Slamming the door, she rushed down the porch, past the little white gate, and out onto the beach. She ran until the sand beneath her was wet, where the tide came and cooled her hot feet, then rushed away into the ocean. She stared into the blue sea, into the soft waves crashing and falling, into the expanse of endless water...
     And then she broke. She wailed out, her agony carrying over the air. She fell to her knees, and the water seeped through her dress. “Why?” she screamed the words. “Why did this happen to my son?” One day her son was happy, loving, ornery...
     And the next day, everything changed. He'd went to the park with her brother—he'd been playing on the playground. What could have happened to make her ten-year-old son go insane? How could one day erase everything—one moment change her happy life into a nightmare?
     Her sobs wracked her body as the questions ran through her. Her brother had left to get a hotdog at the park, he'd said. The line was long, her son had been alone for just a while...
     What could have happened? What had he seen? If she'd have been a better mother, would this have happened? Shouldn't he have been secure enough to handle whatever had sent him into this horrid silence? Maybe she should have given him more love...more attention...played more games with him...
     “Stacie?”
     She whipped her head back, startled.
     Lowell Grams reached a hand out to her, lifting her to her feet. “You okay?”
     She nodded, composing herself, and wiped the sand from her dress. “I'm fine,” she said.
     But he could tell she wasn't fine. “No change with Caleb, huh?”
     His warm voice soothed her aching heart. “No,” she whispered.
     The doctor's arm dropped over her shoulders and pulled her against him. They stood looking out across the water in silence for a long moment. “I wish I could be of more help, Stacie. You know I'd do anything for him.”
     She kept her gaze on the water, ashamed at the tears that kept streaming down her cheeks. “I just wish I knew, Doctor. I wish I knew why he won't speak—why he's shelled himself against the world. Against me.” Her tears turned into sobs, and the doctor held her all the tighter. “I shouldn't have let him go with my brother! I should have kept him home, safe with me. I should have been a better mother, and maybe...”
     “Shhhh,” the doctor cut her off. He turned his body until he was facing her, and touched her cheeks with his hands. “I don't know why Caleb has separated himself from the world, but I do know it had nothing to do with you.”
     Stacie met his soft eyes. “I wish I could believe that.”
     Lowell stroked her cheek with his finger once more before saying quietly, “Lets go back to your house. I want to have a visit with Caleb.”
     Stacie nodded as they started to walk, silently thanking the Lord for this man. With her husband dead and her brother's unconcern in her life, she had thought she would go through this alone. But he had been here ever since Caleb's silence began two months ago. He had helped her through, and showed her ways to help Caleb.
     I don't know how I would do this without him, she thought, opening her door. He's been so good with Caleb—
     Her thoughts broke off.
     Caleb was sitting in his chair, hugging himself, staring at the television with stark fear on his face. He was crying...
     Stacie ran to him and knelt down in front of him. She grasped his hand, clutching it against her chest. “Caleb!” she breathed.
     He didn't look at her, but kept his eyes on the television.
     Slowly, Stacie turned as well. It was a black and white western, cowboys versus Indians. They was fighting...screaming...scalping...dying...
     Leaning forward, she snatched the remote from the coffee stand and turned it off. She looked back into her son's teary face. “It's okay, sweetie. What's wrong?” She knew he wouldn't answer. He never did.
     Lowell knelt down beside her. “Caleb, you can tell us. What upset you?”
     The boy's arms dropped to his lap, so he was no longer hugging himself, and the sniffs they had witnessed retreated into a silent stare.
     Discouraged, Stacie stood and Lowell stood with her. She looked over at him. “It's the first time he's done anything...first time he actually looked alive...” She looked back down at her son, into his faraway, troubled eyes. “Did the TV bring this on?” She wrung her hands desperately. “Or was he frightened by things he saw only in his own mind?”
     The doctor could only shrug. “I wish I knew, Stacie. I really wish I knew.”

........

      Stacie picked up the phone, dialed her brother's number, then listened as the phone rang. Once, twice, three times...
     Sighing, she listened as his voice mail picked up, then the phone beeped in her ear. “Jake, this is Stacie. Caleb actually cried today. I think maybe he's slowly coming out of this. Call me when you get the chance.”
     She punched the “end” button and placed the phone back on the hook. She knew her brother wouldn't answer. He hadn't even been to see Caleb since that day. Did he just not care—or was he overridden with guilt?
     The evening went by in that familiar, yet strange silence. She prepared them supper, watched some television with him, then helped him into bed. Going to her own room, she changed into a nighty and slipped into bed. The day had left her exhausted, discouraged, and—as always—guilty. But her fatigue overtook her worries, and she was very soon in a sound sleep.
 

........

     Her eyes came open and slowly adjusted to the darkness. She sat up in bed, wondering what had awaken her.
     And then the noises registered in her brain. It wasn't the soothing sound of the ocean, or the rain on the roof, or a neighbor's dog barking in the night...
     It was drums. Slow, quiet, frightening drums that whispered through her open window, telling her something was not right.
     She pulled the covers back and walked to the window. It sounded like—like the drums she'd heard in westerns. Like the old warpath songs that Indians used to play.
     But it couldn't be. She was dreaming... She had to be dreaming... Wasn't she dreaming?
     The door eased open, slowly and quietly.
      Stacie felt her heart stop in her chest. It couldn't be Caleb; he never moved unless he was forced to. And yet...
     A small silhouette entered the room and stood silently in the doorway. It was her son.
     Running to him, she embraced him. She touched his cheek, and realized that there were tears on his face. The Indians on television... The drums tonight...
     Someone was trying to frighten her son—trying to scare him deeper into his silence. But why?
     Pulling him with her, she went to her phone and dialed 911. A woman answered in a voice that sounded like she hadn't slept in days.
      “There's someone outside my house playing drums! I am really concerned. I think they're on my property!”
     The woman's dry voice came again, “Ma'am, do you live in a neighborhood? Are there other houses near you?”
      “Well...yes.”
      “It's just a neighbor, then. I suggest you go back to sleep, ma'am.”
      “But—it sounds like Indian drums.”
      She heard the phone click, telling her the woman had hung up. She sat on the edge of the bed, her arms tightly around her son, and hummed to block out the melancholy sound of those drums.

........

     Stacie woke the next morning to find Caleb sound asleep beside her. She just lay there a moment, soaking up the pale features of his face, yearning, yearning, yearning for his secret...
      She jumped when she heard a knock at her front door. Slipping out of bed, she grabbed her robe and ran to answer it. It was Lowell Grams, dressed in a tight sports shirt and slick shorts. Perspiration glistened on his skin, but Stacie could not have been more pleased if she had been given the moon. He looked like Heaven to her. He looked like safety. He looked like...
     “Hey.” His words pulled her away from her thoughts.
     “I'm glad you came, Doctor. I was so worried!” She stepped back, allowing him to come inside, then they both walked into the living room and took seats across from one another.
     “What do you mean?” His brow knitted into a curvy line. “Is there a change with Caleb?”
      Stacie leaned forward. “You remember how we couldn't figure out what upset Caleb yesterday?”
     “Yes.”
      “Well, it was the Indians.” She paused for a breath. “I know this sounds strange, but it must be it! And someone knows that. They were outside our house, playing drums. Caleb started crying again, and came and got in bed with me.”
     The doctor just stared at her, as if turning it over in his brain. Finally, he nodded. “Nobody knew that, though, but us.”
     “He obviously has a reason to fear Indians. Somehow it ties in with his silence.” She bit the edge of her lip. “I know this more than I know anything in my life, Doctor! I know my son, and I know someone is trying to frighten him deeper into his silence.”
     She was surprised to see a slight smile touch the doctor's face. “Your lips bleeding, Stacie.”
     “Is it?” she asked quietly.
     “Uh huh.” He moved from his seat on the couch, and stood directly in front of her chair, looking compassionately down into her lovely face. “It's all a little far fetched, Stacie. Nothing yet makes sense, but I'm sure—”
     “You don't believe me?” Her voice told of her hurt.
     “Of course I do. Maybe Caleb's always had a secret fear of Indians, and you just never knew of it. But the drums...”
     Stacie stood from her chair, finding herself very close to him. His breath on her face was warm and soft...
     “There really were drums, Lowell.” It was her first use of his name, and somehow she liked the way it rolled from her lips. “And I'm going to find out who was playing them.”
     The doctor leaned down and kissed her cheek, then whispered softly in her ear, “And I'm going to help you.”

........

     Shortly after the doctor left, Stacie got a phone call. She nearly gasped when she heard the voice on the other line. “Jake?”
     “Yeah, Stacie. It's me.” His voice was grim—more solemn than usual. “I need to talk to you.”
     Wow. That's a first. Stacie pushed away her thoughts. “What's wrong?”
    “A lot.”
     She braced herself.
     “Stacie, I don't know how to say this. I just learned of a body that was found buried in the woods. No one can identify the person, and so far there are no leads to who did it, though they know about when the person was murdered.”
     “I don't see how this concerns me—”
     “Stacie,” his stern voice silenced her. “The body was found by the playground; murdered on April 11th.”
     Black dots swirled in front of her eyes. She grasped the counter top frantically, not sure her feet would hold her. “April 11th?” she choked out the words. “The day, Jake? The day my son went silent?”
     She heard him cough in the phone, giving himself an excuse not to answer his bewildered sister. After a moment of silence, he said quietly, “Yeah, sis. I'm figuring Caleb saw...”
     “Oh, no.” She sank to the ground, clutching the phone against her ear. “My poor boy...”
     “There's more, Stacie.”
     How could it get any worse?
     “The man killed was scalped.”

........

     Her body was numb as she walked into her son's bedroom, where he sat idol in his chair. She stared into his face, into his troubled eyes.
     “Caleb,” she whispered.
     He didn't move, didn't even acknowledge the fact that she was standing in front of him. She hoped he could hear her. She wanted desperately for him to hear her...
     Kneeling in front of him, she took his hand. She looked hard into his face. “I love you, Caleb. Do you know that?” She paused for a second. “Did you know that you can tell me anything? You can tell me the things that make you happy, the things that make you sad.” Tears started down her cheeks. “The things that make you afraid. The bad things that happen. The scary things that make us hurt inside...”
     His eyes were hollow, dark, haunting—telling her that there was a wretched secret caged inside of him.
     “I'm right here, Caleb,” she whispered. “Right here. Waiting to listen.”

........

    
      It was dark. Every light in the house was off, and Stacie sat quietly in her chair, watching the news.
     She leaned forward when the advertisement came to an end, her heart pounding.
     “Another mysterious killing...”
      She caught her breath.
     “The body was found buried in the woods, brutally killed by a motiveless psycho that is unknown to us at this point. Police are still investigating, and are looking for the same killer that killed the unknown person found in Roseph Park on April 11th. Both victim's hair had been removed, cut from their scalp. The hair has still not been found...”
     Stacie stiffened, her blood running cold. There was a noise—a sound that wasn't coming from the TV. The killer was loose, and whoever it was knew that Caleb held his secret. What would stop him from coming here and murdering the both of them? She imagined her son, laying in the floor in his own blood, his hair stolen from his scalp...
     Stacie gasped, choking back a scream, falling from her chair...
     There was a face looking in her window, a hand pressed against the glass.
     She scrambled backwards, away from the window. Fear sucked the color from her face, making her limps tremble. She had to get to the phone in the kitchen... It was her only chance...
     She started across the room, each step slow and quiet. The night was black, she could hardly see. Why hadn't she left a light on?
     The hand started tapping, very quietly, on the window pane.
     Stacie glanced over, met the eyes. It was dark, but she could see the bright white paint that was speared across his face.
     He stopped knocking, and she just stood there in the middle of the room, paralyzed.
     He pressed something against the window, something long and flowing and beautiful.
     Stacie's world rocked back and forth before her, and she tumbled into a gravely silence and a blackness that was more frightening than the face.

........

     There was a voice calling out to her—a hand touching her face, drawing her back into consciousness.
     “Lowell...?” she breathed.
      There was a brief pause. “No, Stacie. It's me, Jake.”
      She opened her eyes, and found her head laying in her brother's lap. She was so stunned she couldn't speak.
     “Are you alright? Where's Caleb?”
     She lifted herself up, ignoring the dizziness that went through her. “He's in bed...I think...”
      “I'll go check.” He stood up, ran into Caleb's bedroom, then hurried back to her. “He's asleep. What happened?” he asked quickly.
     Stacie glanced towards the window, out into the darkness. “He came, Jake. He was here.” She gulped back a sob. “He held the...the hair in the window. I saw the hair, Jake!”
     He put a hand on her shoulder, looking closely into her face. “Are you sure?”
     “Yes...I saw it, Jake.”
     He sighed. “I should have come sooner. When I heard about the last murder, I knew someone needed to be here with you and Caleb.” His eyes were doleful—caring for the first time. “I'm sorry, Stacie. I'm here to protect you now.”
      “What about your job?”
     He detected the cold tone in her voice, but he knew he deserved it. It was the first time in years that he'd showed interest or concern for her and Caleb's life. “I took my vacation week. Hopefully they'll catch whoever this freak is by then.”
     “And if they don't?” She raised a brow.
     Her brother gave her a warning with the raising of his chin. “I don't know, sis. Let's not worry about that now. I've got police to call.” Having thus said, he stood and went to the phone in the kitchen.

........

     Police came by the next morning, dusted for fingerprints, looked for prints in the sand, then left. The man had worn gloves, and slight imprints of a foot told them that the assailant had worn moccasins. However, they found the entire story hard to believe, and completely irrelevant to the case.
     Stacie watched the squad car drive away, the ocean wind whipping at her hair. She didn't realize his presence until he was standing right beside her.
     “Hey,” he breathed.
     She turned to look at him, drinking up the handsomeness of his heart shaped face. “Hey, yourself,” she whispered back.
     “I saw a car in the driveway.”
     “My brother's,” she answered.
     “Odd time to come for a visit.”
     Stacie smiled. It didn't matter how sorrowful she was feeling, he always had a way of lifting her spirits. “He's come to play protective big brother for the first time in his life.”
     Lowell pulled her into a hug. “I'm glad. I worry about you—what with the strange things that have been happening lately.”
     “There's a lot I haven't told you yet,” she said quietly. “Someone came to my house last night, and was knocking on my window.” She swallowed. “They held hair against the glass.”
     Lowell pulled her back to look into her face. “What?”
     “And there's more. There was another murder—killed just like the body buried at the playground. Oh, Lowell! If only Caleb could talk...if only he could tell us whose killing these people...”
     Tears sprang to the doctor's eyes. “I'm still praying that he will—before it's too late.”

........

     Caleb sat on the edge of his bed, staring ahead of him. He kept remembering, remembering, remembering...
     He tried to stop, but the thoughts kept coming, the memory kept playing...over and over and over again. He'd been throwing the ball with some other kids. Just playing. Just having fun. Not even knowing what horror was happening around him...
     He'd missed the ball—it whizzed out of his reach, into the woods. He'd ran after it, but at first he couldn't find it. So he kept looking, edging deeper into the woods. And then he saw it—a man with feathers adorning his leather clothes. There was paint on his face, blood on his hands, a body at his feet. The skin and hair had been ripped from the face...scalped...killed...murdered...
     The man had looked at him, started to run after him. But Caleb had ran faster, he'd ran away, back to the playground.
     The door to his bedroom opened. His mother swept into the room, and a man walked in behind her. The man's eyes met Caleb's, and he felt the fear burst inside of him. He tried to scream...tried to warn his mother against the man she trusted...
     But nothing would come, and Caleb only sat there, frozen in silence, as he looked into the eyes of the murderer...

........

    
     “Sis?”
     She opened the oven door, set the timer for twenty minutes, then turned to look at her brother as he entered the room. “Yeah, what?”
     He looked rueful, as if he bear bad news. “I just got a phone call...”
     I knew it.
     “My boss needs to have a meeting with me and a couple other guys at work. I'll only be a couple hours or so, and I should be back by dark.” He paused and mustered a grin. “Think you'll be okay?”
     Stacie turned away from him. “Yeah, sure. What could really happen, anyways? Think I'm going to get scalped or murdered or something?”
     “Stacie, stop it. I'll be back by dark. Nothing is going to happen.”
      She didn't answer him.   
     “If you're that scared to be alone, why don't you call your doctor friend to come and stay with you. From what I can tell, it would make his day—and probably yours too.”
     Stacie's shoulders sagged. “We'll be fine, Jake. Go on to your meeting.”
     “If your afraid to ask him, I can call.”
     “No, don't do that. I wouldn't want to bother him, but it's fine. We'll be okay.”
     Her brother walked over to her, and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. Then he looked at her rather awkwardly. “I love you, sis. I feel like all of this is my fault—you being scared all the time, Caleb in his silence. I wish I could redo that day.”
     Stacie smiled at him, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know, Jake. Now you better go, or your boss might just fire you for being late.”

........

     The timer on the oven went off. Stacie pulled out the rolls, then set them on the burners. “Caleb! Time to eat!” Yanking off her mittens, she went to his bedroom, where he had been sitting all day. “Caleb, honey. It's time to eat,” she said softly. She took his arm, lead him to the table in the dining room, and seated him. Then she returned to the kitchen, prepared to get the hot rolls.
     She stopped dead still, her stomach churning, her heart skipping. She couldn't breath—couldn't move. There was an arrow stabbed into her kitchen cabinet, with long tresses of hair dangling from it.
     The phone! I got to get to the phone...got to call the police...
     She reached out and snatched the phone from the wall, dialing 911. She waited, but it wouldn't ring. Why wouldn't it work? Had the killer disconnected her?
    Dropping the phone, she ran back into the dining room. Caleb was gone. She heard something tumbling over in the other room... Glass shattering on the floor... Footsteps edging closer... 
     “Caleb!” she shrieked. A door slammed. “Caleb!” She ran for the front door and swung it open, looking out across the sand, searching for her son...
     She had to get help. She had to get to Lowell—he would help her. Opening the white gate, she dashed out across the sand. He only lived a few houses down. If she could just get there in time, she could call the police. Lowell would take his gun and start looking for the killer. He'd find Caleb before it was too late. Everything would be fine if she could just get to the doctor's...
     His house came into view, looking out across the water—standing tall and beautiful like a refugee...
     Gasping, she threw open his door and stepped inside of his living room. “Lowell!” she screamed. There was no answer.
     Desperate, she began to walk through his house, calling his name.
     “Stacie?”
     She paused, relishing the sound of his calm voice. She turned around, looked into his face...
     He was standing there, buckskins clinging to his muscled body, paint smeared across his face, hair buckled to his belt and dangling down his legs. His arm was around her son.
     “Let go of him,” she breathed the words. “Let go of my son.”
     The doctor cracked a smile behind his paint. “Oh no, Stacie. I can't do that.” He started walking towards her, dragging Caleb behind him.
     She backed up against the wall. Her eyes locked with Caleb's. His cheeks were blotched and red, his eyes frantic as the doctor pulled him forward.
     “I thought you cared for us,” she whispered. “I thought you were our friend.”
      He stopped just in front of her, his face inched from hers. “I am, Stacie. I do care for you—I always have. But Caleb here,” he nodded down to her son, “knows just a little too much for comfort.”
     “Why did you kill those people?” her voice shook with tremor, with pain, with anguish that was ripping away at her heart...
     “The white men took our land. I was revenging my people, don't you see, Stacie?”
      She looked into his eyes, and a chill ran through her. Lowell Grams, the respectable doctor, the loving friend, the constant refugee in her life, was insane. 
      “You're not mad at me, are you, Stacie?” He paused, lowering a brow. “You realize that this is what I must do. I don't want to kill you—but I must.”
     She swallowed hard, glancing frantically around her. The door was just across the room. She could push past him, run to the door... But how could she get Caleb away?
     “Please, Lowell,” she said carefully, curving her lips in a smile. “Why don't we talk this over. I didn't know you were Indian.”
     His face brightened like a small child's. “Yes, full blooded.” He pulled some of the hair from his belt. “Look what I got. It shows my bravery, as a warrior.”
      “Wow,” she breathed. “Impressive.” Just a few feet to the door. Got to get Caleb out of his reach...
     “Do you have anymore of those?” she asked.
     “Yeah.”
     Stacie swallowed. “Can you get them for me? I'd like to see them.”
     He seemed to consider this. “You really would?”
     “Yes! I've always had a fascination with hair. You should know that, Lowell.”
     He looked down at Caleb, as if suddenly remembering his presence. When he lifted his eyes back to her, she saw demons dancing in them. “You're lying to me, Stacie.” He yanked Caleb towards the hallway, with Stacie following behind him.
     “No, I'm not! I really want to see—”
     “Then I'll show you.” He ducked into a room, slammed the door before she could go in.
      “No, stop it!” she shrieked. She threw herself against the door—banging, pounding, banging...
      “No! Don't touch my son!” She hit until her knuckles bled, then she kicked with her feet and knees,trying to break through. She heard her son's scream hit the air, the first sound she'd heard him make in all these months. “Please...!” she gasped. “No, please don't! Caleb! Caleb!”
     The door flung open, and Stacie fell inside. She scrambled to her feet, ran forward, fell on top of her son...
     The doctor stood over top of her with a knife. There was blood on his hands, on the knife...
     Is my son dead?
     He reached down and threw her to the side. He bent down over Caleb again, blocking her view.
     She tried to stand, but someone pulled her back. She watched, dazed, as her brother lunged himself for the doctor. He wrestled him down, throwing punches into his face.
     The doctor raised his knife, but Jake pushed his hand down, into the Indian's face.
    Stacie turned away, gasping for air. The room had gone silent, deathly silent. She heard her brother moving towards her son, but she couldn't bare to look. She knew he was dead.
     She felt a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort. She couldn't move—couldn't face this. She wanted to die. She wanted to be lying there beside her son.
     “Mommy...?”
     Her heart stopped. Oh, dear Lord, have You let him live?
     She turned her head, slowly, and stared into her son's face. There was a cut along his hairline, and the blood dripped down his temples and his cheeks. But he was standing there, looking down at her, and he was alive.
     “Don't cry, Mommy,” he whispered. He let her pull him into her arms. “It'll be okay now. You'll see...”