Thomas O`Callaghan - The Screaming Room

“We believe your mother was the midwife for a set of twins born sixteen years ago. A boy and a girl. Did she keep records of her deliveries?”

“No,” she answered, but Driscoll read worry in her face. She used a set of shears to cut the end off a length of yarn.

“This cloak is for a baby,” she sighed. “Our infant mortality rate is forty percent higher than the white man’s. The nearest pediatrician is thirty miles away. But even he would be of little help now.”

Driscoll read the sadness in her face.

After a moment, he continued. “The twins were Angus and Cassie Claxonn.”

Taniqua flinched. Again, Driscoll caught it

“March 1991. You were what? Twenty? Twenty-five? Surely, you’d remember.”

“I don’t,” said the woman.

Driscoll knew she was lying. He wondered why.

“These were twins, Taniqua. You must remember twins being born.”

“The only thing I remember about my twenties was dropping out of school and getting high on peyote.”

A silence passed between the two. It was Taniqua, oddly enough, who broke it.

“Maybe they were born at the hospital in Franklin,” she said.

“Did your mother work there?”

“Yes,” said Taniqua. “Your white twins must have been born there.”

Although Driscoll was certain the woman was hiding something, he left her to her weaving.

Driscoll headed over to Franklin Medical Center, where his reception wasn’t warm. In condescending fashion, the administrator made it clear that employment records were confidential. As he stepped out of her office, an attractive secretary silently mouthed: “Never worked here,” and handed him a flyer for Prilosec. On its back was scrawled “Sheryl-304-358-7038.”

Climbing into the rented Dodge, he tapped the flyer on the steering wheel and grinned. He checked his watch. It was nearing five-thirty and he was hungry. What he needed was a solid meal before heading south to the motel holding his reservation for an overnight stay.

He headed east, toward Oak Flat, where he discovered that Main Street was a pit stop for U.S. Route 33. It featured a Mobil gas station, the Duck Inn Whiskey Emporium, and Luellen’s Diner. He pulled up in front of Luellen’s. Inside, the metal walls and a string of steel stools lining a Formica-topped counter reminded Driscoll of Norman Rockwell’s “The Runaway,” where a freckled-face truant was being treated to an ice cream cone by a policeman. Driscoll straddled one of the stools and looked around. A buxom gal, with the name MaryLou embroidered on her apron, cast a wink at the gent she had been flirting with and sashayed over.

“Hi there,” she said, sliding a glass of water, a paper napkin, and a set of eating utensils onto the counter. “What’ll it be?”

“How’s the beef stew?” Driscoll asked, looking at a blackboard featuring the menu.

“Chock-full of garden fresh veggies.”

He gave her a nod.

MaryLou poured a ladleful of the stew into a bowl and placed it before Driscoll. “You’ll be wantin’ crackers with that,” she said, placing a handful of Saltines next to his meal.

Driscoll took out the area map he had been given by the Avis attendant, palmed it flat across the counter, and found Sugar Grove, where he’d spend the night. His actions were watched intently by two of the locals, who were seated in a nearby booth, sipping from bottles of Rolling Rock beer.

“Can I expect any traffic on Route 21 this time of day?” Driscoll asked MaryLou.

“You are definitely an out-of-towner,” she said. “Where ya headin’?”

“Sugar Grove.”

The sound of a whining dog interrupted them.

“Orville, that damn mongrel of yours is loose again.” MaryLou cast a glare at one of the beer-guzzling duo. “He puts his paw through that screen door one more time, I’m gonna shoot his ass off.”

Orville bolted for the door.

His partner, who looked like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz, eyed the contents of Orville’s beer bottle. After a quick look outside, he downed half of what remained.

Orville returned from tying up his dog and eyed Driscoll and his map. He glanced at his buddy and grinned, displaying incomplete rows of nicotine-stained teeth.

Sensing a scene, MaryLou glared at the drunk. “Go on. Get back to your booth before ya get yourself into trouble.”

Orville cast a threatening glare at Driscoll before following her instructions.

“Pay no mind to those two idiots,” MaryLou said, eyeing Driscoll’s designer khakis and Izod shirt. “What brings a snazzy dresser like you to Oak Flat?”

“I’m looking for a set of twins. Teenagers. A boy and a girl.”

“What’d they do?” she asked, sensing he was either a cop or a private investigator.

“Plenty! We’re talkin’ one bad pair.”

“It’s them drugs, ya know. It’s all the rage, now. Teenagers, huh? How old?”

“Sixteen or so.”

“Well, I dunno if it’d help any, but a number of years back, maybe ten, there was a seta twins down here that fit that bill.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Two blond kids. A boy and a girl, like you said. Spittin’ images. They lived on the Indian reservation. Cute little buggers, they were.”

“You sure they lived on the reservation?”

“Sure as there’re carrots in the stew.”

“Why’d you lie?” Driscoll asked, his eyes boring into Taniqua’s.

The woman’s face flooded with color. With a long exhalation, Taniqua surrendered to the inevitable.

“I’ll tell you what you came to hear,” she sighed. “Please, sit.” Taniqua squatted on a prayer mat and faced Driscoll. “My mother was loved as a midwife. To her, every birth was special. To the tribe, she was its shaman. She talked to the spirits and they answered her. The mother of the twins you’re looking for was a white woman, a drifter, who had come knocking on my mother’s door, wanting an abortion. Said she was pregnant and that her brother had raped her. But the woman was near full-term, so my mother delivered the twins.”

“Why’d you hold that back?”

“My mother didn’t want to involve herself, or the tribe, in a white man’s investigation of a rape. She assisted in the births and made no record of them. I lied because I didn’t want to disgrace my mother.”

Fair enough, Driscoll thought. “What became of the woman?”

“She disappeared after the babies were born.”

“And the twins?”

“The birth of a set of twins to a Catawba tribe is considered an omen of good fortune, so my mother felt honored to raise them herself. But when they were going on seven, the woman returned for them. Said she and her brother were heading up north and had plans for the twins.”

“What can you tell me about this woman and her brother?”

“Not much. I only saw the woman.”

“Get a name?”

“No.”

“What’d she look like?

“A very white woman. Blond hair. About my height. It was a long time ago.”

“Was that the last time anyone heard from the twins?”

His question went unanswered. Not certain if he had been heard, Driscoll asked it again.

“Was that the last time-”

“It was,” said Taniqua, sharply.

But something was astir in Taniqua’s eyes. Driscoll waited.

“They’ve been sending me things.”

“Things?” He felt a rush of adrenalin.

The woman’s eyes locked onto Driscoll’s as if seeking escape.

“Wait here.” She stood up and disappeared into another room. When she returned, Driscoll’s eyes widened at the sight of what she was holding in her hands. “I don’t know what they mean.” She handed her oddities to Driscoll.