The Nightmare Frontier

by Stephen Mark Rainey

  Down he went, bounding into the seemingly bottomless chasm at dizzying, insane speed, somehow maintaining control, veering in and out of the trees without even thinking of the consequences should he crash. Limbs slashed at his face, threatening to dislodge him, but his fingers clutched the handlebars with desperate strength, and his feet worked the pedals automatically, hitting and releasing the brakes at strategic moments to keep from smashing into a tree or tangling himself in undergrowth. He couldn’t even think of looking back to see if he had lost his enraged shadow; one wrong move and he would end up plastered against a huge trunk or dashed to pieces on the rocks that occasionally jutted from the ground. Every now and then, he thought he detected a faint clicking sound behind him, but he mostly heard only the rush of wind in his ears as his bike carried him farther and farther from the trail—the one thing out here that looked even halfway familiar.

  As he rode on, the light grew constantly dimmer, and tears began to stream from his eyes, blurring the trees that flashed out of the darkness like onrushing columns of troops. He needed to slow down before the bike got away from him—but if he did, that thing would catch him and butcher him, as it had his friend. The thought sent cold, tingling tendrils into his groin. Trapped between terrors fore and aft, he kept going, always descending, farther and farther into the deepening, seemingly endless gloom.

  Finally, he jammed on the brakes, twisted the handlebars, and dug one foot into the ground, which didn’t quite stop him but slowed his progress enough to take stock of the situation. A few seconds later, he heard a loud, distinctive click-click-clack, click-click-clack, more distant than before but undeniably still behind him.

  With a cry, he shoved his weight onto the pedals, and down he went again, deeper into the great gulf, his eyes no longer registering the obstacles that lay in front of him, his mind no longer an even remotely rational thing.

  Chapter 4

  “Will you be all right if I leave you alone for a while?”

  “Of course I will,” Lynette said, giving Copeland a look that said she was tired of being coddled. “The house is a mess after all the company. I’ve got plenty of work to do.”

  “You know I’ll be happy to take care of anything you need.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll give me something to occupy my mind. I’m serious. Sitting around here doing nothing is the worst thing for me. Where are you off to?”

  “I thought I’d drive through town, maybe visit the old neighborhood. I barely remember what it looks like.”

  “Well, whatever you might remember, it’s not the same anymore. It’s mostly Hispanics now. Nothing against them, except that they cram all their relatives into every house, and then the neighborhood goes to seed. It’s a shame.”

  “Everybody’s gotta live somewhere.”

  “I guess. I forget you’re from Chicago. English-speaking WASPs like you are probably a minority.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Well, have fun. For God’s sake, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay then.”

  Copeland patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys and went out the front door into the bright afternoon. Lynette was right—keeping herself busy was the best thing she could do. She had taken a nap after the funeral and now seemed almost a changed person. The service had provided her with some sense of closure, at least spiritually, for her faith in God was firm. But he also knew that as long as her son’s murder remained unsolved, the peace she felt was transitory; she needed to know that whoever or whatever had killed Rodney was not still out there. He was not about to tell her that, rather than pay a visit to the old neighborhood, he intended to drive out to Yew Line Road to take a closer look at the scene of her son’s death. Not that he expected to uncover dramatic evidence the police had somehow overlooked, but he did feel drawn to explore, to view firsthand the site where Rodney had died.

  As he pressed his remote key button to unlock the door, he noticed Debra Harrington collecting the mail from her box at the end of her driveway. She looked like a young, dark-haired Eva Marie Saint, he decided. He gave her a little wave, expecting that to be the end of it; but instead of walking back toward her house, she detoured toward him.

  “Afternoon,” he said as she approached, his pulse increasing a tad. “Anything for me?”

  She thumbed through the envelopes. “Are you Resident?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re out of luck. Going out and about?”

  “Thought I’d take a drive, see what I’ve been missing over the last two and a half decades.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that all?”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “How’s Lynette?”

  “Much improved—at least until something triggers her memories. Then she may fall to pieces again. But for now, I think she’s all right.”

  Debra nodded. “She’s going to be fragile for some time.”

  “I’m glad you two are close. She’ll be very lonely once things calm down.”

  “It takes time for such a loss to sink in. The pain dulls, but the emptiness doesn’t change.” She gave him another appraising look. “I’d guess you’re going out to see where Rodney got killed. Am I right?”

  “You’re quick.”

  She shrugged. “It’s what I would do.”

  On a whim, he decided to chance it. “I don’t suppose you’d care to ride along?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because you would hate to see me get hopelessly lost out there. Anyway, you’d make a better guide than my failing memory.”

  She glanced at her watch, at her house, and then at him. She shrugged. “Why not? Let me put the mail away and lock up.”

  As she headed for her door, he slid into the driver’s seat, smiling to himself at the prospect of her company. The more he saw of her, the more he appreciated that wry little gleam in her eyes, her way of addressing him so familiarly while remaining aloof. And, he thought, as he watched her disappear into her house, her walk really wasn’t half-bad.

  At any rate, he could see why she and Lynette would have hit it off. They were both intelligent, near the same age, and bore a hundred or so of the same burdens, at least during the school year.

  She reappeared moments later and walked toward him with her eyes on the ground; only when she had opened the door and slid into the passenger seat did she lift her head and give him a somber smile. “You know how to get to Yew Line Road?”

  “I think so. Just not sure what to look for once I do.”

  “I can show you. Rodney and his friends have been riding their bikes out that way ever since they could get up on two wheels. This town has always been so safe; no one’s ever given a second thought to letting their kids ride around on their own. This is such a far cry from the big city.”

  “It certainly is that,” Copeland said as he backed out of the driveway and headed north on Greenhill toward Cheat Mountain Road, the same route they had taken to the church. “I used to enjoy riding my bike too, but I never went out to Yew Line. It’s a long way off, and I never cared for the uphill part.”

  “There’s a lot of that. But I’ve seen those kids ride. They’d push their bikes up the Matterhorn if they could speed back down. I’m sure those trails are a thrill.”

  “I take it you grew up around here?”

  “I did, but until recently, I’ve been living in Charleston. My ex-husband’s home town.”

  “How come he’s an ex—if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He did a lot of traveling for business. Turned out he was one of those men who need a woman in every port of call. After a while he did a lot more traveling than business, if you get my meaning.”

  “I’m glad you’re not bitter.”

  “Like hell I’m not.” She smiled ruefully. “Anyway, after we split up, I couldn’t stand the idea of staying in the city. Never liked it there anyway, so I came back here. Dad helped me get a job at the school.”

&nb
sp; “Thank God for Dad,” he said, again failing to think very far ahead.

  Without defensiveness, she said, “I’m a hell of a teacher. I have to tell you, the schools here are one up on Charleston’s. How shall I put it? They suck.”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure you did the right thing. Anyway, I’m certainly glad you’re here now.” When she raised an eyebrow, he added, “For Lynette’s sake.”

  “Ah.”

  Ahead, Cheat Mountain Road veered to the left, and he soon saw the familiar church on the right. A short distance beyond it, another left turn bore them onto Yew Line, which immediately began to climb and wind into very dense forest. With the windows down, the temperature felt as if it had plummeted ten degrees.

  “Real wilderness,” he said, noting the thick oaks, maples, poplars, and sycamores, which pressed so close to the road that low-hanging branches swept the roof of his car. “Back home, the biggest hills we have are the bridges over the expressways. I’ve always preferred the city to the country, but I have to admit it’s beautiful out here.”

  “I never cared for the city. I guess this place has spoiled me. I’m sure Charleston is nothing compared to Chicago, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s got too many people, it’s too hard to breathe, and too much of life is wasted just trying to get from one place to another. In this town, there’s never been a traffic jam that lasted more than two minutes.”

  He nodded in understanding. “To think I once lived around here. Of course, I spent all my school days up at Byston Hill, and when I was a kid, our neighborhood was ‘exclusive.’ I have very few memories of the town in general.”

  “From your perspective, that’s probably just as well. Don’t you ever get out of Chicago?”

  “I do a lot of traveling, but it’s almost always to other cities. The most ‘country’ I’ve seen in the last few years is the Wisconsin Dells, and it gets so crowded you need an appointment to see the trees.”

  “No chance of that here.”

  After a minute or so of silence, Copeland said, “How far is it?”

  “Not far. Just before we get to the Barrow property.”

  “Ah, the Barrows. You know, you made a good show, but I get the feeling that Levi Barrow showing up this morning upset you.”

  Debra looked uncomfortable. “He’s what we politely call white trash. As I said, I can handle any problems with him.”

  “You know, at least twice, he seems to have shown a special curiosity about me. What would you make of that?”

  “If he’s seen you with me, he’s probably sizing you up, to gauge whether you might get involved if he confronts me about his son.”

  “What if I said I would?”

  She shrugged, her eyes betraying a hint of exasperation. Then she pointed to the road ahead. “Slow down. Right up here.”

  Copeland braked and pulled off to the right. It was a long, fairly straight stretch of road, with tightly packed deciduous trees on both sides. Ahead, the road disappeared around a curve to the left; there, the trees changed abruptly to very tall, very dark pines. He shut off the engine, got out, and in his most chivalrous fashion, went around and opened Debra’s door for her. She stepped out and pointed to the knee-high grass in front of the car. “He was right over there. Lynette brought me out here the other day and showed me. It was all I could do to get her to leave. I suppose she feels close to him here.”

  He nodded, taking a long look at his surroundings. To his right, the land declined sharply a short distance from the road; to the left, it rose just as quickly. Apart from the road, the woods were unbroken as far as his eye could see in every direction. A few birds sang melancholy dirges, but otherwise, silence covered everything; no distant rumble of cars, no thunder of airplanes, no other sounds of identifiably human origin. It seemed almost eerie. An hour or more remained until sunset, but shadows had already begun to swallow the land. He doubted he would care to be out here alone after dark.

  No markings remained in the grass where Rodney’s body had lain, although depressed patches here and there indicated where the investigators had done their work. Still, a strange sadness seemed to linger in the air, as if the forest itself retained some memory of the unknown, fatal event. Serene and peaceful, yet somehow foreboding, he thought, looking up at the tulip poplars that gathered profusely around the site.

  Debra pointed down the hill into the woods. “The trails the kids ride on are just down there.”

  Copeland was looking up the road again, northward. “How far from here do the Barrows live?”

  “Half a mile, maybe.”

  “You sure Rodney never had trouble with them? Something he might not have talked to his mother about?”

  “If so, I’m certainly not aware of it. Anything’s possible, of course.”

  “And the sheriff’s not investigating them?”

  “Not at all, as far as I know.”

  “That’s almost enough to make one curious.”

  Debra stepped up to him, her expression grave. “Russ, don’t even think about confronting any of them. I said that, to my knowledge, they’ve never killed anyone, but that doesn’t mean you want to cross them. Especially not you, a city boy. You could still end up... damaged.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I’m not thinking of doing anything foolish. The sheriff won’t break my arms if I talk to him, will he?”

  “Not if you catch him on a good day. But even then you’ll never get him to look askance at the Barrows.”

  “If it comes down to it, the sheriff isn’t the only law enforcement in the state.” He started back toward the car. “Well, I guess this is what I came out here for. Now I’ve seen the place.”

  “And?”

  “Well, I’m glad I did. I mean, the kid was my nephew, and this was where he breathed his last. I guess it gives me some sense of perspective. Do I feel any closer to him? I don’t know.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “It’s natural to want to see the place where tragedy occurred when the victim is one of your family.”

  Still inclined to display more than his customary gallantry, he again held the door for her as she got back in the car. But once he pulled onto the road, rather than head back toward town, he continued north on Yew Line, which earned him a particularly hard stare.

  “You’re going this way. I told you not to go this way.”

  “Strictly for a look-see,” he said with a humorless smile. “This is a public road, right?”

  “I don’t know what you expect to find, other than a rundown house.”

  “You know, I didn’t see a vehicle anywhere around your place this morning. Does Levi Barrow drive?”

  “Yeah. It’s not likely he would have walked that far.”

  Tall pines now rose on either side of the road, which snaked up and over the ridge. As he crested the rise and started down again, in the distance on the left, just where the trees broke, he saw a sagging, two-story wood-frame house with a half-toppled brick chimney. An ancient, rust-encrusted Chevy pickup truck sat in the driveway, and just beyond the house, in a field of tall grass, the remnants of an old barn stood like a monument to the gods of negligence and decay. “No Trespassing” and “Keep Out” signs sprouted in profusion all around the house.

  “Don’t slow down,” Debra said, eyeing the house warily. “You’re slowing down. Would you please not slow down? Dammit, Russ.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance, just this side of derisive. “Don’t get excited. Just looking at the lay of the land.”

  “You’re as bad as my kids,” she sighed. “If you were in school, I’d keep you after.”

  “Don’t let my age stop you.”

  Debra didn’t reply, for her eyes had shifted to focus intently on the field beyond the house. She suddenly put a hand on his knee. “Slow down. Slow down!”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “There’s something out there,” she said, peering out his window and leaning so far over that she shoved him agai
nst the door. He had slowed the car to a crawl, and even he had not intended to be so conspicuous as they passed the Barrow dwelling. He tried to follow her gaze, but he saw nothing unusual in the field or amid the pine forest beyond.

  “What is it?”

  She slid back into her seat and shook her head. “I don’t know. For a second there, I would swear I saw some kind of tall building. Something that was never there before. But once we got to where I could get a clear view of it, it was gone.”

  “Well…I didn’t see anything like that.”

  Debra’s face looked chalky. Something out there had certainly rattled her. “Trick of the light. Mirage, I guess,” she said, obviously unable to accept her own explanation. “Whatever. It couldn’t be what I thought it was.”

  “Okay,” he said, swinging the car off to the side of the road and making a hard U-turn, “I guess that’s enough. We’re heading home.”

  As they passed Barrow manor again, Debra could not take her eyes off the field. This time, Copeland gave the house a more thorough inspection and saw, to his dismay, that someone now appeared to be watching them from one of the front windows. He knew that Levi Barrow had had ample opportunity to view his car in Lynette’s driveway and might recognize it now. Well, nothing he could do about that, he thought as the road began to rise, carrying them back into the tall black pines. However, it might be prudent to take a few extra security measures once he got back to his sister’s.

  And for Debra to do the same.

  “I do not like coming out this way,” she finally said, giving him a stinging glare.

  “How much land do the Barrows own?”

  “I don’t know; a lot. Not just here, they own plenty of land in the county.”

  “Judging from the signs, they’re pretty protective...Jesus God!”

  The kid on the bike flashed out of the trees and onto the road so fast that Copeland had to stand on the brakes to avoid running over him. The car started to fishtail, and only the fact that it was on a straight stretch rather than one of the hairpin curves kept it from careening off the road. His right arm had automatically extended to keep Debra from pitching forward, and as the car straightened out, he discovered that his hand was making less-than-subtle contact with her breasts. He quickly drew it away.