Greely's Cove

by Gideon, John

  “New guy in town,” answered Kirk Tanner, meaning Greely’s Cove. “Hangs out in Liquid Larry’s. His name’s Cannibal, if you can believe that! He got us the beer, too. So how about it, man? You guys interested?”

  Gina and Leah were—y’know—interested.

  “It definitely sounds more exciting than what we had on tap,” said Leah.

  “Definitely!” confirmed Gina. “I’m ready to party!”

  “You guys,” protested Teri, “I was going to buy the pizza tonight. I almost had to wrestle my mom to borrow twenty dollars.”

  All eyes turned to her—silent ones, but eloquent. The boys’ eyes said “Well, what the fuck, go in and have yourself a pizza, little girl!” The girls said “Really, Teri, don’t be such a slug!”

  The meaning of the deathly silence was clear: A foursome is company, but a fivesome is wet toilet paper.

  “I s’pose we could split up,” said Gina in a low but hopeful voice. “Don’t you have to go home early, Teri?”

  Teri Zolten got the message. “Yeah, I guess,” she said, fighting an ache in her throat. “But I hate to make you guys take me all the way back to the Cove.”

  “Oh, hey,” said Leah Solheim, “you can take this car, if you have to go, Ter. Just park it up the street a ways from your house and leave the keys under the floor mat. I’ll pick it up later.” Leah’s tone was that of a close friend who was riding to the rescue, as though Teri could always count on Leah for help.

  “There you go!” said Kirk Tanner. “Problem solved!” And it was.

  So Teri Zolten found herself alone behind the wheel of Mrs. Solheim’s new Toyota Celica, headed south on Bond Road, blinking away tears. Fortunately the car had an automatic transmission, because Teri had no idea how to work a stick shift. She strained through blurry tears to see the road and its painted lines, remembering her lessons from driver’s ed. Accelerate smoothly, not like a jackrabbit. And: Apply even pressure to the brake pedal—don’t stomp on it.

  By now she loathed herself, the whole world and everyone in it.

  She loathed the transparent Leah, who was actually more the predator than Kirk Tanner or Jason Hagstad. Tonight’s exploit, when retold at school Monday morning, would enhance Leah’s already considerable mystique among her rivals and pursuers. That’s what Leah wanted: to be thought of as exotic and spicy, and she worked at it. A brush with criminality couldn’t hurt the image.

  Gina was hardly any better. Though she loved to accuse Leah of nymphomania, Gina would fuck anything with an erection, Teri suspected. Teri was also sure that she herself needed some new pals, regular girls who liked regular things and regular boys. She wanted no part of drugs anymore, and she wanted no part of criminals like Tanner and Hagstad.

  The night grew darker as the lights of Kingston fell behind, and the highway led inland through the tiny Port Madison Indian Reservation, where Teri always assumed Indians lived, maybe in little huts nestled in the dense forest or in long lodges made of animal skins. Though she had lived virtually next door to the reservation for seven of her sixteen years, she had never laid eyes on an Indian—at least none that she knew of. But then she had never actually set foot on the reservation, either, except to ride through it in a car.

  As Kingston had, the reservation fell behind, and the aura of the Toyota’s headlights became a world unto itself, a gliding island in a cold ocean of dark. Here, a few miles before the lights of Greely’s Cove would start to wink through the trees, the vegetation grew to the very edge of the asphalt, a tangled wall of mossy bark, sword fern, and tawny grass. Now and then a bright pair of eyes glowered through an opening in the undergrowth, captured and betrayed for the barest moment by the passing headlights. Animals’ eyes, of course: maybe a deer’s, a cat’s, or a raccoon’s—eyes made differently than humans’, able to gather light and concentrate it for use in a world of black.

  Teri thought about turning on the radio: A few tunes might have made her feel better. But she couldn’t let go of the wheel with either sweaty hand. Too tense, she told herself. Too uncertain of her driving skills. For a girl her age, driving was hardly routine.

  But this was not really the problem. The darkness was. It seemed to make a sound that floated on the edge of the satiny rush of tires on wet asphalt. Teri could almost hear the darkness as it devoured the edges of her gliding island.

  She thought of her mother’s admonition to stay away from strangers: We’ve had more than our share of weirdness in this town lately. How stupid, Teri had thought at the time. The old bag’s going crackers because of the disappearances, just like half the other adults in town. But now Teri wondered whether she herself teetered on the edge of crackers, for the sound of the dark was giving her gooseflesh. She longed to see her mother’s face, to feel the old bag’s protective arms around her, to be safe at home.

  A pair of eyes appeared up ahead on the shoulder of the road, on the very edge of the headlights’ reach, eyes that seemed too high off the ground to be a cat’s or a raccoon’s. Teri’s own were dry of tears now, and she narrowed them in an effort to focus on the indistinct shape that supported the two pin-pricks of reflected light. Her foot went instinctively to the brake pedal, and the Toyota jounced wildly, for she had stomped in violation of the Doctrine of Even Pressure. As she straightened out the wheel, the figure came into clearer view: a human figure, a woman.

  Teri slowed the car, but her mind went into high gear. How could a human’s eyes glow like an animal’s? Why would someone be out walking on this forlorn stretch, braving rain and dark? And what on earth was there to smile about, as this lonely pedestrian was doing, while standing in the middle of the road? Teri hit the brakes again to avoid running over her, and the Toyota came to a halt.

  The woman in the road was of medium height, dressed in a dark and shapeless coat that covered her from neck to knees. She had a wide forehead and a long, sloping nose that ended in a sharp point above her mouth.

  An accident, thought Teri. There’s been an accident somewhere, for the woman had only one shoe, a white canvas sneaker. Her brown hair stood crazily away from her head in tangled fingers, and her wild, reflective eyes were open so wide as to expose white all around the pinpricks of color. And that smile... More a grin, really, wide and toothy.

  Yeah, there’s definitely been an accident. The poor woman’s car is probably in a ditch somewhere, thought Teri, maybe overturned, and she’s crawled out to flag down-

  “Teri!”

  The voice seemed to come from inside the car, or from inside Teri’s head, even though she had seen the woman’s lips move. A blanket of icy needles enfolded Teri’s shoulders. She cramped the wheel to the left and hit the accelerator, causing the Toyota’s wheels to screeee. In a fraction of a second, the woman’s figure was behind her, a shrinking gob of red in the rearview mirror, bathed in the bloody glow of taillights.

  “Teri! You’ve got to help me!”

  This time Teri almost gagged with fright, for the voice was clearly audible, and it sounded inexplicably familiar, though the figure was far behind on the road. The image of the woman’s face formed again in her head: wide forehead, chalky white flesh that drooped a little around the eyes, and a radically sloping nose that came to a point.

  Suddenly Teri knew her. She was Peggy Birch, her former social-studies teacher at Suquamish High, who had disappeared three months earlier, as though she’d fallen into a giant grinder that reduced a person’s body to mere molecules. Teri had not recognized her at first. Under normal circumstances Mrs. Birch had been an impeccable dresser, even though her taste had been grotesquely middle-age. Her hair and face were always skillfully made up, and when she smiled, it was an intelligent smile that complemented the friendliness in her eyes—not at all like that lunatic grin on the face of the woman in the road.

  Teri fought down her fear and brought the car to a complete halt. Poor Mrs. Birch was back there on the road, wearing only one shoe, having been through God-knows-what, desperately needing help. What ki
nd of person would leave her to fend for herself?

  And stay away from strangers, hear?

  But Mrs. Birch was hardly a stranger, thought Teri in answer to her mother’s warning. Something terrible had happened to her, and she needed help. She may not even have known that her husband, crazed with grief and delusions that she had actually visited him in the dead of night, had put the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  Teri lowered the window and stuck out her head to get a look at the roadway behind. A wall of brush loomed on either side, stained red from her taillights. But no sign of Mrs. Birch.

  “Thank you for stopping, Teri.”

  The girl’s heart fluttered and tried to crawl up her throat. She pulled her head back through the window and saw Peggy Birch sitting in the passenger seat, her face awash in the twilight of the instrument panel and dash. Teri’s mouth worked and yawned and formed a silent O before any sound came out. “H-h-how did you—you—”

  The smell enveloped her, a horrid mixture of body dirt and rotting meat, a suffusive stench that drew hot tears. Teri covered her mouth with a hand and hacked.

  “I really do appreciate your help, Teri,” said Peggy Birch, still grinning so tightly that vile little wrinkles appeared at the corners of her mouth “It was certainly getting lonely out there.” She actually laughed, and her throat rattled with phlegm. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, I can tell you that.”

  Ten dared to look at her passenger again and saw that Mrs. Birch was filthy. Her face was splotched and encrusted with grime, her teeth coated with yellow, her clothing positively verminous. She looked very, very sick.

  “Mrs. Birch, a-are you all right? W-we’ve all been really worried—”

  Once again, that phlegmy laugh. “Oh, Teri! I’ve been terrific, I really have. I have so much to tell you that I really don’t know where to begin.”

  “T-to tell me? I don’t understand.” Teri felt a knot of dread forming in her stomach. “I’d better get you to the emergency room in Poulsbo.”

  “Teri, Teri, we don’t have time for that.” She reached out to touch the girl’s arm, exposing a hand and wrist that appeared to have been eaten nearly clean of flesh. Teri tried to scream, to shriek, to fill all creation with the sound of her horror, but only a croak came out.

  “Tonight’s going to be your big night, honey,” said Peggy Birch, stroking Teri’s arm. “Tonight I’m taking you to the Feast, and you’ll find out what dreaming can really be like.” Teri squealed with revulsion and forced away the clawlike hand. She groped for the door handle, meaning to flee the stench-filled car. But Peggy Birch laughed yet again, issuing a sound that brought to mind a vat of bubbling slime, and the door locks engaged with a sharp snap.

  5

  The first light on Sunday, February 9, filtered through a mist that rolled seaward in the embrace of a tart breeze. For Lindsay Moreland it was a day for taking care of business. In this respect, it would not be much different from any other in her adult life, though the business itself was hardly routine. Today she would arrange her elder sister’s funeral. She would plan the future of her nephew, Jeremy. And she would meet and defeat her former brother-in-law, Carl Trosper, on the field of verbal battle.

  Carl had apparently decided to become his son’s father again, notwithstanding that he had long ago given up that privilege. Carl’s audacity never failed to amaze her.

  “Jeremy’s still asleep,” said her mother, Nora Moreland, softly pulling closed the door that joined the two motel rooms. “Sleep is probably the best thing for him.”

  Lindsay had rented two adjoining rooms at the West Cove Motor Inn, one for Jeremy and another that she shared with her mother. She put an arm around her mother’s shoulder.

  “Sleep would be the best thing for you, too,” she said. “There’s absolutely no reason why you should be up so early.”

  “I can’t seem to drop off,” said Nora Moreland. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Lorna’s face....” Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, but she kept control. Having wept for most of the preceding twenty-four hours, she was temporarily fresh out of tears—all cried out, her husband would have said. “Anyway, there are things to do. What’s first on the agenda?”

  “Breakfast. After you’re dressed, I’ll call room service.”

  “And then?”

  “I’m supposed to have coffee with Carl.”

  “I’d best come along to referee.”

  “That won’t be necessary, Mom. I can handle myself against the likes of him.”

  “It’s him I’m concerned about, dear. I doubt that he can handle the likes of you.”

  Lindsay issued a little smile. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Yours, of course. I just think that Carl’s entitled to some consideration. He is the boy’s father, after all. I’m not saying he’s my favorite person in the world, but I’m tired of being angry with him. I’m tired of the hostility, Lindsay. It’s lasted for more than thirteen years, and I’m tired of it.”

  “Mom, this isn’t a matter of showing good manners; it’s a matter of doing what’s best for Jeremy.”

  “And do you really think that coming to live with you is what’s best for him?”

  “I do. And Lorna would’ve agreed with me.”

  “But, Lindsay, you’re only thirty-two years old. Your career is just starting to catch fire. And you’re not even—you’re not—”

  “Go ahead, Mother. Say it.”

  “Okay, I’ll say it: You’re not married. Why would you want to take on the burden of raising a young boy all by yourself? You’re a beautiful, single woman who—”

  “Mother, I’m a securities-account executive who makes seventy thousand dollars a year. I live in a nice neighborhood, I have nice friends. I can make sure that Jeremy has a good life with good people in it. That’s more than a hell of a lot of kids get these days.”

  “But don’t you think Carl could give him those things?” Lindsay chuckled bitterly. “Oh, Carl could provide the glitzy home in a fashionable Washington, D C., neighborhood, no doubt about that. He could show Jeremy how to become a sleazy politician. He could teach him the elegant art of sticking his nose up other people’s behinds—”

  “For God’s sake, Lindsay, try not to be vulgar!”

  “I’m only being realistic,” said Lindsay. “Carl Trosper is a political consultant whose bread and butter depends on how brown his nose is. He thrives on rubbing elbows with senators and cabinet officials and hotshot lobbyists in the halls of power. He flits all over the country on business, and he loves to party. How much time do you think he’ll have for Jeremy? And how long do you think it will take him to get tired of being a daddy again, especially to a kid who needs special care? Don’t forget, he’s already bailed out once.”

  Nora Moreland knew when she was licked, and she sighed. “I just hope you’ll be civil to him.”

  “I promise,” said Lindsay, and she kissed her mother’s forehead. “Now, about the rest of the day. After I’ve talked to Carl, I’m going over to the mortuary to make the cremation arrangements. Since there won’t be an autopsy, we can get on with things—meaning we can probably be finished here in a few days. This afternoon I’m going to talk to Jeremy’s therapist, Dr. Craslowe.”

  “That’s wise, I think. Maybe he can tell you what you’re letting yourself in for.”

  “I suspect you’re right. After that I’m heading over to Lorna’s house—”

  “That’s where I can help,” said Nora. “Why don’t you drop me there after breakfast? I can get started packing Lorna’s things and cleaning. From what the police chief said, the place is an ungodly mess.”

  “Mom, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I’d planned to call in some movers and housecleaners—”

  “Forget about the movers and housecleaners. I may be old, but I’m still good for something. I’ll make a start on the cleaning and packing, and Jeremy can help. Having something to do will be
good for both of us.”

  “Whatever you say, Mom.”

  While her mother dressed, Lindsay looked in once again on Jeremy. He lay on his side, apparently sleeping deeply. Even in the sparse, curtained light of the motel room, Lindsay could see what a beautiful child he was: a perfectly balanced mixture of Carl’s ruddy, squared-off features and Lorna’s delicate fairness. Of course, he would lose much of his mother’s beauty as he grew to manhood, Lindsay thought, and would probably end up a carbon copy of his dad. But for now he was an angel on a pillow, sleeping an angel’s gentle sleep.

  Lindsay withdrew from the room, troubled just a little that the boy could sleep so peacefully in the aftermath of his mother’s hideous death. In fact, Jeremy had shown scarcely any sign of the trauma and grief one would expect in a child who had just lost his mother. Probably a delayed reaction, thought Lindsay. She closed the door gently behind her.

  And Jeremy opened his eyes.

  The West Cove Motor Inn had a coffee shop that the owners had named The Coffee Shoppe. It boasted white tablecloths with fresh flowers (even in the winter months), floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the morning light, and a reputation among the locals for the best waffles on the west shore. Its upscale atmosphere was in keeping with the motel itself—quite unlike the Old Schooner down the street, where Carl Trosper was staying.

  Lindsay Moreland asked the waitress for a table near a window and, since the place was nearly empty so early on a Sunday morning, got it. Even though she had already nibbled a small room-service breakfast with her mother, the wafting smells of fresh coffee and cooking made her hungry again. She fought down the temptation to order Belgian waffles, needing no lumps on her lithe frame, no hints of “cottage cheese thighs.”

  At the stroke of nine o’clock, which was the appointed time, Carl walked in and peeled off his raincoat. Lindsay’s eyes landed on him, and her breath caught: He was indeed a good-looking man, especially with the addition of a short beard. Six feet tall, reddish-blond hair, longish face with a lantern jaw, slender in a gray corduroy sport coat over khaki trousers and a green V-necked sweater.