by Greg Dragon
Joe laughed. “Well, that beats all. Thought you were following Quitman’s orders.”
“Quitman doesn’t give me orders. Sorry for bitching you out, Joe. Jenna’s won the war.”
Joe nodded and swallowed beer. “I expect crazy talk from a Delaney, not a Franklin. What’s Jenna done now?”
Rett winced and sipped a cold hit of beer. “During the storm, Jenna attacked Eddie Jean. Bit her hands and her leg like a rabid dog.”
Joe paled, or maybe it was the low light. “Bit her?”
“She lapped up Eddie Jean’s blood.”
“Any other symptoms?”
“Biting and drinking blood isn’t enough?”
“Heard that.” Joe shook his head. “Docs didn’t hospitalize her?”
“I threw her in the shower to cool her down before we went. She told them someone spiked her drink. They tested her blood, kept her overnight, and sent her home.”
“Lord, you think Jenna’s got the same crazy gene as her mother?”
“She growled at me.”
Joe burped. “The wife needs a mental check-up, don’t you think?”
“Sure I do, but she won’t go. Look, I’ve had time to think about odd things. If Eddie Jean’s ability is a good effect from the swarms, there must be a flip side, right? Like yin and yang.”
“Circling back to the cave, aren’t you? Why?” Joe sounded unhappy.
“Jenna told me Kimmy is alive and kept in a dark place. Quitman’s cave came to mind.”
Joe gulped half his beer. “You’re losing it, pardner. Think over what you said.”
Rett nodded. “I’m not loco. I feel like I’ve awakened from a deep sleep. There’s an old rumor Quitman kept a man with rabies in his cave. You’ve heard the story, right?”
Joe didn’t answer.
“Thought we were friends.”
Joe sighed. “True story. A soldier came home from the war. He went into the woods to live and caught rabies. Quitman and his brothers were out hunting, and they found him in the cave when he growled at them. My pappy told me Quitman sealed him in and kept notes on his condition until the fella died.”
“What?”
“He’s been cruel longer than I’ve been alive,” Joe said.
“Wasn’t Quitman a bit young to be hunting during the war?”
Joe wiped his chin. “He’s not Eddie Jean’s grandfather. He’s her great-grandfather.”
Rett laughed and slapped a hand down on the table. “Have you seen the old man out rock climbing, hiking, and what not? He’s mid-sixties if he’s a day.”
Joe repeated. “He’s over a hundred. My pappy gave me the scoop on the Delaneys and Cloudland’s secrets. Made me swear never to tell another soul, and I haven’t. Vickers have lived in Cloudland as long as the Delaneys.”
He slammed his mug on the table. “Why keep his age secret? Lots of people must know.”
“Few know the truth and, like me, they say nothing.”
Rett frowned. “Rabies is a painful death. How could he watch and not help?”
Joe shrugged. “I said Quitman wasn’t human, didn’t I? The longer he lives, the less he feels. Cloudland is Delaneyland. Quitman has been mayor six times, and he owns the town.”
“He’s not a king, Joe.”
“He’s close. Cloudland’s growth exploded under his guidance. He brought in high-paying jobs, a hospital, and kept our view and lifestyle. Quitman ain’t loved, but he’s respected. You got balls for thinkin’ you can take his grandkids without permission.”
Rett sat up straighter. “He knows?”
Joe cleared his throat. “Quitman called me. He knows about the plane tickets.”
Emotions twisted Rett into knots. He kicked the vacant chair beside him and it flipped over on its side. “They’re my kids, not his. You’re spying on me?”
Joe reddened. “Yeah, since Kimmy died. He said you were taking her loss hard. I should’ve told him no, but the man scares me. Pappy said he had gloss. Gloss gives him long life and sharp intelligence. He looks and moves at half his age. Eddie Jean’s gloss is healing, and Michael Thomas’s boy has gloss too. I could pick them out once Pappy showed me how.”
Rett dialed back his anger. “They stand out in a crowd.”
“The ones with gloss belong to the Delaneys. Always have, always will.”
“Not Eddie Jean.”
“There aren’t many with special skills, but the ones who have it have all been trained by Quitman. He instructs them and later pulls them into local businesses. Quitman built Cloudland.”
“People build a town, not one man.” Rett sensed he had to convince Joe to help him find Quitman’s cave. Friend or not, Quitman’s call had unnerved Joe. “I’d have to be blind not to notice Quitman’s land is recently patrolled by hired guns. Why all the hoopla over a cave?”
Joe wiped sweat from his forehead with a napkin. “No biggie, Rett. Area has sink holes. When the college kids went missing, he got security serious. His land has many caves and they flood. With swarms increasing, his land is dangerous. No one with a brain goes there.”
Rett ignored the last comment. “Least you didn’t give me the yellow mist crap like Jenna does when she’s drunk. She said a mist spews up from time to time after heavy swarms. If people breathe the mist, they become rabid. Did Jenna leak a family secret, Joe?”
Joe choked on beer and Rett pounded his back. “Where’s the cave, Joe?”
“Sorry, can’t go contrary to my better judgment. Your mind is crooked.”
“Crooked, huh?” Rett yanked Joe from his chair and shook him.
“Take it easy, dude.”
Rett shoved Joe in the chest, and he staggered into the wall. Football pictures crashed to the floor and glass cracked. “Stop being Quitman’s man! Why does the cave scare you?”
Joe grunted and said, “You think you’re the first? People asking about his cave go missing. If hell exists, Quitman’s cave is the entry point. I’m tryin’ to help you, pardner.”
“Then help me get in and avoid his guards.”
“Damn you, Franklin.” Joe covered his face with his hands. He took deep breaths before he made up his mind. “Tell me why! A cave is a hole in the ground.”
He owed Joe. “Eddie Jean and the boys were with me on a trip to Nashville when Kimmy died. By the time we arrived home, the funeral arrangements were made. When I asked to look in the coffin, Jenna fainted.”
“Crap,” Joe said. “You don’t think you buried her?”
Rett shrugged. “It eats at me, Joe. I didn’t take the last look or plan her services. I have whole days when I believe she’s still alive, understand? Kimmy’s death left a hole in my heart, and Jenna pours acid in. Seeing the cave empty will bring me peace of mind.”
Joe took deep breaths before he nodded. “You’ll have to go armed, agreed?”
“If you say so.”
“I do. If you get caught by Quitman’s guards your boys will be raised by him. If you can stomach that idea, I’ll show you his cave on my map.”
Rett finished his beer. “You’re saying Quitman will make me disappear?”
Joe wouldn’t look him in the eye, but he nodded.
Rett swallowed, not sure whether to believe him. Joe struggled with the words, so the warning had to be true. “You’re a good friend, Joe.”
“Like hell I am.”
They shook hands and walked to Joe’s truck. Joe pulled a map and penlight from the glove compartment. He climbed into the passenger seat, and Joe spread out the map.
“Red-circled areas are Quitman’s land. Hunters avoid it because his guards confiscate weapons. Men have been detained for hours. They get in your face and scream about safety, lawsuits, and other crap. Works, too. Quitman’s money buys power.”
Rett asked, “You support the way he runs Cloudland?”
“I do, but he has no right to make you stay.”
“Thanks.”
Joe pointed to a road. “Your best bet is County Road Eigh
t. Road is rough. Find mile marker six and go about fifty feet past and pull off on the right side. Climb the fence.”
“How high is it?”
“Five feet. Place is crawling with motion detectors and cameras. Swarms knock them offline, so guards walk the perimeter.”
“Okay. Show me the cave.”
Joe stabbed the map with a fingertip. “Hill is there. Climb the north side. It’s steep but the back side is a caved in mess. Go straight down—by the way, the climb is suicidal at night.”
“Just my luck,” Rett said, trying to joke.
“Once you’re down, follow a northeast compass heading about a hundred feet. Entrance is covered by kudzu.”
“One way in?”
Joe nodded. “Unless the swarms opened a new entry.”
Rett studied the map.
“Dude, I don’t get it. His cave is like a black hole swallowing people and ruining lives. Why risk getting shot and provoking Quitman?”
“He made Kimmy’s funeral arrangements and my life hasn’t been the same since. If he wants a showdown, he’ll get one.”
“Map’s yours,” Joe said. “Rifle’s locked in a case. You know how to use one?”
Rett nodded and sucked in his lower lip. “I won’t need it.”
Joe gasped and dropped his head. “You promised to go armed! Rett, you really have no idea. I shouldn’t say this, but don’t ask me any questions or interrupt. Listen up, Rett, and listen well. Load the rifle before you climb the fence and take the extra ammo with you. You see anything wild, feral, or not quite human running straight at you, shoot it in the right eye. Got it? Right eye.”
Rett saw fear on Joe’s face and heard it in his voice. He nodded.
Joe sighed. “Quitman has a knack for showing up when least expected. You draw on Quitman Delaney, son, you better make the shot count. You won’t get a second.”
Wilbur
Wilbur spent the evening scanning Evaney’s student essays. She wrote a lot about her personal life. He thought his early childhood stunk, but hers had been far worse. A few passages summed up her nightmare. “I dreamed about the vacation places on the fading windshield stickers on our RV every time Grand Nessy beat my grandpa: Overlook Mountain, Grand Canyon, Magic Mountain, Disney World, and Mammoth Cave. Velma Lou, my mother, would go into a trance and get a faraway look in her eyes, but she was safe; beautiful people are always safe. Watching Grandpa Vern bleeding and shattered broke my heart. I loved the old man even if he couldn’t protect me.”
Or this. “Grand Nessy called me Vermin because I was ugly. She used to say, ‘If ya got run over I wouldn’t even mop ya off the road.’ Grandpa Vern would sign like the deaf do—No, you’re my rainbow. Even after Grand Nessy beat me I had to read Byron’s She Walks in Beauty to my starry-eyed pageant mother, but I didn’t mind because the words took my mind off the terrible pain.”
Closing her notebook, Wilbur had to admit Evaney Harwood became filthy rich the hard way. Her mother married them into old money after the grandparents died in a fire. When her mother and stepfather died in a taxi accident in Spain, Evaney inherited a fortune. The money never sat well with her, according to her journal. At Duke she fell in love for the first time. His name was Winn Harmon, a finance major from Boston.
Evaney had described Winn as debonair and charming, with the same air about him as JFK. He also learned Winn Harmon had proposed to Evaney hours before their disappearance. He gave her an emerald and diamond engagement ring. The story of her engagement was the last words she ever recorded. She left the notebook under her pillow at the Autumn Inn.
On cushions in front of a fireplace Harmon had quoted Byron’s She Walks in Beauty to Evaney, unaware of the poem’s prior history between Evaney and her mother. Evaney wrote how she put her hand over his heart as he recited the words to her, and afterward the Byron poem belonged to her and Winn.
Wilbur had reread the section on their engagement several times. He liked the connections Evaney used in her words. How her hand began to throb with the same tempo as Harmon’s heartbeat, and then her entire body vibrated in sync with his voice. Her words left a strong impression of Evaney as a vivacious college student. Shame what happened to her—to them.
He prepared for sleep and then realized he had forgotten to Google her friends. Goosebumps speckled his skin. How could his mind turn foggy and be content after getting sidetracked?
He got up from his desk chair and readied to go downstairs for supper. Ignoring a sudden urge to gorge on Halloween sweets, he sat back down and typed in the Duke students’ names. Confusion muddled his mind. Wilbur gritted his teeth and tried to force his fingers to obey, but it was useless. There could be only one answer for his symptoms.
Somehow, Evaney Harwood had cut him off from his own mind, scrambled his vision, and induced hunger. He knew it was her, yet if he ever told anyone, well, that would make him crazy, wouldn’t it? Could he lose his ability to reason, like Mary?
Wilbur cracked his knuckles. He couldn’t let that happen, but how could he fight what couldn’t be seen? Evaney Harwood had entered his head like an uninvited hypnotist and controlled him. He sensed her—no, he felt her presence. Twice he had looked over his shoulder expecting to see her. Ticked, he shut down the computer.
Mary had shouted, “Get out of my head.” Wilbur understood now. The last private place in the entire world was inside your own head. Evaney was messing with him. Something ached in his head, like a cramp. Freaked, he grabbed the desk, waiting for a stroke or a vein to burst. What the hell? His breathing roughened and his mind cleared. He leaned back on his chair.
A sane person would get in the car and drive away, but then she would invade another co-worker’s mind. He had to end the nightmare and free his thoughts. Could he fight her?
Wilbur didn’t know. He wasn’t a warrior that reveled in getting sweaty or beating his chest. Logic and the power of words worked for him. Poets found inspiration in the boring: a vase of dried flowers, cat hairs on a sofa, even dirty laundry. If Evaney kept him cut off from his thought trails, he would never write another poem. He couldn’t let her get away with stealing his words. Battle on. He sent the mental message to her. He clenched his fists and envisioned the two words being shot out of a cannon.
Grandmother Pearl always said, Prayers without deep emotions behind them are empty thoughts. He figured it worked equally well for threats and warnings.
Shivers…hundreds of shivers ran up and down his skin, making him jumpy. Did she just answer him? The word for the creepy sensation was horripilation. It meant the bristling of body hairs. Poor Mary never stood a chance. Reading the Bible would not have given her peace or assistance. To give Evaney a taste of her own treatment, he planned to become a vegetarian and drink more beer. Evaney had mentioned an allergy to hops in one of her notebooks. He’d make his blood a toxic irritant to spite her for invading his mind.
Get out of my head! “Game on,” he added out loud for good measure.
Wilbur realized eerie sensations had overwhelmed him since Mary’s death, along with fragmented memories of things that never happened. The disconnection had to be part of her plan to isolate him and keep him from investigating what happened in Cloudland. Maybe finding out the truth behind her coma would boot her out of his head forever. In a war of the minds, he intended to win his back.
Veena knocked on his door and said, “Supper’s ready.”
“I’ll be right down.” Wilbur got up. He needed nourishment after giving blood. He went downstairs and straight to the library. The Monet, as always, looked good under any condition. Wilbur flipped on the museum-type lighting. Why wouldn’t Doc chart the truth of her physical improvements? Did he lie for the money or did she fog his mind too? Maybe Doc became POM, prisoner of mind, before him and Mary. The idea staggered him. If true, he was no better than Doc. He lied to keep a roof over his head and to hold his little house family together.
He let the Monet soothe him. No matter how bad he felt, staring at the p
ainting always improved his mood. The light at the center of the landscape gave him the impression of a window opening up, like an escape hatch into another dimension.
“We’re waiting supper on you,” Lee snapped from the doorway. She glanced at the painting. “What do you see? Naked girls?”
“Truth,” he answered, and walked past her.
Louis
Louis woke with a jerk. Where am I? He sat up and tried to get his bearings. A black leather sofa cradled him and a fleece blanket kept him warm. He saw a note scribbled on yellow legal paper and read it. Louis scrunched it in a ball, embarrassed. Ava left him for a few minutes and when she returned he had fallen asleep. She decided to let him have his siesta. He felt drugged, foggy, and old.
He followed the scent of fresh-brewed coffee and staggered into the break room. One of the lab technicians he’d met earlier said, “I planned to wake you with a fresh cup, Doctor Janzen. Doctor Allen is in a staff meeting, but she’ll join you shortly.”
He grunted and declined coffee. “What time is it?”
“Half past five.”
Louis couldn’t believe it. “P.M.?”
He nodded. “Do I need to stay?”
“No.” Louis knew he sounded curt and didn’t care. Damn AL for kicking him in Cloudland. Sometimes his energy evaporated and left him feeling elderly. The tech left him alone.
Louis went to the sink and splashed his face. Halloween decorations in the break room caught his eye. He’d forgotten the date. People came in to take candy from a skeleton wearing a grass skirt and a Bluetooth headset. A full candy bowl had been wedged inside the ribcage. Louis didn’t want his presence to spoil their fun, so he decided to stretch his legs. The long corridor had emergency exit lights running along the edges like in airplanes. He wished his lab at UVA contained the same high-tech toys. Louis peeked into windows, amazed at the size of the workforce.
Ava joined him. “Louis, I apologize for the delay. I took a conference call, and when I came back you were conked out. Are you ill?”