The Totem

Prologue Beta Timeline: 1866   The hanging tree looms in the light of a half moon. Up the winding path from the creek, the Thorpe House is dark and ominous. Horses stir in the carriage house by the main road, but no one is afoot. To the south by the waterfall, the new mill rises up like a black fortress in the night. The distant sound of the cascading water calms my weary mind but only for a moment. I approach the tree from the creek side, hiding my presence from any possible vantage point on the grounds. The large branch where I last saw my mother’s body writhing in its death throes hangs directly above me, and a shudder rakes through my core. I dig in the soft earth, but before making any headway, a lantern emerges from darkness by the bunkhouse. My hand reflexively moves to the revolver at my belt. I crouch to the earth and slowly crawl backward into a nearby oak grove, where I lie still watching the light. It’s too far into the darkness to discern who the lantern holder is, but it must be the lord of this godforsaken estate. To my relief, he goes back into the bunkhouse and puts out the light. Her murder eleven years ago was seared into my ten-year-old brain. “May God bless your soul,” Thorpe said as he kicked the crates out from underneath my mother. She fell with her feet stopping just above the ground, then kicked and thrashed about violently for several seconds before hanging limp with her head down and her beautiful, long black hair splayed over her face. My hands form tight fists as I creep deeper into the trees. Eventually, I come to a mature oak standing apart from the others. I look back through the darkness and see the silhouette of the hanging tree in the moonlight. This place will be as good as any. I dig quickly, making a deep hole in the rich soil around the tree. I remove the angel bone pendant from my neck and place it in the velvet-lined granite box I had specially made in Chicago. My fingers gently rub the polished stone. It’s my last attachment to her―my last physical connection to her memory. I love you, Mother. May the Great Spirit protect you always. I hold the box briefly above the hole and take a deep breath. Then my new canine friend, Jason, emerges from the trees. He’s anxious, turning and running away from the bunkhouse and then running back as though he wants me to follow. Jason must have sensed Thorpe’s approach, for as I turn back toward the hanging tree, I see the man’s formidable shape in the dark, holding the lantern in his left hand. He stoops over, looking at the ground I disturbed under the hanging tree, and then follows my trail like an expert tracker to the edge of my grove. His right hand goes to his revolver, which he pulls out by his side. Well, Mother, perhaps this is as good a time as any. I put the granite box in my coat pocket and stand with my gun held firmly in place, ready to shoot the bastard. I have a clear line of sight, but Jason barks furiously, and before I can stop him, he runs straight for Thorpe through the trees. I fear he’ll be shot, but Thorpe can’t get his lantern around fast enough to see where he’s coming from. “Aww! You damn dog, get the hell out of here!” Thorpe says. There’s a scuffle, and then I hear Jason cry out in pain. Ulysses, bury the pendant. More voices in my head … Will they ever stop? My heart is racing so hard; I can’t possibly make an accurate shot. Bury the pendant now! I place the granite box in the hole and silently replace all the dirt, brushing leaves over the disturbed earth. Thorpe has recovered from Jason’s attack and entered the grove. He’s heading straight my way. I stand partially behind the tree for cover. The light from the lantern is too thin for Thorpe to see me, but I can see his full, dark silhouette behind his outstretched arm. I fire my revolver at his heart and hear a metallic clink. The bullet ricochets into Thorpe’s right arm, and the lantern falls to the ground. The light goes out. “I’m going to kill you, you little bastard!” Thorpe says in complete darkness now. I hear his heavy breathing as he rushes toward my hiding spot. Panic shudders through my body. I fire a second round into the blackness. Then Thorpe’s massive chest crushes me to the ground. He grinds the barrel of his gun into my skull, just above my right ear. “May God bless your soul,” he says. Part I Beta Timeline: 2017   Chapter 1 It was May 1, 1845. I saw her, Isabelle, in the pains of labor right there in front of me. I occupied the personality of Fredrick Adams, the worrisome father, holding my breath with every scream, hoping to God Isabelle would survive the birth and the baby would be all right. The episode was no less real than the birth of my own son. ―journal of Gaius Bjornson   My cell phone rings. I find it under my book by the clock that reads 2:07 a.m. The caller ID says, “Sam.” She might be in trouble. It wouldn’t be the first time she drank too much and didn’t trust the guy with her. But then my head clears. She’s taking care of my dog, Daisy, while I’m in Chicago for a seminar. My fingers are trembling as I swipe the answer button. Sam is crying uncontrollably. I can understand nothing she’s saying, but I already know―a part of my life is gone. Eventually she calms down enough to explain: she’s calling me from the veterinary hospital. She found Daisy, my beautiful nine-year-old golden retriever, lying on the bathroom floor. She wasn’t breathing. They got to the emergency facility about five minutes ago, Sam says, and the vet just confirmed that Daisy died, probably because of a type of cancer that attacks the heart. Apparently, goldens are susceptible to this when they’re older, but there’s no way we could have known. Sam tells me she played with Daisy all day and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Sam’s puppy, Finn, gave Daisy the runaround like he always does. Daisy dominated Finn in size—he’s only three months old—but she never overpowered him. She possessed gentleness, even when dealing with a rambunctious puppy who wanted nothing more than to bite her ear off. God, I can’t believe I’m already thinking about her in the past tense. I grab onto happy memories to stave off the inevitable pain, envisioning Daisy turning away from Finn as he tries to nip at her neck. She pushes her butt into his face and then looks over at me as if to ask, “How much longer do you want me to entertain this creature?” Now I see Daisy lying on her side up on my bed at home, looking over her shoulder, wanting me to pet her and getting annoyed because I’m pretending not to notice. She softly growls for attention, and I finally succumb, rubbing her belly in just the right place to make her back leg scratch at the air like crazy. Then she nuzzles up by my side … She’s such a good girl. Sam’s talking, but I absorb nothing until she tells me they can’t keep Daisy at the facility. I won’t be able to get back from Chicago for a few hours. There’s no way for me to say goodbye. She asks me if I want to keep Daisy’s ashes. I nod my head but can’t speak. She gently asks again. My chest heaves. “Yes … and tell Daisy I love her,” I say. Sam isn’t able to respond. She finally calms herself enough to tell me she’ll call me back later. The phone cuts off. I’m sitting up in bed in the dark. Out my window, the city lights frame the towering silhouettes of the downtown skyscrapers. The distant rumble of the train passes below, and a chill rises through my core.