Jesuit settlements and the long-term effects of Christianization on the native population since the seventeenth century. My father brought two graduate students and me. It was my first trip with him.
“I hadn’t yet decided on either archaeology or anthropology as a career, but my father felt it was important that I be part of this particular project because of my native ancestry. When my parents adopted me, they took me to Toronto and placed me in an expensive, progressive private school, one that was respectful of my heritage. Money can buy you almost anything,” Billy said, the trace of bitterness not entirely disguised by his professorial delivery. “Even respect from other people. At St. Rita’s in the Soo, the priests had done everything possible to beat the Indian out of me. My father and mother wanted to try to heal some of that, and they believed that an excellent education was the best way to undo some of the damage.
“One of my father’s students on the dig was a young man named Richard Weal. Dad described him as the most brilliant student he’d ever had. His IQ was in the highest percentile, and he had an academic history that was stellar, as well. I think Dad saw him as second son.”
“How did that make you feel?” Thomson asked.
“It didn’t make me ‘feel’ one way or another, Sergeant Thomson. My parents took a twelve-year-old orphan boy out of a church-run hellhole and into their homes and their hearts. They gave me the best education money could buy. Their love for me wasn’t a question in my mind. My father’s pride in Richard wasn’t a threat to me at all. It wasn’t that sort of relationship. I was Dad’s son, not Richard.”
“Just establishing the facts, Dr. Lightning. Please go on.”
“The second student was a young man named Emory Greer. He and Richard barely knew each other at the time they agreed to join my father on this dig. They were both students of his, but from very different backgrounds. Emory was very quiet and self-effacing. He was deeply studious, even by post-graduate standards. Richard, on the other hand, was a star in and out of the classroom. As an undergraduate, he’d been on the varsity track team-as I recall, his event was the decathlon. He was popular with everyone.
“The dig had been intended as a three-month project. We’d made two teams-I was assisting my father, and Emory and Richard were the second team. My father had arranged with the Parr family for us to work in and around the region of Bradley Lake between June and August. Everything had been going relatively smoothly. Even the black flies were manageable that spring, which, the locals told us, was unusual. It had been cold, so maybe that’s what kept them at bay.
“In any case, we were making a bit of progress-some arrowheads, bits of utensils. Some coins. Nothing particularly remarkable, at first. We also found what we thought might have been an altar chalice of some sort. That was a banner day. As I recall, Richard found that particular item.
“After about the second week, we noticed that Richard was acting strangely. He would go silent for hours on end, almost like he couldn’t hear us. I remember on one occasion, early on, we were five miles into the bush from Bradley Lake, and Richard was on his knees brushing something-a patch of rock, or something-to clean it. He suddenly looked up and said, ‘What?’ No one had spoken to him, or said anything for that matter. It was a completely quiet day.”
Elliot asked, “Echoes, maybe? From in town? Sound plays funny tricks up there on that escarpment sometimes.”
“No, not that day,” Billy replied. “There wasn’t even any wind. Richard got very angry with us. It was completely out of character for him to get angry like that, especially with my father. Richard actually
“I’m sorry-the what?”
“The Indian paintings,” Thomson explained without turning to look at Elliot. “Go on, Dr. Lightning. We’re listening.”
“When Richard didn’t come back for lunch, Dad went out to look for him. Dad spent about two hours, and then came back without him. He said he couldn’t find him anywhere. He was pretty worried-like I said, he was very fond of Richard. At five, we were just about to drive into town and report him missing when he came wandering back to the site. His face was scratched and dirty. There were bits of branches in his hair. His clothes were filthy.
“My father’s first thought was that he’d been hurt in some way. Richard stumbled a bit, like he was drunk. He tripped and fell, then lay there for a moment. We rushed over to help him up. He seemed disoriented.”
Thomson said, “Was he drunk? Did he have a bottle back out there in the bush?”
“No, he wasn’t. In fact, the first thing he did when we picked him up off the ground was down an entire canteen full of water. He drank it like he was trying to put out a fire in his throat. Dad told him to slow down and take it easy, but Richard just brushed him away and kept drinking till he’d drained the entire canteen dry.
“My father asked him where he’d been. Richard seemed confused by the question. He believed it was just before lunchtime. My father told him it was close to five p.m. and he’d been gone the entire afternoon. He thought we were joking until Emory showed Richard his watch. Richard said he’d gone for a walk-he’d been very angry, he said. He was convinced that we were playing tricks on him before.
“He said he heard a man say his name, practically right beside his ear. My father told him he must have imagined it, but Richard said he hadn’t imagined it. He said he heard it clearly. Then he’d heard it a second time, fainter, but no less clearly. When he’d looked up, there had been no one there except us. He hadn’t believed us when we said we hadn’t heard anything, which was why he stormed off.”
“Did he say where he’d gone?” Thomson asked.
“He said he’d gone for a walk. He said he didn’t remember anything else.”
“But you say he was gone for-what, five hours? And he didn’t know where he’d gone?”
“As I said, he thought he was only away for about twenty minutes. He said he’d walked in the general direction of the cliffs where the pictographs are located. He said he didn’t know why he’d left the site, or how far he’d walked.”
Thomson said, “You say he was scratched up? Dirty? Did you ask him how he got that way?”
“Yes, sergeant, of course we did.” Billy said. “Richard looked down at himself like it was the first time he’d seen the dirt and the scratches. He actually seemed surprised. He said he must have fallen. My father asked him if he’d maybe hit his head and had been unconscious the whole time, but Richard said, ‘No, I’d have remembered that.’ He didn’t remember anything, but he said he would have remembered the pain of falling down. Dad checked his head- no bumps, no cuts, nothing. He was drenched in dried sweat, Dad said, which was odd considering that it was a cool day and he hadn’t really done much work that morning. But my father said his clothes were stiff with it.”
“What happened then?” Elliot had abandoned any pretence of disinterest in Billy’s story at this point. He leaned forward in his chair, elbow on a knee, chin cradled in his knuckles.
“We drove him to the one doctor in town. On the way, he drank a second canteen of water, more slowly this time, but again-all the way down. I don’t remember the doctor’s name.”
“Probably Doc Oliver,” Thomson said, more by reflex than anything else. “He died in ’69. Good man. Smart fella, even for a doctor.”
“As I said, I don’t remember. It was more than twenty years ago. In any case, the doctor checked Richard over and said he couldn’t find anything wrong with him. Nothing broken, obviously, no evidence of any concussion. The doctor actually suggested that it might have been a mild form of heat stroke, but that it would be hard to tell because of all the water he’d drunk as soon as he came back to the site. He told us to take Richard back to the motel and put him to bed so he could sleep it off.
“Richard was sharing a room here at the Nugget with Emory. That night, Emory woke up to find the door to the motel wide open. It was a bright night. There were a lot of stars. Richard’s bed was empty. Emory put on his bathrobe and his shoes and went to the doorway. Emory saw Richard kneeling in the middle of the road leading to the motel. He was completely naked. According to Emory, although Richard’s back was to him, he looked like he was praying. His hands were folded in front of his chest and he was staring off towards the edge of town, looking in the general direction of Bradley Lake with his head slightly bowed.
“Emory pulled a blanket off his bed and ran over to Richard. As he got closer, he could tell that Richard was fast asleep. He’d obviously been sleepwalking. Emory said it was a miracle he hadn’t been hit by a car or a truck down there in the road. He put the blanket around his shoulders and tried to get him to stand. He told my dad that Richard struggled at first but that he eventually came along with him. Emory said Richard was muttering in his
