Rockinghorse Page 6

  “Jesus!” Jim said softly.

  Tracy’s eyes were wide with shock and fright.

  Lucas said, “But what really puzzles me is how I got from the north side of the grounds all the way over to the west side.”

  “You don’t remember anything about getting there?” Tracy asked.

  Lucas shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

  “Well, it’s a lead-pipe cinch you didn’t walk,” Jim conceded. “They—whoever they are—must have carried you. But why?”

  “Lucas, why do you keep rubbing your arm? You’ve been doing that ever since we found you.”

  “It aches. I must have fallen on it, I guess.”

  “I still think you should go to the hospital,” she said. “You might be injured a lot worse than you think.”

  “If I start feeling worse, we’ll drive in. But I really feel pretty good.”

  They stopped and Tracy said, “Let me see your arm.”

  Lucas lifted his short sleeve and everyone gasped in shock.

  “My God, Lucas!” Tracy said. “You’ve been tattooed.”

  “It’s a rocking horse, Dad,” Jackie said. “Somebody put a rocking horse on your arm.”

  6

  One thing was soon evident to all: the tiny tattoo was permanent. No amount of washing could remove the tattoo. And the tattoo area was very sore.

  “I’ll tell you something, Trace,” Lucas said, as they were preparing for bed. “This,” he pointed to the tattoo, “pisses me off.”

  She fought to conceal her smile. She finally had to turn her head.

  “What is so damned funny?” Lucas asked.

  She finally had to giggle. “Lucas, you’re not hurt, and I can’t tell you how much that relieves me.” She covered her mouth and laughed softly. “I’m sorry, Lucas. It must be post-panic giddiness. I mean, they could have put an anchor or a paratrooper’s wings on you; maybe a marine corps emblem—but a rocking horse!”

  His anger lasted only a few seconds, then Lucas found the humor in it. He joined her smile. “Yeah. I see what you mean. I think I’ll be like Travino and wear a band-aid over it. On second thought,” he said, puffing up his chest, “maybe I’ll roll up my sleeves like we used to do as kids and show it off to everybody.”

  He assumed his best John Travolta pose, muscles flexed.

  “Oh, God, Lucas!”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and joined her laughter. She touched his face.

  “How’s your head?”

  “Slight headache, that’s all. But God am I tired.”

  He didn’t realize how tired he was until his head hit the pillow. Lucas went to sleep with his wife’s arms around him.

  But sleep was not to come so quickly to all them in the huge old mansion.

  Lucas had forgotten Jim’s warning about the window peeper. He would recall it later and warn Tracy and Jackie, but the events of this day had pushed it from his mind. Man and wife were asleep two minutes after turning out the lights.

  Jackie prepared her bath in her private bathroom. One nice thing about this place was that every bedroom had its own bathroom. She was not conscious of being watched.

  Until all the rooms had been thoroughly checked and cleaned, the Bowers family would be sleeping on the first floor of the mansion. The ground floor lay under them, seemingly void of life, not having been used in several decades. The ground floor contained two large kitchens, several storage rooms, a small jail, and several bedrooms.

  The ground floor also contained some rather nasty creatures, but they were motionless on this night.

  * * *

  Entering from the front of the house, from the south entrance, after climbing the sixteen steps, one walks onto the portico, then taking the center door of the three front doors, one enters the drawing room, then the parlor. To the left is a large reception area. Then, running south to north, lies the ballroom, dressing rooms, the first bedroom, then one of the three spiraling stairways that lead from the ground floor to the attic. A long hall, almost a hundred feet in length, lies to one’s left. Passing the stairs (don’t look up, something might be looking down at you), still on the first floor, one enters another hallway, to the right, or the east, lies the study/library—filled from floor to ceiling with several thousand books—then, continuing on, two bedrooms. Johnny sleeps now in the first of the northernmost bedrooms. Jackie’s bedroom opens on the north veranda. But we’re not through touring the first floor. We’ll leave Jackie undressing, preparing for her bath. And being watched. And lusted after.

  Moving back south, through the dark silent mansion, past the bedrooms and the study/library, we step out into the long, dark hall and turn west into an immense dining room. Walking quickly through the darkness, we come to another hall. This one leads to four servants’ bedrooms, a smaller kitchen, a storage area, the housekeeper’s room, and a room that has been converted to hold a large freezer, a large refrigerator, and rows of shelves.

  The Bowers plantation home, running south to north, is two hundred and sixty six feet deep. It is one hundred and sixty six feet wide.

  * * *

  The second floor contained a huge master bedroom, five smaller bedrooms, a small ballroom, a gallery, a smaller library/study, and, of course, the spiraling stairs leading to . . . the attic.

  Jackie undressed, dropping her soiled clothing into the hamper. She turned and stood for a moment, looking at her nakedness in the floor-to-ceiling mirror in the lushly appointed bathroom. She was blooming rapidly into womanhood. She had already outgrown a training bra; and to her mind, if things didn’t start slowing down, she might go into competition with Dolly before it was all over. She was just two months away from her thirteenth birthday.

  As she gazed at her still-somewhat-coltish nakedness, her pubic hair a smudge of soft dark down, her curiously shaded eyes of gray-blue traveled the length of the mirrored reflection looking back at her. She wasn’t at all certain she liked her new and sudden transformation into young womanhood. She would have liked to play football with the boys for a couple more years; she was small, but quick and tough, enjoying roughhousing with the gang.

  But, she thought sadly, those days were over and done with. She’d known that ever since she’d knocked the crap out of that Richard Jennings a couple months back for grabbing a quick feel during a football pileup. He had made her mad. Had also caused a kind of funny/odd sensation within her body, too.

  She turned her front toward the window, unconscious of the watcher outside, unaware of the sudden change in breathing the view had caused.

  The tub filled with water, Jackie stepped very close to the curtained window over the tub, the night air blowing softly on her flesh. An animal howl almost passed the watcher’s lips. Stifling a groan, the watcher slipped from the window and shuffled off the veranda, silently moving toward the dark woods.

  Jackie settled into the hot water, sighing as it relaxed and soothed her entire body.

  * * *

  After her bath, Jackie slept deeply, but not necessarily peacefully. Her dreams, as her brother’s dreams, were filled with a strange-appearing horse. The horse did not look real to brother and sister, but they both knew—sensed, somehow—the horse represented danger. The misty animal seemed to grin at them in their sleep. It was not a very pleasant grin.

  Finally, they dropped deep into sleep and the horse left them, rocking and whinnying as it vanished. But it did not go far.

  * * *

  Lucas had a headache when he awakened, but other than that, he felt fine. He did not find it odd that the events of the previous day had, somehow, been dimmed in his mind. His upper arm ached from the tattoo needle, but he knew from speaking with men who had tattoos that the soreness would soon pass.

  He was the first one up that morning. The mansion was silent in its stone and marble and brick and wood and glass. Like a mausoleum, the thought came to him.

  Lucas showered and shaved and dressed quietly. He took two aspirin and walked to the kitchen. He fixed cof
fee and toast, then stepped outside to face the just-breaking sun.

  He was going to have to lay down some ground rules to the kids. They could not, under any circumstances—unless accompanied by either Lucas or Tracy—enter the woods. Jackie was no longer a child, and she was going to have to face that more-than-obvious fact. She was an almost-thirteen-year-old young woman, and those . . . nuts out there in the woods might do more than frighten her.

  Johnny was the adventurous one. Jackie would mind her father; Johnny would be the one to say, ‘Yes, sir, Dad,’ and then go straight to the woods. And if asked about it, would admit he did it. He would not lie about it. Despite his bookish appearance, the kid had more than his share of guts. Johnny would try anything—once. Lucas’s boss, Joe Gould, delighted in asking the kid what he was going to be when he grew up. Johnny would look the man square in the eyes and say, “A Green Beret.”

  Tracy was appalled each time he said it. But Lucas always filled with pride at the boy’s answer.

  Of course, Lucas thought, sitting down in a chair on the veranda, Johnny would probably change his mind two dozen times before he got out of school; but for now he was awfully proud of his kids. He was quick to think though, that he would be proud of his kids no matter what they grew up to be—even rock-and-roll musicians.

  He laughed softly at that.

  No, Jackie and Johnny would have to stay out of the woods. For that matter . . .

  He smiled as a thought came to him. Finishing his coffee, he went back inside and woke Tracy.

  “Whassisshit? she mumbled, without opening her eyes.

  “I’m going into town. Be back in a couple of hours. You and the kids stay out of the woods until I get back, OK?”

  “Rat. Bye.” She rolled over and went back to sleep before Lucas had walked out the bedroom door.

  He looked in on both the kids. They were sleeping soundly.

  He drove into town.

  Jim looked at him dubiously. “Lucas, you ever handled a chain saw, ol’ buddy?”

  “No.”

  “I admire your spunk, buddy, but they can be dangerous.”

  “I don’t want a big one. But I don’t want a little one, either. I’m thinking a midsized chain saw will do just fine.”

  “They’re just as dangerous.”

  “Well, you could show me how to use one, couldn’t you?”

  “Shore.”

  “Well?”

  Jim nodded. “OK. You’re gonna need a couple of good machetes, couple of pairs of good leather gloves; your hands is city-soft. Lige should have what else you’ll need out there. All right, Lucas. I got a good midsize chain saw here I’ll let you use for nothing.”

  “I didn’t come here asking for charity, Jim.”

  “Don’t sweat it, ’cause I ain’t givin’ you no charity. This here will solve my firewood problem for this winter.” He grinned hugely.

  Lucas shared the grin. “It’s a deal.”

  They shook on it.

  Jim and Lucas spent an hour behind the service station, in a thicket of scrub trees, going over the fine points of handling a chain saw. And it wasn’t as easy as it looked, Lucas was forced to admit. But he caught on quickly and Jim said so. He taught him how to refuel; how much gas and oil; showed him how to change the chain. And how to properly use the saw to avoid kickbacks.

  Finally, after the din of noise (damn things were loud), Jim smiled and said, “You’ll do, ol’ son. Ain’t no timber-cuttin’ outfit gonna break down your door to hire you on. But you’ll do. Surprised me. Just be careful. And don’t let the kids get too close to you while you’re workin’.”

  * * *

  “What in God’s name are you up to now?” Tracy asked, eyeballing the chain saw, the cans of oil and gas, and the machetes in the back of the station wagon.

  “Nobody is going to keep me out of woods that rightfully belong to me,” Lucas said. “So while you and Jackie work on the house, Johnny and I will spend some time working in the timber.”

  “All right!” Johnny said.

  “What about me?” Jackie squalled, hands on hips in protest.

  “You can’t help us,” her brother told her, a haughty tone to his voice.

  “Why not?” she demanded.

  “ ’Cause you’re a girl. Yeahyayeahyayeahya!”

  “All right!” Lucas said, settling them down. “Just knock it off.”

  Tracy had a very doubtful look in her eyes. “I don’t know, Lucas. Your head. . . .”

  “My head is fine. I don’t even have a headache. And that’s a miracle after working with a chain saw for an hour. I’m only going to look the situation over today. See where I want to begin.”

  Tracy sighed, shrugged, then looked at her daughter. “Bear all this in mind before you start contemplating marriage, dear.”

  “Marriage?” Jackie said. “Beyukk!”

  * * *

  The Bowers family soon settled into an easy but highly productive routine, both inside and outside the house. The interior of the old mansion and the grounds of the sprawling estate surrounding it soon began to take shape into a semblance of what had once symbolized the arrogance of southern slave owners.

  Lige kept Ol’ Baby penned, and Ol’ Baby never growled whenever Lucas came around. Ol’ Baby remembered the sound and fury of that shotgun and the buckshot zinging and pinging around her—she wanted no more of that. Lucas didn’t trust the animal, but never showed any fear when around her.

  On the Monday that marked their first week in Edmund County, Georgia, State Trooper Kyle Cartier returned to the scene.

  “You’ve lost some weight, Mr. Bowers,” the trooper observed. “And you’re losin’ that city pallor pretty quick: ’ He smiled. “Nose is peelin’ some.”

  Lucas laughed and hefted the chain saw. “I have the utmost respect for men who work these things for a living.”

  “For a fact, they will surely work their butt off. Can I speak to you privately, Mr. Bowers?”

  “Surely. How about a glass of iced tea?”

  “Sounds good to me. Shapin’ up to be a hot one. And it’s early for this kind of heat, too.”

  The men sat on the east veranda, sipping tall glasses of iced tea. “Good,” Kyle said. “This tea hasn’t been boiled.”

  “Tracy followed the directions on the side of the box and placed it out in the sun.” He laughed. “First time she did she forgot to cover the jug.”

  Kyle grinned. “Filled up with bugs, did it?”

  “I’ll say”.

  “Ah, Mr. Bowers. About that blood on your walking stick.”

  “Yes?”

  The trooper grimaced. “Well, sir. I got a nasty letter back from the lab boys. You see, that blood wasn’t pure human.”

  Lucas looked at him, the events of the day leaping into his brain, cloudy, but still real. “What do you mean, pure human?”

  Kyle sighed. “There was . . . well, hell, I don’t know how to say this. It was blood. But the lab boys—lab people—I guess I’d better get used to saying it, say there was . . . things in the blood they just couldn’t quite identify. I didn’t say that right.”

  “Things?”

  “Well, sir, that blood was old, the lab folks said. They said it was like somebody uncovered a bottle of blood that was kept uncontaminated for years and then mixed it up with old animal blood”

  “You’re serious!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Trooper, I hit somebody out there in those woods. Or something. Whatever. I heard it scream in pain.”

  “Well, I tell you this, Mr. Bowers. I surely hope whatever in the hell it was you hit is long gone from around here. ’Cause I’d sure hate to meet that son of a bitch face to face.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, sir, one smart-aleck down at the lab said the only type of creatures who might have had blood like was found on your stick have been extinct for about a million years.”

  7

  That night, lying in bed beside Trac
y, Lucas told her what the state trooper had said. She was silent for several moments. Finally she sighed heavily.

  “Is somebody playing some macabre joke on us, Lucas? ”

  “Macabre is right. But what do you mean? What would be the point of it?”

  “Put that lawyer’s mind to work, Lucas. Who stands to gain if we leave here without selling this house?”

  “I’ve thought of that, Trace. I even brought a copy of the original will down here with me. I’ve gone over it very carefully. It’s like I said before. With Ira declared dead, all her monies went toward the upkeep of this . . . elephant.”

  The house seemed to sigh.

  “Did you hear that?” Tracy asked.

  “I sure heard something. Anyway, if my parents had lived to sell the house—but I don’t think they would have had any better luck than we’ve had—the monies would have been equally divided between the three of us: Mom, Dad, and me. There is no one else that stands to gain a thing by driving us out of here.”

  “Except for Lige.”

  “Honey, I don’t think that man has enough sense to pull off something of this scope. Not without a lot of help. His embezzlement efforts were textbook crude; no better than the average child could do. All that saved him—until we arrived—was that no one down in Atlanta questioned his receipts. And he really isn’t in as much trouble as I want him to believe. The estate paid him X amount of dollars, with no direction as to where the monies were to go. Surprisingly sloppy. And, something else. He really hasn’t squirreled away all that much money. Just about a thousand dollars a year; he says he’s been here twenty-five years, and he’s banked about twenty-five thousand dollars. He didn’t drink or gamble it away. He told me face to face he put money back for his retirement.”

  She turned in the bed to face her husband. “I don’t trust him, Lucas.”

  “Oh, I don’t either.” He told her about Jim’s warnings about Lucas’s window peeping. “I tried to pin him down about his past the other day and I never heard so many side-stepping replies and outright lies since I worked in the PD’s office. I finally gave up. I guess I’m going to have to drive down and see this Mr. Garrett in Atlanta. Maybe he can fill in some blanks.”