Dark Witness

by Rebecca Forster

  "That would be good, Cressi. And have a bulletin made up for him and our kids. Do you have a description?"

  "Big as a bear. Half his face is covered with a birthmark. He'd be hard to miss even out here," Cressi said, and then she added. "We're talking real low IQ, Andre. If he's got your kids, it could go one way or the other with him."

  Archer moved in his seat, sitting up a little straighter. This wasn't the kind of news he wanted to hear.

  "Okay. Thanks. You have a good evening, now." Andre started to sign off and then thought again. "Cressi. You still there?"

  "Yep," she came back.

  "Nell is going to be checking in. She's got a Ms. Bates from California with her, and they're supposed to keep us apprised of their position. If she checks in, tell her we have a positive I.D. on the two kids we're looking for but that is all."

  Cressi signed off. Andre stayed put with one arm slung over the steering wheel and the other hand still on the radio. His fingers drummed once and then again. A couple of guys tumbled out the door of the restaurant, checked out the trooper and his vehicle, and sobered up long enough to walk a straight line to their truck. Guillard and Archer didn't even notice them. Finally, Archer said:

  "Are you ready to eat?"

  "Sure."

  The doors of the car opened simultaneously and slammed the same way. Andre threaded his nightstick through his belt as he walked. Archer opened the old door and punched it so it stayed wide enough for Andre to go through after him.

  The place was warm and busy. A woman in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a grey sweater motioned them toward the back, pirouetted, filled two water glasses, and somehow managed to make it to the table before they did. She dropped the water glasses, pointed to the menus in a little silver paperclip thing on the table and told them to take their time.

  Archer sat with his back to the door, Andre with his to the wall. Gloves were shoved into coat pockets, coats were shrugged off and flopped over the chair backs, hats were slid off heads, and fingers were run through hair. Archer tossed a menu Andre's way. Andre opened it and ran down the options – all of them fine on a cold, cold night.

  "I'll have them expedite the prints I picked up from the phone booth," Andre said.

  "Thanks," Archer muttered. The waitress came back.

  "What are you boy's wanting tonight?"

  "How's the steak?" Andre asked.

  "Tough," she answered.

  "I'll do the bison stew."

  "You got it, baby." She looked at Archer, shifted her weight, and tapped the pencil point on her pad.

  "What about you, sweet cheeks? What do you want?"

  Archer looked up at her. He knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to know for sure if Hannah had picked up that receiver in that phone booth. He wanted to know if that was the place where she'd made a call and left the message:

  We're still okay

  Then he wanted to know if that was still true.

  He pushed the menu aside.

  "I'll have what he's having."

  CHAPTER 18

  I don't know how we got up the stairs. I don't know how we got back to this room. I don't know what to say to Billy or what to think.

  No, that's not true. I do know what to think. I think that we don't have to worry about Glenn anymore because all of them are friggin' maniacs. Every last one of them.

  "Is the door locked?"

  "Yeah, Hannah. A thousand times, yes. It's locked," Billy said, but he checked it again just to be sure. Then he put his hands flat on it. "It's solid, too. It's real wood. But I don't think anything's going to happen. I don't think these people actually do anything about anything. I think they just talk, you know?"

  He turned around and went to the stove. He kicked at the small pile of wood, and moved it around with his foot.

  "We've got enough for tonight, but I don't know how long we're going to have to stay in here."

  "As long as it takes to figure out how to get out of this place, not just this room," Hannah muttered. She looked up at Billy. "I'm so sorry. You were right about Duncan. I should have listened."

  "It's okay." Billy sat down on the bed. "At least he's not going to hurt us. None of them are. I mean, they think they've got to be super good until they're healed, right? Duncan says the healing is after you guys get married, right? So that means everybody has to be super good until then. That means we're okay. We just need to figure out what to tell him about why you can't get married and, you know, put him off 'till we can make a plan."

  Hannah snorted. Billy almost smiled. She must be okay if she could still snort like she thought the whole thing was a crock. Now he had to keep her thinking that way.

  "Anyway, we just stay away from them or we make something up about you being a Druid. He can't marry you because God would be ticked at him if he married a Druid."

  "Billy," Hannah warned, "It's not funny."

  "I know." Billy sat back.

  "Thanks for trying, though," Hannah mumbled and then they stopped talking.

  They listened for sounds that would put them on their guard but they heard nothing. Not a footstep on the stair, not a spoken word, not even a creak as the old place settled. It was like everyone was in a mega time out. The silence made Hannah nervous.

  "Even if we got out of here, we don't know where we are. I can't run with this thing on my leg." Hannah knocked on her cast.

  Before she knew what was happening, Billy was kneeling on the mattress and cupping his good hand around her instep. His bandaged hand was pressed on the ball of her foot.

  "What? What are you doing?"

  "Hannah. What if they're messing with us?" Billy asked. "What if your leg isn't broken. I mean, maybe it's like cracked or something, and they didn't really know what to do so they put a cast on it. Don't you think if it was broken you would be in a whole lot of pain?"

  "I don't know. I never broke anything before."

  "Well, are you in pain?"

  She shook her head. "Not really. My leg throbs."

  "Okay. So, remember biology and the way all the muscles and bones look in the leg? Remember?"

  Her head went up and down again.

  "Yeah, me too," he said. "If I press your foot back then I should really hurt you, right? Like you won't even be able to stand it if I do that. So, can I do that? I don't want to hurt you, Hannah. I never want to hurt you." Billy's voice caught. He cleared his throat. "I don't want to, but I think we've got to try. I think we need to know how bad it is."

  "You're right. You are, Billy. It's okay. Let's do it."

  Hannah propped herself up on her pillows. His hands quivered. The sock covering her foot was scratchy and the cast on her leg was a rock. Billy sniffed and took a couple of deep breaths before he started to count down.

  "One," he said.

  "Wait," she whispered. "We don't want them to hear."

  Hannah looked around, saw the towel on the bedside table and grabbed it. She stuffed it in her mouth. Her green eyes filled with fear. Billy held her gaze. He was scared, too, but this had to be done. There was no one to do it but him.

  "Two," he said.

  He took the next breath, but Hannah never heard him count three. All she heard was her own muffled scream.

  ***

  Josie woke with a start. She was sweating even though it was freezing inside the tent.

  Next to her Nell was a lump of a body buried in her sleeping bag. Josie's brow beetled. Obviously, Nell hadn't called to her. She tugged at her cap, ran her finger underneath the edge to wipe away the sweat, and then put her head back on her pack hoping she could get to sleep again. She nestled her chin against her chest and wondered what had awakened her. She was sure she hadn't been dreaming. She was equally sure that whatever woke her wasn't in her head but in her ears. The only other person around was Nell and she hadn't uttered a sound since closing her eyes. Then again, maybe it wasn't someone calling to her; maybe what she heard was more like a grunt.

  Josie tried to roll o
ver which was an impossibility given the sleeping bag and all the clothes she was wearing. She scooted up again and freed her arms. She felt around her pack until she found the side pocket and pulled out her cellphone. She turned it on. The bars were nonexistent, and the battery not exactly full. It was four in the morning.

  She put the phone away and settled in once more. It was going to be a long couple of hours until they got going again. Instead of counting sheep, she ran through the hundreds of scenarios she had been thinking about on their long hike. Funny, how many situations she could imagine Hannah and Billy in. Lost in Alaska was not one of them. Just when she had boiled down her options to waking Nell and having a gab-fest or seeing if she could locate that bottle of scotch, Josie Bates heard the sound that had awakened her.

  It wasn't a call or a scream or a grunt.

  It was a rumbling, a snorting, a growl and it came along with the sound of the tent ripping under a paw with claws the size of machetes.

  ***

  "Oh my God. Oh, Billy. Oh, my. . ."

  Billy's name rolled out of Hannah's mouth along with a tidal wave of swear words. She had ripped the towel out of her mouth and her hands were pumping her chest like that was the only way she could keep breathing.

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Billy grabbed for her leg and ran his hands down her cast. "You okay? I didn't mean it. What? What?"

  It was hard to see her even as close as they were. The fire had burned down and the light didn't make it all the way to the bed before it petered out. But then he saw the glint of her teeth and heard her laugh as she put her fingers to her lips. She pumped those fingers against her mouth, suppressed her laughter, and shushed him all at the same time.

  "I'm sorry." Hannah put her hands over his and held them tight. She whispered but loud enough for him to know she wasn't hurt and she wasn't afraid. "Stop. It's okay. I thought it was going to hurt so bad that I screamed before you even pushed. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  "You mean it didn't hurt?" Billy whipped himself up onto his knees. He teetered on the soft mattress, but steadied himself when he took her face in his hands. "Oh geez, Hannah. That's great. That's great."

  He threw himself at her, gathered her up in his arms, and kissed her hair and her cheeks. Her arms went around him and they clung together in the dark, snickering and laughing like children until Hannah pulled back. Billy stopped laughing. For once Hannah's lips weren't tight with worry, or anger, or frustration. They were the most beautiful lips he had ever seen even though one side was knotted and swollen.

  "Billy." Hannah put her hands on his chest.

  "I know. I know."

  He sat back on his heels. His hands slid away from her and he felt like he had lost a part of his soul. But it wasn't his soul, it was only Hannah who he loved more than anything; loved her too much to mess it up now. He put one leg over the side of the bed.

  "That's good. That's good you didn't feel it when I hit your foot."

  "I didn't say I didn't feel it. I just said it didn't feel like anything awful."

  "Okay. Okay," Billy got up and walked the floor. "We've got to figure out what to do."

  "This thing isn't super hard." Hannah bent over her leg. "It's water heavy. I've done paper mache sculptures that were dense, and that's kind of how this feels. But there is other stuff too. Concrete maybe? Plaster? I don't know but we should be able to get it off."

  As he listened to her, Billy tiptoed to the door, put his ear against it and tried to hear if anything was happening in the hall.

  "I think they all went to bed." Billy put his back to the door. He laughed once and then again. "Man, this is weirdly awesome when you think about it. I mean we should have been dead a couple days ago, and then I was going to be your maid of honor, and now you'll be able to walk down the aisle 'cause your leg isn't really broken."

  "Shut up." Hannah's relief had faded and reality was starting to sink in. "I'm scared. I really am."

  "I know. Me, too."

  He checked out the room. The high window offered no escape. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon. Then again, nobody had threatened them. Duncan and his troops were just Loony Tunes. Still, Loony Tunes could morph real fast, and Billy didn't want to be around when that happened.

  "I'm going downstairs," he said.

  "No, don't leave me." Hannah reached for him as if she could pull him back from across the room.

  "I'll be back. I promise."

  If he touched Hannah he wouldn't go, so he unlocked the door and slipped out. It was as black in the hallway as it was in her room so Hannah didn't see him go. The only reason she knew she was alone was because she couldn't hear Billy breathing anymore.

  ***

  Josie screamed and rolled, but she was caught in the sleeping bag. Above her, around her, inside her she heard the roar of the gigantic animal. She felt the swipe of its claws tear through the sleeping bag like it was tissue paper and scrape her ribs. She felt the animal's hot breath. She smelled the damn thing. Up was down and down was up. Nell was hollering, scrambling inside the tent that wasn't a tent anymore. Josie's screams and groans mixed with the bear's roar. Nell's voice rose above the hellish sounds of the attack as she threw out orders and food. The food went outside; the orders shot right at Josie.

  "Dead. Play Dead. Don't move," she called. "God dammit, play dead! Fetal position. Now!"

  Nell's voice muffled and Josie knew that she was following her own orders: tucking her head down, pulling her knees up, and holding her elbows tight. She jeopardized her own life every time she spoke, so Josie tried to do as she was told. Her body, though, had a life of its own. It struggled against the confines of the sleeping bag, her legs and shoulders jerked in opposite directions. Her brain was misfiring with thoughts, ideas, and plans.

  If only she could. . .

  If it would just. . .

  If they hadn't. . .

  "Dead. Now."

  Nell's voice had dropped two octaves. Her breathing had calmed. She believed with everything in her that playing dead was the way to stay alive. Josie's brain heard that conviction. One part of her argued that all she needed was a fighting chance. The other part of her insisted she have faith in the woman who was curled up beside her, playing dead.

  Finally, Josie pulled her knees up and rolled her shoulders forward. She tucked her head into her chest and didn't fight anymore. The bear roared and snuffed, but it had grown tired of the attack. She could hear it trolling. At one point – surely a hundred hours after the assault had begun – its nose came so close to Josie's head that it touched her hat. Behind her eyes was a slideshow of every image she had ever seen of a bear: the yellowing teeth, the hinged mouth that was wide enough to wrap itself around her head, its hind legs as big as trees. The whole package was majestic. Beautiful. Deadly. Deadly.

  Play dead.

  Play dead.

  Play dead.

  Play. . .

  "You did good. You did good. Josie? Josie? It's over."

  Nell's voice, sounded far away. Nell's touch was too soft to comfort her. The snow drifted lazily, like the angels were sifting flour for a heavenly cake. Josie Bates lay very still and waited for Nell to convince her it was okay to move. She didn't want to play dead anymore, but that's all she could do. She wanted to speak, but her vocal chords didn't work. When she could speak, she would tell Nell this: Even though she looked dead, Josie felt more alive than she ever had. When she could speak again, Josie would tell Archer how death came at her in the dark, how she felt its claws and smelled it's breath. It was a giant thing covered in fur, a roaring thing that pulled sounds from the very depths of hell. She knew that and yet she hadn't seen it. She would say to anyone who would listen that there is more than one way to survive and we are not cowards when we choose to play dead.

  CHAPTER 19

  I feel like I'm ten years old because the first time my mom left me alone a whole day and a night was when I was ten years old. I watched the door of that terrible apartment and wis
hed her back minute-by-minute-by-minute. It wore me out wishing her back. When she finally came, I thought my wishes worked. A few years later I figured it out: she came back because she had nowhere else to go. Now, watching the door of this bedroom, I wish Billy back in the worst way. I know there is nowhere else for him to go, but you never know about things like this.

  You just never know.

  Billy paused at the top of the stairs, torn between going down them or going through the door behind him. Behind that door was where Pea lived. She seemed to be the one causing all the trouble, so maybe it was time to have a talk with her. He decided to take the stairs because he didn't want to talk. He wanted something else, and what he wanted was in the kitchen.

  The top flight of stairs was short. The second floor landing opened onto a long hall. There were four doors, two on each side. All were closed. He paused, heard nothing, made the jog and went down the stairs to the first floor. There was a creak and a snap. His boots were heavy and the woodwork was old, but he knew that each groan and crack was magnified in his mind. Anyone sleeping probably wouldn't give the noise a second thought. He took the last three steps quickly and crouched behind the banister when he got to ground. Peering through the rails, he looked toward the living room and through the picture window. Duncan's house was dark. The happy bridegroom was dreaming of wedded bliss.

  Billy scooted over and looked the other way. He swung around the staircase, flattened himself against the wall, and inched toward the dining room. The heating stove in that room glowed faintly, the fire had burned down to embers and was ready to be stoked in the morning. They wasted nothing here, especially precious fuel during the darkest hours when blankets and quilts would keep them warm and there was nothing interesting to see.

  By the time he reached the dining room, Billy was breathing easier. He pushed open the kitchen door and checked out the interior. Satisfied that it was empty, he went in. There was enough moonlight coming through the window that he didn't need more light.