A Haunted Twist of Fate (13 page)

Undeterred, and with a thrill of excitement, she glided
from tombstone to tombstone, searching out the graves of Callie and Everett.

Twenty-One

Shay checked each and every marker while imagining
the lives of the people that lay in the graves. It had to have been a tough
life back then, particularly for a woman. Over a hundred years ago, this area
of the Black Hills would have been isolated and untamed, lacking any of the
conveniences found in the cities back east.

Winters had to have been harsh.  There would have
been few ways to earn a living, and, from the records of history, Shay knew
wild and dangerous men roamed the land, inflicting cruelty and pain wherever
they went. It would have been a struggle just to survive another day. She
wondered what kind of humiliation and pain Callie had endured before Everett
ended her life once and for all.

As she walked and read every headstone that was
decipherable, Shay got the distinct feeling someone watched her. Several times,
she looked over her shoulder and felt eyes boring into her back.  But she found
nothing, or no one there. Goosebumps rose on her arms, and the hairs prickled
on the back of her neck.  They were feelings she’d been experiencing all too
much in the last few days.

The bluebird no longer whistled its song. In fact,
it was gone. Wishing the bird was still there to keep her company, she called
to it. “Where’d you go, little birdie? You can come back if you’d like. I won’t
tell you to shoo anymore.”

A twig snapped about thirty feet away. Shay jerked
her head in that direction but saw no one. “Is someone there?”

With her heart lodged in her throat, she questioned
whether she should have come to this place alone. The cemetery was secluded. Sheltered
amid the towering trees, she felt like she was in another world, far from
civilization. A serial killer could be lurking behind the tombstones poised to
attack. She could lie for days, injured or dead, with no one knowing where to
find her. This had been a bad idea.

Her gaze darted around, and she willed herself to
calm down and stop thinking crazy thoughts. “Mr. Rockwood knows I’m here.  I’m
not going to let some stupid noises scare me. I came here to locate those
graves, and I’m not going to leave until I find them.”

With a tingle racing up her spine, she continued examining
headstones one by one.  Her spirits lifted when she came to a fenced-in plot
with four tombstones inside. Peering over the fence, the largest of the stones
was clearly legible.  It bore the names of both Dean and Cynthia Averill.

The marble monument was not embellished in any way,
but it was also not a wooden marker like many in the graveyard. The names
looked to be professionally engraved. No surprise there. After all, Dean
Averill had owned the Buckhorn. He’d probably been one of the wealthiest men in
the town at the time.

Cynthia had been born in 1864 and died in 1894. Shay
quickly did the math. She’d been only twenty-nine at the time of her demise. Dean,
on the other hand, had lived to be considerably older for the time period. The
date of his death was 1910.

Shay tried to decipher the two stones to the right
of the big one. They were little more than markers, and the carvings on them
were illegible except for the words
God’s Child
etched on one of them.
Shay figured those two graves to be those of the children of Dean and Cynthia.

A fourth tombstone was of better quality than the
others, and it looked to be newer. The name on it was
Marcus Dean Averill
. 
He’d lived to be an old man of seventy.
Marcus must have been another of
Dean’s children. Maybe he was Frank Averill’s father.

Perhaps the spot beside Marcus was reserved for
Frank. Colt had said he’d been near death several times. She didn’t know the
man, but a deep sense of sadness swept over her unexpectedly at seeing the
graves of his family lying before her.

As she stepped away from the Averill family plot,
another chill danced across her neck and shimmied down her arms. A rustling in
the trees above caused her to look up. Through the breaks in the trees, she saw
dark clouds forming.  They blocked out the sun and blue sky. It looked like Mr.
Rockwood had been right. Unbelievably, a storm seemed to be brewing.

With hurried steps, Shay tried to shake off the
sensation that eyes were upon her.  She continued progressing through the rows
of graves. Despite the possibility of getting caught in a rainstorm, a feeling
hinted for her not to quit looking. Believing Callie herself might be showing
her the way, Shay stopped and intoned to the spirit.  “Callie, if you’re here,
please guide me to your grave.”

After a moment, she strode to the far corner of the
graveyard, seemingly compelled.  However, it wasn’t Callie’s spirit that she
sensed.  It was the invisible hands of an unknown and powerful force that propelled
her forward.  But whose hands were they?

Her gaze flew to the ground, and her eyes enlarged. 
There, by itself, stuck in a sad looking patch of grass, was a small marker
made of stone. The words had been carved deep and, remarkably, were barely
touched by decades of weather.  Shay knelt and traced the simple inscription
with her finger.

Callie Hayes

Birth: 1865  Death: 1885

“Callie Hayes,” she whispered with reverence. “Twenty
years old. Who buried you? Your friends from the saloon? Or was it your boss,
Mr. Averill? Did you have any family when you died?”

A crack of lightning reverberated across the sky
just then, followed by a boom of thunder, which caused Shay to jump. A few
raindrops fell on her head. She stared into the ever-threatening sky.

“Great. This is just what I need.”

Knowing she should leave now or get drenched, she
was hesitant to go, and continued to speak to the stone. “Now that I know your
full name, I’ll help you any way I can. You just have to tell me what you need,
Callie. What is it you want me to know? Was someone else involved in your
murder besides Everett? Did he have a partner in crime? Were they punished for
what they did to you? Maybe they were never caught, and you’re seeking
justice.”

When a voice growled in her ear, Shay screamed and scrambled
to her feet. “Who’s there?” She spun in a circle. A slow movement captured her
attention from out of the corner of her eye. Something—or someone—
was
watching her, standing about fifty feet away. Her head pivoted, and her gaze
landed on a shadow. Was it the branch of a tree, or was it a person? With eyes widening,
she saw a dark figure slip behind a tombstone. Taking in a lung full of air,
Shay bolted in the opposite direction. Another crash of thunder shook the earth,
and a lightning bolt struck the ground in front of her.

Shrieking, she flinched and kept running.

Out of nowhere, pounding footsteps rushed up behind
her, causing her ears to pulsate. Cold breath teased her neck.  A male voice
hissed around her head. Frightened out of her mind, she sprinted as fast as her
legs would carry her.  Her pulse throbbed in her veins.  She was afraid to turn
and look at the creature bearing down on her.

Her chest burned, and her legs were about to give
out from under her.  Running became even more difficult when the storm clouds
cracked open and rain started to pour.

Slipping in the wet grass, Shay twisted her foot and
cried out when she fell.  She landed hard on her arm. There was no doubt in her
mind that a supernatural being was near.  She battled against the raging pain
and fought to stand. When unseen arms hoisted her up, she found herself eye
level with Denise Morgan’s headstone and gulped.  As if that weren’t strange
enough, the little bluebird sat perched on top with its beady eyes fixed on
her.

Water streamed down Shay’s face.  “Who are you?” Something
came down upon her head, and her world went black.

Twenty-Two

When Shay came to, she was lying on her back in damp
grass, hair matted to her face, wet clothes clinging to her like a sodden
second skin. But at least the storm had passed. Rolling onto her side, she
winced when she moved her foot. Her ankle hurt, and so did the arm she’d fallen
on, but there was no time to dwell on the pain. That was secondary to getting
out of the graveyard before anything more bizarre happened.

She hauled herself to her feet and leaned on Denise
Morgan’s tombstone, keeping as much weight off the tender foot as possible.
Glancing in every direction, the tension in her body melted when she realized
the storm must have driven away whatever evil had been chasing her. Her fear
subsided.  Curiosity took a back seat to pain when she realized the bluebird
was nowhere to be seen either.

With rays of sunlight pushing through the openings
in the trees, Shay might have thought she’d imagined the storm, the bird, the
dark figure, and the footsteps behind her, if not for being completely soaked. The
cemetery was at peace again, the way a cemetery should be.

She hadn’t found Everett’s grave, but at least she
knew Callie’s full name now. That was good enough for one day. Shivering, she
knew she somehow had to make it home on her injured foot and get into a hot
bath before she caught her death from the cold.

She eased away from the granite headstone and kept most
of the weight on her uninjured foot.   Limping slowly, she managed to make it
through the graveyard without slipping and falling again.

Her energy was zapped, but she still had close to
eight blocks to walk to get home. Could she do it with pain shooting through
her foot? Thinking of the formidable task ahead, tears welled in her eyes. She
stopped and leaned against another headstone to rest a moment.

“You look as if you could use a hand,” said a voice
from behind her.

Shay’s heart leaped inside her chest.  She craned
her head. An elderly man and woman had slipped up on either side of her.  Inquisitiveness
etched their lined faces.

“You must have gotten caught in that storm,” the
woman said. “My brother and I waited it out in our truck before coming up to
visit our sister, Maude. You should have waited, too.”

Shay forced a smile when she realized these were
real people—not ghosts or evil shadow people.  They were older, non-threatening
people at that. “I didn’t know it was going to rain when I walked here from
town,” she explained, while shoving wet tresses out of her eyes. “I didn’t
bring an umbrella, and, unfortunately, I twisted my ankle.”

“We’re done visiting Maude. You can ride with us
back to town,” the woman said, linking her arm through Shay’s. “Julian, take
the lady’s other arm,” she told her brother, who jumped at her directive. “And
both of you watch your step as we walk down the hill. We might all tumble down
like Jack and Jill if we’re not careful.”

Back at the Buckhorn, Shay thanked the couple as she
slid off the seat and out of their old Ford pickup.

“You sure you can get inside on your own?” asked the
lady, as she pulled the truck door shut. “That foot looks like it’s starting to
swell.”

Shay waved goodbye. “I’ll put ice on it. Thanks
again.”

Once she was inside the saloon, she limped to the
kitchen and grabbed a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer for her foot. 
After hobbling up the stairs, she ran a bath. As she collected dry clothes from
her bedroom, she was grateful for the peace and quiet that greeted her. There’d
been enough paranormal activity for one day.  She was exhausted.

Once she carefully climbed into the tub, she gently
propped her leg on the rim and laid the peas across her ankle. Though it was throbbing,
she was sure the foot wasn’t broken. But it did feel strained. Hopefully the
swelling would go down and there wouldn’t be much bruising.  The soreness in
her arm dissipated once it was immersed in the hot water.

The water did its job and sent her body temperature
skyrocketing back to normal. As she soaked, her pulse began to speed up again
when she replayed in her mind the frightening things that had happened in the
cemetery. She wondered what Colt would think when she told him later—
if
she told him at all. He didn’t believe in the supernatural. Maybe he’d heard
enough and would decide she
was
completely out of her mind, especially
if she mentioned his wife’s grave and the odd bird. He was her only friend in
town. She couldn’t afford to lose him.

* * * * *

At one o’clock, Colt picked her up as planned,
helped her into his truck when he saw she was limping, and they were on their
way to Frank Averill’s house. His heart rate increased when Shay related her
experiences in the Black View Cemetery. Although he’d been a non-believer all
his life, there was no way he could deny the things that continued to plague her.

“You’re sure your foot isn’t broken?” He glanced at
the ankle she’d wrapped in an Ace bandage.

“I think it’s just strained.  It feels a lot better
now after using frozen peas as an ice pack.”