Southern House

by Mark Deloy

  “They’re keeping them overnight for observation,” Jensen informed us. “The doc says they seem fine, but they aren’t talking. He’s sending for a child psychiatrist to talk to them tomorrow, but for right now, he thinks they just need rest. “

  “Maybe the child psychiatrist can get them to tell us where they’ve been,” Jim suggested.

  “I hope so. Whoever took them is still out there,” Jensen declared.

  “I need to call Margee,” Jim said, walking away and pulling out his cell.

  “I’m sorry about your church,” I said to him, as he walked away.

  “No one was hurt,” he observed. “That’s the most important thing. I have insurance.”

  I nodded, then asked Jensen if he’d give me a ride back home.

  “Not waiting for Lisa?” he smiled. “I’m sure she’ll be along soon.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “Yeah. She’s on her way. She seemed eager to talk to you. She asked if you saw anything.”

  “Ahh, an exclusive interview with an eye witness.”

  “Yeah, either that, or someone told her you were a hero for going to get those kids before they could get seriously burned. I think my cuz likes you. It’s just a hunch.”

  “Thanks, but I just did what anyone would have. And, technically, I’m still married and she’s a little young, or I’m a little old.”

  Jensen shrugged. “But getting divorced?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, with no further explanation.

  “Just take it slow. She’s a good girl… and smart. I’ll spare you the overprotective cousin act. You seem like a good guy.”

  “Thanks,” I responded, and couldn’t help but smile, too.

  “You might want to get cleaned up a little,” he said, pointing at his own face.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks,” I said and headed to the bathroom.

  I was shocked when I looked in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot and I was covered in soot. I pressed down on the dispenser about thirty times and then rinsed the brown paper towels under the cool water until they were soggy. Then I proceeded to clean my face and neck off. There was nothing I could do about my clothes.

  Lisa did arrive a few minutes later and she did want to interview me. We went down to the hospital cafeteria, which, in this small hospital, consisted of a coffee machine, a snack vending machine and three tables with plastic chairs. I drank all six bottles of water they had in the vending machine, followed by two bottles of orange juice that felt heavenly on my sore throat.

  I told her everything I’d seen upon waking up.

  “Are you serious? They were just standing there?” she asked when I finished.

  “Yeah, it was kind of creepy. They were all holding hands, just staring at the burning church.”

  “You’re a hero. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I think so, but I’m no hero. My lungs and eyes are still burning a little, but I’m just glad the kids are alright.”

  She dug around in her purse and produced a small bottle of saline solution from her purse.

  “Here,” she said. “You should use it all.”

  I leaned back and shot a stream of the cool liquid into one eye, then another taking away some of the itchiness. I was glad I didn’t wear contacts. They probably would have melted to my eyeballs.

  “Where do you think they had been?” she asked, and I almost told her about the house. It would have been a bad idea. Not just because she was a reporter and would want to investigate, but because I liked her, too, and I didn’t want her to think I was crazy.

  “I didn’t see any scratches on them and their clothes were a little dirty, but nothing like they would have looked if they’d spend that much time in the woods. Someone had them somewhere. Someone took them and stashed them somewhere. Maybe they escaped, or maybe whomever did it let them go. Too much attention perhaps with everyone searching for them.”

  “I hope whoever had them didn’t do… stuff to them.”

  “Me, too,” I said. “The fact that they are catatonic worries me, but the doc said a child psychiatrist will be here tomorrow morning to talk to them. Hopefully we’ll know a little more then. That is, if they talk at all.”

  “You aren’t hopeful?” Lisa asked.

  “The look on their faces. I can’t describe it, but I could have sworn they were smiling when they were watching the church burn. After I tried to pull them away, their faces went blank—no expression at all. It was disturbing.”

  “I can’t imagine what they’ve been through.”

  “Me, neither,” I said to her, but, privately, I thought it was worse than anything we could imagine in our most terrible nightmares.

  23

  Lisa gave me a ride home. By then, the sun was creeping over the eastern rise. She dropped me off in my driveway, but declined coffee.

  “My sister came over to watch Connor when Jensen called me. She has today off, but I’m sure she’ll want to get home.”

  “Raincheck, then?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” she said and smiled at me.

  I got out and went inside. I could still smell the fire and probably would be able to for a long time. I’d have to air out the house for sure and wipe everything down. Then there were my clothes and anything else made of cloth in the house, bed sheets, curtains, other linens. It was a good thing I was retired. It was going to be a long day of cleaning up.

  The first thing I did was open all the windows. Surprisingly, it was smokier inside than outside. A strong breeze from the west helped as well. Then I stripped the beds and started making laundry piles with the sheets and my clothes. If I was lucky, and kept at it, I might be done doing laundry by next week.

  I swept the porch free of a heavy layer of ash that was on it. Luckily, I’d turned the air conditioner on last night and had shut the windows before bed, so mostly everything was just smoky and not covered in soot like the porch. My car was also soot-covered, so I took a few minutes between loads of laundry to hose that off as well.

  As I was wrapping the hose back up after rinsing my car, a car pulled into the church driveway. It was a red Lincoln. I couldn’t tell if there was a crest on the door, but figured it had to be the fire inspector. I decided to walk up and see if I could get any information out of him about how the fire started. Normally I wouldn’t have been such a busy body, but since I was an eyewitness, I thought maybe he’d want to talk to me also.

  I walked up the road and observed the man was dressed in a plaid shirt and khakis. He was standing in the middle of the debris with a clipboard, so figured my guess about him being a fire inspector was probably correct. There wasn’t much left of the actual structure of the church. Charred boards poked up from gray ash and I could barely make out the remnants of pews at the center of the mess.

  “Hey,” I called, raising a hand as I approached him. “I live down there,” I explained, pointing. “I was the first person here last night besides those kids.”

  “Oh, hey,” he said, high-stepping out of the charred boards and ash towards me. “You must be Mr. Grimble. Sheriff Pratt told me how you rescued those kids. I was actually going to come and talk to you when I finished up here.”

  “Yes, I am. And I didn’t really rescue them. They were just standing in the road watching the fire. Please call me, Hickory.” I left out the part about the kids smiling.

  “I’m Marvin Kimble,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m the fire chief for the Centerville area, but they called me in for this one as an inspector. I’m certified. Took some courses in Nashville, so they depend on me to tell the volunteer squads what caused their fires.”

  “Sounds like you stay busy,” I said. “Nice of you, I mean. Do you think you’ll figure out what caused this one?”

  “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he said seriously, then cracked a smile. “Just kidding. But it has to stay confidential until I’m finished with the investigation. Can I ask you something though?”

  “Sure, anythi
ng.”

  “Did you smell anything? A gasoline smell, or anything at all?”

  “Actually, I did smell pine pitch, or turpentine. I figured it was the trees burning. We have a bunch of pines all over.”

  “Nope,” he shook his head. “No trees were harmed in the making of this fire.”

  Then he started laughing again. Apparently, Marvin thought he had jokes. I smiled politely to show I got it. I looked up at the surrounding trees and saw he was right. None of the pine trees, which were actually a little deeper in the surrounding treeline were charred. In fact, none of the trees were burned at all. Then I remembered it had rained the whole day of the fire, so the trees were probably still damp.

  “Did you happen to see anyone else around the area, either recently, or during the fire?” he asked. “Besides the kids.”

  “Nope, no one. I can usually see cars pull into the parking lot, or at least hear them from the house, but I didn’t see or hear anyone after everyone left from searching for the kids.”

  “And what time was it when everyone left?”

  “Around noon, I guess.”

  “Alright, thank you,” Marvin said, giving me his hand again.

  “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” I offered, shaking his hand again.

  “Will do. And if you see anyone snooping around here, call me right away,” he said, handing me a business card. “Arsonists like to come back and see their handiwork after the fact. They like to watch it burn even more.”

  That made me think about the feeling of being watched again. Marvin had basically just told me he believed the fire was arson, but I stayed quiet. I was sure he knew he did and didn’t much care, which told me I wasn’t a suspect.

  I walked back to the house and worked on finishing my huge piles of laundry. Girl helped by rolling around in them. I rubbed her upturned belly and then asked her if she was hungry.

  I made both of us a grilled cheese and she ate hers in one bite.

  After lunch I called Jim’s house, and then his cell when Margee told me he was still at the hospital with the families. When there was no answer on the cell, I decided the laundry could wait and took a ride up to the hospital. Both Jim’s and Jensen’s cars were in the parking lot. I went inside and found them both sitting in the waiting room area on hard plastic chairs.

  “Hey, Jim,” I said. “Thought I’d check to see how you were doing. Hey sheriff.”

  “Hey Hick,” Jim said. “I’ve been better. The church is a total loss, but like I said earlier, at least I have insurance. I’m just happy the children were returned safely.”

  “Speaking of, have you heard anything?”

  “The psychiatrists are in there with each one of them now,” Jensen said. “Their doctor thought it would be best to talk to them each individually—with their parents present, of course.”

  “Do you know if they’ve said anything yet?” I asked. “Anything at all?’

  “Not that we’ve heard,” Jim said.

  “So, I thought of something that might cheer you up,” I said, just now thinking of it. “You can use the tent and the land for as long as you need it for normal services.”

  “I can’t accept that. it’s very generous of you but…” Jim said, and then trailed off.

  “You’re worried about something else happening,” I guessed. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t even thought about that.”

  “Tell you what, Pastor,” Jensen said. “If you agree to continue on with normal Sunday services in the tent for the time being, I’ll come to church in full uniform as personal armed security.”

  Tears formed in Jim’s eyes and he turned away for a minute. I could see his lip quivering.

  “I couldn’t ask for better friends. Thank you very much.”

  “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

  “Just until we get something else built or find another suitable location to hold services,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “Deal, as long as you’re out of there before hunting season,” I joked and clapped him on one shoulder. “All that gospel music might scare away the deer.”

  “Nah, it would probably bring them in,” Jensen said. “Damn deer around here are curious, or have you forgotten?”

  “No, I remember. Gramps would always bring coffee into the woods with us. We wouldn’t see anything until he popped open his thermos and those deer got a whiff of French roast, then they’d come running.”

  We had a good laugh and shared a few more hunting stories. It almost made me feel normal again and I almost forgot about the house and the mysterious man-like creature who haunted the woods like a wraith.

  After a few minutes, the parents all came out with arms around their children. The kids’ expressions hadn’t changed at all. They were still blank and they all stared straight ahead. They were walking, but that was all. Brandy Holst, Jacob’s mother was carrying him and the boy’s arms fell listlessly at his sides as she gripped him tightly around his back and his bottom.

  Jim got up to try and talk with them, but Brandy just brushed past him. I overheard Wil and Cathy Harris—Mike’s parents—tell him thank you, but they would call him later if there was any change. Then Evan Baker, Anni’s father, told him they just wanted to get the kids home.

  I felt sorry for them, but I felt worse for Jim. His church had burned down and he was still here trying to provide comfort for the families, and all they did was blow him off. I felt like getting up and yelling at them, but I knew they’d been through a lot already. I hoped they didn’t blame Pastor Jim for their kids disappearing, but I was afraid they did.

  Jensen got up as the families approached.

  “Did they say anything about who took them?” he asked all of them at once.

  “They didn’t say anything,” Evan Baker said. “Anni hasn’t said a word. Nothing. I don’t know what you want from them. That doctor tried to make them remember who took them. There was no reaction at all. We’ll call you if anything changes. I’m sorry.”

  Jensen came back and sat next to me.

  Jim spotted Anni Baker’s doctor coming out of one of the rooms and approached him.

  “Was there any progress at all?”

  “You know I can’t tell you anything about patients,” I overheard the doctor say.

  Jim just nodded and walked back over to us. The mood Jensen and I had gotten him out of had returned.

  “I just hope they are okay,” he said. “Did they seem any better to you?”

  “No, they were the same,” Jensen said. “Evan said Anni still hasn’t said a word. The other parents wouldn’t even talk to me, so I can’t imagine there were any breakthroughs from the counseling sessions.”

  I drove back to the house, feeling depressed and tired. I was glad the kids were back, but they were merely husks of what I assumed they once were. I hoped further counseling would help them, but something told me it wouldn’t. As they walked past me, it seemed as if something was missing from them. That thing that made them children, that spark, was now gone. I’d soon learn it was much, much worse than that.

  24

  Lisa got me out of my bad mood an hour later with a phone call.

  “Hi, Hick! Say, I have the evening to myself and was wondering if I could cash in that raincheck?”

  “Absolutely, Lisa! How about meeting up at seven at Breese’s?”

  “Sounds good, Hick. See you then”

  I grabbed the photo of my grandfather with the tall man in the background on my way out the door. At the time, I didn’t know why.

  Breece’s café had been in business since 1939. I had fond memories of my grandparents taking me there for breakfasts when I was a kid. It’s a storefront restaurant with a big neon sign hanging out front. The top, which says Breece’s, is burnt out, and had been for as long as I could remember, but the Café part still works fine and the red neon catches your eye as you turn onto the public square. The inside is filled with red, padded booths, barstools and stainless s
teel- edged counters. You can watch your food being cooked on the big grill and smell your waffles as they brown in the irons.

  “Where’s Connor?” I asked as I sat down to join her in a booth near the back of the diner.

  “His dad decided he wanted to spend some time with him. First time in a month. I still let David see him anytime he wants, even though he doesn’t pay child support. I figure Connor still needs a dad. But anyway, I don’t want to drag you into my drama.”

  “It’s okay,” I responded. “I’m the one who asked. How’s the story coming?”

  “Constantly evolving. Here, I brought you a copy of the afternoon edition. It was my first front page. My editor gave me the headline for tomorrow, too, but I’m not sure what to write about yet.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “This is a big deal.”

  She gave me a look like I was crazy. “Most of the story is actually about you, saving those kids. Tomorrow’s is going to be about their recovery, if I can get the parents to talk to me. Jensen said they are glad the kids are back, but they don’t know what to make of them not saying a word. I mean, can you imagine that? Not just one kid being traumatized, but all three of them.”

  “ No, I can’t imagine what they went through. And that’s the thing… no one actually knows what they’ve been through because they won’t tell us.”

  “I want you to take a look at something,” Lisa said, rummaging through her purse. She brought out a sheet of paper with a drawing on it. It had to be one of Connor’s. She opened it on the table and smoothed out the wrinkles. My breath nearly caught in my throat. I had the identical image in my pocket. Only in Connor’s drawing there were no shadows or brush in the background and the tall, slender figure could be seen clearly between the two trees. My grandfather was standing in the foreground, dressed in the same plaid shirt and overalls he had on in my photo. His eight-point buck lay at his feet. I suddenly felt very sick.

  “Did Connor draw that?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Yes. It scares me. He says he keeps dreaming about this figure. I’m not sure who this is,” she said, pointing at the obviously human man in the picture. “It’s like the other drawing, but this guy with the deer is new.”