Part 11 (1/2)
CHAPTER 8.
Jean-Guy Beauvoir had come down to Three Pines to help on the second day of the search.
It was mind-numbing, back-breaking, frigid work in the dark, dank forest. But none of the villagers had dropped out. They took it in rotations, two hours at a time, and just about everyone had volunteered for a stint.
”The coroner agreed it was possible Laurent's injuries were caused by being hit, rather than hitting the ground,” said Jean-Guy. ”He was a little kid, even for a nine-year-old. It wouldn't take much. It's a terrible thing, to take the life of a child.”
”Yes it is.”
”I also looked again at the photos from the scene and stopped there on my way out. You could be right.”
”Merci,” said Gamache, picking up a stick, examining it and tossing it behind him.
”And since you begged for my help, it was the least I could do.”
Armand smiled. ”I'm lost without you.”
Jean-Guy looked around. They could hear the shuffling of the other searchers, but couldn't see them.
”You might be lost with me.”
Decades', centuries' worth of fallen leaves had dried and decayed on the forest floor, so that as they walked it gave off a musky, woody scent that was not unpleasant.
The leaves overhead were changing, and with the bright sun on them it felt like they were walking under a ma.s.sive stained-gla.s.s dome.
”Over here,” came a yell.
Gamache and Beauvoir stopped and turned in the direction of the voice.
”I've found something.”
It was Monsieur Beliveau, the grocer. He stood, tall and thin, in the middle of the woods, waving. Gamache and Beauvoir began to walk quickly, then broke into a jog.
Others, hearing the shout, also began to head over.
”Stop,” shouted Gamache, picking up speed, running between the trees, trying to get ahead of the stampede. ”Arrtez. Right now. Stop.”
And they did. Not all at once, but the authority in his voice eventually registered and everyone ground to a halt, scattered through the woods.
”Did you find Laurent's stick?” Beauvoir asked as he approached the grocer.
”Non,” said Monsieur Beliveau. ”I found that.”
”What?” demanded Antoinette. She stood deeper in the woods, Brian by her side. She was unmistakable and unmissable in a bright pink woolly sweater that was covered in dried leaves and bark. She looked like an escapee from a Dr. Seuss book. On the lam from green eggs and ham.
Monsieur Beliveau was pointing at something but they couldn't see what.
”What is it?” Gamache asked quietly as he got closer.
”Can't you see it?” Monsieur Beliveau whispered. He moved his hand in a circle, but all Gamache could see was a particularly thick section of forest.
”Holy s.h.i.+t,” Gamache heard someone say behind him. He thought it might be Clara, but he didn't turn around. Instead Armand Gamache stopped. Then stepped back. And back again.
And tilted his head up.
”Merde,” he heard Jean-Guy whisper.
Then he peered at where Monsieur Beliveau was pointing. It was a small tear in the vines. And beyond that it was black.
”Do you have your flashlight?” he asked Jean-Guy, holding out his hand.
”I do, but I'm going first, patron.”
Beauvoir put on gloves, knelt on the ground, turned on the light, and stuck his head through the hole. Jean-Guy looked, though Gamache would never say it to his face, a bit like Winnie-the-Pooh stuck in the honey jar.
But when he came back out there was nothing childish about his expression.
”What is it?” Gamache asked.
”I'm not sure. You need to see.”
This time Beauvoir crawled all the way through the hole and disappeared. Armand followed, first telling everyone else to stay where they were. It did not seem a hard sell. As he squeezed through the opening, Gamache noticed bits of torn camouflage netting.
And then he was through into a world where there was no sun. It was dark and silent. Not even the scampering of rodents. Nothing. Except the beam from Beauvoir's flashlight.
He felt the younger man's strong grip on his arm, helping him to his feet.
Neither spoke.
Gamache stepped forward and felt a cobweb cling to his face. He brushed it aside and moved another cautious step forward.
”What is this place?” Jean-Guy asked.
”I don't know.”
Both men whispered, not wis.h.i.+ng to disturb whatever else might be in there. But Gamache's instincts told him there was nothing else. At least, nothing living.
Jean-Guy moved the flashlight around quickly at first trying to a.s.sess their situation. Then the rapid, sweeping movements of the circle of light slowed.
It fell here and there. And then it stopped and Beauvoir leapt back, pus.h.i.+ng into Gamache and dropping the flashlight.
”What is that?” Armand asked.
Jean-Guy stooped quickly to pick up the light. ”I don't know.”
But he did know there was something else in there with them.