Buck Fever (13 page)

“You got those steaks defrosted and ready to go?” he asked, as Sissy opened the door.

“Wow, rough day? You look completely drained,” she said. “Here’s a beer. Can we do these on the grill? It would keep the smell out of the house.”

“It’s a little cold. Besides, my head is already stuffed. Standing near the smoky grill in the backyard will make it worse.”

“Okay, but you’ll have to cut up and fry the onions. I’m having a hard time with odors lately. Cooking smells make me nauseous.”

“No problem. I just need to take an allergy pill and I’m ready to go.”

“You said the doctor told you to stop taking them.”

“I can’t breathe and feel like shit. The dizziness I can live with.” George fumbled with a pill bottle, extracted a white lump and popped it into his mouth followed by a chug of beer.

“You shouldn’t take those with alcohol.”

“I’m a big boy. Let’s get those venison steaks into the frying pan.”

“Do these look okay to you,” Sissy said, holding up two bright-red venison steaks.

“They look like they just came out of the deer. Now that’s fresh meat. They look fine.”

“Maybe a little too good, almost artificial.” Sissy flipped the steaks into a frying pan and switched on high heat. Sizzling air screeched from under the meat. “Eee, sounds like a dying animal crying for help.”

“A little grease should stop that,” George said, lobbing a hunk of butter into the pan followed by fresh slices of onion. The whining noise stopped immediately. “There. Umm, umm, smells good.”

~ ~ ~

“I’m stuffed. One more beer ought to make this meal perfect,” George said, opening the refrigerator.

“I’m surprised how sweet the meat tasted,” Sissy said, dabbing a slice of bread into the remaining juices on her plate.

“Our son’s going to grow up to be a mighty hunter now that he’s got a taste of venison.” George reached around Sissy from behind and rubbed her abdomen.

“He? Don’t you mean: she?”

“I’d be satisfied with either. No, it’s a he...I...I can feel it.” George continued to rub her stomach.

“Okay, you’ve made your point, now stop before you make me throw up.”

“I...I...I...”

“George, you okay,” Sissy said. George Montagno wavered, then fell to the floor. “George! Oh, my God.” She sprang off her chair and leaned down to hold his hand.

“Whoa, here we gooooo,” George said, grabbing her leg. “I’m flying.”

“Those damn pills. I knew you shouldn’t be taking those pills with alcohol.”

George flipped back and forth while holding Sissy’s legs.

“Stop, you’re scaring me. Are you all right?”

His body made one last flip toward the refrigerator. He let go, rolling several feet, stopping on his back.

“Wow, what a ride, and, oh, what a headache,” George said, slowly raising his upper body off the floor. “Hmm, I’m not dizzy anymore. Just have a damn headache.”

“You scared me. Promise you won’t take any more pills. Come on...promise.”

“I promise,” he said, now standing, shaking off the previous feeling. “Hey, I forgot to tell you. Two reporters from the Detroit Times visited us at work today. They wanted to know more about the hunting trip. They were apparently following up on the story about the Port Huron man who got sick and left his dead buck in the woods. They are pretty sure it’s the one we found.”

“Did you tell them about your stupid stunt with carrying the deer downstairs into Jack’s basement? And sit down, you look like you are going to faint.”

“Yes, and Jack also told them about the strange incident with his dog and the deer head in the house.”

“They’re not going to publish that story I hope. You guys will come off like real buffoons.”

“No, they’re looking for clues for what has prompted a series of events up in West Branch. You remember me telling you about the guy who was gored by something in the woods and another guy caught in a wood chipper. Well, they think there might be something related to those events and the strange way the deer acted up there.”

“Makes no sense to me. Did you tell them what a wizard you’ve become at adding numbers?” Sissy maneuvered a chair under George’s body as he wobbled into a sitting position.

“They were somewhat interested because of the Port Huron guy and his weird ability to question Einstein’s theories. However, I don’t seem to be able to add numbers anymore. The doctor gave me a book. It’s full of number games.”

“You mean the Sudoku book I found on your dresser? I love those puzzles. I’ve been working on one all afternoon, but can’t seem to crack the code. Are you sure, you’re okay? You’re trembling.”

“Yes, just a little disoriented. Where’s that book? Maybe I’ll try to solve it. It’ll take my mind off the audit.”

“So, you guys uncovered the problem with the petty-cash expense. Did Jack say what he did with the money or who might have taken it?”

“Nope, he thinks Nora took it to pay off a gambling debt.”

“That sleazy bitch, why doesn’t he fire her?”

“She’s family, being Lacarter’s sister makes it tough.”

“Then Lacarter should come up with the ten grand.”

“Yeah, well, Nora would never admit to it, and Lacarter is going to back her up all the way. What are we to do? It’s basically Jack’s problem anyway.”

“I guess,” Sissy said, handing George the Sudoku book.

“How do these work? Oh, never mind, I get it. You need a three here, a four here and a nine here, then repeat this backwards in the next grid and rotate back by one number in each successive grid.”

“What the...how did you do that?”

“It’s really simple. It just popped out at me. Hey, this is crazy.” George grabbed a pen off the kitchen table and filled in the missing numbers into four more puzzles, each within one minute.

“Okay, Mr. Genius, please tell me what’s happening in your head.”

“I don’t know. The doctor said if I’m able to complete these puzzles in less than five minutes to give him a call. I’ll call him tomorrow. Maybe the pills are doing this again, but it doesn’t happen every time I take them.”

~ ~ ~

“Shit, my head is killing me. I probably shouldn’t have tried to complete all of these,” George said, throwing the book on the table.

“You’re done with the whole book in less than an hour? That can’t be possible,” Sissy said, walking into the kitchen from the family room. “I struggled all morning on just one puzzle. You make me feel like a complete idiot.”

“I don’t know, but I’m entirely washed out and ready for bed.”

“It’s only half-past nine. You never go to bed early.”

“I’m probably stressed from today’s audit. My head feels like it’s going to split open.” George lifted his tired body away from the kitchen table and trudged toward the bedroom.

“I’ll catch up with you in about an hour. Are you going to be okay? I hope you don’t have more of those weird dreams where you think you’re running with deer and get shot at.”

“If I dream about deer again, you’ll know about it. Please wake me if I thrash.”

~ ~ ~

“George, George, wake up you’re tossing around like a monkey,” Sissy said, sitting in bed, poking her husband’s side.

“What?”

“You’re thrashing again. Bad dream?”

“Not really. I was thinking about our boy. He was a year old and had this strange red mark on his head like...like antlers painted on his head. We thought it was cute, though, not weird. The damn deer must be getting to me again.”

“A boy? I’m telling you it’s a girl. I’m not feeling well
and going to lie on the couch. My stomach is upset,” Sissy said, getting out of bed.

“Okay,” George said, rolling over.

~ ~ ~

Sissy lay back on the family-room sofa, rubbing her stomach. A night light in the corner next to the fireplace cast an eerie glow vaguely reflecting off a wall hanging made of dried leaves and twigs. Rising heat from an air duct below caused the leaves to wiggle. Her eyes focused on dancing shadows as thoughts of a possible miscarriage leaked into her consciousness.

Please let my little girl live this time
.
Or boy, it’s okay if it’s a boy
, she thought, trying not to jinx her prayer.

Ooh, it hurts
. She raised her pajama top to reveal a plump round belly.
How can it be this big already? It doesn’t make sense
. A stream of alarming thoughts passed through her mind followed by a rationalization:
Probably just a lot of gas; onions always give me gas.

Ooh, there it goes again, something poking from inside. I can feel it. Oh, my God, it’s moving. My baby is moving
. A positive flow of emotion overtook her.

A human form suddenly appeared at the living room doorway.

“George? What’s the matter? Come here and feel the baby. It tickles.” She stared at the doorway waiting for a reaction.

“We must rid ourselves of this evil,” George said. “It carries the sign of the devil.” His head was slightly cocked backward forcing him to squint, appearing distraught. He held up a Bible in his right hand.

“George! My God, have you lost your mind? You’re scaring the life out of me. God, it hurts. You’re making it hurt. I’m going to lose it.”

“It carries the sign of the beast. Don’t you get it; the red marks are antlers—the sign of the beast.” George kept his head cocked back while slowly walked forward, clomping his feet. “Must rid ourselves of evil,” he repeated with each slow step. His actions mimicked walking in slow motion.

Sissy rose up from the sofa, not knowing what to expect.

“You’re sleepwalking. Look at you. This isn’t normal. You’re sleepwalking. Wake up.”

“I have broken the code of Sudoku. The book tells of the coming of the anti-Christ. The numbers are substitutions for verses and words in the Bible.” He stopped, offering her the Bible. “Here, I’ve marked all the pages and words. See for yourself.” He waited for her response.

“What in hell are you talking about? You’ve never looked at a Bible in your life. This was my mother’s. I hope you didn’t ruin it.” She grabbed the Bible from his hand and flipped through it. “It’s fine. See, you didn’t mark it up.” She held the book out revealing clean unmarked pages in the soft light.

“It must be done,” George said, revealing a large kitchen knife in his left hand.

Sissy fell back on the sofa revealing her stomach.

“God, what is happening? I’m going to lose it,” she rubbed her belly while glancing at the knife. “God!” she screamed. “It’s trying to get out.”

Two symmetrical sets of four points about an inch apart poked up through the belly breaking the skin.

“See, the sign of the beast. We must rid ourselves of the beast. The great Sudoku has spoken,” George said, steadily lowering the knife.

“Ahh, it’s breaking through.” Eight bloody stick-like objects burst through the skin just below her belly button.

“The antlers are poking through. It’s a sign. We must stop it now,” George said, lunging toward her.

Chapter 20

K
atie Kottle stood in front of the restroom mirror, clutching an open purse as she combed her frazzled hair. She had a tendency to finger-twist it while concentrating on meeting discussions.

Dingman,
she thought, tugging on several unforgiving strands.
Ugh, I can’t get him out of my mind.
She ripped a knot out, causing pain.

“Ouch, shit,” she said, causing a woman in the stall behind her to yelp in surprise. “Oh, sorry, I just pulled a bad snarl out of my hair,” she explained, feeling embarrassed. She pushed the comb deep into her purse, straightened her skirt and puffed her blouse before leaving the restroom to join Dingman and Porter for dinner.

~ ~ ~

“They’re ready to seat us,” Porter said, as she walked to the front of the new Detroit Chalet restaurant on the top floor of the Detroit Times building.

“It’s ten o’clock. I don’t feel like eating dinner now. My appetite passed hours ago,” she complained.

“Long days and late meals are standard operating procedure in this business, my dear. Better get used to it,” Dingman said, tugging his tie to tighten his collar, as they walked to their table. “There, tell me this is not the grandest view you’ve seen in a long time.”

The private-eating area jutted out on a granite slab, surrounded by glass on three sides, overhead and partially beneath, sheltering a round table nestled in a wrap-around booth. A large shipping vessel, pushed by a tug, churned water on the Detroit River two hundred feet below. The Windsor skyline and streetlights danced on the water. A few stars dotted the sky overhead; an unseen full moon provided a warm glow enriching the view.

“Oh, my Gawd,” Kottle said, gaping at the sight. “This is beyond anything I’ve ever seen in New York. I feel like I’m suspended in a space cube over the water. Louis, this
is
grand...but...”

“But what?”

“I don’t think I can afford this.” She glanced at Porter for confirmation; he was cost conscious as well.

Dingman opened his wallet, showing a gold-colored card patterned with bold-blue stripes similar to the Detroit Times icon. “Please sit. I don’t want to be here all night myself.”

“Pillbock gave you an executive pass?” she asked. “Wow, aren’t we the—“

Porter patted her back, indicating it was time to shut up and enjoy the free meal.

“Children, you get one of these if your story hits the front page. It is good for one week for two free dinners including up to three guests. If the story extends to another section and takes up at least one full page, you get four free dinners.”

“Oh, so we have a chance to get one too with our story,” Kottle said, sitting in the round padded booth facing the glass.

“Only if you are Canadian,” Dingman said, sitting snuggly next to her as Porter slid up against her from the other side. “This is pleasant, eh?”

“What? I hope not.”

“He’s kidding. Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Porter said.

“I knew that...really, I did,” she said.

~ ~ ~

“Whew, you wouldn’t catch me eating steak rare. Aren’t you worried about Mad Cow disease? As a Canadian, I would think you’d stick to chicken,” Kottle said, watching Dingman slowly cut through an inch of red juicy filet.