by L V Gaudet
Jason comes stomping in angrily, a young man with a hot temper.
David moves, putting himself between the man and little girl. Cassie ducks deeper behind the chair, trying to hide, holding both hands over her mouth in an effort to not make a sound.
He is terrified inside, but he stands firm, blinking at Jason.
“Where is she? Where’s your sister?” Jason glares at the boy.
David is speechless with fear.
Jason looks around. “Cassie? Cassie!” he barks, snarling. “She came in the barn. I told her repeatedly to never come in the barn. The barn is not a place for little girls.”
He stomps off, searching the house for Cassie.
David moves to block his view, quickly waving Cassie to go. Run.
She hesitates and finally bolts, racing out the door. She stops to stare at David, her eyes haunted by something that can never be taken back. The sound of Jason’s heavy feet approaching snaps her out of it and she darts outside to vanish in the gloom of the coming storm.
David stares after her, not moving. I should go with her. We can both run away right now. She saw. She saw what happens in the barn. He will kill her now.
Jason is standing over him, glaring down at him with a rage he has never seen before. He can’t even blink. He is frozen in terror. It’s not just rage he sees in Jason’s eyes, it is fear. He has never seen fear there before.
“David. David, wake up.” A little girl’s voice intrudes in his mind.
He blinks, confused, looking around. He is a man again. Michael. No, Ryan, he reminds himself.
Cassie is standing before him, looking up at him.
“She needs you.”
“Who?” he mumbles, unable to make sense of anything right now, where he is, who he is.
He turns at the sound of the door opening. Elaine comes in hesitantly, looking guilty. He looks at the clock. It is after midnight.
“Where were you?” he asks, his voice sounding angry in his effort to control it, to keep the fear and confusion out of it.
Elaine shifts uncomfortably. Trevor is too close. It makes her feel self-conscious. Guilty.
He rubs her arms. He has been working her all evening, trying to move her towards him, to make her fall in love with him.
“Please don’t.” She moves a step away. Still close enough to feel his nearness, her heart beating too fast, and her breath coming too quick. She looks up at him and he can see her arousal.
“Take me home.”
“Stay here tonight.” He stares into her eyes, willing her to say yes.
She looks down then looks away. “I can’t. Mi-,” she almost says it, almost says the wrong name. Michael.
“He’s no good for you. Leave him. Stay with me, I’ll look after you.”
She’s like a fragile little bird, Trevor thinks. She’s frightened. Of what? Me? Him? Or of her own feelings? Because she doesn’t know what she wants? Breaking this fragile little bird is going to be fun. He smiles, almost licking his lips.
Elaine thinks the excitement she sees in him is desire for her. It feeds her own confusing desire, sending a rush of heat through her cheeks.
“Please Trevor. I’m not ready for this. I can’t betray Ryan. Take me home.”
I’ve already betrayed him, she thinks.
She looks at Trevor, her eyes pained and confused.
“No.” Trevor tries to take her in his arms gently and she pulls away. He stands there, giving her a little space.
“How do I know he didn’t hurt you? How do I know that,” he gestures to the lump on her head, “wasn’t done by him? I swear if I ever find out he’s hurt you…” He leaves the threat hanging between them.
“He didn’t. I told you. If you won’t take me home then I’ll walk.”
She goes to the door, hoping beyond hope for – what? She doesn’t know. Do I want Trevor to sweep me up and refuse to let me go? Do I want him to take me home to Ryan? Do I want him to let me walk out of here? Do I even want to go home to Ryan?
If I start walking, I can keep walking. Vanish.
She puts her shoes on and opens the door, stepping out with one last look back. She starts walking down the walkway towards the street.
Trevor puts his shoes on in a hurry, grabbing his keys, and runs out after her. He catches up with her easily.
“Okay, I’ll take you home,” he pauses, “if you are sure that’s what you want.”
“I want to go home.”
They get in his truck and sit in awkward silence for the drive. They pull up in the street a few houses down from Elaine’s house, sitting there in silence.
Trevor leans in to kiss her and Elaine pulls away, making him miss. She gives him a guilty look and gets out. It takes everything she has to not look back.
She pauses before opening the door and stepping inside the house.
Trevor’s face twists into a sneer of joyful malice the moment the house door closes behind Elaine.
“Almost had her that time.” He chuckles and drives away.
Elaine pauses outside the door. She almost doesn’t open it. Almost turns and runs back to Trevor’s truck. It’s late and Ryan will probably be waiting. Worried. Angry?
An icy finger of fear slides down her back. She has to make herself move. Open the door. Step inside.
Ryan is standing there. He turns to look at her. His face is full of fear and confusion.
“Where were you?” he asks angrily, his face hardening to match his voice.
She blinks, unsure what to say.
Ryan takes a step towards her, his body language aggressive, his muscles tense.
Elaine tenses. He sees the flash of fear in her eyes, and it cuts him like a knife stabbing him in the heart. He can’t keep the pain from his eyes.
“I won’t hurt you.” He hates that he feels like he has to reassure her. She should know that he could never hurt her. He tries to control his voice. “I’m sorry. I sounded angry. I was worried when you weren’t here; when you didn’t come home. I thought-.”
“I-I just needed a little time.” She looks down. She can’t meet his eyes. A guilty flush rises up her neck, staining her cheeks.
“You were with him.” Ryan can’t keep the edge of resentment out of his voice.
“Yes.” It comes out barely perceptible.
Ryan is itching to step closer. He holds himself in check.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
Elaine looks up in surprise. Her disbelief is tempered by the fear still gripping her.
Ryan struggles to keep himself calm.
“I know you’ve been seeing him.”
“It’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”
Ryan shakes his head. No, he isn’t just a friend. I don’t trust him.
“He is not your friend. Can’t you see that?” His eyes are begging.
She flushes. She knows. He wants more.
“I know about Jason too. He was waiting for me.” He watches her reaction.
Elaine gives him a startled look. “What does he want?”
“We have to move again.” He found us and now we aren’t safe. You are not safe. Cassie isn’t safe.
He finally dares to step closer to her, hesitantly taking her in his arms. “You know I will always keep you safe. I will never let anyone hurt you.”
She leans into his embrace, taking comfort from it, at the same time feeling guilt rush through her with a force that makes her knees weak.
He kisses the top of her head and she winces, stiffening.
“What’s wrong?” He pulls away to study her face.
“My head,” she touches it lightly. “I guess I fainted when I saw him out there.”
Concerned, he looks her head over, finding the lump and wincing with sympathy as he gently prods it.
“Are you okay?” He looks her in the eyes.
“I have to leave for that job tomorrow. But I can stay if you need me to,” he says apologetically.
She wants more th
an anything to tell him to stay. “I’ll be fine,” she says instead.
Ryan nods. “I want you to promise me you will stay away from Trevor while I’m gone.” He swallows a hard lump in his throat. “I don’t want to lose you. I need you.”
“You won’t lose me to him.”
It’s not the promise he wants, but it will have to do.
They dress for bed in uncomfortable silence, an endless gulf of unsaid things between them. When they crawl into bed, turning off the lights, he pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her, a comforting embrace for them both.
“While I’m on the road I’ll see about relocating us. I am afraid it means we will have to get new identities too.”
Elaine says nothing, staring into the darkness in silence.
I’ll also have to see if I can find out where Cassie is, Ryan thinks.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
They both lay for a long time staring into the darkness, each alone with their own thoughts.
In the morning he is gone before she wakes up.
37Michael Visits Anderson
Ryan parks his truck in front of a generic L-shaped building. He sits there studying it. The building is a nursing home.
His job is done; he met with Anderson, and came away from that meeting convinced the man has it in for him. Now he has something else he needs to do.
“You weren’t easy to find. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time. Years.”
He looks down, consulting a list hand-written on lined notebook paper. He gives a dry chuckle. There is no humour in it, only anticlimax.
“All these years I’ve searched for his family; ever since I ran away, hiding and running and searching. It feels kind of empty now that I found you.
Bayburry Street Geriatric Home. Marjory McAllister. That dive of an apartment. William McAllister. Cranbrook Nursing Home. The one and only, the original, The Anderson. William McAllister’s Anderson.
There is only one I haven’t found yet, his sister, Sophie. If anyone knows where she is, it’s you, old man.
He didn’t think I would figure it out. Where would Jason McAllister hide her? Where would he think Cassie would be safe? Who does he trust, who isn’t locked away in a home? Who doesn’t hate him? Sophie.
Okay old man, let’s see if I can make you talk.”
He gets out of his truck, walking up the sidewalk and into the nursing home.
Behind him, a block down the street, someone shifts inside a car. A car door opens, closing a moment later. Footsteps follow at a calm steady pace up the sidewalk towards the nursing home. A second door opens and closes and another pair of footsteps join the first.
Inside the nursing home an empty reception desk waits. The place sounds busy, the sounds of elderly men and women echo up the hall.
Ryan looks around, shrugs, and starts exploring.
The problem is I have no idea what he looks like or what name he would be registered under. Would he use his real name? Probably not, so it wouldn’t help me if I knew it.
As he explores, he notices one elderly man who keeps staring at him, his eyes level and strong. It jangles his nerves.
He approaches the old man, who doesn’t bother to get up.
“Do I know you?”
The old man stares up at him in silence for an interminably long time. Just when Ryan is about to give up and walk away, he speaks.
“David McAllister.”
Ryan feels the warmth drain from his face. He turns pale; blinking at the old man whose steady stare makes him want to hide.
“Anderson?”
The old man gives a slight nod. “Anderson? You have me mistaken for someone else, young man.”
Ryan looks around quickly and pulls up another chair, leaning in to speak without being overheard.
“You know who I am. Do you know why I am here?”
“To make trouble.” The old man does not smile.
“I want to know where Sophie McAllister is.”
The old man leans back. “I don’t know who that is.”
Ryan leans in further. “You are lying. You know the McAllisters very well. You and they go back a long way. I know how it works. Anderson is a relationship for life. A true until death do you part marriage. You kept in touch with them. You know where Sophie is.”
“Why do you want to find Sophie? You’ve never even met her.”
“That’s where you are wrong.” Ryan stops, staring at the old man. A look of realization comes over his face.
“She is not there anymore. She moved on.” Anderson’s face is a wrinkled mask of blandness.
But Ryan saw that momentary flash of worry. He smiles.
“Never mind.” Ryan starts getting up.
Anderson’s age-withered hand snaps out with surprising speed, grabbing him by the front of his shirt with more strength than Ryan would have given the old man credit for. He leans in.
“I have worked with little pissants like you. You are no good. Something inside you is broken, ugly and wrong. You stay away from them. You will only bring death to anyone near you,” he hisses, his voice raspy with age and anger.
He pulls Ryan closer, whispering harshly at him.
“You were followed.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m not stupid.”
Ryan only smiles at the dig.
The old man’s lips tighten. “Get out of here before they see you. They don’t know you are here.”
Ryan looks up, looking out the window in time to see Detective Jim McNelly’s large frame pass by, followed by the tall skinny reporter, Lawrence Hawkworth.
“Is everything all right?” one of the nurses asks, coming closer and eyeing Ryan suspiciously.
“I’ll see you later, Anderson.” Ryan turns, nods to the nurse, and makes a quick exit.
Jim is at the reception, flashing his badge and talking to a nurse and an orderly. Lawrence is standing next to him looking around. They turn just as the door closes behind Ryan.
Jim and Lawrence walk through the facility, looking at withered old faces.
Anderson turns around, facing away from them.
“Who is this guy we are looking for?” Jim asks.
“I don’t know. One of my sources told me he is a person of interest to us.”
“Who is your source?” Jim asks it knowing that Lawrence never reveals his sources.
“You will never believe it,” Lawrence grins. “One retired Sheriff Rick Dalton.”
Jim stops and stares at him. “You found him.”
“Yes sir, I did.”
“So, what’s the story on this guy?”
“When all this stuff was going down, the young women and teens going missing and found dead, the whole town deciding William McAllister was the killer. . .”
“Yeah, the whole lynch mob running the McAllisters out of town. Sounds like a bad western.”
“Dalton didn’t believe William McAllister was the killer. He didn’t peg him as the type. But he was convinced William McAllister was guilty of something. He just didn’t know what.”
“And then the McAllisters vanished.”
“Yes, but not before pointing Dalton in the right direction to catch the killer. The note was left anonymously, but he knew it was William. The killer was caught and sent to prison for life. End of story.”
“Except Dalton couldn’t let it go.” McNelly knows the feeling all too well. It’s what keeps him up at night, turning his stomach into a sour cesspool of acid. It drives him to drink too much, smoke too much, and eat too much crap that should not touch the inside of any man’s stomach.
Lawrence nods. “He couldn’t let it go. With the McAllisters gone, he searched the farm. When he found nothing, he searched it again, more thoroughly.”
He pauses.
“He showed it to me.”
“What?”
“It was an unidentifiable little lump. It looked like someone tried to burn it in the wood stove. He never s
ent it anywhere for testing, never told anyone, but Dalton was convinced it was a trophy. He was convinced it was a bone fragment, a piece of Amy Dodds.”
“The little girl?” Jim’s eyebrows rise in surprise.
“Dalton didn’t pin that one on William either. Too clumsy he said. He thought William was too smart for that. He was convinced that was Jason’s doing; probably his first victim, and that his mother tried to cover it up.”
“That’s exactly what we suspected too, that the girl was Jason’s first victim. His first taste of blood as a kid, his own friend.”
“Rick Dalton couldn’t let go of his idea that William McAllister was guilty of something big; even after he retired.”
“A retired sheriff has a lot of time on his hands.” Jim stares at Lawrence for a minute. “Let’s find this person of interest. I want to know what he has to say.”
They continue their search, matching faces to a grainy copy of a photo of a man much too young for a nursing home that they studied in the car before coming in. Lawrence stops, tapping Jim and pointing. Jim looks and nods. They go to one of the nurses they talked to earlier.
“That’s him, what’s his name?” Jim points the old man out.
“That is Mr. Richard Andrews. Funny, you are his second visitors today. He never gets visitors.”
“Who were the other visitors? Family?”
“Mr. Andrews doesn’t have any family.”
“So who came to see him then?”
“He never signed in. He just kind of walked in. He walked around like you did, like he was looking for someone he didn’t know. They talked. It got heated, and he left. Odd thing was he called Mr. Andrews Anderson.”
“What did this visitor look like?”
“He was a younger man.”
Jim puts up a finger, stopping the nurse while he fishes in his pocket. He pulls out a photograph and shows it to him.
The nurse studies the mug shot of the smiling clean shaved young man with his hair cut short, Michael Underwood.
“That’s him. His hair is a bit longer.”
“Michael Underwood,” Jim mutters with a scowl as if the name tastes bad on his tongue.
“Thanks,” he says to the nurse, dismissing him. He turns and walks purposely towards the old man, his bulk threatening to barrel through anyone and anything that gets in his way. Lawrence has no problem keeping up with his long legs.