Raven's Peak (21 page)

The conversation shifted and they started talking about the group of campers that had come through a couple of days ago, a bunch of college kids. The cop told them about a blonde chick he was hoping to bust with something just so he could pat her down.

It was clear after only a few minutes, however, just how much they disliked the college group. That didn’t surprise Abigail. She doubted any of these men had ever been to college, and they had a sort of tribal aversion to people who did.

One of the four men got up a few minutes later, finished off the last dregs of his beer, and headed for the door. He stood above two meters tall and had a scraggly black beard and flannel shirt. “See you fellas tomorrow.”

“You leaving?” the cop asked.

“Yeah. Going to pop into Jane’s and get something to eat and then head home. I work early in the morning.”

“All right, Tim. See you tomorrow.”

Tim headed out of the bar and disappeared down the road, walking toward the corner store. Abigail was about to follow him, but was interrupted when one of the other men spoke to her. He had a receding hairline and intense eyes.

“Where you from?”

“Arizona,” Abigail answered.

“On your way to the campground?”

“Yep,” she said. “Just staying the night with my husband.”

“You should watch yourself when you’re out there. Group of stuck up college guys rented out Owl Cabin.”

“That a nice one?” she asked.

“It’s the expensive one. The other one is Hawk, and it’s a few hundred bucks cheaper.”

“They’ve got money,” the cop said. “Spoiled little rich kids, if you ask me.”

“No one’s asking you, Mike.”

The cop shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “It’s too bad then, because if it were up to me I’d shut down the campgrounds altogether. We don’t need it, and it brings in too many outsiders who don’t give a damn about us. They just want to see the old town.”

“The old town?” Abigail asked.

“Out in the woods is the original location of Raven’s Peak. This was back when they were still mining, but it was too hard to get to once the mines were closed. They moved it here about a hundred years ago, but the remains of the old town are still out there, just a ruins.”

Something about the thought of ruins sparked Abigail’s memory: secluded ruins in the middle of the nowhere sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Have strange things ever happened in those ruins?”

Mike chuckled. “All the time, if you ask tourists. It’s a ghost town, spooky, so I can understand people getting scared. They hear strange things. Just the usual tourist bullshit.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s just a bunch of old buildings. People come out here because they think it’s something to see, but they don’t care about us.”

“Do they cause problems?”

“Vandalism, mostly,” the cop answered.

“And littering,” another guy spoke up. “We’ve been out there three times this year and taken in over ten bags of garbage.”

The cop nodded. “People just toss their garbage and expect us to clean it up.”

Abigail sipped her drink. “Still, it’s tourism money?”

“We don’t see any of it,” the cop said. “The guy who owns the campgrounds doesn’t even live here. He lives in Minnesota, I think. We don’t see a dime.”

“I see,” Abigail said.

“We should just close the roads and put up a blockade. That would keep people out.”

“Yeah,” another guy added, chuckling. “Or use those police spikes. The ones they use to flatten tires.”

“Yeah,” the cop said. “Something like that. I’d kill for an opportunity to drop those.”

Abigail listened to them talk for a couple of minutes longer, but they quickly lost interest in her and went back to their own conversations. She wasn’t surprised that they were disgruntled about tourism, especially if they weren’t seeing any money from it, but she was surprised at how openly hostile they were about it.

She felt almost like they were trying to threaten her. A petty machismo effort, because she knew they would never actually do anything to outsiders, but it did show how closed off this town was from the rest of the world. They were cut-off from outside influences and kept to themselves.

Which meant it would be hard getting any real information out of them. She stuck around for a few more minutes, though, and listened just in case they happened to mention something else that might be of use.

Haatim finally settled on a few cans of fruit that weren’t expired, some ravioli, baked beans, and a couple of cokes. He was worried about perishable items, but he did find a few wrapped cookies baked by a local pastry shop that looked rather tasty.

He passed the woman in the brown overcoat a few times as she shopped. She hadn’t brought her son in with her and was picking up snacks. She offered him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He was hugging the items to his chest and wishing he had grabbed a basket when he heard the doorbell chime again. He assumed Abigail was back and started making his way toward the counter.

He realized almost immediately that it wasn’t her, however. The footsteps sounded like heavy boots. He peered around one of the aisles and saw a tall and overweight man in a flannel shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat walking up to the register.

“Where is she?”

The woman at the register stood up from her seat, a concerned look on her face. The other shopper, the one in the brown overcoat, slipped away into one of the aisles, out of sight.

“Tim, what’s wrong?”

“Where is she?” Tim asked again, an edge of anger in his voice.

“Where is
who
?”

“Elizabeth,” Tim said. “I know she’s here.”

“Tim…”

He turned and cupped his mouth over his hands, shouting toward the back room: “Elizabeth! I know you’re here. Come on out and let’s go home.”

“Tim,” the woman said, her voice sympathetic, “Elizabeth isn’t
here.”

“I know she is,” Tim said. “Stop hiding her from me, Barbara.”

“I’m not, Tim,” she said. “You know I’m not.”

Tim looked confused for a second, like he was trying to process what she was saying. Suddenly he noticed Haatim, standing in the aisle and watching. He stormed over, and Haatim almost dropped all of the items he was holding. The guy was tall, maybe five inches more than Haatim. Enough to make Haatim feel really small.

“Have you seen Elizabeth?” Tim asked. He had rough features and a scraggly black beard. He looked like he was in his late forties, but it was hard to tell.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name,” Haatim said. “I’m not from around here.”

The man thought about this for a second and then nodded. “Well, if you see her, tell her to come home, all right?”

“All right,” Haatim agreed, thoroughly outside his element.

Then Tim turned and disappeared back outside. The bell tinkled again, and then it was completely silent in the store. No one moved for a good thirty seconds.

Haatim finally walked up to the counter and set his pile of goods down. The woman at the register—Barbara—stood staring at the door, shaken up.

“Are you OK?” Haatim asked after a few seconds. She slowly glanced over at him, a vacant expression on her face.

“What?” she said, shaking her head. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Who was that?”

“Tim Melloncamp.”

“Who was he looking for?”

“His wife, Elizabeth. She used to work here.”

“Used to?” Haatim said.

“Yeah,” Barbara said, grabbing the items and scanning them. “But she died.”

“Oh,” Haatim said. He glanced back at the door. “Is he…?”

“He’s not taking it well,” Mary said. “I was sure he’d gotten over it, because it happened a few months ago, but I guess something must have snapped. There’s no telling how someone’s grief will go.”

The woman in the brown overcoat reappeared from up the aisle, carrying a bag of chips and some drinks. “That’s terrible,” she said.

“Elizabeth was a great person,” Barbara agreed. “She had liver cancer. Is this all?”

“Yeah,” Haatim said. “Just some snacks for tonight.”

She finished scanning the items and bagged them for Haatim. He paid, thanked her, and headed for the door. The woman in the brown overcoat went to the register, setting her items on the counter.

“Do you know if there’s a vacant motel in the area?” she asked.

“There’s one a few blocks west. They never fill up all the way. Most people just continue down the road to the campground.”

“Heaven’s no,” the woman said. “We stayed in one of the cabins the last two nights, but I’m not staying out there one night longer. My son was almost lost in the woods and it gets scary at night. We have the cabin rented for three more days, but I just can’t be out there another second. We just need somewhere to sleep before heading back to Chicago.”

“Then the motel is your best bet. I think it’s a Super Eight.”

“Thanks,” the woman said.

“I would recommend sleeping on top of the sheets, though,” the woman said. “If you know what I mean.”

Haatim bit back a laugh and pushed the door open. He stepped out into the cool night air and glanced around. Abigail was still gone, and there were very few streetlamps lit up, so it wasn’t very bright in the area.

After he loaded all of the supplies into the backseat, he sat on the hood of his car and waited for Abigail to return. It was chilly out, and the wind nipped at his skin, but he could see a myriad of stars in the sky, more than he’d ever imagined. He had to admit, living out in the country did have its perks.

Abigail showed up at the car about ten minutes later. Haatim was lightly dozing on the hood of his car, not quite asleep but definitely not awake, either. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped, almost falling off the hood. When he saw it was Abigail, he sat up. She had a bemused expression on her face.

“Get everything?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said, “I might have found something interesting in the store, too.”

“Me, too,” she said. “You first: what did you hear?”

“A guy lost his wife,” Haatim said.

“That’s it?”

“He isn’t taking it well, and he was acting strange.”

“When did she die?”

“A few months ago,” Haatim said. “But he was really freaked out, like he didn’t even remember that she was dead.”

“Too long ago to be what we’re looking for,” Abigail said. “And grief can do funny things to people.”

“What did you find?”

“I overheard another tidbit about the campgrounds. A group of college kids went out there a few nights ago to stay in the expensive cabin. They have been stopping in every night at the bar to purchase drinks, but no one showed up today.”

“Are they missing?”

“No one knows for sure. I spoke to a cop who said if they don’t show by tomorrow night they’ll go have to send someone to check on them.”

“You think that’s what we’re looking for?”

“If there’s anything here to find, it’s probably out at the campgrounds,” she said. She climbed into the passenger seat and started looking through the bags of stuff Haatim had purchased. “Let’s head there and check it out.”

By the time they reached the campgrounds it was pitch black outside. Haatim was thoroughly exhausted from driving all day and ready to collapse. It was getting cold, too, and he wished he’d brought a jacket with him. Truth be told, he wished he’d brought dozens of things with him.

He wondered, and not for the first time that day, what the hell he was doing. He had dropped everything to drive halfway across the country with a woman who told him she battled demons. Even knowing it was true, he still felt she was at least a little crazy.

Maybe he should have taken her up on the offer to stay behind. If he hadn’t told her who his father was, she would have just left him back in Arizona for the police to find. She had told him it would be safe and that the people who snatched him wouldn’t be after him any longer, and he doubted she would lie.

He would have had to face the repercussions of what had taken place in his apartment, but he was confident they wouldn’t find him guilty of anything. He hadn’t been involved in any of shootings or deaths, and she’d already destroyed all evidence of his stalking. He was simply a victim in the situation.

But, if he was being completely honest with himself, then he found this entire situation to be exciting. It was messed up, he knew, but nevertheless he couldn’t deny it. His life had taken a drastic turn the moment George Wertman had sat down across from him in the library. Growing up, things were always strict and rigid; he always played by the rules and did what he was told. Abigail was nothing if not a rule breaker.

“We’re here,” he said. Abigail didn’t hear him, staring out the window at the woods. “I said: we’re here.”

This time he got her attention, and she blinked at him. “Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”

“No worries. What are we looking for?”

She glanced around. It was dark, with only a few lights showing them the way. The campground was a giant roundabout. Gravel clearings jutted off the roundabout, and the central area was grass and picnic tables. No roads went farther into the forest; it simply made a giant circle and headed back to Raven’s Peak

Two of the gravel clearings led to cabins that were a million times more advanced than the one Abigail had taken him to earlier in the day. They looked like expensive multi-level behemoths, though one was clearly better than the other.

He drove slowly down the roundabout, listening to gravel crunch under the tires. One of the cabins was dark and empty, but the other had lights on inside.

“I don’t see any power lines,” he said. “Do you think they ran them underground?”

“It’s a possibility,” she said, “but more likely they are using generators. See that shack? That’s probably where they have to refill the tank.”

Music could be heard playing in the interior of the first cabin they rolled up to. The doors and windows were closed, so all they could hear was the bass.

“Probably the college kids,” Abigail said offhandedly. “This is Owl Cabin.”