“Rose!” John said firmly, yet softly. “Rose, can you hear me?”
Again her eyelids opened a sliver and looked at John. Her eyes had the energy to acknowledge him, but nothing else. She was shaking, shivering, her body trembling as if it had just been pulled out of icy waters. John tucked her into bed and pulled blankets tightly around her, pushing them around and behind her shoulders to warm her. He took the back of his hand and felt her forehead. Oh no! John said to himself as he felt the searing heat from Rose’s head. He looked at Rose in the soft glow of the lamp, her sweat-soaked black hair sucking light out of the room. He looked for a clock to check the time. Seeing none, he took out his iPhone and had to wait for it to turn on since he had no reason to keep it on.
“C’MON!” John screamed to the inanimate object. Finally it turned on and revealed the time as 8:40 p.m. His mind raced wildly. I need a doctor. That’s all that matters. Find a phone book, the phone.
John began to rise from the bed, but stopped halfway up in a crouched position. His nostrils had halted his progress as they detected something faint, but a smell that caused him to stop where he was until its source could be identified. He whiffed again, registering the smell and talking himself through the options.
I know that smell...it reminds me of...the girls...something about the girls....diapers!
John pulled the covers back from Rose and gently rolled her on her side. The back of her right leg was stained wet and brown. John looked at his left forearm where he had been carrying her and now saw the wetness on his arm. Obviously Rose had had diarrhea during the day and, evidently, was unable to get up to go inside. “Oh Jesus!” John said. “I’ll clean you up in a moment, hon.” Rose lay there, able to hear nothing.
“First I gotta find the phone!” John began walking to the kitchen with a sinking feeling that no one could help him.
Chapter 25
The sun inched over the mountains as Blake drove south on 441 in Mountain City back toward Clayton. He had just dropped off a bed full of pig bones with Gus, who would make a final batch of bone meal for Blake.
Terry had proven to be a real asset, worth every penny of the five grand that Blake paid him in cash the night before as he thanked him and bid him farewell. Hoping he’d never see him again, Blake had no idea what a kid like that would do with five grand, but he figured it wouldn’t last long. Most importantly to Blake, he paid him in cash and there would be no tracing it to him.
Blake pulled into the Ingles grocery store just before Warwoman Road. A new Starbucks coffee shop had just opened inside and Blake wondered how “fourbucks,” as the penny pinchers at UGA had called it, would do in this neck of the woods. But Blake had taken a liking to the dark roasted coffee during his Athens time and was glad to see the green logo appear a few weeks back. He walked through the door and marveled at the decor. Starbucks had taken something as simple as a cup of coffee and achieved with it what Blake had tried to accomplish with his own life. Elevate the mundane to the exotic, take a dirty seed and turn it into something the world admired. But underneath it all, once you stripped away the musical coffee house genre that they seemed to have invented, the fancy packaging, the curvaceous coffee mugs, once you stripped all that away you were left with what? A lone coffee bean grown by a lone, unknown, and unimportant farmer.
The dirty seed, as Blake now thought of himself, stepped forward to order.
“Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?”
“Hey, can I have a grande bold with no room?”
“Sure thing,” she said. “Getcha anything else? A blueberry scone perhaps?” she asked with a smile.
“Uh..no ma’am, just the coffee, thanks.”
“Okay, that’ll be two twenty-three.” The clerk turned to get the coffee and returned to the counter. Blake handed her a five and took change, leaving a buck in the tip jar. She smiled and handed him his coffee.
“Come back now,” the clerk said before moving on to the next customer behind Blake. “Mornin’ Sheriff!”
Blake cringed and jerked his head to the right. The sheriff stepped up a foot and stood beside him.
“Mornin’, Mary Ellen,” the sheriff said as he read the clerk’s name badge. He turned his head to Blake. “Mornin’, Blake.”
“Sheriff!” Blake said before turning his gaze to Mary Ellen, not sure what else to say. He looked down to his shoes for a moment. “Well, so long, Sheriff.” Blake turned and began toward the door. As he did, the sheriff left the line and followed him through the door.
“Blake, give me one second if you don’t mind,” the sheriff said as they stood outside. Blake turned to look at the sheriff, but said nothing.
“You don’t have anything new to report about them boys missing, do you?” the sheriff asked.
Blake thought about the wording the sheriff chose. Had he asked “have you seen them boys” or “have you heard anything new about them boys” then the answer would have been an easy “no.” But he had phrased the question differently. “You don’t have anything new to report...do you?” He tried to figure out what the sheriff meant. Was the sheriff giving Blake another chance to report something...anything that he may have omitted before? Or was it simply careless phrasing on the sheriff’s part with no specific meaning intended other than the obvious?
“No sheriff, I haven’t heard anything about them.” Blake’s reply was measured.
“Hmmm,” the sheriff said as he looked around, surveying the parking lot.
Blake stood and waited for the sheriff. The sheriff stood silently and Blake was faced with the option of standing poised or saying something to the sheriff, even if all he said was that he needed to leave. The sheriff succeeded in flushing Blake out of the pocket.
“Is there any news on them?” Blake asked.
“Not much,” the sheriff began, “but we found some interesting pictures on one of the boy’s Facebook page.” The sheriff said no more.
“What kind of pictures...or is that private?” Blake asked.
“Well,” the sheriff said, “a picture of one of the fellas in a wooded area in front of a whole mess of pigs. Then there was another of him standing in front of a shed of some sort. Couldn’t make out the details but looked like some stuff was hanging in there.”
Blake’s pulse quickened. He sipped his coffee, so as to act nonchalant, but the caffeine would do nothing to help slow his heart rate. He said the only thing that he felt he could. “Hmmm.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff continued, “pretty strange. He was working on some kind of farming, ’round here I reckon, but nobody knows nothing about it.” The sheriff looked at Blake, who said nothing. “You don’t know anyone messing with pigs, do you Blake?”
He knows, of course he knows! There’s no way he don’t know, Blake said to himself. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He just wanted this to all go away so badly so he could start over. I repent, I repent, Blake said, only he said it to himself. Not to the sheriff.
The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer.
“Of course, we expect to know more soon,” the sheriff said. “One of his Facebook friends commented on the pics so we’re gonna contact him. Already sent a subpoena to Facebook to get access to Jesse’s account, the fella that’s missing.” The sheriff stood as calm as could be, allowing his words to sink in.
“I sure hope you find ’em, Sheriff,” Blake said, “and I hope they’re okay.” He meant it. “Well, so long, Sheriff. I gotta get going.”
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you, Blake.”
***