Shackled

by Ray Garton

  They found more, and gently set them aside to keep the spots of brown crust from flaking off before they could take a good look at them.

  Once the rocks had been separated, they began inspecting each one, only to find that each one was stained and smeared with the same thing: a brown crust, and a slick, sparkly grease. And many of them had a few strands — or even clumps — of hair clinging to them.

  "Holy shit," Bent breathed.

  Coll said, "Now, just calm down, it could be anything, and you know it."

  "Holy shit." A loud whisper now.

  "This is a desert! How much do you know about what goes on in the desert?"

  "Holy shit." Much louder now, his voice trembling.

  "Come on, Bent, you're just — "

  Ignoring him, Bent turned to David and spoke rapidly as he asked, "An altar? That's what she said? I mean, your wife actually used that word? She said she saw a fire on an altar surrounded by a bunch of people in black robes? That's exactly what she said?"

  Holding one of the rocks, Kotter took a step back, startled by Bent's intensity, by the tone of his voice. "Well ... you should probably ask her to know for sure, but — uh, yeah, that's, um, that's pretty much what I remember her saying. Somethin' a lot like that, anyways."

  Bent turned to Coll. "So, there. What the hell else do you think it could be? We've got blood, hair, and grease, here. And what do you suppose, I mean exactly, that grease is from, huh?"

  Coll frowned and shrugged. His shoulders slumped and his face weakened into a look of helpless, sickened agreement.

  "Hey, wait a second," Kotter said, his nose wrinkling a little as he looked down at the rock he held. "You mean, you guys think this is ... I mean, this stuff, you think it might be ...” He stood there a moment, frozen as he stared at the rock, then tossed it aside, making a wet, disgusted noise in his throat. "Why didn't you say so?" He wiped his hands frantically up and down over his blue-denimed hips, gulping a few times between tightly clenched lips.

  "Ooh-kay," Bent said, throwing his arms up, then letting them slap loosely to his sides as he began to pace in front of them, his heels digging hard into the brittle earth. "Okay, so if you think you know what else that might be, Coll, tell me now, because if you don’t I think we should just assume that it's what we think it is and act accordingly."

  The three of them were silent as Bent paced noisily.

  "Well, I think we should get something straight first," Coll said. "Exactly what do we think this is?"

  Bent stopped in front of him. "What do you think we think it is? Those are rocks that were used to build an altar — maybe several altars — on which victims were bled and then burned. That brown stuff is blood, dammit! The hair is pretty obvious, right? And this?" He held up his hand and rubbed his thumb over his fingertips again. "This is fat. Human fat, the grease of human fat. Blood gets crusty and flakes when it's left in the sun. Fat — grease — does not." He paced a moment longer, then stopped between them and darted his eyes from Coll to Kotter, back and forth. "Nattie saw what she said she saw. And this is part of what she saw." After a moment, he added quietly, "People died here ... people were murdered out here ... on these rocks."

  "All right," Coll sighed, leaning back on the boulder and folding his arms. "If we're agreed on that ... then what do you suggest we do with all these rocks? Carry them to the nearest police station and tell them our story, or something? Come on, Bent, think about this! I'm not saying we aren't right about it — I think we probably are, even though I hate to admit it — I'm just saying it doesn't help us a hell of a lot!"

  "That's where you're wrong, Coll," Bent said, smiling just a little as he pointed a finger at him. "It does help us! Now we know that Nattie was right, and we know we're not wasting our time. They've been here before, so maybe they'll come back."

  Coll asked, "But what if they only come, say, once a year?"

  "She sees 'em a lot more often than that," Kotter said, a little embarrassed. "At least, I hear about 'em a lot more often than that. Sometimes, I get up in the morning and she's got breakfast ready and the first thing she says to me is, I saw 'em again last night, Davey, they was out there in their black robes and hoods with their big fire and they killed somebody else for Satan.' But, y'know, all that time ... I never thought for a second that ... well, I ...” Kotter turned to the smaller of the two piles of rocks and put a hand over his flat stomach, one corner of his mouth curling first up, then down, then up again as he frowned. "My god, I never took her suh-seriously. All that time and I never took her seriously. Maybe we could've done somethin' ... told somebody ... helped those people."

  Bent stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look, David, you had no way of knowing, so don't feel bad about it. And even if you'd believed her, nobody would've believed you. Either one of you. So don't think that way."

  "Hey," Coll said, "if they come back and find all these rocks stacked up here, they'll know that somebody's onto them."

  "Yeah," Bent said, "I was thinking the same thing. So we've got to do exactly what they did. We've got to scatter them all over the place, just like we found them. But I think it might be a good idea to keep one of those," he said, nodding toward the pile of blackened, bloodied, greasy rocks. "Fleck might be able to arrange for me to have them analyzed so we can find out if we really are right."

  Coll took in a deep breath as he stared at the rocks and let it out slowly through pursed lips, puffing his cheeks. Then he turned to Bent and said quietly, "You know, sobriety is really a pain in the ass with you. It just gets you into trouble ...”

  4

  Night in the city had nothing on night in the desert. The city's nightlife was noisy and smelly, violent and dirty. Nightlife in the desert was far more quiet, but no less lively, and much cleaner. Sounds came out of the darkness from every direction; movement was everywhere.

  Bent and Coll sat behind the trailer in cheap, uncomfortable, folding patio chairs they'd bought in Palm Springs. They were at the rear end of the trailer; a few yards away, Nattie was at the other end of the trailer, looking through her telescope and muttering to herself ... or perhaps to Liberace.

  When Bent and Coll spoke, they were very quiet, trying not to be heard by Nattie.

  "There's nothing out there," Coll muttered, backing away from the telescope. "Nothing that's going to help you, anyway."

  "Not yet," Bent said.

  "Okay, so what if there's nothing out there tonight, tomorrow night, the next night, or — "

  "Go back home if you want. I'm not letting this go." Bent leaned forward and put an eye to the telescope.

  "This is not your job. You're supposed to be writing about the Walkers, not about — "

  "There's nothing I could write about the Walkers in Vallejo that I can't write here. This is where the story is, there's nothing going on there that I can't make up for that bitch and her new editorial policy."

  Coll sighed. "If you say so."

  Somewhere in the distance — it was impossible to tell how far because of the way sounds carried through the desert — coyotes howled fiendishly, like tortured children screaming in the night. Bats flitted through the darkness, their wings making leathery staccato sounds overhead as they darted this way and that, shooting downward, then upward in a heartbeat. Owls hooted like lonely spirits in the vast darkness and, once again, a train followed distant tracks through the black desert. And always, without a moment's rest, there was movement in the darkness, things skittering this way and that, shuffling through the dirt and gravel, padding over rocks, rustling through thorny bushes.

  "But if you ask me," Coll said, "we're in for a long wait if you really want to see these guys. And that's only if they really exist."

  "Then we'll wait. Here." Bent loudly ripped a bag open and placed it between them. "I brought Doritos. And we've got lots of coffee, sodas, water, and more snacks." He turned to Coll then. "But if you're not up to this, if you think it's a waste of time, then feel free to go back home. Re
ally. I mean it."

  "What is it with you? Why can't you just do your job and leave it at that?"

  "Oh ... I don't know." He popped a chip in his mouth and it crunched between his teeth. "Maybe because I'm sick of my job and I'd just like to do something good for a change. Something that might ... well, help somebody instead of something that, um ... well, something that, um ... lies and manipulates and takes advantage of people who might not know any better." He turned to Coll slowly. "That good enough for you?"

  "Yeah. I guess so."

  "Good," Bent said, almost whispering. "Because if you want to know the truth, I'm not really sure why the hell I'm doing this and that sappy little speech was all I could think of at the moment. I just feel ... like I have to. And maybe ... maybe that sappy little

  speech was truer than I thought." He shrugged. "Hell, I don't know."

  "So, how long are we gonna be spending our nights out here listening to owls hoot and staring into the dark?" Bent shrugged. "As long as it takes."

  "Yeah," Coll sighed. "I was afraid you'd say something like that."

  After that, the only sound that passed between them for a while was the crunching of the chips.

  It was the first of many nights they would spend watching the desert, watching and waiting ... waiting ...

  The night passed very slowly and completely without incident. Bent divided his time between looking through the telescope, leaning back in the chair to watch for distant flames in the desert, and munching on chips and drinking coffee.

  Coll dozed off for a while, slumped in his chair, head back, mouth open. And, at the other end of the trailer, Nattie finally gave up watching the desert and, still muttering, went back inside.

  Bent continued to watch, determined to remain patient, to wait as long as it took to see whoever had left those burnt and bloody rocks in the desert.

  He thought of what Coll had asked him earlier: Why can't you just do your job and leave it at that?

  Bent leaned back in the chair and looked up at all the sparkling stars floating on an upside-down ocean of india ink.

  This kind of work used to be his job, back when he was a real reporter, when he really got his hands dirty — and sometimes bloody — while working on a story — real stories — back when he did a lot of waiting around for facts, a lot of pavement pounding for details ... back when he had Cami to go home to. Maybe he was doing this because it made him feel like he did back then, like he was doing something important, useful ... something meaningful.

  Then again, maybe he was doing it for Cami. She would have been very happy to learn that maybe he wasn't the crotchety cynic she'd so often thought him to be. In fact, Bent suspected she would have been proud, and would have been at his side right now, eager to be involved in the whole thing.

  Of course ... if Cami were still alive, he wouldn't be working for a tabloid and he wouldn't be in this situation right now.

  Yeah, yeah, he thought, blame your dead wife for the fact that you're a journalistic whore. Go ahead. I dare ya.

  Bent closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his fingertips for a moment. He knew he was kidding himself. If Cami knew what he'd been doing for the past few years, she would hang her head. If she knew what he'd done for the Inquisitor — the people he'd lied to and conned into saying what he wanted them to say, the lies he'd written as if they were the truth — she would look at him with those big beautiful eyes, which would probably well up with a sparkling hint of unspilled tears, pull her lips in between her teeth, and shake her head ever so slowly while perhaps whispering his name, or just saying nothing at all. And knowing that made him ache inside.

  That was why he was doing this — to make up for all the other things he'd done since she'd been gone ... things he'd probably been blaming on her death without even realizing it.

  He opened his eyes again and looked up at, the night sky. The stars seemed to be looking down on him — literally looking down on him — as if they were sitting in judgment. He let go a sigh that became a quiet groan, then leaned forward and looked through the telescope again, scanning the dark desert.

  He saw nothing.

  And they would not see anything in that desert for a lot of long, slow, silent, dark nights to come ...

  5

  The shrill chirp of the phone sounded through the Walker house shortly after six the next morning. Although he'd gotten a mere three or so hours of sleep the night before, Ethan awoke instantly and answered the bedside phone before the second ring.

  "Sorry to call so early, Ethan," Bent said, sounding very tired himself. "But we've been up all night and we're about to get some sleep for a few hours."

  "No problem at all. What's happening?"

  Bent told him about the rocks they'd found in the desert. "I think even Coll agrees with me about this, even though he won't really admit it. Those rocks are pretty good evidence that Nattie Kotter was seeing what she'd claimed to see. So now we're just gonna wait to see them ourselves. At least I'm gonna wait."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "Yes. Call Garner, tell him what I've told you and find out if there's anything you can do to help him keep up on the kidnappings in the area."

  "Will he be awake this early?"

  "Coll assures me that sleep is unimportant to Garner. He prefers working. So call him when it's convenient for you."

  After their conversation ended, Ethan rolled over to look at Loraina. She stirred beneath the covers and muttered in her sleep, a frown creasing her otherwise smooth brow.

  Ethan crawled out of the bed slowly and silently, wearing a pair of briefs and an old baggy T-shirt. He grabbed his robe and slipped it on as he left the room on bare feet. He went to the kitchen, dragging his heels noisily over the tiles, and started a pot of coffee, then sat at the table and prayed silently. Usually, the first thing he did each morning was spend about an hour reading the bible, making notes, perhaps working on his next sermon ... but that was usually. Nothing was usual anymore. So, he had a few words with god, asking him to take good care of Bent and Coll, asking for something to come of all this, and asking him to be with Samuel, wherever the boy might be. By the time he was done, so was the coffee, and he poured himself a cup, then called Garner.

  "No, heck, no, you didn't wake me up," Garner said. "I'm up nearly all the time. Besides, I was going to call you this morning anyway. Someone's coming over and I'd like the two of you to meet."

  "Oh? Who's that?"

  "He's a friend of mine who has a lot of connections around here and I thought he might be able to help us keep up with current events. He'll be here around eleven, but you can come over anytime between now and then."

  After hanging up, Ethan started making breakfast, then realized that he wasn't at all hungry. In fact, he felt a little nauseated. Instead, he read from his bible at the table, waiting for the coffee to perk him up enough to drive into San Francisco.

  He arrived at Garner's at about ten-thirty that morning. Loraina and Anice had still been asleep, so rather than wake them, he'd left a note on the coffee table.

  Garner's friend had already arrived and was seated on the sofa when Ethan came in.

  "Have a seat, Ethan," Garner said, rolling ahead of him. "And if you're hungry, help yourself. You know where the fridge is if you'd like something to drink."

  As usual, there was a generous spread of food on the coffee table: chips, crackers, melon balls on toothpicks, and a plate of sandwiches.

  "Those are Heidelberg sandwiches," Garner said when Ethan looked at them curiously. "And this is my friend Leon Bixby. Leon, this is Pastor Ethan Walker."

  The man on the sofa stood, smiling. He was a large man who had no doubt been fit and muscular one day. Now, with a head of receding, wiry, graying hair, he had a large gut beneath his salmon-pink shirt that hung over the belt on his chinos, and he was developing a fleshy second chin beneath his big square jaw.

  "Nice to meet you," he said as he reached out to shake Ethan's hand. "An app
ointment canceled out on me this morning, so I showed up early."

  "Leon was a police officer here in San Francisco for twenty-six years," Garner said as he chewed a melon ball.

  Ethan's eyes widened and he shook Bixby's hand a bit more enthusiastically as his smile grew. "Really? That's wonderful! Then you probably will be able to help us!"

  The handshake ended and Bixby's smile faltered as he glanced at Garner. "Well, I'm not sure. Our friend here wouldn't tell me what I'm helping you with until you got here, so I'm still in the dark."

  Ethan's smile disappeared completely. He wasn't looking forward to going through the whole story again.

  But they did. As Ethan and Garner told the story, Bixby nibbled on one of the small sandwiches, but he didn't get very far. He finally set it aside on a napkin as his expression grew darker and darker. It wasn't long before he was making no eye contact with either of them and his big jaw was set sternly.

  They had covered nearly all the details of their story — including the new ones Ethan had gotten from Bent that morning — when Bixby turned to Garner and asked, quietly but firmly, "Why didn't you tell me about all this on the phone this morning?"

  They stopped and Garner stumbled over his answer. "Wuh-well, I sort of thought, um, that you — "

  "You didn't think. You knew I wouldn't have been interested if you'd told me. You knew." He grabbed a napkin and dabbed his lips as he stood, clearly ready to leave. "I'm disappointed in you, Lewis. And I'm very sorry, Pastor Walker, but I can't help you."

  He turned to leave.

  Garner's arms worked hard and fast as he followed his friend, and Ethan wasn't far behind.

  "Leon, wait, please!" Garner called.

  The big man turned around after grabbing his gray windbreaker and black cap from the coat rack by the door.

  "You don't even know what we wanted yet," Garner said, "so how can you say no already?"