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Ashley’s View

Tim Pompey

August 21, 2008, 7:03 P.M.

    “Goddang it all to hell,” Jeff Dunn swore as he tripped on a root. He heard his voice echo through the trees like some invisible twin. It was August in Tennessee and hot – boiling hot. Tall and wiry, a veteran of highway crews and construction sites, Jeff’s face was taut and burnt from years of hard labor, booze, and cigarettes. His greying hair was disheveled, his T-shirt torn and streaked. Today, as he shuffled through this endless forest, the heat and humidity made him look like a lost refugee.
    Ever since he read the headline last week in The Mountain Press – High School Girl Vanishes – he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep. The news had resurrected long buried memories of what he’d known these last three decades – memories about Ashley.
    Now, haunted by the news story, he wondered if Ashley had returned to remind him about the one mysterious night they spent together twenty-eight years ago. Was it her spirit that compelled him to thrash about here among the nettles, mosquitoes, and thick bushes? Jeff wiped his brow and kept scouring the brush. He knew her hiding place was close by, that outcrop of rock she called “Ashley’s View.”
    He also knew he must find her, bring help, take her home. Easier said than done. At this moment, the trail eluded him like a skittish deer avoiding a hunter. Yet, he pushed on, knowing he would have no peace until he found her. Thirty years had passed, but the road, the river, the mountain, all still here. The question remained: Was she?
    Jeff took a moment to survey the woods. He could hear the faint rush of the Little Pigeon Creek. “Shit, I got no idea,” he muttered as he sat on a stump and hoped for something familiar to jog his memory. “Come on, Ashley,” he implored. “If you want this, you gotta help me.”
    In a tree about twenty-five feet to his left, a small glint caught his eye. Metal or glass, he wasn’t sure, but the angle of the late afternoon sun caught the reflection. Jeff felt a twinge of recognition, then a mountain of fear. Slowly, as he stood up and inched forward, he remembered what she said to him when they first ventured into this same forest: I made these things called mobiles from old pieces of colored glass –
    Up in the tree, those same mobiles danced in the breeze. Colored shards, burnt orange, irregular shapes, about the size of a fist. They seemed alive in the warm evening air. More of them strung along a line of maples. She had answered him with his first clue. She had given him direction. Now he felt a growing sense of dread. He had no choice but to follow.
    Jeff huffed his way upward and recognized the opening to the ledge. A small passage, quite overgrown. Two pine trees bent and twisted into the shape of the devil’s gazebo. He remembered how grotesque they had looked when he first saw them in the dark.
    “Oh, Lordy,” he mumbled.
    Through that opening into my own little universe, she had told him.
    He sensed he was being watched. By angels, demons, perhaps Ashley herself adrift in the branches. The sun was near setting. He needed the remaining daylight to confirm his mission. Taking a deep breath, he shielded his face and plunged through.
    In the clearing he saw a plateau with layered rock smooth and curved at its edge. It dropped off about fifty feet to the forest floor. Stretched across a small valley, brushed by the blue haze that hung over this Tennessee forest, he recognized it. Ashley’s View. Except now the blue had turned the color of campfire coals – shades of burnt orange and lava.
    Jeff knew time was short. He turned to face the black cave, mustered his courage, and approached the hole. At the entrance, he bent down and peered in. There she was. Ashley. The bones of her body still where he’d left her: stretched out, clothes removed and folded. Jeff walked over, reached out, and stroked her skull.
    “You been waitin here real nice, darling.”
    Jeff cleaned up the cave and unfolded the bed roll he had brought with him. He had come prepared to spend a repentant night. Tomorrow he’d tell the Sheriff where she was. For now, he was glad for this one last night with her. It was the least he could do. Besides, led by her spirit, within reach of her remains, he believed Ashley was happy to have him back.
    

August 26, 1980, 11:07 P.M.

    Finally. Quitting time. The last of the tourists had wandered out the door. Jeff finished with his nightly cleanup and hurried to escape his KFC prison.
    Chicken frying. Jeff’s summer job on the way to some type of future, though what that might be, he had little clue. Not really a college guy, he’d been cut loose by his recent high school graduation. Now he spent his days and nights feeding hungry customers.
    It had been a long shift. His fingers were cut and sore from breaking and battering chicken and his hands and arms bore the usual burns from working with half a dozen deep fryers. He threw his apron into a bin and stepped out into the muggy night. For a minute, he lingered by the back door and smoked a cigarette. Then he loosened the buttons on his shirt and stretched his arms. Tomorrow was his day off.
    Reba Regan, the regular back counter girl, brushed by him. “Hey, Jeff. Going out?”
    “Hell, yeah,” Jeff said. “I’m sick a here. Time for some fun. Least a night’s worth anyway.”
    She smiled and wagged her finger. “Well, don’t you be driving crazy on them back roads.”
    “What? Ya ain’t comin with me?”
    “Not tonight honey. You’re scary.” She paused for a moment and gave Jeff a mischievous grin. “And besides, I’m married with kids. You don’t want to hang out with an ol’ lady like me.”
    Jeff eyed her and rubbed his chin. “Don’t be too sure a that.”
    “I’m sure enough,” she said.
    Jeff watched her get into her car. As she drove out of the lot and waved, he wondered what she might be like in the sack.
    Gazing up at the full moon, he shook off these thoughts and marched toward his souped up burnt orange ‚70 Chevy Nova SS. Big spoiler on the front hood, black racing stripes, roll bars and mags. His baby.
    Throttling up the engine, he enjoyed the rumble for 30 seconds or so, lit another cigarette, ignored his seat belt, and punched his favorite Allman Brothers album, Eat a Peach, into his new cassette player. The opening roll of Greg Allman’s piano blasted out. Strains of “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More” began to bounce around the car. His exact sentiment. He cranked up the volume.
    Jeff rolled out of the driveway and turned left. On Parkway, he peeled rubber and picked up speed. The music escaped through his open windows and rattled against all the tourist shops. He motored past the city limits on Highway 441 headed for Ed’s birthday party in Waldens Creek.
    The moon was round as a giant white pie and very bright. It made the black summits of the surrounding hills shimmer with pale silver frosting. Jeff loved these summer nights, when the earth was caught between the wane of summer and the birth of autumn. It inspired him to drive recklessly. His left hand held the steering wheel with two fingers. His right hand held the erotic stick shift as he might his own cock. A beer was nuzzled between his thighs.
    Eleven thirty or so, he arrived to a party already in full swing. Ed’s place was an old two story farm house backed up against a corn field. Tonight it was lit up like a roman candle. Cars were parked haphazardly on the lawn, such as it was: weed infested, littered with old farm equipment and the remnants of a rusted auto chassis. The noise of party goers, bolstered by liquor and Lynard Skynard, could be heard several miles down the road. Jeff gingerly maneuvered his Nova through the scrap metal and parked. Ed, beer in hand, waved at him to come in.
    “Hey, Ed,” Jeff said. “Happy 21^st birthday.”
    Ed was already one sheet to the wind. “Thanks, buddy. Come on in, let’s get started.” He let out a war whoop and threw himself through the front door. A cheer rose from the crowd inside.
    Jeff stepped on the porch and received an immediate shout from Rosie Parton, one of his high school classmates. “Jeff!” she screamed and threw herself into his half-raised arms.
    Regular drinking buddies, occasional backseat lovers, Jeff and Rosie had remained intimate friends. He laughed as she wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to his shoulders. “Whoa, Rosie. I just got here. Take it easy.”
    “Easy, hell,” Rosie said. She jumped down and crooked a finger at him. “You and me, darling, I’m gonna work you over good.” She shook her well-endowed breasts back and forth. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
    Jeff followed her into the house. Already, he felt lucky.

August 22, 2008, 8:01 P.M.

    The Sheriff’s office was dark at this hour. The occasional squawk of a radio, a few deputy voices, some doors banging.
    Jeff waited in a chair outside Sheriff “Moose” Gibson’s office and thought about what he might say. Already he questioned whether he should have called this morning and wondered what trouble he was about to be unleash on himself. He leaned forward in his chair and rubbed his stubbled chin like a man awaiting a judge’s sentence.
    The Sheriff appeared through the main entrance at 8:02 smartly dressed in his uniform. A man in his 60’s, he was still handsome: square face, grey hair combed straight back, clean shaven, stocky. His black glossy shoes clicked in rhythm as he marched past Jeff, opened his office door, and invited him in. As Jeff entered, Sheriff Gibson nodded. “Evening Jeff.”
    Gibson removed his uniform jacket and placed it just so on his coat rack. He turned and walked back to his executive desk, complete with a large brass name plate that read: Charles “Moose” Gibson, Sheriff, Sevier County. He sat down and took a moment to observe Jeff. Then, hands folded, he spoke. “Well, now, haven’t seen you in awhile.”
    Gibson knew Jeff. As a young Deputy stationed at Waldens Creek, he had busted him several times for vandalism, drunkenness, typical things that rowdy boys engage in.
    “What’s this I hear about Ashley? You say you know where she is?”
    Jeff’s eyes surveyed the floor. “Yessir, I do.”
    Gibson swiveled in his chair like a clock pendulum and locked his fingers in his lap. “Well now, exactly what do you know? Twenty-eight years is a long time to be missing. She come back to town?”
    “She never left.”
    “That so?”
    “She’s –” Jeff paused as if the word on his tongue had caught in his throat.
    “Spit it out, son. You got my attention.”
    “She’s . . . dead.”
    Gibson stopped swiveling. “You know this for certain?”
    “Yessir. I know where she is. I can take you there.”
    Gibson picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk.
    “Okay, so she’s dead and you know where she is. Is it safe to assume you were there when she died?”
    “Yessir.”
    “And when was this?”
    Jeff shifted in his chair and stroked his chin. “Somewhere round 1980. August, I believe.”
    Gibson leaned back with his arms crossed. “1980? Goddang it all, you been sitting on this for that long?”
    Jeff nodded.
    Gibson shifted forward and placed his big hands flat on his desk. “All right. Twenty-eight years ago. So? Where is she?”
    “Up on a bluff above Red Bank Road.”
    “Did you kill her?”
    Jeff winced and shook his head. “No, sir. I did not.”
    “Well then, how’d she die?”
    Jeff put his head between his hands. “I don’t know. I . . . I can’t be sure.”
    “Why not?”
    “Cause we were, you know, fooling around that night and then I went to sleep and when I woke up, she’s not breathin.”
    “You’re saying she just up and died?”
    Jeff dropped his hands and folded them between his legs. For the first time, he looked up at Gibson.
    “That’s the way it seems to me. Dunno why, but that’s the truth.”
    “Didn’t think to come down and get help?”
    “I was panicked. I didn’t think anyone would believe me if I told what happened.”
    Gibson gave Jeff a hard stare. “You two lovers, boyfriend, girlfriend maybe?”
    “No, sir. I wasn’t with her or anyone else, not steady anyway. We was just looking for a good time. That’s all. Something went wrong and before I know it, she’s dead.”
    Gibson folded his hands on his desk and frowned. “Well, you left her up there for almost thirty years. Doesn’t say much for you now, does it?”
    “No, sir. Worst thing I ever done. It’s why I finally went back. You know, news the other day bout that high school girl got me thinking.”
    The Sheriff paused. “How’d you find her?”
    “I went back and looked. Truth be told –” Jeff’s voice softened. “I think maybe she led me back. I think she helped me.”
    “You telling me her ghost led you to her grave?”
    “Maybe. I ain’t superstitious and I can’t explain it. Just a feeling, I guess.”
    “Uh-huh.” Gibson reached for his pencil and cleared his throat. “Well, for certain, we’re gonna check this out. I would advise you, don’t leave town for the next few weeks.”
    He reached for his phone and dialed. Someone at the other end picked up. Gibson’s bass voice resonated in the office. “Dick, I need a crew tomorrow, first thing, say nine A.M. Can you get your folks together and meet me here at the office? Right. That’s right. We’re recovering a body. Not sure yet, but I’ll get the crime scene folks to go with you. Maybe. Maybe. Young girl, bout eighteen. No, not the Melkin girl. Someone else. Right, thanks, Dick. Uh-huh. See you tomorrow.”
    He hung up the phone.
    “Hear that Jeff? Nine A.M. tomorrow. I’m going to assume you’ll be here cause I’m sending a car to pick you up. What’s your address?”
    “914 East McMahon Road. It’s in that trailer park over by the old Blue Ridge Motel. I’ll be there, Sheriff. No problem.”
    Gibson scribbled notes on a pad. “Oh, it’s a problem, Jeff. If she’s where you say she is and you were with her when she died, it’s a big problem.”
    “Yessir. I know how it sounds. If I was in your shoes, I’d be wondering.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    Jeff stood up and tried to shake the Sheriff’s hand. Gibson ignored the gesture. Jeff turned and opened the door.
    “So, Jeff –” Gibson said.
    “Yessir?”
    “Better get an attorney.”
    
    June 7, 1980, 5:52 P.M.

    June hollered from the back bedroom of her small trailer. “Ashley, hon, Where’s my new dress?”
    June Hendricks, mother to 18-year-old daughter Ashley, was due to be at the front desk of the Pigeon Forge Guest Suites for her normal 6:00 P.M. shift. As of now, half-dressed and driven by agitation, she was running late.
    “Ashley!”
    Ashley, equally annoyed by the desperation in her mother’s voice, yelled back. “What, Mother?”
    “My new dress. It was just here this morning in my closet. It don’t have legs to walk. Where is it?”
    “Well, maybe it grew wings and flew.”
    “Come on, daughter. I’m late. I need to get dressed.”
    “Try the hook on the bathroom door.”
    June scooted into the bathroom. There, hanging on the back door, her new dress.
    “Thank you,” she hollered.
    “You’re welcome,” Ashley replied with equal force.
    Anxious and nearly out of breath, June threw on the dress. She paused long enough to look in the mirror and check her makeup. Some crow’s feet and a few extra pounds on her five-foot four frame, but thanks to a good stylist in Pigeon Forge, her blond hair curled nicely around her shoulders. She put the finishing touches on her face, donned the navy blue blazer with the hotel’s insignia on the pocket, and rushed down the hallway.
    “Late, late. Mr. McQuarty is not going to be happy.”
     Ashley listened to June hustle around the house and twirled a strand of spaghetti on her fork. “Mr. McQuarty’s a toad.”
    “He might be,” her mother replied, “but he pays my salary and puts food on that plate.”
    Ashley made a face.
    June stopped for a moment to gaze at her daughter. Despite the fact Ashley was eighteen and quite capable of taking care of herself, she felt a twinge of guilt about leaving her alone on a Saturday night.
    “Where you going tonight?”
    “Becky invited me to go to some fancy smancy party.”
    “Fine,” June said as she rushed out the door. “Don’t be out too late.”
    She ran to her car, a rusty brown Pinto with a cracked front passenger window. After several attempts to fire it up, the beast kicked in and belched smoke out the tail pipe. You could follow her smoky trail as June rolled down Dogwood Lane and turned left on Gate Road.

    
    Around 7:30, Becky Blalock pulled up to the house in her blue VW Bug. With her long legs, black Satin dress, red high heels, and manicured auburn hair, Becky was definitely out to make an impression. She called out, “Ashley?”
    “Be just a minute,” Ashley replied as she hurried into the bathroom.
    As usual, Ashley had raided her mom’s closet, swiping a pink cocktail top and a shiny pair of black high heels. From her own dresser, she grabbed her favorite pair of dress blue jeans, the ones with the leather eagle sewn on the back pocket. Her long blond hair was combed straight and hung loosely around her shoulders. After a quick once over in the mirror, she hurried out and jumped into Becky’s VW.
    “Right,” Ashley said. “Now. What’s this party we’re going to?”
    Becky, who worked as a receptionist for a local attorney, talked fast and used plenty of body drama. “Rick Carlyle’s house. Very shi shi.”
    “This one of your attorney friends?”
    “Well, not mine personally. He’s friends with my boss. They went to law school together. He came in the other day and just surprised me. You know how attorneys can get. Kind of flirty and all. Then out of the blue, he says, ‚You like parties?’ And I say, ‚Why sure,’ and there he is giving me an address and everything. Even says in this real sexy voice, ‚Bring a friend if you want.’ Ooo, I’m tellin’ you, I coulda died right there. If he’d laid me out, I would have done whatever he asked, what-ev-er, even if he is married.”
    Ashley grinned. “You’re terrible.”
    “Yes, I am,” Becky laughed. “Specially where he’s concerned.”
    They drove for a moment in silence.
    “So,” Ashley said, “what’s the occasion?”
    “His 40^th birthday. My boss will be there too. The way I see it, I think Rick just wants to check me out. I say let him.” Becky giggled and fanned her face.
    At the Carlyles, the long gravel driveway was lit on each side with decorative lamps. It merged into a large concrete circle with a fountain in the middle. A valet waited to park their car.
    “Oooo,” Becky cooed to Ashley. “Nice, huh?”
    A crowd gathered on the patio, many with drinks in hand. Becky spotted her boss, Frank Ogle, defense attorney and founding partner of the firm Ogle, Hanson, and Grimaldi. He noticed Becky and made a beeline. “Well, hello there, Becky. How are you?”
    “I’m fine, thank you. Frank, this is my friend, Ashley Hendricks.”
    “Hello Mr. Ogle,” Ashley said.
    “Hello, Ashley,” Frank replied as he brushed past her and grabbed Becky’s arm. “Now my dear, let me show you around.”
    Becky waved at Ashley and disappeared among the guests. Ashley felt as if she’d just been stranded on another planet.

    
    The party broke up around 11.
    Becky found Ashley by herself in a patio chair smoking a cigarette. Becky was breathless. “Well, what’d you think?”
     Ashley had talked to a few people, none of whom she would ever care to meet again. She did not mince words. “Well, the house is nice, the food is great, but the people suck. Can we get out of here, please?”
    The ride home was quiet. As Ashley stepped out of Becky’s car, she felt relief. True, she might be trailer trash but home was home and this was where she belonged, at least for the moment.
    As Becky drove off, Ashley waved and gazed up at the summer stars. “Welcome to my world,” she murmured.
    A large black truck drove up and parked. It was her mom’s boyfriend, Sheriff’s Deputy Moose Gibson. Moose liked to drop by occasionally for a night cap and a roll in the sack with June. Like June, he was divorced, but even in his mid-thirties the man remained attractive. June liked to keep him happy when she could. He made her feel safe.
    Ashley watched Moose ease out of his truck.
    He spotted her and called out, “Well hey there, Miss Ashley. How are you this lovely evening?”
    He leaned back on his front grill and lit a cigarette.
    Standing on the porch step, she smiled. “Fine, Moose. Yourself?”
    Ashley had known Moose most of her life and, despite their age difference, his pull was strong. Maybe the uniform. Maybe the need for a father figure. Maybe his warm sexual charisma.
    Moose crossed his feet, took a deep drag, and exhaled. “Better, now that I’m off work. Your mother home?”
    “You know she works Saturday nights, Moose.”
    “Oh, right, right.”
    Ashley unlocked the door and looked back. “Want a beer?”
    Moose bounced off the grill. “Well, now, you just read my mind, didn’t you?”
    Ashley stepped inside and took two Budweisers from the refrigerator, popped off the caps, and handed him a bottle. They both sat down at the tiny round kitchen table.
    “What time she coming home?” Moose said.
    Ashley drank deeply from her beer bottle and watched Moose with intense interest. His presence at the table seemed immense.
    “Um, probably 2:30 or so.”
    Moose followed with his own slow drink and placed his bottle on the table. “Where you been?”
    “Over at a party in Meadow Hills. Know Rick Carlyle?”
    Moose looked surprised. “Lawyer friend, huh?”
    “Not mine. My friend Becky’s.”
    “Phew-ee. That’s big time.”
    “Well, big time or not, they’ve got sticks up their asses and I’m glad to be home.”
    His eyes softened. “You’re just a country girl, now ain’t you?” He reached out to cover her hand. “Want to watch some T.V.?”
    She eyed him and paused. “I’m kinda tired, Moose. I think I’ll go to bed.”
    “Mind if I hang around a bit?”
    “Help yourself.”
    Ashley took her time undressing. She listened for the sounds of Moose on the couch as he flipped the station to an old Abbott and Costello movie. For a moment, she sat naked on the toilet listening to his baritone laugh. She felt a certain sense of comfort with him around.
    When Ashley finished dressing, she walked out into the hallway. “Night, Moose.”
    The T.V. clicked off. He turned and looked her over – sheer nightgown and pajamas, hair brushed, fresh scrubbed, the clear outlines of her breasts.
    “Darling, you . . . are beautiful.”
    He walked over, brushed her face with a finger, and wrapped his arms around her back. She rested on his shoulder and gripped his waist. They danced silently in a slow circle. His hands brushed up and down her nightgown, massaged her back, then worked their way forward. She offered no resistance.
    Suddenly, in a sweeping motion, he reached down, lifted her in his arms, and cradled her to his chest. They kissed lightly before he carried her into her bedroom. She heard the door shut and became aware that her body and soul were wrapped in darkness, filled with fire, engulfed.

August 23, 2008, 11:53 A.M.

    The hot sun climbed toward noon. There was a flurry of activity around the ledge and cave law enforcement now worked like busy ants. Overhead, a helicopter hovered and waited to retrieve the rescue basket in which Ashley’s body would be drawn up and transported to a morgue. For now, everyone seemed occupied except Jeff and the Sheriff.
    Jeff had repeated his story several times to investigators. Now, exhausted and spent from the heat, he withered under a large maple tree with his head between his knees.
    Gibson walked over and stood next to him. “How’d she know about this place again?”
    Jeff’s voice betrayed his weariness. “Well, all I know is, she said her dad used to take her here when they went hunting.”
    For a moment, Gibson seemed distracted. “Hunting for what, I wonder?” He stood silent, rehashing the question in his mind, trying to make sense of it. “And you’d never been here before that?”
    “No, sir, and I ain’t been here since. First and last time was twenty-eight years ago, till now, anyway.”
    Gibson stared at the cave. “Hell of a spot she picked.”
    “Yessir.”
    Gibson’s voice softened. “Something special she was – ”
    Jeff’s face drooped further toward the ground. “To be honest, I didn’t know much about her. Seems strange to say, given what we done up here, but hell, we was just kids being crazy.”
    “We all do stupid things when we’re young. Anything else you remember?”
    “We was drunk, Sheriff, and it was a long time ago. I remember waking up and finding her laid out in the cave. She wasn’t moving or breathing. I checked her pulse and just assumed she was dead. Rest is a blur – me running down the hill, getting in my car, driving away.”
    “She tell you anything might give us a clue why she died?”
    “We talked, Sheriff, but it’s way too far back to remember mucha what we said. We was just trying to have some fun, that’s all. I never thought she was going to die.” Jeff shook his head and placed his hands on his temples. “Honestly. It don’t make much sense, what happened. We didn’t do anything up here other’n smoke, drink, and fuck.”
    Gibson looked intently at Jeff. “That’s it, huh?”
    “Yessir. That’s what I remember. I guess I’m hoping you can figure out the rest.”
    Gibson crossed his arms. “You can rest assured. I’ll keep trying.”
    Jeff looked up at the Sheriff. “Yessir, I’m sure you will.”
    One investigator came over to Gibson. “Sheriff, we’re ready to move the body.”
    Gibson marched over and watched as a group of rescuers carried Ashley’s remains in a zipped black bag and lowered them onto the bed. Securing the bag, they stepped back. Gibson bowed his head as if paying his last respects, then raised his right thumb as a signal to the helicopter. The cargo rose slowly until several sets of hands reached and plucked the basket out of the air. In a matter of seconds, the helicopter made a beeline across the valley.
    Jeff stood up and prepared to leave.
    Gibson walked back and looked him over. “You’re quite a sight, Jeff. Should go home and clean up.”
    “I will, Sheriff.” He paused and looked across the forest. “For sure I could use a bath and a drink.”
    “You and me both,” Gibson said as he started the long trek down the mountain.

August 27, 1980, 12:33 A.M.

    The party was in full swing. Even so, with a long shift of work and several beers under his belt, Jeff was spent. He found a vacant patch behind the living room couch and, despite all the noise and bodies around him, stretched out and dozed off. When he came to, a familiar face was smiling at him. Ashley Hendricks, one of his high school classmates.
    “Hello there, girl,” Jeff said.
    “Hello, yourself, sleepy head. You come all the way out here just to snooze?”
    “Just catching a little cat nap, that’s all.”
    “More ‚n a cat nap I’d say. I’m sitting on this couch and I hear this noise. Lo and behold, it’s you – snoring. You know, with all this racket, if I can hear you, that’s saying something.”
    Jeff smiled as he raised up, sat on his butt, and stretched his arms. “Well, I’m back.”
    Ashley held out her hand. “Here we go.”
    He returned her grip and stood up.
    Ed appeared from the crowd and hollered at Jeff. “Where you been? I been looking all over for you.”
    Ashley piped up. “He was right here, snoring.”
    Ed pulled at Jeff’s sleeve. “Ah, you ain’t tired yet, are you? We’re just warming up, brother.” Then he spun around and staggered back into the crowd.
    One drunken soul rushed out and grabbed Ashley around the waist. “Hey, Ashley,” he slurred. “Come on now. Don’t you be a party pooper.”
    Pulling her to the middle of the floor, he tried to dance, but his mind and legs were too wasted. She just laughed and wandered to the other side of the room.
    Jeff watched her for several minutes. Strange, for as long as they’d known each other, he’d never paid her much mind. Now Jeff felt as if a light had shone on her face. He was struck by what he’d missed.
    He felt the sudden need to hit the toilet. Trudging down a hallway, he spotted a couple in a bedroom, door half-open, in the middle of full-fledged sex. Down at the end, another couple leaned against a wall and shared a joint.
    Jeff found the bathroom and closed the door. As he undid his pants, he was startled by a groan behind the shower curtain. Throwing it back, he found his friend, Larry Murtz, half-curled in the tub.
    “Ah shit, Larry. You liked to give me a heart attack.”
    Larry lifted his groggy head. “Oh, sorry, Jeff.”
    He rose to his feet and clumsily stepped over the tub wall. Then, in a type of dead man’s crawl, he lumbered out the bathroom door.
    When Jeff finished, he stepped out into the hallway, only to be startled by Rosie as she jumped in his arms and gave him a tongue-engorged kiss.
    “I told you,” she said.
    “Yes you did,” he replied.
    “Well – ”
    “Well what?”
    Rosie opened a bedroom door and checked to see if it was empty. “Right here would be fine.”
    They stumbled in and collapsed on the bed. As Jeff heaved the door shut with his foot, he felt reenergized.

    
    When he came out an hour later, the party had wound down. He could hear cars roll down the driveway and voices echo good nights. Rosie had passed out.
    He walked to the living room and looked around. The name that immediately popped into his head – Ashley. Jeff searched the house without success. He sat on the porch for a few minutes hoping she might walk out the door. No sign of her.
    Ed weaved his way up the steps and found an empty chair.
    “Great party, Ed,” Jeff said
    “Sheyiiiiit yeah,” Ed exclaimed. “I heard you rocked the house.” He winked and held up a beer.
    “Well, I think she done kidnaped me more’n I chased her.”
    “But you didn’t fight it.”
    “Had no choice.”
    “And you got the best of it.”
    Jeff grinned. “You ask me, we each got our fair share.”
    “Yeah,” Ed said, “but you’re awake, she’s out cold.”
    “True enough.”
    “I think that makes you the winner.”
    Jeff paused and nodded. “Guess you got me there.”
    They sat for a moment and listened to the night noises coming from the fields. A dog barked in the distance. Fighting off exhaustion, Jeff decided enough was enough.
    “Well, I best be off, Ed.”
    Ed extended his arm toward the door. “Stay here if you want.”
    Jeff rose and rocked his arms back and forth. “Nope, I’d rather sleep in my own bed, if you don’t mind.”
    “Suit yourself. Drive safely.”
    “Don’t you be driving at all.”
    “Ah, now, I’m still good for another round or two.” Ed raised his bottle in a farewell salute.
    Jeff shook his head and walked out to his Nova. As he collapsed in the driver’s seat, he tried to collect his thoughts. Rolling down the driveway, he thought of Ashley. He wondered where she was and why he suddenly missed her.

August 26, 2008, 1:08 P.M.

    June sat on the large porch of her nephew Keith’s house. After the discovery of Ashley’s body, June had taken refuge here. Keith’s wife Rita, an ER nurse at Fort Sanders Sevier Medical Center, had taken some time off to be with June and help with funeral arrangements. June looked out over a small vegetable garden that adjoined the house. The fact she was surrounded by things healthy and growing did her good.
    Keith, son of June’s youngest brother Robert, worked for the County Highway Department. That’s where he was today, on a job repaving a stretch of Highway 441. Rita was in back clearing the persistent weeds that sprouted against their fence. For the moment, June enjoyed some solitude and a cigarette. A glass of ice tea condensed on a small round metal table.
    As she had done so often in the past, her mind wandered to Ashley. Only now she had something concrete to ponder. The where question had been answered, but the how and why questions still rolled in like dense lake fog.
    More immediate, she was dealing with the discovery’s aftermath. Things like the coroner’s inquiry, funeral arrangements, and Jeff’s confession. Jeff Dunn, she wondered. Why the hell was she with Jeff? More important, who was Jeff?
    From the driveway exit off Douglas Dam Road, June spotted a Sheriff’s car approaching. She guessed it was Moose coming to give her more information about Ashley. She had ached for these details for twenty-eight years. Yet, when Moose talked about it, she found it dreadful. Still, knowing was better than not knowing. She watched the car crawl up the driveway and fought off her misgivings.
    Moose had maintained his dignity and good looks, even into his 60’s. June, on the other hand, had grown old. Her blond hair was bleached gray and white. Her face looked weathered from work, hard living, and stress. Problems with her teeth had left her with dentures. Today, she wore a floral print dress purchased almost fifteen years ago. Its patterns had faded. In one or two spots there were tears.
    As Moose walked up the porch steps, she wondered if he remembered all those times they drank together and made love. She felt embarrassed as he sat next to her. She used to notice his eyes hungry with affection. Now he seemed aloof, professional.
    “Howdy, June,” he said.
    “Moose,” she replied.
    “I come to give you an update and see how you’re doing.”
    “I could be better. I could be worse. For now, I’m all right. Rita’s a big help.” June took several drags on her cigarette. “I got funeral arrangements in the works. All I need is for them bone pickers of yours to release her body.”
    “Coroner assured me he’ll have a report soon. I’ll make sure he stays on it.”
    “Sure is strange to be doing this after so long. I gave up this idea a long time ago. Now, here it is, staring me in the face.”
    “I know, strange for me too. Does help to think she’ll have a final resting place. Hope that gives you some peace of mind.”
    “It don’t make it any easier, but at least this is where it ends.”
    Moose shifted and reached for June’s hand. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. You and me, we go way back. I promise, I’ll take care of this.”
    June was touched by his tenderness. “Thank you, Moose. And what about Jeff?”
    “Don’t you worry bout him. I got him under the microscope. If he was involved in this, I’ll make sure he gets what’s coming.”
    “You believe him?”
    “I believe he was there. Not sure I buy his story. I’ll know more after the coroner’s report.”
    June adjusted her skirt and rubbed a finger up and down her ice tea glass.
    Moose swatted at some flies. “I gotta level with you, June. We don’t have a lot to go on here. No witnesses cept Jeff and too much time has passed for much evidence to survive. Still, I’m gonna go over it piece by piece. If there’s something there, I’ll find it.”
    Moose placed June’s hand back in her lap. They sat for a moment and gazed out over the vegetable garden. The air was filled with the buzz of insects. Humidity hung in the air like a warm, wet towel. They listened to Rita as she hacked weeds and tossed them in a pile. The occasional thud of clumped roots hit the ground.
    June took a long drag and eyed Moose. “We were good together, weren’t we?”
    Moose looked at June and felt panic. About not marrying her. About his numerous flings. About what he’d done with Ashley. “No doubt, we had some good times.”
    His discomfort showed in the swing of one leg crossed over the other. The left foot was doing a slow jig.
    “D’you ever love me?” she asked.
    His dangling foot increased its pace. “Darling, I always loved you. You know that.”
    “Well, I just thought, maybe once, you know –”
    “I ain’t the marrying kind, June. You know that.”
    “And Ashley. You love her?”
    He paused. This was the shot to the heart he had hoped to avoid. “Like she was my own.”
    June took another drag and blew out forcefully. “That’s good. I always believed you loved us, in spite a what you done.”
    Moose gazed out again at the garden. “Well, you should know. I ain’t no saint.”
    “Me neither. Guess we was just two sinners searching for love.”
    Moose remained quiet.
    “And Ashley . . . she knew you cared about her.”
    Moose sighed. “Yes, darling, I know she did.”
    “She always admired you.”
    He had reached his breaking point. Feeling the urgent need to escape, he stood up and put his hand on June’s shoulder. “I gotta go, Juney. I promise to stay on top of this.”
    June reached up and grabbed his hand. “You promise?”
    “I do, darling.”
    He squeezed her shoulder and moved deliberately down the steps.
    As he headed down Douglas Dam Road, he thought about all those sermons he used to hear when he was a kid at Solid Rock Baptist Church. Preacher going on about how each and every sin would be found out. How judgment waited for those who failed to confess. How God knew every thought inside a person’s big black heart.
    He remembered what his mama used to tell him about lying. “Don’t you forget son, lies are like a field full a thistles. Pretty soon, no matter how hard you try to hide ‚em, they’ll pop up ‚n sting and scratch you something awful.”
    He chewed on this all the way back to his office.

August 27, 1980, 1:53 A.M.

    She was a thin shadow walking down Ed’s driveway. Jeff slowed and looked over his shoulder to confirm it. It was Ashley hiking in the dark. He recognized her bright red sneakers. She wore a blue windbreaker and had one hand stuffed deep in her pocket. The other carried a flashlight. Jeff could see the beam bounce up and down as she walked.
    Surprised at his discovery, he pulled his Nova to the side of the driveway and began to carefully back up. Ashley waited for him.
    Jeff reached over and rolled down the passenger window. “What you doin?”
    “Walkin,” she replied.
    “I can see that. It’s two o’clock in the goddang morning. Where you goin?”
    Ashley leaned her elbows on the windowsill and poked her head inside. “Don’t know. Party’s over. Just kinda felt like walking for a bit. Ed’s got plenty of room in that old house of his. Eventually, I’ll come back and crash. He’ll take me home tomorrow.”
    “Well now, beinz how Ed’s pretty drunk and crazy right now, don’t think I’d trust him too much if I was you. Way he is, he might yet find a cow or two to screw.”
    Ashley laughed. “You think? Last I saw him, I’m not too sure he could find his dick.”
    “Hmm, that’s never been a problem with Ed. He could fuck a pillow in his sleep. Get in. I’ll drive you home.”
    “And you, being a drunk crazy redneck just come from Ed’s party, I should trust you?”
    Jeff exhaled. “Get in . . . please?”
    “What’ll you do if I don’t?”
    “Follow you around and throw your ass in the trunk.”
    Ashley climbed in. As soon as she shut the door, Jeff drove to the end of Ed’s driveway, turned right, and hit the gas.
    She poked around the interior, examining tapes and various pieces of accumulated junk. “Nice car,” she said, fingering an old Styrofoam container with a KFC logo. “Could use a woman’s touch.”
    Jeff rolled his eyes. “Where you going, really?”
    “Where you want to go?” Her smile was a dare.
    “Right now, home. I worked yesterday. I’m tired.”
    Ashley flashed a mischievousness grin. “Ah, is da wittle Jeffy worn out from too much beer ‚n pussy?”
    Jeff cocked his head. “That ‚n about a hundred other things.”
    They drove along the road for a couple of miles, the strains of The Allman Brothers still groaning from the stereo. Ashley threw her hand out the window and let the air push her fingers back and forth. Around a corner, the full moon suddenly revealed its face. “Oh, pretty,” she said.
    Jeff arrived at a four-way intersection. Idling at the stop sign, he asked, “Which way?”
    Ashley raised her index finger and moved it slowly in a circle. Then, she looked over at Jeff and paused for dramatic effect. “Uh, that way.” She pointed right.
    “Where’s that way go?”
    “It’s a surprise.”
    She laughed, reached over, and turned up the stereo volume until the sound roared out of the car deep into the surrounding woods. Jeff swerved the steering wheel right and floored the gas pedal. The tires squealed against the pavement.

    
    From Highway 441 in Pigeon Forge, Ashley gave him mysterious directions down various back roads: Sugar Hollow, Ridge, Center View. Middle Creek, Jayell, Pittman Center. Finally they turned right on Red Bank and followed it south along the Little Pigeon River. It was now close to 2:30 and they were on a small road in the forest parallel to Spence Mountain.
    Jeff shook his head. “God almighty, Ashley, where you taking me?”
    “You’ll see.”
    A mile or so down the road she signaled, “Stop here.”
    Jeff pulled the Nova along the narrow shoulder.
    Ashley jumped out and started to dance around. “We’re here, we’re here,” she shouted.
    Jeff eased out of the car. “And where is here?”
    “My spot. My own private hideaway.”
    Ashley bolted about twenty-five yards down the road and disappeared into the forest.
    As Jeff struggled to keep up, he huffed, “Jesus Christ, Ashley. Wait up, would you?”
    He noticed an opening in the trees about ten yards from the river shore. A series of boulders jutted across and served as a rough bridge. With the bright moonlight overhead, Jeff could see the other shore about fifty yards across. Ashley was waiting for him on the near bank.
    “What’s this?” he asked.
    “The trail to my spot.”
    “Your spot?”
    “That’s right. You’re soooo lucky. Only a few people have ever been here. I call it –” throwing her arms wide open, “Ashley’s View.”
    She ran down to the beach and hopped across one rock, then another, as if she knew each one by heart. Jeff hesitated and watched her jump. She looked back and waved an invitation. Jeff, groggy from work, party, and drink, extended his foot to the first rock and teetered from side to side. For him it would be a much longer journey.

    
    As he took the last jump from boulder to shore, Ashley sat on a log with her legs crossed, smoking a joint. He stopped and watched her. “Where’d you get that?”
    She gave him a naughty girl grin. “I got my sources.”
    Jeff sat next to her and looked across the river. “I’ll bet your sources are all named Ed.”
    Ashley took a final puff, crushed her joint on the forest floor and slid closer. “Now, don’t you feel lucky?”
    “Lucky to be alive.”
    “Well now, maybe this will help.”
    Ashley leaned over and kissed him. When she finished, Jeff remained still for several seconds, eyes closed, like a man who had fallen asleep.
    She smiled and touched his cheek with a finger. He opened his eyes and ran his hands through her hair.
    “Gotta ways to go yet,” she said as she jumped off the log and disappeared into the forest.
    “Holy criminey,” Jeff complained. “I’m gonna die in this place, aren’t I? Die and they’ll never find us.”
    He tried to follow her, but Ashley had vanished. “Ashley,” he yelled. “Come on, now, don’t leave me out here.”
    “Over here. Don’t be such a scaredy cat.” She started to chant, “Scaredy cat, scaredy cat.”
    Jeff followed the voice and spotted her next to a large maple tree. “How you know where you’re going?”
    “There’s a trail, can’t you tell?”
    “Where?”
    As she looked up, Jeff followed her finger.
    “I made these things called mobiles from old pieces of colored glass. Learned it in my high school art class. You can’t see them now, it’s too dark, but I put some along here to keep me going in the right direction. Now, if you shine your flashlight in the trees like this –” She pointed her beam straight up. Jeff noticed faint reflections of red, blue, and green shoot out from an underlying branch. “See? Christmas all year long.”
    “Christmas,” Jeff said.
    “That’s right, Christmas. And tonight –” she reached over and gave him another kiss, “I’m your present.” With that, she turned and ran up the mountain, flashing arrows of light in the trees and singing at the top of her voice, “We wish you a merry Christmas –”
    Jeff watched her skip like a kid in a school yard. “All right, then. Christmas.”

August 30, 2008, 7:43 P.M.

    Jeff rested in a battered patio chair next to his equally dilapidated trailer. He could see the bright blue florescent sign shining at the Blue Ridge Motel. Blink, blink. Underneath the large neon lights, a smaller red sign flashed Vacancy. Jeff was mesmerized by each sign’s height and color. They reminded him of Ashley’s mobiles.
    He thought about his miserable life. Hard labor, irregular paychecks, the ups and downs of drinking, so many girlfriends in and out of his life, and always, tucked far back in his mind, Ashley.
    Jeff turned and noticed a Sheriff’s car parked about twenty yards down the road. There was just enough daylight to make out a dark figure inside. He guessed it was Gibson, the same Sheriff who had recently said to reporters: “We will work and do whatever it takes to see that justice is done by Ms. Hendricks, in whatever form the law allows.” Those words kept ringing in Jeff’s ears. <>IIn whatever form –
    Jeff wondered if this was what lurked out there tonight. Southern justice? Gibson justice? He sat and stared at the vehicle for half an hour. Finally, he said, “Hells bells. He’z probably come ta shoot me.”
    He finished his cigarette, stood up, and hollered, “Whaddya want with me? Come on outta that car ya dirty son of a bitch and look me in the eye.”
    No sign of movement in response to his challenge.
    He kept at it. “Come on out, ya fuckin coward.”
    The force of his spit covered his rough whiskered chin. He walked another several steps, then stumbled and fell to the ground.
    The headlamps from the Sheriff’s car covered the entire road with a brilliant white glare. The floodlights followed. Jeff shaded his eyes with his hands. A car door opened and slammed shut. The sound of boots on gravel crunched toward him at a measured pace. Blind as he was, Jeff knew his visitor. Gibson’s voice confirmed it. “Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble there, Jeff.”
    Jeff’s anger returned. “I ain’t got no trouble but you hounding me, sitting in that car like you was God er something.”
    Gibson took a moment to watch Jeff. “I’d say you’re wrong on that count. Your life is nothing but trouble and I’m here to see that trouble come to an end. Guess you might call me a force of justice.”
    Jeff tried to stand. He floundered for a moment and rolled side to side before he managed to sit on his butt with his hands crossed in his lap. “And you’re the one to do that, huh?”
    “That’s right,” Gibson said. “That’s what I’m here to do. That’s why the good citizens of this county elected me Sheriff.”
    “They elect you to shoot me down like a dog in the road?”
    Gibson stepped in front of Jeff. “If that dog is a danger to them, then yes, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
    Jeff tried once again to stand up. He failed. Dirt smudged his face and clothes. Sitting in the dust, he resigned himself to his own end. He leaned forward with his eyes to the ground. His voice was tired and hoarse. “Well, get on with it then. Stop wasting my time.”
    Gibson reached for his holstered 38 caliber and held it in the air.
    When he heard the hammer click, Jeff looked up and saw the Sheriff point the two-inch barrel at his forehead.
    “I could do that, Jeff,” Gibson said. “Stand here and pull this trigger and no one would think the worse of me. Better yet, no one would miss your sorry ass in the least. We’d bury you in a grave and all go home for supper. Jeff Dunn would disappear and the world would be a much better place.”
    Jeff glanced between the barrel and Gibson’s eyes. He heard the noise of highway traffic, noticed the blue light of the motel sign reflecting on a nearby tree. Anticipating death, he closed his eyes and waited for him to pull the trigger. “Go on, shoot me if you want. It would be a sight better than living with what I know.”
    Gibson sighed. “And what do you know, Jeff? Tell me, please.”
    Jeff’s words rolled out like a flash flood. “I already told you. I left a dead girl up there, but I swear to you, she was alive when I fell asleep. I know I shoulda brought help and seen she got a decent burial. I shoulda told someone and taken whatever I got coming. She deserved better, Sheriff, and I ain’t never gonna be able to forget it, but killing me ain’t gonna bring her back. Lord, if it would, I’d take that gun and pull the trigger myself. That’s what I know.”
    Jeff collapsed backwards, legs and arms extended in the shape of a cross. His fingers dug into the dirt.
    Gibson lowered the gun, then released the hammer and put the weapon back in his holster. He realized the truth in Jeff’s words, realized Ashley was gone and wouldn’t come back. Killing Jeff wouldn’t change that. One innocent person’s death couldn’t be avenged by another.
    He shook his head. “Better go home now, Jeff. It’s not safe to lie in the road like this.” Turning in a slow half- circle, he muttered, “Goddamn it all to hell,” marched back to his car, and drove away.
    Jeff remained prostrate for a moment. “Sonofabitch,” he groaned as he stared up at the stars.
    He wondered if God was really up there – observant, patient, carrying out justice – or if he was just a bystander to the world’s suffering and wickedness? And the agony Jeff felt. Was this just a taste of his final fate – a slow, deliberate slide in the dirt downhill toward a pit of darkness? He hadn’t put much stock in the idea of hell and damnation. Now he was on the fence.
    Jeff rolled over and forced himself to stand. He managed to find his feet and brush off considerable dust from his shirt and pants. His body was weary from drink, danger, and confession. Even though it was early evening, he folded his chair, leaned it just so against his trailer, and went straight to bed.

August 4, 1980, 7:07 P.M.

    Monday evening, end of shift and Moose was off for the next two days. He decided to grab a night with Ashley at his cabin near Du Pont Springs. He called and arranged to pick her up near the County Courthouse in downtown Sevierville. Around seven he told her.
    She sat in a small café across the street. He pulled his black Chevy pickup into the lot and waited for her to come out. When Ashley jumped into the cab, she threw her arms around Moose and kissed him hard.
     Cradling her tenderly, he said, “Nice to see you too, darling. Now, buckle up.”
    Moose drove his truck onto Chapman Highway and headed east toward the Knox County line. He tuned the radio to WIVK and listened to country music. At the moment, Kenny Rogers was singing “She Believes in Me.” Ashley sang along on the chorus and smiled at him.
    Goddamn that smile, he thought. Warm enough to melt butter.
    By the time they reached the turnoff for Cusick Road, Moose and Ashley were chatting amiably about the day’s events.
    She had a tiff with her mom over borrowing clothes.
    He had pulled over a young man this morning for speeding and discovered a stash of weed in the car. Moose laughed as he described how the kid looked when he rolled down the window and grass smoke billowed out.
    “Whooo - ee,” Moose chuckled. “All that smoke. I was high myself by the time I cuffed him.”
    It was completely dark when they pulled next to the cabin. They both thought the same thing: run through the front door, hit the bed, make love. When they finished, Moose propped his head against the oak headrest and lit a cigarette. Ashley curled in his armpit.
    “Moose?”
    “Yeah, darling?”
    “Are we in love?”
    Moose was caught off guard. He laid his cigarette in an ashtray on the night stand and paused a moment before saying, “Well, now, I guess that depends on how you define love.”
    Ashley raised up. “You know what I mean, like two people that want to be together – forever.”
    “Oh. You mean the marrying kind of love?”
    “Yeah, courting, wedding bells, that sort of thing.”
    “Hmm, I don’t think so. We’re more into the fun kind of love where we have a good time but don’t stomp on each other’s toes, if you know what I mean. I been married. After a while, it ain’t no fun and you just get mad and make each other miserable.”
    He reached over and pulled her up until her body covered his belly and her head rested comfortably on his chest. “You and me, we got our lives and we got each other. There’s a time and place for everything, like now –” He rubbed her back gently then moved his hands up to smooth her hair. “This is what we got. This is the good love.”
    “Oh,” she said and grew quiet.
    Moose reached for his cigarette and watched her wheels turn. He realized she was this close to figuring him out. He wondered if it was time to start untangling himself. Moose had a certain thrill meter in his head by which he judged all his relationships. Ashley’s questions made his needle waver. Talk of love and marriage always made him uneasy.
    Ashley rolled off, sat on the side of the bed, and lit her own cigarette.
    Even in the dark, Moose could make out her form. He was in a quandary, whether to flee or grab her tight. <>IMy God, he thought, She is beautiful.
    Ashley took a deep puff. Her eyes wandered over the laced curtains covering the window. She knew Moose was telling the truth. She even admired his honesty. Still –
    He touched her back. “You okay, darling?”
    Ashley laid down her cigarette and rolled next to him. “I’m fine, you big lug. How frisky are you tonight?” She put her small hand between his thighs.
    Moose ran a large hand across her breasts. “I’m hungry as a bear.”
    As she climbed on him and slid down to his thighs, she felt him growing – solid, warm – and ached to have this moment last, their bodies linked together like vines. She looked at him and rubbed her finger on his cheek. “Don’t you ever forget me, huh?”
    He wrapped both hands around her back. “Not in this lifetime.”

    
    Ashley started awake, as if something in her dreams had frightened her. It was early morning. She had no idea of the time, only that night was carefully positioned between yesterday and tomorrow. It bothered her, the fact she couldn’t tell the difference. The past, the future, all seemed the same. Or perhaps she did know and just couldn’t face it; the possibility that, just like June and Moose, this was where she’d remain – stuck in a cycle of food, work, sleep, sex. Nothing more.
    Ashley quietly slipped from bed and threw on a nightgown. She grabbed her cigarettes, tiptoed out of the cabin, and sat on an old wooden bench. The moon had yet to set over the mountains. That moon, so much like her life – a light that appeared, disappeared, and sometimes left the sky empty for long periods.
    Ashley lit a cigarette and thought about love, how it seemed impossible to keep. Ashley and Moose, an item for the moment. So were Moose and June and probably Moose and a dozen other women. And now, at this moment, with the fickle moon in sight, the thought of losing Moose darkened her thoughts. She felt her life plunging like a stone into a river. Sooner or later she would hit bottom. And then what? Then – nothing.
    She shivered and watched her smoke drift up toward the moon.

August 30, 2008, 11:04 A.M.

    In the narthex of Atchley’s Funeral Home, June sat and watched the crowd mill around. Rita greeted visitors at the entrance. June’s two brothers, Earl and Robert, chatted and smoked outside. Aunt Edna sat prayerfully in the chapel. One reporter from The Mountain Press scribbled notes.
    For June, it seemed odd to think that in that casket over there the remains of her only daughter were stored, a daughter who had disappeared, returned for a moment, and now was being buried. Was it better for Ashley to stay missing or come back as dead remains in a box? At least with the former, June had always kept a sliver of hope. Maybe Ashley had just been unhappy living in a small trailer with her nag of a mother. Maybe she had simply decided to slip away and find a better life. Now on the turn of a dime, the truth pounded at her. Death. Destruction of hope. The cold reality of a daughter, gone for decades and now, even with her rediscovery, still gone. Finding her remains was no comfort. Dead was dead.
    Moose appeared at the door dressed in his best uniform. June saw him and hurried over. As they embraced, she grabbed him and cried. Moose waited and did his best to comfort her, even as folks around the room stole glances.
    His arrival was a signal for everyone to gather in the chapel. The pastor of the Good Light Baptist Church reminded June it was time to start. He escorted her down the aisle to the front pew. When everyone was gathered, the service began.

    
    Jeff had dried out the last couple of days and cleaned himself up. Feeling compelled to at least be close to the funeral, he was now seated in his car outside the mortuary.
    Jeff was not a religious man. He rarely attended church and wasn’t sure if he even believed in God. Yet, at this moment something beyond himself spoke about forgiveness. Maybe it was some good spirit of the mountain who watched over poor folks, even those who stumbled and did terrible things. Maybe it was Ashley from the other side. Whatever it was, Jeff sensed it, welcomed it.
    Despite the midmorning heat, it was her presence, the possibility of their souls being reunited, that made him sit patiently. As he watched the funeral home, he imagined, when the service was finished, that she would fly out of the chapel and wrap her wings around his body.
    “It’s okay,” she would whisper. “Don’t you worry any more.”
    The picture he drew in his mind made him smile.

    
    After the memorial service, a small group of family and friends traveled to the cemetery. June had picked a nice spot for Ashley, with a view of the surrounding mountains. Typical for this time of year, the large grey cumulus clouds ballooned overhead and gathered for their daily afternoon downpour.
    Moose stood close to June as the casket was lowered. Rita held June’s arm as support. When the pastor finished the final words of commitment, everyone broke into a chorus of “Amazing Grace.” After the last words were sung, the finality hit June and she began to weep. While the crowd dispersed for the wake at Keith and Rita’s house, Moose put his arm around June and helped her to the limo.

    
    
     Jeff arrived at the gravesite long after everyone had gone. When he was sure no one would see him, he approached the casket. The men with shovels and backhoe had gone on to another site. Jeff finally had his private moment.
    He felt Ashley’s spirit surround him. He knew, at this moment, his wrong had been cleansed. It only remained for him to trace his steps back to the place where it all began. He felt strongly he should have stayed with her. Perhaps if he had remained awake, they could have stretched out in the cave and caressed each other as they both fell asleep.
    Jeff believed that Ashley had returned for that reason – to offer him what she had already experienced. He was more than ready to be embraced by her love. As he teetered on the edge of her grave, Jeff realized how tired he was, how the darkness of the cave appealed to him. Already, he could feel peace approaching. He knew she was waiting for him. He knew he was ready to join her. All he had to do was return to Ashley’s View.

August 17, 1980, 12:38 A.M.

    June was tired, bone tired. For some reason, during her shift, the customers had been extra bitchy and Mr. McQuark had constantly been on her about one thing or the other. Never an easy man to get along with, tonight he seemed even less agreeable. She breathed a sigh of relief when she clocked out and pointed her Pinto towards home.
    She hated her job. Her days spun from customer to customer as she tried to keep a herd of blue collar jerkoffs with pot bellies, bad hairdos, and rude children happy. Same ol’ same ol’ and hardly a dollar to show for it when the bills were paid. June hoped better for Ashley; ached, in fact, to release her from this tourist trap hell.
    A few miles down Highway 441, she started to unwind. Her mind turned to Moose. She half-hoped he would be there at the house. Even if he did seem a bit distracted these days, at least he was nice to her. That’s more than she could say of most men. And some sex was better than none. June still had needs that Moose seemed more than willing to fulfill. She knew he had other horses on the side. Still, she felt lucky to be in his stable. Maybe tonight he would give her some comfort and release.
    Her heart skipped a beat when she turned on Dogwood Lane and saw his squad car parked outside the trailer. Maybe he’d heard her silent pleas. Maybe he would be waiting with a beer and a smile. Despite all the shit she had taken tonight, her outlook brightened.
    June parked her car just down the street. She wanted to surprise him. If he was waiting for her in bed, she would slip in, take him in her arms, and let him use those big hands for good purposes.
    June took off her shoes and tiptoed to the door. Pulling gently down on the silver handle, she eased it open and peeked inside. So far, so good. The kitchen was empty. The scenario she imagined was taking place just as she hoped. She closed the door and hoped it wouldn’t squeak. Placing one foot carefully in front of the other, she inched toward her bedroom.
    There was a rustle of some sort from Ashley’s room. It meant her daughter was home. Moose and June would have to be quiet. Not that Ashley hadn’t guessed why she and Moose spent all those nights together. Still –
    Pausing at her bedroom door, she took a moment to unzip her skirt, throw off her blouse, and loosen her bra. She wanted to be ready for the moment.
    Easing the door open, she slipped into the bed and murmured playfully, “Is Mr. Moosey ready for his woman?”
    As her hands hit the covers, she felt – nothing – except blankets sheets, and pillows. No one hiding under the covers. For a moment, she was puzzled and hurt. His car was outside. This was a small trailer. She backpedaled and sat on the bed. Where the hell could he be?
    Then a thought hit her. A slow, terrible thought that seeped in and spread like poison from a snake bite. She crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders. It was humid and stuffy in her bedroom, but her body chilled as if she was locked in a refrigerator. The cold spread to her breasts, thighs, and legs.
    Rising from the bed, she opened her door and reached down for her blouse and slip. Her joints ached as she pulled them on. Standing in the hall for a moment, she listened for any sounds that might confirm her suspicions.
    Zeroing in on Ashley’s bedroom door, she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, twisted slowly, and flipped on the lights. A sudden rustle of sheets confirmed the worst. She caught her breath. “Moose? Ashley?”
    Moose turned his head and twisted like a fish on a hook. Wrapping a blanket around his waist, he came to rest in a sitting position on Ashley’s bedside.
    Ashley, lying on her back, stared at June before pulling the sheet over her head and screaming, “Mother!”
    The overhead light scalded June’s eyes. Her voice cracked and her breath came in shallow bursts. “Moose, you want to explain yourself?”
    Moose hung his head. “Well, now, Juney, I guess what you see kinda speaks for itself, now don’t it?”
    June took two steps back, braced against a wall, and slid to the floor. With her knees bent, she started to cry.
    “You bastard. My daughter, in my own house, no less. Not ten feet from where we –” She shook her head and covered her eyes. “You big dumb asshole. Could you get any lower? I swear –”
    Moose reached for his clothes and began to dress. He pulled on his uniform pants, then stood and buttoned his shirt. Finally, he gathered up his shoes and walked out the bedroom door. As he stepped in the hall, he reached down to touch June’s shoulder.
    June jerked away and hissed, “Don’t you dare.”
    Moose glanced at Ashley, still buried under her sheet. “Well, darling, guess this is it for you and me.” He could hear the faint sound of weeping.
    Ashley’s voice wavered as she called out, “Guess so.”
    June stood and drew her small frame as close as she could get to Moose’s face. With all the fury she could muster, she reared back and slapped him. “Fuck off and get out!”
    Once or twice in his life, Moose had laid out a woman for something like this. Not tonight. He knew a man shouldn’t screw around with his girlfriend’s daughter. But, goddamn it, this was Ashley. She just had a way with him. Now he was caught like a rabbit in a trap. Nothing to do but suck up his outrage and move on. He turned, shoes in hand, and hurried out the front door.
    June heard his squad car drive away. In her mind, the crunch of wheels on gravel was the sound of love disappearing. All these years she had hoped. Now nothing remained except a treacherous daughter and her own empty bedroom. She stood up and braced herself on Ashley’s doorway. “How long ya’ll been at this?”
    June waited for some time, not really wanting a reply. She guessed enough to understand. “You can’t do this to people, Ashley. You play around like this, you always lose. You hurt the ones you love, you lose double.”
    She wanted to say more, so much more – pile on the guilt, make her daughter cringe in horror - but her pain blocked out the words. All she felt at this point was dragged-down weariness.
    “Right, then.”
    Pushing slowly back from the door frame, June stumbled down the hallway, veered into her bedroom, and shut the door.
    Ashley rolled out of bed. The light was killing her eyes. She slapped at the switch and plunged back into darkness. Her mother’s sobs were breaking her heart. The sudden loss of Moose was crushing her mind. She slammed the door and fell back in bed. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was like to be completely alone.

August 30, 2008, 11:22 P.M.

    Moose sat in his office staring at the big brass placard on his desk – the one proclaiming him Sheriff of Sevier County. He had worked hard to get here. Logged a lot of hours, rubbed a lot of palms, bent a rule or two to gain favor. All part of the job.
    Funny how the funeral this afternoon had made all this seem trivial. He wondered if something valuable had been stripped from his life. He had always held a small strand of hope that Ashley would someday return a happy woman, grown up with a husband and kids; that she would let bygones be bygones.
    Moose was a strong man, but knowing Ashley was dead had cracked his heart. He had spent the last thirty years coaxing June’s forgiveness and thirty years waiting for Ashley to come home. Now he knew. She was gone and he would remain in permanent exile.
    Ralph Owenby, one of his Assistant Deputies, came in and sat down. Moose had brought him in as a young Sheriffs’ Cadet and they had remained good friends ever since. Ralph was surprised to see Moose in his office.
    “Well, sir, it’s been a while since we’ve spotted you on graveyard.”
    Moose looked up and smiled. “Yup. Always was my favorite shift. Guess you and me, we was always night owls.”
    “Saw some crazy shit, even for this little one-horse town.”
    “That we did.”
    Ralph leaned forward. “You okay, Moose? We’s friends you know. I got a break coming. We can talk if you want.”
    Moose shook his head. “Not much to say after today.”
    “I’m real sorry about Ashley.”
    “Me too.”
    “Anymore news on Jeff?”
    Moose stirred at the mention of his name. “Goddamn strange, if you ask me. He knows she died, but says he doesn’t know how. Sounds fishy, but hell if I can make heads or tails of it. Nothing forensic that says murder. Some obvious use of drugs and alcohol. I don’t know. Maybe the bastard’s telling the truth. Maybe it was all just a fucking accident. Still, I’d really like to nail his ass for this.”
    Ralph folded his arms. “You think he done it?”
    “I think he done something. What that might be, I don’t know . . . yet.” He swung halfway around in his chair. “Anyway, it’s been thirty years, she’s in the grave. Whatever I prove won’t bring her back. That’s the hard part, you know. Goddamn it all, she’s really dead.”
    Ralph kept his peace. He knew from experience there wasn’t much to say when someone came to grips with death. He’d delivered more than his share of bad news to parents and families. Not a damn thing he could do to cushion the blow.
    “Well, Moose, I’m really sorry.”
    “Yeah, thanks Ralph.”
    Ralph rose from his chair. “Well, I gotta go. Busy night tonight.”
    “Go knock some heads for me, would you?” Moose pushed back in his chair and smiled. “Really, I kinda miss it sometimes.”
    “Come on out some night. I’ll let you make a bust, just like the old days.”
    “I might just do that.”
    Ralph paused at the doorway, then disappeared down the hall.
    Moose sat and stared at that eyesore of a placard. It had cost him nearly three hundred bucks out of his own pocket. At the time, Moose thought it was worth every penny. Now, it just sat on his desk and mocked him.

August 27, 1980, 3:11 A.M.

    Ashley waited for Jeff at the top of the hill.
    When he finally sat down, he reached out and brushed his palm against her arm. “You are truly a mountain goat.”
    “You’re sweet,” she said and wrapped her arm around his.
    Against the bright moonlight, Jeff noticed sadness in her face. “Still Christmas?”
    “Yep, right through those trees, my own little universe, where it’s always Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July.”
    Jeff followed her sight line. “Which trees?”
    She pointed to the left. “See those two crossing over each other?”
    He stared at where her finger pointed. Then he noticed two pine trees twisted across each other forming the shape of an A-frame gate. “God, those things are spooky.”
    “No. Not spooky at all. I call them my gazebo. Ga - ze - bo. You probably never heard that word, have you?”
    Jeff shook his head. “Naw, you’re right, I haven’t. Sounds fancy though.”
    “It’s not fancy. Just part of the magic. Walk right through to another world. You never know what might surprise you.”
    With that she stood up and disappeared between the two trees.
    “Okay,” Jeff said. “First Christmas, now magic.”
    She poked her head back into view. “Now you see me –” She laughed as her head vanished. “Now you don’t.”
    He worked up his courage, approached the trees, and pushed his way through. Ashley stood on a ledge about twenty feet in front of him and held out her arms. “Welcome to my world.”
    Jeff turned in a complete circle, awestruck. The moon threw light across a valley spread thick with forest. The ledge fell sharply for at least fifty feet. Behind him, the cold, black eye of a cave.
    Ashley stepped into the cave and emerged with a bedroll, a small plastic bag, and a fresh bottle of whiskey. “See? I got blankets, booze, grass, just the thing for a warm summer night.”
    Jeff was impressed. “You store all this up here?”
    “I told you. This here’s my hideout. I’ve got enough in that cave to party for a week.”
    Ashley spread out the bedroll a safe distance from the ledge. She took a few minutes to break open the whiskey and roll a couple of joints. “Ready,” she proclaimed.
    Jeff and Ashley sat and surveyed the valley. She fired up a joint and handed it to Jeff, then lit the other and inhaled deeply. Grabbing the whiskey, she took a swig and passed it on.
     Jeff turned his head upright, put the bottle to his lips, and drank deeply. “You come here often?”
    “Whenever I can. Years ago, my dad used to bring me hunting here. Says his family’s known about this spot forever. Guess they used to hide moonshine up here, something like that. Now, I just come up by myself. I like to sit here and think, specially at night.”
    They each smoked their joints and kept quiet. The sound of the wind was hypnotic. Jeff finally broke the silence. “Well, now that we’re here, what’s to think about?”
    Ashley smiled and laughed. “Ha! You don’t know the half of it.”
    “I don’t know any of it, or anything about you.”
    She drew another puff and gazed up at the moon. “Well, in a nutshell, my life’s in the toilet. I got no job, no car, no idea what to do with my life. What I do have is an ex-boyfriend who fucked both me and my mother. And if that weren’t bad enough, my so-called bitch of a mother knows I fucked her boyfriend and is downright ready to kick me out. And I’m just sitting here wondering if that’s it. Ashley, fuck buddy, trailer trash. Kinda depressing if you ask me.”
    Jeff laid his arms across his knees and flicked ash from his joint. “So, what you gonna do?”
    She stared down at the forest. “Well, I might like to go back to school, but I ain’t got much money. Anyway, I got no idea what to do once I get there.”
    “Make mobiles, maybe?”
    “Well, there’s an idea. I’ll check into that, thank you.” She took another long puff. “What about you?”
    “Me? Hell, not much to tell. I’m a cook at KFC. My parents split when I was four. Been here all my life. My grandma raised me, but right now, I live with my uncle in Pigeon Forge. He lets me stay in his basement, long as I pay him rent. Outside a that, pretty much party and work, work and party. But I guess you know that anyway. You seen me and Rosie. Story of my life there. Really, I got no idea what else to do. Sometimes I work on my car. Bout it I guess.”
    “Sounds like you and me got lots in common.”
    Jeff grabbed the bottle and took an extra long swig. When he finished, he placed it carefully on the rock and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You think?”
    She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped them with her arms. “We’re both bored, both stuck here, both got no idea what to do about it. My mother would call that the horns of a dilemma, whatever that means.”
    Jeff nodded. “Seems so.”
    Ashley leaned into his shoulder. “Guess that’s it for botha us, huh?”
    “Yup. I do agree, that about wraps it up.”
    “Would be nice to have some money, do something different. I hate the thought of growing up like my mom.”
    “Well, what you gonna do about it?” Jeff threw his butt over the edge and laid down on his back. “Some folks just get lucky. Mosta us round here never get out. Just stuck in the wheel, I say. Nowhere to jump off.”
    Ashley finished her joint, crushed it, and took his hand. “Well, least we know who we are, where we belong . . . and there’s always tonight.”
    “Christmas, you say?”
    “Yup.”
    “And magic?”
    She removed her top. In the moonlight, the outline of her breasts were luminescent. “Christmas . . . and magic,” she whispered.
    “Well, now, I like the sound of that.”
    Jeff pulled her over and moved his hands slowly down her smooth back. He had never had such a delicate flower nestled in his hands. As he struggled with his clothes, she patiently helped. He pushed against her on the blanket and heard her breathing as it slowed down, sped up, and returned to him with soft sounds of pleasure. For the next hour, witnessed by the surrounding landscape, they were lovers.

    
    Jeff slept soundly on the bedroll. Ashley was awake, laying on her back, watching the sky turn blue. She glanced at him and gently touched his face, sure that his exhaustion would leave him in this state for several hours. Ashley picked up her clothes and walked to the cave. She turned and gazed back, as if taking a last glance at her secret home.
    Inside the cave, she unrolled a second bedroll, smoothed it out, and methodically took time to fold her clothes. She sat cross-legged, facing the cave entrance, closing her eyes in meditation. The cool darkness was a comfort.
    From the pocket of her windbreaker, she removed a bottle of Valium stolen from her mother’s medicine cabinet and placed it next to her bare thigh. The bottle appeared white and shiny in the half-light. Ashley opened it, removed the pills, and laid them out one by one in front of her. Another bottle of whiskey was on her left.
    For the next half hour, she popped one pill after another and followed it with drink. When she finished the pills and most of the whiskey, Ashley laid all her paraphernalia in a single row against the cave wall and stretched out on the bedroll.
    The daylight was creeping through the cave entrance. She felt warmth and peace, as if the end was far more pleasant than she thought possible. “Night, y’all,” she said in a sleepy voice, and within minutes, she was gone.

September 24, 2008, 7:04 A.M.

    Moose woke up early and slid quietly out of bed so as not to disturb Desiree, his girlfriend for the last six months. She slept on her side with her back turned toward him. He could just make out her slight breathing motion.
    Desiree Skyler was 35, a stunning combination of tall, blond, blue-eyed, and well connected via her rich family in Knoxville. She had moved to Sevierville as a new partner in a medical practice that specialized in cardiology. She and Moose had met at a Valentine’s Day party last February sponsored by one of his major political backers. Moose liked them pretty. Desiree liked them powerful. It was a perfect match.
    Moose put on his bathrobe and stepped out the front door of his 3-bedroom, 2-bath house in Sevierville’s upscale neighborhood of Steeple Chase. He retrieved The Mountain Press off his doorstep. As expected, the paper had this headline sprawled across the front page: Sheriff Decides to Step Down.
    Back inside, he walked to the kitchen to start his normal pot of coffee. Throwing open the curtains covering the French doors to the patio, he took a moment to stretch and watch the morning light spread over the surrounding hills. There was a touch of fall in the air.
    Moose lit a cigarette at the kitchen table and sat down to read his personal story. Browsing down the page, he occasionally huffed, shook his head, and murmured. He’d learned to live with the press even though they often played loose with the facts. It was a daily paper. They had to write something.
    In this case, the story was half- truth, half- fiction. The printed quotes were okay. The speculation about why he resigned was laughable. “Really, they don’t know shit,” he said.
    He reached the bottom and found another reporter in a sidebar trying to make a connection between him and Jeff Dunn. There was a mention of the Hendricks investigation and Jeff’s mysterious disappearance: no sign of him at his trailer, absent from work, not seen at Ricky’s for at least a week. The reporter wondered. Was Moose somehow involved?
    “Probably skipped town for Mexico,” Moose said as he rose to get his coffee. Pouring a full cup, he retreated back to the table and once again picked up the paper.
    Desiree walked out of the bedroom and approached Moose. She stood only in a thin cotton shirt and panties. With an arm around his shoulder, she said, “Big news, huh?”
    He held up the headline for her to read. “Yes, ma’am. Front page.”
    “Nice,” she said as she checked on the coffee, though, in the back of her mind, she was a little put off that he hadn’t mentioned this to her. She poured a cup, sat at the table opposite Moose, and tried to casually inquire. “So, why did you resign?”
    “Thirty-five years, darling. Time to do something different.”
    Desiree took a slow sip of coffee. “Well. Hope you find something interesting.”
    Moose stopped what he was doing and stared at her. “What, ain’t I enough?”
    Desiree shrugged, put down her cup, and headed for the bathroom.
    Moose was perplexed. He couldn’t get Ashley out of his head and every woman he had dated or slept with since had been compared to that standard. Nor could he forget June sitting on the porch, or Jeff Dunn sprawled in the dirt. Moose knew that some of their suffering was rightfully his.
    Desiree, now in robe and slippers, returned to her half-warm cup of coffee. She sat down and looked at Moose, curious about what he was thinking.
    Moose leaned back in his chair. “Off to work?”
    “As usual, another busy day.”
    Moose stood up and crushed his cigarette. “Well, darling, don’t wait up for me, I’ll be home late tonight.”
    He walked to the bathroom, glanced at her as she picked up the paper, and closed the door.

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