Bumstead's Well Page 6

  The dream faded quickly, and he was left with only one thought that lingered on and floated about in the damp darkness. He was concerned about his grandfather. He was only supposed to be sleeping over at Roger’s house for one night. His grandparents must be worried sick about him by now. This was the second night he wasn’t home. His heart was crushed under the thought that he had foolishly let them down and left them wrought with worry.

  He remained standing and stared up into the blackness above. He thought about how his Gram and Gramps would react when he didn’t showed up at home this evening. The thought came immediately, and with it came a disturbed relief. They would call Roger.

  “Of course they would,” he whispered.

  A simple phone call to Roger would resolve everything.

  "Of course they will call Roger. I told them I was sleeping over at Roger's. It was only supposed to be for Friday night. One night. This is night number two. They just mustn't have called him yet."

  He wondered again why Roger didn’t show up. "Aaron must have gotten to him. Why else would Roger leave me here?" It didn't make sense to Vincent.

  "Morning is not far away. They'll call Roger first thing in the morning when they see I didn’t come home," he said aloud to reassure himself.

  He repeated it louder. "They'll call him in the morning, and I'll get out of here."

  Sleep came slowly, but it was a restless sleep. His belly rumbled often and mimicked the thunder above. He awoke a second time when he heard the rain start to fall from the sky, and he felt along the stones in the wall and the earth beneath his feet for seeping water. Both remained only as damp as when he first arrived. He soon drifted off and dreamed the well was filling with water. Hours passed as the water seeped its way into the well in his dream, and a new hope flourished inside him; he was a strong and confident swimmer. The rain continued to pour down, and soon the water filled the well from the bottom at an enormous pace and lifted Vincent up towards the surface. He was elated to be so close to freedom. He reached out with one arm and brushed his fingers along the edge of the smooth stones that capped the wall and waited for the water to push him up higher. Just as his hand reached out through the opening and gripped firmly to the outside edge of one of the stones, the dream was interrupted.

  "Caw!"

  The crow from yesterday returned and proudly began to announce to the silly boy in the well that the sun was about to rise. Another day was about to begin.

  CHAPTER 16 Day Three - Sunday 10:54 AM

  A strange air hovered inside the Pattison home on Sunday as the house filled with numerous family members. It felt more like a celebration than an act of mourning; Anita and Chris hadn’t had the complete family together on any single occasion for nearly a decade. The last occasion was Easter dinner ten years ago, just months before Vincent turned up unexpectedly onto their doorstep and became a permanent resident of their home.

  The buzz of conversation filled the house and Anita eagerly puttered about in the kitchen preparing an array of sandwiches and snacks for everyone. She always glowed when she entertained family, and today was no exception. She was incisive, witty, and was well aware of the reason behind the gathering. She knew precisely when to listen and when to offer comfort. The weight of Vincent's passing lay beneath the surface of every conversation; it caused the energy in the room to shift and change frequently between hearty laughter and quiet moments of tears and hugs as members shared personal memories of Vincent.

  Chris was up early and out the door to the airport well before anyone had arrived. He left early on purpose; he did not want to have to explain where he was going and why to anyone. He was deeply distressed over Vincent's death; he knew if he told his son and older daughter that he was picking up their sister, they may not be at the house when he returned from the airport with Arlene. Anita agreed completely with Chris' assessment of his children. Strangely, no one asked Anita where Chris was when they arrived.

  Charlie and his wife, Barbara, arrived first with their son Darrel and his very pregnant girlfriend, Sandra. Charlie owned Mt. Head Lock and Key, the only real locksmith in the valley. Barbara provided assistance at the office when it was needed, but she preferred to be a stay at home mother and wife.

  Chris’ oldest daughter, Jennifer, was thin and lean like her mother. She arrived fret with worry about how her mother and father were faring and was only kept calm by Graham, her short but stalky husband, who insisted her parents were made of a tougher fabric than most. Their only daughter, April, slipped quietly into the room and sat on the couch in the corner. April, now twenty-five years old, returned home from Medicine Hat as soon as she heard the news about her cousin. She was working at her summer job in the Hat between college semesters.

  Jennifer worked in the records department at the University and would often stop in to see her mother on her way home after work. If any one of their children thought he or she understood their mother and father best, it was Jennifer. But things recently changed; Chris pulled her aside and asked her to refrain from popping in unexpectedly. He said it was very draining on Anita these days. He insisted that Anita needed her rest and that popping in unannounced was upsetting her schedule. Jennifer was crushed by her father's request, but she consented. It had been nearly three weeks since she last dropped in to see her parents.

  Anita kept everyone engaged as she waited for Chris to return from the airport. She secretly worried about how her children would react and prepared herself for what would surely become a very uncomfortable afternoon for everyone.

  CHAPTER 17 Day Three - Sunday 11:32 AM

  As Vincent's family gathered to grieve his passing, Vincent came to the conclusion that no one was ever coming for him. He didn't understand why his friends left him down in the bottom of a well. Was it a cruel joke? He didn’t think it was very funny. His mind raced over numerous altercations he had with both of his friends in an attempt to find some logic to explain why they would do such a thing to him, but he thought of none.

  His belly rumbled from hunger, and he could feel his intestines curling and knotting inside him as each hour passed. He had no food left and only one full bottle of water remained. He was terribly thirsty but he wasn't about to touch the last bottle just yet.

  Vincent stared at the rope and followed it up to the top. He knew this was his only lifeline.

  "Aaron said he tied it off up there. To what I don't know. Probably one of the posts."

  Vincent reached up as high on the rope as he could and grabbed a firm hold with both hands.

  "Okay, Aaron, you asshole! This better be tied off damn well!"

  He lifted his feet off the ground and curled his knees up tight to his chest leaving his entire body suspended a few feet above the muddy surface. He held himself suspended and waited to see if the rope would pull free and send him crashing down into the mud. After a few minutes of hanging in the air, he reached out with one hand and pushed himself away from the wall to swing back and forth and twirl about.

  The rope appeared to be reasonably secured.

  He dropped his feet back into the mud and stared up at the opening once more. It was a long way to the surface: fifty feet or more. Could he climb up a rope that high?

  He tried to block out all of his failed attempts in high school where he never, even once, succeeded in reaching the top of the climbing rope in the gymnasium during gym class. That rope was only twenty-eight feet to the top. This one was nearly twice that height.

  CHAPTER 18 Day Three - Sunday 11:45 AM

  Talk in the Pattison home remained focused on Sandra and her ever-expanding belly. Anita’s first great-grandchild was due in only five months. Anita teased Darrel about how plain Sandra's hands looked these days.

  "Maybe some jewelry would enhance the beauty of those slender fingers. Just look at those poor hands."

  "Huh? What are you even talking about? There’s nothing wrong with her hands.”

  Anita smiled and laughed heartily. Sandra joined in.


  "A ring, you dumb ass!" Darrel’s mother, Barbara, replied. She laughed with the others.

  Darrel’s face quickly became flushed. He avoided eye contact and mumbled quietly, "She don't need no ring."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Sandra replied. "What do you mean I don't need a ring?"

  All talk halted suddenly as the front door opened and Chris crossed the threshold into the room with Arlene.

  “Hi, everyone," Arlene said nervously as she closed the door behind her. She forced a smile and scanned the many eyes fixed on her small frame.

  Jaws dropped open in surprise, and all eyes swept across her from head to toe. Her clothes were simple. She wore faded, black sweat pants that hung from her spindly hips like a dirty diaper and a plain, grey T-shirt that was two sizes too large.

  One uncontrolled gasp erupted from Charlie and was followed by an awkward hush that fell upon all who were gathered in the room. Chris expected as much; he hardly recognized his own daughter when she walked up to him at the airport baggage claim. He was busy searching the many faces of the people that entered the concourse, and he looked right past her.

  Chris expected Arlene to look like the long, dark-haired, and slightly over-weight daughter he last saw nine years ago, but she had changed immeasurably. She was only thirty-nine when he last saw her. Now, at forty-eight, she had lost a large amount of weight and appeared much too thin and frail for his liking. Chris thought she could hardly weigh more than one hundred pounds. Her once rich, dark hair that flowed down succulently across her shoulders and down over her full, perfectly-balanced breasts was now cut shoulder length and wrenched back into a small pony tail. It was thin, flat, and appeared oily on her skull. Her breasts lost their energy, and what he could see under her baggy top drooped low into her midsection. Her skin was almost pure white and pasty as if it hadn't been touched by sunlight for many years. Her eyes appeared sunken deep inside the sockets as if death was rehearsing on her.

  Chris stood there at the airport restlessly searching the crowd for any sign of her when she tapped his arm and beamed up at him.

  "It couldn't be, could it?” he thought. His eyes denied that this gaunt, almost revolting, figure could possibly be his daughter.

  He now felt ashamed for instinctively recoiling and stepping away from her. Her eyebrows were strangely non-existent and in their place were two penciled-in, almost comical looking, lines. If not for the loose, ill-fitting clothes she wore, her image screamed prostitute. It was all he could to hold himself back from gasping at the time. It was only after searching deep into her mottled charcoal and blue eyes, surrounded by far too much make-up, that he spotted the identifiable scar across the bridge of her nose from her fall at one of his construction sites when she was eleven. He was finally convinced that this really was his Arlene.

  Chris raised his hands in the air and instructed everyone to remain seated. He sensed the immediate tension rise in the room. Even though he had retired long ago, Chris never lost his ability to command a room when dissension was aroused. The skill became necessary for him early on when he took over the family businesses.

  "I know none of you expected to see Arlene here today, but God damn it, Vincent was her son. I expect each one of you to hold your tongues and give Arlene some respect while she's here. I called her up and asked her to come out, and I don't want to see any bullshit from any one of you over the next few days. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Really, dad?" Charlie replied immediately. "You want me to bite my tongue after what she did?"

  "God damn it, yes! Look at you mother. She's not well and doesn't need the lot of you starting something that's going to upset her."

  Everyone turned towards Anita who stood by the door to the kitchen rolling one hand over the other. She smiled sheepishly and nodded her agreement.

  "I'm sorry, Arlene, but I told you this is what you should expect from this bunch," Chris said.

  Charlie shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just saying..."

  "You'll say nothing!" Chris interjected. "Not in front of your mother and certainly not in front of your child."

  Charlie looked briefly at his son and then at his wife. He snickered. “Darrel's not a kid anymore, dad. He's twenty-seven."

  Chris raised his hands in the air in frustration. "I don't care how damn old he is! You'll say nothing about the past while Arlene is here. Now come, Arlene. Have a seat." He ushered Arlene over towards a vacant spot on the edge of the couch.

  Arlene ignored her father's instruction and instead made her way across the room towards her mother. She stopped next to her mother, and a few tears crawled slowly down her cheeks.

  "Mom," she said. "I missed you so much." She opened her arms out wide.

  Anita responded by hugging her daughter tightly. "It is so good to see you here right in front of me. It's been much too long." They wept as the others in the room stared in disbelief and confusion at Chris and Anita’s sudden acceptance of this reclusive member of the family.

  CHAPTER 19 Day Three - Sunday 12:05 PM

  Vincent sat on his knees and pressed his palms down deep into the cool mud.

  "Shit! This hurts so freaking much! Oh my god! Oh my God!"

  After a few minutes, he lifted his painful hands from the mud and brought them up close to his face. He tried to see how much damage had been done, but it was much too dark for him to see anything. He knew that if he could see his hands, he'd see a deep red colour of the rope burns etched into his palms and fingers.

  "What the hell was I doing thinking I could climb up there? Jesus, I'm so stupid!"

  He made it nearly a third of the way up the rope on his third try before his arms gave out and he slipped down, burning his hands in the process.

  "Damn, this hurts!"

  His pushed his hands back into the mud again and the cooling relief returned to his palms. He'd have to figure a different way to get to the top.

  His feet were the problem. He had the same problem in high school. He had no idea how to use his feet to lock himself onto the rope to prevent himself from sliding downward each time he slid his arms up higher. He was using only arm power, one hand over the other, and he just did not have the arm strength. He made it about fifteen feet easily, but he struggled above that.

  He even tried stretching his legs out to the sides so the tips of Aaron’s boots sat on the ridges of the stones in the wall as he pushed himself higher, but the boots were too bulky, and his feet kept slipping off the stones.

  He sat down on the stool and pulled the last bottle of water out from the bag. He cracked it opened and carefully rinsed the mud from each palm being certain to not use any more water than necessary. He pressed each of his sore, but now clean, palms to his lips and was pleased to discover that at least the skin, though roughened badly, was not broken and bloody on either hand.

  As the fresh water on his palms touched his lips, his stomach reacted with a terrible cramp that felt as if he had been bitten from the inside. He couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed the bottle and quickly slugged back two large swallows. The water flowed down the back of his throat, and he nearly swooned with delight; water never tasted so good. He placed the cap back on and held the bottle high above his head and could see that nearly half the bottle was gone.

  "So good! Oh, man! That was so damned good!"

  He placed the bottle back into the bag and shoved the bag back against the wall. As he let go of the bag, his fingers brushed across a small metal tag.

  A zipper?

  This was Aaron's bag. He pulled the bag back, and felt around the outside of the bag for the tag he touched. He soon discovered two zippered pockets, one on each end. He unzipped the first one and shoved his hand deep inside. His fingers touched something and he wrapped his hand around it. Aaron's wallet.

  "What a Moron," Vincent called out and laughed.

  He let go of the wallet and found some other papers inside. Then his hands fell on Aaron's cell phone.

  "No way!" he shouted with excitemen
t. He quickly fiddled with the phone and the screen lit up. He could barely contain himself with delight as he carefully keyed in his home number and hit SEND. He held the phone pressed tight to his ear and waited. Seconds passed by, but he heard nothing.

  "What the...?" He dropped the phone from his ear and looked at the display. "NO SIGNAL" flashed in front of him.

  "Shit!" He stood up and lifted the phone high above his head, but it was no better. There just wasn't any signal this far down the well.

  "Damn it!" he yelled. He turned the phone off to conserve the battery and shoved it back into the pocket. He felt around some more, but there was nothing else inside. It disturbed him that Aaron hadn’t come back for his wallet and cell phone. He let the thought go as he’d given both his own phone and wallet over to Aaron.

  He unzipped the other pocket and reached down to the bottom.

  "Ouch!" He quickly pulled his hand from the pocket and stuck his fingers into his mouth. He could taste blood. There was something sharp in the pocket. He sucked on his finger for a moment and rolled his tongue across the cut surface. It was definitely a cut, but it was small and superficial.

  He reached back into the pocket, careful of whatever broke his skin, and pulled out a wooden-handled knife almost eight inches long. He could feel that the knife had a wide and durable serrated blade that curved down slightly at the tip. Vincent immediately recognized the blade. This was the knife Aaron showed him a few weeks ago. It was the one he used at work to slice and cut sod.

  Vincent's mood shifted.

  With Aaron's knife in hand, he held a firm and solid hope of rescue. But it wasn’t hope for rescue from above him. He turned and placed one hand on the cold stones that lined the well and felt around until his fingers landed on the gap between two stones. The knife slipped easily into the gap between the stones, which were dry laid so water could easily flow in and fill the well. He chipped away vigorously between the rocks, and in a few minutes he could feel one of the smaller stones loosening where it rested in the wall.