by John Everson
“A job?” Joe asked.
“Just a peon job. He worked at the department store. But he helped his mom pay for things around the house. I told him if he went to school, he could get a real job and send money back to her.”
“Sounds like the best thing that could have happened to him would have been to have gotten away from her.”
“That’s what I told him, but he’d just shrug and change the subject.”
Cindy shivered as the wind from the bay picked up. It carried the cool of nightfall in its wake.
Joe wondered where to take the conversation now. She was thoroughly bummed out, staring at the promontory where her boyfriend had abruptly become her ex. It just didn’t seem to be the time to dredge any deeper. A change in subject seemed in order. And perhaps a change in scenery.
“Hey, do you want a ride back to town? I didn’t see a car up here when I parked.”
“I walk it, usually. But sure, if you’re offering. It’s getting late and I should probably get home.”
“Well, whaddya say we hit the road, then?”
Joe settled behind the wheel of the Hyundai and tried to still his excitement. This was the break he’d been looking for—someone who was close to one of the jumpers and would talk to him about things in Terrel, not kick him out. And it didn’t hurt that she was cute!
Cindy settled in beside him, a wisp of lilac accompanying her. She flipped a spray of blonde hair back from her eyes and then pulled a seat belt over her T-shirt. He couldn’t help but notice the swell of her chest against the fabric as she tightened the belt.
“Where to?” he asked.
“You know where Parkside is?”
“Sure.”
He put the car into drive and spun around to face the town. In moments they were on the slope leading down to Terrel, tree branches grabbing at the car from the sides of the narrow road like leafy arms. Down in the valley the air was moist and still warm from the heat of the day, and Joe inhaled deeply. They didn’t have air like this in Chicago. Or girls like this, he thought, glancing at his buxom passenger.
“Lived here long?” he asked, looking for a new conversation starter.
“Long enough,” she grinned. “All my life till college. I used to think it was a small town—and then I went away and found out just how small it was!” She laughed, a cool but rich chime that Joe found irresistible. “What brings you out to a tiny place like this?”
Joe’s face clouded briefly. “You want the real answer, or the one I tell my parents?”
“Can’t a country girl git both?” she teased, tossing her head to one side and watching him expectantly.
“Sure.” He grinned. “But neither one is very exciting. Which first?”
“Gimme the lie,” she said. “I like to hear a good one now and then!”
“Okay. I came to Terrel because I realized that I couldn’t stand the hustle of the city desk at the Chicago Tribune. It was too impersonal, too harsh. I wanted to grow into a family business in a smaller town with a better climate.”
“Doesn’t sound too false to me. What’s the lie?”
“Well, actually, I love the hustle of the city desk, and I miss it quite a bit. I don’t miss the climate.”
Joe ruffled his hair and settled back into the driver’s seat. They hit the first sign of Terrel, an old abandoned barn, and turned onto the rim road that would take them into Parkside, the newer area of the city.
“The truth of it is, I came here to escape. And I have to say, the first time I’ve felt like a reporter in the months I’ve been here has been the last couple weeks as I’ve looked into the history behind that cliff up there.”
“What do you mean?” Cindy stared closer at Joe, her interest raised. He noticed her eyes were blue. Sky-on-a-fine-picnic-day blue.
“Well, what do you know about the cliff?” He threw the question back at her.
Cindy stared out the window a second.
“I know that everyone in this town is afraid of it. I know I never believed in it until this summer.”
“Believed in what?”
“You’ll think I’m silly.”
“No, I won’t. Really.”
Cindy shifted uneasily.
“People say the cliff is evil. That it’s dangerous. I used to think they were ghost stories and that the people were stupid for buying them.”
Joe pulled into the main entrance of the Parkside subdivision, two white pillars with ornate placards marking its beginning.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Right, up two more blocks on Ewing.”
Cindy stared out the window and was silent.
“I don’t know about the cliff being evil,” Joe hazarded. “But I do believe it’s convenient. A very easy spot for someone to get rid of people he or she doesn’t like.”
Cindy snapped at the insinuation.
“Everybody liked James! He didn’t have enemies. Except maybe his mother. But she wouldn’t kill him. She’s a bossy bitch, but she’s not psycho. But neither was James. He would never have jumped on his own. You have to believe that. If you had known him…”
She pointed suddenly at a slat-sided house on the right side of the street.
“There. That’s my house. Could you stop here? My parents would freak if they saw me pull up with a stranger.”
Joe hit the brakes and pulled over to the curb. Shifting into park, he turned to look closely at the girl next to him. She looked agitated now, after talking about the cliff. Much more so than when he’d first seen her dangling her feet off it.
“Would you mind meeting me sometime to talk about it more?” he asked.
She looked at his face and considered. Then decided.
“Sure. I guess that’d be okay. Are you doing a story or something about it? I don’t think the paper has ever really run any articles about it. Mostly, everyone just talks.”
“Call it a story I’m doing for myself,” he said. “I don’t know if anyone will ever publish it, but I need to write it.”
She nodded as if she really understood.
“How about meeting on the beach at the foot of Terrel’s Peak this Saturday? I’ve been wanting to head down by the water since I’ve been home, but I keep climbing up instead of down!”
“Around noon?”
She nodded again. “Yeah. See ya there!” She opened the car door and got out. But before the door shut, her head popped back into the cab.
“You’re going to think I’m nuts, but for the record? All the rumors about that cliff are true. Seriously true.”
With that, she backed up and slammed the car door shut, blonde hair swishing as she pulled herself away from the car.
Her too? Joe groaned inside. It had looked as if he’d found a good source for background on the cliff, but if she was another demon believer…
Cindy walked two houses down the street and then turned into a drive. Joe let the car creep forward until she disappeared into the gray house. Then he pulled away from the curb and turned at the end of the block toward home. For good or bad, he had a date on Saturday, anyway.
Now to set up some time with a couple others. And maybe it was time to call on Angelica again.
CHAPTER TWO
That night, sleep came slowly for Joe. The sheets stuck in humid tangles to his legs; the pillows lumped at every twist. The blue light of the clock radio silently ticked away the night: 10:45, 11:18, 12:23. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cindy. And the answer to her question. Why was he here? And could he really escape for the rest of his life?
When he did finally get to sleep, his dreams were troubled.
In one, he stood dressed all in black at the outermost point of the cliff, staring over the water. It lapped blackly against the shore, each wave crashing like a white noise explosion, the whitecaps glinting like teeth with the light of the moon. Cindy hung on his outstretched arm, only it wasn’t Cindy, not really. It was Ann, the reason he’d left Chicago.
“You couldn’t j
ust keep it quiet, could you?” she cried at him above the rush of the waves. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, their trails glimmering in the moonlight.
“Don’t you know you ruined my life?” she accused. “Why couldn’t you mind your own business?”
“I was just doing my job,” he answered.
“I hate you,” she screamed, and beat at his chest with her fists.
“I loved you,” he answered, and planted both hands on her shoulders. With a shove, he pushed Cindy/Ann over the edge of the cliff and into the black night air. Her scream was deafening at first, but quickly grew faint before disappearing altogether.
He didn’t even look over the edge. Instead, he turned away from the water and walked back to his car. He was smiling.
Joe woke up in a cold sweat. “Shit,” he cried. “Shit, shit!” The clock radio read 3:19. Bunching the pillow over his face, he tried to blot the images from his mind, but instead kept seeing Cindy/Ann’s face as she accused him.
You couldn’t just keep it quiet, could you? he heard over and over again in his head.
“Not my job,” he mumbled.
Angelica hadn’t called him since the night he slept over, and the two messages Joe had left on her machine had remained unanswered. But he pulled into her driveway anyway.
He didn’t expect her to come to the door, but she did.
Promptly. She was, again, in full costume: purple silken robe, this time covered with stars. Beneath it he caught a glimpse of a tight-fitting black shirt. Her legs were bare tonight, and he felt a surge of lust at their smooth curves.
“C’mon in, Joe,” she said, looking none to happy to see him. “I don’t know what I can get you; I haven’t been to the store in over a week.”
“Don’t need anything,” Joe answered. He sat down on the small couch where their last session had begun.
“Then what can I do for you?” she asked, her lips pulled tight. She gave off none of the friendliness or eros of the Angelica he’d seen last.
“Well, you can start by telling me why you haven’t answered my calls,” he offered.
The room was silent.
“I’ve called you a couple times,” he said.
“I’ve been…busy,” she answered with a shrug.
This was going nowhere quickly. So he switched subjects.
“I met James’ girlfriend the other night up on the cliff.”
“And how is she?”
Angelica settled on the arm of the couch, obviously not ready to sit for a long talk. Joe decided that small talk was out.
“She’s dealing with it.” Then he blurted, “Hey, I’ve been wondering. How come you never had kids?” It was the kind of personal question that he always hated springing on people. But they usually flushed out some leads too.
Angelica arched a dark eyebrow. “Who said I never did?”
Now there was one he hadn’t expected. He waited a beat before continuing. “I’ve just been thinking over the last couple weeks that it’s strange that out of the group of five who were there when Bernadette O’Brien was killed, you were the only one who didn’t have a child. I guess I assumed you hadn’t had one since I didn’t see one when I was here last, and, well, not to be rude, but I haven’t heard of any Napalona’s who have gone over the side of the cliff.”
She didn’t smile.
“I was too young when I got pregnant, Joe. I did have a child. But I gave her up for adoption as soon as she was born. I haven’t seen her since. Who knows? Maybe she has been one of the people who have been killed. Or maybe my giving her up saved her from the curse. I hope so.”
“You’ve never tried to find her?”
“It doesn’t seem like a very wise move, does it, given what’s happened to all the kids of my friends?”
Angelica stood and paced the room, her violet robe dragging slightly on the floor behind her. She peered out the front room window, and then turned back to Joe.
“I think it’s over now, Joe. Whatever it was, it’s done. Something in that cliff wanted a piece of all of us kids that day, and it took Bernadette completely. Now it’s stripped our kids from us. What do you suppose is more important to a mother? Her life, or her children? It took the most painful part. After that, death would be easy. So I think it will let us live now. Story’s over Joe, so let it lie. It’ll just wake up and bite you if you don’t—trust me.”
She held her hand out to him.
“I’m expecting someone for a reading tonight. Thanks for what you did for me last time. I appreciate it.”
He didn’t hear a wealth of gratitude in her words, despite their meaning.
She led him back to the front door.
“Some things are better left in their graves, Joe,” she said. “Leave this one buried deep.”
The door shut behind him, and Joe realized he’d been expertly evicted. And he was more puzzled now than when he’d gone inside.
As Joe pulled away from the READINGS BY ANGELICA sign, he identified the odd pit in his stomach. He’d been used. Angelica had taken him last month, used him like a vibrator, and thrown him away like a wet condom. She didn’t even want to speak to him now.
A moment of recrimination briefly pricked at his conscience. Was this what his sources felt like when he was done pumping them for information? No, he told himself. He had better manners.
CHAPTER THREE
Saturday dawned with a promising glare of gold through Joe’s bedroom window. He stretched and rolled over, then forced himself to lift a bleary eye to the clock radio—10:14. He dimly recalled reading a Grisham novel until well past three A.M. Coffee would be a necessity if he was to be beach-ready in an hour and a half.
The shower steamed around him and brought with it a rush of questions, harbored since his midweek meeting with Cindy and his unproductive quest at Angelica’s.
He wanted to find out from her what the average person in town really thought of the cliff and of the murders. He wanted to know more about the five mothers. And the Halloween deaths. During the week, he’d hatched the mad idea that Terrel harbored a pagan sect of murderous Druids. That could explain how the annual Halloween string of death reached backward for a century, but he hadn’t had a chance to poke around much looking for the fringe element of Terrel. Maybe Cindy would be tapped in, or at least have friends who were.
By the time he got out of the shower and toweled off, Joe’s mind was back on track, churning ahead at full speed.
A strong pot of java still wouldn’t hurt, he thought, and after pulling on black bermudas and a Cure concert T-shirt, he plodded into the kitchen to grind some beans.
As the caffeine soup brewed, he pulled out the weekend entertainment section from the Times and skimmed the local offerings. The theater was playing a Hitchcock revival this week: The Birds and Stranger on a Train tonight, Rope and Psycho tomorrow.
Did people in this town really need to see Psycho? Or to look at it another way, had the theater perhaps shown one too many Hitchcock murders to the locals?
The Columbian Coffeehouse was hosting a folk singer this weekend. And Lower Space, the town’s one rock club (hidden on the outskirts of Terrel, near a cheap hotel) boasted Charleston’s punk saviors Toxic Gas. He grinned at that. Now there might be the perfect place to look for Terrel’s fringe element.
After retrieving a cup of coffee from the still-hissing machine, he brought a pair of scissors back to the table and clipped the ad. Maybe Cindy had been to Lower Space. He wanted to remember to ask her.
Joe stomped often on the brakes to keep his Hyundai below fifty on the curving path the local department of transportation defined as a road. The car shifted and bumped, complaining with multiple squeaks as he plummeted down its winding descent to the waterfront. The day had turned out splendidly— the sun was hot and high, the sky achingly blue. He’d thrown some chips and cookies in a bag with his suntan lotion and an obnoxiously orange towel. His shades were on.
Now if Cindy only showed up.
The thought brought a pang of fear to his belly, which surprised him. He really was looking forward to this! He’d known the girl less than half an hour, but he realized that he was going to be bummed out big time if she blew off this “date.”
The car rounded the last curve and suddenly the trees and brush disappeared, leaving him staring straight out into the blue-green waves breaking against a jumble of dark rocks. The cliff was less than a mile ahead.
He followed gravel-filled ruts that skated along the edge of the waterfront the rest of the way. Driving this close to the ocean, it was hard to resist the temptation to watch the waves instead of the road. Then the gravel ran out and Joe kicked up sand with his tires as he pulled away from the beach onto a grassy stretch of earth. Despite the perfect weather, the sand was empty for as far as he could see, except for one figure just a few yards ahead lounging on a beach towel. Someone that looked tantalizingly female.
He grabbed his bag and kicked the car door shut.
“Hey,” the sunbather yelled out against the roar of the surf. “No reporters allowed. There’s no news here!”
Joe grinned and quickened his pace as Cindy mockingly shooed him away.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he answered when he got closer. “I’d like to get a statement from you.”
“What about?”
“Well, let’s see…Did you know that wearing a swimsuit like that is dangerous to the mental health of all males within a thirty-yard radius?”
Cindy made a face and gestured at the electric pink and yellow triangles that just barely covered her chest and the private patch of real estate below her belly button. “What, this lil’ old thing?”
“Exactly!”
She bent and picked up her beach towel, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you gettin’ hurt!”