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Authors: Aimée Thurlo

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BOOK: Looking Through Darkness
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“They chew through stuff and might eventually short out some electrical wiring. It's a fire hazard. There's way too much junk up there anyway, and I need to clear some of it out.”

“Are you thinking about selling the house?” Rachel asked quickly, a touch of panic in her voice.

Leigh Ann knew that Rachel was saving a lot of money by living with her. By sharing expenses, they could afford this large, three-bedroom home instead of being stuck in one-bedroom apartments in Kirtland or Farmington, farther east.

“No, I'm not selling. This isn't a good time for that, but that's not the point. Besides the danger to the wiring, we don't want to provide homes for creatures who might bring in the plague or hantavirus.”

“Okay, but you hate closed-in spaces and creepy crawlies as much as I do. Let's get someone else to do it.”

“We can't afford an unnecessary expense like that, and I'm through putting this off. Something's been running back and forth up there. If it's a squirrel, then I have to find out how it's getting in and out, and see what damage it's already caused. If it's mice or rats, then we need to set traps.”

“Okay, okay. How can I help?” Rachel said with a sigh.

“Stay close by in case I need you.”

“Once you're at the top of the ladder, I'll hand you a broom. If anything gross is dangling down from a spiderweb, you can swat it away.”

Leigh Ann smiled. “You recall that cabin we squatted in the summer Daddy lost his job?”

“That place was beyond creepy. No windows in the bedroom, and you could hear things moving around at night in the walls and under the floor,” Rachel said, and shuddered. “Remember that huge, hairy spider that crawled onto the pillow between us that night? Man, did we scream.”

“To this day, I still can't stand spiders,” Leigh Ann said. “That's why, as a general rule I've avoided the attic. Kurt and I made a deal. I cleaned the house and he was responsible for the garage and attic.”

“It looks like it's our job now,” Rachel said with a smile.

A few minutes later, at the top of the ladder, Leigh Ann aimed a flashlight around the hot, dusty attic. After a moment, she hoisted herself up the rest of the way, stepped onto a board, and pulled the long dangling chain connected to the single-bulb fixture. The confined space was suddenly flooded with light.

The place was so dusty it made her nose itch, but at least there was no damp, musty smell. The roof had never leaked. Of course they were in the middle of a drought and rain was as rare as unicorns.

She studied the layers of insulation and the simple board walkways, and looked closely at the electrical wiring and metal conduits that supplied the heat, air-conditioning, powered the ceiling lights and the various circuits. At least it seemed to be in good shape. Fitted together sheets of plywood placed across the rafters supported plastic containers filled with Christmas decorations, a metal book stand, fishing tackle boxes, and several fishing rods. Fine dust and spider webs covered everything.

Close by was a stack of long, flat boards. After a moment's thought, Leigh Ann realized that Kurt had probably used them to create temporary paths across the rafters. One false step onto the Sheetrock or insulation could be dangerous or fatal.

Farther across the attic where the pitched roof sloped down to the walls, she saw another makeshift plywood platform. Several cardboard boxes and one made of metal, maybe a toolbox, were nestled in a pile of fluffy insulation that must have been pulled loose. A couple of black plastic trash bags covered a long object, maybe another fishing rod. The loosened insulation seemed like a potential squirrel hiding place.

“Whatcha see?” Rachel called from below.

“Mom's stuff and a bunch of man toys. I'm going to check out a place I think the squirrel was interested in. I don't think it's there now, but I'll take a look and make sure nothing's damaged. Then I'm going to bring back some junk and hand it down to you. It'll be dusty, so be prepared to sneeze.”

As she spoke, Leigh Ann laid one of the long, wide boards across the rafters in the direction of the possible nest.

“Want the broom, just in case?” Rachel asked.

Leigh Ann felt something brush against her leg and tried not to flinch. “Good idea. I can probe the insulation without putting my hand into … whatever.”

Two minutes later, on hands and knees, Leigh Ann inched along the first board, broom and extra boards beside her across the rafters. As she moved, she'd pick up another board and position it in front of her as she created a path toward the boxes. Soon, she'd placed the last board in position and was less than five feet away.

She extended the broom toward the pile of loose pink insulation, then gingerly touched it to the top of the material. She cringed, hoping the squirrel wouldn't leap out and run right down the board.

Nothing. She wiggled the bristles of the broom around a little. All she saw was a little dust and some pink fibers drifting up into the light.

“So far, so good. Nothing's in the nest,” she called out.

“Good!” Rachel said, her voice suddenly much louder.

Leigh Ann looked back toward the ladder. Rachel's head was sticking up into the attic. “Joining me?”

“Uh-uh. Sorry, Leigh Ann. This is as far as I go.” Rachel seemed to study the situation. “Hey, maybe the squirrel is underneath those trash bags. Stir it up a bit.”

“Not funny, what if it attacks?”

“Nah, it'll run toward the wall or a vent and maybe we'll see how it's been getting in,” Rachel said.

“I don't want to get any closer until I'm sure it's not hiding somewhere.” Leigh Ann inched forward, straining for a closer look. “I wonder what's in that gray metal box?”

She shifted the broom to the top of the box, pressed it against a small handle, and tried to pull it toward her. When she realized there was a string attached to the handle, she tried to break it away with the broom.

An enormous flash and boom shook the entire attic, yanking the broom right out of her hand. Stunned, Leigh Ann ducked, clapping her hands to her ears, and nearly rolled off the narrow board. Her ears ringing, she peered through the cloud of dust and debris, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Leigh Ann. Are you okay?” Rachel's voice seemed to floating in from the distance. “Leigh Ann? Leigh Ann!”

Leigh Ann shook her head, backed up a couple of feet, then turned around, looking at Rachel, who was halfway into the opening now. “Umm, I'm okay, but something just blew up.”

“What did you do?”

“I don't know. I hit a string with the broom, then something exploded.”

Rachel pointed. “Over there. Is that a fire? I see smoke.”

As Leigh Ann turned, she saw shattered fishing gear and shreds of cardboard littering the top of the insulation batts. One of the truss beams that braced the connection between the roof and rafters had been peppered with holes and was shattered in half. Farther to the right, she glimpsed something she finally recognized. Sticking out of one of the black plastic bags was a big gun barrel. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the muzzle. “Nope, no fire. I smell gunpowder, though.”

“Rachel, that's Kurt's pump shotgun,” she added, still trying to make sense of things. “I wondered why I'd never been able to find it.”

“Did you touch the trigger, or did it go off by itself?”

Suddenly things popped into place in her mind. “Neither. Kurt set a trap with that damn thing! He loaded the shotgun and aimed it at the front of the box. I saw a piece of string, which must have been attached to the trigger. If I'd have moved that metal box myself instead of using the tip of the broom, my brains would be splattered all over the attic right now.”

“Want me to call the sheriff?”

Leigh Ann was still shaking like a leaf. She couldn't move, and she was almost sure she'd wet her pants, but her thinking was crystal clear. “No. Hold off on that. This wasn't meant for you or me. Kurt knew we wouldn't come up here. This was meant for someone else. Before we get the police involved I want to look inside the box. It's no toolbox; it looks more like one of those petty cash containers. There's a lock on the side below the lid.”

Kurt hadn't been violent, yet he'd been willing to kill to protect the contents of that box. She had to know what was inside.

Leigh Ann took a shaky breath and reached for the box, making sure that the string was no longer attached to anything. “No more secrets, you bastard.”

“Leigh Ann?” Rachel called.

“I'm coming.” She edged back on hands and knees, dragging the surprisingly heavy box with her, and made it down the small ladder a few minutes later, carrying the box by the handle on top, a piece of string still attached to it. “I can't stop shaking.”

“It's little wonder.” Rachel took the metal document box from her hands and tried to open the latch. “It's locked. Do you know where he kept the key?”

“No. I didn't even know this box existed until about five minutes ago. After I go get the shotgun I'm coming down.

I'll get this thing open even if I have to blast it with buckshot.”

*   *   *

It was getting late, and the darkness outside robbed Melvin Littlewater of the contrast between objects that provided him with orientation clues. His life had been shrouded in curtains of gray since the accident that had made him legally blind. Being told his vision was worse than 20/200 meant he could only discern objects in daylight that were within twenty feet or less. Faces, even point blank, were just a blur, and his reading material these days was in Braille.

He put away the clay sculpture of the antelope he'd been shaping with his hands, satisfied with the feel of the almost finished piece. After it was fired, he'd pack it up safely and deliver it to Director Nez at the tribal building.

Exhausted, he turned out the light and walked to the living room, knowing by heart how many steps he needed to take and where everything was placed. During the day he could find his way around his furniture and other large possible obstacles, but at night, outside, everything disappeared into a yawning black void.

He dreaded the night—the time when dreams came back to haunt him. Not yet ready to go to bed, he made himself comfortable in his leather easy chair and reached out to feel for the half-empty whiskey bottle he kept on the table beside it. The liquor was there to remind him that there were other demon-filled roads, some far worse than the one he traveled.

He switched on the TV and listened to a sitcom. Comfortable, yet weary, he soon drifted to sleep and back into the world of the sighted.

Unearthly, yet familiar dreamscapes unfolded before him.

He was on the road, behind the wheel of his truck, tired, and struggling to stay awake. Out of nowhere, he saw the bright headlight beams coming up fast behind him, blinding in the rearview mirror.

He pulled to the right, onto the shoulder of the road, taking his foot off the gas, giving the car behind him space to get around. There were two lanes in either direction and plenty of room.

With his horn blaring, the driver hurtled past him, then pulled back to the right too soon, cutting Melvin off and slamming into the front end of the truck.

At the impact, Melvin slammed on the brakes and fought for control. He saw the irrigation ditch beside the highway and steered left, trying to get away, but the car was shoving him inexorably to the right, tires shrieking.

Desperate to avoid crashing into the guardrail, he yanked the steering wheel hard to the right and broke free from the car. Somehow he avoided the steel guardrail and shot through a metal gate. The impact ripped into the driver's side door but didn't slow him down. Melvin struggled to steer, to regain control, but nothing made any difference. As his pickup struck the water, an air bag went off, nearly breaking his eardrums and slamming him back into the seat. He pushed the bag away and tried to sit up as the truck began to sink.

In the midst of the chaos, he saw the car roll, flip over the guardrail, then bounce into the water ahead of him, upside down.

With ice-cold water rushing into the cab of his truck, Melvin fought desperately to release his seat belt. He had to get out. Blood flowed down his face and his eyes burned so badly he could barely see. Everything seemed to be covered in a thin red veil.

The seat belt gave, but his leg was caught on something—the deflated air bag, he realized. He struggled, yanking at his pant leg with all his strength, and managed to free himself. Afraid of being pulled under as the truck continued to sink, he struggled out through the window and hauled himself onto the top of the cab. That's when he saw the girl, knee-deep in water, struggling to reach him, holding out her hands.

He was about to call out to her when his truck struck the bottom of the ditch. The impact knocked Melvin off the truck and into the current. He couldn't swim. As blackness encompassed him, he felt the presence of death, sweet, warm, and so enticing he almost surrendered.

It was the girl's insistent cries that broke through to him. He couldn't give up. He wasn't ready to die. Somehow, he kept his head above the surface, thrashing as the current tossed him around.

After an eternity, he felt hands pulling him out of the water. Pain followed, then blackness again.

Melvin woke with a start. As he tried to even his breathing, he wondered if he'd ever be able to put that night behind him. Like a man trapped in time, he seemed condemned to relive the moments that had changed his life forever. Yet what haunted him most was the girl.

Over the years, he'd spoken to nearly all the witnesses and responders, but no one else had seen her. At first, he'd thought she'd drowned that night trying to save him, but her body had ever been found.

Everyone had tried to tell him that he'd imagined her, but as logical as their arguments had been, he knew better. She'd been much too real to be only a figment of his imagination.

BOOK: Looking Through Darkness
8.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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