Blood Oath, Blood River (The Downwinders Book 1)

by Michael Richan

  She poked at the skin. It looked a little like a blister, but taller. The skin rose off her arm a good half inch. She pushed at it with the index finger of her right hand, watching it in the mirror. It wasn’t hard like a bite, it was soft and squishy, just like the one Winn had cut open on the bus earlier that night.

  Cut it open, she thought. I’m going to see if it’s the same.

  She rummaged through a drawer under the sink, looking for the sharpest thing she could find, and settled on the pointed end of a metal nail file. She poured a little rubbing alcohol over it and then held it up to the blister, using the mirror to guide her as she poked the sharp end into it.

  There was no pain, and when the tip of the nail file pierced the skin, two small wisps of grey smoke emerged. The sack of skin collapsed around something hard inside.

  She placed the nail file on the counter and pressed against the skin of the blister, forcing whatever was inside out through the hole she’d cut. It was another small piece of bone.

  Then she heard steps above her, on the ceiling. Someone was on the roof.

  She went back into her bedroom and slipped on some jeans and a t-shirt. Then she crept down the stairs to the main floor.

  The house was dark and quiet. She listened again for the sounds from above, but the steps had stopped. She walked into the living room, looking out through the windows into the front yard. There was enough moonlight to make the yard very visible. Everything looked normal and still, like a painting.

  She thought she smelled something strange – it smelled like the desert, after a rain – the smell of wet sage. She looked outside again – there was no rain. Just another hot Nevada night.

  Then she noticed something in the yard. Movement, very slight. It was a dark figure, trying to stand still next to a tree in the distance. If she didn’t know the yard as well as she did, she would have mistaken it for another tree. She walked up to the window to get a better look at it.

  As she approached the window, the dark figure left the side of the tree and sped toward her. It met her on the other side of the window just as she approached it. The sudden appearance of the figure at the window made Deem gasp and she took a step back.

  Then it opened its eyes, and Deem knew she was looking at the creature that had jumped onto the bus. Its features were dark and smooth. It raised its hands and pressed them against the window. Deem took another step back, afraid the glass might break.

  Instead, the creature’s arms passed through the glass and reached for her. The skin on its arms was dark and peeling, revealing a lighter tone underneath. Deem wondered if the skin had been burnt – it looked like it was peeling in big pieces.

  Then it brought its head through the glass.

  Deem had walked back into a couch. She stopped, and dropped into the River. From within the flow, the figure looked like an ordinary man, wearing the type of suit you might see someone wear to work at a law firm or a bank. He was Caucasian and bearded, balding on top. Completely normal – even boring.

  The figure stopped halfway through the glass of the window when he realized Deem was in the River. His eyes widened, and he slowly began to back out, pulling his head and arms to the other side of the window. He stood for a moment in the front yard, staring at Deem through the glass. Then he turned and disappeared so quickly Deem couldn’t see which direction he’d gone.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  Deem walked into the kitchen. Her mother was seated at a small table tucked into a corner that had a view of the back yard. She was reading a church magazine.

  “Good morning, dear,” Margie said, looking up from her magazine. “Want anything to eat?”

  “I’ll just pour some cereal,” Deem said, reaching for a cupboard and pulling down a box.

  “Virginia is still in bed,” Margie said. “She’s not feeling well. I might run her in to the doctor later. I don’t like how she looks.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Deem asked while pouring milk into her bowl.

  “Well, she’s very weak,” Margie said. “And her tongue is black. I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought maybe she’d eaten something that discolored her mouth, you know, like blueberries or something, but she swears she didn’t eat anything since dinner last night.”

  “Black?” Deem asked. “Her tongue is black?”

  “And she smells a little funny,” Margie half whispered, as though she didn’t want Virginia to overhear.

  “Funny how?” Deem asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know exactly,” Margie said, “just funny.”

  Deem placed her bowl down on the counter and walked out of the kitchen.

  “Don’t you go and wake her up,” Margie called after her.

  Deem walked down the hallway to the guest room on the main floor. The door was closed. She knocked.

  “Aunt Virginia?” she said.

  “Yes?” came the reply from inside.

  “It’s Deem. Can I come in?”

  “Oh yes, it’s open.”

  Deem opened the door and walked into the room. Virginia was in bed, the covers pulled up to her neck. She looked pale and feverish.

  “Mom says you’re not feeling well,” Deem said. As she walked up to the bed, she noticed the same smell she’d encountered the night before – wet sage.

  “No, I’m not,” Virginia replied.

  “What feels wrong?” Deem asked, sitting next to her on the bed.

  “I feel weak, like I don’t want to move,” Virginia said. “Doesn’t hurt, I just don’t want to get up.”

  “Mom said your tongue is discolored,” Deem said.

  Virginia stuck out her tongue. It was a solid black, and Deem pulled her head back in surprise. “Wow,” she said. “She wasn’t kidding. Can I get you anything?”

  “No,” Virginia said. “I don’t feel like eating or drinking anything. Just sleeping.”

  “Alright,” Deem said, standing up, “I’ll leave you alone to sleep.” She wished Virginia’s arms were above the covers – she wanted to check her for a blister similar to the one she’d popped open the night before, but Virginia looked so tired she decided to just leave her in peace.

  As she walked back into the kitchen, her mother chided her. “Now why did you go and wake her up when I asked you not to?”

  “I want you to do something for me,” Deem said, taking a bite of her cereal and joining her mother at the small table.

  “What?” Margie said, lowering her magazine.

  “I want you to check her for bites,” Deem said. “Look for a blister that’s soft but feels like there’s something hard inside it, like a small stone.”

  “You think she was bit?” Margie asked.

  “Maybe,” Deem lied, knowing she couldn’t share the full truth with her mother. Margie was a true believing Mormon and didn’t like Deem’s gift or anything she considered supernatural. She could believe in a God and Satan, but ghosts were a step too far.

  Deem often felt herself walking a tightrope with her mother. Deem had stopped going to the church that her parents raised her in, finding it didn’t meet her needs and took up way too much of her time. Margie wanted Deem to return to the church, but Deem told her in no uncertain terms that wasn’t going to happen. They’d reached a sort of detente in the house, avoiding the subject of religion and the supernatural. Margie considered Deem’s use of the gift to be evil, and Deem considered Margie’s adherence to the church naïve.

  What really threw Deem was that her father was also gifted but had remained an active Mormon until the day he died. He’d even been in the local leadership of the church. Deem never understood how he balanced the two; to Deem, they seemed very much at odds with each other. And Deem knew her father’s passing hit Margie hard – not only had she lost her husband, but she was no longer the wife of a powerful stake president, overseeing the spiritual and temporal welfare of ten local wards. In the male-dominated LDS church, she was now just a widow, fit for making meals at funeral receptions, attending the temple,
and little else.

  At times it made Deem angry. But most of the time it just made her feel sorry for her mom, so she tried to be gentle with her when her mother pressed her to go back to church. The rest of the time she tried to avoid the subjects of the church and the gift when she was around her.

  “What I’d like you to do is check her arms and hands,” Deem said, “and see if you notice anything that looks like a bite.”

  “Would it cause her tongue to go black like that?” Margie asked.

  “Could be,” Deem lied. “I’ve got to go check on something this morning, but I’ll be back in a while. Try and see if you can find a bite before then. It might help us figure out what to do for her.”

  “Alright,” Margie said, standing from her chair and taking Deem’s empty cereal bowl from under her. She walked it to the dishwasher and put it inside.

  “When I come back, if she’s not better, I’ll help you take her in to the clinic,” Deem said.

  “Thank you, dear,” Margie said, looking up at her from the dishwasher and smiling. Deem knew her mom appreciated Deem taking a leadership role in the house, now that her father was gone. She also knew her mom would never acknowledge that Deem was in that role. Margie was so used to doing what other people told her to do, following instructions just came naturally to her. Deem had filled the gap created by her father’s departure, and Margie had been happy to let her.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  “Are you alone?” Deem asked Winn over her cell phone. “Good. Drag your ass out of bed, I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  She pulled her truck into the 7-11 at the west end of Mesquite and two minutes later walked out with a Big Gulp, sipping it through a red straw. She climbed into her truck and placed the drink into the cup holder adapter. Normal cup holders couldn’t accommodate a Big Gulp, but Deem found an adapter at the D.I. that enlarged the hole for the cup perfectly. It would also hold Super Big Gulps on those occasions when she wanted extra caffeine.

  She eased the truck out of the parking lot. It was filled with others walking out with their own Big Gulps.

  A half hour later she pulled her truck into the dirt driveway by Winn’s trailer. Winn came out as she walked up to it, and they sat together at the cable spindle table. Winn lit a cigarette.

  “It followed me home,” Deem said. “I saw it last night, in my yard.”

  “The creature from the bus?” Winn asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Deem said. “It tried to come into the house, but it stopped when it saw me in the River.”

  “Back up and start from the beginning,” Winn said. “How did you know it was there?”

  “I heard it on the roof,” Deem said. “I’d woken up around two. I found another blister with a piece of bone in it, just like the one you cut open on the bus. Then I heard it walking on the roof, so I went downstairs. I saw it in the yard. It saw me, and came up to the windows in the living room. It passed through them, just like it did on the bus. I dropped into the River, and that spooked it. It ran off.”

  “Interesting,” Winn said. “We’ve got to figure out what this thing is, exactly. Now that it’s decided to attach itself to you.”

  “Now you believe me,” Deem said.

  “Sure I do,” Winn said, flashing her a smile. It was the kind of smile Winn used on women all the time. It usually worked on them, but it had little impact on Deem.

  “It isn’t a ghost,” Winn said. “A ghost wouldn’t physically latch onto the bus like that. Or go to the trouble to run next to the bus in the first place. What did you see when you entered the River?”

  “A normal man,” Deem said. “Middle aged, rather boring looking. Dressed in a suit, like he was going to work. Far from intimidating.”

  “Any idea what it might be? Or who?” Winn asked.

  “I can’t think of anything,” Deem said. “Nothing I’ve encountered before.”

  “I’ll post something on my forum,” Winn said. “Someone will recognize what it is.”

  “I wish I had a book, like Roy’s,” Deem said. “His book had five generations of knowledge in it. Do you know how valuable something like that would be?”

  Winn knew that although she was talking about a book, what Deem really wanted was her father back. He’d been her source for information and guidance, and with him gone she often felt helpless and isolated.

  “Hey, my mom didn’t leave me a journal, either,” Winn said. “Apparently our parents didn’t get the memo.”

  “What bugs me,” Deem said, “is that Mormons are so keen on keeping journals. My dad was a stake president, probably told hundreds of people to keep a journal. Why wouldn’t he have kept one himself?”

  Deem took a sip of her Big Gulp.

  “I wonder if he did,” Deem continued, “and my mom hasn’t given it to me. Or maybe he has it locked away somewhere.”

  “He never mentioned one?” Winn asked.

  “No, never did,” Deem said.

  “Then maybe there isn’t one,” Winn offered. “It might be that simple.”

  “It’s bugging me,” Deem said.

  “Seeing Roy’s book got you all worked up,” Winn said, crushing his cigarette into the red plastic ashtray on the table. “His was grand; all that history. But not everybody has that. Are you writing one?”

  “Me?” Deem asked. “What would I write?”

  “See,” Winn said, “that’s how it happens. Next thing you know, you’re dead in a mine somewhere, with nothing to leave your gifted child. You should start writing now. What we learned in St. Thomas, for starters.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Deem said. “I’ll have to find a blank journal and start.” She looked at Winn, who had propped his feet up on a plastic milk crate.

  “Your mom never left you anything?” Deem asked.

  “I don’t think it would have been useful, if she had,” Winn said. “Most of the time she was too drunk to speak, let alone write.”

  “She must have sobered up enough to teach you how to use your gift,” Deem said.

  “Hardly,” Winn said, lighting another cigarette. “It was a buddy of mine named Chris. We both figured out we had the gift about the same time. I got most of my information from his father. Sometimes I’d ask my mom something and she’d try to answer me, but I think she hated that part of herself and she didn’t have much to say about it.”

  “Is that why she drank so much?” Deem asked.

  “I don’t know,” Winn said. “Probably. That and men. She wasn’t very good with them. She couldn’t keep one for more than a year. Always fighting.”

  “Geez,” Deem said, “it’s amazing you turned out normal. Well, as normal as you are, I guess.”

  Winn shot her a dirty look and Deem smiled back.

  “How long before someone replies to your post?” Deem asked.

  “No way of knowing,” Winn said, putting his cigarette out and standing. “I’ll get it posted and call you as soon as I hear something.”

  “Alright,” Deem said, getting out of her chair and walking back to her truck. “Thanks,” she called back over her shoulder.

  “Don’t mention it,” Winn yelled back, walking back inside his trailer.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  As Deem drove back to her house in Mesquite, she thought about her conversation with Winn. As sad as Winn’s upbringing was, he turned out fine. He’s been a good friend to me, Deem thought. I should lighten up on all the shit I give him.

  She was still bothered by her father and the lack of a journal. It didn’t sit right with her. She’d seen Roy’s book, a collection of different hand-made volumes all bound together. A mess, but a beautiful mess, full of a hundred years of information. She felt stranded with just Winn for support. She had friends in Kingman, and now up in California and the Pacific Northwest, but they were so far away.

  She considered trying to contact her father again. She’d tried multiple times since his departure, and on none of those occasions had he communicated with her. Dee
m felt he’d passed over, no longer available to communicate with the living. He knows he left me down here, Deem thought. You’d think he’d hang around for a while, make sure I’m getting on OK after he’s gone. But no.

  The last time she tried to contact him, she went so far as to break into the Mesquite cemetery at night and sit right on his grave for the séance. Even that hadn’t worked. No, her father had moved on.

  But the journal, she thought. He must have kept one. He wasn’t a hypocrite, telling people to do one thing while doing another. He must have had one.

  When she’d asked Margie about the possibility, Margie denied ever seeing her father keep one. Maybe she’s lying to me, Deem thought. Maybe she had a look at it, saw stuff about Dads gift, and thought it was evil. She’d hide that from me. I’ll bet it’s tucked away in the house somewhere. I’m going to look.

  ▪ ▪ ▪

  After Deem returned from shuttling Margie and Virginia to the clinic, she started going through boxes in the basement. Margie had come down to ask her what she was doing, and Deem said she was looking for some items from her childhood. After Margie expressed concern that she not make a mess, she left her alone and Deem was plowing through box after box.

  Why do we keep all this shit? Deem wondered as she opened another box, this one full of Tupperware. Why keep a box of Tupperware?

  She made her way through half of the basement when she got a call from Winn. He’d found someone who claimed to know what the creature might be.

  “He lives in Indian Springs,” Winn said, “but he said he’d drive over here after work. I suggested Pete’s, in Overton. Can you make it around six?”

  “I’ll be there,” Deem said, checking her watch. That’d give her three more solid hours of box searching.

  “Great, see you then,” Winn said.

  Deem worked through the boxes for a couple of hours more, then decided to take a break. She went upstairs to pour herself a Diet Coke from a bottle in the fridge. Margie was in the kitchen making a tray for Virginia.

  “How is she?” Deem asked.