Dark Witness Page 9

  "What's on your mind? You didn't sleep well."

  "I keep thinking about the back of that truck and the dried blood. And the duffle; that duffle doesn't make a whole lot of sense. What do you make of that?"

  Nell shrugged. "Could be the driver's bag and he threw it in the back, but it's got women's clothes in it. Maybe that was for his wife or girlfriend."

  "Could be, but there were some guy's shirts, too," Andre answered.

  "Half the time I wear men's clothes. I don't even own a dress." Nell sat down with him. Her robe was wearing thin. He made a note to pick one up for her next time he got into Fairbanks.

  "I'd like to see you in a dress," Andre said. "You'd look great."

  "Maybe in my next life," Nell answered. "Still, if someone was hitching why toss her stuff in the back? There was plenty of room up front. And if she had the duffle, why toss her in the back? And, if that's where she was, where is she now?"

  "I think she was a passenger. The passenger window was open. She could have survived the fall and crawled out that way," Andre speculated.

  "Any blood in the cab?" Nell asked.

  Andre shook his head. "Only in the container."

  "I don't know what to tell you." Nell twirled her cup on the saucer and played along. "Somebody was around because that padlock didn't open itself. I didn't see anything from the air. I suppose someone could have picked her up – if she exists. It's a mystery for sure"

  "River's not too far away. Still, you'd have to know that. Someone who didn't could get lost real easy. Far as I know, there's not even a hermit out there to help. There isn't a lot of boat traffic now, so even if she made it to the river who would pick her up?"

  They both thought about that for a while and the silence between them was still lopsided. Nell wasn't curious and Andre was bothered. As far as she was concerned, there were things on heaven and earth she would never figure out. It seemed like a waste of energy to try. She didn't think about why she'd been born or how she'd die, she was more curious about why things happened over and over again. Why the human race didn't learn from the past was beyond her. Why a duffle bag with clothes in it was in the back of a container truck was not a real worry.

  "You're right. It all probably adds up to nothing." Andre pushed his cup aside. "Do you want me to leave it here? Maybe there's something in that bag that you can use."

  She shook her head. "You should take it back with you. It's logged, and you have to turn in your report. Given the stuff you found in those boxes, that duffle might be some kind of material evidence." There was a beat and Nell asked, "Did you go through the whole thing?"

  "Not really," Andre finished off the last of his toast.

  "Maybe there's some I.D. If he was carrying a passenger, there might be family who would be awfully grateful to hear what you've found."

  Nell got up. Her slippers flapped on the hard wood floor, went silent on the rug, and gave one last slap as she stopped at the desk, reached underneath, and grabbed the bag she had stashed near Andre's gear. She unzipped it as she brought it back to the table, pulling things out as she went.

  "Whoever these belong to must never eat. What is this?" She laughed and fumbled with the shirt she had pulled out as the bag landed on the table. "A size two? Who in the hell is a two?"

  She tossed the t-shirt on a chair and brought out a blue sweater, another t-shirt, and underwear. The latter she held up for Andre to see.

  "Expensive even if they aren't fancy and about five sizes too small for me. I think your driver was taking this stuff back to a little sweetie somewhere. Nell tossed out a man's t-shirt. It was worn and faded but the logo of a surf shop was still visible. She added a pair of boxer shorts, a brush, and a thin blanket to the pile.

  "What have we here?" Nell held up a sleek and expensive cell phone.

  "Is it charged?" Andre pushed back his chair. Nell poked at the buttons.

  "It's charged. No passcode." She tapped the phone a few more times. "Hannah's phone. No last name."

  "Does she have any messages?" Andre asked.

  Nell tapped the screen. "Three from the same number. The most recent was a month ago. Shall I call it?"

  Andre motioned for her to go ahead, and Nell's eyes sparkled as if she was doing something naughty. She hit redial, put the phone to her ear, and listened.

  "It's ringing."

  She held it toward Andre. On the other end a woman picked up. She said:

  "Hannah?"

  Andre Guillard, Alaska State Trooper said:

  "To whom am I speaking?"

  ***

  "Robert, give it to me. Seriously. Right now. Nobody can stand looking at you in it anymore."

  Melody tapped her foot as she waited outside Robert's room, calling through the closed door. The arrival of Hannah and Billy had been so exciting a few days ago, but the excitement had worn thin. Duncan's directive that those two be catered to did not seem exactly right to her. She had no problem caring for them, but Duncan had spent their community Hours preaching about their angelic nature. Even though Melody had bowed and raised her voice in praise, she knew that this time he was wrong. Those two weren't angels. They were very hurt people and would heal on their own unlike the rest of the congregation.

  Not that Duncan was untruthful, he could never be that, but he had been led astray. Pea had led him astray, or he had not heard her correctly, or something. And Duncan had not spoken of the healing since Hannah and Billy had been found. They had been promised healing when the weather turned. Well, it had turned and now there wasn't a peep about when she – they – would be made whole.

  Melody couldn't think about it anymore. She had chores to do. Regular chores and more chores for the two 'angels.' It all just made her so darn angry and that was the last thing she wanted to be.

  "Robert! Robert!" she called and pounded on the door until it was flung open. There he was in all his gigantic glory wearing a sweater pulled out of shape and still too small for him; a sweater soiled from food droppings.

  "Don't call so loud, Melody. I'm in Hours."

  "You're never in Hours," she scoffed. "You think I don't know what you do when you're supposed to be in Hours? I've seen you through the window. You make faces at your reflection. You don't pray."

  Robert looked behind at the small window in his very small room. Desperately he tried to deduce what he might have been doing in front of that window, and exactly when Melody had been outside to see him do it. He whipped his head back to her.

  "I didn't mean to, Melody. I didn't. I just try to see what I would look like," Robert insisted, near tears as he pleaded. He hated when Melody was upset because her voice wasn't so pretty anymore. She sounded like she hated him. She sounded like his mother, and that made things so very difficult. He just wanted to smash her face in when she sounded like that. Instead, he said: "Don't tell Duncan. He won't believe you, anyway. I found the angels and brought them here, so he won't believe you. He said I was blessed."

  "Be quiet. Be quiet," Melody snapped. "I won't tell, but give me your jacket. I have to try to clean it. Give it to me now."

  "I'm supposed to go to work after Hours. Can't you do tonight?" Robert whined.

  "No. I don't want to work all day and all night."

  Seeing that fighting with her was useless, he lumbered over to the one chair in the room. He picked up his jacket, came back, and shoved it at her.

  "You shouldn't care if you work a lot. That's how you'll get healed. You tell Duncan I wasn't quiet in Hours, and I'll tell him you were complaining about working."

  "I'm not complaining. I just have a lot to do and there isn't enough time each day."

  Melody took his jacket and tried to soften her voice. She did not want Robert telling Duncan anything. She looked at the streaks of blood that had soaked into the outer shell.

  "I'll have this back tonight before the meeting. Then you can wear it outside tonight."

  "Are the angels going to be there? Are they coming to the meeting?" Ro
bert asked.

  "They aren't angels, Robert." Melody's shoulders slumped. He could be so stupid.

  "Duncan said–”

  "It was a lesson, Robert," Melody snapped. "A lesson. Treat people as if they could be angels."

  "I don't think so, Melody. . ." Robert began, but she was gone, taking the steps lightly, crossing Duncan's path, and giving him a smile when she did. The smile must have been particularly beautiful because Duncan actually returned it, stopped, and put his hand to the side of her face in blessing.

  "Look at you, Melody. Always keeping us pulled together. Thank you."

  His hand slipped away. He was leaving and she didn't want that.

  "I would like to be the first, Duncan," she blurted out. It was so wrong to be that selfish, but she couldn't help herself. This waiting was wearing on everyone. "I try so hard, and I would like to be the first to be healed."

  "We'll see, Melody. We'll see how it goes. The new arrivals change things. We must figure out what God's intent is. If we have to live with our afflictions a little longer, so be it."

  He continued up the stairs, book in hand. Melody was sure he was going to read to Hannah. Duncan believed the girl could hear him in her unconscious mind, but Melody thought that was nonsense. For all they knew, she was brain dead. Still, all Duncan thought about since Billy had told him that Hannah was an artist was getting her to wake up. He longed for artistic conversation. Well, it was easy for him to wait for the healing time because he was perfect. The rest of them pretty much didn't care if Hannah woke up or not.

  "I don't understand how kindness toward them should mean that we can't have what was promised."

  Melody clutched Robert's jacket tighter. She moved from foot to foot, leaned up against the bannister and then away from it again in her agitation. Duncan just watched her and his silence created a void she felt compelled to fill.

  "Billy and Hannah will heal on their own, but we can't. And they don't believe the way we do; they haven't sacrificed the way we have."

  "They are outcasts, Melody."

  "They left civilization to survive. They weren't cast out," she insisted.

  "True," he said. "But I'm not sure healing should be done in front of those who don't believe."

  "Do the healing so that they will believe." Melody begged. "If they see a miracle, then they would be part of us, and we could call them brother and sister."

  Duncan came back down the stairs slowly as they debated.

  "Do you think God wants us to flaunt a miracle to impress these two people?"

  Melody hung her head and shook it. She was wrong as always. "No, Duncan. I don't, but I don't think it's all about them."

  "I don't either, but that isn't for me to say," he assured her. "Pea will say when we begin. Somehow these people are part of the plan, and we need to figure it out. Be patient, Melody. " Duncan looked at the jacket. He smiled and plucked at it. "It looks like you have your work cut out for you, Melody. Robert's jacket is big enough for three people."

  "Yes, Duncan. But how much easier would it be to clean if I were healed?"

  She turned around. For once, Melody wanted him to see her back, to feel her frustration, to think about what she had said. She was thirty-one, a virgin, a kind person, a loving person who had never been loved and that was unfair. If God couldn't be merciful, he should at least throw her a bone. Short of that, Duncan should give her hope. But what had he really said? Nothing. She was beginning to think he would never heal any of them. She was beginning to think. . .

  Melody stopped herself before she blasphemed. He had provided for them. He had found this home. He had made them equal and worthwhile here; away from a world that had no use for them. Hadn't Duncan done everything he said he would?

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yet he didn't heal them and that was what he had promised.

  Melody threw Robert's jacket on the wash table and pulled at it to get it straight. All the logic in the world couldn't make her feel better, so she reveled in her ugly thoughts and the ugliest was about this jacket. God only knew who had worn it before Robert, but she couldn't imagine they were any happier than he had been in the outside world. It was a cruel place, and none of them had lived well there. Even Duncan had not, of that Melody was sure. If he had, why would he be there with them?

  Melody dug in the bin next to the large tin sink. She took out a scrub brush and the lye soap. She ran the water as hot as she could but also put some on to boil in case she needed to scald this fabric. She slammed the big pot down and muttered her annoyance when the flame didn't light the first time.

  Melody bit down on her lower lip and tightened her upper. She closed her eyes, took a moment, and put her mind in the proper place. It was taking longer these days to convince herself that service to God was not servitude to the congregation.

  When she tasted blood, she pulled herself together. Biting a hole through her lip wasn't going to make anything better, so Melody attacked the blood and dirt stains on Robert's jacket. But the first swipe of the scrub brush caught on something in the pockets.

  "Good grief," she muttered and dug into the outside pockets, sure she would find half eaten food, or lumps of sugar or something else Robert had taken one too many of. He was always so sure there wouldn't be enough for him to eat. Melody didn't think Robert should work in the store but Duncan was adamant that each of them would do work that would put them square in front of their greatest temptation. For Glenn it was the woodpile, for Melody it was to be in the presence of beautiful Pea and now Hannah. For Robert it was to stock the shelves with the food they canned, grew, hunted, and cured along with the supplies he brought back from the city. He had to do it all alongside Teresa. Teresa had to face Robert. It was all so simple, and yet so difficult.

  Finding nothing in the outer pockets, Melody flipped open the jacket to see what he had stashed inside. He probably bought something in the city just for himself, with community money no less, and hidden it to eat later. His sins were so many: gluttony, impatience, anger, and stealth. Oh, he would pay for this. Melody would not tell Duncan, but God would know. Oh yes, God would know.

  When she dug in the pockets, though, she found Robert hadn't been hiding food at all. She pulled out a little bottle filled with clear liquid. For a split second, she thought, perhaps, Robert had taken to drink, but these bottles were so small there wasn’t enough in them to get anyone drunk. Curious, she walked across the kitchen and held them up to the dim light. She forgot about the water she had put to boil. She forgot to rinse the lye soap off her hand. She forgot Robert's coat and squinted at the tiny writing on the labels, but her eyes weren't good and the gloom didn't help. She would have to talk to Duncan about glasses. She unscrewed the top and smelled it. It didn't smell like anything.

  "Melody, are you almost done?"

  Startled by Teresa's voice, Melody wrapped her hand around the little glass bottle before she turned around.

  "I just started. I'm cleaning Robert's jacket," she said.

  Teresa nodded. Melody's heart beat faster and harder, the vial burned in her hand. She imagined Teresa coming right across this room and prying open her fingers and calling her out in meeting for being selfish. Instead, Teresa was looking at the pot on the stove.

  "Alright then, but I need to start dinner. Can you hurry?"

  "I just need it hot. It doesn't have to boil," Melody answered. "As soon as it is, I'll call you."

  "That's fine." Teresa took her jacket off the hook and put it on. "I'm going to get some tomatoes from the store. I hope we've canned enough to last the winter."

  "I should be finished by the time you get back."

  Melody let her go without showing her the bottle and now she thought that was ridiculous. Teresa wouldn't have been angry with Robert the way Duncan might have been. Later, after meeting, Melody would show it to her. Together they would decide how to tell Duncan so that he wouldn't think Robert was being dishonest when he had probabl
y been forgetful.

  Melody put the cap back on the bottle, went back to the washroom, and collected the other ones. Back in the kitchen, she put them up inside away from the regular spices and near the herbs she had dried and juices she had squeezed for her teas.

  The water was boiling so she took it off the stove. She forgot all about the little bottles as she started to scrub the jacket. It was a hard job and by the time the stains on the jacket were gone, Melody was tired, Teresa was cooking, and the long night of meeting and Hours had begun.

  By the time she fell into bed, she had forgotten about Robert's treasure.

  CHAPTER 10

  I'm awake in a strange place. I don't know how I got here. I only know that the color of my world has changed. In Hermosa Beach, the color of the world was Cerulean blue: blindingly bright and seamless. When I was with Billy Zuni the color surrounding me was Mars black: dense, deep, and unending. Once after that, I saw gunmetal grey: cold, flat, a neither here nor there color. Now my eyes are wide open and the dark surrounding me is the deepest indigo. I've seen this color in the early morning and I've seen it in the night sky, so it could be one or the other.

  I check my body, and it is seriously out of whack. The only things working are my hands and eyes, so I use my fingers to see. They work their way across a worn sheet and a coarse blanket. I can move my head a little, and when I do something bites me. I pull at it and find it's the nub of a feather in the pillow. I let the feather go, and it floats into the indigo.

  That pretty much takes all I've got in me.

  My hand falls to my side, my head lolls the other way. Pain shatters through the top of my skull like there's a rave going on inside it. I raise my hand again. This time I touch stitches angling down from the top of my forehead toward my eye. The skin around them is hot and swollen. The really strange thought I have is that I must be healthy if I hurt so much. When I was sick in my heart about my life and a little crazy in my head, it didn't hurt when I cut myself. Now I feel every bruise, and scrape, and cut, and stitch.