The Dark Age

by Dallas Mullican

  Jackson City sat forty miles east of Montgomery, a quaint old southern town that hadn’t changed much in a hundred years. Every structure and tree appeared much the same as when Spence last viewed them, but paradoxically, everything felt strange and unfamiliar. Buildings lined the main street in a variety of facades. Brown and Brown, Attorneys at Law, in red brick and black mortar, had been there as long as he could remember, a place where the working schmuck could afford basic legal services, mostly wills, insurance issues, or gripes with Social Security. Across the street, Massey's Auto Parts’ beige stucco butted against a monstrosity of peach-hued paint labeled ‘Beatrice's Boutique.’ Spence remembered some other business being there, and it was white back then, but so long ago, he had forgotten what.

  The county courthouse perched atop a slight rise in the heart of the square, a grand edifice and the town’s crowning centerpiece. Constructed in 1818, the regal colonial building, surrounded in pink azaleas and deep green English Boxwoods, sat at the end of a cobblestoned path that circled a fountain positioned halfway between the courthouse and the street. Some nameless soldier in revolutionary garb posed amidst the fountain’s waters in glinting bronze. Dozens of people clad in business suits and bright colored summer wear strolled the courtyard and sidewalks. Spence pulled into a space in front of the county sheriff’s station adjacent to the courthouse. He doubted anyone would remember him after fifteen years. With a little extra weight and his head shaved smooth, he must look like a different person.

  “Yoo-hoo! Spencer. Spencer Murray.”

  A shrill voice drilled into his head and set his teeth on edge. As he turned, a rotund woman waddled toward him, pudgy legs beating against the pavement. She waved her hands as if readying to take flight, saggy flaps of skin flopping beneath her arms. Her red paisley handbag spun on one wrist and clashed with a blue-green muumuu. Spence braced for impact.

  “Spencer Murray, well I’ll be.” She wrapped him in a bear hug that felt like diving face first into a beanbag chair.

  His arms went limp under the constrictor-like pressure and the air expelled from his lungs. Once she released him, the woman stepped back with a hand on each of his biceps and looked him up and down. He remembered her, but for the life of him could not recall her name.

  “It’s Betty…Betty Mosley.” When Spence still stared at her with a confused expression, she laughed. “Oh silly, your Aunt Betty. I watched you children for years, taught you in Bible school, even cooked and cleaned your house more times than I can count. You ain’t gonna say you don’t remember your ol’ Aunt Betty?”

  Memories clicked and the image of a woman singing in the kitchen and telling them stories in the church leapt to his mind. No wonder he hadn’t recognized her. This woman looked as if she had eaten Aunt Betty.

  She must have noticed, but it didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. “Thyroid troubles. Gained a few pounds. More to love, and I’m the same ol’ Aunt Betty.”

  A few tons maybe. Spence had difficulty attempting to reconcile his memory of her with the person standing before him, but he could see her now, in the beaming smile, kind eyes, and peculiar mannerisms.

  “Of course, Betty.” Spence offered a smile while rubbing his ribs.

  “Oh you. I’ll always be Aunt Betty.” She rapped him on the arm.

  “Okay…Aunt Betty. Well, it’s good to see you again, but…” Spence backpedaled away.

  She appraised him for a moment. “My goodness, ain’t you looking good. Look at them muscles. Bet you have all the ladies chasing after you.”

  Spence reddened and grinned. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Can’t fool me, no sir. So, you finally decided to come home and hobnob with us little people, huh? You gotta come to church Sunday. And after, I’ll make you a big lunch.

  “I’ll try. I have a lot I need to do.”

  “Gonna see your ma? I visit her all the time. She’ll be so happy to see you.” Betty spoke while throwing an animated wave to someone across the street.

  Spence’s voice caught in his throat. “M-mom’s talking? She knows you?”

  “No. She’s still the same. But I can tell she hears me. I keep her up on the goings on. No one should be alone all the time, not even in her condition. Your brother and sister visit some, Stacy more than Charlie, but you kids should see her more often. How long has it been since you seen her?” The last sentence carried more than a touch of accusation and disapproval.

  “A while.” Spence averted his gaze and Betty seemed to soften.

  “Well, the past is the past. You can make up for it now.” She blanched, a sudden epiphany dawning on her. She locked eyes with him, concern washing over her face. “Mercy, can’t believe I forgot. Running on at the mouth like I am. You here about Charlie ain’t ya? Lord, child, it’s got me all torn up. You children’re like my own kids, but Charlie most of all. I direct the choir at church and sing the specials. Help Charlie with all the church business. I live right across from the church, so it’s easy to be around whenever he needs me. Reckon I spend more time with him than with my own family.” Betty shuffled her feet and sighed. “Don’t you worry, Hon, that brother of yours is God’s own right hand. I know the angels’re watching over him, and’ll guide him home safe and sound. I’m praying day and night they find him.” She looked up and nodded. “You headed to see the sheriff? Well, you go on then. You’ve more important business than catching up with Aunt Betty.”

  Spence smiled and turned, but Betty grabbed him. “One more hug. Mmm mmm. You call you need anything.”

  He watched her wobble away, shaking his head. If Betty’s was any indication of the reactions his homecoming would elicit, he hoped no one else recognized him for a while; his ribs couldn’t take it. Spence pushed through the glass doors of the Goodwin County Sheriff’s Department and marched to the front counter. A young blonde, looking bored, read a magazine and barely glanced up as he entered.

  “Is the sheriff in?” asked Spence.

  “Got an appointment?” She flipped pages while twirling her hair around one finger.

  Spence leaned onto the counter and flashed his badge. “Be a dear and go tell the sheriff I need to see him. Detective Spencer Murray.”

  The girl didn’t seem impressed. She huffed, spun in her seat, and stormed off through the double doors behind her. Spence perused a giant wallboard cluttered with wanted posters and public safety bulletins while he waited. Fox News Channel broadcast from a television mounted on the opposite wall, a leggy redhead admonishing the Democrats in Congress over illegal immigration. Spence took a seat once he realized Blondie would be taking her time, intentionally, he assumed, and flipped through an old copy of Field & Stream.

  After ten minutes, the girl returned and escorted him to an office at the rear of the building. Deputies and subordinates eyed him with suspicion while pecking away on keyboards or rifling through file cabinets. They paused at a door with Sheriff Steven Blatty stenciled in black on a frosted glass pane. Blondie rapped twice, pushed it open, and hurried back up the hall.

  “Spencer Murray.” Sheriff Blatty, thirty-five or so, wore his thick black hair combed straight back, some premature grey at the temples and in his beard. Coupled with hard blue eyes and a mouth hinting at menace, the overall effect gave him a certain mystique that must serve him well in his position.

  “Sheriff,” replied Spence with a subtle tilt of his head.

  He stood and clasped Spence’s hand before nodding to the seat across from his desk.

  “The pride of Goodwin County returns. All-state tailback, two state championships, you’re like a god in these parts.” Blatty plopped into his chair and rocked back.

  Spence chuckled and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Yeah, long time ago.”

  “Hell, football’s a second religion around here…probably first for most. Nobody forgets. You gave this town the only thing to boast about since we kicked the Yankees’ asses during the Civil War.” That such a fact would not be high on Spence’s historic
al events to celebrate didn’t appear to register with the sheriff. “I played against you, you know? Defensive back for Sylacauga High. I was a year ahead of you, but you still ran right over my ass more than once.” The sheriff laughed, but it lacked humor.

  “Like I said, long time ago.” The subject was a sore spot with Spence, and he detected some resentment on Blatty’s part, though for different reasons.

  “Guess you’re here about Reverend Murray.”

  “How’s the search going? Anything?”

  “Nothing…” Blatty paused and shifted his gaze. “Had to call it off.”

  Spence bolted from his chair. “What? Why?”

  Sheriff Blatty stared at Spence’s chair—an unspoken command to sit down. “Your brother was well loved around here. Folks came from all over to help look for him. Hell, I had more people than I knew what to do with. Searched up and down the river, covering every inch of forest for better than four days. We dragged the river from the bridge at County Road 323 all the way down to the Burton cutoff.”

  “Call in help from the neighboring counties. Did you use dogs? What about methane probes?” Spence spat out the questions rapid-fire.

  “I know you’re a big city detective now, and we’re small town bumpkins don’t know our butts from a hole in the ground, but we do know how to conduct a search of our own goddamn county.” Blatty’s face flushed with anger.

  Spence eased back into the chair, his hands tight on the armrests, and sighed. “Not what I meant. But you can’t give up. Not yet. I just left the scene of a murdered pastor in Walnut Grove. There could be a link. It deserves an investigation.”

  The sheriff, too, relaxed a little, but shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that, but there weren’t any signs of a struggle.” Blatty raked fingers through his hair. “Listen, I couldn’t keep it up without a trace of him, nothing to follow or warrant continuing. I don’t have the resources. Even with the help, folks couldn’t tramp around those woods forever. I’m telling you, we covered every inch a dozen times over.” He met Spence’s eyes. “I am sorry. Charlie was a friend and a good man.”

  “Yes he is,” said Spence, pushing from the chair.

  “Spencer.”

  He glared at the sheriff, though his ire couldn’t find the instigating source.

  “We tried. I’m sorry.” Blatty’s expression conveyed sincere sympathy.

  Spence left without a reply and exited the station mad at the world. He drove south out of town. Middle-class houses slowly gave way to mobile homes and small residences little more than shacks. Across the railroad tracks, the dreaded wrong side of town, poverty clung to everything like a leprous skin. The world of his entire childhood and teen years, surrounded by deep woods, rusted cars on blocks, yards filled with rotting appliances. Goodwin County High passed on his right. He tried not to look, but the line of buildings pulled his eyes like a magnet. Echoes of cheers seemed to drift out from the stadium…an aww and an abrupt hush. He shook his head and tried to banish the visions flashing in his periphery.

  Everything wasn’t grim and dark; many good times transpired here as well. Before Mom tripped over the edge, and between her bouts of drunken stupor, they’d enjoyed the simple normality of family for a time. Spence remembered one Christmas with an electric flying airplane, and a Thanksgiving with honey-glazed ham, though whether the same year remained a blur. Plenty of children lived in the area, so he never lacked for friends to play with. They spent summers swimming in the river, swinging from a rope and diving into the cool water. Autumns meant football in the yard or a thousand other games.

  His father’s hasty departure spared Spence much time under the man’s oppressive watch. Charlie and Stace, however, had endured his wrath, and a cold distance from their mother who feared ramifications if she raised objections to Charles, Sr. With the old man gone, Spence, on the other hand, was momma’s boy, a child she could love without jealous eyes watching or a brutal hand poised overhead. Consequently, her drinking and later slide into dementia affected him the most.

  He turned the SUV up the long drive that snaked through tall pines and stout oaks, rag weed and summerbrush, and led to the home of his childhood. A shabby relic left to Charles, Sr. from his grandfather, recently re-sided in grey vinyl with dark green shutters. Stace stood on the porch awaiting his arrival. Her body shook with sobs. A memory, vivid and alive, struck his mind and drew his eyes to a narrow trail on the left side and behind the house.

  The boys, perhaps ten years old, huddled at the path’s mouth where it disappeared into the woods. A game of hide-and-seek. Anton, tagged It, ducked his head and counted to a hundred. Spence and Darius sped away in opposite directions, Darius staying close to the house and crouching under the slatted front porch, but Spence headed down the trail. Fifty yards or so in, an impromptu dump gathered in a depression on the forest floor. Useless and broken appliances lay strewn about. A freezer tipped onto its side sat with flecks of rust flaking off like tender scabs. A washer and dryer, which may have been mates once upon a time, leaned against each other, color faded, hoses half-buried in the ground. Near the center of the discarded machines, a refrigerator, newer than the rest, hid beneath sheets of jagged plywood. Spence hustled over an ancient lawnmower and a twisted bicycle, reached the refrigerator and crawled inside, closing the door to an inch of view.

  Anton tagged Darius right off the bat, which meant both boys now hunted Spence. They crept through the salvage, checking here and there. Darius came close to the refrigerator, and Spence eased the door closed. He suppressed a giggle as Darius tugged at the latch, Spence holding it tight from inside. After a few minutes, the boys seemed satisfied he wasn’t there and crawled over the debris, making their way back to the trail. Once the footfalls disappeared, Spence pushed on the door to get out. It wouldn’t budge. He shoved hard, but the door wouldn’t give. Twisting around in the confined space, he wiggled his feet in front and kicked with all his strength. Nothing. The door stuck fast. Panic squeezed his chest as he slammed against the sides. Spent, he clutched his knees, panting and terrified.

  Anton and Darius had already searched for him here, no reason they would come back. The air seemed to thin inside the small space. How long before none remained? He was going to suffocate in there. For an hour, Spence cried and screamed until his throat grew raw, his eyes puffy, his nose red and sore. After what seemed an eternity, a sharp clang shook the refrigerator. The tip of a metal bar edged through between door and jamb and with a squawk wrenched the latch open. Charlie crouched and peeked in at him. Spence leapt from the box and into Charlie’s arms, burying his face into his brother’s neck.

  “It’s all right, little man. I gotcha. You’re safe now. I gotcha.” Charlie carried him home, cooing all the while.

  A tear filled the corner of one eye as Spence stopped in front of the house. Stace met him at the foot of the steps and embraced him as though she might never let go. He gave in to the hug, remembering that other embrace so long ago. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, hoping his sister had not noticed.

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m going out of my mind.” Stace looked tired. Dark circles ringed eyes narrowed with weariness. Hints of red with webs of bloodshot streaks blemished deep, brown eyes. “We need to go see Mom.”

  That didn’t take long.

  “Stace, I just got here.” Spence huffed and tried to step past.

  “It has to be now. I waited for you.”

  Spence remembered her staunch insistence over eating his green beans and brushing his teeth. He never won their battles of will.

  “Why now? She won’t even know we’re there. I need to get settled in.”

  “Because I need it, Spencer.” Tears welled in her eyes, her lip quivered. “I need what’s left of our family to be together, for a little while. I don’t know why, I just do.”

  Spence softened and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Okay, we will. But I want to take a look at Big Rock first.” He lifted her chin, forcing her
to look at him. “And don’t talk like that. I’m going to find Charlie. He’s going to be fine.”

  Stace shied from his gaze. “The sheriff called off the search.”

  “I know. I talked to him.”

  “He thinks it’s hopeless now, and Charlie must’ve drowned.” The tears fell and trailed down her cheeks.

  “Blatty has protocols to follow. I’m not giving up, and don’t you.”

  She tried to muster a smile, her lips curled in a weak arch. “I’m trying. I’m scared, Spence.”

  “I know. Me too, but I’ll find him.” Spence held her in his arms. “You trust me, right?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Her smile felt more genuine, and he pecked her on the forehead. “I’ll meet you at the nursing home, okay?”

  Spence set his suitcase inside the house and hugged her again before returning to the SUV. After one last glance at the trail leading to the appliance graveyard, he headed down the driveway, tires kicking up a cloud of dust.

  My turn, big brother. I will find you. I promise.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Chester Cray had died two months earlier. Heart attack, and no wonder; the man ate steak wrapped in bacon three times a day, drank a pint of whisky, and smoked three packs of Pall Malls. He still lived to be eighty-eight while working his farm dawn to dusk. Evan did some odd jobs for the old man from time to time and knew the house was vacant. At one time, Chester had a few dozen head of cattle on the sizeable farm, but with no family and his health failing, he sold them off a few years ago. The farm would go up on auction, but no time soon. Evan cut the chain on the gate granting access to the pasture, pulled his truck through, and worked the chain around the post. To anyone passing by it would appear secure. A needless worry, since the Cray stead sat a good five miles off County Road 21, through traffic near nonexistent.