Nursery Rhymes 4 Dead Children

by Lee Thompson

  The Caprice was an old model, mid-90s, a layer of dust on it. Pat had driven it around since I had been a teen, until the sheriff had gotten the new Dodge Charger.

  I kicked the tire. I’d rather be home writing or down by the river, letting my mind run over possible story ideas without me getting in the way. I didn’t know how I could get back to the life I’d once had, or if it was even possible. But Cat wanted me to work as deputy. And being on the inside would help me help the dead kids.

  Hand on the door, I thought, Repent. Bleed your sorrow across the cold, wet ground of God’s indifference.

  I didn’t believe in ghosts. I didn’t believe my brother could hurt me when Death had pulled him into a darkness so vast he could never find his way back.

  The dead girls cried in the back seat of the car.

  I rubbed my sore eyes, touched the pistol at my hip.

  When I opened the driver’s door, they disappeared.

  I looked around, expecting them to be right behind me, the one with the door cut in her chest toying with it, open, shut, over and over until it shattered my mind. The onyx key between my fingers like a crucifix, I slid in behind the steering wheel with goose flesh cold on my arms and neck.

  Across the street, in the alley between Jim White’s Vet Hospital and my uncle Red’s hardware store, a girl stood in the shadows, only visible from the neck down, her red dress stirred by the wind.

  Who is this chick?

  She took one step forward into the light. A mask resembling a giant raven covered her head. She pecked the wall with her beak and the darkness moved along behind her, farther up the alley. I sucked in a hot breath and caught a glimpse of Mark, smiling, hand outstretched as if he could reach past the woman and stroke my cheek from thirty yards away. He used to smile like that when he was proud of me. When I’d done something that impressed him. But I knew that this time it was fake, it was a trick, and I wondered if some of the other times, when we were younger were false praise too, if he took something from me while I beamed stupidly, thinking he truly cared that much for anything more than his own interests.

  Something brushed my flesh, like the legs of a spider. I recoiled and wiped my face with my arm.

  I started the car and threw it in drive. Pedal to the floor, I drove away watching the rearview mirror and the girls sitting quietly in the back seat, heads bowed as if in prayer.

  Chapter 4

  I drove through town, waving at people I’d known my whole life, trying to regain my footing in normalcy. Or at least the illusion of it. I pulled my phone and parked out by the road in the Diner’s gravel lot. The crossroad to town, where Highway 82 met Main, filled the rearview. Part of me wanted to go back out to the forest and dig the girls up. Take them to the State Police Headquarters, but I couldn’t because these fucking assholes were almost like family.

  A one lane bridge, a historical landmark painted red, took the road out of town towards New York and New Wave Hospital. For a moment, my mind latched on to the girl following me, and New Wave, but the connection faded.

  Call Rusty.

  I thumbed the contact button and scrolled down to Rusty’s name, then rolled down the window halfway and repositioned the gun. It made it uncomfortable to drive, digging into my side. I put the phone away. If I called him he would tell Pat and Mr. Miller. I wanted them to think that I was letting it go, letting those girls rot in the ground with nothing more than bugs and cold earth to keep them company. If I called Rusty, I’d lose the new job. Things were hard enough between me and Cat the past week. She had been proud when Herb had offered me the position and I accepted it, not giving it too much thought because she said it would help.

  The town you grew up in held all your best and worst memories. It stuck to you sometimes like a barb in your ribs. The river ran along the south side of town, the valley surrounded by mountains that dropped off to the southeast by Worlds End State Park and the Devils Garden. I’d watched everything age with me and knew I’d lost something of myself recently. But I didn’t know how to get it back even though I was desperate for it to resurface.

  My phone chirped. I picked it up, looked at the display, and smiled.

  “What’s up, Uncle Red?”

  “Can you come by the store? I need to see you.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Always something wrong somewhere.” He coughed and said, “Excuse me. Can you stop by?”

  “I’ve got a lot going on. It’s my first day as deputy.”

  “That’s one of the things I need to chat with you over. It’s important. I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t.”

  I tried to remember the last time I’d seen him. New Years Eve at O’Malley’s bar?

  Shit, that’s ten months ago.

  “I won’t keep you long,” Red said.

  If you go there he’s going to talk your ear off.

  “You still there? You coming over?”

  “Sure. I can’t stay long though. I need to stop by and see Connie at the library later and have to run up to Mark’s grave.”

  Red tittered in his ear. “I want to talk about Mark, too. He left something for you.”

  “Left something? When?”

  Red cleared his throat, a nasty wet sound. “Just now. Hurry up, wouldya? I think I need to close up early and lie down.”

  “Be there in a bit.”

  I looked in the rearview mirror again, expecting to see the dead girls nodding their heads and crying. Instead I saw someone walking up behind the Caprice. I turned in my seat, trying to pull the pistol free but the seatbelt was in the way. A hand slapped the roof of the car.

  I released the buckle, opened the door, and got out, my chest hurting, bleeding again. There wasn’t anyone there. Through the Diner’s big windows I saw the sheriff’s cousin, Jim White, and some other locals, but no one outside. Just four cars parked up by the blue and white door. The lot took up an acre at the edge of town, the Diner out front, room out back for long haul truckers and RVs.

  I climbed back in the car, wishing I could lie down and sleep for a month. My shirt stuck to the warm wet spot over my heart. I drove back through town, wondering what the hell Mark had left with Red.

  Just now… that’s what he’d said.

  I toyed with the onyx key around my neck. Clouds moved across the sky as my blood hummed.

  There’s more going on here than just Pat, Herb and Rusty.

  I sped through town, hands tight on the wheel. Not much liking where my train of thought was headed.

  After I talk to Uncle Red I need to tell Cat what really happened with Mark.

  * * *

  Jim White wiped his mouth with the napkin and tossed it on the plate. He sat in a booth looking out over the road. Turning his head, he saw clouds moving in, and the old car Pat used to drive before things had changed for him. His hands clenched to fists. The last time he’d had a check-up the doctor had stressed that he needed to keep his blood pressure in check. Division had gone to hell as much as his health had. He’d always carried some extra weight; the town always its secrets. Jim shook his head and stared at the cruiser, the smell of eggs and sausage and toast hanging about the Diner. John got out of Pat’s old car, his normally tan skin pale.

  I feel sorry for you, McDonnell. Having to work with that sick fuck.

  Jim’s daughter startled him when she plopped down in the seat across the table. She slapped her hands on the Formica and shook the whole booth. Clara looked out the window too, smiled. “John’s such a hottie.”

  Yeah. And you aren’t anything like your mother was. I thought all girls went that route. I knew it deep down, back then, when you came into our lives.

  Clara wiped red bangs out of her face and shook her head. “I’d eat him up if I could.”

  Jim grinned. “Catherine wouldn’t let that happen.”

  “I’m not worried about her, she’s weak.” She nodded with her chin. “It’s John that wouldn’t let it happen.”

  Jim grunted. “W
here are you working today?”

  Clara traced her finger around the plate his empty coffee mug sat on. “Here in a bit. Later tonight at The Lady.”

  “I remember my mom saying I grew up too fast.” He looked out the window as John spun the car onto the highway and headed back toward town.

  “Am I doing that?”

  You’re growing so fast I can never remember your exact age anymore.

  “Yes. Why don’t you slow it down some?”

  Clara laughed and her whole body shook with it, her eyes all scrunched up and fingers against her cheek. “I’ll get right on that.”

  He tapped his fork against the plate and rubbed a Gucci loafer against his shin. Even his hands were getting fat and that depressed him.

  Clara stopped giggling. “Why aren’t you at work today?”

  He looked at his watch. “It’s only ten in the morning.”

  “You look tired, Dad.”

  “I am. But I’m fine.”

  “Are you still walking?”

  He shook his head and pointed at the gut coming back, stretching his pants waist. “Does it look like it?”

  Clara laughed again, ran her hand over the table and touched the back of his wrist. “You’re too hard on yourself. A man with your bone structure needs a little more weight on him anyway.”

  I don’t know about that.

  She spun the ketchup bottle around, her index finger on top. “You better get to work. What if a poodle has explosive bowels and you aren’t there to soothe it?”

  “That’s not that funny. I’ve had things like that happen.” And I used to love my job. I guess anything can wear on you, given time. Jim frowned. “I don’t like it when you talk like a simpleton. Now I’m reliving some unpleasant experiences.”

  Teri, the waitress behind the counter waved at Clara, the bottom of her arm jiggling like Jello beneath her tight pink shirt. Clara waved back and said, “Bring me a coffee, will you, honey?” She turned back to her dad and he clasped his hands together.

  “Why are you in such a good mood?” He pulled a toothpick from the dispenser and cleaned between his teeth. Clara’s hand shot out, grabbed his wrist and he jumped. The toothpick felt like a needle piercing his gums. He tasted blood in his mouth and it turned his stomach.

  “You know who’s coming into town?”

  “Tom Cruise?”

  Clara laughed. “I’m over Tom, silly.”

  “Who then?” He set the toothpick on the table and looked away as Teri came around the counter with Clara’s coffee.

  “You know old Mrs. Johnston.”

  “Yes. She’s in—”

  “Right. Well,” Clara clapped her hands together in front of her chest. “Her son is coming into town.”

  “Michael?”

  “Yes!”

  “Why are you excited about that?”

  “Because,” her head tilted back like she was having an orgasm, and Jim wanted to look away but couldn’t, “Mike was on TV! Usually I think Soap Operas are pretty lame, but he brings something special to them.” She collapsed forward, her arms on the table. “He’s so gorgeous.”

  “He’s a bit old for you.”

  “I’m—”

  “He’s in his thirties.”

  “I’m—”

  “You’re 19.”

  “Twen—”

  “Stay away from older men.”

  “I’m twenty.” She touched her little breasts. He knew she did it to irritate him. “I’m a grown woman.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Then I like him all the more.”

  Ah, these kids and their games. He couldn’t remember what those years had been like for him. It saddened him. He stroked his ring finger and nodded. “Do what you want then.”

  Teri said, “Here’s your coffee. I figured I’d wait a minute until—”

  “It’s fine,” Jim said. “I need to leave.” He got up and his knees popped. He touched Clara’s shoulder and paid at the counter.

  As he walked toward the door he heard Teri ask Clara, “Who’s Mike? And why does your dad have a bug up his butt?”

  Jim shook his head and opened the door. A light patter of rain slicked the ground.

  The ignorance of youth. You don’t know his family like I did. You don’t want to know the skeletons in their closet, Clara.

  Chapter 5

  I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My eyes darted back and forth between the sidewalks, watching for anyone who might step out into the street and have a bad day. My eyes burned. I wondered what Uncle Red had to tell and show me. People on the streets turned their heads, a few of them making faces. I looked at the speedometer, twenty over the speed limit.

  Ease up.

  Highway 82 “Y’d” off the straight vertical line of Main Street, which ran south. I slowed for a right turn. An RV trundled up the highway, coming from the east side of Division, out toward my house. The RV thrummed forward. I looked at Main.

  Rusty Wallace’s blue Corolla stopped at the corner and signaled for a left turn onto 82. He took a nip of the bottle and pulled out. The RV’s brakes squealed, the driver’s face white, hands spread wide, clutching the wheel.

  Shit.

  I swerved toward the shoulder of the road and hit the brakes. The RV plowed into the back of Rusty’s Corolla and metal crumpled. A tire blew. A puff of smoke drifted toward heaven and broken glass twinkled on the tarmac. I whipped the patrol car around and fumbled with several switches before I found the one with the light bar and siren, figuring: Do what the cops do on TV, because you don’t know shit yet.

  The RV had pushed the trunk of Rusty’s car into the back seat and shoved it off the road into the north ditch, nose in the bottom like a dog drinking from a puddle. The traveler opened his door and jumped out, cursing, his head turning right and left, from the front of his motor-home to the Corolla. From fifty feet away, I recognized the build of an old football player; a lot of muscle padded by a layer of time and luxury. His gold watch glittered in the sun breaking out from the clouds. Then the sunshine passed and rain pounded the windshield and blocked it all from view.

  I blocked the road off and dug my cell phone out of my pocket. I ran toward the man, who had his arms inside Rusty’s driver window, trying to tug him out.

  “Hey!” The man didn’t seem to hear me over the rain or the cloud of anger sweeping across his face. I watched the rest of the man’s surprise evaporate. Thirty feet. The phone kept ringing in my left ear.

  Come on.

  Six rings.

  Seven.

  The man had Rusty by the shoulders, half his body pulled out and draped over the car door. To a mild observer, it’d look like he was helping Rusty free. But the RV owner hit Rusty in the back of the head and yelled, “You drunk motherfucker!” He pulled his fist back again.

  I grabbed his arm and spun him around. The guy swung at me and I sidestepped, almost slipped on the wet ground. The big guy looked from me to the pistol at my hip. He took a step back, hands up. “You a cop? Where’s your uniform?”

  We were drenched, by rain, by our sorrows, the inconvenience of other people. I moved over to Rusty, water squishing beneath my shoes.

  “He pulled right out in front of me.”

  “I know. I saw it. Help me pull him out of here and get him in the back of my car.”

  The stranger nodded. “Do you want me to pull my RV on the shoulder so people can get by?”

  I looked down the road and saw two cars backed up behind the cruiser. I’ve got a lot to learn. Now if only Pat were here to teach me. It pissed me off. Not that I should have expected any kind of training from someone like him.

  “Yeah. Go ahead and pull it off.” I felt my pocket for my phone. Then I saw it lying in the grass. I picked it up and wiped it off with my shirt. Rusty stirred and groaned. I tried to call Pat again, feeling out of sorts, my heart still beating fast but feeling alive at least. Christ, earlier I was hating the old man and now he
had me worried sick that he might be seriously injured. I walked back to the cruiser, to move it, as the RV pulled forward, past Rusty’s ruined Corolla and parked on the shoulder of the road.

  I sat there for a minute, wet shirt clinging to my back, realizing what I had.

  This is an opportunity here. How can I handle it?

  The man came and knocked on the window. I rolled it down.

  “Sorry about swinging at you, I didn’t know who you were. I was pissed off before that jackass there pulled out. Got lost in town, looking for a friend’s place. Eric Dunn by the way.” He extended his hand. I ignored it. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a town where the cops just wear street clothes.”

  I flicked on the wipers.

  “The doors of his car are fucked, officer. You want to get him out of the car? I’m already soaked.”

  “Hop in, Mr. Dunn.”

  Eric raised his eyebrows for a second, like he wondered if it was a trick. I pointed at the passenger seat. “I’ll drive right up by Rusty’s car. Hurry up.”

  “Yes, sir.” He came around the front of the car and jumped in. He looked even bigger sitting next to me. “He’s a local drunk, isn’t he?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your attitude.”

  He’s a local drunk, but he’s more than that.

  I pulled up next to the car and got out. Dunn followed suit. Blood dripped from Rusty’s nose and had splattered over the steering wheel. I didn’t feel any broken bones as I ran my hand over his gaunt frame.

  I felt inadequate. Ill-prepared for the situation.

  I don’t even know if I should move him.

  “Maybe you should call 911.” Eric had his hands on his knees, bent forward, water dripping from his chin and elbows. Rusty lay on his back in the wet grass, coughing, blood covering his lips. The four dead girls squatted around him and shook their heads.