Jon rubbed the bandages and grabbed the towel, flipping it to a dry side, and patting his left eye with it. He blinked, trying to get all the red out. It looked like he was seeing through a church’s stained-glass window.
Mr. Mirch pulled a sealed pack of Tylenol from his breast pocket and placed it on the end table by the glass of water.
“What happened to Rusty’s dad? Was it them? The maniacs?” Jon asked.
Hal nodded his head as his tired, old eyes looked down into the bowl of blood and rubbing alcohol. “Sure was.” He paused a moment.
“If you can’t tell me, I understand. I know how horrible it is out there. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things in the past twenty-four hours,” Jon said.
Hal rubbed his chin. “Well…I suppose I should start from the beginnin’ to give ya an idea of the Mirch family here. You see, Jon, my son Edward was the sheriff for the local department. Not sure where he got the idea to run around with the police, he was always such a troublemaker growin’ up that I figured he’d be the one in jail, not puttin’ other folks in there.
All a sudden he changed his attitude after years of stealin’ and fightin’. I figured he came around when Rus was born. Course he wasn’t married at the time. I thought he’d want nothin’ to do with ‘em, but it turns out Rus’ momma was the one who wasn’t interested. My wife yelled and screamed at our son for hookin’ up with such a floozy.” His head shook back and forth to show his disappointment all these years later. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ramble.”
“It’s alright. Keep going,” Jon said as he dabbed more on his eye. Anything to help me understand what’s going on.
“Well, anyhow, little Rus’ momma took off when he was just a baby and is off in who knows where. Eddie would yell and curse while runnin’ down the street chasin’ after young women that broke his heart, but not this time. I think at that moment, he realized it was just him and Rus in the world and that all those years of causin’ mischief only attracted the least holy of people. You know what I’m sayin’, Jon? You behave poorly, you’re only gonna attract those same poor people into your life. Understand?”
Jon nodded.
“It was just him and that boy,” Hal said. “Eddie, that’s what we called Edward, tried his hardest to raise him right and I did my best with Margaret, God rest her soul. Eddie wanted nothing more than to raise him in a way so that Rus didn’t cause all that trouble he did. Problem was, just like with Eddie and me, Rus rebelled against his dad and got in trouble anyhow.”
“What did he do?”
“Oh, anything he damn well wanted. Skipped school. If he wanted something, he took it. If he had an issue with another fella, he punched him right in the jaw with no questions asked. Hell, yer lucky you didn’t run into him back when his dad was around. You might not have made it out of that parking lot alive.”
Hal rubbed his chin again and shook his head. “He loved his daddy, but he loved to make him angry, too. He loved to rebel. Boy, he got in so much trouble. Where on earth did I go wrong with my son? I only wanted to raise him right, but I guess it didn’t work for him or his own baby boy. His momma was a stern Christian maybe I. . . I’m sorry I keep ramblin’.”
Jon grabbed the glass of water from the end table and took a sip. It was nice and cold as it streamed down his desert-dry throat. A taste to which no McDonald’s bathroom sink water could compare.
“Anyhow, what I was sayin’ was that Rus was a troublemaker, even though his dad was climbin’ the ranks of the police force. It was as if he wanted to get in even MORE trouble. I’d yell at Eddie and say ‘howsabout you get your son in order before you police everybody else,’ but he’d yell back, ‘you never raised me right, never lettin’ me do anything.’ It was like we used to argue when he was younger. Jon, I tell ya, he would storm off just like Rus did a moment ago. Off into the woods and not come back until after supper. His momma would beat him with the big wooden spoon until he ran out into the woods again. Didn’t come back until the sun came up. Sometimes I’d find him sleeping under a tree.”
“Like father like son, huh?” Jon thought of his own father then. Where he was and whether he was alive. He hoped he was.
Hal nodded and stood up. The wooden floor creaked beneath his velcro shoes. He walked over to the reading chair in the corner and took a seat as he pulled up his khaki pants. “Yer right. Anyhow, where was I? Oh. You see even though Rus’ dad was a police officer and was livin’ in a whole new light, that troublesome spirit would still come out every now and again. Sometimes he had to rough up a perp or two in a way that wasn’t protocol. Ya know, take the law into his own hands. They’d call him Shotgun Eddie. But hell, he put more guys in jail than anyone else had ever seen. Before ya knew, he was the sheriff and was runnin’ things for a little while. That was before everything went to hell.”
There was a pause. Jon took another sip of water and dabbed his eye. The red tint to the room was almost completely gone. Hal was looking down and rubbing his thumbs together between his cupped hands.
Hal began again. “At first it seemed odd. Eddie was tellin’ me they were gettin’ more calls than usual at the station. The phones were ringin’ off the hooks and people were shoutin’ to send help right away and that their husbands and wives were tryin’ to kill them. Their kids were punching holes in the walls, kicking the dog, scratching their siblings. It was madness, especially at night. That’s when it was the worst. I don’t think Eddie even got to sleep most nights, had to snooze in the daytime with the curtains pulled. Made him sick. He couldn’t even stand to watch the news anymore. All they showed were stories of the ongoing violence. It even seemed to be going on all around the country. Huntington was just the tip of the iceberg.”
“Yeah, I saw on CNN that there were explosions and mass riots going on from coast to coast. They said it was going global,” Jon said.
“That’s right. Rus and I would get around the TV at the motel and watch with some of the guests. We’d all be shocked with our jaws on the floor at what we were seein’. Eddie always turned it off when he caught us watchin’ the news. He had enough of it. Didn’t wanna see any more of what was goin’ on just outside our motel. All the while his son was still causin’ trouble, but Eddie didn’t have a second to deal with Rus. Bein’ the sheriff and all, he’s gotta be ready at all times. Anyhow, Eddie gets a call in the middle of the night to respond to a situation with a pregnant woman. Her husband was threatening violence against her, threatening to kill her and the baby.”
Jon’s eyebrows curled in reaction to the viciousness. It caused a little more blood to soak the bandages.
“I’m not sure what happened when he got there,” Hal said. “I wasn’t given any specifics, but I imagined it wasn’t too pretty. One of Eddie’s men called us and said they were doin’ all they could, but the ambulances were runnin’ all over the county to other calls. I had to block the door from Rus tryin’ to drive to the scene himself. Wasn’t til’ the next mornin’ we had an officer come to the house to inform us that Eddie was dead. Tryin’ to do his job protectin’ a young woman and her unborn baby, and he ended up gettin’ murdered.”
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Mirch,” Jon said as the emotions of the story and the thoughts of his own family mixed together to form hot tears in his eyes. They flushed out the last drops of blood. “Did they get the guy who killed him?”
“Dunno, can’t say. No one ever told us any more details. For all I know, the demon is still out there running with the other demons like a true troupe of evil. . . ”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yup. I lost my wife, then I lost my son. By the grace of God, Margaret got to have a proper funeral. God rest her soul, she died just earlier this year after havin’ a stroke. As hard as it is for me to say, I’m glad she died that way rather than having to be beatin’ to a pulp by one of these heartless punks. Who knows what would’ve happened to her just going to the grocery store or down to the post office? God took her at the right time, Jon.
The right time. I just wish he would’ve left Eddie with us, but I know they’re lookin’ down on us, protectin’ us even though the devil’s army is runnin’ amuck.”
Jon’s heart leaped as the news of Margaret’s passing registered in his mind. The woman at the window. The dirt grave with the stick-made cross. Sweat began to form around the gash of his head as a high dosage shot of anxiety injected itself into him.
“Mr. Mirch,” Jon said with a shaky voice, “is your son buried outside the house? Underneath the window?”
“I’m afraid he is, Jon…I’m afraid he is. Had no choice either. Barry Henderson runs the funeral parlor and both he and his family are nowhere to be found. Tried callin’ 911 with nothing but some lady sayin’ we can’t take the time help you. I don’t think anyone will be helpin’ us anytime soon. I s’pose we gotta take matters into our own hands.”
“You’re right,” Jon said. He didn’t want that to be the case.
“Jon, I tell ya it hasn’t been easy. Rus has made it his life’s goal to kill anybody and anything that he thinks is sick like the fella that killed his daddy. Not long before today, we had someone banging on the door of the motel. Rus took it to himself to take care of business on his own. He damn near got his arm cut off by a biker who was lookin’ to spend the night. Course, the motel has been closed since Eddie passed. The biker man wasn’t haven’t it, so he drew a pocketknife and started swingin’. This is all accordin’ to Rus of course.
“Rus had my rifle, my old Remington, and shot that sonofabitch right in the head. I couldn’t believe he’d do something like that. He went too far, Jon. But I guess he was defendin’ himself as far as I know. We had to put the body somewhere out in the woods there, I don’t think anyone will be lookin’ for him.”
Jon was in disbelief both about Mrs. Mirch and the tale about Rusty.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t just pull the trigger on you, I guess that was some of his mercy comin’ out for a moment. Yer lucky, Jon,” Hal said.
Jon looked down into the bowl that mixed his blood with the alcohol. The emotions were swirling around in the blender of his mind with a thick misery. He was living in a world of murderous maniacs and ghosts of the dead. Emily was a ghost. Dan. Brandon. Maybe his own family were nothing more than spirits now. Better spirits than God knows whatever the fuck these pyschos were.
Hal seemed to pick up on Jon’s body language and stood up as the wooden floor creaked again. He began to walk out of the room. “You take those pills and drink that water down, I’m gonna get you somethin’ to eat. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mirch,” Jon said.
“Call me Hal.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
“Oh, and one other thing,” Hal said, stopping, turning back to Jon. “Poor Rus had his heart broken by a young girl. Rosaline? Rachel? I can’t remember the name, but anyhow he’s sensitive about that girl and I’d advise you don’t ask about any females round him or his daddy, ok? Whoever that girl was broke it off with him and I don’t think he’s able to let her go. Just like his daddy, he wears his heart on his sleeve. That boy, I tell ya. Not sure what I’m gonna do with him… You got a girlfriend back home, Jon?”
“No girlfriend at the moment,” Jon replied. He had girlfriends before, once back at White Haven even. A brown-haired girl named Veronica Gerhman. They had dated for a month or two before she decided to transfer schools. They had tried to keep in touch, but there were new boys at her campus that she wanted to get to know.
There had also been Jon’s high school sweetheart, Jessica Mergo. His first kiss. A ginger. Jon broke up with her after he found out she smoked cigarettes. Mrs. Barnes wouldn’t allow her in the house ever again after that.
“Well, I betcha you’ll find somebody to take care of in all of this mess. Probably a girl out there looking for a young man to fix her head wounds, whaddya think?” Hal formed somewhat of a smile.
“Maybe you’re right,” Jon said.
As Hal stepped down the loud staircase, Jon sat as he was on the edge of the bed, trying to get himself under control from the panic in his mind. As he wiped the last of the bloodied tears off his face, he looked up at the wooden cross by the door. A wave of tiredness hit him.
“You like chicken, Jon?” Hal yelled from downstairs.
“Sure,” Jon replied.
“Howsabout peaches?”
“That’d be great, thank you.”
Chapter THIRTY-NINE
Rusty Returns
The old guestroom faded in from black as Jon awoke from his dreamless sleep. Long shadows from the sun streamed across the foot of the bed. In the corner, a figure sat in the armchair. Jon squinted for a moment and then grabbed his glasses from between the bowls of peach juice and chicken remnants on the end table. Putting them on, he saw the figure was Rusty, holding his grandfather’s rifle across his lap. He was a shadow behind the curtain of the setting sun. Jon could see Rusty’s eyes locked onto him and wondered how long he’d been staring.
Maybe enough to wake me up.
“I’m here to apologize,” Rusty said, breaking the silence. “How’s yer head feelin’?”
“It’s ok. I’m alright now,” Jon said, still aching. “Your grandpa took good care of me. Listen…he told me what happened. I’m sorry. I understand why you reacted the way you did out there, I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. . .”
Rusty was silent. All Jon could see was his shadowed face looking down at the rifle, breaking away the staring contest.
“What time is it?” Jon asked as he ran his fingers over his X-shaped bandage. The sunlight was a good indicator that he still had time to drive, but his heart still raced from the mystery of his slumber’s length.
“You see my dad always said I oughta say how I feel,” Rusty spoke without acknowledging that Jon had asked a question. His head was still hanging down with his finger rubbing the barrel. “Always bottlin’ everything up inside is no good, makes a man all crazy in his head. Makes a man lash out and run away sometimes.”
“Rusty, it’s alright.” Jon felt uncomfortable. He thought Rusty was going to do something crazy like pulling the trigger. Maybe snap and have a mental breakdown right here, either killing Jon or himself.
There was silence as Jon propped himself up by the elbows.
“I’m here to apologize,” Rusty repeated. His voice was softer than it was before. “I’m sorry, Jon. I’m sorry I bashed yer head with my grandfather’s rifle. Kinda thought you were like one of them other folks out there. It was wrong of me and I ask you to forgive me.”
The time. What’s the fucking time?
“Rusty, it’s ok. I forgive you,” Jon said.
“Grandpa said God would’ve sent me to Hell if I killed you. He said if I hurt somebody or killed somebody, that I’d be just like the man who killed my dad. I’d be one of them.”
“Rus…”
“I want you to take this,” Rusty said, standing up and pulling a weapon from behind his back. Jon’s heart fluttered and his body jerked back as if Rusty was about to finish him right here in the guestroom. Instead, Rusty was holding out a Glock 22 towards Jon. His hand offered it like it was a holy sacrament or a form of a sacrificial gift.
Jon’s head jerked back an inch in confusion. “You want me to have this?”
“Yes. I talked with my grandpa, he said it would be ok. Said I shouldn’t be usin’ it anymore and he’s right. You ever fire a gun before?”
Jon swallowed a dry, scratchy swallow. “I have. I used to hunt with my dad when I was younger. That rifle sort of looks like the one I shot before actually. A handgun? No.”
“Good, then this should be no problem for you. It’s pretty much the same thing. You just don’t have as much leverage ya see. No scope either.” Rusty put down his grandfather’s rifle and began aiming down the sights of the Glock, pointing the barrel at the wall. His one eye squinted shut. “You see somebody actin’ up, just pretend they were a deer or a squir
rel. But make sure they’re sick in the head before you do. You make sure it’s not a situation like you and me almost had,” Rusty said as he placed the Glock on the foot of the bed, inside of the setting sun’s rays like it was a gift from God himself. The weight of the gun pressed down on the floral sheets. The metal shined. It looked brand new to Jon. Pristine.
“Thank you. Are you sure your grandpa is ok with it? I mean, did this belong to your. . . ”
“My dad?”
Jon nodded.
“It did and I sure am sure my gramps is okay with it.” Rusty was staring at the gun in all its golden-lit glory, mesmerized by its gleam. There was a face on him that said he didn’t want to give it away.
“We got plenty of ways to defend ourselves around here. But grandpa insisted you take one of my dad’s guns. It wasn’t the exact gun he used when he was on duty. One of his many backups. I also got some ammo downstairs, packed and ready for you to take on yer trip home. Grandpa also packed you a bag of more of that canned crap. Course you still got all our snacks from the vendin’ machine waiting in yer car.”
“I guess it’s my turn to apologize to you Rusty,” Jon said, turning to him. Rusty’s eyes moved from the Glock to meet Jon’s. Jon could see Rusty’s eyes were swollen from crying. “I’m sorry about your grandpa’s vending machine. I didn’t mean to break it and rummage through it. If I’d a known about you and your family’s situation, I would’ve kept going. I didn’t think anyone was around. I’m sorry.”
Rusty nodded his head and gave the gun one last glance before he started toward the door. Backup gun or not, it was still a part of his old man’s collection. “I forgive you,” he said, sounding like crying again. “Meet me and grandpa downstairs, we will help you get to where yer goin’ whenever yer ready. The bathrooms just across the hall if you need it.”
When the Sky Goes Dark Page 19