Chapter 19 Rutherford’s Estate
Rutherford’s Estate
Just after lunch, I climbed out of the car at the edge of Rutherford’s Estate National Park. It had rained earlier, and heat sizzled off the damp asphalt like a cauldron. I glanced up at the thick, dark clouds hovering on the horizon. It was warm, and running in the rain never bothered me.
Two other cars were parked by the entry point of a well-worn track.
I grabbed my runner’s backpack out of the car.
It was filled with water, a safety blanket, a flashlight, a lighter, a few protein bars, a GPS for emergencies, my phone, and bear spray.
I pulled the bear spray and my phone out and slipped them into an elastic belt around my waist, then I put the backpack on and clicked the belt tight.
Placing my keys in my pocket, I walked across the gravel parking area to the start of the track.
A large sign, warning of bears, advised hikers to register via a park app, to stay on the tracks, and there was a safety guide with various tips that I didn’t bother to read.
There were four clearly marked walks to choose from, varying from two hours to overnight hikes.
“Don’t run up the other side of the mountain. It’s not safe up there.”
As I recalled the warning, I looked around.
There was nothing threatening about the place, beside I had everything I needed.
The forest was a rambling stretch of ancient firs.
The fresh, organic scent of pine rolled through my nose.
I didn’t bother registering; it wasn’t like I’d be gone long.
At the edge of the track, I broke into a slow, rhythmic jog.
The sun muscled through the canopy, depositing pockets of light on the forest floor.
I ran at an easy pace for some time, winding my way steadily up.
The air was thick with heat. Sweat licked my skin, causing my hair to stick to my scalp like a wet cloth.
Embers burned in the muscles of my legs.
Birds chirped, flitting from tree to tree.
Fat raindrops fell from the leaves and smacked onto the forest floor.
I heard a branch snap somewhere to my right.
Could have been a human, but was probably an animal. I ignored it and jogged on.
I came to a point where the track forked.
Slowing to a stop, I checked my watch; I’d been running for an hour.
I chugged back a few mouthfuls of water.
The forest looked the same in every direction.
It’d be easy to get lost up here if you veered off one of the tracks.
I took the track to the right that rose steadily up the mountainside.
The green canopy grew thicker the deeper I went into the forest, and the sun gave up on its attempt to penetrate it altogether.
It was cooler up here, and the reprieve from the heat was nice.
Gray rocks burst from the ground between trees at more regular intervals.
Somewhere not too far away a river flowed.
The terrain shifted again and rose sharply.
The embers in my legs reignited. My lungs scorched. My heart boomed in my ears.
A few minutes later, out of breath, I came upon a campsite.
Exhausted, I pulled to a stop, unclipped my pack, and threw it to the ground.
Sweat dribbled down my back and over the side of my face.
I wiped at it with my fist. Hunched over, I placed my hands on my thighs and sucked air down my parched throat.
After a few moments, I straightened, tucking my arms behind my head, and looked around.
The grass was squashed flat, empty beer cans and trash littering the ground. Over to the side, ash had been heaped up into a large circle, with a star shape carved inside. Flies swarmed over something in the middle of it.
I grabbed my water bottle out of the side pouch of my backpack and took a few large mouthfuls, the cool water slipping pleasantly down my throat.
Above, a crow let out a series of long, haunting cries.
I slipped my water back in my pack and moved closer to the circle.
The stench of rotting flesh smacked me in the face and my stomach churned.
Grimacing, I covered my nose, stepping closer.
At the edge, carved in the soil was an etching of horns—a goat’s head.
In the center, in a thick pool of darkened shiny liquid, was a brown matted, blood-caked carcass with what looked like a tail.
Flies swarmed above and maggots crawled over it like a foaming wave.
A squirrel, maybe. I edged around the circle.
I didn’t step in, and I know it sounded stupid, but it seemed as if the circle itself resisted my entry.
Blue-veined eyes, like marbles. Tiny teeth stuck out of its mouth like a rabbit trap.
Not a squirrel, I realized, with a sickening drop in my stomach. A kitten, only a few months old. An open wound in its throat. Not caused by an animal. The throat had been slashed so deep its head was held on by an inch of fur.
I cursed, gasping, and staggering backwards.
What sick sons of bitches would do something so terrible?
I looked around. Trees, bushes, craggy ground, and a fallen tree, moss crawling up its decaying trunk like a gangrenous wound.
Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet suddenly I felt like the forest was somehow alive.
I felt like I was being watched. Despite the heat, a chill crept over my entire body.
The wind shifted the tree branches. Shadows leered out from underneath and became perfect places to hide.
A crow screeched, and I jumped out of my skin, clutching my hand over my fast-beating heart.
I wanted to run then, straight back down the mountain as fast as I could. But it was bad enough I lived with fear of the night, but if I didn’t face my fears in the day—if I gave them power—before I knew it, I’d be a basket case who couldn’t leave home.
The forest wasn’t alive, and there was no evil slinking in the deep undergrowth.
No ghosts waiting to tear me apart. I had to prove it to myself, so I collected my pack off the ground, secured it to my back, turned toward the incline, and started running.
I kept my eyes on the track, mostly. I couldn’t help but peer off to the sides here and there, looking for threats.
I’d just started to relax when footsteps sounded behind me.
Sharp and close.
I gasped and jerked my head back so fast that the muscles in my neck seized.
The sound repeated itself as fat raindrops fell off the leaves and smacked on the hard ground, sounding like footsteps.
I berated myself and let out a breath of relief as I kept running.
I couldn’t get back into the rhythmic state I’d been in before.
Every breath, every step, echoed uncomfortably through my head.
The wind ruffled the tree branches, and it sounded like the trees were breathing. My chest felt tight, like something invisible was pushing against me. Now, it felt as if the whole place resisted my entry. I slowed to a walk.
Get it together, Williams.
I stopped and looked around, staring into the deep, dark shadows.
Nothing. No faces, and yet I felt once again like I was on show while an audience sat in the dark, beyond the point my sight could reach, watching my every move.
Waiting for the grim finale to break into applause.
I shivered, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable.
I pulled out my phone, intent on calling .
. . Tom. I wanted to hear his soothing voice, and he’d tell me to breathe, that there was nothing there, like he always did after my nightmares.
He’d pull me to his chest and kiss the top of my head, holding me until I settled. But I couldn’t call Tom, not anymore.
I could call Dad—or Nerida. I looked down at my phone.
There was no reception up here. I needed to find a ledge.
A sound yanked my head to the side, as if something was sharpening its claws across a tree.
I stared into the thicket, put my phone back into my belt, pulled out the bear spray, and held it out like a gun in my slippery palms. The branches moved under a sudden burst of wind.
My whole body tightened. I stood immobilized, blood pulsing through my head, and stared into the woods.
Don’t run up the other side of the mountain. It’s not safe up there.
The words reverberated through my head. Surely, he meant in winter, though—not summer.
The wind wound up again, and branches rubbed against one another.
Branches. Not claws. I had two choices: go higher, and look for a ledge, or head back down.
I glanced at my watch—I’d been running for an hour and a half.
The descent would be faster, but I needed something to eat.
I needed to call someone. I needed to calm down.
To the right, up higher, through the trees, I caught a glimpse of the sun sparkling.
I headed in that direction, seeking the light as much for comfort as anything else, skirting around boulders and climbing over fallen limbs while my feet crunched the debris on the trail beneath me.
I resisted the urge to look back to see if someone—something—followed me.
A huge boulder bridged out from the ground, as if nature had placed it there deliberately as a lookout platform.
The track circled behind it. Using my hands, I grasped the rock ledge, pushed with my feet against its face, and leveraged myself up.
The view out across the mountain range was breathtaking.
A sea of green treetops peeked as far as the eye could see.
A large hawk circled above, and I could hear the soft whirl of the air as its powerful wings moved through the sky.
I put the spray back and checked my phone.
I had enough bars to call someone, but suddenly the fear receded, whispered away like morning mist until it was little more than a faded memory.
I was thirsty and hungry, so I took out a protein bar and my water bottle, quickly gulping a few mouthfuls. Then I opened the bar and took a bite.
The crunch of pebbles came from behind me, and I yelped, fists clenched as I spun around.
My heart stopped.
A dark shape emerged—
The wolf. He stood not even three feet away, his huge, muscular frame towering over my sitting body.
“You scared me, boy,” I said in a low tone so as not to startle him.
He dropped his head and whined softly. I knew it was illogical, but I felt comforted by his presence.
“Want some bar?” I broke a small piece off and sat it on the ground in front of my arched legs. He sniffed it, but raised his head and left it seated on the rock.
“No good, huh? Sorry, fresh out of deer.”
He sank his huge frame to the ground. If I reached a hand forward, I could have touched him, but I didn’t. One bite with those powerful jaws and I’d lose my arm.
I reached behind me to grab my backpack. He lifted his head, watching my every move with wary interest. I grabbed a plastic cup and tipped some water in, pushing it forward inch by inch towards him. He stood up, then dropped his head to drink.
“I think I’m going to call you Wolf,” I said, smiling. “In keeping with the Church Heights theme.”
He lifted his head as if to say okay, then darted off into the forest. I packed up my things and took a final mouthful of water before I stowed the bottle.
It was probably Wolf the whole time, traipsing along behind me just out of sight.
Nonetheless, I ran back faster than ordinary.
I called Matt on the drive back home. “Sheriff’s Department,” a lady answered bluntly.
“Can I speak to Matt, please?” I wiped a bead of sweat off my forehead.
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Amy Williams.”
“The new girl.” Still blunt. “What’s the call in relation to, Amy?”
“A dead animal.”
“A dead animal. Not exactly unheard of in Church Heights. You’re not in the city now,” the receiver said.
I raised my brows. I hadn’t even met her, and I decided I didn’t like her. “How about ones with their throats slashed? Is that commonplace too?”
Silence greeted me for a few seconds. “Just a minute.”
“Amy, what can I do for you?” Matt’s voice was pleasant enough. I heard what sounded like a pen tapping on a desk.
“I went for a run in Rutherford’s Estate.
” The pen stopped tapping, but he didn’t say anything, so I went on.
“There was some kind of weird ritual thing, and a kitten had its throat slashed.” I swallowed back the sick taste in my throat.
I wondered how twisted your mind must be to slash the throat of a tiny, helpless animal.
I knew from my parents that murderers often started their killing sprees with animals.
He swore under his breath. “Did you see anyone?”
“No, it wasn’t fresh, maybe a few days old.
Hard to tell with the heat, but it smelled bad.
” I recalled the scene, replaying it in my head like I was back there, and I shuddered.
There had been boot prints in the soil; I could see them clear as day in my mind.
Not sneakers—the ridges were too heavy, too thick, and too deep.
More like hiking boots. And no doubt there’d be fingerprints on the cans.
“I walked around the edge, but there are clear boot prints on the ground. Discarded trash too. I can go back up with you if you want me to show you where it is?”
“No need.” He sighed. “I know who it’d be.”
I wanted to know who it was. For some reason I thought of the goth-looking kids from the bookstore. Then I immediately squashed that thought—just because they dressed differently and stole didn’t make them weird sacrificial killers.
“Don’t run up there again, Amy. I told you once before—it’s not safe.” Now he sounded brisk.
I ignored the comment. “Are you going to do anything about the kitten?”
“Yes, I’ll talk to them.”
“Talk? That’s it? They killed a kitten for god’s sake, surely you can arrest them on animal cruelty charges.”
“I will deal with it, Amy. You have my word.” He went back to his usual calm, and the pen started tapping anew.
I blew out a heavy breath. “Fine, but if I find out who it is and you don’t deal with it, I will.” And I meant it.
There was a long pause. “I realize you’re upset, Amy, but how about you leave the police work to the police?”
I stabbed the end-call button.