Fade to Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1)

by MC Webb

  Truthfully, Nana knew being surrounded by an oversized comforter, as I sat upright, gave me a small feeling of security while I had visitors. At first it was just the pastor that I agreed to see. He did not push me to talk and did not reach for my hand. I think he sensed my discomfort and kindly sat with me and prayed small prayers of strength and healing.

  Next came the little old church ladies that smelled of sweet bath powders and had a blue tinge to their perfectly combed white hair. I loved when church ladies came because each one always had something sweet for me to eat, but it was the boys, in particular Matthew, I tried to hold off the longest. I was terrified and waited anxiously the day they were permitted to come in my room.

  The Logue family lived “up the holler” as Papaw would say, “the holler” being the one lane hollow road. The Logue family lived about two miles from our home and I had known the boys all my life. I played with Josh countless evenings in the woods that hugged our properties together. If I could call someone my best friend, it would be Josh.

  The Logues and my family, the Mitchells, were two of the oldest families in Cosby. Although my family had a vast amount of land, we only kept two to four horses at a time, to the Logues’ twenty. We rented our land to hunters, who stayed in our tiny cabins, scattered here and there in our woods. They were perfect for those who wanted to “rough it,” without using tents.

  Everything was carefully marked, and tree stands stayed in place months at a time. The cabins consisted of four bare walls, a tin roof, and dirt floors. There was a hollowed out area with a stone chimney for fires in most of them. This was income, but not Papaw’s passion, which was veterinary medicine.

  My papaw, Nathaniel John Mitchell, was the county veterinarian. He also taught hunters the proper way to kill and field dress the animals they hunted on our land. We had lots of deer, elk, wild hogs, and turkeys to name a few of the hunted.

  We had hundreds of acres of land that shared a border with the Great Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. Cosby was often overlooked on maps, because it lay in the shadows of the mountains.

  There was a season for everything, and strangers rented parts of our land to hunt nearly all year round. On days I had free time, I helped clean the small shop Papaw used for his “patients.” The Cherokee Reservation was just past the office.

  When Papaw rented his property to others, he wanted them to kill either to eat, or to feed others. No waste. That was his rule, or no game—literally. From those who hunted and got their kills but chose not to keep the meat, Papaw would take the carcasses, clean them, and deep-freeze the meat to give to families who needed it. Our family always had fish, duck, turkey, pork, or venison year round. It’s a way of life to us.

  Papaw treated all the wildlife, farm, and domestic animals in our county. Mondays and Tuesdays, he would wake early and make house calls then stay at the office to treat those with appointments. His small office was by the main highway in town, a few miles away at the mouth of the holler road.

  Wednesdays were surgery days. Then Thursdays and half of Friday were for either teaching hunters how to field dress their kill, or prepare the meat for families in need. He stayed on-call through the weekend, but in his downtime, he walked or drove an ATV to check the land for illegal traps and unauthorized hunting.

  Papaw loved what he did. He considered it a calling to help those that did not have a voice of their own. When I asked once, confused at the huge, dead twenty-point buck he was sending to a taxidermist for a hunter who frequently rented from us, “Why then do you allow people to kill the animals on our land?”

  These were the animals that pranced in our backyard and could often be seen through the thick, almost smoky, morning mist—the “smoky” of the mountains. He grew serious, thinking. Collecting his words, wanting me to truly understand, he explained. “Hunting controls a population of animals that would otherwise starve to death, and this way, they can be used for nourishment and warmth.”

  I guess I understood that reasoning. I never asked again. I just accepted that his judgment was correct, and from what I could see, he knew everything anyway. He was the most intelligent man I ever knew. From world conflicts to the Bible, front to back, he had the answers for me whenever I was ready to ask them.

  I listened to Papaw talk many times with Josh and Matthew from the birthing room as they inquired about my health. I pictured Matthew, the older of the two at fifteen, as a Greek demigod-like creature like Hercules or Perseus. The feeling of his strong arms as they scooped my lifeless body from the mud causes butterflies inside my ribs.

  Only a frigid January afternoon I listened from my propped up position in my bed as Papaw greeted the boys, their parents, Mrs. and Mr. Logue had sent flowers earlier in the week. They had told Nana to give me their love and said they would wait to visit until I was up for company. They were a nice family, headed by the grandpa Logue, who was a feisty widower and semi-retired dairy farmer.

  The Logues had a farm, complete with cows and chickens, but most important to me, was that big blue barn. The boys had always been my friends. I was closer to Josh, who was my age. Josh was my coconspirator in many pranks through the years. He was free-spirited and wild. He had a mischievous and fun personality, with big broad shoulders and a tangled mess of brown hair.

  Josh had often brought me home by way of piggy back, injured because he’d talked me into jumping wide ditches or climbing a tree that I had “no business climbing”, as Nana would say, scolding us. I thought Josh made it his life’s ambition to be the polar opposite of his older brother, Matthew.

  Matthew was two years older than Josh. Handsome and smart, kind and well spoken, Matthew was going to be a doctor and “travel the globe, helping people in third world countries,” as he told me on his visiting day, as we sat talking in the birthing room.

  I knew this story well, because Josh never missed an opportunity to tease him about it. Josh wanted to play football, and after that it didn’t matter. Matthew sat smirking as Josh explained how very stupid it was to plan your entire life as a teenager.

  “Give me all the girls I can handle, as many tackles as my body can produce and that is as far as I’m willing to plan.”

  I giggled, actually giggle at Josh. I wasn’t drowning in the dark as I sat with the brothers, listening to Josh and his short term goals. Matthew watched me closely when Josh and I spoke to each other. He stood behind his younger brother, politely and quietly waiting until we were out of things to say. His green eyes seemed to x-ray me, but oddly this did not make me uncomfortable.

  Nana stuck her head in the door, her favorite apron tied around her waist. She looked like a perfect picture of a fifties housewife in a Norman Rockwell painting.

  “Josh, love,” she said sweetly. “Would you help me a second? I need a jar open and am in a desperate situation.”

  Josh clumsily left us to rescue Nana. The situation was most likely a pie that needed filling, but I had a sneaky suspicion she wanted Matthew and me to have some privacy. Matthew pulled a chair close to my bedside. I felt heat flood my cheeks and I was deeply thankful to have the comforter to hide my shaking hands in.

  “Are you feeling better today?” Matthew asked me seriously.

  I nodded, looking down at my lap. I was embarrassed that he found me the way I was, in a filthy T-shirt and the bump in my belly. I must have smelled awful too. I was thankful to Matthew, but I knew with horror that he must know just how dirty I really was, then and now, no matter how much I bathed, or how hot the water got. I could never get clean.

  We sat talking about this and that. We talked of what books I’d read recently. I had not been allowed many books those months I lived on a dog leash, and I went cold inside remembering the awful book Daniel had given me about girls and sex.

  See? The dirt was always with me, no matter the innocent nature of the conversation. I wondered if I’d ever have a thought again that would not be tainted with a memory of Daniel.

  Matthew and I spoke about Treasure
Island and Oliver Twist, but the conversation died away quickly. I was so nervous, but couldn’t say why. He pierced me with his emerald eyes. Those intense, all-too-knowing eyes, as if he could see right through me. The same eyes I knew had seen me in the worst state I had been in in my life.

  “I guess I better let you rest,” Matthew said hesitantly. I got the impression he wanted to stay but I couldn’t ask him too. Just as he was saying goodbye and turned to leave I spoke.

  “Thank you,” I whispered just as he was saying good night. He looked surprised and turned his head, looking at me sideways.

  “What for?”

  This embarrassed me further. I thought it was obvious. I looked away, knowing I was blushing.

  “For stopping,” I said in a small voice, “and helping me.”

  I took a chance to glance at his face, and he looked sad for a moment.

  “I was meant to head out that morning, Piper. Never intended to, but my grandpa was out of coffee, and I wanted to grab some before he woke up, you know, to save him the trip?” He shrugged. “I was up finishing a paper for English, so I thought I might as well go and save him the hassle of driving, since it’s getting harder for him. He loves his morning coffee.”

  Matthew looked down and then back up to me, and said, “Thank God you’re all right, Piper. Everyone’s just been worried sick, and never stopped looking for you. Some thought you moved away, and wasn’t coming back. My mom was especially worried about Mrs. Mitchell.”

  I didn’t say it, but I felt it. I felt I did move away, and I was never coming back. I was still gone, and all that was left of me was the shell of the girl I’d once been. Before my daddy died. Before my mother, along with Daniel, murdered me. Something in my face must have shown what I was thinking. Matthew took my hand in his and squeezed it gently. I didn’t protest, I just sat there, as he held my hand.

  “You’re going to be all right, Piper. You just have to look beyond all this. It’ll be sunny again someday for you. I promise.”

  I quietly wiped my eyes. I was thankful to have a friend that knew my secret and didn’t run from me. I was dirty still, but for a moment, I was Piper Mitchell and could climb the trees with the best of the boys and could swim like a fish in the river on the back of our property. I was the Piper that put frogs in different places in the house, just to hear my Nana scream for Papaw to save her. Nathan and I would hide and watch her dance around frantic and terrified of the “wretched things!”

  Just for a moment I smiled, exhausted, at Matthew. Then I slipped silently inside the dark places within my heart once more. I wanted to believe this handsome boy. What was beyond and unforeseen for me? Something I had not thought about in a long time.

  chapter eight

  Even after months of recovering I struggled to find a consistent mood. I functioned in a kind of sleep walk, going about the day doing the things normal people did.

  I brushed my teeth and hair. I bathed and wore clean clothes, but I lived inside my head without rest. Nana took me to speak with a doctor after finding me in the same position staring at a spot on the wall for more than an hour straight. When she asked me what was I thinking about, I could not recall. That was an hour lost and it was happening more and more frequently.

  After seeing a doctor I was prescribed medication. It helped some, but it made me feel funny all the time. My head would swim, and I wanted sleep all day. The medicine seemed to worsen my zombie-like state of mind. Nana had me stop taking the pills after just a couple of months, and instead opted for old remedies she learned from her grandmother back in Germany.

  Day and night, she would make me sip herb teas made of things I couldn’t pronounce. They did soothe me, or maybe it was the kindness and love I was shown. I’d been denied the needs of a child, like loving arms to hold me. I instead had arms that was inescapable.

  I would wake many nights with this distinctive smell in my room, only to realize it was the memory of things I’d never be able to wash from my mind. Nana and Papaw did try to love all this out of me, but despite all their efforts, I walked life daily with a dark cloud following me.

  I came to accept that no matter the laughter, no matter the happy times, I shook with fear at the smells I couldn’t forget and the skin-crawling dreams of Daniel climbing on top of me. I learned to live with the heaviness in my heart and found that there really were ghosts, or rather dead people that walk the earth, for I was dead in spite of my heartbeat.

  I played a good role and tried to be normal. Nana never fell for my act. Papaw accepted me broken, the way I was. To him, that was far better than not having me at all.

  As time slid by, the days got a little easier. Routine was my friend. Matthew and Josh were always around which awakened resentment in me, especially with Matthew. I hated that I’d never have a boyfriend or a first kiss with someone as good as Matthew. I’d never take joy in school dances or anticipate my wedding night. Soon, I became bitter at the thoughts.

  Nathan came home every other week. I loved my brother and could tell the months that had gone by had changed him greatly as well. One day, while riding Betsy, one of Papaw’s more gentle palominos, I found him by the river smoking a joint. Both of his arms were tattooed and brown hair was long like a rock star. He inhaled and patted the rock beside him, indicating I should sit.

  I sat with my brother watching him smoke. The smell was like that of a skunk, but it was not at all unpleasant. On the contrary it made my mouth water.

  “What’s that like?” I asked him nodding at the joint.

  He inhaled deeply, looking at me from the corner of his eyes.

  “It keeps me calm. Never ever tell Nana you saw me smoking this.” Nathan said sounding a little ashamed.

  “You’re still afraid of her?” I said with a giggle.

  Nathan was considered a grown man that was twice the size of our grandmother.

  “Hell yeah. She’d skin me alive.”

  I laughed at the thought.

  “I’m serious. Don’t tell her nothing Piper.”

  “I won’t,” I promised then remembered his reason. “Why do you need to be kept calm?”

  I was genuinely curious. He sat for moment in thought, as we watched the water flow by hypnotically. Nathan picked up a rock and tossed it.

  “I have a hard time living with what’s happened to you. It’s all my fault, Piper. If I’d stayed, this would’ve never happened.”

  He dropped his head and took a drag from the joint. I shook my head in protest.

  “Nathan, if you’d stayed, you would probably be in that cornfield with her.” I shivered inside as I said this.

  Nana had told Nathan most of my story, of course. He said nothing to me about it, but I knew we would have to talk one day.

  No one knew where she was but us. Actually, no one knew anything that one of us hadn’t disclosed. Since Daniel and my mother were dead, Nana wanted me spared from all that would come with being known as “that girl,” for the rest of my life. I was thankful for that.

  We did not hide it, or never speak of it. It was all just better “left to God,” as she would put it. We agreed to leave my mother wherever she was in that cornfield. I didn’t want to talk about her. I couldn’t stand the thought of her, not while the image of my daddy’s tie in her hands was so very fresh to me.

  Sitting and watching the river now, Nathan didn’t say anything. There was a comfortable but heavy silence with us. Finally I broke it.

  “Can I try that?”

  Nathan looked at my face as if he heard something but was unsure what exactly.

  “Not just no, but hell no,” Nathan said shaking his head.

  “And why not?”

  “Just cause. It’s not good for you,” he said sternly then tossed the joint in the water.

  “There,” he said, proud of himself. “I’d better not hear of you doing stuff like that either. I mean it, Piper,” he warned me seriously, which was kind of ruined by the grin that crept over his lips. I elbowed him
in the ribs.

  “You’re no fun, Nathan,” I pouted, but felt good he was looking after me, even if it was fairly hypocritical.

  He walked with me, as I guided Betsy to the stable, and then he walked me back to the house with a big arm holding me close to him. For a few minutes the hole that was in my chest was almost filled.

  …

  I was homeschooled for a little over a year to keep me on track for high school. It took some adjusting to social gatherings a little at a time. The following Christmas I was back in school and doing pretty good.

  I rode with Matthew and Josh every morning and afternoon, as Matthew drove. I think this helped Nana’s fear, as she never wanted me alone, left to only my dark thoughts. Josh and I were in most of the same classes together, and I had to help him with homework because most of his time was taken up by weight-training for football or some silly giggling female. Even off-season, his schedule revolved around football training.

  Matthew and I would wait in the truck until Josh was finished in the afternoons. Josh normally took only an hour after school, so Matthew and I would talk and do homework, or read as the windows fogged up. I would draw on the windows, and more than once I caught Matthew watching me, with sadness. I didn’t feel bad when I saw it in his eyes, like I did with others. After all, he was my hero.

  He had pulled me out of thick mud and had gently lain me in the truck bed. That was something I would never forget. In my mind, Matthew could damn well feel however he wanted, because he’d earned that with me. I enjoyed being with him and hearing about other places in the world he wanted to visit someday. He was so open-minded and God-fearing, two qualities that sometimes clashed in our small country town, but for Matthew it only added to his appeal. He was also more responsible than most adults. He came over and studied the Bible with Papaw at least once a week. Matthew was the ideal son, friend, brother, and with a pang of the deepest regret, I knew he would be an ideal husband for some pretty and clean girl as well.