* * *
Emma Paul had found the shotgun shells. They were on the shelf in the closet, the same closet where she’d found the shotgun. She thought how Joe would have laughed at her for running around all over the county looking for shells when they were right there on the shelf. The thought of Joe laughing irritated her. Then again, everything about Joe irritated her. Easy to fix that, she thought.
Emma took the shotgun and the box of shells outside and around back of the dilapidated shed where Joe kept his Yamaha Super Snowmobile.
“Stupid snowmobile,” she hissed at the sleek machine as she rounded the shed. Three thousand dollars so Joe could whiz around through the woods with his drunken buddies for the two lousy weeks a year it snowed in the valley.
“I’ll sell that,” she said out loud, smiling to herself.
Emma had never shot a shotgun before, or any gun for that matter. When she’d pointed it at Joe in the kitchen, she’d almost dropped it. She hadn’t expected it to be so heavy. One surprise was enough, so she’d decided to take it out back of the shed and try a shot or two. She didn’t want any more surprises.
Behind the shed was a thick stump. Joe chopped wood for the fireplace on it. The head of Joe’s long-handled axe was buried in the stump’s flat top. Emma considered the axe for a moment, then dismissed it. Nope, too clumsy. Besides, she was growing rather fond of the shotgun. She wrestled the axe loose, tossed it on the ground, and sat down on the stump with the shotgun on her lap.
She opened the box of shells and pulled out one of the three-inch red cylinders. She had never seen Joe actually shoot the gun, but she’d seen him clean it. She knew that moving the lever on top of the breach would open the two barrels, and that had to be where you put the shells in.
She lifted the gun off her lap and moved the lever to the side. There was a solid metallic click, and the heavy black barrel pivoted down, suddenly, striking her knee with enough force that she cried out loud.
“Oh, shit!” She bent over and clasped her knee, rocking back and forth.
Damn, damn, damn… She hadn’t expected that.
The pain faded quickly and she sat up straight, the gun on her lap open at the breach. The shells were scattered on the ground beside the stump where she’d dropped them. At least she was getting somewhere—though one painful step at a time.
Emma reached down and picked up two of the red shells. She stuck them in the two holes in the breach end of the barrel and snapped the gun closed, then lifted it off her lap and held it in front of her, examining her accomplishment.
“Now you’ll shoot,” she said to the shotgun, rather proud of herself. And since she was unconsciously fiddling around with the trigger…it did!
The blast from the big 12-gauge was horrendous. The heavy gun jerked out of her hands and slammed lengthwise into her chest. The impact sent her toppling backwards off the stump. Emma hit the ground squalling, terrified by the violence of the gun’s unexpected discharge. For a few dreadful seconds she lay sprawled on the ground on her back; eyes squeezed tightly shut, waiting for further catastrophe.
A moment passed uneventfully…then another. Cautiously, Emma opened her eyes. So far, so good…sorta. She sat up. Besides having the breath knocked out of her by the shotgun, and again by the fall to the ground, she didn’t think she was hurt.
“Screw it!” she said aloud, “Rat poison! That’s the way to go.” Through the ringing in her ears, her own voice sounded muffled, and far away.
“1113…1115,” Harris counted off the addresses as he looked for 1121 Stillman Road. He counted 1117 just as the egg hit the windshield, splattering clear slime and yellow goo on the glass right in front of his eyes.
“You gotta be kidding me!” he groaned. He slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to an abrupt stop. Harris opened the door and jumped out.
“Goddamn kids,” he muttered, scanning the area for the culprits. Nothing. Nobody around except old Mrs. Hinkle in her wheelchair on the porch of 1117, who smiled an odd little smile and waved at him. He thought about asking her if she’d seen the kids, but decided the gunshot report was more important.
Harris turned his back to the old lady and got in the car. Lucky for him, old Mrs. Hinkle was out of eggs.
Emma squinted at the officer standing at the open door, as though squinting would make her hear better. She’d barely heard him knocking. Her ears still rang loudly from the concussion of the shotgun blast. All other sounds were muffled.
“Paris?”
“No. Harris,” said the officer, “Officer Harris.”
Jack had recognized the house as soon as he pulled up in front. It was Joe Paul’s place. Though Jack knew Joe from high school, they were never close friends, and he had never met Joe’s wife
“Harris?” repeated Emma. She was getting the hang of it now. If she watched his face while he talked she could make out what he was saying. She caught most of what he said next.
“…a report of gunshots from this address, or near this address.”
It dawned on Emma why he was there. It had never occurred to her that shooting a gun might be against the law, although she was pretty sure shooting her husband was. But, she hadn’t done that…yet.
“Gunshots?” she said, too loud.
Harris recognized the squinting and loud talking. He’d seen it before in novices who’d fired a large calibre gun for the first time.
“Ma’am, were you, or maybe your husband, shooting a gun out here?”
“Emma squinted. “What?”
“Shooting, ma’am,” he said, louder. “Were you, or someone else here, shooting a gun a little while ago?”
Might as well admit it, Emma thought.
“Yes.” Her ears popped, and the word sounded almost normal.
“I mean me. My husband isn’t home. Am I in trouble?”
“What were you shooting at?” Harris asked.
“Just stuff,” said Emma.
“Stuff?”
“Yeah, an old stump…just stuff. It’s a shotgun…my husband’s. I just wanted to try it,” Emma said, innocently. “Shouldn’t I do that?”
The ringing was fading, and she could hear much more clearly.
Harris was losing interest. Nothing wrong here; just a bored housewife playing around with her husband’s toys.
“Thing is, ma’am, you’re in the town limits. Discharging a firearm within the town limits is illegal. You understand how dangerous that can be with other houses close by?”
Emma was getting nervous. He wouldn’t arrest her, would he?
“I didn’t know, honest.” She was visibly upset, now. “Am I gonna get arrested?”
Harris raised a hand in front of him, a calming gesture.
“No ma’am, but you can’t do that, okay? No more shooting, all right?”
Emma relaxed a little. “I’m sorry, really. I won’t do it again, I promise.” She still looked nervous.
Harris was a bit embarrassed that he’d upset her.
He gave her a friendly smile, and said, “It’s okay. Nobody was hurt and everything’s all right here, right?”
Emma nodded a “yes,” and returned his smile, meekly.
Harris said, “Okay. Well, you have a nice day, ma’am.”
She sighed with relief. “Thank you, and really, I won’t do it again.”
He made a hat-tipping gesture, then turned and walked to his cruiser. He got in and closed the door just as his unit number came over the radio.
“Now what,” he moaned.
FOURTEEN
AMANDA KEPT SAYING, “Unbelievable.”
It was the first thing she’d said when she’d seen Quackrak. She’d said it again after she’d heard the whole story, and now, leaning against the picnic table at the springs, staring at the little demon, she said it again.
“Unbelievable!”
Patty was sulking. “I still think we should keep him.”
“Yeah, right!” Amanda snort
ed.
Claudia was looking back down the trail towards town. She held up a hand. “Hold on a minute.” Through a break in the trees, she could just barely see Jack Harris’ cruiser coming up Meljac Lane towards the springs where she, Melanie, Amanda and the two girls had brought Quackrak.
“What in the world is he doing up here?”
“Who?”
“That Harris boy from over in Stillman. The one that’s a cop.”
Melanie craned her neck to see through the trees. She spotted Harris’ car. “Great! Now what!”
Amanda squinted through the dense foliage at the approaching car. She said, “S’okay, I got it.” She closed her eyes, concentrating. The Sheriff’s cruiser came to an abrupt stop.
“That should hold him for a while,” she said.
Patty looked astounded. “Wow! Mom, how’d you do that?”
Melanie broke in, quickly. “Amanda, go down there and stall him.”
“Why me?”
“’Cause he had a crush on you all through high school.”
“He did not,” denied Amanda.
“He did so. Go down there. Hurry!”
“What am I going to say to him?”
“I don’t know. Flirt, or something. Just go!”
Amanda huffed, “Melanie, I’m not gonna go flirt with Jack Harris.”
Patty was smirking. “Oh my God, Mom. Somebody really had a crush on you?”
“No!” barked Amanda, “…well, maybe.”
Goodbye Lucifer Page 15