Cold on the Mountain Read online

  Phil shook, and the man’s grip was congenial. He was thankful for that. “Phil Benson. Nice to, uh…to meet you more formally.”

  “And how do you two know each other?” Jacob said. “Did you meet at the Dark Earth?”

  Jasper shook his head. “Oh, no, Jake. Side of the mountain. Phil’s a bright guy. Decided not to pick me up.”

  Jacob’s smile went sour. “Christ, Jasper. You need to let it go.” He turned to Phil. “Jasper’s one of our resident iconoclasts. Thinks he doesn’t belong in Adrienne. How many times have you tried to leave us, Jasper?”

  The man looked mockingly to the sky. “Oh, I don’t know, Jake. How many stars are up there in the sky? Hell, I just might try again tonight.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Jasper can tell you for himself what landed him here. We’ve both been here a long time, haven’t we old friend? At any rate, I’ll let him explain it. Good luck, Phil. I sincerely hope you make your quotas.”

  He turned and, in that same, scampering gate, headed back to his office. Jasper checked his watch. “Look, this day’s just about shot. First day for newbies always is, it seems. We’ve got just enough time to get a feel for the work, and maybe have us a little chat. You can hit the ground running tomorrow. Sound fair?”

  Phil nodded. He found himself warming to this man that had frightened him to the core just a few hours earlier.

  “So, it’s just like Jacob said. You’ll start by sewing a few simple seams. You get two patterns—a front and a back—and you sew them straight down the leg. Easy enough, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Easy, but boring. I mean, how many of these do I have to complete?”

  “Won’t know until we establish a baseline. You might want to take it slow this first week, Phil. Makes it a little easier down the road.”

  Phil nodded. “Thanks for the advice. Were you really trying to leave?”

  Jasper nodded. “I don’t belong here. Never have. This whole thing, at least in my case, is one colossal mistake.”

  Phil studied him. There was not a bit of jest in the man’s demeanor. “What happened to you?”

  Jasper grinned. “You cut straight to it, don’t you Phil? I’ll tell you what—let’s just get the hang of this for now. If you have a good couple of days, I’ll let you buy me a beer and we can have a chat. You and the family are staying at Wren’s for the night, am I correct?”

  “That’s right. I think we’re supposed to get our own place tomorrow.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll have plenty of time to talk. Probably more time than you’d ever thought possible. But enough of all that downer stuff, right? So, this will be your work station…”

  He spent the next eighty minutes describing the job, the facility, the approach, and the Big Man’s expectations. “Mr. Strauss is extremely particular. He is extremely…well, I’ll just say, make sure you’re attentive to your work, Phil, and you’ll be fine. No need to get too much into performance corrections.”

  A whistle blasted promptly at 4:50, and the general din of men and women finishing their work filled the factory.

  “Go ahead, Phil. Collect your family and keep them close. Don’t waste any time in finding a place, and just be prepared to go hungry if that’s what it takes. If you want to draw in the lottery that’s coming up right around the corner, you’ll need to save everything. And I mean, every cent. God speed,” Jasper said. There was warmth in his expression, and Phil was utterly confused.

  Who was this man?

  “Thanks. I’ll…I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Jasper nodded. “Phil? One more thing—stay away from Dorothea’s Corner, okay? You might be tempted to pay her low rents, but it’s no place for a family. Trust me on that one, okay buddy?”

  Phil nodded. “But who is…”

  Jasper turned and walked away. “Just trust me,” he called over his shoulder. “See you in the morning.” He raised a hand and Phil watched him disappear down a long hallway.

  He looked around. Columns of normals streamed for the exits. He was falling behind. He put the piece of denim he had been inspecting down and hustled to catch up.

  ~0~

  Wren and Wendy were waiting anxiously for him on the periphery of the crowd. Normals chatted here and there in small groups. A portion headed anxiously toward downtown. The vast majority walked in the opposite direction.

  “C’mon,” Wren said, clapping Phil on the back, “we don’t want to be tardy on day one. Can’t start with a demerit right out of the gate.”

  They walked quickly, Wendy filling them in on her afternoon at the Sugar Shack while Phil explained his new job at the factory.

  “She really won’t pay you for the work you did today?” Wren said when Wendy described Lancaster’s policies. “Christ, what a witch. Still, it’s best not to cause a stir. You don’t want to find yourself back at the employment office.”

  Wendy nodded, a sad little smile on her face.

  They made it to the school with minutes to spare. Children were departing with their families, the faculty standing outside the school and making their farewells to the students.

  “So how did it go?” Phil asked. He bent and scooped the girls into his arms, thankful to feel their warmth against him. “You two do okay?”

  “It was fine,” Camille said. “Mr. Norton and Ms. D’Antonio are really nice.”

  “Yeah, and there are some neat kids, too,” Carrie added. “It’s actually a lot nicer inside than our old school.”

  Wendy laughed at the absurdity of it—all a family needed to do to find the best schools was get stuck in Adrienne. “Well, I’m glad it’s working out. But don’t get too comfortable, girls. Your dad and I are going to make this thing happen. We’ll be back in regular old Oregon before you know it.”

  Phil smiled at his wife. It was wonderful to hear her say it, even if the reality of their departure seemed a little far-fetched to him. It dawned on him that there was a very real possibility that they would be stuck in Adrienne for an awfully long time. He looked at Wren, who couldn’t hold his gaze. Wendy’s optimism was lost on the big man; his attitude, while friendly and welcoming, was pure resignation. How could it be anything else? The man had been there for a damned long time.

  They went to Wren’s for dinner. He put on a VHS tape of some old Captain Kangaroo episodes for the girls while he fixed a pot of coffee. They took steaming cups outside and sipped them on the back porch. The sun was a ribbon of light on the western horizon and the plastic thermometer bolted to the porch beam read 30 degrees Fahrenheit.

  “So what’s up with the entertainment options around here?” Phil asked. “Don’t get me wrong—I’ve always loved Captain Kangaroo. It’s just a little dated.” He told Wren about the Cary Grant billing on the marquee.

  “Yeah, there’s a bit of a vacuum here in that regard. There’s actually a board that approves content of that sort, if you can believe it. I’m not sure if the broadcast frequencies for regular television could even find their way into Adrienne, even if these bastards weren’t so uptight about the flow of information. We’re pretty isolated up here. Then there’s also that tricky little issue of nonlinear dimensional plains, right? I mean, haven’t you noticed? There’s not a traditional land line in sight. No broadcast towers or television studios. There’s a single radio station, but it only plays music—and really bad music at that. We’re talking non-stop Perry Como here.

  “The simple truth is, they don’t want any news from the real world—from our reality—filtering into Adrienne. That’s not to say that they don’t keep tabs on what’s going on out there, of course. You saw those rovers back at the factory, right Phil?”

  Phil nodded.

  “Those fellows can move freely. They’re not like the rest, and they’re certainly not bound to Adrienne. But when it comes to information—news, entertainment, anything—this place is just about barren. Instead, we have a library filled with mid-twentieth century entertainment that we view on late-twentieth century tec
hnology. It’s not Mayberry in terms of content standards, but it’s pretty damned close. How’s that for irony?”

  They sipped coffee in silence for a few minutes. The back porch light, operating on a sensor, blinked on.

  “Who are they, Denny?” Wendy finally asked.

  The big man’s eyebrows arched in question.

  “Earlier, you said ‘they’ a few times. I mean—I know there are some really bad people here. But are there…are there people above them? Like—I don’t know what the proper wording would be—maybe caretakers? Operators, or something like that? It just feels like there has to be a wizard somewhere behind the curtain.”

  Wren sighed. “There is a woman—at least, that’s how she presents herself. She runs the lottery. When we talk about them in general, we just stick to the vague pronouns. It doesn’t seem to rile them up as much, and this town has ears.” He leaned forward in his seat, the gesture one of conspiracy, and the Bensons followed suit. “When we talk about them at assembly,” he whispered, “we refer to them as the dark ones.”

  “Assembly?” Phil whispered. “You mean you actually meet in secret? Why?”

  Wren shrugged. “When you’ve been here as long as some of us have, the idea of revolution is inevitable, don’t you think? We rarely gather—not more than two or three times a year. Usually, it’s when we know they will be otherwise engaged, and that’s right around the time of the lottery, or the spring equinox.”

  He leaned back in his seat, speaking once again in his usual sonorous timbre. “So, yeah…there it is in terms of entertainment. I’m sorry to say that if you’re interested in catching that new Richard Gere movie, Wendy, you’re out of luck here in Adrienne.”

  Wendy grinned. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Gere appeared in moves about as often as Cary Grant nowadays. She felt a delicious tremor of excitement at what the man had whispered to them, though. She noticed her husband had as well.

  Revolution.

  It was frightening and empowering and hopeful, all at the same time.

  The discussion changed direction as Phil enquired about lodging. He told them about Jasper (leaving out, at least for the time being, the encounter they’d had on the road the night before) warning him away from Dorothea’s Corner.

  Wren smiled ruefully. “She’s another one who probably just doesn’t want to go back,” he said, looking at Wendy when he said it. He knew all about Penny Lancaster and that poor girl she’d poisoned.

  “Why do you say that?” Wendy asked.

  “Because they pulled an old man—another one of us regular Joes—out of one of her flower beds last summer. He’d been in there just a few days when a summer gully washer came through and displaced the topsoil. You ever hear that old story about the farmer’s big toe in the garden?”

  Laughing, Phil nodded. He’d read the Alvin Schwartz story to his daughters every night for most of a year, back when they’d been much smaller. It had become a ritual, and his girls jumped in their beds every time he screeched, “You got it!” at the tale’s conclusion.

  “Well, that’s about what happened at Dorothea’s Corner. Poor fella’s foot was taking the sun with the geraniums. Needless to say, the old bat didn’t get a shot at the lottery that year. She didn’t seem too concerned, though.

  “She runs a couple of boarding houses on the south end of town. South end is where most of the normals live, by the way, though we’re spread out all over Adrienne. I managed to get this place when a friend of mine hightailed it out on the lottery four years ago. It was an upgrade, even if the Boston Strangler lives a few houses down the road. What can you do, right? Can’t pick your neighbors and all that…”

  “So where do you think we should look? Jasper said she had the cheapest rents in town,” Phil said. He liked the idea of it—of saving enough to draw lots on the first shot. He’d starve himself if it meant getting clear of Adrienne.

  “Oh, she does. And ordinarily, if you didn’t have the girls, I’d tell you to go ahead and go for it and just be extra careful. You need every bit of help you can get. But it’s not worth the trouble with the twins. Her apartments would be too small, anyway. You need a place where you can have some space. I looked into it a little bit—just asking around. There’s a house on Hampton Lane that might be okay. It’s just two bedrooms, but it’s cheap enough and clean and will do just fine in a pinch. If things don’t go your way and you have to stay a bit longer,” he shrugged, “you can always find someplace bigger. Things always open up a bit right after the lottery.”

  “Jesus,” Phil said. He rubbed his eyes and sipped his coffee, but it had gone cold. A pair of screams, shrieks in a register only girls of a certain age can hit, suddenly echoed through the house.

  Phil was off in a flash. Wren tore off around the side of house while Wendy trailed her husband inside. The girls were standing on the sofa, crying hysterically while Cammie pointed at the front picture window. Phil pulled them into his arms. He shepherded them into the kitchen, the girls clinging to him like a life ring in rough waters.

  “Cammie,” he said, “what happened out there? What did you see?”

  “There was a…a crazy lady in the window!” Carrie said. Cammie nodded her confirmation, and the girls buried their faces in their father’s chest.

  “Phil!” Wendy screamed. “There’s somebody outside! She’s watching me!”

  “Get away from the window!” Phil yelled. A heavy thud rattled the house, followed by a tearing sound—siding coming lose, maybe. “Come stay with the girls, Wendy! I’m going to check on Big Wren.”

  He found a block of kitchen knives and gave the largest to his wife before heading out the front door. The yard was in disarray. Freshly snapped juniper branches and an old-fashioned tin mailbox that had been ripped from the siding told the story of the struggle. Wren straddled a thin woman dressed in black, his fist cocked and ready to deliver a blow.

  “No!” Phil shouted. “Denny, no! Don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble on account of us!”

  The big man panted steam, the anger seeping off of him in waves; He turned to Phil, confusion in his eyes, then looked down at the woman, who wore a sickening smile. Her lipstick was bright red, and she wore what looked like a blond wig. Her teeth were a yellow snaggle, and she grinned lasciviously at Wren and bucked her skinny hips beneath him on the ground.

  Realizing the futility of holding down a ninety-pound woman, Wren released her wrists and stood. He spat in disgust, the woman pushing herself onto her elbows while she howled with laughter.

  “Tut, tut you old brute! Felt good there for a minute, didn’t it, chap? Yeah…yeah, it was good.”

  The accent was borderline Cockney. Dressed in a black jacket, jeans, and boots, she stood and brushed the dirt from her backside.

  “Attacking a lady is a demerit, you big brute.”

  “Not if she’s trespassing it ain’t,” Wren said. He pointed at the street. You get the hell out of here, Myra. Don’t make this a bigger spectacle than it needs to be.”

  Sure enough, lights were snapping on up and down the street. Doors opened and a few curious bystanders stepped out onto their porches.

  “Get away from here,” Phil said. “Leave my family alone, you!”

  Myra smirked. She craned up onto her tiptoes, peering back inside the house. “Lovely girls yah got there,” she said. “Most beautiful, Mr. Benson.”

  Phil started toward the waif and she stood her ground, hands on her hips and chin raised.

  “Phil, don’t! She’s fucking with you. Just…just let her go,” Wren said.

  Phil stopped short, fists clenched.

  “Go back inside,” Wren said. The calm had returned to his demeanor, and he swallowed thickly as he stared at Myra. “I’ll be along in just a moment. We need to have a word.”

  Phil glared at the woman an instant longer before heading back inside. Wendy and the twins had ventured into the hallway, where they had a partial view of the yard.

  �
�Who is she?” Wendy said. “What was she doing out there?”

  Phil shrugged, and then Wren was back inside. He worked the bolts on the doors and pulled the drapes. “Come on out, girls. It’s okay. Nothing to worry about.”

  The Bensons ventured back into the living room and Wren grinned when he saw the collection of knives on the counter. “We won’t need those. I think she was just trying to goad us into doing something stupid. She came damned close, but we’re in the clear. No harm, no foul.”

  “How can you say that?” Wendy said. “The girls said she made a gesture at them. She was…she was menacing them!”

  “Oh, yeah?” Wren said. He looked at the girls. “Can you show me?”

  In perfect unison, their eyes still dull with shock, the girls drew their index fingers across their throats. A terrible chill shot up Phil’s spine, and he fought the tremor of a sob.

  “Denny, I can’t…” he started, but the big man silenced him with a raised palm.

  “You have to, Phil,” he said. “They’re testing your limits. They want to provoke you. Hell, they want to provoke me. But she was trespassing, and we didn’t actually harm her. We didn’t do anything to jeopardize our circumstances. That’s what it’s all about—remember? It’s about getting out of here.”

  Phil shook his head in frustration. “Who was she? Does she…is there some kind of connection we need to be worried about?”

  Wren took the knife from Wendy and they followed him into the kitchen. He rooted around in a cabinet above the fridge until he found a bottle of scotch. He poured three tumblers for the adults while the girls split a can of ginger ale.

  They sat at the kitchen table. “It’ll be okay. It has to be. Just…you both want to keep a close eye on the girls. They’re safe when they’re with you, and they’re safe at the school. Other than that—” he shrugged.

  “Who was she?” Wendy persisted. “I want to know her name if I ever see her again.”

  “Her name is Myra Hindley,” Wren replied. “Ring a bell?”

  Wendy and Phil shook their heads and Wren shrugged again.

  “Then don’t worry about it. No sense in needless stress. Just keep these kids close, okay? Things will be fine.”