A Time of Torment

  ‘And it didn’t?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He killed your sons.’

  ‘He did what he thought was right. And he paid for it.’

  One of my boys was sick, he wanted to tell her, although she would not have needed his testimony to confirm the depravity of Gideon’s nature. It had been familiar to all of them. Gideon was a mad animal, just like Lucius – maybe even worse than him, because Lucius had some semblance of reason, but Gideon had none. His brother, Balder, who died alongside him, had enjoyed hurting women: that was his weakness. Oberon also sometimes hurt them, but it gave him little pleasure, and the end for them, when it came, was always quick.

  If his sons had been so damaged, then what did it say about himself? Could he really only blame the mother for Gideon’s profound physical, psychological, and moral decay? The blood of the Cut was tainted: how could it not be, after all this time, and generations of intermarriage? Even the occasional introduction of new stock could only dilute the contamination, not eradicate it entirely. The flaw was in Sherah too, he thought, for how else could she wipe another man’s blood from her husband’s skin without a blink of her eyes?

  Oberon shivered, despite the glowing embers of the fire, and the heat that remained in the room.

  ‘It’s airish,’ he said. ‘Don’t you feel it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That chill. It’s coming from the north, but the trees are still, and there is no sign of wind. What carries it here?’

  ‘I feel nothing, and it’s been mild these last days.’

  She put the back of her hand to his forehead, but it was no warmer than it should have been. She did not like seeing her husband this way. It wasn’t usual for him to be so odd-turned. He was their rock, but perhaps Cassander was right, and that rock was now weakening and fracturing.

  It was then that she had moved her hand from his head to his chest, and down over his belly to the bulge of his crotch.

  ‘Come to bed,’ she said, ‘and I’ll warm you up.’

  He had lifted her hand from him, held it to his lips, and kissed it once.

  ‘You go,’ he said. ‘I need to sit up awhile.’

  That had been two hours earlier. The lights of the nearest houses were extinguished, all but one: a lamp still burned on Cassander’s porch. In time there came the sound of a truck approaching, and from the darkness of his post by the window Oberon saw Lucius emerge and walk toward his father’s house. The door opened, and Cassander appeared. He said something to his son, and both looked over in Oberon’s direction. Then Lucius entered, the door closed upon them, and the porch light went out.

  Oberon remained in his chair, his fingernails scratching at his thighs like a man who feels the dirt conspiring against him as he tries to halt his final, fatal fall.

  Oberon was not the only one sitting awake by a window. At the edge of the Cut, where the back road from Turley sliced a ragged, uneven route through the trees, Odell Watson gazed into the darkness. Odell had been woken by the return of Lucius, although when the truck turned into the Cut two figures had been seated in its cab, not one. He thought the other might have been the one named Benedict.

  Odell had overheard his mother and grandmother talking. Oberon, the one who led the Cut, had come to the diner, and spoken with the sheriff. Her mother had watched them unnoticed from her place at the serving hatch, and caught a little of what was said; not all, but enough to know that the sheriff and the Cut were not far from each other’s throats.

  ‘Sheriff don’t have the strength to face down the Cut,’ his grandmother had said.

  ‘I think the sheriff is a good man,’ his mother replied. She would not tell him what she knew of the Cut, but she still wished him to prevail against it. He would just have to do so without her help.

  ‘They’re the worst kind.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t know what you’re saying.’

  ‘I do, and you better listen to it, girl. Good won’t avail against the Cut, or not good alone. They’re like a pack of wolves. And the sheriff, he’s no better than a rabbit. They’ll tear him apart.’

  ‘Then what will avail, huh?’

  And Odell’s grandmother had taken a moment before replying.

  ‘Hunters,’ she said.

  Now Odell sat by his window and thought of men like wolves, but the only images that came to mind were ones from old movies, or the werewolves from Twilight that didn’t look right when they talked. He thought also of Lucius. His grandmother was wrong about him: Lucius wasn’t a wolf but a fox, like old Brer Fox in the tales, except Brer Fox wasn’t smart and always lost, while Lucius and his kind didn’t ever seem to lose. He even looked like a fox, all red and sharp.

  Odell was growing sleepy. He turned from the window, and a bird shrieked from somewhere in the dark. He paused and the sound came again, except now it was more like the noise foxes made when they were mating: it had a human quality to it, like a child weeping. Odell listened until it faded away, then climbed between his sheets. Only on the verge of sleep did it strike him that the cries from the woods were deeper than those of any fox he had heard, and might almost have been calling the word ‘Momma’ over and over again.

  59

  The day dawned bright and clear: blue skies, the barest fragments of cloud, and a sense of the world transforming itself once again, the beauty of fall still lingering but the trees barer than before, and arrowheads of geese drifting high above, less like birds than the impression of them, as of a child’s hurried marks on a blue page.

  Miss Queenie opened the doors of Shelby’s Diner, Teona Watson setting the first pots of coffee to brew before returning to the kitchen to start on the bacon. Brewing the coffee was usually one of the waitresses’ tasks, but they’d both arrived late that morning, drawing glares from Miss Queenie that could freeze piss on an icicle, as Debbie, the older of the two, put it, and were still putting on their faces in the restroom. Miss Queenie thought that Teona appeared tired, and had asked her if everything was okay at home. Teona told Miss Queenie that she’d been kept awake by an animal crying in the woods. She had wondered if it might be the copulation of foxes, but it was too early for mating season – the peak would come in January.

  By eight a.m. nearly every table in Shelby’s was full, and men and women stood talking by the stools at the counter, because the community always drifted to Shelby’s when there was news to discuss or be disseminated. Perry Lutter had not returned home the night before, and a search by his parents at first light had not discovered him in his usual haunts. A call had been made to the sheriff’s department, and the patrol cars were out searching for him. In the meantime, Sheriff Henkel had asked those with time on their hands to check their lands, just in case Perry had met with some accident and was lying incapacitated, and anyone with business on the roads was keeping one eye peeled for him.

  ‘He’ll turn up,’ said Miss Queenie, with the assurance of a woman who had lived in this community for over seventy years, and knew the rhythms of its inhabitants – Perry Lutter’s more than most. But she had heard the whispers: that it was Perry who had found the bodies of those two boys, and might have seen the ones who put them in the ground. The talk was of Mexicans out of Ohio, and those people didn’t fuck around, although this last observation was couched in more delicate terms for Miss Queenie’s ears.

  And so distracted were Miss Queenie and her staff that they paid less attention than usual to the two strangers who were sitting at the back of the restaurant, for unfamiliar faces in such environs usually attracted some small interest. The taller of the two, a black man in a dark sports jacket, was reading the New York Times, which was only available at one gas station in the county, a fact of which the man in question was now acutely aware, given that he and his colleague might have been eating an hour earlier had they not had to learn this the hard way. The other – smaller, and significantly less dapper, than his companion – had a magazine open on the table, and was turning the pages with conspicuous regular
ity while taking in little that he was reading, and everything he was hearing and seeing around him.

  A patrol car pulled into the parking lot, and a deputy got out. He wandered into Shelby’s, ordered a coffee, and quickly found himself surrounded by a small group of people, Miss Queenie among them, with others hovering at the periphery, or keeping an ear cocked from their chairs, but there was no news, and no sign of Perry Lutter. Folks were being asked to convene at the sheriff’s department at eleven a.m., where they’d be organized into teams and given areas to cover. Ordinarily, forty-eight hours would have to elapse before someone could formally be declared missing, but this was Perry Lutter, and no such declaration was necessary.

  And the two men sat in their corner, drinking their coffee and listening to all that was said.

  There were other strangers circling the Cut too: a pair of Japanese tourists had to be sent on their way by Jason Hayward after they drove as far as the barrier that blocked the road onto his property, then started smiling and babbling at him when he pointed out that they must have ignored damn near half a dozen PRIVATE PROPERTY signs on their way in. He’d had to help them perform close to a ten-point turn to get them facing in the right direction again, and then one of them had tried to thank Jason by pressing some kind of Hello fucking Kitty candy on him. Later, Brion Moline told Hayward that he’d encountered the same two men on one of the southern roads into the Cut, hunched over Stan Tekiela’s Birds of West Virginia field guide, but by then the Cut had bigger worries than errant Japanese tourists.

  Sheriff Henkel had come down the same road shortly before noon, and when Hayward asked him his business, Henkel advised him in no uncertain terms not to fuck with him, and informed Hayward that if he didn’t lift the barrier within ten seconds Henkel would cuff him to a tree and deal with the legal consequences later. He wanted to see Oberon, he said, and Hayward, catching the look in the sheriff’s eye, decided that the best thing to do was raise the barrier and lead him to Oberon, keeping the pace slow in order to contact Oberon from his truck and give him any time he might need to prepare.

  Oberon was waiting for them at the southern edge of the Square, and Hayward noticed that the barrier had been lowered behind him, sealing off the heart of the community: the sheriff wasn’t advancing any deeper into the Cut than this. Henkel got out of his car and straight into Oberon’s face.

  ‘Perry Lutter’s missing,’ he said.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ asked Oberon. ‘Perry Lutter takes walks right across this county.’

  ‘Does he walk in the Cut?’

  ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Well, we need to know for sure. I want your permission to search it.’

  ‘This is private land, Sheriff.’

  ‘That’s why I’m asking.’

  ‘I can’t let you do it. We value our solitude.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Oberon remained silent. He wasn’t used to being spoken to in this way.

  ‘I don’t like your tone, Sheriff Henkel, or your language.’

  ‘I don’t much care. Perry’s not in the habit of staying out overnight, not without telling his mom and pop where he’s going to be, and even then he always remains within sight of his home. We’re concerned for his safety. This is the largest section of privately owned land in the county. It’s possible that he might have wandered into it.’

  ‘If he’d wandered into the Cut, we’d know,’ said Oberon.

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘It is.’

  Hayward watched it all, waiting for the inevitable eruption. He wouldn’t have been surprised if one of the two men had suddenly leapt at the other, precipitating a confrontation that would bring the Cut into outright conflict with the county. Instead, it was Oberon who relented.

  ‘I’ll organize a search of the Cut,’ he said.

  ‘Not good enough.’

  ‘What more do you want?’

  ‘I want my people to join the search.’

  ‘This is our land.’

  ‘And this is a man’s life.’

  And, again, Oberon retreated.

  ‘All right, but I get to approve the outsiders. There are people from the county who will only come onto this land over my dead body.’

  Even Henkel appeared surprised at the compromise being offered. It was, Hayward guessed, more than he had expected.

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘And they stay out of our houses and outbuildings.’

  Henkel’s mouth twisted.

  ‘Agreed,’ he said again, but more reluctantly than before.

  ‘Give me an hour,’ said Oberon. ‘I’ll arrange for men to wait at each of the main entry routes. Who will you be sending?’

  Henkel considered the question, then gave a list of names, two of which were immediately discounted by Oberon without explanation. Henkel substituted two replacements, and Oberon gave his approval.

  ‘If Perry isn’t found soon,’ said Henkel, ‘I’m going to start talking to people about their movements over the last twenty-four hours. That’ll include your folk, understood? You’ll make them available to me if required.’

  ‘I have no difficulty with that. Let’s just hope Perry turns up safe, so it won’t be necessary.’

  Henkel glanced over Oberon’s shoulder to where three men had appeared from a house on the right of the Square. Even from a distance, he recognized the bulk of Cassander, and beside him his two sons. They were watching from a distance, but did not approach. Marius was putting on his coat, and the engine of his truck was running.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Henkel. ‘Let’s hope.’

  60

  Oberon had less than an hour to prepare for the arrival of the searchers, and ensure that certain areas remained out of bounds. He certainly didn’t want the blockhouse or anywhere in its vicinity to be inspected, which meant that those who entered the Cut from the north needed to be steered either east or west as they approached the Square. It was all a game anyway: even if Henkel suspected the Cut’s involvement in Perry Lutter’s disappearance, he must have known that they wouldn’t be dumb enough to dispose of him on their own land.

  Oberon’s next move was a distraction from the main business, but a necessary one, if only for the sake of his own authority, and as an outlet for his rage. He headed to Cassander’s house. Marius had already left to source parts for a generator, or so Oberon was told by Cassander. Lucius was in the backyard, checking on the cold frames that would be used to grow vegetables over the winter. His father was at the other end of the garden, spreading a mulch of peat moss, bark, and shredded newspaper to insulate the plants and prevent erosion. All this, instead of coming to find out the reason for Henkel’s appearance in the Cut. They were deliberately distancing themselves from Oberon.

  Lucius turned at the sound of Oberon’s approach, and was just in time to take a blow to his chin from the heel of Oberon’s hand. It sent him sprawling to the ground, and he tasted blood, although he managed to avoid biting his tongue.

  ‘What did you do?’ shouted Oberon.

  Lucius tried to rise, but Oberon pursued him, kicking at his thighs, his ass, his back, until Lucius gave up the attempt to flee and simply curled in upon himself in an effort to protect his face and his groin from damage. By then Cassander was coming at a run, and he tackled Oberon, hurling himself with full force at the older man so that both of them ended up in the dirt beside Lucius.

  Oberon was first to his feet, but he quickly found himself facing both Cassander and his son. He noted with satisfaction the blood running from Lucius’s mouth, and the swelling by his right eye where one of Oberon’s kicks had connected.

  ‘What did you do to Perry Lutter?’ asked Oberon.

  Lucius wiped some of the blood away. Despite his injunction to Benedict to remain silent, he heard himself start talking before he could think straight. He hated Oberon, because Oberon frightened him.

  ‘He saw us,’ said Lucius.

  ‘When?’

  ‘When we w
ere burying Killian and Huff.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I caught him watching us from the woods. It was only for a couple of seconds, and then he was gone, but it was him. I’m sure of it. I should have told you before, but—’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was scared.’ The humiliation of the admission made Lucius want to throw up.

  ‘And?’

  Lucius glanced at his father, who nodded once.

  ‘We took care of him.’

  ‘You “took care” of him?’

  ‘It was quick. He didn’t suffer. I didn’t want him to. I always liked Perry.’

  Oberon turned to Cassander.

  ‘You knew about this? You knew, and said nothing?’

  Cassander didn’t look away, and Oberon thought: They’re openly challenging me. This is how it starts.

  ‘We were going to tell you,’ he said. ‘I was going to tell you.’

  ‘When?’

  Cassander shrugged. Today, tomorrow, next week – it didn’t matter. It was done.

  ‘Henkel is coming,’ said Oberon. ‘He’s bringing search parties into the Cut.’ Cassander appeared shocked. Even Lucius stopped dabbing at his bleeding mouth.

  ‘We have to stop him,’ said Cassander.

  ‘You don’t appear to understand,’ said Oberon. ‘Your son, by his actions, has brought them down on us. I’m not going to prevent Henkel from entering. I gave him my permission to come.’

  ‘You’re allowing him into the Cut?’

  ‘If I don’t, he’ll go looking for a warrant – and he’ll get it. It’ll draw more trouble to us, and we’re already engaged in damage control over Killian and Huff. Half the county is probably looking for Perry Lutter. If we stand in their way, they’ll turn against us. We have no reason not to allow a search, unless we have something to hide.’

  Reluctantly, Oberon turned his attention to Lucius.

  ‘Where did you put him?’

  ‘Over the county line. We buried him deep, and put bricks on top. He won’t be found.’

  ‘We?’