CHAPTER TWO
“It’s such a load of horse shit up there!”
Jason Twomey was sitting silent across from her, nursing his third Sam Adams as Paul careened through his fifth. He was up in arms about the recent efforts to change hunting regulations in Falkirk’s Seat.
“You know they’ve shut us down every god damn year, so far. Every year!”
Bennett was shaking his head in solidarity. The Calhoun family were avid hunters as well, and were no less influential in trying to have the regulations changed.
Paul was getting louder and more intense with each passing moment. “Bear season opens August 1st, right? You can start baiting by then anywhere else, but not in Falkirk.”
“It’s always been that way,” Jason offered, but he was nearly drowned out by Paul barreling over him.
“They have the highest number of bear sightings, some of the best hunting woods in the damn county, but the only way you’re baggin a bear in those woods is if you’re willing to go through the fucking Fenns.”
Catherine startled at the name. “What do the Fenns have to do with it?”
Paul scoffed, shifting into Jason and sending a stream of beer hissing across the fire. “Cause that dickhead Patrick Fenn owns the woods up in there. Everything from Falkirk’s Seat to here,” he said, gesturing to the trees behind them. “But you’re not allowed to hike with your gear from this side, and even if you do, you’re fucked if you ain’t got a permit or his permission - and he ain’t givin it to ya. Buncha bull shit.”
Catherine turned her attention to her bottle of cider and glanced back toward the woods. The logging road went another three miles into Parkhurst Forest from there, and the lake was another two mile hike to the west.
Jason piped up again, however softly. “It’s because of the rez.”
“What is the rez?” Jean asked.
“The rez – reservation. A quarter of Falkirk’s Seat belongs to the Fenns, the other three quarters are on Indian land. And reservation folk don’t want hunting on their land.”
“Oh that’s because of those stupid myths they’ve got. Talking about Bear folk and shapeshifters or some shit.”
Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, they believe in that kind of thing up here?”
Paul groaned, but Jason continued. “Some of the tribe might. Doesn’t matter if they all do, council decides whether to grant permits on their land or not, and let’s just say, relations with white folk aren’t always the best.”
Catherine scanned the tree line, pretending to shake her head in solidarity. John had told her these stories when they were young, walking through the woods on his grandfather’s land. He loved those old stories, trying desperately to convince her of their validity. “But what if it’s true?” He’d say, his arms flailing out around him.
“I’d say it was pretty cool,” was always her response.
“There’s plenty of hunting elsewhere,” said Bennett, to which Paul unleashed a whole new world of complaint.
Bennett turned to Jean, nudging her gently. “Oh yeah, you two haven’t heard about the hikers, up here?”
Jean smiled across the fire at him. “Well, you better tell me then.”
Jean was clearly enjoying the attention, now receiving it from three fellows instead of just the one. Catherine felt inclined to deflect any attention she received, given the thought of flirting with Paul Merlotte turned her stomach, even a decade out of high school.
“Oh man, let me tell it, let me tell it,” Paul demanded.
“Naw, I think I tell it better.”
Everyone startled at the voice, and Catherine turned about face to greet the new arrival. She stopped dead at the sight of him.
“Holy shit, John boy! They let you off the compound? I thought you changed your mind!” Bennett was on his feet and around the fire in two strides, giving John a hearty embrace. He offered another to the man Catherine recognized as Deacon Fenn, but she couldn’t look away from John. He stood taller than Bennett by four inches or more, wearing a cream colored flannel shirt and jeans. His dark hair was growing out in thick brown waves, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard. Despite the changes to his appearance, she could have recognized him had she been blindfolded.
John pulled a utility knife from his pocket and cracked the top of his beer. Then he met her gaze, and gave Catherine a nudge with his knee. He smiled down at her. “Hey Catie.”
Catherine turned her attention back to the fire, taking three long swigs on her cider as she tried to feign calm. He seemed taller now, broader, and God damn those blue eyes of his.
Jean extended a hand over her shoulder, greeting the newcomers. “Here, we’ll make room. Have a seat,” she said, sliding away from Catherine to offer him a spot between them. He took it, his hip brushing against Catherine’s as he sat down. It made her heart race just as it had when she was seventeen.
Jesus Christ, why did she think she could escape up here?
“Paul was just about to tell us a story,” Jean said, elbowing John gently.
John smiled, swigging his beer.
“Hell yeah, I was,” Paul said.
Bennett slumped back down across the fire from her, Deacon Fenn sitting down beside him. Deacon was younger than John by eleven months, and his hair was far lighter. John and Deacon Fenn were known as the Irish twins all through school, having been placed in the same class despite the age difference.
“I’m not going to believe any of this, by the way. I’m onto you guys,” Jean said.
Paul feigned offense. “Why, what on earth do you mean?”
Jean laughed. “I know you’re just trying to scare me. Jesus, it’s enough that I agreed to camp in the freakin wilderness with you guys rather than at an actual campground – like a normal person.”
“Bah! Campgrounds are for wieners. You want a beer?” Bennett handed a Sam Adams to Deacon, who took it gratefully. Bennett was a few beers in and was getting to be his affectionate, brotherly self. He wrapped an arm around Deacon’s shoulders, shaking him roughly. “Man, I didn’t think you guys were gonna make it! I fuckin love you guys.”
Deacon chuckled, holding his bottle aloft to clink it with Bennett’s. “Cheers, pal. Now let Paul tell his story.”
Paul settled in to tell his tale, gesturing with his hands. “So there’s this really creepy shit going on up around these parts.”
“Yeah, yeah. Bennett told us all about it,” Catherine said, praying he wouldn’t bring up the Fenn murders again with John and Deacon there.
“Yeah, you guys heard about the hermit?” Paul asked.
John and Deacon both started laughing and groaning. John let his weight lean into her just a bit more than was necessary, and the touch of him felt electric. She hadn’t seen this kid in ten years, what the hell was he doing leaning into her by the fire.
And why the hell did he have to smell so good?
Paul’s eyebrows shot up. “No man. I’m serious! He’s been around since I was a kid. They say the guy was in jail for a decade or some shit, but got out and now he lives in the woods around here.”
“Really? You’re gonna use the creepy hermit trope?” Jean asked.
Paul made a face. “What the hell’s a trope?”
John raised his bottle. “Big word, pal. Don’t even worry about it.” He leaned toward her then, nudging her with his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, lady.”
Her face flushed, but she fought to respond as unaffected as possible. “Me too.”
She hoped he couldn’t read her thoughts; that had there been wall posters of John Fenn available at her local mall, she’d have plastered his face on every surface of her bedroom until she was twenty-seven.
Bennett leaned onto his elbows. “Come on, man! Tell her about the hikers!”
Paul grinned. “Alright, alright. So, he’s been up here for like ten years now, I think. Creepin people out when they go in the woods. No one ever sees him, but you can hear him, and you can smell him from a mile away.”
Jean nodded, waiting for him to go on.
“Well, about eight years ago, we started getting reports from hikers of weird shit in the woods.”
Jean leaned in. “What kind of weird shit?”
“Oh all sortsa shit. Fucking dolls made out of sticks hanging from tree branches. Animal skulls on posts or nailed to tree trunks. Said they found weird symbols carved into trees or written in the dirt in red liquid. They say it was blood.”
He let the word ‘blood’ hang a moment.
Catherine wasn’t impressed. “You know, blood turns brown when it’s left to the air for too long.”
“That’s my point! It was still red. Like he’d JUST done it, ya feel me?”
Catherine smiled. “Oh, I feel ya.”
Bennett took a long swig of his beer. “Then those two girls from the reservation disappeared.”
Paul glared at him. “Am I fuckin tellin it, or what?”
John took a swallow on his beer and leaned into her. “You wanna go for a walk?”
Catherine sat frozen a moment. The fire was warm, the company was tolerable, the conversation was drunken nonsense – why would he want to leave this? Why would he want – ah, damn it.
She swallowed hard. “Ok.”
The circle of people gave a few gentle protests, Jean’s being one of the most vehement. Catherine took note that Jean was directing her protests at John, not her. Deacon just smiled at them, as though giving his blessing at a christening.
Bennett waved. “Don’t go far now. There’s creepy hermits!”
John’s eyebrows went up at this, but he just smiled, finishing his beer before he turned with Catherine toward the gravel road.
John walked beside her, his hands buried in his pockets. He stood at least eight inches taller than her now, those last two or three inches having occurred after she left Blackrock. His shoulders were up, making him seem smaller somehow. Catherine wrapped her sweater around her shoulders, crossing her arms against the chill of the late evening.
“So I never thought I’d see you up here, again,” he said, smiling.
Catherine snorted softly. “You and me both.”
They headed down the logging road, chatting about life and the years that had transpired between them. John asked after her parents, her brother, Jacob and her stepdad - even her school life.
“How long are you up here for?” He asked.
Catherine shrugged. “It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether I can stomach staying with Grampy Calhoun and Uncle Bodie for more than a couple hours. And whether they’ll let me.”
John chuckled. “I can’t imagine they’re the easiest roommates in the world.”
“Nope.”
They walked a few feet in silence, the sound of gravel crunching under their feet. Despite the years that had passed between them, his company felt easy. Even as they didn’t speak, the silence between them was comfortable, almost calming as they turned their eyes up to take in the crystal clear view of the Milky Way.
“You’re actually the only reason I’m here.”
Catherine stopped, turning to look at him. He kept his eyes up to the stars.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged, glancing down at her before returning his gaze upward. “Bennett’s been askin me to come to one of these stupid campouts for years. Never even thought twice.”
“You don’t like camping?”
He chuckled. “Not with these assholes.”
Catherine laughed softly, letting her shoulder bump into his. He returned the lean, keeping their arms touching for a moment longer.
“This time around he said you might be coming. I snapped earlier today and decided I had to come see. If there was any chance you’d be here, it was worth the miserable company.”
Catherine took a few more steps down the gravel road away from him. This was a loaded thing to say to her now. If he knew why she was there, why she’d left home with no immediate plan of return, he might not be so keen to spend time with her. Still, it was a relief to hear him say it.
“You know, I’ve actually tried to find you a few times,” she said, startling herself.
“Really? Well, you knew where to find me.”
She chuckled. “Yes, well. I wasn’t actually here. Was looking on Facebook, didn’t have any luck.”
He snorted. “Well, you wouldn’t, would you? I’m not on that god awful site.”
She smiled. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Because you knew me pretty well,” he said, moving closer to her. There was a strange tension in the air between them, like someone holding two magnets just far enough apart to keep them from smashing together.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Catie. Bennett told you I asked about you -”
He straightened, glancing off down the road.
She shook her head. “No, though I fear you’ll find me far less entertaining than you were expec -”
The sound of a branch cracking off in the trees startled them both, coupled by an ominous rumble. John closed the space between them in three strides, coming to stand between her and the tree line. The world was black there on the dirt road, miles from everyone and everything, and dark in every direction save for stars overhead. John reached behind him, pushing her to stand at his back as a black shape appeared between the trees, moving toward them with deep, rhythmic exhales.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, too terrified to scream. The shape before them was the size of a car, moving through the trees with slow deliberation. She grabbed the folds of John’s shirt, pressing herself to hiss back as though he were made of stone; as though standing behind him might make her invisible.
The shape stepped out from the woods and took several steps into the gravel road, coming to stand just a few yards from them. John stood silent and still, watching the beast as it moved around them. Catherine clutched John tighter as the bear took another step toward them. My god, the smell of it.
John squeezed her hip as he kept himself facing the huge animal.
It took another step forward, growling.
“Hey bear,” John said, stepping back, pushing Catherine as he held her behind him. Despite the terror she felt, and the tense feel of John’s body, his tone of voice was calm. He spoke as though he was greeting a college buddy on the dark path, not a great predator that could very well be looking for its next meal.
The bear stood its ground, and John spoke again, this time with a little more force. “Hey bear!”
The bear surged toward them, and John shoved her backward, lunging toward the animal as though he meant to fight it. “Hey bear!”
The animal recoiled from his sudden aggression, grunting in protest, but retreating with every step John took toward it. “Hey now! On your way! Go!”
With that, the bear turned toward the other side of the dirt road and hunkered into the darkness, the underbrush crashing beneath it as it went.
Catherine stood there shaking, watching the tree line as though it too was alive and hoping to eat her. John stood his ground a moment. He called after the animal one more time, then turned back to her and lunged for her just in time to catch her from collapsing in the dirt.
“Hey now, stay up. Come on, Catie. Come on. You’re alright.”
She took hold of his shoulders, letting him hold her while her knees found purchase beneath her.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go back to camp, alright? You’re alright.”
“We can’t. You can’t run. You don’t run from a bear! We can’t move. What if he’s watching and we turn our backs? What if it comes to camp? It could come to camp. It’s gonna come to camp!”
“Shh. Shh, Catie. Shh. Look at me.”
She couldn’t take her eyes from the tree line, hissing her every word as though the leaves overhead were listening to her, conspiring against her.
“Look at me,” he said again.
She did as he asked, finding his blue eyes clear
even in the darkness.
“Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re safe. He’s not gonna come to camp. He’s as afraid of you as you are of him. Shh, you’re alright.”
“You don’t know that!”
John took hold of her shoulders, wrapping his arm around her as he turned her and pulled her down the gravel path. “I got you. You’re alright. You’re safe.”
She felt trapped, held there by this solid man, and trapped in the woods of Maine with nowhere to run to. She couldn’t go to the Calhoun house at this hour – just show up on the doorstep and ask for a place to stay – indefinitely, and she sure as shit couldn’t go home. She was helpless. She felt like the bait a hunter leaves out on August 1st.
“Yeah, but this was in the middle of the summer. It wasn’t rough weather, or rough trails season. It was a bright, blue skied, sunny day when they set off on an easy section of the hike and never reached the other side.”
Paul was still telling his story when they returned, everyone too enthralled by the conversation to notice John approaching with a shaking leaf version of Catherine in his arms.
Everyone save for Jean. “You guys alright?”
They all turned, startled. Catherine could hear John explaining what happened, could see their reactions, but the sound was tinny, as though coming through an old gramophone.
John turned back to her after a moment.
“Ah, shit,” he said. “Catie, come on hon. Come sit by the fire.”
She shook her head. This wasn’t time to sit by the fire. This was time to pack up the trucks and run for their lives. Get as far away from Maine as a person could get. How were they so calm?
He reached out for her, but she couldn’t move. She felt so cold.
“Come on, right here darling. Sit right here with me.”
Catherine felt her body moving as John led her over to the fire, holding onto her as he lowered her down to her seat. She heard the words, ‘she’s in shock,’ before he took her hands in his, rubbing them to keep them warm.
The conversation continued, Paul regaling them all with his exact thoughts on Falkirk Seat’s ‘no bear hunting’ regulations – that if he’d brought his gun, he’d go hunt the fucker right now. Catherine couldn’t respond. Their voices sounded more like Charlie Brown adults than drunken Mainers.
The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan Page 2