by Glenn Trust
“Don’t like it? This is your old home, boy. Think of all the memories…us growin’ up here…Daddy beatin’ the shit out of you…or me…or Carl…that is when he wasn’t poundin’ on Mama.” Albert laughed. “And Mama…always tryin’ to love on us…like that mattered.”
Bain shuddered. He spent most of his time trying not to remember the man who had given him life. Albert was right. The old house was full of memories…terrifying ones.
“What now?” He looked at his brother backlit by the moon through the doorway. Bain blinked hard trying to make his eyes adjust. Albert’s form was an apparition, dark and ominous.
The phantom spoke, his voice quiet…the quietness of it making it sound more menacing. “We wait.”
“Then what?” Bain whispered, afraid to disturb the spirits that seemed to surround him.
“Then what?” The dark apparition’s voice rose ominously, threatening the questioner. Just as suddenly, it dropped to a matter-of-fact monotone. “We do what we came here to do.”
“Wh…what’s that…Albert?” Bain said his brother’s name tremulously. He felt the need to say it…to prove that the apparition was his brother and not the ghost he appeared to be there in the dark…in the house full of death and the smell of shit.
“We take them off to a special place.”
“What place, Albert?”
“You know the place…out in the swamp…the place Daddy taught us his best lesson.”
“You mean…” The room whirled around him, the windows and doorway spinning by…moonlight and stars rushing by…then the empty darkness of the house.
“That’s right. The night you wet your pants…cryin’ like a little girl. Daddy knocked you down so’s you’d remember the lesson.” Albert stepped farther into the room, put his arms out wide and gathered his brother close, the devil gathering one of his demons to his breast. He breathed his foul breath into Bain’s face, laughing as he spoke. “We take them there. We take their blood…the way Daddy did that boy that was foolin’ with Mama. Then we leave them. Won’t be nothin’ left in a few days, just like that other boy.” He released his hold on Bain and stepped back. “It’s what Daddy would’ve done.”
Trembling, Bain looked from his brother to the girls and back. Opening his mouth to speak was the hardest thing he had ever done. “Them? You said them.”
“I did.” Albert nodded, calm, still grinning. “”We ain’t leavin’ no one to tell.”
“But…” Bain looked at Lyn. “She’s…”
“She ain’t nothin’. Carl fucked her mother…that’s all she is to us.” He jerked his head at Danny. “And that one…she’s just a whore.”
Bain’s head swiveled from the girls, to Albert, and then back to the girls. His eyes met Lyn’s. It was on her face, even in the dark. The moonlight flashing from her eyes, saying, I told you! That’s what the devil does…kills everything…everyone.
“Albert, we can’t…”
The heavy blow came like thunder from the dark, catching him full in the face, crushing his nose. Falling back from the impact of Albert’s fist, Bain hit the wall and slid to the floor. Plaster, paint chips, and cobwebs fell on him. Albert leaned down close to his face.
“Don’t never say that again. You’re my blood…Daddy said so…but I swear to God, Bain, you ever try to tell me what we can and can’t do…I’ll gut you and leave you out there in the swamp…” He nodded at the girls. “With them.”
Lyn and Danny watched the exchange between the two. They saw Bain’s weakness…saw the evil in Albert.
Standing in a circle of moonlight in the center of the room, they huddled close to each other, mingling the living warmth of their bodies, conscious of the dark that surrounded them.
76. Plans
Something moved in the brush on the side of the dirt road. Mike Darlington was not the nervous sort. It might have been a trick of the night, the acoustics in the woods, or the fatigue of having been up for nearly twenty-four hours. Alone in the dark, little things sounded big, and big things sounded small. Every noise was suspect. The rustling leaves…a breaking twig…could be a possum or rabbit…maybe a deer…or a man.
He thought about turning on his flashlight but decided against it, pushing it in his back pocket where he wouldn’t be tempted to use it. Light in the black night of the backwoods, would do nothing more than attract every insect within five miles. Worse, it would make him a perfect target.
He turned his head at the soft, whooshing of tires in the dirt approaching from behind. About time, he thought. He was damned sick and tired of listening to the night noises in the brush a feet away…his fingers itching to turn on the flashlight…or fire off a round from his Glock. Right now, either one sounded good.
The pickup pulled up to the rear bumper of Mike’s truck. It wasn’t George’s, and he did not recognize it. For a moment, he thought he should throw caution to the wind and draw down on the big man approaching him.
“Evening, Mike…or should I say, morning.”
Mike relaxed. “About damn time you got here, George.”
“Afraid of the dark?” George smiled.
“No…afraid of not knowing what the hell is in the dark…and not knowing what is going on.” He squinted at the silhouette of the young man coming up behind George. “Who’s this?”
“Cy Purcell.” George stood between the two. “Cy, meet Pickham County’s chief deputy, Mike Darlington.”
“Good to know you.” Both nodded and Mike said, “You’re his brother, right…Clay the one that got in the fight with Carl Stinson…you’re his brother?”
“I am.”
To say that Cy was intimidated, standing in the dark, planning what they would do to prevent the Stinsons from murdering his brother would have been an understatement. George Mackey was a legend. He and the chief deputy were professionals. Cy was…a carpenter.
Things were moving fast now, rushing to a conclusion. Up to this moment, it had been just words…a ride around Alabama and Georgia.
In the dark, on the side of a dirt road, it was real. There were men up ahead who would kill…wanted to kill. They might kill his brother…or him. He breathed the steamy swamp air pulling it deep into his lungs. It tasted green…full of living things. Holding it in, he tried to calm the pounding in his chest.
“Let’s fill you in.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Mike said.
The chief deputy was a quick study and only asked questions when it was necessary. Very few were necessary. Once George had explained his involvement in trying to prevent the Stinson brothers from settling the score with Clay Purcell, Mike nodded his understanding.
Then George had a question of his own. “You said you saw four people leave the StarLite…two male and two probably female.”
“Right.”
“We know the Stinson brothers were the males. Lyn Stinson was probably one of the females. Any idea who the other was?”
“Not a clue. I was a couple hundred yards away, night time…” Mike shook his head. “I couldn’t make out any of them for sure.”
“Assuming that there were two females and one was Lyn, did it look like they were there willingly?”
“Now that you mention it…” Mike looked up at the stars clearing his tired mind, remembering the moment when they all hurried from the room. “It did look like the females were being pushed…they moved hunched over sort of…awkward.”
“Tied up maybe?”
“Yeah…with hands behind the back. It would have made them move like that.” Mike nodded. “Makes sense. They were bound somehow…probably.”
“Right…probably. So we have two males…Albert and Bain Stinson…probably…two females…probably Lyn Stinson and an unknown woman…probably bound.”
“Sounds about right,” Mike agreed. “A lot of probables, but at least we have a rough picture of what we’re up against.” Anxious to get moving and do something, he asked the important question. “What’s the plan?”
“F
rom here we go in on foot. Any vehicle will be heard from a long way off. No lights, just you and me. I figure we have a good chance of taking them by surprise. Those boys are mean as hell, but I don’t figure them for geniuses.”
“I like it. Let’s move, then.”
“I’m going.” Cy had listened to the plan. He had not been mentioned as part of the assault. Apparently, they intended to leave him at the trucks.
“No.” Mike shook his head. “Can’t allow that. In fact, you’re a civilian. I should just send you home. We’ll bring you in as soon as things are under control…not before.”
“You’re not leaving me here. That’s not gonna happen.” The pounding in his chest increased and Cy wondered what the hell he was saying. His mouth opened again and spoke without him willing it. He nodded at George. “He’s a civilian. Right?”
His brain shouted, shut up! You heard him. They are the experts. They’ll handle it and then bring you in. Keep your fat mouth closed. His eyes focused on George in the dark, waiting for an answer to his question.
“Right,” George agreed. “It’s different though…”
Cy interrupted, speaking matter-of-factly, his brain overridden, once and for all, by his feelings for his brother. An unseen force now controlled his tongue, compelling him to be part of what was going to happen.
“I’m not staying here…waiting…while you go up there. They have a trap set…for my brother…you might need an extra hand,” he said reasoning with them and then shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not staying here. I’m going. You leave me and I’ll just follow.”
George looked at Mike. “He is the reason I’m here…the reason any of us are here. If he hadn’t gotten involved, no telling what would happen to his brother and those girls. Because of him we have a chance to get them out alive.”
There wasn’t time to argue and Mike was too tired for it. He sighed and nodded. “All right, you come with us.” Leaning close to Cy, he added, “But you do just what we say…when we say it. No arguments.”
Cy nodded. “Fair enough.”
“You have a weapon?” Mike turned to George.
“No, but he does.” He motioned to Cy’s pickup. “Rifle and a shotgun…in the gun rack.”
“Good.” Mike nodded at Cy. “You take the shotgun…better for defense. George you take the rifle.”
They retrieved their weapons and then stood on the road for a few seconds, looking up at the sky, judging how much night they had left. The dark was their friend. Losing it would mean losing the element of surprise. Dead tired from being awake almost twenty-four hours, one of them just out of prison and out of practice, the other young with no experience in this sort of thing, they needed all the surprise they could get. A little luck would be good too, Mike thought.
George led out. “Let’s go.”
Twenty miles away, Clay Purcell pushed his truck to its limits, taking the back road curves at speeds that exceeded the design parameters of the truck and the pavement. Fishtailing out of one curve, the pickup’s rear tires ended up halfway down the roadside ditch. He put the truck in four-wheel drive, rising slowly out of the ditch until he was back on the asphalt. Slamming the accelerator down, he raced along the ribbon of pavement between the trees, leaning over the steering wheel, peering ahead for the next curve.
The driving was good for him. He focused on it, letting speed and the need to get to Lyn take his mind off what was waiting for him when he arrived to face the Stinsons.
The only plan he had was to get to there. He would arrive hours ahead of schedule. They wouldn’t expect him. That would be a surprise. That might be enough, he told himself repeatedly. It wasn’t much, but it was all the plan he had. It would have to be good enough.
77. Fire and Blood
It was under his feet, gnawing. Bain’s head bounced up from the restless doze he had fallen into, his chin resting on his chest. There it was again, vibrating through the old timbers
“What the hell’s that?” The unseen creature in the crawlspace ceased its gnawing, scuffed at the dirt under the shack’s floorboards and scuttled away. His head swiveled around in the dark. “What was that, Albert?”
“Jesus, you’re an old woman.” Albert rose from where he had been resting against the wall across the room, facing the front door. “Just a rat or possum…maybe a raccoon. Hell, there were plenty here when we were kids. I reckon there’s more now.”
“Rats?” Bain swallowed. “I don’t like rats.”
“Shit.” Albert laughed. “It’s more their home now than ours.” He walked through the doorway into the kitchen and peered out the back door. “We get this done tonight; they can have it…what’s left of it.”
“Well, I don’t like ‘em…nasty…rats are. They creep me out.”
Lyn and Danny watched from a corner where they had been pushed together on the floor. There had been a few seconds while Bain slept when they thought the moment might have come…a chance to make their escape.
The brothers had appeared to sleep. Lyn pressed her back against the wall and started to push herself up slowly with her legs. Danny followed suit. When they had risen to a crouch, Albert spoke.
“Just keep on gettin’ up.” He pulled a .38 caliber revolver from his waistband and waved it at them. “Not much use for you now anyway. He’ll be here…that boyfriend of yours…I’ll do him whether you’re alive to see it or not.”
Lyn slid back down the wall until she was crouching again in the corner. Danny hesitated and then slid down beside her.
Albert grinned. “Fine. You want to be alive to see it…that’s good…better that way I guess. You can have the picture clear in your head when I put this…” He held the pistol up for them to see. “Between your eyes and pull the trigger.”
Danny sobbed softly, whispering one of the prayers her grandmother had taught her. Grandma said that God hated sin but loved the sinner. She had no doubt that she was a sinner. So was the man with the gun. She wondered who God loved more right then. She prayed faster. It didn’t seem that God was listening.
Lyn did not pray. She glared into the small, animal eyes of her uncle. Whether or not God was listening to Danny’s prayer, was of no consequence. She didn’t know where God was, but she knew for a fact that the devil was there in the remains of the old house. She was looking him in the eyes.
Bain slept through it all, chin on his chest, snoring, the shotgun lying across his legs. Albert leaned back, grinning. The animal eyes did not close. They watched and stared through the night.
Albert rose and kicked Bain’s feet. “You stay awake and watch them. I got things to do.”
“What? You ain’t leavin’ me here are you?”
“I ain’t leavin’.” Albert shook his head. “You whine like a little girl. Quit bein’ such a chicken shit. Just set there and watch ‘em. Keep that shotgun on ‘em. They try anything you give ‘em both barrels.” Albert shook his head. “Never mind. You’re too chicken shit to do it. They try anything, you call me.” He put his hand on the checkered wood butt of the .38 in his waistband.
“Okay,” Bain said, eyes riveted on the .38.
He knew the pistol. It was Daddy’s. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to make the memory leave his brain. It would not…Will Tandy’s face pleading…his eyes begging…Daddy’s arm coming up, the pistol black and ugly in his hand…the roar when Daddy pulled the trigger…then the hole in the boy’s head…and the eyes…empty, staring eyes. Bain shuddered.
“Open your goddamned eyes! How you gonna watch them with your eyes closed, you dumbass?” Albert stood over him, glaring down in disgust, wondering how Clyde Stinson could have sired such a sniveling weakling.
Bain opened his eyes. The pistol was there. Albert was there. He looked into Albert’s staring eyes. Daddy was there too, in Albert’s eyes.
“Shit.” Albert shook his head and pushed the front door open, disappearing into the dark.
Squeaking on its hinges, as it dragged across the porch planks, the front door c
reaked and scraped open. George put his hand on Cy’s shoulder and pulled him lower into the brush at the edge of the small clearing. The shack was fifty yards away.
A tall, heavyset man emerged and stood on the porch, surveying the surrounding woods. When he had completed his visual assessment, he stared straight out across the yard, his head motionless. George knew that he was listening, probing for something that was out of the ordinary. After several seconds, apparently satisfied that nothing except possums and owls were stirring in the dark, he stepped cautiously across the porch and descended to the yard.
The three men watching remained immobile. Cy knelt between George and Mike, concealed behind a pine. Mike squatted low resting his arms on his knees, leaning forward peering through the undergrowth at the man on the porch. George knelt, landing in the middle of a wild blackberry bush. A thousand tiny stickers jabbed through his pants. He managed not to speak the expletive that came to mind and did his best to ignore the stinging pricks. As long as they were silent, there wasn’t much chance of being spotted in the dark.
The man from the house walked to the truck parked in the yard. After rummaging in the back, he lifted two heavy objects to the ground, picked one up in each hand and made his way up onto the porch. Cautiously, he carried the heavy objects across the unsteady planks and into the house.
Mike leaned towards George and whispered. “What do you think that was?”
“Don’t know.” George shook his head. “I’ll bet it’s not good, though.” He leaned towards Cy, speaking softly. “That look like Albert Stinson to you?”
Cy nodded. “Yeah. It’s dark; I can’t be sure, but it looked like him…big like him…moved like him.”
“That the truck they were in when they left the StarLite, Mike?”
“That’s it.”
“All right. It’s time to do what we came for.” George looked at Cy. “You ready?”
Cy swallowed hard, wondering what it would be like to be back by the pickups on the dirt road, watching the stars and waiting for the professionals to take care of things. It would be the nicest thing in the world, he decided, but that was not where he was. He was knee deep in the shit now, and he had to hold up his end of things.