MacFarlane's Ridge (6 page)

The driver of the van had apparently not been anticipating this, because by the time Cam glanced up she was nearly a quarter of a mile ahead of the other vehicle. She kept her foot on the gas, and her eyes on the road while she fumbled under the seat for the cellular phone she carried for emergencies. She pulled out the antenna with her teeth and quickly pressed the buttons.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Some guy in a van just tried to run me off the road!”

“Where are you now, ma’am?”

Cam looked around, uncertain. Where had she turned off the main highway? It was now almost completely dark, and she was disoriented. She could see headlights in the distance behind her. “I just passed a sign for Basham’s Lake Road… oh, I’m on 772!”

“The Haver Springs deputy isn’t far from you, ma’am. I’ll have him meet up with you.”

“Troy? Troy’s out here?”

“Yes, ma’am, Sergeant Adams is in the vicinity,” said the calm voice.

“Good!” Cam looked up, and realized in horror that the van was converging on her once again. “Tell him to hurry up, he’s a friend of mine!”

This time the van’s driver hit her even harder. The Civic shot across the road like a bullet and down into a ravine. Cam heard herself scream as the little car rolled over and lodged against a tree. Then everything went black.

“I am fine, Troy. Really!” protested Cam. She stuck out her tongue at the young nurse who was trying to get her into a wheelchair. “Stop that. I can walk.”

“No, you can’t! You can’t walk or drive or do anything else,” ordered Troy. He pushed her firmly back into the chair.

She had been at Bedford Memorial for the better part of four hours now, and wanted more than anything else to just go home to her own bed. Troy had arrived on the scene of the accident moments after it happened, but by then the van was already gone. Cam had hit her head on the steering wheel when the car rolled, but other than some minor cuts and bruises she was in reasonably good shape, all things considered. Thankfully, she had been wearing her seatbelt. All she had been able to tell Troy was that the van was maroon, and not terribly new.

“Oh, by the way,” Troy added. “Wanda stopped by while you were being x-rayed. She said to give you this.” He handed her a plump manila envelope. It smelled a bit like patchouli, reminding Cam of the comforting feel of Wanda’s house.

There was a green sticky-note tacked to the outside. “Cam,” it read. “Follow the instructions!!!”

“What instructions?” she asked.

“Huh?” Troy looked puzzled. “I don’t know. She said you should read everything in there and then decide what to do.”

Cam was confused. “Do? About what? God, my head hurts. I’m not reading anything tonight.”

Troy laughed as he wheeled her to the parking lot. “I guess that means our camping trip is off?”

“Not so fast, buddy! It’s just on hold, not cancelled. By the way, where is my car?”

“Well, the front end of it is wedged into a tree on South 772. The rest is over at Derwood Logan’s garage on Liberty Street.”

Cam groaned as she lowered herself into the front of Troy’s cruiser. “Ohhhh. I feel like I’ve been hit by a train.” Her whole body ached.

“Wait till tomorrow morning,” promised Troy. “You’ll feel even worse then.”

Troy’s prediction proved to be true, and Cam spent all day Saturday lying on her couch doing nothing. Alice came by every hour to check on her and make sure she wasn’t taking too many painkillers, and Hal stopped in with soup and sandwiches for lunch.

“Alice said you were pretty banged up,” Hal said politely.

“Mmm. I’ve felt better,” admitted Cam. She slowly launched herself into a sitting position so she could sample the soup. “Where’s Troy been all day? He said he’d be over here in the morning to pamper me.”

Hal shifted uncomfortably. “I saw him this morning. He said to tell you he’d be by later.”

“Okay,” nodded Cam. Something in Hal’s eyes worried her. “Hal? What is it?”

Hal studied his hands. “I can’t say.”

Cam watched him carefully. Hal was not a brilliant man, but he was a good one, and an honest one. “Did Troy ask you not to tell me where he is? Is something wrong?”

He sighed. “I promised Troy I wouldn’t tell you. He doesn’t want you to get upset.”

Cam thought about this for a moment. “Is it something to do with my car accident, Hal?” she asked gently.

“Oh, no. It’s about the fire.” His eyes widened, as he realized what he had said.

“Fire?” asked Cam, startled. “What fire?”

Hal said nothing.

“Hal? Where was there a fire?” A feeling of dread was seeping through her, and it chilled her to the bone. “Hal?”

Hal stared at her sadly. “There was a fire out at Wanda Mabry’s place early this morning. The whole place just burnt slap up. By the time the fire trucks got there, there wasn’t nothing left to put out.”

“Wanda?” Cam whispered.

“No sign of her. They’re still doing salvage and overhaul. Troy said he thought they might find her this afternoon.”

Cam pulled her blanket tightly around her and sunk back into the couch, staring blindly at the ceiling. Hal said nothing, but patted her hand gently before he left. She would have to wait to hear from Troy. As she lay under the quilt shivering, she realized it was not because of the cold, rainy weather. Cameron Clark was very, very scared.

The afternoon passed slowly, and Cam finally forced herself to get up. She moved her aching body into the kitchen, where she had left Wanda’s manila envelope unopened the night before. She fixed a pot of coffee, and opened a package of apple-cinnamon Pop-Tarts. She was ravenous. There had still been no word from Troy, so Cam decided to go ahead and explore the envelope’s contents without him. Besides, she reasoned, if Wanda had wanted Troy to see what was in there, she might not have sealed it.

The first piece of paper was a letter from Wanda.

“
Dear Cam
,” it read. “
I am writing this quickly – I think I am in trouble. Someone tried to break into my house this morning while I was in class, so I am giving you this stuff to hold on to. It is all my info on the Faeries’ Gate that I have collected over the years. Please don’t think I’m bonkers. I didn’t tell you the other night but I know where it is and I know what it is.

There was once a girl named Winifred Mayberry. When she was ten, she got lost in the woods near her home. A storm came up and she hid in a cave. She was scared and thirsty, so she went further inside to look for a stream, because she heard the sound of moving water. She found a whirlpool, and the rocks beside it were wet. Little Winifred slipped into the water. When she finally came to the surface, she climbed out, confused and disoriented. She ran out of the cave as fast as she could, stumbling blindly down the hillside. The things she saw terrified her -- steel carriages that sped past her like shooting stars, on a path as hard and black as coal. Odd silver birds that flew high over her head and glinted in the sun. Most terrifying were the people, who spoke a tongue so unlike her own and wore clothes that were practically indecent…

But I digress. You see, Winifred was born in 1743. When she emerged from the cave, it was 1978. She was found by some kind folks and placed in a foster home, and eventually went to college and became a professor of history.

Use the information in here as you wish, but please keep it safe. And if you ever happen to meet Nathaniel or Rachel Mayberry, tell them their daughter sends her love. Wanda.”

Chills ran down Cameron’s body. Wanda had completely lost it. Maybe she was delusional, thought Cam. After all, Wanda was an expert on local legends and folklore. Maybe she had spent so much time immersed in her studies that she had somehow incorporated them into a bizarre fantasy.

The next item was a map of sorts. It was drawn on a cocktail napkin in red marker. It was apparently a diagram of the cave mentioned in Wanda’s note.

Finally, there was Wanda’s collection of news clippings about the area, and the odd disappearances that had occurred over the years, torn from the three-ring binder. Cam sighed. This was all too much. She had no idea what to do. The knock at the door startled her, and she shoved the envelope and its contents into a drawer.

It was Troy Adams.

“Cam? You doing okay?” he began.

“Wanda?” she demanded.

Troy shook his head. “I asked Hal not to mention it to you until we knew something for sure. There’s no trace of her, but the fire was pretty hot. It even melted the metal sculptures on her porch, and the greenhouse windows are nothing but globs of molten glass. The medical examiner said she’s got a team sifting through the ashes for… well, for any sign of Wanda.”

Cam stared at him. “Is there any chance she escaped?”

“If she escaped, where is she? No one has seen or heard from her. She was supposed to have a Saturday morning class at eight today, but didn’t show up. Where would she be?”

Cam’s mind was racing. Would Wanda have tried to go back through the Faeries’ Gate if she had managed to get out before the fire? Perhaps she imagined she really could travel through time, and was wandering around in the Virginia woods, lost and confused, at this very moment.

“We have to go to Fairy Stone,” she announced.

“What?” asked Troy. “Right now?”

“If Wanda’s alive, I think that’s where she may have gone.”

“Why would she go there and not come into town and let us know she was okay?”

Cam took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell Troy that Wanda was insane. It would break his heart. “Look, I know this sounds far-fetched, but Wanda thought someone was after her. She said someone had broken into her house yesterday while she was in class. Whoever it was could be the same person that set the fire. If that’s the case, she would go into hiding, and I think Fairy Stone is where she would go.”

Troy stared at her. “You know something.”

Cam said nothing.

“Cam? If you know something, you have to tell me. Wanda has been my friend for five years and if you know something you better tell me.” He paused. “Please.”

She sat down. “I can’t tell you everything. I think she knew someone was coming after her, and I think she might have gotten out alive. But I do think she might still be in danger, and we should try to find her and help her. That’s why we have to go down to Fairy Stone.”

Troy looked at his watch. “It’s nearly nine. I get off shift at three. Can you be ready to leave first thing in the morning?”

Cam nodded. “I’ll pack a tent and some food. We may be there a couple of days.”

“I’ll be here by four. Be up,” he advised. After he left, Cam locked all the doors, and double checked them for good measure. She went upstairs to her room, and reached up to the top of the oak armoire. The book was safely where she had left it. She opened up Mollie’s journal. She was nearly to the end.

December 5, 1775 –

Winter is most Harsh and Cold this year. Hamish is still recovering from his illness and I am fearful it shall become worse again. We try to keep him warm and I have spent much time at Ian’s. It seems much easier than staying at my own home alone, since I am always here to care for the boy and help Ian about the house.

My joy at seeing Robert returned from his search is mixed. He did not find my beloved Sarah. However, he did bring with him a young lady who tells a most remarkable story, and while I fear that my common sense tells me she is a liar or possibly mad, something about her demeanor makes me quite want to believe her tale.

The last page was blank. Cam wondered who the young woman returning with Rob MacFarlane was. On a whim, she began to calculate dates. If this were a movie, she thought, and Wanda’s story was true, then the Sarah MacFarlane who had found her way to Cam’s garage had gone through the Faeries’ Gate some time in the autumn of 1775. Using that logic, it stood to reason that Wanda, if she did indeed go back to the Faeries’ Gate, would have reappeared some time close to December of 1775. If this were the case, could Wanda be the woman Mollie was talking about?

She shook her head. Cam couldn’t believe she was even considering Wanda’s theory. She set the alarm for three a.m., and rolled over into a deep sleep.

The alarm blared at three o’clock sharp, and Cam awoke with a jolt. Suddenly remembering why she was getting up so early, she crawled out of bed. She was still a little sore from the car accident, but feeling much better than she had yesterday. She showered quickly, then pulled on jeans, hiking boots and a sweatshirt, and began making sandwiches. She tossed them in a cooler with some water bottles, and dug her tent and sleeping bags out of the storage room. Finally, she grabbed a backpack. In it she put a toothbrush and a pair of clean underpants, some deodorant and her Swiss army knife, although she had no idea if that would be useful. She also added a big flashlight and a first-aid kit. Last, she threw in the envelope that Wanda Mabry had sent her. At four on the dot, Troy pulled up behind the house in an old pickup.

“Whose truck?”

He rolled his eyes. “Mine. You didn’t think I was going to drive the county car, did you?”

It was quite brisk out, so Cam put on her long leather coat, and tossed everything else in the bed of the truck. She paused.

“Wait, I forgot something,” she murmured, and dashed back inside. She grabbed Mollie Duncan’s journal from the nightstand upstairs, placed it in a large plastic sandwich bag, and stuck it inside her coat. It would be safer there than left alone in the house all weekend.

“They buried her, you know,” said Troy softly.

“Sarah?”

“Yes. No one claimed her so they found a spot for her in the county cemetery. She’s technically still a Jane Doe, since no one positively identified her.”

“Oh,” Cam murmured.

They spoke little during the two-hour drive. Troy mentioned that there was still no sign of any remains in the ashes at Wanda’s place, and Cam smiled with relief.

“You know the legend of the fairy stones, don’t you?” asked Troy.

Cam shook her head. “Not really. I know that a fairy stone is a rock shaped like a cross.”

“Ah! Tis a wonderful legend, my friend,” he began with a smile. “See, hundreds of years ago, long before the white man came, even before Pocahontas and her people were here, the fairies lived on top of a great mountain. They were dancing around one day, as fairies apparently do, when a messenger came to give them news of the death of Jesus Christ. When the fairies heard the story of the crucifixion, they cried, and when their tears fell on the earth, they crystallized to form beautiful crosses.”