Eighth Grave After Dark

“Are you Deaf?”

She shook her head, curled one small hand into a fist and held it over her mouth.

“You’re mute. And your sister?”

Her signing was archaic and not really American Sign Language. It was a jumble of signs she’d probably done at home with her family, gestures, and ASL. I did understand that her sister could talk, but that night, she didn’t want the priest to know which girl he’d raped. So she’d refused to talk, refused to give away which sister was the threat. She’d given up her life for her twin, who had been mute most of her life. The priest knew that, and had believed that disability would keep her from speaking up for herself. He’d been wrong.

“Mo, I’m so sorry.”

She was crying, too. All the emotions I felt came straight from her. Her heart had been ripped out that night. Her life and her happiness stolen. But the worst part was the loss of her beloved sister.

She signed to me again, and it took three times for me to figure out what she was asking. I felt stupid and inept for making her repeat herself so much. But I finally figured out she was asking me if God hated her because she let a man lie with her. Because she got her sister killed and then killed herself. Because she took away the life he’d given her.

“Can he forgive me?” she asked. “If I do something good?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, standing up, after some effort, and hugging her. “He doesn’t hate you. I promise with all my heart. You did do something good. You tried to save your sister.” I set her at arm’s length. “You can cross through me if—”

I heard something before I could finish. A crack. A sharp crack. Like wood. And I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be crazy if—?

Yep. The cover broke beneath my weight. My eyes wide, I gazed at Mo. She gazed back. Then I dropped.

11

GOD GIVES US ONLY WHAT WE CAN HANDLE.

APPARENTLY, GOD THINKS I’M A BADASS.

—BUMPER STICKER

The wood didn’t exactly break cleanly. It scraped across my back and arms as I fell, but I managed to grab hold of a slat on the way down. I hung there, my legs dangling. A jagged point had torn into my face by my ear and up across my forehead. I didn’t realize it until my vision blurred due to the blood gushing from my head.

Mo tried to pull me up, but there was simply no way. I weighed too much. It was Beep’s fault. Apparently, she weighed around eighty-seven pounds. My ribs burned and I had a difficult time breathing, but I took in a lungful of air and was just about to scream for my husband when the plank I held on to for dear life broke.

I dropped longer than I thought I would have, falling into a deep pit of darkness. In that instant, I prayed there would be water at the bottom. My prayers were not answered. I hit hard. My legs crumpled beneath me. My hips exploded with pain as my femurs drove into the sockets by the force of the sudden stop. The drop knocked the air from my lungs, and I raised my arms over my head, trying to catch my breath. Both those tasks caused jolts of excruciating pain in my side. I’d cracked a rib. Possibly more.

The ground was uneven beneath me, and in the back of my mind I knew I was sitting atop the bones of at least two people. I fell back against the side of the well. Most wells in the area weren’t dug so wide. They were just wide enough for small children or animals to fall in. This was a bona fide well with lots of elbow room. I was lucky. I could have been stuck in a pipeline. Beep could have died.

Mo appeared beside me. My question was, why didn’t Reyes? He loved to pop in when I was in mortal peril. What the heck?

There was just enough space for Mo to stand beside me. Had she been alive, it would have been terribly cramped. As it was, she could stand half inside the wall of the well.

I glanced around and could see two things. The round top of the well, which reminded me of a horror movie I’d seen, and Mo. I could’ve seen Mo no matter how much light I had. Or didn’t have. But the light seemed to stop about halfway down the well.

Tree roots zigzagged across the opening above me. That would explain some of the burning I felt on my back and arms. And I honestly didn’t know if I was sitting on more roots or bones. Either way, this was not a place I wanted to stay long.

“Reyes,” I said weakly. Screaming for help was no longer an option.

“I’ll go get help,” Mo signed, but before she could go, Reyes appeared at last, his incorporeal form shrouded in a massive undulating robe. It filled any leftover space.

Mo fell back against the side of the well, her eyes wide.

“It’s okay, hon,” I said through gritted teeth. “He’s with me.”

His incorporeal form disappeared, and I heard someone running and then sliding to a halt above us. Dirt trickled down from overhead.

“What the hell, Dutch?” Reyes asked.

I was in too much pain to offer a smart-assed comeback. And though there was no water in the well, I was wet. Very wet. I closed my eyes, mortified. My water had broken. This could not be good.

I heard Reyes whisper above me, the sound echoing around me, the walls like an amphitheater. “Osh’ekiel,” he said.

Osh would be there soon. He’d probably bring Garrett as well if he was still at the house.

I was safe. I knew I was safe. With that thought, I decided to drift off for a while. Regain my strength. Gather my thoughts.

Reyes yelled at me, but I couldn’t stop my fall into oblivion. It certainly felt better there.

* * *

I heard arguing overhead. Every once in a while, a voice would drift down to me. Osh. Garrett. Uncle Bob. Poor Ubie. Reyes and Cookie argued with him. He wanted to risk it and have me medevaced to Albuquerque. He didn’t understand the consequences of such an action. It might take the hellhounds a while to find me, but find me they would.