Dark Witness (24 page)

"Shut up." Hannah's relief had faded and reality was starting to sink in. "I'm scared. I really am."

"I know. Me, too."

He checked out the room. The high window offered no escape. There was nothing that could be used as a weapon. Then again, nobody had threatened them. Duncan and his troops were just Loony Tunes. Still, Loony Tunes could morph real fast, and Billy didn't want to be around when that happened.

"I'm going downstairs," he said.

"No, don't leave me." Hannah reached for him as if she could pull him back from across the room.

"I'll be back. I promise."

If he touched Hannah he wouldn't go, so he unlocked the door and slipped out. It was as black in the hallway as it was in her room so Hannah didn't see him go. The only reason she knew she was alone was because she couldn't hear Billy breathing anymore.

***

Josie screamed and rolled, but she was caught in the sleeping bag. Above her, around her, inside her she heard the roar of the gigantic animal. She felt the swipe of its claws tear through the sleeping bag like it was tissue paper and scrape her ribs. She felt the animal's hot breath. She smelled the damn thing. Up was down and down was up. Nell was hollering, scrambling inside the tent that wasn't a tent anymore. Josie's screams and groans mixed with the bear's roar. Nell's voice rose above the hellish sounds of the attack as she threw out orders and food. The food went outside; the orders shot right at Josie.

"Dead. Play Dead. Don't move," she called. "God dammit, play dead! Fetal position. Now!"

Nell's voice muffled and Josie knew that she was following her own orders: tucking her head down, pulling her knees up, and holding her elbows tight. She jeopardized her own life every time she spoke, so Josie tried to do as she was told. Her body, though, had a life of its own. It struggled against the confines of the sleeping bag, her legs and shoulders jerked in opposite directions. Her brain was misfiring with thoughts, ideas, and plans.

If only she could. . .

If it would just. . .

If they hadn't. . .

"Dead. Now."

Nell's voice had dropped two octaves. Her breathing had calmed. She believed with everything in her that playing dead was the way to stay alive. Josie's brain heard that conviction. One part of her argued that all she needed was a fighting chance. The other part of her insisted she have faith in the woman who was curled up beside her, playing dead.

Finally, Josie pulled her knees up and rolled her shoulders forward. She tucked her head into her chest and didn't fight anymore. The bear roared and snuffed, but it had grown tired of the attack. She could hear it trolling. At one point – surely a hundred hours after the assault had begun – its nose came so close to Josie's head that it touched her hat. Behind her eyes was a slideshow of every image she had ever seen of a bear: the yellowing teeth, the hinged mouth that was wide enough to wrap itself around her head, its hind legs as big as trees. The whole package was majestic. Beautiful. Deadly. Deadly.

Play dead.

Play dead.

Play dead.

Play. . .

"You did good. You did good. Josie? Josie? It's over."

Nell's voice, sounded far away. Nell's touch was too soft to comfort her. The snow drifted lazily, like the angels were sifting flour for a heavenly cake. Josie Bates lay very still and waited for Nell to convince her it was okay to move. She didn't want to play dead anymore, but that's all she could do. She wanted to speak, but her vocal chords didn't work. When she could speak, she would tell Nell this: Even though she looked dead, Josie felt more alive than she ever had. When she could speak again, Josie would tell Archer how death came at her in the dark, how she felt its claws and smelled it's breath. It was a giant thing covered in fur, a roaring thing that pulled sounds from the very depths of hell. She knew that and yet she hadn't seen it. She would say to anyone who would listen that there is more than one way to survive and we are not cowards when we choose to play dead.

CHAPTER 19

I feel like I'm ten years old because the first time my mom left me alone a whole day and a night was when I was ten years old. I watched the door of that terrible apartment and wished her back minute-by-minute-by-minute. It wore me out wishing her back. When she finally came, I thought my wishes worked. A few years later I figured it out: she came back because she had nowhere else to go. Now, watching the door of this bedroom, I wish Billy back in the worst way. I know there is nowhere else for him to go, but you never know about things like this.

You just never know.

Billy paused at the top of the stairs, torn between going down them or going through the door behind him. Behind that door was where Pea lived. She seemed to be the one causing all the trouble, so maybe it was time to have a talk with her. He decided to take the stairs because he didn't want to talk. He wanted something else, and what he wanted was in the kitchen.

The top flight of stairs was short. The second floor landing opened onto a long hall. There were four doors, two on each side. All were closed. He paused, heard nothing, made the jog and went down the stairs to the first floor. There was a creak and a snap. His boots were heavy and the woodwork was old, but he knew that each groan and crack was magnified in his mind. Anyone sleeping probably wouldn't give the noise a second thought. He took the last three steps quickly and crouched behind the banister when he got to ground. Peering through the rails, he looked toward the living room and through the picture window. Duncan's house was dark. The happy bridegroom was dreaming of wedded bliss.

Billy scooted over and looked the other way. He swung around the staircase, flattened himself against the wall, and inched toward the dining room. The heating stove in that room glowed faintly, the fire had burned down to embers and was ready to be stoked in the morning. They wasted nothing here, especially precious fuel during the darkest hours when blankets and quilts would keep them warm and there was nothing interesting to see.

By the time he reached the dining room, Billy was breathing easier. He pushed open the kitchen door and checked out the interior. Satisfied that it was empty, he went in. There was enough moonlight coming through the window that he didn't need more light.

There was a cabinet to the right of the stove. He opened the first drawer and found tableware. He took a big spoon. He opened the next drawer down. It was deep and cluttered with odds and ends. He went to the next drawer. Towels. The next one had what he wanted: knives.

Billy touched the blades like a blind man. They were sharp, thank goodness, and sturdy, but he had no idea what kind he might really need. He settled on a short, thick bladed one and a longer serrated one. Just as he closed the drawer, he heard a creak of wood and behind him the door started to open.

Stashing the tools under his shirt, Billy turned around expecting to see Duncan. Actually, he expected to see Duncan like maybe ten feet tall and his eyes all glowing red behind those stupid eyelids of his. Instead, Teresa, the human question mark was standing in the doorway.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm good. Yeah. Thanks," he answered. He even managed to chuck his chin up a little like he was cool with everything.

Which he wasn't.

It would be stupid to feel relieved just because it was Teresa who had found him. He and Hannah had no friends in this place. Every single one of them drank the same Kool Aid. Still, if he was going to be found out, Teresa was probably the best one to stumble in here.

She walked into the room. In in the moonlight, her silver hair sparkled and her expression was softened by weariness. She wore a thick robe curled up to her neck and long in the sleeves. It had some sort of embroidered thing on it that looked like Mickey Mouse.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

Billy shook his head. "Hannah can't sleep. I was going to try to fix her something to help sleep."

"I just came to do the same thing. We're not supposed to, you know. Not after dinner."

Teresa puttered while Billy crossed his arms over his chest, feeling the knives and the spoon under his shirt. He hoped that she didn't turn on the light and see the hilts of the knives through his shirt or the guilt on his face. If that happened, he would have to do something bad to keep her from telling Duncan. If the choice was Teresa or Hannah there was no contest. Still, he would hate to hurt Teresa. He would hate to hurt anybody.

But Teresa didn't light a lantern, and she didn't seem much interested in him. She got the kettle, filled it with water, found a match and lit the stove. The sudden flare of the flame startled Billy. Teresa stared at it a minute and then put the kettle on.

"I used to do this every night after my husband left me. I thought a cup of tea would help me sleep. It didn't. Some worries are too big for a cup of tea." She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "Nobody should have worries that big when they're young."

"I don't think old people should either," Billy answered.

"You're right. It all should be easier, shouldn't it?" Teresa mused. "Or at least fairer. Maybe that's it. That was Duncan's dream to lead odd people to a place where they would be accepted. He believes he is blessed, and a prophet, and that together they can heal sad and broken people. Poor boy. It's going to be so hard for him when he realizes he can't heal anything and he can't make life fair."

"I think it's going to be kind of hard on the rest of them. I mean, they're the ones that need to be better," Billy pointed out.

"True." Teresa watched the pot as if she didn't expect it to boil. "And they need to be better in a different way than they think. That's the biggest problem."

"Are they really your kids?" Billy asked, wanting to leave but knowing he had to play it through with the tea.

"Oh, yes." She turned around and looked at him. "Duncan was a beautiful little boy, but shy and unsure of himself. I tried so hard to get him to come out of his shell. His father had no use for him. It was such a pity."

"What about the lady?"

"Penelope? That's her name. When Duncan was little he called her Pea. She's beautiful and special. That's what they call people like her. Special."

"Is she a prophet like Duncan says?" Billy asked.

"No." Teresa shook her head. "At least I don't think so. She's a biblical savant. She knows every verse in the bible. I don't know how that happened. Me, a nurse's assistant from San Dimas gives birth to a biblical savant. Craziest thing. Can you imagine?"

Billy shook his head, but Teresa didn't notice. Billy was just the sounding board she was bouncing her memories off.

"And, yes, before you ask, I tried to kill them. And me. That was the only way I could figure out how to save them. I couldn't get help, you see. My husband was gone. I had no family. Every government agency passed me off to another one. Charities told me that I had a job, and that I should be grateful I could provide for them. I didn't have two cents to rub together. How was I going to pay for the kind of help we needed? Pea could get violent. I had no idea what she would do if I left her alone with Duncan. He should have been in school. What a mess. Me. Alone with these two odd children who I loved so dearly.

"Anyway, I did leave them alone. Duncan learned all sorts of things even though he didn't really go to school. I went to work. Duncan cared for Pea. Pea talked to him in verse and he figured out what it meant. We had a beautiful big bible at home. I don't even know where I got it. Anyway, I guess that's how Duncan came to believe that was his job in life – to interpret the Bible."

"How does he know what everything really means?" Billy asked.

"Oh, he doesn't. He never did. He just takes what he wants and fashions it into directions that seem to make sense. He contrives stories to justify what he wants and how he thinks life should go. I think it comforts him. I think it makes him feel useful in the world."

Teresa brightened. She was happy to have someone interested in what she had to say.

"The way he talks is so convincing that people believe him. Desperate people. Lonely people. People who just don't fit in anywhere. You can't blame them. It's a lovely thought that our lives are directed by a beautiful young woman who talks to God and a handsome, happy young man who brings the message. Who wouldn't like that?"

"Me. Us," Billy said. "Hannah and me."

"I know." Teresa shrugged but the hump on her back didn't move, only the shoulder in front of it. "It was quite hysterical tonight. I got caught up in it myself. But I know Duncan can't marry that girl. We'll figure out a way to put it off. Spring will come, and you'll go away."

"We want to go now," Billy said.

The kettle whistled just then. Teresa took it off the stove and brought it to the counter. She opened a cabinet and took down two mugs.

"Do you want some, too?"

He shook his head. "No, just Hannah."

"Alright." She reached in the cabinet again and took down a tin of tea bags as she talked. "You can't go now. That is one truth from Duncan. The river is bad."

"But if we could go, which way would we head?"

"If you could?" Teresa dipped the tea bag and thought about that. "I honestly don't know, Billy. I've been here too long. Robert goes off in the boat and comes back. People come to the store, but I don't know where they live. I don't know their names.

"Just stay here. We'll take care of you. Duncan will calm down. Pea will say something else, and he'll forget about getting married. He might even try to heal us all. I might suggest that to him. You know, the healing before the wedding. That would be just like a sign, wouldn't it? That's a thought, isn't it?"

"Yeah, good idea. Maybe that would work," Billy agreed.

"There, that should do it." Teresa took the tea bag out and offered the mug to Billy. When Billy reached for it, she pulled it back. "Wait. Melody keeps some special things in her cabinet. She's very good with herbs and such."