by Lucian Bane
Was it his father? Was the old man dying or something? Solomon forced himself to calm down when hysteria crept a little bit closer to his frayed mind. Would be just Solomon’s luck for his father to die. Right when he’d decided to write him off, the bastard would croak and bring a mountain of guilt in his lap for the rest of his miserable life.
Miss Mary! He raced through his conversation with her earlier that day, looking for anything concerning. She was always saying crazy things. The woods remembered… her pets talked to her…. But this was all silliness coming from her. Solomon froze suddenly, remembering. ‘Something’s coming in the woods,’ she’d said.
Panic seized him. That was it, he was sure of it, he could feel it. Something was coming in the woods to her house. Dear God, maybe her new pets were luring whatever it was. Images of a mountain lion breaking into her house to get at her cute little critters had him jumping into his boots and running to the fireplace for his shotgun. Yanking it from the rack above it, he grabbed the keys for the truck and ran out the house.
Jesus… please protect her till I get there.
Not bothering with his seat belt, he tore out of the driveway and sped like a maniac, searching for clues along the road, in the forest, the sky, anything explaining the reason for that god-awful dread racing full force through his veins now. Rounding the many sharp curves before the lone highway, Solomon floored it down the half mile to the overgrown lane leading to her house. The truck was suddenly an iron beast as Solomon took the turn too quickly, holding the steering wheel in a death grip to keep from being thrown from the driver seat.
Solomon Gorge! Solomon Gorge!
The memory of that scream pressed his foot harder on the accelerator. Part of his mind said he needed to slow down, he’d be no good to her wrapped around a tree. He desperately agreed but the panic in his muscles refused to let him ease up. By the time he got to Miss Mary’s house, it was a fight to get control of himself. He needed to be aware of his surroundings and the panic was suffocating his senses.
Throwing the truck in park, he shut it off and hurried out. As he made his way in the dark to the dilapidated shack, he looked all around, listening, looking. Something was wrong. Definitely.
Torn between the need to hurry and go carefully slow, Solomon crept to the front door of the house. Oh God, the door was open just beyond the screen door. She could have left it open. She was eighty-seven years stubborn and all the help Solomon offered came with a fight. I always sleep with the door open in the summer, it’s too doggone hot not to. But he’d talked her into—or thought he had—closing it at least when she slept. Hopefully she’d just been her usual rebellious self.
Stealthily mounting the steps, Solomon realized his foolishness. If there was an intruder, they were long gone with the racket he’d made driving up. Per chance the intruder was an animal, then that wouldn’t be so bad. But the far-fetched chance it was a human, he’d want to catch them. But what in God’s name would anybody want with poor old Miss Mary? The sudden terrifying thought that she might have treasures buried on her land that somebody knew about, struck him.
“Miss Mary?” he yelled from the porch. “It’s Solomon.”
At being met with dead silence, he threw open the screen door and peeked in, yelling louder. “Miss Mary!”
“Solomon?” a voice called from the small bedroom.
“Mary! Are you hurt?”
He heard her struggling and grunting and raced to her room now. Opening the door, he found her getting in her wheelchair.
“What in the cotton tails is wrong with you boy?” she gasped, sounding frail. A match flared as she lit the oil lamp next to her bed.
Adrenalin still pumping, Solomon peered around the dimly lit space, finding everything in order. “I… are you okay?” Solomon finally looked at her closer, meeting the dark brown eyes that bordered on black in the dim light.
“I’m fine except for my heart bout to beat outta my body. I was in a dead sleep when you done blasted my name.” She put a trembling hand over her chest.
Solomon waited for the dread to lessen with that news and when it didn’t, he grabbed the lamp. “Stay here.” He went through the house, carefully checking every shadowy corner. At finding it empty, he locked the main door. “Mary, why do you have both doors open?” Solomon called, angry.
“I’m sorry, I was hot,” she wailed, rolling into the room now. “What on earth is wrong youngin?”
“I just… I thought I heard you calling me.”
“From way ova yonder? I know I got a mean set a lungs but they ain’t that fierce. What time is it, anyway? And good lord, what are you dressed up as.”
Solomon realized he only had boots, boxers, and a shotgun, his hair hanging loose. He tried to remember seeing the time before he’d left. Feeling suddenly disoriented, he let out a light gasp. “I… wasn’t thinking, I drove here as fast as I could.”
“Aww, I don’t know’d what I done did to earn a guardian angel like you, but I do thank God he sent you. I feel safe with you as my new neighbor. Not that I was eva scared of anything, cause I ain’t.”
No, she wasn’t, and that was a problem in his mind. A problem in the local pastor’s mind also since he called him back to be her caretaker. A paid position of course. But it wasn’t the entire reason he’d taken the job. He’d had a strange dream about his deceased mother and when he got the call from her hometown church about the proposition, it felt like some kind of confirmation. Especially since he’d come to a dead end in his own life and had just asked God to show him what he needed to do.
He hadn’t seen his father since he’d dumped him with his uncle five states away, right after his mother died. He needed time to mourn. That’s what his uncle kept telling him. Well, that bastard must’ve cried a fucking river of tears because his mourning never ended and Solomon had spent the next 13 years questioning his self-worth as a son, then that followed him right into adulthood where he questioned himself as a man. Before he knew it, he was questioning himself as a human being. Then he’d met his fiancée and his dark, doomy life changed. Her love had been… miraculous, was the only way to describe it.
He quickly turned his attention away from that carefully quarantined part of his life and focused on Miss Mary. The sweet old lady with everything to be afraid of, living on a mountain out in the middle of nowhere. She had represented an opportunity to do the one thing he seemed to need to do more than breathe. Protect. Cherish. Keep. He never told her that he was being paid to be her caretaker, not when he realized she assumed he’d just happened to move back home nearby and was being a good boy neighbor. Solomon was sure paid charity wouldn’t go over well with her.
Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head and released his first breath that wasn’t filled with that awful dread. Still a little dazed, he collapsed into one of the sturdy chairs near the block table. Resting his gun on the edge, he leaned over with his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his face.
“Let me put some coffee on for you, youngin, you look a fright.”
The tenderness in the old woman’s voice tugged at Solomon and he reached over and patted her hand. “I’m fine Miss Mary. Just a bad dream, that’s all.”
“You havin them dreams again?”
He angled a look at her.
“When you was a boy, you had ‘em. Your momma had ‘em too. The both of you was two peas in a pod.”
Solomon straightened in the chair, surprised. “You knew my mom?”
“Of course I did, son,” she cried softly. “Ain’t nobody livin within ten miles of this ole woman that I don’t knowd like my own children.”
Questions flooded him all at once as the memory of his mother’s pretty face chased away the shadows in his mind. He didn’t have many actual memories of her. But they were all good ones. He realized what Miss Mary said then. “What dreams?”
“Not the normal ones, she had the kind that you don’t talk about.”
Don’t talk about? “Like…what?”<
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“Like things that didn’t happen yet.” Miss Mary whispered, “People think you making stuff happen when you have those.” She nodded at him and Solomon fetched the matches on the wall to light another lamp. The shadows on the old woman’s skeletal face were beginning to creep him out.
“Then you started having them,” she went on. “I remembered her tellin me and bein worried.”
“Why?” Solomon blew out the match, extra curious now.
“She jes didn’t want people to look at you funny.”
“I don’t remember having dreams.”
She shrugged and spread her hands out. “She prayed you wouldn’t have ‘em so maybe the good Lord answered her prayer.”
Solomon sat back, trying to remember ever having odd dreams apart from the couple recently. There was nothing telling about them really, other than leaving him with a rush of feelings he didn’t know what to do with or why. He shook his head slowly. “I rarely dream.”
“Then her prayers musta been answered. Let’s hope she didn’t pray a good thing outta ya. Some things that seem bad to some ain’t really so bad.”
Solomon really didn’t care about dreams, especially stupid ones that didn’t help you. “So you knew my mother?”
“Ohhh yes,” she cooed, “yes indeed. Never met a more beautiful person inside and out. She would walk the holler with fresh bread every day for me and Arthur. Bring fresh picked flowers with it. We loved her like a daughter. She’d bring you along but we’d hardly ever get a look at ya, you’d run the woods.”
“I… think I remember that.” Maybe. His childhood in West Virginia was a series of flash card images shown in random order and unconnected events. Certain places and faces that was it.
“You was just a little thing, a ball of sunshine with legs and arms. Never sitten still for more than a second, and you loved to catch animals back then too.”
Solomon quirked a brow, biting his tongue on if she had the right kid. He was pretty sure the idea to trap animals was a brand new one. One he’d gotten when it became obvious she needed more companionship than he had to give. The way it had lit up her face when he brought the first critter had been worth the three days of hell he went through to catch the sneaky raccoon she’d named Dexter. From there followed her modest hints. “You know, I’ve always admired those woodpeckers. Those are just amazing creatures.” And, “Once I saw a squirrel gathering nuts. He was such a precious little thing.” And that’s how you start a wildlife zoo.
“I wished I remembered more about my mother,” Solomon mused, leaning back in his chair a little. Whenever he thought of her, she was always smiling at him and wearing that pale yellow dress with the tiny pink flowers and bright green leaves that matched her eyes. She had striking eyes like him. He recalled with a smile one of the few memories he had. “I’m your heavenly mother,” she’d tell him. She’d never hid the fact that he was adopted. When he asked about his mother from earth, she’d said that was why she was sent to take care of him, because his mother on earth couldn’t. He often thought his mother was an angel in disguise. He even asked if she was once and she’d given him a secret smile, “Hmmm, you just never know!”
To this day, Solomon was convinced she was. His mother never said one cross or mean thing about his real mother. She’d even include her and his earth dad in their nightly prayers. Neither had learned how to be mothers and fathers and were both someplace learning, and one day they would want to meet him. He later learned they were both incarcerated in another state. Even when she hid things, she was telling the truth. He never made contact with either of them, but it was on his good boy to-do list. His heavenly mother would expect him to because he was so strong, and brave, and sweet. She was his angel.
God, he missed that woman.
“And you have striking eyes just like her,” Miss Mary said making Solomon realize he’d missed half her conversation.
“A lot of people call them freaky,” he grinned. But he did once like to think that he took after his heavenly mother in that respect, only his eyes were blue. Like a renewing storm his mother said. The kind that tore things down so they could build back new and stronger.
Solomon remembered his latest catch for Miss Mary, sitting at home in its little cage. “I have a present for you too by the way.”
She sucked in her breath. “Oh?”
He smiled at how innocent she acted, like she didn’t know it was what she’d oh so casually wished for. “Yep. At the house. I was planning to bring it to you in the morning.”
“Well it’s probably morning now.”
He stood with a chuckle, as exhaustion from the night’s escapades hit him. “If you don’t mind, I might have a nap before heading back over.”
“You dressed for bed, may as well sleep here.”
“Nah, I have things to tend to at the house,” he half lied. He was positive he’d not be able to sleep anywhere. And really, he still felt the need to have another look around the woods. The dread from earlier had abated but was still there.
He picked up his gun and headed to the door with Mary following. “Keep it locked till the sun comes up, will you? I told you about the mountain lions,” he fussed lightly at the door. “I’ll get rid of all of these pets of yours if I come back and find these doors open after dark. I’m not going to be responsible for your mauling.”
“Well tarnation you’re a meanie pants, aren’t you?”
“And I’ll get you a couple of fans if you’re hot.”
“I don’t need no gadgets.”
“They’re fans, not spaceships. Everybody in West Virginia and all the US owns one. Or two or three even,” he exaggerated. He didn’t dare mention air conditioning. That was the devil’s freezer to her.
“Well when you come back, I’ll have yer coffee fresh and ready and eva thang. Did I tell you I want to do an herb garden? And vegetables too?”
“You did,” Solomon opened the door carefully, just in case. “Already ordered the seeds, mademoiselle.”
Mary gave a tickled laugh as Solomon opened the screen door next and the second he did, it hit him. The dread and terror from before, hit him like a tidal wave, stealing his breath. Something was wrong. Just not here.
Solomon took his time getting home, searching the woods as he went. When he turned down the road leading to his own drive, the notion that all of it was in his head, began to nag at him. He pulled into his driveway and sat there, his body revved up with bad energy. There was no way he could sit still feeling like that.
Solomon put the truck in reverse and again combed the woods, looking. He ended up at the little grocery store not far away. Aunt May’s Tack and Grub Shack. He sat there in the dark, truck idling. Turning on the radio, he searched for anything that would explain his episode. Maybe something major had happened in the world.
If it had, the old radio in his truck wasn’t picking anything up. Shit. Maybe he should go to a McDonald’s where they had Wi-Fi. That would require him to go get his phone. He looked down. And clothes. He put the truck in reverse and looked around one last time then headed home.
Chapter Three
Solomon rounded the final corner before the end of his driveway and a flash of red sent his foot smashing down on the brakes. Sliding for ten feet, he craned his neck, staring through the back window of the truck. He threw the truck in reverse and sped back ten feet, his heart hammering as he aimed his headlights somewhat to the right and squinted. The red appeared again just beyond the tree line. It seemed to be swaying slightly back and forth.
He crept the truck slowly toward the ditch, keeping the light trained on it. Maybe it was a piece of material blowing in the trees.
“Oh fuck,” he gasped, making out human hair. Red. White skin next. Oh my God. Solomon grabbed his gun and opened the door. He rounded the front of the truck and stared at the surreal nightmare. “Oh Jesus,” he whispered, finally making out what he was seeing. It was a woman. Hanging upside down.
Danger exploded in his h
ead and he searched around, crouching closer to the truck. Not seeing anything, he held his gun tight and two steps brought him to the ditch and another angle. “Oh Jesus, oh Jesus. Oh God.” She was so bloody, hanging by her bare feet in a tree. The red dress she wore was tight enough to hug her body, covering her up to her knees. Solomon jumped across and made his way closer. Was she dead or alive? That was the first thing he had to find out. While a yard away, he slowly reached up to her neck with two fingers. His breathing had turned ragged as he fought not to vomit at the sight. Her face was lopsided, like somebody had taken a bat to it. Her lips were bloody, ballooned with the rest of her face. Cuts everywhere. He fought to keep his fingers still long enough to feel for a pulse.
“Sol…”
“Oh fuck!” he gasped, jerking his hand back.
“S-Solomon… Gorge.”
The croak sent ice through his blood. “Oh my God, oh my God,” he whispered, feeling dizzy and nauseated while looking up at her feet. “I’m here, I’m getting you down,” he said. How the fuck did she know his name? She was the one, the one he heard screaming. “I have to go to my truck,” he whispered, looking all around. “I’m going get something to cut you down, I’m not leaving you.”
“S-Solomon…,”
“Don’t talk, don’t talk,” he whispered, covering his mouth when he couldn’t tear his eyes from her brutalized face. God, her eyes. They looked like giant plums in the sockets. “I’m here, I’m coming right back,” Solomon assured as he walked in reverse, nearly tripping.
He finally turned to run for the truck, remembering the ditch the second his boot sank into mud. “Shit.” Yanking it free, he stumble-ran to the passenger door. His hunting knife was in the glove box, please be there. Feeling his way in the dark, he opened it and quickly found the prized knife his uncle had given him for whittling.
Racing back with it, he stared up at the girl, trying to think around the nightmare hanging before him. She was too high for him to just cut the rope without having her fall to the ground and possibly break her neck. He stashed the knife in his boot and hurried to the tree, circling the massive oak. The lowest limb looked fifteen feet up. After several running jumps for it, Solomon knew he’d have to somehow climb the base. Stabbing the knife into the tree as high as he could, he used it to pull himself up. Yanking the blade out, he stabbed higher again and scooted up the tree, ignoring the bark tearing the flesh of his inner thighs. It was all he had to really grip the tree and he held on tight enough to not fall and have to repeat the process.