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Chapter 27

The battered green farm truck sputtered and died just as it arrived at the end of a long gravel driveway. The driver, a teenage girl, swore under her breath and tried to restart it without success.

Damn thing. I told Mom and Dad it wasn’t running right. Now it’s gone and died on me. Perfect, just perfect.

She looked at the bags of groceries in the passenger seat and sighed. She grabbed them, opened the door and exited the truck, stopping to smack the steering wheel one more time for good measure. She divided the bags evenly between both hands and started walking up the driveway towards her house. During the course of her half-mile walk, she thought about the events of the past day and a half. First, there was the fight with her boyfriend. Well, not really a fight. She hadn’t even been able to respond to his statements and questions. She had just sat in stunned silence until he dropped her off at home, and when he had cautiously asked about their planned trip to the city, scheduled for today, she had told him that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. She had other things she needed to do. He had obviously been upset, but he knew her well enough not to press the issue. They had parted in silence, and later that night, all she had been able to think about was that conversation.

Everything was so great, and he had to go and mess it up. Now everything is so...awkward.

After a long sleepless night, going back and forth in her mind over what he had asked, she had decided to call him tonight and talk, just talk, to try to smooth things over. He really was a great guy and she really didn’t want to lose his friendship. The other thing, well, they would work it out. Somehow.

He next set of thoughts turned to that morning, when she had arisen, and the rest of the family was already up and preparing for the party tomorrow. Everyone, that is, except for her little brother. The poor kid was sick as a dog, probably one of those 24-hour viruses. Or so she hoped. He had looked terrible when she went to see him this morning.

“Stay in bed, rest, you’ll be OK by tomorrow,” she had told him. He had been so disappointed that he couldn’t go with her to the city.

“It’s OK, we can always go another time,” she had assured him. “Just rest today, you don’t want to miss the party tomorrow.”

She had then gone downstairs to the kitchen, where her mother was just taking a cake out of the oven.

“Your father requested German Chocolate, but I don’t have what I need to make the icing. We need a few more things from the store, too. Would you be a dear and run into town for me?”

“Sure Mom, I don’t have any other plans...now,” she had said without enthusiasm.

Her mother had looked at her with sympathy.

“If you’re not up to it, Belle could go. You could stay here and decorate.”

“No, that’s OK. Besides, decorating is Belle’s thing, not mine. No artistic talent here. I’ll go, I just hope the truck makes it there and back,” she had said as she took the list from her mother and headed out the door.

I sure didn’t get my wish there. Damn truck. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long in town.

She had met a couple of her high school friends while in the grocery store, and they had chatted idly for about half an hour. The checkout had taken longer than expected, too, and she had been in a rush to get home after she left.

Mom’s going to kill me...

She stepped up her pace and soon she was at her front door. She was surprised to find the house absolutely quiet. With a shrug, she opened the front door and walked down the hall to the kitchen where she placed the bags of groceries next to the kitchen sink. The cake was sitting on the fancy pedestal on the table, ready to be iced, but her mother was nowhere to be found. She walked into the dining room which had been wonderfully decorated, but it, too, was empty.

Where in the Hell is everyone?

She peered into the family room, which was also empty, and then headed down the hall to the laundry room. She opened the side door and walked down the steps to the yard.

“Hello? Where is everybody?”

She walked around to the back yard and stopped, frozen, staring at the gruesome tableau she saw before her.

No...it’s not real. It’s some sort of sick joke...

Six bodies were hanging, their arms outstretched against the old oak trees that framed the yard. In a flash she realized that their arms had been tied and nailed to crosspieces which had been affixed to the trees themselves. The bodies were in groups of three, separated by sex, with the oldest of each in the center. They had been stripped of clothing except for a piece of cloth around the waist. The deep cuts across their torsos stood out livid against the pale skin, internal organs visible in the deepest gashes. Their arms and legs had all been slashed open as well, and were painted with twisting red symbols that were strange, yet somehow familiar...

The girl felt a scream rising in her throat as she looked at the oldest female, unable to comprehend that it was the woman she had spoken with that morning, just as she had every morning for most of her life. As she stared at her mother’s mutilated body, she thought, with horror, that she saw it move.

Oh God, she’s still—

Unthinking, she took two steps forward and stopped as her right foot landed in something soft and wet. She looked down and saw she was standing in a large puddle of some dark liquid which was soaking into her shoe and turning the white canvas crimson. Gasping with disgust, she looked back up at the bodies of her family as saw without a doubt that any hope of saving them was gone. From her new perspective she could see that all of their throats had been slit from ear to ear...

The scream that had been building since she stepped into the back yard finally broke free and shattered the silence. She drew another breath to scream again when the blow struck her from behind. She felt a crushing pain in her side as her ribs snapped. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and fell to the ground. She heard what sounded like a tree branch breaking and white hot pain flashed up her left leg. Another blow shattered her right arm and she rolled on her back, raising her other arm and right leg to ward off her attacker. The next blow hit her just below the knee and the pain caused the edges of her vision to darken. She tried to scream but the pain in her side from her crushed ribs made it impossible to draw a breath. She shielded her face with her remaining limb and within seconds another blow smashed her hand and wrist. She lay on the ground, writhing with pain, praying for the beating to stop. Suddenly it was silent and she opened her eyes, wincing, trying to see what was happening. Through the haze of pain, she saw a figure dressed in black standing over her, a wooden baseball bat in one gloved hand. The bat fell from the figure’s grasp. Slowly, her attacker withdrew a large gleaming knife from its belt.

“No,” she whispered. “Please...”

The figure bent down and the knife flashed through the air. She felt a searing pain in her side just below her ribcage. Still she could not scream. The knife rose and fell again, sinking deep into her stomach. Using what little strength she had, she warded off the next direct blow and felt the knife slice across the palm of her hand. Finally, she was able to let out a scream, high and weak. The figure slashed at her again and again, cutting her arm, hand, and fingers down to the bone. With all her strength she finally knocked the knife from the attacker’s grasp. The attacker scrambled after it, and the girl tried unsuccessfully to rise from the ground. As she raised her head, she saw that the attacker had returned, bloody knife in hand. She watched in horror as the blade descended one last time towards her throat and just as it connected, she heard the killer scream out in a high, unnatural voice:

“You’re not supposed to be here!”



Tigg sat bolt upright in bed, her heart racing, her hoarse scream breaking the silence of the cabin. She sat shaking, unable to move, until a wave of nausea swept over her and she stumbled to the bathroom. She collapsed in front of the toilet and vomited. Shuddering, she reached up and pulled the lever, then slid into the corner and drew her knees up to her chest. She stayed in the position, rocking back and forth, sobbing quietly, the dream fresh in her mind. Never before has she experienced a memory of that day with such detail and clarity. She could almost feel the burning slashes and the grating of broken bones. She put her hand to her throat and felt the scar, almost certain she would feel fresh blood rising from that old injury.

After a few moments, she heard a light knock on the bedroom door and Pendergast’s voice drifted through the cracks.

“Tigg? Are you all right?”

No, she thought, I haven’t been all right for a very long time.

She gingerly rose to her feet and staggered to the bedroom door, where she leaned her head against it and replied in a shaky voice.

“I’m fine. It was...I’m fine.”

She waited, expecting to hear Pendergast’s retreating footsteps. When she didn’t, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack to peer out. Pendergast, sans disguise, was peering back at her, his silvery eyes filled with what she thought was concern.

“Really, I’m fine...it’s just a bad dream,” she muttered, trying to avoid his gaze. “Is it time to get up yet?”

“It’s 4 AM.”

“Oh. Sorry I woke you up, then. I think I’ll go back to bed.” She shut the door and locked it, waiting for Pendergast to leave. She heard his footsteps move away from the door and she returned to her bed and collapsed on top of it. She lay in her back, staring up at the ceiling, the scene replaying unbidden in her mind.

I never saw his face. Never. How am I supposed to stop him when I don’t know who he is?

Knowing that there would be no more sleep that night, Tigg rose from her bed and got dressed.

She grabbed a small bag from her knapsack and opened the bedroom door. When she looked out into the cabin, she was surprised to see Pendergast sitting at the kitchen table. She walked to the kitchen and turned to face him. He looked up at her, curious, momentarily forgetting the small carving he had been turning over in his hands.

“I decided to make some tea.”

“Excellent idea. I have already put the kettle on the stove.”

Tigg stared at him for a moment and then walked to the cabinet to retrieve two mugs. She opened the bag she had brought with her and removed a silver tea ball which she proceeded to fill with some of the remaining contents of the bag. She looked up at Pendergast, who was watching her carefully.

“Orange pekoe with dried lavender and lemon balm. Would you like some of this?”

“No, thank you. I have my own preferred special blend.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence until the kettle started to whistle. Pendergast placed the carving back on the table, rose, took one of the mugs from the table, and walked to the counter. He returned a few moments later with a steaming cup and the kettle and filled Tigg’s mug as well. He took the kettle to the sink and came back to the table where he sat down once again. Tigg added her tea ball to her mug and twirled it in silence. The minutes dragged by. Finally, she picked up the carving and started to examine it carefully.

“It’s one of John’s. It’s worth what you paid for it.”

“That was not my primary objective in buying it, but thank you for the information. How can you tell?”

“Subtle differences. This is an old one. It’s probably been sitting in that store for years. I’m guessing it was made before John’s arthritis got too bad.”

“Is that why you took over his work?”

“Nothing unusual about that, I’m guessing. John told me that often artists train students to take over their work. He once mentioned this guy who worked with blown glass. The guy lost sight in one eye and no longer had depth perception, so his apprentices and associates do all the actual work. It’s still billed and sold as his work, though. The design is still his, the vision is still his.”

“But you added your own touch when you took over Ravenwood’s work.”

“With his encouragement, I assure you.”

“I see.”

Tigg sighed. She looked up at Pendergast, a weary expression on her face.

“Look, Pendergast, I’m sorry for everything. I’ve behaved abominably towards you. I’ve given you every reason to hate me and still you behave like a gentleman.”

“It’s quite all right. I do understand what you’re going through.”

“I know. You warned me I wasn’t ready to read that file, and I didn’t want to listen. But you were right, I wasn’t really ready for what I would find. It affected me much more than I thought it would.”

“Your nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry as well.”

“There is one thing that did come out of it, though.”

“Yes?”

“The dream was a memory. I remembered almost everything. But...”

“But what?”

Tigg’s expression turned to one of profound grief.

“I never saw the killer’s face. I can’t help the way I thought I could. We’re never going to find this guy!”

Pendergast regarded her with a look of concern. Finally, he placed one of his hands on hers and looked her in the eye.

“This case is solvable. You know more than you think, and there are other ways you can help. With the resources we have, we can find the killer. Do you believe me?”

“I...I don’t know. I...I guess so.”

“Good. Then let us get started.”

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