The Castle: A novel

By Anne Montgomery

Ancient ruins, haunted memories, and a ruthless criminal combine with a touch of mystic presence in this taut mystery about a crime we all must address.

Maggie, a National Park Ranger, is back at the Castle – an ancient Native American pueblo carved into the face of a limestone cliff in Arizona. Maggie, who suffers from depression, has been through several traumas: the gang rape she suffered while in the Coast Guard, the sudden death of her ten-year-old son, and a suicide attempt. As part of her therapy Maggie volunteers at the local rape crisis clinic.

Maggie has several men in her life. The baker, newcomer Jim Casey, always greets her with a warm smile and fills pink boxes with sweet delicacies. Brett Collins, a scuba diver, is doing scientific studies in Montezuma Well, a dangerous cylindrical depression that houses a deep spring filled with strange creatures found nowhere else on Earth. Then there’s Dave, with whom she’s had a one-night stand, and her new boss Glen.

One of these men is a serial rapist, and Maggie is his next target.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TouchPoint Press
• Release date: Sep 13, 2021
• ISBN: 1952816661

Book preview

1

Holy crap! Maggie dropped the phone. Someone peered from outside the darkened window. A child. Big eyes in a bronze face. Hey! You can’t . . . . But the boy—nine maybe ten—disappeared. She heard a laugh, a light tinkling sound like tiny brass bells on the breeze.

Maggie scrambled for the phone, punched in the number, and made her report. Then she grabbed a flashlight from under the counter and bolted out the back door of the Visitor Center.

A half-moon lit the concrete trail. There was no sign of the boy. The wind pushed through massive Arizona Sycamores, their star-shaped leaves fluttered, the sound mimicking a stream rushing over small river rocks. Maggie rushed down the path. Her Nikes would have served her better than the brown ankle boots that were part of her uniform.

The laughter came again, this time from the wild land amidst the rocks—huge slabs of fractured white limestone that over the centuries had tumbled down the escarpment. Striving to avoid the vicious prickly pear that dotted the slope and the jagged pieces of stone that could slice skin like a honed blade, Maggie left the safety of the trail and pushed past the mesquite and pungent creosote bushes toward the base of the cliff, boots crunching on the rocky rubble that littered the ground.

Her gaze drifted up the sheer stone wall to The Castle, a prehistoric edifice almost iridescent in the moonlight. She could make out the small windows and even ancient logs that jutted from the structure, all of which had been felled and carted up the cliff face many hundreds of years earlier.

Maggie gasped. To her horror, she saw the boy ascending the wall. She flashed on the day she’d scaled the precipice with archaeology students from New Mexico State University. A seasoned climber, she was comfortable in the harness and helmet, but the ladders were touchy. The feel of rock beneath her hands and feet provided a much more solid sense of security. But there were no ladders propped against the ragged limestone now, nor was the child dressed in any protective gear. In fact, he didn’t appear to be wearing clothes at all.

Frozen, she watched the boy mount the wall like an animal, arms and legs working with almost preternatural ease. Then Maggie saw the child hoist himself over the ledge before he disappeared into the cave that held The Castle in its belly.

Gecko

At six-foot-three, Jess Sorenson towered over her friend. She folded the slim spiral notebook and tucked the pad into the back pocket of her uniform pants. Like Maggie, Jess sported a gray button-down short-sleeve shirt and forest green slacks. But Jess was a National Park Service Law Enforcement officer, so she also wore a sidearm.

You don’t believe me. Maggie slumped into a desk chair in the office at the Montezuma Castle Visitor Center.

Look, sweetie . . . .

Maggie glared.

I’m just saying that we’ve had a search team out here for . . . . Jess checked her watch, five hours now. And they’ve found nothing. And you have to admit . . . .

They think I’m still crazy, right? Maggie jumped from the chair and paced the room, a palm pressed against her forehead.

I didn’t say that, but . . . . Jess creased her brow. You know I have to ask.

No, I’m no longer medicated, if that’s what you’re curious about. Maggie turned toward the east-facing windows of the Visitor Center, where the morning sun had yet to offer even a hint of illumination.

Jess nodded and reached again for the notebook. She jotted the information in blue ink, stuck the pen in her breast pocket, and ran her fingers through short, shockingly white hair. Maybe you need some more time off, she said softly.

Maggie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. I know what I saw.

Jess stared for a long time. I believe you. But the other guys . . . . She spread her hands wide.

I have to work, Jess. Sitting around is doing me no good. I just think too much when I’m alone. When I’m here, I feel better. I can’t go back to the house.

I know. Jess perched on the corner of a nearby desk. So, what do you want to do? Should we file a report with the local authorities? Ask if any young boys are missing?

They’ll send me home.

They might.

But what if a child is out there injured? Maggie pointed toward The Castle, unable to stop tears from spilling down her cheeks.

Do you think the child was hurt?

Maggie blew out a breath and closed her eyes. She pictured the boy scaling the wall like one of the ubiquitous brown lizards that scampered among the rocks, his tinkling laughter playing on the breeze. Suddenly the memory seemed wrong. How could the vision be real? She stared at Jess, frowned, and collapsed into a chair.

Jess got up, walked over to Maggie, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. I’m gonna call the guys off. Let’s get you to bed.

Maggie lifted her head and peered from bleary eyes. What about the report?

I think we need to err on the side of caution and tell the local folks, just in case. But maybe we can make it sound not so . . . .

Crazy? Maggie finished the sentence.

Come on, now.

Maggie allowed Jess to help her from the chair. Then she picked up the straw-colored hat with the flat brim and dark leather band that symbolized her profession. Her job was all that mattered now. By making the report Maggie was putting her employment at risk. But what if a child was lost or injured, and they stopped the search because she chose to say nothing? Maggie couldn’t live with that.

Gecko

Maggie dragged herself from bed. After slipping on a pair of khaki shorts and an overly large navy-blue T-shirt bearing the words Plant Lady: I dig dirt, she made a cup of instant coffee, heavily laced with sugar and milk.

Maggie pushed through the screen door to the tiny porch that fronted her one-bedroom apartment, let the door snap shut behind her, and placed the steaming mug on a round wrought iron table. She’d slept until noon—not a surprise considering her run-in with the boy/spirit/hallucination—so the sun was directly overhead. Birds chattered noisily in the surrounding bushes and trees. A speckled brown and white roadrunner, who sprinted about the grounds frequently and exhibited little fear of humans, tilted his head as she sat at the table, then went back to pecking among the rocks in a search for insects and lizards.

The apartment, one of several in a tidy row, sat on National Park land, just a short walk from The Castle. One of the benefits of being a National Park Ranger was the opportunity to live at work. Maggie had recently requested one of the simple flats—a bedroom, kitchenette, tiny living room, and bath—because the thought of returning to her house on Beaver Creek was overwhelming. Memories lingered there, once vibrant and joyful, now nothing but dust and shadow, thoughts that clawed at her gut like a small rodent anxious to eat its way out. She fingered the ragged scars that bisected her wrists—cuts that were partially concealed by a pair of colorful tattoos—then stared at the cerulean blue of the high desert sky.

Maggie, who’d grown up in the bulging metropolis of Phoenix, Arizona, had enjoyed the small-town feel of the Beaver Creek area, which encompassed the communities of Lake Montezuma, Rimrock, and McGuireville. On the way home from The Castle, she’d pass Vickie’s Grill—where a sign proclaimed you could get good home cooking—the Feed Store, and Candy’s Creek Side Cottage with its colorful kitschy décor that always made her smile. Further down the road stood the Montezuma-Rim Rock Fire Department, the town post office, and the most popular spot in town, Flora’s Bakery, where indescribably delicious confections came in pink boxes tied with twine. Then Maggie would turn onto the unpaved, dusty lane with the long row of metal mailboxes, mostly black and white and green, some with their red flags at attention, signaling mail within. Maggie’s was the fourth box from the right, turquoise with white flowers and a yellow butterfly that Charlie had insisted on.

Her tiny house was embraced by an ancient Arizona Sycamore, some of the tree’s branches having kissed the earth untold years earlier, after which they’d rebounded into the high desert sky, massive in their height and breadth. She’d felt connected to the tree with the mottled skin—pale green, brown, and white—cool to the touch, verdant star-shaped leaves. She couldn’t wrap her arms completely around the trunk, though she’d tried.

Charlie had loved the tree. Maggie stopped worrying as he’d grown older, no longer concerned that the boy might fall from the enormous limbs.

Bits of Charlie’s life assaulted her as she sipped her coffee. A hand-painted wooden frame clutching a picture of the two of them, smiling on a hike when he was six. A small pair of boots, laces untied, caked with dried red mud. The collection of minerals on the bedside table, including the strange geometrically-shaped white rocks called pseudomorphs, they’d found sifting through the sandy bottom of the open-pit salt mine in Camp Verde.

Maggie forced the thoughts away, not wanting to think about the house she still owned but dared not enter. For six months she’d stayed away. Jess periodically checked on the property and picked up the mail. Maggie continued to pay the mortgage, but the water and electricity had long since been turned off.

A half an hour and two cups of coffee later, Maggie stared at a Queen butterfly that rested on the wooden porch railing. The creature lazily opened and closed white-spotted orange and black wings, and flitted to a nearby patch of milkweed.

Maggie jumped, startled by the sound of a vehicle. A late-model green Jeep Wrangler pulled to a stop in front of the last apartment in the complex. A tall man wearing a Colorado Rockies baseball cap unfolded himself from the driver’s seat and spoke into a cellphone as he slammed the door. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his back pocket. Then, he opened the rear of the vehicle and hoisted a large silver cylinder to his shoulder. His phone rang.

What! He walked up the wooden steps to the apartment. I’ll call you back. He put the cylinder on the porch floor and fumbled with a key.

Maggie recognized the object, strangely incongruous in the desert. It was a scuba tank.

2

He didn’t need to check a calendar. He knew exactly when the moment had occurred: fourteen months, three days, and—a quick look at the bedside alarm revealed—eleven hours.

Sunlight split the curtains, a blinding slice of morning. He didn’t like daytime. Even as a child he preferred the cool anonymity of the dark, when you could be anyone, do anything. No mask required. Though he’d gotten quite good at acting over the years. Hell, he could have won multiple Academy Awards for the parts he’d played. Was he really that good or were people just incredibly stupid? The latter, probably. People saw what they wanted to see. A smile, a kind word, a harmless hug when they needed one, and wham!—you were their new best friend.

He closed his eyes. There was no place he had to be for a couple of hours. His mind drifted back to the last time. He remembered every detail, a hail of moments stitched into a glorious mosaic. Oddly, though, her face was a blur. Then again, they always were. He envisioned the yellow dress—cotton with spaghetti straps—those chunky-soled sandals and the pink nail polish, chipped and cheap. The translucent white skin you sometimes see with very blonde blondes. She was young, though age never mattered to him.

The girl had gone with him willingly. Saw no threat. Never considered that his intentions were not honorable. Later on, however, when he’d pretended to let her get away, so he could hunt, she’d certainly sensed her error. Of course, he enjoyed the chase. That was part of the game. What fun would he have with just a quick grab, do the deed, and be done with it? No, the anticipation was what he craved, as much as the seminal act.

He got hard under the sheets and wanted to touch himself, but held off, playing the memory over detail by detail. The moment she seemed to fully realize her mistake was pivotal to his pleasure. The fear. The fight. Without that, what was the point? Mascara had streaked the girlish face as she’d begged him to stop. Then she’d struck him repeatedly, small fists thudding harmlessly off his chest. Why did women think they could fight off a man? Even a small guy could overpower the great majority of women, their muscle mass providing no contest.

He fondly recalled the screams, much the same way lovers relish each other’s whimpers and moans. He always planned carefully, knowing his predilection was a noisy affair. The place was almost as important as the victim. In this way, he was perhaps different from others like him. He’d read the titillating articles about those who’d been dumb enough to get caught. This lack of forethought doomed them to prison, where they no doubt discovered what life was like on the receiving end, something about which he had intimate knowledge, but on which he no longer dwelled. Thoughts of those who’d used him had once overly occupied his mind, but he’d eventually managed to replace those memories with a hardened substance, much like minerals are substituted for organic material when fossilized.

He threw off the covers and walked the few paces to the bathroom. After pissing, he splashed cold water on his face and stood before the mirror. A vision of the girl in the yellow dress hovered. On those rare occasions when he admittedly had not fully planned the event, leaving quickly was imperative. That he’d been unable to control himself had been worrisome, but a move and a different job had saved him. Again.

He’d been laying low for a long time. The urge was difficult, in fact, impossible to fight.

He knew what he was.

A rapist.

3

Maggie buffed the gold sequoia pinecones that adorned the leather band, then donned the stiff-brimmed tan hat that was synonymous with her profession. Though originally felt, the modern version of the Park Service Stetson was now fashioned from a material called ventilated milan braid. The rest of the uniform, originally designed by the War Department, consisted of forest green pants, short-sleeved gray shirt, and brown boots and belt.

A tan badge, situated on her left sleeve, identified Maggie as a National Park Ranger. The arrowhead-shaped emblem bore snow-covered mountains, a giant green sequoia, and a white bison in the foreground. Unlike Jess, who was a National Park Law Enforcement Officer, Maggie was an Interpretive Ranger whose job was to inform and educate the public about both the natural and man-made elements of the park.

As she’d learned over the years, a ranger needed to answer many questions from driving directions and weather forecasts to queries about biology—both flora and fauna—archaeology, modern history, astronomy, and geology. Maggie held an associate’s degree in horticulture, so she was the Plant Lady when one was needed. But she also had a deep love of all things ancient and, though she was up to date on the present beliefs about The Castle and those who had presumably built the structure, she kept promising herself she would go back to college to get a more formal education in archaeology.

After straightening her hat, she pushed through the screen door, locked the apartment, and began the short walk to The Castle.

Five minutes later, Maggie hesitated as she approached the covered walkway leading to the Visitor Center. The parking lot was half-filled with cars: plates from New Mexico, Oregon, Idaho, California, and Alberta, Canada attested to the park’s popularity with out-of-state visitors. Arizonans enjoyed The Castle, as well, but often they admitted to stopping by only because they were entertaining family or friends on holiday.

Oh! Honey, look! A florid woman, wearing a white T-shirt and khaki shorts sporting more pockets than anyone could use, planted herself in front of Maggie. Can we take your picture? Without waiting for an answer, the woman seized Maggie’s arm. Didn’t know they allowed you folks to have tattoos. She gazed at the delicate green vine with tiny yellow flowers that twined around Maggie’s wrist and up her forearm, then pointed to the middle-aged man holding the phone. Come on, Dave. Take the picture, already.

Maggie grinned and heard the cellphone shutter click. The couple thanked her and departed. She took a few steps and paused at the water fountain, sipping from the cool stream, trying to slow her heartbeat. She noticed the metal dish was low, so she rinsed and filled the bowl. The Castle was a dog-friendly park.

She stared at the door that would lead her back into the Visitor Center. Her co-workers certainly would know by now, even those who hadn’t participated in the nighttime search for the mysterious boy-child. Clearly, some would think she’d gone off the rails. Again.

Maggie reflexively rubbed both wrists, keeping her eyes averted from the slices of scar tissue that would forever remind her of Charlie. A tiny yellow butterfly danced before her, then bounced away. Maggie took a deep breath and walked into the Visitor Center, five minutes early for her shift.

Gecko

Big John Thompson stood behind the counter. He looked up as Maggie approached and winked, then continued talking to the young family standing before him. John held a pamphlet—The Arizona Watchable Wildlife Guide—and spoke to a boy who appeared to be about ten. Maggie stared at the floor. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere without seeing boys the same age as Charlie. She slowly blew out a stream of air, then raised her head.

Ranger John unfolded the document and pointed to a photo of a black and pink lizard whose mouth was open, exposing a string of saliva. He handed the brochure to the boy.

The child stared at the photo. Awesome!

But you be careful. Gila Monsters are poisonous and protected, John said, before turning to the mother, who held a toddler’s hand and was positioned behind a carriage bearing a sleeping infant. Don’t worry, ma’am. The chance of you meeting a Gila Monster is slim. They spend ninety-five percent of their time underground and they’re very slow and not aggressive.

Maggie watched the mother nod. The woman looked relieved. John always seemed to know what to say. He had a knack for putting people at ease.

The big man pointed toward the

Reviews for The Castle

[librarycin · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Maggie has had a tough time the past 10 years or so. In addition to being raped years ago, she more recently lost her son. She is a Park Ranger in Arizona and has just returned to work. Her best friend’s partner, Lily, runs a local rape crisis centre for indigenous women, and she decides to volunteer there despite being unsure if she is hallucinating the boy she has seen climbing the cliff. Unfortunately, it looks like Maggie is about to be victimized again. This pulled me in right away. The first chapter felt almost like horror with the chills it brought, though I’d tend to classify this more of a thriller. Some chapters do show the POV of the new rapist in town, but we don’t know who it is until the end, though there are a few possibilities. There are stats on rape included (both within the book and as part of an afterword) that I found interesting. I, of course, also loved the found little puppy.

[susanna777-178913 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Maggie is a survivor of gang rape during her military service and later the loss of her child. She now works as a park ranger and is struggling to trust the men around her, one of whom may be a rapist and murderer. The author has been brave to tackle the serious and largely still taboo subject of rape and the ongoing effects on the lives of rape survivors in a work of fiction.I found this novel heavy on message and hard going at times, but I was surprised that the author also managed to create a compelling mystery and to draw me in to the uncertain feelings and situation of the protagonist. I enjoyed the national park / Native American setting which adds a spiritual dimension and a ray of hope. It’s a while since I read The Castle, but I’m glad I waited to write about it as I can now add that my changed understandings around this subject, and this novel, will stay with me.

[dian429 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

The book deals with a subject a lot of people don't want to talk about. It still a taboo subject tomany. The author tell of rape, and rape survivors. The truth is most victims know their rape attackers.Closer to home then you think. Also the victims don't want to talk about it.We meet Maggie the main character and learn of her traumatic story. She has been a victim of gang rape when serving in the military and the lose of her young son. She has just returned to her job as a National Park Ranger. We see her dealing and learning to trust people around her.We also will see the side of a serial rapist in how he thinks things out and how he picks his victims.He shows himself as a good friend to his victim. The all out good guy.The story will keep you in suspense and thinking you know who did it, but do you really.Rape is a horde crime that that a human does to another human. Leaving the victim in fear and mental anguish. The author did a good job with information and handled the story well.