by J P Barnett
She stroked his hair, trying to comfort him while also wrestling with the concept that Jake might be dangerous—intentionally or not.
“But surely you weren’t thinking negative things about those people?” she asked.
Jake shook his head. “No. I just thought about them. In general. Deirdre said something about my goodness stopping it from killing. That I wouldn’t be able to do it forever.”
Certainly, the science of it all eluded her, but she also didn’t understand the link between Jake and the beast. Why would such a link be created? What purpose would it serve?
War, she thought. It could be used in war.
Shandi rubbed her hand along her pocket, feeling the outline of the dog tags that Miriam had given her.
The beast wasn’t a monster. He was a soldier.
Shandi fished the plastic bag out of her front pocket and held it up in front of Jake. She watched his eyes study it, trying to focus on the corroded indentations that made up the words on the dog tags.
“Miriam found these in a cave. Right before the beast killed her brother.”
Jake had never met the hive mind. He did not react with sadness, but with concern about what it meant. “It’s started, then. The beast is killing people.”
Shandi continued, “I haven’t had time to run it down. I’ll save your eyes the trouble, though. It says William P. Hargrove. There’s a social security number, and an address in Mississippi.”
“Any relation to Karen?”
Karen. Of course. Shandi hadn’t made the connection yet with all the chaos in her life. Karen Phillips, formerly Hargrove, lived in Rose Valley. She had graduated a few years before them. Could she possibly be a relative of the beast?
“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe there’s a connection if her family came from Mississippi originally. She may not have any idea, though. It would have to be at least two generations back.”
Jake nodded. “Worth a shot. Maybe she has old documents or family stories that could shed light on things.”
Shandi liked his line of thinking. As the evidence mounted for the beast being a man instead of Bigfoot, Shandi found herself more and more inclined to try to help him. She could only presume that Arrowhead Research had created him somehow. If they could turn him into this monster, then maybe they could turn him back.
Shandi remembered the last important thing she needed to tell Jake. “Skylar and Cam teamed up.”
“For serious?”
“Yep. Seriously. They’re organizing a manhunt. They’re going to try to hunt him down. There’s a town meeting tomorrow afternoon,” Shandi said.
“What’s today? Friday? I should be out of here by then, right? We should go.”
“You haven’t seen what the beast can do, Jake, but I have. I don’t want to be anywhere near that thing. Hunting it is crazy. People are going to die.”
“I know. But... I might be able to control it.”
Shandi rolled her eyes without meaning to. “But how, Jake? You didn’t even know you could until now.”
Jake shrugged and peered off into the distance again. “I don’t know, Shandi. Maybe it won’t help. But the more information I have about what they’re trying to do, the better. He came to the ranch after the football game. Maybe he stays near me. Maybe I have to be near him to control him. I don’t know how any of this works.
“Deirdre wanted to kill me. She thought it was the only way to stop him. But what if I can control him? Direct him? What if I can lead him into a trap.”
Shandi doubted it would work. He made reasonable points, but it terrified her to think of putting Jake in danger. Still, in a sea of bad choices, this seemed the best so far.
She nodded, reached up to his chin, and guided his face back towards hers. Their eyes locked again. It still felt amazing, like she could see directly into his soul. She marveled at the exhilaration and the comfort that filled her body. She leaned over to kiss him. He kissed her back. The spark ignited easily again. Focusing on more immediate concerns would not take the relationship away from them as she feared.
“Okay. We can go. But we need to focus on you first. We need to get you out of here.”
“Don’t worry about me. I feel fine. I feel better than fine. This is almost over. I know it. We can stop this. I can stop this.”
Shandi laughed. “You’re remarkably confident for someone who died two days ago.”
“Wait, what? I died?”
Shandi’s cheeks flushed. Of course, Jake would have no idea that his heart had actually stopped for a brief moment. It seemed like fairly important information that he might take as frightening. But she refused to let him dwell on it. He lived now. Awake. Energetic. She had him and would never let him go.
No more frightening information for today.
She leaned over and kissed him. He did not protest.
Chapter 32
The old rock house stood as sturdy now as it ever had, looking exactly as powerful as the first day Shandi saw it as a kid. Locals called it the old schoolhouse, but it had been a home far longer than it had ever served as a place of education. She wondered when those stones first came together to form a house, and took a mental note to look it up when she got back to the office. Her parents hadn’t gone to school there and her grandparents had died before Shandi shed the immature bonds of adolescence and grown to care about their remarkable history. She wished she’d turned her journalistic talents towards documenting her own family.
The owner of those rocks had changed many times over the years. She vaguely remembered that Jake’s grandparents owned it in the sixties. His grandparents had left their mark on a great many things in Rose Valley. The immediately previous tenants had been the Hargrove family, but now it belonged to the Phillips family. Karen’s father had deeded it to her after her mother passed away. Now she lived there with her family and her ailing father. It seemed like a lot of mundane detail to know about a person that she barely knew, but Rose Valley held so few secrets.
Jake desperately wanted to go with her on this visit, but she insisted that he stay behind. Though he seemed like his old self again, she couldn’t help but believe that the effects of the drugs still made him weak. Shandi fought the doctor’s decision to release him so soon after he awoke, but she also understood her own overprotective streak.
She walked up the stone steps to the front porch, impressed by their sturdiness. She wondered if they had been an original part of the house, or if they had been built some time later.
The screen door squealed as she opened it. With no doorbell, she knocked, instead.
“Coming!” she heard inside.
It felt like minutes before the door cracked open. Karen Phillips stood in the doorway. She exceeded Shandi’s age by almost ten years. Her brown hair struggled against faint streaks of gray that looked more dignified than old. Her face still shone with a smooth freshness, and her alert light brown eyes danced with excitement. Though larger than some, Karen still boasted a shapely and appealing figure.
“Shandi? To what do I owe the pleasure?” she said with a smile.
Shandi extended a hand. Karen shook it dutifully before Shandi answered, “This is going to sound really strange, but are you related to someone named William P. Hargrove?”
Karen nodded almost immediately, clearly recognizing the name. “Yeah. I never met him, but he was my grandfather.”
Shandi dropped her shoulders. “Would you mind if I come in and ask you a few questions about him?”
Karen motioned inside. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help, but sure.”
Shandi found herself in the living room of the old house, impressed by its nice appointments and surprised to find the insides much more modern than she expected. The air smelled vaguely of cinnamon. She took a seat in a recliner next to the couch.
Karen did not sit. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to get us a little snack and something to drink.”
Karen disappeared into the kitchen befo
re Shandi could tell her she wasn’t hungry. As a journalist, Shandi had learned long ago that going along with someone proved to be the most reliable way to put them at ease. The more comfortable she could make them, the more information they might share.
Shandi suddenly became aware of someone watching her. She looked towards a hallway to her right and saw an old man in a wheelchair. She awkwardly smiled at him and managed a small gesture that vaguely resembled a wave. He stared and said nothing. Shandi couldn’t bring herself to look away, as if turning her back to him would cause him to get up from the chair and devour her.
“Here we go. I made this fresh this morning. It’s my grandfather’s recipe.” Karen floated into the room. Shandi found a sweet potato pie in her hands and a glass of milk on the coffee table in front of her. Clearly, the cinnamon smell had come from the baking.
Shandi motioned towards the man in the wheelchair. “Is that your father?”
Karen nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He’s pretty despondent these days. I apologize if he was staring at you. I don’t think he knows what he’s doing anymore. He just roams around the house. He just celebrated his 78th birthday last week.”
Shandi made an effort to meet his gaze. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Hargrove!”
He did not respond. Shandi took a bite of pie so that she had something to do to fill the awkward silence. She immediately forgot about all of that, though, when the pie hit her tongue in a euphoric explosion of sugar.
After savoring a couple of bites, Shandi decided to get down to business. She took out her cell phone. “Do you mind if I record this?”
“Oh no. Not at all.”
She seemed to have no reservations about sharing her family history, which relieved Shandi. Too often, getting information from people proved difficult.
“So, what can you tell me about your grandfather?”
Karen looked towards the ceiling, as if trying hard to remember obscure facts. “He was in the army. I think he was a Major, maybe? He died in the war in 1942 when my dad was only three. He didn’t go by William. Everyone called him Billy.”
“Did he live here in Rose Valley?”
“He grew up in Mississippi, I’m pretty sure. But they moved to Rose Valley in 1940, I think.” She looked over at her father. “Is that right, daddy?”
The man offered no answer. Karen waved her hand at him in minor annoyance before continuing. “I think he was assigned here. To help with some sort of research, maybe? I guess at Arrowhead. I don’t know where else it would have been. But then they shipped him overseas and he died somewhere in France, I think.”
Shandi contemplated how best to navigate the next part. She didn’t want to alarm Karen, but she also felt obligated to tell Karen what she knew. She decided that leading with a prop might be easiest, so she pulled the dog tags out of her pocket and handed them over to Karen.
“These were found here in Rose Valley,” Shandi said. “In a cave.”
Karen’s eyes lit up as she processed the meaning of the thin metal offering. “This is neat! I wonder how they got there. Can I have them? I’d love to add them to my scrapbook.”
Shandi hadn’t anticipated that, but it made sense that Karen would want them. She hoped that Karen would trust her enough to let her hold on to them. “Um, sure. But would you mind if I held on to them a while longer? I’m working on a story and I might need these still.”
Karen didn’t answer immediately, warily looking between Shandi and the dog tags. With a sigh, she finally replied, “Of course. I know where to find you if you don’t bring them back.”
Shandi smiled. “So are you sure that William—sorry, Billy—died in France?”
“That’s what my mom always told me, yeah. Daddy didn’t like to talk about it much. It was hard for him growing up back then without a father.” Karen cheeks flushed suddenly. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean that it’s bad. You’re a wonderful mother, Shandi. It was just harder back then, you know?”
Shandi took no offense. Though she hardly could claim mother of the year, she delighted in the woman that Macy seemed destined to become. “Don’t worry about it. I understand what you mean.”
Karen’s father mumbled something. Shandi couldn’t make it out. She looked towards him, as Karen stood up and crossed the living room to his side. “What was that, daddy?”
He spoke louder this time. “Never sent home his body. Mama cried for days.”
No body. Perhaps he had never gone to France at all. Perhaps he never left Rose Valley, now inexplicably old and tragically altered. Shandi wrestled with whether or not she should share her suspicions with Karen, especially with her father nearby. She decided not to. She couldn’t be sure that Billy Hargrove had become the beast.
“I didn’t know that, daddy,” Karen said, tenderly stroking the few tendrils of gray that clung to his pate. “Thank you for sharing that.”
He spoke again. “Mama saw him after he died.”
“Like she saw his spirit, you mean, daddy?” Karen asked.
The old man shook his head, jerky and labored. He took a deep breath. “No. He came to visit one night. She saw him in the yard. I remember looking through the window. He got stronger while he was in France.”
He took another strenuous breath. Shandi thought for sure that he lacked the strength to go on, but he did. “Mama cried again that night. Like she had when she learned he died. She didn’t know I saw. He never came back after that.”
A chill ran down Shandi’s spine. The beast had come to see his wife. Some part of his humanity must have remained back then, and maybe some part of it existed even now. Did he know his son was nearby?
None of this information provided definitive proof. This all could just have easily been a coincidence and the overactive imagination of a young child who had lost his father. It seemed impossible to believe that he would remember something like that from the age of three. Though maybe this memory sprung from an event from much later than 1942.
Clearly, the beast had been in Rose Valley for many years.
Something turned Shandi’s mind to the night the beast had attacked her house. He had taken one of Macy’s stuffed animals; a cartoon potato that they called Scallops. Had held onto it even while he chased them. It hadn’t been at the house or on the road when Cam had gone back, so perhaps he had taken it with him. Had it reminded him of something from his previous life?
Shandi thought of another question. “Back before the war, what did Billy do for a living?”
Karen looked at her father, frowning when she realized his focus was wandering. “He was a farmer in Mississippi. I remember because of his amazing pie recipe. He grew sweet potatoes.”
Shandi blanched as she remembered Macy’s stuffed animal. Her doubts about the relationship between Billy Hargrove and the beast evaporated. The beast and Billy Hargrove inhabited the same body. And more importantly, he knew it.
Chapter 33
The First United Methodist Church of Rose Valley overflowed its fire marshal mandated capacity. Sunday morning wouldn’t come for almost twenty-four hours. Unlike church services, this congregation consisted of more than just Methodists. It contained just as many Baptists, as well as a great number of people who generally professed to believe in God yet couldn’t find the time or energy to attend church. There may have been the odd Atheist or Catholic, but unlikely that any other denomination attended. The theological options in Rose Valley were few.
At the front of the church stood not a preacher, pastor, or reverend. The man at the pulpit carried himself with much more confidence and charisma than any of those callings. Like the pastor might have done, though, Skylar Brooks meant to convert people to his cause.
In the front left pew sat a string of unlikely allies, starting with Cory and Steve, neither of which attended church, for obvious reasons. Then Jake and Shandi, followed by Macy and Cam. On the other side of Cam sat Dub Higgins, and then Marie, the only one of them that didn’t look uncomfortable. She dressed as if ready to
attend church, looking every bit the part of a God-fearing woman.
Cam and Dub both wore their uniforms. Both had their guns; Dub’s noticeably shinier since it was brand new. Both even had their hats on. Shandi thought this disrespectful given their location, but The First United Methodist Church of Rose Valley did not serve as a place of worship on this day. It had transformed into something much more sinister.
Skylar Brooks tapped the microphone with his forefinger three times, cleared his throat, and began his sermon. “You’re scared. Your town has been beset by evil. You fear for your children. Your livelihoods. You just want it to stop. I can understand that. I sympathize with that. I know you’d like nothing more than to hunt this beast down and shoot it dead.
“But you also have an opportunity. You stand on the precipice of making Rose Valley the most famous small town in America. And it starts by not killing this beast, no. But by capturing it. By putting it on display. By studying it. By proving to the world that Rose Valley will not be controlled by its fear. You can’t let this creature torment you, and I will make sure that you don’t.
“You’ve heard of Lake Worth, Texas, I presume,” he continued. “I expect your Mighty Jaguars have met them on the gridiron a time or two. Well, in 1969, Lake Worth was in the place you now find yourself. A vicious creature was on the loose. It attacked cars. It threw a tire at some people. They weren’t safe. They were scared. Like you are now. My father saved them.
“I was 12 then. It was the first time my dad let me go on a hunt with him. My father may not have captured Lake Worth’s Goatman, but he scared it off and it never returned.”
Skylar took a long pause. He looked around the room, as if to make eye contact with every single person in the congregation. Shandi didn’t care for his intense stare, but she could tell that she sided with the minority. She jotted “Lake Worth Goatman 1969” down on her notepad. The townspeople may have bought into this farce, but Shandi refused. No matter what Skylar said, he was nothing but a snake-oil salesman and, when she had the time, she intended to prove it.