Read Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) Online
Authors: Allan Leverone
Wellspring (Paskagankee, Book 3) (33 page)
The
moment the vehicle rolled to a stop, Mike was out the door and reaching into
the back seat for the equipment bag he had carried out of the station a couple
of hours earlier. He moved with more energy that Sharon would have expected
under the circumstances, slinging the heavy bag over one shoulder and marching
toward the excavation in the field behind the bar.
She
grabbed her flashlight and shovel they had thrown across the back seat and hurried
to catch up. Ahead, Mike murmured, “Did Bo happen to mention when the septic
system project was going to be finished, now that the pit’s no longer a crime
scene?”
“He
said the system is being installed in the morning, and Dan Melton’s coming back
tomorrow afternoon to fill the hole back in.”
“Perfect,”
Mike said as he rounded the corner of the building.
The stationary
earthmover loomed in the distance, looking in the diffuse moonlight like a
grazing dinosaur. Sharon fell into step next to Mike. “Are you absolutely
certain you’re comfortable with this? I’m sure you’re aware we’re tampering
with evidence.”
“I know
what we’re doing,” he said. “And it’s exactly why I wanted to do this alone. I
don’t want to put your career at risk.”
“That’s
not what I’m worried about. I know you. You’re as straight an arrow as they
come. Will you be able to live with yourself afterward?”
Mike
stopped next to the pit and turned, lasering his hypnotic eyes on her. Even
now, more than two years after meeting him, the intensity of his stare
sometimes took her breath away. “Everyone connected with this thing is dead. All
three of them died in a violent manner. And those are only the ones we’re aware
of; who knows how many other people tied to this thing died horrible deaths
over the last hundred and fifty years? This case is going to end in a whitewash
by the FBI – there’s no other conceivable way it
can
end, given the circumstances – and any story they come up
with to explain the actions of their agents won’t include
this
thing.” He nodded at the heavy bag still hanging off his
shoulder.
“But
still, it doesn’t belong to us. What about returning it to its rightful
owners?”
“Why?
So someone else can misuse it and cause another two centuries of violence and
terror? The ‘rightful owners’ died at least a hundred years ago, and to their
heirs, what’s inside this bag is nothing more than a myth, a fanciful story
passed down from generation to generation. Returning it to its’ ‘rightful
owners’ now will accomplish nothing positive, and could potentially cause
untold misery.”
He
turned back toward the hole, and Sharon realized she had been holding her
breath. “So,” he said. “To answer your question, yes, I’m completely at ease
with this.”
He
walked to the earthmover and picked up the aluminum ladder lying next to it in
the damp grass. Then he walked back to the hole and slid the ladder down the
side until it rattled to a stop. He tossed the bag to the bottom, where it
landed with a muffled
whump.
Then he
climbed down the ladder and waited for Sharon to follow.
Stepping
onto the pit’s dirt floor, Sharon felt trapped, claustrophobic, like the dirt
walls were closing in. She hadn’t noticed the sensation while searching the
underground room in the daylight. Tonight, in the darkness, it reminded her of
a casket. A vague whiff of corruption hung in the unmoving air, as if the
secret death-chamber was hanging doggedly on to the remains of the two still-unidentified
human beings who had perished inside it so long ago.
“Let’s
get this over with,” Mike muttered uneasily, and she knew he felt the
disturbing sensation, too. He knelt down and unzipped the bag. Reached in.
Lifted the heavy golden disk clear of the bag with both hands and set it down
on the hard-packed dirt. Stood and moved next to Sharon.
She had
begun digging a hole roughly eighteen inches in diameter in the middle of the
pit, but now she stopped and gazed at the circular object. It glittered dully
in the reflected beam of the flashlight. Now knowing the part the strange disk
had played in the tragic story spanning two centuries and two continents, she
had fully expected to feel some kind of power emanating from it, some evil
vibe, but it was even worse than she had imagined. A suffocating dread began to
fill her, a sense of pervading evil unlike any she had ever known.
“Do you
feel that?” she said, looking up at Mike, trying to control the shaking in her
voice and mostly succeeding.
“What?”
“It
feels…I don’t know…like we’re not alone, like there’s a presence down here with
us or something.”
“A
presence,” he said, an edge to his voice, and Sharon knew by his tone and lack
of direct denial that he felt it, too. She looked back down at the disk. It lay
on the dirt, unmoving and apparently benign.
Mike took
the shovel from her hands. He bent over his work and within minutes had excavated
a hole deep enough to accept the disk. Then he dropped the shovel and for the
final time, picked up the golden disk, setting it carefully it into the bottom
of the hole.
Without
speaking, he stood and began filling the dirt back in. He worked quickly, and
soon the hole was gone. He stamped down on the newly replaced earth until it
was packed hard, once again resembling the rest of the secret room.
“Shine
your light on it,” he said. Sharon directed the beam at the ground, and in the
weak, uneven light there was no detectable difference between what had been dug
up five minutes ago and what had been in place for over a century and a half.
“Guess
it’ll have to do,” he said, and zipped the now-empty equipment bag closed.
He
picked up the shovel and said, “Let’s get the hell out of here,” but took one
look at Sharon and stopped in his tracks. “What is it?” he said.
“Something’s
wrong about this,” she whispered. “I can feel it. And don’t try to tell me you
don’t feel it, too, because I know you do.”
“Doesn’t
matter,” he said. “It’s done now, and there’s no going back.”
“Of
course we can go back! We can dig the damned thing up and put it back in the
evidence room.”
“Nothing’s
changed,” Mike hissed. “The fact that this thing gives off some kind of weird,
dangerous vibe makes it even more critical we get it out of circulation. Maybe
there’s no right thing to do with it, but I’m certain this is the
least wrong
thing. Sometimes that’s the
best you can hope for.” He grabbed the ladder with both hands and climbed
quickly out of the pit.
Sharon
stood a moment longer. The darkness at the bottom of the deadly hole, a
darkness of both light and of spirit, was nearly overwhelming. She realized
Mike was right. They were doing the only thing they could.
She
realized also that she needed to get the hell out of there and back to the land
of the living. She climbed out as quickly as she could and then removed the
ladder, placing it once again next to the Caterpillar. Then she followed Mike
to the car, anxious to take a shower and get a little sleep. The press
conference would begin in just a few hours.
Mike reached
back and took her hand as they walked. “Thanks again,” he said. He didn’t
specify what he was thanking her for. He didn’t have to.
“Always,”
she said, and squeezed his hand. In the distance, high above the evergreens,
the first shafts of daylight began brightening the sky over Paskagankee, Maine.
About
the author
Allan
Leverone is a 2012 Derringer Award winner and 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee. He
is the author of six novels, including the Amazon bestselling thriller, THE
LONELY MILE, and the previous two Paskagankee novels, PASKAGANKEE and REVENANT.
He lives in Londonderry, New Hampshire with his wife Sue and his family.
Connect with Allan on Facebook, Twitter @AllanLeverone, and at
http://www.allanleverone.com
.
Horror novels by Allan Leverone
Thriller novels by Allan Leverone
Novellas by Allan Leverone
Collections by Allan Leverone
