Sadie's Mountain

by Shelby Rebecca

  That’s when it hits me. I know where I’m going to hide the evidence. The letters Dillon wrote to me before I moved to California are hidden under a board in my old bedroom closet. Tomorrow I’ll have to figure out who I can trust to take the panties to so that they can be tested. For now, they are going in that old cigar box just nestled under the wood plank.

  “I’m just going to run inside for a minute and say goodbye to Missy and the boys. Will you wait for me a minute?” I ask, just outside of my childhood home.

  “Sure,” he says, visibly puzzled that I don’t want him to come in.

  I run up the steps and into my old room. I’m moving old boxes of my clothes out of the way so I can get to the board that pulls up in the back left corner of the closet floor. I stick my fingernail under the plank and wiggle it free. Inside is the brown metal cigar box. I pull off the lid and stare at the love notes from Dillon wrapped in a green ribbon that he wrote to me while I was disoriented and shattered. It was the only way he could communicate with me. So, he did it often.

  I pull the panties out of my pocket and look at them in the light. Panties an innocent girl wore right up until the end. They are a light pink satin with deep stains the color of ripe beets. Hard spots that have congealed and dried up like a dead rose petal—sort of like the dead flowers from my dreams. The right side is cut by his knife. The left side is ripped and jagged.

  It makes me wince. I can feel his knife pulling against the fabric. The warm trickle of blood down my leg right after. I can feel the cold blade pinching across my neck. Feel my neck weeping warm blood down the front of my dress. I wrap them up inside themselves and place them in the box.

  After I’ve secured them under the plank, I scoot out of the closet only to find Dillon standing behind me. I jump like a kid just caught stealing money out of their daddy’s wallet.

  “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice soft but confused. Oh, crap!

  “I was looking for some clothes,” I try. I feel so guilty.

  “Why’d you ask me to wait outside?”

  “I thought I’d just be a minute,” I say.

  “I wish you’d just tell me, baby. Aren’t you tired of hiding everything from me?” he asks, disappointedly, as he walks away. I shuffle behind him. I say nothing as I wave goodbye to the boys, Missy, Dale, and the kids. I’m sure they want to know what happened to the shed. I’ll just tell them tomorrow.

  We are silent all the way home. I reach for his hand. He feels stiff when I bring his hand to my lap.

  “After the wake, you’ll tell me everything?” he asks, unsure.

  “Yes.” Oh, God! I did promise him that.

  “What if you don’t have everything sorted out by then?”

  “Well, that all depends on your ability to control yourself.”

  “I’ll work on that, if you’ll work on trusting me with the truth.”

  “Deal,” I say. I feel him relax in that moment. He feels like him again—not a stiff ball of resentment.

  After we take a bath in the too large tub, he sings me to sleep. Soft cooing lullabies I can imagine him singing to our child—children even— in a life I am working toward deserving. He’s worth it, and I want to believe I am, too.

  It’s Monday morning and I’m scarfing down homemade biscuits in Dillon’s interim kitchen when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

  “Dr. McGraw,” he says. “Yes...from home for a few days...oh...I see ...alright...I’ll be right in.”

  “I have to go into work for a bit,” he says.

  “It’s okay. I’m sure Missy needs some help over at Momma’s.”

  I grab my Daddy’s gun off the beautiful hand carved mantel in the living room before I follow him out to the car.

  On our way to Momma’s house, I’m wondering how I’m going to accomplish the move from California to here. I need to get my desk set up soon so I can finish the new novel I’ve been working on. I’ve got an editor who likes to set mini deadlines for me and one’s approaching in a week or so.

  All of this feels futile unless Donnie is out of the picture. His words keep ringing in my ears, “Nothin’ you do will ever break tha link we have, Sadie.” It makes me shiver, and a helix of turmoil forms in my gut. I want to chop at that link, but it will just grow back—fuse itself together again. He’s right. It is there, thick as steel. I realize I’m scowling so I make an effort to unscrew my face.

  That’s when I remember, Renae. She heard everything he said to me last night. In fact, I think she was about to say something to me when Donnie came stomping down the hallway. I’ve got to talk to her. That’s two people who know what happened to me now: Jenny and Renae.

  “I’ll come and get you in a few hours,” Dillon says. He’s gifting me with that I’m-yours smile. “I have a project I’d like to work on for your momma’s funeral,” he says, as he crumbles pebbles on my childhood driveway.

  “I’ve got to take that car back,” I say, nodding toward the black Buick LeSabre I’d rented last Thursday. “I’d like to get my car sent over from California.”

  “Music to my ears,” he says. His eyes gleam as he leans forward and kisses me before I run up the stairs.

  When I walk into the house, the kids are in the living room playing. Missy puts one hand on her hip and glares at me while she stirs something on the stove. “Sadie Jane,” she says. “What in heaven’s name did Dillon do to that shed?”

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Missy,” I say, as I walk through the living room and lay the gun up on the countertop, high above where little hands can reach.

  “Well?”

  “If you must know, Dillon burned it down because he figured out that that’s where I was raped. Happy now?”

  She drops the spoon into the pot and steps back, places her hand over her stomach as if she needs to stabilize herself against a blow to the gut.

  “That’s where it happened, Sadie?” she asks, as her face scrunches up, and an elephant-sized tear charges down her cheek. I had no idea my rape affected her at all. But then again, she had to live with me for months after it happened. Then, I left her, too. Just like I left Momma.

  I nod my head yes, and sit down at the table. “I saw you real quick, before I ran off,” she says, as she slips into the chair next to me. “I was hiding in our room when Dillon brought you in the house. I heard everything, but I was too scared to come out. So much blood, I thought you was dead. And then, the screaming. The sound you was makin’, shrieks really. I couldn’t handle it.”

  “I remember when I woke up one time, I was in the bed, but you weren’t there.”

  “I slept upstairs with the boys that night,” she says, looking down. “I’m sorry, Sadie.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. That’s all I can think to say. Without warning, she swoops me into a bear hug, Missy style.

  That’s when my phone buzzes in my purse slung across my shoulder. I smile at her to let her know I’m not angry as I take out my phone. “Give me a minute?” I ask.

  “Sure,” she says, standing up and walking back to the stove. I don’t recognize the number but it’s local.

  “Hello?”

  “Sadie Sparks?” asks a man’s voice in a thick West Virginia accent.

  “Yes.” Who is it?

  “Sadie, this is Officer Lee Howard. I was there the night’a the break-in at your momma’s house.”

  “Yes, I remember you,” I say, confused. The man who reminded me of Barney Fife. “What can I do for you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice straight.

  “Well, to put it bluntly, I have questions about the break-in. But I don’t wanna meet you at the station. We need ta talk in private.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Can I ask you somethin’?” We wait for a minute in the silence. “Do you know who did it?”

  “Yes,” I blurt and then hold my breath.

  “Why didn’t you just tell us, then?”

  “Because it wouldn’t have done any good.”

  “Is thi
s break-in related ta’ another incident, ma’am?”

  I swallow hard. Close my eyes. What does he know? Did Donnie tell him to call? “Why are you asking me this?”

  “‘Cause I take ma’ job serious, ma’am. No matter who did this. You deserve justice.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t trust you. Your motives.”

  “I got a call today, ma’am. A real important lady, someone I trust and wouldn’t’a lied to me. She thinks something happened to ya a long time ago. I need to talk to you. But not at the station.”

  Renae? Did she call him? I walk out to the porch. Stare in the direction of her and Donnie’s house. “Where would you like to meet?” I ask.

  “The Overlook at Hawk Nest State Park. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes.” I do remember. A scenic place, with a cobblestone wall overlooking the bridge and the river. It sure is a long way down over that wall. But I have a gun. He will, too. It may be misplaced, but I have a feeling I can trust him. “What time?” I hear my voice say.

  “Half an hour,” he answers.

  The next thing I know, I’m pulling the panties out of the cigar box, shoving them ina plastic sandwich bag and into my purse. I run up to Momma’s closet. Grab a purse that’s big enough to hold my gun. Run back down the stairs. Shove my little bag and the gun into the thin leather.

  I don’t tell Missy where I’m going. I just grab the keys to the LaSabre and I’m on my way. My heart is beating hard against my chest. When’s Dillon supposed to be back? He’ll want to know where I am. I’ve got to text Jenny on time today. It’s 11:25. Good thing I’m meeting with him now so I can threaten him with the recording, too. If he’s working for Donnie, to protect him, then he’ll already know about part of my evidence.

  Before I know it, my car is sitting in the lot near the park office. Just a short walk through a scenic pathway and I’m in front of the steep overlook. I realize I’ve not even checked the place out. I walk up to a rough barked tree and camouflage myself behind it so I’ll see him first. I check my phone. It’s 11:42. He should be here any minute.

  That’s when I see him. He’s dressed in his deep blue uniform, wearing the straight wide-brimmed hat. The gun on his hip shines in the light coming through the trees. I don’t see anyone with him but I stand here pressing my palms into the tough hide of the tree for a full minute before I step out. Grasping momma’s purse close to my side, I walk toward him and then stop.

  “Miss Sparks,” he says. I nod to him, and walk again, slowly, as if he’s a bomb that could blow up any moment.

  “Will you walk with me?” he asks.

  “No. I want to stay out in the open.”

  He nods. “All right.” The way he’s got his hands up to calm me is a reminder of Dillon. Somehow, I know to trust him a little bit.

  “Will you sit down with me?” he asks, motioning to a bench nearby. That sounds good, actually, since it’s farther away from the steep overlook. Away from the sharp spiked wall.

  I sit down first. Then he sits and turns to face me. His eyes, a light blue color, remind me of the sky. I feel bad for thinking he was an underachiever, at best.

  “What exactly do you know?” I ask as the breeze quickens, getting up under my skin. My voice sounds high-pitched, shaky.

  “What I know, Miss Sparks, ain’t much. But I think a lot ‘a things. That’s why I’m here talkin’ to you.”

  “What do you think happened, then?”

  “I think, ten years ago, you was raped in that shed on Chief McGraw’s property. I think, Friday night, the same man who raped you, who cut your throat, came back and broke into your momma’s house to kill you.”

  It’s like the wind got knocked out of me. My chest is so tight, I can’t breathe. “How do you know about my throat?” I ask, touching my teal scarf.

  “I saw it the night’a the break-in.”

  “Very observant. Who do you think did it then?” If he doesn’t know, then I can’t tell him. It’s his boss, after all.

  “That’s what I was hopin’ you could clear up for me.”

  “I can’t tell you. If you say his name, I’ll nod. But I can’t say it. I never have. Not out loud.”

  He shifts in his seat, so I squeeze my purse. I can feel the outline of the gun through the thin leather.

  He reaches back to his belt and I freeze, hold my breath. When his hands come back into view, he’s holding a black leather case that flips up to reveal a pen and pad. I take a deep breath as his pen whispers on the page. He scratches something off and then turns it to face me.

  There it is. Plain as day.

  Chief Donnie McGraw

  Such a simple thing. Black ink traced along the surface of white paper. But, how it means so much more. I feel a rumble of emotions run through my nervous system. Fear. Relief. Fear again. I nod. My cheeks are wet. I wipe them with my sleeve.

  “He’s the same size as what Dillon described. None ‘a us could get a hold’a him that night. When he came in the next day, his nose was broke. I didn’t believe his story about Old Man Wilson. I checked up on it and Chief McGraw hadn’t been there at all that night. No paperwork on it at’all. I took an oath. I don’t care who it is. Even if it is him. You deserve justice.”

  For a second, I want to run away. I can almost hear the click of the soles of my boots along the cobblestone path. But then I blurt, “I have evidence.”

  “What? What kind?”

  “A recording and...” should I tell him?

  “What kind of recording?” My shaky hands take the phone out of the little bag inside Momma’s leather purse. I open the app. Press play.

  As Donnie’s murderous words play in the air around us, Officer Howard places his thumb and forefinger on his chin. He’s listening, but not reacting. When it’s over he asks, “When did you record this?”

  “At the EDA meeting on Friday night.”

  “The night he broke in.” I realize I’m biting my lip far too hard but I can’t stop. I need Dillon to kiss me so I can release it. I check the time. It’s 12:14.

  “This is good evidence, Sadie. If I was on the jury I’d convict right then and there, but there’s always the chance that his lawyers might get it throw’d out on the grounds that it weren’t obtained legally.”

  “Is there a statute of limitations on rape?”

  “No, ma’am. In fact, ‘cause he threatened you, cut your throat, and ‘cause he’s what, eight years older than you? How old was you back then?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “Yep, then since he’s at least four years older than you, he’d get no less than thirty years to life in prison. Maybe more since he admitted to lettin’ you drown.”

  “I have something else,” I say. I sound like a mouse softly scurrying toward restitution.

  He looks at me intently. I don’t want to give this up, but I am ninety-eight percent sure that he’s on my side. Three people know now: Jenny, Renae, and him.

  “I’ll give it to you as long as you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That you won’t tell any of this to Dillon.”

  “Sadie, I can’t tell him nothin’ even if I wanted to. It’s confidential. But we’ll need his testimony. And you’re right. He ain’t too stable minded the way he went and burned down that shed. Damned shame. Prolly had some evidence in there.”

  “There was.”

  “What?” That’s when I wonder. What if Donnie just sent him to talk to me so he’d know what my evidence is. Maybe he sent him to take it from me under the ruse of catching him.

  I stand up. “I...I need to think about this.”

  “Miss Sparks,” he says, his one hand out to show he means me no harm.

  “I need to talk to someone first. Then I’ll tell you.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow. Same place. Noon,” I say, before the soles of my boots are, indeed, clicking along the cobblestone path.

  I need to talk to Renae. As I pull into her d
riveway, I notice there is no patrol car parked here. I’m relieved a bit, but I still hold tight to my gun through the thin leather purse as I climb the stairs toward her front door.

  When I knock I realize I’ve pounded quite loud. As the door swings open, I see myself, my dead eyes looking at me as if in a mirror. She has that look on her face again. The one where she looks like she accidentally sees herself in a mirror at the store. Surprised recognition.

  “Come in,” she says, her shoulders curved over like a candy cane.

  “Where’s Dot?”

  “At the church.”

  I walk in but I can’t sit. I pace and she watches. “Last night. Did you hear?”

  “Yes,” she nods.

  “Has he...” I stop to swallow the fear caught in my throat. “Has he done that to you, too?”

  She bites her lip and with her head held low, she nods ever so slightly.

  “Did you call Officer Howard?”

  When she looks up, I see a gleam in her eye. “Yes,” she says.

  I sigh long and heavy, as if I’d been holding onto the same breath for the last hour of my life. I reach my hand out to hers. At first she winces when I touch her, so I pull away. She’s just like me.

  “You know you can trust him?”

  “I wouldn’t ‘a called him if I didn’t,” she says, meek and quiet.

  “You’re very brave,” I say.

  “Or just tired,” she says, leaning her back against the wall. “I want him gone,” she says. “I hate him more than I ever hated anyone in my whole entire life.”

  “Me, too.”

  “He’ll get real time for what he done to you.”

  “We can hope, right?”

  “I ain’t goin’ to testify though,” she whispers.

  “I know.”

  “You’d better skedaddle. He’s gonna be home in about half an hour.” I smile at her. She smiles back.

  I walk out the front door and when I turn around to look at her again, there’s something in her eyes I don’t recognize. Is it power over her own life that puts that gleam in her eye? Just a small piece of my brain whispers to me, maybe she’s on his side. Setting you up.

  Which side do I listen to? I’ve until tomorrow at noon to decide which part of my brain to believe. The right side or the wrong side.