The Evil Returned

by Richard Raven

  The question had barely formed in his head before he had the answer. It was as if it came to him from the mouth of an angel. It was the obvious answer; the only answer. It was the only thing he could do. His own fears and emotional upheaval were all beside the point, and he couldn’t change who he was or who his brother happened to be. All that mattered was doing the right thing, regardless of the consequences to him or the way people would likely judge him. Their judgment didn’t really count, anyway. In the end, there was only one judgment that mattered. It was all lessons he had learned and learned well at his mother’s knee.

  “Thanks, Mom,” he murmured. Then he drew in a long and calming breath and let it out slowly. “I love and miss you both.” He felt another stab of regret. “Sorry I didn’t bring flowers. With all that’s going on right now it slipped my mind. I will next time, I promise. I just don’t know when it’ll be.”

  Then he raised his window and drove slowly to the very back of the cemetery. He stopped at a point that was about fifty yards away from a stand of oaks. Nestled among the trees was another headstone with which he was familiar, a single and much larger stone. He could see it, but it was just a blur through his rain streaked windshield.

  He stared at it a long time, thinking and remembering, even smiling a little at a certain memory the stone invoked, until the moment passed, the spell broken.

  He started feeling his pockets for his phone. “Damn,” he muttered, annoyed at himself. He had left his phone lying on the kitchen table. Not only that, he realized to his further annoyance, but in his haste to flee the house, he was almost certain he had left the front door unlocked.

  Well, no matter. He doubted if anyone would bother anything. Besides, as much as he hated the thought of it, he had to go back to the house anyway. Soon after crossing the County Line he had decided to check into a motel for the night. Whether that would accomplish anything or not he wasn’t sure; it just seemed like a good idea. The problem was that it hadn’t occurred to him until he was almost to the cemetery that he didn’t have with him a change of clothes or anything else that he would need.

  Talk about going off halfcocked.

  Jeff was about to shift his truck into drive when he froze, his eyes suddenly filled with surprise as a feeling of dread sliced through him. A picture of his phone, there on the kitchen table and lit up with an incoming call, had just flashed in his mind. The instant that image appeared, he knew someone, at that very moment, was trying to call him. It wasn’t a feeling or even the memory of the call he had received earlier. Jeff knew it. As well as he knew he was sitting there in his truck in the rain at the cemetery where his folks were buried, he knew it for a certain fact. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. He would have bet his last dollar on it.

  And that wasn’t all, either. Whoever it was had tried to call him a couple of times and all within the past minute or so. He also knew that the person—he had no idea who it was and continued searching his mind for a name—was in grave and imminent danger.

  Damn it, I’ve got to get home and get that phone.

  He didn’t question it, and he wasted no more time getting on the road for home than it took for that one thought to cross his mind.

  As he sped away from the cemetery, he didn’t realize he had a passenger.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  After leaving Jeff at home, Janice had thought about swinging by the office. At one point she even changed direction and was driving toward the office. There was some computer work that she had been putting off as she kept her vigil at Jeff’s bed-side. As it was Wednesday, she needed to start totaling the timecards from the past week and getting the paychecks together for Friday. She always began that and finished it on Wednesday (there hadn’t been another complaint about late checks in a long time). Then there was the Post Office; she hadn’t checked the P.O. Box since Friday afternoon on her way back from the bank.

  In the end she decided there wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait until the next day. She was too exhausted to worry with any of it. Besides, hadn’t the boss, himself, told her that he was going to need her even more in the coming days and for her to take her butt home and put it to bed?

  She knew that he was going to need a lot more than her help with the business. He was trying so hard, she would give him that, in spite of everything that seemed to be hitting him all at once. Yet she had felt it in Jeff when he hugged her just how close he was to the edge. Who could blame him? An unfaithful wife on top of everything else?

  Jesus Christ, what next?

  That his wife may have cheated on him seemed so unlikely to Janice, and yet she knew it was entirely possible. Jeff certainly believed it, and Janice knew from her own experience that it happened all the time. After all, she had once been a foolish woman and had invited a married man into her bed, and it was a cheating husband—a multiple cheater to boot—that had ended her marriage. If it was just the one issue of infidelity, even if it meant the end of his marriage, she was convinced that Jeff could get past it and, in time, move on. She had done it, and he was certainly more than capable of it. But all that he had facing him? Most people in that position, herself included, would find it near impossible to decide what to deal with first.

  It was still raining when Janice got home. She hoped that Ray still planned to fix those brats, even if he had to cook them inside. One of those brats, tucked into a warm bun and dripping with mustard, and a cold long-neck Corona—now that would hit the spot on the head. Then, maybe before then, she could take that hot shower and spend a little time snuggled in her quilt. Provided she could fend off Ray long enough for some time alone with the quilt, which she doubted. No problem; she was willing to share. The thought made her smile.

  She was still smiling when she pulled into the driveway and stopped beside the house. The first thing she noticed was that the door to the shed in back was closed. The next thing she discovered, as she walked in the back door and called out, was that Ray wasn’t there. After checking the fridge and finding the brats still in their package, she figured he had gone up to the market to find something to go with them. In the bedroom she found a note that suggested otherwise:

  A little cabin fever, so I’m going out for a while. Should be back around 5 and I’ll start supper for us. See you then. Ray.

  Must have been a bad case of cabin fever if he was willing to go out in the rain, she reasoned. But then, she reminded herself, he never seemed to let things like that bother him. Besides, she was hardly upset that he had decided to go out for a bit. She didn’t expect him to guard the place twenty-four-seven, and she now had a little time to herself. She was also pleased by the note; he was so good at doing little things like that. At least she hadn’t found him out there in that shed again.

  She folded the note and placed it on the dresser. Then she quickly stripped off her clothes, let down her hair, and pulled on her faded blue chenille robe. She would wear that until she was ready for the shower; that wouldn’t be until she had turned on the heat and took some of the chill out of the house. Once she had the heat going, she padded back into the kitchen, went to the fridge again, and took out a Corona.

  Only two left. Well, if he wants more tonight, he can take the car and pick up some. I’ll give him some of the money back he gave me Friday night.

  She raised the bottle and took a small swallow, then another. As she savored the taste rolling down her throat, she let her eyes rest on the kitchen window that overlooked the backyard. Through the gap in the curtains she could see the shed. She thought about it as she raised the bottle again, her eyes cutting over to the clock on the wall near the stove. 4:24. Then she put the bottle down resolutely on the counter.

  I think it’s about time I found out what it is you’ve got out there. And if it’s what I think it is, then, Ray, we’re going to have our first serious discussion.

  She went to get her keys from her purse. Stepping carefully through the wet pine needles in a pair of house slippers, she reached the shed�
��s door and made another discovery. This one she didn’t like at all.

  When did you change the lock and where’s my key to it?

  It was all the convincing she needed. The only question now was how to get the door open. She tried the door a couple times; it moved out about an inch before the hasp caught against the lock and held. She realized quickly that she couldn’t get at any of the screws that held either piece of the hasp in place. But it was old and had obviously been there a long time; that and the play in the door suggested at least a possibility to her.

  She gave the door a hard pull. Sure enough; the hinged part of the hasp at the very top pulled out just a fraction from the wood. Not much, but maybe enough to get something under it.

  Like a hammer. She hurried back inside the house.

  The hasp and lock were slightly lower than shoulder-level for Janice. Once she had the claws just under the flat piece of metal, she gripped the hammer with both hands and squatted a little so she could get better leverage when she levered up.

  She gave it all she had; it proved to be too much. The top of the hasp pulled free so unexpectedly with a soft and wet groan of old wood that the hammer flipped out of hands and she almost fell against the door.

  “Damn it,” she grumped, bending down at the knees to get the hammer. One last and less strenuous try and the hinged part of the hasp was off and the door was open. She went inside holding the hammer.

  There were no lights in the shed. Outside of Ray’s belongings, the only thing of value in there, the only reason she had kept it locked in the first place, was her gas grill. It sat off the one side, near the door. Scattered throughout was a collection of old and rusted yard tools and hand tools; against one wall set an old ice chest that was missing its lid. All of that was there when she first moved in the house. Along one wall was an old workbench that dipped slightly in the middle and drooped at one end. It was on top of that bench that she had helped Ray stack his things from the mini-storage.

  Only now none of it was where they had put it. It was all under the drooping end of the workbench in a back corner. It was, in fact, stuffed so far under the bench that Janice almost missed seeing it.

  Okay, let’s see exactly what it is you think you’ve got to hide. She stooped over and reached for one of the boxes, the larger of the two.

  Inside she found an old and moldy-smelling baseball glove and a ball that was yellow with age, and a collection children’s toys. Most, she realized, except for the ball and glove, were toys for a toddler. There was even a sippy-cup and a pacifier.

  Was all of this his when he was growing up? It’s got to be—otherwise, why does he have it? Perhaps the better question, she realized, was why he had kept all of it in the first place. Puzzled, she put everything back and reached for the other box.

  It was less than half the size of the other. In it she found a large number of loose photos. Most were small, a few of them old-style Polaroids, but three were in eight-by-ten frames and wrapped in old newspaper. Each of the three was a photo of a man. One showed the man holding a small child swaddled in a receiving blanket. The second was of the man sitting on the bank of what looked like a small river and he was holding a rod and reel. In the third the man was standing beside a big-rig truck that had a refrigerated trailer attached and he had one hand in the air like he was waving.

  His father? There was a strong resemblance between Ray and the man, no doubt of that. They had the same build and definitely the same eyes, though the features of the man in the photos were sharper, even harsher, and there was something about the set of his mouth that stuck Janice as almost cruel. She quickly sorted through the loose photos again and frowned.

  What, no pictures of Mom? That seemed strange.

  In the bottom of the box were three dark blue long-sleeved shirts. They were old, all three coming apart. She lifted one gently out of the box. They were the same kind of work shirts the guys on the landscaping crew wore. There was a stack of them delivered from the uniform service on Friday in her office. The one in her hands had the name “Frank” in a white oval above one pocket; above the other was “Kenworth.” Her eyes cut to the photo of the man beside the truck; he had on a similar shirt and there, above the truck’s grill was the name “Kenworth.”

  Was Frank his father’s name? Janice didn’t know. Ray had said very little about family beyond the fact that both his parents were dead and that he was an only child. It had always seemed to be a subject he didn’t want to talk about. As she, herself, had no brothers or sisters and both her parents were dead, she knew how he felt and had never pressed him. She put everything carefully back in the box and pulled out the suitcase.

  She found a pair of black leather boots with silver studs, a black leather jacket, a pair of black leather gloves and several pairs of jeans and some shirts. Clearly, it was all Ray’s; she wondered why he had stored it in the shed, instead of bringing it inside with the rest of his clothes. Maybe it’s because some of it’s so stained. What is that? Grease or motor oil? Paint, maybe? Ray had mentioned that he had done mechanic work in the past and had quite a bit of experience in commercial and residential painting. She closed the suitcase and reached for the duffel bag.

  The duffel was stuffed. She pulled open the top of it and went completely still. At first, she frowned, but that quickly gave way to a look of mild shock and disgust. After a moment she took hold of the bag with both hands and up-ended it on the table, spilling out everything inside. She dropped the empty duffel on the ground and stood staring, hands on her hips, her face a mask of revulsion and bewilderment.

  She was expecting little mementos of past relationships. Pictures, and more than a few of them, of old girlfriends, maybe even a few of the women naked and doing nasty things. She was even prepared to find several pairs of panties or other kinds of underwear. None of which would have bothered her too much. Sure, she would make him get rid of all of it—and he would if he planned to stay there with her—but she would have understood it. Even finding another woman’s panties wouldn’t have upset her too much, if at all. She was a grown woman; she knew some men were into that. She, herself, had never catered to a man’s fancy that way before…but for Ray? She wasn’t completely averse to the idea. If he kept on being good to her and if he asked her real sweet, she could see herself giving him a pair of her panties, if that was his thing.

  And it obviously was, at least in part. Janice’s eyes moved slowly over the wide array of panties and bras, pantyhose and stockings and socks. And it didn’t stop there. There were also purses, blouses and shirts, dress slacks and shorts, three skirts that she could see, several pairs of shoes and sandals and one pair of slinky black high-heels, one with the heel snapped off. (It was that pair of heels that she had first seen when she opened the duffel.) There was jewelry of every kind, items of makeup and bottles of perfume, hairbrushes and combs and other hair accessories, key rings with keys (one with a colorful tag bearing the name “Sarah”), and at least two tampons, each still in its wrapper.

  There was no end to it! There were even cell phones; she counted ten of them. Several of the phones, as with some of the clothing, looked old and out of date. Not only that, but like the shoe missing its heel, most of the clothing looked like it had been handled roughly. A tear here, a rip there; a seam split open. Most of the items of underwear were practically in shreds as if ripped from the bodies of women.

  What the hell was he doing with these women?

  It was when she noticed the stains—when she took a long, close look and realized what they were, even the ones that looked old and brown—that the answer came to her. When it did, it hit her with the force of a diesel locomotive. Pure, raw and corrosive fear twisted her into a knot; she found herself unable to breathe or form a complete thought. All she could do was stand there, her mouth gaped open, and stare in abject horror.

  It was blood, and almost everything there was stained with it. Even some of the phones were splattered with it!

  Only a few
seconds passed before the circuits in her mind began firing again and she noticed something she had missed. Her hand was shaking so violently that it was all she could do to reach out pick up the little flat piece of plastic. It was an Arkansas driver’s license. Then she noticed a second and picked it up. Also an Arkansas issued license. When her eyes fell on the picture of the woman the license belonged to, it felt like something inside of her died.

  “Oh my God,” she moaned, tears suddenly rolling down her face. It had all clicked in her mind: the way he had been out late Friday night, claiming that he was helping a buddy with an emergency plumbing job; the way he had come in so dirty from head to foot and carrying a black garbage bag that seemed to have something in it. The way he had so deftly brushed aside her question about the garbage bag and its contents with that smile of his and had taken it out to the shed, the bag empty when he came back. The way he had stuffed his filthy clothes into that same bag, explaining they would never come clean. Then he had handed her over three hundred dollars in cash, again with that smile that worked so well with her. Then there was the way that, once out of the shower, he had coaxed her into bed and proceeded to satisfy them both with a level of energy and a raw hunger that seemed, even for him, completely off the charts.

  Janice groaned inwardly, filled with revulsion at the memory of that time with him in bed. Remembering how much she had enjoyed it. At that moment she felt so vile and filthy that she believed no amount of scrubbing would ever make her feel clean again.

  The morning after, as he slept in, she took some of the money he gave her and bought them breakfast and groceries. She had even bought him new jeans and a shirt to replace those he had thrown away. It was when she was on her way back home that she got the call about Jeff and Angela. The police had gotten her number from a card for Evergreen Landscaping in Jeff’s wallet. When she got home, she woke him up and told him the terrible news. He had thanked her for the new clothes, gave her a big hug and kiss and, because she was so clearly upset by the news, had insisted she run over to the hospital and check on her boss. He had been so good about that; so good to give her space and all the time she needed and wanted to spend at Jeff’s side, and he had always seemed so concerned about her and Jeff and his wife. Always so keen to know all that was happening.