Chapter 11

Hooray for a full tank of Birthday Gas.

Driving out of town by herself was the last thing Savannah wanted to do, but necessity called. She had the timing down and the trip mapped out so she’d be back before Molly got off the bus. Her arm screamed each time she shifted gears, but soon pain fell away to throbbing numbness she could ignore. A war of wills between the manual transmission and her fear resulted in several stalls coming out of the driveway, but since she’d made it to Highway 50 the pickup kicked right along in fifth gear. The driver’s side window didn’t seal up top, so wind moaned low, creating a monotone backdrop for Tammy Wynette on the stereo. A country station was all that came in on the FM radio, which beat silence. Barely.

Despite the lyrical whining about broken marriages and ruckus about tough bulls and long highways, questions continued to form and Savannah made mental notes. In less than an hour she would arrive at her destination, the Colorado State Mental Hospital. Caleman wasn’t a common name. It was worth a chance and the drive to see who might reside there. Even if no one was left, being family, she might be able to show her ID and get some information on any family member who lived there. She’d be careful. The place was a lot like a jail, and the patients were held under security. Not only were they a danger to themselves, most had likely done something to break the law. Hopefully, Rebecca’s one remaining daughter would know how to help, although she’d have to look into the face of a deranged relative.

The “what ifs” were ugly. What if there really was someone there and the staff said she could not talk with them? What if she was allowed to and that person looked like her or her sister? Dad only mentioned females, but what if there was a man there, an uncle or cousin, who had some condition that made them scary and psycho? Would a crazy man be easier to deal with than a woman? What if she learned there was a sickness that ran in the blood and her father was right; it only affected the women in the Caleman family? Suicide Rebecca whispered to the walls, house plants, her art, rocks … and finally killed herself. At least that’s what she and Molly thought happened. Their parents told them to stay in their rooms that night. The screeching and yelling coming from the kitchen pretty much let everybody in the house know the nutty old hag finally stepped off the deep end. Then there was a funeral. Then they moved to the Witcher Place. Then Dad turned into a monster. Deep down, she didn’t want to think he’d never be back.

There would be answers because their parents said there was a relative locked up at the hospital. She would ask doctors about her father’s behavior and tell them about what he’d said about Caleman women. Before, growing up with a crazy old lady living with them wasn’t abnormal, it was just life. Just family, despite what some people in town had to say. Everything that happened since Suicide Rebecca died was the weird stuff. Surely the doctors would have information or advice.

The engine idled low at a hill on the highway, so Savannah downshifted. When she pushed the clutch pedal to the floor, her knee popped loudly. She cringed, remember the sick popping sound Chaz’s elbow made when it hyperextended. He cried so hard, her heart still ached. Mother might lack a lot in the love department for her daughters, but there was no doubt she would look out for Chaz. She was certain he’d been taken to the hospital in Colorado Springs for the best of emergency care. Still, seeing him hurt and confused by … whatever had happened, was the worst ever. At least he was gone, taken away from the Witcher Place, along with Mother. She hadn’t looked back, just floored it and hauled ass out of the driveway.

Savannah caught herself absently rubbing the spot on her scalp where a chunk of her hair was missing. Like it or not, Mother had it in her head that she and Molly had done something wrong, maybe even something to cause what happened to Chaz. She probably also thought they were the cause of the way Daddy had basically checked out. It wouldn’t have done any good to confront her about the way Daddy acted when she and her sister were to blame, in their mom’s mind. The most frustrating part about the whole mess was that no one had done anything to cause any of the craziness.

She scrubbed away a tear, gritted her teeth and gave the Toyota more gas. Molly would be out of school in a few short hours. She had less than an hour to spend at the hospital before the drive home to meet the school bus.

* * *

“I’m here to see my great aunt, please.” She was screwed if the plump, bespectacled secretary asked for a first name, but she had to try something. The antiseptic “hospital” smell flooded into her lungs like muddy water.

“Name?” the lady asked. She set the phone receiver on her shoulder and the coiled cord bounced with the jiggle of her office chair. She smiled from her desk.

“Caleman.” We’re all nuts, haven’t ya heard?

“Ah, for Stella. It’s nice to see she has living relatives, besides her nephew. Must be your cousin? What’s his name again?”

Savannah froze, trying to think of what to say. She had no friggin’ idea who’d been coming to see her “aunt.” Her mouth opened and then closed again.

“Charlie. There it is,” the woman said, fingering a line on the inside of a yellow folder.

“Oh, yeah. I have a few cousins scattered around the state. Didn’t know which one had been in. Thank you. I’m Savannah.”

“The young people in your family are so polite, dear. You and Charlie both, with your ‘please and thank you’. And Stella herself is so sweet. She’s really made a turn-around this last couple of months. She just sings and sings. No more outbursts. A real joy to have here.” She slid a clipboard forward, indicating a sheet of paper and a blank line beside “Caleman”.

Despite a stab of pain in her shoulder, Savannah took the proffered pen and signed and dated like the other person before her, under the “Visitors” column. The paper was clipped onto the back flap of a folder, the sheet below showing a typed medical form. Savannah sped through the fields, looking for any long medical descriptions, but didn’t see anything enlightening. She handed the clipboard back to avoid looking suspicious.

“Thank you, dear,” the woman said. She pulled a huge ring of keys from some unseen place beneath the desk and hustled around to the office door to step into the hall. “Stella’s room is just right down the main hall, here,” she said, gesturing.

Savannah eyed the square passage of big doors with tiny windows. The secretary walked at a fast rate, so she kept her eyes in front and didn’t give in to peeking in any of the rooms. “Just down the hall” turned into a five-minute jaunt along a meandering corridor of echoes and odd smells. The ring of keys jingled in rhythm as they walked. White-clad staff, men mostly, smiled and nodded as they passed with the secretary greeting them with hellos and respective names. There was hustle and bustle, but everyone seemed friendly and good-natured. Security was handled well in the number of staff, but as she passed, she couldn’t help but notice the small windows and aggressive locks on each room. Everything was so sterile, so white-on-white, it made the place very cold.

“Now don’t you worry about all the paint and brushes she has in there,” the woman said, huffing a little from the fast pace. “She insists that artistic talent runs in the family. It’s very important to her. We started her out with finger paints and finally gave in to the begging after about a year of that. We don’t give her pencils or anything too pointy. Besides, she loves her art supplies too much to use them to do anything harmful to the staff or to herself. She loves oil pastels and crayons.”

They slowed and the secretary knocked on the next door to their left. One of the men, who Savannah guessed was a nurse, stopped at the door with them.

“Do come in!” called a lilting voice from beyond.

“Stella?” the secretary asked, opening the door. “Your great niece is here to see you.”

“Where’s Charlie?” the old woman asked, coming up from a chair. “I don’t want a niece.”

Savannah stepped inside sucking in a long breath as she looked from the woman’s lengthy, thin feet all the long way up to her face. Stella preened, big hands twisting her silver and grey hair behind a shoulder, then smoothing her nightgown and house coat. She stopped when she noticed Savannah by the door.

“No, ma’am, not today, but thank you.” She turned back to the secretary. “Be a dear and go find Charlie. We shall read today and waiting makes me terribly impatient.”

Savannah stepped forward. “Hi, Aunt Stella. I’m Savannah, Jack Caleman’s daughter. I was hoping we could talk for a little while.” She punctuated the introduction with a smile she hoped seemed friendly.

The old lady cocked her head, eyes roving around Savannah’s face and down to her shoes, finally coming to rest on the top of her head.

Savannah stilled while the ginormous woman gave her a once-over. Great Aunt Stella was easily the tallest woman she’d ever seen, standing at what she guessed to be far over seven feet. Even her hands and feet were big, but not out of proportion.

She continued to wait for her aunt to say something, checking out the various pieces of paper stuck to walls like kids’ art on a refrigerator. Rudimentary depictions of sunshine and flowers and angels in the sky hung in clusters. One of the papers had a brown cat sitting on a rock. Savannah’s blood chilled.

“Mother told me art is in our blood,” Stella said, tentatively.

Savannah nodded encouragingly and pulled her eyes away, not wanting to alert the old woman in any way. It was like getting a new horse comfortable and used to her. Savannah didn’t want to make any sudden movements that might startle her away.

“Your mom’s name is Rebecca, right?”

Stella nodded, but didn’t say anything.

Stella held her ground, her big form rigid as her lips, which had been slathered heavily with deep red lipstick. The same shade coated her fingernails. Pink house shoes peeked from beneath her floor length, frocked gown and housecoat. She looked at the smiling secretary.

“I’ll be just out in the hall.” The woman stepped out, but left the door open, which Savannah appreciated. Stella sat down again, so Savannah took a seat opposite her at a card table that was bolted to the wall. Although her aunt was seated, she still had to look up slightly to make eye contact. Stella stared at her across the top of a toy make-up mirror that had a reflective foil square rather than glass. Bottles of fingernail polish and various tubes of lipstick were arranged in neat rows.

“I’m sorry I’m not Charlie,” Savannah offered, again with a soft smile. “That is an old family name, right?” The woman didn’t respond, just watched her. “I won’t take up much of your time, so when he shows up, you two can read.”

“You’re not Charlie,” she said, then sighed. “You most certainly are a Caleman.”

“That, I am.”

“So, what would you like to talk about?” Stella asked, without returning the smile.

“Our family, mostly. Maybe get a little family history, if you don’t mind.” She folded her hands on the table.

“Is there no one left to ask? You’ve made quite a long trip from the ranch.”

“Actually, we don’t live there anymore. We moved to Victor, up to the old Witcher Place. Do you know where that is?”

Stella blinked, then shook her head slowly. “Of course, I know where Victor is, but not your Witcher Place.” She shook her head again and looked away. “What of the ranch, then?”

“Daddy sold it when we moved.” She regretted the statement the second it was out there. The woman likely grew up on the ranch. She might have been born there.

The old woman snorted her distaste for the news. “The best of the Caleman men died at the bottom of the mine.” She looked straight at Savannah, bleached gaze boring deep.

Savannah ignored the jab at her father. The old chick’s opinion about Jack Caleman was a side note. He would be okay just as soon as she found out how to make the cat-man go away. She decided to get to the point.

“Some odd things have been happening at our house, now that we moved. My parents have completely changed.” She sighed, wondering how much of the story to divulge. Considering the two hour drive, she went for broke. “My little brother had sort of an accident and my mother took him, and they left.” She searched the old woman’s face for anything but stoicism, but found nothing. “It’s been a few days and she hasn’t called. I mean, I’m sure she took him to the hospital. Our mother’s brother lives in Alabama, so that’s probably where she went. We don’t have a huge family. My sister locks herself in her room and won’t talk much. It’s hit and miss with Dad. Sometimes he looks and acts like himself, and other times he just stares at the art in our living room.”

Stella smirked.

Savannah stood, still looking at her great aunt. It was all she could do not to cry. “This probably doesn’t mean a thing to you,” she said, grabbing the back of her chair to push it in. The trip would have yielded more information if she wasn’t so thin skinned, but that’s where life had left her. She’d confirmed what Dad said about having a crazy aunt. Or two. At least she knew how to drive a stick, finally. She had to regroup by the time she got home.

“The cougar is beautiful, isn’t he?” The words came softly. Stella’s gaze dropped to her lap.

“You mean the mountain lion? The one in the painting?”

The old giant nodded. Obviously, the woman was never chased down a dirt road by a live one. Beautiful, it wasn’t.

“How did you know that was the painting I was talking about?”

“Of course, I know, silly peahen. All a mountain lion is, is a cougar.”

Savannah shook her head, staring. “I know that. I meant the painting.”

“Rebecca was gifted. Very talented.”

“She captured the cat perfectly.”

Stella gave a bark of laughter, shocking Savannah. “She captured more than that,” she said, amidst laughter that erupted in a series of guffaws.

Holy shit. “She was still there when I was little.”

“Yes, the poor dear.” Stella shook her head. “She was tormented. They took everything away from her, you know. They even took her canvases. Her paintings were all she had after the tragedy.”

“Um,” Savannah said, then stopped talking. There was likely some protocol in the hospital about telling people about a death in the family.

“Momma’s with the angels.”

“Yes.” Savannah breathed easier, taking her seat again.

Stella looked at her deeply. “You’ve the look of your father,” she said, and sat back. “I think you likely know more than I do, by now.”

“No, I’m sure I don’t. I just need to know what’s happening to my family. It’s horrible.” Despite her efforts, it still came out sounding like a plea of desperation.

“Weren’t ya raised goin’ to church?”

“Yes, when I was little.”

“So you’re Christian, then.”

“I—”

“Don’t you remember your Bible studies, child?”

“I haven’t been to church in years. We just sort of … stopped going.”

“Well, well.” Stella regarded Savannah with apparently renewed opinion. “Most would turn to faith at such a horrible time.”

“This is getting a little off track. I didn’t come here to talk about my religious beliefs.”

“Or lack thereof,” Stella said, with another smirk.

“You don’t have to be so judgmental. I came here for some help. I didn’t know who else to ask.” What a big, old hag.

“Mommy didn’t care to take you and your sister?”

Savannah felt her mouth fall open a little. It came out as a statement, more than a question. “Hag” quickly upgraded to straight up “Bitch.” Like the old woman meant there was a message there and Savannah hadn’t quite picked up on it. She flashed back to the accusing tone of her mother’s words. She’d called them both sluts ….

“She was pretty hateful the last time I saw her.”

Stella leaned in, putting both long arms on the table. She rolled her hands over, palms to the ceiling displaying jagged, lumpy scars at the base of each hand. It looked like she’d tried to cut each wrist with a chainsaw. Savannah slid back in her chair.

Stella grinned. “Forgive me, child, but I’m no longer miserable here. He’s come back, and that’s all that matters to me. He’s all that I’ve cared about since I was younger than you are now.” The corners of her mouth quirked upward. “Your horror is my salvation.”

“Who’s come back?” If Stella was talking about the “cousin” who’d been visiting, she was even more lost than before. The amount of dread in her stomach told her the old woman was talking about the stranger she’d called “Witcher”.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” she whispered. The look on her face matched the one Mother had worn the day she hit Molly. “He thrives on the play between husband and wife. No wife, he’s thrivin’ on somethin’ else.” She bit back a snide giggle.

“Look, I don’t know nearly as much as you think. If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so.”

Stella didn’t respond, just held the same, accusing expression.

“He makes you happy?” Savannah asked, changing from the subject to the interrogator.

Stella’s facial features relaxed. “Yes.” She looked up, seeing something that lie beyond the tiled ceiling. “He’s all things, and everyone. We dance at night. We laugh at the sunrise.” She brought her gaze level once more. “He has many names.”

“Okay,” Savannah drawled. “I think I’ve had enough.” She rose from her seat.

“Don’t you want to know my favorite?”

“I’d say that’s Charlie.” She pushed the chair in.

Stella smiled up at her, teeth streaked red and pink from the overdose of lipstick, obviously delighting in completely confusing her. “Ancient as the heavens and the earth. The good that comes from blackness. Beautiful angel of Genesis. He walks from the cave on four legs and takes the men of two. You’ll not find that in the Bible.” She winked, then closed her eyes, looking like she savored the last of her favorite meal.

“I don’t understand. You mean the mountain lion?”

Stella smiled. “Think of him and he’ll think of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Stella opened her eyes, smiled fading. “It’s time for you to be going. Charlie won’t come if you’re here.” She stood. “Run along, now.” She nodded toward the door.

“Take care.” Savannah really wanted to argue for more time, just a few more answers but the grave look on the large woman’s craggy face changed her mind. Savannah walked toward the door. She couldn’t complain about ending up talking to a crazy person when she’d come to a nuthouse. No need to ask about a diagnosis. Schizophrenia was obvious, religious nut, a close second contender.

“Dance to the chime, child,” Stella called. She put her hands above her head to rest on imaginary shoulders, stepping in circles to a tune only she could hear. Her sliver-streaked hair swung with her movements, brushing her hips.

For the first time, Savannah considered her own mental stability. The old woman knew too much. Her mention of the chime was scary. Stella might babble, but there was clarity hidden in her words. The trip was far from a loss. She had confirmation that whatever evil was at work was linked to the creation of the cat picture. She couldn’t expect to find sanity when she’d come to a looney lock up to pick her crazy great aunt’s brain for answers. She got some. The evil started up back at the ranch and followed them to Victor.

Outside the door, the secretary and male nurse leaned against the opposite wall, talking. When they saw Savannah, they smiled. Savannah hoped she didn’t look as rattled as she felt.

“Good afternoon, Stella,” the man called.

“Good as any. Charlie’s coming so we can read!” she answered, still dancing.

“Okay then.” He closed the door.

Once back at the front desk, Savannah asked, “May I use your phone before I take off?”

“Of course. There’s one back here,” the receptionist said. The two stepped behind the counter into an additional office. “Just dial a nine, and then the number.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

“Take your time, sweetie,” she said, and pulled the door closed, all but a sliver.

Savannah quickly dialed 9-911.

“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” a man’s voice said on the line.

Keeping her voice low, Savannah continued. “My address is ten, six twenty-one Phantom Canyon Road, in Victor. A strange man in a suit and tie has been coming inside the house. My little sister is locked in her room and we need help.” That was a lie, but Molly would be home by four and if Savannah didn’t make it back before the bus dropped her off, that’s exactly where Molly would be. The phone call was insurance.

She ended the call as soon as she could and left. By the time she made it home the place would be full of cops. Certainly, they’d know what to do. If not, she’d wait for them to leave, toss Molly in the truck, and simply leave. They’d figure out where to go on the road.

***