The Forgotten Eden

by Aiden James

  “‘I don’t fucking know!!!’ My brother shouted back. ‘I can’t get the goddamned mother to start for some reason!!! Wait! There it goes!!’

  “The slumbering engine rumbled to life just as the cloud finished devouring what was left of our house. Grandpa grimaced at losing the place that’d been his home for most of his life. But our immediate survival was the only important issue right then. Jeremy threw the truck in reverse and we sped out of the driveway onto Lelan’s Way, the tires squealing as the determined menace bore down on us.

  “Just as we pulled onto the road and Jeremy straightened the truck, the tornado uprooted the pair of maples standing in the front yard. It threw them in our direction. Jeremy glanced back, incredulous, after the first one barely missed us.

  “‘Holy shit!!’ he cried. ‘The motherfucker’s aiming at us!!!’

  “He deftly eluded the second tree, although it shook the road mightily as it crashed nearby. Grandpa and I turned to look behind us while Jeremy kept an eye on his rear-view mirror. All of us murmured ‘Oh Shit!’ when we saw the cloud turn and follow us down Lelan’s Way. I already figured Genovene had something to do with this, and now Jeremy and Grandpa thought the same thing.

  “Jeremy pushed the accelerator to the floor, trying to distance us from the fast-approaching twister. It briefly appeared to work, as the swirling cloud grew smaller in the rearview mirror. But within the next several seconds, it sped up and closed the gap to less than a hundred feet.

  “Suddenly, the truck slowed down. Horrified, Jeremy looked down at the speedometer and tachometer. We were losing speed, but the rpms remained high. The tornado directly behind us, its train-whistle sound became a deafening roar in our ears. Jeremy floored the accelerator again, pushing the rpms to the danger level. Yet the truck continued to slow down, while overwhelming dread swept over us all.

  “Murmuring in terror, we silently berated ourselves for not leaving sooner. Then the truck rose up from the road. We twirled in midair, spinning faster and faster while rising higher into the air above Lelan’s Way. Frightened beyond anything we’d ever imagined possible, the maddening horror of not knowing what would come next was excruciating. The only certainties were Genovene’s malevolent nature and that she wanted us dead.

  “We spun around even faster, to the point I thought we might all faint from our exhaustive panic. Suddenly the truck was launched through the air. It landed violently in the field on the north side of Lelan’s Way. The vehicle landed upright and remained on its wheels, but the tires ruptured on impact and the axles cracked and bowed inward. Jeremy made a remarkable attempt to steer the truck. He did this even though the initial jolt severely injured his shoulder and neck, just as it’d also hurt Grandpa and me. In the end, his very best effort failed to regain enough control as it careened and skidded through the bumpy field.

  “We flipped over a tree stump, just before crashing head on into an irrigation ditch near the field’s northeast corner. The truck bounced up and finally stopped, resting with its back end inside the ditch and its crumpled front end sticking out over the ditch’s bank. My head throbbed mightily and my vision blurred. On my left, my brother moaned in extreme pain. To my right, no sound. Grandpa wasn’t moving.

  “The moonlight illuminated the truck’s cab, and I saw the wet splatter of blood from all three of us on the smashed windshield and the dashboard. I looked over at Jeremy…he was covered with blood along his right side. At least he was alive. As I tried to turn and look over at Grandpa, a dark shadow distracted me.

  “The cloud hovered above our broken vehicle left stranded in the ditch. Its spinning quieted, it drew ever closer to us. The back of my shirt soaked with my own blood, I pushed myself back against my seat, sending waves of agony through my head.

  “Consciousness began to leave me and I found it hard to concentrate. I stayed awake long enough to see a shining image from within the cloud. Genovene…disguised as a voluptuous beauty once more. She smiled curiously for a moment, but then stopped smiling altogether, studying me in sullen seriousness. She shrugged her shoulders, winked, and blew me a luscious kiss.

  “Blood pooled on top of my head. It spilled down my face in warm crimson streams. As it did, she threw back her head in amused laughter. I heard it clearly, though fortunately for me her cackles soon faded. While blood poured down my face, I tried to look away from her in order to check one more time on my grandfather. I never made it,” Jack added with sadness.

  He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, stretching his back.

  “As we discussed already, I didn’t regain consciousness for nearly three weeks,” he continued. “So, I missed out on Genovene’s final assault on our property, as well as her probable relocation to your family’s neck of the woods in Mississippi.”

  He turned away and began pacing near the center of the room, for the moment completely absorbed in his thoughts. Peter watched, waiting patiently.

  “We’ve already discussed that our yard was left completely barren of everything that’d been there before this unfortunate event, except for the tool shed,” said Jack. “But, other than the Palmers, did anyone ever tell ya’ll what became of the twister that night, after it finished its second pass on our place?”

  “It’s always been hard to determine what happened exactly,” Peter replied, turning in his chair to better observe Jack’s nervous stroll across the floor. “But to answer your question, the prevailing thought back then was it dissipated into the atmosphere.”

  “There’s more to it than that, I assure you,” said Jack, pausing directly in front of Peter. “I believe Genovene’s main objective after getting her revenge on us was to find a new home. Obliterating the rest of our property on her way out of Carlsdale was just a nice bonus. Keep in mind there’s an eyewitness to this, other than the Palmers. Kyle Stinson still hid in the far-left corner of their backyard, shaking badly, though unharmed. He remained curious enough to watch everything going on nearby.

  “Interestingly, he never saw the Palmers while all this shit went on. It baffles me how both their stories are similar in ways, though I think you’ll see Kyle’s account is more complete.

  “According to what he told Jeremy, he huddled against the wall, promising Jesus he’d change his life if only he lived long enough to do it. The train-whistle sound soon returned. Despite his obvious terror, he peered over the wall again after he heard Banjo bleat in similar fear. Kyle tried to get him to move closer to the wall, but Banjo wouldn’t budge. He just stood there, trembling and crying hysterically as this goddamned twister closed in on the back portion of our ruined property.

  “The tornado zigzagged across the yard, bouncing violently off the tool shed as it raced toward Banjo’s corner of the yard. Kyle ducked back down into the corner of the Palmer’s yard, hoping it didn’t crash through the wall. All the while, Banjo’s awful cries pierced the twister’s whistle.

  “Kyle braced himself for the worst, but then the cloud’s sound changed. He looked up, greatly relieved to find it’d lifted off the ground. It climbed high into the sky with its funnel end leading its charge forward as it sped to the west. In a matter of seconds, it vacated the area, leaving a surreal stillness in its wake.

  “His curiosity got the better of him, and he lifted himself back above the wall to witness the final result of the tornado’s wrath. Under the moon’s revealing glow, his view was the same as it remains today. Totally barren and without any trace of our beloved pet.”

  Jack slowly returned to the table and sat down. He eyed Peter thoughtfully and then spoke again.

  “After what you shared with me earlier about your nephew, I’m convinced now more than ever the cloud headed for Mississippi. Knowing how reclusive this bunch is, they would’ve sought a place offering them lots of potential victims while remaining off the beaten path, so to speak. Too many witnesses in Carlsdale.”

  “Bienville National Forest.” Peter said softly.

  “Even though you were able to ti
e yours and my experiences together long before today, believe it or not, I figured that’s where Genovene and her kin ended up immediately after reading about your nephew’s disappearance in a couple of tabloids,” Jack explained. “I remember Bobby’s story. But to be honest, I forgot his first name long ago. I mean, eight years is a long time when you consider I was only a kid back then. I never forgot the other details that made national headlines, and each tabloid’s report gave me enough clues to piece together what’d happened.

  “Not to purposely touch on your pain, and I realize you’ve put some pieces together from the information I’ve revealed already. But, if you’d like me to share my own ideas on what happened to your family as it relates to Genovene…I can do that.”

  Peter tapped the end of his pen against his bottom lip while he considered Jack’s proposal. Just one pen click this time.

  “Go ahead,” he said finally.

  “All right,” said Jack. “One thing in particular that made me immediately think of Genovene was how your sister, Mrs. Northrop, stated she felt like she was being watched by some unknown voyeur hiding in the woods behind her beautiful home. According to the news story I read, and that you touched on earlier, she’d felt like this for a few weeks before her son’s disappearance. I guess her husband and others thought she was overreacting a bit and didn’t give this notion any serious consideration until too late.”

  Jack hesitated before going on, studying Peter’s face to accurately gauge how to proceed with this delicate subject. He could barely recall The Star’s images of Eileen Northrop. He only remembered her amazing beauty, which Peter confirmed when he showed her picture to him earlier. What a contrast to the tabloid photos taken of her later, just a month after her beloved son’s abduction, depicting an emotionally worn and haggard woman, with only traces of her original comeliness.

  Peter returned Jack’s steady gaze, his expression flat, effectively hiding his true feelings from his counterpart across the table. Jack recognized this as his normal demeanor, and the outburst that happened earlier a rare event for him. He smiled ever so slightly.

  “Go on, Jack...please,” he said.

  “Okay,” said Jack. “That was only one clue. There were others, like the hot spring discovered in the forest while the authorities searched for the little guy. Mentioned in passing, its significance wasn’t lost on me, which I’ll explain further in a moment. Also, the other story I read told of the zoologist you mentioned earlier, who identified the reptilian footprints alongside Bobby’s scent. The fact this scientist said he’d never seen anything like them grabbed my attention. I now had enough information to figure what likely took place in Mississippi. If I’d known then about the golden haze you mentioned earlier, it would’ve removed any doubts I had at the time.

  “By the time the cloud reached the forest, I imagine it took on a more peaceful appearance so it didn’t draw any unwanted attention. Perhaps it drifted softly through the trees as a mist or something. I figure it moved through the forest until it reached the very edge, where Genovene surely noticed your loved ones’ neighborhood. Once she and her kin found their newest hunting ground, they would’ve retreated deep into the forest. As soon as they found a small brook or spring, I believe they burrowed deep into the ground beneath the water source. In fact, I’d be willing to bet my life there’s a new rock formation in the forest surrounding the hot spring. The mist or cloud might’ve returned to its cyclone form and drilled itself into the earth’s crust. That’s what I think, anyway....

  “So, what are your thoughts, Agent McNamee?”

  “Well, for one thing, I wish you’d just call me ‘Peter’, since we’re already way passed the point of formality.” He chuckled, perhaps surprised at how painless Jack’s musings actually were. “Did you ever share your thoughts back then with Jeremy?”

  “Yeah, I did,” Jack replied, smiling weakly. “As you can imagine, he thought it a stupid notion at best. He changed his tune considerably once we took a trip to the old bridge site and the clearing.”

  “So, there’s more still?”

  “Yeah, there is. But we’re near the very end of what I’ve got to say. By now I’m sure you’re glad.”

  “That’s hardly the case, Jack,” Peter assured him, his smile broadening. “Please go on.”

  “All right,” said Jack. “As you know, I laid in a coma for nearly three weeks and my grandfather was in one for almost as long. He spent another three months undergoing intensive therapy to aid his recovery from a fractured hip and thighbone, not to mention he nearly died from a ruptured spleen and lacerated kidney. His head injuries almost as bad as mine, the fact he healed so quickly from all of this bordered on miraculous—especially at his age. He fully recovered by year’s end.

  “I’ve still got a long scar across the top of my head, but considering what might’ve been, I’d say I’m damn lucky to be alive. We all are. Jeremy recovered the quickest, but the torn ligaments in his left knee eliminated his dreams of playing football again. His shoulder and neck healed within two weeks of the accident, fairly amazing in itself considering how much pain he endured during his first few days in the hospital.

  “It’s a strange feeling waking up to find you’ve missed three weeks of your life…. It freaked me out a little. Jeremy was there in my hospital room along with my aunt and uncle. Grandpa had woken up a couple of days earlier, but was in no condition to leave his room. Good to have some family there to welcome me back to the world of the living, by the next morning I was able to visit Grandpa in his room. A few days after that, we headed for our new home in Tuscaloosa, my aunt and uncle’s guesthouse located in the rear of their property.

  “A few things had changed in our world, in addition to no longer living in Carlsdale. Wanting to focus on something I enjoyed, I checked on my favorite sports teams. The Braves had begun their fade, but the Falcons looked like they might be okay with Mike Vick. Several years removed from their Super Bowl loss to the Broncos, I wanted them to do so well, being my dad’s team. An upsetting thing my family had to tell me about, though, was the fact Carl Peterson and Sheriff McCracken were both dead.

  “It didn’t help matters that all five of us, including Uncle Monty and Aunt Martha, could hardly go anywhere without being followed. I mean, your buddies from the bureau would always be nearby, all spiffed up in their goddamned dark suits and sunglasses!”

  Jack shot a playful look and Peter smiled, surely aware the jab wasn’t directed at him.

  “Shortly after school started, Grandpa, Jeremy, and I decided to revisit our old home in Carlsdale,” Jack continued. “Jeremy and I wanted to return as soon as I healed up enough to go. But Grandpa steadfastly refused. He only relented when we reluctantly agreed to the strict understanding we’d visit only what remained of our property. We made the trip the second weekend in September, and Uncle Monty and Aunt Martha joined us.

  “Two gray sedans followed us all the way from Tuscaloosa down to Carlsdale, tailing us by a couple hundred feet on Highway Forty-three. As soon as we exited onto Baileys Bend Road, they didn’t follow us further. Perhaps, whoever was in the cars knew where we were headed and didn’t need to physically confirm this. Once we turned onto Lelan’s Way, my uncle whistled under his breath, while my aunt whispered ‘Great God Almighty!’ Grandpa, Jeremy, and I sat in solemn silence as my uncle’s Navigator crept up the road to our former home.

  “The field we almost died in sat to our left. A large fir was impaled upside down into the earth near the very spot where Jeremy’s truck came to rest in the ditch. I realize tornados can leave behind some pretty bizarre reminders from their visitations, like an occasional piece of straw drilled into a telephone pole and shit like that. But, I’ll bet very few of them leave behind a token as disturbing as what we looked at right then. It made me shudder to think just how close we’d come to dying.

  “Uncle Monty almost stopped the truck, but Grandpa urged him to keep moving so we could get on with the reason for our visit. As so
on as we reached the Palmer’s place everyone gasped at the barrenness of the land where our beloved farmhouse once stood. We all got out of the car to investigate everything, catching a glimpse now and then of someone peeking through the curtains at the Palmer’s—those nosey assholes! It really bothers me that nothing, I mean absolutely nothing was harmed on their property, not even a goddamned daisy!”

  “That’s one of the things Mark Jenkins said about the scene at your former home,” said Peter, another journal in his hands. It wouldn’t have surprised Jack if the pages laid open detailed this very event. “He’s been with the bureau eighteen years now, and over the last few years he and I’ve gotten to be great friends, Jack. He’s another guy acutely interested in your family’s history.”

  “Then I guess he must’ve been as amazed as we were at the condition of the tool shed,” said Jack. “I mean, aside from not receiving a scratch from the twister, I noticed for the first time its paint was free of nicks and any signs of wear—which one would expect, as old and vulnerable as the damn thing is. Grandpa swears to this day that he’s only painted the doors one time in his lifetime—never the walls.”

  “Yes…Mark mentioned that as well,” Peter concurred. “But I can tell you about that later on.”

  “Well, okay,” said Jack, ambivalent about moving on just yet. How much stuff do these guys have on us??

  “When we finally decided we’d seen enough, we drove back home to Tuscaloosa,” he continued, when ready. “The second to last time I visited our old home, Grandpa soon sold it to a wealthy Australian named Malcolm Donohue. Mr. Donohue, as I’m sure you know, purchased the Johnson’s farm and eventually the Palmer’s place too.”

  “Most of Carlsdale, actually, Jack,” said Peter. “He purchased the woods and clearing you mentioned as well. He’s building an amusement park incorporating several ancient Mississippian Indian ruins recently uncovered near your old home. At least that’s what the original permit lists as his proposed development plan. From what I understand, he has completed the first few phases, while the remainder of the project is on hold. An NCAI petition to insure the protection of the ruins is currently under review before the Alabama Supreme Court, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens with that.”