by K. E. Garvey
He took several long and quick steps and stopped behind a wide-trunked tree at the front corner of the building. He cursed the crickets under his breath. Their song made it impossible to tell if there was any sound coming from inside. He crouched and moved out from behind the tree on all fours to keep from being seen from the single window within view. Everything around him began to glow in the in the headlights of an oncoming car. He pressed himself against the side of the garage and held his breath until the car had passed. It took several minutes and a number of deep breaths before his heart stopped hammering in his chest.
While deciding his next move he heard a sound which, although faint, was unmistakably familiar. It was the metal on metal of a Zippo as it snapped closed. He had heard that sound hundreds of times as a child when his mother’s old man would come in for his lengthy summer visits. One could set their watch by the snaps of his lighter—every thirty minutes, twenty if he were in a pissy mood.
Warren carefully lifted himself into an upright position and slowly eased himself along the siding until he was directly under the window. All he had to do was stand on his toes to get a look inside. Aware he might lift only to find himself looking into the eyes of the occupant, he grabbed hold of the sill and pulled as he lifted himself on his toes until he eyes were level with the bottom of the pane. A glow emitted by a small cell phone screen illuminated a figure slouched in a chair with his back toward Warren. Size indicated a man, posture indicated inattentiveness. He had a decision to make. Burst in with his knife bared and hope to overtake him, or give his situation more thought and come up with something with better odds.
He had been standing just below the window while taking occasional peeks long enough that the cricket chatter had simmered down, and lightning bugs flashed around him like the twinkle lights his mother used to insist his old man hang on the eaves each Christmas.
He heard movement from inside the garage and lifted himself just enough to determine what it was. The person inside had stood and opened the walk-through door. Their form filled the doorway. Definitely a man who seemed to be wearing all of his worldly possessions around his waist. He swayed with the shift of weight from one foot to the other. Warren watched him flick a cigarette into the driveway, and then step out of the garage leaving the door open behind him. He headed to his right before Warren lost sight of him.
Warren took deliberate steps toward the front of the garage, slowing pushing past the corner. He rounded the front and continued until he reached the far front corner of the building. He had been grateful for the light of the moon earlier and now wished he could turn it off. Again, he held his breath and peeked around the side of the garage. Nothing. He bristled. The guy could have walked around back to take a piss, or he could have gone on a hunt for food that would last several hours. He had no way of knowing. Dammit.
Without weighing the possible outcomes of his actions, he slipped through the open doorway into the garage. It was much darker than it had been under a sky-full of stars, and he was unable to make out much past the chair he had seen the guy sitting in.
Katherine’s car still sat in one bay while the other remained mostly open. He wasn’t able to see what was hanging or the items that lined the walls, but he began feeling his way down the far wall in search of anything that might serve as a weapon.
At the sound of the guy’s belongings slapping off his body as he approached, Warren slipped in behind the Buick and remained standing, ready for fight or flight. When the guy entered, he closed the door behind him and cast a quick glance around the darkened garage. He let out a burp and gave two fist pumps to his stomach before lowering himself into the chair. His cell phone lit and within seconds he was immersed in whatever was on the screen. He leaned back and threw his legs on top of something along the wall before lighting another cigarette.
Without a weapon, Warren didn’t have much chance of overpowering this guy. He wasn’t a fifty-fifty odds kind of guy. Rarely was he the strongest man in a fight, but he prided himself on being the smartest. He could wait for the guy to take another walk and use the time to find a suitable weapon, but that might not happen again for a while. He thought a bit more and decided he could hurry it along. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several coins, mostly pennies. He took one between two fingers and in a fluid motion, pushed it from his chest straight out toward the window on the opposite side of the garage. It made a tink as it hit the glass and disappeared into the darkness. The man in the chair shot to his feet and turned toward the sound. He pulled something from the belongings that hung from him and pointed it toward the window. A flashlight. Warren bent to remain out of view. He tensed as the light passed over the wall behind him. He heard the walk-through door open and the man step out into the gravel. As quietly as he was able, Warren felt along the walls for something he could use to defend himself when the transient returned.
The guy had been gone for quite some time, time Warren spent hiding in the front corner of the garage, only feet from the chair. When he heard him approaching he lifted a section of rebar he had found on the floor behind the Buick, and readied himself. When the man stepped through the doorway, Warren instantly recognized the uniform and the items hanging from his belt. Rather than to reconsider, Warren brought the iron down with all his strength, and watched the cop fall. His head hit the concrete floor with a thud.
He kicked at the still body and waited for movement. He kicked at him again, only harder. The guy was out cold, if he wasn’t dead. Warren pulled him further into the garage, gave a quick look around outside from the doorway, and then closed the door behind him. His hands trembled as he stripped him of his flashlight, a set of handcuffs, and his gun. It was a good thing he hadn’t known earlier it was a cop he had been watching. As an unarmed man, he may not have had the balls to knowingly take him on.
He shined the flashlight on the body at his feet. The pool of blood he was laying in was twice the size of his head. He wouldn’t have to worry about him interfering with his plans any longer. He turned it off and stuffed the flashlight into his waistband while slipping the cuffs into a back pocket. He pulled the dampened collar of his shirt off his neck and turned toward the door. This was it. There was nothing left to stand between him and the girls. He had waited for this moment for so long, and now that it was here he was almost paralyzed by excitement.
The house was still in darkness when he stepped out of the garage, the gun clenched in his right hand. Each time he placed one foot in front of the other on his way toward the house a jolt of electricity raced up his spine. It had been more than twenty years since he last felt this alive.
Eager to slip out of sight, he stood next to a lighthouse centered in a flowerbed at the back corner of the house while he decided how to get into the house with the least amount of noise. He didn’t know the exact time, but knew people would only sit in a dark house for so long before going to bed became the logical thing to do.
There had been no basement windows in the front of the house, but there were two in plain view in the rear. The last time he shimmied in through one of those small cellar windows he was about seventeen. He had been caught a number of times sneaking out and his old man had nailed a cowbell over the door to alert him each time someone came through the door. On that particular night he was too drunk to ward off his old man’s blows, so he decided to sneak in through the basement window, and back out the following morning. He figured he’d earn sensibility credit for not driving home drunk, even if he did miss curfew.
He crept his way along the cinderblock foundation until he reached the first of the two windows. There was a small flame dancing in the bedroom window, but no moving silhouettes. He looked up to the stars, chose one, and whispered, “Let my luck last just a little longer.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Amy - 2018
Amy told Paul what had been happening since her return from Paris. Some of it he had picked up on the news, some of it he was hearing for the first time. Only as she
told him everything in one, long string did she realize how unbelievable it all sounded.
“I saw your father the day he was released from prison, although I didn’t know he was your father at the time.” Paul’s words carried an apologetic tone. “He… you and your family were our neighbors when we were little kids.”
Amy looked around the dimly lit room. “Did you know that when you met him?”
She could make out the shake of his head.
“I guess it was because of your name change, but I didn’t know he was your father until I saw you on the news after the shooting. I didn’t recognize him when we met.”
“He had been in prison for most of your life. How could you have remembered him? Why did you meet him?”
“For my sister. And her son.”
“Annie. I remember her. And I remember that she had three younger brothers. You all moved away before we did.”
The candle wick was shortening making everything harder to see. Paul nodded, but she was unable to read his expression.
“We moved away because my sister was unmarried and pregnant. She was little more than a kid herself. You would think my parents moved her away in shame, but that isn’t exactly what happened. They were moving her away from the baby’s father. Your father.” He took a deep breath, and exhaled. “My father passed away a few years later, and my mother remarried. My brothers and I were still young, and our new stepfather legally adopted us. My last name has been Kline since I was six. The only Lester left is my nephew, Randall.”
Over the next few minutes, Paul finished telling her about what Warren had done, his nephew, and the outcome of their only meeting.
She understood why she was sickened by what she heard, but why was she surprised? She had known for a long time of her father’s evil and twisted ways, so why she so shocked by Paul’s words?
“Where are they? Annie and her son?” she asked.
“Annie passed away last year.”
She clutched at her chest, and stood. “I’m so sorry.”
He made a sound that resembled a sniffle. “Randall has Down Syndrome. He’s been in a very nice facility since Annie passed away. Her dying wish was that his biological father meet him. She wasn’t looking for anything from him. She wanted her son to see his father, even if it was only once.”
She was only able to get out, “Did he?” even though there were so many more things she wanted to say.
“Did he meet him? No. He wanted no part of Randall, or me for that matter. He never admitted to knowing anything about my sister or the baby they had, but he said enough that I knew I had the right guy.”
Feeling a little calmer, she returned to her seat on the bed. “So, you only saw him the once?”
He nodded. “When I heard what had happened to you, I stayed glued to the TV after not being able to reach you. As the facts came to light, I realized that you were Cheryl Grissom, Warren’s daughter. The age was right. I don’t know why you changed your name, although after everything I know or have heard about the guy, I could probably guess. I remembered you telling me your father had died many years ago and wouldn’t have put it together if not for what he did to you. When they said that the man they believed to be the shooter was your father, Warren Grissom… well, I was confused to say the least. That was when I began calling you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
He ran the back of his hand across her cheek. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You weren’t aware of what he had done to my sister. You didn’t even know he was still alive until recently. It seems your father has left many victims in his wake.”
She stiffened and turned her ear toward the door. “Did you hear that?” she asked.
He turned his head in the same direction and sat in silence. Finally, he asked, “What did you hear?”
“I’m not sure. A thump maybe.”
“Probably an animal foraging around the house. You’re scared. Every unfamiliar sound is going to put you on edge.”
She stood and stepped closer to the window. “Maybe, but it sounded like something bigger than a raccoon or a skunk.”
“Have you heard it again?” he asked as he joined her.
She shook her head although she knew he probably couldn’t see it in the dim light. “You’re probably right. Or maybe it was Sali. She probably can’t find her key in the dark.”
“Why don’t I go see?”
“No!”
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Maybe she doesn’t have her key, or maybe it was the officer you heard. He might have tripped over something while he was checking the area. I’ll be right back.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead, and then turned and disappeared into the darkness.
~ Warren ~
“Shit.”
Warren cursed himself for being so careless. Before knocking a box off a shelf, he hadn’t heard movement from upstairs. They had heard him. It would only be a matter of time before one of them, most likely the oldest of the girls, would be down to check out the noise they had heard. Or maybe they’d summon the cop who wouldn’t answer. Either way, the game had begun.
The footsteps seemed to cover one end of the house to the other. He heard the snap of the deadbolt on the kitchen door unlock before hearing it again a few seconds later. He squatted and slid between several stacked boxes and the back of the stairs. He had only been in his crouched position for several seconds when he heard the chain lock run through its channel.
He almost threw a hand up to shield his eyes when the light suddenly filled the musty basement, but caught himself when he heard the first foot land on the creaky stairs. He craned his neck to see up and behind him, but he was unable to see so much as a shoe of the person at the top of the stairs.
His breathing was growing louder in his own ears and he wondered if they could hear it. Their steps were cautious, deliberate, he had almost expected them to turn around and shut the door behind them, but then they descended two more steps.
When they had reached the middle of the stairs, he couldn’t see the foot on the lower step. Enough of the toe and heel of their shoe could be seen over the front and back edges of the step telling him it was a man standing above him. He would only get one chance to take him down. Up until now he had been able to keep quiet enough to avoid detection, but he could no longer worry about that. His end game was upstairs, and he wasn’t going to let it play out in the basement. If it would take a struggle, then a struggle it would be.
The step above him creaked. As the man’s foot was halfway between steps, Warren grabbed hold of his ankle and jerked it through the gap between the stairs with all his might sending the man tumbling to the bottom. Warren jumped out from behind the stairs knocking over the stack of boxes next to them. The man lay motionless, but Warren dug his gun into his side and gave a hard push. Nothing. He was out cold. He rolled him over. It was that guy from the diner. Annie Lester’s brother, but what the hell would he be doing here? Had he been following him, and how was he connected to the girls?
The girls.
Warren glanced toward the top of the stairs hoping to see one of them, even their shadow moving through the rooms. There was no shadow. No sound. The house was eerily quiet. Had they heard the commotion and fled? Dammit.
There was no time to worry about the Lester kid. He had probably hit his head so hard when he landed that he’d be out for hours anyway, so Warren quickly bound his hands together with duct tape and headed up the stairs taking two at a time.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Warren - 2018
When Warren reached the top of the basement stairs, he flipped the light off before opening the door. With light, the girls had the initial advantage. They knew someone was in the basement and were surely watching the door. Stepping through it in the darkness would give him the few seconds he needed to determine where they were in the house.
If he remembered correctly, there was a light switch next to the basement door that turned on the kitchen light. As h
e slowly pushed on the door, he slid his free hand between it and the molding until it reached the switch. At the same time, he flipped the switch and kicked the door open with his foot. The kitchen light shone from behind him offering a glimpse of the empty living room in front of him. He gave a quick look over his shoulder to find the kitchen empty. His steps were slow and short as his eyes adjusted to the low light in the living room. Both the bedroom and bathroom doors were shut, and he positioned himself between the two. If both girls were in the same room, and he chose the correct one, his job would be much easier. But if they had split up between the rooms, he ran the risk of losing one while he subdued the other. He waited and listened hoping to hear even the faintest sound coming from either room.
He edged toward the bedroom and put his ear against the door. As if they sensed his nearness, he heard movement from behind the door. He gave the door knob a slight turn. Locked. One bullet would take care of that, but he wasn’t ready to be discovered yet. His only option was kicking the door in, and hoping it gave way before they could get out the window. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and rammed his foot at the door next to the knob. He staggered to catch his balance when the door burst open.
Someone at the window whirled around and let out a scream.
He turned the light on and aimed the gun at her chest. “Which one are you?” he asked through labored breathing.
“Amy.” Her voice was weak, barely covering the distance between them.
His hand trembled slightly when he demanded her real name. “Which one, Gail or Cheryl?”
Still just above a whisper, she said, “Cheryl.”
“Get on the bed.” He wagged the gun between her and the bed until she was seated. “Where’s your sister?”
“She’s not here.”
“I can see that. Where is she?”