Rockinghorse (6 page)

The trooper looked at Simmons, ill-disguised contempt in his eyes. “Simmons, you're an idiot,” he said. Walking stick in hand, he nodded to the group and left.

The big deputy bristled. He puffed out his chest and shouted to the back of the trooper. “You cain't talk to me lak 'at!”

The trooper laughed at him and kept on walking. Simmons walked after him, shouting this and that and what he thought of the Georgia Highway Patrol. It didn't seem to bother the trooper. After one final cussing, the trooper stopped, turned around, and said, “Simmons, if you open your goddamned mouth to me again, I will personally stomp your guts out. You got all that, big boy?”

Burt's mouth snapped shut like a snapping turtle. Burt was stupid, but not crazy. Georgia State Trooper Kyle Cartier had been one of those bad-assed Navy SEALs before joining the highway patrol. Before he settled down after several tours in 'Nam and joining the state troopers, Kyle had once whipped four guys at one whack in a bar outside Atlanta. Put all four of them in the hospital. He'd won all kinds of medals over in 'Nam, too. Kyle was just plain ol' dirt-dog mean when you got him all worked up. To make matters worse, to Burt's way of thinking, Kyle was one of them go-right-by-the-book cops. Word was that in ten years, he'd be heading up his own command of troopers. The smart-assed son of a bitch.

“You still ain't got no right to call me no fool!” Burt yelled.

“I didn't call you a fool,” Kyle said over his shoulder. “A fool can sometimes be entertaining. I said you were an idiot.”

Trooper Kyle Cartier walked away.

Simmons stood without moving, not looking at the others. He finally muttered something under his breath and walked away—but not fast enough to catch up with Kyle.

“Feel like standin' up?” Jim asked Lucas.

“Oh, yes,” Lucas said, taking the offered hand. On his feet, he swayed for just a second, then balance once more came to him.

“Is your vision OK?” Jim asked.

“Yes. I don't have any signs of a concussion. That's why I didn't want to go into a hospital just yet.”

“Take my arm and we'll head toward the house. Take it slow. It'll be dark in few minutes.”

Lucas had assumed he had been lying in the shade. Looking around him, he realized it was dusk. “But it couldn't have been more than eleven o'clock when I went into the woods.” He rubbed his arm.

“When you weren't back by noon,” Tracy said, “I went to the edge of the woods and called and called for you. I got so frightened I panicked and ran in the woods. I . . . I got lost. God, I felt like a fool. I must have wandered around in there for over an hour before I found my way out. It's
dark
in there! The kids were so upset that I had to settle them down. They'd been waiting and calling by the edge of the woods. I followed the sound of their voices out.”

For the first time, Lucas noticed the tiny cuts and bruises on his wife's bare arms and face.

They stopped for a moment and Lucas felt the love for her rush out of him. She smiled at him and touched his face.

She said, “I grabbed the kids by the hand and we were all running toward the house when Jim pulled in with a tank of oil for the stove. He calmed me down and went in the woods looking for you. You want to take it from that point, Jim?”

“I couldn't find you, old son,” the man said. “After looking for about a half an hour without even finding a clue, I jogged back to my truck and called Trooper Cartier on the two-way. I got the only tow truck in town, radio-equipped, and he come runnin'. Burt intercepted the radio messages and he come buttin' in. Made him mad I didn't call him first.”

“Sorry I got you in trouble with Simmons,” Lucas said.

“Shoot fire,” Jim said. “That lardbutt can't do nothin' to me. He owes me five hundred dollars for gas and guns and ammo. I don't sweat small fry like Burt. Anyway, we commenced to hollerin' and bangin' around in the woods. We were just about to give up and call the National Guard or something, when ol' Lige come up on you right by the west side of the grounds. Lige helped us right smart in lookin' for you.”

Lucas stopped the parade and got his bearings. They were on the extreme
west
side of the estate grounds. “But I went in due north,” Lucas said. “I took careful check of my bearings. Not being a woodsman, I didn't want to get lost. Then when I first heard the . . .” It began returning to him bits and pieces.

“The what, honey?” Tracy asked.

“I heard a . . . a groaning, moaning . . . no, that's not right. It was a, well, unearthly type of sound. It was then I began heading north by northwest. Then I heard laughter. Then I heard the sounds of a horse galloping hard.”

“A
horse?”
Jim said.

“Yes. No mistaking that sound. Then I caught the first glimpse of movement. I shouted at them. Laughter came out of the woods. Then people were all around me, but they were very indistinct shapes. Someone, or something, screamed at me and I swung the walking stick. I hit something. Then the back of my head exploded in pain. The next thing I knew, Jim was talking to me.”

The kids had joined them, their faces very pale in the waning light.

“Jesus!” Jim said softly.

Tracy's eyes were wide with shock and fright.

Lucas said, “But what really puzzles me is how I got from the north side of the grounds all the way over to the west side.”

“You don't remember anything about getting there?” Tracy asked.

Lucas shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

“Well, it's a lead-pipe cinch you didn't walk,” Jim conceded. “They—whoever they are—must have carried you. But why?”

“Lucas, why do you keep rubbing your arm? You've been doing that ever since we found you.”

“It aches. I must have fallen on it, I guess.”

“I still think you should go to the hospital,” she said. “You might be injured a lot worse than you think.”

“If I start feeling worse, we'll drive in. But I really feel pretty good.”

They stopped and Tracy said, “Let me see your arm.”

Lucas lifted his short sleeve and everyone gasped in shock.

“My God, Lucas!” Tracy said. “You've been tattooed.”

“It's a rocking horse, Dad,” Jackie said. “Somebody put a rocking horse on your arm.”

One thing was soon evident to all: the tiny tattoo was permanent. No amount of washing could remove the tattoo. And the tattoo area was very sore.

“I'll tell you something, Trace,” Lucas said, as they were preparing for bed. “This,” he pointed to the tattoo, “pisses me off.”

She fought to conceal her smile. She finally had to turn her head.

“What is so damned funny?” Lucas asked.

She finally had to giggle. “Lucas, you're not hurt, and I can't tell you how much that relieves me.” She covered her mouth and laughed softly. “I'm sorry, Lucas. It must be post-panic giddiness. I mean, they could have put an anchor or a paratrooper's wings on you; maybe a marine corps emblem—but a
rocking horse
!
”

His anger lasted only a few seconds, then Lucas found the humor in it. He joined her smile. “Yeah. I see what you mean. I think I'll be like Travino and wear a band-aid over it. On second thought,” he said, puffing up his chest, “maybe I'll roll up my sleeves like we used to do as kids and show it off to everybody.”

He assumed his best John Travolta pose, muscles flexed.

“Oh,
God,
Lucas!”

He sat on the edge of the bed and joined her laughter. She touched his face.

“How's your head?”

“Slight headache, that's all. But God am I tired.”

He didn't realize how tired he was until his head hit the pillow. Lucas went to sleep with his wife's arms around him.

But sleep was not to come so quickly to all them in the huge old mansion.

Lucas had forgotten Jim's warning about the window peeper. He would recall it later and warn Tracy and Jackie, but the events of this day had pushed it from his mind. Man and wife were asleep two minutes after turning out the lights.

Jackie prepared her bath in her private bathroom. One nice thing about this place was that every bedroom had its own bathroom. She was not conscious of being watched.

Until all the rooms had been thoroughly checked and cleaned, the Bowers family would be sleeping on the first floor of the mansion. The ground floor lay under them, seemingly void of life, not having been used in several decades. The ground floor contained two large kitchens, several storage rooms, a small jail, and several bedrooms.

The ground floor also contained some rather nasty creatures, but they were motionless on this night.

* * *

Entering from the front of the house, from the south entrance, after climbing the sixteen steps, one walks onto the portico, then taking the center door of the three front doors, one enters the drawing room, then the parlor. To the left is a large reception area. Then, running south to north, lies the ballroom, dressing rooms, the first bedroom, then one of the three spiraling stairways that lead from the ground floor to the attic. A long hall, almost a hundred feet in length, lies to one's left. Passing the stairs (don't look up, something might be looking down at you), still on the first floor, one enters another hallway, to the right, or the east, lies the study/library—filled from floor to ceiling with several thousand books—then, continuing on, two bedrooms. Johnny sleeps now in the first of the northernmost bedrooms. Jackie's bedroom opens on the north veranda. But we're not through touring the first floor. We'll leave Jackie undressing, preparing for her bath. And being watched. And lusted after.

Moving back south, through the dark silent mansion, past the bedrooms and the study/library, we step out into the long, dark hall and turn west into an immense dining room. Walking quickly through the darkness, we come to another hall. This one leads to four servants' bedrooms, a smaller kitchen, a storage area, the housekeeper's room, and a room that has been converted to hold a large freezer, a large refrigerator, and rows of shelves.

The Bowers plantation home, running south to north, is two hundred and sixty six feet deep. It is one hundred and sixty six feet wide.

* * *

The second floor contained a huge master bedroom, five smaller bedrooms, a small ballroom, a gallery, a smaller library/study, and, of course, the spiraling stairs leading to . . . the attic.

Jackie undressed, dropping her soiled clothing into the hamper. She turned and stood for a moment, looking at her nakedness in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the lushly appointed bathroom. She was blooming rapidly into womanhood. She had already outgrown a training bra; and to her mind, if things didn't start slowing down, she might go into competition with Dolly before it was all over. She was just two months away from her thirteenth birthday.

As she gazed at her still-somewhat-coltish nakedness, her pubic hair a smudge of soft dark down, her curiously shaded eyes of gray-blue traveled the length of the mirrored reflection looking back at her. She wasn't at all certain she liked her new and sudden transformation into young womanhood. She would have liked to play football with the boys for a couple more years; she was small, but quick and tough, enjoying roughhousing with the gang.

But, she thought sadly, those days were over and done with. She'd known that ever since she'd knocked the crap out of that Richard Jennings a couple months back for grabbing a quick feel during a football pileup. He had made her mad. Had also caused a kind of funny/odd sensation within her body, too.

She turned her front toward the window, unconscious of the watcher outside, unaware of the sudden change in breathing the view had caused.

The tub filled with water, Jackie stepped very close to the curtained window over the tub, the night air blowing softly on her flesh. An animal howl almost passed the watcher's lips. Stifling a groan, the watcher slipped from the window and shuffled off the veranda, silently moving toward the dark woods.

Jackie settled into the hot water, sighing as it relaxed and soothed her entire body.

* * *

After her bath, Jackie slept deeply, but not necessarily peacefully. Her dreams, as her brother's dreams, were filled with a strange-appearing horse. The horse did not look real to brother and sister, but they both knew—sensed, somehow—the horse represented danger. The misty animal seemed to grin at them in their sleep. It was not a very pleasant grin.

Finally, they dropped deep into sleep and the horse left them, rocking and whinnying as it vanished. But it did not go far.

* * *

Lucas had a headache when he awakened, but other than that, he felt fine. He did not find it odd that the events of the previous day had, somehow, been dimmed in his mind. His upper arm ached from the tattoo needle, but he knew from speaking with men who had tattoos that the soreness would soon pass.

He was the first one up that morning. The mansion was silent in its stone and marble and brick and wood and glass. Like a mausoleum, the thought came to him.

Lucas showered and shaved and dressed quietly. He took two aspirin and walked to the kitchen. He fixed coffee and toast, then stepped outside to face the just-breaking sun.

He was going to have to lay down some ground rules to the kids. They could not, under any circumstances—unless accompanied by either Lucas or Tracy—enter the woods. Jackie was no longer a child, and she was going to have to face that more-than-obvious fact. She was an almost-thirteen-year-old young woman, and those . . . nuts out there in the woods might do more than frighten her.

Johnny was the adventurous one. Jackie would mind her father; Johnny would be the one to say, ‘Yes, sir, Dad,' and then go straight to the woods. And if asked about it, would admit he did it. He would not lie about it. Despite his bookish appearance, the kid had more than his share of guts. Johnny would try anything—once. Lucas's boss, Joe Gould, delighted in asking the kid what he was going to be when he grew up. Johnny would look the man square in the eyes and say, “A Green Beret.”

Tracy was appalled each time he said it. But Lucas always filled with pride at the boy's answer.

Of course, Lucas thought, sitting down in a chair on the veranda, Johnny would probably change his mind two dozen times before he got out of school; but for now he was awfully proud of his kids. He was quick to think though, that he would be proud of his kids no matter what they grew up to be—even rock-and-roll musicians.

He laughed softly at that.

No, Jackie and Johnny would have to stay out of the woods. For that matter . . .

He smiled as a thought came to him. Finishing his coffee, he went back inside and woke Tracy.

“Whassisshit? she mumbled, without opening her eyes.

“I'm going into town. Be back in a couple of hours. You and the kids stay out of the woods until I get back, OK?”

“Rat. Bye.” She rolled over and went back to sleep before Lucas had walked out the bedroom door.

He looked in on both the kids. They were sleeping soundly.

He drove into town.

Jim looked at him dubiously. “Lucas, you ever handled a chain saw, ol' buddy?”

“No.”

“I admire your spunk, buddy, but they can be dangerous.”

“I don't want a big one. But I don't want a little one, either. I'm thinking a midsized chain saw will do just fine.”

“They're just as dangerous.”

“Well, you could show me how to use one, couldn't you?”

“Shore.”

“Well?”

Jim nodded. “OK. You're gonna need a couple of good machetes, couple of pairs of good leather gloves; your hands is city-soft. Lige should have what else you'll need out there. All right, Lucas. I got a good midsize chain saw here I'll let you use for nothing.”

“I didn't come here asking for charity, Jim.”

“Don't sweat it, 'cause I ain't givin' you no charity. This here will solve my firewood problem for this winter.” He grinned hugely.

Lucas shared the grin. “It's a deal.”

They shook on it.

Jim and Lucas spent an hour behind the service station, in a thicket of scrub trees, going over the fine points of handling a chain saw. And it wasn't as easy as it looked, Lucas was forced to admit. But he caught on quickly and Jim said so. He taught him how to refuel; how much gas and oil; showed him how to change the chain. And how to properly use the saw to avoid kickbacks.

Finally, after the din of noise (damn things were loud), Jim smiled and said, “You'll do, ol' son. Ain't no timber-cuttin' outfit gonna break down your door to hire you on. But you'll do. Surprised me. Just be careful. And don't let the kids get too close to you while you're workin'.”

* * *

“What in God's name are you up to now?” Tracy asked, eyeballing the chain saw, the cans of oil and gas, and the machetes in the back of the station wagon.

“Nobody is going to keep me out of woods that rightfully belong to me,” Lucas said. “So while you and Jackie work on the house, Johnny and I will spend some time working in the timber.”

“All right!” Johnny said.

“What about
me
?” Jackie squalled, hands on hips in protest.

“You can't help us,” her brother told her, a haughty tone to his voice.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“ 'Cause you're a girl.
Yeahyayeahyayeahya!
”

“All right!” Lucas said, settling them down. “Just knock it off.”

Tracy had a very doubtful look in her eyes. “I don't know, Lucas. Your head. . . .”

“My head is fine. I don't even have a headache. And that's a miracle after working with a chain saw for an hour. I'm only going to look the situation over today. See where I want to begin.”

Tracy sighed, shrugged, then looked at her daughter. “Bear all this in mind before you start contemplating marriage, dear.”

“Marriage?” Jackie said. “Be
yukk
!”

* * *

The Bowers family soon settled into an easy but highly productive routine, both inside and outside the house. The interior of the old mansion and the grounds of the sprawling estate surrounding it soon began to take shape into a semblance of what had once symbolized the arrogance of southern slave owners.

Lige kept Ol' Baby penned, and Ol' Baby never growled whenever Lucas came around. Ol' Baby remembered the sound and fury of that shotgun and the buckshot zinging and pinging around her—she wanted no more of that. Lucas didn't trust the animal, but never showed any fear when around her.

On the Monday that marked their first week in Edmund County, Georgia, State Trooper Kyle Cartier returned to the scene.

“You've lost some weight, Mr. Bowers,” the trooper observed. “And you're losin' that city pallor pretty quick: ' He smiled. “Nose is peelin' some.”

Lucas laughed and hefted the chain saw. “I have the utmost respect for men who work these things for a living.”

“For a fact, they will surely work their butt off. Can I speak to you privately, Mr. Bowers?”

“Surely. How about a glass of iced tea?”

“Sounds good to me. Shapin' up to be a hot one. And it's early for this kind of heat, too.”

The men sat on the east veranda, sipping tall glasses of iced tea. “Good,” Kyle said. “This tea hasn't been boiled.”

“Tracy followed the directions on the side of the box and placed it out in the sun.” He laughed. “First time she did she forgot to cover the jug.”

Kyle grinned. “Filled up with bugs, did it?”

“I'll say”.

“Ah, Mr. Bowers. About that blood on your walking stick.”

“Yes?”

The trooper grimaced. “Well, sir. I got a nasty letter back from the lab boys. You see, that blood wasn't pure human.”