Hemlock Veils (5 page)

While Taggart, Holman, and Old Ray went on about Eustace and his crazy guns, Regina glared at Brian. She couldn’t help moving a little farther to the left to impair his view even more.

“Come on, Regina,” Brian said, smooth-talking. “Don’t you always say jealousy is a devil’s trick? Just because I’m admiring Nicki’s ass doesn’t mean I can’t admire yours, too.” He lifted a brow, his blue eyes attempting to do what he did best: seduce. Regina wanted to slap him. Especially because if a woman like her—over fifty, stout and curvy, with a dark and tired complexion and afro-textured hair—ever gave him the time of day, he’d run scared.

“Jealousy ain’t got nothing to do with it, boy.”

“Then you won’t mind moving aside just a hair?” He peered around her hip then gave a slight nod in Nicole’s direction. Nicole giggled.

“I’ll have none of that going on in here, Brian. Nicole’s working. What you two do on your own time is between you and the Lord, Heaven help you, but in my place—”

“Your place?” Brian straightened, his blond whiskers getting lost in the lines of a coy smile. “Does Mr. Clayton know you call it
your
place?”

She rested her hands on the table, her eyes boring into his. He smelled of bad coffee, motor oil, and cologne, the last one no doubt to cover up the first two. A trustworthy mechanic was the only thing he was good for. “Mr. Clayton may own these walls, but
I
run it, Mr. Dane. Don’t you forget it.”

Brian ran his rough, oil-stained fingertips up her arm. “Have I ever told you I like a strong woman, Regina?” he said in a hush. The men at his table snickered. “Speaking of your place…”

Regina growled, swatting his hand, and the tighter her lips became the more Brian laughed. She waved a finger at him. “You just finish your coffee, boy, and leave us be.”

Gunfire ricocheted in the distance. All conversations came to a halt and every head perked. A muffled roar followed, one that could have been mistaken for rolling thunder. And as it always did, Regina’s stomach sank—so much she felt the need to clutch it just to keep it in place.

Sheriff Taggart shot to his feet. “Damn Bathgate!” With a hand on the firearm at his hip, he darted to the door. “How many times do I gotta tell him to stay outta those woods?”

As though everyone’s feet couldn’t move them fast enough, they followed; even Regina left the empty coffee pot on Brian’s table and raced outside. Aside from Eustace’s house, the diner was the first establishment in Hemlock Veils, the first thing anyone saw when driving in from the west on Clayton Road. It was on the southwest corner of Red Cedar Loop and Clayton Road, and more importantly, the first thing staring the forest in the face. Too many nights Regina had watched Eustace disappear into those trees, only to emerge later with no success.

It wasn’t just Sheriff Taggart, Holman, Nicole, Brian, Old Ray, and Regina who ran into the rain without a second thought. Bill and Anita Thurman’s kid, and some other teenagers, already stood under the street lamp, drenched by rain. Sheppy stood there too, his red backpack soaked through.

“You think he got the bastard this time?” Nicole asked no one in particular, clinging to Brian’s arm. Her teeth chattered.

No one replied. The seconds passed excruciatingly, and no matter their differences in that moment, the group huddled as one—all with eyes on the darkened hemlocks that concealed their town so secretively. They waited, holding onto a strand of hope that maybe, just this once, Eustace had been successful—even Sheriff Taggart, who’d ordered him not to do it.

Nicole’s acrylic fingernail shot out, aimed at the trees. “Look!” she cried, grasping Regina’s arm with her other hand. It was hard to tell from here, but someone—or some
thing
—came their way, rustling the branches. While the rest of the group tensed back in anticipation of what might crash through, Regina inched closer, shivering as rain dripped down her face. It soaked through her uniform, even to her behind.

Two figures shot through, one in a limp: Eustace, with someone else in tow. “Good Lord,” Regina said in relief, running to them.

At his side was a soaked woman, small but with eyes wider than the moon on a full night. Regina supported him from his other side.

“Inside,” Eustace ordered, out of breath and managing to pick up his pace with an impaired gait.

Everyone, huddled around him and trying to keep up, spoke at once. “What were you doing out there?” Taggart demanded.

“What’d it do to you?” Brian asked, calling over Regina’s shoulder.

Nicole, voice as shaky as ever, said, “You got it, right, Bathgate?”

They reached the diner, filing in two bodies at a time—a mass of voices and dripping figures. In the chaos, Eustace and the mysterious woman had yet to speak. Eustace leaned on the counter, holding his hand tenderly. The woman, whose breaths came and went in a shudder, stared out the window. Nearly purple lips accented her white face. “You shot him,” she said to herself.

“You’d rather I let it shred you?” Eustace rushed, and that was all it took for silence. Every eye and ear waited for an explanation. But neither of them seemed to realize the crowd was here. Eustace—breaths finally slowing and beard still dripping—stared at the woman with an unreadable, almost cautious expression. He removed his cap.

The silence made the woman turn. Her eyes snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in, for they shot to Eustace’s bloody hand. “Eustace,” she said, rushing to him. “You’re hurt.” It was a wonder how in the world she knew him. Eustace Bathgate didn’t know
anyone
outside of Hemlock Veils. She looked at Regina, tucking wet brown hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. “Ma’am, do you have a first-aid kit by chance?”

“It’s nothing,” Eustace said before Regina could respond. “Regina, get this one a blanket before we lose her to hypothermia.”

“I don’t exactly carry blankets around here, Eustace,” Regina said, hand on her hip.

The young woman pried Eustace’s fingers open, and he flinched. Blood covered the deep gash on his palm. “It’s
not
nothing,” she said, as though Eustace’s mother. “This is deep.”

“Must’ve been when it ripped the shotgun from my hand,” he said, trying not to wince.

“Ma’am,” the woman said at Regina again, while Regina still tried to grasp what they’d just said. “Some bandages and antiseptic would come in real handy right now.”

Regina stared her down, trying to get a read. If it wasn’t Eustace in need of assistance, she might tell her to get her own bandages. Something felt strange about the girl being here, as though she’d already turned everything topsy-turvy.

“Fine then,” Regina finally said, walking to the small cupboard behind the counter, the one with all the odds and ends. The first-aid kit she’d put there a couple years ago after Nicole’s incident should still be there somewhere. “You oughta go to the clinic, Eustace,” she said, still searching.

“I’m not waking Doc Ortiz just for a scrape.”

Regina found the kit and slid it across the counter. The woman rummaged through it, pulling out gauze and applicators that looked like large Q-tips.

“You trust this woman to stitch you up?”

The woman’s eyes shot to Regina only briefly. “He won’t need stitches.”

“Oh, you a doctor?”

“A nurse…kind of.” She doused an applicator tip with Betadine and began to apply it to Eustace’s hand, gently. He nearly jumped, then sighed and looked away.

“How are you a nurse…
kind of
?”

“Yes, I trust this woman,” Eustace said in response to Regina’s earlier question, not allowing the visitor to answer. He sent a warning glance at Regina. Something had to be said about her if Eustace liked her. “Beth here saved my life.”

There it was. Regina couldn’t stop the sensation that came over her at his simple statement. Something comforting, almost a true peace, settled inside her chest, despite her many questions. It was clear everyone else’s curiosity had piqued too, since the only sound came from the package of gauze the woman named Beth opened. Regina’s eyes flitted from Eustace to Beth.

“Saved
your
life?” asked Deputy Holman, unconvinced.

Eustace gave a single nod. “Everyone, this is Elizabeth Ashton.”

“Bathgate, I swear,” Taggart said, face red and mustache twitching. “If you don’t clue me in on what’s going on here…”

“Sheriff, calm down. Let’s everyone calm down. I promised her a safe place to stay tonight and she’s going to get that. She’s had a long journey, her car’s broken down on Mt. Hood Highway, and she trusted an old fool to get her here.” He paused for effect, looking to all eyes. “An old fool who just so happened to give her face time with the beast. And when I say face time, I mean literal, breathing-in-her-face time. So I think it best we show our respect.”

Nicole gasped, and without realizing it, so had Regina.

***

Violent wind rattled the motel window’s screen. Raindrops smeared across it, hindering Elizabeth’s view. She lay in one of Anita Thurman’s flannel nightshirts, awake and alert. Bill and Anita owned the motel and had asked her whether she wanted a room with an excellent view, or one that safely faced the street. Of course she’d picked the view, even after they’d tried convincing her it was a mistake. As though seeing the forest would be too traumatic in her fragile state. It had only made her want the room more.

But she wouldn’t know just how spectacular the view from her window was until morning. The motel sat at the top of Red Cedar Loop, which curved above town and, according to the Thurmans, placed it within dangerous reach of the monster. They’d said they never had guests for that reason: everyone was too terrified of the darkened forest her window faced.

She imagined the view, how it would look with a little light and less rain. While lying on her side, she couldn’t remove her mind’s eye from it. Or from
him
, of the way he looked at her. He was out there somewhere, probably bleeding. Would he survive? Had Hemlock Veils seen the end of their terrorizing beast, who Elizabeth didn’t think was so terrorizing after all?

She would never tell them her secret: that she thought him as harmless as the next resident of Hemlock Veils. They’d think her just as satanic as their beast. She would never try to explain the desperation in his eyes during their stare-down, or the way he gave her a pass. The way he seemed too intelligent to be a ravenous monster. But
what
was he?
Who
was he? And why had people in the diner stared at her with awe when Eustace had finished explaining what happened to them?

There were a whole lot of things about this place she didn’t understand. Even the people were a mystery: the way they loved the place they feared. Regina, the woman whose skin was the color of molasses, had seemed most skeptical of her at first. But something changed in her after Eustace’s recounting; whether it was pity for Elizabeth’s encounter with the beast or a strange reverence, Regina welcomed her now. She’d called Bill Thurman herself so he could check her into his vacant five-bedroom motel. Bill had been so excited to have a guest he’d even turned the motel’s neon sign on.

When Elizabeth had searched through her leather shoulder bag for her wallet, to pay Bill, she’d found everything soaked through. But worse, the locket her father had given her many years ago had vanished. She’d removed everything three times, and again when she arrived to her room and hung all her clothes and underwear—and the damned money—over the shower curtain rod to dry; but the locket was gone. She’d had it when leaving California, and that meant it had probably fallen to the sodden forest floor. Probably it came out when she and her bag got tossed over the fallen log.

She willed it to stay put, wherever it was, since it was the only good thing she had left of him. And as she closed her eyes, seeing again the monster with a lost soul, she let herself breathe, truly breathe, for the first time since Willem came smashing through her door one week ago.

Chapter 4

Elizabeth had just come home from work when three panicked knocks shook her apartment door. She’d snuck quietly to both deadbolts, making sure they were secure, when the door thumped again, startling her back and making her neighbor’s terrier yap across the hall. Her apartment wasn’t in the safest neighborhood in Boyle Heights, but any complex in Boyle Heights would prove just as risky for a white woman living alone. She hated relying on deadbolts and pepper spray, but eleven years ago, after high school, this place was all she could afford. Mr. Vanderzee had offered to put her up in a loft near work, in Bel Air, but only if she would cut ties with her brother. He had to know she never would, but every once in a while he’d throw the offer out to remind her of the kind of life she could have without Willem. But here, in Boyle Heights, Willem was close enough to keep some measure of tabs on, so she could live with being viewed by her Hispanic neighbors—most of the time coolly—as part of the two-percent minority.

The door banged again, and she swore if it was any harder the flaking paint on her walls would have floated to the floor. “Beth!”

Her heart sank in both relief and dread.

“Beth! Lemme in!” Willem pounded again, even as she unlocked the door. Before she could step away he crashed in, knocking her back against her shelf of cookbooks.

“Will,” she said, steadying herself. His pale blue eyes were bloodshot and glassy, his cheeks sunken, and sweat coated his pallid, shaved head. No matter how many times she’d seen him this way—more often than not the past two years—it felt like the first. But this time it wasn’t just the side effects of being high. This time he trembled with fright. And something—a sinking inside—told her that whatever he was about to ask of her would be more detrimental than any of his past favors. Even more so than the last, which had almost gotten her arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had already determined that was the last straw, but she hadn’t expected him to need something again so soon. Or to look this desperate when needing it.