Bryson City Tales (42 page)

“When the kids get up, how about we all take a stroll up Deep Creek?” Barb asked.

“Sounds like a great idea!”

We looked across the valley. I looked at Barb as a small breeze caught her hair and blew it across her forehead. She swung her head to flip it out of the way. “But until the kids get up,” I inquired, “maybe their parents need a nap, eh?”

“Just what do you mean by
nap
?” Barb wondered out loud.

It was my turn to smile and silently look up at the ancient creek and across the ageless mountains.

Suddenly we heard a loud sound that startled us both. We turned to see a car screeching around the hospital and barreling down Hospital Hill toward town.

“Wasn't that Rick?” asked Barb.

“It was! Wonder where he was going?”

It didn't take long for me to find out.

Rick Pyeritz, M.D., even though on call that Saturday afternoon, had found some time to lie down on his couch for a nap.

He and I had been friends since our internship at Duke. Our varied backgrounds, interests, and character traits—he a New Englander and I a Southerner; he a single man and I a married one; he a backpacker, naturalist, ornithologist, and jogger, and I a sedentary family man; he an introvert and I an extrovert—almost drew us together like opposite ends of the magnet. Our bond had grown stronger through our shared love of family medicine and our desire to serve the families that had chosen us to be their physicians.

Sometime in midslumber, the shrill ring of the phone snatched him from his sleep.

“Dr. Pyeritz,” barked the official-sounding voice, “this here's Deputy Rogers of the Swain County sheriff's department. We're at the site of a terrible accident and need the coroner up here. Mrs. Thomas
in the emergency room has notified me that you are the coroner on call. Is that correct, sir?”

“That's right,” Rick replied, in his most official, trying-not-to-sound-just-awakened, coroner-type voice.

“Then, sir, we need you at the scene as soon as possible.”

“Where's that?”

“Where's what?”

“The scene—you know—where's where you're at?”

“Not sure I can tell you, sir.”

Rick paused for a second—as he tried not to laugh. Smiling, he continued, “Well, Deputy, if you can't tell me, how am I supposed to get there?”

“Well, sir, that's what I'm tryin' to tell you. I mean, I'm not sure I can explain it. We're up in the national forest—up on Frye Mountain. It's not far from town, but it's not easy to get here. Well, at least it's not easy to tell someone how to get here. Especially if they're not from here—uh—sir.”

Rick was beginning to get irritated. “Well, Deputy, you tell me. Just what
am
I supposed to do?”

There was silence for a moment. “I reckon I have an idea, Doctor. How 'bout you drive down to the station and catch a ride up here with the sheriff. He's a comin' up here. And he's from here. So he'll know how to get here. But you best git on down to the station purty quickly. The sheriff's gettin' ready to leave 'bout now.””

“Sounds good. Let me phone Louise, the nurse in the emergency room, and let her know, and then I'll be right there. Okay?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment. Then this warning: “Doc, it's purty gruesome up here. Best be prepared.”

Rick was glad he had ridden with the sheriff.

Indeed, the site of the death was not far from town as the crow might fly. But the accident scene was far up the rugged side of Frye Mountain, and the sheriff had to navigate a number of small, winding, steep lumber roads and frighteningly tight hairpin turns.

During the trip up the mountain, the sheriff was, as usual, quiet and nontalkative. He was concentrating on driving, and Rick didn't bother him.

Finally they pulled up behind another patrol car—which was parked behind an old logging truck. Beyond the truck, Rick could see the crime scene tape, about four feet off the ground and strung from tree to tree, surrounding the logging truck and then going up a small ridge.

Rick and the sheriff got out of the car and walked past the other vehicles. The sheriff lifted up the tape to let Rick walk underneath.

The deputy was walking down the hill toward them.

“You won't believe this one, Sheriff. Never seen nothin' like this, I'll tell ya!”

“What happened?” asked the sheriff.

“You jest come look. You gotta see this.” Deputy Rogers turned and began hiking up the hill. The sheriff and Rick followed.

They crossed a small ridge. When Rick saw the scene below him, it stopped him in his tracks.
What is this?
he thought. His eye squinted as he stared—almost gawking—at one of the strangest and most surreal sights he had ever seen.

His first impression was that he was seeing a scarecrow. There was what appeared to be a human body standing straight up. It had been dressed in old overalls and a denim shirt—the standard dress of the lumberman in the western North Carolina mountains.
But
, Rick wondered to himself,
where are his lower
legs?
The man appeared to be standing on his knees—with both arms hanging down at his sides—his gloved hands nearly touching the ground.

“What in tarnation?” muttered the sheriff, who had stopped beside Rick.

“I told you!” the deputy exclaimed. “I done told you! I ain't never seen nothin' like this here. Never!”

Rick and the sheriff began to walk toward the body. It was standing straight up—with no support whatsoever.
This can't be
a body!
Rick thought to himself.
It's got to be a fake!

As they slowly walked up to it, Rick noticed that the man's hard hat was nearly crushed flat—almost like a beret—and was resting on his shoulders. But there was no head! Rick bent down to look more closely. He could not see a head, and the shirt was terribly bloodstained front and back.

“Who is this?” asked the sheriff.

“Clyde Frizzell. Has his home over in Graham County—not far from Robbinsville. Been lumberin' in the national forests out here his whole life.”

“What happened?” asked Rick.

“His partner is Bobby Burrell. Bobby done said he was using his chain saw to cut down this big ole poplar tree.” Rogers pointed to the tree that was about three or four yards in front of the body—not far from its freshly cut stump.

The deputy continued, “When the cut tree began to fall, Bobby done yelled ‘Timber!' jest like he always did. Clyde was standin' right here, leanin' against this tree. He should have been safe here, but he jest couldn't see that the tree Bobby was fellin' was connected to this one jest behind him by one big ole vine.”

The deputy pointed out the vine and continued, “When that vine pulled tight, it snapped off the top of the tree that Clyde were leanin' against and that trunk crashed down and fell right smack-dab down on top of Clyde's head. It jest bonked him on the head and drove him straight into the ground, jest like you see him. He done never seen it comin'!”

“Where's Bobby?” Rick asked.

“I sent him on to the hospital. He was purty tore up. Figure he needs a serious sedative. The men had been lumberin' together the best part of four decades.”

Rick sat his black bag on the ground and opened it. He reached in and removed a set of latex gloves. Then he stood and began to slowly walk around the body as he pulled on the gloves. When he came back to the front of the body, he first reached for the man's arm. It was still supple and moved easily.
He hasn't
been dead that long
, Rick thought. He felt for the radial pulse he didn't expect to feel. Indeed, there was none.

Then he slowly reached out toward the hard hat. It was driven into the tissues of the shoulder and took a bit of wiggling and pulling to remove it. When it slipped free, Rick gasped and fell back. He could not believe his eyes—as an overwhelming sense of nausea overcame him.

chapter two

EYES WIDE OPEN

T
he phone rang, waking me—but not Barb—from our afternoon nap. I rolled over to answer the phone.

“Hello,” I muttered. Unlike Rick, I tried to sound as tired as possible. I wanted whomever this was who was disturbing my nap to know she was doing so. Admittedly, it
was
a rather selfish tactic.

“Don't you play like you're sleeping! I know you've been sitting outside on your bench with Mrs. Larimore.”

It was Millie on the other end of the line. Every doctor knew Millie. She was one of the dispatch officers for the Swain County Sheriff's Department. Millie knew just about everything about every doctor in the county—all seven of us. She always seemed to know where we would be and what we would be doing at almost any time of any day. Equally important to me was that Millie knew every road and every nook and cranny of the county.

“I
was
sleeping!” I complained.

“No you ain't. Louise Thomas in ER told me she seen you and Mrs.
Larimore out on your bench behind your house.”

“Millie!” I tried to sound irritated. “Once again, Louise is wrong. Mrs. Larimore and I
were
on that bench, but that was over an hour ago. More recently, we were trying to lie down for a nap.”

I heard her snicker.

“Millie, you've been reading too many of those romance novels.” I tried to snarl at her, but not very effectively.

She replied with her typical and very condescending, “Yes, I know.” She continued, “Well, anyway, the sheriff and Dr. Pyeritz just called me here. They want you to come help 'em at a crime scene.”

I sat up. “I saw Dr. Pyeritz light out of here a little while ago. What happened?”

“Logging accident. One dead. No others injured.”

“What does he need me for?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Millie, it seems to me you know most everything around here.”

“Well, I ain't no smarty-pants, know-it-all doctor, I'll tell you that!”

I realized I was treading on thin ice. “Where's Dr. Pyeritz located?”

“Dr. Larimore, I'm not even sure I could get up there. It's up near the top of Frye Mountain. But if you get down to the ambulance squad, you can ride up there with them. So you stop your romancing that beautiful wife of yours and git moving, ya hear?”

I felt like I was being lectured by my mother. I hung up and got out of bed. Barb was sound asleep—as were our children. I slowly closed the kitchen screen door behind me as I left the house.

I met Don Grissom and Billy Smith, two of Swain County's finest paramedics, at the sheriff's office. They had the ambulance cooled down and ready to go. The air-conditioned unit felt wonderful. I hopped into the back and pulled down a small seat so that I could sit just behind and between them. On the way up the mountain, I told them all I knew about the case.

Billy commented, “Sheriff and Rogers both say hit's the strangest thang they done ever seen.”