by Ciana Stone
The heavy-set man dropped his pants and knelt down between Sarah’s legs. Chills ran down Wyatt’s spine at the scream that erupted from his mother. In horror he watched as the men took turns brutalizing her.
As the last man stood and zipped his pants, Wyatt was released. He ran to his mother’s side. Her face was swollen and covered with blood. Blood ran from her nose and eyes and even dripped from one ear. Her body was battered, crossed with bloody trails.. He could not believe this was his mother.
He tried to lift her but she was too heavy. “Wake up,” he pleaded, gently shaking her. “Mom, wake up. We have to get out of here.”
But Sarah would never wake up. There was no life left in her body. He screamed and looked around for help. The men watched him with jeers and laughs. No one offered to help. He turned his attention back to his mother, shaking her and pleading with her to wake up. When he realized she was dead he felt like a spear had been shoved through his chest. He screamed in grief and pain, throwing himself across her cold body, and crying.
The men left him, still laughing as they started the walk back. Wyatt cried until there were no more tears then lay still, staring blankly at the valley below. “Please help me,” he whispered. “Someone, please help me. They killed my mom.”
A sound like the whispering of the wind reached his ears. He thought he heard words in the wind. He sat up and looked around. His eyes widened as a mist swirled up from the ground. He bolted to his feet and backed away in fear as the mist moved toward him. He could not move fast enough. The mist enveloped him.
“Will you take the help that is offered?” The words rang in his mind.
“Yes,” he answered fearfully.
“Then be One,” the whisper rose like a roll of thunder. “Merge and become the champion of the People.”
“How?” Wyatt looked around, trying to see through the white mist that surrounded him.
“Believe it to be so.”
Wyatt closed his eyes tightly. “I believe,” he whispered fervently. “I believe, I believe, I—”
A disorienting sensation claimed him and he staggered blindly, unable to see or hear anything except the storm that raged in his mind. Abruptly an expanding wave washed through him, swelling until he was filled to overflowing with the sensation. He felt like a giant. Nothing could hurt him.
Wyatt stopped at the crest of the hill and looked down at the waters of the lake. The memory faded from his mind to be replaced with a black void. He shook his head and tried to recall it. At last he gave up. It was always the same. He would think he could hold on to the memory but it would vanish like mist in sunlight and he would not be able to remember anything except waking up lying beside his mother, covered in blood and holding a hunting knife. He knew there were missing pieces but he could not find a way to consciously bring them to mind.
“So what happened?” he asked aloud as he turned and headed back the direction he had come. “How did I get the knife and why was I covered in blood?”
A brisk breeze picked up, sending icicles tumbling from the frozen boughs of the evergreens around him and a voice seemed to speak in his mind. We are One. We are the Warrior.
Wyatt’s pace increased as his anxiety rose. “No!” he shouted as he ran. “I will not fight!” He had no idea why he chose those words. He knew only that the voice in his mind sent icy chills of some unknown fear racing through him.
His speed increased until he was running as hard as he could. He burst into the small clearing at the back of his house, panting with exertion. His father’s old truck sat parked in the yard.
Wyatt slowed and walked the rest of the way to the house. John Wolfe was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Wyatt grabbed a towel from the counter and mopped his face as he walked past his father.
“Where’re you going?” John asked as he turned to watch Wyatt.
“To work out.” Wyatt’s words were clipped and harsh.
John said nothing but followed Wyatt to the other side of the small house. The back room had been equipped like a mini-gym. Wyatt was already lying on the bench, pressing the heavy, weighted bar up and down when John walked in.
Neither man spoke, and for the next hour Wyatt drove himself like a man possessed. He stripped off his sweatshirt, mopped his face with it and continued. Sweat poured down his chest and back, staining his pants. At last he paused and looked at his father.
“Something you want to talk about?” John asked in a quiet tone.
Wyatt shook his head and wiped his face again. “Ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”
John laughed. “Always. So, is that what’s wrong with you, son?”
“I don’t know, Dad.” Wyatt dried his chest and blew out his breath in frustration. “I wish I did. Sometimes I feel like there’s something foreign inside me, eating away, and if I don’t stop it there’s going to be nothing left of me. It makes me full of rage and I don’t know at what.”
“That’s nothing new, now is it? You’ve been carrying that rage since you were a boy. Maybe it’s time to let yourself remember so you can get rid of the poison you’ve been carrying so long.”
Wyatt shook his head. He had no desire to talk about his childhood.
“What brings you here this morning?” he asked as he headed for the kitchen.
“You hear about what happened at Ralph’s last night?” his father asked as he reclaimed his seat at the kitchen table.
Wyatt turned and looked at him. “No, what?”
“Seems like the Holling boy and some of his friends decided to redecorate after you left. Jimmy and Billy and a couple of others got in their way and things got ugly.”
Wyatt sat down across from his father. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Billy got seven stitches in his head. Few of the others got some pretty good lumps but Jimmy got the worst of it. He’s in the hospital. They beat him up pretty bad.”
Wyatt stood up and walked to the sink, looking out of the window. He had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and his muscles tensed without warning.
“We’ve got to do something about this,” John spoke up after a few moments. “This can’t continue. Somebody has to do something.”
Wyatt turned to him. “I won’t get in a fight, Dad. I told you that. I’ve had my fill of fighting and killing. This has to be settled legally.”
John shrugged and looked down at the coffee cup on the table. “I got a call this morning—from Chance Davenport.”
Wyatt’s eyes widened and he felt his throat tighten. “Chance? What did she want?”
“She wanted to talk to you—or an address or phone number where she could reach you. She sounded upset.”
Sudden recollection of the phone call flooded Wyatt’s mind. “What’d you tell her?”
“That I didn’t have a number for her.”
Sitting down again, Wyatt nodded. “Thanks. If she calls again just tell her the same thing.”
John was silent for a moment then got up to refill his cup. “What is this thing between you and Chance?”
“There is no thing between us.”
“You mean you don’t want to admit there is.” John took a drink of his coffee. “Well, that’s fine, son. You don’t have to admit it to me. But at least admit it to yourself.” He put his cup in the sink. “I’m going to go and see Jimmy. You want to go?”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’ll stop by later.”
John nodded and put his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want to be a part of what’s happened, son, but I don’t think you can avoid it. You’ve been a part of it since you were a child and sooner or later you’re going to have to acknowledge that. I’ll see you.”
Wyatt watched his father leave. For a few minutes he stared at the door. He didn’t know what had made him call Chance. He had purposely not thought of her for a long time. At least he had tried not to. He pushed her face from his mind, got up and went into the bathroom, wishing that he could wash the trouble with the
Hollings and Chance Davenport down the drain. But cleansing the mind was not nearly as easy as cleaning the body.
* * * * *
Chance had called in all her markers to locate Wyatt. She finally had a reason to be thankful that she had attended one of her father’s social functions because it was at one of them last year that she had met the assistant secretary of the Navy, Neil Brown. He had just gone through a divorce but had been single long enough that he was on the prowl and had tried his best to get a date with her. She had not been particularly interested in him romantically, but had gone to a few political dinners with him, giving him bragging rights about having an attractive younger woman on his arm.
It was Neil who had gotten her Wyatt’s home address and the information that he was on leave in North Carolina.
She placed a call on her cell phone to her office and started talking as soon as the call was answered. “Dianne? Hi, this is Chance. Listen, I need you to run down an address for me. I need a phone number, directions, and anything else you can get. Got a pen?… Okay, here it is… Wyatt U. Wolfe. The address is Route 1 Box 7, Bryson, North Carolina… Huh?… Yeah, I might be on to something. Call me as you have something… Yeah, I’m on my cell. Thanks!”
She hung up with a new sense of hope. With any luck, by this afternoon she would be on her way to find Wyatt.
* * * * *
Wyatt put the finishing touches on the picture he was working on and turned off the lamps over his drawing table. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, looked inside then closed the door again.
His visit to see Jimmy at the hospital had left him feeling moody and depressed. His father was right, Jimmy was pretty messed up. His nose was broken, his right cheek lacerated to the tune of ten stitches and he had three broken ribs. One of the ribs had just missed puncturing his right lung. To top it off, his left wrist was crushed and the doctors didn’t think he would ever regain full use of his hand.
Jimmy had pleaded with Wyatt to go to a meeting that afternoon at the reservation. Some men who were tired of taking the harassment were getting together to talk about fighting back. Wyatt had refused. He told Jimmy the same thing he had told his father. Let the law take care of it.
Now he couldn’t seem to get it out of his mind. The Holling boy was getting bolder every day and many of the people were worried about what he would do next.
After learning the success of other tribes who had opened casinos, the Cherokee had decided to give it a go. If they were even half as successful it would mean jobs and security for a great many people. Not to mention the good that could be done for the community as a result of the increased revenues. But with three construction companies already having backed out and Holling and his gang tearing up the town as fast as they could, there was concern over what would happen.
Wyatt ran his hands back through his hair and closed his eyes. He could not get involved. He wasn’t sure the casino was such a good thing. He had listened to both sides, and understood that the revenues gambling generated could do a lot of good. But he also had seen firsthand how some of the people from the other tribes were handling their success. Many of them were now spending all the money they made in the casino, losing much more than they won. Not only that but alcoholism had taken a sharp rise.
He didn’t feel it was his place to tell anyone what to do. If everyone wanted to go ahead with the casino, he would not speak against it. But he also would not fight for it. At least not in the physical sense. Fighting was not the way. It only led to bloodshed and death and he had seen more than his share of that.
The house seemed to close in around him and he felt as if he was suffocating. He ran upstairs, stuffed some things into a backpack, grabbed his sleeping bag and threw on his coat and boots.
Wyatt returned downstairs, put a loaf of bread, some cheese and a couple of apples in his backpack and left the house. He needed to be outside, away from everyone and everything. He needed complete silence and isolation and the only place to find that was high in the mountains.
* * * * *
Wyatt lay back and stared up at the star-strewn sky, searching out the Seven Dancers. Tsalagi legend, as told by those who were forced along the Trail of Tears, tells how the Principle People originated in the star system known as the Pleiades. As he remembered the legends, Wyatt drifted off to sleep.
No sooner had sleep taken him, the dream began. Tossing and mumbling, he fought, but could not escape it. Once more he lived the events of the mission. Only this time he didn’t awaken when he was diving at the men who were raping the woman. Instead a momentary black void claimed him then he found himself with his team, awaiting transport away from the mission site.
Rapper took Digger and Pike with him, setting out two red strobe lights and three white ones. They returned to the other men and sat down, waiting for the chopper.
Bones slid over beside Wyatt. “You sure you didn’t see anything, Magnet?”
Wyatt looked at him blankly. “I told you, all I remember is getting to the building and seeing DJ and Fish with the woman. Then…I don’t know what happened. Everything went black and the next thing I know I’m awake and trying to stuff DJ’s intestines back in his body.”
Bones looked over at the commander who was watching Wyatt closely. “You’re absolutely sure there was only one man in the shed?” the commander asked.
“Yes,” Wyatt replied. “When we entered he turned with a gun in his hand. The woman was naked, holding a dress over her body. I didn’t see anyone else.”
“But someone else could have been in the room,” the commander suggested. “Someone who was hiding maybe.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I don’t know, I guess so. But I swear I didn’t see anyone.”
The commander slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Hell, we all know we could buy the farm every time we come out on one of these jaunts. When our time’s up, it’s up. That’s all there is to it.”
Wyatt looked at the commander for a moment. “How could one man have done that to them? There’s no way one person could’ve handled DJ and Fish at the same time.”
The commander passed it off. “We’ll worry about that later. Right now we’re getting the fuck outta Dodge. Digger, grab a light and guide the chopper in.”
Wyatt fell silent, watching as Digger and Pike guided the chopper using bright neon light sticks. His mind was filled with images of DJ and Fish, seeing their gouged-out eyes and slit throats, their bodies lying torn apart, organs tossed around the shed as if someone had just ripped them out and tossed them aside. A sick feeling formed in his stomach and he had to force the images from his mind.
Just as he was boarding the chopper a memory came to him. Something he had overheard DJ and Fish talking about a week or so ago. They had taken a trip down to Mexico and while they were there they had met up with a pretty young woman named Maria. From what Wyatt had heard, they had cut her up pretty bad and raped her, then shot her in the head and dumped her body.
He had been furious and stormed in on them. DJ had laughed and told him they knew he was listening and had made it up just to jerk his chain. Wyatt hadn’t known whether DJ was telling the truth or not. He wanted to think so, but after what had happened tonight he was not sure.
Blackness claimed him once more and a dizzy, disorienting feeling took hold. He felt as if he were in a spinning freefall. Suddenly the darkness vanished and he found himself looking into dark eyes.
He took an involuntary step back as he looked at the face the eyes belonged to. A smile formed on the face and Wyatt felt a ripple of fear pass through him.
“You know what happened, Wyatt. Inside you know. You’re just afraid to remember.”
“No.” Wyatt could barely speak. His throat felt as if giant hands were wrapped around it, squeezing tighter by the moment. “Get away from me!”
“Afraid?” The word was spoken in a taunt. “What have you to fear from me? We are One. Or do you still refuse to acknowledge that?”
>
Wyatt backed away then turned and ran. Behind him was only darkness and laughter.
His eyes flew open and he looked around wildly. Only the trees, the stars and the moon looked back at him. Shivering despite the sweat that poured from him, he rolled up in his sleeping bag and stared unblinkingly at the sky. He thought he could find peace here, a place to escape the demons of the past and the unremembered fears that haunted him. But even here there was no peace.
A gentle breeze picked up, ruffling the leaves on the trees. Follow your heart. It will guide you, a voice seemed to carry in on the wind. Wyatt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. How could he follow his heart when he didn’t even know how to reach it anymore?
* * * * *
Chance pulled the Jeep up in front of the small roadside motel but didn’t turn the ignition off. “What am I doing?” she mumbled to herself. “This is crazy!”
She had spent the last two days trying to talk herself out of coming. She had almost convinced herself to forget that Wyatt had called and get on with her life. But she could not. She had to find him, regardless of how much she ended up getting hurt.
Now it dawned on her that once she actually saw him there would be no turning back. With an anxious expression on her face, she turned off the Jeep and got out.
A middle-aged woman stood behind the counter in the motel office. “Can I help you, miss?”
“Yes, I’d like a room. I’m not sure how long I’ll be here—maybe a few days.”
“If you’ll fill this out…” The woman slid a small clipboard toward her with a guest information card.
Chance quickly filled it out and laid her company credit card on top of it. “I understand there’s a reservation nearby,” she said as the woman ran her card through the old-fashioned imprinter. “Maybe you could tell me some of the attractions.”
The woman cut her a look that was not altogether friendly. “There’s some brochures on the rack over there. But lots of stuff’s closed this time of year. Not the best time for tourists. Too late for skiing and too early for everything else.”