Blood Kin

by Ronald Kelly

  The ten-year-old stared at the old man, his eyes full of suspicion. “He can’t be. He’s dead. He’s been dead for a long time.”

  Grandpappy laughed. “Do I look dead, young man?”

  Paul thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, you do. In a way.”

  The old man took a couple of steps toward them. He crouched before Bessie and ran a pale hand along her freckled face. “What a lovely young lady you are.”

  Bessie shied from his touch. “You’re cold,” she said. “Like Mama.”

  “Yes,” said Grandpappy, standing up. “But do not let it frighten you.”

  Paul stared at the old man. “You’ve done something to her, haven’t you?” he asked. “Changed her somehow?”

  Grandpappy glanced over at Joan, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Quite an observant young man,” he said. When he turned back to the boy, his eyes were serious. “Yes, Paul, you are right. I have changed your mother. I’ve made her like me.”

  Paul was scared, but he didn’t let it show. “I know what you are,” he said.

  The old man stared into the boy’s eyes. “Yes. I believe you do.” He reached out and laid a stern hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Then you know what I’m capable of as well?”

  A shiver ran down Paul’s spine. “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” said Grandpappy. “Just do as you are told and neither of you will come to any harm. Cause me trouble and you shall be disciplined.” He smiled coldly. “You know, spare the rod and spoil the child.”

  A question suddenly came to Paul; a question that needed to be answered. “What are you going to do with us? Are you going to—?”

  “Make you like myself?” replied Grandpappy. “Like your mother?” He smiled gently. “I considered it at first. But then I decided that you could be put to better use the way you are now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All in good time, my boy,” the old man assured him. He turned back to Joan. “We have work to do, great-granddaughter. When we are finished, you shall have a bed prepared for you in the cellar, next to my own.”

  “What’s he talking about, Paul?” whispered Bessie. “What kind of bed?”

  “Hush!” he hissed back at her. “I’ll tell you later.” But secretly, he knew he would keep his sister in the dark as long as he possibly could.

  “Dudley!” Grandpappy called. A moment later, the farmer appeared in the doorway of the family room. “Dudley, take the children upstairs and lock them in a bedroom.”

  Dud nodded grimly. “Yes, sir.” He looked at the boy and girl, and nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

  They did as they were told, too scared to do otherwise. “‘Bye, Mama,” Bessie said as she left. Her mother ignored her. Her eyes were centered on the tall, gray-haired man, as if he was all that mattered now.

  Silently, Paul and Bessie followed Dud upstairs. They walked down a long, dark hallway to the door at the very end. The man took a skeleton key from one of his bib pockets and unlocked the door. “Inside,” he told them.

  The two stepped into a room that was bare, except for a bed with a dusty mattress. Before Dud could shut the door, Bessie stared up at him with tearful eyes. “What’s that man gonna do?” she asked. “What’s he gonna do to my mama?”

  The farmer’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “Honey, it’s already done and over with,” he said sadly. “Don’t worry, though. He ain’t gonna hurt ya’ll none—if you behave, that is.”

  Paul watched as Dud closed the door. He heard the key rattle in the lock, then the heavy footfalls of the man walking away. The boy waited until he was sure Dud was gone, then walked to the door and tried the knob. The bolt was secure. He walked to the only window in the room. The sash had been nailed to the windowsill. Even if he could have opened it, the shutters would have prevented them from escaping to the balcony outside.

  They were trapped and there was no way of getting out.

  He turned back to Bessie. She sat on the edge of the iron-framed bed, trembling. “Paul,” she said softly. “Paul, I’m scared.”

  Her brother sat next to her and held her tightly. “Aw, there ain’t nothing to be scared of,” he lied. “We’ll be okay. I promise.”

  Bessie was quiet for a moment. Then she looked up at him, her eyes full of tears. “I love you, Paul.”

  Paul felt like crying, too. But he managed to smile. “I love you, too, squirt,” he said, giving her a kiss on the forehead.

  They sat like that in the darkness for a very long time. Then, exhausted, they laid down on the bed and fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next morning, Boyd Andrews parked his truck in the parking lot of the Green Hollow Bank and Trust. He took a pen from the glove compartment and signed the severance check Ed Grant had given him. Then he climbed out of the Ford and went inside.

  The bank was cool and immaculately clean, all carpeted floors, wooden counters, and decorator colors. The place was empty except for a customer who was opening a checking account in a partitioned office. There was no waiting at the teller’s window. Boyd walked up to where a pretty blonde sat counting bills into a till.

  “Hi, Tracy,” he said.

  The woman looked up at him. “Oh, hi, Boyd,” she said. She didn’t smile. Instead, she looked as if she had caught a whiff of something particularly offensive.

  Boyd understood. Joan had probably told every employee at the bank about their marital problems. “I need to cash this,” he said.

  Tracy picked up the check and glanced at the signature on the back. “Sure.”

  As she began to count the money out of her till, Boyd looked around. He spotted a couple of the other tellers, but not the person he was looking for. “Where’s Joan?” he finally asked.

  When Tracy glanced up, there was a worried look in her eyes. “You know, I have no idea. She was scheduled to come in this morning, but she hasn’t shown up yet. Hasn’t called or anything.”

  Boyd took the money she handed him. “That isn’t like her at all.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said the teller. “Maybe she’s sick or something.”

  Boyd nodded and left the bank, stuffing the bills in his wallet. By the time he reached his truck, he knew something was wrong. Joan would have called in to work, even if she was running a few minutes late.

  He pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the street to the Piggly Wiggly. He pulled up next to a pay phone, got out, dropped a quarter in the slot, and dialed Joan’s number. It rang four times, then the answering machine picked up. He didn’t bother leaving a message.

  He stood there for a moment, then dug another quarter from his pocket. He had to think for a second before he remembered the number he wanted to dial. It rang a couple of times, then a cheerful voice answered. “Green Hollow Elementary School. Mrs. Prentiss speaking.”

  “Oh, yeah, this is Boyd Andrews, Mrs. Prentiss,” he told the receptionist. “I’m checking to see if Paul and Bessie made it to school this morning.”

  “Hang on just a second, Mr. Andrews, and I’ll check the attendance sheet for today.”

  She left the line for a moment. Boyd could hear the rustle of paper in the background. A second later, she returned. “No, Mr. Andrews, they’re not here. Their mother didn’t call this morning, either.”

  Boyd thanked her, then hung up. He stood there in indecision, wondering what was going on. He was beginning to get worried. First Joan, and now the kids. Something bad had happened, he could feel it.

  He left the pay phone and jumped back into his truck. It wasn’t long before he was heading down the highway toward Stantonview Road. As he drove, he thought about all the trouble that had been going on during the past few days: the murder of Jamie Dell, the disappearance of Wendell Craven, as well as the empty car that had been discovered out on 321. Everyone in Green Hollow had the same opinion: that there was a lunatic on the loose around town. The very thought increased Boyd’s fear tenfold. He stamped on the gas, pushing the truck pas
t the speed limit.

  He drove even faster once he hit the rural road. He was halfway to the Andrews house when he passed the guardrail bordering the embankment. Something about it hadn’t looked right. He braked to a stop, then backed up a few yards. The railing had a huge dent in it and there were bits of glass twinkling in the grass underneath.

  A feeling of dread mounted in the pit of his stomach. He left the truck and walked to the guardrail. Standing there, he saw what would have been totally overlooked from the road. Blanche Craven’s white Toyota Camry was at the bottom of the ravine, crumpled and bent out of shape.

  “Good Lord!” he cried out. He jumped the guardrail and started sliding down the steep embankment. Horrible images flashed through his mind as he made his way toward the car: images of mangled, bloody bodies, of loved ones already cold with death. His heart pounded so hard in his chest that he was sure he would suffer a heart attack before he even got there.

  When he finally reached the car, he found the passenger side obscured by heavy brush. He climbed over the top of the car and peered into the window on the driver’s side. He was prepared for the worst, but that wasn’t what he found.

  The car was completely empty. No one was there. A few drops of blood streaked the upholstery of the driver’s seat, but that was all.

  Boyd turned from the car and began to check up and down the ravine, as well as the heavy thicket that grew along the side of the embankment. Still he found nothing. “What the hell’s going on here?” he asked himself.

  He climbed back up to his truck. He sat behind the steering wheel, trying to figure out what had happened down there in the hollow. It was Blanche’s car, but where was Blanche? And had there been anyone else in it when it had gone over the embankment? He remembered the groceries that littered the floorboards of the Toyota.

  Blanche and Joan had probably been to the store last night and wrecked the car on their way home. But if there had been an accident, Joan would have certainly called him, especially if the kids had been involved. There wasn’t that much distance between them… not yet at least.

  Boyd started his truck and headed on down Stantonview Road. He reached the Andrews house a minute later. The driveway was empty. Joan’s Tempo was nowhere to be seen.

  He went up to the front door and sorted through his keys until he found the one he wanted. Boyd had kept one for the house, in case of an emergency. He unlocked the door and walked inside. “Joan?” he called out, sounding more scared than he would have liked. “Paul, Bessie… anybody here?”

  No one answered. The house was as silent as a tomb.

  He checked the bedrooms. Joan’s bed was still made, as was the one in Blanche’s room. The kids’ beds looked as if they had been slept in, however. The covers were pulled down and the sheets were wrinkled, as if the children had been suddenly roused from their sleep. Their pajamas lay on the floor, something Joan would have never tolerated.

  “Oh, God,” Boyd said beneath his breath. “What’s happened to them?”

  He walked back to the living room. That’s when he saw the phone… or what used to be the phone. It was no more than a flattened mound of cracked plastic and wires now. It looked as if someone had hit it with a baseball bat.

  Boyd bent down and picked up the receiver that lay on the floor. It appeared as though someone had been on the verge of making a call when they had been brutally disconnected.

  He dropped the receiver and went to the kitchen. He opened the door that led to the garage. It was empty.

  Joan’s car wasn’t there, either. Boyd stepped back into the kitchen and checked the phone that hung on the wall. It was working.

  Frantically, he dialed a number. “Green Hollow police department,” answered a man’s voice. “This is Officer Mathers. May I help you?”

  “Jay, this is Boyd Andrews,” he said, trying to calm himself. “Is the chief in?”

  “Just a second.” Boyd waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then a gruff voice came over the line. “This is Chief Watts.”

  “Stan, this is Boyd Andrews,” he said. “Could you come out to the house? Out on Stantonview Road?”

  “What’s wrong, Boyd?” asked Stan. Dread sounded in his voice, as if he already knew something bad had happened.

  “I found my mother-in-law’s car down in that hollow past the Thompsons’ place,” he said. “No one was in it. But that ain’t all. My wife and children… I can’t find them anywhere. They’re missing.”

  “Damn!” said Chief Watts. He was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a grimness to his voice that the carpenter didn’t like. “You stay put, Boyd. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

  “I’ll be here,” Boyd told him. Then he hung up and sat down at the kitchen table. The house was silent around him, almost maddeningly so. He found himself even missing Blanche’s snide remarks, it was so quiet.

  He thought of his wife and children, thought of how much he loved them. Then he did something that he hadn’t done in a very long time. He clasped his work-callused hands tightly together and prayed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Stan Watts climbed into his Lincoln feeling like a whipped dog.

  It had been a long day. He and Officer King had arrived at the Andrews residence around ten that morning, finding Boyd in a state of near panic. After they had calmed the man down, they went to work, alternating between the house and the wrecked car in the thirty-foot ravine. But by three o’clock that afternoon, the chief found that he had very little to go on, just like at the scenes at the drive-in and the Baptist church. There had been some blood on the driver’s seat of the Toyota and the busted telephone in the Andrewses’ living room, but that was all they had found. Other than those two factors, there was nothing else to suggest foul play. But Stan knew that something bad had happened. Nothing took place within the jurisdiction of Green Hollow lately that didn’t have that dark and sinister undertone to it; that feeling that something incredibly evil was behind it all, one way or another.

  He assured Boyd that they would let him know as soon as they had any news concerning Joan and the children. The carpenter thanked him and sat on the front steps of the house he no longer lived in. Stan pitied the man. He had heard about the problems Boyd had been having lately, problems with his marriage, his work, and his drinking. And now something like this, of all things. With some guys it worked like that; trouble hit them all at once like a hurricane, instead of a thunderstorm every now and then.

  Stan started the car and backed out of the driveway. He headed along Stantonview Road for town. When he neared the guardrail where Blanche Craven’s car had crashed, he stopped and sat there for a while, thinking. Something had nagged at him all day. Something that might mean nothing… or everything.

  He had gotten a phone call last night from a boy named Chet Humphrey. He was a high school student who worked the ticket booth at the drive-in on the weekends. Chet had told him something that he had considered unimportant at first, and that was that Dudley Craven had left the drive-in theater several minutes before Saturday night’s final movie had ended. Chet wouldn’t have thought much about it, except that the man hadn’t stayed around for the movie’s finale. And there was something else. Dud had looked nervous, like he had done or seen something he didn’t want anyone to know about.

  Stan thought about something else he had learned earlier that afternoon. Jay had called to let him know that someone had reported seeing a primer-gray pickup truck, an early-model Dodge, parked along Highway 321 the night before Bill King had discovered the empty car with its tire blown out.

  Dud Craven owned a ’69 gray Dodge truck. He had been driving that truck when he had left the drive-in Saturday night.

  The police chief sat there turning the possibility over in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more the pieces seemed to fit. No one knew Dud very well. Hell, nobody knew the man at all. He farmed his land up there on Craven’s Mountain and kept to himself. He was pretty much a he
rmit, like Caleb Vanleer on Eagle Point. No telling what constant isolation might have done to Dud. It could have twisted his mind, maybe resulted in some very sick fantasies; fantasies he had finally gathered up the courage to act out.

  Stan hoped he was wrong. He hoped to God that Dud was still the same, harmless person everyone in Green Hollow thought he was. But the chief couldn’t risk the chance that he wasn’t. He knew he had to check it out. He had to talk to Dud and see what he had to say. But he knew he had to do it discreetly. If it got out that Dud was a suspect, half the population of Green Hollow would be at his front office demanding an arrest. Fear made people act like that… like hostile, unreasonable assholes.

  He called into the office. “Jay, this the chief,” he said. “I’m going to check something out. Something that might or might not wrap this whole thing up.”

  The officer was curious. “Do you think you know who it is?”

  “I can’t say for sure,” said Stan truthfully.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll just check it out myself,” he told him. “It could turn out to be nothing. I’ll give you a call as soon as I find out anything concrete.”

  “I’ll be here,” said Jay.

  After he hung up, Stan called his house. His wife answered. “It’s me, sweetheart. Listen, I’m going to be late for supper tonight. Maybe a couple of hours late.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I was just going to fix sandwiches tonight. Nothing special.” Beth Watts paused a second. “Have a hard day, hon?”

  “That’s putting it lightly,” he said with a sigh. “How’s Lisa doing?”

  “Better. She’s still down in the dumps, but she hasn’t cried as much today.”

  “Good,” said Stan. “I’ll give you a call later, let you know when I’ll be home for sure.”

  “You do that,” said Beth. “And be careful.”

  “I will,” he promised. Then, as an afterthought, he added, “I love you, Beth.”

  “I love you, sweetheart,” she said, sounding a little worried. “Stan… are you all right?”