Primordial

Chapter 23

Old Mo sat outside his shack, face turned up to the clouds. Bad weather was coming. Not for a couple of days, probably, but storms were on the way. He could smell it on the wind, a gift he had inherited from his grandfather. Or perhaps he’d learned it. It was long enough ago that he couldn’t remember. He smelled wood smoke on the air too, and pine scents from the forest. The lake mud was a constant and, for Mo, reassuring aroma. The water was a good three hundred yards from his home, but its presence made itself felt in all the senses. He looked down from the overcast sky with a frown.

Something else hung in the ether that he was less able to identify, but whatever it was, it made him nervous. Those two Americans had put him on edge, left him unsettled since their visit. No, she was American. The guy was from somewhere else, but Mo couldn’t place where exactly. Not British. Australia maybe, or New Zealand. It didn’t matter, the lake was sometimes subject to visitors, and they rarely did any good except bring a few tourist dollars into town. But those two were different and, if his instincts were correct, quite possibly would have a lasting effect on the place. Old Mo would prefer they didn’t. He liked things to stay the same. Change of any kind was not something he relished.

He returned to carving, the small but detailed wooden animals a small source of income from the few shops in town that took the items on consignment. He pressed the sharp edge of the knife against the firm bark, stripping off long, curling slivers and baring the white wood beneath. Soon a recognizable shape would emerge, and then his cuts would become smaller and more precise, until something special appeared. He liked to imagine he wasn’t so much shaping the figure as he was uncovering it, like an archaeologist unearthing an artifact… or opening a grave.

He worked with a deft hand, never cutting himself. He loved knife work, whether it was whittling or something more visceral, like cleaning a fish or field-dressing a deer. It was honest work, simple and effective, and something else for which he had a gift.

He heard someone coming, their footsteps heavy through the trees. It was the walk of someone angry. A shadow appeared, resolving into a familiar shape as it drew closer. Mo sighed as Superintendent Rinne strode up to the cabin.

“It’s happening again!” the policeman said, eyes dark.

Another sigh. “What is?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you know exactly what. They talked to you yet?”

Mo had never liked Rinne, and the man had yet to do anything to change that opinion. “Who?”

Rinne scowled and ground the toe of his boot into the soft dirt. The man was far too easy to annoy. “The nature documentary film crew. If you believe that’s what they really are.”

Mo put down his work and leaned back, the old chair creaking on the wooden porch. “As a matter of fact, they came by yesterday.”

Rinne’s eyes narrowed. “What did you talk about?”

“Why do you care? Are private conversations now a matter of public record?” Mo saw no reason to make things easy on the man. Rinne had certainly never done anything to make Mo’s life better.

Rinne shook his head. “Just answer a few questions for me. Let’s not make this official.”

Mo laughed. As if the bastard had any reason to arrest him. But he played along. “They asked about nature. About the lake, the surrounding area, getting a few stories to flesh out their film. My usual sort of conversation.”

Rinne raised his chin a notch, not quite meeting Mo’s eye. “And the monster?”

Mo chuckled. “Of course. Everyone asks about the monster.”

Rinne stood chewing his lip for a moment, lost in thought. Let him stand there in silence. Any moment he wasn’t speaking was a blessing. The man was not his father by a far sight. What a loss that had been.

Mo stared through the trees in the direction of the lake. If the sun hit the water it could be seen from the shack, but this day was too gloomy and the trees closed in leaving shadows and an iron grey horizon that may or may not have been Lake Kaarme. A dark day for the dark thoughts a visit from Rinne always brought.

“It’s happening again,” Rinne said eventually.

“So you said.” Mo stood, sheathed his knife, and stretched lazily, turning away from Rinne.

“Well?” Rinne took a step forward.

“Well what?” Mo snapped. “It happens nearly every year, one way or another. As you well know.”

“It’s more than that!” Rinne spat. “And you know it.” He folded his arms as a sly grin crept across his face. “What exactly do you know about it, eh? What monster stories are you planning to spread this year?”

Mo seethed, the policeman doing his usual worst at public relations. “You tried to pin this foolishness on me before,” Mo said. “Nothing would stick then and it won’t stick now, because I have nothing to do with it.”

“Are you sure? Living out here like a hermit, removed from town, far enough to get away with whatever you like but near enough to have a steady supply of victims?”

Mo surged forward to stand nose to nose with the lawman. He might be thirty years senior to Rinne, but he had no doubt he could flatten the officious bastard if he chose to. “What about you? Trying to point the finger at me to make sure no one pays too close attention to what you’re up to? Hiding behind your fucking badge!”

Rinne tipped his chin up. “Want to hit me, old man? Go ahead!”

“And give you a reason to arrest me? Why don’t you hit me first? Then it’s self-defense and you’ve got no case.”

“And you have no witnesses!” Rinne tapped his badge. “My word carries more weight than yours. Never forget that.”

The two men stood almost close enough to kiss each other, fury burning between them. Mo wanted so badly to haul off and knock the superintendent out, but he was old enough and smart enough to curb his rage.

Rinne snorted and turned away, took a couple of steps toward the lake. “They’ve lost a member of their crew.”

Mo frowned at the lawman’s sudden change of tack. “Is that so? Not anyone essential, I hope.”

“It’s a small crew. I assume they consider everyone essential. The man up and left without warning a couple of days ago. They say he went to town and never came back, but they can’t find his boat in the harbor or anywhere out on the water.”

“That’s a conundrum all right.”

Rinne turned back to face Mo. “Do you know anything about that?”

Mo laughed. “Of course not. You really don’t give up, do you?”

Rinne turned to stare between the trees again. Mo had never seen him quite like this. There was something else on his mind, some burden he didn’t usually carry. Was it guilt? Anger? Rinne was a notoriously hard book to read, always had been.

“I sent Pieter to snoop around their boat last night,” Rinne said, almost too quietly to hear.

Mo said nothing, waiting to see where this was going.

“He hasn’t come back yet,” Rinne said.

“Pieter Lehtonen?” Mo asked. “Your own brother-in-law? You sent him out on the lake at night? At this time of year?”

Rinne turned sharply and strode back up to Mo. He grabbed a handful of Mo’s shirt. “You’re always skulking about. Sticking your nose into everything. What the hell do you know about what’s happening?” he demanded.

“If you’re feeling guilty, that’s not my problem,” Mo shot back. He grabbed Rinne’s hand and twisted it, his heavy shirt tearing loudly, but he didn’t care. “Get your paws off me!”

Rinne yelped in pain at his wrenched wrist and swung a punch with his free hand. Mo managed to deflect it with a quickly raised forearm and then punched out, unable to hold his anger in check any longer. The blow glanced off Rinne’s cheekbone and the policeman staggered backward. He growled and charged forward, drove his shoulder into Mo’s chest and his arms around the old man’s waist, and they slammed to the dirt. They rolled and yelled at each other, traded blows and grapples, neither man really gaining any advantage.

The Superintendent was strong, but Mo was stronger, and he half-pushed, half-lifted Rinne off and rolled over, slamming an elbow into the policeman’s head as they tipped. Rinne stayed down, a pained groan escaping as he curled up briefly, and Mo staggered back up to his feet. He was dizzy, too old for this shit, but he was not a feeble man. Rinne recovered enough of his wits to kick out, catching Mo a glancing blow to the groin. Mo let out a pained grunt, staggered to the side, and lashed out with a kick of his own. He struck a glancing blow to Rinne’s ribs as the policeman rolled over and scrambled to his feet. Mo crouched, prepared to defend himself, as Rinne tensed, ready to re-engage, but the Superintendent sneered and took a step back.

“I could arrest you right now, you know,” Rinne said.

“Do it, then,” Mo said through clenched teeth. “See if I’m not out again before morning.” He pointed to his left eye, already swelling and no doubt blackening. “Police brutality! I have plenty of friends in town.”

The men stared at each other for several tense moments, their mutual hatred unchecked. Eventually Rinne stood straight and brushed himself off. “I’ll be watching you very closely,” he said. “And I will be back to ask you more questions.”

“And no doubt I still won’t have anything to tell you. Really, Rinne, your own brother-in-law?”

Anger flashed once more across Rinne’s face, and he pushed it aside with a small laugh and shook his head. “We’ll all be better off when you finally grow old enough to die,” he said.

Mo returned the laughter, genuinely surprised at the nastiness of the sentiment. It seemed to be a theme lately. From anyone else, he might take it personally. “If the townsfolk were to be polled and asked whether they’d prefer to see me gone or you, I don’t think you’d like the answer. You’ll never escape your father’s shadow.”

Mo thought Rinne might attack him again, but the officer merely shook his head and turned away. As he walked off through the trees, Mo couldn’t help himself and called out, “Good luck explaining things next time you see your sister!”

Rinne turned, scowling. “You leave Adalina out of this!”

Mo raised his palms to either side and smiled. Rinne spat and stalked back toward town.