Kill Devil Falls

by Brian Klingborg

  She turned to Teddy. She could just barely make out his features in the weak light. She gave him a thumbs-up. He nodded.

  Helen scooted along the wall, slowly approached the opening. She heard boots scuffling on rock. A man grunting with effort. She risked a quick glance into the cavity.

  It was a sizable room, dug from sold rock and earth, with a ceiling that descended at a sharp angle on the right side to a narrow point on the left, creating an interior space shaped like a tipped-over slice of cake.

  A halogen lantern rested in the middle of the floor, providing a bright nimbus of illumination, although the chamber’s numerous cracks, nooks, and crannies remained deeply shadowed. Faded graffiti drawn in magic marker streaked the walls: crude drawings, curse words, meticulously sketched metal band logos. Old, melted candle wax puddled on the ground, dripped from rocky outcrops. Dozens of ancient cigarette packs and damp, mildewed paperback books were scattered about.

  A large man was on his hands and knees, facing away, digging at the wall where the ceiling met the floor. Big Ed. His jacket and shirt rode up, exposing a generous expanse of plumber’s crack.

  Helen withdrew her head, nodded at Teddy. Teddy slipped his revolver out of its holster. Helen shook her head, put her hand on the gun, lowered it to his side. A bead of sweat dangled from the tip of Teddy’s nose.

  Helen risked a second glance. Big Ed was now reaching into a crack in the wall, tugging. Helen heard canvas rasping against stone. Big Ed grunted with effort, yanked a dusty duffel bag out of the crack, dumped it in front of the halogen lantern.

  He squatted in front of the bag, his back to Helen. She heard him pull the zipper. And whistle. He zipped the duffel closed. As he started to get to his feet, Helen backed further into the tunnel.

  A sudden shove from behind propelled her into the room, face to face with Big Ed as he turned.

  Startled, he dropped the bag, reached for his gun.

  “Easy, Sheriff!” she said.

  “Christ, you about gave me a heart attack. What are you doing down here, Marshal?”

  Helen angrily shot a glance at Teddy. He put a finger to his lips, moved a few steps down the tunnel, disappearing into shadows.

  “Who’s with you?” Big Ed said. “Don’t tell me it’s Edward. Boy’s scared shitless of the mine.”

  Big Ed seemed calm, unabashed. Strange behavior for a man busted in the act of committing a crime.

  “Is that Rita’s money?” Helen nodded at the duffel.

  “Guess it is.”

  Was he confessing? So easily?

  “So you … you came down here to take it?”

  “Why the hell else would I be in the mine, Marshal? For the scenery?”

  “As soon as you heard Rita was in town, you knew. Why she’d come back.”

  “Not right away, no. I figured she was just desperate, hiding out. But then I got to thinking. Same as you, I guess. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be down here.”

  “You insisted Teddy and I stay at the jail. So you could search for the money.”

  “Well, Marshal, I told you and Edward to stay at the jail because things are confusing enough around here without you two bumbling around. And I wanted to see if I was right about this before someone else had the same bright idea and decided to find the cash and keep it for themselves. Understand?” He hoisted the strap of the duffel over his shoulder again. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get the hell out of this hole.”

  “How could you do it, dad?” Teddy called out. He remained in the tunnel, out of Big Ed’s sightline.

  “Do what?” Big Ed said.

  “Kill Rita.”

  Big Ed’s mouth dropped open.

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you sonofabitch.”

  Big Ed’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. Helen, acutely aware that she was playing monkey in the middle with two armed men, took a step toward the tunnel entrance.

  “I didn’t kill Rita, dummy,” Big Ed growled.

  “Yes, you did. You killed your own stepdaughter for a bag of stolen money. And tried to pin it on Lawrence.”

  “Teddy … ” Helen warned.

  “Is that really what you think?” Big Ed growled. “Come on out of there and talk to me face to face, boy.”

  “You’re sick, Dad. You need help.”

  “Teddy,” Helen hissed.

  “You’re out of your fucking dimwit mind,” Big Ed said. He let the duffel bag fall to the ground.

  “You can plead insanity,” Teddy continued. “It doesn’t have to be prison. Maybe a mental hospital. Someplace nice, where you can sit outside and smoke your Camels and talk to pretty nurses.”

  “Jesus, Teddy,” Helen said.

  “The marshal knows it was you, Dad.”

  “Everyone take a deep breath.” Helen said. “Teddy, you shut up.”

  “We get it, you had to kill Rita,” Teddy continued. “So’s no one would know about the money. If not for the marshal here, you probably would’ve gotten away with it.”

  Big Ed shook his head, ran his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles.

  “You can’t believe that, Edward,” he said. “We got our differences, you and me, but you can’t believe I’d hurt Rita like that.”

  “I can and I do.”

  Helen didn’t want to be sandwiched between their guns and decades of pent-up hostility. She took another step toward the tunnel. Teddy remained in the shadows, but held out a hand to block her.

  “Teddy!” she protested.

  “Answer me this, boy,” Big Ed said. “How did you know where the money would be?”

  “Same as you,” Teddy said. “This is where Rita use to come … when she couldn’t stand your fat, sticky fingers grabbing her tits and reaching down her pants no more.”

  Big Ed’s face twisted.

  “You little shitheel. That’s what you been telling the marshal, huh? Why don’t you tell her the goddamn truth?”

  “Shut up!” The .357 appeared in Teddy’s hand. He moved forward, leveled it over Helen’s shoulder.

  “Teddy—” she said, ducking her head to one side.

  “We caught you red-handed, dad.”

  ”You didn’t catch me doing nothing.”

  “Goddamn murderer, is what you are!”

  “You’re the sick one, boy. I always knew it, but never did nothing about it.”

  “He’s gonna draw!” Teddy yelled.

  The barrel of his .357 roared. The sound of the gunshot rammed through Helen’s right eardrum like an ice pick. She clapped her hands to her head and fell to the ground.

  13

  BIG ED DOUBLED OVER, clutching his side.

  Teddy fired again. Big Ed’s shoulder exploded, spraying meat, blood, and bone. Feathers from his down jacket drifted like snowflakes.

  Teddy fired a third time, punching a hole through Big Ed’s neck. Big Ed pressed his fingers to the hole, black blood spilling down the front of his shirt. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed.

  The chain-saw buzz in Helen’s ear felt like an animal trying to gnaw its way out of her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her cheeks.

  After a moment, the throbbing in her head subsided, and Helen opened her eyes. Teddy leaned against the tunnel wall, revolver at his side, chest heaving. Helen crawled on all fours across the rocky ground to Big Ed. He stared up at the ceiling, unblinking. She touched his wrist, felt for a pulse. There wasn’t one.

  “What did you just do?” she said.

  “He was gonna kill us,” Teddy said.

  Helen shook her head. “No.”

  “He was gonna kill us!” Teddy repeated. He choked out a sob. Covered his face with his hand and began to weep. “Oh, Lord.”

  She let him cry, too tired, too aghast to comfort him. She slowly got to her feet. She needed air. Open space. The walls were closing in. Priority one was getting out of the mine. There
would be time to deal with the circumstances of Big Ed’s death later.

  “Teddy. Let’s go.”

  He wiped his face, sniffled. “I had to.”

  “Let’s go, I said.”

  Teddy holstered his gun. “He’s dead, right?” He wouldn’t look at Big Ed’s body.

  “Yes.”

  More sniffles. He wiped his eyes with the heels of his palms, brushed tears off his beard. “Well, we can’t just leave the money here.”

  She thought it strange he would have the presence of mind to think of the money minutes after killing his own father. But she agreed. They couldn’t leave it here. As for the sheriff—no way the two of them would be able to carry him out of the mine. Someone from the ME’s office would have to collect him later.

  “I’ll get the lantern,” Helen said. “Grab the bag.”

  Teddy shuffled over to the duffel. Helen lifted the lantern. The excruciating ringing in her head was slowly receding.

  Teddy slung the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder. He nodded at Helen. She started down the tunnel, the lantern lighting her way. Teddy followed, boots crunching, keys jingling. He panted with the effort of carrying the money.

  “You don’t believe him, do you?” Teddy asked after a dozen steps.

  “What?” Helen said.

  “My dad.”

  “Jesus, Teddy.”

  “It was him. Who, you know … did those things to Rita. Not me.”

  “I just want to get out of here.”

  They continued walking. Crunch-jingle. Crunch-jingle. Teddy’s marching tune.

  One thing Helen knew for sure, the sheriff wasn’t reaching for his revolver when Teddy shot him. Did Teddy really think he was? Or had the years of mental abuse, belittlement, seething anger reached a climax, compelling Teddy to kill Big Ed in cold blood?

  She felt Teddy’s fingers dig into her shoulder.

  “Helen.” It was the first time he’d used her name and it sounded strange in his mouth. She turned.

  Teddy’s face was a jarring landscape of jagged lines. His eyes glimmered inside cratered sockets. He looked … unhinged.

  “You think I’m lying.”

  “Teddy … I … ”

  He lifted his gun, pointed it at her face.

  “Be honest, now, Helen. I mean, it don’t really make a difference either way, but be honest.”

  Christ in a coma. “Teddy … listen. All I care about is getting above ground.” She took a step backward. “Really.”

  Teddy cocked the hammer. The metallic click echoed resoundingly off rock walls.

  “I believe you, Teddy. I do. He was the one … with Rita … not you.”

  “Now who’s lying?”

  “I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. You cared for her. I mean … ” She pulled on the fabric of her shirt. “You even saved her clothes. You would never hurt her.”

  “That’s right, Helen. I loved her.”

  “I know you did.” Eww. “Now let’s just … keep moving.”

  Teddy lowered the hammer. Hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re … we’re all under a lot of pressure here. Doing the best we can, right? Please put the gun away.”

  “Okay.” Teddy dropped the gun by his side, but didn’t holster it.

  Helen took a few more steps away from him, slowly turned, resumed walking, faster now.

  “Slow down, Helen,” Teddy whined. “This bag is heavy.”

  “Sure, Teddy.”

  She didn’t slow down. She felt Teddy’s eyes drilling a hole in her back. Imagined his gun aimed between her shoulder blades, his finger on the trigger.

  In the past five hours, Helen had weathered enough unmitigated terror to last her several lifetimes. The tire blow-out on the mountain; finding Rita blood-splattered and dying in the woods; the shoot-out with Lee Larimer. But a psychotic Teddy? Hapless, sad-sack Teddy? Truly the last person in Kill Devil Falls she’d expected to be a threat.

  Clearly, he was deranged. And obviously, he’d been lying to her about Rita and the sheriff. Maybe the sheriff had slapped Rita and Teddy around as kids, and he definitely regarded Teddy with a cold callousness, but she didn’t believe he was a child molester, not anymore. Helen thought back to the tense exchanges between Rita and Teddy in the jail. The contempt and scorn Rita displayed for her stepbrother.

  Teddy could easily kill her down here. He had plenty of motivation. In order to spin whatever story he wanted to regarding Big Ed’s death. To prevent her from revealing the truth about him and Rita. Perhaps most of all, the same reason she’d suspected Big Ed murdered Rita: the money. With Rita, Lee Larimer, and Big Ed dead, the only two people who knew about the stolen cash were Teddy and Helen. If she was out of the picture, it would be his, free and clear.

  So what was he waiting for? Why didn’t he just get it over with? Shoot her in the back? She resisted the urge to turn around. Afraid of what she might see. That big .357, rising up to blow her brains all over the ceiling.

  Helen mentally ticked off options. Run? In a narrow tunnel? It would be like shooting fish in a one-gallon bucket. Fight? With an unloaded gun, against an armed man who outweighed her by ninety pounds?

  She knew her only chance of survival was to catch him by surprise.

  They were approaching the large ventilated chamber. Helen felt the whisper of cold air on her face. She breathed deeply, savoring the fresh oxygen. The halogen lantern swayed in her hand. She stepped across the threshold into the chamber, Teddy’s crunch-jingle right behind her.

  She whirled, swung the lantern against the side of Teddy’s head. There was a satisfyingly meaty thunk! Teddy yelped, fell backward. The lantern spun from her grasp, bounced off a wall, hit the rocky ground.

  The chamber was plunged into darkness.

  Helen ran blindly, aiming for the tunnel leading toward the mine exit. Her palms struck a wall and a shooting pain traveled up her arms. She moved to the left, patting the unevenly carved rock face, searching for the opening. A shot boomed. Granite shards sprayed her cheek. She scrambled to the right. A second shot, the muzzle blast lighting up the chamber for a split second like the flash of a strobe light.

  Helen dropped onto all fours, crawled on the floor. Her hands touched wood, a handle, a tool, a possible weapon. She snatched it up, kept moving. Another shot rang out. Teddy was tracking her position with each muzzle flash.

  Her outthrust arm plunged into empty space. A passageway. She squeezed through, got to her feet, and ran, one hand in front, the other dragging the tool. More shots echoed from the chamber behind her.

  She tasted salt, realized she was crying. Her forehead smacked into a wooden support wedge set into the ceiling. She fell on her butt, stunned. She shook the cobwebs clear, turned to look behind her. A flicker of light stabbed through the mouth of the tunnel.

  “Helennn!” Teddy screamed.

  Helen fumbled the flashlight out of her pocket, switched it on, raced forward.

  After fifteen more yards, the tunnel sloped upward, then bent sharply. The beam of her flashlight revealed an opening straight ahead. Another chamber. She prayed for an exit.

  Helen burst into the chamber. It was rectangular, perhaps eight feet by ten. She turned in a circle. Wall. Wall. Wall. No connecting passageway, apart from the one she’d just come from.

  A dead end.

  14

  NO!

  Helen rested her forehead against the cold rock, tears spilling down her cheeks.

  After all she’d been through, to have it end like this. In some godforsaken pit, buried beneath tons of rock and dirt.

  A simple fugitive transport, Chowder said. Up the mountain and down again by dinnertime. She pictured his idiotic grin, the detailed stitching on his ridiculous snakeskin cowboy boots.

  Helen wanted to live. For so many reasons, but not the least of them to make it back to Sacramento so she could slap that grin off Chowder’s face.

  Jingle-jangle. The sound of Teddy’s keys.r />
  A weapon. She needed a weapon. She shined her light on the ground, at the tool she’d taken from the ventilated chamber. It was a pickaxe. A long shaft, topped by a metal blade with two wickedly sharp points extending to either side.

  Deadly, if she were to sneak up behind Teddy and bury it the back of his skull. But face to face, against a .357 revolver, not so much.

  She ran her flashlight along the walls, hoping against hope for a door, a crack, anything. But they were solid, carved directly from rock. She looked up at the ceiling.

  It was a different color than the surrounding walls, a different texture. It took her a moment to realize that while the walls were of rock, the ceiling was constructed from cement. Man-made. A cement slab with a square wooden panel set into its center.

  A trap door?

  Helen extended her fingertips toward the ceiling. But it was beyond her reach.

  She put the flashlight in her mouth, lifted the pickaxe, held it vertically, placed the head lengthwise against the trap door. She pushed, raising the door a few inches. She lowered her grip to the bottom of the axe shaft, gave a mighty heave. The door flipped open a third of the way, then crashed back down.

  “Helen!!” Teddy’s voice reverberated down the tunnel.

  Helen regripped the axe handle, bent her knees, heaved again. The trap door flipped up, hung in mid-air, started to fall. She turned the pickaxe diagonally, laid it across the corner of the opening. The trap door slammed down on top of the pickaxe blade.

  The beam of Teddy’s flashlight licked the edge of the tunnel entrance.

  Helen slipped the flashlight into her pocket, wiped her hands on her pants. She reached up, took hold of the dangling axe handle, pulled herself upward like a monkey climbing a coconut tree. She inched to the lip of the opening and slid her left hand through, beneath the trap door, the skin of her knuckles shredding like a banana peel.

  Helen removed her right hand from the axe shaft, jammed it under the door also. She hung there in space, shoulder joints stretched to their limits.