by Hart, Jerry
Conner was gay? Don hadn’t seen that coming.
“Don’t pretend that’s what this is about,” Conner continued. “You’re mad because I’m gay.”
Don was momentarily stunned by this statement. Finally, he regained his senses and said, “I’m mad that you have a friend over even though you know you’re grounded. I don’t care that you’re gay.”
“Bullshit!”
“That’s enough.” Don pointed a warning finger at his nephew. “You’re already in enough trouble. Travis, I suggest you go home now.”
Travis looked mortified but got to his feet and headed for Conner’s open window, which faced the front yard.
“Front door, Travis,” Don insisted.
Without missing a step, the boy turned and headed out into the hall. Don watched him go down the stairs and out the front door.
Then he turned back to his nephew and said, “Do you want to talk about this?”
“Not with you.”
“So you do want to talk with someone?”
Conner didn’t reply; he looked so angry.
“I’m trying here, Conner. I want to understand you better.”
“Since when?” the boy suddenly shouted. “All my life, you’ve treated me like a redheaded stepchild. Like some kind of freak.”
“That’s not true,” Don said halfheartedly. Had he really been that transparent?
“I can’t believe you’re lying to my face like this. It’s beneath you!”
Don had never seen his nephew so angry before. He suddenly felt a horrible, nauseating vibe coming from Conner.
“Just get out, please!” Conner yelled, turning his back on his uncle.
Don left and closed the door behind him.
* * *
Jordan thanked Mr. Springer as he got out of the car. When he turned to face his house, he got a bad vibe from it. The sun had been replaced by the moon in the sky, giving the house an eerie appearance. Jordan wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go inside. Mr. Springer was already driving down the hill, leaving Jordan alone and afraid.
* * *
Don needed air. He stepped out onto the deck and stared at the woods behind his house. The nausea had vanished now that he was far from Conner. Now Don knew how Mr. Locke had felt during Conner’s tirade in the classroom.
Don admitted to himself that making his nephew even angrier was not a good idea. But he couldn’t let Conner run around, breaking rules. He needed structure, needed to know there were consequences to his actions. Don remembered all too well what had happened to Conner’s father. Ethan had been taken under the creature’s wing, taught to do evil. The more evil done, the harder it was to break the monster’s grip.
But Ethan had escaped eventually, though not completely. Don had seen a flicker of the curse in his brother’s eyes the night he killed him. For a little while, however, Ethan had lived a normal life with a wonderful woman. And Ivy was wonderful; she’d sacrificed herself to the law to save her son. Love had been the key to disrupting the curse. If Conner loved Travis, then Don should not interfere with that love.
But had the boys been in love the night Mr. Leper was killed?
Don looked to the woods again. Was there really a Texas Devil in there?
He stepped off the deck and climbed onto the trampoline. Instead of bouncing, however, he lay down and stared up at the starry sky.
* * *
Jordan stepped into the house, overcome with fear. He felt it in his chest, and his vision became cloudy. He’d had nightmares in which he’d confronted unspeakable evil. He felt that same overwhelming fear then, and it always started him awake with his pulse racing. Why did he feel that way now? What was happening?
* * *
The nausea returned to Don. He thought it may have to do with staring at that sky for too long. Either way, he felt like going back inside and trying to get some sleep; he had to figure out what to do with Conner. If only he could find the cure.
The knife slid into Don’s back before he could even take a breath.
He lay frozen on the trampoline, certain that it was a knife that had penetrated his back. It felt like cold fire inside him. A moment later, it was pulled out. Don gasped and rolled onto his stomach. His breaths were coming out wet and ragged. He tried crawling off the trampoline when the knife stabbed him in his right arm. He screamed but continued crawling.
He reached the lip of the trampoline and immediately felt his guts catch on fire. He could hear his blood spilling onto the grass beneath him as the knife was pulled from him. He was dying.
He closed his eyes, never knowing who killed him.
* * *
When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was not dead. He was in a hospital room. He couldn’t remember where he had been before, but he knew it hadn’t been here.
He slowly turned his head to the right and saw a woman sitting in a chair in front of the window. Her head was tilted to the side in a rather uncomfortable-looking position. Her eyes were closed. Don tried to call to her, but his voice wouldn’t work.
“Monica?” he finally managed, though the effort hurt his dry throat.
She stirred in the chair and opened her eyes. Not surprisingly, she didn’t smile when she saw that he had awakened.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I came to see how you and the boys were doing.”
Don looked around, suddenly nervous. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days. I...was the one who found you, in your backyard. That night.”
He looked at her. “How is that possible?”
She laughed. “I left Augusta that day; I wanted to surprise Jordan. I should have called, but I was afraid you’d try to prepare for me, and I wanted to see how things really are at the house, not some act.”
“And you found me nearly stabbed to death on the trampoline.” Don managed a weak laugh.
“It must’ve happened just before I got there. Your front door was unlocked and I found Jordan passed out by the stairs.”
“Is he okay?”
She nodded.
“Where was Conner?” he suddenly asked.
“Upstairs.”
Don relaxed a bit. And then he realized what Monica just said. “Jordan was passed out?”
She nodded again. “He looked like he was headed down into the den and just fell facedown on the steps. I ran to check on him and that’s when I saw you on the trampoline. I called 911.”
Don tried to process what he had just been told. Conner had been upstairs, Jordan by the stairs, between the living room and den, moments before Don himself was attacked. Neither of them had blood on them, or Monica would have said something. Someone else had to be the culprit.
“Jordan probably fainted when he saw me,” Don said uncertainly. “It’s not the first spell he’s had.”
“I almost fainted too,” Monica joked. “I had the doctors check on him. They say he’s fine.”
“Good,” Don said, relieved. Neither of his boys attacked him. There was a murderer out there. Don couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
* * *
He had emergency surgery the night of his attack and had been in a coma for a few days after. Doctors were amazed at the speed of his recovery, though, and he was able to go home shortly after his awakening. The only thing he could think of after his recovery was finding out who tried to kill him.
One of the first things he did was call Travis’s parents and ask when he got home that night. Mrs. Hooper said her son had gotten in about ten minutes after Don knew he’d left the house, and that he looked a little melancholy. One couldn’t blame Don for suspecting the teen; he had gone camping with the others the night Mr. Leper was murdered. That could’ve easily been him filming the incident with Conner’s camera.
From the moment Don returned home a week after the attack, he got several phone calls from the dreadful Diedre Marshall. She of course wanted the details of the attack, but he ignored her queries.
&
nbsp; One day, however, he got an unexpected phone call from Aunt Cynthia. “Monica told me what happened,” she said in reply to Don’s unspoken question.
“I’m fine,” he replied.
“You don’t sound fine. Someone tried to kill you.”
“Would you believe I tripped and fell on a knife?” he joked.
“Several times? Probably.”
They both laughed.
“I’m still worried,” she continued. “Do you think Conner did it?”
“That was my first guess, as much as it hurts to admit. But Monica said he was upstairs when she got there, and she didn’t find any blood in the house or on him.”
Don was in his study, looking through the fireplace into the rest of the empty house. Monica had taken the boys to a movie. “I think we’re looking at a plain, old-fashioned murderer living in the woods behind my house.”
Cynthia was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the thing is, your father called and told me to check on you too. He said he felt like something bad had happened to you.”
That knocked the breath from Don’s lungs. “I thought you said Monica told you.”
“She did. After.”
“Stephen—Dad—knew I was in trouble?”
“Yes. And I think it’s time you met him.”
* * *
Don sat at the dinner table with Conner and Jordan as Monica laid down a plate of pork chops. The boys had helped her cook, not wanting to strain Don while he continued to heal. He couldn’t complain; with Monica here, it felt like old times. The family had been reunited, however temporary.
Jordan, especially, seemed delighted to have his mother here with him. He told her about school and the movies he’d seen. He spoke briefly of Erin, though he made it sound like they were just friends. Who was Don to argue with his son?
Don and Monica locked eyes a few times during dinner, and he was surprised to see a smile on her face. He smiled back.
After dinner, the two stepped out onto the front porch and watched the sun set on the neighborhood. He stepped close to her, wrapped an arm around her waist. She didn’t pull away.
“Does this mean we can be a normal family again?” he asked quietly.
“This is going to sound cliché, but we were never normal.”
Don chuckled. “That’s true.”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” she continued, “but this doesn’t change what you did. You’re still a man who murdered his brother.”
Hearing that made Don’s insides ache, and he doubted it was the knife wounds acting up. In his love’s eyes, he would always be a heartless, cowardly murderer.
“Nothing I’ll ever do will change that,” he murmured. “All I can do is live the rest of my life knowing what I am and hoping I never hurt anyone else.”
“Have you been holding up that last end?” she asked.
“I haven’t killed anyone else.”
“Are you sure?”
Don looked from her to the sunset. “No.”
Monica’s cell phone rang. She reached into her pocket, looked at the caller ID, and answered it reluctantly. “Hey, Terry. I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call you back.”
Terry? Don wondered if this was a male or female friend. Monica retreated back into the house, an apology in her eyes.
Male.
Don sighed and headed around to the back of the house, past the carport. The police had already investigated the crime scene. Don had the trampoline removed, leaving a large open space beyond the patio. He stared into the darkening woods for a while. Who was hiding in there? Why was he or she doing this to him and his family?
Don turned to head back into the house. It was by chance that he happened to look up.
There, on the cream-colored panel siding just under Jordan’s bedroom window, was a bloody smudge.
* * *
Monica decided to make a special dinner for the family on her last day in Texas. She had only meant to visit for a few days, but stayed longer while Don recovered. She needed to get back to work, back to Terry.
She still couldn’t believe someone had tried to kill Don. She was terrified of staying in his house, even temporarily. She felt like she was being dragged back into that old life. She didn’t want that.
But it had been good spending some time with her son. Summer was too far away. As she walked toward the deli at the supermarket, she considered asking Jordan if he’d want to live with her for a while. Things were so crazy at Don’s house; that place just wasn’t safe. If neither boys were responsible for the fatal happenings, then she needed to get them away from there.
Them? Was she considering taking Conner with her? She had warmed up to the boy slightly, though he still seemed a little creepy.
Monica shook the thoughts out of her head. She would focus on them after dinner.
She told the butcher what she wanted and then waited patiently while he sliced the meat. A woman walked up to the counter next to Monica and smiled. A moment later, Monica noticed a paperback novel in the woman’s basket. It was one of Don’s.
“Are you a fan of his?’ she asked the woman, pointing to the book.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I’ve read all of his books. I especially like the one about the cursed brothers.”
Monica nodded. That was her least favorite. “Yeah, that’s an interesting one,” she lied.
“Have you read many of his books?” the woman asked.
“Some, though I usually get free copies every time.”
The woman looked quizzical.
“I used to be married to him,” Monica confessed before introducing herself.
“Pleased to meet you,” the woman replied as she shook Monica’s hand. “I’m Diedre Marshall.”
“That name sounds familiar,” said Monica. In fact, the woman herself looked familiar.
“You must not be from around here,” Diedre said playfully. “I’m a local reporter. Fairly famous...at least, in my head.”
The women laughed again. Monica recognized her now; she’d watched the morning news in Don’s hospital room the day after his surgery.
As if reading Monica’s mind, Diedre asked, “How is Mr. Scott doing? I reported on his...accident, but I haven’t heard anything sense.”
“He’s fine. Thank you.” Monica knew this woman was fishing for inside information, so she tried to stay on her toes. Don had told her to ignore all calls made to the house, and there was no doubt that Diedre had been one of the people who had made the most calls.
As the reporter paid for her order, she said casually, “Being in the business I’m in, I can’t help being curious about our real local celebrity. A lot has been happening around his home for the past few years: the deaths in the woods behind his house, and now his near-fatal attack. How do you feel about this, especially with your son in that house?”
“Are you looking for an exclusive interview, Ms. Marshall?” Monica dropped all forms of pleasantry.
“Can you blame me for being concerned? With the children and all?”
Something struck Monica at that moment. This woman’s voice was even more familiar than she realized. She’d heard it even before that newscast at the hospital. “You’re the one who called me at my house, aren’t you?” she asked.
Diedre smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play dumb. Just after Don’s neighbor died, you called me. You were hoping I’d come out here, so you could talk to me.”
Diedre’s smile remained, but it looked venomous. “Sister to sister, I know there’s something going on with that man that he doesn’t want anyone to know about. And I know you’ve been having to deal with it yourself for a long time. I don’t think it’s fair to you or the children.”
“Well,” said Monica, “sister to sister, I think you should mind your own business. If you’re looking for a story, you’re not
going to find it here, honey. Don is a good man and a good father. You think that just because we’re both black women, I’m going to dish on my white husband like you and I are girlfriends?”
Diedre looked positively ecstatic now. “You mean ex-husband.”
Monica didn’t respond. She recognized her Freudian slip, but didn’t want to dwell on it.
“He claims he was out of town the night his neighbor was killed, but I know that’s a fabrication.” Diedre looked triumphant.
With that, the woman left the store and a bewildered Monica behind.
* * *
“That woman is really determined,” Don declared as he helped Monica prepare dinner that night.
“She won’t rest until she gets a story,” said Monica.
“Then she won’t rest.”
Monica sighed. “Don, she seems to be getting closer to something. She said that she knows you weren’t where you said you were the night Leper was killed.”
Don started at that. He looked her in the eyes, his heart racing.
“It could be a scare tactic,” she added.
“It might not be. I did lie about where I was.”
Monica stopped cutting the carrots and stared at him, waiting.
“I was with.... How can I put this delicately? A lady of the evening.”
Monica suddenly laughed. “Oh, Don. How could you?”
He laughed as well. “You don’t really care, do you?”
“Not at all. But Diedre might.” She started cutting again, and then stopped. “Why were you with a whore, anyway?”
“I tried to make myself ‘happy,’ just in case the curse was affecting me again.”
“What made you think it was coming back?” she asked.
“All those deaths in the woods over the years. It could’ve been me.”
“And it could’ve been whoever attacked you that night.”
Don grew silent once again. He knew who’d attacked him. What remained unclear was whether or not the kid knew it himself.
That night, after dinner, Don checked in on a sleeping Conner. He was in his bed, his window slightly open. Don walked over to the sill and looked around. He didn’t notice any dark smudges like he’d seen in Jordan’s room. Did Conner use his cousin’s room to get in and out of the house that night?