Captive Bride - Alta Hensley Page 0,31

was working on about the mysterious ghost town of Hallelujah Junction.

I pause and look at Christopher, my heart breaking for him as he is forced to sit and listen to this. He’s pale and his mouth is slack in what I can only assume is disbelief.

“Keep going,” Papa Rich demands.

My hands shake as I hold the paper, but I do as I’m asked.

Mr. Davenport isn’t the first to suffer such a tragedy in Hallelujah Junction. When the ranger who oversees the historical landmark of a town was asked to comment, he said, “We’ve had this happen several times in the past. We post warning signs and no trespassing signs to warn of the dangers, but some curious tourists take the risk anyway. The mining pits and old tunnels are extremely dangerous around here. There are acid, toxic gases, hidden shafts, and other lethal elements that make this area deadly if you’re not careful. It’s a shame he thought a picture was more valuable than his safety and ultimately his life.”

Christopher was a well-known photographer for Rolling Stone Magazine and also had many prestigious photo credits in National Geographic and other adventure magazines. His funeral services will be held at St. Joseph Presbyterian Church on November 2nd. The family asks that you respect their privacy during this difficult time.

I fold the newspaper as I say the last word, and I don’t want to see Christopher’s face. I know I will see pain. I will see heartache, and I’m not sure I can handle it.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Christopher says as he stands from his chair and walks toward us like an animal stalking his prey. He’s slow, each step is deliberate and the hatred in his eyes takes my breath away.

Papa Rich remains in the doorway unfazed and crosses his arms smugly. “I told you. I knew it was just as simple as telling them that you are just another careless victim of the acid pits. Bones and flesh sizzled to nothing. No way to know really, but what else could have possibly happened?”

Christopher makes his way to where we stand and extends the chain as far as he can but it’s not long enough. “I dare you to enter this room,” he nearly hisses. “Face me. Rather than standing in the doorway like the coward you are, face me. Face me!”

Papa Rich doesn’t move. He doesn’t seem angry or frightened in the slightest. “They were here. Feet from that window.” He points to the narrow cellar window. “They searched high and low for any sign of you. Sadly, they found your camera near the pits. Boot marks with your shoe size near unstable beams that were broken from a heavy weight. Sad. Sad. Sad.” He shakes his head in mock mournfulness. “Such a shame. If only he followed the rules or the posted signs.”

“Not everyone in my life is going to believe that,” Christopher says. “More will come. They’ll find me, and when they do, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

Papa Rich shrugs. “Your mother is quite the entitled bitch. She had the nerve to call me and demand to know how this ‘incompetence’ can occur. She even threatened to sue the State Forestry Department for the unsafe conditions of the town. Not that I care really. Not my problem. Other than the fact I’ve been asked to post more signs and to gate off the old mill. Not that it will help any. The curious tourists will still come… and they will still die.”

Christopher screams in frustration and yanks the chain around his ankle as hard as he can. And for a split moment I wonder if he’ll be able to break free with all the pent-up rage inside of him.

“Ember, your fiancé is upset. Which is understandable. It’s not easy to hear about your own death.” He pushes me toward Christopher. “Comfort your man. Ease his pain as a good wife would do.”

My heart skips because I don’t know what he means. Of course I will love if there is a way to comfort Christopher, but I don’t know how. I don’t want to disappoint Papa Rich in not following his order, but I also fear whatever I do will be wrong.

“Kiss him,” Papa Rich commands.

“Fuck you,” Christopher spats. He turns and makes his way back to the chair. “Sick motherfucker. Chicken shit.”

Papa only continues, “Go to him, Ember. Kiss him and offer comfort.”

I’ve never kissed anyone before. I don’t know what to do. I