Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
I spend the rest of the morning clearing out my garden, taking special care to keep my back to the Crowes’ house in a mediocre attempt to make this slightly less depressing. Unfortunately, all that ends up doing is giving me an unobstructed line of sight to the overgrown path leading to the Cartwright Estate and Divine Mercy.
No matter how much I try to throw myself into gardening, my eyes stray back to the path every few minutes, almost like an unseen force is beckoning me from the shadows of the forest.
When the last of my plants are pulled and added to the compost heap, I wipe the sweat from my brow, throw my gardening gloves in the dirt, and head for the tree line.
My steps slow and my brow furrows as I approach. Dad and Noah rarely spend time out here and I haven’t dared venture this far into the yard for fourteen years, so why are there so many broken branches and crushed weeds on the path? It almost looks like someone’s been walking up and down this route…
A shiver skitters up my sweat-soaked spine.
It’s probably a game trail now, but I can’t help imagining there’s a skinwalker lurking in the shadows .
Shielding my eyes from the blaring sun with my forearm, I stare up at the hillside. God, I hope Ryker is okay. It’s been hours since he left, and I still can’t shake the gnawing feeling that I should have gone with him.
To hell with it…
Without stopping to overthink, I take off up the trail. It’s a solid mile to the church, most of it uphill, but it only takes me about ten minutes before I spot the ancient fence separating the Cartwright property from ours. Thankfully, a large section of the wrought iron is down, the rusted metal in the decaying leaves crumbling beneath my boots as I step across.
This deep into the woods, there’s no breeze, which means despite the tree cover, it’s sweltering in here. Sweat pours from every surface of my skin, and I might be losing my mind, but I’d swear it’s getting hotter the farther I travel into the trees.
With only the crunch of my bootsteps and the shrill cry of unseen cicadas overhead, I stumble over downed trees and through a thicket of branches until I wander into the strip of lifeless forest this town was named after.
The Dead Wood.
I pause on the threshold of desolation, horrified at the way the trees’ skeletal fingers claw at the sky in a vain attempt to free themselves from the cursed ground below.
Sweat beads down my spine and temples, an uneasy tension racking through my body while I fight the urge to run home. I force myself to take one step, my breath quickening as the faintest trace of rotten eggs tickles my nose before traversing the necropolis as quickly as possible.
After a quarter mile, the foliage thickens, the landscape bleeding from brown to green as the trees fill out once again. Realizing I must be close, I pick up my pace, breathing out a sigh of relief when the murmur of a large crowd finally reaches my ears.
I emerge from the wood near the south end of the cemetery, slowing my steps when I spot the enormous crowd gathered in the adjacent field separating me from Divine Mercy.
All of Deadwood must be here, the low groan of their prattling echoing off the nearby tombstones like a phantom song. The urge to disappear back into the trees pounds inside my chest, but my need to see Ryker and make sure he’s okay is stronger, and I refuse to continue allowing fear to make my choices.
I’ve barely taken three steps when the chatter of the assembly dies out all at once. My head snaps up just in time to see Kane taking the stage. His microphone picks up each clack of his boots, his steps vibrating over the speakers and through the ground beneath my feet, giving his walk an almost unearthly quality.
“Welcome, citizens of Deadwood,” Kane beckons, arms extended, as he stands center stage behind an oak podium. Something is stamped into the front of the worn wood, but the crowd is packed so tightly I can’t see anything but a flash of red each time they undulate to compete for a better position.
Not that anyone has an issue seeing Kane. By placing the slanted stage on the high ground of a natural depression in the field, he’s given everyone in attendance—including myself—an unencumbered view. Even the noon-thirty sun seems to be strategically placed in his favor, hitting the back of his head at just the right angle to give the impression of a golden halo.
His tweed sport coat, white western-style shirt, and black slacks are clean and pressed, held in place by a pair of smart black suspenders and his signature cicada bolo tie. Even his tiny man bun is perched a little higher on his head than usual, making him appear even taller and feeding into the vibe that he’s orchestrated every minute detail of this shindig.
But I can’t see Ryker…
Using the graveyard wall for cover, I slink closer, noticing the rest of the changes to the property as I try to avoid being seen.
The burnt debris from the church is gone, the broken windows exchanged for new ones, and the destroyed sections of wall replaced with brand-new siding that’s been painted a muted shade of white to match the existing exterior of the church. The shrubs and vines are now neatly pruned, and all the weeds on this side of the road have been cleared out, including the patch of poisonous hemlock. In their place, a row of greenhouses made from what looks like recycled windowpanes stand like silent sentinels on the edge of the forest.
Without the remnants of the fire readily visible, my stomach doesn’t lurch the way it did the last time I was here. But not even the restorations can change the fact that there’s still a presence about the place—a quiet foreboding that crawls up my neck, like the church itself is watching me.
Kane clears his throat. “Many of you have asked what we’ve been doing up here these past few months. I thought it was high time I let you all in on the plan.”
Over three hundred voices erupt in low, excited whispers. Even my pulse picks up with my piqued curiosity.
“There’s a sickness plaguing our nation,” Kane laments, a satisfied grin tugging at the somber set of his lips when the chatter promptly quiets down. “This sickness has wormed its way into our homes and houses of worship. It haunts our schools and festers in our hospitals, feeding off the desiccated remains of our once great democracy. Brothers and Sisters, our nation is on the brink of a civil war, and yet we continue to elect men so ancient and senile they require special procedures to renew their driver’s license. How can we trust these men to lead our nation when our own laws don’t even trust them to operate a vehicle?”
Kane places two hands on the podium in front of him, scanning the crowd as his last words echo through the valley. “Is it not time we took our future into our own hands?”
The assembly shifts forward, and like everyone else present, I find myself leaning in, too, enraptured by the impassioned cadence of his voice despite the way my skin crawls.
“Across the planet, crops are failing and livestock are dying. There are fires and earthquakes, droughts and famines. Floods decimate entire regions while disease runs rampant in our communities. Are these not clear signs that we’ve strayed too far from God’s path? That our current way of living is no longer sustainable? And yet our leaders do not act.”
“So how do we change that?” a man shouts while pockets of townsfolk nod their agreement.
“I’m glad you asked.” Kane smiles, and the crowd shifts again, giving me the briefest glimpse of my father’s Stetson standing beside the mayor near the front left of the stage. I lean back against the cemetery wall, praying he doesn’t look this way.
“Buckle up,” Mayor García calls out in a mocking lilt. “This is where he passes around the collection plate.”
To Kane’s credit, he doesn’t take the mayor’s bait. “We are not interested in your money,” he says, like the notion disgusts him. “What we’re interested in is your time and investment in our community’s future. We want leaders and freethinkers. We want a better tomorrow for our children.”
A small group of people break away from the larger crowd, two of them continuing on to the stage. My body sags with relief as Ryker’s familiar head of raven hair takes a position behind his brother, but then I notice the hard, unreadable expression etched into his face and my stomach immediately tightens.
The uneasy feeling triples when I spot Isabel’s shining black hair in the middle of the group that broke away, all of whom are now standing beside the stage.
“A war is coming,” Kane says ominously. “Every year it draws closer. Deadwood is my home. I will not abandon you as every leader has done before, and I will not use you for selfish gain. This town, much like our country, is falling apart. But starting with this old church, I’m going to transform Deadwood into a safe haven where we can weather the storm.”
Kane scans the crowd, making eye contact with each and every person. When he sees me, I’d swear his lips spread into a dark grin before he subtly looks back at his brother .
“Thank you all for coming,” he says after a pause “We have food and refreshments over by the church. If you are interested in learning more about our plans for the future, services will be held every Sunday at six in the evening. I’ll see you all at the next town hall meeting where we’ll be asking Mayor García to account for the poor management of Deadwood’s resources.”
One person starts clapping, and then another, until soon more than half the town is putting their hands together while the other half glances around like they’ve missed something.
Now that I’ve confirmed Ryker’s okay, I need to get out of here before anyone else sees me. I take three steps back toward the forest, freezing mid-step when a strong black-peppery whiff of men’s aftershave assaults my nose.
My eyes fly to my dad’s Stetson across the field.
How—
“Looks like I’m not the only uninvited guest today,” a cool voice drawls from behind me.
I whirl around and find Beau Blackthorne leaning against the stone wall.
Not only has he showered, but he’s wearing a collared shirt and his hazel eyes are clear, which means he might actually be sober for once. I take a step away, far enough that I’m out of arm’s reach, and scrutinize the rest of his nearly unrecognizable appearance.
I’ve always had a hard time imagining Beau as anything other than my piece-of-shit drunk neighbor, but with his clean clothes and gray-flecked nutmeg-brown hair tamed, I can almost see a glimpse of the man he could have been without the drink—and it somehow makes him feel more dangerous.
“There’s somethin’ dark in that boy,” Beau says, jutting his chin toward the stage and what I assume is Kane. “His mama knew there was somethin’ wrong with him ever since he was a baby. Same way Annalee did with you.”
The casual mention of my mother’s name catches me so off guard that the muscles in my calves lock up when I try to take another step away, causing me to tumble backward, where I scrape my palm against the rock wall before landing flat on my ass. I quickly scramble to my feet, wincing when I spot the slow trickle of blood dripping down my forearm.
Beau’s smile is sickly sweet as he looks from my red-stained palm to my face, the tilt of his head casting deep shadows beneath his eyes. “Did your daddy ever tell you Annalee flatlined twice bringing you into this world?”
I don’t have to say a word for him to read the horror etched into my scrunched brow.
“Didn’t think so.” He laughs, the low sound rumbling deep in his chest and belly. “That would lend too much credence to the idea that your momma might’ve been right about you all along, wouldn’t it?”
I continue backing up, and Beau keeps advancing.
“What do you want?” I manage to squeak out. “Why are you here?”
“Same reason as you.” He glowers as he glances over my shoulder. “I wanted to know what that boy was up to. Then I saw you skulking about and thought I’d come tell you the news.”
“And w-what news is that?” I ask, silently cursing myself for the way my voice shakes.
Beau’s answering grin sends a chill through my blood.
“Take a look for yourself.” He points to his beat-up truck on the opposite end of the graveyard, and my stomach plummets when I see a ponytailed little head peeking over the edge of the tailgate.
I try to keep my voice inflectionless, but my brain is too busy screaming for me to grab Charlie and get her the hell away from Beau. “How long is she in town for this time?”
“Just a day visit,” Beau says dismissively, and the hackles on my neck rise at the underlying tone of annoyance buried beneath it. “After the hearing on Wednesday, though, my parental rights will officially be reinstated. I’ll get my daughter back, then who knows…maybe I’ll rectify a few of my other shortcomings and past transgressions. ”
It sounds like a threat, and even though I don’t understand why…the feeling only grows as he scans me up and down, the corners of his lips pulling into a pronounced scowl.
Then his attention flickers to something behind me, the predatory spark lighting up his eyes sending a shiver down my spine. “Looks like Charlotte and I are about to have a little family reunion…”