Like a Butterfly... Screaming

By Jill Tunbridge

Daniel Stone has begun to shine as a DJ at the Plaza Monumental, the hottest dance club in town. The DJ booth means more to him than a place to spin records - it is his refuge... his sanctuary.

When a little girl finds bones on the 10th anniversary of her brother's disappearance, the question resurfaces - what happened to Alex Fournier?

Daniel was rumored to be near Sunlight Forest on the day that Alex Fournier went missing. What does he know?

The cold case has eluded Police Chief Harry O'Neal for the last decade. Only one piece of evidence exists - a red running shoe, found at the scene. Will the truth behind Alex Fournier's disappearance ever be known? O'Neal and his team search for answers once again.

"Like a Butterfly... Screaming" is an interwoven tapestry of mystery and intrigue set in a coastal town in British Columbia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Tunbridge
• Release date: Sep 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370249213

Jill Tunbridge

Jill Tunbridge is passionate about music, movies, art and flamenco. She loves to bring stories and ideas to life through poetry, prose and dance. Jill was born in Cape Town, South Africa and moved with her family to Sarnia, Ontario in 1977. After graduating from the University of Guelph, Jill moved to Vancouver, British Columbia. She is the Artistic Director of Flamenco Del Mar Dance Studio. Jill currently lives in White Rock, BC. “Like a Butterfly...Screaming” is Jill Tunbridge’s first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Eyes British blue and wide, wide open, she entered the forest in all its glory. Having lost sight of the boy with orange hair, Hillary was stuck wondering which way he went. She didn’t know why he had dashed into these woods the way he did, she only thought that he must have been chasing some fantastic beast. But, no matter how hard she tried, she could not find him. Growing frustrated, Hillary was about to give up her pursuit when she remembered that somewhere in here was a tree, a magical tree where all the fairies lived.

The idea of elves and pixies hiding in the forest set her off on a different journey. Changing direction, she began to look for that tree and without realizing it, wandered far beyond the boundaries of the Easter egg hunt. Daring destiny, Hillary Fournier was brave for a six-year-old little girl.

The winding path distracted her at every turn. When she reached an open patch where three pathways were spread out, the girl with the black hair and white spring dress chose the trail to her right. Brushing her legs on the ticklish shrubs, she ventured deeper into the woods. She came upon a massive tree stump that sat in the center of a clearing. Curious to know if this was the special tree she’d heard about, she walked around it, counting twenty-eight steps from start to finish.

It was a peculiar tree that sat like a chair. The top surface was rather flat - as though the trunk had been sawn into two pieces, and it was covered with a delicate cloth of emerald green moss that dripped down the sides.

Under the shivering branches, Hillary twirled around, swinging her straw basket carelessly. Just then, a squirrel ran across her path and the girl caught a glimpse of its bushy tail. Something flickered. She couldn’t believe her eyes - there, right at the foot of the giant tree stump, was a bright pink Easter egg. That’s 16! she shrieked, happily adding it to the basket she’d almost forgotten she was holding.

Wondering if she could spot more eggs from up in the tree, she set the straw basket down and decided to climb. With great expectations, she put her hands on the damp surface and raised herself. When she reached the top of the stump, she stood up - everything was moving. For one moment, she could have sworn she heard the forest breathing, whispering something to her.

Hillary stepped on a wooden stub and looked down - beside her left foot were two small sticks in a crisscross formation and lying underneath them, nestled in a little nook, was another Easter egg. Her mouth watered at the sight of the delicious chocolate.

She stooped down and picked up one stick. But before she tossed it away, a shrill of laughter frightened the life right out of her.

She wobbled.

Someone was giggling.

Someone was giggling at her.

Is that you? she called out, but the boy with the orange hair wasn’t there.

The snap of a branch followed by a rustling sound startled her. Hillary twisted around and stared intensely into layers of green leaves. Hey, I said is that you? At first, she thought one of the shadows had dark, scary eyes, but she couldn’t tell what she was looking at for certain. Strangely, all she knew was that the more she looked, the more she believed that someone was there hiding in the woods. Someone was watching her.

Her legs began to shake, and her hands began to sweat. In the flick of a tic, the stick slipped from her hand. Reaching out to grab it, the little girl lost her balance and tumbled off the tree, crying, Mommy, on her way down.

The fall was over in a blink of an eye.

• • •

In the distance, a faint voice could be heard over the loudspeaker requesting that Hillary Fournier report to the information booth as soon as possible. But, aside from Hillary’s mother, nobody took any notice; they were all too busy enjoying the final moments of the annual Easter egg hunt in Landon, British Columbia.

At five minutes after twelve, winners of this year’s hunt were announced and by twelve fifteen, Justine Fournier was experiencing the first signs of distress - her daughter was nowhere to be found. Hillary was not one for wandering. It drove Justine crazy that she couldn’t see her little girl among the crowds, and every time she asked, where can she be? her friend tried to calm her down by promising her that Hillary was probably playing with friends, ‘somewhere nearby…’

Justine smiled at Linda, who reminded her of Velma from Scooby-Doo. I know I tend to overreact, she said, thinking of the cartoon sleuth with the brown, bobbed haircut and black rimmed glasses. The image made her homesick for those days when she was a kid, but times had changed - now you had to be on the lookout. You had to always, always be on the lookout.

What’s she wearing? Linda asked, scanning the park.

Justine shook her head. In her mind’s eye, she could see her daughter spinning pirouettes like a ballerina. She’s wearing her new white dress. She was supposed to wear it to church tomorrow, but she was so excited, I couldn’t say no. Her hair is up - pigtails and ribbons… red ribbons.

From the east side of the forest, they noticed a tall teenager in a black and white soccer shirt heading their way. Light on his feet, the lanky string-bean walked as though on his tiptoes, making his ginger hair bounce with every step. As he neared, Justine spoke to him.

Hi, did you happen to see a little girl?

The teen looked at her. Wearing a white dress? he asked. Yeah, I saw her. She’s still in the forest, I guess.

The woman’s heart sank. What were you doing in there?

Looking for Easter eggs, he said, shrugging his shoulders innocently. He pointed towards the forest. I followed a trail of eggs that took me halfway in.

Struck by a fear that had lain dormant for years, Justine felt sick to her stomach. Curling her black hair behind her ears she knew that if anything bad had happened, she wouldn’t be able to bear it - not this time. But before the mother could relay what troubling thoughts were stewing in her mind, she heard a whistle. Looking up, she saw a black lab running towards them and trailing behind Bullet was Linda’s husband.

As the man with the beard got closer, she heard Linda tell him that Hillary was missing.

I wouldn’t worry, Keith said with a smile on his face. I bet she’s just chasing rabbits.

Yeah, she does love rabbits, Justine agreed.

The trio quietly made their way to the largest footpath into the woods.

As though afraid they’d jinx the outcome, no one breathed a word about what had happened ten years earlier. But, as Justine approached Sunlight Forest, thoughts of going inside those woods crippled her. Nervous, she told her friends to go on ahead, barely uttering the words, I’ll stay here just in case she comes out, without sobbing.

Gritting her teeth, she watched Keith and his dog run ahead. Moments after they disappeared, Linda slipped through the curtain of green, leaving Justine alone in the park. The forty-year-old mother felt less anxious out in the sunshine - how the warmth could bring about a sense of calm and nostalgia she couldn’t explain.

But the longer she waited, the more worried she became.

Sunlight Forest was nothing but a tangled web of nasty memories. The disappearance felt like yesterday, when the hours they spent searching, literally bled into days… they never did find him, her son - Alex.

In the background of her thoughts Justine heard Keith calling her daughter’s name and every time he yelled, his plea would be followed by a round of barking by Bullet. Increasingly concerned, the restless mother took another look around the edge of the forest. This time something caught her eye. She squinted - something was in those bushes and whatever it was glittered like a star. With a racing heart, she ran to the flash of light.

Nestled amongst the bramble and brush was a large silver Easter egg. Pushing the greenery aside, Justine sifted through the prickling needles and retrieved the chocolate; in an instant, she knew that her daughter had gone inside the woods.

But Hillary promised me. She promised she wouldn’t leave the park.

Justine ran into the forest, aiming for the yelping sounds that came from Bullet. Keeping her head down, she watched where she was stepping and when she finally looked up, she found herself surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors that shimmered all around her. The woman stopped cold. Canopies of leaves illuminated by golden rays of the sun shone down, sporadically sprinkling spheres of light on the forest floor. ‘Wow. I forgot how big this place is,’ she thought, stunned at the magnitude of the beauty. ‘Look how high those branches reach.’

But as she smelled those pine trees, memories of the search yanked her back in time. With her stomach clenched in a knot, she knew she had to hustle… for Justine Fournier, fighting the past was always a losing battle. Desperate to move swiftly through this momentary lapse, she ignored the lump in her throat and ran on, coaching herself to pay more attention to where she was going, rather than where she had been.

In some patches the forest was damp, the air chilly, but because of the adrenaline pumping throughout her body, the cold didn’t register and only when she slowed to a walk, could she feel herself trembling.

Restraining her innermost desire to scream for her daughter, she prayed that Keith was right - that Hillary was just chasing rabbits. Suddenly, she heard Linda calling her name. Alarmed at the fear in her friend’s voice, Justine ran without thought, and harder than she had ever run in her entire life.

As Justine came upon a clearing, she saw Linda and Keith standing beside a large tree stump. Oh, my God, this is it! she exclaimed. This is Alex’s tree. This is where we found his shoe. And at that moment, she spotted her daughter lying on the ground.

The girl in the white dress looked as though she was fast asleep. One of her pigtails had come undone and yet her black bangs hung over her forehead ever so neatly. Justine covered her mouth in shock; she didn’t know what to make of it.

Behind them the dog barked.

Calm down, Bullet, Keith yapped, as he attended to the girl.

Justine ran to her daughter and dropped on her knees. Hillary?

Careful, looks like she took a pretty bad fall, Keith said.

But the mother didn’t listen to him and hugged her daughter, rocking her back and forth like she used to. Oh, my baby, my baby, she cried, smothering her with a lifetime of kisses. We have to get you out of here.

I don’t know if we should move her, Keith objected.

I said we’ve got to get her out.

Justine felt a hand on her shoulder and when she looked up, Linda was giving her a heartfelt smile. We know what you’ve been through.

But, you don’t though… how could you? How could you possibly know what I’ve been through? Justine snapped with an uncharacteristically vicious grin. Don’t you get it? I just want her the hell out of here. Is that too much to ask?

Keith stepped forward and tried to explain that moving her daughter was risky. Hillary may have suffered a concussion.

Never mind, I’ll carry her myself, Justine interrupted, blabbing her words through salty tears.

At least let Keith help, Linda began. He’s got his first aid. He can move her without…

But Keith assured them that the girl was fine. Doesn’t look bad, but it’d be wise to get her checked out, just to be sure. Jesus, Bullet, would you quiet down?

On command, the black lab stopped barking. But, in a few seconds, he started growling and dragging himself forward on his stomach.

Linda looked at her dog. Whatcha got there, boy?

What the hell is that, a stick or a bone? Keith asked.

Looks like a bone, Linda replied. Taking a plastic bag from her pocket, she walked towards her dog and after wrestling the bone away from him, she looked at the tree stump. Hey look, something’s on top of the tree - an Easter egg, and there’s another bone. It’s those damn pranksters, I bet they put these eggs here… probably get their kicks scaring kids at the Easter egg hunt… like Halloween isn’t enough.

Shaken, Justine looked at her friend. But it’s more than that, Linda. We planned on having Alex’s memorial service right here; right at this tree. Don’t you think it’s odd that these bones are here, in the same spot?

Yeah, it’s odd alright, Linda agreed. I wouldn’t worry about it, though.

But what if someone put them here for me to see? Like it’s some sort of message? Justine looked to Keith. What if someone read about the memorial and remembered something. What if… what if they’re his bones?

I doubt they’re human, Keith said, lifting the little girl. They’re probably from an animal.

At that moment, they heard a murmur. Hillary opened her eyes and reached out her hand. My basket, my basket, she said, softly.

I won’t forget it. The anxious mother kissed Hillary on the cheek. I’m here for you, my angel. Come on, let’s show daddy your Easter eggs.

• • •

By the time they reached the parking lot, the park was empty except for two boys who were riding their bikes across the grass and a few organizers, who were relieved to hear that Hillary Fournier had been found.

Lying down in the back seat of her mother’s minivan, Hillary wished the grown-ups would stop talking about her long-lost brother. All she wanted was for them to say goodbye to each other so that she could go home. But they kept on blabbing and blabbing. She didn’t know why Alex was so special. She didn’t understand why the pixies had carried him away and not her. Curling her little pink fingers around her hair, the girl sucked the end of her red ribbon as she watched the door slide shut.

Hillary stared at the tan colored roof. As she wondered if those fairies truly existed, she thought it’d be a good idea to bring them some cookies the next time she came here… maybe then they’d let her see them.

Snuggling under an orange wool blanket, she whimpered, I want my daddy, to herself and waited for her mother to get into the van.

Time dragged by ever so slowly; the warmth of the afternoon sun barely reaching her through the tinted glass. Closing her eyes for a moment, the little girl in the white spring dress drifted off, dreaming of all the fairies that lived in the woods.

That night, Hillary Fournier was safe at home; safe in her bed under the watchful eyes of her mother and father. Feeling at peace, she went to sleep, happy to be far away from the Easter egg hunt, the wet slippery leaves and that horrible shadow she thought she saw…

giggling at her,

deep inside

the slimy throat…

of Sunlight Forest.

Chapter 2

Three days after the Easter egg hunt, Dr. Angela Swift received a call - her office had been asked to supply the dental records of Alexander Fournier. This was the first time in a long while she had to hand over x-rays for identification purposes and was fearful that the rumors may turn out to be true.

Everyone was talking about the bones that had been found at the Easter egg hunt. Curious to know if they really were the remains of young Alex, Angela read the newspaper. Page after page, the middle-aged woman with the golden blond hair searched for his name, but there was no mention of the little boy who’d disappeared ten years earlier. She took off her reading glasses and put them in her purse, all the while thinking of Alex. She pictured him sitting in the dentist chair, wearing his neat little spectacles. They were so thick they made his eyes bulge out like he was wearing magnifying glasses. Alex had always been one of her favorite patients, a unique boy who stood out the most. Ever-cheerful, truly adorable, Angela never wanted to forget him; and deep down knew she wouldn’t. After all, he was the first (and only) kid who’d ever asked her to pull his finger.

Everybody had participated in the search for Alex back in nineteen eighty-four. Even strangers from neighboring towns volunteered hours and hours of their time. But nothing ever came of it. Rumors that he was kidnapped or attacked by a bear soon took flight. The mystery of what happened to Alex Fournier had become almost mythical, until now. The bones of a small body had been found and since he was the only kid to go missing in decades, everybody thought it was proof that those were his bones and solid proof that the innocent lad had fallen prey to the most vicious animal of all…

The Fourniers were decent people, nice. In a quaint city like Landon, everyone was connected in one way or another. Angela’s son, Jeremy, had become friends with Alex at soccer, but she had also known Alex’s mother from high school - Biology Eleven to be exact.

Sipping her coffee, Angela contemplated life when the face of her high school sweetheart flashed into her mind - Michael Rogers. He had been her first boyfriend and her one true love. High school was the best time of her life - she, the captain of the cheerleading team and winner of the highly-coveted Miss Teen Landon pageant, and he, an all-star quarterback. They were voted the most popular couple for two years in a row and their relationship was solid. Destined for the altar. Until he bumped into that girl. ‘Right, that girl was Justine,’ she thought, understanding why she was thinking of Michael in the first place.

Alex’s mother was the reason they broke up. Scratching the surface of her memory, Angela could see Mike as clear as day. When she first asked him about it, he laughed it off, saying bumping into Justine was a fluke. But from that moment on, those two always blushed when they saw each other, and the rest was history. Mike Rogers dumped her. Even after all these years, she still couldn’t believe he dumped her for Justine. Shaking her head, Angela was relieved that she finally got over that painful phase of life. By the time her son went to soccer camp with Justine’s boy, Alex, that high school memory meant nothing more to her than a crumpled up, discarded, love letter. In fact, the very last time she saw Alex, she and Justine shared many fond memories about those silly school days. In a way, Alex had helped them reconnect.

Angela looked at her watch - the police chief was expected in twenty minutes. Cutting her lunch break short, she grabbed her purse and returned to work. But when she arrived at the highest professional building on Furlough Street, instead of taking the elevator to the eighth floor, she went down to the basement to get Alex’s file.

• • •

Swiping a cobweb clear from her path, Angela entered the narrow storage unit and headed to the filing cabinets. She slipped on her reading glasses, opened one of the middle drawers labeled ‘Inactive’ and, starting from the back, worked her way front.

Flipping through the files searching for the name Fournier, Angela got caught up in the moment and lost herself to the past. Focus, she said out loud. She rubbed the inside corner of her eye and reminded herself to rub lightly, ‘or you’ll get wrinkles,’ and as soon as she thought that, the former beauty queen slammed herself for being so vain. How she looked and how she felt were two different states of being. She didn’t want to be so self-centered, but she couldn’t help herself and when she was at such a low point, she often wished that she had a mirror, so she could punish herself by looking at her face under natural light. Nothing in the world was as brutally honest as natural light - then she’d get over herself and see what she couldn’t quite grasp yet… that her looks were fading drastically. Wrinkles that had been hiding around the corner of time were now beginning to appear, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Stop being so superficial, the dentist scolded herself. After taking a moment to re-center her thoughts, she returned to the drawer and got to work, dragging her finger down to the end: no Fournier.

A moth flew into her glasses, causing her to snap her head back. When she opened her eyes, she saw more patient records on shelves that were so high they hung over her like a shrine. Angela shifted her glasses so that they sat on top of her head. Jesus… to think of all those smiles that have come and gone.

Angela? a voice called out.

Angela turned to see the receptionist standing in the doorway.

You okay? Sherry asked as she opened the wire mesh door.

Angela’s glasses slid from her forehead onto her slim, pointy nose. Yeah, I’m fine. You startled me.

Who were you talking to?

Angela shrugged. Oh, nobody; a moth flew at me and I swatted it away.

Well, sorry I spooked you. I was coming to get the file - the police are here.

Thanks, I’ll be there in a minute, Angela said, looking down only to see that her hand had randomly landed on Alex Fournier’s folder.

Sherry walked closer. Did you find it? she asked, snooping over the dentist’s shoulder to see what she was reading.

Angela stepped aside. I just found it now. Can you offer them a coffee, please? I’ll be up in a minute.

After Sherry left the storage room, Angela opened the file and read the note that was clipped to the inside jacket - the handwriting was messy, but she knew that it was hers. A. Fournier disappeared on Saturday, April 21st, 1984 - wow, time flies, she said softly. At the bottom of the note it read, ‘File closed, December 1988.’

Angela turned off the light and locked up before making her way to the elevator. Holding her purse in one hand and Alex’s file in the other, she stepped inside it. Her mind was wandering and at one point she found herself counting each ping the elevator made like it was Alex’s birthday. When the elevator stopped on the eighth floor, she imagined him smiling after blowing out eight candles. No, not eight, Angie, he would have been sixteen by now. Sixteen.

As Angela entered her dental practice, she noticed two handsome police officers. One was a young, sweet looking man and the other was older. He had a hefty build and looked more confident, more experienced, more rugged. She recalled meeting the senior officer at least twice before. Angela introduced herself and invited them to her office. As Police Chief Harry O’Neal thanked her for seeing them on such short notice, she imagined he could have been a stand-in for any captain of any fishing boat in the world. He had salt and pepper hair and lots of wrinkles around his eyes, and when he spoke, his baritone voice only added more weight to that sea captain picture.

The rookie, Constable Wesley Rogers, was the first one to open the conversation. Have you heard about the Easter egg hunt this past weekend?

Nothing specific - only rumors, Angela replied, nestling into the chair with Alex’s file safely in her lap. Is it true?

Which part? O’Neal asked.

Is it true that you found bones?

Yes. Bones were found by a little girl on Saturday, O’Neal answered in a firm voice.

Flicking the edges of Alex’s file, the dentist looked at O’Neal. And you have reason to believe they belong to Alexander Fournier?

Yes, the thought has occurred to us that they might be his.

Angela’s posture deflated. Poor little guy, she said, shaking her head. As she set her glasses on her desk, Alex’s face flashed by her mind’s eye. She missed him, how he used to squirm in his chair - that was back when the chairs were burgundy. Are you sure they’re his?

That’s what we’re working on right now, the younger cop said. The medical examiner has to match them up; hopefully we can get the I.D.

O’Neal looked over to Wesley and then to the dentist. A tooth was found embedded in the tree trunk.

Oh, my God, Angela said. Justine told me that bones were found, but she didn’t mention a tooth.

No one knows about it, O’Neal said. We’re holding off releasing that information until we have concrete proof it belongs to Alex. We don’t want to cause any unnecessary suffering.

No, of course not, Angela agreed with a slight nod. Justine’s suffered enough.

How well do you know Justine Fournier?

She’s an acquaintance of mine, Angela replied. My boy played on the same soccer team. Jeremy was a couple of years younger than Alex was. As a matter of fact, my son and I were planning on attending the memorial service, which I understand is on hold for the time being.

O’Neal nodded. On hold until we make sure nothing unusual is going on.

God, I just feel awful for her. Angela frowned. Isn’t it odd that those bones have surfaced now? After all this time? And the fact that Alex’s own sister was the one who found a tooth, well, I think it’s just so bizarre.

Hillary didn’t find the tooth, O’Neal said. One of our officers found it while reexamining the site.

Well, thank God for that. That would’ve been terrible if Hillary had found it and it turns out to be her brother’s. Angela then went quiet. As she listened to the police chief, she felt numb, lifeless. She looked down at Alex’s folder; it was as though the little boy was there in the office, sitting on her lap. Smiling at the thought, she snapped to attention and took out the manila envelope, offering it to him. Well, I have his file - did you need the whole thing, or… Oh, I’ll just give you all of it.

The dentist handed O’Neal the file and he, in turn, gave her his contact card. Thank you, Dr. Swift, he began, and thanks for digging out this file so quickly for us. It’s the first time we’ve had to get dental records in over ten years - well, except for that boating incident back in eighty-nine.

Oh, yeah, that’s right. I remember how awful that was, Angela said, recalling that tragic houseboat fire a few years back. Suddenly grief-stricken, she wondered what her son was doing right now - where he was, who he was hanging around with. But before her imagination could run away from her, she heard the young officer speak, and he was looking directly at her.

We’ll return this as soon as we’re done, Wesley said with a smile that showed off his perfectly straight, glossy white teeth.

Thanks, Angela said, noticing his hazel brown eyes for the first time. I’m so curious to know the results. She liked his olive skin and thin lips. The rookie looked young - not a day over twenty and his voice was deep and more mature than his youthful appearance. The moment Angela caught herself staring at him, she almost choked. I was Alex’s dentist for a few years. That’s why it would be good to know your progress. Like I said, he was on the same soccer team as my son.

You’ll be kept abreast of any new developments, O’Neal said.

Angela smiled at the police chief. Thank you, I do appreciate it.

The rookie stood up, but before leaving, he said, Are you alright ma’am? You look a little flushed.

I’m fine, thanks, she replied.

The young cop followed O’Neal to the door. On his way out, he turned and gave the dentist a goodbye wink. Well, take care now… we’ll get this file back to you in the next day or two.

Angela nodded.

After the men in blue departed, the pretty dentist walked to the window and brushed the pink curtain to the side. She was glad she’d met the rookie and hoped they’d meet again. She particularly liked the eager to please look he had about him.

As she stared down at the traffic, she could feel the dampness in the air - there was a certain weight to the roaming fog. The weather was dull - a far cry from the sunny skies of Saturday.

Angela touched the window. In her reflection, a vision of her son’s face appeared. Needing to hear his voice, she returned to her desk and called home. As she listened to Jeremy’s highlights from another day at school, she knew that all she wanted at this moment was to go home and hug him forever and then she wondered if that was even possible… to hug someone you loved forever and ever… until the end of time.

Chapter 3

Landon is a coastal city on Vancouver Island, situated between Eldon and Shelby, British Columbia. From a distance, the scenic beach looks picture perfect, but razor-sharp rocks protect the moody coastline, making some parts virtually impossible to enjoy. The weather on this strip of the west coast is even moodier. Stoic clouds creep across the island like silent shadows, causing the temperature to rise and fall, continuously. Every day, before dawn breaks, a faint mist inhabits the air, leaving everything looking gray and damp. Only when the wind tires from its incessant moaning and the sun dissipates the clouds, are moments of serenity allowed to breathe.

Over the years, people living in the downtown core had become, in a word, rotten. Miserable that the economy hadn’t fully recovered from a string of harsh winters and summer wildfires, residents stood back and watched helplessly as the lumber industry practically burned itself to the ground. Because of this steep economic downturn, some of the locals stayed behind, while others scattered across the island looking for work - as though God had reduced them to salt and simply tossed them over his left shoulder for better luck next time.

• • •

Today, Police Chief Harry O’Neal and his rookie partner were headed to the Coroner’s office to determine whether the bones that had been found on the weekend were human. If they were, then they needed to know if they were Alex Fournier’s remains.

Wesley Rogers stepped out of the police cruiser and stared at the yellow stone building. It looked haunted, a forsaken orphanage to heaps of lost souls. Following O’Neal to the front doors, the rookie felt a slight charge - this was his first visit to the morgue, and his first real investigation as a full-fledged policeman. Standing tall beside his superior officer, he was impatient to begin his duties, hoping he’d exceed O’Neal’s expectations, or at least measure up as a good detective.

As Wesley entered the building, he was almost knocked over by the overwhelming smell of disinfectant. The concentration was so powerful that he started to gag and cough until he cleared his throat. While O’Neal chatted to the receptionist, the five-foot-eight rookie stayed back and waited.

After a while, Wesley heard a door slam shut, followed by heavy footsteps that grew louder and louder. He imagined all sorts of faces that could belong to such giant steps and was curious to see what the mighty Amazon looked like in the flesh. He was surprised when he was greeted instead by a short, chunky woman with a round face and gristle-brown hair.

The woman propped the door open with her white leather shoe and asked Harry how he was doing.

Good, Hazel, good, O’Neal replied. This is our latest recruit, Constable Wesley Rogers. He then turned to the rookie. Wesley, this is Hazel Frymire.

Wesley smiled hello.

Letting go of the door, Hazel leaned in to shake the young man’s hand. Ah, so you’re the newbie. Welcome aboard. She looked down at the envelope he was holding. Is that for me?

Before the rookie had a chance to respond, Hazel took the file from his hand and asked them to join her. They hadn’t reached the end of the corridor when she told them it was a waste of time coming here. I can assure you those bones aren’t human; neither is the tooth, she said, inviting them into her office. I called and left a message with your receptionist, but seeing that you’re already here, we may as well look at these x-rays after all.

Hazel extracted the x-rays from the file and held them up to the light before passing them along to O’Neal, who passed them on to Wesley.

Watching how the rookie handled them, she explained that the bones were probably from a small to mid-sized animal. Coyote, maybe, but they’re definitely not human.

With a united sigh, both officers felt a sense of relief. That means those bones don’t belong to Alexander Fournier, Wesley said.

That’s exactly what it means, Hazel agreed.

As the Coroner spoke, Wesley could feel the blood rush through his body. But it’s still odd, he said, interrupting her. When I found that tooth tucked away in a crevice, my first thought was that someone put it there deliberately.

Hazel frowned. Are you suggesting that the tooth and the bones were planted?

There is a possibility they were stashed there on purpose, O’Neal said, sinking back in his chair. As he began to pull at the stubble on his chin, he looked at Hazel. Those bones were found at the same tree where Alex’s running shoe was found.

Is that a fact, eh? she muttered.

Yep. We searched that tree ten years ago. Remember? We only found one red shoe?

Hazel nodded. I remember, I remember. Whatever happened to that file?

It’s been cold since the late eighties. Zero leads. O’Neal rubbed his chin. And I’ve got to say, when that little girl found those bones, well… it got me thinking all over again.

You and the rest of Landon, Hazel said.

Wesley shifted in his seat, excitedly. It’s such a coincidence though. If that kid hadn’t spotted those Easter eggs, she wouldn’t have climbed the tree and we probably wouldn’t be here at all.

Hazel grinned. If there’s one thing you’ll come to know about Harry O’Neal, it’s that he and the word ‘coincidence’ do not get along.

I know, Wesley said. As soon as I showed it to him, I could tell it touched a nerve. It’s like he was transported back in time. I mean, it could be a coincidence. It could be possible that someone dropped those chocolates before the Easter egg hunt or some hiker left them there while taking a break. But it’s the timing of it all.

Do you guys think it’s a coincidence? Hazel asked.

No. Wesley turned to face O’Neal before explaining their rationale. We’re concerned there’s a connection between those bones and the disappearance of Alex.

A possible connection, O’Neal added. We checked out that entire area in eighty-four.

I was there, Hazel said.

Then you’ll recall that other than one red running shoe, nothing was found. Alex was gone without a trace. O’Neal paused for a moment before turning to Wesley. We even hired a rock climber to tackle the cliff that’s about a twenty-minute hike from there. He stopped speaking and took another look at one of the x-rays. I think someone is giving us a hint that there’re more clues out there - something we missed, he said, speaking more to himself than to either of them.

If it was anyone else who found those bones, I’d agree it was a coincidence, O’Neal continued. But the fact that Alex’s family was about to have his memorial service at that tree, and the fact that Alex’s own sister was the one who came across those bones…

Hazel’s eyes widened. Wait a minute, you mean Alex Fournier’s sister found the bones last Saturday?

Yep.

Well, there goes the coincidence theory, she said, glancing at the rookie. No wonder everybody’s just a little freaked out. I’m sure they’re afraid the perpetrator is still out there.

Unfortunately, until we know more, we’ll have to sit on it, O’Neal said. We can’t jump to any conclusions so early in the game… if there is a game. He looked at his watch. Sorry to cut this short, Hazel, but we’ve got to go. Justine Fournier is coming in for a meeting. She just about went nuts when she found her daughter lying beside that tree. And when she saw the bones, well, she panicked - she immediately thought they were Alex’s.

Hazel looked troubled. Scratching her ear, she shrugged. Well, who can blame her? No one would blame a mother for being upset that her daughter found bones that may or may not be her son’s.

Ten years later; almost to the day Alex went missing, Wesley said.

And at the exact place where his red shoe was found.

Hazel looked at O’Neal hard. As though agreeing that there had to be more to it, she said, Only a sick individual would leave a surprise present like that.

Or maybe it could have been put there by someone who’s ready to share a secret.

O’Neal looked at the rookie. Someone who’s ready to share a secret? Or shed one?

Chapter 4

As Max dribbled gob-drenched chocolate onto the grass, Randy looked over to his small terrier - from the way his dog was grunting, he knew the taste was driving him crazy for more. Whatcha got there, Max? The pint-sized boy dropped his red plastic spade and walked to his drooling pooch. Ooh, that’s bad for you, spit it out. He bent down, resting both hands on his knees. Dogs aren’t supposed to eat chocolate. But his shaggy pet disagreed and continued to paw at his treat.

Randy picked up a dirty tennis ball and tossed it across the yard. After two flat bounces, Max caught the ball and while he was occupied with it, his master assessed the damage to the Easter egg - not much was left of the green tinfoil, never mind the candy.

Letting out a dramatic ‘woe is me’ sigh, Randy looked around. To his sweet delight, he saw a small egg on the kiddie swing.

Licking his lips, he ran halfway across the lawn and grabbed it off the blue seat, then he laughed and pointed to his dog. Ha-ha, this one’s mine.

The moment he’d swallowed the egg, another chocolate dropped in front of him. Randy looked up and spun around, searching for the person who’d tossed it to him. As no one was there, the thought that it had been delivered by the Easter Bunny crossed his mind. Seconds after gobbling up his yummy gift, he was bewildered when another egg dropped from the sky.

Scratching his head, the baffled boy walked to the Easter egg. The wrapping was bright pink with green stripes and yellow zigzags. He picked it up and peeled the tinfoil off, all the while wondering where it had come from. He heard a creak - the backyard gate had been pushed open and there, just beyond the fence, was another egg.

Randy giggled. Now he knew someone was playing tricks on him. He ran by the fence and picked up his fourth egg. Snooping behind him was his pestering dog. Max was wagging his little orange and white tail, begging Randy to share and forcing him to bite the egg in half.

Alright, buddy, Randy said. You can have a piece, but only a small one.

As Max devoured the egg, Randy opened the gate and threw the tennis ball towards the house; within seconds, he saw his faithful fur-ball run to fetch it.

Randy couldn’t stop laughing that his dog fell for the oldest trick in the book. But when he heard a light rustling sound he stopped moving.

Walking ever so slowly, the boy began to investigate the shuffling sounds coming from behind his house. He bent down - in the bushes he saw a glimmer of silver. Praying it was another Easter egg, he closed the gate to block Max from interfering and ran to get it. I found one and it’s bigger than all the rest!

Feeling sheer joy, Randy picked up the chocolate orb with both hands. Ten yards away, he spotted a whole line of Easter eggs. He set down the massive egg and followed the trail that led into the woods… thinking today was his lucky day.

Five minutes later, the pop of a fire cracker startled him.

Puzzled by the noise, the boy stood to attention.

He looked around but couldn’t see anything suspicious. Then he heard a pitter patter sound. It’s a deer, he whispered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the light-footed animal. A deer’s leaving these for me.

Venturing deeper into the woods, he walked on his tiptoes, keeping his eyes peeled and his ears open. With every crunch his foot made, he hoped it wouldn’t scare off the deer; but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t walk any softer.

From the corner of his eye, Randy sensed a shimmering shadow - it wasn’t a deer, but what was it? Lurking behind a tree, a dark, looming monster stepped out and frightened him. And when Randy saw, pointblank, the hatred surging from the monster’s eyes, he screeched from the bottom of his belly to the top of his lungs.

Alerted by the boy’s gut-wrenching scream, Lawrence dropped what he was doing and came out of the garage. On his way to the backyard, he called out to Randy, wondering what all the commotion was about. When he found his son’s dog running from side to side, barking madly at the fence, he started to panic. He opened the gate, allowed Max to bolt ahead, and ran as fast as he could.

Chapter 5

As quiet as a mouse, Daniel ‘Desert’ Stone snuck inside the red barn. The air was warm and sticky today, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. He was here to catch chickens and the more he caught, the more he earned, it was that simple. With a devilish quickness and a devious smile, he turned on the flashlight that was attached to his hardhat and went to work. He loved how the laser sliced through the darkness. The light had such precision he believed it was the most perfect weapon of all time: a sharp blade of pure white that tracked the enemy down, no matter where they lurked.

As he entered the arena, chickens scrambled over each other to get away from that menacing stream of light. When he was close enough, the chicken catcher would lunge at them and cackle in a high twisted laugh, Rise and shine, motherfucker! Chasing them around, he shouted, Stay still! Why don’t you fucking… stay… come here, you little… He grabbed one ball of trembling feathers and shoved it in his canvas sack. Then he grabbed another, and another.

Daniel took hold of the pitiful creatures and held them upside down. How he wished he could hold them for longer than four seconds, but he couldn’t - they would claw at him until they drew blood, and when he bled, the dried blood would irritate his rashes - itching the shit right out of him.

Catching chickens like they did in the old days was the worst job in the world. Free range chickens. He was amused at the irony of it all - allowing them to be free only to be hunted down like savages. If those animal lovers only knew how much he terrorized their beloved chickens, they would die a thousand deaths.

This job was the ultimate lowest of the low, but there were some good days too, days when he thoroughly enjoyed it - on those days it felt great to wreak havoc on them. The power of selection by his own hand was unlike anything else he’d ever experienced - and the best part about it was that he got paid to do it.

Sometimes (when he was ultra-bored with this mundane job), Daniel would think back to the beginning - when he first started catching chickens, how the smell of the barn alone would get to him. In those early days, he’d want to hurl and there was nothing he could do to make the gut reaction pass except to run outside and dunk his head under the hose. Water would cool him down, but the barn would sit there, waiting to burn him on his return.

No. He was not looking forward to another summer in that barn. Year after year, he’d suffer massive welts all over his body - welts the size of hot water bottles that were filled with sappy pus that oozed all over his arms and legs. He shook his head thinking about how he’d managed to survive up until now. I deserve a fucking medal, he’d often say out loud. It was ludicrous, having to endure bouts of heat stroke and hay fever. He’d lost count of how many times he’d had severe reactions to one little thing or another. The way those pus-filled sores soaked through his clothes made him want to retch. For no reason, other than cheap thrills, he’d wait for those blisters to ripen before he popped them - near bursting time they looked like raspberries filled with melted cream cheese just waiting to explode.

But even thinking about the early days came with a price - without realizing it, Daniel would find himself standing outside the barn, bending over with both hands on his knees, looking down at the sandy ground, as close to throwing up as one could get. His heartbeat would be racing a marathon and sweat would be dripping from his scrawny white face. He’d spit up gob and bile - once he’d swallowed a feather, and it took him fifteen minutes straight before he coughed that motherfucker out. That time he’d really lost it.

This year, Daniel was entering his ninth summer. Although he couldn’t bear another day in this hell hole, he was reluctant to find another day job. Even when he’d remind himself of how bad it was last summer, when the fans broke down and the temperature got so hot he felt like he was locked in a sauna with no way out, he’d eventually come to his senses and talk himself into staying - after all, nothing could beat the money he earned.

Thank fuck for the Plaza, he sighed.

Compared to Satan’s barn, as he called it, Daniel’s new job at the Plaza Monumental was nothing short of a miracle. Being the weekend DJ at Landon’s hottest dance club was the only thing in life that kept him going. He looked forward to it with every minute that ticked by. But until they gave him more than two shifts a week he was committed to doing his time in this hell hole.

Time and patience were all he needed and all he lacked. Life right now was another struggle that he had to endure - just like every other situation in his miserable existence. As he dreamt of getting out of the barn and living a better life, he was overcome by a tingling sensation - some loathsome creature was scuttling up the back of his leg.

Fucker! he gasped, killing the hideous spider.

Loneliness was another factor. It was damn lonely in there. Daniel was the only person working in the barn - which was the way the boss wanted it: only one hired hand at a time. Without anyone around to bitch to, it was a battle to remain level-headed. Sometimes he felt like he was entirely alone - stuck on a deserted island… then he’d hear them. He never saw them without his goggles on, but he knew they were there… those crafty chickens.

Over time, his hatred of them spilled over into his home life. Many nights he would wake up squeezing his pillow to death (to stop those little monsters from clawing his mind to shit) and in the morning, he’d make them pay for it. Sometimes they wouldn’t survive his first smoke break.

On the rare occasion, he’d get into trouble for being too reckless. He dreaded having to defend himself for the high body count and would explain that it was the nature of the job. Regardless of the number of times he was challenged, he always gave his boss the same excuse - some chickens were too clumsy and just unlucky enough to get trapped under his foot. But killing them wasn’t his fault. They were the fragile ones, they made him do it, every time.

Every aspect of this job was revolting but as much as he tried to abandon thinking about it, it was the only place where mean thoughts prevailed. For him it was like going to war every day: fighting in a confined space that was contaminated by germs, filth, vermin and squalor. He would often feel overheated. But he had to wear pants - that’s how bad those spiders were. If he wore shorts his bare legs would be nothing but easy targets, or ‘easy pickings’ as he’d say. His arms prickled with goosebumps at the very idea of them invading his body. It was a fear that clung to him like his own personal spider web.

This morning, Daniel filled six bags before taking his last break. After a quick leak and slow smoke, he walked back into the barn and finished his quota. Drenched in layers of black, the chicken catcher turned on his headlight - he didn’t have to turn the main lights off, he preferred to work this way. He liked moving around in the obscure light, casting shadows within the shadows. Here he felt invincible, where the element of surprise was in his favor. Without the barn lights on, he’d catch more chickens and the more he caught the more he earned and the sooner he’d be able to leave. Besides, he loathed looking in their beady little eyes.

At the end of his shift the chicken catcher would emerge from that dark abyss and swear he’d be back to get them. Tomorrow, you’re all dead meat! were his favorite parting words and every day, covered from head to toe in crap and feathers, he’d stumble out of that crazy red barn and dive into the sanity of daylight blue.

How many did you fill today, Daniel?

When Daniel heard his name, he took off his Walkman and looked at the old farmer. He still wasn’t used to being called by his real name, but, admittedly, he liked it more and more. Tilting his head to the side, he told Mr. Weatherby that he’d bagged eight sacks, speaking in a cocky tone that sounded like he could have easily added, ‘and what’s it to you, ass-wipe?’

The old farmer looked at Daniel’s dirty boots. Good boy. You’re the fastest chicken catcher, I swear.

Daniel nodded like he gave a shit.

Weatherby continued talking. I’m serious. Other catchers take up to five hours and you… you do it in three.

I like to get in and out. Get on with my day, Daniel said, abruptly. He wanted to go home.

Regardless of what they say, you’re a smart one, Weatherby said, following the catcher as he walked towards the shed. I’ve raised cattle in Texas, horses in Montana, now chickens up here in Eldon, and you’re the hardest-working farm hand ever. It’s virtually impossible finding a chicken catcher who doesn’t gripe about it.

Yep, Daniel grumbled as he climbed out of his rubber boots and stinking overalls. Everything (including his patience) was covered in three hours of hell shit.

Here’s your cash. Weatherby walked closer to the skinny young man. Sorry it’s so late. I threw in an extra fifty for you. Thanks for understanding - now go on and take your girlfriend out to dinner.

Not if I can help it.

You two on the outs?

The chicken catcher shook his head as he took the wad of money. Nah, but I’m going fishing. Somewhere in Black Willow Creek is a fish with my name on it.

Ah, so that’s your secret hideaway.

You bet, Daniel said, flicking the dust off his Dakota Boy cowboy boots. Thanks for the extra dough.

You deserve it, kid.

His boss was only two weeks late paying him, but still, Daniel hadn’t expected another fifty bucks. Without counting it, he shoved the money in his back pocket. Then he took his baseball cap from the rusty hook and hung up his overalls. He thought about home. He wished there was a way he could just blink and be there.

See you tomorrow morning, Daniel, the farmer said, watching him fix his jeans over his cowboy boots.

The chicken catcher raised his hand and waved as he walked towards his black pickup truck. The old guy was alright. In truth, Daniel was grateful for the job and for the job at the nightclub, but he hated being bogged down with chit chat, especially when he was tired. ‘It’s not my fault he can’t see how bagged I am,’ he thought. ‘Can’t he tell I hate it when anything stands in my way from getting the fuck home?’

Daniel hopped into the driver’s seat like he was mounting a black stallion. After settling in, he buzzed down the window. See you tomorrow, Mr. Weatherby, he said, forcing a grin and tipping his red baseball cap.

And after that brief exchange with his boss, Daniel’s shift was done. Driving down the dusty road, he lit a cigarette, dreaming of the day they’d come out with a smoke that lasted as long as the drive home did.

Chapter 6

Seventeen minutes and two cigarettes later, Daniel Desert Stone was pulling into his driveway. He turned off the engine, hands on the wheel, too tired to move. Home at last, home at last, thank fuck almighty, I’m home at last, the chicken catcher sang, like he did every day. It felt good being far away from the poultry farm, far away from the crazy hunt. He rubbed his eyes without noticing how often he did that. Only when they were bloodshot would he bitch about the barn and all the dust mites that got into his eyes and under his skin. ‘Ah, fuck it,’ he thought… at this moment he didn’t care - he was done crouching for three hours straight. Satisfied that his shift was finally over, he sat like a bump on a log. The heat of the sun felt good. Today he had made good time. Home in a flash. He barely remembered the drive, which was fine by him - he liked it when it was automatic like that. As soon as the commercials came on, he turned off the radio, stepped out of his truck and entered the crooked little house he called home.

Ever since the accident, Daniel Stone’s grandmother had lived with them. She never bothered him, and he liked knowing that someone else was there. The plain white bungalow had two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a basement which he had converted into a smaller, third bedroom. There he felt free to live in privacy, leaving the two bedrooms upstairs to his grandmother and twin sister. Grandma? I’m home, he called out on his way to the bathroom. He didn’t wait for an answer because he never got one.

In a daze, he dumped his clothes and jumped in the shower, feeling instant relief.

In five seconds, what little energy he had left had already drained ‘halfway to China,’ he’d say to himself. He took his time showering and didn’t care if he used up all the hot water. Water was the only natural uplifting sensation he knew of - a liquid revival that saved him every single day of his life.

After turning off the tap he stood for a moment, letting water drip from his slender, almost hairless body. As he wrapped a navy-blue towel around his skinny waist, trying to name the tune he was whistling, the telephone rang. He ran to the kitchen, managing to answer it on the fourth ring. It was his sister and he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was calling to bail.

You’re not coming home again? he asked, cutting her off. This would make it the fifth weekend in a row that Gayle stayed at school. Daniel shook his head like a wet shaggy dog.

You’ve got a date on Saturday? With who?

But he didn’t care what name she said; he didn’t care what her reasons were, he just wanted her to come home. Come on, Gayle, you promised. Geez, I’m bored, like… I’m fucking bored… bullshit, you never come home - that was over a month ago. It seems like forever. You know how slow time moves up here.

Staring at himself in the long mirror, the pretty white boy with the jet-black hair started to punch his reflection, ducking his head like a featherweight boxer. He had to admit, through his eyes, he was heroically fit… especially when he flexed his muscles.

As he was listening to Gayle explain her hectic exam schedule he spotted a spindly spider running across the floor. Balancing on one foot, the twenty-five-year-old lifted his leg and let it hover over the hairy thing. Droplets of water fell, practically drowning it. He followed the spider’s path, amused at its futile attempt to escape the inevitable.

Grandma’s okay. What’d you expect, she’s old, Gayle. It’d be better if you were here…. between watching her and catching those feathery fucks all day - what can I say, it’s driving me psycho.

While his sister was responding, Daniel’s mind began to wander. He was trying to remember when his work week had slipped into six or seven days. He hated wasting time thinking about those damn chickens, how every thought led back to that fucking barn was enough to push him over the edge. But when he heard Gayle suggest that he take a break and visit her, he couldn’t stop himself from sounding like an obnoxious jerk.

How can I visit you? Who’d look after Gran? he asked, resuming his boxing match with his reflection - across the chin, down low, then for a twist - surprise him with an upper cut.

Daniel stopped boxing. A private care home, just for the weekend? Yeah rights, you gonna foot the bill for that?

As expected, Gayle didn’t answer his question of who would pay. Instead of saying anything, she had gone silent, freeing him to return to his imaginary boxing match. Thinking about the jabs, he coached himself to