2

Late September found north Georgia still hungover from a long, hot summer. The leaves dropped like wild birds, swirling to the soft, still warm ground. The threat of rain was always somewhere, on one distant horizon or the other, and as the calendar slouched toward October, the moon returned, its hooked countenance blooming into the slow sideways smile of a drunk after a long night at the bar.

Despite the run-in with Walsh, Mary and I decided to take advantage of the nice weather and go for a walk, ranging out from my mountain home, exploring the eastern side of Pointer Mountain. It was rare for her to be off on a Monday, so we meant to enjoy the opportunity and spend the day outside. Over the last year, we’d made a pastime out of finding new and hidden caves. They’re scattered all over these mountains, and it gave us something to do and something to wonder about. This afternoon, we found two within a half mile of each other. The first was cool and damp and small, a shallow divot in the mountainside. We used it to escape a brief thunderstorm, me holding Mary tight as the thunder shook the mountain. We watched it rain, and I tried to not to think about any of the things that had been bothering me, the thoughts of evil and what Jeb Walsh’s presence in these mountains could mean. Unlike so many other times when I tried to focus on the positive, it was so much easier when I was with Mary. Everything seemed a little easier when she was around.

After the storm ended and we stepped out of the cave into the open space of the world, I pointed up the ridge to a large boulder perched precariously on the ledge above a five-hundred-foot drop into pine trees and old logging roads that now lay as dormant and secret as the caves.

“You up for a climb?’ I said.

Mary was fifteen years younger than me and in good shape, but sometimes she preferred to walk leisurely while I had a hard time resisting anything that could be explored.

She squeezed my hand. “I think I see another cave up there.”

I squinted into the morning sun. There was a dark slash in the rock wall. A cave or maybe just a shadow. “Then we have to go,” I said, joking but also serious. If she didn’t want to go, I’d come back later with Goose, my Mastiff-Shepherd mix, and explore it on my own. I’d always had a hard time leaving any mystery alone.

She leaned in and kissed my neck. “I’ll bet it’s private.”

I nearly carried her up the hill.

*   *   *

Once inside, I saw immediately it was a proper cave, not just a little overhang. I pulled out the penlight I kept on my keychain, and flicked it on. The light spread out in front of us, illuminating a stone floor and some mildewed bedding someone had left from a previous amorous encounter. What I didn’t see was a back wall.

“This thing is deep.”

Mary’s hand was resting lightly in mine, and she intensified the pressure just the slightest bit. These were the kinds of things she did that turned me on. Since our relationship had started just over a year ago, she’d taught me to appreciate even the most simple gestures.

I pulled her deeper into the cave. The temperature dropped as we moved, and the darkness seemed to soak into the light that was out in front of us, dimming it and rendering it more ineffectual as we pressed toward the hidden regions of the cave.

When we finally reached the back wall, we touched the cool stone with our hands, mine following hers as she slid it lightly over the dampness. I wondered how deep we were into the mountain now and how many other lovers had stood in this same place, their hands intermingled on the ancient stone. I moved mine over hers, enveloping it, as her body melted against my own.

Sometimes making love with Mary was a kind of sensory overload. Because she lived in Atlanta, our time was tantalizingly brief, mostly comprised of weekends and sometimes not even then if she was busy with a case. I often wished I could remember our love-making with more detail when I was alone in the house with Goose, but all that would come to me was an intoxicating swirl of need and more need followed by the sweetest relief, my hands tangled in her short, kinky hair, my mouth pressed so hard against hers, we breathed for each other.

It might have been the same on that morning in the cave, but when our bodies took over, we slammed ourselves into the back wall and something rattled near our heads and then fell, hitting my shoulder.

It landed on the cave floor with a loud thunk.

“What was that?” Mary said.

“I don’t care,” I said, and pressed her against the cave wall.

*   *   *

When it was over, Mary found my keys that I’d dropped in the moment of passion and turned on the penlight. She moved it over my face, and I closed my eyes. Somehow the damp stone floor felt comfortable, and sleep was not out of the question.

I was almost there, fading into a blissfulness that my life had too long been without, when Mary gasped. I sat up and found the penlight she’d dropped near my leg. I reached for it, but my hand found something else instead. It was solid and cold and hard. My fingers slipped into a hole, and for a mad second I thought it was a bowling ball, but then Mary picked up the penlight and shone it at what I held.

A skull.

I let go immediately, causing it to roll across the cave with a sickening clatter. When it stopped rolling, Mary knelt, shining the penlight at it for a closer look.

“Is it human?” I said, but I already knew the answer.

“Yeah. And it’s been here awhile. She turned it over to examine the other side. “I don’t see any signs of trauma.”

“Where’s the rest of the body?” I said.

“Good question.” She stood, shining the light at the back wall again. She moved the light in wide arcs, and that was when we saw the writing: “AOC.”

She kept moving the light, and there was another bit below that: “Old Nathaniel.”

“Is it blood?” I asked.

She didn’t answer.

I touched the letters, sliding my fingers across them. They didn’t feel any different than the wall did when we’d touched it earlier, our hands intertwined. The letters didn’t feel different, but I did. I felt like I’d taken a knife to the gut. All of the wonder and glory from earlier seemed gone now, replaced by a silent despair.

People had made love here, but someone else had used it as a sick kind of temple, a shrine to something dark and unspeakable.

Suddenly, I needed to be free of the cave. I needed to find some light and some air that had been touched by the warmth of the sun.

“You okay?” Mary said.

“Yeah,” I said, but I wasn’t okay. I was stumbling out of the cave, trying not to think about my father or the cave I’d found him in just over a year ago. The cave where I’d finally confronted him and all the sickness he’d put inside me. The place where I’d sent him to a flaming death.

Once outside, I felt better almost immediately. The sun was shining brightly, and the rain had moved on. I sat down on the ground beside the big rock and wondered exactly what we’d unearthed.