Widow Town

by Joe Hart

  “I’m lucky, that’s about the extent of it,” Gray said, still eyeing the DA. Gray saw Mark’s vision shift over his shoulder and when he looked back he spotted Lynn striding out of the darkened lot, her skin contrasted with the black dress she wore that he hadn’t been able to make out near the pond. A cloud passed over Mark’s face and Gray let the smallest of smiles twitch at his lips. Lynn started to approach the group and then motioned to Mark, tipping her head toward the beer tent.

  “Excuse me gentlemen,” he said, winking at Gray.

  “Yes, by all means don’t keep the lady waiting,” the mayor called. He let out a loud guffaw and drank down more of his beer.

  “Great job on the festival this year, John,” Vincent said, gesturing to the lights. “Beautiful turnout.”

  “Well with the damn weather not cooperating we couldn’t have the fireworks the city purchased early in the year. Disappointed the hell out of the council and me, to say the least. But we couldn’t have a forest fire just on account of some pretty lights in the sky.” The mayor laughed again and finished his beer in one giant gulp.

  “I think it turned out wonderful. I always enjoy this time of year, always makes me think of my wife.”

  “How long’s it been now, Vincent, if you don’t mind me asking?” The mayor said, reaching out to touch his arm.

  “Not at all. She’s been gone eighteen years this fall. My youngest son’s birthday is always a tough time for us. She passed away giving birth to him,” Vincent said to Gray.

  “Very sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff, I appreciate it. She was one of a kind. And hey, speak of the devils themselves!” The doctor gestured toward the end of the street and Gray turned to see three young men walking toward them. The first was well built and handsome, with dark hair and piercing eyes. The next was very large, broad shouldered with a thick forehead and a continuous eyebrow. The last Gray knew from their meeting earlier that afternoon. Ryan Barder’s face was downturned, watching the heels of his brothers’ feet as they walked.

  “My boys,” Vincent said and smiled as they came nearer. “Gentlemen, let me introduce you to my sons. This is Darrin, Adam, and Ryan. Boys, I think you know Mayor John Wilkens and this is Sheriff MacArthur Gray. The younger men shook hands all around. Darrin’s grip was strong when he took Gray’s hand and his gaze confident. Adam didn’t meet his eyes and barely squeezed his fingers before letting go.

  “And we had the pleasure of meeting more than once today,” Gray said, shaking with Ryan. The doctor looked between Gray and his son.

  “I was taking a walk down in the streambed this afternoon and ran into Sheriff Gray,” Ryan said, glancing at his father.

  “He was kind enough to answer a few questions about Mr. Hudson, your neighbor,” Gray said.

  “Ah, I see. Gives me the chills that that man was living so close to us. I can’t believe the destruction some people can cause. I understand he was deeply addicted to Phenocartal?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “Terrible drug,” the mayor said, waving his empty mug. “Who would’ve thought, something like that right here in our little town. We should really sit down soon and go over a plan to look into the challenge against the drug problems our community faces, don’t you think, Sheriff?”

  “Absolutely John.”

  “Excellent, I’ll tell Evelyn to set up a meeting with the council next month. Anyone else thirsty, I’m heading to the tent.”

  “I’ll join you,” the doctor said and turned to shake Gray’s hand one more time. “Keep that nebulizer going, Sheriff.”

  “Will do.”

  “Good to meet you,” Darrin said before turning away into the crowd. Adam followed his older brother and Ryan trailed after them both, head down, shoulders slumped.

  Gray watched them go and then saw Mark and Lynn heading toward the end of the street where the band wailed away beneath the brightest lights. Their fingers were intertwined and as he watched, the DA slipped an arm around his ex-wife’s waist.

  Gray looked down at the street, scuffing his boot once as the crowd slowly flowed toward the music.

  “Well, I guess you deserve that,” he said, and began to walk the opposite way to his cruiser.

  ~

  Darrin carried a pitcher of beer up the darkened stairs that led to the side entrance of city hall and sat on the cool marble of the first landing next to Adam and Ryan. He handed Adam a stack of plastic cups and began to pour golden streams of beer into each one.

  “Here’s to the night, boys,” Darrin said, raising his glass. Adam giggled and sipped his beer while Ryan held his cup near his stomach, not moving. The band started a contemporary tune and dozens more people flooded onto the makeshift dance floor that had been constructed in the center of the intersection. The night was filled with clapping hands and stomping feet. Whirls of scented hair and flashing smiles under the lights.

  Ryan closed his eyes, his stomach tightening.

  “What’s the matter, little brother?” Darrin asked, nudging his elbow.

  “Nothing, just tired.”

  “You’re always tired,” Adam said, slurping his beer.

  “Ryan here is a delicate soul. He walks the tender path and loves in silence.”

  “I’m not delicate,” Ryan said, sipping at his cup. The beer was briny and flat.

  “You’re getting less so. He told me how you were going to end our good teacher before he intervened. I’m impressed, Ry-Ry.”

  Ryan said nothing.

  “Not that I didn’t think you had it in you, but I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Adam grunted laughter and guzzled the last of his beer down, reaching for the pitcher.

  “I would’ve done it,” Ryan finally said.

  “Hey, hey, lighten up, little brother. I’m just giving you a hard time. Plus, this is a night for celebration.”

  “You think the sheriff knows anything?” Ryan asked.

  “He’s as ignorant as the rest of the cattle,” Darrin said. “It looks like he likes Dad, he’ll like us too. No need for suspicion, or concern. Yet.” He glanced at Ryan as he spoke.

  Darrin stood and drained his glass, throwing it to the other end of the landing before he walked to the edge of the stairs. He stood there for a long time, gazing down at the throngs of people dancing to the thudding beat.

  “There she is,” Darrin said.

  “Who?” Adam said, rising.

  “Siri Godfry, the one in the blue dress.”

  “Oh. She’s pretty.”

  “Yeah.”

  Ryan rose from his seat and stood behind his brothers, their shoulders blocking his view for a moment before he spotted the woman they spoke of. Siri danced slowly with a good-looking, tall man in a dark dress shirt. She was smiling up at him as he held her hands and though they weren’t dancing in time with the song, they moved gracefully together, as if they were hearing music no one else could.

  “Who’s she dancin’ with?” Adam asked.

  “Joe Ruthers. He’s a deputy, but I went to school with him. He ratted me out in eighth grade for stealing the class hamster, remember?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  Darrin stared at the couple. Ryan saw the flame begin to burn brighter in his brother’s eyes.

  “She’s the next one, boys. She’s the one I want.”

  Chapter 30

  She came to him in the middle of the night.

  Her skin glowed moon-like, pale and soft in the dark beside the bed. Gray watched her, traced the points on her flesh he used to touch, caress. Where he would again. She slid in between the covers, close to him, her hands finding him in the dark, their bodies old friends, reacquainting themselves. She moaned and he drew her closer to him, hard against his thigh until she pulled herself astride him, taking him in with a long gasp. She rocked in liquid motions, the tide building within him as she stared down at him and that’s when he saw her eyes were not her own. They were black and depthless, deeper t
han any mineshaft. They traveled into and through him and he shoved at her even as he felt himself hurtling toward a climax. She grabbed his wrists with iron claws, immovable.

  “I’m dead, Mac. You killed me.”

  He opened his mouth to scream and jerked his arms away. His hands met wood and he realized he was standing in Carah’s room. Lightning flashed outside in dry, heat pulses and he saw his fingers grasping the side of her crib. There was something inside beneath her blankets, moving.

  His head shook as the lightning faded, leaving the room in complete darkness. A whisper, so quiet he couldn’t discern the words, came from close by and the strobing light returned. The thing in her crib moved again, the blankets rising a little, then falling.

  Whisper. A word.

  He reached inside, the light there then fluttering down to nothing as his fingers grazed the fabric. Again the sky flashed and he gripped the edge of the blanket, pulling it away.

  Hudson’s broken head lay in the crib, its hacked stump of a neck still trickling dark blood. Its remaining eye looked at him and it was black like Lynn’s had been.

  Fool, it whispered.

  Gray sat up in bed, his mouth open, gasping for breath. His throat burned and his lungs were two singed plastic bags. He stared around the room, waiting for something to rush at him from the darkened corners but everything was still. He found the nebulizer on the bedside table and triggered a blast of mint down his throat. The relief was immediate and tangible, like a weight being released from within him. He breathed deep and let it out, the last vestiges of the dream echoing through his mind.

  He lay back and settled into the pillow before rolling onto his side. The window was a blackened rectangle. He watched it, waiting for a flash of lightning but none came. He was still watching it when dawn crept into the sky and sleep didn’t reclaim him until the sun crested the trees in the east.

  ~

  The steel door creaked and Rachel tensed, coming out of the half sleep she’d been in.

  Her attempts at staying awake to watch Ken had worked until he’d fallen asleep again after crying for nearly an hour, his small face pressed against the barrier that separated them, her own hands rubbing the glass, tears streaming down her cheeks. Helpless. When he’d finally nodded off, his face turned away from her on the bed, she’d searched the room, looking for a camera. The ceiling was seamless concrete but for the small vents. The floor was smooth, nothing but dust. The three walls that weren’t glass had no openings and no fissures that could hide even the smallest camera. Her bedding was one piece, the frame bolted to the floor. The door had no holes or glass eyelets. She’d even checked the toilet.

  The room seemed to be unwatched.

  So she’d waited in the corner closest to the door, her knees locked straight to hold her up. She’d drifted, not sleeping, not awake, between the two, hovering like a ghost. But the squeal of the door opening brought her fully out of rest.

  When the door came all the way open she readied herself, her breath held, heart slamming so loud she knew it would be audible to anyone nearby. Her hands were talons at her sides, every muscle strained to the point of tearing.

  Adam stepped into the room, swaying a little like a tall tree in a breeze. She waited a beat as he looked around the room, a glaze of puzzlement coating his rounded features. A second too late he realized his error.

  Rachel stepped forward and jabbed her hand toward his face.

  Her fingernails skidded up his cheek and tore into his left eye. Blood welled out and dropped onto the floor as Adam released a screech and stumbled away. One of his fists came out automatically and cuffed the side of her head. Her vision doubled, tripled and then came back to normal.

  “Oh bitch! You bitch!”

  He turned in her direction but she was already moving. Through the doorway and into the dimly lit hall. She grasped the steel and spun, whipping the door shut. Adam was there, his arm outstretched but his reflexes were slowed by pain and the lack of sight on his left side. The door came shut on the meaty part of his hand. Rachel threw her weight against it and Adam howled on the opposite side, but didn’t pull his hand away. He began to push back.

  She pressed her shoulder against the door, digging with her bare feet against the smooth floor, sliding. She shoved harder, her teeth gritted to points of pain, tears pouring from her eyes. Her feet skidded more and she saw her only chance.

  Rachel leaned forward and bit down on Adam’s exposed fingers.

  The pressure from the other side of the door disappeared and he screamed as she bit through skin and muscle, her teeth stopping against bone. He yanked his hand away, peeling back the layers of flesh as it went. Blood flowed into her mouth and she gagged but pushed hard one last time and heard the door click home, an electronic lock engaging near the handle.

  She sagged, spitting blood, as her muscles turned from stone to liquid in between breaths. Before she could fall, she pulled herself upright and hobbled down the corridor. Adam pounded against the door, his screams and exertions muffled to an almost imperceptible level. When she came to Ken’s cell, she stopped, her hand triggering the door handle over and over. It flopped bonelessly down and up. She stepped back, searching for an external locking mechanism, but there was nothing but a card reading slot and a small, oblong hole.

  “No,” she said, her voice scratching out along the hall.

  Behind the door, Ken began to cry.

  “No, no, no,” she moaned. Her fingers scrabbled along the door’s edge and back down to the lock.

  “You’re dead, bitch! So’s your son!” Adam yelled.

  She started down the hallway again, glancing at the ceiling. There were more doors lining both sides of the passage, all of them closed. There were no windows. She ran, her feet slapping the floor as the cells flew past. The end of the corridor approached with another sealed door. She pulled on its handle before turning back the way she’d come.

  She jogged past Ken’s door, past her own where Adam railed on, shouting threats in a nonstop flow. The hall turned left in a ninety-degree angle and a door with a small porthole stood at its end. The porthole was a circle of light amidst the dingy gray steel. She walked toward it, squinting against the brightness. She neared it and reached out to the door handle. It flopped uselessly like all the others. A sob broke free of her throat and she pushed hard against the barrier. It didn’t move. Bringing her face up to the porthole, she looked in.

  And froze.

  The sight caught her so off guard, she didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind her.

  A sharp jab of pain landed between her shoulder blades and she cried out, trying to turn. But her legs wouldn’t hold her and she fell, crumpling into a heap, a rope pooling in on itself. The back of her head rapped off the door and her eyelids flickered, flashes of film on a high-speed movie, the man coming toward her, holding a tubular, black device. A smell in the air, so familiar and warm, she almost smiled as she inhaled, the hallway narrowing and then expanding. The man came closer, kneeling before her and his features taking on definition. This time she recognized his face, the familiarity of before solidifying into memory.

  “I know you,” she said, trying to raise a hand.

  “No,” he said. “You only think you do.”

  The light in the hall diminished and then snuffed out altogether.

  Chapter 31

  Gray sat on the wooden bench outside the building.

  The shade provided by the sheriff’s department crept closer to where he sat, a hard line of light that was already heating the air into something barely breathable. He triggered the nebulizer into his mouth and then exchanged it for one of the two cups of coffee beside him.

  A cruiser rounded the corner up the street and glided to a stop at the curb. Ruthers climbed out from inside and came striding up the front walk.

  “Morning Joseph.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “Just morning will do.”

  “Yes sir.” Ruthers sat down beside
him, glancing at the extra steaming cup of dark liquid. “Why are you out here and not in your office?”

  “That building is just one big brick oven. You know what they used to cook pizzas in?”

  “No, but I can guess.”

  “I don’t know how Mary Jo can stand it. She’s not even sweating in there.”

  “She was sweating last night dancing with old Greg Taylor, mole and all.”

  Gray glanced at the deputy and chuckled. “Well that’s two happy couples tallied up.”

  Ruthers dropped his eyes to the brown grass, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It was a nice night.”

  “I’m glad you had fun. Going to see one another again?”

  “Tomorrow evening. A movie, I think.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yep.”

  “That coffee’s for you.”

  “I just got over my headache, Sheriff, I can’t drink that.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Is that the report from Hudson’s autopsy?” Ruthers said, motioning to a slim file beneath the full cup.

  “Sure is.”

  “Mind if I take a peek?”

  “Peek away.”

  Ruthers opened the folder and read for ten minutes in silence as Gray sipped his coffee. A car rolled by, the morning sun bright on its windows.

  Ruthers set the file back on the bench. “No surprises there.”

  “Nope.”

  “I assume the DA will be wanting this closed out?”

  “You assume right, the necessary files came through this morning.”

  “So what can we do?”

  Gray stood, slinging the last dregs of his coffee onto the dead lawn. “We keep our eyes open. Other than that, nothing.”

  “Do you think there’s a possibility that Hudson did take Joslyn and Rachel along with her son? Maybe buried them somewhere on his property?”

  “Do you?” Gray said, peering out from beneath the bill of his hat.

  Ruthers chewed on the inside of his lip. “No.”