Devil's Throat (The River Book 6) (3 page)

“Let’s tie him up while he’s out,” Steven said, shaking his
fist open, trying to dispel the pain. “Then we can torture him.”

“We’re not going to torture him,” Roy said. “It won’t work
with him. You’re lucky he didn’t see the punch coming, or he would have
defended himself in a way that was worse than the way your hand is feeling
right now. I don’t want to be around him when he comes to.”

“What are we going to do?” Steven said. “Leave Jason here, under
his control?”

“Do you want to risk hurting Jason by moving him?” Roy said.

“Is that really true? Could moving him really hurt him, or is
Michael full of shit?” Steven resisted the temptation to kick Michael as he lay
on the ground.

“Who knows?” Roy said. “Maybe he’s bullshitting, maybe he’s
not. We’ve got to learn more before we do anything. That’s our next step, not
torturing this asshole. He’s more dangerous than you think, and he’s already
angry enough to just go ahead and kill Jason. Let’s let him think that what
he’s doing to Jason right now is the worst he could do to hurt you. That at
least keeps Jason alive while we investigate.”

He’s right,
Steven thought.
He’s almost always right. Playing this
any other way right now would be stupid and risky.
For a moment he
regretted punching Michael, concerned that it might come back on Jason, but the
concern was fleeting when he thought of how good it felt to connect his fist
with Michael’s left cheek.

“Alright,” Steven said. “What do we do? Clear out?”

“We’re gonna walk down to the motel office,” Roy said, “and
get our own rooms in this dump. Then I want to make a few calls and see if we
can get some help.”

Steven stood aside so Roy could walk out of the motel room.
He turned to look at Jason lying on the bed, and his heart fell in his chest.
Here was Jason, just feet away, and there was nothing he could do to help.
Some
father I am,
he thought.
Roy was right, I shouldn’t have ignored him. If
he ever recovers from this, I’ll never ignore him again.

Twenty minutes later, Steven and Roy were moving their bags
from the car into their own set of adjoining rooms, ten doors down from Jason
and Michael’s.
Michael will wake up and be pissed,
Steven thought,
and
he’ll find out we’re still here. As long as he thinks what he’s doing to Jason
will hurt me, he’ll keep doing it. And Jason stays alive in the meantime.

Once settled in their rooms, Roy asked Steven to call Dixon
and then Eliza. He asked each of them if they knew of anyone in the area who
might be able to help. Dixon, normally a fount of information when it came to expert
contacts in various locales, came up dry. Eliza said she thought she might know
someone, but it was through a friend and she’d need to contact the friend first
to get their name and info. She promised to call right back as soon as she got
it.

“In the meantime, the book,” Steven said, referring to the
family book Roy brought with them. It was a hand-bound book with several
sections, each part having been added by another generation of gifted Halls.
The first section was written by Roy’s great-great-grandfather Thomas. He’d
passed it down to his son Thomas Jr., then to Charles, and Charles had given it
to David, Roy’s father. Each of them added to the book in their own way,
tacking on a new section that was a slightly different shape and binding than
the one before it. It made for a hodge-podge of a book that always looked one
step from falling apart.

Roy was much better at understanding what was in it since he
had more experience than Steven, and the book’s meanings only revealed
themselves once the reader brought some personal context to their reading. For
Steven, much of the book was impenetrable. It read like English, but any given
sentence seemed like jumbled words. That is, until he developed some experience
of the subject the words were written to explain – then the words became clear.
Still, ninety percent of the book was pure gibberish to him. Roy understood
much more of it.

“I’ll start going through it,” Roy said, “if you’ll go out
and find us something to eat. There was a mart at the end of town; it must have
something we can ingest.”

“Let me guess,” Steven said, “cheese and crackers?”

“You got it,” Roy said, “if they have it. If not, anything
except anchovies.”

“Somehow I don’t think anchovies will be an option here in
bustling Overton,” Steven said. “I’ll be right back.”

Steven left Roy reading the family book and descended the
broken cement steps to the ground floor. He climbed into his car and turned out
of the motel and onto the main drag of Overton.

Steven decided to drive the length of the town, to see what
was available. He turned left and proceeded to the south end of town. There was
a grocery store near the middle of town, bigger than the mart Roy had seen as
they entered. Steven decided he’d come back to it after he reached the end of
town. He passed a couple of places to eat, a hardware store, and a Radio Shack.
At the far end of town he found a museum where he decided to turn around. He
retraced his route and stopped at the grocery store. He grabbed supplies and
drove back to the motel.

Roy was inside, reading. “Any luck?” Roy asked.

“Found a full-fledged grocery store a few blocks the other
way,” Steven said, “so your cheese and crackers are here. And I got you some
beer. What about you? Any luck with the book?”

“Not yet,” he said. “There’s plenty about trancing, but
nothing about a catatonic state like Jason is in.”

“You think he’s in some state other than a trance?” Steven
said. “Something deeper? I didn’t think there was anything deeper.”

“Oh, there are all kinds of states,” Roy said, “and plenty of
them are deeper than a trance. I’ve never used them because I’ve never needed
to. But who knows what that little fucker Michael is up to.”

Steven’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and looked
at the caller ID.

“It’s Eliza,” he said, and raised the phone to his ear. “Eliza?”

“Steven, is that you?” Eliza said.

“Yes,” Steven said. “Hold on, I’m going to put you on
speakerphone so Roy can hear.”

“Alright,” she said, and waited. Steven pulled the phone from
his ear and pressed the button that would turn on the speaker.

“Go ahead,” Steven said.

“You there, Roy?” Eliza asked.

“Yes, I’m here,” Roy said.

“Well, I have someone you can talk to,” she said. “Her name
is Deem Hinton. She’s a friend of a friend. I’ve never met her, but I hear she
knows the lay of the land down there. My friend tried to reach her to give her
your number, but her mother says she’s out in the hills for the day and won’t
be back until tonight. So expect a call from her then.”

“Did you say ‘Deem’?” Steven asked.

“Yes,” Eliza said, “like ‘Dean’ but with an ‘m” in place of
the ‘n’. Unusual name, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steven said, “but who cares, we need all the help we
can get.”

“How is he?” Eliza asked.

“He looks like he’s sleeping,” Steven said, “but you can’t
wake him. Michael claims if we move him it might kill him.”

“Could be true,” Eliza said. “Best not to take any chances.”

“We appreciate your help again, Eliza,” Steven said. “You
really are a lifesaver.”

“I’ll keep researching up here,” she said. “If I can find out
more I’ll give you a call. Stay safe you two. And let me know if there’s
anything else I can do to help.”

“Will do,” Roy said, and Steven hung up the phone.

“What now?” Steven asked. “We don’t seem to be making much
progress.”

“Well,” Roy said, “we’re not going to hear from Deem until
later. How about we nose around, locally? There has to be some reason why
Michael brought him all the way down here.”

“I noticed a museum when I was driving through town,” Steven
said.

“A museum? In this tiny town?”

“It was called the ‘Lost City Museum’,” Steven said. “Looked
open. It’s two minutes down the road.”

“Sounds like as good a place as any to start,” Roy said,
grabbing his book. “Let’s go.”

“You’re bringing the book?” Steven asked.

“I’m sure as hell not leaving it here for Michael to steal!”
Roy said. “I don’t trust that asshole. He’d destroy it out of spite. I’ll keep
it in the trunk while we travel.”

◊

While the museum was interesting, it didn’t seem to offer
anything to Steven and Roy that helped. As they were leaving, they saw a man
selling maps on a small table in the parking lot. He had a large purple
umbrella propped over the table, held up by a pole sunk into a five gallon drum
of dried concrete.

“Maps of the area!” he called to them. “Twenty-five cent
donation!”

Steven looked at Roy. They both shrugged, then walked over to
the man. He had a number of folded pieces of paper on his small table. They all
looked like photocopies.

“I got all kinds of maps, you name it!” he said. Steven
looked at him. He appeared to be older, with darkly tanned skin and very deep
wrinkles. His nose was a little swollen and red. He had several necklaces
around his neck. There seemed to be a slight odor of crazy about him.

“We’re looking for unusual places,” Roy said. “Strange
things.”

“There’s UFOs!” the man said, grabbing a photocopy and
handing it to them. Steven took it and opened it. It appeared to be densely
covered with tiny handwriting, looking like the product of a deranged mind.
There were one or two pictures of UFOs that looked copied out of old sci-fi
comics.

“Not UFOs,” said Roy. “Strangers. Disappearances. Spooky
stuff. Ghosts, that kind of thing.”

“Oh,” the man said, “there’s some bad places around here for
that kind of thing. Waaaay bad.”

“Like?” Roy asked.

“St. Thomas, for one,” he said, grabbing a photocopy and
handing it to Roy. “They made people leave when the water rose, but that was
just to cover up the place, so it couldn’t keep killing. The Mormons knew,
that’s why they left it! Mormons are very in tune with that kind of thing. Now,
people go out there and don’t come back. If you go, you watch yourself, take
some protection. This map’ll get you there – fifty cent donation!”

“What do you mean the Mormons left?” Roy asked.

“They knew!” the old man said, his gaze occasionally drifting
away from Roy’s as he talked. “They all up and moved to Orderville to get away
from it. Horrible, horrible! Since the water’s gone down, the drought and all,
the town is exposed again. You can see the old foundations, as rich and
dripping with evil as the day they were cast. Fifty cents!”

Steven reached into his pocket and handed the man two quarters.
“You took two,” the old man said, looking at the UFO pamphlet Steven was
holding.

“Oh,” Steven said, putting it back on the table. “Sorry, don’t
want that one. But we’ll take the St. Thomas map.”

“What else?” the old man asked. “I got more. Anywhere you
want to go, anything you want to see. Haunted mines. Enchanted ruins. Serial
killer used to live here in town, I got a map to his house. How about some
fishing?”

“As much as I’d like that,” Roy said, “I’m afraid we’ll have
to pass for now. Come on, Steven.” Roy began walking to the car, the map of St.
Thomas in his hand. When they got back in the car, Steven started it and
cranked the A/C to high.

“Hold on just a moment,” Steven said, pulling his phone from
his pocket. “I want to check something. See if what he said about St. Thomas is
true.” He pulled up a web browser and began searching for info.

“I hope you’re not putting any credence in the ramblings of Mr.
Lunatic out there,” Roy said. “The sun has cooked his brain.”

“St. Thomas,” Steven said, looking at his phone, “is about
ten miles south of here. It was founded in 1865 by Mormon settlers, but they
completely abandoned the place in 1871. Other people moved in after the
Mormons, and stayed until the town was submerged under Lake Mead in 1938 when
they built Hoover Dam.”

“Does it say why the Mormons left?” Roy asked.

“One page here says it was because the state line for Nevada
was redrawn, and instead of being in Utah, St. Thomas was then in Nevada, and
the state asked the residents to pay back taxes. Rather than pay, they moved.
But another page says that’s bogus – it says,” Steven began to read, “‘they
moved because the ground was sour and they could no longer abide the evil in
the land.’”

“Sounds like religious wacko stuff,” Roy said. “I don’t see
how this helps with Jason.”

“This web page was written by a guy who lives in Orderville. Mr.
Lunatic mentioned Orderville, didn’t he? I wonder if the guy who wrote this is
a descendant of the Mormons who moved from St. Thomas?”

“What if he is?” Roy asked.

“Well,” Steven said, “I’d like to talk to him then. See if he
knows the real reason they moved. Maybe family stories were passed down.”

“Seems like a longshot,” Roy said.

“What else do we have to go on at the moment?” Steven said. “Unless
you want to follow one of Mr. Lunatic’s maps? Track down a UFO landing spot?”

“Don’t be a jackass,” Roy said.

“There’s an email address here, I’m going to write to this
guy, see if he’ll respond. Hold on.” Steven tapped at his phone for a few
moments while Roy closed his eyes and tried to relax as the car began to cool.
The hot Nevada sun was relentless. The gauge in the car said it was
ninety-eight degrees outside.

“There,” Steven said. “Let’s see if anything comes of that.”

“There’s got to be more we can do aside from that,” Roy said.
“Just sitting around waiting for this friend of Eliza’s to call us tonight will
drive me crazy.”

“You should get the book, keep going through it,” Steven
said. “I’ll pop the trunk, you get it out.”

Steven reached under the driver’s console, pulled the trunk
release, and Roy stepped out of the car to retrieve the book. As he returned to
the passenger seat Steven said, “Wow, that was fast.”

“In this heat I feel like I’m moving in slow motion,” Roy
said.

“Oh,” Steven said, “not you. This guy. He already replied to
my email.”

“What did he say?”

“He says,” Steven said, reading, “‘It’s my grandfather who
knows the stories. Come see him if you want.’ And he lists his phone number.
Signed Bert. I’m gonna call him.”

“Still seems like a long shot,” Roy said.

Steven made a call to Bert and chatted briefly about St.
Thomas and Bert’s grandfather. He asked if they could some see him, and Bert
agreed. Steven told him they’d be there as soon as they could, and hung up the
phone.

“He’s going to email me his address,” Steven said. “In the
meantime, we’ll head to the interstate and back into Utah. It’s about a three
hour drive. We can get there and talk to him before Eliza’s friend calls.”