Author: Dale Wiley
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/dale-wiley/page,5,457982-southern_gothic.html
Reading the book humbled Meredith; it showed her what her manuscript lacked and the deep chasm between good and great. And the story, although she knew where it headed because she had envisioned it, seemed new and fresh and thrilling. She awaited each new page.
Yet, she had to consider so many things. A big part of her wondered why he didn’t simply come out of hiding and announce he was alive and writing again. If he didn’t do anything wrong, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Which made her wonder if he did have something to do with Quinn’s disappearance. The breaking and entering and strange stalker stuff didn’t speak well about his mental state.
But the worried side of her worried lost the battle to the romantic, hopeful side. She had created this frame upon which Michael had hung his masterful canvas; her name would be on the spines of great books; and most importantly, she couldn’t deny she was in love with him.
As she read the romantic scenes between the unnamed narrator and Leah and watched the glimmering promise of their early relationship fade away while madness slowly replaced it, Meredith found it difficult to stay in bed and not go to Michael. She hadn’t slept with anyone since Lance, but that part of her life had ended and it took everything she had not to open Michael’s door.
But a small voice kept her in her own bed. It reminded her of the real and practical concerns—Michael Black had hidden from the world for years, and many people believed he murdered a young woman. The thought kept Meredith in her own room—at least for the time being.
RED RIBBON
Chapter Three
My wife didn’t really descend into madness. In my mind, descending implies a time element, a slow and steady journey. Leah plummeted. Careened. She occasionally reemerged, sometimes even held her head above the water for weeks on end, rejoined me in the caresses and the wonderful feeling of deep knowing we had about each other. I’ve thought about this often, wondering if any clues predated the lawn incident, but I can’t remember anything that so much as hinted at the hell to come. But if there were any questions about how much things were changing, she introduced her new side to me—and to the rest of the town as well—on June 22, the summer solstice.
We planned a party to show off The Shoals. It wasn’t close to being done, but by then, we had put enough into it to stay there without a tent, which we considered a major victory. We called it The Before Party and gave everyone invitations to The After Party to be held on the same date the following year.
Amazingly, the weather cooperated. The days leading up to the party were long and warm, only hinting at the blazing temps July would surely bring. The brightness of the days promised to delay the darkness well into our festivities, and the magnificent evenings, when the sun seemed to hesitate just before setting, are now a part of my forever memory, the last moments of the old regime. That was the time of the forever love, and that week we treated The Shoals like a free love commune, brazenly and openly falling into each other. Leah had a look, playful and brazen, that seen in any situation meant her clothes were coming off and, most likely, very soon. I tried to meet her in passion and creativity.
The night before the party, knowing a catering truck would be coming, I kissed her hard and heavy right on the front porch, which was surely blushing by then from all of the craven sexual acts we had performed. I grabbed her hair and put my finger in her mouth. She playfully held my neck and choked me and told me we were going to play a game.
She took off the blue sundress she wore, the color of a cornflower, and I saw she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She shoved me down to the floor of the porch and told me I wasn’t to talk. She took me in her mouth and looked up at me, a hint of merriment in her eyes. She took the head of my penis, so delicate and sensitive and sucked on it only, nothing else, until the sensation of that threatened to make me explode. She did it so long and so hard, laughing as she enjoyed my pleasure and pain, that I just couldn’t stand it. She finally, after one more playful tug, let me loose, to realize how aroused and hard she had just made me. She lowered herself onto me, then tickled me with her hair against my cheek while she gave me the slowest, most intimate moment I can remember.
It was poignant and perfect until we remembered that guests might come at any minute. My mind immediately went to the embarrassment of being caught in the act, but Leah dismissed my concerns. “If they come, let them enjoy the view. Maybe they’ll want to join in.”
My wife was a freak, and I made up my mind I should enjoy it. I held my ground and finished up the most full-body orgasm I had ever had. And as we went inside to re-clothe, I heard the van coming up the drive.
The next day promised to be even better. Everything was planned and grand. I picked out the music and decided to make it an all-Georgia playlist. I pulled tracks from R.E.M. and Otis Redding and mixed them in with The Star Room Boys and Michelle Malone and Drivin’ N’ Cryin’. We bought long strands of old-fashioned Christmas lights, flickering in blues, reds, and greens, and strung them into a large circle of pines. Leah bought dozens of citronella candles, and I bought pounds and pounds of shrimp for the grill. Our front yard had transformed into an oasis like something out of a storybook—the happy couple who broke away from the kingdom and found everything they desired. I had the most beautiful woman in the world, one who adored me and pleasured me and made we weep with joy and emotion. Why wouldn’t I celebrate this moment? Why wouldn’t I want it to last forever?
The evening filled with laughter and stories, the languid breeze, music, wine, and the perfume of early summer. The cicadas, frogs, and calls of summer birds joined in, full of song and warm weather promises. The color of the sky undulated from a soft, gentle blue into a color scheme that challenged people to find words to describe the loveliness. The darkness eventually drained the colors away, leaving the stars, out in the middle of nowhere with none of the city’s ambient light, providing the last, and maybe best, show.
Our friends, who trickled in from Athens, Atlanta, and the nearby towns, were blown away. They ate shrimp and drank white wine and told stories. There are nights you’re where you’re supposed to be and doing what you are meant to do; that was one of those nights. I enjoyed showing my new life to my old friends and meeting new ones. We all waited for Leah, who had run into town for some last-minute reinforcements.
It was getting late, so I tried calling her. Cell phone service was never great at The Shoals, but I wanted to make sure she was okay. No answer. I chalked it up to Leah’s perfectionism.
I saw her before anyone else. She was driving way too fast over the small hill. People had to jump out of the way. Then she crashed into one of the pines, the front of the car crumpling against the tree’s ancient truck. Christmas lights came tumbling down, turning the oasis into an accident scene. She leaped out of the car and made a bee-line for me.
“What is the meaning of this?” she screamed.
I assumed she was screaming at me, but it seemed equally aimed at anyone at the party.
“Where are they?” she asked, again, scanning the crowd.
Her friend Penelope tried to approach her but was given such a withering look she withdrew.
“Where are they?”
I didn’t know what to do. I tried to approach her and comfort her, but she spit in my face. She muttered something incomprehensible. It wasn’t English. It was scary. People eased away. I wiped the spit off my face and reached my open hand to her, but she fell to the ground and sobbed.
“Biggest mistake of my life, biggest mistake of my life.”
I felt carved out. Everyone left quickly except for a handful of my Athens friends and Matt and Penelope, the only friends we had made in our short time in town. Penelope went back over to Leah, who was now in a heap, and rubbed her back and asked soft, soothing questions. Matt and I went and looked at the damaged vehicle. I offered apologies and got the expected, “Don’t worry about it.” My Athens friends helped me carry in the full coolers of wine and beer. The few ladies from town still standi
ng at the corner of the house looked at me and drew straws trying to figure out what I had done to that poor girl.
After I had busied myself all I could, I walked over to Matt, Penelope, and Leah. She was sitting up now, holding a beer and looking lost. She looked up at me and, with sad, pleading Leah eyes, said, “I’m sorry.”
She stood up and offered her arms. I held her tightly and led her to the bedroom. I let her climb into bed and then went out to apologize once again to Matt and Penelope.
“Do either of you know what that was about?” I asked.
Both shook their heads.
I came inside, dreading what was going to happen next. I noticed the old letter out on the table as if Leah had been deciphering it again. I shook my head and put it away. There was nothing else to find there.
Chapter 14
The sounds of someone rustling around had been in Meredith’s subconscious for a while. She woke up and saw a beam of light coming in her window. She took a second to lay back and realize Michael Black must be making those sounds. Oh how many people she would like to tell. She closed her eyes and pictured him moving around her kitchen, half-dressed and hair tousled from sleep. The fresh aroma of brewing coffee seeped under her door. Time to go downstairs, she thought.
She bit her lip and tried to decide what to wear. Fully dressed? No. Cute PJs? Seemed contrived. She decided on a Georgia t-shirt, some plaid pajama bottoms, and a pair of slippers. She checked her hair to make sure it looked reasonable and walked downstairs.
There, on the coffee table, sat a beautiful bouquet of fall flowers: dahlias, chrysanthemums, and lilies—an arrangement you might see at a nice hotel.
She couldn’t breathe.
Michael stood over the kitchen counter, beaming.
“What are these?”
“Pretty sure they’re flowers.”
“I wouldn’t know. I never get any.” Lance, always the practical one, had given her flowers maybe three times during their marriage.
He moved toward her, and his smile reached his eyes. “I hid these in the garage last night. Figured they’d keep. I am not always the best communicator, but I wanted to say thank you. For everything you’ve done for me—defending me, sharing your story with me, and sharing your home.”
Meredith gave Michael a big hug, wishing it were more but resisting. As hard as she tried to hold back the tears, a few had already leaked out.
Releasing Michael, she stuck her nose right in the flowers. Then she took it all in, looking up at Michael and his smile, and breathed in the sweet smell of the moment.
Had she ever had such a morning? Filled with promise, her favorite books, and a handsome, smart man?
RED RIBBON
Chapter Four
The party gutted me. Not only because Leah’s actions were so out of character, but because I felt like she left me looking stupid as well, and made it look as if I had been anything other than a terrific husband. I have never been one to seek others’ approval to any great degree, but there’s a difference between looking for attention and opening one’s self up to ridicule. Since I hadn’t seen all that was to come, the jarring change in Leah was heartbreaking. Every nod, every slight, made it seem as if I had done something wrong, when all I continued to do was love that woman to the ends of the earth. Imaging waking up one day and finding your best friend no longer spoke the same language. That was life with Leah as the disease spread.
We both began to find other interests—ones that tied us deeper to the land and pulled us farther away from each other. I focused on the history of the plantation and the stories and artifacts buried just below the surface. Every morning, I would take my metal detector out into the woods, wave it though the long grass and creeping vines, and wait for the machine’s hurried rings to announce any treasure.
Those moments were zen for me, helping to connect me to the place. I felt it would help Leah as well, but her effect was practically catatonic, and anything I asked her to do, any connection I tried to make, was met with indifference (on good days) and, completely new for Leah, scorn and ridicule. It was like watching a fine cathedral being demolished by a wrecking ball.
My main interest in the metal detecting, of course, was the connection to the Civil War. As far as I could tell, it was still practically being fought in these parts, but more than most places, we had a direct and provable connection to that conflict. The Shoals had been used as a hospital for the invading Union Army during the Civil War, and some of their scribbles and graffiti on bedroom walls had ended up in museums. A major general in the Union Army, Judson Kilpatrick, stayed in the house during Sherman’s march through Georgia.
Everything made more sense once I learned that history. It pained me greatly to realize I wouldn’t be able to share in the excitement of the discoveries with my best friend. She told me in no uncertain terms she couldn’t care less.
Even the ghost stories seemed to spring from the 1864 march to the sea, and many touched on his right hand man, the disgraced Kilpatrick. The more I read and the more I dug, I stood in awe that one event could create so much disturbance, so many lasting ripples. Of course, at the time, the area was overrun by outsiders with no loyalty to the land, and many abused the ground along with the people who called it home.
One of the more popular stories was about a beautiful young woman from a well-known family who disappeared, leaving a loving husband and two young children behind. It was thought she was cheating on him. Months later, they found a Northern soldier, the last person seen with her, wandering through the woods in a bloody uniform. The man refused to speak, and they couldn’t officially connect him to the disappearance of the woman, but the locals always thought they knew the truth.
There were many other stories of rage, longing, and loneliness. I was convinced it was the blood that had turned the Georgian clay red. From time to time, there were still retellings of these stories by people who were sure they accounted for everything from unexplained noises to genuine madness.
I thought about this and the changes in my darling wife. Was the land causing her drastic diminution? That seemed outrageous.
I bought the most obnoxiously expensive metal detector I could find and every conceivable accessory. Leah couldn’t stand this new hobby of mine, but as I bought them, I thought of the way she looked at me with such disdain in front of everyone at the party, how her eyes accused me of crimes I had never considered and couldn’t name. I bought maps and magazines, and I commandeered the dining room as my workspace.
At that time, too, I wasn’t the person I became either. I longed for an apology, an explanation, some sort of affirmation of what I meant to her. I longed for the simple act of healing. But as nothing remotely resembling that came my way, I foolishly hardened my heart.
I decided to start my expedition in the backyard. I had recently run into Matt in town. He was supportive but full of warnings. I waved him off, impatient for discoveries.
“You’ll find some cool things. I don’t have any doubt about that. But just remember there’s a lot of rough history in that place. My grandpa told me the peg construction they did on your place would have taken slaves at least five years to build. That means there were lots of people around. People living, and people dying. You’re just as likely to find a skeleton in that place as you are a scabbard.”
I started on a particular spot around a clump of overgrown hedges that caught my eye. Leah was in town doing some shopping, so I knew I had several hours of privacy. You had to be so intentional to come to The Shoals. There was no happening upon it. It was so completely returned to the wilderness you could look for it and still miss it.
That first day, it didn’t take me long to hit something. It had rained the two nights before, and the dark Georgia clay was soft in my hands. I carefully broke apart the wet clods of dirt, feeling with my fingers for something foreign. Then I found it—a buckle. Too small for a belt, too large for a shoe. And the angle wasn’t square, either. Nice find for a new guy, I tho
ught. That was enough. I wanted to head back inside and see if I could figure out what it was.
But before I stood up, something else caught my eye: cloth of some sort. It was tucked underneath the buckle and took a second to loosen. I carefully tugged and pulled and worked on the area around it. Then it became clear; it was a lady’s glove, still maintaining a bit of its charm despite being caked in mud for well over a century.
That note of delicacy, that sense of connection, almost startled me. My heart leapt, and I felt an odd and strong connection. This was what I was looking for. This was the exhilaration I needed. What story did it hold? How was such an ornate and beautiful thing cast aside and buried in the earth?
The glove was amazing enough, but I could feel something inside it. My heart raced faster as I realized what it was: a letter similar to the one Leah had found, or so it seemed.
Surely, Leah couldn’t turn this down. Certainly, she couldn’t scoff at something so personal and intimate. Maybe it could even bring her closer to me, instead of the inevitable tectonic shift that daily sent us farther apart.
I sprinted back to the house, hoping Leah would be there. My anger towards her momentarily dissipated in light of the discovery. When I reached the house, panting a little, Leah wasn’t back. That disappointed me, but I wouldn’t do anything with the letter until she came back home.
I carefully set both items on the counter and waited in giddy anticipation when someone knocked at the door.
I thought about not answering, but I realized it might be Leah; perhaps she had forgotten her keys. That wasn’t like her, but who knew what the new Leah did with keys. Before I could get there, the knock came again.