Wrong Turn

by Catie Rhodes

  "Aaron never had the book, but the murderer took his keys." I wanted to scream in frustration.

  "Why the keys? Think he had something back at the bar?" Tanner stared longingly at the door, likely itching to get out of the murder house.

  "I don’t know. Right before he left, he pointed at this wall." I showed Tanner how Aaron had pointed.

  Tanner walked to the wall, knocked, and took pictures down to see if there was a safe behind them. He stilled and shook his head. "The garage. It’s right out there." He pointed at the wall.

  We hurried outside to the small structure next to the house. Sure enough, the door light spilled from the open door. I ran inside, ignoring Tanner’s order for me to wait.

  The garage had been too small to park a modern car inside, and Aaron had used it as a storage room. Someone, probably Aaron’s killer, had tossed the room. Papers and files lay everywhere. A gray file cabinet had a foot-sized dent in it.

  A presence rolled over me, pinging my black opal. Aaron. Because we’d shared such an intimate moment so recently, I recognized him right away. My vision flickered, and the spot between my eyes burned. He wanted to show me something. I let the vision take me.

  A man wearing a pink pig mask rages around the tiny room. Aaron watches, eyes full of terror. He tries to sidle to the door. The masked man stops searching and points a pistol at him. Aaron freezes. The masked man marches toward Aaron and puts the barrel of the pistol to his forehead.

  "Freddy Stephens gave you something other than those keys. I know he did." The masked man’s voice seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. "He left directions to the place where he buried Loretta Nell.”

  Confusion clouds my understanding of what’s going on. Who cares where Loretta Nell is buried? Nothing matters but the book. Another realization slams into me. Aaron's killer, likely with Loretta Nell's help, is trying to beat me to Mohawk's book. The implications flood my mind, but I don't have time to contemplate them because Aaron picks that moment to speak.

  Aaron shakes his head, lips trembling. "Freddy Stephens left me nothing but the keys."

  The masked man jabs the pistol’s barrel harder into Aaron’s forehead. "Then give me the keys."

  Anger at the masked man thuds in my temples. I hate people like this. Want to hit them and hit them.

  Aaron closes his eyes and lets out a shuddering sigh. He seems to know it’s the end of the line for him.

  "They’re back by the front door, right where I dropped them when you shoved me into the house." Aaron’s voice shakes, but he still manages to sound sarcastic and bored. I admire him for it.

  The masked man steers Aaron out of the garage. As he does, Aaron throws a glance at the file cabinets, relief evident on his face. The vision fades.

  I came back to myself with Tanner gripping both arms, face less than an inch from mine, and breathing his barf breath on me.

  "You’re going to have to brush your teeth, sweetie," I mumbled.

  Tanner flushed. He let go so quickly I nearly fell down onto the concrete floor. I caught myself just in time to keep from bashing my head on the dented file cabinet. I spread my hands on the cool metal and leaned against it. Aaron had used my own power to show me what he wanted me to see. The sound of casters rolling across concrete came from behind me.

  Tanner took my arm. "I got you a chair even though you made fun of my breath. Sit down." He helped me into the chair and came around in front of me, staring into my eyes. "You’re getting too tired."

  "It doesn’t matter. We're not just racing against Mohawk anymore." I struggled against the waves of fatigue threatening to put me down for the night.

  Tanner pressed his lips together, brow wrinkling, and began to shake his head.

  "Whoever killed Aaron wants to beat us to that book." My skin burned with the fever of worry.

  Tanner took a step backward. He rubbed his forehead with one shaking hand.

  "No," he breathed.

  I gave him a few seconds to accept the truth before speaking.

  "Aaron’s murderer thought Freddy had given Aaron the location of Loretta Nell’s grave. Turns out, all Freddy left Aaron was a key." Talking made my head swim. I put my elbows on my knees and tried to get control of myself.

  "A key to what?" Tanner glanced around the mess.

  "I don’t know, but I think there’s something important in here. As the killer took Aaron out of the room, he glanced back and looked relieved." The dizziness came and went in waves. Nausea came on the tail of them. When was the last time I’d eaten an actual meal? Roderick’s. Had a good night’s sleep? Before I met Tanner.

  Tanner watched me, frowning. "So?"

  "Aaron did everything he could to get his killer out of this room. He was hiding something." Ignoring the most current flood of nausea, I stood. "And we’re going to find it."

  Tanner nodded. "Okay. What are we looking for?"

  "What the key goes to? I'm not sure, but something’s bothering me. Aaron's killer wanted to know where Loretta Nell was buried. Not the location of the book." I took out my cigarettes, but another wave of nausea hit me. I put them away.

  "I don't get it." Tanner's eyes narrowed, their green growing more intense as he thought. "Is her corpse needed for some ritual with the book, to make it work?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. But here's what I do know: Aaron wasn't surprised when the killer asked where Loretta Nell is buried. That makes me think the answer to all our questions is somewhere in here."

  Sifting through Aaron’s storage room went slowly. He hadn’t had much of a filing system. Business receipts and profit and loss sheets mixed with personal bank statements and receipts from the renovation Aaron had done on his bungalow. From the amount of money he’d spent on the latter, he’d apparently planned to stay. That set up another layer of the mystery. Why would Aaron stay?

  The deeper I dug, the clearer a picture of Aaron emerged. He’d lived in a cycle of boom or bust. The Devil’s Dance was one of many businesses he’d owned. Aaron had filed bankruptcy, been sued for nonpayment of debts, and owed some woman exorbitant alimony payments. But none of it answered the looming questions about Loretta Nell's burial site or what Aaron's key opened. I tossed the files onto the floor where they scattered, spreading into a big mess.

  Tanner wandered over, probably to offer comfort, but bent to pick up something off the floor. He held up the large brown envelope. "What's this?"

  "It's got a lawyer's name on it. Aaron was constantly in legal trouble…" I let a tired shrug finish the thought.

  "The return address is in Devil's Rest. It could be the lawyer Mrs. Pugh mentioned." Tanner pulled a sheaf of papers from the brown envelope and read off the top page. "Says here Frederick Richard Stephens had left Aaron Wayne Todd an antique skeleton key, a sealed letter, and a manila file with 'Shawn Grimes' written on the tab."

  I leapt to my feet and crowded in, trying to see what else he had. He tried to turn his back. I tickled him. We wrestled, giggling. For those seconds, we weren't sitting in the same property with a murder victim. Mohawk was a campfire story designed to scare stupid teenagers. Then I snatched the papers and skimmed over them.

  I found a cheap white envelope so thin the blue security backing showed through. It had Aaron’s name scrawled on it in looping old folks’ script. "This must be the sealed letter. I don't see the file. And I guess we both know what happened to the key."

  Tanner grabbed the envelope. "Aaron said his father didn't trust Freddy. Why would Freddy leave him this stuff?"

  "One way to find out," I said.

  Tanner withdrew a sheet of paper covered with a blue ink scrawl and began to read. I came close and read along with him.

  Aaron,

  You told me at your father's funeral that you blamed me for his death. You were right about everything. I'm a weak, selfish man. You were right to call me a murdering son of a bitch.

  Right now, I need you to put aside your feelings for me and pay very careful attention.


  Once I am dead, you and this key I'm giving you are the only things keeping Loretta Nell from doing what she promised that awful day in 1973.

  Harris said you knew what we did to Loretta Nell, so I won't waste time rehashing it. But I will tell you the last thing she said, just to make sure you know.

  Loretta Nell turned around to us, all bloody and torn up and said, “I will rise again. When I do, the Messengers and I will do to Devil's Rest what should have been done in the first place.”

  Well, I buried that book with Loretta Nell. But I kept the key in hopes that anybody who found her wouldn't be able to get it open.

  Tanner stopped reading.

  I shivered hard, scrubbing at my arms. Tanner and I exchanged a glance.

  He said, "That's why the killer wants to know where Loretta Nell is buried—the book is with her."

  "And now he has the key to get the book open." I took up the reading.

  Now we need to talk about Shawn Grimes, the son of Loretta Nell Grimes. Yes. Even trash like Loretta Nell has kids.

  After the shooting stopped, after we'd killed Loretta Nell, I found the boy hid up in the attic. Had a picture of his momma holding that book clutched in his hands, shaking all over. That kid knew his momma was dead.

  He said to me, “You’re gonna pay for what you did to my momma. She’s gonna get you. And I’m gonna help her.”

  That kid's words chilled me to the bone, but I tried to play it off. Told him he was young, didn’t know what he was talking about. If he was wise, he’d do everything he could not to be like Loretta Nell.

  This kid curled his lip, eyes blazing like somebody who’s killed all his life—maybe he had—and said, “The Serpent God will guide my path.”

  I grabbed up that kid and stowed him in the back of a squad car until children’s services could come collect him. I never saw him again. But I've always felt him out there waiting for the right time.

  I stopped reading to give my heart a chance to quit pounding.

  Tanner's wide eyes suggested the story had made him feel the same as it had me—witnessing evil. I started reading again.

  I’ve kept track of Shawn Grimes over the years. The file included will have his current address at the time of my death.

  Aaron, I know your daddy left you that rattle trap house of his. I need you to set yourself up in Devil's Rest and keep a watch on things. You might think you want to blow me off, but if they ever decide to take their revenge, they'll come for you too.

  At the bottom of this letter is a number. It goes to a bank account that I’ve put money in over the years. Nobody knows about this money but you and me. The name on the account is someone who doesn’t even exist anymore. One of those damn Messengers. Use it to start yourself a business. And don't fuck around. Keep it solvent.

  This key opens the gate to hell. Guard it with your life. Stay off the Stephens Ranch. That’s where all the deaths have occurred so far. I hope that if you stay off the ranch, Loretta Nell won’t be able to get to you. If Shawn Grimes, or any of his like, ever comes sniffing around, you kill him.

  Best Wishes,

  Freddy Stephens

  Tanner and I sat in stunned silence for several minutes after we finished reading Freddy Stephens's version of a last will and testament.

  Tanner spoke first. "Do you think Aaron's killer is Shawn Grimes?"

  "I don't know." Icy bands of fear wrapped around my heart. They squeezed and choked. My mind cut off in self-defense, allowing me to watch the drama raging around me from far away.

  "I don't understand why this is happening. Loretta Nell’s been killing people out at that ranch since 1973." Tanner's voice rose with each word as though volume would make all our problems go away.

  "Those killings are small compared to what the book is capable of causing. Mohawk wants to see huge, crazy violence. A massacre." I turned to him, movements slow and forced, still distant from it all.

  "But why now?" he demanded.

  "Time and season. Mohawk has me in his sights. It's a perfect opportunity for them to make a comeback." I stifled an almost hysterical giggle.

  Tanner's small, intense eyes narrowed, glittering. "That's not going to happen. I will not let it happen."

  I continued without acknowledging his fury. That distant place my mind had gone was nice and cool. "But there's more. Events are, for some reason, favorable for Loretta Nell's revenge plan to take place."

  "Then what do we do now?" Tanner set the letter aside and stared at the floor.

  "Shawn Grimes is our only lead. We do whatever it takes to find him and hope like hell he leads us to the book." The cool distance was fading. My reality break was over. Time to get back to work.

  Tanner and I went through the package Aaron had received from the law firm. No matter how many times we looked, the Shawn Grimes file was not part of it.

  "That file is somewhere in this room." I surveyed the mess of spilled papers and overturned boxes of junk.

  "Unless the killer came back in here after Aaron was dead and found it." Tanner's gaze met mine. "Do you think the guy in the woods was Shawn Grimes?"

  His words seeped into me, cold as ice. That we’d been playing rock toss with Aaron’s killer back in the woods was nothing new. But knowing it had probably been Shawn Grimes somehow made it worse. Especially after reading what that kid had said to Freddy Stephens. We had to find him and end him. That would put a cramp in Loretta Nell's plans.

  "How are we ever going to find anything in this mess?" The words came out of me in a strangled whisper.

  Tanner shrugged and sat down on top of the file cabinet. The cheap, thin metal crimped under his weight.

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "First the dresser back at the motel and now this. It’s all that barbecue you eat."

  He wadded up a paper and tossed it at me. The tension broke a little. I handed him a pile of papers to search through. He fumbled them and let them slide out of his hands. They cascaded to the floor in a fanned out mess.

  Annoyance flashed, but I took a deep breath. Tanner hadn't meant to do that, no matter how damn dumb it was. I knelt to pick up the papers. Tanner slid off the file cabinet to help. We went through the papers as we picked them up.

  "There's nothing here." Tanner went through the last pages.

  "But there's something sticking out from behind the file cabinet." I pointed at the discolored edge of something that looked like paper.

  Tanner and I moved the file cabinet. Behind it was taped a dirty white mailer. The summer hadn't been kind to the tape on top, and it had begun to let loose, making the corner visible. I ripped the mailer off the file cabinet and pawed it open. Inside was a file labeled "Shawn Grimes."

  I gave Tanner a hard hug and drew back to stare into his eyes. That had been the first thing that attracted me. Those clear green eyes.

  He laughed and ducked away from me. "Don’t get too excited. It might not even help."

  "You kidding? Aaron Todd went to some trouble to hide this. It's hard for me to believe there isn't something useful in here…" I trailed off. Tanner and I stood staring into each other’s eyes. The connection between us loomed bigger than life again, aching in my chest.

  Tanner took the file and opened it. On top of the thin sheaf of papers sat a picture of Shawn Grimes as a kid. He held the picture of Loretta Nell that Mohawk had given me clutched to his chest.

  "Looks like Loretta Nell, doesn’t he?" Tanner squinted at the picture. He noticed resemblances between parents and kids more readily than I did.

  I looked for Loretta Nell in the kid and found her in the spray of freckles across Shawn’s nose and cheeks. His eyes, though dark instead of Loretta Nell’s blue, blazed with a fury I knew well from my few encounters with Loretta Nell’s ghost. Oddly, Josie's ferocity came to mind.

  I picked up the picture of Shawn and read the back: "Shawn Grimes, age six. Taken the day he was made a ward of the state."

  I cringed. In other words, this poor kid had just
watched his mother die and the world he knew crumble, only to be kidnapped by a bunch of well-meaning strangers who snapped a picture of him like an animal in a zoo as he sat in their offices.

  The reports stacked underneath the picture said about what I’d figured they would. Nobody wanted to adopt Shawn. His age and what he’d seen in his short life marked him as undesirable. He bounced from group home to foster home and spent some time in juvenile detention facilities.

  The progressive decline of Shawn’s existence and the waste of his potential depressed me. If I hadn’t had Memaw to love and raise me, I might have ended up much the same.

  Wait a minute. I couldn’t let this poor man's disadvantaged childhood distract me. My life hung in the balance.

  I flipped through the rest of the pages and saw nothing of use. Shawn's changes of address stopped around the time Freddy Stephens died. I glanced at Tanner and shook my head. "Another waste of time."

  Tanner, the soul of patience, flipped to the last page in the file again. I’d mistaken it for yet another memo from one overworked state employee to another about Shawn’s inability to quit doing bad things. Instead, it was a letter addressed to Freddy Stephens from a Linus Bramwell, Author.

  "Read this part." Tanner tapped the middle paragraph.

  In my efforts to write an accurate account of the Messengers, I tracked down Shawn Grimes, the son of Loretta Nell Grimes. He told me quite a wild story about that day.

  You’ve never done many interviews about your involvement in putting an end to the Messengers reign of terror. I’d love the opportunity to get your take on what happened.

  The letter was dated two years before Freddy Stephens was murdered, which made it a good twelve years old. It was still worth seeing if Linus Bramwell, Author, was alive. I dragged out my phone and typed his name into the browser.

  Tanner, who’d already started a search, held his phone up to my face. "Says here he lives in Austin now."

  "Smartass," I muttered at Tanner.

  He smiled and stood up a little straighter. "You know it makes you hot."