The Opium Equation

by Lisa Wysocky

  “Adam, listen, I––”

  Suddenly he was kissing me, forcing his tongue down my throat. His hands were everywhere at once, pulling at me, pleading, needing. I resisted the impulse to gag and tried to get in a good deep breath. I managed to, sort of. Then suddenly he stopped.

  “I love you, Cat,” he said in a ragged voice. “I knew it the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  He reached up to gently wipe a tear from my face and that was the first I knew I was crying.

  “Just remember,” he said, “whatever happens, I’m doing it out of love.”

  Then he gave me a hard shove and sent me sprawling butt first onto Glenda’s very hard, very brick, kitchen floor.

  Cat’s Horse Tip #16

  “Horses on pasture spend about 60 percent of their time

  grazing, while stalled horses spend only 15 percent

  of their time eating––one reason behavior

  issues develop more often with stalled

  horses than pastured horses.”

  29

  THE PAIN WAS INDESCRIBABLE. I LAY on the floor without moving. Indeed, movement of any kind was no longer within the realm of possibility. I don’t know how long I lay there unable to breathe; I only hoped it wasn’t long enough to qualify for brain damage. After a while I was able to take tiny puffs of air. Only when I was breathing close to normally did I open my eyes.

  Adam was sitting on the kitchen sink, staring at me. No, through me. His eyes were lifeless. As he made no move toward me I closed my eyes and concentrated on becoming mobile. Eventually I was able to move each limb, with the obvious exception of my left arm, and carefully rolled myself into a sitting position. My broken ribs felt as if they were on fire. I looked again at Adam and couldn’t believe how frightened I was of him. Wordlessly he held out his hand to help me up. Hesitant, I accepted, for the fact of the matter was, if I didn’t have help, I wasn’t getting up.

  The house was cold. Rain was dripping in the back door. Apparently Adam hadn’t thought to close it. Or maybe he liked wet kitchens.

  Through the door I could see Hank on the wet patio trying to decide what to do. With his tail curved into a question mark and confusion in his eyes, guard dog he definitely was not. My heart ached for him and I hoped he’d have the sense to run away before Adam noticed he was there. Maybe Hank would run to Jon. With the length of baling twine still tied to his collar, Jon would know something was wrong. Shouldn’t Jon be calling the deputy by now?

  “Now that you know I’m serious,” said Adam slamming shut the kitchen door along with any fantasies I might have had about a Hank-engineered rescue, “you’d better come on.” He then threw open the basement door and pulled me through it. “You know, if you hadn’t started all the snooping, you wouldn’t be here now.”

  The steps were dark and endless, and when we reached the bottom one, I stumbled. Adam jerked me back to my feet so abruptly that I bit back a scream. I wanted to tell him there was no need to be so rough, but I didn’t want to upset him any more than he already was. I didn’t know if I could withstand another session with a Fairbanks floor.

  The basement reeked of mold and age and decay. If there were lights, Adam didn’t use them, so the only illumination we had was the small flashlight he still carried. But, it was enough to see that there wasn’t much down there. What I did see looked older than the mountains with twice as much dust. Definitely no Bubba.

  I could make out a pile of ancient newspapers in one corner. A stack of wood full of dry rot was piled next to them. The only item that could qualify as furniture was a large, ornate dresser complete with an elaborate antique mirror against the center of the far wall.

  “Go on,” said Adam, as he propelled me toward the dresser, “open it.”

  I was sure he meant that Bubba’s body was stuffed in one of the large drawers, so one by one, and with mounting horror, I awkwardly juggled the bigger drawers open. They were sticky with age and trying to open them one-handed was next to impossible. With an impatient grunt of disgust, Adam grabbed the handle of a smaller drawer nestled along the top row and gave it a twist. With a creak and a groan the entire dresser, mirror and all, slid away to the left, revealing a hidden room beyond. I knew without a doubt that I was finally looking at Miss Opal’s gopher hole, the “water and darkness.”

  Adam shone the flashlight around the room, which measured in feet about fifteen by fifteen and was lined with a series of shelves full of glass bottles, vials, and sealed jars of powders. Some of the jars looked spotlessly clean and others looked positively ancient. Here then, was Adam’s “medicine,” the remains of Col. Sam’s huge stash of drugs left over from the Civil War, supplemented by fresh supplies and a small, but modern, laboratory.

  I stared at the many shelves of drugs, and the words Miss Opal said about Col. Sam “helping those boys” came vividly back to me. Old Sam must have been supplying addicted Civil War soldiers, and later, veterans, with drugs. Bet he made a ton of pretty pennies on his sales, too. A lot of pain was generated from that war.

  If the stories were true, Col. Sam had died mad, possibly a casualty of addiction to opium. And like many who are addicted, Col. Sam surely had one fear, that of running out of drugs. That fear now belonged to Adam.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Adam asked when he saw my eyes widen. “Col. Sam not only smuggled opium in from China, he grew it right here in the fields. As you probably know, poppies are the source of opium, which can then be turned into a variety of drugs, including heroin, and the old Henley/Dupree family standard, laudanum. Tennessee was one of the leading poppy producing states during the war, along with Virginia and South Carolina, and I think Georgia. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

  I shook my head, too overwhelmed to answer.

  “Oh, I’ve done all my homework. In 1860 it was estimated that close to seventeen thousand acres were dedicated to poppy farming in China. That’s a huge amount of land Cat. It created a severe lack of food production and also caused mass starvation in several provinces. By 1887, seven of ten adult Chinese males were opium smokers, and Chinese opium was considered the best, and most potent, in the world. Of course, it was still illegal over there, so people had to be careful. Not like here, where both armies wanted and needed the opium that poppies produced for laudanum. So old Sam mixed the two––the harvest he grew here, with the smuggled imports he got from China––making his opium, and his laudanum, the best in North America. That way both the Northern and Southern armies would want to buy from him. And they did.”

  “But––” I interrupted. He shushed me with a hard slap to my cheek.

  “I’m not finished yet, Cat. Please listen.”

  I nodded mutely, my anger building as I realized he was reciting lines he had rehearsed for a sole audience of one. Me.

  “In addition to dental problems, opium was used to cure dysentery. A very large number of Civil War soldiers became addicted––more than sixty thousand returned home as addicts. That’s a pretty high number, wouldn’t you say so, Cat?”

  I just stared at him, fury blazing into my eyes. This time, I refused to acknowledge his little lesson with a nod. He continued anyway.

  “Well. Opium addiction was so widespread back then it was called the ‘army disease’ or ‘soldier’s disease,’” he said. “After the war, laudanum was so common that it was marketed commercially. You could get a third of an ounce at the general store for about a penny. I got that figure from some notes Col. Sam left down here. He left a lot of notes.

  “Of course, when Sam became old and feeble, it all stopped. But then someone found this room and it started all over again. You think that person was me, don’t you?” he asked. “Well, you’re very wrong in that thought, Cat. Did you ever wonder how Aunt Glenda got started in her film career? How my grandmother got the attention of the Hollywood moguls for her daughters? It’s all right here,” he said, spreading his arms and turning around to look at the room. “Gran supplied the biggest studio head
s in Hollywood with laudanum for many years. Aunt Glenda and my mother never knew, of course.

  “Yes, my grandmother is a very smart woman,” continued Adam. “She never used, never introduced the drug to her daughters. She just traded movie roles for a little of the good stuff. But both Aunt Glenda and my mother were good actresses and soon the roles, the parts, came on their own.

  “When I was visiting here a few years ago I found all this by accident as I was exploring the house. Of course, even though my grandmother was initially able to use what was left of Col. Sam’s original supplies, time has since eroded that possibility for me. Remember that field I showed you earlier, the one just past the Henley’s where the warehouse used to be?” Adam did not wait for me to respond. “If you look carefully at that field beginning in the spring and continuing into the summer months, mixed in with the different varieties of native grasses and wild flowers, you will see the blooms of the poppies planted there years ago. They are doing quite well, actually.

  “Months ago, I knew Aunt Glenda suspected I was on something, but she couldn’t prove it. Then a few days ago she followed me down here. I didn’t see her, didn’t even know she was home. But she saw it all. That day, that fateful Monday when Aunt Glenda came skipping back from her riding class, she was in a great mood. She said she felt as if she could conquer the world. But all she really wanted was to conquer was me.

  “Aunt Glenda said she was going to send me to rehab. I, well, I didn’t want to go. You see, I need my ‘medicine’ and I knew they wouldn’t let me have it there,” Adam took a deep, ragged breath and rubbed a hand across his face, as if the thought were more than he could bear. “Cat, I hurt all the time. My back. I was in the car when my mom was killed. I was just a little kid, but I’ve had incredible back pain ever since. My medicine is the one thing, the only thing I’ve found, that helps.

  “When Aunt Glenda picked up the phone to make the call to the rehab center, well, I just couldn’t let her do that. We had an argument, a very loud, heated argument. Then all of a sudden that kid, that Bubba, was there. He tried to stop us. Aunt Glenda and I were screaming at each other and pushing each other. He got between us and I grabbed that damned twitch from him. I knocked Aunt Glenda on the head with it. Several times. I didn’t mean to, but she had the phone in her hand. I didn’t mean to kill her, I just wanted her to put the phone down. Then I turned around and there was that damned kid bawling in the entryway.

  “I didn’t know if Aunt Glenda was dead or alive, and I couldn’t come back to see. I … well I just couldn’t. So I put the kid’s cap on the steps and when you showed up at the office later that same day, well, it was easy to get you excited about coming out right away to confront my aunt. I waited up all night, sure the police would call. But they didn’t.

  “Then, on Tuesday, I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to find out. So I came out that morning and parked my car on the old field road––the one just past the county line. You can see both the front and the back of Fairbanks quite clearly from there if you park so your line of sight goes between Hill Henley’s barn and house. I waited. And before too long I saw you go in, and then come out and sit on the steps. I knew by the way you kept your head between your legs that you had found Aunt Glenda and that she must be dead.”

  The man was truly mad.

  “Then yesterday you came over. I heard you come in but I knew you were on your way because of the phone message you left. I was home, you see. In the pantry. Well, it’s the laundry room now, but when the house was built, it was a pantry. It’s quite a sizeable room and Aunt Glenda stored a lot of her old clothes there. You were getting too close and I couldn’t let you do that. I didn’t want to hurt you, Cat. I didn’t. But you see,” he said pleadingly, “I have to have my medicine.”

  I reminded myself that Adam was a skilled actor. There was some semblance of reality in what he was saying, but the actor was there all the same.

  “Did you like my costume?” he asked brightly. “I found the hood and cape in the laundry room. Aunt Glenda wore the cape in one of her last movies, Night Escapade. Remember that wonderful scene by the cliff? It was glorious!

  “But getting back to yesterday. It was chilly when you came. Remember? I had my heavy down parka on. I was ready to go to the office. So I threw on the cape and hood over my parka and used that gag voice synthesizer from the Halloween party last year… .

  “You have to understand I was afraid Aunt Glenda had told Gran about it, about my medicine,” he continued. “I couldn’t have that happen. Aunt Glenda went to Gran all the time for advice. I was afraid of Gran, of what she would do, so I started switching her medication to make her more confused. She’s so old anyway, no one would think it odd if an old lady started getting confused.”

  No one except the old lady herself, I thought. Adam underestimated Opal Dupree. It was a crucial mistake. I felt hollow inside as I realized the only question left to be answered was, “where was Bubba’s body?”

  It was a question that soon answered itself.

  “Help!”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. It was a faint cry. I had to hear it again to believe it, and I did.

  “Help me!”

  Although it was distant, I knew it was Bubba and now I could hear him crying.

  “Bubba!”

  The crying stopped, to be replaced with an ominous silence.

  “Bubba, it’s me, Cat. Are you okay?”

  There was a continued silence of such length that I was afraid Bubba had cried his last. Then I heard him again, and as he spoke, I began to turn around, frantically searching for the body that went with the voice.

  “Cat, it’s dark. I can’t get out, I’m stuck.”

  “Bubba, stay calm. I’m here and I’m going to get you out.” Adam or no Adam, I was going to find Bubba and he’d better not try to stop me. “Bubba, listen! I can hear you but I can’t see you. Where are you?”

  He began to cry again. “I don’t know! It’s dark. I can’t move. There’s water. Lots of water.”

  “Okay, Bubba. I’m coming.”

  His crying grew louder, as if the possibility of being rescued only made him more afraid that he might not be.

  “Bubba, listen closely. I’m coming. You might not always hear me, but I’ll call out to you every few minutes, understand?”

  The sound of hysterical weeping was his only answer.

  I had been looking about the dank, gloomy room as I was shouting, trying to find an opening, a door, a hallway, a place where Bubba might be. He was some distance off, that I could tell, but I didn’t know where to begin to look.

  Through it all, Adam watched me silently, thumping the switchblade lightly against his thigh. I whirled toward him. I was so angry that I could have killed him myself if Bubba’s life hadn’t been at stake.

  “Where is he?”

  Adam sat there stonily, back in his staring mode.

  “Please, Adam. Tell me where he is!” I fought to keep myself from physically attacking him. Fat lot of good that would do. “Don’t cause another death. He’s a boy. A little boy. Think how you felt when your mother died, think of the boy you once were. Please, Adam. Please.”

  Adam could have been comatose for all the response I was getting. I grabbed the flashlight from him and played the dim light across the room. Only now I could see that it wasn’t a room. Not a real room. A cave, I thought. We are in a cave.

  On a whim, Jon and I had once gone with friends to a cave on the other side of the river. I don’t know if it had an official name, but the locals called it Junk Yard Cave, because you entered it through a tiny hole in the ground in an abandoned junkyard.

  I remembered crawling on my belly through the slimy muck, climbing mountains of subterranean rock and being amused by the sightless but harmless bats that inhabited the cave. I also remembered squeezing through almost invisible cracks in the rocks, cracks that led to a maze of passages and tunnels and additional huge rooms. So I adjusted my thoughts and almost
immediately saw the slim opening at the end of an ancient set of shelves.

  I poked my head and right shoulder into the crevasse and found a fairly tall tunnel, about four feet wide. What I could see of it sloped down and to the right. I knew if I followed it, I would find Bubba.

  I turned back to Adam, to the room.

  “Bubba’s down there,” I screamed. “You knew all along. How could you?”

  “Because I’m not a killer,” he said. “Despite what you might think, I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill Aunt Glenda. Not really. If she had rolled over she wouldn’t have choked on all that blood and she would have lived––”

  “She was unconscious. How do you expect her to roll over when she’s unconscious?” I was furious and had forgotten with whom I was arguing.

  “––had to get the kid out of the way. Down here it’s up to him. I even threw his cap out for someone, for you, to find and I brought him food once or twice––”

  “Once or twice! He’s been here almost a week! Damn you, Adam, he could have died. Could still die!”

  “And so might you.”

  That brought me up cold. Adam now stood next to me, next to the crack in the wall.

  He sighed, “Cat, I am so very sorry, but I’m sure you can understand that this is something I’ve just got to do.”

  I took a slow step back, a slow step back into the creviced entrance to the tunnel. All of a sudden the tunnel seemed very small and confining, and I didn’t like to think how dark it would be without a light. When we went to Junk Yard Cave, my friends insisted everyone have three sources of light, just in case.

  We’d been inside the cave for over an hour, hiking to a subterranean waterfall where we’d rested and ate lunch. Then we all turned our flashlights off. I have never known such total blackness; not even the rat-infested apartment of my childhood home was that dark. The blackness was so thick you felt as if you could cut it with a knife. It was so thick I couldn’t breathe until someone mercifully turned a flashlight back on. The thought of Bubba down here, alone in the dark for close to a week, made my blood boil.