by Garth Stein
The sharp bark of a coyote snapped Ferguson out of his thoughts. He looked up to the dark woods. Something moved, branches rustled, and he caught a glimpse of an animal’s eyes. But it was gone again, as quick as that. Ferguson shuddered and hiked back up to the community house. He was looking forward to going home and getting some sleep, real sleep on a bed. He had made plenty of sacrifices for Thunder Bay; spending the night looking for evil spirits with a shaman was just another one. But at the end of the rainbow was a pot of gold. Ferguson knew there would be a big bonus if he could get the resort ready by the first of July. Money he could use to give his wife that new kitchen she wanted. The one he promised her when they bought the house fifteen years ago. The one with the wide plank floors and the island in the middle, even though he had no idea why anyone would want an island in their kitchen. That would be nice, he thought. Then, when the renovation was finished, maybe they would have this Livingstone guy over for dinner. It’s not bad to have an Indian for a friend. This guy seemed all right. It would be fun. They could all sit around drinking beer and laugh about that night when they ran the evil spirits out of Thunder Bay.
Chapter 10
ROBERT DROVE JENNA’S CAR UP TO THE REALITY CAFE ON Broadway, as he did every Sunday. He automatically got two coffees and two muffins, even though Jenna had vanished the previous night and wouldn’t be eating hers. When the ritual becomes habitual. Maybe she’d come home today.
Robert had called her parents earlier in the morning, but they had no idea where she could have gone. Sally asked if he had done something to make her upset. Assumption of guilt, typical of the American judicial system. Of course, it must be his fault. No, he told them. He hadn’t done anything. He told them he thought she was upset about Bobby. Still.
When a loved one dies, one goes through many stages of grief. So they say. Anger, denial, despair, or whatever order they go in. Robert didn’t put much store in that. Grief is grief. Some people can deal with it on their own; others need help. What the helpers do is break the whole down into tiny little parts. Chunks. Each chunk, then, becomes manageable. When you’ve dealt with all the little chunks, the whole is gone. Robert dealt with his grief as a whole. Jenna had someone break it down for her.
Denial was the worst chunk. Jenna would wake up in the middle of the night and go to check on Bobby. She’d turn on the light in Bobby’s room and realize that he was gone. Robert would find her sitting on the floor of Bobby’s room, staring straight ahead with a faraway look in her eyes. That was the worst. It made Robert feel so powerless. He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t do anything.
Then there was the next phase. Robert didn’t know if they had a clinical term for it. It basically consisted of sleeping with the TV on all night. What do you call that stage? Letterman, Conan, and E! Television, around the clock, twenty-four hours. Robert finally had to sleep in the other room. He was a pretty flexible guy, but he needed his sleep and he needed it to be quiet.
Then there was the relationship counselor phase. Robert still didn’t know how he got roped into that one. A couples therapist who caused Robert and Jenna to fight more than they had before they went to see him. You’re working it out, that idiot used to say. The problem with those people is that they don’t tell you when you’re going to be cured. They just keep on asking you for money. A real doctor puts you on a program. Take these antibiotics for fourteen days and your infection will be gone. But psychiatrists tell you it’s not as easy as that. It takes longer. Sure, it takes longer. It takes a long time to build an addition to a house. It costs a lot of money. If shrinks cured you, they’d be out of business and they couldn’t afford their sailboats. They have to create a dependence on the part of the patient.
It was one of those shrinks who gave Jenna the Valium. She couldn’t sleep at night. Had to have the TV blaring all night long, which kept Robert awake, but when Robert moved into the guest room she couldn’t sleep alone. So they gave her Valium. Wash it down with wine. They created a junkie, that’s what they did. Systematic and legal. And get this, they needed to hire another psychiatrist to get her off the Valium. And a specialist to keep her from going through withdrawal. Not from the Valium, from the first psychiatrist! Can you believe that? Psychiatrists who specialize in weaning patients away from their abusive psychiatrists. Health insurance doesn’t pay for that, by the way. And the ultimate insult, they wanted Robert to see a psychiatrist to help him deal with Jenna’s problem. His problem was dealing with the psychiatrists, not Jenna.
The old VW shuddered when he downshifted and turned into the driveway. He nudged the door closed with his hip and climbed the two brick steps to the back door. Holding the coffee bag in one hand and the muffin bag in his teeth, Robert opened the back door. As he set his things down on the kitchen table, he heard a long beep and the clicking and whirring of the answering machine. He ran to the bedroom and grabbed the phone, but it was too late. The person who called had left a message and had already hung up.
He pressed PLAY and waited for the tape to rewind. The voice that came on sounded strained, a little too cheerful and buoyant. It was Jenna.
“Hi, it’s me. Where are you? Look, sorry about last night, but . . . I’m . . . I’m going away for a few days. I need to get away. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you when I get a chance. I love you.”
Robert could feel his heart thumping in his chest; he could hear it pound away. He listened to the message again.
She was outdoors somewhere. She sounded rushed, confused. Sorry about last night, I’m going away. That didn’t follow. If she was sorry about last night, she should be coming back. I need to get away. From what? From me? Get away to where? Was she calling from an airport? No, that would have been inside. Robert definitely heard birds in the background. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call you when I get a chance. What’s that supposed to mean? One of the basics of couples therapy is to work out problems verbally. You can’t run away. This didn’t make sense. Jenna loves to talk about problems. She could talk for days about their relationship. She wouldn’t just leave. She can’t sleep by herself. This is a woman who is so afraid of being alone she cannot sleep in a bed by herself. She didn’t come home last night, so she has no clothes or anything. Where could she go?
It’s her parents. They’re hiding her. She took a plane to New York and is with them.
No, that doesn’t make any sense. She would have had to wait until this morning to get a plane, and she’d be on it right now. How could she leave a message? Air-phone. And the plane is flying through a flock of geese with the windows open. A gaggle of geese. A flock of seagulls. I ran, I ran so far away.
Robert picked up the phone and dialed Jenna’s parents in New York. Jenna’s mother answered.
“Hello, Robert. Did you hear anything?”
“She left a message.”
“Left a message? You were out?”
“Well, I have to eat, you know.”
“Couldn’t you have ordered in?”
Spoken like a true New Yorker.
“Look, Sally, she left a message and it sounded very strange. She said she was going away for a few days. Where could she go? She has no clothes or anything. Tell me the truth, is she on her way to you?”
“Well, if she is, she certainly didn’t call first. But I can’t imagine. Why would she fly all the way across the country? Is there something going on between you two that we don’t know about?”
“No. I’m telling you, she freaked out last night. Went into some psychotic episode. Just like the old days.”
“Robert.” It was a man. Myron. Dad.
“Myron, I didn’t know you were on the line.”
“I’ve been listening. Are you implying that she’s back on those pills?”
“I’m not implying anything, Myron, I’m stating the facts. We live in a world of cause and effect. You figure it out.”
“Robert, please,” Sally broke in. “It’s been a year and you know she doesn’t take those pills anymore.”
“Sally, I have to be honest. I really don’t know what Jenna does anymore.”
“Are you sure she hasn’t been abducted?” Myron asked after a pause. Abducted? Carjacked? Kidnapped? “You said the message sounded strange.”
“Yeah, strange. But not that strange. Why would someone kidnap her and then let her call in?”
There was silence all around. Abducted. That was an absurd thought. Who would abduct her? Could it be possible?
“Robert, why don’t you call the police and find out how to report a missing person, then call us back.”
“But she’s not missing. She called and said she was getting away for a few days. That’s not missing. She knows where she is; she’s not telling anyone.”
There was silence. Then Myron.
“Robert, call the police.”
Robert hung up. Kidnapped? Crazy. But then again, every other possible explanation was equally crazy, so who knows? He picked up the phone and dialed the police.
Chapter 11
WHEN FERGUSON WOKE UP, IT WAS STILL DARK OUT AND THE fire had died down to glowing embers. Livingstone was nowhere to be seen. Fergie thought it was odd that David had left without telling him. Maybe he had gone out for some air.
Outside, it was pouring. Fergie stood in the doorway listening to the rain clap against the leaves in the trees. He tried to see through the darkness to the water, to check if David’s boat was still there, but it was too dark. So he cursed, put on his windbreaker, grabbed the flashlight, and went down to see if Livingstone had quit.
The boat was still tied to the dock, so Livingstone hadn’t left for good. He was probably wandering around in the woods looking for spirits or something. Fergie started back up the hill feeling uneasy, as if somebody or something was watching him. It was dark in the rain, and the batteries in his flashlight were weak, so he didn’t have much light. Fergie had grown up in the wilderness where there was no room for fear of the dark. But still, now, he was a little afraid. David was gone. That left Ferguson all alone, miles from the nearest town. No food, no telephone. He thought about firing up one of the gasoline generators so he could have some light, but then he remembered how vehement David had been against electricity. Only fire. So Ferguson hurried back to the community house and slid the bolt on the door behind him. He piled more logs on the fire and decided not to sleep the rest of the night.
IN THE MORNING, the crews came ready to work, and the first place they went was the community house. Normally, the community house was where the workers assembled, took their breaks, and got out of the rain. But Ferguson was waiting for them. He told them they weren’t allowed in today because a specialist was making some very important modifications. The workers were not thrilled, but there was little they could do. Ferguson was the general contractor, after all, so they waited in the rain for the foremen to arrive and give out other assignments.
For the rest of the day Ferguson dutifully tended the fire and awaited David’s return. He would give David twenty-four hours, he thought. If he didn’t show up by the next morning, Ferguson would have to contact the authorities and start a search party. As he lit another cigarette, he congratulated himself on always keeping a carton of Kents in his plane. At least there would be plenty of tobacco for another night with cold feet. He had begged a tuna fish sandwich off one of the workers, which staved off his hunger temporarily, but he didn’t know how long he could last without a substantial meal.
Even though Ferguson had little contact with the workers, he was comforted by their presence. He didn’t really want to spend another night alone by the fire, and so he was very sorry to hear the air horn that signaled the end of the workday.
It was evening, and Ferguson silently sat before the fire and the rains continued outside. As night came, the sky seemed to get not darker but richer, and Ferguson thought he was beginning to hallucinate from lack of food. By midnight, he felt as though shadows outside the windows were moving. Shapes seemed to hover in the woods. And, at one point, he was sure he saw a pair of eyes looking in at him. He felt as if he were being stalked by someone, and he tried to chase away his fear by doing what he had seen David do, circle the fire pit mumbling half-words and non-sentences to himself, keeping the fire raging, feeling that somehow it would protect him from whoever was out there. There was nobody there, he told himself, nobody but the little people in his mind. But still. A scratch against the window, probably a branch blown by the wind, and then some hurried steps, probably an animal, maybe a coyote because it sounded too big to be a squirrel. Why did he notice all these sounds now? He knew they were the sounds of the woods and they existed whether or not he was there to hear them, and he could only figure that his state of exhaustion and hunger made him more aware, and that his lack of human contact and being bottled up in the stupid building watching a fire was finally getting to him. The buildup of nicotine in his system probably wasn’t helping, either. But still, no matter how much he rationalized, when he heard the thump like a big animal falling against the building, his heart jumped into his throat and he was afraid.
He knew he had to investigate. That would be the only thing that would calm him down. Go out into the cold darkness and find out what was there. You must face your fears. You must confront them head-on and find out what is real and what is imagined. That’s the only way you can proceed through life. So he grabbed the flashlight and opened the door to the night.
He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of the rain and the wind, and he circled the building seeing nothing, no movement, no animals, no moving shadows, nothing. He was satisfied that it was the weakness in his mind caused by fatigue that made him hear things. But he wanted to circle the building again. Just to be sure. So he started around the back of the building, sinking into the mud to his ankles, and this time he saw movement. It was an animal lying on the ground by the building. From where he stood, he couldn’t really make out what it was, but it seemed pretty big, a furry back and long legs. The flashlight was weak and the yellow light it cast on the animal didn’t tell Ferguson anything. The animal moved and Ferguson could see its short, oily coat glisten in the rain. It growled, so it was definitely alive, but it seemed hurt. Ferguson picked up a stick that was at his feet. It wasn’t quite long enough for his taste, but he held it out and jabbed the animal with it. The animal barked and snapped at the stick and Ferguson stepped back in horror. Even in the darkness and the rain Ferguson could tell that this wasn’t an animal he had found. No, it wasn’t an animal at all. It was David Livingstone.
Ferguson took a step back and looked down at the animal in disbelief. It was like nothing he had seen before. Not human and not animal, it lay on its side breathing heavily. Ferguson crouched down to get a better look. Was it David? He thought he had seen David’s face, but now he didn’t know. It was hurt, whatever it was. It had no strength. Ferguson reached out his hand, hoping to roll it over so he could see it better. He touched the soft fur. Roll it over on its back. The animal suddenly snapped around, swiping at Ferguson’s arm and baring its sharp teeth. Ferguson fell backward with a yell. He heard a screeching sound from the animal as it turned on him, and he swung his flashlight, hitting the animal hard on the side of the head. The animal recoiled and Ferguson hit it again and then a third time, until it finally fell to the ground, unconscious.
The animal didn’t move when Ferguson nudged it with his foot. He rolled it over on its back and aimed his flashlight at its face. He could see clearly now that it was David’s face, strangely flattened but recognizable. It had peculiar, thin arms growing out of the front of its chest. There was a short coat of hair all over its body. Ferguson didn’t understand what was going on or what this thing was at his feet, but he decided to drag it into the community house in case it actually was David. Before the creature woke up, Ferguson bound the animal’s hands and feet with rope. He lashed the creature to a chair and set the chair in front of the fire. Then Ferguson sat and waited.
The creature woke up s
creaming. A horrifying scream of pain and anguish. Ferguson was panicked. The creature looked like David, so he wanted to help it, but at the same time he was afraid of it. Fergie stood nervously in front of the creature, not knowing if he should untie it or knock it out again. Then the creature got quiet and leveled its eyes on Ferguson, sending a chill up his spine.
“Untie me, John,” the creature said, calmly.
Ferguson froze, looking into the large, black eyes of the creature.
“Untie me, John,” the creature repeated, and Ferguson wanted to untie it. He felt a need to untie it. Against all his better judgment, he felt compelled to do what the creature asked. And as he took a step toward the creature, the creature smiled and said, “Good boy,” and John’s heart stopped beating. It wasn’t David’s voice anymore. It was the voice of Ferguson’s father.