by Hunter Shea
And he was fine with that. He even helped it along with his drinking.
He’d finally be free. If there was a next world, it had to be better than this stinking pile of shit he’d been saddled with.
Matt had fucked it all up.
So here they were, shit hitting every fan.
Good.
Maybe lying down and dying was never in the cards.
This way, he’d take his pound of flesh with him before he settled in for his long dirt nap.
Someone was making a hell of a racket upstairs. Couldn’t have been Matt. The footsteps sounded too sure, too steady.
Abraham smiled, heading for the door that led to the kitchen.
***
Matt was barely able to make out James leaning unconscious in the love seat next to him. He only had one working eye, the other swollen shut.
A shadow passed over him. He tried to lift his head from the cushion and failed. The bones of his neck and spine had been replaced by tapioca. He smelled the stinging tang of vomit, sure it was his own.
“This is the shitbox you came back to?” a rumbling voice said. Matt couldn’t locate the source. He could barely keep his one eye open and semi-focused. “Seems we’ll be doing you all a favor tonight.”
Matt ran his tongue over his sandpaper lips, croaking, “Just leave my wife and son alone.”
Heavy footsteps. Something nudged the chair he was in.
“It’s a little too late for that. But I didn’t invent this game.”
The Guardians were finally here, in the flesh, out of the shadows, and Matt still couldn’t make out who they were. He willed his mind to focus, attempting to restore order to a tumbling overload of thoughts and deranged sensory input.
“This isn’t a game,” Matt said, sounding weaker than he’d intended.
The man drew in a heavy breath, whistling through his nose. “I tend to agree with you there. You’re right. It’s not a game… anymore. I actually thought the game ended some time ago, but what the hell do I know?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The fog in West’s brain was lifting, but that didn’t help him make any sense of what the hell was going on. Faith paced before him like some kind of caged animal. Could this crazy person possibly even be the same girl he’d been mooning over for weeks?
West was by no means a brawler, but he felt confident he could take her on, now that she didn’t have a shovel and the element of surprise. Not rushing her and pummeling her to the ground went deeper than the rule that boys weren’t supposed to hit girls.
Despite everything, he didn’t want to hurt her.
Maybe there’d been a mistake, some kind of misunderstanding. The things she said were flat out crazy. Someone had poisoned her mind, turned her against him and his family.
“Faith, you’re not making any sense. The Guardians have been stalking both our families. How can you know that my grandfather killed Stella? Did they tell you that in one of their weird notes? Why would you believe them?”
She curled her lip at him. “For a New York kid, you’re awfully dumb. We are the Guardians!”
West felt as if a horse had kicked him in the gut. He fumbled for words, anything to get her to admit that she was lying.
“But… but you can’t be.”
“I’m just part of a long line, West. And we know everything that happens here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My family has always watched over this land. We are one with the soil. Just like your family has watched us. Sometimes, lines get crossed. I’m not trying to say that we’re angels, but we’re certainly not the devil. That’s Abraham, right down to his tainted black soul.”
The moment West made to stand, Faith pulled a butcher knife out of her back pocket. Threat taken, he settled back on his ass. The night critters were quiet tonight, as if they were too afraid to be in the presence of madness.
“Why would he kill his daughter? That just doesn’t make any sense. If this feud or whatever you want to call it has been going on between our two families, why would he take it out on his own child? Don’t you see how crazy that sounds?”
He saw the briefest flicker of doubt pass over her moonlit face.
She quickly recovered, waving the knife at him.
“Because he’s crazy and evil.”
“So if he’s so bad, why did your family keep on harassing him? Weren’t you worried he’d do even worse to you?”
“He took my sister!” Spittle foamed at the corners of her mouth. West tensed, waiting for her to attack, wondering what he’d do to avoid having that blade plunge into his chest. So many scenarios played out in his head, most of them ending horribly for one of them, or both.
West stammered, “Because he was worried you would do something to me and my family. I’m not saying his locking Rayna up is right. He should go to jail for what he did. I’m the last person who will defend him. Not after everything.” He had to tread carefully, but he was also being honest. What Grandpa Abraham did to Rayna alone was unconscionable. “We can help put him away. We can free your sister. I just don’t understand why you attacked me, and why you feel you need to have that knife.”
Faith’s lips parted in a worrisome grin.
“You’re not going to talk circles around me. I’m not some country mouse. I know exactly what I have to do.”
West’s diaphragm hitched, his heart going into overdrive.
“What do you have to do?” he asked, terrified of the answer. This was no horror movie starring Bruce Campbell and a host of demons. There was no director to shout, “Cut!” No special effects team laden with crimson corn syrup.
This was real life and death, with death’s hot breath bearing down on him. He readied himself. There was no way around it. If Faith came at him, he’d have to give everything he had to bring her down and get that blade out of her hands.
“For the moment, I’m going to keep you right here. My mother and father are setting things right now.”
“Faith, what are they doing?”
“The less you know, the better. I’ve already told you more than I should.”
“Are they going to hurt my mother and father?”
He couldn’t stop the trickle of burning tears from coming. Not that it mattered. What was the point in trying to look tough and brave before a deranged person?
She remained eerily silent.
“Once we tell them about Rayna, they’ll feel the same way I do. They’ll get her out and turn my grandfather over to the police.”
Faith plucked a piece of grass free and sucked on the end.
“My father says it’s too late for that. Too many bad things have happened. Your grandfather needs to be stopped for good. No police. Ever. My father says tonight is the night we set right what was done to poor Stella.”
Did she think they could kill his grandfather and they wouldn’t tell the cops?
And what did Stella, who was murdered over thirty years ago, have to do with everything?
Then it hit him.
They knew exactly how things would play out.
And they had no intention of leaving loose ends.
“Wait, Faith. It doesn’t have to go down like this. If everything you said is true, I’m on your side. We’re all on your side.”
Her features softened for the first time since he’d awoken in the field, and he saw the Faith that had stolen his heart.
“I’m sorry, West. You may not believe me, but I really am. You’re nothing like that man. But you share his name, and your being here is what brought this all about.”
“Please, let us go. Please.”
With one hand behind his back, he scooped up as much dirt as he could without her noticing. He hoped throwing it in her face would blind and disorient her enough for him to get the upper hand. It had worked in more movies than he could count. This wasn’t a movie, but the logic was sound.
Right?
“You know I can’t. Now just sit tight and no
more talking.”
“I don’t wanna die.”
“Find me someone who does. But in the end, we all have to do it anyway.”
West launched a fistful of dirt at Faith’s eyes, rising to his feet.
She flinched just enough for it all to miss her completely.
West realized in mid-leap that his plan had failed. And now he was heading straight for the blade in her hand.
A dark shape burst from the high reeds. Faith turned to face it.
There was a scream, then Faith tumbled end over end, grappling with the pouncing shadow.
He tripped over their intertwined bodies, somehow somersaulting back onto his feet.
“Mom!”
Faith was writhing on the ground, keening that her stomach was on fire.
West’s mother backpedaled from the girl.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” she said, finding West’s shocked face.
“I need help. Please. I need help,” Faith moaned, clutching her stomach.
West felt his mother’s hand slip around his. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even see the knife.”
He helped her to her feet. They stood over Faith, blood blossoming under her T-shirt.
“We need to call an ambulance,” West said. Even though she had been ready to kill him a moment ago, seeing her in abject agony, her life force flowing from the deep wound in her belly, he couldn’t just sit here and watch her die.
“My cell phone is in the house,” his mother said. “Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
She stood on the side where he had taken the blow from the shovel. When she touched his cauliflower ear, he winced.
“This looks bad.”
“I can’t hear at all out of that ear. Should we take the knife out?”
“No. That’ll only make it worse. Come with me to the house and we’ll call for help.”
“And leave her out here alone?”
Faith caught his eye, her own streaming with pained tears. “West, I’m sorry. Please, don’t let me die here. I need a doctor.”
He knelt by her side, careful not to touch her. He wasn’t sure whether he kept his distance because he worried she’d rally and attack him or if he simply didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already was.
“We’ll get one,” he said.
“I can’t leave you out here,” his mother said. She was holding her shoulder and walking with a noticeable limp.
“Then I’ll go to the house.”
“Not alone you won’t.”
“Maybe we could take her with us.”
She looked at the wounded girl. Mostly the whites of her eyes were showing now.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a good idea. Here, give me your shirt.”
She wadded it into a ball, waking Faith from her delirium with light taps to her cheek. “You need to press this tight to your stomach.” She put the shirt just under the jutting blade. “Can you do that?”
Faith nodded, her breath coming in wet rasps.
“Just hold on. We’re going to get you help as fast as we can.”
She grabbed West’s hand, dragging him toward the house.
“I don’t think she really wanted to hurt me,” West said, more to himself than his mother.
She gave him a look that frightened him.
“Yes… she did. And she’s not alone out here. Now come on!”
***
Abraham burst through the basement door to an empty kitchen. The back door was open. He looked down the hallway. So was the front.
“Matt?”
His hands gripped the shotgun so tight, every knuckle was jellyfish white.
“Simmons? I know you’re here. You touch one fucking hair on any of my family’s head and you’ll never see your daughter alive.”
His footsteps on the scratched floorboards sounded like cannon fire.
“In here,” Matt said.
He and his friend were tied to chairs in the living room, both looking like they’d head butted a brick wall.
Matt said, “He just headed out the front.”
“He dead?” Abraham asked, pointing the shotgun’s barrels at James. The man’s face looked like spoiled chopmeat.
“Just knocked out. Untie me, quick!”
Abraham considered leaving him there. The more time he wasted freeing Matt, the further Gregory Simmons got away.
Or would he?
They had closed ranks on his farmhouse. They wanted Rayna.
No, Simmons wouldn’t go far.
“He took our guns,” Matt said.
“Shit. Where’s Deb and the kid? They didn’t come back?”
“I don’t know.”
“What a goddamn clusterfuck.”
And the old man is the only one with a weapon and not fucked up. The Simmons have the odds stacked in their favor… to a point.
He got Matt free, and they undid the binding on James, who began to stir.
“You gotta get his ass out of the clouds,” Abraham said. He filled a glass with water, dousing James’s face. Blood and water cascaded down his shirt. He came to, sputtering and confused.
“I can’t do everything by myself,” Abraham said. “The two of you together might equal one person. We’re going to find Greg Simmons.”
James dabbed at his ruined nose. “Who’s Greg Simmons?”
“He’s the Guardian,” Matt said. “My neighbor. Christ, we went to school together. Remember him?”
“We don’t have time to shoot the shit. Get up, if you can,” Abraham barked.
He handed them each a bat he found in the hallway closet. “It’s better than nothing.”
James helped Matt up, but he looked like he needed a mighty hand himself.
They made their way to the front door, a sad posse indeed.
Abraham said, “Look, when we get – “
“Aaaaaaaeeeeeiiiiiiii!!”
A shape as big as a razorback gorilla filled the doorway, tearing the screen door from its hinges. Abraham was folded in half as the charging beast laid a shoulder of granite into his midsection. He flew backwards, sweeping Matt and James off their feet like a struck bowling pin.
He regained his senses just enough to see a fist the size of a Christmas ham come rocketing toward his face.
Abraham had time for one thought before it was lights out.
Fuck me sideways. Not another one!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The mad dash to Abraham’s farmhouse was not without its pitfalls. Debi and West, guided only by the moon, faltered time and again, feet snagging on overgrown weeds, gopher and snake holes, and other obstacles seemingly thrown up by Mother Nature herself.
It was hard to miss the house.
As they got closer, Debi slowed them down.
Be smart, Debi! God knows who’s lurking around… or even inside!
She placed her hand on her son’s chest. “Wait here.”
They were back by the old picnic table, out of the arc of luminescence emanating from the blazing kitchen lights.
“I’m coming with you,” he whispered.
“Just give me a second,” she said, cupping his face in her hands. “I need to make sure it’s safe.”
West cast a wary glance back at the gloomy field.
Faith was out there, maybe clinging to life, maybe not. He wanted to help her, despite everything. She loved his heart, his capacity for kindness.
She didn’t mean to stab the girl. In fact, Faith probably stabbed herself. If she’d only let go of the damn knife.
But she hadn’t.
Because she wanted to kill you. And West.
Getting Faith medical attention wasn’t high on her list.
Finding Matt was.
Abraham could go fuck himself.
She crept to the kitchen door, careful not to make a sound.
The sounds of shuffling footsteps bled into the warm night. Someone was in the house. She daren’t call Matt’s name.
The kitchen
was empty. She bent low, hugging the side of the house so she could peek into the living room window.
Again, there was no one she could see. But there were ropes bunched by two of the chairs and blood on the carpet and the old love seat.
She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry. Something bad had happened in there. She prayed Matt was all right.
A twig snapped behind her. She whirled, fists lifted as if she were a boxer. For a brief flash, she wished she had plucked the knife from Faith’s belly. At least she’d have a weapon.
Once she realized there was no one behind her, or at least no one she could detect, she snuck around to the front of the house. It being so wide open, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
Abraham’s crappy truck was there. So was James’s. Which meant they all had to be near.
Debi dared to approach the front door.
What the hell happened?
It looked as if a wild animal had stomped its way into the farmhouse. The door was in shattered bits, the screen torn in half. She stepped on a hinge, freezing from the slight noise it made as it scratched across the diminutive porch.
There was more blood on the floor of the foyer.
The chair was tipped over and the runner bunched up, a sanguine trail leading toward the kitchen.
I can’t go there alone, she thought. If the Guardians are there, and they have Matt and Abraham, what can I do? I need to find my cell.
They’re not the Guardians. They’re the insane Simmons family!
She was pretty sure she’d left it in her room. Getting there would be no easy feat. The damn house moaned and groaned with every step they took. The short walk to the bedroom would be enough to announce her presence.
And then what?
She sure as hell couldn’t box her way out of this.
Debi looked around for a weapon. Anything would do.
She found an umbrella, picked it up, and realized it was useless, unless she was going to fight some raindrops.
She remembered a little junk drawer in the table Abraham used to dump mail and keys. After a quick, but silent rummage, she found a screwdriver.
It was sharp and pointy and would have to do. Sometimes, wishing for hammers or nail guns was wasted time.