by Brian Hodge
Debra looked uncomfortable. “He’s what we politely call white trash. As I said, I can handle any problems with him.”
“You know, at least twice, he seems to have shown a special curiosity about me. What would you make of that?”
“If he’s seen you with me, he’s probably sizing you up, to gauge whether you might get involved if he confronts me about his son.”
“What if I said I would?”
She shrugged, her eyes betraying a hint of exasperation. Then she pointed to the road ahead. “Slow down. Right up here.”
Copeland braked and pulled off to the right. It was a long, fairly straight stretch of road, with tightly packed deciduous trees on both sides. Ahead, the road disappeared around a curve to the left; there, the trees changed abruptly to very tall, very dark pines. He shut off the engine, got out, and in his most chivalrous fashion, went around and opened Debra’s door for her. She stepped out and pointed to the knee-high grass in front of the car. “He was right over there. Lynette brought me out here the other day and showed me. It was all I could do to get her to leave. I suppose she feels close to him here.”
He nodded, taking a long look at his surroundings. To his right, the land declined sharply a short distance from the road; to the left, it rose just as quickly. Apart from the road, the woods were unbroken as far as his eye could see in every direction. A few birds sang melancholy dirges, but otherwise, silence covered everything; no distant rumble of cars, no thunder of airplanes, no other sounds of identifiably human origin. It seemed almost eerie. An hour or more remained until sunset, but shadows had already begun to swallow the land. He doubted he would care to be out here alone after dark.
No markings remained in the grass where Rodney’s body had lain, although depressed patches here and there indicated where the investigators had done their work. Still, a strange sadness seemed to linger in the air, as if the forest itself retained some memory of the unknown, fatal event. Serene and peaceful, yet somehow foreboding, he thought, looking up at the tulip poplars that gathered profusely around the site.
Debra pointed down the hill into the woods. “The trails the kids ride on are just down there.”
Copeland was looking up the road again, northward. “How far from here do the Barrows live?”
“Half a mile, maybe.”
“You sure Rodney never had trouble with them? Something he might not have talked to his mother about?”
“If so, I’m certainly not aware of it. Anything’s possible, of course.”
“And the sheriff’s not investigating them?”
“Not at all, as far as I know.”
“That’s almost enough to make one curious.”
Debra stepped up to him, her expression grave. “Russ, don’t even think about confronting any of them. I said that, to my knowledge, they’ve never killed anyone, but that doesn’t mean you want to cross them. Especially not you, a city boy. You could still end up... damaged.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’m not thinking of doing anything foolish. The sheriff won’t break my arms if I talk to him, will he?”
“Not if you catch him on a good day. But even then you’ll never get him to look askance at the Barrows.”
“If it comes down to it, the sheriff isn’t the only law enforcement in the state.” He started back toward the car. “Well, I guess this is what I came out here for. Now I’ve seen the place.”
“And?”
“Well, I’m glad I did. I mean, the kid was my nephew, and this was where he breathed his last. I guess it gives me some sense of perspective. Do I feel any closer to him? I don’t know.”
She nodded sympathetically. “It’s natural to want to see the place where tragedy occurred when the victim is one of your family.”
Still inclined to display more than his customary gallantry, he again held the door for her as she got back in the car. But once he pulled onto the road, rather than head back toward town, he continued north on Yew Line, which earned him a particularly hard stare.
“You’re going this way. I told you not to go this way.”
“Strictly for a look-see,” he said with a humorless smile. “This is a public road, right?”
“I don’t know what you expect to find, other than a rundown house.”
“You know, I didn’t see a vehicle anywhere around your place this morning. Does Levi Barrow drive?”
“Yeah. It’s not likely he would have walked that far.”
Tall pines now rose on either side of the road, which snaked up and over the ridge. As he crested the rise and started down again, in the distance on the left, just where the trees broke, he saw a sagging, two-story wood-frame house with a half-toppled brick chimney. An ancient, rust-encrusted Chevy pickup truck sat in the driveway, and just beyond the house, in a field of tall grass, the remnants of an old barn stood like a monument to the gods of negligence and decay. “No Trespassing” and “Keep Out” signs sprouted in profusion all around the house.
“Don’t slow down,” Debra said, eyeing the house warily. “You’re slowing down. Would you please not slow down? Dammit, Russ.”
He gave her a sidelong glance, just this side of derisive. “Don’t get excited. Just looking at the lay of the land.”
“You’re as bad as my kids,” she sighed. “If you were in school, I’d keep you after.”
“Don’t let my age stop you.”
Debra didn’t reply, for her eyes had shifted to focus intently on the field beyond the house. She suddenly put a hand on his knee. “Slow down. Slow down!”
“You’re kidding.”
“There’s something out there,” she said, peering out his window and leaning so far over that she shoved him against the door. He had slowed the car to a crawl, and even he had not intended to be so conspicuous as they passed the Barrow dwelling. He tried to follow her gaze, but he saw nothing unusual in the field or amid the pine forest beyond.
“What is it?”
She slid back into her seat and shook her head. “I don’t know. For a second there, I would swear I saw some kind of tall building. Something that was never there before. But once we got to where I could get a clear view of it, it was gone.”
“Well…I didn’t see anything like that.”
Debra’s face looked chalky. Something out there had certainly rattled her. “Trick of the light. Mirage, I guess,” she said, obviously unable to accept her own explanation. “Whatever. It couldn’t be what I thought it was.”
“Okay,” he said, swinging the car off to the side of the road and making a hard U-turn, “I guess that’s enough. We’re heading home.”
As they passed Barrow manor again, Debra could not take her eyes off the field. This time, Copeland gave the house a more thorough inspection and saw, to his dismay, that someone now appeared to be watching them from one of the front windows. He knew that Levi Barrow had had ample opportunity to view his car in Lynette’s driveway and might recognize it now. Well, nothing he could do about that, he thought as the road began to rise, carrying them back into the tall black pines. However, it might be prudent to take a few extra security measures once he got back to his sister’s.
And for Debra to do the same.
“I do not like coming out this way,” she finally said, giving him a stinging glare.
“How much land do the Barrows own?”
“I don’t know; a lot. Not just here, they own plenty of land in the county.”
“Judging from the signs, they’re pretty protective...Jesus God!”
The kid on the bike flashed out of the trees and onto the road so fast that Copeland had to stand on the brakes to avoid running over him. The car started to fishtail, and only the fact that it was on a straight stretch rather than one of the hairpin curves kept it from careening off the road. His right arm had automatically extended to keep Debra from pitching forward, and as the car straightened out, he discovered that his hand was making less-than-subtle contact with her breasts.
He quickly drew it away.
“Sorry about that. What the hell does that kid think he’s doing?”
Debra, oblivious to the intimate contact, pointed to the speeding figure on the bike. “That looks like Zack Baird. One of Rodney’s friends.”
Copeland started after the retreating cyclist, still numb from the shock of very nearly killing him. The boy must be doing fifty miles an hour, he thought. Even going downhill, he had to hit the accelerator to begin catching up.
“Something’s wrong with him,” he said, watching the young man’s feet pumping the pedals furiously, his upper body hunched over the handlebars. “He looks like he’s in a panic.”
“Be careful,” Debra said. “I don’t think he’s aware of anything around him.”
As they slowly closed the distance, Debra leaned out the window and called, “Zack! Hold up! We’re here to help you!”
At first, Zack paid the car behind him no mind whatsoever. Copeland maintained a safe tailing distance, in case the kid hit the brakes or turned unexpectedly, but the way his bike was hugging the center line, an oncoming car would surely take him out. Finally, though, Zack glanced back, as if registering the Lexus for the first time, and he gradually began to slow down, eventually coming to a stop on the side of the road—fortunately on a section straight enough for Copeland to pull over without posing a danger to traffic. But as soon as Zack stopped his bicycle, he began to waver unsteadily, and he awkwardly collapsed.
Debra was out the door in an instant and kneeling over the boy. “Zack!” she said, placing a hand on one of his cheeks. “Zack, what’s wrong?”
As Copeland joined her, she looked up at him with wide, alarmed eyes. “My God, what’s happened to him?”
The lad’s face was frozen in a contorted rictus, his eyes bulging like white marbles, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His breath whooshed in and out in short, rapid bursts, and his fingers clenched and unclenched in an involuntary rhythm. The scream that was evidently trying to burst from his lungs remained stifled behind a trauma-induced wall.
“This kid needs a doctor,” Copeland said, his mind snapping back to the Barrow house and Debra’s insistence that she had glimpsed something wrong, however fleetingly, on the property. “He’s in severe shock. He doesn’t look injured, does he?”
“No,” she said, hurriedly checking over the boy’s arms and legs. “What on earth could have done this?”
“The same thing that killed Rodney, I expect,” Copeland said grimly.
“We don’t know that,” Debra objected, but her eyes indicated she believed exactly the same thing.
“I don’t believe in coincidences like this,” he said, kneeling and placing his hands underneath Zack’s shoulders and lower back. “Let’s get him out of here.” He lifted the boy with little difficulty and carried him to the car; Debra opened the back door for him and Copeland gingerly laid Zack on the seat.
“What about his bike?”
“It’ll fit in the back.” He unlocked the trunk, picked up the fallen bicycle, and was just maneuvering it inside when Debra tapped him on the shoulder.
“Look back there.”
Copeland turned and peered in the direction she was pointing. For a moment, he saw nothing; then he realized that a patch of tall grass at the edge of the road appeared to be burning. Small flickers of orange light flashed in and out of the grass like roiling flames, but no smoke rose from the spot. After another few seconds, he could see that, no, it wasn’t a fire, but some kind of object—something that glowed and pulsated with the brilliance of fiery coals.
It was moving toward them. Rapidly.
Copeland’s first instinct was to go investigate, but Debra took hold of his arm and said in a quavering whisper, “Russ, I think that’s what Zack was running from.”
The image of the boy’s terror-contorted face—and the sudden memory of Lynette telling him that Rodney had been burned—was all he needed to change his mind. He shoved the bike into the trunk and slammed it shut, but the handlebars kept the top from closing all the way. “Screw it,” he said, left the trunk open, and got back behind the wheel. Debra was in the back seat with Zack in an instant, and as he started the car, he twisted around to see if the thing was still behind him. It was. And it appeared to be moving faster now, though it remained indistinct behind the veil of grass. Throwing the Lexus into gear, Copeland hit the gas, and before he knew it, the car was pushing 60.
Debra cradled Zack’s head in her lap. “He’s frigid. And I’m still shaking.”
“Is the hospital still out on Hawthorne Road? That’s a long way from here.”
“Yes. But Zack lives much closer. Let’s get him home to his parents. Legally, it’s the better thing to do. Anyway, they’ll need to know what happened.”
“I wish I knew what happened.”
“I tell you this—we may have saved this boy’s life. I don’t know what that was back there, but it sure looked like it was deliberately coming after him—or us.”
“Direct me to his house, and if we have to, we can go with them to the hospital. Agreed?”
She nodded. “All right. We’ll take a left on Cheat Mountain, and then it’s just a short distance. I hope they’re home. Zack’s brother Tom is in my class; he should be there, at least.”
Following Debra’s directions, Copeland drove at high speed to the Baird house, where they found, to his relief, two cars in the gravel driveway and lights on in the windows. Darkness was falling quickly now, and the temperature had dropped to sub-comfortable. He parked behind a weathered white Oldsmobile Cutlass, got out, and went to the door while Debra remained in the back seat with Zack.
He knocked hard several times before the curtains of the adjacent window fluttered to reveal someone peeking out. Finally, the door opened just a crack. “May I help you?” came a coarse female voice.
“Are you Mrs. Baird? My name is Russ Copeland. I’m Rodney Lawson’s uncle. Ms. Harrington and I found Zack up on Yew Line Road. He needs a doctor.”
The door flew wide to reveal a short, tawny-haired woman in her mid thirties, her face paling at the sight of Debra cradling her son’s head. “Oh my God!” the woman cried, tears immediately bursting from her eyes. “What have you done to my boy? What have you done to him?”
She ran quickly to the car, fell to her knees, and gently wrapped her arms around her son’s head, her chest heaving with sobs. Copeland said softly, “Mrs. Baird, we found him this way. You need to get him to the hospital.”
To his surprise, the woman turned to him and glared furiously. Then she spat, “Mister, if you’ve done anything to hurt my Zack, I’ll shoot you. I’ll shoot you in the fucking head.”
Chapter 5
“Never let it be said that country folk are friendlier than city folk,” Copeland said, tipping his glass of scotch of his lips. “I’ve had warmer welcomes in the projects.”
Debra nodded in agreement, pouring herself a snifter of brandy from the decanter on Lynette’s sideboard. “To say she was distraught is an understatement. But I doubt she would have actually done anything rash.”
The grizzled, rather portly sheriff stared at Copeland with poorly concealed disdain. “Emma Baird’s a bit high-strung at the best of times, but under the circumstances, it’s easy to understand why she might overreact. You’re not wanting to swear out a complaint against her, are you?”
“Good lord no,” Copeland said. “Not against her. But we did feel it was best to advise you of the situation. That boy could have died if we hadn’t found him. If nothing else, a car might have run over him.”
Sheriff Grayson’s expression softened a little. “Well, you did the right thing. His mama got him to the hospital straight away and word is he’ll be all right. I’ll be able to talk to him in the morning, and maybe then we’ll find out what’s going on.”
Lynette was sitting on the couch, her face a pale mask of apprehension. “Whatever killed Rodney is still out there. Sheriff, you’ll have to keep people away from
that road.”
“Well, ma’am, I can put out an advisory and increase patrols on Yew Line, but I can’t just close down the road.”
“I guess that would put undue hardship on the Barrows, wouldn’t it?” Copeland said, giving his drink another liberal taste. Debra threw him a sharp glance.
“What was it you say you saw?” Grayson growled irritably. “Something ‘low to the ground and lit up like it was on fire’? That doesn’t sound like any of the Barrows to me, Mr. Copeland.”
“No, but a brutal killing—plus one narrowly avoided—so close to their property might warrant at least a little looking around. Just my opinion.”
“You don’t know for a fact that the boy was ever in real danger. He was out of his head, that’s all we know. Maybe in the morning I’ll find out something new.”
“I hope so,” Debra said in a placating tone. “Unless you have any objections, tomorrow I’ll ask my father—Principal Martin—to broadcast to the school that Yew Line Road, and especially the woods out there, ought to be avoided. Other than Malachi Barrow, no students live out that way.”
Grayson put on his most thoughtful face, but it quickly slipped into an ambivalent scowl. “Well, if you feel it’ll do some good, I’m all for it, but in my experience, you tell kids not to do something, that’s exactly what they’ll do.”
“With Rodney dead, that may not be an issue.” Realizing she might have spoken too bluntly, Debra cast an abashed look at Lynette, who gave no sign of being affronted.
“Who’s to say the Barrows might not have seen something odd up there,” Copeland said, determined to press the issue. “I just don’t see the harm in asking.” He felt sorely tempted to mention Levi Barrow’s recent, unwelcome visitations, but as Debra had warned him, Grayson left nothing to the imagination when it came to that family. For all practical purposes, it was untouchable.
“Tell you what, Mr. Copeland. I’ll ride out that way and see what I can see. And I’ll warn Amos and them that they might want to be extra vigilant for a few days—just to be safe. Would that meet with your approval, sir?”