A Change of Worlds
Book 5 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 10
While waiting for Lily, I went back to the house and chatted with Fletcher. He was still in the kitchen, pouring the completed salve into small, amber-colored glass jars.
"So what's that for, anyway?" I asked.
"It's an all-purpose skin salve, good for burns, rashes, itching, arthritis, shingles — you name it."
I sniffed the air. "It, uh, certainly is pungent."
He shrugged with a smile. "What can I say? It's made with comfrey leaves, calendula flowers, St. John's wort, chickweed, and a few other things. I steep all that together in oil, strain it, and then mix it with beeswax."
"And it really works?"
"Sure does. I've been using it since I was a child. This is one of the things that got me interested in herbal remedies. My grandfather passed the basic recipe to me, although I've modified it a bit over the years. My ex-wife even used it on the girls' diaper rash."
I studied him as he worked, wondering what it must have been like for him to leave his family. Did he know what he was giving up? Did he ever regret it? Did he even regret getting married in the first place?
I'd been out since I was sixteen and first realized I was gay. I couldn't imagine feeling obligated to marry a woman, but Adam had told me his own story before, which on the surface was similar to Fletcher's. He had married, had a family, and then left his wife and children to live his life as a gay man. Even knowing Adam's story, I still had questions.
"Go ahead and ask," Fletcher said without looking up.
"Huh?"
"The questions that are running through your head: go on and ask them."
I stared at him in disbelief. "Do you read minds too?"
He looked over at me and grinned. "I don't have to read minds to see that you have questions, but you're too polite to ask."
"It's really none of my business."
"I've given you permission to ask. It doesn't mean I have to answer anything."
I nodded. "I was just wondering why you got married? Did you realize you were gay after you were married or did you always know?"
"It's complicated." He finished filling the jars and placed the pot in the sink. Then he rummaged around in a drawer and pulled out a sheet of labels, which he applied to the jars while he continued. "Attitudes are very different now from when I was young, especially where gay and lesbian folk are concerned. Heck, nobody even mentioned gay people back then."
He paused in his work and stared off into nowhere for a second, as if watching the past replay in midair. "I guess I knew what it was, but it was never something I applied to myself. Since I was an only child, my family — especially my mother — subjected me to a lot of pressure to get married, even from an early age. There were different expectations then, but I wasn't interested in women. I did everything I could to put off the inevitable. I joined the Army when I was eighteen and went to Vietnam the next year. It was the tail end of the war so I wasn't gone long, but when it was over and I returned home, the pressure to get married had eased off. I guess the war was enough to prove to my family that I was a man, at least for a few more years. It still somehow never occurred to me that I might be a homosexual. I just thought I had other things on my mind."
He applied the last of the labels and lowered himself carefully into one of the kitchen chairs across from me. "Eventually, the pressure started up again: family members asking when I was going to settle down and start a family, my mother hinting she wanted grandchildren...that sort of thing. An aunt introduced me to Vida at a dinner party, and we were married a year later. The first baby, Daisy, came a year after that. The first few years weren't that bad.
"But then I began to get more involved in Native advocacy. I was at a rally for Native rights when I met a very charming younger man. He turned out to be gay, and, to make a long story short, I fell in love with him. I kept it a secret for a while, but eventually that gets to you, so I told Vida. To her credit, she'd known there was something missing in our relationship for a long time. She took it very well. I think she was a little relieved to find that our problems had nothing to do with her."
"So you parted on good terms?" I interrupted to ask.
He nodded. "We've remained friends. I even used to go to dinner with her and her second husband before he passed away."
"I thought Lily said she didn't really know you when she was growing up."
"Well, those dinner visits came quite a bit later, after the kids were all pretty much grown and out of the house. Right after Vida and I were divorced, I moved west to live on a reservation and study with a famous medicine man. Although the love affair that made me realize I was gay was short-lived, I was involved with another man for many years. I only returned here after he was killed in a car accident."
"I'm sorry."
He smiled sadly. "Thank you. What we had was wonderful, and I would never trade it for anything. Would you like to see some pictures?"
"Yes, I would."
He stood up, and I followed him to the living room. He pulled out a couple of leather-bound photo albums from one of the bookcases and we settled onto the couch. He flipped through a few pages, then stopped and pointed to a picture of two men standing in the desert with their arms thrown around each other's shoulders, smiling into the camera. The rock formations and mesas in the background made me guess it was taken in Arizona, New Mexico, or another Southwestern state. One of the men was obviously a much younger Fletcher. I assumed his companion was his significant other. They both had long, dark hair and darkly tanned faces, but the other man was a little taller and more slender than Fletcher.
"That's Larry. This picture was taken sometime in the '80s."
A few pages later he pointed to another picture, this one of Larry in full Native regalia. "He was Navajo. This was taken at a powwow."
"He was very handsome," I said.
"Yes, he was," Fletcher agreed. His voice sounded far away, as if his thoughts had slipped through the years to join Larry once again. He kept the page open, fingertips brushing over Larry’s face as though the paper somehow held warmth.
"We met at a community gathering out west," he said quietly. "I was still pretty green back then — just getting my feet under me, learning the traditions, trying to figure out who I was outside the life I’d left behind. Larry...well, he was light. That’s the only way I know how to describe him. He walked into a room and people straightened up, like the sun had come out."
He turned the page, revealing a candid shot of Larry laughing mid-gesture, hair blowing wildly in the wind. Fletcher’s smile softened into something fragile.
"He loved to tease me. Said I was too serious for my own good. He taught me that it was okay to take joy where you found it — even in small things. We’d spend whole evenings just sitting outside, watching the sky change colors. I’d never known quiet like that before...or peace like that."
He paused again, exhaling through his nose. "He was the one who convinced me to learn the herbs, to learn the old ways. He said I had patience in my hands, even if I didn’t have it anywhere else."
We flipped a few more pages: pictures of them traveling, camping, standing beside friends; a shot of Larry smearing paint across Fletcher’s cheek; another of them leaning against an old truck, eyes crinkled in the same private joke.
"He looks happy," I said softly.
"He made everything feel brighter," Fletcher replied. "I still miss him every day." He swallowed, throat tightening just enough that I heard it. "When he died, it was like someone had taken a hot iron and pressed it right through me. We’d planned to grow old there, surrounded by those mountains. Our whole life was built into that land — every trail, every street, every diner booth we’d ever sat in. After the accident… I couldn’t breathe without tripping over a memory. I’d walk to trails and see him there. I’d hear the screen door creak and expect him to call my name. Even the wind felt like him."
He closed the album gently, palm resting on the cover as if steadying himself. "People always say time dulls the hurt. Maybe it does for some. For me, it just changed the shape of it. I loved him too much to pretend I could just carry on like nothing happened. So I came back here — to the Shore. I needed a place that didn’t know us, a place where every step didn’t remind me of what I’d lost."
He leaned back into the couch, eyes shining with the echo of old grief, but there was a thread of fondness woven through his features too.
"Funny thing is, after all these years, the hurt isn’t the first thing that comes up when I think of him. It’s the laughter. The lessons. The love. But for a long time, it was different. For a long time, I couldn’t even look at these albums."
"Thank you for showing me," I said.
He nodded, clearing his throat. "It feels good to talk about him now. Like I’m keeping him alive in the way that still matters."
He opened the album again and pointed to a picture of Larry sitting cross-legged in the dirt, carving something with intense concentration. "He was making a flute here. Wouldn’t let me listen until he perfected the sound. He practiced it for months. I still have it somewhere — tucked away in a drawer. Some things you just can’t bear to part with."
His smile widened, rueful but warm. "He used to say I’d outlive us both out of sheer stubbornness. I guess he wasn’t wrong."
He laughed softly, and for a moment, the room felt full — as if the space Larry once occupied still hummed with his presence.
"Enough of that," Fletcher said gently. "There are more stories where those came from, but I don’t want to drown you in the past all in one afternoon."
"I don’t mind," I said.
"I know," he replied, eyes kind. "That’s why I’m telling you."
Just then, the door opened, and Lily bustled in. I hadn't even heard her car pull up. She stopped short when she saw the album.
"Is he boring you to death with the family photos?" she teased.
"No, I was enjoying it actually."
"He's being polite," Fletcher said with a chuckle. "I was bending his ear about things long past. You got here just in time." He shut the album, gently caressed its cover, and then slid it back onto the shelf from which he'd pulled it.
I almost felt as if I'd intruded on a private moment between Fletcher and his lost lover.
"Is Jacy coming?" I inquired.
She nodded. "They let him take the rest of the day off. He should be here soon."
She asked me to recount exactly what had happened when I arrived at the site that morning, and bristled at Professor Healy's witch-hunt comment.
"That arrogant son of a bitch!"
"Don't let his words affect you so deeply," Fletcher warned, for once without his characteristic twinkle. "You can't afford to lose your temper in this situation. Whatever else he is, Quinn Healy is not a stupid man. Prideful, perhaps, but not stupid. If you go in angry, he will use that to his benefit. If you insult him, then a resolution will become difficult, if not impossible."
Lily sighed. "I know. I'm just not the right person for this at all. I wish you could go instead."
"I didn't say you weren't the right person. I simply warned you to be careful. I can't go, so that makes you the right person." Suddenly, Fletcher frowned. "I do wish you'd talked to me before asking Jacy to go with you, though."
"Why?" Lily asked sharply.
"I...just have a bad feeling concerning him and this excavation..."
"I'll keep an eye on him," she promised.
He nodded his head, but his eyes still looked troubled.
The sound of a motorcycle roaring into the yard announced Jacy's arrival.
"Should we ask him to stay here with you?" Lily asked.
Fletcher pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not now. He's left work to go with you, and it would just upset him." He looked over at me. "You help Lily keep an eye on him."
I nodded as the door swung open and Jacy strode in with a concerned expression on his face. "Hi, Lily, Fletcher, Killian." He greeted each of us in turn, taking in our somber expressions. "What exactly happened?" he asked when he got to me.
I launched into the story once again. When I was finished, Jacy shook his head silently, his jaw set with suppressed anger.
"Jacy..." Fletcher said.
Jacy nodded and visibly relaxed. "I know. I have to keep my cool."
Fletcher gave him a tight smile. "Watch out for Lily, okay? Keep her out of trouble — and yourself, too, while you're at it."
Jacy nodded again. "I'll do my best."
"You always do," Fletcher said with a small sigh.
Jacy turned to Lily. "Shall we get this show on the road?"
"Are you ready?" Lily asked me.
"I'm ready when you are. If I don't say much once we're there, it's because I'll be watching everyone's reactions. Besides, it's probably better if you take the lead. He's already mad at me and probably wouldn't listen to anything I said."
"Not that he's likely to listen to me either, but okay. Let's get going."
We hadn't advanced far into the forest before I began to feel tiny tendrils of emotion snaking into my consciousness. At first, I mistook the slight feelings of anger as my own, but it didn't take me long to realize the emotion was coming from outside. That was all the warning I had before I was hit by a rolling wave of pure unadulterated rage.
The sensation was different from what I had experienced earlier — there was no feeling of being overwhelmed by an unseen crowd — but it was just as intense. I staggered under its weight, reaching out and grabbing hold of a tree for support.
For a moment, I thought the rage was directed at me, but after a few seconds, I knew I was not the target. Who or what was, I had no clue.
I looked up to find that Jacy and Lily hadn't even slowed. Outwardly at least, they seemed unaffected by the fury of their ancestors. How could they not sense that anger? Then I remembered that Lily had no gifts, and Jacy's didn't deal with the dead.
Nonetheless, I wondered if it was creeping into their perceptions at all. I hoped not. If they felt it but didn't recognize the anger as coming from outside themselves, it would surely affect how they handled Professor Healy.
I knew I needed to warn them, but my head was still reeling from the emotional assault. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment and tried to block the anger, but it was useless. I didn't know what I was doing. I felt like the little boy with his finger in the dike while more leaks sprang up everywhere. I was fighting a losing battle.
I pushed away from the tree and rushed after the others, who'd managed to build up quite a lead. Jacy too seemed to have mastered the skill of moving effortlessly through the forest. He had no trouble keeping pace with his aunt, while I somehow got snagged on briars with every step. They both forged ahead with single-minded purpose, never once looking back to make sure I was still with them.
I was just catching up when Lily, who was in front, broke into the clearing, with Jacy and me not far behind. We found the entire crew crowded around one square, which, if I wasn't mistaken, was the same one where the copper bead had been found the day before. When they noticed us, they stared at us with identical surprised — and slightly guilty — expressions.
Professor Healy detached himself from the group and quickly moved to block us from coming any further into the clearing. He stood in front of us in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and a deep scowl on his face.
"What now?" he barked indignantly. "Must we be continually interrupted from our work?"
He eyed us with distaste. The rest of the crew had averted their attention elsewhere.
"I understand there were some problems earlier this morning," Lily began. Her voice sounded calm, but I detected a slight edge in her tone.
"Only if you consider being lied to and spied upon a problem."
"Professor Healy, surely you must understand our concern in this matter—"
"I'll tell you what I understand. I understand that you hired this, this child..." He made "child" sound like a dirty word. "...to investigate me and my crew as if we were common criminals. Then, to add insult to injury, you had him lie to me about it, pretending to be a reporter to gain my confidence."
"We didn't hire Mr. Kendall to investigate you per se, or anyone on your crew. We hired him to look into the thefts and the assault on my father. Where that leads is out of our hands. We have the right to know the truth, and you haven't exactly been forthcoming."
"What are you insinuating?"
"I wasn't insinuating anything, Professor, but you can't deny that you failed to inform us about the looting until after my father was attacked and the police questioned you."
"We don't even know whether anything was taken."
With all the rage roiling around in my head, I was having a difficult time following the conversation. I had to concentrate fully on every word spoken, which made it hard to keep an eye on the others' reactions.
"That's not the point," Lily snapped. Her patience was wearing thin. "You did know someone was tampering with the site, and we should have been informed. Besides, in all likelihood, there were artifacts stolen — artifacts that rightfully belong to us."
"That still doesn't give you the right to have us investigated. How are we supposed to work with a private investigator crawling around the site asking questions?"
"Now that you mention it, I would like to point out that this property you are working on belongs to my father, and you have no right to throw anyone off of it."
He drew himself up to his full height. "Your father may own this property, but this is my excavation, and I will manage it as I see fit. Mr. Kendall was proving to be a disruption to our work."
"You'll mismanage it, more likely," Lily snarled. I groaned inwardly. So much for not losing her temper. "You allow artifacts to be stolen right out from under your nose, and then you deliberately keep that information from us."
"Mismanage! I've overseen more excavations that you can imagine, and I've never had an artifact stolen before."
"Then why didn't you come to us right away? What are you hiding, Professor Healy?"
"I have nothing to hide."
"Then why not allow Mr. Kendall to continue his investigation?"
Even with all the distractions, I could see that, while the others were trying hard to pretend they weren't listening, they were hanging on every word. Those facing away from the argument managed to keep from turning around, but they couldn't have been more obvious with their stiff backs and still hands if their ears had been perked up like dogs'. Those more or less facing the dueling duo couldn't resist peeking up often. No one seemed to be more interested than the rest, though, at least from what I could see.
"I do not appreciate being investigated by a child," Healy sneered, "and behind my back, no less. For all I know, the artifacts are being stolen by your tribe and he was just hired to confuse the issue."
"That's ridiculous! Why would we steal artifacts that are already ours and that we will get back when you're finished studying?"
"I can't pretend to understand how you think. I certainly don't understand going behind my back with this investigation."
"Well I don't understand how you could justify not telling us about the looting. Maybe you're stealing them yourself so you don't have to return them to us."
This argument was quickly degenerating into a name-calling match. Nothing constructive was being accomplished. I'd have to step in soon. I had no idea how to handle the situation, though.
Throughout all this, Jacy was slowly edging his way closer and closer to the square that everyone had gathered around. They were all too focused on Healy and Lily to notice his movements. I'd kept him in the corner of my eye, but Lily's bold accusation snapped my attention back to the two of them.
Healy's lips curled back in a growl, and for a moment, I thought he might lunge at her. Instead, he just hurled his disdain. "That's so preposterous I won't even dignify it with a response. I think it would be best if you left immediately."
"If I left? Now you're trying to throw me off my own property?"
"As you pointed out just a few minutes ago, this property belongs to your father, not you."
"I'm here acting on his behalf. Maybe I should throw you off!"
The professor's eyes narrowed. "That would be a mistake."
"Are you threatening me?"
A sudden gasp drew my focus back towards Jacy. His face had drained of color as he stared into the square. Now, every face was watching him, waiting for his reaction to whatever he was seeing. Even Healy and Lily had stopped arguing and turned to see what was going on. I glanced towards Healy and noted his widened eyes.
"Jacy, what is it?" Lily asked.
Jacy turned towards his aunt, a stunned look still on his face. "It's a burial," he said quietly.
Rage flashed through Lily's eyes. "And when were you planning on telling us about this discovery, Professor? Let me guess, after you'd had time to loot it completely?"
"We only confirmed that it was a burial this morning," he began stiffly. It was obvious that he was every bit as angry as Lily, but was trying to cover it now that he was on the defensive. "I was planning on notifying you today."
"I'm sure, just like we were notified about the looting. You know that finding a burial changes everything."
"Ms. Snyder, I assure you I don't need a lecture on archaeology from you."
"What do you need, Professor Healy? A lawsuit? This is the height of insult. You have no respect for my people or my ancestors."
What came next happened so quickly there was no time even to think, only react. Lily moved to walk around Healy in order to get closer to the burial pit, but Healy quickly stepped in front of her again. Lily's last bit of patience was spent, and she roughly pushed him out of her way. Healy grabbed her arm. Jacy instantly responded to the perceived threat to his aunt by springing across the distance between them in a single leap. He brought his arm down heavily on Healy's wrist, breaking his grip on Lily, and inserted himself between the two of them. Jacy's eyes were black with fury. It was time to step in.
"Hey guys, maybe it would be best if we—"
That was as far as I got before Healy interrupted with an incensed roar. "How dare you touch me? I'll have you charged with assault!" He cradled his injured arm against his chest.
"You touched my aunt first," Jacy responded through gritted teeth.
"I've had just about enough of you people!" Healy yelled. "You're all insane. This whole project has been a nightmare from the start."
He swept his hands out in a dramatic gesture, brushing Jacy's chest in the process. I knew what was about to happen as soon as he touched Jacy, but I was powerless to do anything but watch. Jacy's fist flew out so quickly that anyone who blinked would have missed it. The sound of his hand connecting with Healy's face was unmistakable, however.
The next thing I knew, they were locked together in a tussle while I tried to pull them apart.
A stray punch caught me in the jaw, and I staggered back, blinking away stars. The rage that had been simmering constantly in my mind suddenly took over, and for a few seconds I wanted nothing more than to jump back into the fray, fists flailing. I struggled to once again separate myself from the spirits' anger.
When my vision cleared, I saw that I could have spared myself the blow and allowed Israel Meeks to handle it. The large black man was holding the two combatants at arm's length while they cooled down. Lily was speaking intently to Jacy, who was nodding his head regretfully. The rest of the crew was standing around, nervously shifting from foot to foot while they waited for someone to take control of the situation.
I cleared my throat, and everyone gave me their attention. "I think it would be best if we left now," I said to Lily and Jacy.
They both nodded their agreement.
I turned to Professor Healy, who was looking quite disheveled. "I don't pretend to be an expert in these matters, but I know a burial is a pretty important find. Under the circumstances, maybe some sort of security can be arranged until this is all worked out."
The professor's eyes were still flashing with injured pride, but he was at least thinking calmly again. He gave me a jerky nod. "Yes, of course. I'll see to it myself."
"Thank you."
I motioned to Lily and Jacy with my head, and we started back towards the house. We walked along in complete silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Although the feelings of rage were still palpable, I was too busy worrying about the consequences of our little altercation to pay attention to them. I had a feeling that any hope of working things out had been destroyed with the first punch, and along with it, any hope of continuing my case.
Something was going on at that site, something important.
Why were the spirits so angry? Did it have something to do with the burial? Or was it connected to the looting? Maybe it was a combination of both. Or another reason entirely. I didn't know enough to even make an educated guess. I just knew something was very wrong.
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