Blue Creek, Jan.
22
Jill squinted into the sun slanting
brightly between rain-blackened trees to illuminate the entire front porch. The night's downpour had yielded to an unseasonably
warm late winter day. By ten it was sixty-five degrees, verifying the arrival of the proverbial January thaw.
A scattering of yellow crocus blooms shone to cheer the drab, sleeping Ozark forest with a promise of spring that was to soon
to be taken at face value.
At least we can enjoy it while it lasts, she thought as she continued to stare out at the small miracle.
"Is this all right, Mrs. Carter?" asked a dark-haired young woman carrying a wrapped bundle
into the living room.
Mirabelle's bright eyes sparkled
amid the folds of the thermal baby blanket. Raven had dressed her in a light, two-piece outfit, all the cover necessary
for the warm day since they wouldn't be outside long.
"Perfect.
She will be comfortable. And I will be too if you call me Jill," she said with a laugh. "Calling me
‘Mrs. Carter' makes me feel like an old woman."
Raven
nodded before asking her question again. "Are you sure you don't mind taking me down to the camp?"
"Of course I do not mind."
"They're
not bad people Mrs. Carter, not even Joshua. And I need to see them one more time before it's all over. I mean
it's all already over. I know that. I don't belong anymore. I don't even want to because I don't believe
in it anymore, but they're still like my family or something."
"You
do not have to explain, Dear. It is important for you," said Jill as she pulled on a jacket. "Now let's
go or we will miss them."
Mirabelle kicked excitedly
as Jill buckled in her car seat. Like the aunt for whom she was named, she was strong-willed. She let people know
when things suited her and when then didn't. Car rides were just fine. She liked going.
"How much do you think I should tell Shane?" asked Raven as they started down the drive.
"One should be honest . . . most of the time," replied Jill carefully. "But not all
things need to be shared."
"What good
can telling him do?"
Jill realized that the question
didn't require an answer, only a hearing.
"He
knows what happened when I was growing up," continued Raven. "Why can't he just leave this alone?"
271.
"He wants you to tell him about the attack?"
"He says we should talk about it---that I shouldn't keep it all to myself. I told him that
Richard got there before Paget did anything but hit me," she said, and then continued more softly. "That's
not quite true, but it's close enough."
In the months
since her rescue, Raven and Jill had talked many times, but never directly about her abduction. Jill waited patiently
for her to continue if she wished to.
"Maybe I do
need to talk it out, but I don't want to. It makes me feel . . . ashamed."
"You have nothing to be ashamed of. He forced you to go with him and you fought him."
"He didn't actually . . . do anything. At least that's what they said at the clinic."
"You don't remember?" asked Jill in surprise.
"I
have this . . . like this big blank spot. I learned to do that whenever . . . whenever it's happening. I remember
him throwing me against the bus and then I remember Mr. Carter being there and he was down on the ground."
"If the clinic says he didn't sexually attack you, then tell Shane that. Maybe that's all he
needs to hear."
"It's my fault.
Shane was more than willing to put it all in the past and never talk about it, but I can't. Somehow he found
that out, and that's why he thinks we should talk it out. I just can't."
Raven bit her lip and stared straight ahead. Jill waited.
"I would have done anything he wanted, Mrs. Carter," she said without looking at Jill.
"Maybe I did."
"Dear, why
would you think that?"
"Because it's what my
. . . what Starry Dawn trained me to do. Shane would be better off if he had never met me."
Raven was dry eyed, but tears welled in Jill's. "You really think that? No. No.
Let me tell you what Richard told me once when I was angry with him and asked what he wanted from me. He said he only
wanted me to look at him the way his mother looked at his father. Have you not seen the way Shane looks at you?"
"I don't deserve it."
"Love
isn't deserved. It just is."
272.
The wheel had turned on the Wilderness Church following the revelation of Joshua's involvement
in the nerve gas incident. Shane and Rave weren't the only disillusioned members to drift away during Joshua's detoxification.
A rival leader had also risen, drawing away nearly a third of the church. Joshua had countered by offering to sell Canaan
Camp to a local rancher the previous November. The rival faction sued for a share of the money in order to buy another
piece of property, throwing ownership of the camp in what appeared to be in a perpetual legal limbo benefiting no one but
the lawyers.
Jill parked on the shoulder near the gate to Canaan Camp where a large pickup towing a bulbous silver trailer
blocked the entrance. Through the closed windows came Joshua's voice booming stridently over a PA system.
". . . as the
Great Dragon enfolded the third part of the stars of heaven and cast them upon the Earth, so this Deceiver appeared like unto
a minister of light and deceived the very elect. One third of the angels of the Wilderness Church have left their first
estate to make war on us, Children. Like Judas, they were numbered with us, but were never really part of us or they
would, no doubt, have continued with us."
The familiar
voice surprised Raven with longing and regret, not for Joshua and the Church, but for the "home" she'd once had
among the people at Canaan. It was like wishing she were a child again, a longing both bitter and sweet, and impossible.
A Hawthorn County cruiser took up a position to block high way traffic in preparation for the imminent departure
of the Wilderness Church caravan. The deputy recognized Jill and nodded before hitting his flashers to warn approaching
traffic.
"We go forth to seek a country, but we are strangers and pilgrims upon this Earth," intoned
Joshua. "Think not that Canaan Camp was that country. It was but a resting place, holy ground only because
the tabernacle of God sojourned there. Now we resume our journey with the Pillar and Cloud before us. The time
of out departure is at hand, Children."
The sermon
ended on that carefully rehearsed note, and vehicles immediately began to pass through the gate and past them. Raven
searched for familiar faces, for one last look at her friends and former family. Occasionally eyes met hers briefly,
but no one smiled when they saw her. Some pointedly turned their eyes away when they recognized her.
"Can I ask you a question, Mrs. Carter?" she said abruptly.
"Of course."
"I
know it was Richard's idea, but do you disapprove of Shane and me living together out at the canoe rental?"
273.
"I think that what you do is your own business," said Jill carefully.
"Did you and Mr. Carter live in . . . live together before you were married?"
"I stayed with Richard before we were married," she said, deciding to say nothing about
the circumstances had made it a necessity.
"I
don't think Shane and I will ever get married," she said almost in a whisper. "We need each other. We
care about each other, but I don't think we . . . I don't think that marriage is for us." She shook her head.
"I feel so selfish."
"Does Shane
know this?" asked Jill. "I mean about not getting married?"
"Yes. He knows more about me than anyone."
Richard
torqued down the last of the screws. The floating deck now looked serviceable and ready for the season. He hoped
it would be a good one because they were going to need it. Buying the place had stretched their credit to its limit.
"I sure appreciate you letting us live here, Mr. Carter," said Shane.
"Nonsense. You're doing me a favor. This is a traditional party spot for high schoolers.
I need someone out here to prevent vandalism. Besides, it's not good for a house to be left unheated in winter, and
with only wood heat, someone has to live here to keep the fire going."
"Raven
loves how peaceful it is."
"How's school
going for her?"
"Great. She's
really smart, you know. It's amazing what she knows seeing how she was---" Shane broke off in mid sentence.
He didn't talk about Raven's past---not because he was ashamed of the way she grew up, but because vowed never to let anyone
know anything that could hurt her.
"Well, now
that charges have been dropped against you, maybe you two can get on with your lives. You both deserve that."
"I probably deserved to go jail. What if that had actually been nerve gas and I had released
it?"
274.
"Well, you
wouldn't have gone to jail. Thank goodness it was only CO2 ."
Shane looked down Blue Creek, trying
again to make sense of what he had done and not done. It still seemed like a matter of chance or dumb luck that had
kept him from releasing the gas. Raven insisted that it had been divine intervention. Remembering both her words
and the words of the preacher, he thought that it probably had been.
"Thanks,
Mr. Carter," he said as if awaking from a spell. "We really appreciate you letting us live here."
"You've already thanked me, Shane. Take care of the place and we'll call it even."
Jefferson City
Paget
winced, grumbling about the incompetence of the surgeon as two huge guards walked him back to his cell.
The pain will never go away and I'll always walk with a limp as long as these ignorant bastards are treating me.
That's the system. Just like bringing me here. No way in hell should I already be in the state prison! Like
the county lockup wasn't secure enough! It's not fair to put me in the state penitentiary before I've even had a trial.
The guards guided him firmly through the cell door. The drab mélange of indistinct voices drifted
through the air, occasionally punctuated by the irritating staccato of nigger talk.
How long will I have to put up with that? he brooded.
As
if in answer the door clanged shut, echoing through the cellblock with a finality of tomb being sealed. Prison had never
bothered him much before, because he had always been able to look forward to getting out.
Not this time, Bobby Lee. The pistol got you cold for the Stick Man and the codgers.
His lawyer wanted him to plead out, angling for a life sentence from Missouri.
What a genius! What about Oregon, Arkansas, the federal charges? He didn't know.
What did the dumb bastard say? Oh yeah. "We'll just take it one step at a time." Right!
Like walking a plank! Easy to pass it all off when it's not your neck.
He had just learned that Arkansas was going to seek the death penalty for the death of Jacqueline Benson.
The necklace recovered from Canaan Camp had tied him to her murder. His lawyer said there would be no pleading on that.
275.
Pale Babe and that damned necklace! Why the hell did she have to have that?
To hell with them,
he thought. I'm famous. I can stretch it out forever. No way are they going to put me to sleep like
a stray dog. String it out. Authors, journalists, TV people---they'll all want a piece of this.
I got lots of interesting stories. I'll played it like I'm some kind of evil genius psycho. "I'll promise
‘em more bodies," he thought.
He was
already a celebrity with some of the younger inmates. They liked hearing stories from a stone cold killer. They
hung on his words as he told them about how he gave all the high and mighty sluts exactly what they deserved. Best was
that he could relive it as he told them of his exploits.
He had heard from
one of them that he already had a fan club on the Internet. He'd have to check that out when they let him have access.
When they make the movie they'll have to consult me to get it right. They want all that stuff to be authentic.
The familiar sound of a foot-dragging limp echoed down the corridor. It was the old trustee. The
fragile old man reminded him of the Stick Man, only worn down like a piece of weathered drift wood slowly fading away into
nothing.
"Hey, Crip!" he called.
Watery
eyes turned his way.
"How long you been here,
old man?"
"Since fifty-one," replied the trustee emotionlessly.
Paget gripped the bars to take the weight off his aching hip. "That's some serious time," he
said sarcastically. "You must have been a cruel dude back in the day."
He'd heard that the old man was involved in a prison riot back in the old days. Looking at the thin old
man, he found it hard to believe that he could have been much of a leader of anything, much less a riot. He figured
that the law had just screwed him over like it always did. The old man was a typical loser.
"What's wrong, old timer? You don't want to talk to me?" asked Paget, put a hard edge
into the words because he knew that in prison you had to show no weakness.
You had to demand
respect from the get-go, and the old man had been treating him like some kind of pissant since day one. It was time
to put a stop to it.
276.
"I asked you
a question, old man. You better answer me."
"Do I want to talk to you?" said the old man. "No. I don't particularly want
to talk to you."
Paget fixed him with a steel-eyed
stare. "You better watch your step around me, you old geek."
"I
won't have to watch my step long," said the old man matter-of-factly.
"You're
getting out, huh? Well, it had better be real soon because I can get to you easy. Even if I don't, I got friends
who can."
"You got no friends in here, Mr. Paget. Cons are funny. Even the real bad ones got their
morals."
"They look up to me."
"Because
of what you done?" The old man shook his head. "Nobody in here looks up to a child killer. In
fact them kind don't usually last long here. It would be best if you ain't ever released to general population."
"What are you talking about? I ain't no child killer."
The old man shrugged. "Matter of opinion. I say you are, and unfortunately for you people listen
to me around here."
"Right," laughed
Paget. "You're so bad they all look up to you?"
"No.
People listen because I been here a long time, and because they all know I don't lie." The old man came to the
bars and leaned forward. "I heard what you done to that little girl in Marked Tree. It made me sick.
So I been telling everybody that you're a kid killer."
"That's
a lie! They'll never believe you."
"I
told you: I don't lie. That little girl was a child in my book."
"She was seventeen! Hell, she looked twenty!"
"A child," insisted the old man without changing his expression. "The word's out
about you. Ain't you noticed how they're lookin' at you now?"
The
old man's eyes had grown as cold as a snake's.
"You're
going to get what's coming to you," he said.
277.
"Why
are you doing this to me?"
The old
man shook his head. "I done told you. Now ain't you glad we had this little talk?"
"But I never did anything to you!" screamed Paget.
The old man turned away without another word. In a daze, Paget listened until his shuffling steps faded
beneath the incoherent babble of the conversing inmates. He imagined that the hushed voices were passing judgment, or
already had.
"This ain't right," he mumbled. "This is all messed up."
