William Krueger - Heaven's keep

Stephen closed his eyes. “A light under the door.”

“The door that hid your mother and closed itself to you?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Anything else?”

Stephen shook his head hopelessly. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yet you remember much. I think you are right, Stephen. I think this is more than a dream.”

“What does it mean?”

“I do not know. But I will tell you this. If there is a door, it can be opened.”

“How?”

The old Mide shrugged. “Your vision. You will have to find the answer yourself.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You already have,” Meloux replied. “A vision is never seen with your eyes, Stephen. Your heart is the only witness, and only your heart understands.”

“So… what? I have to, like, talk to my heart?”

“I think listening will do.”

“Henry, I need an answer now. My mom’s in real trouble.”

“All the more reason for everything inside you to be still, Stephen, the better to hear your heart.”

“That’s all you can tell me?” Stephen said.

“I am afraid so,” the old man replied.

“Jesus.” Stephen threw the last of his cigarette into the fire, stood up, and left the ring. He disappeared through the rocks heading along the path back to Meloux’s cabin.

“He’s scared, Henry,” Cork said.

“He has reason to be. He holds a key, but does not know the lock that it fits.”

They walked together to the cabin with Walleye following closely. Stephen wasn’t there. Cork saw him far across the meadow, stomping along the path that would lead him through the forest to where the Bronco was parked. Meloux bent, picked up the black corn bread brick, and broke it open. The center was yellow and unburned.

“At the heart of most things that look bad is something that can be good and useful.” He crumbled the edible section of the corn bread and spread it on the ground for the animals. “I am sorry for your situation, Corcoran O’Connor, and I hope that you discover some good in it somewhere.”

Cork walked back the way he’d come. He found Stephen sitting in the Bronco, staring through the windshield. He got in, kicked the engine over, turned the Bronco around, and headed back toward town.

“Lot of good that did,” Stephen said. “Listen to your heart. What kind of bullshit is that?”

“I’d never accuse Henry of offering bullshit.”

“Okay, you tell me what it means. What door am I supposed to open?”

“I don’t know.”

“See? No help at all.” Stephen folded his arms across his chest and slumped in his seat.

Cork had intended to use the trip to Meloux’s to break the news to Stephen that he was flying to Wyoming, alone. But he found himself backing off, hoping a better opportunity might present itself, though he didn’t have a clue how that might happen.

Halfway to Aurora, his cell phone rang. He pulled to the side of the road and answered. He listened and said, “Thanks, Mal.” He put the phone away. “We need to get home,” he told his son. “They’ve found something in the mountains.”

Stephen’s face brightened. “Mom?”

“No. They’ve spotted the door to a plane.”

Day Three, Missing 49 Hours

Deputy Quinn was calling him Cork now.

“That’s right, Cork,” he said. His cold wasn’t so much in evidence anymore. “One of our planes spotted debris in a high mountain canyon in the Washakie Wilderness. It’s in an area that’s part of a formation known as Heaven’s Keep.”

“Debris?” Cork said.

“What they could clearly see appeared to be the door of a plane. It’s resting on a broad ledge that’s free of snow because of the high winds. Which also means that it’s going to be difficult to get to.”

“Any sign of the passengers?”

“Not at the moment.”

“How are you proceeding?”

“We have a chopper already in the air on its way to the location. If the pilot can find a reasonable place to land, he’ll attempt it. We have EMTs onboard. We also have a ground team prepared to head in, but that will take much longer, of course.”

“When will you know if the chopper’s able to land?”

“Probably within the hour. I’ll keep you posted. That’s a solid-gold promise. And will you pass the information along to Ms. LeDuc?”

“I’ll call her right now.”

When he hung up, Cork told the others what he’d learned, which was no more than they already knew. He called Sarah LeDuc and explained.

“Only a door?” she said.

“It’s a start, Sarah. At least we have a location. As soon as I hear anything more, I’ll let you know. Stay near your phone.”

When he hung up, Rose said, “I can’t just sit and wait. I’m going to make some lunch. Anyone want to give a hand?”

Annie took her up on it, and the two of them headed to the kitchen. The others stayed in the living room. The television was tuned to CNN, but the sound was off. Cork stared at the screen, where the standoff in Kansas was center stage. Footage shot across the plains showed desolate hills, yellow-brown beneath a blue sky that, despite its swimming pool color, looked as empty and desolate as the land. There was nothing rising across the whole of the horizon except the dark, distant buildings of the compound where Hargrove and his followers were encamped. They’d chosen the place in order to be lost to the world, Cork figured, but they’d screwed themselves royally. Best laid plans.

Looking at all the emptiness made Cork realize how closed-in the house felt, how constraining. What he really wanted was to be in Wyoming, looking for Jo. He wanted to be on the helicopter that was at that moment speeding to… what? Her rescue? Only a door. That’s all they saw. Only a door. And what did that mean?

“A door,” Stephen said, as if he’d read his father’s thoughts.

By now, everyone knew about Stephen’s dream, which Meloux, like Stephen, believed was a vision.

“Maybe it’s the door,” he said.

Jenny said, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

Stephen gave his sister a challenging look. “Why not?”

“I’m just saying we don’t really know anything yet.” She was less than gentle in her reply.

What she meant, Cork thought, was that the door was wreckage. And wreckage wasn’t good. Maybe she was trying to help Stephen see things more realistically, but her own nerves were frayed, and it came out as an accusation. They all were feeling the strain. He could see it in the pinch of their faces, hear it in the taut cadence when they spoke, feel it in the despair that hung in the house like fouled air.

He said, “Stephen, let’s do some surfing on the Internet.”

“Looking for what?”

“For hope,” Cork said. “Come on.”

They went upstairs to Stephen’s room and for half an hour looked on the Net for stories of miraculous survival in frigid conditions. What they came up with was a half dozen tales of men and women whose luck and courage had brought them out of impossible situations: a party that had survived the ill-fated Scott polar expedition; the crash of a Canadian military transport in the Arctic; a man who’d survived a plane wreck in the High Sierra and hiked through wilderness for two weeks to reach safety despite a dozen broken bones.

Stephen’s spirits seemed to rise with each miraculous tale, and he began pulling them off the computer and printing them to share with the others.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. A moment later Mal called up, “Someone to see you, Cork.”

To his profound surprise, Cork found Hugh Parmer standing in the shade of his porch.

“This isn’t a good time,” Cork said curtly.

“I’m sorry to intrude, O’Connor, but I have something to say to you that I thought you’d want to hear. It’s important or I wouldn’t bother you at a time like this.”