of the lakes and reservoirs clean, and that the fish could reach enormous size. He wondered if the movement of the ship had attracted or upset one of the larger fish. He watched the water for any sign of the underwater denizens.

  He saw something again, but this time he didn’t mistake it for a fish. Below them stretched a long, thick, black cable, like the tentacle of an enormous squid. He followed the shape for as far as he could, and saw that it stretched out beneath the Eldridge. Oliver moved to the other side of the tug and stared down where he again saw the long cord. It was drawing a straight line from the ship out to the shore, and that’s when the mystery was solved.

  He was looking at the insulated, underwater power cable that had been connected through the hull of the ship to the stopgap mechanism that was attached to the CORD. On the shore was a shed that housed a connection to the local power grid. This cable was meant to ensure that the experiment was able to continue even if the Eldridge experienced a power failure.

  Oliver remembered telling Vess that the stopgap was independently powered, but then he realized that he hadn’t mentioned it was connected externally. Vess had said something about the stopgap operating like a battery, and Oliver had been too preoccupied with other matters to correct him. He shrugged off the omission, convinced it wouldn’t matter.

  The cable had been built to allow the Eldridge to go out into the center of the reservoir but still be connected to a consistent power source. Oliver didn’t see why that would be a problem.

  Branson

  March 13th, 2012

  Shortly after 5:00 AM

  Alma was sitting in the second row of the security van that they’d stolen from Widowsfield. Jacker was driving, and Rosemary was in the passenger seat beside him, still clutching her stomach. Despite their attempts to stem the flow of blood, it still seeped out from under the multiple wrappings. She kept insisting that she was fine, but her formerly chocolate skin had paled, and her breathing had slowed to a worryingly lethargic pace. The only thing that convinced Alma that the strange woman was still alive was how she would occasionally groan in discomfort.

  Paul was in the back row, beside Michael. They’d secured Michael as best they could, but he still continued to struggle and Paul thought it would be a bad idea to leave him in the back seat without someone to watch over him.

  The seating arrangement meant that Ben had to sit beside Alma. The seat was wide enough that she was able to avoid his prying fingers, and they tied his arms to his side with another blind cord that had been cut from the hotel room, but that didn’t stop the emaciated monster from staring at his sister. His mouth was frequently open, his tongue lashing within, and when he closed his mouth his teeth would chatter. Over and over, he whispered her name, “Alma.”

  She looked out the window, away from her brother. They were headed out of Branson, and onto 65 to head back to Widowsfield. She stared at the variety of restaurants and hotels that clustered at the exits. The sun had yet to rise, but the city was already beginning to wake. Early morning risers were on their way to their jobs, and garbage trucks were starting their routes. To most people, it was just another Tuesday, but for Alma it was the eve of what promised to be her worst day. The first time she’d decided to return to Widowsfield she’d been prepared for the possibility of facing her past, but now it was a promise; now they were charging knowingly back into hell.

  “…remember…” said Ben, although it seemed to be just one word in a sentence that he was otherwise unable to say.

  “Shut up,” said Alma.

  “Don’t listen to him,” said Rosemary.

  Paul reached out from the seat behind and put his hands on her shoulders. She reached up and gripped one of them as she set her cheek against his knuckles. It felt good to have him there, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in his big, strong arms. She needed his strength.

  “Paul lies,” said Ben.

  Alma looked over at the skeletal man beside her, and he grinned back as he nodded. She hissed at him, “Shut up.”

  “Why…” Ben tried to speak, but each word took great effort to say. “Did he…” Ben choked and coughed as his fingers scratched at the plastic seat cushion beneath him. “Get fired?”

  “Do what she says,” said Paul. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “Why did he get fired?” asked Ben.

  Alma let go of Paul’s hand, and then turned to ask him, “What’s he talking about?”

  “Ignore him, Alma,” said Rosemary. “He’ll do anything to turn you against everyone else here.”

  “I won’t lie,” said Ben. He struggled to continue speaking even though it clearly pained him. “Not to you.”

  “Why did you get fired?” asked Alma of Paul, ignoring Rosemary’s warning. She remembered hearing that Paul had lost his job, but had never asked why.

  “It’s not important,” said Paul.

  “Liar,” said Ben.

  Paul sighed and admitted, “I got caught fooling around with the boss’s daughter.”

  “Fucking her,” said Ben, as if to injure Alma with the harshness of the word.

  Alma closed her eyes, and then shook her head as she sighed. She looked over at Ben, who was smiling back at her. “I don’t care. We weren’t together at the time, so I’ve got no reason to be mad about that.”

  “Lacey loves,” said Ben as he stared at his sister. He was trying to say more, but his voice turned to a croak.

  “S
omeone put a fucking gag on him,” said Jacker in frustration.

  “Who’s Lacey?” asked Alma.

  “Tell her,” said Ben.

  “Fuck you,” said Paul in frustration.

  “Just tell me, Paul,” said Alma.

  “Lacey is the girl I got caught with. We were together for a while. She’s been…” He shook his head and sighed before deciding to get it over with and admit the truth. “She’s been living with me. That’s why my place was so damn clean.”

  “Oh,” said Alma. She wasn’t certain how to take the news. “And, does she know about us? Did you break things off with her?”

  “Not yet,” said Paul. He was quick to add, “But I will.”

  “Was she the one outside of your place the other night?” asked Alma. “The one you were talking to right before you followed me back to my place?”

  “Yes,” said Paul quietly, like a solemn whisper at a funeral.

  Alma nodded, and remembered the buxom, young girl that had been outside of the tattoo parlor that Paul lived above. “She was pretty,” said Alma, attempting to hide the fact that she was hurt. Unfortunately, the pain was evident in her voice.

  “Alma, she never meant much to me. We never had anything like what I’ve got with you.”

  “It’s okay, Paul,” said Alma, but the tears had already started to fall. “I don’t have any reason to be mad. You didn’t do anything wrong.” No matter how many times she said it, she couldn’t convince herself it was true. She’d already known that Paul had been sleeping with someone the night they got back together, the evidence had been floating in his toilet. But the fact that the girl had been living with him, and that she was the reason his apartment had been so clean, was hard to deal with.

  “I should’ve told you,” said Paul. He reached back over the seat to touch her shoulder, but she moved away from him. “Alma, I’m sorry.”

  “Liar,” said Ben. “He’s a liar.”

  “Everyone lies,” said Alma.