Free Black Stump Ridge by John Manning; Forrest Hedrick Page B

this. And, I don’t just mean the dream or the nightmare or whatever it was. I mean what happened to you and my dad and the others.”
    He shook his head. “You’re young, Amanda. That’s why you look for meaning in the things life throws your way. When you get older, like me, you’ll discover that life is random. Things happen. Sometimes terrible things. There’s no rhyme, no reason. No great conspiracy. No grand scheme. It all boils down to one thing: shit happens. When it does, you wipe your face and then you deal with it the best you can.”
    “Your way is to hide in a bottle and pretend it isn’t there.”
    “Don’t knock it. The view’s much better from there.” Fred raised his cup of coffee in a mock toast. “And, the alcohol kills the pain.”
    •
    They sat in Fred’s room much as they had the day before: Amanda on the chair; Fred on the bed with his back against the headboard. The empty Jim Beam bottle stood on the long table. Next to it was a quart bottle of Kentucky Driver. It’s twin rested on Fred’s lap, seal broken but the contents, as yet, untasted.
    “I’ve read all of the reports, of course.” Amanda held a foam cup half full of coffee. The coffee was cold and bitter.
    Fred’s eyebrows rose. “All of them?”
    “Well, not all of them. I couldn’t get your psych evaluations. Medical privilege and all that. I did get all of the newspaper accounts I could find and transcripts of the grand jury that no-billed you. I had to hire a lawyer to help me get that and some of the police reports.”
    “I’ll bet that made exciting reading. The papers got it wrong. You know that, don’t you? They had no clue.”
    “They hardly ever get anything right. It’s all slant and innuendo and guesses, really. The grand jury stuff was pretty dry reading and I ended up with more questions afterwards than when I started.”
    “Not surprising. They refused to accept the truth, even when the results of all of their forensics made no sense otherwise. The only answer that fit was the one answer they couldn’t – wouldn’t – accept.”
    “Can you blame them, Mr. Kyle? I mean, really. A monster in this day and age? It sounds like a bad horror movie.”
    “Demon.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “It’s a demon, not a monster.”
    “What’s the difference?”
    “A monster can usually be killed. Sometimes it takes a lot, but it can be done. A demon can only be contained or restrained, usually by magic. Or banished, if you believe the shamans and priests.”
    “I see. What do you believe?”
    “I don’t know anymore.” He smiled and grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck, holding it high. “I believe in this.” He uncapped it, took a deep swallow, and replaced the cap. “I believe I’ll have more before the day is over. And, if there is truly a Hell, then I believe I’ll see this thing again. Or, others like him.”
    “Did you actually see him?”
    Fred paused. “I don’t know. I think I saw him. I saw something. I saw what he did. Enough to make me believe.”
    “Believe what?”
    At first, she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He sat on the bed staring down at his hands. When he finally began to speak, his voice was low. She leaned forward, straining to hear. His words surprised her. Instead of talking about the demon, he’d returned to the story.
    “The guys loved it, of course. It wasn’t really a cabin, but a house. Three stories built into the side of the mountain. A huge deck behind the third floor. A three-car garage with adjoining laundry room, storage, and rec room on the bottom floor. The second floor had the kitchen, dining room, living room, four bedrooms and two bathrooms and a deck overlooking the front yard. On the third floor was the master bedroom and bath, two guest bedrooms with another bath, and a family room and wet bar dividing the master bedroom from the guest rooms. Sliding glass doors opened onto the back deck from the family room as well as the master bedroom.