Maiden's Peak

by Kristy E. Carter

  Nodding and feeling foolish, I stammered, "Yes. Sorry. You just looked like someone I’d seen before."

  "Must be a handsome devil," the man replied jovially. He glanced over at his friend in the booth next to the window, who laughed along with him.

  I, too, forced myself to laugh. "Yeah, must have been."

  "I'm Darren Rogers, and that's Robert Lonny." The big, boorish man jabbed his thumb toward the lanky man seated at the table behind me. I turned slightly, wishing that I hadn’t. My dream flashed through my mind with such force that I felt the world tilt for a moment. "You sick?" Darren asked as he grabbed my shoulder.

  "I... I might be," I stammered. "Nice to meet you." I got up quickly, shrugging out of his grasp, and threw some money on the counter. Making a quick exit, I ignored the confused looks on their faces.

  Once outside, I took a steadying breath of the cold air. The dizzy feeling subsided, and I walked slowly back up the street. The dream came back to me in bits and pieces. Thorn, Darren, gunshots, the chasm, and the cold all flashed before my mind's eye.

  They were all involved somehow in my nightmare. How were they connected to whatever was going to happen—or had already happened? I stopped walking and rubbed my face. I had never dreamed about the past. So, if it was the future, what would lead me to be in those situations? My mind supplied me with nothing.

  Thorn had been a recurring theme, both menacing and seemingly an ally. I’d only spoken a few words to the man, so I couldn’t readily decide whether he was trustworthy. Everything within me screamed for me to be wary of the loud man that I had just met, and I was inclined to agree with my instincts.

  I didn’t have much time left in this town, and I knew that I had to do something, or it would be like the situation with that little girl all over again. Guilt seeped into my pores, and I felt heavier. I pulled up my phone and checked the map of the town to see where the garage was that I had been going to find. It was just a short walk away.

  The winter storm apparently wasn’t done yet. Fat flakes of snow floated down onto the newly cleaned and salted roads as I crossed the street toward the garage. The sounds of power tools and loud machinery echoed through the open garage doors. I walked past and went to the business office instead. As I entered, an older woman looked up, flashing me a smile. "Hi," I said weakly.

  "Hello," she replied with a friendly smile. "Need something fixed?"

  I thought about telling her my brain but decided that now was not the time for truth. "I'm actually just looking for some information about this man." I pulled the picture of the missing man up on my phone and showed it to her.

  Recognition flitted across her face. "John Lawson," she said quietly. "I don't understand. Why do you need to know about him?"

  "It's to help with a story I'm writing. I’m just doing some research," I said with practiced ease.

  She shook her head. "I don't know if there’s much to tell. They say he ran off with some woman. Between you and me, I doubt he would have. My husband was his friend, old army buddies. They opened this shop together." She patted her silvery hair absentmindedly as she spoke. "That story the police told always seemed so unlikely, but what can you do? They never found any bodies, so that's all that came of it."

  I nodded. "What do you think happened?"

  "I think he got in the middle of something trying to help someone and it cost him. He was always like that. Always trying to help. I don't know what more I can tell you." She said the words with honesty.

  I thanked her and made sure to give her my name and number in case she or anyone she knew remembered anything that might help my story. She took the information gladly, and I walked out into the snowfall. There were no cars, and I did not blame people for staying off the roads.

  I trudged up the street, intent on keeping my footing as the snow hit the concrete and plotted treachery as ice. I was still focusing on my steps when I collided with someone's back. As I cursed and stumbled, we toppled to the ground. I immediately began apologizing for not watching where I was going.

  "S'fine," the person said gruffly.

  I felt my face flush with embarrassment as I slowly stood to my feet and got a good look at the unfortunate person. Thorn dusted himself off, and I followed suit. What’s he doing here? I glanced around and saw his truck parked up the road.

  A voice over my shoulder then said, "That was damn funny. Can you guys do it again so I can get a picture for the newspaper?" I turned to see the short, plump man from earlier standing as if he’d just stepped out of the newspaper office.

  Thorn grunted irritably and asked, "Are you done?"

  The plump young man nodded, walking over to us. He extended his hand to me as he spoke. "Name’s Oliver Durant."

  Durant, is it? I reached out after a moment and clasped the man's hand. He had a firm handshake. "Victor Shelton," I replied. "Are you related to Gabriel Durant?"

  Thorn shifted to look at me more fully, but Oliver smiled broadly. "Yes; he's our dad—or, well, he's my stepdad. You knew Pops?"

  "No. I'm only in town to do research for a story I'm writing, and I hit upon the old disappearance case of John and Caroline. His name came up in some of the newspaper archives." I knew I was speaking quickly, but I could not stop. Thorn's gaze had taken on a defensive quality that made me feel ill at ease. Oliver seemed to take no offense as he eyed me with interest.

  "Oh! You’re the writer Shirley has been going on about!" Oliver said excitedly. "I told you, Thorn, that there was someone in town asking about the case—remember?"

  Thorn replied, "I remember."

  Oliver continued as if Thorn wasn’t ready to punch him. "Writing is such an interesting profession. We’re about to go up in the mountains to see Mom. I'm sure she'd remember something about it. Why don't you come with us?"

  I felt extremely awkward. Thorn looked like he’d like me very much not to go. Oliver looked like he was pleading for me to go. I really didn’t want to get in the middle of a family situation. "I don't think that would be a good idea," I said quietly. "I'd hate to show up unannounced. Maybe I could come by, say, tomorrow?"

  Oliver looked mollified. "That seems perfectly fine. We'll let Mom know, and we can give you a call to let ya know what time."

  I nodded and quickly got one of the little business cards that I kept for my writing business out, handing it to him. He took it with a broad smile and then bade me a cheerful farewell as he and Thorn walked off toward the gray truck. Well, I thought, tomorrow sure should be interesting.

  After several days in town, one afternoon had given me more leads than I could handle. I might be able to solve this mystery quicker than I thought. The thought of that alone made my spirit lighter as I walked toward the bed and breakfast. Once I was back in my room, I pulled out my phone and the paper that Shirley had given me. The phone rang only once before a chipper female voice came on the line and informed me that I’d reached The Mountain Retreat. I assumed the woman must be the owner.

  "I'm calling because I was given your number and told that a Mr. Marion was staying with you. Is that right?" I asked hesitantly.

  "Oh, yes; are you a friend of his?" the woman inquired with open curiosity.

  I cleared my throat. "No, ma'am. I’m writing a book and wanted to interview him." It was vague, but I didn’t feel it proper to disclose anything else to the woman.

  "Hold one moment, would you?" When I assented, she put me on hold. I sat there for a full five minutes before a male voice came back on the line.

  "Hello?" The man sounded wary.

  Making my voice as clear and professional as I could, I asked, "Is this Mr. Marion?"

  "It is," the voice said simply.

  So much for a good opener, I thought wryly. I went straight to the point. "My name is Victor Shelton. I'm a writer, and I happened across the disappearance case of your wife. I don't mean to bring up something unpleasant, but Shirley at the newspaper office suggested that I contact you to get your insights into what happened."r />
  The mention of Shirley effectively broke the ice, as the man replied warmly, "Shirley’s a thoughtful woman. Why are you interested in the case, if I might ask?"

  "Not to sound impersonal, but I came here looking for some inspiration for a book I'm writing and happened across the case. It intrigued me so much that I would love to get to the bottom of what really happened." It was an honest enough statement, I judged.

  The man's breath came out in a sigh on the other end of the phone. "Well, I don't know that I can help you much, but if you want to meet sometime tomorrow, I’ll gladly tell you what you wish to know."

  Tomorrow was shaping up to be busy. "Excellent. I have another interview tomorrow, but would you like to meet for an evening meal and a good conversation?"

  "That sounds fine. Do you like Dotty's Kitchen?"

  I gave a little laugh. "’Course! They have the best chili in town."

  "Man after my own heart," Mr. Marion replied with a chuckle of his own.

  We agreed on a time and then said a cordial goodbye. Tomorrow’s definitely going to be busy.

  The Durant brothers had called me that evening—or rather, Oliver had—to let me know that I could come up around 1:00 P.M. After some talk, Oliver told me that they could come pick me up, as it took a solid 4-wheel drive to get up the steep mountain roads. I had no urge to go wandering aimlessly up treacherous roads and assented willingly to the assist.

  If I dreamed that night, I didn’t remember it. And I could not decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  The next day, I ate at the B&B, lounging around and waiting for my interview with Mrs. Durant. There wasn’t much point in gallivanting all over town when one of my best leads would be here to pick me up in a few hours. I stayed in and looked through the photos that I'd taken of the old case files. The more I looked at the case, the less sense it made. The two of them had no connections to each other. So, the question in my mind at the moment was why the townspeople would lie about seeing them.

  When the Durant brothers came to pick me up, I learned that the roads were every bit as bad as they’d made them out to be. The truck bumped and bounced us around. Thorn was driving, and it took all his concentration as he shifted the truck gears. Oliver was sitting in the front holding on to the handhold overhead. He chatted conversationally, as if the situation were perfectly normal. I felt grateful that I was in the back and could barely see how horrible the road was.

  The snow was fighting to cover the windshield. I had no idea how Thorn could even tell where he was going, let alone drive through it. Trees loomed out of the white, uncomfortably close to the sides of the truck. I imagined meeting another vehicle, but I reasoned that it was unlikely on such a remote road.

  Oliver finally fell into silence, and my frayed nerves thanked him. The truck dipped into a hole, and Thorn muttered, "Hold on." I instinctively grabbed the door handle, grimacing as the truck tilted sharply to the driver's side. Oliver gripped the handhold tightly, and eventually, the truck righted.

  I didn’t dare breathe for distracting Thorn from driving as he shifted gears and struggled to get us up the mountain road. Further up, there was a cabin through the snowfall and trees. I sighed with relief, and Oliver laughed.

  We pulled up in front of a cabin that looked to be two stories. It was beautiful. Oliver opened the door and slid out of the truck as it lurched to a halt. I eyed the house, hearing Oliver say before he shut the door, "And that's why I let Thorn drive!"

  Thorn gave a grunt in answer as he opened his door. I exited the truck slowly and stood still while I got my footing in the snow. I grimaced as I felt the cold seep into my sneakers. I had definitely not come prepared for treading through deep snow.

  Oliver was already bounding up the front porch steps far more agilely than I would’ve believed possible. Thorn made his way across the yard toward the cabin, and I followed. As soon as the door opened, a woman walked out and called for them to get inside.

  Thorn and I picked up the pace, and soon we were being ushered inside. The woman inquired, "And you must be Mr. Shelton?"

  Oliver quickly launched into the story of how I came to be in her house, and the woman smiled indulgently at him. When he was done, she turned to me. "Come in and pull off those shoes. Thorn, go get him some warm socks and some dry pants. We'll dry these wet things for you." She rattled off orders, and Thorn obliged.

  I had not noticed how wet my pants were until she mentioned it. They were soaked. "Follow Thorn; he can show you where to change." I nodded, thanking her as I obeyed.

  I met Thorn coming back out of a room that I noticed held laundry supplies. "Your mother told me to come with you so you could show me where to change," I said to explain my presence. He just nodded and motioned for me to follow him. We made our way upstairs and to the right.

  We walked along a loft that opened into the large room below, where Oliver and his mother were sitting by the fire, talking.

  Thorn opened the last door at the end of the balcony. "Here. I don't know what size you are, but these will fit anyone. Just bring the wet clothes back downstairs." I nodded as I took the soft bundle of clothes from him before slipping into the room. I heard the door close behind me and took a deep breath.

  The room, which was sparsely furnished, was lit by a lamp on a bedside table. There were some pictures here and there that showed Thorn and Oliver when they were younger and a couple who must have been their mother and father.

  I forced myself to change my pants and stop snooping. The bundle contained some warm socks and flannel pants, which I gratefully pulled on. They were miles warmer than my wet jeans and socks and felt heavenly on my clammy skin.

  I peeked awkwardly out the bedroom door. The three Durants were in the large room below. Mrs. Durant called up, "Mr. Shelton, just give your clothes to Oliver and he'll put them in the dryer!"

  Oliver sprang into action, and I met him coming up the stairs as I made my way down. The man gave me a friendly smile as he took the clothes from me before disappearing back down the hallway toward the laundry room.

  Downstairs, Mrs. Durant urged me to come sit down on the couch in front of the fire. She eyed me steadily as she sat comfortably on the far end. "Now, what questions did you have about the disappearances?"

  Good question. I took a deep breath and ventured, "Your husband appeared in the interview logs. Did he have any connection—any at all—to the case?"

  Mrs. Durant shook her head. "His mother was a fortune-teller by trade. She said she'd seen the girl dying in some sort of accident on the mountain. My husband loved this mountain, but he was always saying they should close it to the public. There are hidden sinkholes, and it's too dangerous." Her face took on a sad look.

  "He thought she died while on the mountain?" I was interested now. Maiden's Peak—my mind supplied me with the name. "Do you know anything about a peak called Maiden's Peak?"

  Mrs. Durant nodded. "Indeed. It's not that far from here. Why?"

  "Some leads have mentioned that name," I said, shrugging. "I was just curious."

  Mrs. Durant looked sullen. "Be very careful if you should happen to venture there, Mr. Shelton. It’s riddled with caves hidden under the snow."

  I nodded my understanding, shivering as I remembered falling into the darkness. Mrs. Durant asked me if I was well, and I assured her I was. She insisted on getting me some warm stew, and nothing I said dissuaded her. She was soon out of the room.

  Thorn dropped down onto the couch near me. He eyed the fire for a moment before he said, "I’ll take you up to the mountain if you think it will help your investigation."

  I was taken aback, partly by the fact that the man was actually talking to me unbidden and partly because my mind was suddenly screaming at me. Maybe this is how I got there in my dream? I pondered and then asked, "Right now?"

  He leaned back and stretched out his legs in front of him. "I meant in the morning. The way the snow’s coming down, I doubt the road will be passable."
/>   "Oh..." I said simply. Thorn looked relaxed, I decided. Soon Mrs. Durant was back with a bowl of stew. It smelled delicious, and I thanked her as I realized that I was hungry. I hadn’t been able to eat all of my lunch due to my quick exit. The woman excused herself to go upstairs, and I watched her for a moment. "So, where is your dad?"

  My question must have caught him off guard, as he seemed surprised. "He died."

  "Sorry to hear that," I said, stirring the stew. He did not respond, and I took a tentative mouthful. It was surprisingly good. I tried again. "You don't like me much, do you?"

  He laughed. It was a laugh that bordered on delirious, and I eyed the man as his blond hair shook with his merriment. He sat up and shrugged off his jacket before he replied, "That really depends."

  "On?" I prompted as I sat the bowl of stew down. I wondered idly where Oliver had gone.

  Thorn rested his arms on his knees as he glanced over at me. His ponytail slipped to the side over one of his shoulders. "On how much trouble you are."

  "I see," I said vaguely, still confused.

  Thorn stood up abruptly. "Come on." His tone left no room for me to do otherwise, so I also stood up. He leaned over and grabbed his jacket, and I followed him through a door on the left. We were in the kitchen, but he did not stop, continuing through another door at the far end to the right.

  We were in a little back room with some skins and traps on the walls. A rack contained some old shotguns. Thorn ignored them and stopped in the middle of the room. He turned, and I stopped a few feet short of him. "My mom and brother are a bit too trusting," he said, as if he was explaining something.

  I laughed nervously. "Is this the part where you threaten me and tell me to get outta town?"

  He laughed as well. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if I wanted you gone."

  "I'm not here to bother anyone; I swear. I only discovered the case this week," I babbled. Thorn regarded me quietly, so I continued, "Look, truthfully, I didn’t have any idea the case existed before I got here. I found it while I was researching the town."

  "All right," he said with fatigue, throwing his coat over the desk a few feet behind him and rubbing his face.