Bedlam Lost

by Jack Castle

  *****

  “Hey Cinderella, your order’s up.”

  Emma didn’t pay Odessa much mind. She was just a bitter old waitress who Emma had made the mistake of confiding in during her first week. Among other things, she had told the older waitress about her summer gig at Walt Disney World where she’d play the face character of Cinderella. Knowing that the name bothered her, Odessa took great pleasure in calling her that, or variations like Cinder-soot, and Cinder-dulla.

  Emma didn’t overreact like she might have a few weeks ago prior to her arrival. Life had certainly made a turn for the better over the last few weeks. For one, she had been clean for three weeks (that she was sure of at least) and she’d even managed to put on a few healthy pounds. And she simply loved the town. She made some new friends and best of all; she hadn’t had any hallucinations since the day of her arrival.

  “Thanks Bob,” she said to the fry cook with bottle cap glasses. His thick glasses, combined with his greasy unwashed comb-over and heavily stained shirt, didn’t exactly line the girls up at the front door, but Emma knew Bob didn’t care. He was good at his job, and on occasion, he was even sweet.

  Emma grabbed the order and navigated the busy morning crowd back over to where the sheriff was sitting in his usual spot, a corner booth by the window, his back to the wall. The townsfolk called him the new sheriff and the fat slob who worked with him the old sheriff, but Sheriff Hank McCarthy was the only one Emma had ever known.

  For one, he was a creature of habit. No matter what the weather, he always hung up his fur-lined patrol jacket on the long row of peg hooks by the door and wore his long-sleeved work shirt casually rolled up to his elbows. And he always ordered the same breakfast every morning. Coffee, black, two eggs sunny-side up with a side order of sourdough toast and bacon.

  “Here you go, Sheriff,” she said, laying down his plates of hot food.

  Going from dancer to waitress wasn’t as hard as most people might have thought. She had applied the discipline she had acquired in dance to every other aspect of her life, even the starting over parts. Probably the hardest thing was when people would find out what she used to be in her former life and then they’d always give her that, ‘how’d you end up here?’ look.

  The sheriff gazed up from his morning paper, another ritual, and said in his deep friendly voice, “Emma, we’ve been through this, it’s just Hank, thanks.”

  “Sure thing, Sherif— uh, I mean, Hank.”

  Geez, I’m practically gushing like a school girl.

  “You need anything else … Hank?”

  “No thanks, darling. I’m all set.”

  Emma thought she had detected that Hank was a little embarrassed by the fact that he had slipped and called her darling. She sensed nothing lascivious about his comment, unlike other male customers, he was only being friendly. She liked it and hoped he would call her that again. Emma noted the town of HavenPort was immune from the rest of the world in this regard in that the waitresses still called their customers hon or honey, sweetie-pie or sugar, and the patrons still called their waitresses by, darlin’ or Ma’am. Emma sighed happily and headed back towards the kitchen for her next order.

  As she entered the kitchen, Odessa was lighting up her fifth cigarette this morning. “Ewww-wee, that sheriff is somethin’ else. Why is it all the good-looking ones is always married?”

  Before the governor in her brain could kick in, Emma answered, “Yeah, I met his wife and kids in the grocery store the other day and they seem like a really sweet family.”

  Odessa frowned at this, “Yeah, that’s all well and good, but maybe the new sheriff might want a little sumthin’-sumthin’ extra on the side.” She took another drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke Emma’s way.

  Bob the fry cook rolled his eyes, but this time Emma remembered to keep her comments to herself. She knew she’d only alienate Odessa further if she said anything about her smoking in the kitchen, coveting married men, or wearing that ridiculous wig she always wore.

  Just then, through Bob’s window she noticed Horatio had entered the diner. Emma didn’t really think of him as her boyfriend. Not yet anyway. He was sweet and kind, and certainly cute enough. Emma shyly smoothed out the front of her uniform and drifted out of the kitchen. She walked over to where Horatio had taken a seat at the counter.

  “Morning, Horatio. Oatmeal and orange juice?” she asked. Horatio ate pretty healthy. He was easily the healthiest person in town. And over the last three weeks he had turned out to be a real friend. He helped her sell her car; since she walked everywhere in town there was no reason to keep it. He helped her get this job and he even took her kayaking once. Sometimes they’d go on long walks in the mountains, or around town, and just talk for hours. It had been weeks since the nightmarish incident in the harbor bathroom and the terrifying visions that followed. She hadn’t told him about the nightmares, or her previous drug problem, but she did share just about everything else.

  “Nope, just making sure we’re still on for our hike after lunch,” he answered, smiling that sunny grin of his. Checking to see no one was watching, he leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

  The kiss took Emma by surprise. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to make sure Odessa hadn’t seen anything. She could only take so much crap. Fighting blushes, she answered, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Where you two love birds headed?” came a gruff voice, nearby.

  It was Jeb. The fat slob everyone called the old sheriff. He had just walked in and was most likely looking for his boss, Hank.

  As usual, Horatio was unfazed. ‘Water off a duck’s back’, that was his motto. If anything, he looked downright pleased with himself. “I promised Emma here that I’d take her up to the canyon to see the totem pole.”

  Emma wasn’t sure if Jeb heard Horatio because he was giving Hank a quick wave, but then he answered, “If you kids are hiking up Totem Pole Canyon you best be sure and keep clear of Ole’ Barnabus.”

  Horatio nodded in response, “Sure, Jeb, you bet-chya.”

  That said, Jeb hiked his pistol belt up around his girth and then ambled back to Hank’s corner booth.

  *****

  When Jeb strode up to his back booth sanctuary, Hank couldn’t help but flash Jeb a crooked smile.

  “What are you grinning at?” Jeb grumped.

  Hank chuckled. “You really want to know?”

  Jeb tossed his head around in irritation then shot his hands out to his sides as if to say, ‘duh’. Hank had great fun pushing the old boy’s buttons.

  Hank blew a cooling breath on his coffee before answering calmly, in a low tone, “Your fly’s undone.”

  “What?” Jeb exclaimed, and then he realized not only were his pants unzipped, but his shirt tail was stuck through the zipper making it all the more obvious.

  “Why didn’t you say sumthin’?” Jeb asked irritably, zipping up his pants then slipping into the seat opposite Hank.

  Hank chuckled, “What are you talking about? I just did.”

  Jeb spoke under his breath. “No, I mean why didn’t you say sumthin’ when I first walked in?”

  Clearly Jeb was bothered. “What did you want me to do, tell you while you were talking to those two kids?” Hank asked, then took another bite of his eggs. Mouth in mid-chew he asked, “By the way, who’s Barnabus?”

  Jeb signaled for coffee before answering by holding up his empty cup to the young waitress across the diner who was busy serving other customers. When she ignored him he dropped his cup back to the counter with an angry mope. “Oh, just a great big grumpy old bear. The old ladies at the church gave him the name. He likes to break into people’s cabins when they’re not at home and make a real mess of things.” Jeb gazed off into the distance as though seeing ole’ Barnabus up close and personal, and added ominously, “A big grumpy ole’ bear.”

 
“Dangerous?” Hank asked, wolfing down his food now. He always ate fast. He had picked up the bad habit in the military and as a cop because you never knew when you were going to get that next call that didn’t allow you to finish your meal.

  “He didn’t used to be,” Jeb answered. “With all the salmon running up the creeks and patches of berry bushes growing everywhere, bear don’t usually bother folks much around here. Hunters have been taking pot shots at ole’ Barnabus for years, but nobody’s ever managed to take him down.”

  “With all that lead in his body, he’s probably in a lot of pain. No wonder he’s grumpy,” Hank offered. “I would be.”

  Jeb signaled for coffee again, this time pointing to the inside of his cup. The waitress pretended not to see him. It seemed Hank wasn’t the only one who liked to push Jeb’s buttons. “Ain’t been right in the head ever since. Some say he don’t even hibernate for winter no more, which probably makes him even more dangerous.”

  Hank nodded. “You gonna order some breakfast?” Hank already knew the answer. Jeb was a one meal, one gigantic meal, a day, and it was never breakfast. Hank secretly hoped Jeb would take off before Doc Clemens arrived so they could have their regular morning ‘coffee talk’.

  “Naw, I just came by to let you know we got a report that we got more snow headed our way. Most likely we’ll be locked in for winter by this weekend.”

  “Okay, thanks Jeb.”

  Jeb leaned forward, checked to see if anyone was eavesdropping. “Listen, Hank. During the winter there ain’t much to do around here other than drinking, playing cards, and catching up on reading. Folks tend to go a little stir crazy. You’ll get your domestic abuse calls, a few fights, but some will start seeing things that ain’t really there.”

  Hank figured Jeb was referring to the Naked Man. They never found any traces of him or his victim. Hank also knew Jeb’s heart was in the right place and it was his way of looking out for him. “Thanks, Jeb. I appreciate your watching out for me.”

  Jeb nodded back with pride. Keeping the old sheriff busy had really turned ole Jeb around. Hank had redone the budget and figured out how to put Jeb on as his fulltime deputy. Since then, Jeb had cut down on the booze, maintained his police equipment better, and even cleaned his guns. Remembering his zipper was another matter. Hank smiled at the thought of his own joke.

  Jeb slid his girth back out of the booth and muttered, “All right, I’m headed back to the station. Call me if you need anything.”

  “We’ll do Jeb, thanks.”

  As Hank lifted the last of his coffee to his lips, a blast of a tug boat horn pulled his attention outside the windows to the harbor below. A large fishing trawler was chugging its way out of the port to deep water.

  Hank also noted his reflection in the glass of the window pane. His face was much more relaxed than he remembered in days past and somehow even seemed younger. And why not? HavenPort had certainly been good to him and his family. His daughter loved her school, his wife was taking photography classes and enjoyed photographing the scenery, that is, when she wasn’t remodeling the house and taking care of the baby.

  Hank was about to look away from his content reflection when he saw a man sitting at one of the tables in the center of the diner almost directly behind him. The man, sixties, white beard, wasn’t one of the locals and he certainly wasn’t part of the mid-morning group. The man sat perfectly still and was simply staring at Hank. The most terrifying thing about the man was there was a bullet hole in his forehead, and just about the time Hank noticed the open wound, blood began oozing out of it and trickling down the man’s face and onto the table.

  Before Hank could turn around a disembodied voice whispered in his ear, “Please… please don’t kill me.”

  Hank immediately spun around but the waitress, not his waitress, the large curvy one with the bad wig, blocked his view.

  “More coffee, honey?”

  Hank leaned way over in his seat to peer around the waitress’s double-wide hips, but the man with the gaping hole in his head was gone.

  Chapter 14

  Totem Pole Canyon

  Emma and Horatio had been hiking up the mountain for nearly two hours now. The long, invigorating hike was all up slope, but Emma’s dancer legs were grateful for the exercise.

  For some reason the bowl of mountains surrounding the town didn’t make Emma feel claustrophobic like the town itself did. Main Street, the school, the old grocery store, and Ophy’s hotel were all in the same four block area, and encompassed ninety percent of the town’s residents. At least the open waterway leading to the ocean offered an escape; that is, to anyone with a boat. Emma had been looking forward to escaping the town with Horatio right up until she spotted the sign that read:

  WARNING

  GRIZZLY BEAR ALERT

  After seeing the photo of an enormous bear munching a three-foot salmon, she didn’t feel as adventurous about their hike as she had before. Horatio had convinced her that he had hiked the trail numerous times before and never had a single bear encounter.

  At the edge of town the trail started as a narrow path that meandered up the mountain through a thick forest. The woods smelled of pine trees that were pungent, yet pleasant. The trail turned and twisted, sometimes splitting off into other trails. The higher they walked the more the landscape grew rocky; to either side boulders and shade took over with less trees and underbrush. The sound of the babbling brook that ran parallel to the trail was hypnotic and could’ve easily lulled her to sleep were they not constantly moving. Emma hadn’t felt this relaxed, or happy, in a long, long time.

  She had not completely forgotten about her sister’s suicide, or the note that had brought her here. But this place… It was all so, therapeutic.

  And she loved spending time with Horatio. He was a great listener, and she loved their walk-and-talks even more.

  Emma found herself smiling. After shouldering her pack higher up on her shoulder, she dug her boots into the slope ahead with renewed vigor.

  Occasionally she would stop to look back at Horatio to make sure he was following close behind. As they hiked upwards, they followed a path that ran alongside a set of derelict railroad tracks. The meandering trail took them past several old wooden buildings in various stages of decay and even through an old ghost town. Horatio had explained the relics used to belong to a copper mining camp that once occupied the canyon nearly a hundred years ago. Emma had posed for several pictures with the relics, her favorite being next to a rusted antique truck whose tires had long since withered away.

  “Are we almost there?” Emma huffed.

  “You tell me,” Horatio answered, barely out of breath.

  She glanced to the right and saw a curve in the canyon ahead. “Is that where we’re supposed to go?”

  They rounded the next bend in the canyon, which soon opened into a large clearing with a circular alcove next to the mountain. In the center of the alcove was a twenty-foot tall, monumental totem pole looming out of the mist: a postcard from the distant past.

  Flush with excitement, Emma ran over to it. As she gazed upon the totem she realized it was made of stone. “I thought totem poles were made out of wood.”

  “Most are; usually cedar. The Museum of Anthropology dates regular wood totem poles back to the 1880’s, but some anthropologists think this one may have been built when the First People crossed the Beringia Land Bridge.”

  “What are they for?” Emma asked, gliding her hand over the carved images.

  “Normal totem poles depict a story, ancient legends, or clan lineages. The stone’s pretty worn down but you can still make out the figures well enough.”

  Emma could. The totem pole depicted a man at the center being pulled from above and below by two different unnatural figures. The figure below was a beast with a broad smile and fangs protruding up from his lower lip. The demon-like creature was gripping the ma
n’s ankle and tugging him downwards. Meanwhile, the carving above was a winged creature reaching down to the man’s outstretched hand, but his fingers were just out of reach.

  Emma rubbed her arms, but it wasn’t from the cold. When Horatio dropped his jacket over her shoulders, she asked, “What do you think the sculptors were trying to convey?”

  Horatio pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose before answering. “What we do know is that for a thousand years early Alaska Natives called this canyon, Ti-Quan-nah-ha-nah, which is Tlingit for “Place where Heaven meets Hell.”

  Studying the creepy totem, where the good and evil gods battled for the soul between them, Emma thought the name was fairly accurate. She swung her pack to the ground to dig out her camera.

  “But according to scholars the stone totem predates the Tlingits and is an early representation of Purgatory.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t pay attention in Sunday school when I was a kid. What’s Purgatory again?”

  Horatio sighed before answering. “Well, it depends on whom you ask. The creation of Purgatory actually predates Catholicism and is actually credited largely to medieval Christians.”

  “Okay, college boy, but what’s it mean?” Emma asked, circling the totem with her digital camera.