Latham's Landing

by Tara Fox Hall

  “Come,” he said, offering his hand.

  “No,” she cried. She turned into empty air, her feet losing purchase on the slippery rock. She teetered, then fell.

  Strong arms grabbed her. “No,” the horseman whispered. “Don’t die again. You don’t need to.”

  Marie let out a scream, fighting frantically. The horseman held her tightly. She fought for a few moments, then went limp in his arms, sobbing.

  “You were the strongest,” the horseman whispered lovingly. “The others died that first night—”

  Fear overcame Marie’s mind. She twitched, shaking harder and harder. “No, it was a dream Sam and Daryl had—”

  “It was not,” the horseman corrected. “Nor was your drowning. Your spirit made it back when called.” He pointed down to the water near the stone bridge. “Your flesh lies there.”

  On the shoreline a figure stood, long hair blowing in the wind. Familiar notes of melancholy recorder music floated on the damp breeze. Marie’s eyes moved out from the figure, taking in the bodies in the water. Nikki floated there, along with Daryl and Sam, their chests bloody. Farther off, alone in the gently lapping waves, was her own body.

  “No!” she screamed. “No! Daryl was alive! We were all alive! We used the gun on you—”

  The horseman shook his head. “No. You could not face seeing their bodies, nor could their spirits accept what happened. ” He embraced her. “All that can be imagined here is real. You all saw what you wanted to see, even as ghosts.” He kissed her cheek. “But you must wake now from your fantasy, Marie.”

  Marie went limp, her eyes sightless, a soft keening issuing from her parted lips.

  The horseman gathered her in his arms. “Come,” he said lovingly. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He carried her up the remaining steps carefully, then onto the stone bridge, his shape blurring, becoming a composition of shadows. His horse followed him, reins dragging, as slowly both figures were swallowed by rising mist.

  “Damn, this is a fine boat, Gunner.”

  Gunner turned to his cousin Leo. “You’ve been wanting a boat, too, I know. But what if someone comes looking for this?”

  “This tore loose in the storm,” Leo replied. “There’s no motor, and it’s been pretty banged up on the rocks. If we leave it here, it’s going to sink with that hole in it. I can fix that with some sheet metal and rivets. Afterwards…well, I’ll post a sign down at the convenience store about finding it. If no one shows up in a month, I’ll consider it a gift from God.”

  Gunner laughed. “I guess that’s fair enough. Come on, let’s get it strapped to the top.”

  Ten minutes later, boat secured, they headed out.

  “No fish, but that’s expected after all that rain,” Gunner said. “That storm was the biggest to hit in a long time.”

  “Twelve inches of rain,” Leo nodded. “You see all the trees down here. Their roots gave way in the wind.”

  “Pity, there’s good firewood,” Gunner replied. “No way to get it out until next spring. This whole stretch turns to swamp with a few drops. Now with the lake flooded, it’ll freeze up high. ” He cast a loathing gaze toward Latham’s Landing. “Pity that damned house didn’t get destroyed.”

  Leo shivered. “Nothing can destroy that evil place.” He wacked Gunner on the arm. “Let’s get out of here and celebrate. Buy you a beer?”

  Gunner nodded, then turned onto the main road. They talked excitedly, never noticing the flattened vehicles and trailer sunken in mud under the tumble of large fallen spruce trees, their roofs just visible over the standing water. A chickadee perched on the truck’s side mirror, sang once, then flew off into the woods.

  The Fire Within

  Carolyn Stone walked quickly out of the large looming brick square that was Thornfield Christian High School. Shading her eyes with a delicate hand, she scanned the parking lot for her bus.

  Today had already been what Carolyn referred to as ‘a day and a half’. Where was her bus? All around her was mass confusion, students jostling each other, passing last notes, and attempting fond embraces of farewell hidden from teachers’ watchful eyes. Carolyn scoffed, remembering the announcement only this morning about how physical displays such as handholding or hugging were not permitted. There was as much chance of teen couples keeping their distance as Satan himself appearing to drive her home.

  The sunlight reflected off an approaching bus bumper into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. When the light ebbed, her bus idled before her, its long yellow length blocking the school entrance from her sight.

  She hurried to it, her squat-heeled shoes slipping and sliding on the gravel surface. Slinging back her purse strap onto her shoulder, she climbed aboard, then made her way to the back past the double row of stained green vinyl seats.

  “Hi, hi, hi!” chorused the kindergarteners as she walked by. Favoring them with an aloof glance, she moved to her seat and sat down.

  As more students boarded, the noise level increased from annoying to deafening. Carolyn glared from her seat. Kids! She couldn’t stand them. Their constant craving of attention, their noise, their inability to sit still…

  The doors closed, and the bus’s rumble became a throaty growl as the driver left the parking lot for the road. “Settle down!” the driver yelled. At once, the noise lowered slightly.

  Carolyn adjusted herself on the seat, bracing for the long bumpy ride home. This bus had the worst shocks this side of Hell. At least it let her avoid the catty clique who called themselves her friends. Yes, they were her social group here, and had been since kindergarden. But she despised them, their need to control others, and their cruelty to those they found wanting in spite of all their professed love of Christian values. She’d never been able to be herself with them, unwilling to let them get too close.

  Only another month until school was over, she reminded herself. Then college awaited, a bastion of open minds and no more dress codes. She would finally be free to be herself. Better yet, her boyfriend Rob would finally be with her.

  She relaxed, letting her thoughts linger, his handsome face forming in her mind. His blond hair, effortlessly styled in natural curls, a hand of luck he’d been dealt at birth. His eyes were blue, cut from the sky of a perfect clear day. But best of all, he was head over heels for her, the same way she was for him. Though they hadn’t talked of marriage, they’d already arranged to live together during college. Rob was sure to propose before the semester was out…

  Carolyn smirked. Her parents weren’t too happy about that, and neither were his, especially his pastor father. But it was past time they stopped letting other people tell them what to do. Bad enough she’d had Jesus crammed down her throat for eleven long years in this place…

  The bus lurched to a stop. “Miss Stone,” the driver called sarcastically. “Would you care to get off?”

  Blushing, Carolyn got to her feet. As regally as she could muster, she walked past the giggling children, and off the bus.

  That was odd. Her parents were home. She strode up her front stairs, then went inside, dropping her purse and books on the hall table. “Dad?”

  “In here, Caro. Please come in.”

  Worried at the tone in her father’s voice, she hurried into the living room. Her parents were there, along with her priest. Rob’s parents were there, too.

  Was this an intervention? Had they found out about the marijuana she’d smoked with Rob last fall? “What is this?”

  “There’s been a boating accident, Caro,” her stepmother said hesitantly. “Rob was up looking at Latham College with some friends. You know, the one you were thinking of attending—”

  “What happened?” Caroline said loudly, looking from person to person. “Boating accident? Did he get hurt? What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, child,” her priest said, standing and coming toward her. “Rob’s dead.”

  An unwavering scream of denial and fury burst from Carolyn’s throat. She flailed as they surrounded her, fighting and s
creaming as they tried to console her.

  Sirens pierced the calm night air, ringing shrilly through the streets of Cedar. A few residents sleepily looked out their windows as the police cars flashed past. Then they went back to bed, stifling yawns. The cars were headed out of town, so it was none of their concern. Besides, it was close to midnight, when decent people should be asleep.

  Officer James Bowman was anything but sleepy. As the police cruiser picked up speed, he went over the scant details in his mind. The young female voice on the phone, pleading with him to hurry, her fear and anguish evident. Steven Stone was hurt, maybe dead. So was his wife.

  A burning pain jolted him, making him curse as he swerved, the coffee spilling over him again in an arc.

  His partner looked at him apologetically. “Sorry, Jim.”

  “Damn it, be more careful,” he said with a glare, then revved the gas again.

  It wasn’t Drake’s fault, really. He was just nervous. Jim knew why. His own gut instinct was telling him to turn back.

  “There’s the house, Bowman.”

  “No shit. There’s no one else around for miles,” Bowman said, slamming the door shut.

  “Stone liked his privacy,” Drake said.

  “Watch that past tense,” Bowman said darkly, walking toward the door. “We get the facts, remember? No one’s officially dead until we see an ID’d dead body.”

  They’d gotten here before the ambulance. But Drake was right, at least one person inside wouldn’t need one, most likely. Homicide wasn’t usually called just for an injury.

  “Creepy place,” Drake said.

  Bowman surveyed the rebuilt farmhouse, the light white and blue structure. He felt it, too. There was something sinister about the place, its isolation instilling a feeling of dread, as if he was inches away from being prey to some looming predator. But he’d be damned if he gave into fear at his age. “Just pick your guts up out of the car, and follow me in, you pansy.”

  The officers walked up the stairs, each step creaking with their weighty advance. Jim rang the doorbell.

  A large burly officer opened the door. “Jim, Drake.”

  Hawk Lease was a good friend, even if he was still a uniform and not a detective after ten years. “Lease. Fill us in.”

  “A murder,” Lease replied. “But we know who and why they did it. Follow me.”

  He led them though the hallway into a tastefully decorated living room. On the couch sat a seventeen-year-old girl, her long brown hair covering her face.

  “This is Carolyn Stone,” Lease said. “She called the station tonight and reported the murder.”

  At the use of her name, the girl looked up, her hazel eyes shining wetly in her tear-streaked face. She moved back her long hair, revealing in her hands a small kitten. “You can sit if you want to, officers.”

  Both Jim and Drake sat down. “Miss Stone,” Jim began. “Please start at the beginning—”

  Lease turned to leave. “Goodnight, boys.”

  “Where are you going?” Drake demanded.

  “Cedar Central Hospital,” Lease said pointedly, turning. “My partner got stabbed apprehending the suspect. He went in the first ambulance that responded. Now that you finally got here, I need to go check on him.”

  That kind of insolence was why Lease had never made detective. “Go ahead,” Jim said.

  “Why are you here, anyway?” Drake said snidely. “I thought Locke was on duty tonight—”

  Lease visibly bristled. “We answered the call because we were the closest unit. This is a homicide case now, and you’ll be happy to know that your work is all done. The murderer is in a cell. The coroner just pulled up outside with the ambulance. There’s nothing left but for me to go home, and for you to do the same, once you do the routine.”

  Drake glanced to Jim, irked. “We didn’t hear any ambulance.”

  Drake and Lease had never gotten along, especially when Drake had made plainclothes and Lease hadn’t. This poor kid didn’t need their angst tonight, on top of everything else she was going through. “Lease, go ahead to the hospital,” Bowman directed. “We’ll finish up here.”

  “You didn’t hear anything, Drake, because they didn’t use the sirens,” Lease said darkly, then left.

  “His notes are here,” Carolyn offered, hesitantly handing a few sheets of paper to Bowman. “I went over the facts with him while we waited for you guys.”

  “Thank you,” Jim, reading the first of Hawk’s three paragraphs of scribbling.

  Lease was right. It was a simple case. Just after midnight, Sheila Stone had been attacked in her bedroom, the outside windows forced in with a crowbar. She’d been stabbed while sleeping and left for dead. Because of the severity of the wounds, death had been almost immediate.

  “Is your father not at home?” Bowman asked, looking up at Carolyn.

  Carolyn shook her head. “He’s on a business trip until Sunday. I called him but no one answered.”

  Bowman looked over the latter paragraphs. A man named Dewey had been arrested lurking outside the house, blood on his clothes and some of Sheila Stone’s jewelry in his pockets. Known about town for his quick temper, heavy drinking, and odd ways, he was a good fit. He was intoxicated, but had passed a Breathalyzer test. Shockingly, he’d not denied the crime, but instead admitted it, right before stabbing Lease’s partner in the arm with the murder weapon.

  Hawk had been right, this was a simple case. But there were a few holes in this story that needed answering, like a valid motive. “I’m sorry, but we have just a few more questions, Miss Stone.”

  Carolyn nodded.

  “Did you hear any noise at all?”

  Carolyn shook her head. “Nothing. But I’m a deep sleeper.”

  “You were in bed when the crime occurred?”

  “Yes, asleep.”

  “Had Dewey been hanging around here previously?”

  Carolyn nodded. “He’s been doing some odd jobs for us. I think my dad felt sorry for him, because they went to school together years ago.”

  That feeling was about to change, Jim thought to himself. “Any motive you can think of?”

  “Dewey disliked that we wouldn’t let him live on that land of his rent free,” Carolyn replied. “Dad wanted to help him, but didn’t want to just give him money. He wanted Dewey to work for it, and get off the booze. Dewey’s been angry lately, saying that he’d wished my father hadn’t bought his property when it went to auction for back taxes, that we just wanted to lord it over him that we had more than he did.”

  That was motive aplenty. “Do you have someone to call?”

  “I’ve called my dad, like I said,” Carolyn said, petting her kitten. “As soon as he gets it, he’ll likely be catching the first flight home. Until then, I’m staying with a close friend. I’ve already called her. I’m going to drive over there tonight as soon as you leave.”

  Bowman nodded, then got to his feet, Drake following. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Carolyn’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. I’ll show you to the door.”

  After the police officers left, Carolyn walked upstairs, her kitten Raven at her heels. She began packing, tossing clothes into an overnight bag. She was going to stay with a friend that much was true. But her stepfather wasn’t coming home. Oh, she’d called his IPhone, and left the teary message begging him to return to her as soon as he got the message, telling of her stepmother’s murder. But she’d made sure to take the IPhone out of his bag before he’d left yesterday. It was sitting beside his bed now. He’d never even miss it, not with his Smartphone and his Blackberry.

  Dewey had been the perfect patsy, with his malice and stupidity. She’d only had to tell him how her stepmother laughed at him behind his back, and he’d done the rest all by himself. What was unnerving was that he’d probably planned to murder her as well tonight, to leave no witnesses.

  “Got what was coming to them, both of them,” Carolyn said vehemently to her kitten. “Dad will, too, when
he visits that construction site tomorrow.”

  Big companies had cheats, and her stepfather’s firm had been no exception. Carolyn had just pointed out a few discrepancies to her father that she’d seen while interning these last few weeks of summer. Then she’d anonymously told the embezzling foreman George that he was going to be fired, that her father found out everything. George’s crafty nature mixed with desperation would likely do the rest.

  “And so what, if it doesn’t?” Carolyn said bitterly aloud. “I’ll just have to come up with another plan to gain my independence. I know who killed Rob, but no one believes me.” She packed her last clothes and closed the lid with a slam. “I’m not going to college in the fall, and pretend like everything’s okay. Because nothing is ever going to be okay again.”

  The kitten purred, kneading the coverlet with its tiny claws.

  She petted it. “You understand, Raven.”

  Steven and Sheila wouldn’t give me my money until I was twenty-one. That was my mother’s money, damn it, and neither one of them have any claim to it! I couldn’t wait another three years to avenge Rob, not when I loved him so much. And Steven said if I didn’t go to college—the one HE chose—that said he’d cut me off financially, and kick me out of the house. He said people died, then you had to grieve and move on. But what he meant was I either did what he said, or else.

  Maybe Steven would’ve understood me if he was my real father. But a lot of things would have been different if Mom hadn’t found out she had cancer right after they got engaged. And if he hadn’t hurried up to marry Sheila right after the funeral. I’m not sure he ever loved Mom at all.

  “It takes more to make a father than being called Dad,” Caroline said softly. “Something you never understood, Steven.”

  His answer to my grief was a spot on his summer staff as an intern…and a kitten. But this wasn’t some teen infatuation. Rob was the man I was going to marry. I’m not a little girl crying who needed a new toy. I don’t need people telling me what to do. I need vengeance.