Skulls (2 page)

Chapter Two

He watched as a gangly young man burst from the shrubs to duck behind a tree. A rumbling growl drew his eyes down the hill. He spied a small girl flitting through the woods. Her face was hidden by the low-hanging branches.

She called to the young man as she emerged from the trees. She stopped on the far side of the barbed-wire fence and glared. The young man stepped from behind the tree and ambled toward her, his arms held out stiff before him. Her face was angry as she waved him over.

Their words were clear in the quiet of the woods. He restrained a smile as the small girl tugged the much taller young man down the hill, chastising him as she did.

He continued to listen as they met up with friends further down the hill. Mock growls and peals of laughter marked their location. Their chatter continued for a while, though from where he crouched, the voices faded in and out at the whims of the gentle breeze. One last shout told him they were leaving.

Once they were gone, he rose from the shadows and made his way to the mass of shrubs and greenery where the young man first emerged. He slipped through the interwoven branches and lifted the spider’s web of foliage that concealed the wooden hatch beneath.

He lifted the bunker door and peered inside, his eyes piercing the gloom. Drawing in a lungful of the earthy musk, he let it out slow. He crouched there a moment longer and then shut the hatch. The covering growth slid back in place, he crept from the guardian bushes and went to the fence.

From there, he glanced down the hill to where the youths had been. Once the woods were empty of their presence, he turned away and strode back into the shadows.

Chapter Three

Jacob scaled the rotting wooden fence that surrounded their backyard in a single, easy leap. He dropped heavy into the thick grass on the other side. He raced around the side of the trailer just as he heard his father’s old Ford pickup roar to life out front. Cursing, he pulled open the wrought iron gate, which creaked against the wooden frame, and circled around to the driveway.

His dad stared at him from the truck. His burly arm hung through the open, driver-side window, tapping the door. The faded United States flag tattoo on his forearm seemed to flutter with the motion. His thick mustache hid his upper lip, but Jacob knew it wasn’t a smile that lurked beneath.

“Cutting it a bit close, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir. Sorry.” Jacob worked to slow his breathing.

His father shook his head, biting on his lower lip. “I know you saw the yard when you ran through it. I expect that grass to be cut by the time I come home tomorrow, you hear me? Make sure those trash cans are sealed tight this time, too. I don’t want them blowing over again.”

Jacob nodded. He didn’t quite meet his father’s eyes.

“Straighten the living room tonight and do the dishes, while you’re at it. Ann cooked so the least you can do is clean up a little. We’ll be home around the usual time, and I don’t want to hear you’ve had any of your long-haired friends over.” He pointed a thick finger at Jacob. A sneer grew to life beneath his mustache. “I smell so much as a whiff of dope and I’m kicking your ass, you got me?” He raised his bushy eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

“I will and they won’t.”

His dad made a face and looked back to the trailer as if Jacob were no longer there. He hit the horn and shouted through the windshield. “Hurry up, woman. We’re gonna miss happy hour.”

The front door to the trailer swung open and Ann Rile stumbled out. Her rusty blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail made her narrow face look severe. Dressed in a worn out T-shirt, which was cut low enough to make Jacob look away as she came down the stairs, she yelled back.

“I work there, remember, Mike? It’s always happy hour.” She laughed, though it turned into a wet cough as she duck-walked to the truck in a pair of jeans meant for a woman half her age.

“There ain’t nothing happy about it until I get there.”

Ann shook her head and wriggled into the passenger seat. She glanced over at Jacob as though just realizing he was there. “Do the dishes!” The words not even out of her mouth, she leaned back and lit up a cigarette. She yanked the mirrored visor down with her free hand and checked her layered makeup.

His dad popped the truck in reverse with a metallic
clunk.
“Remember what I told you.” His eyes in the side mirror, he pulled out of the driveway fast, the truck bouncing off the curb. It rattled to a stop with a graveled crunch, brakes squealing, then jumped forward to rumble off down the road.

“Sir, yes sir,” Jacob answered, saluting the truck after it had rounded the bend and disappeared behind the trees that lined the road.

He drew a deep breath and turned to look at the trailer. The front door lay open just like his stepmother had left it. He stood there for a moment before he started to feel self-conscious, imagining the neighbors watching him, like they always did. He got his feet moving and bounded up the stairs into the double-wide. He dragged the door closed behind him, completing the illusion of privacy.

The heady scent of flowery perfume and deodorant hit him as he stepped inside. He sneezed and waved at the air, blinking his eyes as he went around the couch to get out of the line of fire. He passed by the dining room table to see two dirty settings of plates, glasses and silverware to match. They were spread out luxuriantly as if there’d been five people there to eat, rather than just two.

He marveled at the mess as he went to the kitchen. The perfume smell faded slightly, only to be replaced by the scent of over-fried meat, of some kind. He looked to the stove and saw two greasy pans still on the burners. Little black chunks of crispy remnants lay in each. A pan of yellowish noodles sat in between, the sauce on top dried to a deep umber.

He picked up the pot and shook it. The noodles defiantly stayed in place. He set it down, putting wary distance between him and the entity inside the pot.

Nothing edible in the pans, he popped open the fridge and sighed. Two tiny pieces of over-cooked steak sat in a small plastic bowl, drowning in bitter-smelling steak sauce. A wilted ear of corn sat lonely on the top shelf between a legion of Budweiser cans and the tub of yogurt that Jacob was sure had died, returned to life, eaten itself, and died once more, only to be buried in the same container. One of the cans was open, filling the refrigerator with the tangy smell of beer.

Jacob picked up the half-empty can and took a swig, sighing at the taste. He took another sip, then set the can back exactly as he found it.

He grabbed the last Coke from the bottom shelf and slammed the fridge. The fine crystal glasses stacked on top clinked together. He bumped the door with his hip to hear the sound again before returning to the living room where he hoped he wouldn’t need a Hazmat crew to accompany him.

More interested in sugar and caffeine than whatever lurked on the stove, he plopped down on the couch and snatched up the remote. He hit the power button, and then hit it again when nothing happened, pressing hard until the small TV came on with a crackled hiss. The picture wavered before popping into view.
Dancing with the Stars
screamed at him from the screen.

Jacob stabbed frantically at the remote until the channel hopped to shrieking static. It was only a fraction more tolerable. Then at last, his ears ringing, the volume dropped low enough he didn’t feel like he was sitting behind a 747 preparing for takeoff.

The batteries needing a eulogy, he tossed the remote across the couch and went over to change the channels on the set. He flipped through the seven or eight channels that actually pulled a signal from the aluminum-foiled bunny ears on top of the TV, and then flipped through them again. Back on
Dancing
, he shut the set off and flopped onto the couch. The dark-veined paneling more interesting than the television, he popped open his soda and took a big gulp.

The hazy scent of Ann’s perfume still lingered as he stared at the wall. Images of the bunker crept unbidden to his mind. His fingers began to tingle as though he were touching the skull again. He rubbed his hand to get rid of the feeling. The black sockets peered out at him through his imagination, glimmers of lives past buried deep inside. He couldn’t help but think somewhere within the skulls were the spirits of the people they’d once been, hidden from the world and yearning to be remembered.

Jacob laughed as rational thought argued with his imagination. Less than twenty yards from the edge of Jenks’s property, he couldn’t possibly have been the only person to ever stumble across the bunker. Having been suspected of murder, and the bodies never found, every inch of his property would have been searched at one time or another. Evidence like that couldn’t exist so plainly as to be overlooked. There had to be more to it.

Jacob shook his head and chuckled for believing the skulls to be the gory mementos of a serial killer. Given the history of the Ruidoso area, if they were even real, they were more likely part of some Indian tribal burial. Perhaps it was an altar to the spirits of their people. That made a lot more sense.

Shaking the thoughts loose from his head, he swallowed the last of his Coke and hopped up to start his chores. The mystery of the skulls solved, he prepared himself for the battle ahead. He eyed his opponent across the room. The pot pretended it didn’t notice.

* * * *

Dishes done, the trailer as clean and as odor free as possible, Jacob showered. He did his best to tame his wild hair. Humidity conspired to animate every strand. He ran the brush through it fifty times without success. At last, surrendering to the inevitable, he tied it into a ponytail and left it at that. At ten p.m., he locked up the trailer and headed for Cass’s house. He zipped through the trailer park as fast as he could. He heard muffled shouts in the distance and cut through the trees to avoid a group of squatters who’d camped outside an abandoned trailer. The flickering light from their barbeque grill fire cast dancing shadows in Jacob’s path. The distinct smell of burning pine stuck to his nose as he hopped the wrought iron fence that encircled the park.

He ran around to Sudderth Street and stuck to the wooded side. It was about thirty minutes until he reached Country Club Road. The winding street worked itself up from trailer homes to sprawling estates within just a few blocks and Jacob quickly felt out of place. He always did.

From the snarling threats of pit bulls and Doberman Pinchers at the start of his trip, he emerged on the other end of the street to be assaulted by the high-strung peals of Chihuahuas, Poodles, and Pomeranians. They bounded along the fences as he walked past, determined to impose their Napoleonic will upon anyone who would listen.

Jacob just walked faster, hoping no one would look out their window to see who was walking through their neighborhood, riling up their animals.

The yipping mutts faded behind him as he rounded the corner to see Cass’s house. The yard lights were on, as always. He glanced up at her parent’s window and smiled to see it dark.

Comforted by their adherence to routine, he continued to the end of the yard. He cut across it and used the shadows to shield his movements from view. He hopped the wooden fence to the backyard and made his way around the pool and past the back door. Nearly to the other end of the house, he grinned as he saw the rope ladder hanging from Cass’s open, second floor window.

He whistled low and made his way up. Cass met him at the top and smiled down at him.

“You’re a little late tonight.”

He crawled through her window took a deep breath. “It was steak night.” The pained look on his face must have said it all.

Cass laughed. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound as he drew the ladder in and shut the window. With a huff, he plopped onto the couch.

Jacob surveyed the room like he always did. He couldn’t help it. Her bedroom was easily half the size of his parent’s entire trailer, and a million times better furnished. It was like walking into a luxury hotel.

Well, not
walking
. That would imply Cass’s parents welcomed him there. He’d used the front door only a handful of times since he’d started seeing their daughter. They would probably never accept him, but it was enough that Cass did.

Jacob admired her as she dropped onto the couch beside him. He smiled at her transformation. Bright pink shorts and matching top, her hair pulled into a bun, the Cass he knew was gone. She’d been replaced by her parent’s sweet, innocent daughter.

“What are you smiling at?” She asked. Her voice dropped to a growl.

“Nothing, Pinky.” He covered his face as a pillow careened off his head.

“Don’t give me any shit. You know how it is. It’s just easier to be what they expect me to be sometimes.” Her smile faded.

“I know, I know.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just teasing you. At least your parents have expectations.” His voice twanged with bitterness. He regretted opening his mouth, the conversation going terribly awry.

She sighed and met his eyes. “Aren’t we a couple of emos?” She hopped up, went to the small table beside the door and collected a serving tray with a covered plate on top. She returned and set it in his lap with a motherly grin.

Glad of any excuse to change the subject, he pulled the lid from the plate. He stared at the thick slab of filet mignon, wrapped in bacon. The vegetable sides still steamed. The delicious scent of a properly cooked meat wafted to his nose. He leaned back with an overwhelmed smile.