Welcome To The Family

by R. K. Latch

  That’s exactly what he did. His body was sore and cramped from almost a full day in the tiny, short care—a cage which had grown smaller with each passing hour—so he had to walk like a duck. He still found himself at the mouth of the cage much quicker than he liked.

  Luthor held his hand out to Wade. Having no other option, the young boy took it.

  Wade was yanked from the cage firmly, but he suspected nowhere near as roughly as Luthor was capable. His feet were numb and asleep, and he found it difficult to stand but he managed or risk angering Mr. Duncan. Wade was led, forcefully, toward the upturned table. The smell of coppery blood was stronger here and it caused an unpleasant sensation in Wade’s stomach.

  Luthor led him on past the table, to the tool chest. It was taller than Wade, three tall drawers at the bottom and a couple thinner ones up top. Mr. Duncan let go of his hand and Wade drew it back to him. Mr. Duncan pulled a well-oiled drawer out and smiled.

  “Take a look, Wade. Select your tool.”

  “Tool?” Wade asked.

  Luthor looked at him. He wasn’t angry. No, if anything he was completely delighted. “Yes, Wade, tool. To finish off this old, grizzled bastard. That is the proof I need that you are like us. That you could be one of the family.”

  Despite the craziness going on around him, a craziness to which Wade, in all his misadventures, has seen no equal, Mr. Duncan’s words struck a chord with him. He’d heard the words before, several times. To be part of a family, but this time, he thought there might be some truth to the connotation. Unfortunately, he was quite sure he was unable to take a life. Even Larry’s.

  Wade swallowed, found it difficult, but managed just the same. Inside the drawer lay a selection of common tools. Wade saw nothing like the bedazzled mallet that Gabby seemed to prefer. Instead, these looked, at least to Wade, what might be in any carpenter’s toolkit. They were perfectly in sync with the work that sat around the toolshed. Small-handled axes and hatchets, gauges, punches, squares, small saws, clamps, and other similar things that Wade had no idea what to call them. While this collection was not sinister upon itself, he knew all too well how the common easily became the macabre.

  Wade’s eyes played over the tools. He was not comfortable wielding anything as a weapon. Not that he hadn’t before, in self-defense, of course, but not in murder. Cold blooded murder. He was biding his time, but he knew soon enough it would run out.

  “Make you selection, boy. Or I’ll make it for you,” Luthor said. The edge was more significant now and it bit at Wade.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Gabby approach. “Wade,” she said in that silky smooth voice. “It’s your time now. He’s almost gone. The hard part has been done. All you have to do is release him. Think of it as mercy if you must. A kindness.”

  He understood she was manipulating him and his emotions, but if it worked, he could regret his actions later. He could escape later. If he did not act, there would be no later, not for him.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with finality. He pulled a small hatchet, heavier than it looked, from the drawer. He reinforced his grip with his other hand but still held it low.

  “Good. Not terribly creative, but good,” Mr. Duncan said. Luthor motioned Wade over to Larry. Then: “Wait, let me make this easier for you.” Gabby stayed close to him as Luthor moved over to the table. He knew it was not for emotional support. Neither of the Duncan’s was what anyone could call stupid. Deranged, sure, Wade thought. But nowhere in the neighborhood of stupid. They would not leave him an avenue of escape. She was there to halt any movement away from them and toward the door.

  He had nowhere to go. No one to tell. He stayed where he was.

  Back at the control box, Luthor tugged at another lever. The table slowly rotated clockwise in its upturned position. Wade was given to think of the turning circles from carnivals where a pretty girl, attached to the boards much like Larry here, spun as a professional knife thrower tossed his deadly blades and came so very close but ultimately sparing the girl from a hit. Only this table turned slower and only made a half revolution. As soon as Larry was completely upside down, the table stopped and Luthor locked it in place. A series of thunking clicks resonated.

  “There you go,” Luthor said. “Easier access to the vital areas: the heart, the throat, and the head. Make your killing blow.”

  The hatchet had grown heavy in his hands, and it grew heavier still. Wade looked at the old man. He didn’t feel sorry for him. After Gabby’s visit, he’d reflected on what she’d said, how he’d felt alone with this geezer in the alley. He still felt the sting of fear, the bite of the old man’s blow, the scrape of the asphalt on his bare skin. He knew, fully, that if Luthor had not come along when he had, Larry would have had his way, whatever that might have been.

  But there was nothing of that evil predator before him now. Those cold, cruel eyes were now weak and unfocused. His hateful scowl was nothing more than flabby flesh, upturned gravity was having an unnatural effect of his flaccid face.

  He was mouthing something indiscernible. The words did not, could not, reach Wade’s ears but as he studied the movement, he made out the same word, over and over: Please.

  How things had changed, Wade thought. Less than two full days earlier, he’d been the one begging, pleading to the old man. Now, the positions had changed.

  Wade tightened his grip on the hatchet, twisting his hands tight around the smooth wooden handle.

  Wade dropped the hatchet and backed away. The consequence was swift and harsh.

  “You little ingrate. You don’t know what you’ve done, what you’ve condemned yourself to,” Luthor roared. Suddenly, the big man’s hands were on him. Not his clothing, not his arms, but around his throat. Luthor’s hands tightened around his thin neck like previously his had around the handle of the small axe.

  Wade could not breath, but that didn’t stop him from trying. Faster than he thought possible, dots formed in front of his eyes. His skin began to prickle painfully all over. Here it was. The end of a wasted life. Wade struggled despite knowing every second doing so, drained life from him.

  His eyes were closing. He could do nothing about that. He tried but they acted of their own volition.

  “Stop! Stop it!” Someone was screaming. He knew it wasn’t him. It was Mrs. Duncan, Gabrielle, Gabby. She was there now. Trying to wedge herself between her husband and Wade. “Don’t do it, Luthor,” she yelled. Her shouts were distant now and Wade was sleepy now. Oh, so sleepy. He was tired and he could no longer think straight.

  “If you love me, let him live,” were the last words Wade heard and then there was nothing but darkness.

  Chapter 14

  As soon as his eyes opened, Wade reflexively gulped for air. The last thing he remembered was his lungs screaming for the stuff and lots of it. He took it in too quickly and began to gag.

  Calming, he looked around. Obviously, he was not dead. It hurt when he turned his neck. Dead people didn’t hurt, he figured so, sore as he was, he was still alive.

  He didn’t know why. He tried to remember. He tried to recall why he was not dead.

  He had dropped the hatchet, refusing to end the old man. That had brought a volcanic reaction from Mr. Duncan. He could still feel the man’s iron grip around his throat. He remembered his whole world going dark.

  Now, here he was. In the gloom, he could see the rest of the shed. The table which had previously held Larry the hobo was now in the position of a regular worktable, the sheet tossed over it. As if the man had never been there at all.

  Everything else looked as it had yesterday. The shed was brighter than it had been and through the small cracks and the edges of the windows, pristine sunshine filtered through. It looked as if the storms had cleared off and Wade realized the shed was no longer just warm, but hot, stifling. He was thirsty, he was hungry but so relieved he was alive.

  He thought he’d been good as dead. He thought he would soon see his mother again, after all these years. That had n
ot been a happy thought. He had nothing good to say to her. If he ever met her again, in the afterlife, in heaven, or in hell, he would have nothing to say to her. Or maybe he did, but he knew if he could find the words, they would not be something she wanted to hear, they would be cruel even to his own ears.

  As he rubbed a hand over his bruised throat, he knew that whatever grace had spared him would not return and if he wanted to live, he would take his survival into his own hands and he would need to do it.

  With Larry gone, or at least his body, as Wade had no doubt, they’d finished off the old man and then gotten rid of the body, they would return for him soon enough.

  Today was Monday, he suddenly realized and knew that Luthor was probably at work at his insurance office. He had no idea what time it was but judging by the heat, the early morning had passed, and the day was well headed into early afternoon.

  Mrs. Duncan might probably be inside the house. After last night, he doubted she would be bringing him lunch. She probably wouldn’t even check on him now. He’d let them down. How not killing a person was disappointing to the Duncan’s was hard to reconcile with what Wade knew of society, but then again, society was made up of all kinds.

  His fingers were still raw and sore, but he knew he had to work past that. If not, he would soon join Larry the hobo and that was company he did not want.

  +++

  Gabrielle Duncan did not sleep in. No, as it was Monday, Luthor began his work week and despite being his own boss and in fact owner of his own company, he was a stickler for routine and the consummate professional. He would no sooner be late to work than he would run down the street in front of the courthouse at the lunch hour buck naked and singing a country and western tune.

  Gabby was up in time to have breakfast ready for him and a lunch packed. He’d been late returning last night after driving off the body of the old vagrant. She’d pretended to be asleep upon his return. Either she’d fooled him, or, more likely than not, he simply was too tired to call her ruse.

  Sooner or later, she would pay for her actions last night. Theirs was a rather well understood partnership and she did not fear him because he was the man, and she was the woman as was so often the case in this day and time. No, Luthor was not of that mindset. The established familial roles never even entered into his thinking, or at least as far as she knew. He would no more pull rank on her as the man of the house than he would respond to her if she were to do so as the woman of the house.

  But they were partners in life. In their time together, their relationship had been the epitome of tranquility and respect. Until last night, neither had ever tested that commitment. She knew he would yield, but she was not sure at what cost.

  At breakfast, Luthor spoke little. Most of Gabby’s casual conversation was answered with grunts and shoulder shrugs. While not appearing hostile or angry, he ate quickly and was out of the house without his customary good cheer or even a kiss on her cheek. Maybe the little peck was just routine, but Gabrielle felt awful watching him walk away, failing to look back even once.

  She did not regret her actions. While morality was a fluid thing for her, she could not bear to see him kill Wade. He would, she had no illusion about that, and she understood, she supposed. They weren’t going to leave him caged like an animal for the rest of his life, but neither could they release him back into the world. Their very lives depended upon secrecy and privacy.

  Gabrielle didn’t switch on the radio as she cleared away the breakfast dishes and cleaned the kitchen. This was no time for music. But, like Luthor, she had responsibilities and their spat last night did not free her what must be done.

  By the time she stepped out the back door with wet wash in her hands, heading for the lines, the day was bright and hot, the Mississippi heat returning after yesterday’s thunderstorms. Her roses were out in spectacular display and the azaleas that ringed the house, benefited greatly from the rain.

  As the sun bore down on her with its full power, she felt her bad mood melt away and the scents of summer and a fresh new world brought joy, once more, into her heart. As the splendid day restored her, she went about her task of hanging the wash on the line with her own brand of gusto and having skipped the morning’s music in the kitchen, began to hum, lowly at first, but after a while, she took to it with her usual, infectious gusto.

  She was so much caught up with her work and making music, that she was totally unaware that someone had entered the yard and was slowly stalking toward her.

  Chapter 15

  When the heavy padlock dropped and skittered across the concrete floor, Wade watched in near disbelief. His fingers were all but shredded and the blood made everything slippery, but he continued working at the wire and finally, it had paid off.

  He felt a sense of guilt overcome him. He didn’t understand why it should, only that it did. He wiped his fingers gently on his pajamas. They were filthy. He’d not been given a bathroom break and had a mountain of shit in the corner that began smelling stronger and stronger as the heat inside the shed built. He’d filled the bottle twice over with his own urine and had carefully fitted the end out through the cage and poured it out, the little river of piss travelling slowly away from him.

  All that was behind him as he eased pen the cage door and crawled out. The urge to take off in a run was overpowering but somehow Wade resisted. It was true he was free of the cage, but he had a few more obstacles left before he was truly free. He would have to slip out of the shed unseen and put some serious distance between him and this place before he could consider himself escaped.

  Wade had no shoes, and he had no idea to remedy that. A quick, cursory look around the building showed there was nothing he could rig to use to protect his feet. He still had the footie on one leg, the other torn away as makeshift tissue to clean himself after his humiliating dumps.

  Also, besides looking like a walking radish, he had no pockets, no pocketknife, nothing. That mattered, but it would not stop him from fleeing.

  From the tool cabinet, he selected a trim saw. It was small, only about eight inches in overall length, with half of that being the wooden handle. The blade end resembled a straight razor but with the saw, the blade was fixed at the end of the handle. It was a low probability that he would need it before he could come across something more practical, but he would rather have it and not need it than vice versa.

  He made his way to the door and took a deep breath. The danger was low for him, he knew. Chances was Gabrielle would not know he was gone for hours, as she hadn’t shown up for breakfast and he doubted she would for lunch. If he were really lucky, no one would no he was gone for hours, until Mr. Duncan returned from work. That would give him a good head start. If he could find a nearby railroad, maybe he could catch a train and let it whisk him away a hundred miles or more before then.

  The door opened smoothly. Golden sunlight streamed down. Despite the bright light, the outside was not as stuffy, and the faintest breeze washed across his face even standing in the doorway. The day tasted sweet, it tasted of freedom, such a welcome change of sitting there smelling his own excrement.

  As the building was offset to the rear of the house and the door opened parallel to it, he could not see the residence. By that rationale, no one from the house could see him either. That was good.

  Wade emerged from the shed which had held him for too long into the fair summer day. He looked around, orientating himself. He could go straight, which would lead him out into an open field where he could be spotted for a while should Gabby hazard a glance out a window. Would she look out a window? He had no idea, but it was possible. Probable? He wasn’t sure.

  Behind the building was pretty much the same. If he went right, past the house, that would, after following the drive, take him out to the road that led right back into town. That would be okay, if he didn’t have to risk being in view of the house from behind and then the front for too long. He could run, but he was afraid that would call more attention than it was worth
over such a long distance.

  The only option left to him was to turn and go through the backyard and once he reached the property line, and travel until he could put distance between him and hopefully come across something better to wear. Wade didn’t like stealing but the fact was, he needed traveling clothes.

  On Friday night, when Luthor brought him home, they’d passed over tracks only a couple miles out, near the heart of town. If he could find them, he could follow them out of town and barring capture, secret himself and wait for a slow-moving locomotive to chance along.

  Yes, that’s what he’d do. It could work. It would have to work.

  Wade turned to his left, taking him to the far side of the shed. With the handsaw clutched tightly, he started down the length of the shed, careful and slow, he took pride in every step.

  +++

  There was much to be said about housework, Gabby thought. As the first sheen of sweat popped out and coated her face, she hummed louder than before as she took delight in tossing a bed sheet up over the line. It caught the wind and she thought it looked like a sail unfurled catching a sea breeze.

  She imagined her, Luthor and yes, even Wade—she would have to prepare him something to eat and soon, poor thing must be starved to death—out in a small boat, maybe off the Mississippi coast in the Gulf. It was a pleasant thought and if the world were a good and fine place, something like that would be possible.