A slackening in the rain accompanied a reduction in barking from the shack, and the voices from within the cabin came intermittently clearer, allowing Ty to catch bits and pieces:
"Maybe so – product must – measured up," Boil was saying. "Wouldn't be here otherwise."
Mamba replied something the sheriff didn't hear, but it sounded like an affirmative.
"— plenty more – that came from," Boil continued.
Mamba answered, something about "a bigger slice of the pie."
So that was it… the kid was concocting some kind of drug for Boil, and the old highwayman wanted the Baggerz to deal it, for a better cut than what they would get from the cartel.
Once again, the chorus of barking from the shack surged as the rain swelled. Ty couldn't hear the next exchange, but Mamba was smiling and Boil was nodding his head. The rain lessened, Boil said "Business is concluded – have some entertainment." He turned to Troy Haversaw: "Get the dogs."
The dogs, the ring— apparently the Haversaw boys recently added dogfighting to their list of criminal pursuits.
A door just around the corner from Ty's location opened, quickly followed by the erratic slashing of a flashlight beam. The sheriff had spun around trying to dash out of view when his shoe hit the slick mud, and his legs swept out from beneath him. He hit the ground hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. The flashlight beam was gone. There was a creaking sound and the light came back, stabbing in his direction. There was something else as well, a rhythmic thumping against the earth like a rapid drumbeat that was getting closer. Two dogs rounded the corner. Ty rolled to his side, pulled his pistol, aimed, and fired as the first dog jumped. It yelped in midair and landed with a wet smack inches from his smoking barrel. He swung the gun to get a bead on the second dog, too late. Searing jolts of pain lit up his arm as the pit bull latched onto his wrist. The animal bit down with bone-crushing force even as it whipped its head violently back-and-forth.
Rainwater poured into the sheriff's eyes. He barely registered the flashlight, or the arrival of the older brother, Ned, ordering Troy to make the pit let go. His hand was too numb to feel it when they took the pistol from his limp grasp.
***
Celine's mind had been racing throughout the drive to Sheriff Barclay's house. If her suspicion was true, it would flip her entire world upside-down.
Was it even possible?
Of course it was. But if confirmed, a few key people would have a lot of explaining to do.
She pulled the Jeep into the driveway of the sheriff's house, got out, hurried through the rain to the door and knocked. After getting no answer, she pulled out the key, unlocked the door and stepped into the house.
"Hello?" she called out.
The house smelled of wood, dust, cleaning supplies, coffee, mildew, and a hundred other things. Celine flipped on the light. Ty must be on one of his stakeouts. What would she tell him if he came home right now? She wasn't sure what she was looking for other than some kind of… confirmation. If the sheriff came home she would confront him, tell him what she believed, and ask him for the truth. But if he didn't come home, she would do everything possible to get confirmation on her own. She simply had to know. She made her way past the living room and an ascending staircase, through the kitchen and a connecting door to a small hallway. The newly remodeled bathroom was on the left; this was where the strongest smells were coming from. At the end of the hall was a laundry room. Retracing her steps, she returned to the staircase. Around the corner from the base of the stairs was a closed door. She tried the knob, only to find that the door was locked.
***
The pain was excruciating.
Blood was flowing freely from Ty's right wrist, over his own handcuffs, which Ned had applied at the tightest setting possible. The hard edge of the right cuff pressed directly on a raw nerve, shooting lightning bolts through the sheriff's arm and into the base of his skull.
He stood now, unsteadily, with Boil on his right and Carter to his left. To Carter's direct left was Ned. On the other side of Boil, the kid hadn't moved from his chair. Even though he had finished his cube-puzzle, he refused to look up. Directly across from them at the other side of the pit, Mamba and his fellow gangbangers waited. The leader's mouth twisted in a smirk. He still held tight to his chain, the muzzled Rottweiler fanning side to side in the dirt, itching to break free.
Troy entered through the sagging doorway holding a leash of his own. The pit bull that had bitten Ty barked and jumped frantically, jaws snapping the air, the sheriff's blood still coating its teeth.
Boil looked over expectantly.
"Ain't no one else out there," Troy said around a mouthful of chewing tobacco.
"You're sure?" Boil asked.
Troy spat a thick brown loog onto the floor. "Dog woulda sniffed 'em out. Nope. Fact is ol' law dog here came out by hisself."
"It's not too late," the sheriff spoke loud enough for Mamba to hear over the barking. "You haven't passed a point of no return, not yet."
Boil peered over at Troy. "Take the dog outside," he said. Troy obeyed.
"What do you think the Dominguez Cartel's gonna do once they catch on?" Ty called across the pit. "I've seen photos from cartel executions… couldn't even identify the bodies half the time."
Mamba's cohorts appeared slightly unsettled, but not the big man himself. No, he just kept that smirk plastered in place. "Dominguez is fightin they own war," he answered. "That ain't what's on my mind. What's on my mind is stick up gangs and rival crews lookin' to put me outta business. I buy the old man's dope, keep more o' the money… and use that money to buy guns; guns that put them other motherfuckers in check. The only problem with that plan right now…"
Mamba raised a long, knobby-knuckled finger in Ty's direction.
"Is you."
***
Celine had tried the house key in the lock, but it didn't work.
Then, she had thought back to something she had read in one of her true crime novels; it had described someone using a credit card to get past a locked door. Unfortunately, she didn't have any credit cards. But, she did have her driver's license and an old gym card. She ran back to her Jeep to get her purse. She inserted the gym card into the crack next to the lock, bent it inward, pushed a bit more… and felt it slide further.
She pulled on the knob, the card popped and the door came open.
Holy shit it worked.
There was a part of her that knew she should stop now; that if Ty had locked this door and came home to find she had opened it, he wouldn't be happy. But she hadn't come this far to be deterred. Stepping forward, she flipped on a light to see carpeted steps leading down.
"Sheriff?" Celine called out, just to make sure he wasn't there before she descended.
The bottom opened up into a room, wood-paneled with a single overstuffed chair in the center. When she flipped the next switch, a single overhead light revealed photographs covering the walls in front of, and to either side of the chair; some old, some new, some big, some small. What the photos all shared in common was their subject:
Her.
Celine at various ages from baby to teenager. Her prom picture was here. Santa pictures, photos from family gatherings, many of which Ty attended. In the center of the wall was a large photo of the sheriff with his arm around Celine… it was from her eighteenth birthday. Her mom Lucie had snapped that pic. Celine remembered that she had felt particularly happy that day. Celine suddenly remembered a lot of things, and all at once it felt like too much; like it would all overwhelm her. The floor tilted beneath her feet. With unsteady steps, she made her way to the center of the room, staring at the gallery with a kind of numb detachment while her brain tried to process the evidence before her.
Taking her weight off of legs that seemed suddenly unable to hold her, Celine collapsed into the chair.
***
It was all Ty could do not to pass out. Just outside the door, Troy's pit was barking loud enough to make a d
eaf man plug his ears as the rain poured rolling sheets across the roof.
Boil sighed and stepped around to face the sheriff. Ty stared into the silver-ringed black pits of his eyes and read a few different, conflicting emotions there, but mostly what he read was resignation.
"You had to be a fuckin' cowboy," the old thug said in his scratchy voice, through his Wilford Brimley mustache. "And for what? To win the war on drugs? You can't stop it. The most you can do is stall it; frustrate it from time to time. So what, that's worth dyin' for?"
A kind of black fog had begun creeping into the edges of Ty's vision. He cleared his throat, swallowed, and replied "If I die It'll be for what I believe in." Then he smiled as he said "You… you're just gonna die ugly."
From the other side of the room Mamba snickered. Boil barked a surprised "Ha!" followed by more laughter. Ty didn't see him raise the gun until Boil's hand passed in front of his face and pressed the cold barrel against his forehead.
Ty's last thoughts before the old man pulled the trigger were of his beautiful daughter, Celine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CJ was in hell. The heat was unbearable; it fucked with his breathing. His guts felt like the world's strongest man was grabbing hold of his intestines and twisting. He hurt all over. Hell, he even hurt in his bones. How the fuck was that even possible?
Somewhere very close by there was a hissing sound. He opened his eyes.
At first he couldn't see much. Just a bunch of smoke. No, not smoke – steam. He was naked again, on a blanket, but he wasn't in the shed anymore.
He heard metal scraping against something hard, maybe stone. Then there was light coming through an open flap. A shadow holding something long—a shovel?—passed the object out, then crawled through. CJ could make out more details by the firelight coming through the opening: he was in a small space, with thin, bent poles forming a dome, and what looked like bark making the roof.
The person returned, and as he reached out to pull the flap closed, CJ could see that it was the old man who had blown powder in his face.
"Hey," CJ said.
"You're in a sweat lodge," the old guy replied before CJ could say anything else. "Try to relax. I got water." The old man put a plastic water bottle in CJ's left hand. He leaned over CJ, and his form was just a black void in the dream-like mist.
"You might see some weird shit," he said.
***
Celine had sat in that chair for a very long time, waiting for Ty to come home. She had sat and thought. That photo in the sheriff's desk—that ugly lime-green couch; while she hadn't recognized herself at that age, she had recognized that couch... and now the basement had been the confirmation she needed. She got up, looked closely at every individual picture, and when it felt like she might explode with all the emotions boiling inside her, she had driven on autopilot out to the mill. There she had opened the floodgates on Jason.
He let her talk while he held her and consoled her. Then they had fucked until the sun came up. When she had finally come home to shower and get dressed (and practically clear out the refrigerator; her stomach had become a bottomless pit,) the first thing she had done was wake up Mom, saying that there was something very important they needed to talk about. Mom sat down in her nightgown at the small "kitchen" table, smelling like medicine, sweat, and smoke. Celine sat across from her, and the first words out of Celine's mouth had been "I know."
When she had received only a blank stare in return, Celine said "I know that Sheriff Barclay's my Father."
She sat now, awaiting a response, reading the mixture of emotions parading across her mother's face. Lucie lit up a cigarette with shaky hands, took a long pull, and sat looking down while rubbing her fingers as she began:
"Your da-, well, Andy… and me used to argue a lot in the early days. 'Bout a year after we got married we had us a real doozy. He was drunk, pushed me, and hit my head on the kitchen cabinet. This was back when we was rentin' from the Andersons. I called the police… Ty had just barely made lieutenant. He came out and him and Andy got into it. Ty called him a sonofabitch and told him if he ever touched me again the least he would do was lock him up. Andy stayed away for a while after that, took a job over in Salem. Ty, he took to lookin' in on me every now and then."
She looked up, red eyes spilling over with tears. "I thought me and Andy was done. I told him as much. Me and Ty got closer, and one night… you know. Things happened. Few weeks later Andy started comin' back around. Talking 'bout how sorry he was, that he had quit drinkin' and he wanted to give it another chance. I said no at first but shit I really did love that man. I took him back, and told Ty that it was over. Found out real soon after that I was pregnant. Wasn't no doubt as to whose it was, Andy and Ty both knew but Andy said he loved me no matter what and he'd raise you as his own. Ty gave us our space but still checked in sometimes. Time moved on… we all got older. I started havin' my health problems, Andy started drinkin' again, takin' jobs out in Salem and stayin' away more and more until…"
Celine had started crying now too. "He left and didn't come back." She remembered how distant he became. At that time, she had questioned whether it was her fault. For a brief bit she had even blamed her mother, sure that the constant complaining drove her "dad" away. She still worshipped him back then.
Mom nodded. "That whole time Ty always looked in on you. On us. When Andy left he was livin' with Loretta Gibbons. Clear up' til she had that heart attack." Celine remembered; it had happened right around the time she turned seventeen. "After that me and him talked about… bein' together but neither one of us knew how to tell you, and Ty… he didn't know what kind of father he'd be. More time moved on… and now here we are. I should have told you, and I'm sorry but I'm glad you know now." Her mom's chin scrunched up and she nodded. "I feel like a weight's been lifted. I'm happy that it's out in the open and I think… hell I think Ty will be too."
So many things made sense now: all the times Ty came around to visit, his protectiveness of her, things he had said over the past few weeks, her sudden impulse to hug him the other day, and how the feeling just… fit. Even the time he got miffed when Celine had told him she didn't want to end up like Mom and Ty replied "Don't you disrespect your mother."
Celine got up, gave her mom a big, long hug, and told her that she wasn't mad. And it was true. She was much happier than she had been in a very long time. Suddenly she had to see Ty, tell him that she knew and that everything was okay. They had so much to talk about. Maybe… maybe he'd even want to talk to Mom some more? See about taking another shot at things?
Don't get ahead of yourself.
She put on her coat, told Mom she'd see her later, and practically skipped out to the Jeep.
***
Jason tossed his notebook across the room, into the boards he had used to cover part of the missing wall. His head was pounding harder than ever, and the more he thought, the more his head hurt. It had been like that all day. But after what Celine had just gone through, he wanted more than ever to help her, cure her. Cure both of them.
Yesterday as he had walked home from Mom's house he thought he'd made a breakthrough. The curse, the lycanthropy, seemed to be a mixture of both biological and supernatural. The biological aspect of it was the spreading—by bite. Like… rabies. Once the curse was introduced, it opened the door to the supernatural. To the goddess. Or goddesses. Assuming, of course, that Jason wasn't crazy, that the visions weren't just a symptom of the disease. He had to consider that, didn't he? What if his head was already messed up and the lycanthropy just made it worse? Made him hear and see things in his dreams? Yes, it was possible, but for Celine's sake, he had to proceed under the assumption that the goddesses and the nightmares were real.
If the lycanthropy and the influence of Ishtar and maybe Hecate could be taken separately, maybe there was a way… but what? He could feel that he was on the verge of something. If only he was smarter, maybe…
A persistent throbbing pounded in his gums. Throu
ghout the day he had been shitting just about as much as he had been eating, providing very little relief to his endlessly cramping stomach. Deep breathing helped. A little.
He heard Celine's Jeep approaching, still a few miles away. He went back to nailing boards over the open spaces in the wall. It wasn't the sturdiest construction by any means, but he hoped it would be enough to keep them both in when they turned. One more day according to the calendar on the opposite wall.
Time was running out.
Celine arrived, eyes red and features tight; fury radiated off her in waves as she walked past him and stood facing the wall perpendicular to where the barrel sat. She simply stood there, silent, like a high-tension wire about to snap. Finally, she said, "He's gone."
Jason was about ask who was gone when she continued: "My father's gone. Hasn't been to the station, hasn't called in… not at home. All the years Trumbull's known him he said Ty never missed a day of work. He's gone."
Jason put down the hammer, walked over, and put a hand on her shoulder. "What do you think happened?"
She spun on him, her pupils tiny pinpricks. "I don't know, but that motherfucker Boil's behind it."
"Boil?" Jason removed his hand.
"Ty had been following him. Watching him. It sure as fuck isn't a coincidence. You and me are gonna make that fucker tell us where Ty is."
"But you don't know—" Jason began.
"I DO KNOW!" Celine shouted. For a split second Jason thought she might attack him. Her hands balled into fists. She stared at Jason for a long moment, and then turned back to the wall.
"We can't do anything right now," Jason said. "Tomorrow night, the change is gonna happen. You need to be here, as far away from anyone as—"
Whisper Lake (The Turning Book 2) Page 18