by Mark Tufo
"Fuck off."
Susan wrinkled her nose. "I hope you're not talking about my momma that way, boys." She sat down between them. "Besides, Artie is too old for her." She glanced at Michael and winked. "She likes younger guys."
"I feel like I'm about to fall asleep," Larry whined. "Can't we go inside?"
Michael leaned over to Susan. "This is killing him, watching your mom flirting with another guy. I love it."
"He really has a thing for my mom?"
Michael sat up. Shit. Larry was going to kill him. "No, I'm just playing around."
"She likes him," Susan whispered. "But she thought he was just joking back with her, flirting but not interested in an older woman."
Michael sat forward and glanced past her to his buddy, making sure he was still wrapped up in his own world. "Oh, he likes her. He can't stop talking about her."
"I'll pass her a note in homeroom,” Susan said.
Detective Stone came back to the porch with a smiling Becky a step behind. He dropped his smile, putting his cop face back on, as he stared at Michael and then gave a lingering glare to Larry. "I'll be in touch. I wouldn't go too far if I were you."
"That's it?" Larry asked.
"Susan vouched for the buried cows, so we're not going to dig them back up unless we have to. She's also vouched for your movements most of the week."
Becky came up and sat on the top step of the porch. "Thanks, Artie. I owe you one."
"Not at all." Stone stared at both men again. "If I thought these two had anything to do with it, we'd be in an interrogation room right now. I wish I'd had the luxury with Benjamin Zaun before it everything went to hell."
"You never talked to my grandfather?"
"Not the day of the murders. I came by afterwards to make sense of the chaos and collect the evidence."
"What evidence?" Michael inquired.
Detective Stone grinned humorlessly. "Your grandfather kept a journal, of sorts, filled with mad rantings. Trying somehow to justify killing the two girls and himself, I guess."
Michael stood up. "Can I get his journal?"
"I guess. We closed the case, and this isn't the big city." He glanced at Becky. "Mind picking the book up for the kid tomorrow? I could meet you at the diner for breakfast?"
Becky stood and nodded. "I'll see you at nine?"
"Sounds like a plan."
When Detective Stone got into his car and pulled away, driving back down the field to join the remaining personnel, Becky poured herself a glass of sweet tea. "Do we have any liquor to add to this?"
Susan walked back inside.
Michael rubbed his temples. "My grandfather had a weird journal? He never even kept books in the house. My dad said he dropped out of school in the fifth grade to work on the farm and never looked back. I don't remember him ever getting the paper delivered. I can't imagine him keeping a diary of the events."
"Lucky he has a crush on me or you'd have never seen that book."
"Thank you, Becky. I owe you one."
"Yes, you do." She laughed and stole a quick peek at Larry before heading into the house. "What's taking so long, Susan?"
Larry stared at Michael. "Say it."
"It."
"Dickhead. You know exactly what I mean. You must be loving this."
"Not at all. I mean, the part where your future ex-girlfriend is going out with the cop who acted like a jerkoff to you… yeah, that part is funny as shit. But the rest of it…"
Larry groaned. "What rest of it? You’ve summed the situation up quite nicely."
"True. And what sucks is she likes you."
"Bullshit," Larry said loudly, just as the girls came back outside.
"What's bullshit?" Susan asked.
Larry turned his head. "Pretty much everything out of Michael's mouth, I think."
Chapter Twenty
"Can I help you, son?" Trisha's dad asked him.
"I'm here to see your daughter."
The mom came over and stood behind her husband, making Dir want to laugh for some reason. Here were two humans that had the potential to have amounted to something great, something real, but instead were shells. Killing them would be an act of kindness.
"She's not here," the mom said.
Jim frowned. "It's important I speak to her, ma'am."
"Can I ask who you are?"
"I'm Jim Rutan, her friend from school."
Both parents sighed in relief at the same moment. The dad grabbed him by the shoulders and led him inside and plopped him onto the couch. "People are looking for you, son. Do you have any idea what's happening? You and two of your friends are missing."
Jim shrugged. "I'm right here. And I need to talk to Trisha."
"Are you thirsty?" the mom asked.
"Yes, I am. I’d sure appreciate you getting me some water or soda."
He watched her walk into the kitchen before turning back to the dad. "Where the fuck is your daughter?"
"What? Don't talk like that in my house, son."
"I'm not your son." Dir was weak and needed to get to her; the pleasantries grew stale. He must get inside her. "Last time I ask: where is your fucking daughter?"
Her dad, angry and confused, moved at Jim, but never got another step before he was punched squarely in the balls. Before he could recover, Jim was upon him, gouging his eyes and slamming his knees into his side. Jim reached under the chair's seat cushion and found the small bottle. He brained Trisha's dad with the flask until it finally shattered on the third attack.
Her mom shrieked, dropping the tray of drinks.
Jim stood, covered in her husband's blood, and stalked across the rug to her. "Where is Trisha?"
She turned to run but he pounced, driving her into the linoleum floor of the foyer. He heard the satisfying crack of her nose and savored her pain, but he had more important things to do right now. He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Is she upstairs?"
"No."
"Then where is she?"
"I don't know," she said hesitantly. "Honest."
OK, here's how this is going to go. If you tell me the truth, I'll let you live. If not, I'll kill Trisha in front of you, slowly, while you watch. I'll also bring the many, many men you've fucked over the years at the school, and kill them and their wives in front of you and explain why each of them has to die: because of you."
"The twin's house," she blurted.
"If you're lying to me…"
"I'm not." He noticed her shoot a glance at the phone, hanging on the kitchen wall. "I swear."
"I thank you for your honesty. I want you to stay where you are, in this position, for the next forty-five minutes. Can you do that for me?"
"Yes, of course." She wiped her ruined nose with her hand but kept her face down near the floor.
"Then everyone can live, won’t that be nice?"
"Yes, of course."
Slowly he pulled his weight off of Trisha's mom and moved back into the living room. "Head down. Forty-five minutes. Do you comprehend the rules?"
"Yes, yes."
As she turned her head and glanced at the kitchen phone, so close, Jim bashed the back of her skull in with one of the living room lamps.
* * * * *
"I'm making popcorn," Alyssa said.
"Our friends are missing, and you're eating?" Samantha asked.
"Do you want me to go out and find them?" A cop car, sirens on, sounded in the distance. "See? It's probably them finding the three stoned idiots sitting in the tool shed. They’re going to be so busted."
Trisha couldn’t figure out why she’d come here. Her two friends would be getting on her nerves all night, bickering and acting like nothing was going on. Who are you kidding? she thought. You know exactly why you came here. She remembered the haunted looks on her parent's faces when the cop was in the room, like they'd done something terribly wrong themselves, or all their demons would surface and the cop would arrest them and drag them out in front of the entire town. Fear.
By now, both her parents were drunk and passed out, dad slumped in his chair facing the television and mom sprawled over the kitchen table with a spilled glass of wine before her. She’d jumped at the chance to go with her dad to drive the twins home, and a simple, pleading glance at her mom had told her she could stay the night.
It would be easier here, away from the distractions. She might relax and forget tonight. Trisha was sure the boys were fine. What danger lurked in the small town of Cove Springs? Then she remembered the murders a month ago, and shivered. What if the crazy old man hadn't done the killing or he had an accomplice like on a Law & Order episode? Or what if there was an immortal killer, wearing a hockey mask over his rotting face, searching for more young kids to slaughter? The two girls murdered on the Zaun Farm were only nineteen and twenty.
Trisha, freaking herself out, stood and tried to smile. "Popcorn sounds good. Let's go make some." Anything to get away from these thoughts. She decided to feign being tired soon after eating and then trying to fall asleep.
Tomorrow was another day, right? She wanted to wake with the sun shining and her friends alive, waiting to hang out.
That was how it was supposed to happen, right? Kids being kids, wasting away another summer until school started.
"I say we make two bags of popcorn and watch a scary movie," Alyssa said.
"No way. Something with Brad Pitt, a funny movie to take our minds off of this crazy night," Samantha said. "Mom? Dad? Want popcorn?"
Trisha followed Alyssa into the kitchen.
"Grab two bags from the cabinet. Want salt on yours? It never has enough," Samantha said.
Alyssa walked into the living room to ask her parents again if they wanted popcorn.
When Alyssa screamed, Trisha went numb. What now?
As Trisha and Samantha ran into the living room, they stopped.
Jim Rutan, covered in blood, stood in the center of the room. Alyssa, gurgling blood from a gaping wound in her neck, fell on the couch and against her dead mother. Her father, his left eye missing and one ear severed, was on the floor behind Jim.
"I've been looking for you, Trisha." Jim raised the bloody steak knife in his hand.
Chapter Twenty One
"It's now or never, Romeo," Michael said when he got Larry alone in the kitchen.
"Forget it. You're crazy."
"Am I? Am I?" Michael said and made a face, his eyes bulging. He was thoroughly enjoying this. It wasn't often either of them had potential women in their lives. Hell, he didn't think they'd ever had a serious conversation about women.
Not that Michael was being serious. "If you want to finally admit to being gay, I'm cool." He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and tried not to smile. "We're still friends. Plus, it would explain so many of your actions over the years."
"Fuck off."
"Did you say that and lick your lips at me?"
Larry punched his friend in the arm when he pulled away. "Trust me, if I was gay, I wouldn't want someone like you."
"Really? What's wrong with all this?" he asked and ran his hands slowly over his chest and belly.
"You're an idiot," Larry said.
"I'm dying of thirst, boys," Becky called from the living room.
"What time is it?" Larry asked.
"Time to grow a pair and hit that cougar," Michael said. He opened the refrigerator door and used it as a shield before Larry could hit him again. "Actually, it’s late. Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll spend the night."
"Susan spending the night? Probably. On the couch." Larry took two cold beers from Michael. “Cover your ears with your pillow because I'll be rocking the cougar's world."
"Interesting," Susan said from the doorway.
Both men almost dropped their beer on the floor.
Laughing, she took the beers from Larry's hands and left.
"Dude, that is so not cool." Larry closed his eyes. "She's going to tell her mom."
"No she won't. Susan is cool."
"Bring some snacks, Larry. The cougar is getting hungry," Becky yelled.
* * * * *
All three girls ran in different directions, but that didn't matter to Dir. He only cared about one of them.
The further bloodshed had empowered him, a sudden rush like eating a chocolate bar or having that first cup of coffee. Dir remembered small things from past victims over the years, and longed to have them again. Permanently.
He decided to enjoy himself as he stalked Trisha. Perhaps brutalizing her two friends, once she'd been taken over, would be fun. Letting them think their friend had turned on them. Interesting.
"Trisha, come out and play," he said. She'd run into the bathroom and slammed the door. He noticed Alyssa trying in vain to hide under the kitchen table. He pictured himself walking over to her, tossing the kitchen table over, and slitting her throat.
Instead, he waved at her and blew her a kiss, which made her cry.
"I'll be with you next, Alyssa."
Jim put his forehead against the bathroom door and knocked softly. "Trisha? Honey? Look, I know we've had some differences in the past, but I know you still love me. I see the way you undress me with your eyes. I'm fine with it. You're not my type, but you'll do for now. Open the door."
Dir was giddy with excitement, adrenalin coursing through him now. He tapped on the door again. "I said I'm not gonna hurt ya … I'm just gonna bash your brains in. I'm gonna bash them right the fuck in!" He channeled his best Jack Nicholson voice through the weakling Jim. He thought he sounded decent.
This was the problem the last time, with the old man. Dir had been too mechanical in his movements with the two women, probing the first one as they came across the property and slaughtering her friend in the tool shed. By the time the old man had intervened, Dir had worn out the woman, destroying her with too much power too soon.
That had been the mistake. While he was weak from being power drunk, the old man had used the ritual and his own life to force him back into his prison.
Not this time. Already, he's killed and feasted on the souls of more victims before the final Ascension. Once he was inside Trisha, a near-perfect vessel, he would take his time but have some fun too. Already, scenarios were running through his mind of doing horribly wicked things with her. He imagined seducing older, married men, and women as well… bathing in the blood of victims as he built his throne of bones.
A shuffling noise came from inside the bathroom. "Trisha?"
What if there was a window in the bathroom?
Jim stalked back through the house to the front door and put his hand on the handle right before something slammed into his back. He turned to observe Samantha, holding a field hockey stick, in her shaking hands.
"I hope that wasn't your best swing."
Samantha held the weapon before her, eyes wide with fear.
"Well? I don't have time to stand here. I'm a little busy right now." Jim feigned toward Samantha, who flinched and took two steps back.
He opened the front door and rushed around to the side of the house, just as Trisha was halfway through the small window.
"Going somewhere?"
Trisha began to scream. Jim went to her, ignored her flailing hands, and put one hand on her mouth and used the other to grab her by the belt. "You have these excellent child-bearing hips. Too bad they didn't help you squeeze out of the window quicker."
Jim yanked Trisha the rest of the way out, slamming her to the ground. Before she could catch her breath he wrapped his hand around her throat, the other still covering her mouth. "We're going back inside. Don't worry, this will be over soon."
Jim pushed her around to the front door. "Open it, and no funny business, as they say."
Trisha opened the front door and stepped inside as Samantha swung with all her might and crushed Trisha's face in with the field hockey stick.
Chapter Twenty Two
Dir of The Earth was without a host body. Whether from the shock of seeing Trisha as her life expired, or the weakling
Jim Rutan’s body finally being exhausted, he didn't know, or care.
He had mere seconds to find something suitable before he’d be sent back into his prison, beaten and weak. Even if he'd wanted to crush Jim's mind and soul, he was now too weak to do so. He pulled out suddenly and hoped the boy would spend the rest of his petty life insane.
Which one? He wondered. Alyssa stood over Trisha's body, screaming like a banshee, while the killer, Samantha, dropped the field hockey stick. Would one be better-suited than the other?
Yes, the one brandishing the weapon. Dir jumped into Samantha and experienced the rush again. Even though she wasn't what Trisha would have been, she was still stronger than Jim. She collapsed to the floor, Dir trying to finalize his power in her.
"Are you alright?" Alyssa asked her twin.
"Never better." Samantha stood and picked up the field hockey stick.
"We need to call the police."
"Why?"
"Huh? You're not making any sense."
Samantha swung and bashed her twin sister in the stomach, doubling her over. "It makes perfect sense to me."
She clubbed her twin a dozen times, savoring the energy fleeing from her, the blood splashing her legs.
When she finished, Samantha closed the front door. Dir got a kick out of stepping over Jim Rutan. He didn't know what would happen to him if he regained consciousness. Would he be crazy like a loon from the get, or ease into the insanity? He wished he could watch.
But he hadn’t much time, and a surely the neighbors had heard the screams and noise. This house was not safe anymore.
His power slowly waning, Dir dropped the weapon and decided to leave, locking the front door behind him.
The street was silent this late, but he realized police patrols were in the area. He doubted he had more than a few minutes.
As if in response, a siren wailed a few blocks over, and headlights appeared at the end of the block.
Samantha ran across the street and hopped the neighbor's fence. She was in excellent shape (much better than Jim) thanks to field hockey, swimming, cross-country, and basketball. Despite what she seemed on the outside, Dir found her to be intelligent, but trying to get by on looks and coast through life.