“Why some people seem to have ESP, or can see the future. And others can’t.
“How men, in the midst of a tragedy, can get superhuman strength. Enough strength to lift a car off of an injured friend.
“Maybe Melissa found a way to put that thought into my mind? Maybe she made me remember that thought so I’d go look at the diary.”
Angela, quite honestly, had her doubts.
In her mind, if Melissa had the power to put a particular thought into Kristy’s mind, that thought would be, “Hey, Kristy. The bastard who raped and killed me and my mom is named so-and-so, and he lives at 4545 Main Street. Go get ‘im.”
At the same time, she didn’t want to incur her sister’s wrath again by pointing out her thoughts were irrational.
And besides, Kristy did make one valid point. There were indeed a lot of mysteries man’s never understood.
“So,” she told Kristy as she shook the sleep from her eyes, “What’s our mission for today?”
“I thought we’d make a quick stop at Melissa’s house, just so I can see if I can find her diary and bring it with us.
“Then we’ll go by one of your friends’ houses and invite them to join our cause.
“And lastly, we can go back to that death house where we have the stuff stashed in the box spring and clean the rest of it out.”
“Wow, that’s a lot to do in one day.”
“Which is why we need to get started. Why don’t you wash up and get dressed? I’m already dressed, so I’ll make us both breakfast while you’re getting ready.”
“What are we having?”
“Cup o’ Soup. Cream of chicken or chicken noodle. Which one do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m equally tired of both of them.”
“Hey, it’s nourishment. It’s not steak and lobster at the Ritz, but it’ll fill a hole in our guts.”
“Good point. You choose which one you want and I’ll eat whichever one you don’t.”
“Hey, what were your little friends’ names again?”
“My little friends?”
“Sorry. What were your friends’ names again?”
“Amy and Beth. I have other friends who might want to join us, but those are the only ones who live nearby. The others are pretty far away.”
“Which of those two live closer to the box spring house?”
She paused to think.
“Beth, I guess. She lives one street over and one block up.”
“Okay, Beth’s house it is. We’ll run by there after we pick up our food.”
Seeing her friend Melissa’s nude and brutalized corpse sprawled across the couch in her own living room should have made Kristy even more hesitant to let perfect strangers into their lives.
And she did understand the risks involved in doing so.
But she’d seen the success achieved by bands of people in recent months. Groups which had armed guards to protect them wherever they went.
They appeared well fed and in good spirits.
They weren’t covered with grime from climbing in and out of dumpsters like a lot of people working on their own were.
Most of all they looked unencumbered by worry or stress.
Kristy had even seen such gangs laughing and joking at the end of the day, when armed guards preceded their group and others similarly armed brought up the rear.
And those in the center, those who’d actually gone into the houses and did the scrounging, carried backpacks containing presumably enough food to feed them all.
Overall they seemed somehow happier and more content.
That was the life Kristy wanted for herself and her sister.
She was tired of going out each and every day not knowing whether she’d be coming home again. Whether she’d encounter another man with a knife. Or maybe this one would have a gun.
Or a baseball bat.
Seeing Melissa’s naked corpse should have made her more hesitant to bring strangers into their lives, but in fact it had the opposite effect.
“We’ve got to be careful who we let into our group,” she told Angela. “We have to be able to trust them and know they are good people who won’t give into their own selfish cravings or desires.
“We have to choose carefully, but when we’re done we’ll be safer in the long run. You’ll see.”
Chapter 22
Nothing was certain in the chaotic world in which they now lived.
It was easy to get up in the morning and say, “We’re gonna do this, this and this today.”
Actually doing this, this and this was another matter. For as each day went on more and more unexpected events showed their sometimes-ugly heads and often created turmoil where order once stood.
Or at least changed plans, so that “This, this and this” turned into “That, that and that.”
For example, Kristy sometimes made plans to start her day by going to a certain house she thought might contain food.
But then it might rain, and this particular house might only be accessible by walking down a dirt road.
And the dirt road might be under four inches of water, forcing her to cancel her plans.
The second item on her list might be to meet with a local prepper, to barter a gold bracelet she found for twenty rounds of ammunition and two dead rabbits.
Only she might get to the prepper’s house to find he wasn’t home. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. She had no way to tell him she was coming and he had his own business to take care of.
The third item on her “to do list” might be to visit a friend who had her own garden in her back yard. To offer her a silver ring for two pounds of fresh strawberries.
But she might find that friend just traded the last of her strawberries for a dozen eggs.
One had to be tough in the new world.
Otherwise they wouldn’t live very long.
But besides that, they also had to be flexible. It was okay to make plans, as long as they were equally okay with breaking them.
On this day, first stop was to Melissa’s house. It was a single story dwelling, and Kristy remembered hanging out in Melissa’s room on the southwest corner of the house.
The room was still there, still in the same spot.
There was a new addition she hadn’t seen before, on the bedroom door.
Kristy saw it and laughed out loud.
There was an old sitcom from the 1970s which was still run constantly on the cable channels. Or at least it was before the power went out.
The sitcom starred a waitress named Flo and her grouchy old boss, a man named Mel. He was the owner of an establishment called, appropriately enough, “Mel’s Diner.”
On the front of Melissa’s bedroom door was a very large photograph of the man who played Mel, along with the words “Mel’s Room” in large red letters.
Even as Kristy was laughing at the sign, Angie was asking, “What? What’s so funny?”
She didn’t get the joke. Watching old situation comedies from the 1970s wasn’t her thing.
She preferred cartoons.
Until then Kristy forgot that most of her friends called her Mel. She used to complain about it.
“All the cool kids have nicknames like Dynamo and Flash and Kat. I finally get a nickname and it’s boring. Like somebody is just too lazy to say my whole name.”
Kristy was quick to retort, “Hey, I don’t have a nickname at all. Does that mean I’m not cool?”
Melissa stopped complaining after that.
Because Melissa had shared some of her diary entries in the past, Kristy knew her secret hiding place.
She pulled Melissa’s top mattress away from the wall and found the place on the back side of the mattress where Melissa took a razor blade and cut a slit into the fabric.
She’d pulled out some of the stuffing and disposed of it.
Not a lot, mind you.
Just enough to allow for a teenaged girl’s diary to be secreted inside.
Kristy reached inside
the mattress, certain that almost two years after the last time she’d been in this room the diary would surely be long gone.
Nope.
It was right where she remembered and she sat on Melissa’s bed to leaf through it.
Then she tossed it into her backpack.
Angela said, “Aren’t you going to read it?”
“No. I’ll do it later, when you’re not around.”
“Why? I don’t care what’s in it.”
“I know, Ang. It’s just that…”
Angela finished the sentence for her. “You’re afraid her words might cause some strong emotions and you don’t want to cry in front of me.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“No prob. Anything else you want to look at?”
“Not really. I want to leave and never have to look at this house again.
“One thing I need to do, though.”
“What’s that?”
“I need to write a letter for her dad if he ever makes it home from Germany. So he knows what happened here.”
“You don’t…”
It was all Angela could get out before she choked up.
“What?”
“You don’t… think it was her father who did this, do you?”
“No. I’m sure of it. She used to tell me what a great father he was, and how much she missed him. She used to say he was the finest man she ever knew. Sweet, kind and caring, and very protective. He wasn’t the kind of man who could do this, I’m certain of it.”
She found a legal pad in Melissa’s desk and a pencil.
Dear Mr. Stockwell,
My name is Kristy. I was a friend of Melissa’s in school.
Mel was murdered in your home. So was your wife. I’m sorry for your loss. They didn’t deserve it. They were good people, as you well know.
My sister and I buried them in your back yard and said a prayer over them. They’re at peace now and no one can hurt them any more.
I don’t know who killed them, but I am going to try my best to find them and punish them.
God be with you.
She wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.
And really, what else needed to be said?
Angela read it and asked, “How come you didn’t mention the rapes?”
“That’s something he didn’t need to know. No sense causing him any more pain than necessary.”
She placed the note face up on the dining room table and they left the house.
Hopefully for the very last time.
Chapter 23
It had been a cold night for Amy and Robert.
Temperatures dropped to forty degrees and the house was colder than it had been since they’d occupied it.
Amy put extra blankets on each of their beds and they wore two sets of pajamas.
Robert still got so cold he crawled out of his bed and into bed with his sister.
Only then was he able to sleep through the night.
In the morning Amy made microwave hot chocolate. They sat at the table, watching the steam rise from their cups, and devised a new plan to make their nights more tolerable.
“Winter’s coming,” she said. We need to change our sleeping arrangements.
“I’m listening,” Robert replied. And it was true. He was much better at listening to the ideas of others, and then seconding the ones he liked, than he was at thinking up ideas of his own.
Amy continued, “You know that big wood box in the den? The one that’s built around the fireplace?”
“Yeah, so?”
“I think that’s how the people who lived here stayed warm in the wintertime. I think they built a fire in the fireplace before they went to bed and they slept in that wooden box. And because it was such a small place the fire kept them plenty warm until morning.”
“What did they do in the morning?”
“In the morning they got up and got dressed and put their coats on. In the daytime it’s not as cold as it is at night, remember. When you’re moving around and doing chores and such it’s easier to stay warm.”
“But Momma said there were four people who lived in this house. How could four people sleep in that little box? It only has one single bed in it, and it takes up most of the space.”
“I don’t know. I think maybe the mom and the dad slept on the bed, maybe snuggling close to help stay warm. And maybe Beth and her sister slept in sleeping bags either under the bed or in the space between the bed and the fireplace.
“And that gives me an idea.”
“What kind of idea?”
“You know that big stack of gray bricks against the fence in the back yard?”
“Yeah. They weigh a ton.”
“I want to drag some in here and stack them up on each end of the box.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me. They weigh a ton.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you were a sissy boy. I forgot how weak you are and that you can’t lift anything heavy.”
“Can too. I can lift anything you can and more.”
“Oh, really? Because I don’t think those bricks are heavy at all. I’ve moved them around several times.”
“You have not.”
“I have. I promise.”
“Well… well… well, if you can lift them then I can too!”
Amy won the battle of wits. She knew exactly what buttons to push to get him to do what she wanted him to do.
Older sisters always knew what to say and do to coax their little brothers into action.
It’s in the big sister code of conduct.
The stack of eighty eight gray construction blocks stacked against the fence didn’t appear there by some random miracle and weren’t deposited there by the block fairy.
They were placed there several months before the power went out, and represented one of Dave’s projects he never got around to doing.
The unrealized project actually dated back almost a year before the blackout, when Dave was outside in the back yard working.
“Hey, you guys come here! All of you! I want you to come and see this!”
From the kitchen Sarah called out to Lindsey, who was sitting at the dining room table working a crossword puzzle.
“Honey, what’s your father blabbering about?”
“How in heck should I know?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry. I mean… Beth, go see what Dad is hollering about.’”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the youngest one in the family. And because stuff rolls downhill. That’s why.”
Beth got up from her television show muttering something under her breath. If Lindsey had heard her words they might well have started World War III.
She went to the back door and called out to Dave.
“Mom wants to know what you’re blabbering about.”
“Just tell her to come outside. I want to show her something. And you and Lindsey come too.”
She relayed the message and went outside.
Lindsey, by some strange coincidence, needed a six letter word for “Man with children.”
She wrote in “BUT-HED.”
She wasn’t the best speller in the world.
Sarah was the last one out.
Dave beamed with pride at his new creation.
It was a three-sided contraption, made of aluminum sheeting over a stainless steel frame.
Each side was three feet high and three feet wide.
And only Dave had the slightest idea what it was or what it could be used for.
“Anybody want to guess what it’s for?” he asked.
“It’s a box without a bottom and a top and one side?”
“Nice try, Beth. But no. Anybody else?”
There were no other guesses.
As was often the case, Dave was thinking at a level far above anyone else in the family.
Or maybe well below.
“It’s our outhouse!” he finally said. “For in the event there’s
a great catastrophe and the water stops flowing.”
Amazed that they couldn’t see his genius, he explained.
“If the water plant ever goes down we’ll have to stop using the toilets.
“But it’s no problem. We’ll just dig a hole a couple of feet deep, place our camping toilet over the hole, and put this around it for privacy.”
Lindsey asked, “You mean that weird little contraption that’s like a folding stool, only with a toilet seat on it?”
“Exactly. It’s a camping toilet.”
Sarah said, “And all the privacy we’re going to have are those short walls? And not even a door?”
“The missing door is for ease of access. We’ll face the open panel away from the house so no one is able to see you.”
“Dave, it doesn’t have a top! How do you figure nobody can see us?”
“Well, the top of you doesn’t need to be covered, now does it? As long as the bottom is covered that’s what’s important.”
Then he added, “No pun intended.”
Sarah raised two girls. Girls with overactive sarcasm genes and bad attitudes.
She knew how to handle this situation.
She spoke very slowly, as though talking to someone with a very low IQ.
“Dave… please revisit your plans and make us a proper toilet.
“Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what, honey?”
“Otherwise… oh, nothing, honey.”
Dave took his contraption and put it in the garage.
It was those three words: “Oh, nothing, honey,” which scared him the most.
The very next day he went to Home Depot and purchased the construction blocks and six sacks of mortar mix.
He wouldn’t actually build the outhouse until the need called for it, as it was most definitely against the city code. But the blocks and mortar mix were there for the day a “proper toilet” was needed.
When Sarah and the girls went to Kansas City and never came back, Dave was content in using his original contraption.
So were Monica and the kids.
They figured it wasn’t the best outhouse. But it was better than nothing.
An Unwelcome Homecoming Page 8