The Faceless One (49 page)

BOOK: The Faceless One

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Stan stroked the little creature, and it stayed with him into the night. Stan felt happier than he had for a long time.

When Stan died, the otter licked his face. It climbed down from him and regarded him there in the darkness. With a disdainful hiss at the thing in the pack, it climbed agilely up out of the crevasse.

Once it reached the surface, it turned into a white raven, its wings and beak like burnished gold.

Raven etched characters in the snow, then flew off.

Tremors came, and the rocks tumbled into the crevasse. The snow settled, and the area was a flat and featureless expanse.

A fitting resting place for T’Nathluk and the brave man who guarded him.

Epilogue

When Jimmy awoke, he first thought that Rose was leaning over him, her large brown eyes regarding him with curiosity and tenderness. Then she changed, becoming younger as he became more awake, and he realized it was his granddaughter.

“Molly,” he whispered, his voice weak.

“Hi, Papa,” she whispered back.

Thomas stepped into view, as did George and Thomas’s wife, Kate. He smiled at all of them, feeling wrapped in bonds of love as powerful as any magic.

When it came time for Molly to get lunch, she hugged him and promised she would be back soon.

Now it was just him and George. The two old friends regarded one another.

“You sure scared me, Injun Joe,” George said.

“You and me both, Uncle Ben.”

“They said …” George hesitated for a moment, overcome. “They said you were actually dead for a couple of minutes then they resuscitated you.”

Jimmy nodded and thought of Rose.

George then told him that both Fred Deutschendorf and Nurse Belva had traveled down to the UCLA Med Center to see him, and they anxiously awaited his return to Golden Summer. Jimmy smiled at that but said nothing.

After Jimmy had apparently died, they had placed Jake Sparks’s corpse in the trunk of the car Stan Roberts had driven to the Slater house. They had left this down the street from the house, and Stan had left in Jimmy and George’s rental.

Once the police arrived, they had explained that Jimmy and George had wanted to visit Steven and pay their respects to Daniel, a man who had helped Jimmy’s village. As they were exiting their car, they were jumped by a man later identified as Stan Roberts. He had brutally attacked Jimmy and left him to die in the snow. It was upon examining Jimmy’s body that they found he was still alive and rushed him to the UCLA Medical Center.

The body of Jake Sparks caused quite a sensation, and numerous theories were posited on how the “faceless man” had become so. Jake was tied to the murder of his colleague Max Tully, and some went so far as to say that Jake and Stan together comprised The Taxidermist.

Jimmy spent six weeks in the hospital, his bills paid for by Thomas although Fred Deutschendorf wanted to help.

At last, George asked Jimmy when they might be going home.

“George,” said Jimmy, “I’m afraid Raven isn’t through with me, yet.”

George nodded sourly. “I figured. That buzzard has been visiting my sleep the last three nights and interrupting perfectly good dreams of me and Nurse Belva.”

Jimmy laughed and George smiled.

“I guess he wants us to remain a team,” Jimmy said.

“I told him I’d kick his ass bare of feathers if he didn’t,” George declared.

Jimmy worried what might face them, but then Molly entered the room with his son and daughter-in-law, and all his worries were swept away in the wake of her rushing to hug him and in the cascade of delight she brought.

“Tell me a story, Papa,” Molly said.

Jimmy smiled. Thomas, Kate, and George pulled up their chairs as Molly snuggled close to him.

“This is an old story,” Jimmy said, “and one of my favorites. Long ago, there was a chief so selfish he kept the sun and moon and stars all for himself …”

And the story began.

Acknowledgments

No one writes a novel alone. Even if search engines have reduced trips to libraries and calls to consultants, people who believe in you and your work are invaluable. I’d like to thank those people who encouraged me in my writing along the way, from early teachers like Lynne Goldklang and Jan Livingston to writer Joe McKinney, who encouraged me to get back into short stories. J. W. Schnarr, editor at Northern Frights Publishing, was one of the first people to believe wholeheartedly in this book. My thanks to Dennis Copelan, Hua Anwa, Deborah LeBlanc, L. L. Soares, Harvey Jacobs, Janet Fitch, Mike Lyons, Phil Louridas, R. C. Matheson, Arthur Byron Cover, and Lydia Marano—all friends who have offered encouragement and support. And my appreciation goes out to the writers who have inspired me: Ray Bradbury, Robert Sheckley, Eric Frank Russell, Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Robert Bloch, and Robert McCammon. My editor, Sarah Peed, is a dream to work with, and many thanks to all the people behind me at Random House/Hydra, especially Gina Wachtel, Kimberly Cowser, April Flores, and Dave Stevenson. My gratitude goes out to the Tlingit people, whose masks and mythology inspired this tale—my story of The Faceless One is my own invention, but their perseverance and courage are their own. I am deeply grateful to my father, Carl, the first writer I ever admired, and to my mother, Evelyn, whose love of books and Cherokee/Creek heritage make up an important part of who I am.

Finally, my loving gratitude to my wife, Tobey, who is my constant and my guiding star, now and always.

About the Author

M
ARK
O
NSPAUGH
is a California native and the author of more than forty published short stories. Like many writers, he is perpetually curious, having studied psychology at UCLA, exotic animals at Moorpark College’s exotic animal training and management program, improv comedy with the Groundlings, and special-effects makeup. Mark has also written for film and television. He currently lives in Cambria, California, with his wife and three peculiar cats.
The Faceless One
is his first novel.