The old man mistrusted Dembe as they traipsed through the woods that the afternoon light dappled. Pine and beech scents intermingled. The codger led the way. He was acting, pretending he didn't know this man, whom he'd come across in the meadow. His poker-face gave nothing away. He wasn't afraid of this intruder. Why should he be? If he wanted to, he could get him so lost, he'd never find his way back. The codger was full of tricks.
This man was here for her. The codger smiled his crooked smile, which Dembe never saw.
"How much farther is your place?" he asked as sounds of wildlife surrounded them.
"Not much further, friend," the codger answered, slyly glancing at his hound. Master and pet wordlessly communed, their bond strong, unbreakable. Baying, the Rottweiler ran off, diving into a lush thicket of chokecherry shrubs and disappeared. Chuckling, the old man muttered more to himself, "There he goes, after some critter. Fool dog." Raising his voice, he called to it, "Don't go chasin' clear over to the next county. You'll get your fool self lost!" He whistled and the dog instantly appeared, its canine expression seemed to say, 'Me, get lost? Ha!'
The man's twang wriggled in Dembe's ears. He judged the man to be a recluse. Conversation was kept minimal. Twigs continued to snap underfoot. Leaves crunched with the careful planting of feet. This was no time for twisting his ankle in some deep hole. On they walked, the Rottweiler dog always several paces ahead of them. How far had they come? A mile? Two? More? He stopped wondering the instant a small clearing jumped into sight.
Eventually, a little timber-cutter's log shed, nestled amid mighty elms and maples came into view.
Though the setting felt fairytale-like, Dembe hardly expected Bambi would show up. Where was Kate? There was no body. Had she survived? He glanced at the body bag he toted. The old man had his eyes trained on Dembe as he walked alongside him to the shed. A ways off, a crow squawked; the dog's ears pricked up. His interest waning in the cry, the hound clambered up the weathered wooden porch steps and plopped down with a pfft.
"Have you seen an old woman in these woods recently?"
The codger looked surprised. "A woman 'round here?" He angled a foot foot on a step. He'd made it sound as though he'd never seen a woman in his life. "An old woman, you say." He laughed with a snort. "Now, what would a woman, young or old being doing out here alone? Doesn't make sense." His pointed look settled on Dembe.
"Have you, or haven't you?"
"No," he lied. "A friend of yours?"
"A woman I know." He rifled off, "She was wearing large, black-framed glasses, a tailored suit. She has thin, light brown hair to here." His broad hand motioned a cutoff at the sides of his jaw. "I'm here to find her."
"How long's she been gone?" the old man asked, his face deadpan.
Tersely, Dembe replied, "About a week or so ago."
"You did say recently. I haven't seen anybody like that." His mind went to his unexpected houseguest chained up in his house. His face remained composed, as uncommunicative as stones.
"No one?" Dembe badgered, piqued. The man lied; he could feel it in his bones.
"No one," was his swift, flat reply.
Dembe's heated look wrestled with the man's deadpanning.
"Haven't seen anyone, man or woman." His demeanor did a one-eighty, he inviting, "Go in, have a look, if y'like. I got nothin' in there 'cept the little I got. And that ain't much."
Dembe took him up on it, wasting no time. The old guy wasn't lying about not having much. The rustic site felt like taking steps backward several decades. A potbelly stove, a turn of the century sink, with a washboard sticking up in it, and a small unhewn table ready for kindling greeted Dembe's eyes. An oblong window, smudged and cracked in one corner, hung above the head of the man's army-style cot. The rickety floor creaked with every step taken. Musty and bleak, this hovel lacked sufficient space for the man and his dog, let alone any company that happened by. Dust motes tangled in the air, and clutter lay jumbled several layers deep. What was wrong with this picture would be too lengthy to detail.
"Satisfied?" the old man put to Dembe, as though haul out his trophies.
"You live here?" Dembe never stooped to snobbery. He'd known poverty, and abundance. But, even the poorest people knew how to be sanitary.
"We do," the codger lied, indicating his furry, four-footed roommate with genial eyes. "Cozy, ain't it?"
Hardly, came to Dembe's mind. Cozy it would never be unless the eyesore were torn down and begun again. He'd seen enough, content to come away from the cloying odor of dirty old man and mutt.
"Thank you for your time, sir," Dembe offered politely. Outside again, appreciating sweeter air, he breathed deeply, filling his lungs.
"You'll get lost unless I take you back. From here to the meadow, things get to look all the same. You'll go 'round and 'round in circles. Might not even end up back here." The codger, moved alongside him. Last year, about this same time, two hikers had gone missing in these woods, and hadn't been found since. The speculation was, something wild and voracious, with steely sharp teeth, had found them first. Although, nothing had ever been documented.
Back at the pond, the codger mentioned, "Think she's lost?"
"I don't know what to think."
"Wish I could have been of more help. Hope you find her..." The liar's thoughts ran to Kate, chained up where he really lived a few miles in the other direction from here. His smile never showed on his face as he continued watching Dembe. If he got rid of him, others would come. She was like him, a liar. He'd asked her if anyone knew that she was here. His motion-activated cameras proved that she'd lied. She'd been with two men on cameral, this black man, and an older white man. There'd been no suicide attempt. But, an attempt on her life had been made. Was he looking for her to finish the job?
"Thank you for your time."
"Don't mention it," the codger relinquished.
This man is lying. I know he lies. Kate...where are you?
The codger's canny eyes never left Dembe as he made his way back to the car. Seated behind the wheel, Dembe noticed the man waving. A hollow gesture, Dembe thought. He waved back, his heart not in returning the action. His dropped his hand heavily to the steering wheel center, regretting what he had failed to do.
Finding her.
His throat throbbed and his muscles ached. When his phone claimed his attention, he answered it. "I'm on my way back. No, Raymond, there was nothing of her to find." He scowled, disagreeing with Reddington. "I don't believe that. She was not devoured by animals. I will find her body."
The call ended, and Dembe backed out of the dirt path, onto the paved road, driving on.
Later that day, as twilight closed in, the codger was warming up more soup for Kate. She needed to use the bedpan she told him. At least he'd emptied it from last time. Looking intrigued as he continued to stir the soup, he posed, "Guess who I found lurking in the woods, nosing around? Searching for you." He tasted his gamey creation, deciding the concoction needed a pinch more salt.
Kate, battling a severe dizzy spell, sitting on the edge of the smelly bed, croaked, "Who?" When did laundry day roll around? Soiled and fusty, the bedding would've made even someone with a strong stomach gag. She touched the bandaged side of her face, upsetting the position of her glasses that threatened to fall from her face.
"A friend of yours…," the codger baited, wagging his tongue like his dog wagged its tail. He rolled his cataract-prone eyes while his graying eyebrows moved up and down, like some simpleton. Pleased with himself, he half-turned, gazing at Kate, then called to his dog.
"F-friend?" Kate muttered, struggling. Images of Reddington sparked. "Fr-friend?" The tickle in her throat tormented her. "Wh-who?" she coughed out.
"Don't know his name. He never said, and I never asked. As sure as you're sitting there, he was lookin' for you. Described you to a tee. Came with a body bag, with a mind to collect your remains."
"W-wh-what did…wh-what did h-he—"
"Look like? Like I need to tell you. You know what he looks like." He humored her, caught up in this impromptu game of cat and mouse. "Tall. Black. Big, athletic build. Heavy accent. Katie. He's the man in the camera." Pausing, the codger sampled the soup again. "What's his name? And the other man's? The dapper, balding white guy." He chuckled, clanging the rusty, stain-stippled pot with the spoon. "Don't pretend with me. Not anymore. Who are they?"
Kate hesitated, unwilling to surrender their names. Why did he want to know? The wise little voice in her head told her to keep her mouth shut. "I…ca-can't—"
"Yes, you can. You remember. C'mon, sweetie, you really should," the codger coddled.
His unpredictable chuckling bothered her, the mockery implied. "I need pri-privacy," Kate made clear. Beads of sweat spanned her forehead. She reeked, needing to bathe, but she'd never allow him to do that to her. Whenever he touched her, she shrank from him, seeing what lurked in those shifty eyes of his.
Coming away from the wood-burning stove, he looked her over. "When you're done, holler."
He and the dog left; Kate sighed, tugging her shackles, maneuvering herself over the bedpan. She welcomed his absence, dawdling on purpose after she'd relieved herself, setting the potty aside. Overbearing, his presence made her yearn for freedom. Grudgingly, she mustered up enough of her voice to tell him she'd finished.
Returning, he ladled steaming soup into her filmy bowl, setting it on the table, then helped her to her dinner. The chain scraped the floor with every step. Before taking his seat opposite her, he fetched a foul-smelling, old rag for washing her hands, then threw it into the sink filled with murky water, which had sat in it for days. Once seated, he dipped the spoon into the bowl, blew on the spoonful a few times, then raised it to her mouth. Softly, he prompted again, "So, Sweetheart, who are they?"
She'd get to slurp once his condition had been met. No information, no food.
Her trembling lips, and watery eyes fixated on the motionless dull spoon that brimmed with lumpy muskrat soup, she croaked, "De-Dem…Dembe. Ca-came h-here?"
"Dembe, hmm. The black man."
Kate's nod was slight. "De-mbe."
"What is that, Dembe...his first name? His last?"
That information was a mystery to her as well.
The puzzled look on her face prompted him to move on. "Who's the white man?" He inched the dull metal spoon closer to her cracked lips.
Before spoon-feeding her a drop, the old man paused and Kate whispered, "Ra-Ray…mond."
"Raymond," her grinning caregiver repeated approvingly. "Good, good. Now, see...that wasn't so hard." He rewarded her with soup.
The struggle raging within herself showed on her face as she gave up Raymond's surname. She said it like a curse. "Redding-ton."
Proud of her, the codger rewarded her with more soup. How much more weight might she lose, the codger conjectured. She was such a thin, pale thing, probably couldn't weigh much more than eighty, maybe ninety pounds, soaking wet.
His lard-laden soup trickled down her sore throat; the more she consumed, the more loquacious she became. Poignantly, she gasped, and breathily reported, "He-he di-did this t-to me..."