by Reyna Favis
Ron cleared his throat, but his voice was rough with emotion. “You need to understand that the tribe lives on. Yes, most of our people died during your family’s time because of smallpox, cholera, whooping cough – diseases that they had no immunity for, diseases that they could not fight. Those that were spared no longer had the numbers to defend the land from the whites and the Iroquois. They were forced to move west, out of the tribal lands.” Ron took Lenora’s hand and his voice softened. “But we live on and hundreds more like us keep the traditions alive. We speak the language and we know the names of our father’s fathers. We are proud to be Lenape.”
Cam sighed and looked at the spirit, his eyes brimming with compassion. “You could not have stopped what happened to your tribe, even if you had lived. She-Who-Ate-Audachienrra made her own choice. She could have decided otherwise, maybe married another and moved on with her life. In the end, even though you acted badly, it was her choice. You need to absolve yourself of this guilt.”
“And what of Maggie? If I did not exist, she might still live.” The spirit was on his knees, broken by the emotional catharsis and weeping openly. Zackie came to him, nuzzling his face to offer him comfort.
Cam spread his hands, palms up, in a gesture of helplessness. “We don’t know anything about Maggie. We don’t know why she felt she needed to die. If it wasn’t your words, something else might have triggered her to end it.”
I felt terrible about it, but despite the spirit’s anguish over what happened to Maggie, I was obligated to pursue answers for her. “One thing we do know is that Maggie kept telling us that she needed to protect the baby from them.” I squatted down to get on eye level with He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief. “Do you know anything about ‘them?’ Who are they and why did they want to harm the baby?”
The spirit swallowed and wiped hard at the tears on his face, trying to regain his composure. “They were children once.” His shoulders slumped and he shook his head with sorrow. “Now, they are like leeches. Sucking life from the living. They are greedy for life. They have lost…” He paused and looked at the ground, concentrating to find the right word. “They have lost their humanity. Their eyes are empty and full black, and they have no memory of kindness or mercy anymore.”
The small hairs on the back of my neck stood up as he described these beings. I shot a worried look towards Cam, but then forced my full attention back to He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief. “Did they come to Maggie because she was contemplating suicide, and they were attracted by these dark thoughts? Or did she suicide because they were tormenting her and draining her will to live?”
In a low voice, Cam offered a another explanation . “Or maybe she had the gun for self-defense against them and she hadn’t originally intended suicide.”
The Lenape man shrugged his shoulders. “I know not. They scattered like leaves when I approached and then Maggie put the gun to her head. I should not have spoken to her, but I wanted to stop her.”
Cam sighed. “Again, not your fault. From what you’ve told us, it was just bloody awful timing. The one thing we know for sure is that Maggie was suffering. And we will try to help her to move on. Will you let us help you?”
“But what of Maggie? She will be left here, still suffering.”
Cam shook his head. “We will help her. You need to trust that we will not abandon her and we will keep trying until she is free. Will you let us free you?”
Zackie nudged He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief with her muzzle and he turned his head to look at her, his features drawn down by sadness. Their eyes locked and a moment of understanding passed between these two. At last, the yoke of guilt fell from his shoulders and he nodded. Getting up, standing straight, He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief placed his hand on Zackie’s shoulders. “I will go now.”
Still holding hands, Lenora and Ron chanted the plaintive strains of the funeral song we had heard when the family crossed over. Zackie led He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief out of the clearing. The flash of light was enormous as he passed through the portal, the heat penetrating my cells and making me cringe as I protected my eyes. Before the portal closed, the rich, earthy aroma of tobacco surrounded us and a legion of voices chanting the funeral song reached my ears, the voices rising and falling like the cry of the wild wolf. They were calling him home.
# # #
“How did you find out?” Peyton flushed and picked at her nail polish, avoiding making eye contact with anyone. “That’s not exactly something I want to broadcast.”
“He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief told us.” I carefully placed my bottle of coconut water on her table before continuing. I knew all about having private information that you didn’t want to share with the world. “And don’t worry, it’s not like we’re going to tell anyone.”
Lucas caught her eye. “No worries, Peyton. This isn’t going to end up on the show. You have every right to privacy.”
Peyton pushed her chair back, her eyes roaming through the family pictures hung on the walls of her cheery, yellow kitchen. The silence grew and the sound of a barn owl hooting floated in from the woods. Softly, she made her admission and there was a tightness around her eyes as she spoke. “I am a descendant of Tom Quick, but I’m not proud of it. He was a nasty piece of work.”
Sipping his bottle of coconut water, Cam asked the question gently. “You don’t think having his father killed and scalped by Delaware Indians could be considered extenuating circumstances?” Cam’s expression was mild and I think he was trying to offer Peyton a way out of her multi-generational guilt. Living her entire life in the shadow of He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief must have had some influence on her views of the past.
“No.” Peyton shook her head, her jaw set. “I can see going after the Delawares that took his father out, but vowing revenge on all of them? His own mother said that seeing his father murdered turned his head and he wasn’t responsible for anything he said or did after that.” She savagely swiped a stray curl from her face and then folded her arms over her chest. “When he died, he admitted to killing ninety-nine people. They say he begged his friends to bring him one more Indian to make it a perfect hundred. Tom Quick wasn’t right in the head. That’s not something that should be glorified with a monument.”
Ron sighed and rubbed his face. “The monument’s a freakin’ nine foot tall obelisk. And one inscription on that monument actually pays homage to his killing.” He used his hands to frame the view like a movie director. “Tom Quick, the Indian Slayer.”
Peyton flashed a grim smile. “Not anymore. I smashed the fucker with a sledgehammer back in ’97 before I joined the military. They repaired it, but they never put it up again.”
“You done good to smash that fucker.” Lenora reached over and patted Peyton on the knee.
“Be that as it may,” Cam interjected, “Did you ever wonder why you had such strong feelings for something that happened hundreds of years before you were born?”
Peyton cocked an eyebrow. “Um, mainly because it was wrong?”
“Quite.” Cam rolled his eyes. “But while many people would agree that it was wrong, few people would take up a sledgehammer to make the point.”
I touched Peyton’s hand, curled in a fist on the tabletop. “What Cam’s getting at is that He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief has been with you your entire life. He was kind of passed down from your ancestors.” I paused to let this sink in. “It began with Tom Quick. The spirit witnessed the murders of his kinsmen and decided to haunt the guy. When Tom Quick died, he stayed with that family to keep an eye on them because he didn’t much trust any of the relations either.”
Peyton’s brow furrowed. “So, he didn’t just latch on to me during the search for Maggie?” I shook my head. “Then why didn’t I know anything about him until then? What made him start pounding on the trailer?”
I paused and chose my words carefully. He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief also had a right to privacy and I didn’t feel justified in blurting out the whole story of She-Who-Ate-Audachienrra and his subsequent suicide. “
We think he was distraught because of Maggie’s suicide and the pounding was some kind of outlet. He had tried to stop her and it affected him deeply when she chose death.”
Peyton stared at me, dumbfounded. “So, he wasn’t all bad then, if he tried to help her.”
“No, he wasn’t a bad sort at all.” Cam hitched a shoulder. “Most of them aren’t – they’re just stuck.” I had to agree with Cam. He-Who-Counseled-the-Chief had helped so many of Tom Quick’s victims and he never meant any harm to Peyton.
Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. Soft rain began to fall, streaking the window and I looked passed the slowly coursing rivulets of water to the trailer. Quiet and empty, it lay in repose like a slumbering bear in the back of the property.
“You know, there was this thing that happened when I was a kid.” Peyton spoke hesitantly, biting her lip as her eyes drifted to the trailer. “We had a fire in the middle of the night. The smoke alarms hadn’t gone off because the fire was still really small and there wasn’t enough smoke built up. Something pushed me out of bed and I landed in a heap on the floor. That woke me up and I smelled something burning, so I went to investigate.” She rubbed her nose, maybe remembering that night. “I started screaming for my folks and they were able to put the fire out before anything really happened. I always thought I just dreamed the part about being pushed out of bed.”
CHAPTER 5
I returned home to spoiled milk in my refrigerator and a keen sense of isolation. A leaky faucet in the bathroom dripped in a monotone as I surveyed my barren domain. Compared to Cam’s crowded house, my home echoed with emptiness. Sighing, I accidentally inhaled the stagnant air, redolent with the odor of sour milk and quickly busied myself with opening windows. I next managed a half-assed job of dusting surfaces, but I was highly unmotivated and soon gave up. The main thing wrong with my world was that after such close and constant contact with Lucas, being alone felt like an amputation. Time promised to drag until I saw him again that night. We were going to have one final dinner together to say farewell to Ron and Lenora before they went home to Oklahoma. Sighing again, I thought how I’d even miss Lenora when they left.
A text from Gander saved from me spending the entire day wallowing in self-pity. We had another job, this time for a classic car, a vintage Mustang. A pregnant woman’s water broke while she was on the way to the hospital. She had insisted to her husband that she wanted to go in style, and so, the 1965 Shelby Cobra had been pressed into service. Many tears had been shed by the new father, both in celebration of the birth of his first born and for the awful mess left in what had been his most treasured possession.
I had a moment’s hesitation in accepting the work. Rory might also have been called to the job and I had no desire to see that little schmuck. On the flip side, I could not let that jerk dictate what I would do in my life, whether I would work or take a day off. My rent was coming due, so that decided it for me. I sent a text to Gander to let him know that I’d be there to help with the job.
Parking my car in the far end of the lot, I took care to keep a significant distance from the assortment of Porsches, Maseratis and the sprinkling of other even more exotic cars staged in the lot and under a protective canopy. There was no sign of JoJo and the white BioSolutions truck, but the van was parked in the lot, so I wandered to the building in search of the crew.
The open garage bay doors showed a spotless, white interior lit by strategically placed suspended lights with brushed nickel drum shades. Immaculately clean tools were sorted and placed in cabinets or arranged in aesthetically pleasing displays along the walls. Bent over protective velour blankets covering the chassis, mechanics in pristine, powder blue coveralls peered into engines, while others stood by and updated tablets with diagnostic details related to the vehicles in their care. The disturbing absence of grease made me think that the environment more closely resembled a surgeon’s operating theater than a garage.
I found Gander and Goose in the adjacent office area, speaking to a man in a charcoal gray suit. They stood under a chandelier, drinking from tiny espresso cups and appeared to be perfectly at ease in this chi-chi, frou-frou environment.
Gander waved me over as I hesitated near the door and then introduced me to the guy in the suit. “Javier, this is Fia. She will be helping with the Cobra.”
I declined the espresso that Javier offered and shifted from foot to foot until Gander told me to go outside and wait for our truck at the driveway entrance. Within minutes, the white truck appeared and I pointed to some open space away from the valuable cars where JoJo could park. Jogging over, I got there just as he killed the engine and clambered out of the truck.
“Hey JoJo, everything okay?”
“Yeah, sweetie, freakin’ accident on I-80. Everything’s backed up for miles. Welcome to Jersey.” He threw up his hands and grinned ruefully before walking to the back of the truck to unlock the door.
As I was about to go in and change, JoJo touched my arm. “I asked my brother-in-law to look up that Rory guy. Kyle’s a private detective. After what happened at the Meridian – and I heard about the coke bottle incident, by the way – I’m thinking something’s not right with that kid and I wanted to know what, before he shows up at work and starts shooting or something.”
“What did he find?” I swallowed and took a shallow breath, coloring slightly at the mention of the coke bottle.
“Rory’s some kind of trust fund kid. He’s had all sorts of trouble with the cops, but nothing that stuck.” JoJo made a sour face and shook his head, spreading his hands. “Family connections and money. Whatcha gonna do?”
“So, what – he’s slumming it? Why’s he working this job if he’s rich?” I leaned my back against the truck and crossed my arms.
JoJo hitched his thumbs in his pockets and spread his feet to center his mass. “The little shit was living the high life until a couple of months ago, and then he had another run in with the cops. The kid got caught trying to burn down the house of a girl who had refused to go out with him. Got off, as usual, but this time, looks like the family had enough of his crap and cut him off.”
I was slack-jawed and I stared in horror at JoJo. The susurration of traffic passing in the distance and the faint smell of car exhaust filled the silence while I processed this disturbing facet of Rory’s personality. I had thought he was definitely irritating and the classic bully, but overall, not a significant threat to me. Maybe I needed to re-think that assessment. “Arson? He could have killed that girl.”
“Her and her family, but yeah, nothing came of it because he couldn’t get the fire lit and then his family probably paid them off not to press charges.” JoJo shook his head in disgust. “Anyways, Kyle found an investment account with the kid’s name on it, but no withdrawals. I’m thinking he’s just making do ‘til he’s old enough and that money falls into his lap.”
I looked down, concentrating on the blackened fingernails of the dead hand. Because she rejected him, Rory was willing to seriously harm a girl for whom he presUmably held an attraction and possibly, a budding fondness. Where I was concerned, he had nothing but animosity after the dead hand had publicly humiliated him on several occasions. That didn’t bode well for me. I shook my head, not wanting another problem added to my life and my lips compressed in distaste. “Do you know if Gander called him in? Is he coming to work today?”
Gander appeared from around the side of the truck, with Goose a step or two behind. “Rory? I did not call him. This is a three person job and I’d like to end the day not feeling irritated.”
Hearing this, I instantly relaxed a notch. JoJo filled the other two in on what Kyle had uncovered about Rory and finished with, “So, not exactly the kind of thing HR would have found doing the usual background check.”
Gander’s forehead wrinkled as he took in this new information. “No, not something they would have known when they on-boarded him.” Looking down, he blew out a breath and rubbed his forehead. After a moment, Gander raised weary ey
es to JoJo. “Would Kyle be willing to share what he found with HR? ‘Cause if I just stop calling Rory in for work, he stays in the pool of available and could just end up on a different crew. He’s too much of a liability for the company. Probably just a matter of time before something happens.”
“Before something else happens, you mean.” Goose shot a meaningful glance my way. I chewed the inside of my cheek, wanting to be rid of Rory, but not wanting to raise red flags with my employer. I was too new and no one in the company knew me besides the people on this crew. It would be bad for me if I got sucked into Rory’s drama and was tainted by association.
JoJo eyed me speculatively and seemed to reach the same conclusion. “I’ll talk to Kyle. I’m sure he’d be willing to help.”
“Okay, then. I’ll reach out to HR to give them a heads up after we finish this job.” Gander popped the door on the truck and motioned for us to get a move on.
We suited up and spent the next few hours doing ATP tests on the upholstery. Whenever we found signs of biological activity from bacteria working on the residue of amniotic fluid, we cleaned what we could to preserve the original materials in the car. Despite our best efforts, the passenger-side floor mats, seat leather, and cushion had to be stripped out and put in biohazard bags. We wiped down and sanitized what was left, deodorized the surfaces and then performed one final ATP test to certify that everything was clean. It was then up to Javier to work his magic and restore the vehicle to showroom quality.
By the time we finished with the Shelby Cobra, the sun was setting and I showered quickly, not wanting to be late to the farewell dinner. After roughly toweling my hair dry, I jumped out of the truck and told everyone I’d see them on the next job. Wet hair dripped on my t-shirt as I jogged to my car and I regretted not taking more time to properly dry my hair. Rolling in from the west, forbidding dark clouds massed overhead and a slight frisson gripped me as the wind picked up, chilling the wet spots on my shirt. An autumn storm would rule the night and I hoped there was a jacket or sweatshirt rolling around in my trunk, because I didn’t have time to stop at home.