Eclipse of Evil

By A.B.N. Dawn

Why is backward Millstone village, squeezed in a valley of New Mexicos Sacramento Mountains, ostracized from neighbor towns? Why do villagers stare like mummies doomed to mindless terror? Why do they shun stunning Silver Lake gorged with trout? Are ghastly rumors products of superstition and ignorance, or is a diabolical recluse linked to sinister crimes?
Such questions haunt three vacationing college freshmen and test their integrity. Events emotionally, mystically, and dangerously bind them to a mysterious loner whom they gallantly, perhaps foolishly, strive to vindicate. In their struggle they uncover the truth, hidden behind a fog of mystical power and hatred, and become entangled in a snare of sinister events and confusing leads.
They must consider the emotional instability and supernatural powers of the old recluse. They must consider the motives of a beautiful Apache woman who seems to match the paranormal abilities and apparent, generous nature of the loner. They cannot ignore a shifty sheriff who bends the law and covers evil deeds. They cannot overlook the remnants of a dissolved cult in the old fishing lodge where they are staying, nor can they disregard old Stella who uses her status and magicians tricks to wield power over Millstone folk.
In their struggle to redeem good, the three friends honor, faith, and courage are severely tried by subversive evil. The dichotomous clash escalates from sorrow, to betrayal, to tragedy, to ultimate triumph.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 1, 2005
• ISBN: 9781462833474

A.B.N. Dawn

A.B.N. Dawn lived in various states and currently resides on the Big Island of Hawaii. However, Eclipse of Evil exhibits the author’s enchantment and nostalgia for New Mexico. The phenomenon of invisible finger branding, employed in the novel, occurred in small towns of Otero County where A.B.N. lived. With an aptitude for writing and an interest in literature, human behavior, and parapsychology, A.B.N. earned a B.A. in English and Behavioral Sciences. The author lives near a national rain forest on a few acres of secluded land with two dogs, two cats, ducks, and a macaw.

Book preview

CHAPTER I

A banshee screech sliced through the room, powered electric currents along Justus’ spine, and jolted him upright in bed. His first thought struck like a thunderbolt. Which of them was to die? When Justus blinked for clear sight, a golden, heraldic eagle flashed at him from a walnut plaque upon the wall. Tips of the outspread wings were jewels of light, and talons gripped a limp, bronze serpent. Justus swept a hand across his eyes. The eagle eyes were alive!

Justus followed their vibrant gaze and twisted toward the window beside the bed. Stricken by a face, he knocked his head against the bedpost. An enormous, mottled brown owl glared at him from a high limb. Erupting with another banshee screech, it fell and swooped silently over the trembling aspen leaves lightly dusting the moon-washed window casement. Justus exhaled loudly and eased his sturdy frame into chilly, shroud-white sheets enclosing him in day’s death.

Tum . . . tum . . . tum . . . .

Justus rose like Lazarus as Indian war drums reverberated, dully and hollowly, off open pine rafters in the fishing lodge. Minutes passed, and Justus’ sleepy head cleared. He smiled at his foolishness. Someone pounded the living room door below. His watch beeped midnight, and he swallowed back the smile. His friend Cory wasn’t sleepwalking because he slept like a corpse. Who was at the door? Justus swiped his robe from the bedpost, left the room, descended the wooden stairway checkered white from the moonlit window above, and opened the door.

Fascinated and wary, Justus stared at the midnight caller standing on the threshold of Uncle George’s fishing lodge high in the Sacramento Mountains. A meticulously clean, milk-white nightshirt flapped in the draft against swollen knees. Moonlight flooded the porch stage and the man’s cucumber face, where sharp cheekbones resembled chiseled pieces of white jade. A pile of rummaged, cinnamon-colored hair slowly settled on his forehead.

Justus shuddered and shook his head, but the apparition remained. This guy is definitely one of Uncle George’s old esoteric friends who abandoned his todge, he thought.

Twitching, glistening gray eyes betrayed nervous emotion on the man’s placid face. An arm rose mechanically, offering a white lily. For you and friends, the man intoned brokenly through thick lips. "Be white like lily, white like him, or else you die! Beware, beware of dragon servants—stupid dragon slaves. They want kill him. They want mush your minds or kill you. Beware . . . ."

Justus kindly accepted the lily. Here was a former esoteric club member gone loony.

Sam! Where are you? cried a milk-sweet voice somewhere in the forest. Justus looked ahead. Another ghostly character glided from the dark, curtained backdrop of ponderosa pine into the moon’s floodlight. There you are. Thank God!

A small, round woman, strapped in a white terry cloth bathrobe, moved quickly across the lawn. She nearly bounced up the porch steps. The caller’s face remained placid as she hooked her arm under his arm. A sweet, apologetic smile dimpled her cheeks.

Don’t mind my brother Sam. He don’t know what he says half the time. He had an accident when he was a little boy, and his brain ain’t right. He don’t mean nothin’ by botherin’ folks. I’m so sorry.

Confounded, Justus simply nodded. The woman gently turned her brother around and carefully walked him down the stairs and back across the lawn. Justus closed the door, sat before the hearthstone, placed the lily on his lap, and rubbed out the bug-creeping sensation in his arms. He stared past the polished andirons into the empty fireplace to reflect.

The caller and his lily amplified spectral fears haunting Justus since he arrived yesterday at the lodge with his pal Cory. Family gossip haunted him. They said an awful thing dissolved his uncle’s cult by dispersing his most avid followers. His Uncle George’s sudden generosity haunted him. He hardly believed his wealthy, avaricious, and cruel uncle offered his lodge to the college friends during their summer break. Justus accepted the invitation because he could not resist an opportunity for adventure. Now regret and doubt harried him.

He gazed at a somber photograph upon the fireplace mantel. It was striking and unfortunate just how much it resembled Justus. A young, tall Uncle George displayed his broad chest, aquiline nose, and stern but handsome face. Moved by deviltry, the uncle gave Justus a replica of this surrealistic photograph.

For years, Justus endured his uncle’s habitual teasing. He never forgot the donation on his seventh birthday. Uncle George grinned when he presented it. Like a creature from hell, something clawed inside the cardboard gift box punctured with holes. Thinking it was the puppy he asked for, Justus quickly freed it. The sight of a stiff-haired, black kitten brutally crushed him. The thing was a runt from the litter of Tearing Terror, Uncle George’s precious calico.

For some bizarre reason, Justus’ kindness failed to tame the kitten. His parents removed the innately vicious pet to the pond, and when he heard the news, Uncle George laughed with pleasure. This wasn’t the last time his uncle was a rascal. However, his pranks toughened Justus.

Life came mean, and responsibility and endurance came early for a poor boy in a God-fearing family of ten. The upbringing taught Justus how to suffer personal criticism. Still, he was proud of his singular background. It bound him to a nearly extinct breed of God-centered folk. He adored his principled, authoritative father and loved his firm but gentle mother.

In Justus’ opinion, his father was the epitome of a man. Bolstered by simple faith considered inane by most, he quietly endured criticism. Justus smiled, thinking how his mother attacked hard times with good humor. She used it to scold him for his abusive tongue. Nevertheless, both parents thoroughly appreciated and trusted Justus’ devotion to them and his loyalty to duty.

Justus was also proud of his powerful frame, wrought from labor and discipline. Early experience with injustice taught him it was wrong to take advantage of the underprivileged. He renewed his promise to support the weak and to reject the bad example of Uncle George who used strength for personal advantage.

In Justus’ mind, Uncle George was the dark counterpart of his generous older brother. When Justus’ family was destitute, rich Uncle George never alleviated their suffering. Though Justus’ proud father might have refused open charity, his shrewd younger brother could have devised indirect assistance. Uncle George never even offered help. Drowsy, Justus stopped staring into the fireplace and returned to bed.

When Justus stepped on the landing, he peered through the dark corridor toward Cory’s room and paused. Life might have pursued a rockier course if his father had not changed his career from a poor machinist to a thriving building contractor. The change afforded a move to an improved neighborhood where he met Cory Draw at St. Francis School in Albuquerque. Justus was thrilled to attend the University of

Albuquerque with Cory. Pals since fifth grade, they just concluded their freshman year.

Justus opened Cory’s door and found him sleeping blissfully. Moonlight, flooding from the window above the bed head, blanched Cory’s attractive but boyish face and set his hair afire. Cory’s peaceful smile stirred Justus’ brotherly devotion for his friend.

Oh, Cory, you decent guy, you do-gooder, Justus complained softly. I know you’d break a leg for anyone suffering a spiritual or mental problem, but please stay away from your troubled cousin Tammy. We’re here for vacation, not soul saving.

Sometimes Cory’s zeal irritated Justus, especially when he found himself wedged into Cory’s charity schemes. Still, he could learn from his friend. Justus would tell Cory about Sam first thing in the morning. He mused a few moments about Cory’s reaction until a clever thought feather-tickled him. Smiling, he placed the lily on a crest of quilt over Cory’s chest, snapped shut his door, and went to bed.

Justus was up next morning at seven, anxiously anticipating Cory’s move. In snappy twists, he brushed back his cropped sandy hair as he periodically glanced from the dresser mirror to the coat of arms on the wall. Justus felt a special association with the eagle, his family insignia. Eagle was the fine nickname his family gave him. Always contrary, sweet Uncle George christened him Blusternut.

The door burst open, and Cory tumbled in, holding something aloft in his hand. A galaxy of wonder sparkled in his eyes. Justus hid a mischievous glee, guessing what might follow.

I found this on my bed this morning, Justus! Cory cried, punching air with the white flower. "Maybe my angel or guardian spirit sent it. It could be a sign of answered prayers. I will find that spiritual ladylove of my life. Last night I prayed hard to find her."

Justus placed a hand on Cory’s shoulder and laughed outright. You read too much metaphysical nonsense. Cory, I put it there last night.

Cory wilted. Oh, he said blandly.

Eager interest lit Cory’s face when Justus related the midnight incident. Even so, his friend said little, and Justus knew he was thinking—something his nerdy friend enjoyed. Later, the friends decided to begin their vacation by checking out little Millstone town and eating breakfast there.

They discovered Everyone’s Café. It smelled of grease and the crinkled crust of overcooked eggs. Trim waiters and waitresses and bright, checkered tablecloths created an inviting atmosphere that proved false. Stares shattered the subterfuge.

Justus stiffened under their potent pressure and shifted uneasily in his seat. He supposed it was natural for remote mountain villagers to view outsiders like themselves as invading aliens. In his letter, Uncle George informed him that Millstone people were backward, quiet, and not to be bothered. Maybe his uncle was right this time, but he was famished, and he wouldn’t let Millstone folk bother him. After a plump, apple-cheeked girl served them, Justus devoured the delicious ham, eggs, and muffins with pleasure.

Fishing at Silver Lake is the best, according to Uncle George’s calculations, Justus informed his friend. The miser owns the whole blasted lake. They tell me Uncle only allowed his elite club members to hog in fish when he ruled the lodge years ago. Since he’s such a nice guy now, he lets Millstone folk fish Silver Lake. I’m dying to reel some buggers in. Justus ironed an onionskin paper with his hand. Uncle George’s map shows we can hike up the canyon or take the truck. I think . . . .

Justus paused and smiled wanly. Cory was not listening. He had a moth-chomped, cloth-covered tome propped up like a bloated bat on the table. His face was plunged in its innards as if the odd bat were a savory roast he ate. Golden, baroque type flaunted the title, Metaphysical Realities of the Symbol. Justus should have made Cory leave his leather backpack at the lodge. It was Cory’s security blanket since it carried his beloved books. Justus wished he’d discern his interest in the philosophical and the paranormal. Not all things supernatural were necessarily good, yet his friend was as stubborn about this as he was about bringing his leather backpack everywhere.

I think we should take the truck, Justus said tightly, glowering at the bat. I’d love the hike, but I’m too excited. I want to catch fish!

Justus’ exclamation snapped Cory to attention. He lowered the tome. "There’s certainly truth in the ancient principle of Tabula smaragdina—what is above is what is below, he said brightly to Justus. St. Andrew’s Cross . . . ."

I didn’t know there was truth in mumbo jumbo, Justus quipped, interrupting him.

The lily, Justus. It’s a sign of purity, a sign of royalty.

I could’ve told you that without the thing you’re holding.

You put it in a vase, and it becomes a symbol of the female principle. I put it in a pink vase at the lodge. Sam’s gift of the lily means something, Justus. Maybe I’ll find that good, spiritual lady . . . .

Stop dreaming. The way the world is you’ll never find the angel you want. Put that thing away, will you. Mumbo jumbo will gouge out the Christian in you, Cory.

Hardly, it’s fascinating, Justus. You’re too close-minded to understand the beauty in all spiritual realities. Cory snapped shut the tome, and bat wing dust spurted in a cloud before him. Cory put his book away, wiped back his flaxen hair, pulled his plate toward him, and became attentive.

I want to catch fish! Justus exclaimed again, poring over the wrinkled map until giggles caught his attention. The laughter came from two teenage girls, about fourteen and sixteen respectively, seated at the parallel table. With cryptic smiles, they baited their particular fish—Cory. His eyes pleaded for help as the girls flirtatiously eyed him. Knock it off! Justus blurted in disgust.

Cory smirked victoriously as they stared wide-eyed at Justus. A huge, husky young man dressed in cook’s attire entered from a back room and sat next to the oldest girl. Taking her by the arms, he wrenched her over the chair’s armrest and engulfed her. The embrace distended her torso in a twist that might have shamed a grand inquisitor of Spain. Justus marveled at the girl’s elasticity. He thought he heard both a bone crack and a moan from the twisted head. Resting her face in her palms, the younger girl sighed and stared.

Justus’ disgust with the crude, passionate display was absolute. He growled, a signal for action.

Cory sat straight, a signal he caught the cue. "Justus don’t do anything extreme. Please." A concerned look replaced the smirk.

All right, Justus said tightly, cracking his knuckles instead of heads.

The friends’ conversation continued more fruitfully when the sisters departed, and the young man returned to his cooking career.

I hope this summer break rejuvenates our minds and bodies, Justus, Cory said. I never realized being a freshman at the university was so difficult. He sighed, picking ham from his fork.

Justus swallowed dramatically, glaring at Cory in disbelief. Difficult, for you? he asked loudly. Then lowering his head and speaking to the table for more dramatics, he exclaimed, This is a nerd talking! My ears must be screwed on wrong! Again, he glared at Cory. Hah! I struggle like a maniac in deep water—one hundred million fathoms—and I just manage good grades!

You’re so prone to exaggerations and extremes, it’s a wonder I’m still your friend, Cory remarked, smiling.

Hey, you never came home with anything less than a 4.0 GPA since fifth grade. I call that truth! Justus shot back.

I’m talking about how you assess yourself, Justus. Your grade point average is very good. You don’t have to be remarkable. If I could, I’d exchange my ‘nerdiness’ (as you call it) for your brawn. Unfortunately, I’m ectomorph while you’re mesomorph. If it weren’t for your protection all these years, I’d be incapacitated.

Cory, you can outrun and out jump anyone, Justus countered. Look at your high school track record—highest in the state.

I guess that’s one thing I have going for me. It never impressed my parents. Intellectual pursuits are what matter to them. They barely tolerated it when I took up track.

I pressured them into it. If it weren’t for me, your parents would’ve suffocated you. Books, especially uncanny ones (considering your tastes), were the only things they ever allowed.

You’re right, Cory admitted. Your intervention freed a frustrated closet child. I want to taste physical challenges and experience nature. Justus, I was never away from the city for any length of time. This experiment should prove interesting and exciting.

Justus nodded. I guarantee excitement. You’ll love it!

The friends were quiet as they ate. Justus focused on the oppressive atmosphere created by the ominous silence. Glancing around, he watched tables filling and noticed more people placing their cups and utensils softly—purposely. He had a distinct feeling that an adlibbed performance was about to begin at the friends’ expense.

"We never served outsiders before!"

The words ripped through the death-like room and briefly stunned Justus. Act I, he thought. The vaunting blast came from a fish-faced waiter who scratched his scaly, red layers of flaking pimples. A man and a blond little girl rose and left their unfinished breakfast.

Oh boy, Cory said wanly.

"And we don’t serve him neither, or his stinkin’ friend there sittin’ in that chair!" fish face continued, looking directly at the friends but pointing at a small, beetle-shaped old man eating at a table near the counter. Defiantly, the old man lifted his chin.

None of us served ol’ devil rat last time he came here, blurted the monster-sized cook whom Justus suddenly noticed in a dark corner. I don’t know what his friend’s doin’ here.

I know what he’s doin’ here, piped in fish face. "He snitches on us. He tells him who to hurt next. There’s some fresh outsiders sittin’ over there. They don’t know no better and will walk right into the trap. Fish face moved the man’s chair with his foot. Boy, your devil friend sure looked froglike and real dumb sittin’ by his lonesome in this same chair the other day." He glanced maliciously at the old man.

Yeah, Pat, I saw you with your friend the other day, offered a burly, unshaven young man sitting at a table in a rear corner. No one could touch you then, huh? But your kind needs justice. You don’t deserve to live for what you do to outsiders and us.

Fish face, the cook, and the burly man took turns deriding the old man and his unseen friend. Inserting the vilest adjectives, they shamelessly blurted their filth before everyone. Weak, passive smiles generally rewarded the detractors, but a skinny waitress with straw-like hair giggled unblushingly and nodded. Justus was revolted.

No tellin’ how our man will handle them two dumb children, the burly man said, flicking his eyes toward the friends. Then he looked keener at Cory, and his baggy eyes became daggers. Kelly . . . you’re Kelly, Sid Anderson’s brother. I’ll murder you like he did to my ma!

Cory vehemently shook his head at the mistake. Justus felt his face swell with fire. He generally ignored taunts directed at him, but when it came to his friend . . . .

Well, I’m gonna help them two boys stay outta trouble and make talk ‘bout burnin’ that devil real, claimed the haughty giant, ignoring the burly man. I got plans.

Fish face kicked Pat’s table. We can start with his friend.

Pat rose to leave, but the giant cook hustled to the table and roughly shoved the old man back in the chair. Pat set his jaw and coldly eyed his enemy. The giant cook uttered an imprecation, called him Satan’s relative, and slapped him in the face. Justus shot up from his chair. The old man did not wince, but his hands shook.

Whispering calm but futile words, Cory lugged the shirtsleeve of a growling Justus toward him, but Justus wished to make his presence felt. Narrowing his eyes at the abuser, he spoke in an even, vociferous voice bursting with authority.

How rotten, how low can a man get, slandering an old man in animal language and striking him without respect for him, yourself, those around you, or complete strangers? I can’t believe what I witnessed!

Remember, Pat, your old rat friend don’t protect his friends when he ain’t around them, the cook said, ignoring Justus. I’ll prove it to you for your own good! He shoved Pat to the ground.

The attack backfired. With burning rage, Justus clenched his fists, marched toward the counter, clamped the cook’s shoulders until he felt the ridge of the clavicles, and rattled his joints against the wall. The giant knocked Justus with popping blows, but a former professional boxer taught Justus how to harden muscles against such abuse. The punches proved ineffectual. Justus simply rammed wind from the giant cook, and he slid to the floor.

Everyone stood and gaped in awe, even when the giant regained breath and moaned. Opening her mouth wide, the skinny waitress chirped a belated squeak. Pat escaped out the door.

Justus loosened his fists. The lesson was a bit excessive but complete. Unfortunately, anger overcame him. Grabbing Cory’s arm, he strode toward the door. Just as the friends made their front exit, the corner of Justus’ eye caught what looked like the manager coming in the back entrance. Justus violently whipped the door shut, leaving behind the angry jingle bells of Everyone’s Café.

As townsfolk glared unabashedly, the friends briskly passed the small business sector of town, Flora’s Florist, the park, and the little stone Catholic church.

Justus, you’re true to your word when you guarantee excitement. I witnessed it first hand, Cory said sarcastically. You beat a cook senseless in a cute, little café. I’m impressed!

The big guy only got the wind knocked out of him, Justus said, a fraction remorseful. I think he can handle a few bruises. You talk about how I exaggerate!

You had to make right with might, Cory complained, ignoring Justus’ last statement. Millstone folk will resent us even more. Nice start to our vacation.

All right, my temper got the upper hand, Justus admitted. But what a way to treat an old man. Those people have no decency!

There you go, generalizing again. Look at the situation in a different light. What do you expect from crude mountain people? It seems their taunts were some kind of warning. Maybe they had good reason to accuse Pat and his absent old friend. Besides, if we can believe your Uncle George, these people are backward and poorly educated. Many are illiterate. I wish you listened to your uncle’s words of wisdom when he advised you not to bother these people. Cory sighed in exasperation.

Justus, you’re too narrow-minded, and you have an unhealthy, moral fixation. Come up with the rest of us in the world and stop thinking in your restricted way. This isn’t the medieval days but the age of human beings, thank God. We aren’t so constrained by restrictive laws that mold us and diminish our spirituality, our individuality. It could be better, I suppose, but it sure beats the past.

That’s debatable, Justus said scornfully. "Just forget it, Cory. I’ll never live in your mold, this age’s mold, or any other mold. True, I should’ve contained my anger. I’m trying to overcome that problem. Still, I simply want what’s always been right. If doing or thinking right makes me backward or the victim of a sick, repressed mind, well, glory hallelujah for backwardness, repression, and sick minds!"

You’re impossible, Justus, Cory said, sighing in defeat.

Justus laughed, looked about him, and then grunted. The atmosphere was loaded—everything gawked. The few passers-by lifted bowed heads just enough to flaunt steely eyes. Their zombie gaits were disturbing. Vague forms peered from sun-clouded windows, heavy curtains, and crusty screens, and then vanished like phantoms stealing brief glimpses of earth. Silent birds, molded to conifer limbs, stared. Hunched dogs, imprisoned within fenced yards, did not growl or bark but stared.

A discordant cord of shrill creaking shattered the blankness. It played from a wood porch with strips of mustard-colored paint hanging askew. The friends were passing left of the porch when Justus turned to discern the noise. Once he discovered it, the noise stopped.

A shriveled, old Hispanic woman gawked. Sitting on a porch swing with her spectacles drooping and her knitting suspended, the woman was immobile as marble. Her tight cardigan sweater bunched up the shapeless, gaudy flowered dress. Justus managed to smile what his mother termed beatific. The old woman returned the stare, her prominent frown lines severely noticeable even from the distance.

Justus pitied the woman. He noticed that Anglos mostly inhabited the town, and maybe they made life hard for her.

Good morning, he said in the gracious tone he reserved for old people. She seemed confused. Buenos dias, he ventured.

Estúpido! she shot back.

Justus passed by, feeling worse for his effort. A clatter and a thud pivoted the friends. They saw her spread-eagled before the four steps of her porch while, opposite the scene, a kitten reached a telephone pole’s apex twenty feet away. Justus and Cory hurdled over the fence as the old woman spilled mixed curses of Spanish and English. She finally managed to call the kitten by name.

"Mafioso, Mafioso you come here!"

Cory lifted the old woman, and Justus gently swept her in his arms and placed her back on the porch swing where she flopped around like a rag doll.

"My kitty you loco, I’m fine. He has my knitting, the little diablo!"

Her fiery words and erect posture made Justus assume that she was intact. Cory snatched up the knitting basket and replaced the spilled contents.

Always everyone runs from Grandma, she moaned to herself. My granddaughters, my son, and now my kitten . . . .

Justus handed her a red skein connected to a strand. The kitten held the other end in its mouth way atop the pole just outside the picket fence. Cory was near the pole, examining and shaking it as if it were Zeus’ spear.

I’d climb up the pole if I didn’t have on good sports clothes, he said. Justus, you got a T-shirt and old jeans . . . .

Justus brushed Cory aside, inched up the pole, and retrieved the kitten that ungratefully clawed his finger. As Justus handed the old woman her kitten, she snatched it from him. She then yanked the yarn from its mouth and gave the kitten a sound swat on the head. It cringed in her arms. Quickly, the old woman cuddled the kitten close to her and sobbed repentantly. Cory and Justus exchanged glances and slipped out the gate.

Wait! The woman entered her house and returned, carrying a white cardboard box. I jeest made these this morning. They still hot. You can have them. She handed Justus the aromatic contents. "Now you can go. Gracias!"

Back on the road, Cory smiled broadly, as he popped the still warm sopaipillas in his mouth. Justus followed suit and discovered the honey-coated pockets.

They’re delicious! he admitted.

Yes, as I was saying, Justus, Cory said, "these people aren’t all bad. Crude as she appears, she returned your pleasant smile and our help with these sopaipillas. She’s really a nice old lady."

‘You’re probably right, Cory." A smile broke on his face as he reflected on the morning’s weird comedy—the squeaking of the silly waitress after he overthrew the giant, the café patrons’ sudden submission, and the ridiculous antics of the old woman. He stole a look at Cory, and the friends laughed heartily.

That afternoon they went for a walk, inspecting the area about the lodge. They discovered that the overgrown saplings on the rough road winding up to the lake would not obstruct the truck. They picked a spot for a cookout.

It was a success. The friends piled rocks, laid an old grill across, and set a kettle on top. The dry softwood that Justus chopped and gathered from not yet rotted standing deadwood flared up quickly. After splitting the wood into small scraps, Cory threw them into the fire. Soon the small kettle of pinto beans boiled madly and was ready within a few hours. The chili was delicious and so was the fact that Cory was thoroughly enjoying himself. Justus breathed in the sweet, fresh smell of pine and the crisp, cool air.

After dinner, the two packed up and traversed the edge of a stream rushing down a rise. Cory jumped across boulders like an antelope and laughed at Justus who lost his footing and wet his shoes and trousers. Justus lightheartedly cursed his clumsiness. Soon the stream became steep and thunderous as water rushed down with more force.

Cory pulled Justus to a halt and motioned ahead to a rock cluster jutting over a steep embankment. Hiding behind Douglas firs, the two watched a young girl whose body convulsed in intermittent sobs as she sat upon a rock shelf.

Justus first noticed her long, light-brown hair spilling about the rock. It was fine but full, and its silky texture tantalized. Brushing her hair away with the back of her hand, the girl displayed an oval, honey-brown face with delicate features. Though details at that distance were not distinct, what Justus saw was quite appealing.

Finally, the girl rose from the rock, walked to the edge, and contemplated the bottom. Her intentions appeared suicidal. Justus was about to intervene, but she turned around slowly and morosely climbed down the rock cluster. In full view, the girl was slim and petite, almost fairy-like against the mountainous terrain with her exotic white tunic, her red sash about a tiny waist, and her black mid-calf tights.

Thinking of Cory, Justus faced his friend and sighed regretfully. Cory’s eyes blazed with the zeal of a missionary out for souls. Justus knew that look like he knew his own face, and he envisioned a summer without a friend.

Justus! Cory said with eager breathlessness. That’s Tammy, my cousin. He stepped from his hiding place.

Tammy’s presence realized Justus’ fears. Oh, no you don’t, he said, forcing Cory to stumble by yanking him back by the collar.

Cory shrugged and pulled his shirt forward. Tammy is in serious trouble now. Can’t you see that she intended to jump? he asked heatedly.

She didn’t go through with it, obviously, Justus replied. She may be your cousin and everything, but she needs professional help. Didn’t you tell me earlier that we’re not to bother these people, or does it only apply to me? Besides, you’re the one who told me she has weird parents. In fact, your overprotective parents kept you from ever meeting them. Leave the poor girl alone, Cory. Who knows the trouble you’ll get us in?

All right, let’s go back to the lodge, Cory replied, appearing properly chastened. I’ve seen enough trouble today.

On their way back, the incident reminded Justus about his former girlfriend. A nice, quiet person, Caroline was the only girl he truly cared about. They dated six months before she informed him that his crude, excessive behavior was unbearable. She claimed he overreacted to everything, made terrible condemnations, and embarrassed her in public. He tried to alter these blotches in his character but failed miserably, thus the terminated relationship.

To vanquish the ache left from Caroline’s rejection, Justus again inhaled fine air. His friend Cory never experienced such woe. Inflexibly searching for a mature woman who was both beautiful and spiritual, Cory was indifferent to rejections. In fact, he ignored many pretty faces because of this vision. Justus’ good friend was dreaming. Finding a beautiful woman who was also virtuous was like finding a diamond in the rolling dunes of White Sands. Caroline wasn’t particularly beautiful, but Justus felt like he lost a gem. Still, Justus realistically admitted that even if he changed the blots in his character, Caroline was far too timid for his aggressive personality.

As the friends approached the lodge, appearing like an unwanted monument, he overheard Cory mumble, I’m going to save that wretched girl before it’s too late.

A shade of disappointment blocked out happy expectations as Justus hopelessly realized that nothing would stop his determined friend.

CHAPTER II

Cory punched his palm. Here was his opportunity for a little individual exploration. Justus planned to arrange their things and clean the musty, dust-covered lodge. He wanted Cory to go into town, buy a few necessities, and lend a hand when he returned. It was conceivable that Cory might meet adventure if he made a few detours. Besides, it was time for vacation, not work. He concealed his excitement and even managed to look slightly disappointed.

If we’re going to enjoy ourselves, we must get these things out of the way, Justus said, sweeping a hand over loose boxes on the landing.

I suppose you’re right, Cory feigned unenthusiastically. He received the list and left.

Cory cut through the forest for the unpaved main road winding down a half mile into Millstone village. Exuberant, he stopped, silently capturing the scene. An ethereal morning haze pervaded the pinewood while sunlight softly sliced peaks of giant conifers. Cory was glad he decided to come with Justus. A few raucous field trips were his only mountain experiences.

He never felt them before. Something inherent in high land, something free and grand, made him soar inwardly.

Cory skipped through a break in the forest to a deserted pasture. A cavorting breeze gently danced with milkweed, dandelion, and black-eyed Susans. Scattered among them were blackberry and poignant burdock. Beyond this, an assortment of dainty wildflowers shook their faces along the skirt of road. Cory cut across the pasture to the road. As he entered Millstone, he cheerfully addressed the old Hispanic woman. She was sitting and knitting at the exact position on the porch where Justus and he first encountered her. She cracked a faint smile and gave a bird-flapping wave. She was a nice old lady!

In downward, serpentine twists, the road wound through tiny, diverse shops, many with dilapidated frames camouflaged with gaudy paint to attract tourists. Other buildings squeezed against each other for support. Millstone’s a strange little place, Cory thought. He peered down side streets with brooks meandering through many of them. The narrow, dirt roads led through neighborhoods. He wondered what it was like to live in Millstone.

As he walked along, he casually glanced at more shops. Flora’s Florist must be the place where the midnight caller bought his lone lily, Cory mused. He stopped at a stand and bought chocolate-covered nuts. A sign read, Falling Star’s Homemade Temptations.

Cory ate the candy as he stepped on the road and reached Field’s Grocery a block ahead. After gingerly climbing a few half-rotted steps, he turned the squeaking knob of the warped door and entered. A man, probably Mr. Field himself, leaned on the wall behind an antiquated cash register and narrowly eyed Cory. Ignoring him, Cory turned down one of the thin aisles.

The store smelled of mildew and cardboard boxes. Yellowed and with portions of gutted grout, the tiled floor was either horribly stained or badly needed mopping. Cory touched the unpainted wood shelves, quickly withdrew his hand, and blew grayish blobs from his fingertips. He scrutinized surfaces with eons of loose and hardened dust. Disgusted, Cory noticed clods and webs wedged in fissures and corners. He craned his head at towering shelves, warped and leaning like Dr. Suess’ precarious drawings. Wooden ladders nailed at intervals on the shelves made it possible to reach items without toppling them on one’s head. With growing consternation, Cory observed a few people climbing them as if this were natural!

Cory irritably scratched his brow. He had no choice. He must crawl up the miserable, absurd ladders to reach necessary items! He carefully climbed the rungs, placing items in a silly, oblong straw basket. The weird inconvenience and the stares of passing customers aggravated Cory’s irritation. He reminded himself that they were just curious and unmannerly, not necessarily ill intentioned.

He approached the growing line in front of the cashier. Customers informally addressed Mr. Field as Frankie, a medium-sized man with barrel chest, baldhead, and eccentric sideburns and mustache growing upward. A wide grin, startling Cory with its sudden burst, proclaimed two missing teeth. It flashed on and off as Frankie gossiped with each customer. They appeared indifferent to his shocking smile as they strained forward for the latest news. Cory wondered if the missing teeth were the result of gossip gone awry.

When Cory reached the line, the news shut off, and those who could stare did. Nevertheless, Frankie flashed his smile at Cory as the latter’s items were checked out. After stuffing them in his backpack, Cory left quickly, thinking that Mr. Field wasn’t a bad sort in spite of his appearance.

He shut the noisy door and stopped short. There she was! Still morose, Tammy walked beneath a drooping marquee of an old theatre opposite him. Cory shuddered, wondering if she still considered suicide. Turning her back toward Cory, she stepped out from under the canopy, and morning sunlight washed her.

Cory watched Tammy carefully. Why would his pretty cousin want to end her life? Walking with feline rhythm down the street, she twirled her heavy braids plaited with red and gold bands. A billowy peasant blouse and a flowered jumpsuit, gathered by a gold belt about her waist, completed her outfit.

Cory did not wish to impose suddenly. By mutual consent of both families, her house and her parents were restricted. Tammy rarely visited Albuquerque. When she did, parental law dictated that they meet only on Saturday mornings at Daisy’s Ice Cream Parlor.

With the intention of spying, Cory quietly jogged after her, but his heart skipped as she swiveled around. It quickly settled right. Her attention focused not on him but on a young man rapidly advancing toward her—the same burly character who mistook Cory for the brother of his mother’s killer! Worms seemed to slide beneath Cory’s skin, and his heart beat wrong again.

The girl sharply turned from the man who rushed toward her and roughly caught her by the arm, bending it back. Alarmed, Cory crossed to a barbershop and feigned interest in advertisements posted on a billboard nailed to the wall, but he listened intently, keeping an eye on the scene.

Thank God Mr. Mean didn’t notice me, Cory whispered to himself.

You ain’t never going to break from me, Tammy, the man commanded passionately in his throaty voice after an explosion of foul language. I don’t care what your folks say. And don’t listen to her!

Poor Tammy, Mr. Bad Mouth is her boyfriend. No wonder! Cory thought as his stomach churned. He was a lone, uneasy witness and sincerely hoped he remained unnoticed.

"No, Felix. I want to break up. You’re hurting me! Let me go!" Tammy cried fearfully.

Felix’s anger waxed soft. Releasing his hold, he stepped back, wide-eyed. You don’t mean it, Tammy, he said pitifully.

I . . . I was a fool to think you were nice, she said in a cotton-soft voice, inspecting her arm. It’s not my folks. It’s not her. Don’t you see? Her voice then teetered at the brink of hysteria. You’re like the rest, but worse. You’re better at playacting. You pretend to care about me, but you’re meaner than all the guys around here. I’m not your girl. I’m not anyone’s girl. I’m sick and tired of it all! Plunging her face into her palms, she wept.

Felix swore, and his heated rage singed Cory’s mind. How he wished Justus were here!

It’s your stinkin’ folks, Tammy! Felix yelled. They’ve got your mind all messed up. It drives me crazy. If I take you away from those old buzzards, you and me . . . .

How dare you! Tammy snapped as she whipped about and with a smooth, sweeping motion, slapped his face. Go away! Her eyes glistened in horror at her boldness. She fled from him. Fuming, he shot after her, caught her shoulder, and threw her down in a whiplash.

Go on. Tell your sheriff friend what Felix did to you! he cried.

I hate you! she screamed. She stumbled up and ran away before Felix grabbed her again.

I don’t care if you’re the Queen of Sheba. No female cat slaps me! I’ll get you for this, Felix said to himself, his words biting like hungry barracuda.

Cory’s eyes tried to bore through billboard because he dared not turn around. After a few tense minutes, he cautiously checked the situation and watched Felix enter a tavern up the street. A reedy old woman with a clod of white, cotton candy-textured hair slipped out from behind the theater. Probably some gossip, Cory thought. He shivered, realizing his cousin was in danger. If Justus were here, he’d teach the scoundrel a lesson. Cory was more determined to help his troubled cousin, but he must take care. A man was worthless as pulverized pulp.

Checking intersections, he raced up the road and soon found Tammy walking down Vacant Street. He discovered a widely spaced neighborhood consisting of cabins and raised wood homes. He guessed that this was the forbidden territory, but he must overcome his qualms and save Tammy.

Hi, he said lightly, stepping alongside her.

Cory! Tammy shot back as though she caught him in the act of high treason. You shouldn’t be here. Go away!

Tammy was the same—curt and demanding as ever. I saw you yesterday on the rock, he ventured calmly and gently.

Tammy’s surprised expression quickly turned resentful. Sure, she spat. Won’t you feel the hero, saving your poor little cousin?

The girl had pepper, a seasoned Spartan. Though Tammy lacked sugar and spice, Cory was not repulsed. She was a challenge and proceeding carefully was crucial. Cory was her senior by a few years, and he would act the part. How could you think about attempting such a terrible thing yesterday? You need help, Tammy.

You mean a shrink? It would help if everyone just left me alone.

I can’t leave you alone, Cory returned crisply. I’ll do everything in my power to stop a tragedy that will have deep repercussions for you, your family, and me. It would be an utterly selfish act.

Unexpectedly, Tammy shrank and withered like a limp pansy. Let’s sit on the bridge, she said, referring to a stone arch above a creek a few yards away. Soon they made themselves as comfortable as possible on the low, smooth rock wall.

"No one makes sense around here, but you’re smart and definitely different, Cory. Maybe you can help."

Cory smiled triumphantly.

But Cory is such a dorky name, Tammy added dully.

The smile slipped down his face. You’re crude, Cousin.

I know. But if you really want to help me, Cory, then it’s like this . . . .

Tammy never discussed her mysterious life, and Cory knew her willingness to do so was another desperate sign. She admitted a longing to discover her place in Millstone. The only child of wealthy parents, she claimed to be one of three privately tutored town kids. This separated her from the Millstone crowd who were generally poor and biased due to their limited knowledge. Tammy sought solace in boyfriends whom she quickly found repugnant. She mainly resented her fanatical and prudish parents since they prohibited friends and outings. If she wanted a little fun, she sneaked to obtain it.

Cory was careful sympathizing on this point. Even during conflicts, he had always respected his parents and held an aversion toward disrespectful or rebellious teens. He hoped someday his children responded in kind. Her parents’ obsessive concern showed their care for her, Cory pointed out. He advised her to obey and respect them even if their restrictions seemed outlandish, for eventually, this attitude would prove favorable. In time, they would see and accept her good will when she asked for certain freedoms.

Your advice makes sense, Tammy crisply admitted. Can you also tell me what’s happening outside?

Outside? You mean outside Millstone?

Sure. Besides your place, I’ve only seen Ruidoso, Junction, and a few lonely places around here. If I go twice a year, I’m lucky. I don’t even attend school in Junction like the rest. I’ve never had a real girlfriend because I know more than they do. Most girls think I’m a snob. I do better with boys, but they end up being creeps! Sure, I like fun, but I don’t like destroying myself by smoking, doing drugs, attending wild parties, listening to awful music, or any of those stupid things. Still, my parents think I’m no good, and I can never really talk to them. That’s . . . that’s why I thought about ending everything. There’s nothing for me . . . .

Cory shook his head. A beautiful kid shouldn’t want to die. You’re wrong, Tammy. There is something to live for, something that never changes, never fails you, something to lean on when everyone and everything else fails you, something that loves lonely men and women and transforms them into heroes.

Yeah, like what? Tammy snapped. There’s nothing like that around here.

There is and it’s what keeps me going, Tammy. I’m sick of all this mystery between our families. I want to get to know your parents. They seem good, only confused. I have a way with people, and I think I can change their minds.

That’ll be something! Tammy scoffed as a half-wicked smile twitched her face. They never saw you before. If you told them who you were, they’d hit the ceiling, and if you played dumb, they’d hit the ceiling. They’d think you were my new boyfriend. Tammy shyly cast her eyes on the road.

I’m staying at Uncle George’s lodge, Cory said, feeling uncomfortable. Tammy looked up at him in amazement. "I see you know where that