Read Online The Forsaken by Ace Atkins - Free Book Online
Authors: Ace Atkins
Tags: Mystery
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get some kind of air cleared about what happened. Is there still an old report?”
“There is.”
“And you’ve read it?”
“I have.”
A hand-painted sign out on the country road read
Dirt For Sale
. Quinn followed the rolling ribbon of cracked blacktop, the morning coming up bright and hard in early January. The trailers and small houses, the little farms, and closed gates to hunting lodges passing by. Quinn slowed after a few minutes, Diane telling him to keep driving, it was a ways up, but itwas hard to tell anymore since the Fisher house had burned to the ground back in 1992. She pointed a finger a half mile down the road and Quinn slowed and drove off onto the shoulder, the old cedar posts and barbed wire still there, some of the posts replaced with solid metal T-bars. Cattle wandered far in the open pasture, trees dotting the land, cow pies dotting the worn-down grassland.
A tree in the distance caught Quinn’s eyes, skeletal and alone, blackened from fire and spiky-branched. The dead tree resembled a black pitchfork.
Quinn shut off the engine. Diane took in a deep breath. Something about that old tree captivated him, like it was from a half-remembered dream.
“The house was up on that hill?” he said.
She nodded.
“You want to walk up that way?”
She took another long, deep breath. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes. She breathed again. “Oh, hell,” she said. “Come on.”
They got out of the truck, Hondo following. They walked through a cattle gate and then out into the pasture, among the growing weeds, wandering cows, and piles of shit. An old bull sat up on the hill, watching them without menace, just slow and lazy but curious, wide-eyed and snorting a bit. The other cattle grazing and chewing as Quinn walked side by side with Diane until she stopped and said this is where the man had taken them that night, under the full moon and with a pistol on them, telling them they were going up to that old abandoned house and sit a spell.
“‘Sit a spell’?” Quinn asked.
“That’s what he said,” Diane said. “But you could see what he wanted from his eyes and the way he was sweating.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said.
“I’d like to say you forget in time,” Diane said. “That some of all this is fuzzy. But that would be a goddamn lie.”
• • •
The city and county leaders decided to hold the announcement at the Jericho Square. It had taken some time to remove all the debris and contractor trucks from the park and get it all looking straight again. The city work crews had strewn white lights in the newly planted trees and across the gazebo that had remained untouched after the storm, as well as the monument to the fallen heroes of the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, and the Global War on Terror. The heads of the automotive components company had flown into Memphis and would arrive within the hour. Tibbehah was going to be supplying parts to that new Toyota plant in Blue Springs, one of the country’s biggest. And already Johnny Stagg had spoken to no less than four news crews from Tupelo and Jackson bright and early that morning about what folks were calling the Tibbehah Miracle. Not only did it look like this little backwater county would survive after being hit dead-ass-on by an F4 tornado, but, damn, if it didn’t look like it was going to be stronger and better than ever. A new industrial park, grants to rebuild the old downtown in the historical style of the original, and new road and highway improvements.
“People know it takes a good man to grease those wheels in Jackson,” Ringold said, saying it in that flat, solemn way he spoke. “You’re a hero. Folks say it takes a businessman like Mr. Stagg to get things done.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” Stagg said, grinning. He popped a piece of peppermint candy in his mouth and chewed hard. “The gratitude does keep me going.”
“Are you going to speak?”
“No, sir,” Stagg said.
“Senator
“There is.”
“And you’ve read it?”
“I have.”
A hand-painted sign out on the country road read
Dirt For Sale
. Quinn followed the rolling ribbon of cracked blacktop, the morning coming up bright and hard in early January. The trailers and small houses, the little farms, and closed gates to hunting lodges passing by. Quinn slowed after a few minutes, Diane telling him to keep driving, it was a ways up, but itwas hard to tell anymore since the Fisher house had burned to the ground back in 1992. She pointed a finger a half mile down the road and Quinn slowed and drove off onto the shoulder, the old cedar posts and barbed wire still there, some of the posts replaced with solid metal T-bars. Cattle wandered far in the open pasture, trees dotting the land, cow pies dotting the worn-down grassland.
A tree in the distance caught Quinn’s eyes, skeletal and alone, blackened from fire and spiky-branched. The dead tree resembled a black pitchfork.
Quinn shut off the engine. Diane took in a deep breath. Something about that old tree captivated him, like it was from a half-remembered dream.
“The house was up on that hill?” he said.
She nodded.
“You want to walk up that way?”
She took another long, deep breath. She rubbed her fingers over her eyes. She breathed again. “Oh, hell,” she said. “Come on.”
They got out of the truck, Hondo following. They walked through a cattle gate and then out into the pasture, among the growing weeds, wandering cows, and piles of shit. An old bull sat up on the hill, watching them without menace, just slow and lazy but curious, wide-eyed and snorting a bit. The other cattle grazing and chewing as Quinn walked side by side with Diane until she stopped and said this is where the man had taken them that night, under the full moon and with a pistol on them, telling them they were going up to that old abandoned house and sit a spell.
“‘Sit a spell’?” Quinn asked.
“That’s what he said,” Diane said. “But you could see what he wanted from his eyes and the way he was sweating.”
“I’m sorry,” Quinn said.
“I’d like to say you forget in time,” Diane said. “That some of all this is fuzzy. But that would be a goddamn lie.”
• • •
The city and county leaders decided to hold the announcement at the Jericho Square. It had taken some time to remove all the debris and contractor trucks from the park and get it all looking straight again. The city work crews had strewn white lights in the newly planted trees and across the gazebo that had remained untouched after the storm, as well as the monument to the fallen heroes of the World Wars, Korea, Vietnam, and the Global War on Terror. The heads of the automotive components company had flown into Memphis and would arrive within the hour. Tibbehah was going to be supplying parts to that new Toyota plant in Blue Springs, one of the country’s biggest. And already Johnny Stagg had spoken to no less than four news crews from Tupelo and Jackson bright and early that morning about what folks were calling the Tibbehah Miracle. Not only did it look like this little backwater county would survive after being hit dead-ass-on by an F4 tornado, but, damn, if it didn’t look like it was going to be stronger and better than ever. A new industrial park, grants to rebuild the old downtown in the historical style of the original, and new road and highway improvements.
“People know it takes a good man to grease those wheels in Jackson,” Ringold said, saying it in that flat, solemn way he spoke. “You’re a hero. Folks say it takes a businessman like Mr. Stagg to get things done.”
“Is that what they’re saying?” Stagg said, grinning. He popped a piece of peppermint candy in his mouth and chewed hard. “The gratitude does keep me going.”
“Are you going to speak?”
“No, sir,” Stagg said.
“Senator
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