Evil Heights, Book IV: In the Pit

by Michael Swanson

  Anger flooded through Lee, this man was a grown up, but he wasn't that much larger. Rage taking hold, he swung back with a right, which smacked solidly into Ridley's cheek. Lee followed with a low left drawing upon the strength in his shoulder, and drove his fist up into Ridley's solar plexus. Ridley doubled over, collapsing to the floor on all fours.

  Standing above, Lee ground his teeth, that ass wipe on the ground was his. It was his turn. “Do it!” Roared out in his head. “Do it! Kill him! Kick his brains in! Crush his skull! Do it!!"

  Lee could feel the power in his foot. The man's vulnerability was begging him, pleading for it. He could feel how delicious the blows would be, could see him take it in the face, the teeth would cave in, and the bones would crush.

  "Do it, now!!” roared in his ears.

  Lee obeyed, swinging his right foot up, full force, his sneaker catching Ridley smack on the left side of his face.

  Ridley was flipped over by the violence of the impact. He collapsed into the baseboard, blood streaming from a horrid cut across his eye.

  The house shivered with delight. “Now! Do it now! Hurt him! Hurt him while you can!” It seemed to ring out. “Again!” It screamed. “Kick him again!"

  Lee was just about to do it when he caught himself. Seeing Ridley helpless the anger melted out of him, and he fell back, stumbling out of the door and falling on the grass just outside. Dazed, Lee had to clear his mind. That awful smell, it was back. He could taste it, thick and bloody. He'd had a mouthful. It was awful. He drew in his cheeks and spit, but it didn't do any good.

  Ridley pulled up on his knees, holding his crotch with one hand, and supporting himself with the other, grimly grabbing onto the card table. He was blowing in and out, his lips puffing with each tremendous breath, and his right eye was yellow, the left bloody and closed.

  Lee felt frozen, as if in a dream. This had all happened so quickly. He was scared and shaky, not so much from the sudden violence of the fight, but from what he'd felt take hold of him inside. He knew he'd almost given in. And he knew that was what it had wanted.

  Ridley spat at him. “Trespassing.” He had to drawn in and out another breath. “Assault.” He blew out again. “You better run, boy. You just better run."

  Lee looked at the little man squarely. He was in the little house less than ten feet away. With the look in Ridley's eyes, Lee jumped up. His feet barely under him, he was flying amongst the roses, rounding the corner of the house, and tearing between the rows of cherry trees, the world in a blur.

  He emerged out of the trees back at his own house, not even aware of how far or fast he'd run. He slowed, almost tripping by the magnolia tree, catching a toe in the grass. Winded from the intense sprint, he bent low, swinging his right arm back and forth, blowing in and out, sweat stinging his eyes.

  Walking around, little by little he calmed down. It helped to just walk. His ear was still ringing, and there was no doubt he was going to have a black eye. The cheek was already puffy, and he couldn't see so well as the eye wouldn't stop watering. He touched gingerly around the sore spot. It wasn't his worse. He knew he'd been hit harder before. Jeff Mock had a much better right than Ridley Ballard.

  He was aware that he'd lost the eye. It was somewhere on the floor of the little house. He knew it. He also knew he wasn't going back.

  Still catching his breath and coming around in front of the magnolia, Lee could see the Riley house. The black Cadillac was back in the drive.

  Lee took a moment to go over to the garden hose under the oleanders around the side of the house. He took off his t-shirt, laying it out on the bush by the wall, then turned on the faucet and let the cold, clear water run over his head. Standing up and shaking like a dog, he used his fingers to rub the water off around his eyes. Finally, he took a long, delicious drink, gulping it down and feeling the chill wash down the inside of his ribs.

  He was already thinking, mulling over the various possibilities. “Would Ridley call the police and report him as a burglar? No, he didn't think so.” Next he realized there couldn't be any way that Ridley could even know who he was. He then remembered the red bow on the floor and what Porter had said about him appearing in town and the girls disappearing. Suddenly, he thought about, perhaps he should be the one to call the police?

  Lee heard a car coming up the road and saw the black Chevy turn slowly into his drive. It was Javier. Lee picked up his shirt from the bush and trotted over to the passenger side window.

  Lee waved, calling out, “Buenos dias."

  Javier reached out his hand through the window offering to shake. “Not bad. Not bad. You almost sound Mexican.” There was that “Jew” again.

  Lee took Javier's offered hand, giving it a good shake. “I guess you got Porter's note."

  "Gracias,” Javier replied. “I was surprised he remembered me."

  "I think Porter remembers pretty much everything,” Lee came back. “Was the note important?"

  "That's one reason I stopped. I came by yesterday, but no one was here."

  Lee put his hand on the door. “We were probably at the hospital.” He could see Javier's next question coming, so he said, “Nothing serious, my step mom cut her hand is all."

  Javier nodded. “From the look of that eye you've got there, I though maybe something had happened to you."

  Lee leaned down to look at his reflection in the side view mirror. There was no mistaking he had the beginnings of a really good shiner.

  "I fell off my bike,” he said looking back up.

  "Yeah, right,” Javier replied, leaning over, scooting around in the seat. “That note from Porter, did you read it?"

  Lee shook his head. “All I could understand was amigo."

  Javier reached up into his front pocket and pulled out the corner of newsprint. “It says, more or less, that a storm is coming, and I should get out of town."

  Lee was genuinely surprised.

  Javier dangled the note. “Did Porter say anything more to you?"

  Lee shook his head again. “We talked about a lot of stuff, including Osia."

  "Did you know there actually is a storm in the Gulf?” Javier asked.

  Lee nodded. “They talked about it on the news, and it was in the paper. I think they said it'll probably hit around Gulfport but it could even go in at Pensacola."

  "You never know with hurricanes,” Javier winked. “That's why they name them after women, because they're so unpredictable."

  "In any case,” Lee offered, “We're a long way in from the coast."

  Javier looked out of the window, turning his head up to look at the sky. “It is getting cloudy. Still, Porter could have meant a lot of things in using the word storm."

  Lee looked up. He hadn't noticed that the sun and blue sky of an hour ago was gone.

  "Hey!” Javier said quickly. “You haven't brought that sweet little chiquita of yours by for some cabrito. You been avoiding old Javier?” Jew and cabrito all in one sentence; the words rolled over in Lee's head.

  Lee frowned. “She had to go back home to Gatlinburg."

  It was Javier's turn to shake his head. Whatever it was he said in Spanish, Lee didn't need to know the words to understand a sharing of disappointment.

  Javier scooted around in the seat again and pulled the shifter back putting the car in reverse. “I'm going in to town to buy some candles and stuff for just in case. If it wasn't for Porter's note, I don't think I'd pay any attention, but—” He held up the scrap of paper and put it back in his pocket. “You should tell your parents to stock up, too."

  Lee took his hand off the car door and stepped back. “I will."

  Javier must have inched his foot off the clutch as the Chevy began rolling back. “You come over this Sunday; we'll talk about Porter."

  Lee waved. “Okay, I'll be there. Hasta ... hasta...” He couldn't think of the word, so he said it the best he could. “Hasta Sunday."

  Javier must have heard him as he was laughing when he drove away, heading towards town
down Seminole Road.

  Lee went back to the bush and put his shirt back on. Then he jogged across the street and into the Riley's yard. Before he was to the door, he heard the almost welcome sound of a baby crying.

  He pulled open the screen and knocked.

  It seemed like a long time, but the door finally opened. Lee thought he'd jump out of his shoes. There was Phoebe holding a tiny baby, which was staring back at him through dark, blank eyes.

  There was no mistaking the expression of delight in Phoebe's eyes. She stepped outside, still holding the baby in the crook of her left arm and the bottle in her right hand.

  "Lee! Oh, are you a sight for sore eyes. I thought for sure you'd be mad at me. I hope you're not mad at me. You're not mad at me are you? It really wasn't my fault. Really it wasn't.” She was talking a mile a minute. “Uncle Reece went to the store. When he came back he told me to pack my bag, we're going home. He'd talked to my dad. I couldn't even come over and tell you. I'm so sorry. I wanted to come. I really was afraid you were going to be mad at me. You're not mad are you?” She reached out, touching his cheek, then asked, “What's the matter with your eye?"

  "I'm okay.” Lee couldn't help but grin. “I just had a little fight."

  She looked so concerned. “Does it hurt?"

  Lee was so aware of the softness of her touch. “Not much,” he said. “It's no big deal."

  She beamed at him. “I bet you won."

  Lee felt his cheeks and ears light up.

  As suddenly as she'd smiled at him, just as suddenly Phoebe's face darkened. “I'm leaving again tomorrow morning. We're bringing Aunt Darlene and the babies home with us. We're not coming back. I'm not ever gonna see you again."

  Lee's heart fell. What a roller coaster of a morning.

  Phoebe hefted the baby, turning her so she faced backward and had her mouth on the spit up rag over her shoulder. Holding the baby so expertly she smiled. “I do still have my blue dress with me."

  From the dregs of his emotional fall a second ago, Lee climbed back up to the top of the world.

  Phoebe must have been able to read every eager emotion on Lee's open book of a face. She added, “So I guess it's still okay with you?"

  "Okay? That'll be great. You have no idea.” He moved in to hug her, but the baby was in the way.

  She pushed him back with her limp-wristed shove and grinned, “Save it for tonight, lover boy."

  Lee suddenly remembered what he'd gone through the last time expecting her in not knowing what to do or not do to signal her. “Hey, I'll turn the porch light off when my parents go to bed. When you see it's off, you'll know it's okay."

  She nodded. “That sounds good. I can see your porch light from my bedroom window.

  The baby hiccupped and spit up stuff that looked like bubbly, white glue.

  "Pretty gross, huh?” Phoebe said, taking a corner of the towel to wipe the infant's mouth.

  Lee tried not to look. “Any word about Evie?"

  Phoebe shook her head. “I think Aunt Darlene's about crazy. We couldn't leave her here alone. You should've seen what the babies looked like when we got here. I don't think Aunt Darlene had changed ‘em since we'd left.

  Lee wrinkled his nose. “That's sounds pretty bad."

  Phoebe did the same, still shaking her head. “You have no idea."

  Lee remembered Aunt Darlene as the woman who'd screamed at him with her shirt open and dried vomit on her chest, offering a sincere, “It's a good thing y'all came back."

  Phoebe nodded.

  "Look, I've got lots to do. I've got to get the baby's stuff ready, so Uncle Reece can pack it up in the car tonight. Here,” she said leaning forward and planting a little kiss on his lips. “That's on account."

  Lee started to put his hands up to hug her, but the baby was still in the way.

  She pulled the screen door open, but stayed out on the walkway. “I'll be there Lee. You can count on it."

  When she'd gone back in, Lee flew across the road, leaping full up onto the porch. He did an excited spin before the door, his sneakers squealing out on the polished boards. This is too much! he thought, grabbing the knob to go inside. And he was so excited he had completely forgotten about his sore eye.

  In the afternoon, Lee was back at the unfinished duck pond. The sky had grown dark, pendulous clouds hung low and were mixing about turbulently. Lee remembered the word “pendulous” from last year's vocabulary. If ever there was a word that fit these clouds, that was it.

  He'd made sandwiches for lunch, and of course, Maggie had noticed his eye right off when they were all at the table.

  Patty had been sympathetic, but Maggie had not. After giving him a thorough lecture on the evils of fighting she brought to his attention something he hadn't noticed. The front picture window was streaked with greasy handprints and finger marks from corner to corner. She demanded to know what could have possibly happened to have made such a mess. Waving her bandaged hand around, she hollered at him about how irresponsible he was, how inconsiderate, how ... until he decided it would be better to just go outside and work off some steam.

  Standing in the deep hole, Lee swung the pickaxe down, breaking out chunks of the yellowish limestone. The color reminded him of Ridley Ballard's teeth. And as he worked he kept reliving the fight over and over.

  While Lee kept at it, Flapjack kept watch, tucked in under the hedges. He had been acting peculiar all afternoon and Lee had noticed that once again his chicken feed hadn't been touched.

  After about a half-hour, Lee took a break, going over to the garden hose by the stoop and sitting down to take a drink from the spigot at the end. Holding the end up under his mouth’ he let the water burble out rising it and falling back on itself, just as it did from the faucets at school.

  "Hey boy. Hey you silly duck,” Lee said to the white face peering out at him. “What you doin’ hidin’ under those bushes?"

  Lee took another long drink then twisted the spigot closed.

  "How come you haven't been eatin’ your food?"

  Flapjack didn't answer. He stayed down low under the branches but did waddle forward, his eyes, as always, eager when Lee would talk to him.

  Lee though about giving him a squirt, but the odd way the duck was hunkered down, he felt for once it wouldn't be appreciated. He decided to take another last drink and then went back to the pickaxe.

  The limestone was hard but crumbly. Lee might give it three or four resoundingly good whacks with nothing to show for it, and then on the next one a huge chunk would break away. The hole was already a good size. He figured Patty might even be able to squeeze through.

  Lee had gotten down on his knees and attempted to peer inside, but all he could see for now was inky darkness. “It's a shame it was so cloudy,” he thought. Still, he was sure it wasn't some kind of bottomless pit, since he had seen Flapjack come out.

  As he worked, the wind began to pick up. The lower branches, even some of the larger ones, had begun to toss around, straining back and forth in the gusts. Chunk after chunk began to fall away. The work was going more quickly now, perhaps the constant pounding had weakened the surrounding stone.

  Determined, and his hands starting to blister, he brought the heavy iron pick back up, stretching out his arms, and let it fall. A chunk the size of a trash can lid broke off and fell away, letting in enough light so that he could see the cave entrance did indeed have a floor. As well, he was sure now, that he could squeeze through without too much trouble.

  Lee dropped the pickaxe. He squatted down, then pushed his legs through, and shimming with his hips, all he had to do was turn his shoulders sideways, and he was inside. The floor of the entrance was about ten feet below, but the angle of the wall made it simple to scoot down without falling in.

  It smelled like chalk, almost exactly the same as when he got to go outside at school and pound the erasers. But it was wet, too. And there was definitely a soggy, green smell that must be associated with the dripping he could hear way of
f in the dark.

  He moved down some more, his eyes adjusting quickly. He'd broken through near the upper corner of a chamber about half the size of their living room. To his right he could see that it narrowed down almost to nothing. To his left it was apparent a natural cleft or tunnel stretched away, much further than he was willing to explore without a light.

  Scrabbling, using his hands and feet he worked his way back out and was once again in his own backyard.

  Lee ran inside. Maggie was in the kitchen one handedly fumbling with a pot. From the scowl on her face as she held her Kool between her lips Lee realized he'd better look elsewhere for the flashlight.

  Patty was back in the corner of the den listening to the record player, her feet in the air with a slew of record jackets strewn about on the rug.

  "Hey, Squirt.” He was still panting excitedly. “You know where dad's new flashlight is?"

  Without saying a word, she arched her arm out, the elbow locked and only moving it from her shoulder as she pointed back to the hutch.

  Lee walked over and opened one drawer, then another, and finally another before the flashlight rolled into view. When he turned to go back outside, Maggie was glaring at him from the kitchen doorway.

  "What are you doing in this house all filthy again?"

  Lee held his hand up. “I needed the flashlight."

  Maggie, that cigarette still dangling from her lips, put one hand on her hip and leaned into the frame with her elbow, and tried to run her bandaged hand through her hair. “Lee, I don't know what we're gonna do with you. You're always a mess, even worse than when you were a baby. You're not even out of the house for an hour this morning, and you get into some kind of a fight. And even your father told you not to go out digging in that god-awful hole in the middle of the day."

  "But it's not hot,” Lee protested. “Dad said for me not to go out and work on Flapjack's pond when it's hot."

  Maggie drew her elbow in and stood up straight. She took her Kool from her lips and appraised the long ash. “You're father is gonna be home in about a half-hour. Dinner'll be ready then. It's time for you to quit foolin’ around out there and get cleaned up. You're gonna have some explaining to do after I've talked to your father."