In the Arms of Stone Angels (11 page)

I reached for my phone and made the call that would change my life. Heather wouldn't be the only victim that day.

Shawano Public Library

It took me a long while to recover from that dark flash of memory, triggered by Heather and all the news articles I had read. Cold sweats had given me a chill. And I hadn't realized that I'd been crying. I wiped the tears off my cheeks and looked for Heather. I really wanted to see her, like even seeing her dead would make that horror go away.

But she was gone. And that left me feeling hollow inside.

I had never considered her a friend, but no one deserved to die like that. I took a deep breath to clear my head. And to get out of the dumps, I kept reading and found a strange article published almost a month after Heather's death. It grabbed my attention even though it was on the back page—because it showed White Bird's booking photo.

I stared at that photo for a long time, looking for any hint of the boy I knew. His eyes were half-shut. And with his messed-up long hair, he looked like a drugged-out homeless guy. If I didn't know better, I would've sworn the photo wasn't of my friend.

And yet it was.

In the article, a reporter had written a short piece on a local theft that had been linked to White Bird. Joe “Spirit Walker” Sunne was a Shaman and Euchee tribal elder. He claimed that he'd been robbed a week before the murder. His burglary report would barely hit the papers on a slow news day, but after the police ran fingerprints taken from the scene, a hit came back on White Bird. According to the paper, the police had solid proof that he had stolen tools from Sunne.

I got angry when I read this. White Bird stealing? That made no sense. But the weirdest part was that I could reject the idea that he could steal, yet when it came to killing Heather,
I had serious doubts about his innocence. I couldn't get past seeing him over her body and holding that knife. The gory image had horrified me. It still did. It had branded my psyche. And I couldn't shake that sight, not enough to keep an open mind.

What kind of a friend was I?

I scribbled Sunne's name in my spiral notebook. And I looked him up in the online White Pages and printed off directions on how to find him. It couldn't have been a coincidence that Joe Sunne was a revered member of the Euchee tribe. White Bird wouldn't have stolen from the man unless it had been for a very good reason—or a very big misunderstanding.

And I had to know which.

I had a hunch that talking to the man face-to-face was the next step I'd come to the library to find. I had to piece together a puzzle that had been a long time in the making and resurfaced on the day I touched White Bird at the hospital. Those days that White Bird had kept secret from me—the week before Heather was killed—were a good place to start.

Next Afternoon

I hadn't seen Derek all day. Even though I had no idea what it meant for him to be missing in action, I hoped that he'd gotten bored with watching me over the past several days with nothing happening. He could have learned not to be so obvious or gotten smarter about keeping an eye on me, but that idea made me laugh. Using the words
learned
and
smarter
to describe Derek sounded like a ridiculous waste of my valuable worry time.

Still, I had to admit that not knowing where he was made me tense. I thought about telling Mom about him stalking
me, but that would only stir things up with the sheriff. And I liked the peace and quiet. I needed it.

With Mom keeping me real busy, that helped get my mind off my stalker. She had painters coming the next day and had me clearing space for them to work. We moved furniture away from the walls and covered things with sheets to protect the important stuff from paint splatter.

But the hardest thing we had to do didn't require muscle.

By late afternoon, Mom was clearing the last boxes of my grandmother's clothes. By the end of the week, not much of Grams would remain. And with everything I had on my mind, I made room for more sorrow in my heart. The pain of losing my grandmother gripped me hard.

When Mom told me what she had planned, I helped her get everything done even though I hated it. I got real quiet. I knew the day would come when closets had to be cleaned and clutter had to be tossed, but boxing up a lifetime of memories was hard to do.

And until today, I'd been so wrapped up in myself that I'd forgotten how hard this would be on Mom, finally saying goodbye to her mother. I found her alone in my grandmother's bedroom sitting on the bed. And from the reflection in the mirror, I saw she was crying as she looked into a box. I turned to leave and creaked down the hall. Being really sad wasn't exactly a team sport, but Mom heard me.

“Brenna, you got a minute?”

“Yeah, I was just…” I came back to the bedroom and sat next to her. “What's up?”

“I saved some things for you. If you don't want them, let me know.”

Mom had set aside the best stuff for me. I had my own box and everything. My grandmother's costume jewelry was in a
shiny onyx jewelry case that opened into tiered velvet drawers. And every piece I picked up reminded me of playing dress up with Grams on rainy Sunday afternoons or stolen hours when she had spent time with only me.

“And I picked out her funkiest clothes. You can sew them into something new, with your special touch. I think Grams would love that.” Mom ran a hand through my short hair. “I'm sure of it.”

Grams had been into real drama when she was younger. And her taste in clothes showed it. She had great hats, stylish vintage evening jackets, and belts and scarves that looked glittery and magical. Of all the things Mom could have given me to lift my spirits, I wouldn't have asked for anything better. She'd boxed up the best of Grams—and she'd given it all to me.

“I don't know what to say.” I felt my eyes water as I stared into the box. “Thanks, Mom.”

She kissed me on the forehead and smiled.

“I'll help you load the boxes for Goodwill. You mind dropping them off? I'll get you the address.” Mom got her purse and handed me the car keys. “And if you feel like it, you want to pick up a pizza?”

“Yeah, sure.” I nodded.

I'd have my freedom and Mom's car again. Although that should have made me happy, it didn't. Sneaking behind her back to see the Euchee Shaman felt wrong, especially after what she'd done for me today, but I really had to do it.

I was scared to face a man who could shed light on White Bird's secrets. My friend had been up to something that he couldn't tell me and he'd needed tools to do it. And by week's end, he would be charged with a vicious murder. I had to know what he had been up to.

Yet even though Joe Sunne might have answers for me, I wasn't sure they'd be something I'd want to hear.

Outskirts of Shawano

After I dropped off the boxes of Grams's life at Goodwill, I checked out the internet directions to the home of Joe Sunne. I figured pizza could wait. Even though I liked it best cold, Mom didn't. I could pick it up on my way home. When I got to the address I had listed for Joe Sunne, I couldn't drive up to the place. I don't know what I expected to find—maybe more suburbia like Grams's hood—but the man didn't live in an old Victorian with neighbors close by.

He lived on the fringes of town where the houses were more like ranches with barbed wire instead of cyclone fences and dirt roads replaced asphalt. I saw a house hidden by trees in the distance, but I wanted to be sure. House numbers weren't exactly posted on imaginary curbs.

Here I stood out, me and my little Subaru. I'd have no place to hide once I drove onto the man's land. I clutched the steering wheel tight as I sat parked on the road outside his property.

“Oh, White Bird. How did you find this guy?” I muttered. “And what kind of stuff were you into with him?”

 

The dusty gravel road I was on led to a few turnoffs behind fences. I put the car into Reverse and checked out a stand of mailboxes behind me. When I saw “Sunne” written on one, I figured I'd come to the right place, but what I hadn't counted on was driving smack into the middle of
Deliverance
country. Hell, I even heard banjo music in my head—that's how edgy I was. I stared out the windshield at the turnoff for Joe Sunne and ran my tongue over my cut lip.

“What are you gonna do, Bren?” I whispered and gripped the steering wheel with sweaty palms.

It didn't take long to decide that I'd driven too far and taken too much risk to chicken out now. I turned onto the drive marked Private—No Trespassing and drove in. Ruts in the road jostled the Subaru and tossed me around, forcing me to grip the wheel hard to keep the car from getting stuck.

I drove by a crop of plants near a creek. The earth was mounded in rows, bordered by tall cedars. Dusk had brought shadows, making it hard to see, but I felt more than a bad case of nerves. I sensed the draw from a world not my own, like when I stepped foot into a graveyard. Spirits of the dead who cross my path leave their mark. Sometimes I hear or feel the dark breeze from the other side, a sign they've crossed a portal between their world and mine. And when I feel their presence, my skin tingles and my senses go on hyperalert like I had just downed mass quantities of Red Bull.

That's what I felt now. I didn't have to see the dead to know they hung out with Joe Sunne.

When I rounded the last turn, I came to a small wood-framed house with a tin roof. It looked dark and ominous with the dying sun behind it. Spears of bright orange filtered through the dense trees and made it hard to see details in the deepening shadows.

An open garage to the right sheltered an old blue truck with the hood up. When I spotted greasy rags and tools nearby, I figured someone had been working on the engine. Clay pots, plastic jugs and rusted metal buckets littered the front of the house. They hung off the walls and were piled near a wooden rain barrel like they were worth something. And tons of glass jars were stacked under the overhang, but they weren't empty. Someone had a thing for collecting roots, tree bark, leaves and
other weird stuff I didn't want to know about. Real Voodoo Hoodoo.

Stray cats darted into the scrub brush as I drove closer. I was already on edge, but when I almost hit one of them, I skidded to a stop. I sat gripping the wheel, reconsidering what I would do next when I saw something familiar. Joe Sunne had a medicine wheel. An elaborate pattern of stones, shaped into a large wheel, was positioned on the ground near the front of his house. White Bird had a smaller, less-complicated version near his shelter in the woods and he'd told me about it.

Feeling a connection to White Bird, I got out of the car to get a better look at the medicine wheel. That's why I missed him. When I looked toward the house, I gasped. A man sat stone still—staring at me.

Dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt with a worn cowboy hat on his head, he sat on a cluttered front porch. He was tilted back on a wooden chair with his dusty boots on a railing. And he glared at me without flinching. He reminded me of a cougar eyeing prey on the National Geographic channel.

He watched me with keen eyes that looked black as coal. His long hair was worn loose and had gray streaks in it. And I was close enough to see age lines cut deep into the dark skin of his face, but something more bothered me about the man.

I swear to God, Joe “Spirit Walker” Sunne—Shaman to the Euchee tribe—looked like he'd been expecting me.

“Are you Joe Sunne?”

The man didn't answer. He didn't even move. Or blink.

“My name's Brenna Nash.”

“I know who you are.”

The sudden sound of his deep gravelly voice grabbed me. It reminded me that I was alone with this strange man in the middle of nowhere—and that I had intruded on him. And the awkward silence that followed made our meeting even harder. All I wanted to do was get in my car and drive away…real fast.

If the guy meant to mess with my head, then mission accomplished.

“You do?” I shrugged and stuffed my hands in my jeans. “How do you know who I am?”

“Why are you here?” His lips barely moved.

And with Joe Sunne ignoring my question, he was sending me a clear message that he was in control. And as long as he tolerated me, he wouldn't kick me off his place—for now. His
question had been direct. And I had to admit that my brain scrambled for a lie.

Lies came automatically, especially when talking to strangers. But something in the man's eyes made me rethink my normal reaction. It was like he was testing me. And one of his superpowers was a hypertweaked bullshit detector.

“I'm a friend of White Bird. And I came for your help.”

For the first time, the man showed signs of being human. He blinked. Once. And for an instant, his stern expression softened. I had him right where I wanted him.

“I can't help you.”

I had been very deliberate in my wording. Since the man hadn't asked who White Bird was, that told me he knew him. Score one for me.

“With all due respect, sir, I think you're underestimating your potential.”

I surprised even me. I kept a straight face and fixed my eyes on his. That's how I saw it. He actually flinched with a weird smile. Score two for the visiting team.

“Is that so?” Straightening his chair, he sat up and planted his boots on the porch with his hands on his knees. “Then you better tell me how I can help, 'cause I ain't seein' it.”

When I leaned against the Subaru, a cool breeze blew by me. It made me shiver. As I crossed my arms, I saw a drape move in the house, like the wind had blown it.

Only it wasn't the wind.

A woman's face peered at me from behind the glass. Her blanched white skin glowed from the shadows. And her haunted eyes were nothing more than dark circles. She stared at me before she faded into the darkness. The moment happened so quickly that I thought I had imagined it.

But I hadn't.

“You live here with family?” I turned toward him.

“No one lives here but me. Unless you work for the census, that's none of your business. I think you should go.”

I cleared my throat and caught a glimpse of the window again. No one was there. Not now, but tell that to the goose bumps on my skin. Joe was sharing his digs with some dead woman and I wondered if he knew that, but not bad enough to ask.

“I need to know what White Bird was up to the week before he was arrested,” I said, getting back to the reason I had come. “He was behaving strange. He had something secret going on and I have to know what that was.”

“I still don't see how I can help you. Why come to me?”

He stood and hitched a leg up on the wooden railing of his porch. The man was muscular and lean with broad shoulders. And he was taller than I expected. The word
intimidating
came to mind. He had a real poker face, but since he wasn't asking me questions, I figured he knew a lot more than he was letting on. Although I had no doubt that I was on the right track, Joe Sunne could still derail me.

“I read in an old newspaper that White Bird stole tools from you, that the police found his fingerprints here.”

“So?”

“Well, you're not exactly Home Depot. And your place isn't on the main drag of town. How did he know to come here?”

“You should ask him.”

“I can't. In case you haven't heard, he's locked away in a mental hospital. And he hasn't spoken a word since that crappy day.” I heard the anger in my voice. The man didn't give a shit and it showed. “I need to know why he came here. What's your connection?”

The sun had slid below the horizon and steep shadows swallowed what was left of the light. I felt like my time was running out—in more ways than one—and a bad case of the jitters hit me hard. I didn't want to be caught out here in the dark with this man.

“Like I said, I can't help you.”

“Or won't?” I argued. I felt the heat rise to my face, like how my arguments started with Mom. “You know, I have no idea why White Bird wanted to be part of your stupid tribe. He's better than all of you.”

I felt it happening. My mouth had taken over and I couldn't stop.

“All he wanted was to belong somewhere…anywhere. But no one from your tribe accepted him. What would it hurt to let him feel a part of something? His parents were dead. He had no one who cared about him. I don't understand any of this.”

“He had you.”

“Well, he deserved better.”

I wanted to cry. I dragged fingers through my short hair and swatted the bugs flying around my face, fighting back the lump in my throat. I paced the ground around my car, taking deep breaths. I had flared out of control in front of this stranger.

In a weird way, it felt liberating. And I wasn't done.

“I don't know why he chose your tribe, mister. Maybe if you'd given him some of your precious time, none of this would've happened. He's not a throwaway kid, you know. He deserves better than you…and me.”

I didn't wait to hear anything the man had to say. I didn't care anymore. I jumped into the Subaru and hit the gas. And I kicked up dust and gravel on my way out, not caring if I
dinged Mom's car. All my frustration welled up inside me and it felt like I was suffocating, but none of this was about me anymore.

I'd been so focused on how everything that had happened affected me, that until I got back to Shawano, I'd almost forgotten about White Bird. Even though I didn't always show my appreciation, I had my mother along for my never-ending roller-coaster ride. But White Bird was the one suffering alone, stuck in a mental hospital.

I guess I had high hopes that Joe Sunne would care. He was a tribal elder and a healer, too. Even if White Bird killed Heather, didn't anyone else want to know why? What motive did he have to do such a thing? And what had he kept secret on the days before Heather's death? I had to have answers, but after my one-sided conversation with Joe Sunne, I was more in the dark than ever—literally.

Once again, I'd let White Bird down. And I had no idea where I'd go from here…except to pick up a pizza that I wouldn't feel like eating.

The Next Morning

I had tossed and turned all night. And when I finally did get to sleep, White Bird filled my dreams. In the two years since I'd left Oklahoma, I had thought of him, but not like this. Ever since I'd first seen him at the hospital and touched him, my dreams now were much more intense, as if he was really with me and we were linked somehow. When I imagined him kissing me, I felt his lips on mine. And when he playfully tapped my nose to tease me, I felt the nudge even in the dark of my room.

But my dreams of him always turned darker.

In the early-morning hours, he would beg for my help
with such urgency that I would wake up gasping and crying. I swear to God, I even had red marks on my arm from where he reached for me. Those nightmares were so vivid and powerful that I had no idea if I was losing my mind or if he was really with me.

And not knowing the difference was the worst part.

Time felt like it was running out. If I were going crazy, I was scared Mom would notice. And once my secret was out, there'd be no turning back. She'd line up more therapists, like she did before, and she'd expect me to actually talk to them. I didn't want to go through that again.

I had set my alarm to go off early. Mom had painters coming today. I rolled out of bed exhausted and trudged to my bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I had a terminal case of bed head and I noticed dark circles under my eyes. I didn't recognize my own face. I looked like a stranger. Staring at my reflection, I searched for the parts in me that had changed. Did schizophrenia make you look different? I made weird faces in the mirror, practicing my crazed psycho look.

After I scared myself, I hit the shower.

Afternoon

Mom had an army of painters working the inside and outside of Grams's house. The outside guys were prepping the wood and scraping stuff. They'd do the painting tomorrow, but the inside guys were hard at work. I stayed outdoors to avoid the fumes in the house and planted the rest of the flowers Mom had bought. When I was done, she found me in the backyard.

“You've been working really hard, Bren. You wanna go to the movies?”

“You mean, with you?” I said it like she'd insulted me, but Mom didn't notice.

“No. These guys are almost done. I've got to stick around until they leave, but you can go. The matinees start soon.”

“Can I have the car?”

“Wish you could, but no. I've got to pick up groceries. I called the movie theater near the interstate. It's the closest one. You should be able to ride your bike there, right?”

She handed me a list of the movies and times that she'd written down. I looked at the list like I was interested. With Mom thinking I was at the movies, I could be gone for hours without her expecting me home. And the theater was on the way out to Red Cliffs. As long as I was home by dinner, I'd be golden. Even if I was late, I could blame it on the bike and guilt her into giving me the car next time.
Perfect!

I shrugged. “Yeah, okay. I'll clean up.”

I pretended to look bored as I shed my garden gloves and headed for the house, but inside I was twisted into a nervous knot. I wasn't scared about sneaking into the hospital again. I knew what to expect now.

The part that had me jumpy was seeing White Bird again.

I knew I had to do something. And although I wasn't necessarily convinced he was sending me a message from wherever he was, I did feel sure of one thing. I couldn't move on with my life unless I confronted my past by helping him.

White Bird might be the key to opening the door that could save both of us.

Red Cliffs Hospital

If I had gone to the movies, I would be sitting in the air-conditioned dark eating popcorn mixed with peanut M&M's
and drinking a big thing of Pepsi. Of course I would have been miserable, kicking myself for being a self-centered jerk who had picked a stupid movie over helping a friend. With White Bird quietly dying behind locked doors, nothing was more important than helping him. And I had an urgent feeling this would be my one big chance to turn things around for both of us.

I pushed up the last steep hill on my bike then coasted down to the driveway into Red Cliffs Hospital. After I secured my wheels, I hit a restroom inside to wash up. My T-shirt was soaked with sweat and I looked like shit, but that didn't matter. Not today. I washed my face and put my dark glasses back on to cover my black eye. I didn't have any big strategy for getting in. I figured I'd rinse and repeat.

Like I did last time, I watched the routine until I could make my move, only this time I couldn't wait forever. Visiting hours would be over soon. I scribbled my name in the visitor's log so no one could read it. And for the patient's name that I was there to see, I again picked the name of someone who had visitors earlier in the day.

Once I got behind the locked door, I didn't waste my time looking in the visitor's area. White Bird had no one who would visit him. I went straight to the fenced-in gardens where the patients enjoyed the outdoors. And my pace picked up as I searched all the faces. For some reason, I felt this urgent need to find him…now. I went to where I saw him before, along the far fence, but he wasn't there. And when I saw a nurse staring at me, I pretended not to notice and kept moving.

White Bird wasn't anywhere. And a feeling of dread gripped me hard.

If he were locked in his room, I'd have to find another way in, but what if I couldn't? I went back inside anyway and came
face-to-face with the locked part of the ward. I faked like I was coming in and out of the visitor area, where other outsiders were, and I eyeballed the setup of the secured rooms.

And my frustration to find him was making me think of really stupid stuff to settle my nerves.

I could pretend to be a crazy person and get myself locked up, just like in the movies. That wouldn't be a stretch. And White Bird would be so grateful I'd come to rescue him that he'd kiss me. And we'd make our big escape using my genius plan. Avril Lavigne would play me. Zac Efron could be White Bird. And the sound track would be from Kimya Dawson, whose songs always made me laugh and cry.

It would have been perfect, except life wasn't a friggin' movie. I headed back into the visitor's area. I had no idea what I would do and needed time to think, but I'd never get that chance.

“You're Isaac Henry's friend, aren't you?”

A man's voice echoed down the hall and I heard his quickening footsteps behind me. I should have ducked outside and pretended not to hear him…or faked like I didn't know the name Isaac Henry. But now that I'd flinched and stopped cold, I had to turn around. A tall slender man in a white doctor's coat with grayish-blond hair had his eyes on me.

“Who?” I shook my head. “I think you've got the wrong person.”

“No, I don't. I remember seeing you the last time you were here. Your hair is shorter, but it's definitely you. My name's Dr. Sam Ridgeway. Isaac Henry is my patient.”

He was White Bird's doctor. And once again, I couldn't hide my surprise. I had so many questions for this man that I ditched the idea of playing it safe. I might not get another chance to talk to him.