Creepers (9 page)

Unlike her mother, Precious had fallen almost instantly to sleep.  Her room was at the opposite end of the hall from that of her mother, and the creaking house didn’t bother Precious at all.  She had already been exhausted, and she had just been through too much tonight.  Precious needed to sleep.  Her aching body and ruined face needed to rest.  On top of that, Precious wanted the oblivion that only sleep could give her.

Tuesday morning didn’t start out any better than Monday had, and Jack was already dreading it.  Well, he was dreading most of it.  The work part of it, but he was really looking forward to seeing Terri this evening.  For Jack, the day just couldn’t be over quick enough.  First though, he had to check on another missing person.  To top it off, it was another person missing from roughly the same area as Sheila Eckers.

Isaiah Jones lived in an old share cropper’s shack on the other side of route 33 from Ricky Dixon’s place.  It was about a mile closer to town and further back in the woods as well.  Jack drove slowly down the one lane dirt road that led to the shack.  Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees that overhung the road and sparkled on his windshield.  The flashing of light made it difficult for Jack to follow the road, and he’d nearly wound up in a ditch a couple of times.

Eventually, the road opened up to a large field of soybean.  The soy beans were small and wilted from the summer heat and drought, and most of them were nearly dead.  To the left as Jack neared the center of the field, the road came to a small opening where a shack stood next to the woods.  The shack's old tin roof was rusted, and the porch appeared to be falling in on itself.  At least half of the place was covered with a lush carpet of green vines that had stretched out from the nearby woods.

Jack came to a stop in front of the old shack and paused.  Not again, he thought to himself.  With trepidation, Jack surveyed the scene.  To the right of the cabin, beneath a lean-to, was an old Ford truck that looked like it hadn’t been used in a month.  Dust was thick on its windshield, and one of the tires was flat.  Jack also noted the tractor parked beside the truck also had a flat tire.  Cautiously, he stepped out of his cruiser.

Isaiah worked for Jimmy Crawford and had lived in an old shack for nearly fifty years.  Jimmy owned the land and Isaiah worked it.  Isaiah got to live there for free, and the two of them split whatever profit there was.  From the looks of it, Jack didn’t figure it had ever been much of a profit.  It was more of a way for Jimmy to help Isaiah live with dignity and self-worth.  That, and not have it look like charity.

Isaiah was a proud and hardworking man.  It was just real hard for old black folks in this area to find a job.  He and Jimmy were the oddest of friends too.  Jimmy had always been one of the biggest bigots in town, but the war had changed him.  Or maybe it was Isaiah that changed Jimmy, Jack wondered.  They had both ended up in Viet Nam, and whatever had happened over there, had changed them both.  Jimmy came back a different man.

He was more tolerant than he ever had been, and even defended Isaiah from his old cronies.  His friendship with Isaiah had taken a toll on Jimmy too.  He wasn’t as respected around town as other white folks seemed to be.  The other white folks tended to look down their noses at Jimmy.  But Jimmy took it and stood by his friend.  One of his only friends as it would turn out.  Most of the rest of the fine white folks around town didn’t seem to want to have anything to do with Jimmy, and most of the black folks didn’t trust him.

Jimmy’s old hatreds had been well known.  He’d done a lot of things in his youth that he wasn’t very proud of now.  Jimmy had taken part in terrorizing a lot of the black community and beaten up more than his share of black boys.  Those days were long past, but the folks around here had long memories and were not that forgiving.  So Jimmy tended to keep to himself and at least ignore how other people treated him.

Isaiah, on the other hand, just plain kept to himself.  Isaiah seldom went into town, and even less frequently interacted with anyone but Jimmy.  The war had changed Isaiah too.  He seemed to have left part of himself back in Viet Nam.  Back here in the real world, Isaiah just couldn’t manage to get along with anyone.  He couldn’t seem to get along with reality either.  Folks around here had always said that Isaiah was ‘touched’.  Now they know more.  Now, Jack would say that he was suffering from PTSD.  Either way, everyone around here just tended to avoid Isaiah.  Everyone except for Jimmy, that was.

Even so, Jimmy didn’t see or even talk to him every day.  Jimmy would go for a couple of weeks without seeing Isaiah.  That was usually when Jimmy brought Isaiah groceries or something.  However, this morning Isaiah was supposed to meet Jimmy at the feed store in town to pick up a new pump to irrigate the fields.  The water in the nearby river was so low that it wouldn’t flow through the ditches anymore.  Isaiah needed that pump to save the crop, but Isaiah never showed up.

After an hour of waiting, Jimmy called Jack directly.  He always called Jack directly.  Jack seemed to be the only officer in the area that Jimmy trusted.  Jack wasn’t sure why this was, but he thought it might have something to do with Jimmy and Isaiah’s friendship.  Jack had known the two old men his entire life, Jimmy more than Isaiah, and they had always treated him decent.  So Jack didn’t mind dealing directly with Jimmy.  He would just radio it in.

However, now that Jack stood in front of Isaiah’s shack he had second thoughts.  The memories of what he had seen yesterday were still very raw.  Somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach, Jack knew this was going to be similar.  It just felt that way.  Jack swallowed hard and stared at the front door.  He paused for what seemed way too long then took a cleansing breath.  Jack leaned in the half opened door of the cruiser and hit the horn a couple of times.

“Isaiah,” Jack yelled, “you in there?”  He didn’t get a response, but he wasn’t really expecting one.  Jack was expecting what he had found yesterday.

“Isaiah,” Jack yelled again, “this is Jack Fisher.”  Jack reached down and honked the car horn a couple of more times.  After another long pause and no answer, Jack reached back into his cruiser and came out with a flashlight and his hat.  Jack donned the hat, closed the car door, and walked slowly up to the front door of the shack.  “Damn,” he muttered under his breath and stepped up onto the rickety old porch.  It protested under his weight with a loud creak that startled Jack.  “Damn,” he mumbled again.

Jack ducked under the hanging porch roof and knocked on the front door.  As he expected, there was no answer.  Jack tried the knob, and the door opened freely, if not noisily.  He pushed it open and shone his flashlight into the dark room beyond.  It was a combination kitchen and living room.  The furniture was well worn, but the place was immaculate.  Everything was neat and orderly and clean.  Jack tried the light switch near the door and a lamp near the padded arm chair came on.

He put his flashlight away and looked around the room.  Nothing was out of place.  In the kitchen, dishes were standing in a drying rack beside the sink.  Jack walked over and felt the dish towel beneath the dishes.  It was dry.  He looked in the trash, but it was empty.  Jack sniffed the air, and there was a musty, but not unpleasant smell of earth and vegetative decay.  It was almost like the walls of the shack itself were rotting.

Even early in the morning the heat and humidity were oppressive, and sweat began to bead on Jack’s face.  The inside of the shack was sweltering.  Eager to be done with his chore, Jack walked to the back of the shack where the bedroom was located.  The door was open and as jack approached he could easily see the bed.  It sat in the middle of the room with a window on two of the walls.  As with the Dixon place, the screen was busted out of the windows. 

There was also debris on the floor, twigs and dried leaves.  There appeared to be a dark stain in the middle of the bed, and Jack’s spirits sank.  Up to this point he had held out hope that Isaiah was okay.  After seeing the bedroom, however, he knew differently.  The scene was too similar.  What the hell was going on, Jack wondered.  Then he switched the light on to get a better look at the room.  Unlike the Dixon place he noted, there were no body parts or clothes left behind on the bed.  Whatever happened here must have taken place some time ago.

Jack inspected the room carefully and discovered the bed was dry, and the dead leaves were crunchy.  He walked over to the nearest window and saw fresh scrape marks in the old sill plate.  Something had been dragged out through this window he decided.  Something, or someone he concluded and then his stomach churned.  Isaiah Jones had been dragged out this window.  Jack knew it as surely as he knew that Sheila was dead.

Jack leaned over and looked out the window.  There was nothing but a sea of kudzu and dense woods as far as he could see.  They obscured any evidence of which direction Isaiah might have gone.  Isaiah was a big man.  Whoever had done this was one strong sonofabitch, Jack decided.  He thought for a moment then decided it could have been several men.  Discouraged, Jack pulled his head back inside the window and turned around. 

Jack jumped and let out a girlish scream of surprise.  “Damn it Jimmy,” he said, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry Jack,” Jimmy replied, “I thought you knew I was here.  I honked the horn as I pulled up outside.”

So intent on his task, Jack had heard nothing.  He shook his head and let his heart rate slow, and then he said, “No, I didn’t.  How long you been standing there?”

“I just got here,” Jimmy replied, “I saw the front door open and walked on inside.   You find Isaiah?”

“No,” Jack replied.  “He isn’t here.”

“Well, where the hell is that boy?” Jimmy asked, concerned.

Jack ignored this and asked his own questions.  “Do you know of anyone that had it out for Isaiah?  Did he get any threats or anything lately?  Could he have just left on his own?”

Jimmy scrutinized Jack for a moment and then asked, “Why, what’s happened to him?”

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted, “but he’s not here and hasn’t been for a week or more.  Right now, I’ve got to figure out what might have happened to him.  Please answer my questions Jimmy.”

“Damn it Jack,” Jimmy responded, “you know Isaiah.  He wouldn’t have just gone off anywhere.”

“I know,” Jack said, “but I had to ask.  What about threats?”

Jimmy shook his head and said, “Nothing out of the ordinary.  You know folks around here,” he continued, “There’s some that always seem to have their noses out of joint.  But I ain’t heard nothing, and Isaiah never said.”

“What about the Dixons?” Jack asked.  “Have you heard anything from Donald or his boy?”

“You think Ricky and his gang had something to do with this?” Jimmy asked.

“Please Jimmy,” Jack pleaded, “just answer my questions for now.  Have you had any problems with Ricky or his friends?”

Jimmy shook his head.  “No more than usual Jack,” Jimmy said, “I mean they were always causing some fuss for Isaiah, but no more than usual.  At least none that Isaiah mentioned to me.  Both Isaiah and I always steered clear of them folks.  Does this have something to do with that Sheila Eckers mess?”

This time, Jack gave Jimmy the calculating glance.  He asked, “How did you know about that?”

“Small town,” was all Jimmy said as he shrugged his shoulders.  “We got us some nigger trouble here Jack?” he asked.  “Do you think Isaiah did something to that Eckers girl?  And then those Dixon boys did something to Isaiah?”  Jimmy paused then added, “You know Isaiah would never do anything like that.”

“No, nothing like that,” Jack responded.  “I think whatever happened to Isaiah happened before whatever happened to Sheila.”  Then he added, “But I do believe they are connected.”

“Damn,” Jimmy said.

Jack thought for a moment then asked, “Have you heard anything else about town, anything weird?”

“Weird how?” Jimmy asked.

“I don’t know,” Jack tried to clarify, “any other people missing?  Are any animals missing or mutilated?  How about any racial or satanic stuff?”

Jimmy looked at Jack long and hard, then he finally said, “Folks around here don’t confide in me much anymore, but I have heard some stuff.”

“Like what,” Jack prodded.

“Like some folks has had some of their animals go missing,” Jimmy offered up.  “Normally I wouldn’t put much stock in that,” he continued, “I always just chocked it up to other critters.  But this time, well, there just ain’t no other critters around.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked.

“Well,” Jimmy replied, “ I would say coyotes, hogs, or even a bear got ‘em.  But there just don’t seem to be much in the way of wildlife in the woods these days.  No one’s pulled down a deer or anything at all since early last season.  It’s like most of the animals just up and left.  On top of that, a few of the folks that do their regular dog hunting comeback with a lot of their dogs missing.”

“Who’s had animals come up missing?” Jack asked, concerned.

“Let’s see,” Jimmy thought, “There’s Nat Brister.  He lost half of his goats and a bull.  Dwayne Hargrove lost all six of his hunting dogs.  Tyler Wilkes lost a couple of dogs and a calf.  And Vi Winters lost all of her chickens.  There might be more, but them’s the ones I know about.”

His mind racing, Jack repeated the names under his breath.  Realization came to him, and he said “They all live up against the Homochitto.  Don’t they?”

“Yup,” Jimmy agreed, “all out in the woods similar to Isaiah here.  Does that mean something?”

“I’m not sure,” Jack admitted.  He paused for a moment then said, “Come on Jimmy.  I have to call the state boys.”  Jack put his arm on Jimmy’s shoulder and turned him around to face the front door.  Jimmy only nodded and let Jack rein him towards the door.  As they stepped out onto the porch, Jack muttered, “Damn.”  While Jimmy wondered over to his vehicle, Jack headed back out to his cruiser to place the radio call.  “Damn,” he muttered to himself one more time as he reached the cruiser.