Behind them, Ginger barked viciously.
As they reached the third floor landing, Cal pulled them to a stop. “Ginger! Ginger!” he hollered, half pleading. “Come on, girl!”
They heard Ginger’s paws running around the balcony, racing to join them. Camm hoped Ginger could see better in the dark than they could. As Ginger came after them, a heavy thudding noise followed her closely. Ginger would run some, and then stop to bark and growl again. The thudding stopped when Ginger did, but when Ginger ran again, the thudding noise followed. It followed the dog around to the side of the hall where Camm and Cal waited.
As Ginger got close to the top of the stairs, Camm sprinted down the stairs, using the banister for eyes while pulling a reluctant Cal behind her.
“Ginger, here, girl. Come on, girl. Ginger!” Cal’s voice was desperate as he tried to encourage his dog to follow.
Passing the second floor landing, Camm and Cal started down the final set of steps to the main floor. Ginger stopped at that landing to resume her barking and growling. Camm, going from memory, led Cal along the main floor, heading in the direction of the dining room door. From there, they just had to make it to the kitchen, and then outside to Cal’s Camaro.
Groping, Camm finally found the doorknob she wanted. Above, Ginger’s growl suddenly rose in pitch and volume. A wild hissing filled the hall, growing louder until it sounded like a high-pitched screech. Camm’s heart sank as Ginger’s barking became more and more frenzied. A horrific fight broke out, punctuated with yelps and wild animal sounds. The fight moved along the second floor balcony away from the stairs.
Cal jerked his arm out of Camm’s clutch and stepped out into the darkness. “Ginger! Ginger!” he hollered, panic in his voice.
Ginger’s barking changed into a frantic whine of intense pain. Suddenly, the whining and screeching stopped. All was silent, but only for a second. A loud thud sounded as something landed hard on the floor in front of them. On the balcony above, the sound of heavy breathing gradually moved back toward the stairs, with claws scraping along the floor.
Cal got down on his knees and crawled toward the spot where he had heard the thud. His hands found the limp, wet body of his dog. At the same time, the gasping breaths above slowly, but surely, began creeping down the stairs. Each step was punctuated with the sharp clicking sound of claws on wood.
“Cal! Cal! Follow my voice. Hurry, Cal!” Camm whispered, urgency seeping from every pore of her body. Stumbling toward her voice, Cal found Camm at the dining room door just as the gasping and clicking reached the bottom of the stairs.
Reaching out a hand, Camm found Ginger cradled in Cal’s arms. She hurried them through the door and slammed it shut behind them. As soon as the door shut, Camm’s flashlight came on in her hand. Cal had stuck his flashlight in his back pocket, and it came on, too, shining its light on the ceiling.
Now that she could see again, Camm laid her light on the table to seize a chair and stick its back under the doorknob. Then, she grabbed her light and Cal and started for the kitchen. Cal’s arm was wet and sticky. Glancing back, she saw Ginger soaking wet with blood. Cal’s front was also covered.
As they reached the kitchen, they heard the creature throwing itself against the dining room door in a fury, trying to get at them. They had just crossed the kitchen when the dining room door gave way amid the scream of splitting, tearing wood.
Bolting outside, Cal ordered, “You drive.” He cradled Ginger in both arms while Camm pushed the kitchen door shut and fished the keys out of his front pocket. Both dashed to the Camaro.
It felt like forever before they reached the car, got in, and started it. Each step, each movement, even the turn of the key in the ignition seemed to go in slow motion.
As Camm finally grated the gears into reverse, the backdoor to the kitchen flew open. The blackness of the doorway was filled with something blacker still. It rose up and filled the whole doorway. Camm floored the gas pedal and spun the wheel, spinning the car around one hundred and eighty degrees before slamming it into first gear. In a spray of gravel, they were gone.
On the drive home, Ginger whimpered twice. There was no veterinarian or animal hospital in Trona. The only place they could take Ginger was home. She licked Cal’s hand where he held her, looked up at him with that tender love that only a dog could give, closed her eyes, and exhaled her last breath.
Camm’s shoulders shook as she wept softly. Cal stared out the windshield with a face carved from stone.
VII
“What did you tell your parents about Ginger?”
Camm and Cal had not said a word to each other since they got back home from the mansion the night before. They’d said nothing to each other until the next afternoon when Camm went to Cal’s home to check on him. She hadn’t known what to expect.
He shook his head without looking at her. “I told them that when we came home last night, I found her all bloodied and injured. That she must have been attacked by a wild animal. That it was too late to save her.” He forced a humorless smile. “That’s almost the truth, I guess. They’re pretty upset.”
The previous night, Camm had watched Cal walk solemnly out into the desert by the light of a half-moon, holding his dead dog on one arm and a shovel on the other. Feeling guilty, but helpless, she had waited for him, sitting on the street curb in his front yard. He had returned shirtless—he had used his shirt to swaddle Ginger for burial. She had stood as he passed her on the way to his house, but neither had spoken.
“How are you today? Are you okay?” Camm reached up and gently touched his cheek with her fingertips.
He turned away from her hand and shrugged. Camm knew he wouldn’t open up and talk about his feelings. He never did.
They were standing in Cal’s backyard where they could talk privately. Camm walked over to the old swing set where they had played as children. Sitting down in a weather-beaten canvas swing, she slowly rocked back and forth, studying Cal’s profile.
“I called Agent Allen this morning,” she said, “but it went straight to her voicemail, so I didn’t leave a message. I thought about telling her we found Hughie’s costume, but I don’t want to admit we broke into the mansion, especially on a recording machine. I didn’t say anything about the attack either, because that would also be an admission that we broke into the mansion.”
Cal remained silent, so she continued, “Anyway, I’ll keep trying to reach her. She’s got to come back here to look more closely at that cloth she saw in the cellar. I’ll help her figure out it was Hughie’s Halloween costume. We won’t need to say anything about us breaking into the mansion until after she sees the sheet.”
Cal ran his fingers through his hair and looked at her for a moment, as if he were going to say something. He stood there in an odd posture—his shoulders hunched over, his neck arched forward. His jaw was clamped so tightly that Camm could see the muscles bulging in his face.
He opened his mouth, as if to talk, then closed it, saying nothing. Instead, he stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away, staring off into the distance.
Camm knew Cal was being stubborn about something. This was his obstinate posture. He had made up his mind and nothing was going to change it. While she didn’t know what he was being stubborn about, she knew she should be worried.
“Cal?” Camm asked cautiously. “You’re not listening to me. Are you? What is going on in that head of yours?”
Cal pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.
“Cal?” Camm repeated. “Come on, tell me what you are thinking. We’re in this together—we are fifty-fifty partners.”
Cal slowly turned his head to look directly at Camm. His eyes widened, raising one eyebrow at her.
She hesitated, then held out both hands. “What?”
Suddenly, the realization hit her, and her hands went cold as her heart skipped a beat. She jumped from the swing and bounded over to Cal, grabbing his arm with both hands.
She almost yelled his
name, but then lowered her voice to a loud whisper. “Cal!” Through clenched teeth, she said, “You are NOT going back into that mansion!” Her eyes were wide, searching Cal’s face for some kind of signal that she had gotten through to him, but he jerked his arm out of her grip and stepped away.
“I’m going back,” he said calmly. “I’m going back tonight.”
She advanced on him, poking him with her index finger. “You are not going back into that old house.” She spoke slowly, putting special emphasis on each word.
He stepped away from her again.
“When have you become the boss?” he spat back at her. “You always think you’re the boss, don’t you? Since we were little kids playing here on this swing set, you always thought you were the boss. Well, this time you’re not. You’re not the boss in this. I’m going back tonight, and you better not try to stop me.”
Camm hesitated. She had to talk him out of this somehow. “Cal, you will get yourself killed! We don’t even know what it . . . what that thing was in the mansion. We really don’t know what happened there; it was too dark. This is something for the police. Let Agent Allen handle it.”
“No!” Cal’s face burned. He jabbed his finger at her. “You decided we should go into the mansion and,” he jabbed at her again, “you decided to bring Ginger. Now Ginger’s dead!”
Camm’s eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know Ginger would get hurt. I didn’t know anyone would get hurt. I just wanted to know what happened to Hughie. And we found new evidence, didn’t we? Now we know something.” She pleaded, “Let’s leave it to the police.”
Cal’s face softened a little. “I know you didn’t want Ginger to get hurt, but she did. And now she’s dead. I think whatever killed Ginger also got Hughie. It not only killed my dog, but it took my little brother, too. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not natural, and it’s hiding in that mansion.”
Cal looked past Camm, his eyes focusing beyond her. “It’s up to me now; it’s personal. I’m going back before the police or the FBI or anyone else can lock me out of that house. I’m going back tonight, and I’m going to get it—whatever it is—and kill it.”
Camm took a deep breath and closed her eyes, making an effort to calm herself. This is all my fault. I can’t let Cal get hurt.
Most of the time, when she couldn’t convince Cal to see things her way, she could still bully him into doing what she wanted. But when he was determined, he could not be bullied; he could outlast her. In a contest of wills—hers against his—he could win. She needed to take a different tack.
“What are you going to do?” she asked in earnest. “Go back with your .22 rifle?” She snorted at the thought.
He looked down at her in disdain. “I’m going to take my dad’s .357 Magnum. This morning I bought some hollow-point bullets, and I bought something else that I’m taking, too.”
This didn’t sound good; she was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
He hesitated, looking at her closely, deciding if he could trust her. Then he nodded and turned, running into his house.
She waited for him in the backyard, sitting back down in the swing. Cal was choosey about whom he trusted, and in truth, she felt honored that he trusted her. In a minute, he came back out with a package in his hand. It was a handheld spotlight. He handed it to her, pointing to where the package claimed the light had two and a half million candles worth of power.
“This time, I’m going to see what it is. And then I’m going to shoot it and kill it. Tonight is its turn to die.”
Camm stood up from the swing and handed the light back to Cal, her mind searching for a good response. “Cal, I can’t help but feel this is a bad idea. The timing is all wrong. You don’t need to move so fast. Can’t you wait? At least a few days? Give me time to talk to Agent Allen, to convince her to come back.”
“No!” he said firmly. “Agent Allen doesn’t include me in her plans. I won’t wait for her or anyone else. Hughie was my brother. I’ve already waited long enough. I go tonight; I will kill it. This thing will finally end tonight, plain and simple. And no one is going to stop me.”
He paused for a moment, eyeing Camm speculatively. “And you better not do anything to stop me, Camm. I’m serious, you better not tell anyone. I mean no one.” Cal glared at her, his eyes thin slits as he studied her eyes, gauging her intentions.
Camm started to say something, but didn’t. It was one of those rare times when Camm was a little afraid of Cal. She backed up a step, and he followed her, still glaring.
“Camm!” he said in a warning voice.
She continued backing up, and he continued following until she bumped into the wooden fence on the property line. Cal put a hand on either side of her shoulders, trapping her. He took a deep breath and lowered his face until they were eye to eye.
“Camm, you better not do anything to stop me. You better not tell anyone, not even Agent Allen, what I’m going to do. Do not tell anyone, and I mean anyone.” He looked at her with a cold stare. She could not meet that stare, so she looked down.
Cal was not usually this intense. She tried to understand the pain he must be feeling. She thought of Cal out in the desert digging a grave for Ginger by the light of the moon. She imagined him unbuttoning and removing his shirt so he could tenderly place it around his dog before lowering her broken body into the hole until it was hidden in his shadow from the moonlight.
The image in her mind became more vivid as she pictured him reluctantly covering Ginger with dirt, and then, with head bowed, slowly walking home alone, never again to run with Ginger through the desert. That image of Cal performing, in his own way, the last rites for his beloved dog brought a lump to Camm’s throat.
Contrary to her better judgment, she decided to relinquish. Overcome by the force of the emotion that Cal must be feeling, she looked up into his eyes. “Okay. I don’t think you should do this, but I promise not to try to stop you.”
“Or tell anyone.”
“I promise not to tell anyone.”
“Do you swear by your heart?”
Camm was surprised to hear him use that phrase. It was something they used to say as kids. Instead of saying “cross my heart,” they would cross their fingers, then gesture a cross with those fingers over their hearts, saying, “I swear by my heart.” Neither had used that phrase for years, not since grade school.
Camm looked solemnly at Cal, crossing her fingers and making an X over her chest. “I swear by my heart.”
Cal sighed, moved his hands away from Camm and stepped back. Camm opened her mouth to say she was going to go with him, but then decided otherwise. She knew he wouldn’t agree, and she wasn’t up for another argument. Besides, she didn’t need his permission. She knew where the mansion was.
They looked at each other, but there was nothing else to say. Cal turned to go into his house, and Camm walked home.
Once there, she couldn’t settle down. She paced back and forth in her room, before going into the kitchen to ransack the cupboards, looking for something to munch. She wasn’t hungry, just restless. When she found nothing to her liking, she went to the fridge and stood with the door open, peering inside. Even though she was looking inside the fridge, she wasn’t seeing anything; she was seeing Cal alone inside the mansion.
She couldn’t get Cal and the mansion out of her mind.
“Camm!” her mother exclaimed. “Are you getting something to eat or just trying to cool down the whole house?”
Camm realized she had been standing there staring into the open fridge for a long time. She shut the door with a sigh.
“I’m going out,” she called to her mom.
“Where are you going, and when will you be home?”
Camm put her hands on her head as she walked toward the front door. She looked at the ceiling and said in a voice louder than she intended, “I don’t know where I’m going. There’s nowhere to go in this town. If we didn’t live in such a dinky rat-hole there would be somewhere to go, and th
en I would know where I’m going. But since we live in Trona, where there is nowhere to go, I can’t possibly know where I’m going. I’m just going.” With that, Camm stomped out the front door, letting it slam behind her.
Once she was in her Bug, she calmed down a little and felt bad for being short with her mother. Not knowing what to do or where to go, she drove toward the center of town, built up around the plant. She drove by the mansion and forced herself not to look at it. The nearby plant was belching smoke and steam and stink. It made her mad that she lived in a place where things were so dirty and smelly.
She drove by the one and only dentist office in town before passing the town library. A thought occurred to her, and she immediately executed an illegal U-turn in the middle of the road, heading back to the library. Fortunately, there wasn’t much traffic in Trona on a Saturday afternoon.
Inside the library, Camm wandered aimlessly among the shelves, not sure where to find what she was looking for. It wasn’t a large library, and it didn’t take long for her to walk down every aisle. Still, she was not seeing anything she came here to find.
“Can I help you, dear?” It was Miss Cathleen, the librarian. Miss Cathleen had been the librarian in Trona ever since Camm could remember. It seemed she had always been old, but she had always been kind and helpful, too.
“Yes. Do we have any books on John Searles?”
“Whatever do you want a book on him for?”
That was an odd question. The town founder should be as reasonable a person to read about as any.
“You know,” Camm stammered, “a paper for school. Don’t we have anything on him, or on that big mansion that he built?”
“Oh, dear.” Miss Cathleen wrinkled her face into a frown. “Why would you want to know about that horrid old place? No, no, we don’t have anything on that terrible mansion.”
Camm paused to look at Miss Cathleen more carefully. “Why did you just call it horrid and terrible? The mansion, I mean.”
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