Saltar's Point (32 page)

She wore a light flower pattern blue dress that hung down to her ankles. Her auburn hair had just recently begun to show streaks of gray. She wore it pulled back in a ponytail held tight by a black scrunchy. She had been aggressively filling the wire basket on the front of the chair with food and cleaning staples.

“Where’s Dave?”

“Oh he headed down to Walter’s to fill the van up with petrol. Left me here to do some shopping in the meantime.”

“Well you tell him not to be such a stranger, we ain’t seen him at the bar for a couple of weeks now.”

Belinda chuckled a soft friendly laugh. “I’ll make sure to tell him. Be nice if he left me some time to myself anyway.”

“You just let me know if I can help you with anything sweetheart.”

“Ain’t nothing a man can do for me that I can’t do myself.”

“Somehow I believe that.”

Cletus made his way back behind the counter and picked up his newspaper while he waited for the fryer to heat up. Belinda continued her shopping. Just then Aiden came bounding down the stairs and Ellie followed shortly behind him. At the base of the stairs she stopped abruptly and peered over at the familiar face of the woman in the chair. It had been quite a few years but she looked virtually the same. Belinda noticed her a few moments later.

“Well my gosh. Is that Ellie Jean Pritchard? I heard you’ve been back in town for awhile now and I was wondering when I was going to run into you.”

“Belinda, my god it’s so good to see you.” She walked over to her old friend and bent at the waist to give her a hug. The wheelchair was a surprise to her and she tried not to show it in her face.

“Well you sure look good. What have you been up to?”

“Oh not much, just trying to adjust to life in a small town again, and I got married too.” She flashed her ring and a smile.

“My goodness, I almost forgot. I heard it’s Ellie Jean Jackson now, and let me tell you something, you landed the most eligible bachelor in Saltar’s Point.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Belinda caught her eyeing her chair. “I take it from your expression that you hadn’t heard.” She nodded down at her wheels.

“No, I um…” Ellie struggled for the right words.

“Don’t you worry about me none now. I’m getting along just fine.”

Ellie thought about how life could change on a dime. The last time she had seen Belinda she was about sixteen, and an aspiring dancer, now she was in a chair. The two girls had been classmates and casual friends, spending some summer days together down at Harper’s pond, swimming, tanning and talking about boys.

“And who’s this fine looking young man?”

“This is my son Aiden. Honey come say hello.”

“Hello.” He said from his shy perch behind his mother’s legs.

Outside a horn honked twice. “Well that’s Dave as impatient as ever. Now you and Randall don’t be strangers now. We’re living over on Derry Street, the big yellow house, you can’t miss it, stop in and say hello sometime.”

“We will, I promise.”

Belinda zipped the chair up to the counter.

“What do I owe you?”

“Oh I think Andrew Jackson ought to cover it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have to have at least forty dollars worth of groceries here.”

“Well that’s the price, take it or leave it.”

“You know Cletus you’ve got to stop doing this. You know I’m not one for charity.”

“Between friends we call it hospitality.”

Belinda relented and slipped the twenty on the counter. “You’re a good man Cletus Pritchard.” She said as she scooted for the door. Cletus called after her.

“You just tell that husband of yours to come spend some of that money down at the bar.”

Belinda smiled and acknowledged the comment with a wave of her hand as she pushed open the screen door and zipped out onto the front porch and down the ramp that Cletus had installed on the side of the building a few years back just for her.

“Oh my gosh I had no idea.”

“What? Oh about Belinda. Yeah it’s a damn shame, MS came on gangbusters, but that’s one tough girl. Never voiced a complaint to anyone. Now why don’t you come around back and let’s get some lunch.”

They followed Cletus to the other side where he threw some fries in the grease and some fresh patties on the grill. The hamburger sizzled and popped on the iron griddle. Aiden climbed up onto his usual barstool and awaited his lunch. He had gone unusually quiet and Ellie took notice immediately.

“Honey, are you feeling okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Cletus plopped a cold can of Coke down in front of him and popped the top. The soda fizzled and foamed on the rim. Aiden dove into it immediately, holding the can with both hands as he took a long swallow.

“How long has she been like that?”

Cletus scratched his head straining his memory. “A few years now, maybe four, only the last couple in the wheelchair though.”

“My god.” Ellie said and pulled up a stool next to Aiden who still hadn’t said a word. His silence was beginning to concern her. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Why did you call that woman Belinda?”

“Because that’s her name.”

“No it’s not.” Aiden said defiantly.

Cletus and Ellie both gave him perplexed looks. “Honey, what are you talking about?”

“Her name’s not Belinda, It’s Abby.”

The comment didn’t hold much thought for Cletus but it struck Ellie like a Mack truck. “Honey, why did you just say that?”

“Because that’s her name.” Aiden was getting flustered.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because she told me.”

“Honey you’ve never met her before.”

“I have too!” His frustration was increasing. “I recognize her because of the funny chair with wheels. She told me her name was Abby.”

“Honey, I think you’re confused. Where have you seen her before?”

Aiden looked up at his mother with wide eyes. “She comes to me when I’m sleeping.”

In the silence of her mind Ellie’s terror was shrieking. It appeared that she was not the only one in the family having vivid nightmares.

THIRTY-FOUR

Darrow watched as the little punk splashed in the mud puddle. He was coming home from work when he spotted him and his mother, the pretty bitch that had just married that damn Jackson. She bent down to wipe the mud from the kid, her back was turned to him and she was unaware of his presence as he drove by. He didn’t slow the van down but he looked right at the kid as he passed and the kid looked back at him with curious interest. The words that the demon had spoken to him just the night before rang in his ears.

An intriguing thought flashed in the front of his mind. The Jackson kid was the perfect choice. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He was pure and he was retribution, a price to pay for the man who was intent on bringing him down. He drove the remaining distance in silence. Arriving home, he parked the van underneath the carport and entered the mansion, and there he stopped, surveying the scene in the foyer. Abby’s wheelchair lay on its side at the base of the stairs. Why the hell was the chair located there, where was Abby? His heart beat within his chest with increasing furor, and then he thought about what the demon had said to him. Was it possible that Abby had been down on the first floor again? The scenario didn’t make sense, even if she had managed to get down the stairs, why then had she not taken the chair back up with her? She had done it before if the demon spoke the truth. He crossed the floor and pulled the chair upright.

“Abby!”

His voice echoed back at him, and then he bounded the stairs. At the top he sprinted into Abby’s room, certain that he would find her hurt or dead. Instead he found her tucked neatly between the sheets. Slowly his confusion gave way to the anger building inside of him.

“You’ve got a lot of God damn explaining to do.”

Abby lay silent, not moving or even looking at him. For years he had harbored her, protected her, fed her, clothed her, and now she had betrayed him.

“You want to explain to me why the fuck your chair is in the foyer?”

“I soary Ack. I jus wanned to eave ma oom.”

“Oh you wanted to leave your room. And what the fuck do you think we do every evening when I get home? Do I not take you out every night and wheel your fat ass around the woods?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s not enough for you?”

Abby lay silent. The rage inside him continued to build like a glowing ember threatening to erupt into an engulfing flame. He drew a breath, sharp and ragged. He could beat her to a pulp or even kill her. He had stayed sober, gotten a job, worked for peanuts and refrained from beating some sense into her, and what had it gotten him, an insolent bitch that would just as soon disobey him as heed his rules. All of his progress was threatened to be washed away at that instant, but he was determined not to let that happen. It took all of his willpower but somehow he managed to control his emotions.

“Okay, Abby. I know it has been hard for you. Sitting here at home all by yourself while I’m at work, but you just can’t go roaming around the house. Understood?”

She managed a nod. The fact that she was not going to endure a beating was slowly registering in her head. Perhaps Jack had turned the corner, maybe he was beginning a new lease on life, exhibiting a new way of thinking, but that seemed more than far-fetched, a nagging doubt still lingered in her head, a leopard can’t change his thoughts.

“I’m going downstairs to get your chair. Don’t do anything to piss me off while I’m gone.”

And with that he turned and exited her room. Abby lay stunned, for what she had expected to be a horrific experience had turned out to be nothing more than a slight tongue lashing and that was something that she could easily deal with.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning her dreams came back to her with vivid clarity. The girl was there of course, beckoning her to follow her into the depths of her own nightmare. She waved a skeletal hand, and mouthed the words ‘come on Ellie’.

She followed without resistance. Dreams were spun from the subconscious and the subconscious had a mind of its own. Her footfalls were soft, as though she were walking on a cloud of mist but the tile beneath her feet had an all too real feel to it. At the end of the misty corridor were two doors –the lady or the tiger- came to mind, choose wisely. The door on the right was sealed tight; the one on the left was slightly ajar. She pushed and it gave inward with ease. Inside she saw the woman that had haunted her dreams sitting complacently in her chair. She didn’t speak but the aura about her screamed for help. Ellie moved forward but an arrangement of cast iron bars blocked her way, spanning from floor to ceiling. On Abby’s left hand side a door stood closed etched into the brick wall. Could she open it from the other room? She turned and left the way she had come, Abby didn’t protest as if she knew she must go. Outside she tried the second door, expecting it to be locked, but it yielded as easily as the first, rotating open on its hinges.

The man inside seemed to be expecting her. He sat unmoving on a wicker chair in the center of the room, legs crossed and hands folded neatly over his knee. Impeccably groomed and tidy his clothes were those of a different era, early twentieth century if she surmised correctly, a tweed suit, vest and bowtie completed his Freudian appearance. The little girl had followed her inside. Ellie was unaware of her presence until she heard the scrapping of her feet behind her. She said nothing, as if waiting for what was about to transpire. The man looked out at her with steel blue eyes, a small smile etched on his lips between his tidy moustache and beard.

“Ellie, we’ve been expecting you.” He said it as if they were long lost friends.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Talcott, George Talcott, and I built this place.”

“You built my dream?”

His laugh had a haunting quality. “No my child, I’m afraid that you are the architect of your own visions, with a little help from our friend Brenda.”

The little girl curtseyed behind Ellie, emitting a sickly popping sound of crackling flesh that made Ellie want to vomit. Ellie looked around her taking in the details of the room like a high-speed camera. She could almost her the clicking inside of her head as if she were the one being photographed, her photographer spewing out encouragement in a barrage of well-canned catch phrases.

(Come on baby make me feel it, that’s it beautiful, now show me pouty, you’re pouty and feisty and sexy, that’s it baby yeah.)

The walls were red brick, or at least they once were, their sharp red color had faded over time to a reddish brown, burnt sienna she thought, that’s what it’s called on the Crayola box, burnt sienna, the perfect hue for faded red bricks. And the room was massive, forty feet by forty feet with a high ceiling to match. Talcott sat on a wicker chair directly in the center. She was unaware but she had begun to move closer to him as she looked around, walking slowly into the massive chamber, when she was no more than ten feet from him she stopped.

“What do you want from me?”

“Ah straight and to the point, I like that.”

“Then I ask that you return the favor.”

Talcott took a deep breath and began. “Very well then, I’ll get started. In 1898 I took an expedition, suffice it to say one I wish I had not taken. But back then I was enamored with a taste for adventure that could not be satisfied, and so when a friend of mine called me with a proposition to embark upon a modern day treasure hunt I jumped at the opportunity. My friend’s name was John McGinty, an Irish immigrant and renowned archeologist. He had been working in Northern Africa just outside of Cairo for the past two decades petitioning various universities for grant monies to fund his research and leading various groups of aspiring archeology students in digs around the fabled city. But the work was tedious and dangerous. Rising political tensions and tropical diseases had convinced most of McGinty’s financial backers that the risks were too great, especially when John moved the base of his operations to the southeast on the southernmost tip of Lake Nasser, in what is present day Sudan.”

“This is the short version?” Ellie interjected.

Talcott dismissed her impatience with a wave of his hand and began again. “The British had recently begun to occupy the area and tensions with Egypt were running high, with much of the region falling under joint Egyptian and British rule. In addition religious tensions had begun to mount between the Islamic Arabic peoples of the north and the black African Christians in the south. Malaria was rampant in the area and few archeologists were willing to place their lives at risk, so McGinty’s task of excavating the area was two-fold, he needed money and he needed men. Fortunately I was able to provide both.”

Ellie heard a crackling sound behind her and turned to see that Brenda had taken a seat on the floor sitting Indian style. She resisted the urge to do the same, although her legs and feet were weary. The dream was all too real. How the hell can I be physically exhausted in a dream?

“I assembled a team of twenty men, mostly drifters and bootleggers, thieves and cutthroats, they were the dredges of society and they were expendable, men with nothing left to live for except the promise of quick riches and abundant booze. We lost nearly half of them in the first three months from malaria, the rest were beat down by the scorching temperature and long hours of grueling labor. By the time we had been at the site for four months the men had begun to grow restless and bitter. Our efforts had turned up nothing of value, and we had yet to even make a discovery of architectural merit. We began to fear that we would have a mutiny on our hands and awake to find ourselves being lynched by our own men. With fear on our minds we pressed on.

“The problem you see is that we weren’t looking for the remnants of any known city or temple, what we were searching for was much more elusive, for we sought a burial shrine of an ancient nomadic people which were said to dabble in the black arts. We refer to it today as Satanism, devil worship, even witchcraft, but to the nomadic peoples it was much more than just a craft, it was a way of life, one developed in defiance of the Christian missionaries that were hard at work in Northern Africa trying to convert the masses. Today that nomadic tribe is called the Bedouin, and they are mostly made up of Arab Muslims, but in the late nineteenth century they were referred to as the Mayatube, or Shadow Walkers. They were called the Shadow Walker’s because they moved mostly at night to avoid the searing sun, following the banks of the Nile and hunting for human sacrifices to offer up to their God, or so it was rumored. Their favorite sacrifices were the missionaries of course, but native peoples who had recently converted were also given no quarter.

“We had searched for nearly six months and we were beginning to think that we were chasing a myth, a rural legend about a people that never existed, a story made to scare the native peoples away from Christianity. We had all but given up and had conceded that the entire excavation was a loss, but then a week prior to the time when we had decided to bring our search to an end, we found what we were looking for, a burial shrine carved out into the sand twenty mile east of the Nile River. What we found in that shrine I dare not speak of for to mention it by name is to evoke an evil so great that I fear it even in death. Four years later we brought our find back here, to Talcott manor, a place I had recently constructed for McGinty and I to research our discovery in private before we announced our findings to the archeological community. But I fear that neither of us lived to see our discovery made public. The fame and the fortune we so greatly sought had eluded us, and we both died shortly after.”

“What the hell does this have to do with me?”

“More than you know Ellie. John McGinty was your great great grandfather.”  

The words struck Ellie like a thunderbolt.

“That’s not possible.” Her breath had to be forced from her lungs. “YOU’RE A FUCKING LIAR!”

Talcott was silent for a moment, letting Ellie collect her thoughts and regain her composure. “McGinty had a daughter, a sixteen year old beauty name Sofia. After her father’s death she turned to prostitution to support herself. Nearly twenty years later she bore an illegitimate daughter to a widower named Pritchard, Bernard Pritchard, you’re great grandfather. Wishing to avoid a scandal in the small town Sofia gave up custody to Pritchard who raised the little girl as his own. Her name became Dana Pritchard, your grandmother.”

“No that’s not true, she was my grandfather’s wife. Are you saying that my mother was born from incest? How dare you! You despicable vile man.”

“Calm down Ellie. I’m not saying that. Cletus isn’t your grandfather, he’s your great uncle. Dana was Cletus’ sister, neither one of them ever married. They lived together and raised your mother as their own. Over time people forgot, or just assumed they were married, same address, same name, it just made sense.”

“Liar! I don’t believe you. You’re a LIAR!”

The last word raped her throat as she screeched and then collapsed on the floor in a trembling mass, shaking and sobbing into near convulsions. The little girl called Brenda placed her skeletal hand on Ellie’s shoulder, it should have been terrifying but it was oddly comforting.

“Put your feelings behind you.” Talcott said. “There is no time for personal grief. We need your help. Help us Ellie. Help Abby.”

Talcott’s last words faded into her subconscious as she pulled back from her sleep. When she opened her eyes she was back in her bedroom laying next to Randall who was snoring blissfully, unaware of the terror she had been experiencing. Her face was plastered in tears and her nightgown clung to her perspiration soaked skin. It was all a dream, a horrible horrible dream, and nothing more. She convinced herself over and over nothing but a dream, but in the back of her mind she somehow knew that it was all true.