by Hart, Jerry
As he quietly left the room and returned to his own, he considered the possibility that his nephew was responsible not only for Leper’s death but all of the others as well. On the way to his own room, he passed the guest room, where Monica was staying. Since she’d returned her rental car the other day, Don was to drive her to the airport so that she could return to her normal, happy life.
But he didn’t want her to go. Having her back for this short time had been wonderful, just like old times. It reminded him of the way things should be.
He lightly knocked on her door. She opened it. The room was lit by a warm-colored lamp by the bed. Monica was wearing a red silk nightgown, one that Don had bought her for an anniversary present forever ago.
“I just wanted to see if you needed anything,” he said nervously. Monica looked so beautiful that his mind suddenly turned to mush.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She smiled.
“Can I...come in?”
“My goodness, if my parents knew a boy was in my room after curfew, they’d kill me,” she joked as she backed away and let him in.
They lay on the guest bed, talking for what seemed like hours, catching up with each other’s lives over the past ten years.
“So,” said Don, “who’s Terry?”
“A guy I’m seeing.”
“Is he good to you?”
“The best.”
“In other words, he hasn’t killed anyone?”
They were lying side-by-side, staring at the ceiling. Monica looked at him now. “You understand why I can’t be with you anymore,” she said.
“Because you’re afraid of me.”
“And because you lied to me about something very important.”
“It’s a very painful subject, Monica. I killed my brother because I was afraid of him. I was a coward, and now he’s dead.”
“I know.”
They grew quiet for a moment.
“What if Diedre finds out?” Monica asked.
“That keeps me up at night sometimes,” he admitted. “I’m going to have to talk to her.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, but I didn’t say I would tell her the truth. I’m going to give her a false trail to follow.”
Monica laughed. “I wish I could be there when you do.”
“Will you come back some day?”
She kissed him on the forehead and said, “Yes.”
They stared at each other for a while, saying nothing.
And then Don leaned in to kiss her on the lips.
Monica, however, pulled away. “Goodnight, Don.”
He got up, sighed, and said, “Goodnight, Monica.”
And then he left her alone.
Chapter 9
Diedre arrived bright and early the following week. Don had arranged for an interview at his house while the boys were at school. The reporter was wearing a black top and skirt with a bright red jacket. She looked awful.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked her pleasantly as they sat in the living room, just in front of the fireplace.
“No thank you,” she replied, scanning the room. “You have a wonderful home.”
Don looked up. “The ceiling is so high, it sometimes makes me feel very small.” He looked back at her. “Does it have the same affect on you?”
She cleared her throat nervously and looked to her left. “Oh, I can see right through the fireplace. What’s that room back there?”
“My office.”
“Looks cozy.” She took out an audio recorder and a notebook. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said after pressing the record button. “What changed your mind?”
“I got tired of you harassing my family.”
Diedre immediately stopped the recording and chuckled. “I was expecting a cleverer response from a writer.”
“Any other response would have been fiction.”
She kept her finger poised on the record button. “Are we going to have a serious interview, or am I being had?”
“I’m very serious,” Don said simply.
The reporter looked at him. Don didn’t know what his face looked like at that moment, but it must have looked strange. He was glad it gave the woman pause, but he didn’t want to overdue it; he didn’t want her knowing about the curse.
Diedre hesitated a moment longer, and then pressed the button to begin recording again. “So, Mr. Scott, it’s great seeing you looking well soon after your vicious attack,” she said in a clear, jovial voice. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m well, Diedre, thank you.” He decided to play along for now.
“You’re notorious for shunning interviews and keeping your private life, well, private. Why decide to speak now?”
“Because, after all that’s happened lately, I figured my fans were worried about my safety, possibly even wondering if someone was out to get me. I hear that’s a popular theory floating around. I just wanted to set the record straight.”
“And what is the truth?” she asked.
“That no one is out to get me or my family.”
“But all these attacks—”
“I’ll admit this all does seem strange, but I can assure you and everyone that I am not being targeted specifically. There’s just some crazy person in the woods behind my house who keeps attacking anyone he comes across.”
Don laughed. Diedre did not.
“Mr. Scott, as most of us are aware, your brother, Ethan, was murdered over fifteen years ago.”
It came so unexpectedly that Don could not catch a breath. He coughed. “Yes?”
“Well, according to police reports, the killer was never found. No leads, no evidence pointing to his or her identity.”
Don’s heart hammered. “Yes?”
“Do you think, perhaps, the person who killed your brother is after you too?”
He laughed again. “You know, I never once thought of that.”
“Do you ever wonder what you would do if you met your brother’s killer?”
He is me, Don thought. He said, “I try not to go down that path.”
“You must still be angry about what happened....”
Damn, this bitch was relentless.
“Very angry,” he replied. “Every time I think about it, I get sick to my stomach. But I can’t change the past.”
Diedre narrowed her eyes for a moment. “What made you want to become an author?”
She’s changing tactics, Don realized. She’ll come back to Ethan when I least expect it.
“Well, I was fond of books as a kid, and I had a story I wanted to tell.”
“About brothers?” Diedre cocked an eyebrow.
He cleared his throat. “It seemed easier than writing about sisters,” he joked.
“Were the characters based on you and your brother Ethan?”
Don’s palms grew sweaty. “Loosely.”
“Some have theorized that the book, about two brothers—one cursed by a demon—is autobiographical. Also, that the cursed brother was modeled after Ethan.”
Don said nothing.
“In the book,” the reporter continued, “the brothers find a cure for the curse....”
She left the sentence hanging. Don’s heart was racing uncomfortably.
“A happy ending if I ever heard one,” he finally said.
“And you started the book after your brother’s death?”
“That’s right.”
Diedre tapped her pen on her notebook quickly. Don’s heart matched the beat.
“Where did you get the idea for the curse?” she asked after a moment.
“I wanted to give the characters something to fight against. Together.”
“But why a curse? Why not a disease or an abusive parent?”
“The curse was a disease, in a way. And I’ve never encountered an abusive parent. My parents were wonderful.”
“So, you’ve ‘encountered’ a curse?”
This was exactly why Don had not wanted to talk
to this woman. He couldn’t end the interview now, though; it would look suspicious.
“My grandfather once told me about a curse when I was five,” he told her truthfully. “The story stuck with me through the years.”
Diedre looked interested. “What did the curse entail?”
“It made its victims want to do bad things.”
“Like murder?”
“Among other things.”
“And where did you grandfather hear this terrifying story?”
“I have no idea.”
And that was the truth. Grandpa had told Don the story the night Mom became cursed. He’d told Don to keep an eye on his mother and to report any strange happenings. Grandpa died before Don could tell him anything.
Diedre stopped the recorder and said, “I would like to talk to you, off the record.”
“Fine.”
“Why did you lie about your whereabouts the night your neighbor was killed?”
“You know why.”
“Because you were with a prostitute at a motel in Arlington.”
“Seems like a good reason to keep quiet, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
“Was this interview all you hoped it would be?” Don smiled a wolf’s smile.
“And then some,” Diedre said as she collected her belongings. “You know, there’s another popular theory floating around, about your brother’s death.”
“Is that so?”
“Some people think you are the one who killed him.”
Don’s heart nearly stopped. “That’s preposterous,” he said, trying to sound offended.
“Just passing along the theory,” she said casually as she headed for the front door.
Don followed. “And just who are these people coming up with these ridiculous, hurtful theories?” he asked heatedly.
Diedre turned to him and said, “Me.”
When she turned to leave, Don said, “You haven’t changed at all since high school, Diedre.”
She spun around. “Pardon me?”
“You know we went to Augusta High together?”
“I made the connection recently, yes.”
“I bumped into you one time, knocked your books out of your hand. You cussed me out in the hall in front of everyone.”
“Is that a fact?” She smiled.
“Yes. Now get out of my house.”
* * *
Conner sat on the deck, staring at the cell phone in his hands. He had just sent a text to Travis and was awaiting a reply. While he waited, he stared into the woods in front of him. The sun was slowly setting and the dark-green trees appeared black.
It was weird having the trampoline gone. He still couldn’t believe someone had tried to kill his uncle. Conner had been so mad at him that night, but not enough to kill. Who could have done it?
It had to have been the madman who’d murdered Leper. Did the psycho live in those woods? Was he watching Conner at this very moment? Conner looked but saw no one.
He looked down at his phone and saw a red light blinking. He checked the reply text: Leave me alone or I’m calling the cops. I’m warning you.
Conner’s heart felt like it had been stabbed. Why was Travis so mad? No one had ever threatened to call the cops on Conner before and that scared him. He grew nauseated as he typed a reply with clumsy fingers: Are you worried because my uncle saw us?
Travis replied: I’m worried because u tried 2 kill him.
Conner’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “What?” he screamed, and then realized Travis couldn’t hear. He typed What? In all caps.
I know u did it and I think u killed ur neighbor 2.
Where the hell was this coming from? Conner’s hand shook and tears blurred his eyes. He never killed anyone. He jumped to his feet and ran inside. He saw Uncle Don peeking out of his office on the left.
“Were you outside the whole time?” he asked his nephew.
“Yes.”
“Don’t go out there at night.”
“Why not? There’s nothing out there.”
Uncle Don looked at him as if the teen had gone insane. “How could you think that after all that’s happened?”
“I’m surprised you don’t also think I’m the one doing all this. It’s a popular theory.”
That seemed to strike a chord. “What are you talking about?”
Conner shook his head. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me lately. It’s the same way you looked at me after Mom killed her boyfriend.”
Uncle Don narrowed his eyes. “And what way is that?”
“Like you think I’m a fucking monster!” Conner shouted. “All my life, you’ve thought of me as the one who killed him, and now you think I killed Mr. Leper and attacked you, don’t you? And I didn’t!”
They both stood in stunned silence. Conner was breathing heavily, and more tears streamed down his cheeks. He had been holding that in for a long time. He was shaking from the release.
“I guess there’s no point in denying it now,” Uncle Don said. “But it’s not your fault.”
He took a step forward; Conner took one back.
“I should’ve told you this a long time ago,” Uncle went on. “There’s something inside you, something you were born with, that makes you want to hurt people.”
“What are you talking about?” Conner truly was scared now.
“It’s a curse. Your father and I dealt with it when we were your age. We were both cursed, and Ethan passed it on to you.”
“A curse?” Conner backed into the back-porch door, crinkling the blinds. “Does that mean Jordan is cursed too?”
“Possibly.” Uncle Don sighed.
“Then he could be the one doing this.”
Uncle shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Because he’s your son, and I’m just a bastard?”
“You’re not a bastard.” Uncle Don had his hands up, trying to calm Conner, but it made the teen even more anxious.
Uncle Don was coming at him from the left, and the stairs out of the den were straight ahead. Conner went for them but his uncle cut him off. Conner turned around and went out the back door.
* * *
Just as Don got to the open door, he saw his nephew disappear into the woods. Don darted down the patio steps and charged into the trees without thinking.
“Conner!”
Don couldn’t see the boy but heard him up ahead, pushing away branches and stepping on twigs. Don followed the sounds, even as his stomach started to twist. Conner was giving off that nauseating energy again.
The sounds suddenly stopped, and so did Don. He was standing near a small rise, and could hear a stream just on the other side. The nausea vanished. Either Conner was gone, or he wasn’t very close.
A twig snapped behind Don. He spun around, looking about, but he saw nothing. He knew he was being watched, though.
“Conner!”
His voice echoed off the trees.
A sound—an exhalation of breath—from behind him. He spun but again saw nothing. He heard leaves crunching in the darkness as something fled. Don wasn’t as scared as he should have been. At least, not for his own safety. He was worried about his nephew.
“Conner!”
He heard a grunt on the other side of the rise. He ran up and over, and saw a stream. It reflected tiny bits of moonlight that managed to penetrate the canopy above. It was so dark that Don could barely see. He could only hear.
He knew where he was, though. He was standing directly where Leper had died. The hole had been filled, but there appeared to be another one on the other side of the water. Don crossed the stream and studied it. It was very deep, so much so that he couldn’t see the bottom. Why did Conner keep digging holes?
Was this a trap?
Before he could dwell on the question for long, he was knocked down. Into the hole.
* * *
He hit the bottom headfirst and saw stars. Moments later, he started to
panic. He didn’t want to die upside down in a hole, though he did feel he deserved it. At least, at the back of his mind, he did. He started to struggle and didn’t notice right away that he had more room than he should have.
Dirt started raining into the hole, but by then Don was right-side up. He’d twisted his neck and shoulders, feeling his muscles spasm. It was painful as hell, but slowly suffocating in a hole would be worse. He had to get out. He started climbing out of the hole as fast as he could. His fingers dug into the dirt wall effortlessly, perhaps due to his body being fueled by fear, and he reached the top of the hole. When he looked around, he saw tree branches swaying, as if someone had just run past them.
Don climbed out and swept the dirt off of his clothes. His head was spinning but he slowly regained his senses. He started in the direction of the swaying branches, crossing the stream. He already knew which direction he was going.
Toward the house.
A moment after starting, he stopped. He heard laughter.
“Who’s there?” Don asked.
He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew someone was up ahead.
“Conner?” he called.
The voice laughed again. “I’m not Conner.”
The words were a whisper, but Don recognized the voice. It was that of the demon. He remembered that voice from his waking and sleeping nightmares.
“I killed you,” Don said to the dark woods ahead.
“Yes, you did. And I’m still gone, back to hell.” The voice chuckled.
Don suddenly remembered that fateful night when he confronted the monster that ruined his life. “How are you here, then?” he finally asked the voice.
“Through a vessel,” it replied from farther away.
“Who’s the vessel?”
“Someone you know.”
Don kept following the voice. He was no longer afraid; he was angry. He was almost reckless in his pursuit of the vessel as he followed it back to the house.
“Why are you using a vessel? How?”
There was no reply.
He kept going, huffing and puffing and sweating despite the cool air. He quickened his pace. He could see the house now. The back door was open.
Don ran into the den. The TV was on. Had it been on when he chased after Conner? He looked up into the living room without actually going into it. The house was quiet, save the TV noise.