by Kim Liggett
The volunteer fire department finally arrives; they’re rushing out with the hose and gurney. They don’t know it, but Tammy’s been dead since I had that vision about her last night. Just like all the rest of them.
As we pull out of the lot, I see Ali in tears, standing next to Tyler’s car. Tyler smirks at me and puts his arm around her as we drive by. He still thinks this is some kind of competition for her.
But I’m beyond that. This is about her soul.
54
AT THE courthouse, they have me in a windowless room with mint-green painted concrete walls. The clock on the wall is broken, but I’ve been here for hours, maybe all night. There’s a large particleboard table and two metal folding chairs. I see a camera in the corner, its tiny red light blinking at me like a warning. Don’t say anything. Keep your mouth shut, Clay.
When the door finally opens again, I sit up straight, the cuffs rattling around my wrists.
I’m disappointed to see it’s just Greg Tilford.
Begrudgingly, he sets a cup of coffee in front of me. I take a drink, letting it scald my mouth. Anything to warm me up.
He tosses a puke-colored scratchy wool blanket at me. I manage to get it over my shoulders. “Thanks,” I whisper as I sink into it.
“You ready to talk now?” Tilford drops a thick folder on the table with a thud.
“I already told you. I was only trying to help. I saw what Tammy was doing and I tried to stop her.”
“That’s where I’m having trouble.” Greg leans in. “Eyewitnesses are saying that Tammy wanted you to go skinny-dipping and you pushed her off. They said you were acting crazy, talking about the Devil.”
“Don’t I get a phone call? I want to make a phone call.”
“Which reminds me,” he says as he opens the folder, scanning through the papers. “Looks like you’ve been calling Miss Granger quite a bit.”
“So? She’s my counselor,” I say, trying to get a glimpse at what’s in that file.
“You have things on your mind, Clay? Things you need to confess?”
I gulp down the rest of the coffee. “I want to talk to Sheriff.”
“We haven’t been able to reach Emma Granger yet, but we’ve seen your school records.” Tilford flips through some of the pages, scratching a dark patch of stubble he missed on the side of his neck. “I’m thinking you learned all this from your daddy. Graduated from pregnant cows to people.”
“Where’s Sheriff Ely?” I rub my wrists. “’Cause he’ll tell you. I had nothing to do with any of this. It’s just a huge misunderstanding.”
“Oh, yeah?” Greg smirks as he pulls out a piece of paper and slides it over to me. “How about this list of library books you’ve checked out in the past year? Schizophrenia. Mind control. Hypnotism. The occult. Prophets?”
“Th-that was before,” I sputter. “That’s when I was trying to figure out what was happening.”
Greg leans forward, alert and tense. “Happening to what? To you? You think you’re some kind of God … some kind of prophet? You hearing voices, Clay?”
I stare down at the fake wood grain on the table. Just keep your mouth shut.
Greg lets out a deep sigh. “I’m just trying to understand. You’ve got to help me out. Your dad goes nuts … breaks into the breeding barn, kills all the pregnant cows with a metal crucifix, and tries to get to the bull. The remaining cows stampede him to death. You accuse the Preservation Society of being involved in his death … you say all these families are in on it … some kind of conspiracy theory.” He lays out school photos of Tyler, Tammy, Ben, Jimmy, and Ali in front of me. “Now, fast-forward a year, you join the council, that same bull from the breeding barn gets its throat slit, and three of your fellow Preservation Society pals turn up dead under very suspicious circumstances. And it just so happens that you’re the one who discovered their bodies.”
He then lays two crime scene photos down. “Here’s Jimmy bleeding out at the altar. Ben strung up on the goalpost like Jesus Freaking Christ. You had some kind of altercation with each one of them before they died. You’ve got all these books on mind control and Devil worship and prophets and you’re telling me that’s a coincidence?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
He lets out an explosive laugh. “Then you must have the worst luck in the world!” I pull the blanket tighter around me.
“And then there’s the brand.” He slides close-ups of autopsy photos across the table. “Jimmy’s brand was on his lower back. And Ben’s was on his calf. Of course we don’t have any evidence of Tammy’s mark, because this is what she looks like now.” He places a photo in front of me and I cringe. Looks like something from the bottom of Mr. Miller’s smoker.
“But I think it’s safe to say she had the same mark. Wouldn’t you say so, Clay?”
The dregs of the burnt coffee brings the stench of death right back to me. My stomach’s churning, but I refuse to give in, I refuse to let him know he’s getting to me. I swallow the bile burning the back of my throat and force myself to look him straight in the eyes. “I didn’t do this.”
“We did a little digging. You know what that symbol means?”
“No.” I try to act disinterested but I can feel the heat spread up my neck.
“That’s funny. ’Cause I think you do. It’s a Devil worship thing. You drew the same symbol on your math folder.” He slides over a copy of the front of my folder.
“I probably just saw it on one of them and drew it. There are lots of drawings on that folder.”
“I’ll give you that one, but that sure as hell doesn’t explain this.” He pulls a photo from the back of the file and leans back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.
I steel myself and look down at the photo. It’s an aerial shot. It takes me a minute for my eyes to adjust, to wrap my mind around what I’m seeing. It’s our farm. And then I remember the other day when Noodle saw the plane … the drone. That must’ve been how they took these. I can see the roof of the house, the equipment shed, my truck in the drive, the combine in the middle of the field, and the breeding barn—but that’s not what has my heart in a vice grip.
There’s something in the crops.
A symbol.
The upside-down U with two dots above and below, clear as day, carved into the wheat.
“This can’t be.” I shake my head. “This must be some kind of hoax. Neely must’ve doctored this or someone must’ve done this to the field while I was sleeping,” I sputter as I take a closer look.
“It says here Sheriff paid you a visit after Jimmy died. Said you were acting strange and that you weren’t using the same pattern your dad used to clear the wheat.” He flips through some pages in his notebook. “You told him, and I quote, ‘I’m using the force.’”
“Look.” I pull against the shackles, the sharp noise rattling me. “I can explain all of this … there’s got to be some kind of logical explan—”
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Tilford interrupts. “You got them all drugged up, and then you branded them. Is that part of your sick little ritual? You mark them for death, just like cattle, and now you’re picking them off one by one.”
“Really?” I laugh as I jut my head back. “So I’m a druggie now, too?”
Greg grins. “You know that cute little blonde who came in earlier to take blood and hair samples?” He pulls out a pink slip of paper. “Toxicology came back with high amounts of salvia in your system.”
“Salvia? I don’t understand … how the—oh my God, the bonfire … the smoke … that must’ve been what they were burning at the bonfire. Why everyone was acting so crazy.”
“We have dozens of eye witnesses all saying the same thing. The only person acting crazy was you.”
“Someone’s setting me up.” I try to stand, but the cuffs won’t allow it. “Lee Wiggins!” I blurt. “He has something to do with this. He’s got a grudge against my family … against my dad.”
“
Is this about your sister? Jess? She was last seen running away from you after the Harvest Festival. What happened between the two of you? ’Cause I heard you walked in on her and Jimmy Doogan in the basement of the Preservation Society? Did he humiliate you, Clay?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” I jerk against the cuffs.
“Did she soil your family name?” He keeps firing at me. “And now she’s missing. People saw her around town with a known meth-head and you don’t even go looking for her?”
“I didn’t know she was missing until I called Sheriff last night.”
“I don’t know what’s worse!” He gets in my face.
I’m trying to hold it together, but he’s riding me so hard. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
“I went out to the house last night to notify your family of your arrest. That’s no condition for a little girl.”
“What are you talking about?” I sit up ramrod straight.
“Your mom was in a catatonic state, wasn’t keeping house, bathing. All she could talk about was those flies.”
“She’s fine. She’ll be fine.” I strain against the cuffs.
“She’s far from fine, Clay. She’s at Oakmoor now.”
“What?” My throat goes bone dry. “What about Noodle … where is she?”
“She’s with her guardian. Ian Neely.”
“No.” I take in a sharp inhalation of breath. “Listen to me…” I lean forward as far as the shackles will allow. “She’s not safe there. I know he’s your cousin, but I’m telling you, he’s one of them … he’s not what you think he is.”
“So the whole town’s in on this, huh? Setting up poor Clay Tate. I’m done listening to this bull crap.” He starts gathering the papers.
“I’ll tell you anything you want, just get Noodle away from Ian Neely. Put her in foster care. Maybe she can stay at All Saints. She’s enrolled next semester as a day student, but I’ll pay for her to board. She’ll be safe there.”
“The only thing she needs protection from right now is you. She even said you threw her doll out the window. What kind of sick fuck takes a doll away from a little girl?”
“Have you seen that doll?” I yell.
As he gets up to leave, I can’t help thinking, what if he’s right? What if none of this is an accident or a coincidence? Maybe I didn’t need the symbol on my skin because I’d already carved it into the wheat. An invitation all over my land. Maybe I’m the one who brought the Devil here and I don’t even know it. Could I be that screwed up? Is this what happened to my dad? Am I the chosen one? Is that why he tried to kill me in the end?
Just as I’m on the verge of spilling my guts, telling him everything, the door slams open. Sheriff Ely’s standing there.
Greg walks out into the hall. They exchange words and I swear I can see the blood drain from Tilford’s face. After a few tense minutes, Tilford comes back in the room. “Clay, it appears I’ve made a mistake,” he says as he unlocks my cuffs. “You’re free to go. I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” he adds, but he can’t meet my eyes.
Inconvenience? I want to punch his lights out, but I’m so fucking relieved. I rub my sore wrists, looking up at him in shock, thinking this must be a joke … some kind of test. A minute ago it seemed like he was ready to lock me up for life.
“I don’t understand. What’s happening?”
Tilford won’t meet my eyes. “Sheriff Ely will fill you in.”
I turn to see Sheriff standing in the hall; I start to ask him what the hell’s going on, when he takes off his cowboy hat. The only other time I’ve seen him without his hat on was at my dad’s funeral, so I’m pretty sure whatever he has to tell me, I don’t want to hear.
55
SHERIFF’S TREMBLING as he reaches forward to shake my hand. His eyes are bloodshot; there’s dirt caked under his nails. He looks like he’s been through hell and back.
“Is it Ali?” I force the words out of my mouth.
“Ali?” He seems taken aback. “No, son. No, it’s Jess.”
“You found her?” I let out a sigh of relief.
“We found her.” He looks down at the ground. “You were right. She was with the Wiggins kid.” He presses his lips together so tight they turn white. “Lee confessed to everything. He’s the one who forced Jimmy, Ben, and Tammy to kill themselves. Threatened to kill their families if they didn’t. He slit that bull’s throat, put that calf in your field … carved the mark in the wheat … put salvia in the bonfire. Said he did it for the Devil.”
“I knew it.” I let out a huge gust of pent-up air. “Well, can I see her? Can I see Jess?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He swallows hard. “We need you to identify the body.”
“The body? What body?”
“Jessica’s body.” His voice quivers as he struggles to meet my eyes.
“No,” I whisper, feeling the floor drop out from under me. “How? Why?” I brace myself against the wall.
“I’m guessing she died about two days ago. We found her out in the woods behind Merritt’s at that campsite. The Wiggins kid suffocated her, buried her alive.” He nearly swallows the word.
I grit my jaw, choking back any emotion. “I need to see her.”
“Are you sure you’re up for it? ’Cause we can wait a bit … you can talk to someone … get something to eat.”
“I don’t want to talk and I don’t want a fucking sandwich. My sister’s dead for Christ’s sake.”
He grips the brim of his hat so hard I think he might crush it. “This way,” he says as he places it back on his head.
We take the elevator down to the bottom floor. It’s where they keep the bodies until they can be released to the funeral home or shipped off to Gerard County for autopsies. It’s the longest elevator ride of my life.
I remember having to do this last year when Dad died. Every town official was gathered round, watching me, rubbernecking for the best view, but this feels different. The hall’s empty; the fluorescent lights flicker. It’s so quiet. All I hear are Sheriff’s boots clacking against the worn-out linoleum.
“Where is everyone?”
“There’s a storm coming. Everyone’s hunkered down at the school. Emergency personnel only.”
“A storm?” I whisper. The lights flicker.
We enter an examining room. There’s no sheet to peel back. She’s just lying there on a metal table, naked as the day she came into this world. The sight of her takes my breath away.
“Goddamn it, I’m sorry,” Sheriff says as he grabs a sheet from the rack and quickly drapes it over her.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes as I force myself to look at her. The first thing I notice are the bruises around her throat—and all I can think about is fastening that locket around her neck the other night at the Harvest Festival. I took her there. I put her in that position. I was so wrapped up in Ali, and Mr. Neely, and all this Devil shit that I didn’t even see what was happening. I did this to her. She was my sister … my own flesh and blood. She’s been dead for two days and I didn’t even know she was gone. I should’ve checked on her. I should’ve gone in her room. While I was playing ball, getting close to Ali, she was out there rotting in the woods. Left there like a piece of trash.
Trash.
“Wait … was she…” I choke on the thought. “Was she buried in that circle?” I manage to ask.
Ely looks down at the ground and I know it’s true.
“I was there … I was right there. The dirty clumps of hair sticking up from the ground. I must’ve stepped right over her body.” I grit my jaw so hard my teeth creak. “I failed you,” I whisper as I try to brush her hair back, but it’s matted with dirt and bits of moss.
Moss. Just like Noodle said the other night … that Jess was tucked in a bed of moss like a woodland fairy.
I wipe my sleeve across my face, but the tears won’t stop flowing.
Sheriff Ely places his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss. What’s h
appened to you and your family in the past year is enough pain for ten lifetimes.”
I tighten my grip on the edge of the metal table. My shoulders are shaking so hard, the moss in her hair trembles with each heaving breath. I let out a sob and then clasp my hand over my mouth. I wonder how long it took for her to die. What she thought of before she took her last breath. It kills me that she couldn’t see the stars.
I’m not sure how long I stand there. Minutes … maybe hours. When I’m done crying, I take the edge of the sheet and pull it up over Jess’s face. I’ve seen enough death to know this isn’t her. It’s just an empty shell. Jess must be in heaven. I have to believe that. The thought of anything else is too much to bear.
“Sheriff.” Greg clears his throat from the doorway. “A twister was spotted over the county line. Near Gillmans’.”
“I’ll be…” Ely replies in a daze. “First tornado to cross the county line in a hundred and twenty-seven years.” He straightens his badge. “I guess I need to man the alarm.”
“I’ll get Clay checked out,” Tilford says. “Make sure he gets his belongings, take him wherever he needs to go.”
“Is that all right with you, son?”
I nod. It’s the best I can do. I still want to deck Tilford for riding me so hard back there. I know he was only doing his job. But still.
As Sheriff heads off to deal with the alarm, Greg escorts me to the elevator.
“What floor?” I let out a jittery sigh, uncomfortable being in yet another confined space with him.
“That’s up to you.”
I glance back at him. “Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but—”
“If it were me, I’d want to kill the guy who did that to her.” He pauses, an obnoxious smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Want a shot at him?”
“Wiggins?” My heart races. “Is he here?”
“Private holding cell on the fifth floor … no one here but us chickens. I figure I owe you one. They ordered him up a nice steak dinner from Garrison’s, too. First-class treatment.”