

THE LOOK-AWAY GIRL

Series

### Book One

### DARKNESS FROM LIGHT

### by

### J Von Ree

### SMASHWORDS EDITION

### * * * * *

### PUBLISHED BY

### J Von Ree on Smashwords

### DARKNESS FROM LIGHT

### Copyright © 2017 by J Von Ree

Thank you for downloading this eBook. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Dedication

To Renee'

Thank you for your amazing support and for the incredible help and inspiration you provided to bring this story to life.

### PROLOG

### Seattle

### August 31st, 1990

### 1

Although Don McMasters had been commuting on his bicycle for only a few days, the streets were dry and traffic was good enough that he let his mind shift from his riding to the day's surgery schedule. Most everything was routine, with a triple bypass logged in for ten o'clock. If things went right, there was a chance that he could be heading home before the evening commute began. Home before dark, and he'd have a good jump on the...

"On your left," a voice shouted out, followed by a shrill whistle blast almost in his ear.

Jolted back to the present, Don realized that he'd been drifting out of the bicycle lane and his speed was down to a crawl. He corrected his course enough to give the rider behind him room to pass. A brief meeting of the eyes and Don knew that the lady going by considered him a first class rube. For the tick of a couple of seconds they were face-to-face as she passed him on her bicycle, and Don could actually feel the arc of her having to deal with some goofball on an clunker ten-speed. He wasn't keeping his line, so she called, "On your left," and added a blast from the whistle jutting out of the corner of her mouth.

Chagrinned at his laps, Don refocused enough to correct his course, giving her room to pass him by and at the same time take him in with her eyes. She was already accelerating, her slender body generating enough power to get away from him. Then she went up on her peddles and it was like kicking in the afterburners. She was riding off into the dark so that all he saw was her long blonde ponytail hanging down her back, swishing from side-to-side as she disappeared into the night.

Without realizing it he tagged her _Ponytail_.

In the following days, Don saw that both he and Ponytail seemed to have the same pre-dawn commute. Their paths often crossed, if only briefly. After getting a better look at her, Don saw that she was in her late thirties, with a handsome face and intelligent eyes. Also, her hair wasn't really done in a ponytail; it was a braid of silver-blonde.

Before his encounter with Ponytail, Don McMasters treated his commute from home to Harborview Hospital as just a way to avoid getting stuck in Seattle's traffic. Ponytail, on the other hand, rode her bicycle with an easy grace and remarkable speed. She was adept at dealing with cars, pedestrians and other bicyclists.

Don hated that someone thought of him as clumsy and went to work on making the transition from being a bicycle goofball to an accomplished commuter. He started out small by finding the same kind of whistle that Ponytail always had in the corner of her mouth. It was chrome and shrill enough to be heard even inside a car with the music on. Waiting until his wife and daughter were out, he walked around the house with the whistle carefully positioned between his lips. As he worked on his chores he practiced blowing the whistle and calling "On your left, on your right," until he could do it without thinking.

Next was to get rid of the old BMX helmet he'd been wearing and buy a cool commuter helmet similar to Ponytail's. Also to go were the old sweats he'd been wearing. They were replaced by clothes more appropriate for riding in Seattle's constantly changing weather. He bought riding togs, glad that they didn't show too much of a tummy bulge, he hoped. The only thing was, he'd look silly with such fancy gear and still riding his rickety old ten-speed. He soon came home with a new helmet, red and blue riding togs, matching riding gloves, and a very pricey bicycle. One more item that he hadn't counted on was a pair of special riding shoes that clipped into the peddles.

Don worried what his wife Sara would say, but she was a good sport about his new interest. Before venturing out of the house, he self-consciously modeled his new outfit for her, and was relieved when she didn't laugh too much.

Believing in preparation, Don spent from Friday and on through the weekend familiarizing himself with the bicycle's gears and clipping his shoes into the peddles. Monday morning he set out on his commute. It took a few days, but him and Ponytail's paths crossed and as usual she passed him with ease, leaving him far behind. Don couldn't put his finger on why what she thought of him mattered, but he was glad when Ponytail didn't look at him in a way that made him feel ridiculous. It took him several days to get comfortable with being seen in his new getup.

All through high school and on to college, Don was a top athlete, managing to get a track scholarship. Even in med school he kept in shape. Working out on his bicycle weekends and pushing himself while commuting, Don gradually improved his riding. He knew Ponytail recognized him, or did she? And again he wondered why that would matter.

### 2

One day Don saw Ponytail ahead of him, and to his surprise he was gaining on her. Head down, legs pumping, Don used every ounce of his energy to turn on the speed. Soon he was only a few yards behind her. Without knowing he was going to do it, Don found himself calling out to her "I'll get you today, Ponytail!"

To his surprise, she rose up from her riding position and looked back at him and said, "Ponytail?" Then she waggled her hand, signaling him to bring it on.

An unexpected joy caused Don to break out laughing. He knew nothing about this lady, and yet her acknowledgment of him gave him a physical rush. A moment before he was close to exhaustion as he raced to catch up to her. Now he felt a burst of energy go through him.

Don had his eyes locked on Ponytail as he tried to peddled faster. She was looking right at him, a hint of a smile on her face.

And then, without warning, the world turned to madness.

### 3

Appearing from a dark side street came the blurred shape of a car. Only when it was on them was there the whoosh of tires as a black SUV came speeding through a stop sign. There was a loud thud of impact as the center of the SUV's grill struck Ponytail, forcing the air out of her lungs. She made a ghastly moan that was drowned out by the sound of her bicycle being crushed under the wheels of the fast-moving vehicle.

Slack-jawed, Don watched in slow-motion disbelief as the terrible image was seared into his memory. One moment Ponytail was up on her pedals, coasting as she looked back at him. The next she was launched into the air. Her body limp; she was like a rag doll, arms and legs askew, torso twisted, her head tilted to the side at an improbable angle.

In the early morning darkness, the sodium streetlights made the blonde braid under her riding helmet look like a comet's tail as it showed the trajectory of her brief and heartbreaking flight.

Although he had logged many hours in the ER, it didn't take a medical degree to know the score. By the position of Ponytail's head and neck, Don knew that he was an eyewitness to a fatal accident.

His heart in his throat and fighting down his emotions, he tried to help as best he could until the paramedics arrived. Several people were gathered, watching as Don checked first her wrist, then her carotid artery for a pulse. There was none to be found.

Don wanted to ride with Ponytail in the ambulance, but a paramedic told him no.

"It's all right," his partner said, motioning Don inside. "He's a Doc at the hospital."

Even though he knew he couldn't do anything, he still wanted to be with her when they took Ponytail to Harborview Emergency.

After handing Ponytail off to the ER staff, one of the nurses gave a quick glance at his colorful red and blue riding costume, including the silly riding shoes clicking as he walked on the linoleum floor.

Doctor Don McMasters knew the meaning of that look. If that SUV was a little slower, Ponytail would have been untouched. All it would have taken was the smallest hitch in time and it would be Don's family facing a somber faced doctor, asking for consent to harvest his organs.

After filling out a report for the police, Don couldn't find it in himself to ask about the bicycle that he left lying crookedly on its side. Instead he called his wife Sara to pick him up when his shift ended.

### 4

After changing into blue scrubs Don went to his office. Along the way he dropped his togs and helmet and custom bicycle shoes in a clothing donation bin. His first surgery was scheduled in two hours. He was still rattled from the accident and he could use the time to settle his nerves.

A quick knock then his scrub nurse, Gretchen Sanderson, leaned in the door.

"Doctor McMasters, there's a life flight coming in. Doctor Falco asked if you could take it."

Taking a deep breath, Don held it a moment then let it out. "How soon will it be here?"

Gretchen looked at her watch. "It's about ten minutes out."

Don took another deep breath then exhaled. Doctor Falco was chief of surgery. The patient coming in on the life flight was his, unless he was willing to tell Falco he couldn't handle it.

Don stood up from his desk. "Thank you, I'll be right there." Work would help stop the constant replay of seeing Ponytail's body rag-doll through the air before landing in a crumpled heap. He heard her name in the ambulance and as it was read into the chart in the ER, but he didn't remember it. His mind had latched onto 'Ponytail' and wouldn't let it go. "What a stupid, stupid waste," he said, then made himself get moving.

### 5

_No, no, no_ , Doctor Don McMasters said to himself, scrubbing in. _This was not the way I wanted to turn my day around_ "

As he used a soapy brush on his hands and up his arms, he watched the charge nurse. Gretchen supervised the transfer of the life flight patient off of a gurney and onto the operating table. The charge nurse handed the chart to Gretchen then left.

Most of the time, Don loved being a surgeon at Seattle's Harborview Medical Center. As the major trauma center for Seattle, Harborview received the most challenging cases, many of which came his way if a vascular surgeon was needed.

A worker crushed by a falling tree. A gunshot victim standing at the wrong bus stop. A bicycle rider tragically mowed down by a speeding SUV. The possibilities were endless, and they all came to Harborview.

A few days before, Douglas Newman came through the ER with eighty-five percent blockage in his aorta. Along with a heart attack, Mr. Newman had suffered a stroke and his family expected the worse. Don made sure he didn't use the phrase 'routine,' but the treatment was pretty straight forward. Although it could have gone either way, luck was with Mr. Newman and he made a quick recovery.

"You're the man, doc," Mr. Newman's brother said, giving him a hug and patting his shoulder. "You are _thee_ man _!_ "

That was a good day with a good outcome. Douglas Newman's case was a nice challenge. But then there were the cases that scared the bejesus out of him.

After scrubbing in, Doctor McMasters walked into the OR and examined a tiny figure lying on the operating table.

Damn, he hated having to work on children, especially the little ones.

With adults, even the ones blind-sided by a reckless driver, they know the score. Things are big and things move fast, and sometimes people get whacked.

But children were true innocents. It was up to the adults to keep them safe. Keep them around long enough to learn that life was full of surprises, both good and bad.

"Darcie Charbonnough," Gretchen Sanderson said as she placed sterile drapes over the patient, then prepared the surgical instrument tray. "Four years old. She's just off a ninety minute chopper ride from Stranger County Hospital."

"Ninety minutes?" Don asked.

"Headwinds," Gretchen said. "I guess it was a pretty rough flight."

"Okay," Don said as he examined his small patient. Darcie Charbonnough, a pretty name for a pretty girl. Just the day before she had been healthy; laughing, running, filled with the joy of life. Now, thanks to a series of stupid mistakes and an obvious case of criminal neglect, she lay on his operating table. It was his job to save Darcie's life, no matter what he had to do to her.

For the umpteenth time that morning, the image of Ponytail's cartwheeling body flashed in front of him. He gave his head a quick shake to cast it away.

"Life over limb," Don said, mostly to himself.

"Yes doctor," Gretchen said, nodding her head.

While Gretchen was putting things in place she didn't look at the young patient. Doctor Don McMasters could see why. She was beautiful, and fragile, and a very sick little girl. Her face was a ghostly white and her lips an unhealthy shade of blue verging on purple.

Jerry Wyckoff, the anesthesiologist, was already masked. Specializing in pediatric anesthesiology, Don could tell by his eyes that Jerry was not happy.

"Say Don," Doctor Wyckoff said, "when we're done here, what say you and I take a drive up north. We can visit a certain doctor and kick his ass up to his eyebrows."

Doctor McMasters didn't answer, but he felt the same way. Darcie Charbonnough was in a bad way even before she was stuffed onto a helicopter. During the ninety minute flight she'd became so weak from shock and trauma that her little heart may have given out at any time.

Gretchen was still getting things ready. Although she was doing everything she was supposed to, her actions seemed a little off. She was so upset that she was still keeping her eyes averted from the child they were about to work on.

"I can't take her down too far," Doctor Wycoff said as he carefully adjusted the IV flow. "We're going to have to play this one close to the vest." He let Don take another look at the Darcie's pallor then placed a pediatric oxygen mask over her face. The other members of his operating team were silent and watching.

There was a lot to do if he was going to help little Darcie. Don was not above asking for help, but the only qualified surgeon available was Winston Falco, his boss. At sixty-three, Falco was still a good surgeon, but lately he noticed that Falco tended to dither. Falco also liked to talk, which slowed down his hands. There was something else, since they would be essentially doing same procedures, Winston Falco would want them to both use similar techniques, which meant planning, and comparing, and agreeing, and discussing. Nothing about that would be bad, except there wasn't time for it.

The last thing Don wanted to do was to chivy his boss about his speed; it would look like the young hot-shot was trying to show up the old guy. If he knew it would help, Don would call in Doctor Falco, but there didn't seem to be any upside.

He remembered Mr. Newman's brother saying "You're the man, doc." Yes, Don McMasters was _thee_ man, and being _thee_ man sucked.

Once he was gloved and gowned, Don took his place at the operating table. "Okay everyone, time to go to work." He held out his hand. "Scalpel."

Watchful of his young patient's reaction, he drew the blade of the scalpel across her upper right arm.

Thank god, she didn't flinch.

"Heart rate just took a jump," said Jerry Wycoff, his eyes surveying the monitors.

"Damn it," Don said.

Hearing a muffled sniff, Don looked at his scrub nurse and saw tears in Gretchen's eyes.

From behind his surgical mask he glared at Gretchen, willing her to get control of herself.

"She's just a little girl," Gretchen said, her hands shaking as she held them above the instrument tray.

Ah, crap. There was one other thing about being _the man_. Too often being _the man_ meant having to be a hard-ass.

"Are you going to be able to assist me in helping this patient?" Doctor McMasters asked, hoping to get his scrub nurse to snap into shape. She had a daughter the same exact age as the patient. Both girls even had the same dark hair. "Gretchen, I have to know if I need to get somebody else in here."

Gretchen's hands clenched, then she took a deep breath. She stared back across the operating table. "Yes, Doctor. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"Thank you." Good. With Gretchen back on track the rest of the surgical team would stay focused on their jobs. "Jerry, we need to take her down further."

Jerry Wycoff's eyes flicked over the monitors as he placed the palm of his hand on the patient's chest. "I know, Don, but I can't give her much more without her shutting down on us." The anesthesiologist made adjustments to his equipment. "This should have been taken care several hours ago."

Doctor McMasters nodded, taking Jerry Wycoff's hint. If he didn't get to work right away, then his fragile patient may not survive.

Doctor Wycoff kept working until the monitors showing heart rate and respiration settling into a normal range. "Okay, Donny boy, that's as far down as I dare take her.

Positioning his scalpel above his initial incision, Doctor Masters made a silent vow. He would make sure that the yokel doctor that had passed on such a sick little girl to him was going to stand before a review board. Sticking a four year old child on a helicopter for an hour and a half flight, just so someone else would have to do the dirty work bordered on the criminal. He could only hope that Darcie Charbonnough was sedated enough that she wouldn't remember what he was about to do.

"God bless you, doctor," Gretchen said from across the operating table.

Oh, yeah. It was going to be a tough one. "Thanks. I can use all the help I can get."

"God help the miserable bastard that let this happen," Doctor Wycoff said. "May he rot in hell."

Don took his own deep breath. "I'm sorry, Darcie," he said, then went to work.

### CHAPTER ONE

### August 30th 1990

### The Darkest Day of All

### 1

Even as he drummed his fingers on the box from the NAPA auto parts store, Chester Charbonnough had all but forgotten about replacing the starter in his rusting Ford pickup. Instead his attention was on Reverend Marvin Jones, who was fueling his car at the self-service pumps.

It was Tuesday, the day of the week that Marvin would drive into the Texaco gas station, use his credit card at the pump, and fill the tank. The gas station was the second stop that Chester saw Marvin Jones make. The first was Old Billy Paine's grocery store down the street from the Texaco station. Marvin would come out of the store carrying a paper bag, which disguised the men's magazine he'd just purchased. A short trip from the store to the gas station put Marvin at the pumps. While his tank was filling with gas, Marvin would take his newly acquired magazine—discretely rolled into a tube so no one could see the cover—and go to the men's room. Marvin would be in the restroom for a time ranging from several minutes to sometimes half an hour, depending on how stimulating he found the pictures in the magazine.

Constructed just inside the city limits of Stranger, Washington, Reverend Marvin Jones' church had a small but loyal congregation. Although Chester had never attended any of Reverend Jones' services, Betty, his ex-wife, had told him about some of the hellfire and brimstone sermons that rained down on the congregation every Sunday. Not wanting to cut off the supply of free magazines, Chester kept quiet about Marvin's Tuesday routine.

Chester wondered if any of Marvin's sermons concerned resisting lustful desires. Desires caused by looking at naked women in dirty magazines. If so, the man had certainly done enough hands-on research.

Today the magazine must have been particularly good. Marvin left his car unattended for almost twenty-five minutes. When he finally stepped out of the men's room he took a furtive glance left, then right as he blotted sweat off of his face with a paper towel. On the way back to his car he dropped the magazine in a garbage can. But instead of driving away as he normally did, Marvin opened the car door, bent down to slide behind the wheel, then stood up again.

Hitching up his slacks, Marvin surveyed the pumps. There was no one nearby, other than Chester pretending to ignoring him. Placing his hand on the roof of his car, Marvin took another look around, then walked back towards the men's room. On the way he reached into the garbage can and fetched out the magazine. He stayed in the men's room for an additional ten minutes. When he emerged again he looked even more distracted than before. He walked quickly towards his car, the magazine once again rolled in his hand.

Whatever worries Reverend Jones had of someone watching him had disappeared. Standing next to his car, he opened the magazine just enough to peek at the centerfold.

"Come on, Jonesy," Chester said, watching from the corner of his eye, "it's just a magazine. You can leave it behind. It's better than having your wife catch you with it."

Finally Marvin walked back to the garbage can and threw the magazine in. He wiped the palms of his hands on his pants, then went back to his car and drove away.

Waiting until Reverend Jones was out of sight, Chester strolled out of the gas station's front door and started collecting garbage from the cans placed near the pumps. As he collected the garbage he slipped the rolled up magazine into his pants pocket, wondering about Marvin's actions.

Did Reverend Jones think that no one would notice that every Tuesday a new men's magazine would appear in the same garbage can? Chester wasn't worried that he would be seen collecting the magazine from the garbage, but he didn't make a show of it. After completing his rounds Chester waited until he was back behind the cash register to examine what he found.

Checking to make sure there were no customers at the pumps, Chester pulled the magazine out of his pocket and opened it to the centerfold.

Wow, she was a beauty. Spectacular even. For all his outer show of virtue, Marvin Jones liked looking at nasty pictures of pretty girls, and she was a good one. The girl posed in the usual manner that Hustler Magazine liked to present its centerfolds. She lay on several pillows, gazing out from the page, legs wide, spreading herself open with her fingers as she smiled at Chester with an expression that promised everything he could imagine. Hand-written next to her face was ' _Hey, baby, want some?_ ' Chester read the same invitation that Marvin had seen and knew why it was so hard to leave the magazine behind. The pose had its desired effect as Chester caught his breath, thinking about all the fantasies the girl offered. The more he looked, the more he wanted.

"Hi, Chester."

Startled, Chester quick-tossed the magazine under the counter then looked up to see who was talking to him.

Josie Carpenter stood at the counter, head cocked slightly to the side. Her white Corvette stood idling at the full service pumps, the driver's door open.

"Hi, Josie," Chester said, knowing he looked as guilty as he felt.

Josie raised an eyebrow and smiled. "What were you reading?"

"Nothing," he said, trying to shrug.

On any day Josie Carpenter was a sight. Slender and pretty, she wore expensive clothes and kept herself in top shape. Still smiling at him, Josie walked over to the counter, the stacked-heels of her leather pumps clicking as they impacted the grimy floor. She set her shoulder purse in front of Chester, its soft gray leather the perfect accent to her tan jacket. She pointed to the cardboard box on the counter. "What's in there?"

"A new starter for my pickup," he said. "I was going to install it when the station wasn't busy."

"And you were checking a technical manual before you got started?" Josie asked. "Right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Let's see it," Josie said.

"See what?"

"Come on, Chester, show me that manual you were boning up on. I want to see what nuts you were going to turn before you. . ." she leaned closer ". . .slipped it in."

He found himself laughing. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

She put her hand in her purse and smiled. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Josie was a petite young lady, even in her heels she was no more than five-four, but still her presence dominated the room. She watched his every move with glassy eyes. Her breath smelled of alcohol.

"Chester," she said, smiling but still giving a command, "show me what you were looking at so hard that you didn't know I was watching you."

Thinking that she would just glance at it, he tried to be nonchalant as he pulled the Hustler magazine from under the counter.

### 2

Chester felt his heart beat faster as Josie took the magazine out of his hand and turned directly to the centerfold.

"Interesting," Josie said. "Studying to be a gynecologist? I don't think this girl would even need a speculum."

She held the magazine for Chester to see. "She kind of looks like your ex." Josie nodded to the girl in what now seemed a ludicrous pose. "Did Betty get tired of flirting for tips at the pancake house?"

"No," Chester said, feeling a flash of anger as he took the magazine out of Josie's hands. He tossed it back under the counter. "She's working tonight and asked me to watch the kids."

"What time are you supposed to be there?" Josie asked.

"Around six."

"Then you've got time to see what I have." From out of her purse Josie pulled a fifth of Johnny Walker Red Label. "Barbara Rittangilo said that this is your favorite brand."

He looked at the bottle. "That's a lot of booze."

Josie lifted her chin and said "I'm a lot of woman," then laughed.

Chester laughed with her as he picked up the bottle. "It's already open."

"I've been giving it a little test run."

"How's it work?"

She leaned forward and pursed her lips. "Perfect," she said, sending a puff of air to his face. "I was thinking that maybe we'd go up the mountain for a little drive. I hear you know some interesting places up there."

"You're not dressed to go very far in the woods" Chester said.

"I can go far enough, if I've got the right guide."

Shaking his head, Chester was tempted to do what Josie wanted. There were places on Stranger Mountain that seemed to have their own energy. It was like being hyper activated to surpass whatever you would do normally; and to be that way with a willing Josie Carpenter was almost too good to be true.

He pulled himself back to reality. The trip up the mountain would take too long and Betty needed him to watch the girls. He was already three months behind on his child support, it wouldn't take much for Betty's parents to convince her to sick the law on him. Besides, after what he'd put her through while they were married he owed Betty some good behavior.

"Maybe some other time, Josie. I'd be late in getting over to Betty's house."

"So it's like that," Josie said. She took a step towards the door, then stopped. "What about a little fun here? You got anyplace as comfortable as the front seat of your pickup?"

For a moment Chester didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if Josie was the first woman to make him that kind of offer, but usually it involved a little more subtlety. "There's a couch in the office," Chester said.

Smiling, Josie set the bottle of Johnny Walker back on the counter. "I guess I'll have to settle for that."

"I'll get some paper cups."

"What's the matter," Josie said, "afraid you'll catch something from me?" She unscrewed the cap. "Here's to ex's," Josie said then took a drink straight from the bottle, grimacing as she swallowed. When some of the whiskey spilled down her chin, Josie gathered it onto her fingers then smiled at Chester as she licked them dry.

On a normal day it took Chester fifteen minutes to close down the Texaco station. With Josie standing at the counter dispensing slugs of Johnny Walker Red, he had the doors locked in five. Three and a half hours before the normal closing time, the Texaco station's neon open sign was switched off.

Josie's Corvette was still idling at the pumps, so Chester drove it behind the gas station. After a quick stop in the service bay to clean the grime off of his hands and to shuck off his coveralls, Chester dashed back to where Josie was waiting.

"What'd you say about an ex?" Chester asked as he finished wiping his hands dry.

Josie looked him up and down then put her hand on his white T-shirt. "I signed the papers today. I am now the ex-Mrs. Craig Carpenter." Her fingers traced their way to his stomach, then went down a little further.

"I didn't hear anything about that," Chester said, not wanting her exploration to stop.

Josie took another drink. "It's all hush-hush. Craig's parents don't like people talking about how he's traded me in on a newer model."

"A newer model?" Chester said. "You can't be more than what, eighteen?"

"You never were good at math, were you Chester?"

"I did okay."

"My oldest is eight and the twins are going to turn six next month. Even Craig Carpenter couldn't get away with knocking up a ten year old girl."

Not knowing what to say, he took a drink from the bottle.

"So how come your ex is an ex?" Josie asked.

"I don't know."

Josie smiled at him. "Was she putting it out on the side?"

He shook his head. "It was my fault, not hers."

"So I've heard." Josie picked up the bottle then walked to the back of the station and opened the door to the small office. "From a lot of people."

Chester watched her walk away.

She turned and looked at him. "Chester, please tell me you know what to do."

He followed.

In the office Josie slipped off her jacket, revealing a matching sleeveless blouse and creamy soft shoulders.

He stopped at the doorway and let his eyes take her in. She was slim, with smooth skin and a generous mouth.

"My-my-my," Josie said, kicking off her pumps, "don't you have hungry eyes." She took another drink then waggled the bottle at him, spilling more whiskey. "Want some?"

Now he knew why she'd brought a fifth instead of a pint. She wanted it sloppy, a complete break from the tight control of her husband and his family. Chester reached out for what she offered.

Josie stepped close and put an arm around his waist. "When you were married you used to sneak around with Amber Johnson." She didn't let go of the bottle, but tipped it to his mouth. "She never shuts up about it."

He took a big gulp to keep it from spilling and had to catch his breath before he could say anything. "It was a long time ago."

"She says she didn't know how good she was getting it."

"You must have liked what you were getting when you married Craig Carpenter."

"Knocked up at fifteen, that's what I got." She moved in and pressed her body close. "Craig was twenty-five and liked getting his hands on young stuff. I found out that he still does."

Watching her face darken, Chester tried to change the subject. "What did you like? Him?"

She pushed the bottle hard into his chest then stepped away. "I thought I loved him, and I liked the things he bought me."

Josie picked up a stack of dusty papers off of the desk and let them slip out of her fingers, watching as they scattered on the floor. "Amber still talks about the first time you took her up to Stranger Lake."

"I must've done something right."

"You did it right three times. Fran talks about you, too. She says she used to pay for the room at the Holiday Inn."

"Have you been going around asking questions about me?" Chester asked.

"I don't have to. All I have to do is go to Wheeler's Tavern and listen to girl talk."

"What else do they say about me?"

Moving to him again, Josie took his head in her hands and pulled his face towards hers. "They say . . ." She gave him a long, probing kiss. ". . . Chester delivers."

He placed his hands on her hips and moved his face towards hers.

She grabbed hold of his head and kissed him again. Twining her fingers into his hair, she pulled so hard it felt like she was going to tear his hair out. He grabbed her hands and pushed her away.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Kathy Kelberg told me that she used to tell you to come over just before her husband was supposed to get off work. That's why you had to jump out of her bedroom window."

The whiskey was giving him a warm glow and he smiled. "I didn't know she did that."

"That's what Kathy said. She told me 'I did that to Chester three times, and the stupid fucker never did figure it out.'" Josie smiled and took another drink. "I think the operative word was..." She leaned forward and looked him in the eyes. ". . .fucker. That doesn't bother you, does it Chester?"

She seemed to like that it did.

"No. Why should it?" he asked, feeling a hot flash of anger.

"Hold up your pinkie finger," Josie said.

"Sure," he said, flicking it up in her face.

Taking hold of his little finger, she examined it. "Sorry, too big to be Craig's."

"I thought size doesn't matter."

"It does when you can only do it one way and the poor little thing still slips out."

As quick as it came the anger was gone. He was laughing when she slapped him across the face.

"That's what happens when you make fun of it," Josie said.

He felt like slapping her back. Instead he took a drink of whisky, letting the taste burn away his conflicting emotions.

She looked ready for him to retaliate, and then relaxed when he didn't. "I guess you've got betters way to prove yourself, don't you?"

Josie put her hands on his chest and pushed. Although he was taller, she caught him off-guard and he stumbled backwards and hit the wall. She grabbed his hair again. "Craig's pissed that I'm going back to my maiden name. I'm even going to change the girl's names to McGillicutty. He says if I do he won't pay me any child support, but who cares? I don't need his money, not with all the crap that goes with it."

"You mean for him to have visiting rights?" Chester asked.

"I mean his brother's been putting the moves on me ever since we were married, that and old man Carpenter tried to..." she stopped herself from saying any more. "Never mind, I'll deal with things as they come along." She tried to pull his face towards hers, showing her teeth like she was going to bite. "Josie McGillicutty. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"

Still holding the bottle with one hand, Chester grabbed her blouse in the other, bunching it into his fist. He backed her to the opposite wall of the small office.

"It didn't matter that you were married, did it Chester?" Josie said as he pressed his body against hers. "Some sweet young thing shakes her tail and you're all over it."

She swung her hand at his face.

He ducked as he placed the bottle on the desk. He grabbed her shoulders, pulled her forward a couple of inches before thrusting her back against the wall.

Josie blinked, and then smiled. "Bernadette told me you took her up the mountain, too." She took another swing at his face, her hand smacking him hard. "She said it was like you both went crazy while you were going at it."

"Maybe," Chester said, refusing to let her see him rub where she struck him.

"Yeah, well maybe someday you'll take me to the same place. I wouldn't mind if you went a little crazy on me." Again, she tried to slap his face. "I think I'd like it."

He grabbed her hands, pinned her arms to her sides, then kissed her.

Josie worked her lips against his, pulled back, then butted him with her forehead. "Doesn't that just piss you off?"

Grabbing hold of Josie's upper arms, he pulled her away from the wall and backed her towards the couch. It was littered with dirty shop towels and lurid magazines, many of them courtesy of Reverend Jones.

He hesitated.

Josie looked at the couch. "Don't clean it off."

### 3

The ringing phone brought Chester awake with a jerk. He saw that he was on the gas station's couch with a half-naked woman underneath him. Getting shakily to his feet, he found his pants and underwear on the floor, along with the woman's clothes.

The ringing did little to help him figure out what was going on.

"Answer the damn phone, Craig," the woman mumbled.

He took a good look at her. It was Josie Carpenter; but why was she calling him Craig?

After a couple of stumbling tries, he had his pants on as he went for the phone.

Picking up the receiver he cleared his throat and tried to sound normal.

"Texaco station."

"Don't give me that Texaco crap, Chester. You're supposed to be here watching the girls."

"Betty!" he said, looking at the wall clock. How late was he? "I'm sorry. I'll be over as fast as I can."

"You didn't check to make sure they gave you the right one before you took the old one out, did you Chester?"

He started to say _The right what?_ then remembered the starter for his pickup. That's what she thought he was doing.

"It's the right one. It's just taking longer than I thought."

"Have you even got it in? Or is one of your buddies making a run to the parts store for you?"

"Who's on the phone, Craig?" Josie asked, trying to sit up.

Chester slapped his palm over the phone's mouth piece and listened.

Betty didn't ask who was with him.

"It's in. I'll be there as soon as I can. Okay? Bye."

He slammed down the phone.

On the desk was the fifth of Johnny Walker Red. It was almost empty. He took off the cap of the bottle and forced himself to take a sip instead of a swallow. The liquid heat helped him to think as he tried to remember what had happened.

Josie Carpenter had brought the whiskey. Only now she was back to Josie McGillicutty to piss off her ex and she had chosen a dirty gas station couch for a revenge screw. Actually, she'd tried to get him to take her up the mountain but had settled for the gas station.

He picked up the bottle and looked at it, then finished the last few drops. "There's more to it than that, isn't there, Chester?" He turned to the couch. "Isn't there, Josie?"

Her eyes were closed again.

Finding his shoes by the desk, he finished dressing. Then he tried to put Josie's clothes back on her. It was like dressing a rag doll. "Everyone will be talking about you and me, and you want Craig to hear about it."

He was still pretty hammered and was having a hard time getting her dressed. "You're lucky you didn't pull this crap at Wheeler's Tavern," he said as he worked her skirt up over her hips. "You'd wake up on the pool table with twenty bikers lined up for their turn."

He searched the room until he spotted her panties under the desk and stuffed them in his back pocket.

He was glad she didn't weigh much as he carried her out of the gas station's back door.

As he positioned her behind the steering wheel of her Corvette, Chester saw that he hadn't done a very good job of dressing her. Josie's pantyhose were half way up one leg. Through the arm hole of her blouse he could see that her bra was still pushed up on her chest. He tossed her jacket across her lap. When he saw a greasy hand print on the white bucket seat, probably from when he parked the car earlier that day, he remembered her panties. After using them to wipe his hand print off of the upholstery he tucked the panties under her jacket. He was sure she'd be awake and gone before old man Pritchard opened the station in the morning. Nobody went behind the gas station at night, so Josie should be safe in her car. He decided that as soon as Betty came home he'd drive back to the gas station to check on her.

He was about to close the car door when he saw the neck of a bottle poking out from under the seat. It was another fifth of Johnny Walker Red. He told himself that if Josie were found in her car, she better not have any alcohol in her possession. He took the bottle.

In his pickup he twisted the key in the ignition, and swore when the worn-out starter did nothing more than rapidly click. It took several tries before the malfunctioning starter whirred then grabbed. As soon as the engine fired, Chester jammed the transmission into first gear and sped towards Betty's house.

### 4

Driving into his old neighborhood, Chester remembered to park on the far side of the driveway. All he would have to do was release the parking brake and the pickup would roll down the small hill fast enough to bump start.

As he slid out of the door of his truck, the smell of the nearby pulp mill went up his nose. He didn't know if it was because Betty had a good lawyer or if he couldn't take the smell. Either way his ex had the house and he was back to living in his parent's basement.

Reaching into the pickup, he fumbled under the seat until he found Josie's second bottle of whiskey. After taking a quick glance at the house he cracked the sealed cap then tipped the bottle to his lips and took a swig. He tried not to show any reaction, as if he was only drinking soda.

The squeaking hinges of a screen door caused Chester to quickly recap the bottle and slip it back under the seat. He leaned his weight on the side of his pickup and crossed his arms. "Hi, babe," he said, his breath thick with alcohol vapors.

"You're an hour late," said Betty Charbonnough, dressed in her Denny's uniform. Although the uniform wasn't anything special, she filled it out nicely. Carrying an apron under her arm, she pawed through her purse, rooting out a key ring to unlock her car's passenger side door. "The one goddamn time I ask you to watch the girls and you're a goddamn hour late."

Betty threw her purse and apron onto the front seat of her seventy-five Dodge Dart.

Chester tried to find something to say but couldn't think of anything that would calm her down. "Sorry."

"The girls have had their baths and ate dinner. Don't let them stay up past eight-thirty." Betty started to get in the car then stopped and looked at how he had parked his pickup. "It's still not fixed, is it? No wonder you can't get a raise."

When she kept looking at him he wondered if she could smell anything over the stench of the pulp mill.

"I don't want any of your buddies over while you're watching the girls." She glanced at her watch. "Shit!" She crawled across the seat from the passenger side and slid behind the wheel, then reached back and slammed shut the passenger door. She started the engine, sending out a cloud of blue smoke from the Dodge's tail pipe.

Betty tried to roll down the driver's side window, but it hung up. She had to lift her chin to call out of the narrow opening. "And you promised me you'd fix this goddamned car door!" she shouted. A blue cloud of smoke followed her as she drove off.

Finding that he was holding his breath, Chester exhaled as Betty's car disappeared around a corner.

"I don't think I'm going to get anything from her tonight," he said, then reached back into his pickup and fumbled under the seat until he found the bottle.

"Nope. Not tonight."

He put the bottle to his lips and took a good slug.

It was too bad, too. Betty was a real knockout. They were married a month after she graduated from high school, and about one week after she began to show enough that people were starting to talk. Back then he was a wide receiver for Drago Community College. He had hopes of going on to play for the University of Washington and maybe make it to the pros. But that didn't work out when he was kicked off the team for being at a party where there was too much drinking and too few inhibitions. It didn't help that when the cops raided the house they found him in bed with a high school girl whose parents were friends of the football coach.

While they were dating, Betty told him that she dreamed of being an actress, but getting pregnant put the brakes on that. Instead of traveling to Hollywood, she stood behind a Safeway cash register and dropped cans of soup on top of loaves of Wonder Bread.

For a couple of years Chester worked at the company that gave the southern part of Stranger, Washington its distinctive odor, but the pulp mill was no fun and he eventually let them fire him for drinking on his breaks.

His latest job was working the pumps and fixing cars at the Steinberg's Texaco. It didn't pay as well as the pulp mill, but he met a lot of people there. Finding it hard to turn down invitations to parties, he would come home half in the bag with Betty waiting up and totally pissed.

Nope, he didn't get any from her those nights, either. Taking care of a baby while waiting for her husband to come stumbling in the door didn't seem to put Betty in the mood. That was a shame, too. As far as looks went, Betty was tops. Five-five and a little over a hundred pounds, she had nice curves and a beautiful face.

After their first child was born and his take-home pay didn't cover the bills, Betty found work. There was always a restaurant ready to hire a pretty girl to haul food from the kitchen to the tables. And depending on which buttons of her blouse she left open, Betty made pretty good tips. Often his mom and dad would watch the baby or Betty's parents would have their turn.

Talking things over, he and Betty had decided not to have any more kids until they could afford them. Then one weekend they packed a picnic and drove up to Stranger Mountain. Betty's parents were watching the baby so they had all day to themselves. Chester knew they were taking a risk, and Betty knew it too, but up on the mountain they just couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was like they were filled with supernatural energy. After three times Betty was still wanting more. Failing to get it up for a fourth round of love-making, Chester had to call a stop. Soon after that Betty found out she was pregnant and they both knew when and where it happened.

There had been stories about babies conceived on Stranger Mountain, but until Betty got pregnant Chester had thought they were just talk. Betty felt good throughout her pregnancy. She didn't have morning sickness or mood swings. Only at the end did she start to feel uncomfortable.

Their first child was bright and pretty; a happy little girl that Chester was proud of. He didn't think it could get any better, until his second daughter was born. From the moment he saw her he knew she was something special. Large violet eyes stared up at him, intelligent and curious. As she grew older he knew she had more than good looks about her, she seemed to radiate beauty. It came off of her in waves, causing total strangers to come up and talk to her. To offer her candy and toys and tell her parents how special she was. At times the attention was a little scary, but there was nothing they could do, other than to keep a close eye on her.

After they were divorced Chester would come by to visit the girls. One night he was there watching television after the kids went to sleep. Betty came home and was feeling no pain from having a few drinks with her friends. Neither one of them planned it, but Betty was lonely enough to give Chester a night in her bed. The next morning he woke up while being swatted in the head with a broom as Betty yelled at him to get out.

### 5

Standing next to his pickup, Chester took another sip of whiskey, then wrapped the bottle in his coat and walked towards the house. He was careful to put one foot in front of the other and made sure he didn't trip on any of the three steps leading up to the porch.

Two pairs of eyes were spying out of the front curtains. He raised his hand to wave and took the forth step.

It wasn't there.

He rolled with the fall, ending up sitting on his butt and wondering what to do next.

From inside the house came excited screams as both of his daughters dashed out. "Do it again, Daddy," Ellen said, the joy of laughter making her face shine in the fading light.

"Again, again!" the littlest one called.

He lifted Darcie up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tight as he carried her into the house, her violet eyes gazing at him. After not seeing her for a while, Chester was always taken by the mysterious quality foretelling that Darcie would someday be a great beauty.

Energized by their daddy's arrival, Ellen and Darcie ran around the front room, each trying to find a way to show herself off.

After hiding the bottle of Johnny Walker in the kitchen, Chester went back to the front room and flopped onto the couch. All he wanted to do was to take a nap, but the girls were too excited to settle down. He looked around the front room and saw that the wood bin next to the fireplace was empty.

"Let's get some firewood," he said, hoping the girls would run around outside and slow down a little.

There was a quarter moon, giving just enough light to see as the girls followed him to the wood pile behind the house. He picked up the ax to split some logs into kindling. As he bent to place a log on the chopping block, Ellen ran up and poked at him playfully.

He turned and raised the ax high in the air. "Who's bothering the woodman," he said in a deep, scary voice. He started chasing her. "Watch out, little girl, or I'll chop you."

Ellen screamed playfully and ran just fast enough to stay away from him.

He placed the ax on the ground, emptying his hand. "I'm coming, little girl," he said, hunching over and swinging his arms menacingly. "I'm coming after all little girls. And when I get through with them they'll be chopped to pieces. Chop-chop-chopped to pieces!"

Ellen laughed as he came close then ran away before Chester could grab her.

Darcie stood nearby, watching as he tried to get Ellen. Then Chester turned to her. "How about you?" he said, booming his voice even louder. "Chop-chop!" He grabbed her arm and placed it on the chopping block. "Arms and legs and everything in the fireplace." He raised his hand like he still held onto the ax.

"Chop-chop, little girl. Chopped into tiny pieces and thrown into the fire."

Chester swung his arm down, pretending that his hand was the blade of an ax.

Only when he heard an ear-piercing scream did he see how frightened Darcie was. Her little legs were scrambling as she tried to flee. Her tiny hands grabbed at his fingers, trying to peel them away from her body.

Too late, Chester realized that his youngest daughter was truly terrified that he was going to use the ax on her.

Chester set her down. "Hey, honey, I was only playing. I'd never hurt you. Not ever."

Eyes wide with fright, Darcie ran back into the house, peeking out of the window as he carried in an armload of wood. Ellen followed him, proudly carrying two small pieces of firewood.

After Ellen placed her pieces of wood next to the fireplace, she turned to him. "Did you bring us anything, Daddy?"

Oh, crap. He hadn't seen the kids in weeks and the only thing he brought with him was a bottle of booze. He walked into the kitchen, took another sip from the bottle, and tried to think. Maybe he could drive the girls to Old Billy Paine's grocery store and let them pick something out. No, Betty would kill him if she knew he'd taken them anywhere. Especially if she found out he'd been drinking.

Then he remembered Darcie's birthday party a few weeks before and what he promised to bring her.

"I've got something in the truck," he said, recalling his hunting trip to Eastern Washington. "I'll be right back."

### 6

The girls were waiting expectantly as Chester came back into the house. In a large shopping bag were feathers from eight Chinese Pheasants. One-by-one the pheasants had burst from hiding in a flurry of pounding wings, only to be blasted out of the sky by men with twelve-gauge shotguns.

It was a gift better than Chester could have imagined. He placed a few of the long quills in Ellen's hair and proclaimed her an Indian princess. When they fell out he searched through the kitchen and found a box of rubber bands. There were several sizes, from small to extra-large. He selected a small rubber band and pulled it out of the box, but his hands were shaky and he ended up spilling half the box on the coffee table. It took a moment of fumbling before he could make a bun in Ellen's hair, then it was easy to stuff the feathers in far enough for them not to fall out. When he was finished he looked over to Darcie, who had both hands full of feathers. She was flapping her arms and saying that she wanted to fly like a bird.

The feathers were getting scattered all over the front room and it would be a real mess for Betty to pick up. He'd have to clean up before she came home. As the girls played he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

The phone rang and Chester heard Ellen answer it. "Daddy," she called, "mommy wants to talk."

"Hi, Babe," Chester said as he watched Ellen look in the mirror, rearranging the colorful feathers in her hair.

"How are the girls?" Betty asked over a background of loud kitchen noise.

"They're having a great time. There's kind of a mess, though."

"Don't worry about it," Better said. "The manager told me I have to work a double. He said he'd pay me time-and-a-half."

Finally, there was something he could do to get himself out of the dog house. "You go on and work, babe. I'll watch the girls."

"Are you sure you won't be late for work tomorrow?"

He hadn't thought about that one. "No, no. I'll be fine."

"Okay," Betty said. "Maybe I'll have Mrs. Johanson stop by in the morning. She likes cooking breakfast for the girls."

"Okay, as long as I get some," he said, hoping she'd get his meaning.

"I think I have a full carton of eggs in the fridge. I'll tell Mrs. Johanson to make enough for you, too."

It was a relief when Betty hung up. Sure thing, Mrs. Johanson would come over and he would have everything cleaned up and ready to pass inspection.

After he finished off the glass of whiskey, he sat down on the couch and leaned back, ready to fall asleep. Then he realized someone was looking at him. His vision was fuzzy and it took a moment for him to see Darcie tapping him on the knee. She wanted her feathers to stay on like Ellen's.

Wondering if maybe he'd had too much to drink, he picked up a long feather then went to work it into Darcie's hair. It was hard to get the rubber bands to go right. At first he tried one of the thick short ones, but it was so wide it didn't leave room to insert the feather. There were several other sizes and he tried a small thin one. It took all of his concentration to get his fingers coordinated. Once the feather was in Darcie's hair he thought that that would make her happy. Instead she asked him if he could help her have wings.

Chester leaned back and looked at the feathers in Darcie's hands, then at the rubber bands on the coffee table.

Yeah, wings to fly. She'd love that.

### 7

"Watch those eyes, kiddo."

Betty Charbonnough found herself standing at a messy table, her fingers resting on the edge, having fallen asleep in the midst of clearing dirty dishes. A male customer was walking away from her, heading to the cash register. Of all the times for her relief to be late, why did it have to be after she worked a double? At two in the morning, when the taverns emptied out, she still had energy. The quiet between four and six allowed her to slow her pace; but now the breakfast crowd was coming in and she could barely get her body moving.

Making the rounds with the coffeepot, she came to an abrupt stop when she saw something totally unexpected lying on the dining area's carpet. Sitting in the booth closest to the door, Deputy Sheriff Fred Welker quickly picked up his 45 automatic off of the floor and tried to replace it into his belt holster. Across the table Betty saw that Deputy Skip Carpenter was enjoying his partner's embarrassment.

"Refill?" Betty asked.

"You bet-cha," Deputy Carpenter said. He didn't bother to move his cup from the back of the table.

Instead of leaning over to refill his cup, which Skippy Carpenter wanted, she picked up the cup and poured. "How about you, Fred?"

Welker was still trying to secure his automatic in its holster; some sort of fancy rig that opened from the side. Although he was about the same age as Skippy, he seemed a lot more mature. "Just a dab," he answered absently.

"Need a hand?" Skippy asked, talking to Fred but looking at her.

"No thanks, Skip," Fred answered, concentrating on snapping his gun in place. "You helped enough by talking me into buying this piece of shit."

"Deputy Welker," Betty said, "this is a family restaurant."

"Sorry," Fred answer, securing his weapon then patting the holster to make sure the gun stayed in place. He looked at Skip. "That's the second time its fallen out. When we leave here I'm going to swing by my house and get my old holster, and you can send this piece of. . ." he stopped himself and looked at Betty, then back to Skip. "You're going to return it to your buddy and get my money back."

"I can't do that, you've already used it." Skip picked up his cup. "Say, Betty, how old are your daughters? They must be growing like weeds."

"Ellen's seven and Darcie's four," Betty said, wondering what Skippy was up to. She didn't like the smug look on his face.

"That's right. Your kids are about the same age as Josie Carpenter's. We ran into her about two this morning." Skip looked at Deputy Welker. "We found her parked in the oddest place. Right behind. . ."

"Hey, Skip," Welker broke in, "forget sending back the holster. I'll just use my old one."

Betty walked away, leaving the deputies to figure things out on their own. At the coffee station she put a fresh filter in the coffee maker and filled it with a scoop of decaf, then placed an empty pot under the filler tube. She was in mid-yawn when another waitress walked up to her.

"Hi, Betty, how's it going?" Marsha asked.

"Fine, if you don't mind tripping on Fred's gun."

"Fred should know better than to listen to Skippy Carpenter," Marsha said. "He's been an idiot for as long as I can remember. The only reason he's a deputy is his uncle got him the job."

Betty wiped up loose coffee grounds and straightened a stack of cups.

Marsha stayed close by, looked around then said, "Want to know what Skippy's latest hair-brained idea is?"

"Sure, if it'll help me stay awake," Betty said, stifling another yawn.

"He put in an application for the FBI. Fred told me that Skip has been spending all his spare time at the shooting range blowing away paper bad guys. He wants to become a good enough shot to be assigned to H.R.T."

Marsha didn't wait for her to ask the question.

"Hostage Rescue Team. You know, those guys that rappel out of helicopters and storm buildings."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad plan," Betty said.

"It is if you're a trigger-happy idiot like Skippy Carpenter. Two weeks ago he heard a noise in his house. It was about three in the morning and he was dead-asleep. Skippy came awake, grabbed his gun and charged through his house like a crazy man."

"Did someone break in?" Betty asked.

"Yep," Marsha said. "That bird brained Doberman he keeps outside tied to a chain. It came through the doggie door and knocked over a kitchen chair. The neighbors heard shots and called it in. By the time the cops got there Skippy had put six holes in the walls of his house and his so-called guard dog had peed all over the linoleum."

As she talked, Marsha pre-filled several disposable filters from a large can of coffee. "Skippy's got to have a little more on the ball than that if he wants to join the FBI."

"Probably," Betty said.

"How come you're working a double?" Marsha asked.

"So I can get the whole day off tomorrow," Betty said, then corrected herself. "I mean, today. I've got an appointment with an agent in Seattle."

"Are you going to be an actor or something?"

"Can you keep a secret?" Betty asked.

Marsha nodded.

"It's for Darcie. I sent this guy a picture and he wrote back to me. Then we spoke on the phone a couple of times and I put Darcie on so he could hear how clearly she talks. He thinks Darcie's got a chance to work in commercials or maybe even do a sitcom, but he's got to see her for himself."

"Be careful," Marsha said, "there's a lot of a con artist pretending to be in entertainment."

No more than here, Betty thought to herself. She was supposed to work only the swing shift. Then Virginia, the other lady scheduled to work graveyard, called in sick, or that was what the manager said. Out of the blue she was being told that she could get the next day off, but only if she worked a double shift. Betty tried reasoning with the guy. The response was either work the double or come back to work for her normal shift the next day. Betty was glad that she hadn't told the bastard about taking Darcie to Seattle. He seemed like the kind of person that would step on every dream he could find, just to make sure everyone was as miserable as he was. Then at a quarter past midnight she took the opportunity to go outside for a few minutes. Walking along the side of the building to stay out of sight, she was just about to light a cigarette when she saw Virginia drive her car up to the back door of the restaurant. The manager came out, looked around, then ducked into her car. For the next hour the customers at her tables received very poor service.

Then she cooled down enough to think things through. Actually, she had just learned a very good lesson. No matter what she did or where she was, there was someone ready to take advantage of her. So why not take the chance to make her life better. If the guy in Seattle was trying to work a scam on her, she'd be ready for it. If it was a real chance, then she'd take it and make sure that Darcie was treated right. From night into day, the service at Betty's tables improved. She even managed to smile.

Cleaning up the table that Deputies Carpenter and Welker had vacated, Betty pocketed a quarter and a dollar. Although they were both together, Betty knew that it was Fred Welker that left the folding tip. Skippy Carpenter never left more than a quarter, even if he'd parked his butt in the booth for half his shift. Marsha walked by carrying an arm-load of food and gave Betty a tired smile.

Betty nodded back.

_Oh, god_ , she thought, _that's me in ten years_.

In her mid-thirties, Marsha had a trim figure and a pretty face, but she was starting to fade. She was already getting haggard lines. In another few years she would look like every other waitress that had spent too long hauling food and then cleaning up the mess. Rounded shoulders and back problems were not that far away.

Without warning Betty saw her future. She was in the car instead of Virginia, picking up some jerk manager, possibly trying to screw her way onto a better shift or for any number of reasons that she didn't want to think about.

What would she do if the price of Darcie getting work depended on her mother spending time on the casting couch? She remembered watching a late-night talk show. A well-known actress was thanking the host for having her on his show a few months before. A producer had been watching and decided to cast her in a movie. "You'll get your BLEEP-BLEEP later," was what the censors allowed to be shown on the air. There was shocked laughter and scattered applause, and the actress was having fun with everyone's reaction. "What? It was just two little words."

Was that the unwritten price of success? A quick blow job to make sure work kept coming in? Would it be any different than when she was married to Chester and she'd made love to him even when she didn't feel like it? A useless attempt to keep him home and maybe he would stop finding it on the side? Chester Charbonnough was the only man that she'd ever slept with—before, during and after they were married. All others had been refused, even though some of them had been very tempting. And others not so tempting. Like the time she was driving home after work and Skippy Carpenter had pulled her over. The creep was not too subtle about how she could get out of a speeding ticket. She'd been so angry that she challenged him to write it up, then she could take it to court and testify about what went on. Skippy backed off and warned her to keep to the speed limit. What upset her the most was that up until then she had been thinking about taking him up on his offer of a date. Afterward she wondered how she could have been attracted to that first-class jerk.

Were a couple of blow-jobs too high a price to get out of Stranger, Washington? Weigh that against hauling slopping plates of food for twenty years, only to find herself so desperate that she might be willing to screw the manager just to make sure she kept her job.

"Betty," Marsha said.

She found herself standing at the back door, looking out into the parking lot. "I'm sorry, I'll get back to work."

"Fred's out front," Marsha said. "He says he has to talk to you."

It was almost seven o'clock. Betty had been awake well over twenty-four hours, fifteen of which she'd been working. She was so tired that everything around her was a blur as Marsha hustled her to the front of the restaurant.

### 8

It was hard to focus her eyes on Fred. Deputy Welker, the nice guy and good tipper, took her by the arm and was propelling her to his waiting patrol car. He opened the front door and pushed her onto the seat.

"They're at the hospital," Fred was saying as he drove out of the parking lot. His siren blared, making his words hard to understand. "Chester's in custody and the doctor needs your signature for the Life Flight."

It was just a few blocks from the restaurant to Stranger County Hospital. The pitch and roll of the speeding patrol car was making her feel woozy.

"What's going on?" she asked.

After screeching to a halt next to an ambulance, Fred raced around the car, opened the passenger door, and pulled her out. "This is her!" he was calling, waving an arm to attract attention.

A surge of adrenaline picked up her energy and cleared her head as she was rushed into the emergency entrance. "What's going on, Fred? What's happening? Did something happen to Chester?"

A nurse ran up to her and shoved a clipboard in her hand. "Sign here," she said.

Betty wanted an explanation, but the grim expression on the nurse's face made her take the pen and scribble her name. The nurse turned on her heel and ran down the hall at full speed. Betty gave Deputy Welker a questioning look then was running too.

Staying close to the nurse, Betty went up two sets of stairs then through several doors. She found herself standing in the open air. Medical people were gathered protectively around a gurney. The nurse was handing a manila folder to a trim young woman wearing a blue jumpsuit with the words FLIGHT NURSE stitched onto the back. The group proceeded to push the gurney towards a waiting helicopter. The blades were spinning and picking up speed, buffeting the area with its prop wash.

Betty caught up with the gurney. On it was a small figure. An oxygen mask covered her face, which was swollen and an odd color of bluish red. It was hard to recognize, but she knew it was her youngest, Darcie.

In a panic she saw that there was an IV tube inserted in Darcie's chest. One of the medical staff had a finger on the side of Darcie's neck, taking her pulse. Not knowing why, Betty reached over and flipped up the side of the sheet.

A man in surgical scrubs turned and looked at her. "Who's this?" he shouted over the helicopter's whirling blades.

"The mother," called the nurse that Betty had followed from the emergency entrance. She turned to stop Betty from following the gurney. "Doctor Yeager can't do any more for her here. They've got to get her to the trauma center in Seattle."

Betty's eyes were locked onto a small arm. It should have been a healthy pink; instead it was dark purple, almost black. Darcie's hand, the little hand that liked to clap and draw and play in the water was shriveled, her fingers curled into hideous claws.

As soon as the gurney was loaded into the helicopter the medical staff turned their attention to Betty. They hustled her away from the helipad then shielded their faces as the flight ambulance lifted off. Betty shaded her eyes and watched as the helicopter flew toward the morning sun.

"What happened?" she asked, looking around her. "What happened to my daughter?"

"The first thing was to get her stabilized," Doctor Yeager said as he took her arm. A nurse held open the door as they helped Betty back inside.

"If it would have been an adult," the doctor continued, walking her down a corridor, "we would have done the procedure here. But with a child that age, we just had to give her every chance we could. To be honest, Mrs. Charbonnough, I don't know if they can do any more for her in Seattle than we can do here."

Betty found herself in a waiting room, the doctor wanting her to sit in a chair. Before she could say anything, Mrs. Johanson came in, followed by Deputy Welker. The burley deputy was leading Ellen by the hand. Ellen's eyes were wide with fright. Everyone was pale, even the doctor, who's professional demeanor was almost gone. Once in the room Ellen broke away from Fred Welker and rushed to her mother, throwing her arms around her legs.

"I went over the first thing," Mrs. Johanson said. "I should have checked on things, but I thought I'd get the breakfast going first. Then I went to see if the mister was awake." Tears were rolling down the older woman's cheeks, her hands clasped together.

"Mrs. Charbonnough," Doctor Yeager said, "I think we should find a private place to talk."

"No," Betty answered, "I have to know."

"She wouldn't wake up," Mrs. Johanson said. "The little one. I could tell she was in bad trouble, so I dialed the nine-one-one."

"Is she going to die?" Betty asked, facing the doctor.

"I think she'll survive," the doctor said, "but I have to tell you that you shouldn't get your hopes up."

The room fell silent.

"Hopes up about what?"

"They'll do their best, but they still might have to amputate."

At the sound of the doctor's last word, it felt like a cold knife was stabbed into her stomach. The room spun and she fought to keep her mind working. "You mean," she hesitated, then forced herself to speak. "You mean her arm?"

Doctor Yeager couldn't meet her eyes. "No, Mrs. Charbonnough. I mean her limbs. All of them."

"Oh, god," she said and found herself leaning against Fred Welker, who was helping her to keep standing.

"Why don't you sit down," Fred suggested.

"No." Although her legs felt like they would give out, she needed to stay on her feet and keep control. "What happened to her?"

"When she was brought into the hospital," Doctor Yeager said, "the circulation to all of her limbs was cut off."

Betty turned to Deputy Welker. "Chester was supposed to be watching the kids. I called and he said everything was all right."

"I knocked on the door," Mrs. Johanson said, "then I went in. It wasn't till I got the eggs fixed did I go to wake them up." She turned her face away from Betty and looked at Deputy Welker. "There were feathers scattered all over the front room. Ellen was asleep on the couch, next to the mister. I gave him a shake to get him up for breakfast, but he pushed my hand away. I looked around for the little one. That's when I saw her." Mrs. Johanson's voice broke into a sob. "Little Darcie was behind the easy chair. I could see right away that she was in the bad trouble. Her arms were colored wrong because they were cutting off the circulation."

"What was cutting of the circulation?" Betty demanded.

"The rubber bands," Mrs. Johanson said. "A bunch of them all wrapped around the arms and the legs with the feathers stuffed under them."

"Rubber bands?" Betty asked.

"Judging by the amount of tissue damage," Doctor Yeager said, "they must have been on her for several hours."

"What the hell is going on?" Chester Charbonnough said, being led in by Deputy Skip Carpenter. Chester's eyes were half-closed and he grimaced from the noise in the room.

"I think I've got him sobered up," Skippy said. "He must have had a snoot-full last night." Carpenter half-smiled as he stopped Chester so he was standing directly in front of Betty. "There was a bottle of Johnny Walker in the cupboard."

"You were drunk!" Betty lunged forward, but Deputy Welker held her back. She tried to shake free.

"Take it easy, Betty," Fred told her, "we'll get things straightened out."

"Straightened out!" Again she tried to pull away from the deputy. There was a sudden pain on the top of her foot. She looked down and saw that Fred's holster was empty. Lying next to her foot was his gun. By the way Fred was still talking to her he didn't know that his gun was on the floor.

"Come and sit down," Fred was saying, motioning to the couch.

Betty acted as if to comply. Fred's grip relaxed when he thought she was doing as he directed. At that moment she broke away, bent down and scooped the gun off of the floor.

She was surprised to find the automatic pistol in her hand. Stepping forward she raised the gun, aiming it at Chester's head. Tears flooded her eyes as she tried to speak. She didn't know what words she was searching for. She didn't know what she wanted him to do. There had to be something, anything, to make him fix what had happened to her little girl.

Fred grabbed her wrist and she tried to keep the gun pointed at Chester, but the cop was too strong. Her arm was pushed up until the muzzle was aimed at the ceiling.

A motion near Chester caught her attention. Deputy Carpenter was in a crouch, his gun aimed at her.

In an instant everything became strange, unworldly.

There had to be noise, but she didn't hear any.

The gun in Skippy Carpenter's hands kicked back, an empty cartridge ejected into the air.

Chester's face was contorted in a silent scream.

There was another cartridge flying out of Skippy's gun, and then a third.

She found she couldn't get her breath, then realized she was falling.

Fred was above her, his face looked puzzled, then changed into weird contortions. He must have been screaming, the same as Chester.

Everyone changed.

Fred turned into a priest, falling to his knees, his hands clenched in prayer as he knelt over her.

Ellen turned into a pixie, hiding behind the leaves of a plant, then peeking back at her with frightened blue eyes.

Chester was now a dancer. Up on the balls of his feet, taking graceful little steps, shuffling forward.

Skippy Carpenter turned into a large ungainly bird; flying backwards, propelled by blows from Chester's fists. He landed on his back as Chester's fists kept smashing into his face.

Nothing in the room made sense as Betty wondered about her youngest daughter.

Was Darcie still flying?

Would the helicopter get her to the hospital in time?

She hoped so. The doctors could do wonders.

Later, when she didn't feel so cold, she would go to Darcie. Tell her she loved her. Tell her it would be all right.

Ellen was still next to the plant, saying something.

Betty tried to hear, but the silence continued.

Then, still looking at Ellen's sweet face, everything faded away.

### Chapter Two

### September 6th 1992

### First Day / Last Day

### 1

As she waited in her grandpa's car, Darcie Charbonnough kept her lips pressed together so no one would see them quiver. With her grandmother inside and her grandfather carrying her wheelchair to the top of the school's steps, she'd never felt so alone, or so scared. She didn't know why she had to go to school, even though her sister Ellen seemed to like it. But Ellen was in the fourth grade and had lots of friends. She would be in the first grade and she didn't know anyone.

Beginning at the sidewalk, Darcie counted fourteen steps to where her grandfather struggled to spread open the new wheelchair. His face was red and she knew he was saying bad words by the way his lips were moving. Finally, the chair was open and her grandfather did something with the wheels so it wouldn't roll away.

Lindbergh Elementary was the largest building Darcie had ever seen. It seemed to tower high into the air, its red bricks so old they were almost black with age. Halfway down one side of the school, lighter colored bricks showed where the building had been expanded, yet they were far from new looking.

Holding onto the handrail, her grandfather came down the stairs, the enormous school seeming to dwarf him. As he walked up to the car she wished he would get in and drive her home. Instead he opened her door.

"Ready?" Grandpa asked, bending down and lifting her off of the seat.

His arms held her tight as he carried her one step at a time up the stairs.

"My goodness, Darcie," Grandpa said as he paused to catch his breath, "Your heart's going a mile-a-minute. Is anything wrong?"

Blinking hard to keep away the tears, Darcie shook her head.

Taking a deep breath, her grandfather finished carrying her up the last few steps then almost toppled over as he set her in the wheelchair.

"Whew," Grandpa said. He wiped his face with the red and white neckerchief he carried in the back pocket of his bib overalls. "That's a lot of climbing."

"I'm sorry," Darcie said, wishing she was home watching Sesame Street. The Count and Big Bird were better than any teacher ever could be.

"It ain't your doing," Grandpa said, pushing her wheelchair towards the massive doors. "The state says you have to go to school, so that's where you have to go. Your sister likes going here, so I'm sure you will, too."

After her grandfather jostled her over the threshold, Darcie looked down the long, empty corridors of the school. She jumped when the heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind her, the noise echoing throughout the building. The halls seemed so dark that she wondered if any kids had ever become lost.

"How's that new wheelchair feel?" Grandpa asked as he pushed her along a hallway.

"Fine," Darcie said, even though it wasn't. She liked her old wheelchair with its wooden arm rests and soft leather seat. The left tire had a chunk notched out of the hard rubber and she was used to the way it made a little thump with every turn of the wheel. The new chair seemed too bright, with its shiny chrome and stiff back and seat. Compared to the old wheelchair that had belonged to her Aunt Betsy, the new one seemed cramped. With a handmade quilt draped over the arms and folded under her to make a cushion, Aunt Betsy's wheelchair was spacious and comfortable. She could sit up straight or settle into the side and take a nap. Sometimes she wouldn't even have to go to bed, she'd just drift off to sleep in the comfort of the ancient wheelchair, saving everyone the trouble of getting her under the covers.

There wouldn't be any naps in the new wheelchair. She barely had any wiggle room; that was the way Grandpa had said it. The first time she leaned over to look behind her, her cheek had touched one of the shiny chrome bars. The touch of the cold metal had surprised her, causing her to let out a yelp.

Traveling up and down the long, dark halls, it took some searching before her grandfather found the right door to go into. When they passed it the first time, she knew that was where they should go, but Grandpa had kept pushing her to the end of the hall, turned around and came back. At first she thought he just didn't want to take her in, but then she could tell that he was lost.

"In there, Grandpa," Darcie said.

"Oh, yeah," he said, mussing her hair with his hand, "I must have missed it."

As they entered the room, Darcie saw that Grandma was already there, talking to a lady standing behind a tall counter. Unlike Grandpa, who kept working in his shed until it was time to take her to school, Grandma had worn her church clothes and fixed her hair, making herself presentable for registering Darcie into the Stranger County school system. There were five other ladies in the office and everyone turned to look as Grandpa wheeled her in. Darcie didn't like them looking at her and tried not to meet anyone's eyes.

"There she is," said one of the ladies. "How's our new student today?"

The lady was smiling and sounded nice, but Darcie didn't feel like smiling back, so she stared at the floor.

"Darcie," Grandma said, "Mrs. Lynch asked you a question."

"Fine," Darcie said, still looking at the floor. Grandpa patted her shoulder.

Grandma was showing Mrs. Lynch papers from Darcie's visit to the doctor.

In the examination room, Dr. Preeby had looked in her mouth and ears and listened to her chest and thumped her back while she breathed in and out. Then, as Grandma looked on, Dr. Preeby had taken off her blouse and skirt so he could inspect her shoulder stumps and then her thigh stumps. Darcie didn't like him seeing her in her underwear, but Grandma had told her what to expect.

"Surprisingly good muscle tone," Dr. Preeby said, feeling around her shoulders.

Grandma had almost leaped out of her chair when Dr. Preeby had first touched her.

The move surprised the pediatrician. "Nurse Shannon," Dr. Preeby called, "could you come in here, please." He waited until Nurse Shannon came into the room, glanced at Grandma, then continued the examination. "Darcie, you must be doing a lot of exercising," Dr. Preeby said as he ran his hands down her back and on her side. "Less atrophy than I expected."

"What's that mean?" Darcie asked.

"It means that your muscles are nice and strong," Dr. Preeby said.

"Oh," Darcie said. While her grandparents were out of the house, she liked to jump on the bed, staying close to the head board to keep her balance. She'd also play hide and seek with Ellen, rolling on the floor to search around the house for places to hide, all the while listening for the sound of Grandpa's car. Usually there was time for Ellen to push Aunt Betsy's wheelchair close to her, then struggle to lift her onto the seat. Although Darcie could manage to get herself onto Grandpa's foot stool and then onto the couch, Grandma didn't like seeing her down on the floor.

Nurse Shannon left for a moment, then came back in and gave her an injection just above her right shoulder stump. Grandma hadn't said anything about getting poked with a needle, and Darcie tried to pretend that it didn't hurt.

"She should have a complete physical," Dr. Preeby said as he was writing on a piece of paper.

"You've seen enough of her," Grandma said.

Dr. Preeby stopped writing and looked hard at Grandma. "I beg your pardon." When Grandma kept silent he finished writing then held out the paper saying "Brenda Jarvis is an excellent pediatrician. This is her office number."

Grandma hesitated before taking the paper. "Thank you."

The way Grandma stuffed the piece of paper into her purse, Darcie knew she wasn't going to see that other doctor.

While her grandmother was paying the bill, Grandpa took Darcie out to the car.

"How'd it go?" Grandpa asked as he sat her on the seat.

"They gave me a shot," Darcie said.

Grandpa looked to see where Grandma was, then asked "Where at?"

"Right here," Darcie said, lifting her right stump.

Grandpa rubbed his hand over where the needle had gone in. "Better?"

Darcie nodded, then didn't say anymore because her grandmother was walking to the car.

Darcie noticed that Grandma was always nervous about men being around her. Grandma even scowled at Grandpa if he sat too close to her while watching TV, so mostly Darcie wasn't near anyone, other than her sister Ellen.

After Mrs. Lynch had checked over the papers from the doctor, she had Grandpa and Grandma sign some forms. Grandma read each one before signing it. Grandpa picked up the pen, hesitated, then made a quick mark on each paper.

In the school office, Darcie heard Mrs. Lynch say "All right, we'll take it from here."

Grandma bent down and said quietly "You know what I told you about naughty boys. You don't let any of them get close to you." Then her grandmother was walking to the door as Grandpa hung back.

"Grandma?" Darcie said, tears welling in her eyes.

"It's all right," Grandpa said, bending down to pat the top of her head. "We'll be back when school's out to take you home."

"You'll be okay," Grandma said, her hand on the doorknob. "Come on, Julius, we've got to get things done before we have to come back here and pick her up." Her grandmother looked back at her. "Now don't raise a fuss, Darcie, you have to go to school and that's that."

Close to panic, Darcie watched her grandmother take hold of Grandpa's arm and lead him out the door. She felt her lips quivering as a tear rolled down her face.

Her breath was hitching and she was about to call out to Grandpa when Mrs. Lynch came from around the counter and knelt next to her.

"Hi, Darcie. Is this your first day of school?"

Darcie's eyes were locked onto the door that her grandparents had left through, then she turned to Mrs. Lynch. "What?"

"Is this your first day of school?"

"Uh-huh," Darcie said, nodding her head as her breath hitched again.

"You've never gone to any other school?" Mrs. Lynch asked.

Darcie shook her head, her chin down to her chest as she blinked through tears.

"It's all right, Darcie, we'll take good care of you. Maybe you'll see someone you know."

"Will there be anyone like me?" Darcie asked.

"Well...no," Mrs. Lynch said. "You're the only one in school that needs a wheelchair to get around in. Now, why don't we get you to your class."

"Okay," Darcie said. Ever since she came into the office all the ladies had been staring at her. As Mrs. Lynch rolled her out of the door someone in the office said "Doesn't she look like a little doll?"

Once the door was closed Darcie looked up at Mrs. Lynch. "I'm not a doll."

"Of course you're not, Darcie. They just think you're pretty."

"Being pretty's a curse," Darcie said, repeating something she heard her Grandma say. From the pictures around the house, Darcie knew that her mother had been beautiful. Beauty had attracted the bad man that had become her father. From what she'd heard her grandmother say, Darcie knew that if her mother had not been pretty then she would have never married the man that would later kill her in a drunken rage. Then, still drunk and angry, he attacked her. Darcie turned to Mrs. Lynch. "Being a pretty girl makes boys do bad things."

"That's not true," Mrs. Lynch said. She took Darcie down a long hallway then stopped in front of one of the many doors. "Can you wait here while I go inside and talk to Mrs. Snider?"

Darcie nodded, and caught a glimpse of the classroom when Mrs. Lynch went inside. The room was full of children her age; boys and girls sitting at desks that were lined up in neat rows. Unlike the hallway, the room was bright. There were even pictures the children had drawn on the walls. Maybe she could draw a picture that the teacher would put up on the wall; or maybe take one home that Grandma would put on the refrigerator the way she did with Ellen's. Would she be able to draw one today?

Then she thought about what she'd have to do to draw a picture. She'd have to hold the crayon in her teeth, the way she did at home, and get part way on the table to reach the top of the paper. It would be different than what the other kids would be doing. She was different than the other kids. She'd never seen anyone like herself on Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers or any other show on TV.

By the time Mrs. Lynch came out of the room, Darcie was once again trying to hold back the tears.

"Darcie, what's wrong?" Mrs. Lynch asked.

"They're going to laugh when I go in," Darcie said, her voice choked with sobs. "They're going to say mean things."

Mrs. Lynch used a hanky to dry her eyes. "Some of the children might do that, but not all. I'm sure you'll make friends right away." Mrs. Lynch put away the hanky then bent down until they were face to face. "Do you want to know what I did on the first day I went to a new school?"

Darcie managed to quit sniffling and nodded her head.

"My father was in the Air Force and we moved around a lot, so I was always the new kid in school."

"Just like me?" Darcie asked.

"Just like you," Mrs. Lynch said. "My mother told me to only think about the people that were nice to me. If someone was mean, then I should pretend that they weren't there, so that's what I did. If a boy named Willie wasn't nice, I'd think about how Mary had helped me, or how my older sister braided my hair, or how my mother made cupcakes with chocolate icing so I could have one in my lunch. I'd be thinking so much about the nice people that I would forget about children like Willie."

"Did it work?" Darcie asked.

"Most of the time. I think it helped me not to be scared about being the new kid in school." Mrs. Lynch stood up. "Do you think it's time to meet your teacher?"

No, Darcie wanted to say, but Mrs. Lynch was already opening the door.

### 2

Coming into the bright classroom from the dark hallway caused Darcie to blink. At the front of the room was Mrs. Snider, who was bending forward a little as she put her hands on her knees. Although she looked as old as Grandma, Mrs. Snider had a nice smile and didn't scowl.

"Hello, Darcie," Mrs. Snider said, then motioned to the room full of students. "Class, this is the new student Mrs. Lynch told us about."

Mrs. Lynch rolled Darcie to the front of the room and turned the wheelchair so that all the kids could see her.

"Everyone," Mrs. Lynch said, placing her hand on Darcie's shoulder, "this is Darcie Charbonnough. Usually we let a new student join the class and we get to know them while we work together, but Darcie's a little different than..."

"Well, duh!" a boy said from the back of the room.

"Op!" Mrs. Snider said, clapping her hands once. She was suddenly more like Grandma after catching Darcie watching the wrong show on TV. "Is this how we act in front of Principal Lynch?"

"Nooo, Misses. Sniiiiderrrr," the entire class said in slow unison.

The joining of so many boys and girl's voices saying the same thing made Darcie want to smile. Instead she pressed her lips together and tried not to look at anyone.

"As I was saying," Mrs. Lynch continued, "since Darcie is a little different than the rest of us, I think it would be best if we all got to know her." Mrs. Lynch looked down. "Is that all right with you, Darcie?"

"Okay," Darcie said, knowing she didn't have a choice.

"Wonderful," Mrs. Lynch said. "Darcie's the same age as the rest of you, and her sister Ellen is in Mr. Osborn's fourth grade class. This is her first day of school so she's a little nervous. Does anyone have any questions for her?"

A little girl at the front of the class raised her hand. Her blonde hair was in pigtails and she was missing a front tooth.

"Yes, Annie?" Mrs. Snider said.

"Does someone help you get dressed in the morning?"

Darcie looked over to Mrs. Lynch, who nodded for her to answer.

"My grandma," Darcie said.

"Did you used to go to another school?" came the next question.

"No," Darcie said.

Mrs. Lynch said "This is Darcie's first day of any school."

"Not even kindergarten?" a boy asked.

"That's right," Mrs. Lynch said.

There was silence for a moment, then a girl asked "How come you don't have any arms or legs?"

Darcie bit her lower lip and didn't say anything. In her mind flashed the dream of the ax being held high in the air, before it came chopping down, once for each arm and leg. She would wake up screaming "No Daddy no! No Daddy no!"

Then Grandma would come into the room. "There-there, Darcie. Everything is all right. Your father is in jail and he'll never be able to hurt you again."

"You don't want to answer that question?" Mrs. Lynch asked.

Her head down, Darcie kept silent. Mrs. Lynch seemed disappointed that she didn't answer, but Darcie didn't care. She never told anyone what was in the bad dream, not even Grandma. Although she and Ellen shared a room, her sister never asked about the dream.

"How do you use the bathroom?" a girl asked.

"Polite questions only, please," Mrs. Snider said.

"Do you have a dog?" a boy asked.

"Do you have a cat?" a girl countered.

"No," Darcie said. Ellen wanted a dog, but Grandma said they couldn't have one because it was enough work taking care of Darcie.

"I've got a new puppy," a boy said, his face beaming.

"You've told us, Vern" Mrs. Snider said.

"His name's Buster and he's a Chocolate Lab."

"Vern," Mrs. Snider said, holding up a finger and cocking her head sideways.

Even though he looked like he had a lot more to say, Vern closed his mouth and kept silent.

"I think that's enough for now," Mrs. Lynch said. After talking quietly to Mrs. Snider, she smiled at Darcie as she walked out the door.

"Let's see now," Mrs. Snider said, her eyes taking in the room, "where can we put you?"

Darcie could feel the kids watching her. There were whispers and a couple of giggles and Darcie wished she was back home, sitting in Aunt Betsy's wheelchair.

"Here we go," Mrs. Snider said, moving Darcie down one of the rows of desks. "I'll put you next to Kevin Spars. He can help you with your books."

"Mrs. Snider," Darcie whispered.

"What is it, Darcie?" Mrs. Snider whispered back.

Keeping her voice as soft as possible Darcie said "My grandma told me not to sit next to any naughty boys."

"I'm not a naughty boy," Kevin protested, his voice echoing throughout the room.

All the children burst out laughing and even Mrs. Snider smiled, then shushed her class. "I wouldn't do that," Mrs. Snider said.

When she was put next to Kevin he looked at her then turned away. Darcie made a promise to herself that she would never say another word in school again.

"We're a little off our schedule," Mrs. Snider said, "so I don't think there's time to do our math today. Darcie, is there something that you'd like to do until the lunch bell?"

On the wall next to Kevin were pictures some of the students had made.

"Can we draw?" Darcie asked.

"What do you think, Class," Mrs. Snider said. "Should we draw instead of doing math?"

"Yeahhhh!" the children called. Several turned to Darcie and smile at her.

Mrs. Snider put her at a work table and placed a piece of paper in front of her. Many of the other children joined her at the table and were eager to hold a crayon so she could take it in her teeth.

"My dad told me to never put crayons in your mouth," a boy said.

"How else is she going to do it?" Annie said, then went back to coloring in a yellow sun on her paper.

At the lunch bell everyone wanted to push Darcie to the cafeteria. Mrs. Snider did the honors. When they went in the doors Darcie saw Ellen standing in a long line, waiting her turn to pick up a lunch tray. Ellen was saying something to her best friend, Marsha Christopher. Then Marsha pointed in Darcie's direction. Ellen left her place in line and came over to Mrs. Snider.

"My grandma said that I'm supposed to help Darcie with lunch," Ellen said.

Ellen had been smiling and making little pivots and turns when she was standing in line next to Marsha. Now she went solemnly behind Darcie's wheelchair.

"I'm sorry," Darcie said, wishing Ellen had stayed with her friend.

"It's all right," Ellen said.

Darcie was amazed by the selection of food and eagerly asked for macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes and creamed corn. The other kids didn't seem as excited about lunch as she was, but they never tasted Grandma's food, which was usually overcooked and tasteless.

Sitting at the lunch table, Darcie tried to ignore the children watching her as Ellen fed her. She was glad it was her sister that was helping her and not one of the teachers. When the other kids were finished they ran outside to the play field. Ellen took their dishes and tray to the cleanup line then came back.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Ellen asked.

"No," Darcie said.

"Maybe you should go now, anyway. That way you won't have to ask for help during class."

After thinking about having to ask Mrs. Snider for help in the bathroom, Darcie agreed. When they were finished in the bathroom, Ellen rolled her out to the play field. They were there only a minute when the bell rang, calling the children back to their rooms. Darcie realized that Ellen had spent all of her lunch time taking care of her.

Several children surrounded her wheelchair, all wanting to help take her back to class. "Thank you," Darcie called to her sister, who was walking away from her.

Ellen gave a little wave back to her and Darcie knew that this would be their lunch time routine from now on. Even if Ellen didn't have to help with lunch, there would always be the bathroom chore for her sister to take care of. Darcie wondered if she could keep from having to go to the bathroom during school by not eating breakfast. And if she could skip lunch at school, Ellen might be able to stay with her friends.

### 3

When the last bell rang, Ellen took Darcie to the front doors for Grandpa to carry her down to the car, and then he made another trip for the new wheelchair. He was out of breath by the time he got in the car and started it.

"Grandpa," Darcie said, "why do we have to take the new wheelchair with us? If we left it at school we could have Aunt Betsy's at home again."

Her grandfather looked blank for a moment. "Well, I don't know. I guess I never thought of it."

"Can we get Aunt Betsy's wheelchair now?" Darcie asked.

After driving to the nearby town of Springville, Darcie and Ellen waited in the car as Grandpa went into Jefferson's Mercantile. By the way Grandpa smiled as he walked out of the store a few minutes later, Darcie knew that they were getting back Aunt Betsy's wheelchair.

"I'll put the new one on the back seat then drive to the loading dock," Grandpa said as he popped open the trunk. "the manager said he'd have someone help me load up Betsy's old chair and we'll be on our way."

That night, while everyone was watching TV, Darcie nestled herself into Aunt Betsy's wheelchair. Every so often she would peek into the kitchen so she could see her picture hanging on the refrigerator door next to Ellen's. She'd wanted to draw a horse with a long mane running through a field. It had turned out to be a stick horse with some funny looking squiggles on its neck, standing near short green lines scattered over the paper. Most of the children had drawn stick people, or airplanes or stars. One girl had drawn a house with flowers in the window and smoke coming from the chimney. Mrs. Snider had seemed to like them all.

At bed time Darcie snuggled under the covers and said her prayers with Grandma. Then, after she was alone in the room, she prayed that she wouldn't have the bad dream again. She didn't pray for God to give her back her arms and legs. She'd tried that once, but Grandma said that that's not the way things worked. God didn't give back little girl's arms and legs, and He didn't give back mothers that had died, so it was best just to get along with what you have.

### 4

By the time she was in Mrs. McClung's six grade class, Darcie was so used to the school building that it felt like a second home. All the teachers would say hi to her and the janitor that wouldn't talk to anyone, not even Principal Lynch, went out of his way to make sure Darcie was doing okay.

Most of the children were nice to her. Using what Mrs. Lynch had told her on the first day of school, Darcie was able to ignore the kids that were mean to her. She also ignored some of the mothers and fathers. That surprised her, realizing how dumb some of the parents were. At first she'd though all adults knew what they were doing, but it didn't take long for her to see that more than a few were what her grandfather called lunk-heads. "Don't worry about them lunk-heads," Grandpa would say, "their so stupid they couldn't find their butt with both hands." Of course he'd never say such a thing in front of Grandma.

The last bell rang on the last day of school.

Darcie watched the children dash out the door, leaving her waiting for help to get down the long flight of steps. Carrying crayon pictures and paper garlands and cut-out flowers, the kids ran away, cheering their release to summer vacation.

A sudden sadness overtook Darcie as she watched her friends disappear onto busses or down the road towards their homes. None of them even turned back to wave at her. She sat by herself and watched as they skipped and jumped and dodged in and out of bushes. Not wanting to get a scolding from Grandma for messing up her blouse, she resisted wiping the tears from her eyes with her shoulder stumps.

"I was sad because I had no shoes," said Mrs. Lynch, walking up behind her, "then I met a man that had no feet."

"What?" Darcie asked.

"I know it's hard," Mrs. Lynch said, taking out a hanky to dry Darcie's cheeks. "I'm not saying it'll get any easier, but there are worse things than watching your friends go off without you."

There wasn't anything Darcie could think to say, other than "I suppose."

"Would you mind if I showed you something?" Mrs. Lynch asked. "It might help you keep things in perspective."

After promising grandpa that it would be all right, Darcie rode with Mrs. Lynch in her car. She was surprised at how easily Mrs. Lynch helped her into the car and placed her wheelchair in the trunk.

Darcie always enjoyed the drive between the towns of Stranger and Springville. The road took them through a valley that gave a spectacular view of Stranger Mountain, revealing its snow covered peek looking pristine and perfect. It was nice to go somewhere different. It was especially nice to be going with someone new, even if she didn't know the destination.

On the outskirts of Springville, Mrs. Lynch stopped her car in front of a small bungalow painted white with green trim. The grass was a little long, but other than that the house seemed to be in good shape. What surprised Darcie was that there was a wheelchair ramp leading up to the front porch.

Seeing why Mrs. Lynch handled her and her wheelchair so easily, Darcie wondered who was inside the house. Was it Mr. Lynch that needed a wheelchair to get around in, or maybe Mrs. Lynch's mother?

"Philip, I've brought company," Mrs. Lynch called as she wheeled Darcie into the house. "Did I miss Mrs. Grovener?"

A weak grunting sound came from the next room. Although the house was clean, the air smelled of long occupation.

Curled on the couch watching TV was a boy that seemed to be about Darcie's age. Holding onto the TV remote, Philip Lynch struggled to work a single finger of his right hand to find the OFF switch. His pallid face twisted into a misshapen grimace, Philip's eyes shown with a bright intelligence. It seemed they were the only part of his body capable of easy movement. His arms and legs were bone thin. He watched Darcie for as long as she was in the room.

Philip made some more sounds. Darcie knew it was his way of speaking, but she couldn't make out any of it.

"He says you're the most beautiful girl he's ever seen," Mrs. Lynch said.

"Oh," Darcie said. She didn't like people talking about what she looked like. She couldn't help being in a wheelchair, and she had nothing to do with the shape of her face. Of course, neither did Philip. "You have nice eyes," she said, not knowing what else to say.

The corners of Philip's mouth turned up, releasing a string of drool. He seemed unaware of the moisture as he kept looking at her. The boy's bright eyes tracked her every move.

After what seemed to be an uncomfortably long time, Mrs. Lynch finally wheeled Darcie out of the house. On the way out the door she heard Philip say something else.

"What did he say?" Darcie asked as Mrs. Lynch helped her back into the car.

"He asked me when I would bring you back." Mrs. Lynch tried to say it with a smile, but there were tears in her eyes. "I didn't expect that. I hope I haven't made him even more lonely by bringing you home with me. Sometimes it's so hard to know the right thing to do."

It was a shock for Darcie to hear Mrs. Lynch saying she didn't know what to do. She thought that her school principal knew everything—even more than Grandma and Grandpa.

On the way back to Stranger, Mrs. Lynch didn't say anything. Every once in a while she would blink her eyes a few times real fast, and then harden her expression.

"I guess there are worse things than watching friends leaving you behind," Darcie said, wanting to break the oppressive silence.

Mrs. Lynch nodded her head. "Darcie, you're not a negative person. You try to see the good around you, which keeps you from feeling sorry for yourself. That's why I took you to see Philip. Although there's been a lot taken from you, there are other people that have it worse. Even Philip has it better than some people."

"He does?" Darcie asked, then was ashamed at the way she blurted it out.

Mrs. Lynch nodded. "In some parts of the world, entire villages get ill from disease and die. Parents get sick and they watch their children get sick. They all see each other wasting away, knowing that no one can save them. And worse, no one will even try to save them. So, I have Philip, and Philip has me."

This time Mrs. Lynch smiled at her and patted her shoulder. "Someday you'll meet a boy who doesn't even notice that you're in a wheelchair. It won't matter to him because it won't matter to you. You'll go out on dates and laugh with your friends and have your first kiss. It's all ahead of you."

Darcie nodded her head, adding what Mrs. Lynch wouldn't say. Philip won't have any of that. There will be no school for him; not even mean kids that would unintentionally show how good it was to have friends. There will never be a girl giving him his first kiss.

What would Philip Lynch give to have what she has? School, friends, the ability to talk and move around. Such simple things. Things she didn't even know they were to be wished for. She had so much it would be stupid for her to be sad about having to get around in a wheelchair.

"Will you do something for me?" Mrs. Lynch asked, her eyes looking straight ahead to the road in front of her.

"Okay," Darcie said, wondering what she could do for someone as smart as Mrs. Lynch.

"Live a full life, Darcie. Do as much as you can, and don't let anyone tell you not to try. Philip may do something academically, but unless a miracle happens his physical capabilities are..." The words trailed off as she shook her head. "I'm afraid he's not going to get any better."

Not knowing what to say, Darcie kept silent all the way back to her grandparents' house.

### 5

"Hey, Darcie girl," Grandpa said as Ellen wheeled her in the door. "Did you enjoy your ride?"

She turned in time to watch Mrs. Lynch drive down the street. "It was okay."

"Glad to have the summer ahead of you?" he asked, unfolding the evening paper then settling himself into his easy chair.

As he turned the pages, Darcie knew he wasn't listening for an answer. No, she wasn't glad about summer vacation. Most of her time would be spent watching TV, unless Ellen decided to include her in some of the things she did. If it was up to her, school would start the next day.

Thanks to being skipped ahead from Third to Fourth grade, Darcie would be in junior high with Ellen for a year. Then Ellen would go on to high school. Darcie had visited the junior high, going with her grandparents to an open house. She was excited because the building was new, with wheelchair ramps and access to all the rooms and no stairs to block her way.

On the first day of school she would arrive early, and all the friends that she saw running away from her would be coming back. She knew right where she would be so the first thing they saw when they came through the doors would be her waiting to greet them.

### CHAPTER THREE

### Ninth Grade

### 1

"Do you really think I should cut it?" Grandma asked, holding the scissors and comb above Darcie's curly dark hair. "It's just getting long enough to style, and it would look so pretty for church if you let it grow out."

It was the same conversation Darcie had with her grandmother whenever she needed her hair trimmed.

"It's starting to get in my eyes," Darcie said. "And make sure it doesn't go down my neck. I hate it when it itches all day."

"My, aren't we petulant," Ellen said from the other side of the kitchen table, flinging a word from Darcie's vocabulary list."

"Only for a pedagogue," Darcie shot back, already having memorized the words and definitions.

Ellen ran her finger down the list of words until she found one that suited her. "You've always been persnickety."

"I like to think of myself as. . ." Darcie stopped before she said perspicacious. So far her sister had been in a good mood. If Ellen had to read the definition then find a word to respond with, the rest of the homework session would be the pits. "Rats," Darcie said, slumping back in her chair.

"Hold still, Darcie," Grandma said, "I almost got a piece of your scalp."

"Sorry," Darcie said, straightening up to make it easier for her grandmother to cut her hair. She hated backing down, but she hated having to deal with a sullen Ellen even more. The next two hours would be easier to handle if she could just work on her own, but Grandma insisted that Ellen help. So there Darcie and her older sister sat, facing each other across the scratched Formica table.

Ellen glanced at the wall clock and Darcie knew she wanted it to be time to go to work. Darcie wanted to work, too, but nobody would hire a person like her. And besides, she was still too young to get a job, even if she found one.

"Those words seem awfully hard," Grandma said as she combed and snipped. "Does everyone have to learn them?"

"They're from the advanced reading list," Ellen said.

"I thought you were in the advanced class," Grandma said to Ellen.

"Not as advanced as our little star," Ellen said, then looked directly at Darcie. "There's no holding this girl back."

The words were what the principal had said when she skipped Darcie from eighth to ninth grade. With the academic requirements fulfilled, all Darcie would have to deal with was a class of older students, and a resentful Ellen. When Darcie went into first grade, Ellen was in forth. Now, after getting skipped over third grade and now eighth, she was just one year behind Ellen, and her sister didn't like it. Not that Ellen would admit it.

"Getting another trim?" Grandpa said, coming into the kitchen from the back yard. He was breathing hard and sat down heavily at the table.

"Are you all right, Grandpa?" Darcie asked.

"Sure thing," he said, then took another breath. "I'm okay. Got the leaves over the roses. If it don't freeze too bad they should be okay in the spring."

"Grandpa needs to get into the doctor," Grandma said over the top of Darcie's head.

"I don't need to see no damned doctor."

"You know you do, Julius," Grandma said, snipping more hair.

"Darcie," Grandpa said, "when's the last time you charged that chair?"

"Thursday," Darcie said.

"Wednesday," Ellen countered. "I plugged it in before I went to Sarah's house to study for my history test."

"Every day, Darcie," Grandpa said. "I've told you, you've got to charge that chair every day, or you'll find yourself stuck somewhere." He pushed himself to his feet, then rested a moment, bracing his arms on the kitchen table. He went into the front room, then came back with the charging unit to Darcie's motorized wheelchair. In a moment there was a soft hum as the wheelchair's batteries were recharging.

"Look at that," Grandpa said, pointing a shaky hand at the charge meter. "The batteries..." he stopped and had to take another breath before he went on. "The batteries were almost flat. What would happen if you had to get somewhere? You'd be stuck." He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. "Ellen, you knew the last time that chair was charged up, you should have reminded her."

Grandpa's breath was coming in gasps. Little rattling and whistling sounds came from his chest.

He pushed away from the wall then walked out of the kitchen.

"Damned kids," his voice came from the front room, "what the hell's going to happen when we ain't around to take care of 'em?"

Darcie looked over to Ellen, who was trying to hold back tears.

For several moments no one said anything as Darcie's hair was being cut. Finally Grandma placed the comb and scissors on the table and asked "Does that look all right, Ellen?"

"Yes," Ellen said, standing up from the table. "I'm going over to Sarah's house."

Grandma looked at the school books on the table, then to Ellen. "I guess you can finish the homework some other time."

Ellen walked out of the kitchen.

"Come straight home after work," Grandma called after her. "We've got Sunday services tomorrow."

Grandma fluffed Darcie's hair with her fingers, then swept the kitchen floor. "I better go check on your grandpa."

Darcie twisted in her chair so she could see the cord on the charging unit. It was too short for her to move her wheelchair, and her school books were on the other side of the table; out of reach unless she wiggled onto the table and then inched them closer with her chin. She used to use her teeth to position her books, but notes from school had put a stop to that.

She wanted to do something to take her mind off of her grandfather's failing health. Everyone worried what the doctor would say about his breathing. Maybe he was coming down with a cold and would soon be over it. Or maybe it was something else. He'd worked in the naval shipyards and Darcie had seen reports on the news about men breathing asbestos and becoming sick years later.

### 2

She didn't know how long she was sitting there when the buzzing of the doorbell brought her thoughts back to the kitchen.

"Darcie," Grandma called, "you've got company."

"Who is it?"

"It's the McGillicutty girls," Grandma called back.

"Could you let them in, I'm still charging."

Soon the three McGillicutty sisters came trooping into the kitchen. Although only two were twins, all three girls looked identical and Darcie felt a constant confusion whenever she was around them. Pauline was supposed to be two years older than the twins, May Bell and June, but there was no real clue as to who was who. Not even bust size was a factor; they were all equally flat chested.

"Hi, Darcie."

"We were driving by and thought we'd drop in."

"Just to say hi."

The sisters were five-foot one with dark brown hair, their bodies slender and athletic. Their faces were deceptively cute with button noses, full lips and large green eyes. They were known for having wicked senses of humor and Darcie had seen them display a cruelty that she was glad was never directed at her. Darcie tried to figure out which sister was saying what, but it was like keeping track of a three sided Ping-Pong game. The only rules the McGillicutty sisters seemed to follow were the ones they made up as they went along.

The three girls looked at the electrical connection running from Darcie's wheelchair into the wall socket.

"When your grandmother said your grandpa was charging you up, we thought she must be the ultimate liberal."

The girls smiled to each other, but Darcie didn't catch the joke. "Did one of you get your driver's license?" Darcie asked.

"Pauline did," came the answer. "May Bell was hoping to beat her to it, but now she can only beat me."

One of the girls smiled proudly.

At that moment Darcie was able to put names to each of the girls. June McGillicutty was having to take the ninth grade again and was in most of Darcie's classes. She didn't seem to mind having just turned sixteen and still be in junior high. June's twin, May Bell, was a sophomore at Stranger High School. Pauline was the oldest and a junior. Darcie looked from face to face and couldn't see anything obvious that would keep their identity straight in her mind, so she had to settle on who was wearing what. All three wore blue jeans and sneakers. Pauline wore a pink T-shirt. May Bell had on a light blue denim shirt. June's shirt was smooth rayon with a pattern of small red pansies on a field of light blue. All of their clothes were from the thrift shop, the same place that Darcie's grandparents bought most of hers.

"Darcie," June said softly, "do you think your grandpa would charge me up?"

May Bell made a playfully swat at her sister's arm.

"Mom let me use the wheels," Pauline said, "but we have to be back in an hour."

"We were wondering if you'd like to come visit," May Bell added.

"You'd have to give me a ride home," Darcie said.

"We know," June said.

"That way mom has to let me drive again," Pauline added.

As they spoke the girls moved around the kitchen, touching knickknacks, peeking in cupboards, checking inside the refrigerator. June stood at the spice rack and poured small amounts from each container onto the palm of her hand and sampled them with flicks of her tongue.

"But that's not the only reason," Pauline said.

"We'd like you to see our fort," May Bell said.

"It's a nice one," added June. "We fought many a war there."

"Caught ourselves a heap of savages," May Bell added with a twang in her voice.

The prospect of getting away from the house had Darcie begging her grandmother to let her go.

"There won't be any boys there?" Grandma asked.

All three girls burst out laughing.

"No," May Bell said. "Boys don't come to our house."

"They're afraid of them," Darcie said when she saw that Grandma thought the girls were laughing at her.

"We play too rough," June said, sharing a smile with her sisters.

"Well, all right," Grandma said, "if you don't play too rough with Darcie."

Darcie quickly changed into her non-powered wheelchair.

There was a brief conflict between the three sisters as to who would push her outside. It was solved by all three participating, making various noises as they went. Half-way down the wheelchair ramp built next to the porch stairs, June hopped into the chair with Darcie, placing her feet where a person's legs would have been.

Darcie saw Grandma standing at the door, looking at her. She gave her grandmother a reassuring smile then turned her attention back to the sisters.

The wheels Pauline was driving turned out to be a sixty-six Ford crew-cab pickup. It had four doors, oxidized blue paint, and a windshield featuring a large star cracked in the center—right where someone's head would impact during a sudden stop.

Grandpa followed them as far as the front porch, then sat down in a bent-wood rocking chair. Grandma stood next to him, watching as all three sisters picked Darcie up from her wheelchair and lifted her into the front seat. Then the sisters secured her wheelchair in the back of the truck with ropes.

"Look at this," May Bell said to Darcie. She reached down between the cushions of the bench seat and fished out the ends of a seat belt. There were still creases in the webbing from being folded in the box.

"Thank you," Darcie said, relieved that the girls had provided for her safety.

"Mom did it," Pauline said.

"She said she didn't want anything to happen to the crip. . ." June stopped in mid-sentence, then all three girls started talking at once.

"Oh, shit."

"Sorry."

"Really."

"Mom's nice to everyone."

"Especially guys."

"But she's not too good with words."

"She's kind of a screw-up."

"Yeah, a real screw-up."

"Hold it," Darcie said. "I know what I am, so stop worrying about the small stuff and let me see your fort."

"Cool."

"Totally."

"Jolly good."

The last must have been a private joke, because all the girls laughed.

June clicked the seat belt around Darcie's waist. "Mom bought this at the NAPA store and put it in herself. She's glad that you're coming over to visit."

When the girls had first appeared in the house, they told Darcie that they were just driving by. Now it seemed the trip had been planned all along. It was odd that they started the visit with a fib, but everything about the McGillicuttys seemed odd. There were rumors that at one time or another, most of the McGillicutty family had been arrested or placed in mental institutions; all except the three sisters, who hadn't been around long enough for that to happen to them—yet, as some were happy to point out.

None of the sisters held down a job, nor did their mother. People talked about the pies that Josie McGillicutty would sell, but something like that wouldn't amount to much, so there was speculation as to where their money came from.

Josie and her girls lived on a few acres of scrub pine on the outskirts of town. A run-down old farm house and a very old pickup seemed to be the sum total of their assets. The girls dressed in clothes from the second-hand store, so their mother was probably not involved in any illegal activities, or if she was she wasn't very good at it.

"I get to sit up front," May Bell called.

"Me, too," said June. She looked at Pauline. "That means you're in back."

Pauline smiled at her.

June looked back at Pauline, then said "Shit."

Pauline climbed behind the wheel and May Bell sat next to the door.

Instead of taking her place on the back seat of the crew cab, June studied the front. She looked from Pauline to Darcie to June, then at the vacant part of the seat in front of Darcie. "Air bag!" she called, then scrambled into the truck and sat directly in front of Darcie. "If we get in a head-on collision you can bounce off of me."

"My sister the martyr," May Bell said. "Would you have Darcie survive the crash only to feel guilty about you dying to protect her?

"I free her of any guilt," June said, twisting sideways to look at Darcie. "Okay?"

"And if we get hit from my side it'll just be my karma," May Bell said.

Pauline twisted the key in the ignition and started the truck. "I'd be sitting here no matter what, but if someone crashes into my side I'd be glad to sacrifice myself for the greater good of cripple-dom." She looked to see if she'd gone too far.

Darcie smiled and bumped her with her shoulder.

"What if we get hit from behind?" June said in mock fright.

"Then Darcie can keep you from getting whiplash by acting as a head rest," May Bell said.

"But what if it's a big truck?" June said in a fearful voice. "A big gasoline tanker that explodes on impact. We'd all be burned to death and I'd die a virgin."

May Bell and Pauline both started laughing.

"Well," said June with an exaggerated pout, "I am, technically."

"Only because you haven't found anyone to put it in you, yet," said Pauline.

"Not that you haven't tried other things," May Bell added.

"Mom never found out that I borrowed it," June said. "Besides, I washed it real good before I put it away."

"You should have washed it before you used it," May Bell said.

"Why would you care?" Pauline asked.

"Shut up!" May Bell said, her face turning red.

Getting embarrassed about where the conversation was going, Darcie turned to look into the back of the truck. "Is my chair tied down okay?"

"Lashed down-"

"-tied down-"

"-strapped down," came the quick-fire answer from each girl.

"The wind's up, Captain Pauline," June said.

"The tide is heading seaward," May Bell joined in.

"Cast off all lines." Pauline said, then shifted the pickup into gear, applied her foot to the accelerator and let out the clutch.

### 3

Darcie was afraid that Pauline would drive as raucously as the girl's shouts implied, but the pickup went at the legal speed. Pauline even slowed for the corners so as not to shake loose the wheelchair.

"Tis a fine day." Pauline said.

"Fine indeed," May Bell answered.

"Fine enough to defend Fort McGillicutty," June said.

"To the fort!" Darcie found herself saying in perfect time with Pauline, and everyone laughed.

In just a few minutes Darcie's day had changed from boredom to magical. Riding with the sisters, Darcie found herself laughing and shouting over the roar of the pickup's motor. Some of the smoky exhaust found its way into the cab, so the windows had to be left open. Soon they were away from the shaded streets of town and out in the countryside.

Because it was such a chore to transport Darcie from place to place, she seldom went anywhere if it depended on her grandparents to carry it out. Most places didn't have wheelchair ramps and Grandpa would have to struggle to get Darcie and her wheelchair over curbs and through narrow doorways. If Grandma was along she would be fretting that grandpa would hurt himself or give himself a heart attack.

"Darcie," June said, "can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why do you wear long sleeve shirts then let the sleeves just flop around?"

"June!" Pauline said.

"That's all right," Darcie said. "If my grandma sewed up the sleeves, Ellen and I wouldn't be able to share our clothes.

June started to say something else.

"The reason I don't wear short sleeves," Darcie said, anticipating the next question, "is because people are always trying to peek in and see what my stumps look like. Especially kids at school."

"Oh," June said.

"And my Grandma is afraid some boy will see my bra."

"Really?" May Bell asked. "She said that?"

"That's a strange thing to worry about," Pauline said.

"Would you look at that," June said, pointing ahead of the pickup. "They're still there."

Pulled to the opposite side of the road was a new Ford Mustang, custom painted electric blue with white racing stripes and shiny chrome wheels. On the rear window was a parking sticker for Drago Community College. Four guys were standing around the car. Darcie recognized one of them as Tony Carpenter. Being from the richest family in the county, the customized car was probably his.

As they drew close to the car, Pauline slowed the pickup and rolled her window up until there was a a small opening at the top. She also locked the door.

Digging through her pants pocket, June pulled out a set of car keys then crawled over Pauline to lean out of the window on the far side of where the boys stood. "Hey, Uncle Tony, don't tell me these are the only keys you have."

As they pulled alongside of the boys, Darcie saw that Tony had a bloody nose and his left eye was swollen. He looked like he was going to take a run at the pickup.

"Stay there, Uncle Tony," June called, "or I'll put your keys back in my pocket."

Pauline stopped the pickup next to Tony, smiling at him through the rolled up window as if she were daring him to do something.

"Are you going to be a good boy, Tony? No more crazy driving or trying to get at us?"

His face turning red, Tony dabbed his nose with a paper towel but said nothing.

"Smart boy," June said.

May Bell tapped June's knee, getting her attention. "If you give him back his keys, he's going to come after us."

"Not if he has to find them," June said, then called out "Here they are, Uncle Tony." She flung the keys into some tall grass several feet away from the car. "Fetch boy, fetch."

Tony stood glaring as his buddies rushed to find the keys. Then he started walking towards the pickup.

"Pauline," May Bell said, "maybe it'd be a good idea if, you know, we got the hell out of here. Uncle Tony doesn't look like he's in a good mood."

Stepping on the gas, Pauline sped away, leaving Tony and his friends in the distance.

"Tony's your uncle?" Darcie asked, marveling that the three teenage girls had been in a confrontation with four college guys, and came out on top. "I didn't know you were related to the Carpenters."

"Craig Carpenter's our father," June said, settling down in front of Darcie again. "Mom doesn't want us to have anything to do with the Carpenters, but that doesn't stop them from trying to mess with us."

Pauline kept glancing in the mirrors. "Tony doesn't like us to call him uncle because..."

"Because he's supposed to be our half-brother, but odd things happen when Craig's old man gets drunk," June finished.

"Oh," Darcie said, embarrassed about what the McGillicutty girls were telling her. "How did you get Tony's keys?" Darcie asked.

"Tony seems to think that just because he's in college and drives a hot car, girls will do anything he wants," May Bell said

"But not these girls," Pauline said.

"Did one of you give him a bloody nose?" Darcie asked.

"Only after he tried to pull me into his car," June said. "I let him get me in just far enough to grab the keys out of the ignition, then I gave him a couple of jabs with my elbow."

"She got him good," May Bell said as Pauline nodded her head.

"We'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone," June said. "We want to keep it in the family."

"I won't say anything," Darcie said.

After a few more miles the pickup turned onto a rutted dirt road leading to an old two-story farm house surrounded by tall trees. At some time in the past the house may have looked elegant, but it had been years since paint was applied and the roof maintained. If it wasn't for a fresh-cut lawn and tended garden, Darcie would have thought it to be abandoned.

### 4

Pauline drove to an open field of tall grass and white flowers a short distance behind the house. In one corner of the field was a series of trenches, berms and walls made of logs with pointed ends. Although the walls were only three feet high, they had the authentic look of a fort.

"That looks great," Darcie said.

Pauline and May Bell lifted her out of the cab of the pickup and placed her in the wheelchair.

"Can I see inside it?" Darcie asked.

"We've got something better," June said.

"Way better," Pauline said. "You're going to fight a gang of marauding pirates."

"Or die trying," June added.

"I'm not sure if I can do that." Darcie said.

"We'll show you what we mean," May Bell assured her.

All three sisters had to work as a team to get Darcie's chair over the soft ground. Inside the fort it wasn't much better. The chair's thin wheels sunk into sandy soil, making it impossible to roll.

"Hold on," the girls said as they lifted the chair and carried Darcie up a steep hill to the high ground of Fort McGillicutty.

At the top, a sheet of plywood had been laid out for Darcie's chair. Once the wheels were on the wood, June took hold of the handles and turned Darcie in a complete circle.

"Captain Darcie," Pauline started and the other sisters chimed in.

"Your mission is to defend Fort McGillicutty."

"Defend it from the murderous pirates that ply their trade in these waters."

"Captain, your first decision is important."

"Most important."

"Of the ultimate importance."

The sisters gathered around and looked down at her earnestly.

"What shall be your uniform?" May Bell said.

"Shirts or skins?" June asked.

"What?" Darcie said.

"Well, we can't all be shirts," said May Bell.

"How would we know who to save-"

"-who to kill-"

"-who to capture-"

"-and torture?"

June knelt next to Darcie, "For military secrets."

Pauline knelt down, "For strategic locations."

"And for sexual favors," May Bell finished.

Pauline moved her face closer. "Do you want to be skins?"

"Me?" Darcie asked. "No!"

"We're skins!" May Bell cried out in triumph.

The sisters started an impromptu dance and didn't see the concern on Darcie's face.

"June, outfit General Darcie with the weapon."

"I thought I was a Captain," Darcie protested.

June smiled at her, "Right you are, Captain Darcie." She snapped her a three-finger salute, then ran down the hill and into one of the roughly made buildings of the fort. In a moment she came back with an odd looking piece of equipment. At the same time, Pauline and May Bell played out a long section of a water hose off of its reel then helped attach it to June's contraption. It looked like the webbing from a construction hard hat with a water nozzle mounted on top. The girls attached the water hose to the base. Without asking permission the girls placed the weird contraption on Darcie's head then buckled a chin strap to keep it in place.

"This is the strongest weapon in your arsenal, Captain Darcie,"

"It's the only weapon."

"Aim true and be brave."

"Lives depend on your success."

"Yours included."

Darcie let a plastic device be paced in her mouth. It was made of two plastic discs attached by a pull-wire to the helmet.

"Give it a bite," Pauline told her.

Curios about what was going to happen, Darcie bit down on the plastic in her mouth.

"Fire in the hole!" May Bell called.

Biting down on the contraption caused the odd looking headgear to shoot out a concentrated stream of water. The blast of water had so much pressure that Darcie's head snapped back and the headgear slipped to the side.

"I'll fix it," June said, adjusting the straps. "It doesn't hurt, does it?"

"No," Darcie said as June worked to make the headgear fit tighter. "I think it'll be fine."

"See if you can hit that rock," June said, pointing to one of several large rocks lying on the ground.

It took a minute for her to get the feel of it, but soon Darcie had the pleasure of actually aiming her head, biting down on the trigger, and shooting a stream of water at the chosen target. Other than using a computer by typing commands with a pencil held between her teeth, it was the first time that she felt like she had control over something other than her powered wheelchair.

"It works!" Darcie called out.

The McGillicutty sisters danced around her chair in celebration.

All through elementary school and junior high, Darcie had never been able to do more than watch the other students at recess or in gym class. At long last she was about to do something exciting.

"Time to suit up!" June called.

As she sat on the highest part of Fort McGillicutty, the last thing that Darcie expected to see was the three girls unbutton their tops while they danced around out of doors.

"Is Jolly home?" June asked, looking off into the distance.

Darcie turned to see where June was looking. About a quarter mile away she saw a two-story house with a white picket fence.

"Maybe," Pauline said, "but I'm sure Wilma is."

"Who's that?" Darcie asked.

"Jolly and Wilma. He's kind of cool, but Wilma is a real pill. She hates us."

"Why is that?" Darcie asked.

"I don't know," Pauline said as she shrugged out of her bra. Then she faced Wilma and Jolly's house and waved. "Hi, Wilma! Has Jolly got his binoculars ready?"

"Better yet, his camera!" May Bell called.

June gave her a punch in the arm.

June and May Bell stripped to the waist and joined their sister in waving.

### 5

The crunch of tires on gravel caused Darcie to look towards the sister's house. Approaching was a pickup customized with a chrome roll bar, oversized tires, jacked up suspension and cherry red paint. The impressive vehicle looked as if it had been out of the showroom for less than a day. As soon as the truck stopped, Josie McGillicutty opened the passenger door, swung out of the cab and dropped to the ground. With confident strides she walked up the hill. Her body was slim and athletic, in exactly the same proportions as her daughters. With an almost identical face, Josie looked more like the girls' sister than their mother.

Following a few steps behind Jose was a tall man in his late forties. Jowly and thick through the belly, he wore jeans, cowboy boots, an embroidered western shirt and a look of desperate indifference. There were silver tips on the toes of his boots, as well as on the collar of his shirt. Josie was dressed in western clothes too; tight denim jeans and a western shirt the same color red as the new pickup. Glittery spangles decorated the bodice and brought out the green of Josie's eyes.

When the sisters noticed Josie they stopped their dance.

"Hi, mom."

"Nice duds."

"Damned nice."

"We were choosing up sides."

"Darcie's shirts and we're..."

Josie put up her hand, stopping any further conversation. It was remarkable for Darcie to see how easily their mother was able to control the three sisters. Most of the teachers at school had never been able to master that skill.

With the three topless sisters standing next to her, Darcie didn't feel as embarrassed as the cowboy looked, and yet he kept his eyes moving. Mostly at the sisters, but making sure he took in everything on the hill, including her.

"Hello, Darcie. Are the girls treating you all right?" Josie asked.

"Yes, thank you," Darcie said.

"We were showing her the fort," one of the girls said.

"It looked more like you were taunting Mrs. Wilks," Josie said. "I'd rather not have any complaints today," she added, flicking her eyes in the direction of her silent companion.

"She can't see anything," the girls started in.

"Unless she's using Jolly's binoculars."

"Or wants to come over and get a closer look for herself."

"Maybe she wants to play."

"Maybe Jolly wants to play."

"We'll jolly well let Jolly play."

"Girls, that's enough," Josie said, but not unkindly.

"How's that contraption working for you," asked Josie's male friend. He walked over to Darcie, bending down to look at the straps, and looking at her as well. "It doesn't pinch you anywhere, does it?"

"No, sir," Darcie said, not liking him that close. His breath smelled of tobacco and there were little black flecks of chew on his yellow teeth.

"It's perfect," one of the girls said, then opened her arms. "Thank you."

"June..." Josie said, drawing the name out warningly.

June put her arms down and smiled at the man, her shoulders back.

Josie shifted her attention to Darcie. "Did Pauline drive safely?"

"Yes," Darcie answered. "Thank you for inviting me." Although she was looking at Josie, Darcie could see the man still standing nearby, taking in everything with his eyes. For her the situation was uncomfortable, but it didn't seem to bother June, May Bell or Pauline. They were almost posing.

Darcie wondered why Josie had brought the man up the hill, knowing her daughters didn't have their tops on. The least she could do was tell them to get dressed. Get dressed before they made even more of a spectacle out of themselves in front of their distant neighbors and the gawking man. Everything seemed out of balance with what she was used to.

"I was looking forward to having lunch with you," Josie said, "but something came up."

The three girls giggled and she turned her attention back them. "Don't play too rough, and make sure you clean up after yourselves." With that Josie held open her arms to let her daughters give her a hug. "I'm not sure when I'll be back," she said to Darcie. "Pauline will drive you home before it gets too late." Josie leaned down and gave Darcie a kiss on her forehead. "Come back soon."

When Darcie felt the woman's lips touch her forehead, a warm feeling of happiness went through her. It was like getting a benediction from royalty. "Thank you," Darcie said.

"Pauline, I want my pickup parked and your sisters in the house an hour before it gets dark," Josie said. "May Bell, you know what needs to be done in the house."

"I know, too," June said.

"Then it'll be sure to get done," Jose said.

Darcie marveled at how a petite woman like Josie could speak with such authority.

"You girls have a good time," the man said, looking at the sisters one last time before following Josie back to his truck. Josie climbed into the cab and sat close to the man as he turned the truck around. With two beeps of his horn he drove away.

"Wow," said Pauline, "she really likes her."

"I think she feels bad about calling her a cripple."

"And she's trying to make up for it."

"No, she likes her. If she didn't she wouldn't care what she said."

"He liked her, too."

"Way more than us."

"I'm jealous."

"And he couldn't even see her boobs."

"Excuse me," Darcie said. "I'm still here."

The girls looked at her. It was obvious that they didn't understand that one of Darcie's pet peeves was that too often people spoke as if she was a non-entity.

"He sure liked mom. Did you see that outfit?"

"Something came up," said May Bell, stiffly extending her index finger. "Duuooingggg!"

"Something came up on you, May Bell," June said, pointing out her sister's erect nipples. "Mom better be careful or you'll be cutting in on her action."

"No I wouldn't!"

"Yes you would! You'd do him right now, given half a chance."

"Him? Yuck. The only reason mom's with him is. . ."

"June, May Bell," Pauline said in a sing-song, "we've got company."

All three girls turned towards Darcie and were quiet, their faces flushed with excitement.

"What were we doing?" asked May Bell.

"I forgot,"

"We were taunting Jolly's wife." June said.

"I thought we were giving Jolly a jiggle show."

"I was giving Wilma a jiggle show."

The sisters conversation was different from anything Darcie was used to. Ellen never talked like that. And what she heard in the girl's bathroom at school was always muted by the presence of a teacher's aid or the school nurse that accompanied Darcie to help her use the facilities. She wondered if other girls talked like that when there were no adults around.

"Not much of a jiggle show. I don't think any of us will get past a B-cup."

"Mom never did."

"I could with silicone."

"How big would you want them?"

"As big as that Trixie girl in the videos."

"She looks like a freak."

"I just want to see what it would be like."

"You'd look like a girl with ten pounds of silicone in her tits."

"They don't make 'em out of silicone any more, do they?"

"I think it's saline."

"The doctors can take them out when I'm done."

"But you'd be all stretched out."

"You'd look like one of those old hippie chicks."

"Flippy flop."

"A couple of old swingers."

"Yuck. I don't want 'em that bad."

"Mom doesn't need 'em. All she has to do is..."

An elbow in the ribs stopped the girl from saying any more.

Again the girls turned to Darcie. All three smiled at once.

"Sorry, we're easily distracted."

With the girl's attention back on her, the sisters explained how Darcie was to defend Fort McGillicutty.

"Pirates are planning an attack."

"They're a superstitious lot."

"They believe in magic."

"They believe in the magic flag."

They pointed to a piece of shredded linen hanging from a stick next to Darcie.

"If they capture the flag-"

"-Fort McGillicutty will be at their mercy."

"The women will be ravished-"

"-the men turned into slaves-"

"-the children forced to go to summer school."

Darcie's job was simple. All she had to do was shoot the water cannon attached to her head at anyone that tried to get to the top of the hill.

The attacker's weapons were water balloons, which wasn't explained to her. She found that out when she saw the sisters set up a large slingshot contraption at the bottom of the hill, just out of reach of her water cannon. The girls pounded two long metal pipes into the ground and attached a sling made from a bicycle inner tube. Two of the girls pulled back the tube and the third helped aim it for angle and trajectory.

"Ready or not, here it comes," was called up to Darcie. "Fire!"

Looking down from the hill, ready to defend the flag, it was fun watching the sisters work—until the first balloon was launched. It came at her so fast that it made a whooshing sound as it went past her head. She realized that if she was hit by one of those balloons, it would hurt.

The girls celebrated their near-miss then reloaded the sling. The next water balloon went too high, but Darcie had to lean over to the side to dodge the third balloon and it impacted hard on the exposed back of her wheelchair, drenching her right side with an explosion of water.

The McGillicutty sisters were serious about hitting her and were not pulling any punches. Darcie felt her heart racing and her mind fully involved. With the girls running around topless, she'd lost track as to who was who, but something about the way they acted made her think that June was the one fetching the balloons to be loaded and fired by Pauline and May Bell.

After several tries the sisters changed tactics. A supply of water balloons was placed on the ground next to the slingshot. Then June cradled as many as she could hold in her left arm and came at her.

At last, Darcie could do more than just duck out of the way. She tracked June's approach up the hill as she kept part of her attention on the slingshot crew. Pauline and May Bell's aim was improving and a couple of times she was almost hit.

June was getting closer.

Darcie bit down on the trigger.

June ran to the side and threw a balloon like a grenade. It splashed next to the chair. Darcie had to stretch her body up to get a good firing angle, which made her more vulnerable to the slingshot. She fired, dodged, then fired again. June was careful about using her balloons. A couple of times Darcie hit June. The force of the water must have hurt because June cursed then retreated to try another approach.

Darcie was taking aim at June when a fast-moving water balloon struck her square in the face. It hit so hard that her face stung from the impact and the cannon trigger came out of her mouth.

"Charge!" the three girls called. They came running up the hill, throwing water balloons as they went. Several balloons hit Darcie as she struggled to get the trigger back in her mouth. As the girls crested the hill Darcie regained control of her water weapon. The girls were a few feet away, still pelting her with water balloons. She hit two of them, but the third attacker ran straight at her, leaped up and grabbed the Fort McGillicutty flag off of the stick. The girl's momentum carried her into Darcie and she found herself getting knocked sideways out of her wheelchair. She bounced off of the plywood and rolled into the sandy soil. Dirt fell in her eyes and she had a hard time seeing. She thought she saw a hand pick up a rock and raise it high in the air.

"No! No! No!" Someone was yelling and grabbing at the hand.

"We won! We won!"

"Jesus Christ," came a whisper. "Water only, remember? We're not putting anyone in Boot Hill today."

"Sorry."

Feeling dirt in her hair and down her clothes, Darcie worked her way to a sitting position. She made sure her skirt was covering her lower body then looked at the McGillicutty sisters. "Could someone please help me?"

Whatever was happening between the sisters was quickly resolved and all three helped Darcie back into her wheelchair. She was carried off of the hill and taken to the back porch.

"We can't let you go home all wet and dirty."

"Your grandparents won't let you come back again."

There was a moment of silence as the girls shared a look between themselves then turned to Darcie. "Do you want to come back?"

"Yes!" was her instant answer. "I loved it. It's the first time I've ever. . ." she stopped, searching for the right word.

All three girls looked at her expectantly.

"Participated!" Darcie called out triumphantly. "I didn't just sit and watch, I did it!"

### 6

Darcie and the girls decided the best way to get her cleaned up was for her to take a bath while her clothes were being washed.

As far back as Darcie could remember, the only people that had seen her naked was Grandma and Ellen. Since she started developing, Grandma stopped helping her take baths and dressing her. Now it was all up to Ellen. Darcie tried not to show her embarrassment as the sisters took off her sopping clothes then lifted her into the tub. She sat on a thick towel under a warm shower of water.

All three sisters had taken the opportunity to get naked, too. They scrubbed her skin, washed her hair and made sure that all of the soap was rinsed off. As they helped her get clean, Darcie wondered if this was the real reason she was invited to the McGillicutty's house. Were the sisters curious about what she looked like? Was it their plan to get her dirty then help her wash? Wash her body, touch her stumps, see what she looked like totally naked? The girls weren't doing anything wrong, other than being over enthusiastic about getting her clean, and they were always like that. They weren't shy about where they scrubbed with their wash cloths, and sometimes their bare hands lathered her with soap. There was no chance of even a speck of sand being left on her body.

Wrapped in warm towels, Darcie had June shine a flashlight into her eyes while Pauline removed several specks of dirt with the folded corner of a facial tissue. May Bell stood close by, patting Darcie on the shoulder to comfort her. Usually anything in her eyes would put Darcie close to panic. Other than a flow of tears, there was no way for her to get her eyes clean on her own, but the excitement of the day had relegated those bits of dirt to afterthoughts.

When her eyes were clean, May Bell kissed her on the forehead, just like Josie had done. June and Pauline did the same.

"Is everything working?" Pauline asked as they wheeled Darcie out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the kitchen.

"Yes," June and May Bell said in unison.

Darcie didn't know what they meant and decided not to ask.

Although the exterior of the McGillicutty house looked like a run-down mess, the interior was immaculate and well decorated. The kitchen appliances were new, as were the table and chairs.

The three sisters worked together to mop the dirt off of the polished laminate floor, wash Darcie's clothes and clean the wheelchair. There was no way to choreograph their motions, but they looked like they were performing a free-form dance. No one seemed to be the boss of any of the others, it was mutual cooperation.

What was remarkable to Darcie was that while the sisters were working, they didn't speak to each other. They'd gone totally silent; a stark contrast to how she was used to seeing them. No task was declared complete, they just moved on. The bathroom was cleaned. Darcie's freshly laundered clothes were taken out of the dryer, replaced by the towels from the washer. The only break in the action came when May Bell picked up Darcie's bra and held it up to her chest. "Dream on," came a sarcastic voice and everyone laughed. They moved to the kitchen where the makings for sandwiches were placed on the counter.

Pauline looked at her and pointed to items.

Darcie didn't break the silence. She nodded to what she wanted and shook her head at what she didn't. When the food was prepared and placed on the table, room was made for Darcie in her wheelchair.

"Sandwich," was called.

"Chips!"

" Soda," the last sister said.

The end of the routine brought out the sister's voices again. They all sat around Darcie, each ready to help.

During lunch at school, Ellen sat with Darcie and helped her eat. If Ellen was absent, Darcie didn't even go to the cafeteria. Not that someone wouldn't be available, but more often than not the person helping her would treat her like an infant. The last time anyone other than Ellen had helped her with lunch, they told her to "Open the hanger." At that moment Darcie's usually pleasant demeanor fell away and she announced that she was finished.

Lunch was as organized and chaotic as everything else the McGillicutty sisters did. Food was not forced on Darcie, it came naturally as Pauline, June and May Bell carried on a conversation of shifting subjects, events, locations and times. The words came so fast that Darcie could not figure out a way to join in. As she listened she decided that the girls were not excluding her intentionally, they were just over-involved with themselves. It was to the point that they weren't even looking at Darcie most of the time. And yet the sandwich was ready, a chip offered, the drink lifted so Darcie could take a sip from the straw, all while otherwise being treated like she wasn't there.

### 7

Several hours later Darcie was back at her grandparent's house, sitting alone in the small bedroom that she shared with Ellen. She hadn't realized that she was sitting in the dark until the lights were switched on.

"Darcie," Grandma said, holding open the bedroom door, "Ellen found a Disney show. Do you want to come out and watch it with her?"

"No thanks."

"Is anything wrong?" Grandma asked. She sat on the bed next to Darcie's wheelchair.

Darcie bumped the controls with her chin to make room for her grandmother to sit comfortably.

"You haven't said more than two words since those McGillicutty girls brought you home. They weren't mean to you, were they?"

"No, Grandma, they were nice. I was just thinking,"

"About what?" Grandma asked.

She kept silent a moment then said. "They told me I was their cousin."

"Really? What would give them that idea?"

"They showed me their family bible. Joshua McGillicutty married Beatrice McMann."

"They have a family bible?" Grandma asked. "I've never seen them at Sunday services."

"I don't think they go much. It's an old bible."

"Oh," Grandma said. "How long ago were those people married?"

"Eighteen ninety-six," Darcie answered.

Grandma McMann laughed then patted Darcie on the shoulder. "That's pretty far back. If you are related to them, you'd be cousins many times removed."

Darcie let her grandmother be satisfied with the explanation. It was true that the girls had shown Darcie an old family bible. Recorded in the front of the book was the list of marriages, including the one joining a McGillicutty and a McMann. But that wasn't the reason she had been sitting in the dark. To keep from being asked any more questions she told her grandmother that she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

When she was alone again, Darcie worked herself out of her clothes. Once she was under the bed covers, her mind went back to what happened with the sisters after lunch.

The McGillicutty girls knew their mother wasn't going to be home for a long time. Still excited to have Darcie over, they showed her some secret things they had found while snooping through the house; things that some of her mother's male friends had left.

She didn't know what to think when June brought out a box of magazines. All of them were publications designed for men. Girls posing with and without clothes, others more explicit, leaving nothing to the imagination. With a mixture of curiosity and revulsion, Darcie looked at some of the books then only pretended to be interested in the rest of them. The sisters flipped the pages and laughed at some of the poses and expressions. They especially enjoyed pointing out which girls they thought had breast implants. The sisters were generating their own excitement and not noticing Darcie's reactions.

Next they popped a video into the VCR and Darcie received an education that she never expected nor wanted. Seeing people having sex didn't bother her that much. She'd heard about those kind of videos. Watching television, even the network channels that her grandparents received from the roof antennae, let Darcie know what went on between men and women.

What had Darcie sitting alone in the dark was a second video showing newcomers to erotic entertainment. A girl was being interviewed about why she was doing her first adult video. The girl stated that she wanted to be the next big star in porn, and she'd do anything to achieve her goal. "Anything?" she was asked, and although this was Darcie's first time seeing hardcore pornography, she already knew that the girl was in for a rough time. There were two smiling men to help launch her career, plus two cameramen to get it all on tape.

It may have been the girl's first time being in an adult video, but not the men's. They had the girl kneel on the floor and close her eyes. One of the men's name was Rocko, and when he took off his pants a camera was there to show how big he was. The other camera recorded the girl's surprised reaction. Her eyes went wide when she saw Rocko's massive erection and the men had a good laugh. The girl laughed too, nervously going along with what was happening.

It was the first time the McGillicutty sisters had seen the tape, too. They had their full attention on the television.

"I still don't think she's eighteen," May Bell said as the sisters analyzed the video. "She looks a lot younger than that."

"She has to be," Pauline said, picking up the box for the video. "It says right here that all the models are eighteen or older. If she isn't at lease eighteen, the guys making the video can get in a lot of trouble."

"What happens if she's only seventeen?" June asked.

"They wait until she's eighteen," Pauline said.

May Bell didn't take her eyes off of the television screen. "One day she's seventeen and they don't dare touch her. Then next day she turns eighteen and does that?"

Earnestly listening to instructions, the girl in the video did everything she was told. At one point Rocko had her bend over a couch, her knees on the cushions and leaning over the back. They made sure her breasts were hanging free as she waited for what came next. Rocko moved behind the girl and put himself where Darcie couldn't believe that any girl would allow. He paused for the cameras to get in position.

"Ready?" Rocko asked.

The girls eyes flicked from side to side, then nervously looked into the camera. "Okay."

Rocko thrust forward. Hard.

The camera recorded a close-up of the girl's face as her eyes flew open and she gasped in pain.

"Happy birthday, baby," June said, making May Bell laugh.

"That had to hurt," Pauline said.

"Of course it hurt," June said. "They're not there sprinkling rose pedals and playing soft music. It's those two studs' job to work her over."

"Work her over?" May Bell said. "She's getting pounded."

June's eyes were locked on the TV screen. "That's what you get for being stupid."

The events of the afternoon in the McGillicutty house had Darcie alone in her room, thinking about what was really happening in the video. After long thought, Darcie realized that filming the girl having sex was just the side show. What the men were really after were her reactions. The girl standing in front of the camera for the first time, nervous because she knew what was coming. The quaver in her voice. The inept strip tease and reluctant revelation of her body—her hands wanting to cover herself. Her awkward motions to comply when the men told her to do something. She was determination to make a name for herself in pornography and not stop, no matter what she had to do. And the cameras were there, one focused on her face, waiting for the thrust that was meant to hurt. Hands gathered her hair, pulling it back so that all of her reactions were recorded.

The man knew what was wanted, and pushed hard.

The camera operator knew what was wanted and recorded her shocked pain.

The patrons of porn knew what they wanted and bought the video.

The only person who didn't know was the girl. Even when she was helped off of the couch and told to kneel on the floor, she kept believing in her desperate dream. Her eyes were glassy as they put thick red lipstick on her mouth, asking her if she was okay. She answered like a crash victim coming out of a car wreck; dazed but professing to be all right.

The question was always asked 'Do you want to keep going?' After so much being done to her, how could she stop?

Darcie closed her eyes and turned her face away from the TV. She didn't say anything while the McGillicutty sisters giggled and made lewd comments. As always, the three sisters were so full of themselves that they didn't notice Darcie's silence.

While driving her back to her grandparent's house, the McGillicutty sisters were concerned that Darcie was unusually quiet. She told them that she was all right, just tired.

"Next time we'll rent a regular movie," Pauline said, guessing at the problem.

"Maybe something for the family," June chimed in, again playing airbag for Darcie's ride home.

"Like a wholesome slasher flick," May Bell added, sending the girl's conversation onto a new tangent.

"No sex."

"Not much."

"Just a knife."

"An ax."

"A meat cleaver!"

"Topless girls-"

"-running in the dark-"

"-from a psycho killer."

Darcie shivered. She knew the sisters didn't realize what a man with an ax meant to her. Although they were her friends, Darcie never told them about the nightmare that woke her up from time to time. The girls were putting on an act for her benefit. Usually it was fun listening to them vamp with each other."

"Let's make a movie."

"We can be topless."

"Not enough jiggle."

"Jolly doesn't mind."

"We're back to Jolly again?"

"Jolly can be the psycho."

"We need jiggle, not Jolly."

"Darcie on the railroad tracks!"

"Her wheelchair bumping over the wooden ties."

"Everything she has is in motion."

"The Jolly Killer chasing after her."

"And coming straight at her is . . . the train!"

"Slashed or bashed, what will she do?"

The sisters stopped talking. They had painted themselves into a corner. None of them wanted to say that Darcie would die in their imagined movie.

"I flip open the armrest on my wheelchair showing a large red button labeled Eject." Darcie said, happy to add to the conversation.

That re-energized the sister's ideas.

"She's steering and can't reach it."

"If she leans forward to hit the button-"

"-she stops."

"Jolly's behind her, swinging. . ."

"Are his pants down?"

"No! Swinging his knife."

"Sorry."

"He's right behind me!" Darcie said. "What am I going to do?"

"Take the chance, Darcie!"

"Hit the button!"

The rest of the story was as crazy as the beginning, but it brightened her mood for a while. But alone in her room, the image of the video girl's face came back to her. Darcie wondered if the girl had become a big porno star. Did she learn how to strip without being self-conscious? Did she get used to putting on shows for men? Did she do all of the things required to earn that kind of living?

Or did the girl watch the video and see the collusion of the men. Did she figure out that they were not there to make her a star, they were there to get her naked and record her humiliation.

Darcie could hear the sound of Ellen's TV show. The music was bright and the voices pleasant. It was dark in the bedroom, but she knew it would be a long time before she would be able to drift off to sleep.

When something was bothering her, she tried a variation of the nighttime prayers that her grandmother would say with her and what Mrs. Lynch had told her on the first day of school. Instead of saying 'God bless, Grandma, and Grandpa, and Ellen,' and the rest of the people in her life, Darcie closed her eyes and said "Grandma loves me, and Grandpa loves me. Ellen helped me with my school work. Josie let Pauline drive over to get me. May Bell was glad to see me. June washed my hair. . ."

Knowing that it would be hard to get to sleep, Darcie continued repeating her mantra. "Grandma loves me, and Grandpa loves me. Ellen helps me with school work. Pauline drove to get me. May Bell made me a sandwich. . ." She lost count of how many times she recited the list until she finally drifted off to a troubled sleep.

### CHAPTER FOUR

### April 3rd 2000

### High School Junior

### 1

The room is dark, so dark that the people around her look like ghosts. They move around, just out of sight. Someone is crying. It's her mother. Reluctant sobs that continue until a man tells her that if she can't control herself, then she has to leave.

Everything is hazy. Then her father is there, looming over her in the darkness. She can't see his face, but she knows who it is. He takes hold of her right arm, raises his ax high in the air, then swings it down, causing an explosion of pain. Then her arm falls to the floor, landing with a sickening thud. She doesn't want to, but she looks at it, and sees that it has become shriveled and black, like a piece of burned wood. The fingers look like brittle twigs.

She tries to scream but she can't. Her body won't move, serving her only as a prison of pain.

Next her father moves down to her right leg. No one will help her as the ax is raised, then swings down again, causing more pain and silent screams. She struggles harder to get away, but still can't move. The right leg falls to the floor, as black and shriveled as her arm. Her father goes after her left arm next. He has no face, just large, angry eyes. She wants to run away. Even with just one arm and one leg she might find help, but still her body won't respond. All she can do is watch as the gleaming blade cuts into her left arm and there is once again the horrible pain.

Finally there is only one limb remaining—her left leg. She knows how funny she would look. Kids would tease her, make jokes, push her down, but she still wants to keep her leg. She'd promise anything, do anything, but time is running out. Someone tells her father he has to hurry or he will never get her leg. The ax goes up, and she knows that once her leg is gone it will all be over. Nothing more can happen to her. She needs to scream, if not to save herself, then to let people know what is happening to her. Summoning all her will, she gulps in a deep breath and knows she has to do it. As the ax falls for the last time, she is finally able to release her scream.

### 2

"Darcie? Darcie! Are you having another one of your dreams?"

Fighting from under a heavy comforter, Darcie managed to throw off the bed covers and face the door. On the other side of the room stood her grandmother, wringing her hands and watching her.

"Was it another one of those dreams, honey?" Grandma asked.

Afraid to say anything, Darcie nodded her head. It always upsets her grandmother when she wakes up crying from the dream.

"It's time to get up for school, dear. Ellen's already dressed and left the house."

"There's no school," Darcie said, her voice scratchy from sleep. "She must have forgot that we're on spring break."

"Spring break?" Grandma asked. "Already?"

"She'll probably be back in a little while," Darcie said, wondering if Ellen really forgot that it was the first day of spring break, or if she had found an excuse to get out of the house before she was given a list of chores to do; chiefly, to take care of her crippled sister.

"Do you need any help getting dressed?" Grandma asked.

When Darcie told her no, her grandmother looked relieved.

As a little girl it seemed her grandmother hadn't minded helping with her clothes, but since her body had made some remarkable changes her grandmother was reluctant to touch her. It was now up to Ellen to help with baths and other essentials to keep a young lady healthy.

In the evening Darcie used to sit with Grandpa on the couch, leaning against him as they watched TV together. But once she started turning into a woman, she'd seen odd glances from her grandmother over to her grandfather. He now sat by himself in an easy chair, leaving the couch to her and Ellen.

"Grandma," Darcie said, the remnants of panic and fear still coursing through her body, "that was a pretty bad dream."

Grandma stayed on the other side of the room. "I'm sorry you have them, dear. You'll feel better after you've had your breakfast."

The door shut and Darcie was left to struggle into her clothes by herself.

After breakfast Darcie stayed in the kitchen and watched through the window as the neighbor kids played. She couldn't figure out what was worse, going to school and sitting in study hall for half the day, or being on spring break with nothing to do all day long.

Ellen still hadn't come back, so Darcie had to wait until Grandma could help her with her school books. The TV was broken, and with barely enough money to keep food in the house, Darcie didn't expect it to be fixed anytime soon.

Grandpa was in the bedroom at the far end of the house, yet she could hear him gasping for breath and then coughing. His emphysema was getting worse by the day and she wondered how long he was going to hang on.

### 3

From outside there was the sound of tires on the gravel driveway, then she heard a car door shut.

"Darcie, dear," Grandma called as she walked into the kitchen.

"Yes Grandma?"

"Sheriff Baxter is here to see you."

"Sheriff Baxter?" Darcie asked, too surprised to say any more.

Her grandmother looked around the kitchen then walked over to the counter next to the sink. She quickly took dishes out of the drying rack and put them in the cupboards. Using a damp dishrag she wiped the simulated marble of the kitchen table, the rag doing nothing to improve the faded and scratched surface. Salt and pepper shakers were put in the spice rack and a dead leaf plucked off of a potted plant. After taking another look around the kitchen, Grandma turned her attention back to Darcie.

"You're not in any trouble, are you?" her grandmother asked in a hushed voice.

Darcie wanted to ask her grandmother how she could get in the kind of trouble that would require a visit, not from a deputy, but from the County Sheriff himself.

"No, Grandma, I'm not in any trouble."

Grandma wiped her hands on a dish towel and smiled. "I didn't think so, dear. Is it all right if I show him in?"

"It's. . ." she caught herself before she finished saying It's your house. It was something the McGillicutty sisters would say. Impudent and rude. She'd been spending more and more time at their house and June's combative attitude and smart mouth was starting to wear off on her. "Yes, please," she said, making sure she was polite.

Grandma was gone for a moment, then she led the County Sheriff into the room.

"Would you like some tea, Sheriff Baxter? Or I could put on a pot of coffee."

"No thank you, ma'am."

The sheriff held his hat in his hands, the kind peopled called a smokey. His khaki shirt had sharp creases and the cuffs of his pants draped over polished black shoes.

"Hello, Darcie," Sheriff Baxter said.

He glanced around and suddenly Darcie was aware of the kitchen's chipped and discolored paint. Of the deep gouge marks in the linoleum, and the cracked pain of glass in the widow looking out to the back yard.

"Julius," Grandma called as she walked out of the kitchen. "Sheriff Baxter's come to visit Darcie."

If it would have been any other man, Grandma would probably have stayed in the kitchen and watched over her comely granddaughter, but Sheriff Baxter was a man trusted by everyone in Stranger County, including Darcie's grandmother.

It was a small kitchen and the sheriff towered over her, making her feel uncomfortable as he looked down at her.

"Do you want to sit down?" Darcie asked.

"I'm fine," Sheriff Baxter said, still surveying the kitchen. Then he looked in her direction, his head tilting down. "Maybe I will," he said, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table. His eyes passed over her.

Darcie turned so she was facing him. "Is there something I could help you with?" she asked.

"Do you have any plans for the day?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

She shrugged, noticing that the sheriff was looking around the kitchen again. Some people let their eyes crawl all over her body. Others, like the sheriff, seemed to always look just beyond her.

Before she had a chance to answer, Grandma came back into the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, Sheriff?"

Trailing behind her, Grandpa slowly made his way towards the kitchen. He was down to skin and bones as he trailed a portable oxygen tank behind him. One of the suspenders from his pants was hanging off of his shoulder and his shirt was tucked in only half way. Grandma helped him get his clothes straightened out, then Grandpa walked up to the sheriff and extended his hand.

"Welcome, Sheriff."

Baxter stood up and shook hands. Standing next to the tall sheriff, both of her grandparents seem old and frail.

Grandma had shed her apron and both of her grandparents seemed anxious about the sheriff being in their house.

"I just came by to see if Darcie wanted to take a ride up the mountain today," Sheriff Baxter said. "If that's all right with you," he added to Grandpa.

Grandpa seemed confused. He sat in a chair and took several shallow breaths, looking from Sheriff Baxter, to Darcie, and then to Grandma.

"Do you want to go, Darcie?" Grandma asked.

"Yes," Darcie said. "I can leave right now."

"Is she going to need her other chair?" Grandpa asked, then took another gasping breath. "It's a regular wheelchair that can be folded up and put in the trunk of a car."

"I'll throw it in, just in case," Sheriff Baxter said.

Not waiting for any further conversation, Darcie put her chin on the controls, spun her chair and bumped open the screen door. "I'll meet you out front," she called back into the house.

"Darcie," Grandma called, following her down the wheelchair ramp. "Darcie, wait a minute."

"What?"

Grandma McMann caught up with her and whispered "Do you need to use the bathroom before you leave?"

"No. I'll be fine." She started for the front of the house again.

"Let me get your coat for you," Grandma called as she hurried back into the house.

The sheriff trailed behind her as she wheeled up to his Chevy Suburban. On its top were red and blue emergency flashers plus four chrome search lights. On the sides of the Suburban the logo of the Stranger County Sheriff Department was stenciled in large green letters.

Neither one of her grandparents were outside yet.

"Sheriff Baxter," Darcie said, "would you lift me into your truck right now. That way my grandparents won't try to do it."

She could tell that this was a situation that the sheriff hadn't planned on. It was something that she hadn't prepared for, either. When the McGillicutty sisters or her grandparents moved her, there was always some sort of struggle involved. There was no struggle for the sheriff. Darcie was looking at the Suburban to see how best to position her wheelchair, then she felt herself being scooped up and carried. Acting like she weighed nothing, Sheriff Baxter easily opened the passenger door with one hand then placed her on the large bench seat. His arms were muscular and his chest broad and firm. For a brief moment she felt the power of his body, and it felt good.

"Do you want me to buckle you up now?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

"Sure," she said, feeling excited and weak at the same time.

She sat motionless as he stretched the seat belt across her body and snapped it in place. The aroma of his after shave and freshly laundered uniform stayed with her. On an impulse she moved forward just enough so that his cheek touched her face, producing a lingering warmth.

"Okay?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

"Okay," Darcie repeated, resisting the urge to lean forward and... And she didn't know what.

After being placed in the sheriff's rig and belted in, Darcie only had to wait a few more moments for the sheriff to load her regular wheelchair in the back of the Suburban. Grandma brought out her coat, then waved as the sheriff drove down the gravel street. Grandpa was just stepping out the door. He was leaning weakly against the house when Darcie lost sight of him.

"This is cool," Darcie said, looking out of the Suburban's windows. "I'm higher up than I am in Josie's pickup. I can see everything."

Sheriff Baxter kept driving then asked "Don't you want to know what this is all about?"

"Oh," Darcie said, "I guess this would have to be about something."

She glanced at Sheriff Baxter then turned away. What he must think of her; living in a little house that was falling apart, she being so eager to get away that she didn't even ask why—she just let him load her up and haul her off.

Now that she was thinking about the situation, she wished she had taken the time to change. That morning she'd put on her favorite clothes, her favorite because they were easy to wiggle into. She looked down, knowing the faded sweater was frayed at the neck and too tight around the bust, the thinning red material stretched to the point of letting the outline of her bra show through. And her bra was so old it was gray, with the left cup sagging lower than the right. Then she saw that her faded blue skirt was bunched oddly on the seat. She shifted to the side, hoping the material would fall into place.

### 4

Darcie didn't say anything, giving Sheriff Baxter time to explain where they were going. They drove until he turned onto Stranger Mountain Road, then stopped.

"Just making sure everything's in place," Sheriff Baxter said as he glanced back to her wheelchair.

"How are we doing?" Darcie asked.

"Fine," Baxter said.

Ever since he arrived at her house he hadn't once looked directly at her. She couldn't say why it bothered her, but it did. Twisting in her seat belt, she sat up straight and leaned forward. When he turned to her their faces were just inches apart.

Whatever he was going to say never came out. For a long moment he sat motionless, his eyes taking her in. She didn't know what she was trying to accomplish, but it didn't work. Too many feelings went through her to understand. Other than teachers and her grandfather, she had never been so close to a man.

Seemingly disoriented for a moment, Sheriff Baxter gave his head a shake. He reached past her to the glove box and pulled out what looked to be a small buckskin sack with a long leather string hanging from the top. He shook the sack over the dashboard and it rattled like there were dried seeds inside. Then he shook the bag a couple of times before hanging it on the rear view mirror.

"I heard about Josie's ride up the mountain last weekend," Sheriff Baxter said as he reached back into the glove box. He pulled out another leather string, hanging from it were tiny silver bells. "Do you remember where she parked to have the picnic?"

"I don't know if I can find it again," Darcie said, watching as the sheriff hung the bells on the mirror next to the small leather bag. She'd only been up the mountain twice, and each time it felt like she was visiting an alien land. There was something about the mountain that always left her feeling unsettled. This time she was with Sheriff Baxter, which made her feel both safe and excited.

"Do you think you would recognize it?" he asked.

A shiver went through her body, remembering what she'd seen as she ate sandwiches with the McGillicutty family. "Yes, I'm sure I would."

"That's fine," Sheriff Baxter said. "I think I know where you were, but I'm not too worried if we don't find it. Mostly I'm going up for curiosity."

She shifted to the side, trying to get her clothes in a more comfortable position.

Sheriff Baxter glanced down to her skirt.

"May I?" he asked, reaching for the clasp of the seat belt.

"Sure," Darcie said.

After the seat belt was off of her, he straightened her skirt and let her get comfortable, then buckled her in again.

"Is that better?" he asked.

"I wish I'd put on nicer clothes," she blurted out, and felt herself blush.

"You're fine, Darcie," Sheriff Baxter said. "I should have called ahead. This was a spur of the moment idea. I was scheduled to testify in court today, but Judge Gump came down with the flu and I found I had most of the day free. Then I remembered one of the deputies talking about Josie's picnic on the mountain and I decided to swing by your place."

"So we're going back up there?" Darcie asked.

"If that's all right with you," Sheriff Baxter said.

"I guess it'll be okay. No one else saw it. June says I probably drifted off to sleep and had a daydream. Sort of like Alice seeing the white rabbit."

"Is that what you think happened?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

"It didn't feel like I was asleep."

"Either way, it's a good enough reason to take a drive, right?"

"Right," Darcie said, her eyes locked onto the sheriff's face.

From his shirt pocket Sheriff Baxter pulled a small laminated note card. As he read it he touched the bells hanging from the rear view mirror then he turned to Darcie.

"Do you have a coin in your pocket? It doesn't matter what kind."

"I usually don't have anything in my pockets," Darcie said.

"Not a problem," he said, digging a quarter from his pants. Taking a paper napkin from the glove box, he wiped the coin then held it so that his fingers didn't touch it.

"Can I hold this onto you?" he asked.

Wondering about all that he was doing, she nodded. With the napkin between his fingers and the coin, he touched it to her cheek for a few seconds, then lifted back the floor mat and dropped the quarter under it. There were several other coins there already. Were they there from other visits up the mountain? Maybe from other girls he'd picked up on the spur of the moment? Did he want something from her other than to be shown where to go?

No, he didn't seem to be like that. She knew she would be safe riding with him, especially if Grandma didn't object.

After checking the card again, Sheriff Baxter started the engine.

"I think we're set to go up the mountain," he said and pulled onto the paved mountain road.

"Can I ask what all that was about?" Darcie said.

As he drove, Baxter gave the tiny bells hanging from the rear view mirror a shake.

"Sheriff Patterson told me that whenever I went up the mountain it would be best if I did what he did."

"Was he the Sheriff before you?" Darcie asked.

"Nope. That was Stan Waller. Patterson gave the same speech to Waller that he gave to me. Waller was from back east and didn't think all these things amounted to much, so he didn't mess with them."

"And you do?" Darcie asked.

"Waller was on the job about two years when he drove up this road and was never seen again. Sheriff Patterson lasted thirty-one years before retiring. I figured thirty-one years isn't such a bad run, so I do the same things Patterson did."

"But why?" Darcie asked.

"I'm not sure," Sheriff Baxter said. "Maybe this is the day I find out. Everything Patterson told me came from some old timer that spent his life on the mountain. He didn't give me chapter and verse, but I could tell Patterson was serious about it, so I went along with the program."

Sheriff Baxter ran his fingertips over the bells, making a pleasant sound.

"I don't know why," Darcie said, "but I kind of like what Sheriff Patterson told you to do."

"I'm not sure if my deputies like it. I'll bet that only a couple of them go through this rigmarole when they drive up here. There's been a few times that I've driven straight up. I was responding to an emergency and wouldn't have taken the time even if I'd thought about it. But on a day like this, it seems like the right thing to do."

He smiled at her and Darcie smiled back. He had nice teeth. White, and just crooked enough to be interesting.

"Does your wife like going up the mountain?" she asked.

"I don't know," Sheriff Baxter said. "When we were married we lived down near Portland. She didn't like going out to the countryside."

"I'm sorry," Darcie said. "I shouldn't have asked."

"That's okay."

He reached up, tapped the bells with his fingers.

"You're a junior, right?"

"Yes," Darcie answered, hoping he would let it go at that

"My daughter's a junior," the sheriff said. "She lives on Bainbridge Island with her mother. I've tried to arrange it to show her the mountain, but usually I have to visit them if I want to see her."

"It's beautiful up here," Darcie said, turning the conversation away from family. She didn't want him to ask about hers and have to admit that her father was in Walla Walla state prison. Then her breath caught in her throat. He probably already knew about her family. Her mother dead, her father in prison. She lived in a run-down old house and wore clothes from the thrift store. She didn't even have a quarter to put under the floor mat, whatever that was supposed to do. The sheriff must think she's from just another white-trash family living at the foot of the mountain.

"I think my daughter would like it once I got her up here," he said, glancing over to her. "Hey, Darcie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, ashamed to find that she was crying.

Sheriff Baxter stopped the Suburban then took a tissue out of the glove box and wiped the tears from her face.

"Maybe you're going back up the mountain isn't such a good idea," he said. "Sometimes I get these notions and don't think them out as well as I should."

"I don't mind," she said.

"Did I say the wrong thing, Darcie? I'm sorry if I did."

She shook her head then closed her eyes for a moment, working up the courage to speak. "Sheriff Baxter, if you were driving your daughter up to look at the mountain," she said, forcing herself to say the words, "would you let her sit next you?"

"Well sure, if that's what she wanted."

She was afraid of the answer, but she couldn't help asking "Can I sit next to you?"

Sheriff Baxter looked at her, then checked the road ahead and behind. "I don't see why not," he said, unbuckling her seatbelt. He helped her scoot over to where she could be buckled into the center of the bench seat. "Is that okay?" he asked.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Sheriff Baxter seemed perplexed, but he continued the drive up the mountain. He didn't say anything when she leaned against him.

"What's your daughter's name?" she asked.

"Olivia," he said.

"If she asked you, would you put your arm around Olivia's shoulder?"

"Ahh, well," Sheriff Baxter said, glancing at her. He blew out his breath then said "Sure, there wouldn't be any harm in that." He put his arm around her shoulders but didn't let it settle. They rode for a while in silence, and he didn't say anything when she started crying again. She worried that her tears would mess up his neatly pressed shirt.

"Darcie, is there anyone that holds you like this?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

She shook her head, and he patted her shoulder.

### 5

Where the pavement stopped and the mountain road became rough gravel, Darcie felt like she was crossing some sort of barrier. It had felt the same when she rode with Josie. There was no change in the trees and bushes, but something was different. She couldn't say what it was, only that she could feel it all the way to her bones. Kids at school talked about going up the mountain to the 'weird zone.' They were the same ones that tried to buy beer from Old Billy Paine's store and raced their cars around town. It wasn't unusual for one of the girls that hang around with them to come up pregnant.

She wondered if the sheriff felt like he was going into the 'weird zone.' Josie and her girls hadn't seemed to notice. Was she the only one that could feel the change? Riding with Sheriff Baxter, all the underlying fear and apprehension seemed to disappear. She liked the way her body felt against his.

Finally the tears stopped and she straightened up. "I'm okay now."

Sheriff Baxter gave her a brief smile then turned his attention back to the road.

"Can I tell you something," he asked, glancing at her long enough to dab the tears from her cheeks.

"Sure," she said.

"Not everyone in a uniform is a good guy. There's a few that might, um. . ." he paused, searching for the words. "Well, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Darcie said. There was something about Sheriff Baxter that made her trust him. She knew he wouldn't take advantage of her. She wanted to tell him that, but didn't know how; because mixed up with all the words might be the message that maybe she wouldn't mind if a man like him wanted to do more than put his arm around her shoulders.

She wouldn't resist his strong hands on her body. If he needed to put his lips on hers, she would let him. If he wanted to do more, then maybe he was the one for that, too.

"I'm glad you came by the house today," she said.

They were both silent until Darcie spotted two women standing on the side of the road, partially hidden by tall bushes.

Be careful, Beautiful Child.

"What'd you say?" Darcie asked.

"Nothing," Sheriff Baxter said.

Darcie looked in the mirror. "I thought I saw two women back there." She couldn't tell how old they were, but their clothes looked to be nothing more than gray rags. Both of the women had dark hair that hung limply in knotted strands.

"I didn't get a good look," Sheriff Baxter said, his eyes going to the rearview mirror. "It was probably the Gearing sisters."

"Do they live up here?"

"They have a cabin a few miles east. People call them the Mountain Witches."

"Why's that?" Darcie asked.

"You know how people love to make up stories. The sisters keep to themselves, so they aren't in a position to challenge what people say about them."

"I think they might need help," Darcie said.

Sheriff Baxter checked his mirror again, then stopped the Suburban and backed to where Darcie thought she saw the two women.

"Hello," Sheriff Baxter called as he stepped out of his vehicle. "Hello! Do you need help?"

He called a second time, but there was no reply.

"I'm sorry," Darcie said, once they were on their way again. "I was sure I saw someone out there."

"You probably did. They could have been just out of sight and we wouldn't have known they were there. I've seen them up here before, but they always hide before I have a chance to talk to them. I don't mind making sure people are okay. Why else would there be a Sheriff's Department?"

### 6

Driving slowly to find their destination, Sheriff Baxter turned to Darcie. "Are you good at keeping secrets?"

She thought about all the things she'd seen while visiting the McGillicutty sisters and smiled. "I think so," she said.

"Good, because if what I think is up here, I'd like it to stay a secret."

"I won't say anything," Darcie said, meaning more than what the Sheriff had asked.

He pointed to a break in the trees where small bushes had been crushed by tires. "Does this turn-off look familiar?"

"Kind of," Darcie said.

Slowing the Suburban to a crawl, Baxter turned off of the road and followed the tire marks until they were in a large clearing surrounded by tall pine trees.

"Is this it?" he asked, turning off the engine.

"Yes," Darcie said. "I can still see the tire tracks where Josie stopped her pickup."

Sheriff Baxter looked at his watch. "Josie said it was about noon when it happened. That's what the report said, too. I wasn't sure how long it would take to get here, so I think we're early. Would you like anything to drink? I've got pop in the cooler."

"No, thank you," she said. "Can you roll down the windows? It's kind of hot in here."

"Sure thing," Sheriff Baxter said. He rolled down his window, then leaned across and rolled down the passenger window, his body pressing on her chest. He suddenly sat up then took the note card out of his pocket.

"Damn," he said, reading the card, "I almost forgot."

He stepped out of the Suburban and opened the tailgate. From out of a cooler he grabbed a bottle of Coke and another bottle. When he carried it to the front of the Suburban, Darcie saw that the second bottle was rum.

At first she thought he was going to mix the rum and the Coke together. Instead he opened the rum and started sprinkling a circle around the Suburban. Then he recapped the bottle and put it back into the cooler.

Once he was back behind the steering wheel he opened the Coke and took a sip.

"Can I have a little of that?" Darcie asked.

"Sure," Sheriff Baxter said, "but I've got plenty if you want a bottle for yourself."

"I'd hate to waste it," Darcie said. "I only want a sip, if you don't mind a few of my germs."

"I'm not worried about that," Sheriff Baxter said. "What's a few germs between friends."

He put the bottle to her lips and she saw a familiar intensity in his eyes as he watched her take a drink. She'd seen that look from the older boys at school and from some of the men around town. Sheriff Baxter was attracted to her, more attracted than when he had picked her up that morning. "Mmmmm, that tastes good," she said.

He took a drink then asked "Do you want another?"

She wasn't thirsty, but the idea of putting her lips where his had been was appealing.

"Just one more," she said, and their eyes met as she took another sip.

"Sure you don't want a bottle all to yourself?" He smiled nervously, then took two big gulps. His hands were shaky as he held the half-empty bottle.

"I have to be careful of what I drink. It's kind of a hassle later on."

"Oh," he said.

"Did any spill down my front?" she asked.

His eyes went down her body then returned to her face.

"No, you're . . . you're just fine."

The sheriff was tense, and she knew it wasn't from waiting for what was going to happen outside of the Suburban. He was a strong man, but now he seemed distracted.

"There's other things I have to be careful about," she said.

Sheriff Baxter looked out the front window, surveying the area. Then he turned back to her.

"Is that right?"

"Yes," Darcie said. "Like who I go out on a date with, and where they want to take me."

Sheriff Baxter's eyes were on her face.

She gave him a smile.

Suddenly he blinked several times. "I better keep to business." From under his seat Baxter pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked through them at the clearing. "There doesn't seem to be anything moving out there."

"Sheriff," Darcie said, then waited until he put down the binoculars and looked at her, "I've never let a guy. . ." she hesitated, then went on. "I've never been kissed by a man."

He tried to smile and she saw his mouth gave a little twitch.

"I was wondering that, if you think I'm pretty enough, maybe you would," she stopped, then lowered her voice to a whisper, "kiss me?"

"But Darcie, I'm old enough. . ."

"Please don't say that," she interrupted, and felt the blood rushing to her face. "You're a nice man, and if you think I'm pretty enough to kiss, then I want you to. If not, then we'll just sit here and wait."

He sat motionless, looking at her.

She tilted her face up. "Kiss me," she said softly, "please."

His eyes were wide, almost frightened, as he leaned down and gently placed his lips on hers.

The most wonderful feeling went through her and she felt like all the breath was gone from her body. It took a moment before she could speak again. "You can do more," she said softly. "I'd like you to do more."

In a whisper so soft that Darcie barely hear it Sheriff Baxter said "Oh my." He was looking deep in her eyes and she felt his fingertips touch her shoulder. He leaned close to her.

A beeping sound caused Sheriff Baxter to pull back and look at his wrist watch. "Oh!" he said, looked around then checked his watch again. "Oh."

The beeping wasn't loud, but it jangled Darcie's nerves. "What was that for?"

"Fifteen minutes," he said and pointed out to the field. "I set my watch so I'd make sure I knew what time it was if I was getting close." He looked at her. "If it's going to happen, it should be soon. Let's get you set up over there," he said, pointing to the shade under a large tree.

### 7

Sheriff Baxter's actions were fast, almost manic, as Darcie watched him take her wheelchair out of the back and set it up next to the Suburban. Then he lifted her out of the cab and placed her in the wheelchair. As he did his hands lingered on her body and she saw his eyes staring into hers. She gave him a little smile. "Josie had a blanket to have the picnic on. Do you have one to lay out?"

Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. "Maybe later," he said, then grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and rolled her through the tall grass until she was in the shade.

"How's that?" he asked. "Do you think you can see from here?"

"I think so," she said.

"Good, good," he said, checking his watch. "Then all we have to do is wait and see what's what." He stood next to her, looking out over the field, looking in every direction except for hers. Then, as if he couldn't help himself, he turned her way. "It's a hot day, isn't it? It must be eighty-five or more."

"I know," Darcie said, "I should have worn a lighter top."

The sheriff put his hands together, squeezing them tight. "Yeah, something lighter than that heavy sweater."

"If I had a swim suit here I could get a tan," Darcie said, feeling bolder.

"You'd look beautiful with a tan," he said, wiping his hand roughly across his mouth. "You look beautiful any way." He tried to laugh but it came out almost like a nervous giggle.

"My bra and panties cover more than a swim suit," Darcie said. "They'd work for getting a tan."

"Yeah," Sheriff Baxter said, breathing faster, "they'd be perfect."

"It'd work for you, too," Darcie said. "We could both... tan." Her eyes were locked with his and she knew he wouldn't make the first move. "I need help taking off my sweater."

"Okay," he said, nodding his head but not moving. "Okay, I think I can help. How do you want me to do it?"

"Put your hands on my waist, and then move them up my body."

"Okay, okay," he kept repeating. "It'll be okay to do that."

With a jerky motion he moved next to her and placed his hands on her shoulders, then moved them down onto her chest.

Feeling an intense rush of excitement, Darcie offered him her lips, thrilled by what was happening. Sheriff Baxter leaned down. He was so close that it felt like her body was going to catch fire.

A scream echoed across the field.

Sheriff Baxter jerked away from her. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he took a step back.

"Help me," came the far-off voice of a frightened girl. "Somebody, please help me!"

"Oh my God," Baxter said, his eyes coming into focus, backing away as if he was afraid of her.

There was another scream and Sheriff Baxter looked across the field, then back to Darcie. "Was that part of what you saw?"

Darcie shook her head. "No. I didn't hear any sounds."

"Help meeee," the girl's voice called.

Placing his hand on his holstered gun, Sheriff Baxter looked at Darcie. "I've got to find out what's going on," he said.

"I'll be fine," Darcie told him. "Go. Go!"

### 8

After checking the area one more time, Sheriff Baxter started off across the field. "Get in the Suburban and lock the doors," he called over his shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Crouching under low hanging branches, he disappeared into the trees.

When he told her to get in the Suburban, it seemed logical. Then Darcie realized she wasn't in her powered wheelchair, and even if she could get to the Suburban, there was no way for her to open the door. She started to call after him, but if he came back, what would happen to that girl calling for help?

"Skin hunger," a voice said, so close it made Darcie jump.

From out of the trees a woman came towards Darcie. Tilting her head sideways she walked around the wheelchair then stopped facing her.

"What did you say?" Darcie asked, her heart racing.

It was one of the Gearing sisters that she'd seen at the side of the road. Her face was thin, almost skeletal. Dark suntanned skin offset bright gray-blue eyes. The woman's dress looked homemade. The thread in the material was uneven, like it was made by hand. The fabric was a faded gray with rough stitching at the seams.

"Skin hunger," the woman repeated. "You need to feel someone's touch. A man's touch."

"What are you talking about?" Darcie said, wondering where the woman had come from. She didn't seem to be dangerous, but they were alone together and anything could happen.

"What you can control other places becomes overwhelming here." The woman gestured to the surrounding area as she moved closer. "Desires and loneliness turn into desperate hunger. We didn't notice when you first drove by, but when the sheriff came back and stopped near us, we knew there was something happening between you. The way your bodies were exuding their needs, it was so strong we could smell it!"

"Smell what?" Darcie asked. "I don't understand."

"This is a place of death," the woman said, extending her arm to indicate the clearing. "Death makes the living want to create life. It cares not about the consequences to the people involved, of the headlines that our sheriff would be faced with."

"Our sheriff?" Darcie asked.

"Yes. This sheriff honors the mountain. He protects its secrets and watches over the people. We won't lose him if we can help it."

"Why would you lose him?" Darcie asked.

"Because the sheriff thinks of himself as a good man, and a good man his age doesn't do things with little girls like you."

"He'd still be a good man," Darcie protested.

"Not in his eyes!" The woman was suddenly angry. "Not when he finds out how old you are. His heart would tell him it was wrong. It would eat at him until his confidence was drained. There would be talk behind his back. Soon reporters would come around. Stories in the papers, on TV."

"Stories about what?" Darcie asked.

"His illicit baby. The older man with power, who lay with the beautiful girl that has no arms, no legs. A helpless girl that is little more than a child. What he did to her. Where it happened." She took a step forward. "With one as pretty as you there would be no end to it. People would be eager to speculate as to how his seed came to be inside of you. Fantasies would feed the stories. Envy that he could have what others could not."

The woman's words made Darcie's blood run cold. "How can you know something like that?"

"Think, beautiful child. Use your mind."

"Beautiful child," Darcie said. "I think I heard you say that when we passed you on the road."

"Yes, you are a beautiful child. Your beauty attracts those that look beyond the obvious. It is a beacon. Your body wants to create a baby. It is ready for a man. Then you come up here with a good man, a kind man. A man that would provide for you. Your body is saying 'Yes, that's him. Feel him. All of him.' And you're in a place of power. So much power that the echoes of death can be seen."

"Is that what I saw? An echo?" Darcie asked.

"Yes! Another pretty girl brought to the mountain by a man. Inside her is an egg waiting its chance to become a life, and not be washed away by the blood cycle. But the man she is with is not good. He has no honor, only need. Many needs. And once his sexual need is fulfilled, a second need comes to bear, one of violence and anger. What you saw was after he put a baby into her. He hurts her and she runs. He grabs the bow that just moments before he was showing her how to shoot."

"I didn't see that," Darcie said. "I only saw where she fell down."

"An arrow in the back of her arm spins her to face him," the woman said. "She's filled with pain, with fear—yet she can't believe when he draws down on her again. Then he lets fly!"

The woman's eyes were losing their focus, like she was going into a trance.

"The second arrow strikes her chest. She falls to her knees as pain and fear makes her cry out. It would be so easy for him to take the kill shot, but he drops the bow and goes to her. He needs to feel the sensation of the arrow penetrating her, to feel the warmth of her blood on his hands. He wraps his fingers around her throat and pushes her onto her back. From his quiver he grabs an arrow, raises it and stabs it down."

"But why?" Darcie asked. "Why did he shoot her with the arrow? Why did he stab her?"

The woman's eyes cleared, her concentration moved back onto Darcie.

"You saw much in the echo," the woman said. "Be satisfied with that. The echo is here because there is power. Power enough to see what has happened before. And that power makes what you feel even stronger."

The woman knelt down in front of her.

"Tell me, beautiful child, what would be the future had not my sister distracted the sheriff? Made him remember that he is a good man."

"Your sister?" Darcie asked.

"Answer the question," the woman said. "What would be the future?"

"I don't know," Darcie said.

"Yes you do. You know it in your heart." She placed a finger between Darcie's eyes and pressed hard. "Let me help you see."

The finger pressing into her forehead was callused and hard. Where it touched made a tickling sensation. Behind her eyes was a flash of light.

Darcie saw herself in the middle of a crowd of reporters, trying to steer her wheelchair through a mass of Cameras trained on her as questions were being shouted at her.

"Darcie!" a female reporter charges forward, holding out a long microphone. "What will you do if Sheriff Baxter is convicted of statutory rape?"

Another reporter jostles in front of the first. "If he's sent to prison, will you marry him when he gets out?"

"Will you marry him in prison?"

It's a frenzy of cameras and questions.

"Are you going to name the baby after him?"

"Will it be normal?"

"Will it have arms and legs?"

They were blocking her path and she couldn't move forward. Her belly was huge and the baby was pushing down on her bladder. If she couldn't get to a restroom soon she was going to have an accident.

"Darcie! Darcie!" the voices called.

A camera was inches away from her face.

"Did he overpower you or did you let him?"

"Was it your first time. Did he hurt you?"

"Was it rape? Or was it love?"

Overwhelmed by the people pressing in on her she screamed "Stop it!"

It took a moment for Darcie to realize that she was still in the clearing.

She met the woman's eyes with her own. "Who are you?"

"You see why you can't let this happen," the woman said. "If you stay up here, the same needs will return. You will tell yourself that you will not let it happen, even as you are thrilled by his touch."

"You don't know what I feel," Darcie said, knowing it sounded childish. "You're just some crazy woman wandering around the woods."

"Yes! That's the truth! I can't get away from the mountain because I don't want to. I'm talking to you because I like telling stories. My sister is leading the sheriff on a chase because she likes the game. We are indulging ourselves and the mountain is feeding the indulgence. We are weak. When it comes to the mountain, everyone is weak. That is why the only way to keep you and the sheriff from rutting with each other is for you to get off the mountain."

"But that didn't happen when Josie brought us up here," Darcie countered.

"Josie!" the woman hissed. "Josie and her secrets. Josie and her men. She brought you here because this is not where she usually goes."

"What do you mean?" Darcie asked, suddenly angry. "Josie's the nicest person I've ever known."

"Josie's got secrets within secrets, within secrets, and you are one of them!"

"That's not true," Darcie said.

"What makes you think she's so strong? I just told you more than what I was going to. You came up here with the sheriff to watch an echo from the past, but soon you both forgot why you were here."

The woman stood up and loomed over Darcie, seeming to grow taller as she spoke. "Josie knows the mountain. She brings a man up here, knowing the mountain will feed both of their needs. He feels something so intense he wants it again and again. She brings men that can afford to be generous. She feels good about what they do. She feels good about letting them be generous. All because the mountain is feeding her needs."

"Nothing happened when we were here," Darcie said.

"It didn't? What did you see that no one else did?" The woman didn't wait for Darcie to answer. "The echo. Josie and her whelps were drinking wine, thus blocking off the power of the mountain. You and your little sips, not wanting to have to be helped to pee in the bushes. You already have part of the mountain in you, letting you feel more of its power than most people."

"What do you mean? I already have part of the mountain in me?"

"Your parents were up here when you were conceived. Here, in this place! That is why it has so much power over you."

"How do know that? Were you spying on them like you were with Sheriff Baxter and me?"

"I feel it in my heart. Beautiful child, you have power, but the further away from the mountain, the more vulnerable you are."

"But you just said. . ."

"Don't over think it, child. As long as you are close to the mountain you will have a long life. Leave it behind, and there is no telling what will happen to you. There will be dogs, and the dogs will leap at your. . ." The woman threw her hands up. "Oh, you distracting whelp. You turned me from what I was saying."

"What were you going to say?" Darcie asked.

"The echo happened and you saw Darla get attacked."

"Darla?" Darcie said. "This is Darla's Meadow? I thought that was just a story to keep kids off of the mountain."

"Arrggg," the woman groaned, clinching her fists in frustration, "I'm talking too much. Tell no one that name. Tell no one what you saw, or the mountain will be swarming with crackpots trying to see for themselves."

"What about Sheriff Baxter?" Darcie asked.

"He suspects that this is the place, but tell him only after you leave the mountain."

Nearby there was a rustling of leaves.

"Sister!" a voice said.

Darcie tried to see who called but saw no one.

"Sister! I am weary and he still chases me."

"Who's out there?" Darcie asked the woman.

"Don't ask stupid questions," the woman said. "You know what you need to know. If you remain here you will end up naked, rutting like animals until you are both totally spent. Use your brains. Tell him what will convince him to take you down the mountain."

"Sister," the voice called from the trees, "he's almost here."

"Until you are ready for a man," the woman said, leaning in close, "stay off this mountain."

"How do you know about me?" Darcie asked. "Do you have some kind of magic?"

"What is magic other than the concentration of power? We listen. We hear. People talk and gossip and don't notice that we are close."

"You mean when I was up here with Josie?"

"Partly. But many people talk about you. Some tisk-tisk their sympathy. Others fantasize about what they would like from you. My sister and I know."

"What do you know?" Darcie asked.

"That you seem older than your years. If the sheriff saw you run or play or walk to school, he would know your age by how you move. But those clues are not there. Your face. Your body. They appeal to men's desires. They say that you are more than what you really are."

"Sister," came the voice from the trees. "Now. Now!"

She moved even closer. "There is one last thing I must do." She held out her hand. "Proof," she said, "to both you and the sheriff . Without it you will think you fell asleep, because what but a dream could this tale be?"

"Proof?" Darcie asked, suddenly afraid.

"You're tough," the woman said, drawing back her hand. "You can take it."

Darcie looked at the woman, then nodded her head. "Okay."

The woman swung her open hand.

It stung worse than Darcie expected as she heard the loud smack on her skin. Her cheek felt hot and she rubbed it on her shoulder, the rough material of her sweater being of little comfort.

"That hurt!"

"Get away from this place," the woman said, turning towards the trees. "Leave, now!"

Too shocked to say any more, Darcie watched the woman run into the trees.

"Did you tell her?" a voice asked.

"Yes, sister," the woman's voice answered. "We've done what we can."

Leaves rustled as they moved away. From another direction there were thumping footsteps and the sound of branches breaking.

"Darcie," Sheriff Baxter called as he broke into the clearing, "Darcie, are you all right?"

His uniform had sweat rings under the arms and his hair was mussed. He was breathing hard but not winded. When he came up to her she smelled his perspiration.

A thrill went through her body.

"Oh, no," she said, knowing that what the woman had said was true. If she didn't act quickly, in a few moments she would be wanting the sheriff's touch again, and this time there would be no one to stop them.

"Did you see anyone come through here?" Sheriff Baxter asked, wiping sweat off of his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"One of the Gearing sisters came up to me and said her sister was playing a prank."

"A prank?" Sheriff Baxter asked, then scowled. "Why didn't you get in the Suburban?"

She looked at the sheriff, and saw him as the woman described. He was a good man, but fallible. Maybe even lonely. From what almost happened a few minutes before, she knew he had the same needs as any other man. Needs that she had wanted to satisfy with her own.

"How was I supposed to do that?" she asked.

He looked at her a moment then said, "Sorry."

What would get him moving? Whatever she was going to do, it would have to happen quickly.

Then the idea came to her, and it was as simple as telling the truth.

"Sheriff Baxter, how old do you think your daughter should be before she starts having sex?"

"Olivia?" he asked. "I don't know, twenty-five, maybe thirty. Why do you ask?"

His nervous smile told her she was on the right track.

"Is fourteen too young?" she asked. "I mean, I'm actually fourteen and a half. Almost fifteen, really."

He looked at her, confused. "You're fourteen years old?" he said, his voice rising in surprise.

"Fourteen and a half," she said helpfully.

"But you're a junior. And you look so. . ."

Sexy? she wanted to tease, but the sting from the slap was still tingling her skin, helping her to keep tight control of herself.

"The kids I went to grade school with are in junior high," she said. "I used to do well in school, so they kept putting me forward."

"Junior high," Sheriff Baxter said flatly.

"It's getting hot," Darcie said, "maybe we should go back. I need to do my homework."

"You've got homework." The sheriff looked disoriented, like he was having a hard time figuring out what to do.

"Sheriff Baxter," Darcie said sharply, "we've got to go. Now. If we don't, you'll be grabbing my tits again." She said the last the way June McGillicutty would say it.

She couldn't tell if his confusion was from desire or something else, but at least he got moving enough to go through the motions of getting her buckled into the Suburban and stowing her wheelchair.

"Back to the road and drive down the mountain," she said. "Quickly."

He drove back to the road, looked both ways, then turned to her. He swallowed and she saw his eyes drink her in. It was frightening to know how close she was to letting him do what was on his mind.

"What the hell are you looking at, pervert?" she said, again mimicking June McGillicutty. "Get your eyes on the damned road and drive."

Baxter's expression hardened and he stomped on the accelerator, speeding them down the dirt road.

### 9

All the way down the mountain Darcie didn't allow herself to relax. She kept her mind busy by telling Sheriff Baxter what the Gearing woman had told her. And while she was talking, he was driving like a madman; taking the corners at a crazy speed, sending the big Suburban into a four-wheel drift and accelerating out. Tree branches and bushes whapped the windshield and sides of the SUV.

When Sheriff Baxter stopped at the end of the mountain road it seemed anticlimactic. He pulled over to the side, closed his eyes, and exhaled.

"I can't believe it," Sheriff Baxter said, then looked at her. "I'm sorry about what happened up there. I've never been like that with anyone, let alone a little girl."

"I'm not a little girl," Darcie said, hurt by his words.

"No, you're not. You're a smart young lady. A very pretty young lady, and I'm sorry."

"I only said those things so we'd get moving," Darcie said. "I think we should both be glad that it happened."

"Why is that?" he asked.

Sheriff Baxter seemed smaller than when he'd walked into the kitchen that morning. He didn't look as strong. He wasn't as intimidating. She realized that she was angry with him for being just another man.

"Now you know why Sheriff Patterson told you to do all that stuff, and that you're supposed to drink at least some of that rum instead of sprinkling it around like a dog peeing on a tree. The alcohol blocks the effect of the mountain."

"I guess you're right about that," Sheriff Baxter said. He was still backing down, shrinking more and more. "Why are you glad that you went up there?"

"Because now I know that those people who went to college and became teachers aren't as smart as they think they are. I know things that are not in any book and can't be given in a test. I know something they don't, even if they do park me in study hall and pretend I'm stupid."

"That's a good point," Sheriff Baxter said.

"Tell me something," Darcie said, "why didn't you take Josie up the mountain? She'd know right where to go instead of me guessing."

"I don't know," he said. "Maybe because you were the one that saw something odd happen."

His words didn't ring true.

"I don't think so," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"If someone saw you taking Josie up the mountain, they might think you were going up there for the same reason the other men do." Although she'd tried to deny what the woman on the mountain had said about Josie, she was now starting to believe it. "And her daughters are so much like her, someone might think one of them was Josie. But me, I'm about as safe as you can get. No one would ever think that Sheriff Baxter would do anything with poor little Darcie Charbonnough."

"No," Sheriff Baxter said, then added, "at least, I don't think so."

"It probably seemed like the best choice."

"I swear, Darcie, that's not what I was thinking when I swung by your house this morning. I thought... Well, right now I don't know what I thought."

"I don't have to worry that you'll feel guilty and confess to someone that you and I almost made a big mistake, do I?"

Sheriff Baxter's face went blank.

"Do I!" she demanded.

"No," Sheriff Baxter said, shaking his head.

"Look at my face," Darcie said. "Do you see where she slapped me?"

"Yes."

"That's your proof that what happened wasn't your fault and it wasn't my fault. That's your proof that Sheriff Patterson knew what he was doing when he wanted you to be careful on the mountain."

She didn't know why she was angry with Sheriff Baxter. He seemed mad at her, too.

### 10

Once she was back home and in her powered wheelchair, Darcie wouldn't make eye contact with the sheriff.

"Did Darcie help you find what you were looking for?" Grandma asked, looking from Sheriff Baxter then to Darcie.

"Yes, she was very helpful," Sheriff Baxter said, then turned to Darcie. "Thank you for your assistance," he said stiffly, then climbed into the Suburban and drove away.

Although she knew it was going to happen, she hated seeing Sheriff Baxter drive away. It felt like he was abandoning her, even though she was sitting in front of her house. Suddenly she wanted to call out for him to stop and come back to her. It took all of her will to keep silent.

"Darcie," Grandma said after the sheriff was gone. "Are you all right? What happened to your face?"

"I'm all right, Grandma."

"Are you sure?"

"Sometimes I wish I were older," Darcie said. To herself she added, "Old enough so Sheriff Baxter wouldn't be afraid of me."

### 11

As he drove past family homes with their well-kept yards and carefully tended gardens, Sheriff Colin Baxter's thoughts kept returning to the field of yellow flowers nestled on the slopes of Stranger Mountain. The scent of lavender remained in the cab of his SUV, along with the image of the girl's large violet eyes, and the lingering sweetness of her lips. Full sensuous lips that remained chastely closed as he touched them with his. Was it a first kiss? Maybe. Her perfect face was guileless and open, and there was no reason for her to be hiding anything. After being in law enforcement for over twenty years, Baxter could usually tell if someone was putting on an act. There seemed to be no deception in the girl. She was as open and honest as she was beautiful. That was probably why he was so taken with her.

Something pink. Moving. Ahead and to the right.

It had been slightly cool when he drove out of town that morning, the girl riding shotgun as she looked out of the passenger window. She liked that they rode high enough for her to see all around. On the mountain the air was still and sultry. No breeze ruffled the bushes or passed over exposed flesh to take away the perspiration. However, the lack of wind wasn't the major problem, that came from an unanticipated source. Now his mind wouldn't let it go. Every time he tried to shift his thoughts in a new direction, what had happened would come sneaking back to recapture his attention.

Training wheels and tassels on handlebars. Cartoon characters decorating a white basket mounted on the handlebars. Getting closer.

Too warm on the mountain to be wearing a long sleeve shirt and heavy wool pants, it would have been a perfect time to strip down to his boxers and T-shirt. The delicious temptation to expose skin to sun was there, but he was in his uniform and on the job. What's more, the sweetness of the girl's smile had told him she wanted to do the same. The chasm separating what he wanted to do and what he allowed himself to do gnawed at him. Was it desperation? Loneliness? Whatever was going on, he did not grant himself the luxury of self-indulgence. He just wished the sudden desire would stop jumping back into his mind.

Rolling down a slanted driveway. A bright smile was changing to puzzled concern as the tiny bicycle tilted first from one training wheel and then to the other as it picked up speed. It wouldn't take much to send it toppling over.

The girl's eyes never left his face as she told him that she was sure they were at the right place. He was trying to look over the area but was distracted by her presence. It was strange to have his attention so easily diverted from his task—he'd just swerve to the left to make sure he had room enough to get by.

Little white tennis shoes reaching down, trying to stop by dragging toes on the pavement. The bicycle's momentum was slow enough that it shouldn't take it to his side of the street.

His side of the street?

Forcing his attention back to driving, Sheriff Collin Baxter jammed his foot down on the brake pedal. He already had his door open as his SUV came to a stop. Running back to the toddler on the bicycle, he scanned all directions to see if any cars were coming.

With no vehicles in sight Baxter slowed to a trot until he was up to the little girl. She was still dragging her toes.

"Hi, honey," he said, making his voice soft and crouching down so he didn't seem menacing. He reached out and stopped her from rolling any further. "You know you shouldn't be out here. Is you're mommy around?"

The little girl was looking up at him, then shifted her gaze to his hand holding onto the bicycle. Her lower lip was starting to come out as she gave him a suspicious frown.

"Carly!" a woman called from one of the back yards. "Carly, where are you?"

At the same time that Baxter spotted an open gate, the woman came through it, half-running as she looked around. There was a frightened gasp as she spotted a large man looming over her young daughter.

"Is this who you're looking for, ma'am?" Baxter said, standing up so she could see his badge and uniform.

"Carly!" the woman said, rushing out to her daughter. An apron covered a red and white checkered blouse and faded jeans. The mother looked to be about twenty one. "Oh my god, thank you so much." There was a try at a grateful smile.

"It's all right," Baxter said, then took the mother's arm to move her out of the street. Dark circles under her eyes showed her exhaustion. He guided Carly on her pink bicycle and helped the mother along until they were all safely on the sidewalk.

Carly kept hold of the handlebars, her chin set in disapproval. Whoever the big galoot was, Carly didn't like him grabbing onto her bicycle or her mother.

To his surprise, Baxter found the woman's arms around him, giving him an unexpected hug.

"Thank you for watching out for Carly. My husband was going to fix the gate, but he was called out of town before he got around to it."

Her name was Kathy Barnes, a mother with too many chores and not enough hours in the day. On top of that, she was trying to get ready for work and hoping the sitter wouldn't be late.

"I didn't think about it until Carly was too quiet. When I saw her bicycle gone and the gate open, I almost panicked."

Baxter let Kathy talk out her anxiety. She was calm enough to smile when he offered to look at the gate. The screws for the latch had worked loose, allowing the gate to come open. It took him less than five minutes to move the latch an inch to the left and secure it onto a foundation of solid wood. While he was working, Carly stood between him and her bicycle. Baxter gave her a smile and she moved to her mother, claiming possession by grabbing hold of the hem of the apron. After swinging the gate open and closed a couple of times, he handed the screwdriver back to Kathy. She was still thanking him as he walked back to his rig.

Sitting behind the steering wheel, Baxter flipped down the visor mirror and stared himself in the eyes. "You're a real jerk, you know that?" The woman's many thanks for going out of his way to fix her gate was embarrassing. He was still chagrined about not seeing the danger to little Carly when he first saw her riding towards the street. It was just an automatic reaction to give the pink bicycle a wide berth. Fixing the gate was the least he could do.

"Idiot," he said, then flipped up the visor.

### 12

Proving to himself that he was a full blown idiot seemed to be the plan of the day; being in uniform only enhanced the feeling.

Sitting in his Chevy Suburban, Baxter closed his eyes. He pictured himself earlier that morning, driving the SUV with its light bar full of heroic reds and blues, a couple of whip antennas flanking the sides, and four chrome spot lamps crowning the top. It was a great rig, and he loved the way it commanded the road, not to mention people's attention. If he was running emergency lights and siren, cars would fairly dive for the side of the road to give him room to pass on by.

Oh, yeah, he was full of himself when he parked in front of the Wheelchair Girl's home. The County Sheriff visiting the neighborhood of modest houses would have people peeking out of their curtains. He could feel their eyes on him as he slid smoothly from behind the steering wheel. Chin up, shoulders squared, and chest out, he fairly marched up the steps of the small bungalow. Standing tall and speaking with an authoritative yet respectful voice, he asked if the girl would be available to show him where she'd seen some weird activity on Stranger Mountain.

The stern-jawed confidence that he was projecting onto the elderly couple should have set off his mental alarm. It didn't. Not realizing his ego had him on a roll, once he was inside the house Baxter presented his plan to the Wheelchair Girl. He already knew what her answer would be.

For her it was an easy choice. Either spend the day sitting in her grandparent's house, or go for a ride with an honest-to-god sheriff. After begging permission to go up the mountain, the girl pressed forward the controls of her powered wheelchair and maneuvered her way out the back door. She was so excited about the adventure that Baxter had to hurry to catch up with her as she traveled down a rickety wheelchair ramp then out to where he had parked.

The Chevy Suburban was high off the ground and the girl needed help getting in. As he scooped her out of the wheelchair he should have known that something was off. Instead of feeling a soft body under her clothes, her muscles were supple and firm. And did he have to hold her so that her surprisingly ample chest pressed into him? Yes, because that was the only way he could carry her. No, because his sense of self-importance had him at her grandparent's house in the first place.

Just thinking about what an ego-roll he'd been on made him cringe.

By then the grandmother had rolled out the girl's regular wheelchair. He wouldn't have to struggle loading the powered wheelchair that he and his deputies saw her driving down the sidewalk. Still convinced that everything would go the way he planned, he folded the wheelchair and placed it in the back of the Suburban. Then, with a dashing wave to the grandparents, he drove off. Thinking back on it, he was surprised that he hadn't doffed his hat and gave all-that-could-see a sweeping bow before mounting up.

A few minutes later he stopped to make a final check before he drove up the mountain. The wheelchair was in place, the dashboard gauges read normal, and the gas tank was full. A quick radio call to inform dispatch that he was driving up Stranger Mountain brought a satisfyingly diffident reply. All aspects of his preparations served to reinforce the illusion that he was in control. One last thing to do—make sure his passenger was set for her ride with the great, swollen head of County Sheriff Collin Baxter.

Checking to see that the Wheelchair Girl was comfortably belted in, he realized that, for the first time, he was looking only at her. All the other times he'd seen her, his attention was drawn to the clunky old wheelchair, with its motor and drive belts and exposed car battery mounted under the seat. Even when he picked the girl up that morning he mostly talked in her direction, again not seeing past the machinery that she used to get around. Only when he was parked at the foot of Stranger Mountain did he take a good look at the young lady next to him.

So close he could smell lavender soap on her, she smiled at him.

To his shocked amazement, Baxter found himself just inches away from an amazingly beautiful face. Trapped by a pair of deeply haunting eyes, his heart gave a leap and he felt as if he was floating out of himself.

Thunderstruck, he remained caught in her eyes, mesmerized by a physical presence that sent every atom in his body into overdrive. As huge as his ego had been when he drove up to her house, it now lay flat, like an over-inflated balloon that had lost all of its air.

Oh god, do you know how beautiful you are?

The words were almost out of his mouth before his mind cut them off. What a thing to say, especially by a man who should know better.

Realizing he was gazing at her overly long, he remembered some nonsense about a ritual that his predecessor had shown him. He even made some of it up to give himself time to get his mind back on track. Then he looked at her again.

Lord save him, she was a heartbreaker. She didn't wear a bit of makeup, and her short hair looked like it was cut by someone with no training and even less talent. All of that was overshadowed by a natural beauty that seemed to set his soul on fire.

She was so demure, so unpretentious. Completely natural. She probably didn't see how pretty she was, only focusing on why she was in a wheelchair.

Her expressive eyes were looking back at him, wondering what was going to happen next.

Those eyes. Deep, intelligent. He'd never seen violet eyes before. He loved them almost as much as...

Forcing himself to get back to what he had planned, he put the Suburban in gear then stepped on the gas so hard that she was thrown onto the seatback. Afraid to even look in her direction Baxter drove up the mountain.

### 13

"Sheriff Baxter, are you all right?"

Baxter looked around and realized he'd parked the Suburban in his reserved space and was walking towards his office.

He'd done it again. After leaving Carly and her mother, he didn't remember driving, stopping, or even putting on his hat for the short walk inside. What was wrong with him?

Paramedic Karen Jones was talking to him as she cleaned an already spotless ambulance. Concerned, she stepped away from the gleaming vehicle. "Are you feeling okay, Sheriff? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine, thanks," he said, warding her off with a raised hand. Just having a heart attack. A joke he almost told on himself, and not something a paramedic would take lightly. With a slip of the tongue like that, Karen would be taking his pulse while she asked about chest pains.

Glancing at his watch as if he were late for a meeting, he quickened his pace. He set his face in a scowl so no one else would try to talk to him as he went into the Stranger County Public Safety Building.

Once inside his office, Baxter closed the door. From a small refrigerator he grabbed a sixteen once bottled water, twisted off the cap, and took several swallows. The cool liquid helped him focus his mind. As he paced around his desk, he tried to figure out if—besides being an idiot—he was lucky, or stupid.

Driving up the mountain his hero act had worked all too well. It was different from when he would show up at a grade school and talk to the kids. Towering over the children, he gave a standard speech about helping others and cooperating with the sheriff's department, making sure he gave the youngsters a positive role model. A handshake with the teacher, a jaunty smile as the children called goodbye, and he was out the door.

He had that same feeling of swollen headed self-importance when he picked up the Wheelchair Girl earlier that day. This time, though, it was a one-on-one situation. Confined to a wheelchair, her grandparents in poor health, the girl must have seen her future as very limited. So up rides the sheriff, sweeps her into his fancy rig, and carries her away. By the time they were well up the mountain she was looking at him with eyes filled with adoration.

Their destination was a small meadow off the mountain road. Steering around bushes and small trees, Baxter pretended that he wasn't feeling an overpowering attraction to her. Trying to mask how he felt, he scanned the area with his binoculars while feigning nonchalance—until he noticed that she wasn't checking the area for the strange thing she had seen. She was looking only at him.

He lowered the binoculars.

The way she took a breath then hesitated, he knew she was working herself up to saying something important. Finally she said three little words, and they stopped his world.

"Kiss me, please?"

Her voice was a breathy contralto, so sensual that he felt his toes start to tingle. Lifting her chin, she presented her face to him. She was so close and so lovely that he did as she asked, and kissed her.

It was the most insane moment of his life.

He didn't kiss her like a man wanting a woman. It was gentle; a soft touching of lips that sent shock waves rolling through his body.

Pulling back he saw that her eyes were closed; innocently surrendering to whatever came next. When he didn't do anything else she opened her eyes, gazing into his. The next thing she said was so unexpected it terrified him.

"You can do more... if you want."

She was offering her love, her life, her entire being; presenting it to him to do with as he pleased. Still waiting, she took another breath.

"I want you to do more."

HE wanted to do more. His heart and soul were ready to give her everything she could possibly desire.

Thinking back to what almost happened, Baxter gulped down the rest of the water then aimed the bottle towards a waste basket. He didn't want to think about how close he came to throwing away his career; as easy as tossing an empty bottle, as easy as kissing a beautiful girl. What was worse, she was still in his head. Not the Wheelchair Girl, but a vulnerable young lady named Darcie Charbonnough.

By the time they came down the mountain they both knew that something had happened between them. Unloading her wheelchair and lifting her out of the Suburban, he was all business—except that when he put his arms around her he didn't want to let her go. He was so frightened by that brief contact he almost dropped her. No jaunty waves or toothy smiles this time. After plunking her in the wheelchair he turned his back on her and drove away, feeling the guilt of her lonely eyes as he left her behind.

He couldn't help checking his rearview mirror, and saw her watching after him. It was like someone had plunged a knife into his chest. Instead of Sheriff Baxter making her day better, he knew he'd done the opposite, but there was nothing he could do about it. A man his age just did not get together with a girl still in high school. Not if he had a shred of common sense, not to mention self-control.

After she was out of sight he tried to ease up on himself. Impossible. It seemed as if she was still next to him, a tangible presence occupying the SUV. How crazy was that? Having once been married and then divorced, he'd decided to stay single because being a husband and being the county sheriff didn't work. Not for him. He spent too much time on the job to have anything more than a casual relationship. Now he was thinking about a girl young enough to be his daughter, almost obsessing on her. Almost? For the life of him he couldn't get her out of his head.

Then the truth hit him like the muzzle blast of a shotgun. God help him, he had a crush on her. Not just an infatuation, but a gut wrenching, mind numbing crush. He'd never had a crush on anyone, not even when he was a kid. Now that he was a responsible adult he had a stupid schoolboy crush, and on the Wheelchair Girl of all people.

The Wheelchair Girl. That was it. That was how he'd get her out of his mind. Think of her as he did before the trip up the mountain. She was still the Wheelchair Girl. Rolling down the sidewalk in a junky old wheelchair that too often broke down on her. A call would come in to dispatch, saying that the Wheelchair Girl was stuck three blocks from her home. If a deputy was nearby, he would take a moment to reattach a slipped drive belt from the electric motor to the sprocket on the wheels and she'd be on her way again. Everyone looked after the Wheelchair Girl. It was standard procedure. She was part of the landscape, part of the routine. If the sheriff and his deputies couldn't protect a person like the Wheelchair Girl, then what good were they?

Another thing he could do was to mentally shift her into a sacrosanct category. Darcie Charbonnough was a victim of crime. It was true. She hadn't always needed a wheelchair to get around in. Worse, it was a member of her own family that was responsible for her injuries, along with her mother's death. He couldn't remember all the facts. It had happened before he was appointed sheriff.

Baxter slapped his hand down on the intercom. "Sharon!"

Through his window he saw he secretary straighten up with a jerk. She took a quick glance at him over her shoulder then keyed her side of the intercom. "Can I get you something, Sheriff?"

Great, barking out orders to his secretary. "Sorry," he said, softening his voice. "Would you bring me the Charbonnough file, please?"

Yes, there were things he could do. Review the case. Recognize Darcie as someone needing help, and nothing beyond that. Most important of all, he had to stay the hell away from her and not feed the hunger that was telling him to go back to her house. Do not knock on her door. Do not speak to her. Do not drink her in with eyes thirsty to see her. And most of all, do not remember the thrill of her kiss, and all the insane desires that kiss had awakened.

Oh, that kiss. The harder he tried to think of something else, the more that moment of insanity replayed itself in his mind. Why couldn't he stop thinking about that crazy kiss?

A few minutes later his secretary brought in the file and placed it on his desk. "Here ya go, boss," Sharon said. "Chester Charbonnough, may the bastard rot in jail for the rest of his life."

"Really?" Baxter asked.

Usually easy going, Sharon's eyes were hard and her face set. "Really. A dollar to a donut says once you check his file you'll hate him as much as everyone else."

After only a few minutes of reading up on Darcie's father, Baxter found a cold anger growing inside of him. Charbonnough, Chester A. A drunkard that had beat a deputy unconscious. He was responsible for making his daughter the Wheelchair Girl and set in motion events that lead to the death of his wife. The only justice was that this Charbonnough character was now a convicted felon, locked behind razor wire and concrete walls.

Yes, Chester Charbonnough was right where he belonged, far away from his beautiful daughter.

### 14

After Sheriff Baxter left, Darcie's grandmother tried to get her to talk about what went on that day. Darcie did her best to ease her worries. Finally it was bed time.

That night Darcie dreamed she was once again watching Darla's Meadow.

There was movement near the trees at the edge of the clearing. A girl was running. She appeared to be about Darcie's age. Her white blouse was torn at one shoulder and her skirt was ripped up the side. She was crying as she ran across the field. What looked to be a long yellow stick was impaled through her upper right arm. Streaks of blood ran down to her fingers and fell in drops to the ground. Something caused her to turn and look behind her. Darcie followed her gaze. A man came out of the trees. He was in his mid-twenties and had a hard look about him. In his hand was a bow with an arrow knocked. Drawing back the arrow, he aimed at the girl, then released. Darcie watched in horror as the girl was struck in the chest.

The girl dropped to her knees, clutching at the arrow. The girl's eyes went blank as she watched the man toss the bow aside and run towards her. His path took him right through a small bush, but none of the leaves stirred.

The man and the girl were translucent and Darcie could see through them.

There was a quiver on the man's back. From it he pulled a razor-tipped arrow, raised it high into the air, then stabbed down. The girl's body arched in pain and her mouth opened in a silent scream. The man fumbled another arrow out of the quiver and raised it, anticipating the excitement of the kill. Suddenly his chest erupted in a pink cloud as he tumbled backwards, a bullet hole in his chest.

"Darcie," Ellen's voice came from far off. "Darcie, wake up."

She awoke, thrashing and breathing hard, and saw that she was in her bedroom.

"Did I wake up Grandpa?" she asked.

"No, but you woke me up."

"I'm sorry," Darcie said.

"It's all right," Ellen said, moving back to her bed. "Maybe you could think about something nice when you go back to sleep."

"I'll try," Darcie said, rolling onto her side. She closed her eyes and remembered how happy she was riding up the mountain with Sheriff Baxter. How good it was to have his arm around her shoulder. How protected and safe she felt when she was with him.

Pressing her lips together, Darcie tried to start a happy dream. A dream with Sheriff Baxter giving her her first kiss.

### CHAPTER FIVE

### Senior Year

### 1

Being a senior didn't change anything for Darcie. The new class of sophomores acted exactly the same as every other class. Some openly watched her, others peeked around the edges of lockers. There were always the same comments—some curious, some cruel—but after a few days of her motoring down the hall in her wheelchair, Darcie Charbonnough became just another part of the scenery. A quick "Sorry" if someone ran into her and the flow of teenagers would continue to their next class. She wasn't sure if all the jostles and bumps were accidental, but she tried to recognize the good things and ignore the bad.

Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays seemed to drag slowly up on the calendar, and then race by. Darcie liked some of her classes, and others not so much. Finally the spring quarter was starting and she was excited as everyone else about school letting out.

A Thursday morning had Darcie rolling down the hallway, concentrating on the floor to keep from rolling over anyone's toes. Then she saw a pair of bright red cowboy boots come out of the crowd. She didn't have to look up to know who was wearing them.

"Hi, Darcie," June McGillicutty said, stopping in front of her. The boots might have been okay if June was wearing jeans, but she had on the same skirt that had caused her to be sent home the week before for being too short. Now there was an inch more of fabric below the old hem, the newly exposed material a bright contrast to the faded daises on light blue fabric. Below the dress were shapely legs and the cowboy boots, which were at least three sizes too big. They shuffled and clopped loudly on the floor as June walked. Darcie wondered if that was why her friend insisted on wearing them.

"Are you ready for the field trip to the pulp mill?" June asked, dramatically emphasizing the last two words.

"I think so. Grandma says she'll have my other wheelchair here in time for me to get on the bus."

"Great," June said, "I wouldn't want you to miss the pulp mill. I bet Mr. Dorky Dennison spent half the night getting off just thinking about going to . . ." she focused on a sophomore girl walking past, ". . . the pulp mill," she said loudly.

The girl scurried down the hall, clutching her books tightly to her chest and looking over her shoulder.

Despite being perky and cute like her sisters, there was an intensity about June that bordered on the manic. Being forced to stay in school a year longer than May Bell, her twin, June was even more troublesome for the school staff than usual.

"I forgot about our trip to the pulp mill when I put on this dress. I should have worn something that'll keep my legs warm."

"That's a cute dress," Darcie told her.

"Dorky Dennison likes it. I always give him a flash when I'm wearing it."

"You do?" Darcie asked.

"Watch his eyes. If you see them bulge out like a bull frog's you'll know I just gave him a peek. Then he turns all red and doesn't look at me for the rest of the period."

Darcie and June entered Mr. Dennison's classroom just as the bell rang. After roll was taken the students were told to go outside and board the school bus for the trip to Stranger Pulp and Fiber.

"I knew it," June said as they approached the bus.

"What?" asked Darcie.

"There's not a wheelchair lift on it. I told Mr. Dennison that you needed one, but he just waved me off."

"The district only has a couple of busses that have them," Darcie said.

"I bet he didn't even check on it. Did you see how happy he looked," June said. She lowered the tone of her voice, imitating a man speaking. "My brother's a foreman at the mill, and he promised that we'll get to see all aspects of the operation. All aspects," she repeated, then kicked a pine cone off of the sidewalk. "What a dork."

"Miss McGillicutty."

Mr. Dennison's voice startled Darcie, but June was unfazed as the teacher walked up to her from behind, glaring at her.

"Yes?" June asked, managing to fit a lifetime of attitude and bravado into the single word.

"You're sitting with Vickie Whitlow for the trip to the mill."

"But I was going to sit with Darcie," June protested.

"I'll make sure she has a seat-mate."

Before June could respond, Mr. Dennison walked to one of the parents that had volunteered to help with the field trip.

"That prick," June said under her breath.

"It'll be all right," Darcie said. "It's a short trip."

"Great. Then I won't have long to sit through Vickie Whitlow's talking about her new nail polish, or perm, or whatever the hell she's using to make herself look less ugly."

Darcie looked from June to Vickie, who was standing near the bus with several other students. Vickie was wearing a pair of designer jeans, a short sleeve beige top, and a pair of Nikes that were as cute as June's boots were clunky. Was it just by chance that Mr. Dennison put June with the girl wearing the nicest clothes, all of which were new and probably bought specifically for the field trip.

Vickie loved talking about fashions and hair styles. Sitting next to her would be June, growing increasingly angry and sullen, wearing clothes that were bought used and shared by three sisters and possibly even their mother.

### 2

"Darcie," Mr. Dennison said, walking up to her with one of the parents, "Mrs. Huddleston said that she would sit with you on the bus."

"Hi Darcie," Mrs. Huddleston said.

Talking to Mrs. Huddleston always made Darcie feel a little off. Although the lady must have been in her forties, she had braces on her teeth; railroad tracks top and bottom.

"I'm so glad Mr. Dennison put us together," Mrs. Huddleston said, "We've never had a chance to get to know each other."

She even lisped some of her words like a teenager as she talked around the orthodontic work.

Then something tweaked at the back of Darcie's mind, something she was forgetting.

"Darcie," Mrs. Huddleston said, "shouldn't we get on the bus now?"

"Oh, no," Darcie said.

"What is it, dear?"

"I was supposed to meet my grandmother in the office." She put her chin on the controls and drove back to the main building and up the wheelchair ramp, then had to wait as Mrs. Huddleston caught up and opened the door for her. She went straight to the office, and again had to wait for the door to be opened.

"I'm sorry Grandma," Darcie said as she rolled into the room, "I was so excited about the field trip that I forgot about meeting you here."

"I was starting to wonder where you were," Grandma said, using the handles of the non-powered wheelchair to steady herself as she stood up.

Not thinking about the other people in the office watching her, Darcie wiggled from one chair to the other.

"I forgot to ask where I could put my chair while I was on the field trip," Darcie said.

"That doesn't surprise me. You and Ellen would forget your heads if they weren't glued on." Grandma said, then motioned with her hand. "Go on, I'll take care of it. Do you have someone to get you out to the bus?"

"Yes she does," Mrs. Huddleston said, taking hold of the wheelchair's handles.

"All right then," Grandma said. She held open the door for Darcie to be rolled out. "Don't get into any trouble."

All the time Darcie was in the office, the twenty or so staff and students in the room were silent, watching her change chairs and then getting wheeled away. Once she was in the hallway, Mrs. Huddleston stopped pushing the chair.

"Darcie, may I adjust your clothing?"

She looked down and saw that one of her stumps was sticking out from underneath her skirt. She tried to not think about what else the people in the office might have seen.

"I don't want to miss the bus," Darcie said.

Mrs. Huddleston was tentative about taking her down the wheelchair ramp, but once they were on flat ground, she quickly pushed the wheelchair to the parking lot.

"Darcie, honey," Mrs. Huddleston said as they neared the bus, "I don't think I'll be able to get you up the steps."

All of the students were loaded and waiting. Mr. Dennison solved the problem of getting her on the bus. Keith Thompson, one of the larger boys in school, picked Darcie up and carried her onboard. As he sat her down on the seat, his hand went underneath her. She didn't have to wonder if it was on purpose by the smile he gave her when he pulled his hand away.

"Oh, my," Mrs. Huddleston said as she plopped down next to her then started fanning her face with her hand, "I wasn't planning on so much excitement."

"I'm sorry," Darcie said.

"Think nothing of it. When I was your age I was always forgetting something. One morning I got out of bed, fixed my hair, put on my makeup and went to school, only to realize it was Saturday." Mrs. Huddleston smiled around her braces. "I'm not one to point fingers."

"Neither am I," Darcie said, giving Mrs. Huddleston a smile. Seeing no further reaction from the volunteer parent, Darcie knew that Mrs. Huddleston hadn't picked up on the joke.

### 3

As expected, the ride to the pulp mill was short. It was also a short distance for the smell of the pulp mill to travel to her school, which gave students from other schools something to tease about.

The bus pulled into the main yard of the pulp mill and two girls from her class struggled to get her wheelchair off of the bus. Mr. Dennison again chose Keith Thompson to carry her off of the bus.

"Watch where you put your hands," she said quietly as he leaned down to lift her.

"No problem," he told her, and made sure he got a good feel of her breasts as he did so. "Nice tits," he whispered as he carried her off of the bus.

June was standing close by, watching as Keith placed her in the wheelchair.

"Did he do something?" June asked as the rest of the students walked to where the tour was supposed to start.

"Let it slide," Darcie said. "Please?" she added, knowing that it wasn't in June's nature.

"This time," June said, then went behind the chair to push.

Although June was strong for her size, she was still petite and had trouble moving the chair over the unpaved ground. There were rocks and mounds of sawdust, and the wheelchair's narrow tires made it hard going. Mrs. Huddleston hung back from the rest of the group and tried to help, but she also had trouble.

Finally Mr. Dennison noticed that Darcie was lagging behind and again sent Keith Thompson to the rescue.

With his size and strength he easily pushed her towards the entrance of the pulp mill's office where the rest of the class was gathered. Mrs. Huddleston walked ahead to rejoin the group. When it was just her and Keith he reached a hand from the side and groped her right breast.

"Stop that," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, smiling down at her, both hands back on the handles of the wheelchair. Then he put his mouth close to her ear. "I'd love to lick your nipples."

"Mrs. Huddleston!" Darcie called.

"What is it," Mrs. Huddleston asked as she came back to her.

Keith gave Mrs. Huddleston a smile. "She was stuck for a second, but I think it'll be all right."

June stayed a few feet away from them, watching. Keith turned to her. "What do you want?" June's gaze didn't waver as she looked into his eyes. He shrugged and started pushing the wheelchair again.

Mrs. Huddleston looked confused but didn't say any more. She started to walk back towards the main group. As she did, Keith took the opportunity to grab another feel.

From the corner of her eye, Darcie saw June take two quick steps forward and then the swift arc of June's pointed cowboy boot blurred into motion. She heard it hit.

"Son of a bitch!" Keith yelled and was hopping on one foot as he grasped the ankle of the other.

Again Mrs. Huddleston came back to them. "What's wrong?"

"That goddamn bitch kicked me."

"Me?" June asked. "Why would I do that?"

"You watch your language, Keith Thompson," Mrs. Huddleston said.

"Screw you," Keith said, still holding his ankle.

"Screw yourself," June said, pushing her face close to Keith's. "You foul-mouthed, groping turd."

His face twisted in anger, Keith took a swing at June, who easily dodged out of the way.

"What's the matter, Keith," June said, "too slow and stupid to get your hands on a girl not in a wheelchair?"

At first Darcie was afraid June was going to get hurt, but then she saw the look in June's eyes. June was watching Keith, gauging his movements, thinking and planning. She'd seen the three sisters play-fight before, and sometimes their combative personalities spawned the real thing. More than once she'd seen June antagonize her two sisters to the point that they both came after her for real, and most of the time June was able to evade them. In this situation, all June had to do was keep out of reach until Mr. Dennison could step in.

But June wasn't getting that far away from the much larger boy. She'd feint back and then present herself again as a target.

There was a dull thud as Keith's fist glanced off the side of June's head. It made Darcie feel sick to her stomach.

June stumbled back, then said something that Darcie couldn't hear. Keith became enraged, running at her but not able to get a hold of her. As June kept dodging and backing away, she stumbled. Keith took the opportunity to swing a wild hay-maker at her head.

"No!" Mrs. Huddleston yelled and ran forward to stop the fight. Before it made it to June, Mrs. Huddleston's face stopped the large fist.

In the shocked silence, all Darcie could think about was the braces on Mrs. Huddleston's teeth and the damage they must have caused. Dazed, the woman collapsed to the ground, spitting blood and cradling her face with her hands.

"Why the hell did she do that?" June said to Darcie as they watched Mrs. Huddleston being helped to her feet then taken away to the pulp mill's infirmary. "Damn it," she said.

"He almost had you," Darcie said.

"He didn't have nothing," June countered, keeping her voice low. "I was ready to roll with it, then curl up on the ground. I don't think he'd get more than a couple of kicks in before he would have been pulled off of me. After that I would have sued his parents' asses off."

"Really?" Darcie asked. She hadn't realized how much planning June had managed to put into the impromptu altercation. "You would have taken him to court?"

"It never would have gone further than depositions. Can you imagine Keith's parents watching you tell how their son kept groping you? Then I tell how I tried to get him to stop and he went nuts. A monster like him punching and kicking poor little me? It would have been settled out of court. I might have got enough money for mom to get a new pickup. Maybe even more than that."

"Weren't you afraid he'd hurt you?"

"Him? He's so slow I had time to do my homework."

"You weren't scared even a little?" Darcie said.

June looked at her, then shrugged. "Okay. He scared the crap out of me, but I was still going to do it. A bloody nose down my dress and I would have had him by the balls."

That she could believe. The McGillicutty girls were always talking about ways to earn a lot of money. Some of them so outrageous that she doubted anyone would believe her if she told them. And they weren't shy about telling their plans to Josie, who at times seemed more like a coconspirator than a parent. "No," Josie would say, "that doesn't sound like a good idea," leaving the door open for more schemes to be developed.

### 4

Darcie was disappointed when the tour of the pulp mill was canceled, but that didn't mean June was done for the day. Mr. Dennison seemed to think that yelling at Keith Thompson would be sufficient punishment. June stood next to Darcie and watched. When it looked like a dressing down was all that was going to happen to Keith, June acted on her own. Using the excuse of getting Darcie out of the sun, she wheeled her into the pulp mill's office, where the secretaries stopped working to get a look at her.

"May I use your phone?" June asked the receptionist. Not waiting for an answer, she reached across the desk and picked up the receiver.

Tap-tap-tap, and Darcie knew what June was up to. "Hello, I'm calling to report an assault at Stranger Pulp and Fiber. A woman has been injured and is being treated in the infirmary. A female student was also attacked by the same man."

"Attacked by the same man?" Darcie asked when June hung up the phone.

"He's bigger than a lot of the guys my mom dates," June said, then put her hand on the side of her face. "Oh, no. I forgot to give my name. I better stick around so I can give a full statement to the deputy."

Darcie hoped to see Sheriff Baxter's Chevy Suburban. Instead it turned out to be a regular deputy that drove in and stopped next to the school bus.

June rushed outside and beat Mr. Dennison to the deputy sheriff as he stepped out of his car. She was talking fast, motioning to where Keith had hit her and pointing in Darcie's direction.

Mr. Dennison stood back, his face black with anger. He looked from June to where Darcie was watching out of the window and glared at her.

The deputy came into the building. He looked to be forty years old as he tucked his wide-brimmed hat under his arm.

"Hello, Darcie," he said, his voice firm but kind, "I'm officer Welker."

"Are you Hilly's dad?"

His face colored and Darcie knew that it was from how Hilly had treated her when she first started high school. "Yeah, that's me."

"How's she doing?" Darcie asked, not wanting to feel tension between herself and the deputy. Even though his daughter was mean to her, he seemed like a nice person.

"Doing good," Officer Welker said, his shoulders relaxing. "She's taking criminal justice and just transferred from Drago Community College to Evergreen."

Darcie was surprised to learn that June had told Officer Welker about kicking Keith Thompson just before he attacked her. But she'd also told about Keith putting his hands on her and what he said. Welker wrote in a small notebook then went to the infirmary to interview Mrs. Huddleston.

Last to be talked to was Keith Thompson, with Mr. Dennison at his side. When Deputy Welker had Keith put his hands behind his back then snapped on a pair of handcuffs, Mr. Dennison's face turned red and he started yelling. He shut up when Deputy Welker threatened to arrest him, too.

Keith was placed in the back of the police car and driven away.

June seemed impossibly pleased with herself. "Only one more thing to do."

"What's that?" Darcie asked.

"I need to give the telephone number for my mom's lawyer to Mrs. Huddleston."

"She asked you for it?"

"No," June said, "but I'll give it to her anyway, just in case. If she has any brains at all she'll sue for the medical bills plus whatever the orthodontist has to fix. And," June said in a hushed voice, "if the lawyer makes anything out of it he'll slip my mom a bird-dog fee."

The call went out for everyone to go back to the bus. June wheeled Darcie out of the office, taking her to where Mr. Dennison waited to push the chair across the uneven ground.

"Get on the bus, Miss McGillicutty," Mr. Dennison said, then started pushing Darcie's wheelchair.

When no one else was around, Mr. Dennison stopped pushing the wheelchair and faced Darcie.

"Keith Thompson could have taken the baseball team to state this year," Mr. Dennison said, his voice low and angry. "But now he'll probably be ineligible to play."

At that moment Darcie realized why Keith Thompson was able to get away with so much in Mr. Dennison's class. Keith was always smarting off, bullying the other boys and making lewd comments to the girls. Darcie didn't care that much about sports and had forgotten that Mr. Dennison was the varsity baseball coach.

"It's not my fault he put his hands on me and hit Mrs. Huddleston," Darcie said.

Mr. Dennison looked around to make sure no one was nearby, then put his face just inches away from Darcie's. "You and that McGillicutty girl are more trouble than you're worth. If you don't want to flunk this class, you better make sure something like this never happens again."

Darcie resisted telling off the teacher, reminding herself that it was only two months until she graduated. She kept silent while the teacher roughly lifted her out of her chair, carried her onto the bus, then half-way tossed her onto the seat next to June.

"You two deserve each other," Mr. Dennison hissed, then took his seat at the head of the bus."

### 5

"He's pissed," June said, smiling as the school bus drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm glad you're having fun," Darcie said.

"And you're not?" June asked.

"I know you were there when I needed help, and I appreciate it, but I was looking forward to see how the pulp mill operated."

"You were?" June asked.

"Yes, I was. My grandpa can hardly get out of bed now, and Grandma doesn't like to drive the car. This was a chance to do something new."

June looked at Darcie, then sat quietly and looked out of the window for most of the ride.

A few blocks from the school, Darcie turned to June. "I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing."

"I never thought that you actually wanted to go see that smelly old pulp mill," June said.

They were both silent for a while.

"Have you ever been to the Pacific Science Center in Seattle?" June asked.

"No, but I've heard about it," Darcie said.

"Mom took us there a few years ago. It was kind of neat. Maybe we can go back some time."

The bus turned into the school's parking lot and the students started to gather their belongings.

"When are you going to ask your mom about going to the Science Center?" Darcie asked.

June shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe today."

"Are you going to ask her because you want to go there, or because I do?"

"What's the difference?" June asked.

"If I have to explain it, then I might as well not," Darcie said.

"Then I might as well not," June mimicked. "Fine. Great. Screw you." She grabbed her books and went to stand next to the bus driver, waiting to be the first off of the bus when the doors opened.

Mr. Dennison was the second person to step off of the bus. Unsmiling, he told the students that since they were back early, they still had to attend the rest of the day's classes. Ignoring their groans of protests, he sent them on their way. In a moment, everyone was off of the bus except Darcie and the bus driver.

After the driver watched the students walk away, he leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette. He inhaled, then blew the smoke out of the side window with a satisfied "Ahhhh."

The hurt that Darcie felt from having June tell her off was compounded by still being on the bus. She'd just told June not to do anything for her just because she wanted to. Now she wanted to get off the bus and was embarrassed to say anything to the driver, who didn't seem to know she was there.

"Thirty-one" a woman's voice came over the bus's radio, "this is base, come in."

"Shit on a shingle," the driver muttered to himself, grabbing up the microphone. "Thirty-one, over," the driver said, affecting a friendly tone.

"Lyle, E.J. says you're done with that field trip already."

The driver struck the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. "Fuck!" A last puff off of his smoke then he flicked his cigarette out the open door. He took a deep breath before keying the mike. "Yup. I just let the kids off at the high school."

"That's perfect, Lyle. Bring your bus back to the barn right away. Vivian needs to use it for her elementary route."

"Okay. I'll be there. Thirty-one, out," he said calmly, then slapped the mike back into its holder. "Fucking Vivian," he said as he swung the door closed and started the engine. "Dogs the fucking bus in forth gear and wonders why she's always blowing goddamn-fucking clutches."

Up to that moment, Darcie was hoping that someone from the school would notice that she wasn't in class and would come looking for her. If she didn't say anything right then, she'd be taken to the bus barn.

"Excuse me."

She didn't say it very loud, but the driver jumped from behind the wheel.

"Shit," he said, gaping at her. "I mean, sorry. You scared the hell out of me." He stayed near the front of the bus. "You were supposed to get off with the other kids. What'd you do, fall asleep?"

He looked to be thirty-five, with stringy brown hair, a skinny face and long nose.

"No," she said. "They forgot to help me."

"Help you?" he asked, and walked closer until he could see over the seats in front of her. "Oh, yeah. You were in the wheelchair. Damn, I'm sorry, miss. I didn't know you were still on the bus. What was your name again?"

"Darcie. I was hoping someone would come and get me, but I guess they forgot."

"I was hoping the opposite," he said, and smiled. "As soon as I take the bus back to the barn, I'm off work. I was trying to stay here until the time posted on the schedule. Just sit around and get paid for down time."

"Down time," Darcie repeated. "I think I'd like that."

"I better run inside and have someone come out for you." He reached a lanky arm past the steering wheel and opened the door. "I'll be right back."

"Wait," Darcie said. She was supposed to be in class with June. Contemporary History. The teacher didn't seem to care either way about her, but she hated June. In fact, the teacher would ask June a question, knowing she didn't have the answer, and then have Darcie give the right one. Darcie didn't feel like having to deal with that.

"Your name is Lyle?" she asked the driver.

"Yep," he said, bobbing his head up and down. "That's my name. Lyle. Lyle Cobb who just met ummm...Darcie," he said, marking his finger through the air. "That's right, Darcie."

He was like most men when they first saw her. His eyes were all over her body, to her face, back to her body. Taking it all in and not knowing how obvious it was.

"Would you mind helping me have some down time, Lyle Cobb?"

"I don't know. I don't want any trouble."

"There won't be any trouble. I promise. Just help me get situated under the trees next to the parking lot. That's all."

It didn't take much convincing to get Lyle to help her. He took her wheelchair outside, unfolded it, then came back to help her off of the bus. He stood above the seat, looking down at her.

"I don't know about this," Lyle said. "I mean, there ain't too many ways to lift you up, and I can't think of any that would make sure I didn't touch nothin' I'm not supposed to."

She didn't want to give him permission to grope her, but she still wanted to sit under the trees until the end of history class. The way he was looking at her, he didn't seem too eager to get his hands on her. Also, there wasn't that hungry look that she saw in some men's eyes.

"It'll be all right," she told him.

"Okay," Lyle said. He rubbed his hands together in preparation, leaned down, then stopped. "Damn," he said and stood up. "You got so many curves I don't think I can do this without offending you in some way or other."

His hesitation was cute, but starting to wear.

"I'll tell you what, Lyle. I'll lean forward and you put your arm behind my back, then you put your other arm under me and lift. It'll be my say, and not yours."

"Okay," Lyle said, rubbing his hands together again. "Here goes." He picked her up. "Damn! You're more solid than you look." Then he carried her off of the bus and sat her carefully in the wheelchair.

"Are you okay?" she asked, watching Lyle rub his hands up and down his lower back as he walked around in a circle.

"No problem. I just forgot to lift with my legs. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

It was odd to have a stranger so eager to please her.

"Can you take me over to the trees?"

Lyle pushed the chair away from the bus.

"I'm sorry about holding off when you asked me to carry you out," Lyle said. "It's just that I don't have much practice carrying beautiful girls from here to there. If you don't mind me saying, I bet half the boys in the school are in love with you."

"I don't think so," Darcie said.

"No?" Lyle said as he placed her in the shade, "then they ain't very smart."

The grass smelled freshly cut and a cool breeze blew through the leaves.

"Well, Darcie, there you go. I'll be on my way." Lyle started to turn, then stopped. "I just gotta say, there's a bunch of fools in this school if you ask me." He took a step back, then walked up to her again. "May I?" he asked, then reached out and patted her shoulder. " Well, I guess. . ." His words trailed off.

"Thanks, Lyle Cobb. Maybe you'll be the driver for the next field trip."

His face brightened. "Yeah. The next field trip. Sounds good. See ya."

Lyle quick-walked back to his bus, then took a couple of running steps before dashing inside. He gave her a big smile and wave as he drove out of the parking lot.

She waved back, knowing her stump was moving her sleeve enough for him to see. She was glad June wasn't around. June would have a lot of mean things to say about Lyle Cobb, and it would spoil the good feeling he left her with.

### 6

Facing the trees, Darcie watched a pair of Blue Jays flit between branches, land on the ground, then fly away. It seemed odd to be sitting alone. Usually she was there only when the area was filled with students going between classes.

Down time. That was a good word for it. Just sit and be, until the bell rang and students came out of the buildings. If she didn't speak to any of them, would she be able to have another period of down time? It would be interesting to find out. It could be an experiment, conducted with her as the observer and the entire school as the test subject. The only requirement was her silence.

Sit in silence, and think about the argument she had with June. What was wrong with her? June was offering to go to new places just so her friend could have a chance to see them. Her poor helpless friend that wouldn't be able to see them unless she was taken there by her betters.

Is that why she had become so snippy with June? Because at that instant she knew that her friendship with the last McGillicutty sister in Stranger High School wasn't equal? But when had it ever been equal? Not when she was jumped from eighth to ninth grade and became classmates with June. It didn't seem that June was bothered by being held back. Not if she befriended a girl that had just been pushed forward.

Glad to have a friend, and as it turned out, a protector, Darcie hadn't questioned why June and her sisters had made her a part of their life. It just happened.

But why? It always came back to that. Being associated with the McGillicutty family hadn't turned out to be such a good thing when it came to school. Every time Josie heard that something happened to her, she'd be on the phone to the school superintendent; probably one of Josie's close personal friends. Sure, it would get straightened out, but that caused the teaching staff to pull away from her.

In elementary school and junior high, the teachers were eager to help her. She was friends with them. Now there were only a couple of teachers that were trying to help her. The rest kept their distance. And since Mr. Larson, Josie's superintendent friend, had been voted out of office, several teachers were openly hostile to her.

With June always around, ready to chase away anyone that may be mean to her, there was also little chance of making new friends. Darcie was isolated from the students and the staff. There was no extra help to take advanced classes that would require manipulation of things like lab equipment. She'd tried having June help her, but too often June's radar was up for confrontation and the project wouldn't be completed.

The best she could do was graduate and then see if she could figure something out later.

Limitations and options were going through her mind as a soft breeze rustled the leaves. There were other sounds, too. Snuffling. Movement on the grass. A yip, and then panting.

To the side of her, a sheltie was hunkered down as it skulked from behind her wheelchair. The small dog's hair was matted and bits of leaves covered its back. The sheltie turned and looked warily from where it came.

Darcie turned to see what the dog was looking at, and with a jolt of fright found herself starring into the jowly face of a Great Dane. The animal was big, looking at her eye to eye and was just inches away from her face. Long strings of drool hung from the dog's sagging lips.

The sheltie moved and the Great Dane followed. The little dog kept in motion, trying to use Darcie's wheelchair to block the advance of the Great Dane. After two times around her chair, the sheltie tried to make a break across the grassy field. The Great Dane caught up, then tried to hold the little dog down with its front paws and mount her.

The sheltie gave a yip and bolted free. Its short legs scrambling on the grass, the little dog ran back to her. It jumped onto her chair and tried to huddle into her lap. Darcie smelled a strong musky odor as she bent down to brush the sheltie off of her.

"Get away from me," she said, leaning forward to force the dog back to the ground. "Go on, shoo."

The little dog resisted for a moment, then pushed off and was gone, leaving a dark stain on her skirt.

The Great Dane looked around, sniffed the air, then came over to her. His large mouth gaped open and a slobbering tongue hung out. Before she knew what he was doing, the dog hopped its front legs onto her shoulders and started thrusting its hips back and forth.

"Get off me!" she yelled.

The animal's front claws raked her back as it tried to pull her closer.

"Help!" Darcie called, but there was no one around. The animal's jaws were above her and she jerked her head up, knocking it under its mouth. The dog yelped and she knew she'd made him bite his own tongue.

He backed away from her and she saw his long penis dangling underneath him. Again they were eye to eye and he started sniffing, putting his nose in her lap.

"Go on!" she yelled. "Get out of here!"

He cocked his head to the side, looked at her, then made another try by putting his front paws over her shoulders and thrusting again. She struck him with her forehead, but it impacted uselessly on his solid chest. She felt the chair start to tip backwards, the motion sending a rush of panic through her as she realized what might happen if he got her on the ground.

Frustrated and angry, she lashed out with the only weapon she had. She sunk her teeth into the Great Dane's hide and bit down hard, making the dog let out a yelping bark. There was the taste of blood and hair as the dog twisted to get away. A sudden pain on top of her head made her bite down even harder. She didn't let go until it felt like the retreating animal would pull her out of the chair by her teeth.

The Great Dane backed away and looked at her .

"You do that again and you'll get the same," she yelled, trying to keep the anger in her voice. There was blood coming from the bite mark on its chest. She could still taste his dusty hide and tried to spit it away.

### 7

It turned out that Darcie's 'Down Time' experiment might have worked. The ringing bell brought out a rush of teenagers and sent the dog on his way. None of the students went out of their way to talk to her and the few teachers passing by didn't even look at her.

Darcie was about to call to a knot of students when she saw Sheriff Baxter's Suburban pull into the parking lot. Mrs. Huddleston opened the passenger door and stepped out. She was holding an ice pack wrapped in a towel to her mouth and waited for the sheriff to walk around to her side of the vehicle. They saw Darcie and walked to where she sat under the tree.

Glad to see them both, Darcie smiled as they came up to her.

"Are you okay?" Darcie asked, trying to keep her attention on Mrs. Huddleston.

"I'm okay. I just have to keep an ice pack on my mouth until the swelling goes down. But what happened to you?" Mrs. Huddleston asked. "Your head is bleeding."

"It is?" Darcie said.

Sheriff Baxter stood back and watched as Mrs. Huddleston unwrapped the towel from around the ice pack and pressed it against Darcie's head. He didn't say anything, not even when their eyes met.

Silently, they looked at each other, and Darcie knew she was smiling foolishly. She tried to force her face into a neutral expression, but it was impossible, as was pulling her eyes away from Sheriff Baxter's gaze. She heard Mrs. Huddleston say something, and she had to use all of her concentration to focus on the words.

"What happened to you?" Mrs. Huddleston asked.

"A pine cone hit me," Darcie said, pulling her eyes away from Sheriff Baxter's.

Mrs. Huddleston looked from Sheriff Baxter to Darcie. "It must have fallen pretty far before it hit." Then she used the towel to wipe off the wound. There was an ugly bruise and swelling on the side of Mrs. Huddleston's face.

"We better get you to the nurse's office," Sheriff Baxter said.

"I'd like to wait until everyone is in their next class," Darcie said.

"Well," Sheriff Baxter said, checking his watch, "I guess that'll be okay."

Again, Darcie found herself looking at the sheriff. "Was there very much blood?" she asked.

"Not that much," Mrs. Huddleston said, holding the towel onto the wound.

"What did they tell you in the emergency room?" Darcie asked.

"To keep ice on my mouth so it doesn't swell any more."

"Did you have to get any stitches?"

"They gave me seven of them inside my mouth. I guess I won't be kissing any handsome men for a while." Mrs. Huddleston looked from the sheriff to Darcie. "I'll have to leave that to you."

To her chagrin, Darcie saw the sheriff blush, and knew that she was doing the same.

"The bleeding seems to have stopped," Mrs. Huddleston said, taking the towel away from Darcie's head. "You'll probably need some disinfectant. I'm sure the nurse can handle that by herself." Still holding the ice pack in her free hand, she pressed it to her swollen lips. "I better get going. I need to lie down before my family gets home."

"Could you stay long enough to walk with Darcie to the nurse's office?" Sheriff Baxter asked. "If you don't mind."

"We can keep each other out of trouble," Mrs. Huddleston said, a smile showing some of the stitches in her lip, pulling them tight. "Ouch," she said, then put her fingers protectively on her face.

After the bell rang for the next class to begin, Sheriff Baxter pushed Darcie into the school as Mrs. Huddleston walked along side.

"I think we'll all be safe now," Mrs. Huddleston said when they were outside the nurses office.

"Thank you," said Darcie.

"Play nice," Mrs. Huddleston said, walking down the hall.

Sheriff Baxter reached to open the door.

"Wait," Darcie said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I guess so," said Sheriff Baxter.

"When there's no one else around, do you ever swear?"

"Unfortunately, sometimes I do it when other people can hear me," Sheriff Baxter said with a hint of a smile. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just wondering. All the time we were up on the mountain, I didn't hear you say anything bad."

"You must have caught me on a good day."

Darcie glanced to make sure there was no one else in the hall. "Some things were good, weren't they?"

"I'd like to keep that in the past."

"You don't ever think about it?" Darcie asked.

"Darcie," Sheriff Baxter said, lowering his voice. "I've got a daughter older than you."

"But she's not like me," Darcie said quietly. "Nobody is like me. And you're the only person that I think about . . ." she looked into the sheriff's eyes ". . . in certain ways."

Sheriff Baxter stared back at her. "It just wouldn't be right, Darcie. Don't you see that?"

"No, I don't see that. I don't see things the same as other people—as other girls."

Sheriff Baxter reached to open the door to the nurse's office. "I think it's time we get your head looked at."

"I don't even know your first name," Darcie said.

"It's Collin," Sheriff Baxter said, letting go of the door knob. "Kind of dumb, isn't it."

"Collin Baxter," Darcie said, trying out the sound. "Sheriff Collin Baxter. I like it."

"That puts you in the minority."

"I'm the smallest minority that I know of," Darcie said. "There's not many people looking out for me, and there's only one man that makes me feel truly safe. I'm afraid of what might happen when he's not around."

"It doesn't pay to think like that, Darcie," Sheriff Baxter said. "You seem to have done pretty well so far."

"But that's just it," Darcie said, "I haven't."

"Hi, Sheriff Baxter," came a cheerful voice from down the hall.

Darcie turned and saw a girl walking towards them, smiling so big that dimples were showing in her round cheeks and pushing wrinkles around her button nose.

"Hello, Melody," Sheriff Baxter said, turning away from Darcie.

Melody stopped next to Sheriff Baxter, carrying her books like a boy, holding them to her side with well-muscled arms. She was looking up at the sheriff with adoring hazel eyes.

"I haven't seen you in church for a while, Sheriff" Melody said.

To Darcie's relief, Sheriff Baxter looked at Melody with a friendly but neutral expression. "You'll see me again."

"You promise? The pastor's got lots of things planned."

"I'm sure he does. Melody Cavallie, do you know Darcie Charbonnough?"

Darcie wasn't sure if Sheriff Baxter was using her as a reason to change the subject of his church attendance, or Melody as a reason to leave her at the nurse's office. He opened the door and stepped back.

"I've seen her around," Melody said, smiling.

"Are you going in?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

"I work in there three times a week. It gives me some medical experience for when I go to WSU to become a veterinarian." Melody looked to the sheriff expectantly.

"That's very nice, Melody," Sheriff Baxter said. "Then I'm sure you can help Darcie get her scalp looked at."

"Ohhh," Melody said to Darcie, "are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Darcie said, suddenly not wanting to be looked after by this Melody girl. "Collin—I mean, Sheriff Baxter—can you take me to the office? My other wheelchair is there, then I can go to my next class."

She felt Melody's fingers separating her hair near where the Great Dane had bit her.

"If that's what you want," Sheriff Baxter said.

"I think she should have this looked after," Melody said, her voice more firm than what it had been.

"What do you think, Darcie?" Sheriff Baxter asked.

"I'll only take a minute," Melody said. "After that I'll make sure you make it to class."

"Well, okay then," Sheriff Baxter said, taking a step backwards. "I'll see you later."

"Bye," Melody said after him. "See you in church."

Sheriff Baxter had has back to her and was walking away so fast that Darcie couldn't think of anything to say to stop him. Nothing she was willing to say in front of Melody.

### 8

There was no nurse on duty, but a parent volunteer was in the nurse's office. She was reading a magazine and nodded her head when Melody asked if she could look after Darcie's wound herself. Melody put hydrogen peroxide on a piece of gauze and used it to clean Darcie's scalp.

"This isn't from a pine cone," Melody said quietly. "It looks like an animal bite."

Not knowing what else to do, Darcie kept silent.

"That stain on your skirt smells like when one of our dogs goes into heat."

"Please, Melody," Darcie whispered, "I just want to go to my next class."

"Okay," Melody said. "I don't know what happened, but I can guess. You should go see a doctor. You might need some antibiotics. If any one of us kids gets hurt on our farm, my mom takes us right in to get a shot."

"Okay, I'll do it," Darcie said. "Will you take me to class now?"

"Why don't you let me clean off your skirt. If you don't, people will be wondering where the smell is coming from."

Melody wheeled her into a small examination room and took Darcie's skirt to clean it. She made sure not to stare at Darcie's stumps as she tossed a towel over her lap, then went to work cleaning the stain off of the material at the sink with soap and water. Then she finished by using a hair dryer on the skirt. It took less than twenty minutes and Darcie felt a lot better.

"Thank you," Darcie said as Melody helped put on her skirt.

Melody took her to the office to change wheelchairs. Unlike in the morning, when she was in a rush to get onto the bus for the field trip, Darcie made sure no one watched her change chairs by insisting she be allowed to use the supply room. There was just enough room to fit both chairs between the stacks of school supplies, then Melody closed the door and left her alone in the room.

"Melody," an excited whisper came from the other side of the door, "you'll never guess what June McGillicutty told me while we were riding on the bus."

From the sound of the voice, Darcie guessed that it was Vickie Whitlow talking. Darcie moved close to the door and listened carefully. From the sound of excited whispers, Vickie seemed to be talking to at least two other girls. What was being said was scandalous, which was why Vickie was so happy to pass it along. When she came out of the room, Darcie didn't let on that she'd heard Vickie talking.

"What's your next class," Melody asked as she opened the door for Darcie to get to the hallway.

"Study hall," Darcie said. "I spend it in the library."

"I've got biology. Can I walk with you? It's right on the way."

Darcie let Melody walk with her to the library. There was enough time before the next class that she asked Melody to get a couple books off of the shelf for her. Melody was glad to help.

The rest of the school day was the same routine as always. At the last bell Darcie saw June in the hallway, heading for her bus.

"June," Darcie said, catching up with her friend, "I'm sorry about what happened on the bus. I don't know why I acted that way."

"That's okay," June said, not slowing her pace.

"Wait. Please."

June stopped and turned to her. "This weekend mom's going to take us to a movie. It's the one about dinosaurs."

"That sounds like fun," Darcie said.

"Whatever," June said, shrugging. "Mom invited you to go, if you want."

"I'd love to," Darcie said, relieved and excited. She decided not to say anything about what she'd heard in the office.

It wasn't until later that she thought back on June's words. Mom invited you to go, if you want. June was still angry, but was doing what Josie had told her to do. She wondered if Josie had found out about what had happened on the bus and was trying to keep things friendly between June and her only friend in school.

### 9

Early Saturday morning, Darcie rode with June back to the McGillicutty house. Having just passed her driving test, June was eager for any excuse to take Josie's big crew-cab pickup for a drive. That included picking up Darcie hours before the movie started. June seemed to be over being mad and her.

Darcie didn't mind spending time at the McGillicutty house. Even when nothing was going on the sisters were fun to be around, and Josie always made her feel welcome.

Josie wheeled Darcie into the living room, where Pauline and May Bell were connecting a video game to the TV.

"I didn't say you could use that," Josie said.

"The box was already open," Pauline said, showing her where the cellophane and been slit. "We can put it back just the way it was. They'll still take it back at the store. Did he give you the receipt?"

"We'll talk about it later," Josie said.

Darcie saw the little head movement Josie made in her direction. Pauline and May Bell went back to hooking the video game up to the TV.

June followed Josie back to the kitchen. "Why can't we keep it?" she whispered to her mother. "We never get to keep anything."

"We need the money to move," Josie whispered back. "Besides, if we start getting a bunch of new stuff people will wonder where it came from."

"Screw them," June said, "they don't know nothing."

"And that's the way I want it," Josie said. "Now go back to your friend."

Pauline and May Bell were next to the TV, so Darcie figured they didn't hear Josie and June talking. As with a lot of things that happened in the McGillicutty house, Darcie pretended not to have heard anything she wasn't supposed to.

Later, everyone piled into the old pickup with Josie driving. This time Darcie sat by herself in the back seat, buckled into a second seat belt installed just for her use. When their mother was around, the girls would always try to be close to her, including sitting four across on the front seat. No one used the single seat belt that had been provided for Darcie's safety.

In the darkened theater, Darcie's chair was in the aisle, sitting next to Pauline. The rest of the McGillicutty family was sitting in the same row. On the screen, veloceraptors were wreaking havoc, leaping onto men with deadly attacks and then devouring them. As she watched she leaned over to Pauline sitting next to her. "That's you," she whispered.

"What's me?" Pauline asked.

The lethal dinosaurs were working as an attack team. Despite the men having handguns and rifles, the veloceraptors were wiping them out.

"You, May Bell and June. You're like velociraptors. It doesn't matter who or how big, you go after it."

Later she wished she hadn't said anything. With the credits rolling, the girls were standing on the seats, leaping at pretended prey and hissing as they used arms coiled into their chests to lash out.

Josie pushed Darcie in her non-powered wheelchair up the aisle.

"Just remember," Josie said as June leaped over a seat, then was joined by her sisters as they hissed their way towards a group of retreating teenage boys, "you started it."

In the lobby a rough looking man wearing blue jeans and a denim work shirt took Josie by the arm. He pulled her to the side and talked to her, squeezing her arm hard enough to make Josie squirm. When he let go he went out one of the exit doors, leaving Josie standing by herself, massaging where he'd grabbed her. On the way home, no one said anything about the man. Josie and her three daughters rode in silence.

Back at the house, Josie called the sisters inside. A few minutes later they came back out to where Darcie sat by herself. The sisters were still leaping and hissing, pleased with being compared to the deadly movie creatures.

May Bell and Pauline placed Darcie under a shade tree. Once she was situated, June stood next to her and asked "Have you heard any rumors at school? Something juicy that no one will say to my face?"

There were always rumors going around about the McGillicutty girls: where their money came from, how promiscuous they may be, what kind of illegal activities they were involved in. All exaggerations from what Darcie knew how her friends really were.

"I did hear one," Darcie said, hesitating. "But it's really bad."

"I knew it!" June said. "I can always tell by the way people get together and look at me when they talk."

"What is it?" Pauline asked.

June seemed eager to hear it, but Darcie didn't want to be the one to pass it on.

"Come on, Darcie," Pauline said. "What are they saying now?"

"Okay. But don't be mad at me. I never talk about you to anyone."

"We know," June said. "Just tell us what it is."

Darcie looked at the three sisters gathered around her and took a deep breath.

"The latest one is that on the weekends, Josie takes the three of you up to Vancouver BC and..." she hesitated.

"And!" June said.

Darcie looked at the ground. "... and lets men pay to have sex with you."

Instead of being shocked or angry, June gave Pauline a high-five. May Bell didn't say anything.

"Mom," Pauline called to the house, "can we go to Canada?"

"It's time to feed the animals," was Josie's answer.

"I knew Vickie Whitlow couldn't keep her mouth closed," June said. "When I sat with her on the bus I told her the Vancouver story and made her promise not to tell anyone."

There were a few sheep in a pen behind the house, plus several chickens roaming the yard. Pauline liked taking care of the sheep. May Bell and June shared a can of chicken feed and tossed a few bits of it throughout the yard. They did it in such a way that the chickens ran to the feed, then vied for the meager offerings.

"So how much do we charge?" May Bell asked June as they scattered chicken feed.

"Charge for what?" June asked.

"For being prostitutes," May Bell said. "I was wondering how cheap I go for."

June stopped sprinkling feed, ignoring the chickens gathered at her feet. "Not too cheap. You get to charge extra for being my sister."

"That's good to know," May Bell said.

"What's your problem?" June asked.

"What's my problem?" May Bell asked. "People already talk about us, we don't need to go out of our way to give them any more."

"It doesn't matter" June said. "Besides, you already charged Herbie Charles to see your tits."

"I was in the seventh grade," Pauline said. "We were just messing around."

"You still acted like a whore," June said.

Pauline came around the house just as May Bell knocked the can of chicken feed out of June's hand.

It flew right at Darcie and she ducked.

"Come with me before Mom hears you," Pauline said, grabbing her sisters and taking them behind the house.

The sisters were gone, leaving Darcie sitting by herself and covered with chicken feed.

The chickens flocked around her chair, pecking hungrily at the grain scattered on the ground. Then a large white hen flew onto Darcie's lap and pecked at the bits of grain.

"Go on," Darcie said, rocking her hips to get the bird to rejoin the others on the ground. After dealing with the Great Dane, having a chicken on her lap didn't seem to be that big of a deal—until it made a disgusting mess on her skirt.

Suddenly angry, she leaned down and managed to bat the chicken off of her with her right shoulder stump. The chicken cackled loudly, bringing Josie out of the house to see what was going on.

"I'm sorry, Darcie," Josie said as she wheeled her towards the house. "I'll help you get cleaned up."

### 10

Darcie didn't know what to say as Josie carried her into the house.

In the bathroom, Josie set her on the closed toilet lid then took a wet wash cloth and tried to blot her skirt clean.

"Mom," one of the girls called. "Mom! You've got company."

"Now?" Josie said, checking her wrist watch. "I'll be right back."

Darcie was left by herself for a long time. She heard voices and it sounded like Josie was talking to a man. A moment later Darcie heard a door close and country music started playing loudly on the front room stereo. Finally Josie came back into the bathroom.

"You never know what those chickens have gotten into," Josie said, closing the door behind her. She looked at Darcie for a moment, took a deep breath, then walked over to her. "They can carry all kinds of germs. I think it would be best if you took a bath while the girls clean your chair and clothes."

Since the girls had bathed her before, Darcie expected Josie to send in one of them to help her. Instead, Josie went to work taking off Darcie's clothes, then put her in the tub. But instead of facing her towards the faucets, she had her backwards, facing the far wall. It felt awkward but she didn't say anything as Josie used a soapy cloth to wash her.

Before lifting her out of the tub, Josie spread two large bath towels on the floor.

With Josie being just over five feet tall, Darcie could tell that she was getting worn out by lifting her all by herself. She wondered why June or her sisters weren't helping.

Once she was on the towels, Josie dried her hair then stopped.

"Darcie, honey, I've got to take care of something real quick. Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes?"

Josie was gone before Darcie could answer, leaving her with water still dripping off of her body.

Josie was gone a long time. Darcie thought she heard some noises close by, but the stereo was turned up loud and she wasn't sure what was happening. Still, if the girls were in the house, why didn't Josie send one of them in?

Feeling cold, Darcie rolled on the towels, moving so she could get as dry as possible. Then she grabbed the corner of a towel in her teeth, sat up and twisted until the towel was wrapped around her. She leaned against the tub, waiting for Josie to came back in.

A while later the bathroom door opened. "Sorry about that," Josie said, rolling in Darcie's wheelchair, her clothes neatly folded on the seat.

Instead of helping Darcie get dressed, Josie ran water into the sink and hurriedly brushed her teeth. When she was finished Josie tossed the toothbrush in a garbage can. Next she gargled with mouthwash, spitting several times into the sink. Only then did she help Darcie dress.

"Pauline," Josie said as she wheeled Darcie out of the bathroom, "why don't I treat you girls to dinner tonight." Josie turned her back to Darcie, pulled something out of the front pocket of her jeans, then handed it to Pauline. "I've changed my mind about the game console. If you girls want, you can buy a game for it."

Instead of being happy about keeping the video game, the girls just grouped together to wheel Darcie towards the back door.

"Wait," Josie said, "Pauline, drive the pickup around to the front of the house while June and May Bell take Darcie out the front door."

"Can I drive?" June asked.

"Just do what I say!" Josie said sharply.

They were most of the way down the hallway when the door next to the bathroom opened and a man stepped out, the same man that had stopped Josie in the movie theater.

"Hey, Josie," he said, hitching up his pants and tucking in his shirt. "I ain't gonna hide in there all day. I got things to do."

He walked past Darcie, his eyes locked onto hers.

"See you later, cutie pie," he said with a smirk.

The sisters stared daggers at the man as he strutted to the back door and went outside. Then they turned their silent fury on Josie, whose face was ashen.

"I. . ." Darcie started to say, but the words caught in her throat. "I want to go home."

Her stomach was suddenly queasy. She felt empty and weak, and forced herself not to think about what had just happened. She bit her lip to stop her chin from quivering and to drive away the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Please," she said, hating the way her voice shook, "take me home."

Josie walked towards her unsteadily. "You girls stay here. I'll drive her home."

"I guess we don't need this," Pauline said, holding out her hand.

Josie went to take it, but it landed on the floor instead; a folded one-hundred dollar bill. She looked down at it but didn't move.

"Just put it in your pocket with the rest of them," June said.

On the drive home, Darcie sat with her eyes closed, refusing to look at Josie. About a block from her house, Josie turned to her and started to say something.

"I don't want to hear it," Darcie said, her voice quavering.

They were both quiet while Josie helped Darcie into her powered wheelchair. Then Josie put the other chair on the porch.

"Darcie, I'm. . ."

"Josie's got secrets in secrets," Darcie interrupted. "That's what someone told me. She also said that I'm one of them."

Josie wiped her hands over her face. "You don't understand. I never did it to hurt you or the girls."

"Oh my god," Darcie said, realizing how often she'd been given baths by the sisters. "This wasn't the first time? There's been men there before?"

"No-no-no," Josie said, "it just happened this one time. It was a mistake. I should have never let him talk me into it."

"Talk you into it," Darcie said. Josie orchestrating things was one thing, but her being so weak as to be controlled by a man seemed impossible. Impossible until that moment.

Darcie drove her wheelchair up the ramp.

"We'll get together some time and talk," Josie called after her.

Darcie kept her back turned. "Goodbye, Josie."

### 11

Darcie waited until she heard the pickup drive off, then went into the house. No one had come out to greet her, which meant that Grandma was probably having to nurse Grandpa through one of his bad spells. He was so weak that he seldom came out of the bedroom.

The front room lights were off. Darcie moved slowly, careful not to bump her wheelchair into anything. She could hear her grandpa wheezing and gasping for breath. Grandma was with him, murmuring encouragement.

Her grandparents didn't know she was home and Grandpa was saying something.

Darcie stopped moving and listened carefully. It took a moment before she understood what he was saying between weak, wheezing breaths, and Grandma's tearful protests.

"Let me die... Let me die... Let me die..."

### CHAPTER SIX

### Graduation

### 1

It was a clear night and not too chilly, so Darcie sat on the front porch of her grandparent's house. In the distance, just above the tree line, she recognized the stars that made up the Orion constellation. Then she picked out Taurus, Perseus, Cassiopeia, and Ursa Minor. Ursa Major was easy to spot, along with Polaris, the North Star. Her favorite was Draco, the way it weaved between Ursa Major and Ursa Minor.

She wondered if Draco meant the same thing as Drago Community College. The Drago Dragons. She wanted to be a Drago Dragon, but she didn't know where she would get the money to attend.

Several other constellations were visible, but she couldn't remember their names, and the Star Guide was on the kitchen table with her school books.

Earlier Millie Woodcock was over to help her study, which didn't take long. There was plenty of time to take the Star Guide outside, but Millie said she needed to go home. After holding the Star Guide open just long enough for Darcie to glance at it, Millie stacked it onto the other books and left.

Darcie couldn't blame her. All the time that Millie was in the house she was wrinkling her nose. Millie was too polite to say anything, but Darcie could smell it too. The odor of rubbing alcohol and medicine and illness filled the house. Then Grandpa used the bed pan and Grandma carried it to the toilet. That was when Millie decided it was time to leave.

On the porch Darcie wished she could get a glimpse of the Aurora Borealis. Still, the moon was full and there was the occasional shooting star.

From the house came Grandpa's hacking, gurgling coughs, then wheezing breaths as Grandma patted his back to help clear his lungs.

Her grandpa was very sick and there was nothing that Darcie could do to make him better, she couldn't even help around the house. There were times when the only thing she thought she could do on her own was to breathe. Slow, deep breaths, filling her chest with the cool air blowing down from Stranger Mountain. Such a simple thing to do. Inhale... exhale; as natural as being alive. But it wasn't that simple for her grandfather. For him every breath was a little harder than the last. A little weaker. A little more shallow.

When the night air was cold enough to give her goose bumps, Darcie went inside. She heard her grandmother rattling around in the kitchen. The door to Grandpa's room was open. Checking to see that her grandfather was all right, Darcie looked in. The head was raised on the rented hospital bed and her grandfather was sitting up. She thought he was asleep, but he turned his head at the sound of her wheelchair. An instant before he looked away, Darcie saw the fear in his eyes. In that brief eternity she knew that all the fight was gone from him.

Grandma was wearing down, too. Usually deferential to Doctor Shamaree, Grandpa's physician, her grandmother was so angry about grandpa being in pain that she chewed him out. To everyone's relief the doctor increased the pain medication, allowing Grandpa to rest more comfortably. Soon after an aluminum walker was delivered to the house. Not for her grandfather. Grandma need it for her own weary body.

Darcie still required the same amount of help she would always need for daily life. Other than the ramps to the front and back doors, the house was never modified to meet Darcie's special needs. If Ellen wasn't home Darcie couldn't use the bath tub or get into any but the loosest clothes she had, clothes that were already falling apart. Fortunately the toilet was the right height for her to use, but with no assistance bars to help her, there were times when she came close to tipping off of it. And as always, when Ellen came home her first chore was to attend to Darcie's personal needs.

The bright future Darcie imagined for herself when she was jumped forward from grade to grade fizzled in high school. Her days were spent in remedial classes and in the library, where at times there was no one to help her get books off the shelves. The Star Guide that had her learning the constellations was left by another student. It was just an accident that Darcie found it lying on a library table.

Although Darcie never said anything, and she was sure June didn't either, everyone in school knew that there was a falling out. Some of the kids tried to share gossip about June and her sisters, but Darcie wouldn't listen. Neither would she say anything involving the McGillicutty family.

Ellen was working two jobs and wasn't around much even when she had a day off.

One day Ellen came home and told Darcie that Old Billy Paine was offering her a job at his grocery store. Darcie wasn't sure what she would do at Billy's store. She couldn't stock the shelves or run the cash register.

"I was talking to some of the ladies over to your grandma's church," Old Billy Paine said when Darcie went to see him about the job. "They say you're a bright girl and can carry on a conversation. They also said you probably wouldn't mind earning a bit of extra money, what with your grandpa being sick and all."

Darcie started to speak, but Old Billy Paine kept going.

"This store ain't all that hard to run, but sometimes I've got to step out. Have you seen that lady moving into the old butcher shop a few doors down?"

"I think so," Darcie said. "I heard . . ."

"Opening a doll shop, she is," Old Billy Paine said, talking over her. "Bought the old butcher shop from me for cash on the barrel-head. Took the money right out of her account. If I'd 'a known there was so much money in dolls I might have opened up a shop of my own."

"I heard she makes them herself," Darcie said, rushing the words to get them in.

The reason she did get a chance to speak was that Old Billy Paine was taking a few deep breaths off of the tank of oxygen he kept near him at all times. For as long as she could remember, Billy always had his oxygen with him. Darcie wondered why her grandfather's health was failing so rapidly while Old Billy Paine seemed to go on and on and on.

"That's right, Darcie. Mary Beth Press has got a reputation all over the world for her dolls. Makes everything except the clothes. I imagine she'd do that too if she had the time. Anyway, she's getting set up in the butcher shop, but before I'd let her buy it I put in some pretty strict conditions before I'd close the deal. So I'll probably be spending a lot of time down the block until I'm sure she's living up to her side of the bargain."

### 2

Old Billy Paine never did ask her any questions about her work experience. After an hour of him talking and her mostly listening, he told her what time to show up at the grocery store. The next Saturday Darcie was so excited about going to her new job that she arrived thirty minutes before the store opened and forty-five minutes before she was told to report to work.

Nothing was said about her being early. What Old Billy Paine did do was to take her over to the cash register and ask about making change.

"The folks around here come in for onesy-twosey stuff and mostly save their big shopping for a trip to Everett, or maybe down to Seattle—although most won't admit it when I rib them about not buying much to feed their families. So they'll bring up a loaf of bread, a jar of mayo and a package of lunch meat that hasn't turned green yet. It totals seven eighty-one and they lay down twenty-three oh six. How much change do they want back? Take your time when you figure it out. If they're in a hurry, they're in the wrong store."

"Fifteen twenty-five," Darcie said, waiting for Billy to finish talking.

"I'll be damned," Old Billy Paine said, scratching his chin. "Most folks have to do that sort of thing with a calculator. Ain't too many kids your age can do that in their head."

"That's sort of the way I always do things," Darcie said, giving Old Billy Paine a smile.

"You know, girl, you'd think a man my age would'a figured that out before he opened his big yap. But I sure don't mind being wrong about it. I'm glad you got a brain working behind those pretty eyes of yours." Billy reached out to pat her shoulder, then seemed to think better of it. Instead he motioned Darcie behind the long sales counter. "Come on over here, I already had a platform to stand on so I could see which one of the kids was swiping candy. All that needed to be done was to lay down some plywood to fix up a ramp for your wheelchair. Go on and get yourself to the cash register. Let's see how it fits you."

Darcie drove her chair up the ramp and felt it bow down in the middle. "You didn't have any reinforcing put in, did you?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," Billy admitted. "I just ripped the plywood to width on the table saw and hammered 'er down."

Now it was Darcie's turn to be surprised. There was a reason everyone called the owner of the grocery store Old Billy Paine. He was stoop-shouldered and looked as frail as her grandfather. He couldn't weigh more than one-hundred pounds and his pale skin was mottled with age spots. It was hard imagining him hefting a large piece of plywood onto a table saw and then wrestling with it while he cut it to size.

"This will work," Darcie said, looking over the counter. "But what will I do about making change?"

"You just tell 'em how much they owe and how much money to take out of the till. I'll get the calculator out of the back room and set it up so you can use it with a pencil. That is how you do it in school, isn't it?"

"Yes, but are you just going to have people reach in the till?"

"I ain't worried about someone getting away with a few extra pennies. If they try, tell 'em they made a mistake. If they take more than they should don't make any big deal out of it. There's only a couple people around here that'll try it, and I already know who they are. One of them is Marple Winger. To look at her you'd think she's all there, but she can't get out of here without thinking she's got something extra from me. Marple loves swiping a couple of coins from the take-a-penny, leave-a-penny, or stuffing a candy bar in her pocket like a grade schooler. Don't let that sort of stuff fret you, 'cause I ain't worried about it. You'd be surprised how many kids will come back after they've grown up and apologize. The ones that don't are the ones I'll be watching out for when I do business with them. You know Josh Ragland?"

"I've seen him around," Darcie said.

"The man's in his thirties and still acts like a punk. Can't keep a job and can't keep from stealin'. He ain't allowed in the store. If he comes in when I'm not here ask him to leave. If he don't, call the sheriff's office, they'll know what to do with him."

"Is there anyone else I need to know about?"

Every question Darcie asked was like winding Old Billy Paine's spring. He'd give long rambling answers, pausing only to take a few breaths of oxygen.

The majority of Darcie's working days were spent watching the cash register and listening to Old Billy Paine talk as he moved around the store, dragging his bottle of oxygen behind him. One of the wheels of the little trolley carrying his oxygen tank squeaked. Even when he wasn't talking to her, Darcie knew where Billy was in the store just by the squeaking of that one wheel. Most of the time there were so few customers that Darcie could do her homework without interruption. She didn't know if Old Billy Paine would mind if she did her schoolwork while he was paying her. When she asked, he told her to go on ahead. He was even glad to help with laying out her books.

"Would ya look at that," Old Billy Paine said one day.

He was standing on the customer side of the counter, holding up one of the two clear plastic donation boxes that was placed near the cash register.

"What is it?" Darcie asked.

"Usually there's only pennies and nickels in here. But I'll be damned if people aren't starting to stuff some folding money in, too." Old Billy Paine placed the donation box back on the counter and looked at the other container. One was for the Red Cross, the other was for a charity drive put on by a local church. "Same goes for the other one. It seems that you bring out the good in people, Darcie Charbonnough."

There may have been a lot of reasons the boxes were taking in more donations than before. Darcie was afraid that one of them may be pity. Whatever the reason, she didn't want to think about it. When Old Billy Paine was on the far side of his store she worked a yard stick onto the counter top, then pushed the boxes to the side so they'd be out of her line of sight.

At first Darcie wondered about Old Billy Paine's explanation as to why he wanted her working in his store. When he had told her that he was busy and often had to leave the store, she thought it was more likely that he wanted someone to talk to as he worked. Someone with a nice voice and a pretty face. But it turned out that Billy did spend a lot of time away from his store, mostly down the street.

From the way Old Billy Paine described it, The Doll Lady—which was how most of the people around town referred to Mary Beth Press—had divided the store into two sections. The front was for displaying and selling her dolls, and the back was being set up as a work studio. Darcie wanted to go see the doll shop for herself, but Billy was spending so much time over there, probably living up to the nickname of Old Billy Paine-in-the-ass, that Mary Beth didn't need anyone else distracting her.

There were also times when Billy disappeared into the back of his store. He would close the door behind him, and then sometimes Darcie would hear another door open and close. When she heard a second door open and close there was no telling when Billy would be back out. Darcie wondered what he was doing back there, but there was no way she could turn the door knobs even if she wanted to go sneaking around.

If Old Billy Paine did have secrets in the back of his store he had hired the perfect employee. Darcie could roll up and down the aisles all she wanted, but that was as far as she could go, other than behind the counter.

### 3

Although Darcie took pride in doing math in her head, Billy's calculator came in handy for doing her homework. She was reading numbers from her school book and punching them into the calculator with a pencil held in her teeth when she realized that two people on the other side of the counter were watching her.

"Hello, Darcie," Dora Charbonnough, her paternal grandmother said. She was looking at her with large, sad eyes. Standing next to Dora was Charles Charbonnough, her grandfather. "Darcie," he said, standing stiffly erect.

"May I help you?" Darcie asked, then looked around to see if Billy was close by. She was alone.

"I myself do not need your assistance," Charles Charbonnough said. "However, your grandmother asked me to bring her here, since you do not deem us worthy to visit."

"Charles, please," Dora said. "Darcie, I heard that you were working for Mr. Paine so I decided to see how you were doing."

Don't talk to them, Grandma McMann had warned her many times. All they want is for you to agree to help them get your father out of prison. After what that man did to you and your mother, he should never see the light of day.

Dora seemed to be a nice person, with kind eyes and a pleasant look about her face. Charles, on the other hand, was glaring at her. His eyes were like beacons on either side of a long slim nose, broken capillaries making it a bright red, probably caused by too much alcohol—another thing Grandma McMann warned Darcie about the Charbonnoughs.

If Charles hadn't been giving her such a menacing gaze, she might have driven her wheelchair down the ramp and talked to her other grandmother. Not sure what she should do, Darcie stayed next to the cash register.

Charles leaned forward, coming close enough for Darcie to smell the tangy odor of wine on his breath. "At least your sister has respect for her father. Would it be such an inconvenience for you to write to him? To let him know that what he feels for you is justified. Your indifference shames me. You don't deserve to carry the Charbonnough name."

At first the situation was merely uncomfortable, but the more Charles Charbonnough spoke, the redder his face became. He was a slight man with narrow shoulders, but Darcie knew she'd be helpless if he decided to do something to her. After an initial stab of fear, she became angry.

"Are you going to buy anything?" Darcie asked. "Breath mints, perhaps?" The last was courtesy of her long association with June McGillicutty. The second the words were out, she regretted saying them.

"You little bitch!" Charles shouted, banging his fist on the counter.

"Charles, please," Dora said, placing her hand on her husband's arm. He wrenched it free. The way Dora stepped back, Darcie wondered if he'd ever hit her.

Under the counter was a panic button. When Billy was showing her around on the first day, he told her that if she hit it, a sheriff's car would arrive in less than three minutes. The only reason she didn't press it at that moment would be Dora's humiliation, and her own.

Not wanting to further provoke her volatile grandfather, she kept silent until the Charbonnoughs left the store. There were things that she would like to say to Dora, questions she wanted to ask, but not when Charles was around.

"I'm sorry Mr. Paine, I shouldn't have said anything to him," Darcie said to Billy, telling him what went on while he was down the street talking to Mary Beth Press.

"Normally I don't like insulting the customers, but I'll make an exception for Charles Charbonnough. Would you like me to get hold of Dora and tell her to come visit the next time she's by herself?"

The door opened as Mrs. Callahan came into the store to pick up a loaf of bread and jar of strawberry jelly. As she paid she looked from Darcie to Old Billy Paine, then walked out the door.

"Am I that stressed?" Darcie asked.

"I'd say you're wound up pretty tight," Billy said.

"I thought I could hide it better than that." Darcie put her eyes on her school work, then thought about what Charles said about visiting them. The Charbonnoughs lived on the far side of town, well beyond the range of the batteries in her wheelchair. How did they expect her to get there?

"Grandma Dora doesn't need my permission to come by. I'll be here if she wants to talk."

### 4

Without June acting as an ill-tempered bodyguard, Darcie was able to make new friends at school. Melody asked Darcie to attend Sunday services with her. When she agreed, Melody's family came by and took Darcie to the Presbyterian church. As usual she wasn't able to take her powered wheelchair, so Melody lifted her regular wheelchair into the back of their passenger van. The Presbyterian church was larger and more prosperous than the one Grandma McMann took her to, before her health started to fail. There had been offers from members of Grandma's church to come pick up Darcie and to help her grandma attend services, but Grandma needed to stay near Grandpa, and Darcie didn't like going alone.

To keep a connection to the church, Darcie asked Ellen if she would go in Grandma's place. Ellen's instant answer was no. She didn't like the sermons about sins of the flesh. Reverend Jones would have as a theme at least once a month, working himself up to a frenzy of denunciation and condemnation. Standing at the pulpit, his eyes would usually focus on the young women. When talking to people after the sermon, he seemed to find a reason to touch all the girls as they filed past.

The sermon at Melody's church was very different from what Darcie was used to. In a calm, friendly voice, Pastor Fredericks spoke of charity and service to the community, urging acts of compassion. At the end of the service Pastor Fredericks welcomed some new faces in the crowd, but didn't make a big deal about Darcie being there. She felt comfortable in Melody's church.

After the service Melody offered to give Darcie a tour. Melody's ten-year-old brother volunteered to push the wheelchair.

As they were leaving the chapel Darcie saw a pair of wide guileless eyes peeking at her from around a corner. The eyes disappeared then slowly came into view again.

"Uh-oh," Melody said, "I think you have a fan. Bengie," Melody called, "do you want to say hi to Darcie?"

A large young man with a sallow complexion edged his way into view. He kept his head down and looked at her from under bushy blond eyebrows. His hands pressed into a round belly, Bengie constantly rubbed the thumb of his right hand over the knuckles of his left.

Melody took Bengie's hand, coaxing him the rest of the way out of hiding and led him to Darcie. "It's all right, Bengie. I go to school with Darcie. She's very nice. Why don't you say hi to her."

Bengie's face scrunched and he pulled his elbows tight to his body. Then he lifted his chin just long enough to say "Hi, Darcie."

"Hi, Bengie," Darcie said.

Working his lips, Bengie made a tisking sound then said "I've seen you." He kept his head down but he was still facing her. "You work at Billy's store. You look like an angel."

"I've never seen you in the store," Darcie said.

"Momma makes me wait in the car." Bengie said, punctuating his words with the tisking sound. "I watched you lots of times. You don't have no arms or legs."

Melody gasped and her brother's face turned a deep crimson. "She knows that, Bengie."

Bengie dipped his right shoulder and turned his face away. His eyes closed, Bengie whispered "Where are they? Momma got mad when I asked her."

Melody's face turned as red as her brother's. Darcie didn't know what to say.

"Momma says you were hurt in an accident and that I should keep my arms in the car so it doesn't happen to me." He pulled his hands even tighter to his belly. "Momma says I gotta keep my hands to myself or they'll get chopped off."

"That's very good advice," Darcie said, not liking being used as an example to scare Bengie into behaving.

"If you promise not to be bad no more, will Jesus give your arms and legs back to you?" Bengie asked.

What in the world was his mother telling him? "Jesus didn't take them away from me," Darcie said.

Bengie looked at her for a second then closed his eyes. His chest filled with air and he made more tisking sounds before saying "Then who took them?"

Too stunned to say anything, Darcie realized that her mouth was hanging open.

Melody stepped forward. "Bengie, would you like to help us show Darcie around the church?"

This diverted any more questions from Bengie and Melody's little brother took hold of the wheelchair's handles. "I get to push her."

They had only moved a couple of feet when Bengie said "My turn." His hands flashing away from his body, he took over pushing the wheelchair. It wasn't like Bengie elbowed the smaller boy out of the way; he just grabbed hold of the wheelchair's handles. Melody's brother protested, but Bengie was already heading for a drinking fountain. "Do you want some water, Darcie? It's really good. It's cold. I can hold you up while you drink it, I know I can."

Melody trailed behind, giving Darcie a nod to let her know that she wouldn't let Bengie get too carried away.

"No, thank you," Darcie said.

"Do you want to take a nap?" Bengie asked. "Momma makes me take a nap every day. We can lay under the blanket together and you won't be afraid of the dark because I'll be with you."

"No, Bengie. It's not my nap time."

"Sometimes I don't sleep. I lay real still with my eyes closed. Do you want to do that? We can be under the blanket together."

She didn't want to be too blunt, but Bengie didn't seem like he was going to give up on the idea. "No, I'm not going to do that."

Tucking his chin into his chest, Bengie said softly "Okay."

Reaching out, Melody was about to take hold of the wheelchair when Bengie grabbed the handles again, wheeling Darcie towards some outside doors.

"Do you want to go out to the play field? I'll carry you around the bases just like you hit a home run! I can do it real fast, I know I can."

"Not today, Bengie," Darcie said.

"I won't drop you. See?" Bengie said, proving it by bending down and lifting Darcie out of the wheelchair. "I'll hold on real tight."

"Bengie!" Melody said, "Put her down!"

"I'll be careful, I promise," Bengie said, pulling her close.

Darcie realized that the young man wasn't just holding her, he was pressing her body into his chest like a mother cradling an infant, his large fleshy arms locked tight around her.

"Put her down, Bengie, or I'll go get Pastor Richard," Melody warned.

As Bengie cradled her, Darcie felt him rub his cheek against the top of her head. He was squeezing her so tight she could hardly breathe.

"I'll take you anywhere you want, Darcie. You just say and I'll take you, I know I can."

"Bengie," Darcie said, "I know you're very strong, so it's okay to put me down."

"But I want to take you outside."

"I don't want to go outside." Darcie said.

Melody looked up and down the hallway, but no one else was around. "I'm going to get Pastor Richard."

"No!" Daricie said, more afraid of being left alone with Bengie than she was of his dropping her. What if he decided to take her to a secret hiding place or where he liked to swim or any number of places where she would just disappear? "Melody, don't leave me. Okay?"

"Maybe you should put her down," Melody's little brother said. "She looks scared."

"I can carry her," Bengie protested, "I know I can."

What Melody's little brother said gave Darcie an idea. Trying to fight back her fright, she took a deep breath. "Bengie," Darcie said, "are you afraid of anything?"

"No," Bengie said.

"Not even a little? Like when it gets dark and you're all alone. Do you get scared then?"

It took a moment before Bengie said "Sometimes."

"Me, too, Bengie. I'm afraid of falling. I'm afraid right now."

"I won't drop you," Bengie said.

"I'm still afraid, Bengie," Darcie said, meaning every word. "Do you want me to be afraid?"

"No."

"Then put me down. That way I won't be afraid."

Bengie stood there hugging her.

"Bengie, I'm still scared.

After giving her a final squeeze, Bengie carefully lowered her into the wheelchair.

"Are you better?" he asked.

"Yes, Bengie. Thank you."

Melody made Bengie promise never to pick her up. He was downcast for a moment, then he brightened and pushed her to one of the rooms where Sunday school was taught.

"Bengie," Melody said, "you know what Mrs. Harper said about coming in here when she's not around."

Turning his back to Melody, Bengie got down on his hands and knees in front of a felt story board. Opening a large manila envelope, Bengie excitedly pawed through several bible characters made from cloth. As he found the ones he wanted he placed them on the story board. "This is Joseph," Bengie said, then reached for more characters. "And Mary. And baby Jesus. And the three wise men." He kept searching until he proudly held up another character, his face beaming. "Here she is, Darcie. She's an angel. See? Isn't she pretty?" He put the piece of felt up to his face and rubbed it on his cheek, then smiled at Darcie. "She looks like you."

Darcie turned to Melody, who seemed bewildered by the situation.

"She looks very nice," Darcie said.

Bengie looked at her with wide, earnest eyes. "Darcie, when you die and go to heaven, will you have arms and legs like the other girls?"

"Bengie," Melody said, "that's not a nice thing to ask."

"But I want her to have arms and legs. It's not fair." Bengie put the piece of cloth on the story board, carefully smoothing it with his fingers. "When I die and go to heaven, I'll be with you, Darcie. And you'll be an angel with wings like hers." Bengie patted his hand over the angel. "You can fly anywhere you want."

"Bengie!" an older woman said, striding into the room. "What have I told you about the story board?"

"I don't know," Bengie said, ducking his head and tucking his hands into his arm pits.

"Look at the mess you've made. I want you to put everything back where it came from."

"But I was showing Darcie the angel," Bengie said, taking the cloth figure off of the story board and holding it to his chest. "I want to give it to her."

"Put it back, Bengie," the woman said.

"No. I want Darcie to have the angel."

The woman went over to Bengie and glared down at him. "I said, put...it...back!"

"But she looks like Darcie," Bengie said, tears welling in his eyes. "She's pretty like Darcie."

"Bengie," Darcie said, trying to smooth the situation, "if you give me the angel, won't she be lonely for her friends? For baby Jesus?"

Bengie wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, then tucked it away again. "I don't know."

The woman turned an angry, frustrated face to Darcie. "If you don't mind, I can handle my son without your help!"

"Sorry," Darcie said, pulling to the back of the wheelchair.

"Let's go to the cafeteria," Melody said, pushing the wheelchair towards the door.

On the way down the hall, Darcie heard Bengie's mother still arguing with him to put the story board characters away, her voice was so loud that it echoed down the halls. At that moment Darcie would have been glad just to disappear off of the face of the Earth, with or without Bengie's over-eager help.

"I want to push her," Melody's brother said, still following behind.

"If it's okay with Darcie," Melody said.

Darcie felt like telling him to push her to a closet and close the door until it was time to leave.

The boy had to reach up to the handles. It was hard for him to keep the wheelchair going straight as he pushed Darcie down a long hallway, turned a corner and took her down another long hallway.

Grandma McMann's church was tiny compared to the Presbyterian's. There were study rooms and choir rooms and quiet rooms and rooms with no designation except a number on the door. By the time they turned down another hallway, the boy had let his sister take over.

"Sorry about Bengie," Melody said softly. "I didn't know he would be so taken with you."

"Yeah, me too," Darcie said.

They were close to the cafeteria when a door flew open, letting in a cold blast of air. Bengie appeared in the hallway in front of them.

"Hi, Darcie," Bengie said, out of breath from running around the outside of the building to enter where he could intercept her. "I saw you in the Sunday school room, and now..." he gulped in air "...I see you here."

"Hi, Bengie," was all she could think to say.

"Can I push your chair again?"

Oh...my...god, Darcie thought, seeing the desperate hope on his face. She looked to Melody, who could only shrug.

"Okay, but this is the last time today," Melody said.

"Can I do it next Sunday?" Bengie asked.

"We'll see," Darcie said.

However the conflict about the story board had been resolved, Bengie seemed to be over it as he happily pushed the wheelchair down the hallway.

In the cafeteria Darcie met Pastor Fredericks' wife, Virginia, who was as warm and friendly as her husband. There were other ladies from the church with Mrs. Fredericks. A couple of women were put off by her presence, but that was true of people everywhere she went. The two ladies that kept their faces averted so as not to look at her fell into Darcie's ignore category.

Bengie hovered next to her until Melody sent him on an errand, a ploy it seemed that the ladies used to keep him busy and out of the way. He promised Darcie that he would come back.

To be polite, Darcie took a bite of cake and a sip of pop served by Melody, then sat through several conversations of event planning and fund-raisers that she would have no participation in. After a while she decided that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Bengie pushed her around some more. Mrs. Fredericks was still being polite, but there were a lot of things that called for her attention. Melody was talking to the ladies, too, leaving Darcie sitting close but outside the conversation.

Darcie was looking out the window watching the leaves rustle in the trees when someone else came in the room.

"Sheriff Baxter, how good to see you."

Mrs. Fredicks and all of the other ladies swarmed around the tall law man, offering him a slice of cake, cookies, chips, pop; every refreshment they had. There were a couple of offers that were unspoken, but the set of the women's eyes made their meaning clear.

It had been several weeks since Darcie had last seen Collin Baxter. Now he was politely waving off all offers, except a small chocolate chip cookie presented by Melody. A few minutes went by before the wall of women split and Sheriff Baxter saw her sitting apart from the group.

"Hi, Collin," she said.

A look of Oh, no, went over his face. To her chagrin, Darcie realized that it was the same reaction she had when Bengie appeared from nowhere, desperately eager to be near her again. She felt sick to her stomach.

"Melody," Darcie called, hoping to get out of the room before she did anything embarrassing. "Melody," she called again, making it a little louder. Her friend didn't hear her, but one of the other ladies did and tapped Melody on the shoulder.

"Something you need?" Melody asked, licking icing from a cupcake off of her fingers. It smelled fresh baked. "Would you like one?" Melody offered.

"No, thanks." Where could she go? Out in the hall where Bengie would soon appear? What if he had another brain storm and took off with her. He wouldn't purposely do anything to hurt her, but he was all action and no judgment. The only other place she could think of was the privacy of the ladies room; and stay there for how long? "Could you put me by the window until you're done in here?" Darcie asked.

Melody parked her so she could see out the window. Darcie made sure her back was to Sheriff Baxter so he wouldn't be bothered by her gaze. She would stay like that until Melody was finished, or until Sheriff Baxter came over and asked her why she was sitting alone. She was there only a few minutes as Sheriff Baxter made polite conversation with the ladies then excused himself from the group and left. As most of the ladies left the room, Pastor Fredericks came in to tell his wife that she was needed in the rectory. Darcie was left in the room, alone. Through the window she saw Sheriff Baxter's Suburban drive through the parking lot and onto the street.

Finally Melody came in to take her to the van where the family was waiting. Bengie was in the hallway and made a scene until he was permitted to push her out to the parking lot.

"Thank you, Bengie," Melody said, ready to lift Darcie out of the wheelchair and into the van.

Darcie had been surprised at how easily Melody put her in the van that morning. Then she realized that the husky girl had probably been doing heavy farm chores all of her life.

"I wanna do it," Bengie said.

"That's all right, Bengie," Melody said, "I've got her."

"You got to get her out," Bengie said, his voice loud with indignation. "I saw you. It's my turn."

Most of the congregation was in the parking lot, corralling kids and saying farewell to friends. Everyone stopped what they were doing to see what all the fuss was about.

Judging by how he'd acted earlier, Darcie knew that Bengie would make an even bigger scene if he didn't get his way. Wanting it all to end, Darcie turned to Melody. "If Bengie's real careful, I think it would be all right if he helped me into your van."

A proud smile on his face, Bengie carefully lifted Darcie out of the wheelchair and placed her in the van, giving her an extra squeeze before he let her go.

Melody started to fold the wheelchair.

"I can do it! I can do it!" Bengie called.

By now no one was even trying to pretend that they weren't watching Bengie and Darcie.

Melody showed Bengie where to lift so the chair folded, and then opened the van's tail gate for the happy young man to stow the wheelchair.

At long last Melody's family was in the van and her father started the engine.

Standing next to Darcie's window, Bengie smiled in at her. "Bye-bye, Darcie," Bengie waved, staying next to the van. "Bye-bye."

Melody's father slowly backed up the van, then carefully drove out of the parking lot so Bengie wouldn't get hurt as he continued to run alongside. The closer they came to the street, the more frantic Bengie's waving became.

"Bye-bye. Bye-bye. Bye Darcie. Bye-bye. Bye-bye."

On the way back to Darcie's grandparent's house the van was totally silent until Melody's father said "Well, people won't soon forget this day." He turned and smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"No, I guess not," Darcie said, then sniffed to keep her nose from running. The van fell silent again as Melody used a hanky to dab the tears off of Darcie's cheeks.

The next week Melody made a half-hearted attempt to invite Darcie back to church. There was no argument when she declined.

### 5

Graduation was the pits.

Ellen had to work, and Grandma was too weak to help Darcie into her wheelchair after dressing in the bulky graduation robes. Every time she tried to get in her wheelchair she became tangled in the material and had to move back onto the bed. Then she sat in her wheelchair while her grandmother put the gown over her head. That worked, but the gown was so long that it was in danger of getting caught in the wheels. Tucking it underneath her was uncomfortable and Darcie gave up, deciding to wear what she already had on. She left the house fifteen minutes late wearing a wrinkled skirt and a blouse held closed by a safety pin to replace the third button down. Stuffed into a grocery bag was the graduation cap and gown. When she arrived at the school the ceremony had already started and Darcie barely had time to get in line. Held in the school gym, there was no ramp for her to drive her wheelchair onto the stage to get her diploma.

Suzanne Butcher—homecoming queen, head cheerleader, prom queen, forth runner-up for Miss Teenage Washington, voted most likely to succeed, self-avowed Christian-celibate-virgin, and all around busy bee—received her diploma just before Darcie. So when Principal Rogers announced Darcie Charbonnough, the auditorium was still clapping, whistling and cheering for Suzanne.

Grandma was just entering the gym, leaning on the handles of her walker, when Principal Rogers skipped down the stairs, tossed Darcie's diploma in her lap, then strode back onto the stage to read the next student's name.

One hundred-six graduates were given diplomas, so it wasn't long before the ceremony was over. The only glitch happened when June McGillicutty bounded onto the stage, took her diploma, and went behind Principal Rogers. That was when she unzipped her graduation gown and flashed a set of enormous fake breasts to the audience. Mr. Dennison tried to take June's diploma away from her, but she handed it to Josie. Dennison lost his temper and swore at all of the McGillicutty women, who stood as a pack facing him down.

There were a few perfunctory congratulations to Darcie, then the graduates were busy changing for the bus ride to SeaTac airport and a trip down to Disneyland and Sea World.

"Darcie, you made it!" Mrs. Huddleston said, still sporting a mouth-full of braces. "Can I take your picture?" She reached into Darcie's lap and propped the diploma under her chest and said "Smile." Then she was gone, snapping pictures as she went through the crowded gymnasium.

Old Billy Paine had driven her and Grandma to the graduation ceremony. After he put down the ramp so she could drive her wheelchair out of his delivery van, Darcie asked Billy to come inside, but he preferred to stay in his van with his oxygen tank. As Billy drove her home, Darcie asked him if she could work at his store for the rest of the day.

"Sure ya can, Darcie, but I thought you might have some big doings with the rest of your class."

"No, not that much." Darcie had been invited on the graduation trip with the other seniors, but there was no money to pay for it, and more to the point, no one volunteered to help with her special needs. The best thing she could do for herself was to go to work.

A week after she graduated a letter came for Darcie from Mrs. Huddleston. In it was the picture taken at graduation and a note wishing her good luck. Grandma put the picture on the refrigerator with a flower magnet that was missing petal. Darcie looked at it, realizing that when Mrs. Huddleston had propped her diploma up, it was to partially cover her blouse where the button was missing and the safety pin allowed a gap in the material, showing her white belly and the bottom part of her bra.

Ellen came in and saw the picture. "Was it that bad?" she asked.

"Worse," Darcie said. Ellen took the picture off of the refrigerator.

Darcie was glad to have the job at the grocery store. Since there was no more school she could work all week. Billy sometimes took her on deliveries in his van. He told her that he'd ordered the ramp a long time ago and it just came in, but she knew he'd installed it specifically for her use. Fortunately the van was low to the ground so the ramp didn't have to be very long. As it was, Old Billy Paine barely had the strength to extend the ramp and then stow it when Darcie was finished using it. Most times after he'd stowed the ramp, Billy would take the blue handkerchief he carried in his back pocket, give two quick snaps with his wrist to make sure it was opened all the way, then mopped his brow, his chin and then the back of his neck—always in the same order.

### 6

It was a warm afternoon and Darcie was half-dozing at the counter when she realized Billy was talking to her.

"What was that, Mr. Paine?" Darcie asked.

"I said, are you signed up for school yet? They got some good programs at the junior college. It's not far down the road. I'd be glad to help you out some if you needed it."

Darcie hated her senior year of high school. The last thing she wanted was to get in another quagmire of angry teachers, grabby boys and an indifferent administration. "No, thank you."

"College ain't nothing like high school. I think you might like it if you gave it a try. You want me to give 'em a call? I bet they got ways to get you there and back. I know there'll be a fella or two that'd be glad to help."

That's just what she needed, helping male hands to fend off. "Not right now, thanks."

Billy wheeled his oxygen tank from the back of the store to the counter. "You know, Darcie, it ain't against the rules to get help. If you don't want to do it, I'll call and ask some questions myself. You don't know what the government might be able to do for you."

"I don't need to ask the government for help," Darcie said.

"Fine, fine. It's up to you," Billy said. "Just thought I'd give you some options. Sitting behind that cash register must not be as boring as it looks."

### 7

The next day Darcie was back in the store. There were no customers, so she didn't bother to get behind the cash register. Old Billy Paine wheeled a hand truck stacked with boxes from the back of the store then began to stock the shelves.

"How 'ya doin', sunshine," Old Billy Paine said. "Beautiful day, ain't it?"

"Uhhh, yes sir," Darcie said. Something was different, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

"There are some days that just make you glad that you're alive." Billy's hands were working fast, stacking cans in neat rows and then moving on. "Yes, sir, a great day to be alive." He put the last can on the shelf then tossed the empty box to the end of the aisle. "Sometimes it's just like that, ya know. The wind blows fresh and birds are a chirpin'. Makes you want to dance the day away."

Billy walked up to her, his eyes bright. He spun a complete circle on the ball of his foot, then stood in front of her like a dancer please with his performance. "What do you say, Darcie. A little waltz around the store?"

He bent down to lift her with his arms. Without thinking, Darcie backed up her wheelchair to keep out of his reach.

"What's going on, Billy?" Darcie asked. "How can you be so healthy when my grandfather can't even take a breath?" Then she realized what had been bothering her. "Where's your oxygen tank? Why don't you need it?"

Billy stared at her blankly, then his shoulders slumped and the smile fell away from his face.

"Oh, God," Old Billy Paine said. "Darcie, I'm sorry." He stepped away from her, all the strength seemed to be gone from his body. "There ain't no fool like an old fool. And the older you get, the bigger fool you are."

A moment before Billy was moving like a healthy young man. Now he looked like he was about to topple over. "Billy, tell me what's going on," Darcie said.

His legs slowly going out from under him, Old Billy Paine sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Do you want me call an ambulance?" Darcie asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No," Billy said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "I don't need nothin' like that. Just a swift kick in the pants for not knowin' I was being had."

"What do you mean?" Darcie asked.

"It's those damned Mountain Witches. I was supposed to take some supplies up to them but ain't got around to it. This was just their way of reminding me that I better get a move on."

"The Gearing sisters? But how can they..."

Old Billy Paine held up his hand. "It's more than I can explain," he said. "Just put it down to they could do a lot more if they had a mind to. Maybe they could do some good, maybe they could do some bad, but usually they just keep to themselves."

There was nothing Darcie could do except be close to Old Billy Paine until he was feeling better. Instead of talking to her, he sat quietly for several minutes, then he looked up.

"It ain't right what they did to me," Billy said. "They know I've got a weakness for pretty girls, only I ain't such an idiot as to think I'm anything more than what I am. But they caught me with my fancy up and my guard down. If you could be so kind as to forget me cutting the rug and seeking your favor, I'd be much obliged."

"Sure, Billy," Darcie said. "Whatever you just asked me to do, I'll do."

After sitting a while longer, Old Billy Paine braced his hand on a shelf then slowly rose to his feet. "You met them back a piece, didn't you?"

Not wanting to say anything about her and Sheriff Baxter, she kept silent.

"Did either one of them touch you?" Billy asked. "That's why they can play their little tricks on me. For some reason if they touch you they can sense some of what you're doin'. They... I don't know, they just can."

"Yes," Darcie said. "One of them touched my forehead." She kept quiet about the slap across the face.

"Then them witches got your number, Darcie. It might mean nothin', it might mean everything. I'm just sayin' what's what."

Old Billy Paine went into his back room and stayed out of sight, leaving the hand truck and boxes in the aisle—something he'd never done before.

Pressing a yard stick against the wheelchair's arm rest with her thigh stump, Darcie managed to move the empty boxes to a corner where customers wouldn't trip on them. There was nothing she could do about the unpacked boxes or the hand truck. The boxes were stacked neatly and of no danger to the customers, but the hand truck could fall on a little kid if they happen to touched it while running down the aisle.

She was still wondering if she could move the hand truck without it falling on her when Deputy Welker came into the store and took a bottle of pop from the cooler.

"Morning, Darcie," Deputy Welker said as he put a dollar into the cash drawer. With tax the soda should have cost him eighty-nine cents, but he didn't take any change. That was the beauty of Old Billy Paine's system. Some people may take a little more than they should—it wouldn't be hard to do—but most were like Deputy Welker. If it was less than a quarter they just didn't bother. Billy never said, but Darcie was sure his profits were up.

"Have you heard from Hilly?" Darcie asked.

Deputy Welker smiled. "Yes, her mother and I got a card from her last week. She's been working the Downtown precinct for the Seattle PD. She seems to like being a cop, must take after her old man."

"I'm glad," Darcie said. When Darcie was a sophomore, Hilly was a senior and they didn't know each other all that well. At first Hilly was part of a group of seniors that went out of their way to play tricks on her. One boy in particular, Butch Carpenter, seemed to have it in for her, even to the point of throwing a football and hitting her in the face. Josie McGillicutty was the one to put an end to it. Josie knew the school superintendent and raised hell. Hilly stayed away from her and Darcie wasn't sure what to think, but her father was always nice. He seemed to go out of his way to be protective of her.

Still worried about the hand truck, Darcie looked down the aisle.

Deputy Welker's eyes followed her gaze. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

"It's just that Mr. Paine left the hand truck out and I'm afraid it might fall and hit someone."

"Oh," Deputy Welker said, then put the bottle of pop on the counter. With practiced ease he slid the hand truck under the unpacked boxes, then moved them to the corner where Darcie had taken the empties. "My brother and I used to work for Billy after we got out of school," Deputy Welker said. "Sometimes we'd give each other rides on the hand truck. When Billy was out of the store we'd time each other to see who could make it down the aisles fastest." He left the boxes on the hand truck so it wouldn't tip over. "It seems he's owned this store forever. He's not a bad guy to work for. I've had a lot worse bosses than him."

"Thank you for putting it away," Darcie said.

"It always pays to be safe," Deputy Welker said, then picked up his bottle of pop.

It seemed like he wanted to say more but was holding back.

"Was there anything else?" Darcie asked, wondering why he was just standing there.

"It's kind of funny," Deputy Welker said. "I usually have coffee down at Nancy's Diner, but I was driving by and I just had to come in here." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "Anyway, have a good day, Darcie."

Darcie smiled. "I'll try. Bye-bye."

After Deputy Welker was out of the store, Darcie drove her wheelchair down the ramp. "I'll try, bye-bye," she said mockingly. "That was great, Darcie. You really sounded sophisticated. I'll try, bye-bye. Bye-bye, I'll try. Damnit, Darcie, why do have to be so uptight?" She didn't know why she wanted to seem older in Deputy Welker's eyes. Maybe she just wanted to be different than what she was.

What Billy had said about the Gearing sisters kept coming back to her. She wondered if the Mountain Witches really did get Billy to do his little dance, or was he just feeling good. He'd definitely wanted to get his hands on her. And what about Deputy Welker, he'd never stopped in for a soda before.

She thought back to when the Gearing sisters had interrupted her and Sheriff Baxter. Anyone could have seen how attracted they were to each other. She even let him put his hands on her breasts. It wouldn't take any special insight to see that a man like Collin Baxter would regret what he was about to do, and what they were about to do was how girls got pregnant. Especially an inexperienced fourteen-year-old girl.

No, the Gearing sisters were just a couple of crazy women living on the mountain, and that's all they were.

### 8

One evening as she was leaving the store for home, Darcie saw The Doll Lady standing on the sidewalk. Mary Beth Press was looking at her front window, seemingly lost in thought.

"Hello," Darcie said.

Mary Beth jumped back, then looked down at her. "Oh, my. I was so preoccupied that I didn't know you were there."

"I'm sorry if I scared you," Darcie said.

"That's all right. I was just taking a break." Mary Beth was looking at her in an odd way. She reached out her hand. "May I?" she asked, then touched the tips of her fingers to Darcie's face, tracing them over her cheek bones, across the bridge of her nose and then down to her chin.

Mary Beth's eyes were almost shut, like she was seeing with her fingers.

"I've seen you in Billy's store, but never had a chance to come in and introduce myself. I'm Mary Beth Press."

Darcie broke contact by turning her head. "I'm Darcie Charbonnough."

"Sorry," Mary Beth said. "You've got the most enchanting complexion, I couldn't resist." She motioned to the front door of her shop. "Would you like to come in and take a look at the mess I've created for myself?"

Despite Mary Beth seeming friendly, Darcie felt uneasy about being close to her. "I wouldn't want to intrude. I'm sure you've got a lot of work to do."

"Please," Mary Beth said, "I'd appreciate the company. Let me get the door for you."

As she followed Mary Beth into the store, Darcie didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but she assumed that Mary Beth would have something more than half-built shelves and a wall stacked with lumber to show for her efforts.

"Not much to look at, is it?" Mary Beth asked.

"I don't know what it was like when you started," Darcie said. She looked behind her and saw that her wheelchair tires made a path through a thick layer of white dust on the floor.

"I've made a few mistakes," Mary Beth said. "The biggest one is to try and work before the air filtration system is installed. It was supposed to be put in place two weeks ago, but the contractor went out of business. I have a large order for my Lordith dolls from a buyer in Amsterdam. I simply must ship them on time, so I've worked on them exclusively and let everything else go by the wayside."

The store's front windows were soaped over and not much light was getting through. The illumination in the shop was coming from the rear of the store, which was where Mary Beth was taking her.

"Come back here," Mary Beth said, motioning Darcie to a work bench. It too was covered with dust. On the shelves were molds and various pieces of dolls, including a collection of heads, arms, and legs. Heat was radiating from a kiln where the parts of the dolls were fired.

Despite the lights being on, the back of the shop seemed dreary. The corps-like arms and legs and sightless heads lying around didn't make Darcie feel any more comfortable.

"I have to admit, I haven't been as productive as I was in my old shop in Seattle. Sometimes I'll be working, only to find I've let my mind wander and I'm just sitting as the strangest thoughts come and go. Does that ever happen to you?"

Darcie wanted to know what kind of thoughts Mary Beth was having. A successful business owner wouldn't let things get so dirty and scattered. Mary Beth wouldn't be the first outsider that came into town and lost it. Nobody talked about the effects the mountain had on some people. There were only occasional whispers of madness and even suicide. Mary Beth didn't seem like the suicide type, but that didn't mean she wasn't going off her rocker.

"Such perfect bone structure," Mary Beth said, leaning down to touch her face again. "I can't get over how beautiful you are."

Still not wanting to be touched, Darcie moved close to a work table, and saw a large wooden mallet propped next to the wall.

She could kill you with that.

The words came to her as her eyes locked onto the mallet. Darcie looked over to Mary Beth to see if she had said anything—she hadn't; but the Doll Lady was now behind her, close to the dangerous looking mallet. All it would take would be a single swing of the handle and the mallet would be speeding towards her head, easily killing her with a single blow. Darcie's mind formed the picture of the Doll Lady hefting the mallet, resting it on her shoulder like a woodsman carrying an ax, then lifting up and letting gravity speed it down. Down to impact on top of a girl's head, but not hers. The mystery girl was older; attacked without warning to be knocked onto the floor in an unconscious heap.

Darcie shivered as the disturbing thought carried itself through to the Doll Lady stripping the girl naked and placing her rumpled clothes in a garbage bag. There were more garbage bags at the ready, plus a long knife and a saw, all used to make the nude body of the girl disappear.

Feeling panic start to go through her, Darcie wondered if what she'd just imagined was the same kind of thoughts that Mary Beth had running through her mind when she blanked out. Something more powerful than she ever felt on the mountain could be at work in the dingy back room of what used to be a butcher shop. There were old stories of murders being committed in the butcher shop, and Darcie couldn't help but wonder if any of them were true.

You would be a prize she would cherish—bones and all.

More words coming from somewhere. The Gearing sisters? Herself? Something was going on and she couldn't figure it out.

Mary Beth's eyes were locked onto the mallet, staring at it unblinking. The Doll Lady's hands opened, then closed, as if taking hold of it.

Darcie shook her head, trying to push the disturbing thoughts away from her. Turning her wheelchair, she faced Mary Beth. "I really think I should be going," she said, all the while backing her chair towards the front of the shop, hoping she was lined up with the doorway. "Before Mr. Paine comes down again. He comes down a lot, doesn't he?"

"Wha'?" Mary Beth said, still looking at the mallet.

"Old Billy Paine comes down here a lot," Darcie said, raising her voice. "He could have seen me come in and know that I'm here." The way The Doll Lady was looking at the oversized mallet was pushing Darcie to feeling even more panic. "Old Billy Paine knows that I'm here!"

"It's a monstrous looking thing, isn't it?" Mary Beth said, her voice just above a whisper. "Almost wicked." Her eyes stayed on the mallet as she languidly ran her tongue out of her mouth and licked her lips. "I use it to pulverize the clay for my dolls. Sometimes it's as if it wants me to take hold of it and...and use it."

Whatever was going through the Doll Lady's mind, it had her taking a deep, slow gulp as her tongue kept working on her lips. Like she was tasting something alien.

Show fear, and you'll never be seen again.

Whatever forces that had given her the visions on the mountain now seemed to be at work in the rear of the doll shop. The feeling of danger flew right to her heart, as straight and true as the arrow that had impaled Darla Moon in the chest. Something was pushing the Doll Lady to a crisis point, and fear may be the trigger.

"Mary Beth," Darcie said, forcing herself to speak in a calm even voice, "you should put that away."

The Doll Lady's tongue stopped its disturbing motion, but her eyes remained glazed.

Without watching where she was going, Darcie missed the doorway to the front of the building, backing her wheelchair into the wall. Unless she rolled forward she was trapped, but the last thing she wanted to do was to present herself as a target by moving closer to the Doll Lady.

"Put it away, Mary Beth." Darcie saw the Doll Lady's face changing back to when she first saw her. Using her name seemed to help. "Mary Beth, as soon as you put it away you can show me around."

The thing that was controlling Mary Beth seemed to be loosening its grip on her.

"You want to put it away, don't you Mary Beth." Darcie tried to keep her voice conversational, as if she was not scared out of her wits. "Mary Beth, put it away. Now, Mary Beth."

With a quick intake of breath, the Doll Lady's eyes cleared. She placed the palms of her hand over her heart and blinked her eyes several times. "I should put that away." Reluctantly she picked up the mallet in her left hand. Wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, she had muscular forearms. Although slight of build, Mary Beth easily carried the large mallet to a storage locker and closed the door.

"I better get going," Darcie said, wondering how she would open the front door without Mary Beth's help.

The Doll Lady walked over to a sink, turned on the faucet, and splashed water on her face. After drying with a towel she turned to Darcie. There was no sign of the strange intensity that had been so frightening a moment before.

"I'd really like you to stay," Mary Beth said. "I could use some inspiration right now."

"From me?" Darcie asked. With the mallet gone, she no longer felt the need to escape from The Doll Lady. All the tension was gone from the room and it seemed almost comfortable.

"Yes," Mary Beth said, then opened a cupboard and pulled out a sketch pad and a camera. "Do you mind if I take a few pictures?" she asked, even as she focused and then clicked the shutter.

"Please don't," Darcie said. "I don't like having my picture taken."

"Why not?" Mary Beth said. "You've got a beautiful face."

Darcie's first impulse was to tell her that it was none of her business, but Mary Beth didn't seem intentionally pushy. "I don't like to see myself in them. I already know how different I am."

"Let me show you something," Mary Beth said, taking out a photo album. She turned to a page and set the book so Darcie could see it. "One of these is a picture of my five-year-old niece, the other is a picture of the doll I made of her. Can you tell which one is the doll?"

The two pictures were of the head and shoulders. Darcie looked at them and could tell instantly which one was the doll and which one was the real child. "I wouldn't want to say."

"Very nice," Mary Beth said. "You don't want to hurt my feelings, but you don't want to tell a lie, either. This," she said, pointing to the picture that Darcie thought was the doll, "is my niece."

"I thought it was the other one," Darcie said.

Mary Beth smiled. "I kind of stacked the deck by putting a bit too much makeup on my niece. I'd show you the doll, but everything is in storage until I can get rid of all this damned dust."

"That's amazing," said Darcie, still looking at the pictures. "I'll make sure to come by when you have everything done."

Mary Beth picked up the camera again. "Now, may I take a few pictures? I promise, they'll all be head shots, and I won't show them to anyone else."

"Is that what you did before you made the doll of your niece?" Darcie asked.

"Yes, plus I had her sit for me while I modeled her face."

"Are you going to make a doll that looks like me?"

"Perhaps," Mary Beth said.

"But why?"

"I don't know," Mary Beth said. "When I saw you through the window of Billy's store it never occurred to me to do that. But the second I saw you up close, I had a sudden urge to try to create a doll that looked like you. It was like—poof—I just had to do it."

As the pictures were being taken, the hardest thing for Darcie to do was to get the tension out of her face. Mary Beth talked to her, told her about making dolls and even got her to laugh, then took several more pictures. "I'm going to get a close-up of your eyes. I may need to send a photograph to the company that makes the doll's eyes for me, just to make sure they get the color right. You're the first person I've met that has violet eyes. They give you the most enchanting look." Mary Beth smiled. "I can almost predict I'll be dreaming about your eyes. They really are quite compelling."

After putting away the camera, Mary Beth reached into a bin and pulled out a clump of modeling clay. She rolled it around in her hands as she talked.

"I can get the features close by looking at your pictures, then if needed I'll have you come in when I'm ready for the final touches."

Darcie stared fixedly at Mary Beth's hands. The Doll Lady's fingers were nimble, in constant motion. They looked strong, almost magical, as they expertly changed a shapeless ball of clay into a head that was already beginning to resemble her. What wonderful things could be done with well-trained hands.

She thought she was keeping her face neutral, but the fingers stopped shaping the clay. Mary Beth looked from her hands to Darcie's shoulder stumps.

"I'm so sorry, Darcie. I guess I got carried away."

"Please, don't stop. I was just wondering..." Darcie trailed off, embarrassed to ask the question.

"What?" Mary Beth said.

"She's not going to be in a wheelchair, is she?" As she asked it, the answer seemed absurdly important. What did it matter how the doll came out, all it would be was a toy.

"I'm not sure how she'll be when I finish with her." Mary Beth picked up the clay and started to work it again. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Could you give her your hands?" Darcie asked timidly.

"I'd be glad to. Is there anything special you'd like her to be?"

"A pilot." She said it so quickly that it surprised her.

"One that works for an airline and wears a snappy blue uniform and a wide-brimmed hat?" Mary Beth asked.

"Could she be a military pilot? A fighter pilot in a green flight suit, like she just came back from flying a mission."

"I like that. Should we call her Lieutenant Darcie?"

"That's sounds a little too cute," Darcie said. "My uncle Jimmy Charbonnough was a pilot. His call sign was Spider, but that doesn't sound right. How about Lieutenant Charbonnough?"

"How about Captain Charbonnough," Mary Beth asked. "It has a certain tempo to it."

"Okay," Darcie said.

"Do you have any pictures of your uncle Jimmy in his flight suit? Maybe you could ask him to loan you some. I'll take good care of them and they'll help me to get everything looking right."

"I only have the one. He died when I was in the third grade, so I don't know much about him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Mary Beth said.

At that moment an image came to her. "This is really strange," Darcie said. "I remember running up to him. He swooped me up and held me high over his head, telling me that someday we'd fly together." Darcie closed her eyes for a second.

"Oh my," Mary Beth said.

Darcie let the memory linger for as long as possible before she opened her eyes. "It's the first time I ever remembered doing something when I wasn't in a wheelchair."

Mary Beth's lips were pressed together and she was leaning forward.

Darcie didn't make her ask. "It happened when I was four years old, that's about all I know about it. Ever since I can remember, I've always been like this." She hoped Mary Beth wouldn't ask her for more details. She didn't want to think about the dream that sometimes woke her up, finding herself sitting in bed with Ellen or Grandma trying to calm her down. The dream didn't come too often, but when it did, she was afraid to go back to sleep; afraid of the possibility of having to go through it again.

"Mr. Paine told me that you don't make the clothes for your dolls," Darcie said.

"No, I leave that to people with a talent for sewing. I make sketches of what I want the clothes to look like and then let them go to work. It's the same with the eyes. There's a company in Germany that I order my eyes from. They do an excellent job and it lets me do what I'm good at."

Darcie watched as the head continued to look more and more like her. "Could you make her so that she's not too pretty?"

Mary Beth smiled. "Why is that?"

"I was just thinking that if Captain Charbonnough was too pretty, she might be looked at more as an ornament and not be taken seriously as a pilot." The moment Darcie said it she burst out laughing. "Isn't that dumb? Me asking you to make a doll that'll kick butt and take names."

"Actually, no. If I had my dolls here, I could show you some that have that feel to them. That's usually why I decide to make a certain doll. It all starts with a feeling I get. It's like something needs to get out and I have to work on it right away. I've seen you from a distance and already knew you were pretty, but when I saw you close up—there it was. I just had to do something, so I asked you to come inside."

"I wondered about that. When you invited me in I almost said no."

"I'm glad you came in," Mary Beth said. "The fun part for me is creating the doll. To come up with what I want it to be and how it should look. Do you have any other ideas about Captain Charbonnough?"

"Maybe she could have a scar on her face. My uncle Jimmy had one that started just under his left eye and went all the way down to his chin. I used to think that he always had it, but later I heard that he was hurt in a training accident."

"That might work," Mary Beth said. "Captain Charbonnough could have a beautiful face on one side and be scarred on the other. Two sides of the same person." She smiled. "Don't worry, Darcie. I know they're just dolls. Could you do something for me?"

"What is it?" Darcie asked.

"Find out all the information you can about your uncle. What kind of jet he flew, what the name of his unit was, things like that. You'd be surprised at how much of a difference small details make."

"Okay," Darcie said, wondering who she could call to get that kind of information. Perhaps Grandma Dora would help. "I'll do that."

"There's just one thing,' Mary Beth said.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes I can start out with a great idea, but for one reason or another, it doesn't work out. And even if it does, it might be months or even years until everything comes together."

"I can understand that," Darcie said.

"Also, what I start out to do and what it ends up looking like are two different things. Here, I'll show you."

Mary Beth opened a cupboard and pulled out another clay head. Darcie couldn't see the face until it was placed on the table, then she recognized it instantly.

"I've been trying to give Collin a more rugged look, but he keeps ending up with odd looking features. That's the trouble with being too close to your subject, your feelings get in the way of what would work the best."

"Collin?" Darcie said, not meaning to speak aloud.

"I should say Sheriff Baxter. He hates it when we're out somewhere and I call him Collin. He doesn't seem to mind when were alone, though. Men can be so odd at times."

Darcie shrugged, then turned her chair around as if she was looking elsewhere. "You've got a lot of space back here." She took a breath to keep her voice from getting shaky. "Are you going to be getting other things to work with?" She didn't know if Mary Beth was looking her way or not. She wiped at her eyes with her shoulder stumps.

"Darcie?" Mary Beth said, "are you all right? I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sure Captain Charbonnough will be just like we talked about."

"I'm okay. I probably should be going before it gets too late. I don't want my grandparents to worry."

"I'll walk you to the door."

"Could you do me a favor?" Darcie asked.

"If I can," Mary Beth said.

"Could you not tell anyone about us talking this afternoon?" She wanted to specifically say Collin Baxter, but she was afraid that that would bring too many questions.

Mary Beth smiled. "It's funny, all I do is make dolls, which doesn't seem very important, but somehow it always gets personal."

"Yeah," Darcie said, "I guess it does."

She was able to hold it together until she was out of the doll store and made it to the end of the block. Once she was around the corner she couldn't keep it inside any longer. She burst into tears and hated herself for being so foolish. If she would have heard about Collin dating Mary Beth before she met her, then hating The Doll Lady would be easy. But Mary Beth was nice, and pretty, and athletic, and talented. She was a perfect match for Sheriff Collin Baxter. Mary Beth could probably do a lot more with her clever hands than just model clay; do the things that would make Collin want to be with her. Then she wondered if Collin had seen Mary Beth act strangely, or was he too infatuated with her to notice. Maybe it was her. Mary Beth hadn't done anything threatening. The way things had been going lately, Darcie thought there was a good chance that the problem was with her.

Driving her wheelchair home, Darcie hoped her blouse wasn't too messy from having to wipe her face on the shoulders.

At that moment it seemed like the town of Stranger was nothing more than a trap. The only job she could do was to be an ornament at Old Billy Paine's store. She had few friends. Unless she begged a ride from someone there was no way for her to get around if it was beyond the range of her wheelchair's batteries.

The community was small and she was always seeing Collin Baxter driving in that big SUV with the spotlights and stenciled SHERIFF on the side. Now he was with someone other than her. She tried to pretend that it didn't matter, but it did. Hearing Mary Beth talk about Collin so intimately hurt more than she could have known.

There was only one thing she could do to make a life for herself, and that was to leave the town of Stranger and go somewhere that would have opportunities for her. Possibly Seattle. In a city that big she should be able to find a job she would be good at.

The only thing keeping her home were her grandparents, and both of them were in failing health. She hated the idea of losing them, but when they were gone there would be no more ties on her. She would escape from the town of Stranger, Washington and find a life for herself.

### 9

The sun set while she was still several blocks from home. The wind blowing off the mountain was cold on her face. Darcie was shivering by the time she arrived home.

Ellen was sitting on the porch, head down, holding Grandpa's favorite cane. The house was dark. Even the kitchen light was off.

"Is everything okay?" Darcie asked as she drove her wheelchair up the ramp.

There were no sounds from inside the house. It seemed lifeless and foreboding.

"Ellen, what's wrong?" Even as she asked, Darcie knew the answer.

Ellen shook her head. "I . . . . I can't go in there."

"Why not?" she asked, moving to the front door.

"Can't you feel it, Darcie?" Ellen said, putting a hand over her eyes. "They're gone. They're both...gone."

### CHAPTER SEVEN

### Futures

### 1

It must have looked odd for the first vehicle following the hearse away from the funeral home to be a delivery van, but it made sense to Darcie. Most of the people that had helped with the funeral arrangements were from Grandma and Grandpa's church, many of whom were in no condition to wrestle a wheelchair in and out of a car's trunk and then lift a solid girl out of the back seat, then repeat the action at the funeral home and then do the same at the cemetery.

When Old Billy Paine volunteered the use of his van, Ellen had said no. She didn't come right out and say it, but Darcie knew her sister was trying to avoid another strange situation. It must seem to Ellen that much of her crippled sister's life involved strange situations.

"Well, okay," Darcie said to Ellen, sighing in resignation. "I guess I'll have to let Reverend Jones get his hands on me. He seems to be looking forward to helping me get in and out of my wheelchair. He won't be the first guy that's copped a feel that way." Everything she said was true, but Darcie felt a little guilty about manipulating Ellen by playing to her prudish nature. Darcie didn't say anything more about Billy's van, letting Ellen bring up the subject.

The day before the funeral Darcie showed up at Billy's store around noon, asking if she could work. Being with Old Billy Paine was better than having to endure the invasion of elderly ladies that took over her grandparent's house. There seemed to be a blue-haired granny in every room; dusting table tops, sweeping the floors, snooping in drawers. They spoke over her head—even when Darcie would challenge one for going through papers that were none of their damned business. Ellen had gone out the front door as the first carload of helpful church women unloaded in front of the house. To be polite, Darcie stayed. By turns she felt useless and ignored, then patronized and belittled. No one seemed to notice when she left the house, deciding to drive her wheelchair down to Billy's store.

Although there were times when Darcie was in Billy's store just for someplace to be, Billy always paid her, even when she told him not to. Since she was there to watch the store, Billy ran a hose out the front door of his store, then set to washing his large box van. After that he spent three hours putting on a coat of wax, polishing the van until it was gleaming. When he finished Billy came in smiling, waiting for Darcie to tell him what a good job he'd done.

"That looks really nice," Darcie said, trying to hide how disturbed she felt. From living with her ailing grandfather, she knew what an old man that needed to breathe oxygen looked like when he worked. He'd go for a while, and then have to rest while taking breaths from the small green oxygen tank, then go again. Despite the desire to get the job done, there would be a gradual slowing of pace, leading up to frustrated exhaustion.

There was none of that when Old Billy Paine tidied up his van. He seemed to have more energy when he was finished than when he started, and he only took a whiff of oxygen when he saw that she was watching him. The last time she'd asked him why he seemed to be so healthy, Billy got upset and went into the back of his store for the rest of the day. This time she kept quiet.

When the van was washed and the bucket and hose were put away, there was something disturbing in the way that Billy was looking at her. His eyes stayed on her body longer than usual. He was starting to gaze into her eyes, holding them as he told her jokes or a story from when he was younger. The stories were getting boastful, painting young Billy Paine as a dashing charmer that sought adventure wherever he went. There wasn't one specific thing, but Darcie was starting to wonder if the eighty-three year old man had a thing for her. Disturbing, but not inconceivable.

### 2

Darcie dreaded attending Grandma and Grandpa's funeral. As it turned out, it was not only upsetting, it was bizarre. One of her grandmother's wishes was that Reverend Jones preside at her funeral. Her grandfather hadn't said what he wanted, so the sisters followed the instructions left by Grandma.

Reverend Jones didn't say much about Julius and Emma McMann, instead he took the opportunity to comment on the decadence of modern life, the loss of values, the need to restrain the lustful desires of the flesh and above all, turn away temptation.

Although it had been over two years since Darcie's senses were last assailed by Reverend Jones' booming voice, angry face, and crazed eyes, she recognized the kind of frenzy he was working himself up to.

Sitting in the aisle next to Ellen, Darcie leaned over to her sister and said "Not today."

"What?" Ellen asked, looking like she was ready to ride out a storm. She turned to Darcie but didn't have to say anything. Too many times the Charbonnough sisters had witnessed Reverend Jones' inexhaustible supply of righteous indignation.

Before his face had a chance to turn crimson or his fist to shake in the air or the spittle to fly from his contorting lips, Darcie drove her wheelchair up to the lectern. She stopped directly in front of Reverend Jones and sat motionless for a time, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. When he ignored her and continued to build his wrath, Darcie tried talking to him. Since she didn't want her grandparent's funeral to turn into a shouting match, she resisted matching Reverend Jones' volume. He still ignored her, so she tried another tactic, which was bumping the lectern with her wheelchair.

Like a ship's captain bracing against a ship's wheel, Reverend Jones steadied the lectern with one hand while raising eyes, fist, and voice to the ceiling of the funeral hall.

If the lectern hadn't been built on a platform, Darcie's next move would have been to drive behind Reverend Jones and bump into his legs. Her only choice now was to make another run at the lectern. She backed up far enough to build some momentum and then raced forward, the arm rest of her wheelchair crashing into the lectern, sending it toppling sideways.

From the corner of her eye Darcie saw Mr. Epson, the funeral director, rushing towards her. Having been standing at the far end of the hall, he wasn't in time to stop the second impact, but he did manage to keep the lectern from falling over.

Standing between Darcie and his expensive lectern, which bore the marks of the two impacts from the powered wheelchair, Mr. Epson tried to get Reverend Jones to stop talking.

Having built his own momentum, Reverend Jones kept going. It was only when Mr. Epson grabbed Reverend Jones by the arm and pulled him to the side of the room did the preacher finally shut up.

"Sir," Mr. Epson said to Reverend Jones, still gripping his arm, "I think the young lady wishes to speak to you. And since this is the funeral of her beloved grandparents, I suggest you listen to her."

"Huh?" Reverend Jones said, his eyes flashing at Darcie.

Ellen had joined her but said nothing as Darcie moved as close as she could get to the reverend without banging the wheelchair into his knees. "I know what's in the packages you pick up every Tuesday from Mr. Paines' store," Darcie said, speaking softly. "If you don't want me to tell everyone what you like to ogle, then you will preside over this funeral with all the dignity and respect my grandparents deserve."

It was a much less animated Reverend Jones that conducted the rest of the funeral and graveside services.

Although he stayed in his van the whole time, Old Billy Paine wore a black suit and kept unusually silent, letting Darcie and Ellen talk with each other as they felt the need.

Stopping his van in front of what was now Darcie and Ellen's house, Billy pulled out the ramp for Darcie's wheelchair then followed the girls inside.

"Well," Darcie said, looking around the front room, "the house is clean."

"With less things in it," Ellen said. Then she turned towards Darcie. "What's in the package that Reverend Jones picks up ever Tuesday?"

Darcie looked at Billy.

"It's his secret, not mine," Billy said. "Folks want to buy something, I'll sell it."

Wheeling over to an end table, Darcie saw that two of Grandma's favorite Hummel figurines were gone. One remained, a kid carrying an umbrella, which had been broken and glued back together. "Tuesday is when the magazines are delivered to the store. Mr. Paine goes through the ones with naked girls in them and wraps a couple in brown paper, like it's from a butcher's counter. When Reverend Jones comes into the store to do some shopping, Mr. Paine always takes care of him. When he leaves, the brown paper package is gone."

"That hypocrite," Ellen said. "No wonder he knows so much about sins of the flesh and all that other crap he yells about.

"It gets the offering plate filled," Old Billy Paine said.

"What do you mean by that?" Darcie asked.

"Well, if Reverend Jones didn't make his sermons so. . ." Old Billy Paine paused long enough to find the right word ". . . interesting, then I don't think as many folks would attend his services."

"That's disgusting," Ellen said.

"I ain't saying I agree with it," Old Billy Paine.

Ellen handed him a cup of coffee. As he sat sipping the hot liquid, Ellen scooped up the mail from below the mail slot and started sorting through the letters.

"Darcie, here's a letter addressed to you," Ellen said, then read the return address. "It's from Stranger County. Oh my god," Ellen said after opening the letter, "it's a check for $1,137."

"What's that for?" Darcie asked.

"It's for when you got hurt way back and both of you lost your ma," Billy said. "You didn't know you were getting that every month?"

"No," Ellen said, examining the check.

"Back then it was the talk of the town, for a while. Some big lawyer got after the county for the mess they created in your girls' life and arranged a settlement. Most people forgot about it, but I..."

"Thank you for your help Mr. Paine," Ellen said, taking the cup out of Billy's hand and looking down at him. "Can I get you anything else?"

Seeing the look on Ellen's face Billy stood up. "Umm, no. You girls must be all tuckered out. I better get on back to the store and open 'er up. Darcie, you come on in anytime you feel up to it. Tomorrow, next week, whenever. Okay? I'll be glad to see ya when you do."

"Okay," Darcie said. "I'll probably be in tomorrow. Thanks for everything."

Ellen held onto the cup she'd taken from Billy and stood motionless until they were alone in the house.

"Why would I be getting a check from Stranger County every month?" Darcie asked. "I don't remember...

"Well!" Ellen said, suddenly moving around the front room. "I guess it's time to find out what those old biddies stole from us." She made a show of turning her head as she surveyed the room. "Next Sunday I'll post a list of missing items at the church. After that I don't think Reverend Jones or the members of his congregation will bother us."

"Not all of them bothered me," Darcie said. "Most of them were very nice. Is that why you left before those ladies came inside? Did they upset you?" Darcie asked.

"No. I just couldn't deal with anyone right then. Not even you."

Not even you.

The words hit Darcie right in the gut. "Gosh," she said, forgetting about the mysterious check from Stranger County. With her grandparents gone, the idea of Ellen leaving made her feel queasy inside.

Ellen put a hand on her shoulder. "That won't happen again. I promise."

"I'm glad," Darcie said. She was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she would be if she was on her own. Ellen was bound to meet a guy and start a life with him. What would she do then, go over to Ellen's place for a bath and to take care of her other personal needs? What she needed to do was to be in a position where she could afford to hire the kind of help Ellen provided. In order to do that she'd need to earn a good living, the kind that started with getting an education.

### 3

The next day she arrived at the store before Old Billy Paine and was waiting for him to open the door. As soon as they were inside she told him that she'd take him up on the offer to help her go to the community college. Billy looked at her real close for a moment, then said he was glad to hear it. Wheeling his oxygen tank behind him, Billy started taking inventory on a clipboard as Darcie took her place behind the cash register.

The counter area where Darcie worked had a lot of space. When she first started working for Billy she asked him if she could help with the inventory and anything else it took to run a business. With her quick mind it didn't take long to learn how to do the books and take care of the paperwork. She was able to overcome most difficulties by spreading everything out on the counter and using unsharpened pencils to open books and turn pages, just like she did with her homework. If the inventory list was small, she could usually keep all the information in her mind. Often when Billy would ask her questions about what was in the store, Darcie was able to come up with the right answer.

The afternoon sun had dropped beneath the horizon formed by the foothills of Stranger Mountain. The remaining light softened the colors of the forest, giving subtle contrast to the view from the large front windows of Old Billy Paine's store.

Darcie enjoyed watching the interplay of shadow and light as the sky slowly darkened. Without her grandparents to tell her to be home before dark, she would keep working at the store until Billy was ready to close. The sky was almost completely dark when the door opened and a young lady walked in. She was holding the hand of a four-year-old boy. Standing just inside the door, the young lady stared at her.

"Hello," Darcie said. "Is there something I can help you with?"

The young lady blinked, opened her mouth to say something, but didn't speak.

"Mommy," the little boy said, "can I see the toys?"

The boy seemed to snap the young lady out of her trance. "Sure, honey, but don't go anywhere else."

For Darcie, getting odd looks from customers new to Billy's store wasn't unusual, but most of the time people were looking at the empty sleeves of her blouse and where her skirt lay flat at the front of her wheelchair. The young woman had been looking at her face, and then gazing directly into her eyes. It wasn't a challenging look; the young lady just seemed to be taking it all in.

Having seen all kinds of reactions from people upon first seeing her, Darcie realized that the girl might not have noticed that she was in a wheelchair. Like a lot of things that happened, Darcie tried to keep herself from reading too much into the moment.

"You have a beautiful son," Darcie said, watching the little boy take a toy car off of the shelf. "What's his name?"

"Timmy," the young lady said. She seemed preoccupied as she went down the aisle then came up to the cash register and placed the toy on the counter.

"Will that be all?" Darcie asked. Again the lady was staring at her. "That'll be a dollar ninety-seven. Just put the money in the till and take your change."

"You want me to put money where?" the lady asked, then seemed to realize that Darcie had a severe physical challenge.

It was like signaling the lady's eyes to leap into action. She looked from Darcie's face, to her wheelchair, to her empty sleeves, to the wheelchair, to the chin controls, then back to Darcie's face again, all the while turning a bright crimson. She put two dollars into the drawer and didn't take any change. After handing the toy car to Timmy, the lady remained standing in front of the counter.

"Was there anything else?" Darcie asked. Usually someone as embarrassed as Timmy's mother would have scurried out the door.

The young lady looked around. "Is there anyone else working here? I was expecting an elderly woman working for a man everyone calls 'Old Billy Paine.'"

"No, it's just me," Darcie said, not knowing what to think. She wasn't trying to be rude.

"I'm sorry. I was caught off guard when I saw that you were so—beautiful. I didn't even notice that you were... I mean that you needed a wheelchair to... Oh, god, I feel just awful. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Darcie said. She didn't know why the woman was so flustered. To lighten the mood she said "May I ask you your name?"

"I'm Jeannie Rivers. I was told to come in here and talk to you."

"Then you already know my name," Darcie said.

"No, I don't," Jeannie said. "I was just told to drive into Stranger and meet the woman who works at Old Billy Paine's store. And then..." Jeannie faltered.

"And then, what?" Darcie asked.

"I know this is going to sound very strange. Before I came over it seemed like an odd thing to do, but I was told that it would help keep my little boy safe, so I decided to make the trip from Springville to here. It's not that far, so I drove over and then..." Again, Jeannie faltered. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Darcie. What was it that you're supposed to do?"

"The other day Timmy came close to being hurt while he was playing in our yard. It's not the first time it happened. The housekeeper told me that if I wanted Timmy to be safe, I needed to come see you and..."

"And...," Darcie said, wishing Jeannie would get to the point.

"I'm supposed to have Timmy put his hand over your heart. Not on your clothes, but touching your skin."

This was a new one on Darcie. Usually kids would dare each other to do something involving her. Sometimes it was an adult, like guys egging one of their buddies on to see if they could get a kiss from her, or ask her out on a date, or see if they could get her into bed. It was easy to spot people like that, there was a certain look of insincerity. Jeannie Rivers didn't seem to have any hidden agenda, and yet letting Timmy put his hand under her blouse seemed a little too personal.

"And then what?" Darcie asked.

Jeannie shrugged. "I don't know."

Darcie drove her wheelchair down the ramp. This let Timmy get a good look at her. He stared at her with wide eyes but didn't say anything.

"Who told you to come see me?" Darcie asked.

"Mrs. Lee, our housekeeper," Jeannie said. "She used to live in the house, before she moved back to China. A few weeks ago she came back to Springville and had her grandson drive her over to my house. She offered to be our housekeeper for ten dollars a week. Jeff, my husband, jumped at the chance, but I told him we had to pay her at least minimum wage." Jeannie smiled thinly. "Sometimes I wonder what gets into his head. He went out and paid cash for that red thing out front, and then he's eager to pay some frail old lady starvation wages."

Darcie looked out the window and saw a red Corvette parked across from the store. She'd seen the same car the week before when a man came in the door and let his eyes crawl all over her body, then he pickup up a couple of small items and placed them on the counter.

"Fifteen twenty-five," Darcie said, almost doubling the price because of the way he was looking at her. He slapped a twenty dollar bill on the counter and told her to keep the change. "Put it in the drawer, please," Darcie said.

"Sure thing," the man said, grinning. "By the way, I'm Jeff."

Not liking anything about him, especially the way his eyes kept going from her face to her chest, she kept silent.

"If you tell me what time you get off work, I could swing by and give you a ride in my new car," he said, pointing to a red Corvette sitting at the curb, almost at the exact place where his wife would later park. "Maybe we could go out to a restaurant or something."

It was one of the few Corvettes Darcie had ever seen, other than on TV. She noticed the vanity plate, RDNFST. She wondered how many times the red and fast car would be pulled over for speeding. "You better check halfway down aisle three," Darcie said.

"Why's that?" Jeff asked.

"When you walked down there, you were wearing a wedding ring. When you came up to the counter it wasn't on your finger. It must have fallen off when you grabbed that bag of chips."

Jeff's face darkened and he looked like he was going to say something to her, so Darcie said, "That's a pretty car."

His expression changed to a smile. "Bet your ass it is. It drives like a dream and really jumps when you step on the gas."

Usually Darcie let figures of speech like that slide, but Jeff was still blatantly staring at her breasts. "I don't think I'll be stepping on the gas any time soon," Darcie said, causing him to look up. She stared him straight in the eye.

He walked out of the store without searching for his missing ring.

Darcie could see where Timmy's good looks came from. Jeannie had nice features, too, with golden blonde hair and clear blue eyes. She also possessed a sincerity that her husband lacked completely.

"Jeannie, I can tell you know how strange your request is," Darcie said, "but there's been strange things that's happened around here before. If you think that having Timmy touch me is important, then I'll let him." She drove her wheelchair to the side of the store where they were out of sight of the entrance. "Why don't you lift him up next to me," Darcie said, shifting sideways in the wheelchair to make room.

After she put Timmy on the wheelchair, Jeannie opened the top two buttons of Darcie's blouse, then told Timmy where to put his hand. Timmy's fingers felt warm, and a little sticky. Darcie wished Jeannie would have had him wash up, first.

"What's that?" Timmy asked, his eyes growing wide.

"He can probably feel my heart beating," Darcie said. She was surprised when Timmy put his ear to her chest and listened. For a moment Darcie felt the wall that she kept between herself and what she was missing fall away. The comforting touch of a small child seemed somehow alien to her, like she would always be denied that simple joy. She felt a deep sadness.

"Mommy, it sounds like the dragon's heart," Timmy said.

"A dragon's heart?" Jeannie asked. "What are you talking about?"

Timmy kept his ear on Darcie's chest. "Gramma Lee said that the dragon under the house is getting bigger. She had me listen on the grass. The dragon made me fall out of the tree."

Jeannie rolled her eyes. "This is too weird. I don't know if hiring Grandmother Lee was a good idea or not. She keeps the house spotless, but she says the oddest things." She lifted Timmy off of the chair, then quickly buttoned Darcie's blouse. "I don't know what to make of all this."

The comforting presence of the little boy was gone. Darcie had to force herself to pretend that her emotions were not about to overflow. "Jeannie, are you from around here?"

"No, I grew up in Seattle," Jeannie said, smoothing Darcie's blouse with the tips of her fingers. "My husband and I moved to Springville about five years ago. Why?"

"I was just wondering. It seems like the people that were born around here kind of take weird things in stride. I don't know if we just get used to it, or if it's too much to figure out. Now, it's my turn to ask you to do something; would you put the palm of your hand on my forehead?"

Jeannie started to smile, but didn't when she saw that Darcie was serious.

As Jeannie touched her, Darcie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had felt something when Jeannie buttoned her blouse. As Jeannie's skin made contact with hers, she felt it even stronger. It had never happened to her before, somehow she felt that she had to make a link to another person.

"Don't move," Darcie said when she felt Jeannie start to pull away.

Something was happening. Her eyes were open, but she wasn't seeing the store. Instead she saw a thick darkness in front of her, textured with even darker shadows that coalesced into two shapes being surrounded by a malevolent hunger.

"Jeannie, if something weird happens at your house; if something goes on that frightens you, grab Timmy and run."

Jeannie gave Darcie an odd look. "Are you and Grandmother Lee playing some sort of elaborate joke on me?"

"I've never met Grandmother Lee, and I don't like having tricks played on me, so I don't play them on other people. I don't know what's going to happen, maybe nothing. But if something does happen, take Timmy and run. Don't wait to put on shoes or grab your purse or anything. Grab him and go."

The smiled disappeared from Jeannie's face. "I had a great aunt that told me about being a little girl in London during World War Two. She was taking a bath when the air raid sirens went off. She wanted to get dressed but her mother grabbed her and hauled her outside, wet and naked. They just made it to the air raid shelter when the bombs hit and destroyed the entire neighborhood. If they would have waited a second longer, they would have been killed."

"Wow," was all Darcie could think to say. She didn't know why she'd asked Jeannie to touch her. The whole situation seemed out of her control. There was an awkward silence where she and Jeannie just looked at each other. It ended with Timmy wanting to go home.

An hour after Jeannie left, Old Billy Paine came in from helping Marry Beth Press at her store. Darcie told him about Jeannie's visit.

When he heard about Jeannie's housekeeper, Billy put his hands together and gave a slight bow. "Honored Grandmother Lee," he said. "I met her once a long time ago. A fine lady. She seemed to have dragons on the brain. They said one was living under their land. The Lee family had this sketch of their farm, showing where the dragon's head was, his back and his tail. Honored Grandmother Lee was always shooing the kids away from this big oak tree in their front yard, telling them that the roots had grown around the dragon's right eyeball. Every time a kid would play in the tree it would tweak the dragon's eye, so the dragon would get mad and shake the tree. After the Lee's moved, at least three kids were hurt and one died falling out of that damned tree. I'm surprised someone hasn't chopped it down."

Billy started towards the back of his store then stopped.

"Do you know where Drago Community College got its name?" he asked.

"I never thought of it," Darcie said.

"At one time the Lee family was pretty big around here. They donated the land for the college. The only stipulation was that it be named Drago." Billy shook his head then started for the back of the store again. "Strange things," he said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think it was all tied together in some way."

Darcie wanted to ask him more questions about Mrs. Lee, but he went into the back room and closed the door after him.

Yes, very strange things. Like her making a mental connection with Jeannie Rivers. It wasn't the first time she'd had the feeling that there was more going on than she could actually see. This time, though, there was a sort of energy behind what she felt. A power that, as she grew older, was becoming stronger.

### 4

Darcie wouldn't have thought of it herself, even though she was the only one to benefit from the idea. With all the work he already had to do, Old Billy Paine took the time to cut out magazine articles she wanted to read. He put them into plastic sleeves and secured them in a three-ring binder. The effect was that instead of getting frustrated by the pages of a magazine closing, or having to anchor open the periodical by grabbing something with her teeth then placing it where she wanted it before the page flopped over, Darcie could read what she liked with ease. Taking a pencil in her teeth, she used the eraser end to turn the page and read about trips to Spain in a travel magazine, or about movie stars in People Magazine, or, as she was doing now, reading through the Drago Community College catalog.

Darcie was so engrossed in the class schedule that she didn't notice the bell when the door of Old Billy Paine's store opened, then closed. A moment later she felt a menacing presence in the store.

Her first inkling of what kind of peril she was in was when a large hand circled her neck and started to squeeze.

"Pretty girl," a voice of anger and need growled in her ear. "Sexy girl." A disheveled man took a deep breath, looking her up and down. "You'd be easy to make disappear—afterward."

She didn't have to be told what afterward meant. Afraid to move, Darcie tried to see who had grabbed her. All she could make out was a dirty face and a shaggy beard. His breath was foul, as was his body odor. "Mister, please don't..."

The man crouched down until his head was below the counter. His fingers tightened around her throat. "Shhhhh. Watch outside. Tell me what you see."

Too afraid to do anything else, she watched out the door. At first there was no movement, then she saw Collin Baxter drive past in his official Suburban, its emergency lights flashing. Following close behind were two deputies driving their cruisers. They were all grim faced as they checked out the area.

"There are three sheriff's cars. They seem to be search...."

The hand applied more pressure to her throat, choking off her words.

"Are they gone?"

She nodded her head. The easy strength controlling her frightened her so much that she wanted to break into hysterical tears. In a moment of preternatural clarity, Darcie knew that if she didn't get control of herself, they would be her last tears.

It happened in an instant; like an electrical circuit completed by the flip of a switch. Powered by fear and her will to survive, an inner eye seemed to open in her mind, an eye capable of seeing beyond her panic.

Appearing from nowhere, she saw dozens of little orbs floating all around her, each one a world of possibilities. They gave off the same disquieting vibrations that she'd felt when she was first at the Doll Lady's store, and later when Jeannie Rivers had touched her. Circular pathways, each leading to a different destination—to a different future. All she had to do was will one of the circles to be in front of her and she would get a view of what was to come. It was easy to pick out the circle that most affected her now. Emanating the same vile dark force as the man that held her captive, it presented itself to be viewed. Letting it come close enough to touch her forehead, the orb gave her a vision of the next few minutes.

"If you do what you're planning," Darcie said, more frightened that ever—now that she could visualize what he was about to do to her—"it'll give the police time to come back here. Even as I say this, one of the deputies is remembering that I'm alone in the store. He's on the radio, telling the sheriff that I'm the kind of victim you..." A brief glimpse of him ripping at her clothes with vicious anticipation brought her up short. "It's what you like to do."

He moved in front of her and she looked past the dirt on his face and bits of leaves and bark imbedded in his matted hair. Inside of him, separate from the man's body, a furious anger was in control. It saw through the man's eyes, drinking her in, fueling its hunger by knowing what kind of revulsion its act would illicit from those that would come across her naked, weeping form. It had been too long since the thing inside him had the opportunity to do something obscene; something senseless and shocking.

"You might be able to get at me for a few seconds," Darcie said, "but that will give the police time to capture you." Another path came to her, one that showed her safely sitting in her wheelchair a few moments after he bolted out to the sidewalk and ran down the street. "If you leave now, they won't see which way you..." she was going to say ran, but that one word would be like touching a spark to gasoline. If he thought he ran from the police, it would be like admitting that he was weak and full of fear. She had to find the right word that would trigger his desire to escape. "You'd still be free."

The heat in his eyes cooled as he looked at her.

Now a different orb came at her and she saw an alternate future. He was cleaned up, dressed in nice clothes and entering a bar. Ladies night, and heavy drinking was dampening judgment. A girl with long dark hair and slender body was dancing with him. She was a little wobbly on her feet as she watched the power in his body and his lithe, athletic moves. His actions easily dominated the area around him, backing off intruders with a single glare. The way he exuded his dangerous sexual power drew her to him, the tempting of fate adding to her excitement. The girl smiled, liking the way his eyes took in her body, knowing that he would be a guilty pleasure that she just couldn't pass up. In the vision, Darcie saw no life for the dark haired girl after that night.

Darcie saw two possible futures, one of which kept her safe, but doomed some other girl, and probably many more.

Whatever was inside of him was clever, able to choose not to be caught though longing to gratify its needs. The man still wanted her, but the evil inside of him made a different choice.

He was down the ramp and out the door before she could make up her mind to offer herself as a delaying tactic. Or did she decide to offer herself only when it was safe for her to do so. On the way out he'd grabbed the cash from the money drawer sitting on the counter. One-hundred, forty-three dollars in bills. Enough to last him a few days.

Once he was gone she had a momentary respite of calm; all the images seemed to float away. Then it was like a horde of green bottle flies swarming around her, each one offering a glimpse of what may happen. They clustered around her head, presenting too many possible futures to deal with. If this was what the gearing sisters saw when people came near them, it was no wonder they spent much of their time alone on the mountain. Then, feeling like an idiot, Darcie remembered the panic button under the counter and pressed it.

In moments Sheriff Baxter came dashing in the front door, his weapon held at-the-ready. On the street the two patrol cars screeched to a halt.

"Collin," Darcie said as an orb flashed a disturbing image into her mind, "don't send Deputy Welker after him. Something happened in the past that'll make him hesitate and the gun will be wrestled away from him."

Sheriff Baxter stopped, confused from having his mission changed from rescue to being given advice by a civilian. "He'll what?"

"It's like a message from the Gearing sisters," Darcie said, hoping to convince him while no one else was around. "The man you're after is holding the gun in dirty hands and aiming it right at Deputy Welker's head. Aiming down the sights, he smiles and pulls..." Choking sobs cut off the rest. She looked directly into Collin's eyes, feeling tears running down her cheeks. "Please, don't let him die."

It took a moment for Sheriff Baxter to react to what she'd told him. After finding out which way the man had gone, Baxter sent Welker in the opposite direction and the second deputy the right way. Then he looked back at her, hard.

"You saved him," Darcie said.

"I did something," Collin said. Angry, he ran out of the store.

Luck. Karma. A cosmic joke. Darcie wondered about what the reason was that the man filled with evil got away. He could have been captured in a few minutes. All it would have cost was her being sexually assaulted, or Deputy Welker dying. Was that the price that would have to be paid for evil to be stopped? Violence? Degradation? The life of a good man?

Henry Wantanabbe Tull was on the loose, and every deputy was called in, along with the State Patrol and other police officers from surrounding jurisdictions. Tull had escaped from the Springville jail after being arrested for murdering two women in a motel room. Some called it the Devil's own luck, and Darcie had to agree. Additional details filled the orbs swirling around her, but Darcie didn't want to know them. There was no need of learning about Tull and duct tape and body positions and all the horror the women endured before a hunting knife came into play. A cleaning lady saw a naked man covered in blood come out of one of the rooms and called 911.

After his escape, Tull had been hiding on the mountain for three grueling months. Dirty, hungry, needing to perform an atrocity, he came into town. An elderly woman saw a man dressed in rags and covered in dirt walk through her back yard. She locked all of her doors then called the sheriff's department. After leaving Darcie unhurt, Tull must have stolen a car, or be hiding in the thick underbrush near the foothills of the mountain. It was disconcerting that he was still on the loose.

Darcie couldn't help thinking that it was her fault. By deflecting his assault on her, she gave him time to get away, instead of taking the few minutes of terror and giving Collin and his deputies time to get to the store. What could he have done to her? Did he have that much time? No. He might have gotten around to it, but it's not something that happens in seconds, or is it? She didn't know. She didn't even want to ask. What if it did only take a second, just long enough for him to tear off clothing, expose bare flesh and then... Maybe he had become aroused the instant he saw her, turned on by the vulnerability of a possible victim. Was that kind of instant arousal even possible?

"Billy," she said after Mr. Paine came back to the store, "how long would it take a man like that to do things to a girl? If a deputy was a few blocks away and driving straight to the store, would a man have time to..." she let her voice trail off. She found that she was afraid to even think the word, let alone say it.

"I don't know, angel heart," Old Billy Paine said. "Getting interrupted before he got what he was after, he might do something quick, and lethal. He could have a knife, or a make quick twist of the neck, there's too many possibilities. The important thing is that nothing happened to you."

Angel heart. Lately Billy had been using endearing terms when he talked to her. She knew he didn't mean them in a fatherly way, either. The danger of the intruder was over, but the clairvoyance the threat had awakened was still having an effect on her. When she talked to Collin she had to shut her eyes to keep from seeing the image of him undressing a willing Mary Beth Press in the back room of her doll shop and lift her onto one of her work benches.

The deputy that took her statement liked to go bird hunting. Every few minutes the image of him tracking a Chinese Pheasant with the barrel of a 12 gauge shotgun and blowing the bird out of the sky in an explosion of feathers would cause her to flinch. In a few days he'd come home from his planned hunting trip to eastern Washington with at least three birds for his wife to cook for supper.

Then the deputy left, and it was even worse when she found herself alone with Billy. She saw that he was doing something when he locked himself in the back of his store. It involved him working to convince her that she should be with him—in every way. After just a brief image of his wrinkled old hands reaching out to touch her, she rolled her wheelchair down the ramp from the counter and out to the sidewalk.

Was what she seeing actually the future? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? Were these visions only the product of an overactive imagination. What about Collin and the Doll Lady. Was it jealous envy twisting her mind?

Out on the sidewalk in front of Old Billy Paine's store, wondering what to do next, another image came to her. It was an image she didn't feel the need to block out. She and Ellen were with Jeannie Rivers. They were at an apartment building, watching men carrying the furniture from her grandparent's house inside. The building was taller than any built in Stranger, and it featured an automatic door that she could open by bumping a large square switch with her shoulder. Inside was a spacious lobby and an elevator. Ellen didn't seem happy about moving to... Where? She had to concentrate for a while before it came to her. Seattle. She and Ellen would move to Seattle, with the help of Jeannie Rivers. From what she saw, Darcie knew that the visions wouldn't bother her once she was far away from Stranger, Washington.

"Billy," Darcie called into the store, "call Jeannie Rivers and give her my phone number. Tell her to call me at home as soon as possible."

"Call who?" Billy asked.

"Please, Billy. Call Jeannie Rivers. Do it now."

That was all she dared say before she rolled away from the store. Anymore and another disturbing vision might leap in front of her eyes.

### 5

All the way home the visions kept popping into Darcie's mind. Once in the house she was so punch-drunk from the constant assault on her mind all she could say to Ellen was "We're moving to Seattle."

Although Ellen could see that she was upset, she wanted explanations and facts and reasons. Something more than Darcie saying it had to be done.

Rolling through the house in her wheelchair, a question from Ellen or a stray thought of her own would spark a new image into her mind.

"No! No! No!" Darcie yelled, trying to keep the visions away. They weren't all bad, or all good, but they were unrelenting. She couldn't distract herself with television or the radio. Every word seemed to create another iridescent image that would then come floating towards her.

Much to Ellen's dismay, Darcie found that the only way to keep the insanely swirling visions out of her mind was to thump her head against a wall, or a table, or anything that would cause enough pain to distract her for a moment.

Darcie was sorry that her actions were scaring the hell out of her sister. She would stop if she could. Ellen wanted to call an ambulance, but all that would accomplish would be a trip to the hospital. What she needed was to put mileage between herself and the mountain. That was what several of the images had shown her. The mountain and its underlying power was having a devastating effect on her mind.

Finally, Jeannie Rivers called and Darcie found herself tearfully pleading for help. An hour later she was riding with Jeannie in her husband's new Corvette, speeding down I-5 towards Seattle.

"Ohhmm-mani-padma-ohm. Ohhmm-mani-padma-ohm. Ohhmm-mani-padma-ohm." It was a chant she'd heard while watching a story about Tibetan monks. It didn't block all the visions, but most of them. There were a great many revelations floating towards her from Jeannie's side of the car. One vision was of Jeff covered in dirt, his eyes glowing with a strange intensity. He was stalking towards Jeannie and wielding a shovel. Before he can attack, Jeannie grabs up her son and runs out of the house without looking back. Before another bubble presented itself for viewing, Darcie shouted "No! No! No!" then started bopping the side of her head against the passenger door.

"I think I should stop and get you some help," Jeannie said, her eyes wide with fear.

Darcie found herself cringing in the front seat, squeezing her eyes shut and saying "Faster. Please, Jeannie, go faster."

The further she traveled away from Stranger Mountain, the more relief she felt as the strength of the visions lessened. Despite her mental exhaustion, Darcie's curiosity got the best of her. Feeling like she had a little control over the visions, Darcie closed her eyes and said a name: "Young Billy Paine."

In her mind she saw a skinny man that she recognized as Billy Paine in his late twenties. He was working near a hole in the ground. Instead of improving the sides of the hole and making it deeper, he was replanting bushes and raking leaves to hide it.

As Billy worked, a man came out of the woods, aiming a gun.

"I knew you were up to something," the man said, looking into the hole.

Setting his jaw, Billy said "Cahill, I thought I paid you to leave permanently."

"Not enough. I just had to come see what you were up to."

"Well," Billy said, relaxing and scratching his head, "you've come all the way up the mountain, I guess I should show you what all the fuss is about. Besides, I think I'm going to need a partner if I'm going to make this thing work"

To keep Cahill from getting nervous, Billy slowly pulled a long knife from the top of his boot. Then he carefully drew the blade across the palm of his hand. "Take a look at this."

As Cahill watched, Billy let blood drip off of his hand and into the hole he was covering.

"Here it comes," Billy said. A blue mist rose out of the hole and began swirling around the bloody wound.

Fascinated, Cahill watched as Billy's hand began to heal. "I'll be damned," he said, letting the gun wander away from Billy as he leaned in to get a better look of the gash closing. In a few minutes there was only a layer of dried blood to show that there had been an injury.

"You can see why I have to be careful," Billy said, turning his hand so Cahill could see that it was completely healed.

Giving no indication of what his next move would be, Billy brought the knife up, stabbing Cahill in the gut. Then he pulled back and stabbed him again, and again, and again as the man fell to the ground. Still holding the gun, Cahill was in open-eyed shock as Billy moved behind him, reached around, and cut his throat.

Her stomach lurching, Darcie shook her head, flinging the vision away. She didn't know what to make of it, but it couldn't have been the Billy Paine that she knew who murdered a man. For one thing it seemed too long ago. Their clothing was from settler times. Cahill's gun was a museum piece. Billy Paine may be old, but not anywhere near what she'd seen in the vision. There were other orbs of Billy Paine floating near her eyes, but she didn't want to see any more. She was too tired, and too weary in her mind. It was all she could do to block the little green spheres still wanting to present themselves.

As they passed Everett heading south to Seattle, Darcie let out a sigh and slumped against the back of the seat. "They're gone," she breathed. "Oh, god, Jeannie, you saved my life."

It had been more than five hours from when Henry Tull first threatened Darcie. Since that moment Darcie had been struggling with fear and unbidden revelations and constant mental stress. When the pressure of the visions stopped, the relief was so great that she was only half-awake when Jeannie parked in front of Seattle's Westin Hotel. A call ahead had a wheelchair waiting at the curb. Jeannie had to convince the concierge that it was all right for him to lift Darcie out of the car and into the wheelchair.

It was the first time that Darcie could remember spending the night somewhere other than her own bed. She was so exhausted from resisting the onslaught of the visions that as soon as Jeannie helped her onto the bed, Darcie closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

### 6

Of course she and Ellen got into an argument about moving to Seattle. To Darcie it didn't matter how much her older sister threatened, cajoled, yelled, or cried, there was no way she could go back to her home town and keep her sanity.

Once again Jeannie Rivers was her savior, first by finding the right apartment, then next by convincing Ellen how rare it was for a wheelchair accessible apartment to be available. Especially one that Darcie could gain access to without asking for help.

Unloading a rented truck in front of the apartment building, Ellen wouldn't let go about the move. She was down to a constant drone about not wanting to live in Seattle, but was still carrying boxes into the building.

Things were just about calmed down when two men in their forties came strolling by. They were holding hands while walking with their shoulders touching. One was sporting a purple Mohawk, leather lederhosen, and a belly so round that it threatened to pop open the over-worked brass button holding closed his waist band.

Slack-jawed amazement went across Ellen's face. Darcie tried to be less obvious, but she couldn't help but stare.

"I forgot what day it is," Jeannie said as she kept carrying boxes inside. "There's a gay pride parade starting at noon."

"My-my-my," said the less flamboyant member of the couple, raising his plucked eyebrows as he eyed Darcie in her wheelchair, "I see someone who's just dethroned the neighborhood queen, and without much trouble at all." Bringing Purple Mohawk's hand to his lips he gave it a light kiss and said "Somebody's just going to have to try harder."

Darcie saw that Jeannie was unfazed by the couple, but Ellen's eyes were bulging with undisguised horror. "Hi, I'm Darcie," she said, rolling her chair forward. If there was going to be a conversation about her, she decided she would be a part of it.

"Oh, honey," said Purple Mohawk, "the blessings of the world on you and welcome to Capitol Hill. I bet you've taken a few hard hits in your time."

"Yes, bless you," said the companion of Purple Mohawk. "Would you like to go to a party tonight? It wouldn't be a true freak show unless you're there."

"Freak show?" Darcie said, feeling as if she'd been slapped.

"Sensitive are we?" Purple Mohawk asked. "Darcie, honey, I don't know where you came from, but this is the real world. Don't even step on the field if you're not ready to play the entire game."

"But, I..." Darcie was so flustered that she couldn't say anything.

"Ta-ta, child. Don't bother calling on us until you've acquired a much thicker skin."

Darcie was speechless as she watched the two men give each other a theatrical smooch then walk away. She didn't need clairvoyance to know the men were pleased with the shock-value of their impromptu meeting.

Ellen turned to Darcie. "That's it, we're moving home."

"Do what you want, Ellen, but I'm staying."

"No you're not. Not in this. . ." Ellen lifted her arms to include everything around her, "... this zoo."

"I am not going back," Darcie said.

"So you're going to force me to stay here with you?" Ellen said.

Darcie shook her head. "There's nothing to force, Ellen. You saw what happened to me back home. If I go back I'll lose my mind. Besides, I'm not going to let a couple of weird looking guys scare me away."

"But who'll take care of you?" Ellen asked.

"I'll figure something out," Darcie said. To prove her point she went to the access panel, opened the door to the apartment building and drove her wheelchair inside.

Pushing the call button on the elevator wasn't quite as easy as opening the building door, but she could manage. So too could she push her floor button, open the apartment door using a customized latch, and roll inside. None of the actions were without effort, but most important, they were doable.

From the apartment she looked out the window to Broadway Avenue, which was around the corner from the main entrance of the apartment building and four stories down. The street was alive with people. There were cars and busses and taxis, plus motorcycles, scooters and bicycles. Life flowed in all directions and Darcie wanted to be a part of it.

"How are you doing?" Jeannie asked as she came into the apartment.

"Pretty good, I think," Darcie said.

Ellen walked through the door carrying a box labeled for the kitchen. "I think we're going to regret moving here."

"Does that mean you're going to live here, too?" Darcie asked.

After placing the box on the kitchen counter, Ellen pointed to one of the bedrooms.

"I want my bed in there."

"Sure," Darcie said, turning back to the window.

Jeannie walked over to her. "You'll do fine here, both of you. There are stores nearby and you're right on the bus route. You can go downtown or over to West Seattle or anywhere you want. Have you ever been to Seattle Center? It's where the Space Needle is."

"I've seen it on TV, but I've never been there," Darcie said.

"The city offers a lot of things to do," Jeannie said, "I think you'll like it."

As she looked out the window Darcie saw a Metro Bus stop and let passengers out. Then from under a covered bus stop a man in a wheelchair rolled into view.

"Oh!" Darcie said, causing Jeannie and Ellen to see for themselves.

"I think all of the buses on this route have wheelchair lifts," Jeannie said.

"That's wonderful!" Darcie said, leaning forward as she watched the bus driver help get the man into the bus.

"It's not like you haven't seen one before," Ellen said. "The school buses back home had them.

"Just one bus," Darcie said. "If all Metro buses here have wheelchair lifts, I can go anywhere." She smiled at Jeannie. "Anywhere I want."

"I don't see why not," Jeannie said.

On the street the bus doors closed, its signal blinked, and the bus pulled away from the curb.

Darcie watched until it was out of sight. "I can do that," she said to herself.

Like no time before Darcie felt as if a world of possibilities now lay before her. All she had to do was get on and go for the ride of her life.

### The End

