Chapter Twenty-Three

Richie led them to the edge of the dense copse of shrubbery. They fanned out and looked for any break in the foliage, but could find none. Ang called out, "Look at the bottoms of the shrubs," she said. "The branches may be overcrowding the path, but the roots will show the way."

They did as she bid, and fifteen minutes later, Marty called out, "I think I found it!" Richie and Ang ran to his side, and crouched down to get a better look.

"Yes," Ang said excitedly. "This definitely looks like it used to be a path." She started tearing at the branches, trying to make a hole big enough to squeeze through.

"Wait a minute," Richie said, pulling Ang back from the shrubs. "Shouldn’t we start from the house? Work our way into this from there?"

Ang shook her head and pushed Richie away, not wanting to stop. "It doesn’t matter. If she’s in there, we’ll find her." She continued pulling at the branches; throwing her whole body weight against them when they didn’t snap easily.

Richie again tried to stop her, this time clamping his hands around her wrists and turning her to him. "You’re going to tear your hands open doing that."

Ang shrugged him off. "We are so close," she said. "I just know it. If we could just..." She set to work again, frantically pulling furiously at the tangled overgrowth.

Rather than try to argue with her, the men shared a look and waded in, helping to remove some of the thicker branches. They quickly had cleared a path going a several yards into the shrubbery.

"This is going to take forever!" Ang lamented, starting to cry as they moved further into the thicket. "We’re going to lose the light!"

"Angel Rose," Richie said, pulling down another thick branch. "When we lose the light, we will start fresh in the morning."

"That’s right," Marty said. "We won’t give up. I for one really want to see if we can find her. Imagine. Being able to say we solved a hundred-year-old mystery. How thrilling!"

Ang turned on Marty, fire flashing in her eyes. "We are not just solving a mystery!" she cried. "We are finding a lost soul, helping a wandering spirit..."

"Angel Rose," Richie said patiently, "he didn’t mean anything by it. I think you’re a bit overwrought. Maybe we should stop and rest, and come back in the morn—"

"Overwrought? Screw you. No," she said, sniffling, looking past Richie into the dark tangle of leaves. "We will keep going until we can’t see anymore. Then you will go and find flashlights and lanterns and maybe a machete or..."

Richie grabbed Ang and gave her another little shake. "ANGEL ROSE!" he shouted. "I know this is important, but it’s too important to do wrong. What if we miss something in the dark? Huh? What then?"

Ang’s eyes slowly refocused on Richie’s. "I can’t stand that she’s in here, somewhere, all by herself."

"We don’t know that she’s even here," Marty said.

"Oh, I do," Ang answered. "I can feel it. Something happened in here, mark my words." She sighed. "Alright, we’ll work until dark. But at first light, I’m coming back."

"And I’ll be with you," Richie said. "I promise."

They worked hard, sweating with the effort of their labor. They had made it nearly a hundred yards before it was too dark to see. Ang’s hands were so battered; she was tasked with dragging the branches up the path and out by the lake as Richie and Marty pulled them down. Her last trip back, she stumbled on a root and cried out as she fell.

"That’s it," Richie declared. "It is now officially too dark to keep going tonight." Ang started to argue, but Richie was having none of it. "The last thing we need is someone getting hurt."

Ang’s shoulders slumped. "I know. You’re right. Enough people have gotten hurt in here already."

"People?" Marty asked. "You mean more than one person was hurt here? You really think so?"

"Not think so, know so," Ang replied. "Can’t you feel it?"

The Past

"Isaiah, what are you doing?" Jeremiah was confused. Why was his brother hurting his friend? He stood, transfixed, while Isaiah’s hands closed tighter around Kirstin’s throat. He saw her eyes start to roll back as she croaked his name again.

His brother glared at him. "Now, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah, please," Kirstin said once more, then she was still.

Isaiah shot a triumphant look at his brother before turning back to Kirstin’s body. "If you’re gonna stay, you may as well help me dig, boy," he said, clawing into the dirt. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tree branch speeding toward his face. "What the—" was all he got out before impact.

Jeremiah wiped the spray of blood from his cheek. He had broken his brother’s nose with that branch and Isaiah was out cold for the moment, but he knew that wouldn’t last long. He also knew that once Isaiah told their father what had transpired in the rhododendron fields, he, Jeremiah, would face the brunt of their father’s wrath.

He knew he had to work fast.

He knelt by Kirstin’s lifeless body and shook her. "Kirstin!" he shouted. "Please, wake up!" Her head just lolled to the side, and he felt sick at the marks that surrounded her neck. "Oh God," he wailed. "Kirstin!" He hugged her close for a moment, mourning the loss of his friend.

Jeremiah knew he couldn’t leave her here; he couldn’t leave her out for the animals to find. He also knew he couldn’t bring her out of the woods. He knew that people would blame him. They wouldn’t believe him when he told them that Isaiah killed her. Everyone knew he was sweet on Kirstin, and when she married Geoffrey it had broken his heart. They all thought that the grief would turn him wildly violent; after all, that’s the way his father was, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? But they didn’t know that he would sooner cut off his own arm than to do anything to harm Kirstin. All he wanted was for her to be happy.

Now, he ran a gentle hand over her face. "I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you," he said. "And I’m sorry I can’t take you home." He laid her gently, reverently, on the ground and picked up the branch he hit his brother with. He dug the end of the limb into the moist earth, starting Kirstin’s grave. As he worked, tears streamed down his face as he apologized over and over for having to bury her here. "At least it’s so pretty here, Kirstin," he sobbed as he dug. It hurt his soul to see what his brother had done to the only woman who had ever shown him unconditional kindness. His only true friend.

When the hole was done, he sat back on his heels and looked at Kirstin. She was all bloody and bruised, and it broke his heart. She had never been anything but kind to everyone. She didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve to have his brother’s filthy hands all over her. Didn’t deserve to be dead. He prayed over her for a few minutes, begging the Lord to take care of his friend, and vowing vengeance for her senseless death.

A muttered curse had him turning toward his brother. He watched as Isaiah started to sit up, wiping blood from his face. "Damn you, boy, look at what you done. I’m going to kill you."

He staggered to his feet and advanced on Jeremiah. Jeremiah jumped up, but barely had time to register his brother’s big, meaty arm swinging around before he caught Isaiah’s fist with his mouth.

Isaiah laughed as his brother tripped backwards over Kirstin’s body and fell, landing bedside her. "That’s the first and last time you will ever lie with a girl, you bastard," he hissed.

Jeremiah scrambled to get up and nearly fell into the hole he had dug. Isaiah laughed cruelly. "Go ahead, jump in that hole. Save me some work. When I kill you, I’ll be nice and bury you with your whore."

"Do not talk about her like that," Jeremiah cried, his anger swelling until it consumed him. He scanned the ground around him and found a rock about the size of a ripe cantaloupe.

Isaiah sneered. "What are you going to do with that, little brother? You don’t have the brains or the balls to use it." He advanced again, smiling evilly. "I am gonna love beating you, boy," he said.

Jeremiah held his ground, waiting for his opportunity. Isaiah may be bigger and stronger, but anger made him stupid. He waited, lightly bouncing the rock in his hand while his brother circled closer, taunting him. When Isaiah threw the first punch, Jeremiah ducked, and used the rock as a ram, slamming it into his brother’s chest. Isaiah staggered backwards, in shock from the blow.

"Well, well, little brother," Isaiah said, rubbing his chest, "it seems you were paying attention all those years Pa beat you."

Jeremiah nodded. "I learned a thing or two about fighting dirty," he agreed.

"It really isn’t going to help you," Isaiah said, as he swung at his brother’s head. Again Jeremiah ducked, and this time spun around with the rock to hit Isaiah in the side. Jeremiah heard the satisfying crack of a rib, and smiled. Howling with rage, Isaiah swore, and advanced again.