Breaking the Chain

by C. D. Ledbetter

  He shook his head. "Not right now. I want to check it out first. If everything looks okay, I'll probably give him a quick tour." He held up his hand as she started to protest. "Before you say anything, it all depends on what we find this morning. If it's nasty, he won't go. If it's a no brainer, I'll give him a quick walk-through to satisfy his curiosity before he takes it into his head to go down there on his own. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"

  "No. Just make sure he signs a release before he goes anywhere. I don't want him suing us if he gets hurt. A lawsuit's the last thing we need right now; we just couldn't afford it."

  "Don't worry. I'll make sure we get it in writing."

  "With any luck he'll sleep in until we're done. That would make life a lot easier."

  "Well, if you don't get a move on, we'll never get started," he teased, then grinned when she stuck out her tongue. Laughing, he closed the door and started down the stairs, sniffing appreciatively when he encountered the smell of cooked bacon. Mrs. Milliron must be cooking breakfast. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered as he followed the enticing aromas emanating from the kitchen.

  Justine and Sadie sat at the small table near the kitchen window, sipping coffee and talking while Mrs. Milliron deftly stirred the contents of three skillets.

  "Morning," Jack announced. "Mind if I join you?"

  Sadie looked up and her somber face broke into a smile. "You more than welcome to sit with us."

  He nodded and turned slightly so he could ease behind her chair to pour a cup of coffee.

  "Mmmm, mmmmm. I might be from the North, ladies, but I love the smell of Mrs. Milliron's coffee and chicory first thing in the morning." He poured a cup, then turned. "Anybody need a refill?"

  Sadie glanced toward the hallway. "Where's Mary got to?"

  "She'll be down in a couple of minutes." He glanced over at Mrs. Milliron and flashed her a cheeky grin. "You aren't by any chance cooking breakfast, are you?"

  She waved her spatula across the sizzling pans. "What'll you have?"

  "Whatever you're cooking's fine, Mrs. Milliron. Smells terrific. You're the best cook in the county."

  "Best cook in the parish," she corrected. "I might not be a fancy schmancy restaurant chef, but I do know how to cook simple food," she said with a self-satisfied grin. "If I do say so myself."

  "Morning everybody," Mary said as she strode into the room. She went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of orange juice. Tilting her head, she sniffed the heady aromas that filled the large kitchen. "Mrs. Milliron, you aren't by any chance spoiling Jack again, are you?"

  "You're just jealous because she likes me more than you," Jack teased as he heaped food onto his plate. "She's even made extra thick sausage gravy just the way I like it."

  "You're too good to him, Mrs. Milliron. We're lucky to have someone like you working for us," Mary said as she pulled out a chair and sat next to Sadie.

  She wrapped a comforting arm around the old black woman's shoulders. "How are you this morning?" she asked. "Justine told me what happened last night." She lightly squeezed the old woman's arthritic fingers. "Have you felt anything else about the brown man?"

  Sadie shook her head. "No, damn it. I just knows he's close by. I think he was one of them folks last night, but I ain't sure."

  "We're here to protect you from whatever this brown man has in mind," Mary said. "I'm not about to let anything happen to you."

  Sadie shook her head, and covered Mary's hand with hers. "What's to be, will be. There's nothing you or me can do to change things. I done seen it. It's gonna happen no matter what we do." She stood up and hobbled toward the back door. "I think I'll sit outside for a spell and smell the flowers. The sunshine makes my old bones feel good."

  Mary watched her go with worried eyes. When the door closed behind Sadie, she turned to Justine and lowered her voice. "Did she say anything else? Does she have any idea at all who he might be?"

  Justine cast a glance at Mrs. Milliron, who was stacking dishes in the dishwasher on the other side of the kitchen. "No, but I think Sadie knows more than she's telling. She locked herself in her room last night and wouldn't even open the door for me," Justine said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I think from the way she's acting, whatever's going to happen will occur soon." She paused, then continued. "Maybe she and I ought to leave now, while we can. Maybe if we go home, she'll forget about all this and everything will be fine."

  Mary rested her fork on the edge of her plate. "I've already thought about that, but I didn't want you to think we wanted to get rid of you. Do you think she'd go? If so, I'll be glad to buy your tickets. I don't want anything to happen to either one of you. You're like family now and we love both of you."

  Two tears rolled down Justine's cheek and she brushed them away. "I don't know. I'm going to talk to her and see what she says."

  "Let me know what you decide," Mary said. "It's your decision. You're both welcome to stay as long as you want. Jack and I will do everything we can to keep you both safe."

  "Yes, we will," Jack chimed in softly. "I've even bought a new pistol to keep in our bedroom, and both Mary and I are excellent shots," he said in a confident tone. "All that target shooting we've been doing might just pay off. If that brown man even shows his face, he's going to be in for the fight of his life."

  27

  "Wait here while I check everything out," Jack suggested as he tugged on the trap door. "After all that rain, the tunnel could be really slick."

  "Be careful," Mary warned in a soft voice. "If water saturated the walls, they could cave in without warning. Don't take any chances, Jack. Please. I know you think this is a big adventure, but it's not. The tunnel's dangerous, especially when the ground's waterlogged." She chewed her bottom lip as he descended into the darkness, and prayed that the safety precautions they'd taken would be enough.

  "Man, it's dark in here," Jack called out. "This big flashlight's worthless; I'll need the kerosene lamp." A few moments later he reappeared, perched half-in, half-out of the entrance.

  "Can you tell if it's flooded?" Mary asked, handing him one of the two lanterns she'd brought from the house.

  "I'll let you know in a minute, soon as I get far enough in," Jack called over his shoulder as he and the lantern disappeared.

  Anxious for his safety, Mary leaned forward. "Is the floor wet? What about the walls? Has much water seeped in?"

  "Not much; maybe half-an-inch at most," came the muffled reply a few seconds later. "Hang on a minute, and I'll come back for you. I just want to see where this leads. Be back in a jiff."

  Five minutes ticked by, then six. Seven. Eight. Still no Jack. Where was he? Worried, Mary lit the extra lamp and gingerly stepped into the opening. Holding onto the makeshift handrail the workmen had built, she descended the few stairs into the dark hole.

  Shivers raced up and down her spine when rank, moisture-laden air assaulted her face like a clammy, invisible spider web, clinging to anything and everything it touched. It felt as if a blanket of slime had coated her skin, and her first impulse was to turn and bolt for the opening, to escape back into the safety of the warm sunshine.

  Why had she let Jack talk her into coming? She hated tunnels, especially after what happened the last time she'd been stupid enough to venture into one. Would she never learn? Biting her lip, she forced unwilling feet to propel her forward, slipping and sliding on the slick mud underfoot.

  As she crept further and further from the opening, the smell of rotting vegetation intensified. Gagging at the fetid odors that now permeated the air, she dug a tissue out of her shorts and held it in across her face. "Jack, where the hell are you?" she called, thoroughly irritated. He could've at least come back to check on her. "What in God's name are you doing?"

  "I'll be right there," came the excited reply. "I've nearly got them. Almost done."

  The excitement in his voice was unmistakable. Obviously, he was having the time of his life. Great. So much for her hope of going back
to the house anytime soon. He must have found something. What?

  Her curiosity got the best of her and she picked her way through the slick mud that was giving way to soft dirt. Noticing the change in footing, she held her lantern near the closest wall. It was dry! Cheered by her discovery, she picked up her pace. "I'm headed your way," she called. "Where are you?"

  "Just past the bend. I can't wait to try out the metal detector down here," Jack continued in an excited voice.

  She rounded the bend and saw him kneeling in the dirt. He must have heard her footsteps, because he turned and waved her over.

  "Look at this," he exclaimed, pointing to two strips of dirt sticking out of the ground. "I've found a couple of metal bands. They might be from some kind of trunk. Isn't this great?" He tugged at the strips, and the metal pieces broke free from the dried mud. "Got ya," he said in a self-satisfied tone.

  Curious, she moved closer. "Surely they didn't bury a trunk in the middle of the floor," she said. "That doesn't make sense. Why hide something where people could trip over it? If it were me, I'd bury my stuff inside one of the walls."

  "Who knows?" Jack said, struggling to his feet. "Let's take these back to the workshop and clean them up. Then we'll be able to tell what they're from." He fished a white dishcloth out of his back pocket and dropped it near the pile of loose dirt and rocks. "It's not an 'X,'" he grinned, "but at least it'll mark the proverbial spot where I found these."

  Mary clapped him on the back as they retraced their steps. "I always knew you were an adventurer at heart," she said with a sly grin.

  "Every man is an adventurer at heart, sweetie," he replied. "Surely you've guessed that by now."

  They heard a loud thump, then a muffled curse. "Anybody down here?" a deep voice called.

  Mary turned to Jack. "Isn't that Dykes? What's he doing down here?"

  "Damn. I told him to wait until I could bring him down. What the hell does he think he's doing?" Jack said, quickening his pace. "Where are you?" he called.

  "On the stairs. Don't worry, I'm not traipsing through the tunnel unescorted," Dykes added in an amused tone.

  "Hang on. We're almost out," Jack replied.

  A few minutes later they saw patches of sunlight filtering through the entrance, illuminating the long silhouette of Dykes, who leaned against the handrail, patiently waiting.

  "Hi," he greeted them. "Find anything interesting?"

  Jack nodded and motioned for him to move. "Yeah, I'll show you in a minute."

  Mary winced as her eyes encountered the bright sunlight streaming through the windows in Jack's workshop. Momentarily blinded, she staggered toward the workbench and was glad a pair of hands loosened the kerosene lamp from her grip.

  "Give me your stuff, Jack," Dykes offered. "I'll stack it on the workbench while your eyes get adjusted to the light."

  "Thanks." Jack held out the lantern, then the metal strips. When his eyes adjusted enough for him to see, he grabbed a dirty rag and started wiping off the thick layer of mud that coated much of his precious find.

  Dykes inched closer, eyeing the strips as Jack unveiled more and more metal. "So, what do you think they're from?"

  Jack's grin widened. "Maybe a trunk. Once I get them cleaned up, I'll know for sure."

  Dykes nodded. "Cool. You going back into the tunnel anytime soon?"

  Jack nodded. "Yeah. Probably as soon as I get the dirt off these strips. I can't wait to use my new metal detector." He flicked a glance toward Mary, who nodded, then turned to Dykes. "You wanna go with me next time?"

  Dykes eyes lit up. "You bet. Only..."

  Mary looked up from her perch on the windowsill. "Only what? What's wrong?"

  Dykes shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, except that we need to leave pretty soon. The only reason I came out here was to give you a message. The hospital called a few minutes ago. It appears that your aunt's awake and demanding to see you. In person. Wants you in Boston today."

  28

  The somber atmosphere of the Boston hospital intensified Mary's gloomy mood as she walked toward the Cardiac Intensive Care Nurse's Station. She'd always found hospitals to be depressing places; this one was particularly dreary.

  The staff nurses were busy working on charts, and she waited a few moments before clearing her throat to attract someone's attention.

  "Hello," she said when one woman happened to glance her way. "I'm Mary Windom. My aunt, Elizavon Phelps, is a patient here. The hospital called earlier today and told me I would be able to see her. I believe she's been asking for me."

  If the situation hadn't been so serious, she would've laughed at the look of relief that crossed the woman's face; obviously Elizavon had gotten on her case. Smothering her smile, she waited for the woman to speak.

  "Your aunt's in room 645," the nurse said, motioning with her hand. "I'll show you where it is. She's been asking for you all morning. I'm afraid you can only go in for a few minutes, and then you'll have to leave. And please, please don't do or say anything to upset her. She's very ill."

  "I know. I wanted to come earlier, but the doctor told me to wait until her condition improved."

  The woman nodded. "I recognize your voice from the phone calls. It's nice to be able to put a face with the name. I'm sorry you had to wait so long to come see her, but it was probably for the best. The heart attack was quite severe; your aunt is a very sick woman." She opened the door and motioned Mary inside. "Don't be too long; she needs her rest," she reminded in a soft voice.

  "Thanks." Mary stepped inside, and gasped. Elizavon looked like an emaciated corpse from a grade 'B' horror movie. Her normally pale skin had a pasty gray tinge, and her cheeks were sunken hollows in an already gaunt face. Her colorless lips matched the off-white of her pillowcase, and her breathing came in shallow gasps. Poor Elizavon! Tears formed in Mary's eyes and rolled down her cheeks, unchecked.

  Moving closer to the bed, she clasped her aunt's skeleton-like fingers in hers, taking care not to disturb the three intravenous drug lines that were connected to a tube inserted in the back of her aunt's hand.

  "Aunt Elizavon, it's Mary," she called softly. "I'm here."

  One eye opened, then the other. "About time," Elizavon muttered in a raspy voice.

  "I would've come earlier, Aunt Elizavon, but the doctor's wouldn't let me see you," Mary explained. "They told me to wait until you showed some sign of progress."

  "Likely story," Elizavon argued.

  Mary's lips twitched. Sick or not, her aunt was still a caustic old woman. She should've known a heart attack wouldn't change Elizavon's personality.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and the nurse stuck her head into the room. "I'm sorry, but time's up," she said with a smile. "You can come back a little later. Right now your aunt needs her rest."

  Mary nodded and squeezed Elizavon's fingers. "I'll be back in a little while, Aunt Elizavon. Promise." She leaned over and kissed the old woman's leathery check. "Try and get some rest. I'll see you later."

  Mary spent much of the next four days in the hospital intensive care waiting room, cooling her heels in between the precious few moments she was allowed to visit with her aunt. On the fifth day, she made it a point to corner one of her aunt's cardiologists as he made his rounds.

  "How's my aunt doing, Dr. Barrett?" she asked. "Can you give me a little more information other than the 'her condition's stabilized' routine I've been getting from the nurses?"

  He looked up from the chart he'd been examining and frowned. "Who are you?"

  "Mary Windom. I'm Elizavon's niece, but I'm also her next of kin. I've been trying to find out how she's doing for several days."

  He reached up and scratched his forehead. "Well, since you're her next of kin, I'll be glad to talk to you." He motioned for Mary to follow him into a small cubicle the nurses used when they were working on charts. Gesturing for her to take a seat, he placed her aunt's chart on the narrow worktable in front of him, and took a seat. "Your aunt has had a very serious myoca
rdial infarction that's permanently damaged part of her heart. In all honesty, I'm surprised she's made it this far, considering the state she was in when she arrived. That being said, I must admit that she's doing much better than we expected. However, you need to bear in mind that at her age, she's a high-risk patient."

  The man was talking in circles! "What are you trying to tell me? In layman's terms, please?" Mary asked.

  He held her gaze with his. "Right now we can't begin to predict how much she'll recover. She's making excellent progress, but she's not out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot. And, it's going to be an uphill battle. She may or may not be up to it. Whether she recovers and how fully she can live is anyone's guess. I've seen some patients in her condition go on for years; quite frankly, others are gone the next morning. We'll just have to wait and see what happens." He rose, picked up Elizavon's chart. "I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do for now."

  "She's a very determined woman," Mary said.

  "I understand you, but that's not necessarily a positive sign," he commented.

  It wasn't what he said, but the way he said it that gave Mary the distinct impression that the man wasn't exactly thrilled with her aunt. Uh oh. That could only mean one thing--Elizavon's temperament must be getting back to normal. Her aunt had been unusually docile the last few days, but Mary knew the illusion of civility would be short lived once Elizavon started to feel better. Evidently the 'honeymoon' was over, and her aunt's acidic temperament had slipped back into place. Obviously the doctor had already felt the old woman's wrath. She pitied the poor women assigned to take care of her aunt. Better them than her!

  "Has she been nasty to the nurses?"

  The doctor shook his head. "Let's just say she hasn't been the best patient we've ever had." He peered at Mary over his glasses. "Is she always this, um, demanding?"

  "She's usually much worse. Atilla the Hun was a pussy cat compared to my aunt."

  "I see," he said. There was a momentary silence as he scribbled something on the chart.