The Torment of Rachel Ames (8 page)

R
achel watches
Granger disappear inside the cabin. She nudges the dead chicken with her foot, fighting down her revulsion at the man’s violence toward the poor animal. She looks over her shoulder at the canoe waiting on the shore behind her and considers making a break for it. Paddling straight across the lake and then a short walk to her car followed by a fast ride the hell out of there. But something stops her. Granger knows more than he’s told her, she knows he does. The same way she knew there was a door hidden in the cabin walls. She decides that if putting up with Granger’s special brand of crazy is what it takes to find out what’s really going on, then so be it.

She bends down and picks up the dead chicken. With one long look at the cabin, she takes a handful of feathers and pulls.

An hour later, the sun now set, the chicken turns on a spit, roasting over the campfire. Granger kneels and shakes salt onto the meat.

“What do you know about the cabin?” she asks.

Granger peels off a piece of meat and takes a bite, then rotates the spit. He eyes Rachel, sizing her up. “Not quite ready yet. A little while longer, I think.” He sits back in his chair, watching the fire.

“I've been thinking about your little speech,” she says. “About the rooster.”

“And?”

“And it's bullshit.”

Granger's eyes narrow. “Really? Enlighten me.”

“Our minds, our capacity to think, to feel, to remember, that's all that makes us human. Without that, we're reduced to animals.”

“Reduced? It’s a biological truth that we are animals, like it or not.”

“We’re more than animals,” she says. “Or we at least have the capacity to be. Trying to block out the past is like blocking the sun with your hand. You can convince yourself you made the sun disappear, but you didn't. It burns whether you look right at it or not. How’s that for a rule?”

“The sun, huh? That's pretty. You should be a writer.”

She stands. “I want to understand what's going on here. These wolves, bizarre birds, Ollie sweeping leaves in the woods.”

Granger doesn’t look happy at the mention of Ollie’s name but he lets it slide. He shakes his head sadly, like he’s taking pity on her. “I used to be just like you. I did. But I fixed it.” Granger leans forward. “What if I told you I could show you how to get rid of the past once and for all? Not just block the sun, but destroy it?”

Granger reaches behind his chair and pulls out a small brown bottle without a label.

“What are you talking about?”

“What if I had the power to take all your pain, all your memory of pain, all of it, and make it disappear forever?”

“There's no way you can do that,” she whispers.

“I asked you what if I could? Would you take the deal? Would you make that bargain with me?”

Wolves howl in the distance. A wind stirs the trees. The fire blazes higher, spitting sparks into the night sky.

“The nightmares would be gone.”

She hears sirens in the distance. People shouting. The smell of a fire. She puts her hands to the sides of her head to try to block it out.

“I can make it all go away.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”

Three wolves appear on the edge of the forest, hackles up, eyes glowing with the fire's reflection. She sees the wolves and looks back at Granger.

“If you could promise me that…”

There’s movement at the edge of her vision and she turns back toward the wolves. From behind them walks a small, blond boy in shorts and a Star Wars t-shirt. His skin is tanned and, even in the dark she can see his piercing blue eyes. The boy stops between the wolves and stares at her.

“The pain,” Granger says. “Think of the pain.”

She stands and stumbles toward the boy. “Little boy. What are you doing? You can’t be here. Come to me. Nice and slow.”

The boy turns and runs into the forest.

Granger grabs her by the shoulder and spins her around. “No more nightmares. No more pain. You can forget forever.”

“Didn’t you see that boy?” she says, pulling away. “He can’t be here.”

She runs toward the forest, finds the trail where the boy disappeared and sprints down it. The trees close in around her and block out the moon. Enough light filters through the branches that she can see the boy far ahead of her. She catches only the smallest glimpse of him before he disappears around a bend in the path.

“Stop! It’s not safe out here,” she yells.

The path narrows, walls of briar and stinging nettles pushing in from either side, encasing the trees that rise up to form a canopy overhead. Decaying logs lie across the path, some big enough that she has to crawl over them on her stomach. She’s not sure how the boy could be outpacing her, but he is. On top of one fallen log she has a good view ahead and she spots him ducking down a side trail, the ferns so thick that they close in behind him as he passes.

“Wait!”

She runs harder, falls and scrapes her knees. Back up on her feet, she sprints after him, the branches ripping her clothes and scratching her skin as she passes. The trail suddenly opens up onto a meadow ringed with ancient trees. A low-lying fog covers the ground, glowing in the moonlight; thick and swirling like a living thing. She runs through it, drawing a vortex of fog behind her. She can’t see the ground with the fog coming up to her chest.

“Where are you?” she shouts.

She looks behind her and sees three wolves in the tree line, their eyes glowing red. They leap into the meadow, disappearing as they run into the fog. All she can see are ripples just under the mist’s surface as they run toward her.

She hurtles forward, stumbling blindly over the uneven ground. She gets to the end of the meadow and bolts down a path. She takes one turn and slides to a stop in front of a wall of fallen trees.

On every branch is an enormous black crow. Hundreds of them. They turn in unison to look at her and she sees they’re not crows at all. They’re all like the bird she killed at the cabin, a head of red skin with human lips and wide staring eyes. Only these don’t have their mouths sewn shut. These have their lips curled back to reveal sharp, bloodstained teeth.

A cluster of them are on the ground in front of the tree, piled up as they scramble and fight over something. They turn to look at her and she sees they are feasting on the bloody carcass of the fawn she saw her first day at the cabin.

She screams and runs the other direction. The second she does, the birds explode into high-pitched shrieks that fill the forest.

She runs, desperate to find the boy. Just as desperate to get away from the birds.

There’s a snarl from the path ahead of her. The black wolf steps forward, blocking her way.

She runs to her right, creating her own path through the dense growth. The brambles scrape across her skin. Vines wrap around her legs and she has a pulse of terror that the forest itself has come alive.

But the ground gives way downhill and she breaks free. She loses her balance and tumbles down it, protecting her head with her arms. All she can hear are the screams from the birds. The snarls of the wolves closing in. The sirens from the fire trucks and first responders. The roar of the fire. She rolls to a stop but stays on the ground, her hands clutching her head, covering her ears, useless. They have her this time. There’s no escape. No need to even try. She curls up in a ball and waits for the end to come.

“Rachel. Thank God,” says a voice. “She’s over here.”

She feels an arm around her and the voice, John’s voice, is right next to her ear.

“It’s all right. I’m right here. I’m right here.”

She leans into him and squeezes her eyes tight. Slowly, like someone turning down the volume on a radio, the noises in her head fade. Soon, it’s just white noise, a steady, unrelenting sound in the background.

“Come on,” John says. “Let’s get you out of here.”

She gets to her feet, holding on to John’s arm. She’s surprised to see a second flashlight beam dancing nearby. It’s Ollie and he looks scared.

“You okay, miss?” he asks as she passes him. “You aren’t supposed to be out here on your own like this. Not how things work around here.”

She stops. Her body shakes from the adrenaline surge from the chase, but she ignores it. She stares at Ollie. “You said that before. What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ollie looks confused and more frightened all at the same time. He looks to John for help.

“Come on,” John says. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get back to the cabin. We can talk there.”

“No, I want to know what he means,” she says, her voice trembling. “Just how are things supposed to work around here?”

Ollie turns off his flashlight as if that will make him invisible. “Sorry, miss,” he says from the dark. “That’s not for me to say.”

John pulls her toward him until he’s whispering in her ear. “Let’s just get back to the cabin. And I’ll tell you what you want to know. I promise.”

R
achel sits
on the weathered old couch in the living room, watching John closely as he pours them all coffee. Every one of his movements stirs a gnawing sense of premonition in her chest. She gives the wall the barest of glances. As she expects, there’s no sign of a door or any damage to the drywall.

“You gave us a scare, is all,” Ollie says. “How did you even get out there?”

John walks behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder as if to quiet him. Ollie looks apologetic and waves away the offered mug of coffee. John hands a cup to her and sits next to her on the couch. The way he looks at her twists a knot in her stomach and she can’t figure out why.

“We should go,” Ollie says. “Let her get some rest.”

“Stay,” she says. “You said we would talk. You promised me something.”

John hesitates, then nods. “I’ll catch up with you later, Ollie.”

Ollie doesn’t mask that he doesn’t like what’s happening, but whatever complaint he has about it, he swallows and heads for the door. She follows and watches out of the window as he climbs into his pickup truck and drives away. She turns back to John and looks at him with her head cocked to one side.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks from across the cabin.

“It just occurred to me that you didn’t even ask me what I saw out there.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

She looks back out the window, raw doubt eating at her stomach. “How long did you say you’ve owned this place?”

“What’s that?” He seems surprised by the change of direction.

“How long have you owned this cabin?”

“I don’t know. Years.”

“How many years?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Would you say five years? Ten?”

“Something like that.” He puts down his coffee. “Look, whatever you got into out there tonight shook you up pretty good. How about you head to bed? I’ll sleep out here to make sure everything’s all right and we can talk tomorrow.”

She walks to the kitchen and pulls open a drawer and wraps her hand around her gun. “So which do you think it is? Five or ten?” She pulls out the gun. “Seems odd that you wouldn’t know.”

“Does it really matter? I think—”

“I think it does matter,” she says, walking toward him, raising the gun in front of her. “I think it really fucking matters.”

John stands up, his hands out to either side. “Okay, let’s just relax here.”

“What have you been putting in my food?”

“What?”

“You brought food. Those drinks. There must be something in them. Right after I got here, it’s when I started seeing things. And I can’t… I can’t remember things.”

“Just put the gun down, all right? We’re just talking here.”

She cocks the gun. “How did I find this place?”

John swallows hard. “I had ads out all over the place. Internet mostly. You’d know better than I would.”

“You’re right. I should know,” she says. “But I don’t. Did I call you on the phone? Did we exchange emails about me renting this place?”

“You emailed me,” he says, but he sounds like a kid lying. He’s not good at it.

“Then why don’t I remember that?”

“Put the gun down. Please. It’s me.”

“Why don’t I remember?” The sound of sirens rises up from the soundtrack in her head.

“It’s all right. Just calm down. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Have I?” she says, her voice cracking. “I remember driving here but that’s it. I don’t remember finding this place. Or emailing you. It doesn’t make any sense.” She steps closer, gun shaking in her trembling hands. The sounds of emergency sirens louder now. “What are you doing to me? What’s going on in this place?”

John’s reaction isn’t what she expects. Tears well in his eyes and his lower lip trembles. He slowly walks toward her, arms still open.

“Stop,” she says, holding up the gun. “Stop right there.”

But he doesn’t stop. He gets closer and closer until the barrel of the gun is pressed up against his chest. Now tears track down his cheeks and he makes no move to wipe them away.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Who are you?” she asks again, barely able to get the words out. It feels like she’s under water, unable to breathe. “Tell me what’s happening.”

He moves his hands slowly to her gun and she lets him take it. Once she lets go of it, the sirens fade. She puts a hand on his chest and feels his heart pounding.

Something deep inside her stirs and she moves her body closer to his. He just stands there, his breath shallow. His body trembling against hers.

She leans forward to kiss him and stops with their lips nearly touching.

“We can’t,” he says.

Their eyes connect, search for something and find it. She kisses him. The second she does, the soundtrack in her head clicks off.

He’s hesitant at first, but that doesn’t last. They kiss harder, their mouths craving each other. Bodies pressed together.

She pulls away, takes his hand and grabs a blanket from the couch. She pulls him to the sliding door and walks him outside.

They stand in front of one another, the full moon and a canopy of brilliant stars overhead. They slowly undress each other. Taking their time with each piece of clothing. Caressing. Kissing. Finally, they’re naked, standing only inches apart, their skin glowing in the moonlight.

They stand there, not touching, but so close she can feel his warmth on her skin. John's fingers dance over her body, still not touching, tracing the contours of her breasts, her stomach, the small of her back. Finally, they reach for one another. Fingers caress every inch of bare skin. John's lips brush along her neck. Her shoulder. Tender. Slow. They move together and kiss, the urgency building, moving now as if they are unable to get close enough.

She pushes him backward and he lies down on the blanket, his eyes never leaving hers.

She straddles him and arches her back as she guides him into her. They move slowly at first, careful and delicate. But the need overtakes their caution and she quickens her rhythm. They’re both panting now, groaning. She pulls his hands to her hips and lets him guide her thrusts. She wants him deeper inside of her. She wants all of him. And he’s willing to give it.