Justin Stancil had given up on the world.
He'd even given up on life, and himself...until the day he drifted into Wildwood, Mississippi and accidently discovered something never experienced in his eighteen years of living.
Love.
It was love in the shape of a woman named Dee Winslow. Beautiful and mysterious, she came to sit on the mossy bank of Willow River each afternoon, watching the fading sunset filtering through thick loblolly pines.
Justin saw her the day after he'd taken refuge in an abandoned shack in the woods, having arrived in the rural Mississippi county by chance. He'd run away from Phoenix, Arizona at age sixteen, and went north, only to learn a harsh lesson about surviving on the frigid winter streets. This year he'd headed south, intending to hitchhike to Florida.
But when he'd been dropped off at a truckstop near Hattiesburg, it had proven difficult to get a ride. Nearly an entire day passed, and he was still trying to catch a trucker. No one wanted to risk hauling him around, and a few men even told him they'd give him money for bus fare home.
Late that afternoon, Justin was spooked by a sheriff's patrol cruiser. He suspected someone at the truckstop had reported him loitering. So when a biker came in, Justin approached him and was relieved to get a ride on the back of his Harley.
They roared down the highway, conversation impossible. Justin was glad not to have to pretend, make up more lies about himself. Maybe he just looked like a scared kid, and that's why everyone wanted to "help" him, which usually meant returning him to a dad he'd fled in fear of his life.
The two-lane blacktop wound through lush countryside, warm and pleasant. It was only early March but already trees were budding, the grass was getting green, plum bushes blooming. The air had an earthen loamy scent, and Justin breathed it in deeply, relaxing a little, glad to be on his way to Florida.
The biker pulled off the highway just before sundown at a roadside picnic table. Gruffly he said, "Boy, you want a joint?"
Justin did not smoke dope; he didn't even smoke cigarettes, so he replied, "No, don't do that stuff."
The biker, a hulking guy, had matted long hair and looked like he hadn't had a bath in weeks. His jeans were grimy, and the black t-shirt he wore rode up over this paunchy stomach; a tattoo on his bicep read: T.W. BAD ASS. As he climbed off the Harley, he said, "Let's take a break, kid."
Justin dismounted, stretching his legs as the biker walked to the cement table, squatted down and began rolling weed into a thin paper wrapper. He squinted up at Justin, a glint in the his black eyes. "Say boy, you queer?"
Justin grabbed his backpack, sprinted into the thick woods and ran for his life. He'd seen that peculiar look in other mens' eyes and knew it was only a matter of minutes before the biker put the moves on him. And if Justin wasn't willing, it would be rape.
In the two years since leaving home, Justin had lost count of the times he'd had to fight off sexual advances, once almost not getting away from an old man in Chicago. The tramp had been willing to share his cardboard box in an alley with Justin, but during the brutally cold night, the old man had gotten Justin penned on his back, almost had his pants off when he woke and kicked the bum in the groin, finally escaping into the frigid, windy streets.
Now, as he ran through the woods, Justin felt a sudden overwhelming weariness. It was just too hard, too painful to survive this way. He even longed for his warm bed back home where he could at least escape the drunken shouts and crashing furniture by putting on his Walkman headphones.
But then he remembered his dad's red-blotchy face, his angry, liquor-glazed eyes, and felt the blows hitting his back, his ribs, his face. Maybe he wouldn't even be alive today if he hadn't run away. Again he wondered why his mom had never tried to stop it, or why she never left his dad...
Suddenly Justin stopped, catching his breath. He looked around the tangled vegetation, some dry vines twisted into a treacherous undergrowth, difficult to get through. He realized the biker was not coming after him, and slumped down on the damp ground, leaning back against a pine.
It was nearly twilight, the sun lost below the horizon, a red glow flooding the woods. Justin was cold, pulled his denim jacket closer and lowered his head. What was he doing, running off into this desolate southern landscape?
He regretted not taking to the highway, trying to get another ride...but it was too late for that. Dark was coming on fast, so he stood, adjusted his backpack and managed to get around the tangled vines, walking briskly toward what he thought sounded like distant traffic.
But when he stopped to catch his breath, he listened closely and realized the whooshing sound was more like rushing water, maybe a creek or river. He struggled onward, not knowing where he was heading.
The reddish glow was gone, the woods growing eerie in twilight; deep, dark shadows filled the vast woodland, and Justin cringed with apprehension. He stopped, stood still and tried to decide how far he'd come since leaving the highway. Probably about a mile, or less...but it seemed like he was isolated, far off in a wilderness.
He had just about decided to find a spot and rough it out in the woods when a sharp, shrill bird call sent chills down his spine. It was a scary, almost haunting sound and Justin fled, running through the woods, crashing into bushes, leaping over fallen logs, unaware of his direction.
The rushing sound was close now, and he tried to see ahead into the mist swirling up from the ground. He felt his heart racing, and sweat drenching his body in spite of the cold.
Determinedly he stumbled ahead, abruptly seeing a grey plank shack, hardly daring to believe his luck. He slowed down, took a deep breath as he approached what appeared to be an empty, deserted haven.
He peered into the shadowy interior though a plank that had come loose, and saw it was empty. Slowly he pushed open the rickety door, and exhausted, he sat down on the damp plank floor, took off his backpack.
Looking around in the dim light, it was difficult to make out much, and he was so tired he just took a blanket out of his backpack, spread it out and lay down. The ever-present rushing of the nearby river lulled him into an uneasy sleep.
* * * * *
Justin came awake, startled by a loud sound. He leapt to his feet, momentarily disoriented. He looked up at the flimsy tin roof, heard something scurrying noisily across it, then a thud as it hit the ground. He peered out through the broken plank, saw a fat raccoon waddling toward the river in early dawn light.
Justin stared as the creature disappeared into the thick fog hovering over the muddy river bank. Chilled to the bone, he pulled his coat tightly around him, and went outside.
Tall loblolly pines grew closely together, willow trees limp in the mist, tiny leaf buds on the hardwood trees. Mossy banks sloped downward to the rushing river, where he caught a glimpse of the coon disappearing on the far bank. He took a deep breath, smelling the tangy pines and rich loamy earth, a hint of dogwood blossom.
Invigorated, he forgot for a second that he was hungry, had not eaten since yesterday morning, and didn't know where he was. After the ugliness of the mean streets in big cities, Justin felt refreshed by the great outdoors.
Yet he suddenly felt uneasy about his whereabouts, and went to inspect the shack. Some of the planks were rotten, but the floor was stable, tar paper stretched along one side, as if someone had plans to do the whole thing, but never did. He figured the tin roof would leak in some places, but at least it was a shelter, even if cramped and decaying.
Justin sat down on his rumpled blanket, pulled a corner up around him and rummaged in his backpack for something to eat. He found a stale Snickers bar, peeled it open and bit into the hard chocolate. Chewing slowly, trying to swallow the sticky candy, he wished he had a cola or hot coffee to wash it down with.
Vaguely he wondered what to do next. As he finished the candy bar, he curled up again on the blanket, trying to get warm. He felt bone-tired, weary beyond his years, and felt his eyes slowly closing as he drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
The dream was of his mom's sweet voice humming a song he'd heard as a child: "Down in the Valley" and it created a longing so fierce it brought him awake. But as Justin opened his eyes to see faint shimmers of late afternoon sunlight falling through open gaps between planks, he kept hearing the humming and slowly became aware he hadn't dreamed it.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes drowsily, still hearing the sweet song being hummed, a few words sung off and on. He got to his feet, went to peer out the gap, saw her sitting on the bank of the river, long wavy black hair down to her tiny waist, her back to him, head tilted to one side as she hummed, low and lovely.
Justin felt a wrenching loneliness go through him, straight into his heart, lingering somewhere in his chest, causing a lump in his throat, almost choking him. The woman looked like his mom, at least in profile. That is , she resembled his mom when she was younger, and he was a small boy of about six.
He was paralyzed by painful emotions of the past as he stood there watching the woman who was staring at the distant horizon, entranced by the approach of sunset. She would occasionally toss her hair, run a hand through the wavy mass, lift it and continue to hum dreamily.
Justin sat down on the floor and saw her turn her head, look at the shack as though she'd heard his movement. He sucked in a deep breath, astonished at her incredible likeness to his mom: the wavy dark hair, her wide-spaced blue eyes, the full lips and short, up-tilted nose, the same flawless pale skin.
A shudder passed through him, and he closed his eyes, flashbacks of his mom being beaten by his dad playing in his mind, bringing the awful guilt of having left her back there at the mercy of a cruel husband. He'd begged her to leave; he'd repeatedly tried to convince her of the danger -- but she wouldn't listen, wouldn't even defend him when his dad came home stinking drunk, his hardened fists knocking holes in the walls.
Justin shook off the stupor of memory, got up and eased toward the loose planks, gently moving one and seeing the woman gasp, her face registering shock as he emerged from the opening. He said softly, politely, "Miss...please don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."
She didn't move, but her lips trembled, then her voice came in a nervous stammer, "Who...are you? Don't...come any closer!"
He was out now, and walking toward her, saying, "Miss, I...mean you no harm. I need to know which way's the highway."
She stumbled backwards, stopping inches from the water, asking, "What are you doing here?"
"I got lost, stumbled upon the shack...slept here last night." Justin dusted off his jacket, his jeans and tried to run a hand through his longish blond hair, sensing his disheveled appearance was scaring her.
"Look, it's thataway." She pointed up a hillside to the west, her hand shaking.
"I'm obliged. I'll just get my stuff and be gone." He pivoted, went back to the shack, slipping inside and retrieving the backpak. But as he started out again, she was standing closer, looking at him curiously.
She wet her lips, asked, 'Uh...you live around here? Don't think I've ever met you."
"No, just passing through." He walked by her, headed to the river, started west along the river bank.
"Wait," she called.
He stopped, looked back at her. "Yeah?"
She motioned toward a big willow, said, "I have some food there. I like to bring a snack down here, watch the sunset."
Justin was starving, and found it impossible to disguise his need for food. "I am hungry, been awhile since I last ate."
She suddenly smiled, revealing white even teeth, and invited, "Then come help me eat this cold chicken."
He didn't waste any time joining her.
*******
Justin found himself liking her. She was lively, clever and pretty to look at. The chicken was delicious; he ate it ravenously, then sippped ice tea from a thermos, munching on a roll. "So that's how I got lost. The guy who let me out, he said the farm was just over the hill."
"He musta lied. My home is not far up the hill, but we don't farm."
"My name's Justin Stancil, and I sure need a job bad." He wiped his hands on the napkin she offered, smiling.
"I'm Dee Winslow. Nice to meet you Justin." She crumpled her napkin, began packing up the remains of their snack, and as she leaned over, the long sleeve of her blouse went up a little, revealing a purple bruise just above the wrist.
Justin saw it before she hurriedly pulled the sleeve back down. He wanted to say something about it, but from the anxious look on her face, decided to keep his mouth shut.
"So...uh, Justin...what you plan now? I mean, the guy lied to you, there's no farm around here looking for help."
"I just don't know, I really am in a fix." He shrugged his shoulders, slumped down on the quilt. "Maybe I'll stay here tonight, I don't have money for a room in town."
Dee had the stuff packed up now, and got to her feet. She smoothed her jeans, being careful to make sure the sleeves of her blouse stayed in place. She tugged on her red belt, said, "I'd offer you a place to stay, but....my husband, he's not partial to strangers."
She was married! Justin felt a shock go through him. She looked so young, vulnerable, a melancholy lostness in her sad eyes.
"I know what you're thinking," she hastened to explain, "but I'm twenty, been married since I was sixteen."
"Um, well..." He was speechless, and felt embarrassed he'd felt so attracted to her, protective even.
"Say, I could bring you a sleeping bag, some food and stuff tomorrow morning. That shack's not much, but it's better than nothing. And I'll ask around, see if there's any jobs you could check on in town, or out in the country."
"That would be super, Dee." He got up, folded the quilt and handed it to her. "Thanks for the meal, don't mind telling you I was about starved."
"You're most welcome." She walked off, then looked back at him. "Can't come back tonight, it's getting late and Tom wants me at home by dark. I'll see you in the morning though."
"Sure thing."
Justin watched her head up the hill, never taking his eyes off the lovely shape of her, that long dark hair floating down her back. Beautiful -- and so like his mom it broke his heart.
* * * * *
It was a long, rough night. Justin slept fitfully, once going out to walk along the fog-drenched banks of the river. But it was colder, and he couldn't stay out long. The stars glittered in a black sky, a half-moon not providing much light.
Near dawn, he heard the unmistakable rustlings of critters. He watched the raccoon, joined by another one, waddle up and down the river bank, finally disappearing into the thick fog.
The footsteps came later, well after sunrise. He met her as she appeared over the hilltop, and took the armload of promised goods. He said, "I don't know how to thank you, Dee."
"You can't stay here without provisions." She smiled at him, her expression warm and welcoming. "I don't mind lending you this stuff."
He helped her put a sleeping bag, two quilts, a kerosene lantern, matches and small ice chest into the shack, saying, "This is super. What's in the chest?" He pulled off the top, saw ice-packed cokes, sandwich meat, mayo, mustard, lettuce and Little Debbie snack cakes. "Wow, this will hit the spot."
"And in this paper sack I have white bread, some other food to tide you over." She put it beside the cooler, and then peered back through the two missing planks. "Didn't you freeze last night? It got down to 40 degrees."
"Nah, I made it okay. But I sure appreciate the quilts." He studied her closely: she had on jeans, but with a long-sleeve sweater...her hair back in a ponytail.
"Well, guess I'll be getting back home. I have housework to do, a real mess to clean up." She slipped through the open boards, stood looking around the misty woods.
He went out, stood near her and said, "I really do appreciate the stuff. I...well, I sure dreaded heading to town before I ate."
"It's okay, really."
She moved away, but not before Justin saw a dark ugly bruise on the side of her neck. He stared at it, unable to say anything because it brought back memories of his mom's bruises.
"Guess I'll see you this afternoon."
And then she was gone, hurrying back up the hillside and disappearing into the lingering fog.
* * * * *
But she didn't come that afternoon, or the next morning and by the following afternoon, Justin was beginning to get anxious, worried about her and wondering why he was hiding in the woods. Why not go in search of her? Or just pick up and hit the highway, get back on the road to Florida?
He waited by the river when sunset approached, and finally saw Dee coming over the hillside. She was almost running and he called, "Dee, I'm over here."
As she came closer, Justin could see she was crying. Her face was wet with tears, and she was sobbing as she collapsed beside him. "What's wrong," he asked, alarmed.
"It's that bastard, Tom! He..." She hesitated, abashed, then added more calmly, "I mean, he...we...I..."
And it all suddenly made sense to Justin: she was being beaten by her husband, just like his mom had been. He said, ""He hits you, huh?"
"Yeah...I...it's not his fault, I shoulda done better."
Justin felt fury race through him, burning his blood, flashing that angry, heated rage he'd experienced so often in his childhood. "No woman deserves being beaten, no matter what!"
She was crying again, silently, tears falling on her face, a hand lifting to brush them away, her eyes averted. "I... I'm sorry for upsetting you. I didn't mean to."
He moved closer, glad he'd cleaned up some, washed off at the river, changed clothes. His arm slid around her shoulders, and she didn't withdraw. She felt so soft, helpless and needy.
"Please, I must go. Tom, he came home early, but then took off after the...uh, fight." She sniffled, leaning on his shoulder. "But he'll come back, and I'd better be there."
Justin heard a rustling sound, looked up the hillside, saw nothing. She looked too, but there was nothing in sight.
"Why don't you leave him Dee?"
"I can't. I mean, where'd I go? My folks don't want me back, I have no job skills." She shuddered, added, "But I'm afraid of him."
"Have you ever called the law? They might could help."
"No, he'd kill me if I did." She began sobbing again, and Justin held her closely. "Tom is mean, real mean."
Justin knew the man, though he'd never met him -- he was cut out of the same lousy mold as his dad. "Look, I'm leaving here soon. Why don't you come with me Dee?”
She looked up at him, her face suddenly hopeful. "You mean I could come with you? But where are you going?"
“To Florida, get me a job on the coast, real warm and nice down there."
"You really mean it, I could come along?" Her eyes widened, a look of such incredible longing in her blue eyes he had to restrain himself from kissing her trembling lips.
Justin knew he was falling in love with her. There was a physical attraction that made him ache, and which he tried to hide from her. He said bravely, "Sure, and we can both start a new life."
He face sobered. "I don't know anything about you."
He couln't resist it, he bent and softly kissed her lips, whispering, "All you have to know is that I'll help you, and take care of you."
She stared at him expectantly, and he rushed on to say, "Unless you want to go our separate ways in Florida, and if you do, I'll...let you go."
She melted into him, and he bent to kiss her upturned lips again. She responded by saying softly, "I trust you, I don't know why, but I do."
He felt for once life might be worth living after all.
And so they made plans: She would come to him the next morning in town, they'd catch a bus. She told him she had a small sum of money saved, enough for a bus ticket to Florida.
As she turned to leave, she said,"Justin this is my only chance, but I'm scared. What if Tom finds out that I'm leaving him?"
"Don't worry, just act like you always do. I bet he'll never have a clue you're planning to leave."
******
Justin spent the night at the river shack, but headed for town well before dawn, arriving at sunrise. He had no trouble locating the bus station, and saw with relief that a bus was scheduled to arrive at 9:00, just as Dee had said.
But as the hour for arrival drew closer, Justin got more and more nervous. There was no sign of Dee, and the few people in the station were looking at him suspiciously. His clothing was dirty, and being an unfamiliar face in a small town...well, people were naturally going to notice him.
The bus pulled in at 9:05, and he was tempted to board it, leave without Dee. But he just couldn't do it, couldn't abandon her.
He sat there another hour, fidgeting nervously on the hard bench. What could have happened? Had she had second thoughts? Decided she couldn't take a chance on him, a virtual stranger to her? Had Tom stopped her, found out she was about to leave him?
Just as Justin decided to head back to the river, he saw two sheriff's patrol cars speed by the station, red lights flashing, sirens screaming.
He started out the door, but halted when the old man behind the desk said, "Hey fellar, you not waitin for a bus?"
"Nah, changed my mind."
"Terrible thing, what happened...down to Willow River."
Justin paused, looking back at the old man's sad face. "Oh? And what was that?"
"A friend just called me, said they found Dee Winslow drowned. Looked like somebody strangled her, found her body in the river."
Justin couldn't believe what he'd just heard, he felt numb as he stumbled out of the station. Then in a rush, it all came back to him, the brutal reality of Dee's murder and be began running, faster and faster, heading down the highway toward Willow River.
As he came in sight of the river bridge, he saw officers leaning over the railing, pointing, shouting. Below, he saw two men in a boat with a lifeless body, long dark wavy hair framing the beautiful but bloated face of Dee Winslow.
Justin watched helplessly as the boat reached the bank, and several other men began lifting Dee's limp body out, long, long dark hair spilling down onto the muddy ground. A black body bag was waiting, unzipped, and the men began the gruesome ritual of entombing Dee inside the cold, dark plastic, her blue eyes forever sightless.
He felt tears sting his eyes, thinking that Dee hadn't made it after all -- her husband, Tom, must have found out she was leaving him. He must have drowned her, the bastard!
Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly heard a man shouting loudly, "Hey! There he is, get him! That's the sonofabitch I saw with my wife last night! He killed her!"
Justin couldn't move, he was stunned as the officers came running toward him, shouting, "Don't move, put your hands up, now!"
Dee's husband started toward him, yelling,"I'll kill you with my bare hands, you asshole!"
Justin watched as if in a trance, seeing the fat, greasy-haired Harley freak advancing on him...realizing that he was Dee's husband -- the same guy who'd given him a lift days ago.
Tom's meaty hands were outstretched, his loud curses indistinguishable from the officer's repeated commands to stand still, keep his hands up.
And then, when reason returned, Justin suddenly spun on his heel, started running away from the mob. He knew that Dee had been killed by her lowlife biker husband, but he also knew that he'd be blamed...and had no way of proving his innocence. Sitting in a prison or being executed would be his future -- which, as he ran faster and faster, he knew was no future at all.
When the bullet hit him, he hardly felt it, remembering instead the lovely sweet face of Dee Winslow, her beautiful, innocent smile, her trust in him. He leaned sideways as a burning pain in his chest overwhelmed him, and as he fell over the bridge rail, he remembered holding Dee close to him, how soft and tender she felt in his arms. His last thought, as he hit the muddy water of Willow River, was that now he'd join Dee, and they'd meet somewhere beyond the veil of time.