“No, it's not like that.” She was suddenly flustered. Even at midnight she couldn't get a modicum of privacy in this town.
“Daddy's gonna be here in a few minutes to bring me some gas. I think it would be a good idea if you was gone when he gets here, him being the pastor and all.”
Cassie looked again at the big truck blocking the way, and nodded. “I suppose you're right.” She turned the Honda around and headed back down the road, shame and impotent rage welling inside her. She wasn't going to give up. She had to find out the truth, and she believed Grant held the key.
At the end of the dirt road, Clay Mountain silhouetted like a sleeping giant behind her, she paused. Where the dirt met the tarmac there was nothing but trees to left and right. But on the opposite side of the road, about fifty yards to the left, was a turnoff. One of those places for people to pull over and rest if they were too tired to continue on their journey or something.
Cassie drove to it, pulled up close to the trees and parked in deep shadow. She killed her engine and lights and sat there, waiting. Why had Cliff been up at the Shipman cabin? And who runs out of gas like that, halfway through a three-point turn? Ten minutes passed, then twenty, and still no sign of Pastor Edwin and the gas he was supposed to be bringing. It shouldn't take this long. After thirty minutes, Cassie's nerves began to jangle like a cold hand creeping up her spine. She thought about walking through the woods to get up to the cabin, but that was a long way and she was likely to get lost.
After forty five minutes her nerves got the better of her and she was about to start up the car and go home when headlights lit the distance, coming from Wallen's Gap. The lights blinded her as they swelled up, painting the trees in bight greens, before zooming straight past the turnoff to Grant’s cabin and barrelling on down the road. Cassie let out a breath she’d been unaware she was holding and fired up the battered Honda to head back home. Something very strange was happening and it scared her to think what it might be.
Chapter 6
Grant sat hunched over a steaming cup of coffee, scowling. It wasn't the coffee that had him in a foul mood. In fact, that was the only good thing about the day so far. But he was tired, annoyed and, if he was honest, more than a little scared. He'd endured a terrible night's sleep, his dreams plagued with screaming girls tied to tables, and strange rednecks with faces that kept morphing into twisted, demonic visages as he tried to escape from them along darkened corridors, his legs like lead. Several times during the night he had woken himself crying out, the sensation of pursuit still fresh in his adrenalized, sweating body.
Eventually he dragged himself from bed and brewed coffee, resigned to the fact that he would get no more rest anyway. He had an appointment in Kingsville at ten a.m. to sign off on a bunch of legal paperwork and figured he might as well get an early start. It wasn't like there would be much in the way of traffic, but he had to somehow justify his rising close to dawn.
Grant finished his coffee and chewed his way through toast that tasted like cardboard and sawdust on his tongue, then gathered the papers he needed. Two hours on his cell phone the afternoon before and several more hours through the evening had finally revealed that he needed to go to his father's attorney in Kingsville and then find a notary and the county courthouse, to file the numerous, frustrating forms. At least once this was done, he would have nothing left to worry about but his father's personal possessions and cabin. A part of him was tempted once again to just give up on it, keep driving once he was finished in Kingsville and have a real estate agent deal with selling the cabin and everything in it. Did he really need the hassle of all this garbage and these hillbillies? But with Suzanne gone, what did he have to go back to? An apartment as empty and pointless as this cabin.
His eyes roved the spare furnishings and something like nostalgia drifted over him. He had not known his father well, but he felt there was a certain closure to be found here. He owed it to himself and his dad to make the right decisions with all this. And besides, he might turn up something valuable or personal that he could treasure. Some connection to the man. The train of thought led Grant back to the strange book in the smokehouse and he shook his head, clearing his thoughts quickly before he ruminated on that too much. It made him intensely uncomfortable to even picture it in his mind's eye. He had seen that picture move, heard the girl's scream and the chant and the drum.
“The hell with this,” he muttered, forcing the thoughts from his mind. He grabbed his keys and left as the soft pink of dawn began to give way to the blue of a clear, bright day.
As he climbed into his car the sensation of being watched washed over him, prickled up his spine and gently gripped the back of neck. Why did this keep happening? Half in the car door, he paused, looked around. Trees shifted in a soft breeze, birds sang. No person anywhere to be seen. He walked away from the car a few paces and looked deeper into the forest, down the driveway, up towards the smokehouse.
“Anyone there?” he called out. “I'm about to leave for the day, so if you need to talk to me, now's the time!”
He felt like a fool calling out to the woods. His heart hammered ridiculously fast, but no one answered. He didn't know what he would have done had anyone actually replied. Probably jump right out of his shoes. With an annoyed grunt, he climbed into the car and turned the key. The sound of another engine barked and rattled over his own the moment his fired. With a curse, he killed his again. The distant sound of a diesel motor drifted through the air. He opened the car door and hopped up on the hood, peering down where the drive wound through the forest. The diesel sound was almost gone, receding down the dirt road leading away from the cabin. He caught a glimpse of a truck snaking through the twisting mountain road before it vanished down the hollow.
“What the fuck?” He slipped back into the car, restarted it and roared around in a wide U, spraying gravel up against the front of the cabin. With no regard for his shocks, he hammered down the rutted drive to where it met the paved road and skidded to a halt at the intersection. Nothing. No vehicle in either direction until the road curved away through the trees.
Maybe he had been hearing things. Hardly any sleep, his nerves in tatters, perhaps it had only been his own engine echoing through the forest. Was that even possible? But he'd seen the truck! Regardless, there was nothing to see now. He turned towards Wallen's Gap and was soon cruising through the main street.
Even this early there were people moving about, a smattering of cars gliding slowly by. He caught sight of a young girl, maybe sixteen, weirdly out of place in old-fashioned clothes, standing on a street corner as he passed. Her bonnet half-shaded her face, but her expression held such a deep and terrible sadness that Grant hit the brakes, twisting in his seat to look back. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He stared at the empty pavement where she had stood. She had definitely been standing right there. He ground his teeth. This fucking town.
Impotently angry at just about everything, he revved the engine and drove on. A block further, a flash of jeans and a white shirt caught his eye as he passed the park. Was that Cassie or was he seeing things again? Rather than risk a wreck, he hung a right, went around the block, and cruised by the park again. It was her. She sat alone on a swing, gently swaying back and forth, head down. Her hair obscured her face, but she seemed sullen, sad.
Grant pulled up to the curb, wound down the window. “Hey, Cassie!”
She looked up with a start, dragged one forearm across her face. “Oh, hi.” Her voice was tight.
Grant frowned. Had she been crying? “Everything okay?”