That sent them both into hysterics, laughing until they cried and their sides ached.
“Where did you ever hear that?” he crowed, laughing uncontrollably.
“A fisherman,” she cried, bent over and holding her sides. “His reel broke—and the line unspooled all over him!” she said, coughing and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “Went off like a hand grenade!”
That did it. Now Corell was doubled over in laughter, with Valerie laughing, coughing, and choking all at once.
Finally, still grinning like a couple of hyenas and wiping tears from their eyes, Corell and Valerie entered the sporting goods store, hugging each other like longlost drinking buddies. In this single moment of silliness, an invisible wall between them buckled, crumbled, and fell, instantly replaced by an enduring bond.
Corell pushed a shopping cart ahead of them toward the back of the store with Valerie close at his side. When they reached the gun counter, the attendant behind the glass case, a large round-faced man in his forties, predictably asked if he could help them.
“Arrows and bowling balls,” said Corell stiffly, his brow furrowed as he suppressed the urge to give in to more laughter. He glanced back at Valerie, who quickly turned away, holding her mouth with both hands.
“I need twenty target arrows and four bowling balls,” Corell managed. “Can you direct me toward them?”
Sensing the humor in it, the clerk said with a sly grin, “Shooting skeet with bowling balls and arrows, eh? That’s a new one.”
The sales attendant helped them gather the things they needed then checked them out. As they loaded everything in the truck, Valerie asked, “You never told me what you plan to do with this stuff.”
“Shoot skeet, what else?” Corell shrugged, feigning innocence. Then he added, “I prefer to keep you guessing, but you’ll see what I have in mind soon enough.”
“Okay,” she said with a roll of her eyes, guessing that whatever Corell had in store for her was worth the wait, so she let it go at that.
From the Jacksonville Big Y, the old truck turned toward home, heading back up the mountain toward the old farmhouse. Corell stopped at a cattle crossing and opened a gate leading to an access road. The road through the forest was a mile-long dirt track. Occasional washouts made the going slow. Soon the forest diminished, and the truck rolled onto pastureland, a farm with outbuildings becoming visible in the distance.
They passed a mature orchard of mixed fruit trees with evidence of recent pruning. Spring growth with flowers still adorned many of the trees. Cultivated fields beyond the grove stretched for what seemed like miles.
The dirt trail transitioned into a smooth concrete drive as they neared. The house was a mid-century bungalow, white with green accents, well maintained despite the remote location. When Valerie saw the attractive little house, she didn’t need to ask to know the rough trail leading there was intended to discourage trespassers.
In front of the house stood an impressive oak tree with a tire swing hanging from a massive branch. Valerie stared wonderingly at the tire swing, its existence implying children had once played there. However, the knee-high field grass indicated the old tire swing had gone unused for a long time. Still, she had trouble taking her eyes away from it. Somehow it seemed that tire swing had called to her and touched her heart.
Corell parked in front of the two-car garage beside the house. A big red barn with matching cupolas on a high-pitched roof sat directly behind it. A lean-to attached to it sheltered tractors and farm implements. Beyond the barn, a livestock yard and old chicken coops had fallen into disrepair.
Corell unlocked the backdoor to the house but appeared hesitant to go inside, which puzzled Valerie. His mood had noticeably deteriorated since turning onto the road. Valerie followed his fleeting gaze as he seemed to be searching for something lost. The man was distracted, but she didn’t want to intrude by asking what was bothering him. Had the house been broken into? Momentarily, Corell cleared his throat, pulled the door open, and tentatively stepped inside.
“Let me show you around,” he said unenthusiastically.
“Alright,” she allowed.
Inside, there was no sign of a break-in; everything seemed to be in order. The air was stale, so Corell opened the screened front door to get the air moving. Not wanting to be left behind in a strange house, Valerie followed dutifully, with the old wooden floors creaking in protest every step of the way.
The house was old but in good condition. Antique free-standing lamps stood beside a couch and an easy chair. A coffee table and end tables topped by white lace doilies matched the white lace curtains filtering the warm afternoon sunlight as it played in the room. Firewood stacked on the hearth added its scent.
“When we bought the property back in the 1920s, the house was already here,” Corell reported. “But it has been updated a couple of times since then. It was the main farmhouse back then. Originally, we farmed one-hundred and twenty acres here, but that has increased quite a bit since then,” he explained.
Corell continued the tour, leading the way. He showed her the downstairs office but simply pointed to the master bedroom, considering it improper to take the girl inside. Upstairs were two dormered bedrooms and a full bathroom situated between them.
“I’ll be in the master bedroom,” he explained, “so tomorrow you will have your choice of either of the upstairs rooms.”
With the tour out of the way they set to work unloading the truck, stocking the kitchen cupboards and refrigerator. Once done, Corell locked the house back up, and they headed back down the rough road. By the time they arrived back at the farm, it was late afternoon. Lunch had been unintentionally overlooked, so Corell and Valerie were already thinking about dinner.
Valerie felt bad about leaving Orson cooped up in her room all day, so she ran upstairs to check on him but found the door ajar and with no cat in sight. Oh no! she thought and quickly checked under the bed. Nothing there, and a quick inspection of the room revealed no Orson. Panicked, she ran downstairs, calling his name—“Orson! Orson!?”—and was instantly relieved to see her beloved cat sprawled out on his back between Corell and April, enjoying a belly rub.
“Oh, there you are, you big lug,” Valerie declared. Relieved, she sat at Corell’s feet, rubbing the big tabby’s furry head.
“How did he get out? I was so worried he might have run off!” Valerie confessed.
“After you left this morning, I went up to your room to feed him, but when I opened the door, Orson went through it like a shot,” April explained. “Then I found him sitting in Corell’s chair next to the fireplace, acting like he owned the place. He’s fine,” she assured Valerie. “Orson spent the day entertaining everyone. I really don’t think you need to worry about him running off.”
Hearing this, Orson perked up his ears, his eyes glinting at April. “How can we spoil you if you run off?” April asked, speaking in baby-talk to the satisfied-looking cat, who continued purring loudly.
When Corell reached out to scratch under Orson’s chin, the cat suddenly rolled over, sat up, then perched on his lap, staring Corell straight in the face with an unblinking gaze.
“What’s he doing?” April exclaimed. “He looks like the Sphinx of Egypt!”
“I can’t figure it out,” Valerie shot back, her face a mask of bewilderment. “Ever since he first laid eyes on Corell, he’s paid no attention to me at all. He seems to love Corell but ignores me entirely. I’m getting jealous!”
“Cats are strange,” April observed. Then to comfort the girl she added, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back to normal once he settles in. Won’t you, Orson?” But this time, the baby-talk did not deter the animal’s odd behavior. Neither did rubbing his ears have the desired effect. Orson perched stiffly, eyes fixed on Corell, unblinking and immovable until Corell spoke.
“Speaking of cats,” he said, clearly amused. “Valerie and I are going to get away for a few days, maybe a week. I think we should leave Orson here. Would that alright wi
th you, April?”
Valerie couldn’t believe her eyes when Orson’s gaze left Corell and looked to her as if he expected her to reject the proposal. How weird! she thought—yet she had seen it before. The cat seemed to have an uncanny ability to follow a conversation, taking on that strange stiffened Sphinx-like stare whenever he acted that way. It was strange, but she didn’t know what to do about it. Was there anything one could do or should do about an eavesdropping cat?
“Alright. We’ll have a good ‘ole time, won’t we, Orson?” April responded enthusiastically, speaking directly to Orson once again in baby-talk. Although Valerie appreciated April’s enthusiasm and willingness to take care of Orson, the baby-talk was getting on her nerves.
“I’d like to take Orson with me if that’s alright,” Valerie said pointedly, locking eyes with the furry eavesdropper, daring him to look away now.
Valerie’s eyes narrowed in a challenge to the animal, daring him to look away from her when Corell next spoke. Then, just as she suspected, the cat’s eyes began drifting away from her just before he said: “No problem, bring him if you’d like.” Then Corell nervously changed the subject. “I’m starving; what’s for dinner?”
Valerie stared at Orson, her mind spinning. What she had just witnessed could not be explained away as happenstance. The darn cat had not only listened in on the conversation but correctly anticipated who’s turn it was to speak. It was uncanny! Valerie viewed it as proof the cat was more than he seemed and that Corell Paris was in on it. She had seen Orson do it often enough to know she did not imagine it. Corell knew something about Orson that he wasn’t telling her. It was a thing, and she had caught them cold.
“We’re having Southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and apple pie. Sandra has a wonderful recipe. I hope you like Southern fried chicken,” April enthused. Then added, “In case no one explained it to you, dinners are served family-style.”
“What do you mean—family-style?” Valerie inquired.
“Everyone sits down together at the table, and dinner is served in big bowls—just like home. There’s no ordering from the menu. We all eat the same thing together as a family.”
“Oh, nice,” said Valerie, then related an experience. “One time, we went to a Basque restaurant, and they served dinner that way. There was no menu; we just sat down at a table with a bunch of strangers, and when the table was full, they served dinner. It turned out to be fun.”
“Dinner is served at 6:00, which is in twenty minutes. I know you missed lunch, so if you need something to hold you over, let me know so I can get you a snack,” April offered kindly.
Valerie declined, preferring to wait. “I’m good, April, thank you.”
“All this food talk has my stomach growling. I’m going to go wash up,” Corell said, dropping Orson gently to the floor as he stood. The women watched curiously as the cat padded away right behind him.
The family-style dinner turned out to be unexpectedly enjoyable. Corell introduced Valerie to the group as his granddaughter and was warmly welcomed. After the big meal, everyone stayed for drinks and conversation; some drank coffee, others beer, or wine. The conversation was lively and often loud as they talked, told stories, and joked together.
Valerie was tired, so she excused herself early and went to her room. After climbing into bed and reflecting on the day’s events, she logged it as one of the best ever and smiled, snuggling with Orson under the covers. She wasn’t sure what part of the day she liked best: the drive along the Applegate River, the staring contest at the Big Y Sporting Goods store with Corell, or the family-style dinner. It was all good, but remembering Corell trying to keep a straight face as he asked the clerk where he could find the bowling balls and arrows tickled her funny bone, eliciting a snicker.
But a sense of melancholy overcame her when her thoughts turned to the old farmhouse with the lonely tire swing hanging from the big tree. In a way, she felt connected to that empty swing, turning slightly in the unseen breeze. Imagining herself in it, swinging or merely dangling under the great Oak without a care in the world, gave her solace as the days’ tension unwound.
Times changed, though, as times always do, and the swing laid empty. For how long? With the children gone, the grass had grown unimpeded under it, rising tall until the little children were hidden from view. That was why she couldn’t see them. The grass was too tall, wasn’t it? The children were still there, just hidden by the high grass. Weren’t they?
Perhaps, like herself, the swing yearned for another time, an easier life, one without the fear of pointless violence and death. Her heart ached for a life where things were as they should be, where her parents hadn’t died, and her family still lived together in their own home. That’s the way it should have been, not sent away to live with others without a word to say about it.
Now the children were playing in the front yard under that big tree, and she was with them, swinging, running, and laughing without a single care in the world. These were her brothers and sisters. It was perfect. She loved them, and she thanked God for them. These were her thoughts as Valerie Dunne drifted off to sleep cuddling Orson, and she began dreaming.
An endless number of doors paraded by as she walked a darkened hallway. Each wooden door, identical in appearance, contained a narrow slot for a window and polished steel latch. Beyond the murky pane lay a room consumed by menacing gloom so impenetrable, so dense no light could penetrate or escape.
I know this place, Valerie thought to herself; it is familiar, and yet I cannot remember why. The feeling of belonging was present, just the same it troubled her knowing that was no longer true. This place was a part of the past. One final visit is all she wanted. Surely no one would deny her that. Like a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame, it was unavoidable.
Her friends were here, weren’t they? Good times were had sitting at lunchroom tables signing yearbooks and laughing with them. She wanted to see their faces again, but it was to no avail; they were all gone, every one of them. The hallways were silent and empty now. She was nothing more than an outsider looking in, reminiscing, no longer included or wanted here. The final frayed ties to this part of her life and to this place were broken and swept away.
Being here was against the rules, but she didn’t care about rules, not anymore. After all, it was just one last look, and there was no harm in that, right? So she just kept walking as the hallway unwound in front of her. Stopping at each door, she looked inside, finding nothing there but shadows and gloom, so she kept on walking. One step, two steps, repeated until the next door came into play, then repeat over and over again, until—a voice, deep and menacing, thundering out of the gloom called her name. “Valerie!” Her name exploded off the walls of the hall. She knew that voice, and no one had to tell her what was wanted. A spark ignited into a raging fireball, and all at once, she knew everything she needed to know—it was time to run!
Run for all your worth, escape, don’t let anything get in your way, and whatever you do, don’t look back! Then she heard it again, that dreadful voice call her name. “Valerie!” She heard her name called over and over, like a sledgehammer beating on a steel drum.
“Valerie! Valerie!! Valerie!!!” And with each call, a long loud laugh; a growl tearing its way through the building, slamming into her as she ran. Stinging tears blurred her vision, a cold chill iced her veins.
“Give up. You can’t run from me! Ah-hahahahha!”
She knew what that man wanted and that he would surely kill to take it from her. What she had was far too important ever to let go, or allow to be stolen, especially by one so evil. The ring, she thought…the ring must be protected above all else! She wanted to stand and fight, but it was too late; she couldn’t stop herself. Desperation and panic had her running wild.
Another voice called her name, but this one didn’t threaten or laugh at her. This voice was there to help. She knew the voice; the master of the rings, her mentor who was always with her. Stop running, the voice to
ld her, turn and fight. You can win.
A small spark of hope sputtered to life and began to expand. Just a feeble light at first, illuminating the void in her heart. But she couldn’t do it alone, she needed help, and if he helped her, it meant she mattered. Valerie prayed it was a sign that everything would be alright. But as she looked over her shoulder and saw what she ran from, who she ran from, that spark of hope sizzled then extinguished.
At the end of the hallway, the gloom stirred as a vague figure emerged from the shadows. A giant of a man stepped from obscurity as if he were the shadows. As she was about to turn and run, he raised his hand as if beckoning to her.
With heart pounding in her chest like a runaway train, Valerie surged forward, moving with every ounce of energy she could muster. Then an overwhelming force grasped her, pulled on her, slowing her steps as if she were slogging through knee-deep mud. Before long, she was running in place, then slipping backward, sliding uncontrollably toward the fiend as if by magic.
Each feeble stride dragged her half a step nearer, which horrified her. Her arms and legs became heavy, steadily heavier until she could barely move. Desperation forced her to grab onto a door handle, which momentarily kept her from being pulled closer. However, the increasing force pulling on her body lifted her feet from the ground until she hung sideways in the doorway.
“Valerie!” the big man snarled. “Give up. You can’t win!”
The mocking voice reverberated mercilessly in her mind as the mysterious power pulled and tugged harder against her body. Her head spun as she tried to imagine a defense against it, but she found no answers. She was too afraid to think clearly. Focusing on her hands, she envisioned them as made of steel, part of the door handle itself. Then they were steel. For a moment it worked, but then the wooden door cracked and began separating from the frame.
Oh God! This can’t be happening! Valerie thought. In a flash, the truth hit her; she had failed. She had wasted too much time running rather than fighting back. She cursed herself for thinking defensively rather than offensively. Resisting the frightening man any further was futile. She had lost.
The Rings of Hesaurun Page 23