Nephilim Genesis of Evil

by Renee Pawlish

  Rory’s face appeared. “If it was him, he’s gone now. Thought I heard more people, too, but I guess not.” He hopped in and put the Jeep into gear. “Don’t know what Samuel would be doing out here, but I guess that’s his business.”

  “I suppose so,” Anna said, calming her racing heart with a few deep breaths. “Although it’s a little odd, don’t you think?”

  He shrugged, concentrating on the road. She made a mental note to check with Joan Friedman tomorrow. They soon drove over the wooden bridge, much too fast for Anna’s comfort, drove around the bend in the road and pulled the Jeep into the shelter.

  “Look, tell me what happened back in Boulder,” Rory finally said as they began walking back to her cabin.

  Her stomach flipped. She didn’t know what to say right now. She needed time to think, but would he understand this?

  “What’s going on there?” she asked abruptly, pointing up the road a ways. Lights were on at one of the summer cabins, and a sheriff’s car was parked out in front. “Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She heard the resignation in his voice, and she knew she’d blown it. But the sheriff’s car was a distraction. They hardly ever had any excitement at the Crossing that would call for the authorities, and she was curious.

  Rory walked her back to her cabin. They exchanged a few polite words, and she watched him until he disappeared in the night. She went inside, her thoughts jumbled. Thinking of Rory, thinking of her father. And that day when he went out on the lake.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Look, I want to know what you’re going to do about this!”

  In the crowded kitchen of the D’Angelo cabin, Gino D’Angelo tried to stare down Clinton Truitt, the Boulder County sheriff. Gino, a bear of a man, his thick eyebrows bunched in fury, was barely able to cross his arms over his barrel chest. But he did anyway, trying to look as intimidating as possible.

  Clinton Truitt had seen it all before. He recognized Gino’s New York accent and his tough guy stance because Clinton had started his career on the same mean streets where he was sure Gino had grown up on. Clinton himself had grown into a man of over six feet, four inches, and he’d run into tougher men than Gino and survived.

  Clinton had gotten the report about the missing teenagers an hour earlier. He had covered this part of the county for years and was familiar with Taylor Crossing, so he’d decided to respond to the call himself. It wasn’t that uncommon for people to go missing in the mountains, and it didn’t surprise him that it was some of the tourist kids. When he’d come into the D’Angelo cabin, the story unraveled quickly. Once Mick didn’t show up for dinner, his parents had made the logical assumption that their son might be at his friend’s cabin. But after a phone call, Mick’s parents had quickly established that the two boys were not around. The parents had walked through Taylor Crossing, checking at the stores and the café, but to no avail. They had hiked as far as they could around the lake, but still didn’t find the kids. Finally, they waited a while for them to return, until Gino D’Angelo decided to call the sheriff.

  “Mr. D’Angelo, I’m not trying to discount your concern, but I can’t send out a volunteer posse until it gets light.” Clinton held his hat in his hands, and he rubbed at the brim while he talked. “Tomorrow morning, if they haven’t come back, we’ll send out a posse, and we’ll get a helicopter up as well. I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything we can do until then.”

  Clinton turned to the others in the room. Trish and Kenneth Hull, Mick’s parents, leaned against the kitchen counter. Two half-full cups sat on the counter behind them. Mrs. D’Angelo – Clinton noted that Gino had introduced her without giving a first name – carefully watched her husband from the doorway to the small living room. She was heavyset, and even though she was impeccably dressed in designer jeans, a silk blouse, and flawless makeup, she disappeared into the background, almost unnoticed. In the brief moment he saw her eyes, the cliché of a cornered deer leapt into Clinton’s mind. She was a rich, trapped animal, too petrified to move, large dark eyes perpetually wide with fear.

  “My son knows better than to not come home for dinner,” Gino said through clenched teeth. “He wouldn’t just not come home.”

  “Mick, too.” Trish Hull’s red face had wet streaks down both cheeks. “Mick and Ellie are good kids.” She was obviously upset, but everyone in the room could hear her attempt to defend her son. It wasn’t like him not to come home either, and she wasn’t going to let the hulking idiot standing before her imply that his kid was better or more obedient than hers. And she didn’t have to intimidate her children to get them to mind her.

  “He knows I mean it when I say to be home for dinner,” Gino went on. “Right, hon?” he said to his wife. She seemed to cringe at his forced use of a pet name but nodded her head mutely.

  “Those boys have been spending a lot of time together,” Trish said. “Maybe they got carried away with whatever they were doing and lost track of the time.”

  “And didn’t head home when it got dark?” Gino snorted at her. “By then they’d know it was well past suppertime.”

  “It could happen,” Kenneth Hull interjected. He was a fireman by trade, familiar with tense situations. He straightened his shoulders against Gino’s menacing demeanor.

  “Does Ellie know where he went?” Clinton asked. “Does she keep tabs on her older brother?”

  “She doesn’t know anything,” Trish said quietly, wiping her face with a tissue. “She tried to follow him, but he wouldn’t let her.”

  “A little girl playing with them? Please,” Gino derided her input. “Unless you’re implying that my boy is up to no good.”

  “I’m not implying anything – ” Trish began, her voice rising.

  “You think my son would’ve wanted to do anything to that girl?” Gino interrupted. “I didn’t raise him that way.”

  “Folks,” Clinton began, trying to use his easygoing manner to diffuse the situation.

  “Just what are you trying to say?” Kenneth took a step toward Gino.

  “This is insane,” Trish said to Gino. “How did we get from our kids being missing to allegations of abuse? We’re good parents. Do you think we’d raise our kids that way?”

  “And I would, Trish?” Gino drew the name out. “I may be from Hell’s Kitchen, but I worked my way out of it. We live in a better place than you do, don’t we?” He looked over at his wife, who stared at the floor.

  The strain was showing on everyone. Strain from missing their kids, and strain from dealing with Gino D’Angelo, unless Clinton missed his guess. He’d spent less than five minutes with Gino and Clinton wished he could strangle Gino. Clinton couldn’t imagine what the last few hours must have been like for the Hulls. “I’m sure they all are great kids,” he said quickly.

  Kenneth breathed heavily through his nose, staring at Gino. Finally, he put his arm around his wife’s shoulder, unconsciously comforting her.

  “Where’s Ellie now?” Clinton asked.

  “She’s staying with some friends at the cabin next to ours,” Trish said, glowering at Gino.

  “Good,” Clinton said. He didn’t like the ugly way the anxiety had escalated. He also didn’t like the way Gino D’Angelo seemed to be more concerned with his reputation as a disciplinarian than for what might have happened to his son. “Most likely they got lost out in the woods. Not the most pleasant way to spend the night, but since the weather’s been so nice the last day or two, they shouldn’t have to worry about the cold.” Although it would still get plenty cold right before dawn, he thought, and found himself hoping they would find some shelter, or that they might have matches to build a fire. “If those boys are smart,” Clinton eyed all the parents cautiously, “and I’m sure they are, they’ll hunker down somewhere and wait for us to find them.”

  “They’ll do that,” Kenneth said. “They’ll take care of themselves.” He glared poisonously at Gino.

  “They’re probably at one of the mi
nes,” Gino’s wife murmured.

  They all looked at her.

  “I told Nicholas not to go there,” Gino said quickly. “He knows better.” His tone defied them to contradict him.

  Trish was not going to be bullied. She pulled away from her husband’s arm. “This isn’t about what we did or did not tell our kids. You should know as well as I do that they’ll still do things behind our backs.” She turned to Clinton. “I overheard Mick talking about the mines with Nicholas the other day. We’ve all told them that it’s dangerous to play around them, but they may have gone there anyway.”

  “There’s a ton of old mines scattered all over these hills,” Clinton said.

  “They said something about one with a shack and a big flume on the side of it.”

  Clinton raked a hand through his closely cropped hair. “You mean the Luckless Lady or the John Dandy? They’re near each other.”

  Trish nodded. “Luckless Lady sounds familiar.”

  Clinton looked into the face of each parent. He saw the concern. And underlying that, not very well hidden, the fear, looks that would stay long past the time when they had answers.

  “Should we go look there?” Kenneth asked.

  Clinton knew it would be crazy to go out to the mines now. To go now would be setting themselves up for an accident. But their faces. Trish, eyes red-rimmed, the tense expression that would only get worse as the night grew longer. And Mrs. D’Angelo, hiding behind her mask of stone. Even she couldn’t hide her fear. He saw it in the way she wrung her hands. And the men, fathers trying to be strong, but not succeeding. Their eyes lied, too.

  Clinton knew some of what they must have been going through. He had two grown daughters, and once you realize how truly vulnerable your kids are, of how little power you actually have to control what happened to them, not only did you feel violated, you held onto the fear. It was like a talisman to guide all your future acts with your offspring. And he knew what it felt like to try to protect them. He could guess at how he’d feel if something happened to them. If the parents standing before him felt one-tenth of what he thought he’d feel…he couldn’t find the words. You would do anything. Even go out into the woods at night.

  “All right.” He let a long breath out through his teeth. “Does everyone have good flashlights? Really powerful ones?” He received a chorus of nods. And he noticed the desperation on their faces ease just slightly. Hope, however small, had a way of doing that. “Then let’s hike up to The Luckless Lady and see if we can find them there. But,” he held up a hand, “we’re not going in any of the mineshafts. We’ll call out, see if we can hear them.”

  Gino started to protest, puffing out his chest. Clinton glared at him. “I’m not going to put anybody else in danger.” He pointed at Gino. “That’s final.”

  Kenneth went with his wife toward the door. “We’ll meet you all back here in ten minutes,” he called over his shoulder.

  Clinton could hear them chattering softly as they went out the door. He knew that the adrenaline would be flowing for them all, but adrenaline helped with the tension. It would be good for them to be doing something. Anything.

  “I must be crazy,” he muttered to himself. If this turned out badly, there’d be hell to pay.

  “That boy’s going to be in big trouble,” Gino said. He set his gaze on his wife. She shrank back a little.

  Clinton found himself wondering if the D’Angelo boy had run away. Given what he’d witnessed between the parents, he wouldn’t be surprised. He had seen enough to know that things weren’t rosy in the D’Angelo home. He put his hat back on, thinking that if his gut feeling was true, he didn’t relish returning the boy to his father. “Get ready,” he said to Gino. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  He turned and went past Mrs. D’Angelo. She was still rubbing her hands together, staring down at the floor.

  “What about animals?” she whispered.

  “Huh?” He stopped beside her. He could feel Gino’s eyes drilling into his back.

  “Will any animals harm them?” She glanced at Clinton, then focused back on the floor.

  He was taken aback. “I don’t think so,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. Gino had taken a couple of steps toward them, trying to overhear the conversation, what little it was.

  “What did you say your name was?” Clinton asked her, trying to make things more personable, to ease her worries some.

  She hesitated. “It’s Mary.”

  “Mary.” He looked calmly at her. “They’ll be fine.” He reached out to touch her arm, but thought better of it. He shot Gino a warning look as he went out the door.

  The last thing Clinton saw before the door closed was Gino approaching his wife. He didn’t like the tautness in the man’s face.

  CHAPTER 24

  Myrtle looked out her kitchen window into the darkness. It was crazy, but she felt as if she could see something out there, shadows that didn’t belong in the natural order of things. Crazy, she thought to herself again.

  “Just like this mood I’m in,” she said to Boo, who was curled up on a worn-out blanket in the corner. He opened his eyes, surveyed her, stretched and repositioned himself. Then he went right back to sleep.

  “Glad you’re feeling okay,” she talked on. This time Boo kept his eyes closed.

  She sighed. She felt bummed, as her granddaughter would say. “I just don’t feel right.” This time she spoke to the darkness, knowing Boo was too tuckered out to care what she was feeling.

  At times she knew her depression was because she was too young to be a widow, that she should be growing old with someone, not alone. But Les had a heart attack, and here she was. His work had given them money for things like the cabins at the Crossing, but it had stolen his breath way too early. Sometimes life wasn’t fair.

  This led her to thinking of Joan and Samuel, how they were moving into their golden years. Sure, the café kept them busy, but if they wanted to close for a day or two, they did. It wasn’t like they needed the money. They kept the café open for something to do, although Myrtle for the life of her couldn’t figure out why anyone would want the hassle at their age. But they seemed to like it. And they were together.

  Her mind wandered to Ed Miller and her mood turned cross. She had gone out to his cabin. No one was there, but she made the mistake of going inside. The place was filthy, with empty whiskey bottles all over the place, dirt and grime covering almost every surface in the tiny kitchen. She didn’t even want to think about the bathroom. It had churned her stomach. The entire cabin smelled of something rotting. And then there was the feeling she’d gotten. Like she was being watched.

  Myrtle trembled now. “It’s like that feeling I get when I’m at the Barton cabin,” she muttered to Boo. He slept on.

  It made her think of the rumors. Those evil, ancient spirits running around the Crossing a hundred years ago when Brewster’s grandfather lived here. “But there’s no spirits here or at that silly cabin across the lake,” she said aloud, but the sound of her voice was unconvincing.

  Myrtle shook her head. Maybe Joan would help get her out of this bad mood. She picked up the phone and dialed Joan’s number. She let it ring ten times, plenty long enough for Joan to get it, plenty long enough to be annoying. By the eleventh time, she hung up, wondering why the answering machine hadn’t picked up. She dialed the café’s number. It rang five times before Joan’s breathless voice crackled through the line. “Hello?”

  “What’re you still doing there?” Myrtle asked. She glanced at the clock on the stove: nine-thirty. Joan and Samuel should’ve had the supper clean-up done long ago and been back in their rooms at the bed and breakfast.

  “Finishing the last of the dishes,” Joan said.

  “It’s pretty late. Did you two let someone in for a late meal?” Myrtle knew that even though the café closed at eight, if they felt like it, Joan and Samuel were known to serve much later.

  “No, but Manuel had to leave early and I’m on my own.”
/>   “Where’s Samuel?”

  “He went out fishing and hasn’t come back yet.” The worry in Joan’s voice was unmistakable.

  “Not back yet.” Myrtle could hear the concern in her own voice, even though she’d tried to mask it in a light tone. Samuel had enough happy-go-lucky in him to take off for a few hours, but he usually didn’t leave Joan for that long. “I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably ran into Ed, and they got carried away.”

  “I thought about that. I went over to visit with Lillian for a while, and I know he was mad that I left him with the lunch cleanup, but I didn’t think he’d take it this far. When I get my hands on him…” Indignation temporarily replaced worry.

  “That Ed can sure be a bad influence,” Myrtle said. She regretted it the second it came out of her mouth. No need to worry Joan further.

  “You don’t think they’d do something crazy?” Apprehension shot back into Joan’s voice. “Should I call the hospitals or maybe the sheriff?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Myrtle said, a bit too lightly. “If something happened to those two, don’t you think we would’ve heard something? It’s not like the Crossing is that big.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Myrtle was not the most compassionate person, but she tried her best to soothe Joan. “I really wouldn’t worry too much. Samuel hooked up with Ed and they had a few too many and they’re sleeping it off at Ed’s. I’ll bet Samuel will come stumbling in later tonight or in the morning, and you’ll be able to hang this one over him for a good long time.”

  A long pause ensued.

  “If that’s the case, he’ll owe me diamonds,” Joan finally said.

  “That’s right, make him pay,” Myrtle laughed. “You call me in the morning and tell me what the old goat did. Once you give him a piece of your mind,” she added.