Poisoned Soil: A Supernatural Thriller (10 page)

“It’s okay,” Rose assured, “Go ahead and just let it out. Take your time, sweetie.” The more Angelica bawled the more Rose broke down and sobbed in the kitchen on her end. John took a step toward her to make sure she was okay, but Rose smiled through the tears and waved him off. He returned to play with the girls.

“He’s just...not the same,” Angelica began. “He’s not here, he’s never here. I don’t mean physically. I mean...he’s just so distant from me.”

“I know sweetie, it’s okay.” What else could Rose say but to encourage her sister to talk, let her know that it would be all right? But, she had her doubts.

“He just has so much anger,” Angelica blurted. “Everything, anything sets him off. He snaps if I do something, he snaps if I don’t, he snaps at himself, he goes off on his friends.”

Rose listened intently. She had known Blake for a long time, since her freshman year in high school. She had always had reservations about Blake, the way sisters or mothers always have reservations about the youngest in the family. No one was good enough for Angelica and Blake certainly hadn’t passed Rose’s test with his flashy smile and singular talent in football. But Angelica fell helplessly in love when he asked her to junior prom. She had never seen Angelica so happy as she was with Blake. Still, Rose thought Blake wasn’t worthy of Angelica and that Angelica should be on a pedestal for Blake to worship along with the ground she walked on. Before Blake’s injury, everything in his life had been all about him. He may have loved Angelica, Rose thought, but only as an adornment, something that completed
his
vision for his lifestyle. All Angelica seemed to care about was marrying someone who shared her Cherokee blood so she could pass that on to her children. Rose thought that her grandmother had filled Angelica’s head full of Cherokee nonsense and she wanted Angelica to want more.

After the football injury and Blake’s car accident, Rose was secretly optimistic. Blake was hurt both physically and psychologically. He needed to be cared for, to be helped. Angelica harbored a deep yearning to provide, to care and to comfort. Rose thought that event, although a minor tragedy (Blake would have disagreed with that assessment), could bring them closer together. For a time it did, but, along the way, something changed. Blake somehow lost his confidence. Rose didn’t know what had happened, what the tipping point was that had caused Blake to feel increasingly more despondent and less capable, but it was a bad sign. Rose knew that women admire many characteristics in men. Some women like men short, some tall. Some fit, some round. Some blue collar, some white, but one thing women generally agree on is that they want a confident man. A man that loses his confidence isn’t desirable to women, friends, employers, anyone.

“How long has this been going on?” Rose probed.

“I don’t know. It’s just been building, getting worse for a long time.”

Rose had never known Blake to be short-tempered the way Angelica was describing. Competitive? Yes, but angry, violent? No.

“Was he like this before,” Rose paused trying to decide if she should complete her question. “Before the miscarriage?”

Angelica thought for a second and composed herself enough to check the time on the cornbread. She could talk about this now. A year before and Rose would have known to not bring it up, but two years and another pregnancy brought renewed hope for Angelica. “He was starting to get real busy about that time working for Nick, the chef he sells to in Athens,” Angelica began before Rose interrupted.

“We know of Nick,” Rose said. “We eat at The Federal from time to time and John’s angel investor is also an investor in Nick’s business.”

“Oh,” Angelica said. She lost focus when conversations turned to business or money. The material world just held no interest for her. “Anyway,” Angelica continued, “he was gone a lot back then but he wasn’t—no, he wasn’t angry back then. Just busy, like real driven to make money. He was going back and forth between Savannah and Clayton for about a month or so and was gone days at a time.”

“What did he need to haul so often from Savannah to Clayton?” Rose asked.

“I—don’t know for sure. Anytime I asked he just said it was nothing. I even asked if I could ride with him on one trip—” Angelica paused, thinking for a moment. “That was it. That was the first time he snapped at me. Became so heated, his eyes looked black when I asked him that. He even swore at me saying something like heck no and for me to stay home where I belong.”

Rose’s lower jaw tightened, her tension escalated.

“And you did? Why?”

“It isn’t my place to question him, Rose,” Angelica said, now calm as she stirred the potatoes. “You know the Bible as well as I do.”

Rose bit her lip. Yes, she had been raised just as Angelica had but, over the years, her views had...evolved, she believed. When she thought about it, Rose attributed it to being in a more liberal setting where people think more progressively. Of course she still believed in God and in the Bible. She just...kind of figured it needed updating, especially the parts about the roles of men and women!

“And you know what grandmother taught us about a woman’s role in the household,” Angelica added as she covered the potatoes.

“ANGELICA!” Rose snapped and then caught herself. Her face burned at the recollection of what her grandmother had taught both of them. How she had shown them as little girls how to play the part of a woman by cooking, tending the garden, making pottery and soaps and so on. Girl stuff that most girls outgrew, except Angelica.

Rose sidestepped the issue.

“Angelica, how do you know he’s really going on hauling jobs, that he’s really even working?” Rose had taken the kid gloves off now. “Could it be something else?”

“Like what?”

Rose spelled it out. “Could there be another woman Angelica?”

The thought had never occurred to Angelica. She stared ahead and rubbed the beads of her necklace between her right thumb and index finger as she thought about what Rose asked.

Rose broke the moment of silence.

“I mean, you said you don’t know for sure what he does. He went on frequent overnight trips and you’re not sure where he went or why he had to go. Why all the secrecy?”

“That was a couple of years back,” Angelica said. “He doesn’t go on many trips now.”

“
And
,” Rose continued, “he has become increasingly distant from you and agitated with you when you do the slightest thing. And let’s not forget that he wasn’t even there for you when you had your miscarriage! Am I getting this right?”

Rose hadn’t put together the pieces herself until she blurted it out. It seemed impossible to believe that someone who wasn’t remotely worthy of Angelica’s affection, at least to Rose’s way of thinking, could cheat on Angelica! Rose was pacing in her own kitchen now, twisting and wrapping the phone cord tightly around her hand, strangling it.

“No,” Angelica said. “There’s no way that could be true. There’s no—” Angelica stopped. Two bright lights hit the window in the living room coming from the driveway outside. A door slammed.

“I have to go,” Angelica said. “Blake just got home.”

Chapter 9

Jesse fought the same eight-foot tall brambles that he and Shane had come through just a half hour before.
Shane’s dead! Shit!
Jesse couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe any of it! The day had been a disaster all around, and now he had to get back, to get help.

Help for whom?

The voice was back, doubtful and speaking in a growling, condescending tone. Jesse regretted having watched so many Freddy Kruger movies. Freddy, who couldn’t be killed, now became his inner voice.

Who you gonna help? Shane? Shane’s dead...the maggots will take care of him, Jesse. I’d say it’s YOU who needs the help!

The brambles bit into the flesh of Jesse’s bare arms, his short sleeves providing no protection as he ran. He finally broke free, emerged on the other side and stopped. He placed his hands on his knees as he bent over and gasped while trying to remember the way. The voice quieted, letting Jesse choose his own fate.

Everything looked the same, singularly unique but indistinguishable in the crowd. Jesse turned on his inner DVR and closed his eyes to replay the chase scene that had brought him here. He looked back at the brambles to mark the spot they had originally entered then turned to re-create the line they had taken to reach that spot. He pointed ahead at it, convinced himself and took off.

Whatever you say
, the voice hissed.
But I’d pace myself if I were you!

“You ARE me, you idiot!” Jesse said and immediately regretted that he had taken this turn for the worse, arguing with himself. He stopped running after ten minutes and tried to remember the steps he and Shane had taken.

How many hills did you run over
?

The voice sounded polite in Jesse’s head, but it only served to send a chill down his neck and excite the hairs there to stand erect. Jesse spoke aloud in an effort to calm himself. “I don’t know the way back for sure. I think it’s that way, but—”

But you don’t know, do you
?

“STOP IT! Let me finish. Like I said, I’m not sure. So I could keep going that way and try to get back but I only have a few hours of light left, maybe less in these woods.”

I’d say less
.

Jesse was on the verge of snapping and realized he needed to keep his cool. If ever in his lifetime he had needed to stay calm, this was it. He sensed the danger of the situation and the more he thought about it, the more it scared him. “Damn it! What are my options?” he asked himself as he tried to assert his authority and suppress the voice. “I can try to make it back, but if I don’t get back exactly to the truck I might as well be in the jungle. No one knows about that place other than Blake, Shane and Ter—”

Shane can’t help you
, the voice interrupted.

“OR,” Jesse said, ignoring the voice, “I could look for another way out. I could look for a stream like everyone says and follow it to its source—”

But where you gonna find a stream?

“OR,” Jesse continued, “I could just climb and try to get to the top of Rabun Bald. There’s a lookout, people are there and I can get help.”

That sounds like the winner to me. You can see everything from up there.

Jesse stood for the moment, safely lost in an endless sea of trees. He was about to make a choice that he knew could have life threatening consequences, but he still couldn’t believe it. “People don’t just die in the middle of the woods. You never hear about stuff like that. I’m just overreacting. ”

You know why you don’t hear about stuff like that?

“Quiet! I’m trying to think!”

Because the dead can’t talk, Jesse. Just ask Shane.

Jesse let out a deep breath and then took in another one, silently regretting that he had made so much fun of the Boy Scouts when he saw them in their dorky little uniforms. And then, he faced up the slope and began to climb.

***

Ozzie lay on the ground in shock, blinking. He looked up at a sea of straight pine trees that towered over him as if he was an ant surrounded by an army of erect toothpicks.
Where am I...how did I get here? Mom!
Ozzie’s silent questions and calls went unanswered.

A throbbing pain from his right side diverted his attention from his surroundings to his body. He looked down, touched his side and felt blood. Ozzie’s eyes grew wide with alarm. His mind replayed the sound of the rifle shot for him to hear again, which propelled Ozzie to his feet. He grunted in pain as it all came back to him. Looking back from the hilltop to the boulder, Ozzie thought he could see the two men standing next to the spring, but at the distance everything was a blur. He waited a brief moment until he was sure that one of the hazy figures moved.

They’re trying to kill me, like dad! Run!

Scampering over the hill and down a steep hillside, Ozzie limped badly. His right side burned and felt as if it were pulled tighter than a drum, but the bullet had only grazed him. Enough to draw a steady trickle of blood, but not enough to kill him.
Maybe not this time
, he thought.
They’ll keep coming until they get you.

With the men no longer in close pursuit Ozzie stopped running and began walking, straight ahead, letting gravity assist him downhill whenever he could. Walking up hill was too arduous. After half an hour of trudging along he stopped to listen. There was nothing. No sounds other than his breathing. No birds, no scampering squirrels, no wind. No sticks breaking, no ruffling leaves. No men. Ozzie concentrated, hearing the faintest of sounds, something close to him. Something on the ground, a rhythmic terrestrial beat. He looked down. A newly fallen oak leaf was half covered in bright red blood. Ozzie watched as drops steadily dripped from his wound. In the absence of other sounds it was alarmingly loud. The only sound Ozzie could hear was his breathing and the spilling of his own blood.