Charlie took two steps away from the tree and stopped. He thought for a moment and then went back to the ladder. After making certain that the safety was on, he leaned his shotgun against the tree. He climbed up to the platform. He found the rolled tarpaulin, pulled it towards him, and then let it drop to the ground.
“That might come in handy if I do get lost,” he muttered.
Back on the ground, he slung his shotgun over his right shoulder and grabbed the tarp. He checked the empty cloth cooler hanging from his left hip. He debated leaving it behind but decided to hang on to it. It weighed almost nothing and might come in handy. He took a deep breath, looked around one last time, and struck out in the direction he hoped led to the cabin.
The ground sloped upward for a short distance. He frowned. His memory and logic insisted he should be headed downhill. He considered reversing his course when the ground leveled and then began to slope downward. He relaxed. Surely he was going the right way.
He trudged on for what felt like an hour. He looked for lights or some other sign that he was nearing habitation, but all he saw was more darkness. The trees drew closer and the brush more dense until he could no longer move forward. He leaned against a tree, his chest heaving, as he tried to decide his what to do next.
Suddenly, his head jerked up. He turned this way and that as he tried to locate the noise. He strained his senses. There! It sounded strange, and yet, familiar. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to hear. There it was again. Fiddle music from somewhere to his right. He turned his head. The music faded. He strained but heard nothing more. Just as he thought he’d imagined it he heard it again as if floating on the barely tangible breeze. It was definitely fiddle music. The notes came fast. The style was familiar. Charlie searched his memory. Breakdown! That’s what they called that kind of music. It was a breakdown.
Relief washed over him. He really didn’t care what kind of music it was. Music meant people and people meant shelter from the cold and dark. He shifted the shotgun from his right shoulder to his left. Holding the tarp tightly under his right armpit, he struck out once more, this time following the elusive music.
Before long, the ground sloped upward. With each step it grew steeper until Charlie struggled to put one foot after the next. Each time he stopped to rest, however, the music sounded louder, closer, and, somehow more insistent. He pushed onward and upward. The music played faster. The tune grew ever more compelling. Branches scratched Charlie’s face and hands but he ignored them as the music pulled him onward. Thorny vines tore at his clothing and added their marks to his exposed flesh. Just when he felt he could go no further he stumbled into a clearing. The music grew suddenly louder, almost deafening, and then stopped. The silence seemed louder than the elusive fiddle.
Charlie looked around. Ruined buildings filled the clearing. Somehow, despite having only starlight for illumination, he could see the partial walls clearly. Pale phosphorescence outlined each crumbling edifice. Slowly, as if in a dream, he shuffled into the clearing until he stood amid the ruins. To his right a path traced an irregular course through the rubble. He turned. The path led upward. Charlie started walking, following it like a sleepwalker. The music had to come from somewhere. Perhaps the path led to the source.
A dark, irregular shape loomed before him. The path branched to pass on either side of the obstacle. Charlie moved closer. It was a stump. The jagged top, slightly higher than Charlie’s own six feet, pointed at the sky like some giant fist giving the finger to God. Charlie shook his head. Where had that blasphemous thought come from?
He reached out and touched it and then drew back his hand. Instead of wood, his fingers touched stone. Petrified wood, perhaps? He walked around the stump. Behind it, a long narrow hole lay open to the sky. Charlie looked down into it but kept his distance. In this darkness he couldn’t be sure of the edge or the footing. It was bad enough to be lost. He had no interest in falling into a hole and breaking his leg. Or, maybe, his neck.
He turned and followed the path further up the mountain. Blackness deeper than the night’s darkness loomed before him. He stopped in front of it. The rectangular-shaped darkness rose about two feet above his head and stretched a few feet on either side of him. He stretched out his left arm and leaned forward until his fingers touched the side. He felt wood this time – old wood, rough and splintery to the touch. He stepped closer, exploring it with his fingertips. It was a beam of some sort – very thick and solid. Suddenly he understood. This had to be the deserted mine that the storekeeper had mentioned; the one he told them to stay away from. He yanked his hand back and looked around as if expecting — what? A nun’s yardstick, perhaps? He shook his head again. Where were these religious and sacrilegious thoughts coming from? He’d not thought of nuns or their punishments for more than thirty years.
A smell floated to him from the yawning blackness. His nostrils flared as he tried to identify the elusive scent. It grew thicker. He frowned. As it grew stronger, Charlie grimaced. He smelled decay, the stench of a tidal flat during low tide on a hot day. The odor reached into his nose and mouth. He gagged as his gorge rose. He tried not to throw up.
“Charlie.”
He froze. Icy fingers squeezed his testicles.
“Charlie.”
He knew that voice; knew it well. It didn’t belong here. It belonged far away from this frigid mountainside.
“Charlie.”
He turned. He tried to resist, but his feet and his body had minds of their own. There she stood, less than twenty feet away. Her hair cascaded down either side of her head. Her eyes were wide and staring directly at him. Her mouth was set in the pouty smile he knew all too well. In spite of the cold she wore a diaphanous negligee. The gauzy fabric shifted on the wind. First it revealed her upturned breasts; then hid them.
She raised her arms, opened them to him in welcome. “Why did you leave me like that, Charlie?”
She stepped closer.
Charlie felt the shotgun’s sling slide down his arm. The weapon clattered among the stones. The tarpaulin, too, fell to the rocky soil beside his feet.
“What’s the matter, Charlie? Aren’t you glad to see me?”
Charlie’s mouth worked spastically. “You can’t be here. You’re dead.”
Janine’s face registered mock surprise as her hands made an exaggerated show of checking her body.
“Really, Charlie? I feel fine.” She took another step toward him. “You don’t look like you feel so good, though.”
Charlie’s hand rose to the zipper on his down jacket. Slowly, without taking his eyes off of the apparition in front of him, he eased the zipper halfway down and slipped his hand inside.
“I killed you.”
Janine nodded. “Yes, Charlie, you did.” Her voice sounded sad even as the expression in her eyes hardened. “That really hurt my feelings, you know.”
“How can you be here?” Charlie’s hand found the butt of the pistol nestled in the shoulder holster. With his thumb, he unsnapped the strap and eased the safety off.
She tilted her head to one side as if thinking. “Very good question, Charlie.”
He pulled the gun free of the holster. The hammer caught, briefly, and then the pistol was away from the coat. He raised it, pointed it at his dead wife, and thumbed back the hammer.
“I killed you once. I’ll do it again.”
He pulled the trigger. The big revolver thundered. The blast echoed in the mineshaft behind him. He heard it reverberate among the surrounding hills. A gout of flame stretched towards Janine, temporarily blinding him.
His night vision returned. He saw her walk toward him, unharmed. Her right arm drew back. She swung it sideways in an arc across her body. It moved impossibly fast. It struck his extended arm just above the wrist. Pain exploded white hot inside his brain.
He dropped to his knees. From somewhere he heard her say, “Sorry, Charlie.”
It barely registered. All he could do was stare at the remains of his
arm – at the blood pulsing from the jagged stump where once his wrist and hand had been.
Suddenly, she stood in front of him. Her gown gently brushed him. He looked up. She smiled down at him. The smile grew. Her lips parted. The smile grew larger. As her face slowly descended her mouth opened. Her jaw parted still wider – impossibly wide. Jagged teeth lined crimson gums as her mouth descended. “I’m so hungry, Charlie. I think I’ll just eat you right up.”
His last thought as his head disappeared inside of her mouth was, Where did you get all those teeth?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fred looked outside. “We can’t leave him out there. It’s already dark. The temperature’s dropping fast.”
“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” Peete looked at the TV.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been acting weird ever since we started this trip. What if he planned to disappear all along?”
Johnny roughly grabbed Peete’s shoulder. “You think he did it.”
“I don’t know.” Peete pointed at the TV screen. “They seem to think so. I think he knew something about it, whether he did it or not.”
“Well, I think he did it.” Dave raised his hands as Fred turned toward him. “Look, he’s my best friend and I don’t want to think that, but if he did, I don’t think he meant to. We all know what a bitch she was. She could make the Pope swear. I think she might have started in on him. You know, started pushing all the right buttons. One thing might have led to another. Next thing you know, he popped her. It was probably an accident.”
Fred thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds about right. It doesn’t really matter right now, though, does it? I mean he’s out there in the cold and the dark. He doesn’t know his way around here, yet. We need to find him before he dies of exposure.”
Dave lowered his hands. “Maybe,” he allowed. “Then, again, maybe not.”
Johnny glared at him. “What do you mean, maybe not?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. All I mean is, let’s think this thing through. He’s out there with that Mossberg twelve and who knows how many shells. He’s probably packing that hand cannon, too. You gotta figure he’s been brooding about this. Hell, we’ve all noticed how he’s been. He’s upset. Scared. He’s pretty sure we don’t know anything. Probably scared the cops will show up here anytime.”
The others nodded.
“Would you want to come up on someone who’s in that state of mind, in the dark and unannounced? Cold or no cold, it could be dangerous as hell, even fatal for one of us. It would be accidental, for sure, but dead is dead no matter how or why it happens.”
Silence filled the room.
Fred spoke. “I’ll have to take that chance. I can’t leave him out there to freeze to death. No matter how upset he is, I just can’t see him shooting without first seeing who it is. Who’s coming with me?”
Johnny looked at the others. They stood, heads down, studying their feet. “I will,” he said.
Peete looked up. “Me, too. I’ll come with you.”
Fred shook his head. “No. You and Dave stay here in case he comes back. We’re not going to try to search the whole forest by ourselves. My guess is that he made his way to the blind. Since he took his little cooler my guess is that he had a six-pack with him. I’ll bet he went up to the blind, had a couple of beers while he tried to sort things out, and fell asleep.”
Peete nodded. “That sounds like Charlie. If that’s the case I hope he has sense enough to stay by the blind instead of trying to find his way back in the dark.”
“So do I.” Fred walked to the coat rack and grabbed his down jacket. “I think he knows we’ll come looking for him and to stay put.”
Johnny took his coat from the rack and slipped it on. “How are you fixed for light? We won’t do anyone any good if we fall over a log or step in a hole and break our legs.”
“I have two big Maglites down in the basement. The batteries are brand new Duracells. I think we’ll be fine.”
Several minutes later they emerged from the door on the ground floor. The powerful flashlights cast intense beams of white light ahead of them. Fred looked at Johnny as the trees closed in around them. “You know, I didn’t think it was possible, but it happened. And, on the same day.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Charlie trumped your ace.”
“Huh?”
“When you told me your story while we were on the deck, well, I thought that was a pretty tough act to follow. Good old Charlie managed to top you.”
Johnny laughed. “I guess it kind of puts my problem into a different perspective at that.”
They trudged onward, mostly in silence. Even with the aid of the flashlights the night changed everything and rendered the trails elusive. They moved slowly and carefully, stopping often, sometimes back tracking to bypass an unexpected thicket.
“We should be there by now. I don’t remember it taking nearly this long this morning.”
Fred stopped, shining his light around as he looked for something familiar. “We had daylight. We could move around easier. I’m not all that sure of where we’re going.” He turned and flashed the light behind them. “Hell, I wouldn’t make book on where we’ve been.”
Johnny looked at his watch. “My God! Is it really that late already?”
Fred looked at his own watch. Ten-thirty. He shook his head. “We may have to give this up pretty soon.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Over there.” Johnny’s light illuminated a tree nearly thirty feet away. A crude set of steps rose up the trunk. More importantly, the light reflected off something metallic on the ground nearby.
“That’s it. That’s the blind. Good job.”
Both men pushed through the underbrush. While Johnny looked at the beer can, Fred shone his light upward at the platform.
“I don’t see anyone.” Fred switched off his light and handed it to Johnny. “I’m going up there. Keep your light on these boards so I can see where I’m going.”
“You got it.”
Fred slowly climbed up.
“It looks like he was here, anyway. There are two more empties up here.” Fred climbed back down. “Yeah, he was here all right. Those cans are all he left behind. He took his shotgun and the tarp. I wonder which way he went.”
“Do you want to keep looking?”
Fred stared into the woods. At last he sighed and shook his head. “I do, but we’re not going to. He could be anywhere out there. Two of us, by ourselves and with just a couple of flashlights aren’t likely to find him unless we’re very, very lucky. I think we need to head back. If he’s not back by morning, then we can all search. With daylight, we’ll have a better chance of finding him.”
“Do you think we need to call the authorities? You know, start a search party?”
“No!”
“But, with more people…”
“No one. No cops. No rangers. No one. We need to do this by ourselves. He’s our friend.”
Johnny thought about it for a moment. “You’re right. I don’t know if the authorities suspect he’s up here. No sense tipping them off until we know what’s really happened.”
“Exactly.” Fred started for the trail. Johnny’s hand on his shoulder brought him to a halt.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“Ssh. Listen.”
Fred held his breath as he strained to hear. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I don’t either, now.”
“What did it sound like?”
“I’m not really sure.” Johnny thought for a moment. “For a moment I thought I heard music.”
“Hmmm. Well, it’s not as weird as you might think. Sound travels in these hills. I’m sure someone in these parts plays. That’s probably what you heard.”
Johnny relaxed. “You’re probably right. It sure was strange, though.”
&nb
sp; Fred started down the path. “Let’s get back to the house. I’m getting cold. A hot cup of coffee would be great about now.”
“Would you settle for some hot chocolate? I’ll make some when we get back.”
“That sounds even better. None for Peete and Dave, though. They haven’t been out here walking in the cold.”
“Agreed.”
They continued down the trail. Suddenly, from somewhere behind them, they heard a sharp report. It echoed in the darkness. They looked at each other.
“That wasn’t a shotgun.” Johnny looked back over his shoulder.
“No, that was a big gun – a rifle or a large caliber pistol.”
“Do you think…?” Johnny left the rest unspoken.
“I hope not. God, I hope not.”
They stood in the darkness, waiting, but the gunshot was not repeated.
“Let’s keep this part to ourselves. At least until we know for sure.”
Johnny nodded. “Agreed.”
Both men turned and continued down the mountain, each burdened with his own silent speculation.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Your daddy and I didn’t say much the rest of the way. I’m not sure what he was thinking, but I felt pretty sure the shot we heard was Charlie shooting himself.” Fred squeezed his eyes closed as if reliving a distant pain. He shuddered. His hand trembled as he picked up the tumbler and gulped down the remaining amber liquid. He set the glass down and stared off into space
Amanda sat stiffly in the chair. Her eyes were narrow slits; her mouth a thin gray line. Her face was pale, almost waxy. Her nostrils flared. Her arms crossed her chest.
“You look angry.”
She glared at him. Slowly she stood. She reached down for her purse, but her eyes never left him.
“What’s wrong?”
“You were his best friend.” Amanda hissed.
“Charlie?”
“My father.” She stepped toward the bed. “He loved you like a brother. He invited you whenever our family took trips. You went camping with us on Padre Island. We went fishing at Lake Mathis – you, him, my brother, and me. We all loved you.”
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