The Spirit Tree (3 page)

I smiled at a picture from my third birthday party. I was sitting on Uncle Charlie’s lap beside a pink triple-layer cake. Charlie had a huge smile, and I crinkled my face to wink. Kool-Aid stained the front of my homemade smock dress, and my hair was a wild mess of red tangles.

My vision blurred, and I set the picture aside. “Okay, enough with the pity party.”

The remaining contents included newspaper clippings from my high school and college graduations. a yellowed funeral notice for Charlie and Dottie’s only child that read: “Nathaniel Nokoseka, 2,” an envelope addressed to “Dr. Marvin Hicks, Univ. FL,” and an old composition book held together by a thick rubber band.

I placed everything back inside and stuffed the entire box into my laptop bag. My stomach growled, sending me to the kitchen, where I proceeded to raid the refrigerator. Finding food in Dottie’s refrigerator reminded me of a game of hide-and-seek. All sorts of good things hid inside old plastic containers. The Cool Whip container held some potato salad—a keeper. I set it on the counter. The small Country Crock bowl contained green beans; those went back. The large Country Crock container held . . . margarine.

I opened an orange container and found leftover meat loaf. “Jackpot.”

I grabbed the ketchup, bread, American cheese, and mayo. By the time I sat down, I’d eaten half of the cold meat loaf. Outside, a dog growled something fierce—probably tangling with one of those darned snakes.

I rinsed my dishes, determined to ignore the dog. I didn’t want to go out before the sun rose. The dog started to howl. Had the neighbors’ hunting dogs cornered an opossum? I dried my hands and opened the front door.

At first I didn’t see the animals, but they must have seen me because they darted for the porch. Three large black dogs. No, too big to be dogs. Wolves? Holy cow, three wolves stared from the bottom of the porch steps. I didn’t know which freaked me out more—the huge wolves, or the gyrating pile of snakes now covering the porch. I ducked inside, slammed the door, locked the dead bolt, turned the useless lock on the knob, and set the chain for good measure.

My shaking fingers made it difficult to dial the phone.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“Snakes! Lots of snakes! I’m trapped inside. There are wolves, three. Big ones. Black, I think. Please help me. I’m trapped inside!”

“You need to call animal services after eight a.m.” The woman on the other end of the phone paused. “Did you say wolves? Are you sure they aren’t big dogs?”

My hand tightened around the phone. “No! Wolves! Listen.” I went to the jalousie windows and opened one enough for the operator to hear the sounds of three huge-ass wolves howling. “Do you hear them?”

“That is going on outside your house?”

“Yes. Please send help to 2011 Sandy Lane, Apopka. This is my uncle’s house. My name is Tessa Lamar. I’m alone and freaked the hell out. Send police, guns. Guns are good.” One of the wolves slammed into the window. I screamed and dropped the phone.

The wolf clawed the slats of glass as I cranked the window closed. What kind of wolf tried to pry a window open? I hightailed it to the master bedroom and pulled out a single-barrel shotgun. A semiautomatic, camo-colored, brand-spankin’-new shotgun. Uncle Charlie used it for hunting, scaring off the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and ensuring that the family from hell didn’t get too rowdy. I checked for shells—one in the chamber, a full magazine, and a ghost round floating on the carrier. I had five rounds and three wolves. The odds were in my favor.

Could I shoot three moving targets from inside the house without breaking a window? I debated my options until I heard the glass break and claws begin to scratch against the metal. The darned thing had managed to get its paw inside the broken slat.

I stuffed the barrel into the broken slat and fired. Glass shattered, but only one slat broke. The kickback wasn’t as bad as I expected. Unlike Charlie’s old gun, it didn’t knock me flat on my butt. The wolf fell back onto the wooden porch. My ears rang enough to block out sound.

The sun broke over the horizon as two wolves retreated across the yard. On the porch, the snakes moved over the large mass of the fallen wolf. Beneath the snakes, I swore I saw skin, not fur. “What the hell?”

I tried to get a better look, but couldn’t through the various shades of snake. I grabbed the phone and rested the shotgun against my shoulder. “Hello?”

“I can’t hear you. I shot one of the wolves.” At least I hoped I’d shot a wolf. It looked like the snakes had moved off the body of a very naked and very dead man.

Flashing lights in the distance caused my heart to race. The first set of headlights bobbled and bumped along the dirt road. A second and third set followed close behind. Their arrival should have been a relief. Instead, I tried to remember the legalities of shooting people before they broke in. A few years ago, the Stand Your Ground laws were all over the news, if only I’d paid more attention.

Two uniformed police officers looked between the two houses. I flipped the porch light on and off until they moved in my direction. The male officer made a sound equivalent to an eight-year-old girl getting her ponytail tugged. The female officer shook her head and pretended to ignore the snakes. When she approached the door, the snakes moved out of her way, like Moses parting the Red Sea.

I opened the door and froze in place as the female police officer drew her pistol, shouting. The other officer noticed the dead guy on the porch and started screaming out more commands. By the time I realized what was happening, I had three guns trained on me, another cop yelling into the radio—more than likely calling for backup—and the snakes were rallying around me.

“Drop the weapon and get down on the floor,” the female repeated.

“Oh. Sorry.” I set the shotgun down on the porch, went to my knees, and thought better of it when the snakes moved over my calves. “Snakes! Please! Let me go inside.”

No one knew what to do. They all stared at me with varying degrees of concern, pity, and rage. Having someone lie down in a pile of snakes had to be cruel-and-unusual punishment. I started to rise, when one of the male cops shouted to stay down.

The female shook her head. “Whooo-weee.”

“I’m a licensed mental-health therapist. My name is Tessa Lamar. My uncle and aunt—Charles and Dottie Nokoseka—own this house. I’m going to stand and get away from these snakes before one of them bites me.” I ignored the shouts and stood.

I eased into the house. No snakes lurked about the living room. I bent over to look under the couch, and pain tore through my calf. Had a snake bitten me? Was that a gunshot? My ears rang. The commotion from the porch confused me, and my vision swam as my brain slowly accepted the fact that I’d been shot.

I woke in the back of an ambulance. An IV tube stuck in my arm, and something smelled suspiciously like soured meat loaf and sweet pickles. I’d vomited down the front of my shirt.

“Now, you listen here, my granddaughter was in fear for her life. Some crazy, naked lunatic was breaking into the house. She said there were wolves, so there were wolves. There
are
large tracks near the porch. A few are still there, even after your people trampled all over the evidence. She has a severe fear of snakes and was in a state of shock. Leave her be, or I’ll have the entire Cherokee Nation at the station before you can blink. They won’t be happy to hear you shot her.” Mae spoke loud enough to be heard two counties over.

“Gram Mae, it’s okay. I’m fine.” I tried to sit, but someone had handcuffed me to the gurney. “Am I under arrest?”

“They’re sorting it out. You don’t need to worry.” Mae locked eyes with an officer.

“Ms. Lamar, would you mind answering a few questions?” The female peeked inside.

“No, it’s fine.” I tried to smile, but the slightest movement took too much effort. “If there are pain medications in the IV, my statement won’t be legal.”

The female officer appeared surprised by my reply. “We’ll take a formal statement once we get you to the hospital. There are some things we need to know, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Okeydokey.”

“The emergency operator said you called in an animal attack. Other than snakes, we haven’t found any stray dogs or wolves.”

“There were three wolves, maybe dogs . . . the way they were howling and their size, I don’t know. It was dark.” I regretted consenting to answering questions.

“When did you see the male trying to enter the house?”

“Honestly, I thought it was one of the wolves. It was still dark outside, and I saw a black shape. I had all of the lights on inside, so I couldn’t see clearly. Whatever it was had pried open the jalousie window near the door. I thought he was going to get inside the house.”

I tried to wipe my face but couldn’t. I started to shake and went on blubbering about snakes, Charlie, and the picture from my third birthday. The EMT must have taken pity on me, because he injected something into my IV.

I woke in the hospital with Mae sleeping in the chair beside the bed. Dottie stared out the window. I lifted my arm, relieved someone had removed the handcuffs. Someone had changed me out of my vomit-covered T-shirt. The hospital gown wasn’t much of an improvement, but it didn’t smell. “Am I going to jail?”

“No. They’re still investigating what happened. I called our attorney, and he assured me you acted within your legal rights. We’re thinking about pressing charges against the dumbass who shot you.” Mae blushed when she caught herself cuss.

I shook my head and regretted it. “It was chaos. I don’t want to press charges. I didn’t even realize I was holding a gun. I was freaked out by all the snakes.”

“Hmmph. Well, you may feel differently if they charge you with murder.” Mae fussed over the blanket.

“What was the deal with the snakes? I’ve never seen so many of them. It was like a scene from a movie or something.”

“With all of the rain and construction for the new Walmart, they must have decided our place was safe. You know how your uncle feels about killing snakes; they’re considered sacred,” Mae said.

I hadn’t paid attention to my leg until a nurse came in and messed with my calf. As soon as I thought about it, it throbbed. Kind of like a mosquito bite—they never itch until you see them, but then you can’t stop scratching. “Is it bad?”

“The bullet grazed your calf. Lucky for you, it missed the bone.”

My stomach lurched. The nurse must have seen it in my face, because she moved in front of me with a tiny bean-shaped container.

“False alarm.” Even if I needed to puke, the idea of hitting such a small target made me swallow it back down.

On TV, reporters clamored for a statement as cops brought the estranged husband of the murdered woman into the police station. The anchorman said the father refused to cooperate with the investigation. To add drama to the story, they flashed pictures of the children, smiling with their mother and father. They made a beautiful family.

“Such a shame,” Dottie said.

Mae nodded. “It’s always the parents.”

Before I could respond, a plainclothes detective and the female cop from the house came into the room. I remembered the female, Officer Smith.

“How are you feeling?” The detective looked me over.

The nurse gave him a weary look before leaving the room. Gram Mae stayed put in the chair, and Aunt Dottie stood. Neither woman gave off warm fuzzies.

“I’m okay, a little nauseous.”

“The DA doesn’t plan to file any charges against you. You appear to have acted in self-defense. We do have some questions that will help us close the case, though, if you don’t mind.” The detective hesitated at the death stares coming from the older women in the room.

“Sure. I guess that’s fine. Do I need an attorney present?”

“It’s your right to have an attorney present, although it’s not necessary. You acted in self-defense.” His reply came across rehearsed.

“Ask away.” I questioned the wisdom of answering questions without a lawyer present, but how much trouble could I cause with Mae and Dottie in the room?

“Did you know the perp?”

“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t see his face. Maybe?” Oh yeah, I regretted agreeing to questioning.

The detective pulled out a picture of the naked guy’s face, along with a fair amount of blood, and the faded green stain of the porch. “Do you recognize him?”

Bile rose in my throat, and I shook my head. The guy in the picture might have been Native American. He reminded me of the guys getting into the elevator. “No, I don’t think so. Maybe, when I’m out of here, I can come down to the station and look again?”

“Of course.” The detective put the picture away. “We confirmed that the large animal prints outside the house were too big to be canine. Do you have any idea why the house was overrun with snakes?”

“No, but it has rained a lot lately. Maybe they were looking for dry ground?”

The detective made a grunting sound. “Is it common knowledge that you’re afraid of snakes?”

“You think that guy brought the snakes to freak me out?”

“It’s a possibility.”

The room began to spin. “Wouldn’t that mean he was out to get me, and this wasn’t some random break-in?”

“Maybe. What time did you arrive at 2011 Sandy Lane?” The detective didn’t have much inflection in his voice, but his jaw tensed.

“I don’t know. Four thirty or five? I went home, took a nap, and drove over.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“Just my friend Hailey. She drove me home from the hospital. But please don’t question her. She’s pregnant and doesn’t need the stress. Let me talk to her first.” As soon as the words fell out of my mouth, I realized I sounded guilty. “Her name is Hailey Jenkins. She lives at 3220 North Haywood.”

“We’ll wait until you’re released to contact her. Thank you for your time, and I’m sorry for all the trouble. It’s not every day we encounter so much wildlife on a call.” He turned to leave.

Officer Smith moved closer. “I apologize for the mix-up. The officer who shot you was aiming for a rattler on the concrete steps. The shot ricocheted off the block and hit you.”