Dead Roots (The Analyst) (20 page)

The tree.
His
tree.

It was taller than it had ever been. Veins coursed across its surface. Lumps of calloused skin sprung from its blood-colored bark. He saw twisted hands hanging from the branches that grasped and clawed, for anything they might hope to find.

A huge, round lump bubbled up from one of the many lesions on the tree’s trunk. It moved under the skin-bark like an animal under a sheet. The lump continued upward and outward until it was stuck behind a hand at the end of a long branch. The palm split down the middle, spilling droplets of blood that disappeared in the lake below. The lump forced its way out, crowning, birthing itself from the gashed palm. It was a head.

The head swung upside down from what Tom could only describe as an umbilical cord. It lowered, the tips of its long blonde hair dipping into the blood pond. The face came down to meet him, causing him to clutch his chest as a horrific realization washed over him.

The face opened its upside-down eyes, showing milky cataracts. The mouth opened to lambast him in Ashley's voice through gore-flecked teeth.

“She's not your daughter,” Ashley's head insisted with malice. “Not your daughter. You're
nothing
to us.”

Tom knew that this wasn't really Ashley. He knew the tree was just trying to get into his head.

But it was working.

“Pointless, pointless, you're
pointless
,” seethed Ashley. “A waste of breath, a waste of flesh. A
waste
of flesh. Give your flesh to
us
instead.”

“You're not real,” Tom said firmly. “I'm dreaming.”

“
Fuck you,
” Ashley screeched. Tom suddenly felt a terrible burning in his feet. He looked down and saw his skin melting into the sand. He knelt down quickly to touch them and felt hot pain shoot up his arm. Now his hands were dissolving into the earth as well.

“Fuck you.
Fuck you, Tom.
Do
something
with your life for once. Make yourself
useful
for once. Grow up and
give us your flesh.
”

Tom looked around him and saw that the palm trees had transformed. He now recognized the place. He was in the grove of man-trees, the one he had seen on the subway in Japan. Their forms were now hardened into bark, but the unmistakable shape of people remained.

“Flesh for mother nature,” came another wilting voice. Tom looked to his right and saw Hank again, in the fleeting seconds before his eyes closed. Then his face became red bark like the rest of him.

“What the
fuck
do you want?” Tom demanded of Ashley's rabid head. Her teeth gnashed angrily and she spat on him.

“
Idiot
,” she growled.

“You're helpless without me, Bell,” a new voice declared. Tom groaned.

“Jesus Christ, what else?” he cried.

The sun became obscured by a familiar form.

********

“Tom,” Keda's voice called to Tom in the darkness. He shook his head wearily. He was awake again, free from the nightmare. He felt cold sweat soaking his t-shirt.

Tom groaned. The world slowly came into focus. His head felt light like it wasn't there. The airy feeling soon was joined by a deep headache to rival his worst hangovers.

“I need an aspirin,” he grumbled. “Or ten.”

“Sure,” Keda said warmly, disappearing from the bedside. Tom laid back, caught somewhere between exhaustion and fear of returning to his dream. He tossed onto his side, rubbing his temple.

Keda returned shortly with a glass of water and a couple of little white pills. Tom gratefully downed them both, sucking down the rest of the glass of water for good measure.

“When did you get in?” he asked blearily as he sat up. He pulled the covers further up his legs.

“A few hours ago,” Keda responded, stretching his arms. “I've napped. Officer Dawes is waiting outside.”

“Hope she has breakfast,” Artie said in a smarmy way, finishing off the last of a morning bottle of beer.

“Looks like you're pretty set,” Tom said with a snort. He had stood up from the bed by this point, pulling on some jeans and a button-up t-shirt. He rolled up his sleeves.

“Beer and cigarettes-- Breakfast of champions,” Artie declared sardonically. “Come on, we can fill Keda in on the way.”

An hour later, Tom saw the sign for the trailer park flash into view again. He burped and patted his chest in a futile bid to stave off some heartburn. Dawes flicked a spent cigarette out the window. Keda was placid as usual, taking in the surroundings with a calm that irritated his Analyst friend. Tom wolfed down the last of a breakfast burrito from a local convenience store.

“So what do you expect to find?” Tom inquired out of the quiet. Dawes tilted her head back to respond from the front seat.

“I'm not sure. That's down to you guys. We did an initial look a week and a half ago after Brooks had been missing for two days, but there haven't been any new leads since.”

“And nobody has come forward as a kidnapper?” Keda questioned. Dawes shook her head.

“Not a peep.”

“Witnesses haven't reported any strange activity around the area?”

“Nothing. People are just... vanishing.”

Keda pursed his lips, looking outside again. “Strange.”

“Strange?” Dawes said with a derisive snort. “Just strange? Is that all you have to say?”

“For now,” Keda said with a shrug.

“Two-headed snakes are strange. A man born with three testicles is strange. This is just baffling, and frankly, frightening,” Dawes said sharply. “We're here,” she added.

She pulled the car to a stop and forcefully removed her seatbelt. She opened the driver side door and shut it loudly behind her. Tom furrowed his brow. He stepped out of the car. Before the others had followed suit, he approached Dawes.

“Something get to you?” he asked.

“Strange, he says,” Dawes spat. “I hope you weirdoes find something, because this whole little band of yours is
strange
, if you ask me. Here's your smokes,” Dawes said with a sneer, pulling a fresh pack of Tom's brand out of her jacket. She tossed them up in the air. Tom caught them clumsily.

“Thanks,” he said, bewildered-- half with Dawes' sudden attitude, and half with the dedication she'd paid to replacing his smokes. He watched her open the trunk of the squad car to pull out a black duffel bag. Dawes tossed the duffel bag to Artie, who looked down at it nonplussed.

“Hit trailer three and look for evidence,” she stated sharply. “You know how to bag and tag?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Artie said with a small frown.

“Good, make yourselves useful. Bell, you come with me to talk to the neighbors.”

Tom followed her. He shot a look back to Artie and pointed towards the edge of the forest. Artie nodded and tapped Keda on the shoulder. They set off in the other direction from Dawes, where Tom's evidence would hopefully be waiting.

Tom broke into a light jog to catch up with Dawes. She knocked on the door of a trailer, one Tom had not checked the night before. He was shocked to see someone's face appear in the nearby window. His jog slowed.

Just as he caught up to Dawes, the occupant answered the door. A short, older woman opened the door. She had ratty hair and wore a loose-fitting t-shirt that draped down past her thighs. Tom was suddenly acutely aware of the smell of several cats.

“Good morning,” Dawes began warmly. “I'm Officer Heather Dawes with the Orchard police department.”

“I'm Destiny,” the woman responded warily. She eyed Dawes up and down with the same guarded demeanor. Tom scratched his nose, drawing a look from the trailer’s occupant. “Who's this city slicker?”

“This is Thomas Bell from the Federal Agency for Domestic Investigation,” Dawes added. Tom stretched his hand out to shake.

“Morning,” he said with a smile. She didn't return the handshake, or the smile. He withdrew his hand awkwardly.

“What's this about?” Destiny drawled, keeping the door only somewhat ajar. “I done told you people, my boy's eighteen now. I don't gotta have the cops coming around here every time he gets his self in trouble.”

“Your son's not in trouble today, ma'am,” Dawes assured her. “We're here about your neighbor Geoffrey Brooks.”

“Ain't my neighbor no more,” Destiny said with a dumb, rolling chuckle. “Fool done got his self killed somewhere, prob'ly. Haven't seen him in weeks. Y'all know that.”

“We know. Another officer was here a couple of weeks ago. I've looked at the case.”

“So what'chall want from me now, then?” Destiny placed one hand to lean on the door frame.

“We'd like to know if anything else suspicious has happened in the area recently,” Tom piped up firmly. Destiny gave him a defensive look. “Any strange sightings, people you don't recognize, anything at all.”

“Well shit, just last night someone was out here firing a gun,” Destiny said. Tom's throat dried out.

“Really?” Dawes said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, no shit. I didn't see nothin', I just hid in the bedroom, but some fool was making all kind of noise outside and there were gunshots. Baby said he was breakin’ into Jeremy's trailer.”

“Jeremy?” Tom asked after clearing his throat.

“Yeah, right over there,” said Destiny. She pointed at trailer number four. Tom fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “Baby done saw him climbin’ all up in the window and snooping around and shit. Was gonna go take care of him, but he couldn't find any shot for his rifle.”

Tom's heart picked up gently. Why hadn't they just answered him?

“I'll have the boys look into it,” Dawes said. “Where is Jeremy now?”

“Well shit, he hasn't been here in days,” Destiny said with a tilt of her head. “And I couldn't be fuckin' happier about it, tell you the truth. Him and baby and that idiot Geoffrey always up until all hours of the morning drinking beer and talkin’ about horseshit.”

“Who is baby?” Tom asked.

“My
hus
-band,” Destiny said, her head tilted almost sarcastically as she said the word. “Roy.”

“Roy and Geoffrey were friends?” Tom asked.

“Like a couple of pigs in shit,” Destiny said. “Him and Geoffrey and Jeremy. Or J-dog, they always called him. Fuckin' morons.” She spat onto the ground in front of the trailer. Tom screwed up his mouth.
Classy lady,
he thought.

“What can you tell me about them?”

“Geoffrey worked down at the auto shop in town. Pretty fat sumbitch. Never had much more to say than
'yeah'
or
'uh-huh'
and that stupid fuckin’ laugh of his. Jeremy's a nigger fella, no idea what he does for a living. Sells drugs, near as I can tell,” Destiny said with her eyes widened matter-of-factly.

“And what does Roy do?”

“Baby's the 'smart' one, sad as that is,” said Destiny with a roll of her eyes. “Does some kind of work on the Internet so he's always home, 'cept when he's out hunting deer. Always coming up with some bullshit fuckin’ scheme between those three.”

“Can we speak to Roy?” Dawes inquired further.

“Roy is
out
,” Destiny said with a sneer of contempt. “Disappeared a couple hours ago.
‘Early bird gets the worm'
, he says.”

“Where is he?”

“Out huntin',” Destiny said. She spat again. “Prob’ly didn't go too far, but he's been gone awhile. Prob’ly taking a nap in some dirt. He went out that way,” Destiny added. She pointed out towards the forest. “You wanna talk to Roy, you can go find him.”

“Does he have a particular spot he likes to go to?”

“Yeah. Here, let me draw you a map,” said Destiny. She stepped back into her house. Dawes folded her arms and waited. Tom took the opportunity to light a cigarette. He offered one to Dawes, which she declined.

“Regular honeymoon getaway down here,” Dawes said with a snort. “Heaven on Earth.”

“Colorful community,” Tom said with a smirk.

“Not really,” Dawes remarked.

“
'Nigger fella'
. Sheesh.”

Dawes shrugged. “That’s West Virginia for you.”

“Here,” Destiny said as she reappeared in the doorway. She handed a piece of fresh printer paper to Dawes. A crude map was drawn on it. Tom peered over and saw that the trailer park was clearly marked. A line led to a path through the woods with a red circle marking Roy's favorite hunting spot. “Can I get y'all else anything?”

“That should be fine, we'll be back if there's any further questions,” Dawes said, folding up the map. “Thanks for your time, ma'am.”

“Yeah, sure,” Destiny said. “You find Roy, you tell him the God damn TV is broken again.”

“Will do, ma'am,” Tom said. Destiny shut the door abruptly. Tom couldn't help but chortle.

“It's not
that
funny,” Dawes said with a sigh. She set off towards the woods. Tom followed her, taking a drag from his smoke.

“Sorry. I'm from the city.”

“I've seen worse,” Dawes replied, her boots crunching against the dirt and then making soft sounds as they came onto grass. “These people have nothing on the druggies in Detroit.”

“I've had my share of weird shit,” Tom added succinctly.

As they approached the edge of the woods, that sense of unnatural calm came over Tom again. He glanced towards the place where he had fought the creature the night before. The chunk of severed meat was gone, but Dawes still noticed the bloodstains against nearby trees and the congealed gore caked onto the grass. She found the hole in the earth, and ran her finger across its surface gently. Her finger came back stained red.

“What the fuck?” she asked. Tom coughed to himself.

“Animals, probably,” Tom added. “Coyotes?”

“There's chunks of this shit all down this hole,” Heather said. Tom watched her start digging with her hands. After a minute or so, she had not made much progress against the hard dirt, but she had revealed that the hole went deep. She had uncovered the top of a narrow tunnel, reminiscent of an animal burrow. How far it went was impossible to gauge.

“Look, it's just caked in here.”

“Injured, whatever it was,” Tom offered. “Got bitten but managed to escape.”