Children of the Dark

by Jonathan Janz

  Still, the closer we got to the edge of the forest, the more restless I became. The beast wouldn’t be content with its kill. It would be coming for us.

  Detective Wood insisted I stay ahead of him. This might not sound like a big deal, but to me it was. It was an adult putting my own wellbeing ahead of his own, a grown man acting like a grown man.

  “Careful now,” he said as we pelted toward a bend in the trail, a gradual decline that threaded its way through a thicket of pine trees. I felt a hand on my shoulder, firm but not rough. I was amazed he’d not only been able to keep up with me—I’d been sprinting with the fuel of mind-shattering terror—but by the fact that he didn’t seem winded at all. The trail was narrow, but as we slowed, he was able to brush past me with little effort. “Better let me lead. That thing might try to head us off,” he explained.

  The rain was still spitting uncontrollably, but the thunder sounded a little more distant. “You have kids?” I asked him.

  “Three,” he whispered. “Now shut up and let me concentrate so I can live to see them again.”

  He waded into the murk, the gun strafing the woods. Every few seconds he’d shoot a glance behind us, his eyes constantly scouring the rain-swept forest for the beast. It would be wrong to say I felt safe at that moment, but Wood’s stalwart presence did give me hope.

  He took a couple more steps, then halted, his eyes widening. He whispered, “You hear something?”

  I shook my head, shivered. I wished he’d keep moving. The pine boughs surrounding us were shifting and bouncing with the wind and rain, and I considered it the perfect place for the creature to ambush us. If it stole through the grove of pines, we wouldn’t see it until it was upon us.

  “Okay,” Wood said and licked his lips. “When I say go, you go. I’ll take the rear again.” He threw a nod ahead. “This’ll take us to your house, right?”

  I nodded. “It’s not far.”

  “Good.” He squinted down the trail. Rain dripped from his nose. “This looks like it opens up after the pines. That correct?”

  I nodded again.

  He frowned. “That means we’ll be exposed once we’re out of these trees. I want you to take off running and promise not to stop for anything. If that son of a bitch gets me, it gets me. You keep going, all right? You call 911, tell them what happened, and have them contact Jack Shaeffer from the state police post. He’ll know what to do. Don’t even bother with those local assholes.”

  I managed a smile. Of all the things Wood had to worry about, my enlisting Bryce Cavanaugh and his deputies for help was the least likely of them.

  “Okay,” Wood said. “You ready?”

  I nodded, not feeling ready at all.

  “Run,” he commanded.

  I ran.

  I ran so fast and hard that I nearly face-planted in the middle of the trail. I almost overbalanced, got control, and pelted on. Several times I nearly went down. The earth was slick and muddy from all the rain, and I wasn’t exactly behaving rationally. This sounds terrible, I know, but I was fully committed to Wood’s plan of not stopping for anything. I liked the guy and all, but I wanted to live, and scampering like a terrified rabbit seemed the best means of achieving that end.

  It took me almost no time to reach my backyard.

  I didn’t spare a backward glance until I was halfway across my yard, and when I did I was heartened to see Wood emerging from the forest. He was throwing glances over his shoulder, perhaps feeling, as I did, that our escape was too good to be true.

  I spotted Mom’s car in the driveway, which meant she’d returned from dropping off Peach at the Wallaces.

  Good luck explaining all this to her, I thought. She’d never believe our story about the beast. Or, I thought with a clenching of the gut, the gory murders.

  I climbed the back porch, opened the screen door, and waited for Wood. Moving swiftly, he approached the porch, mounted it, and shepherded me inside. No sooner was the screen door groaning shut than he was whipping the wooden door closed behind it and twisting the lock. I didn’t think the lock would keep that creature out, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Where’s your phone?” he asked.

  “Right through here,” I said, rushing into the living room.

  “Need to get ahold of Jack first,” Wood murmured to himself. “Then we’ll notify the…oh my God.”

  Across the room from us, a man pressed a gun to my mom’s temple.

  I’d seen his face a hundred times on TV, online…

  …old newspaper clippings in my basement.

  The Moonlight Killer grinned at us.

  “Put down the gun,” Carl Padgett said.

  For a long moment, no one moved. I couldn’t even breathe.

  Then Detective Wood obliged, placed the gun on the carpet at his feet. “Now just calm down,” he said. “No one needs to get hurt.”

  “Except you,” Padgett said and turned the gun on Wood. Padgett squeezed the trigger three times, the gunshots impossibly loud in the small room. Wood’s body jarred, tottered, then tumbled backward and thumped lifelessly to the floor.

  I choked back a scream, unable to process what I’d just seen. No, I thought, the horror of the moment digging in. No. I gaped at Wood’s hemorrhaging chest, the trickle of blood seeping from between his open lips. He didn’t deserve this, was too good a man to die this way. I thought of his kids, felt a sob rising in my throat.

  “Don’t look so surprised, boy,” Padgett said. His voice was an obscene mixture of merriment and malice. “These pricks who become cops, they deserve anything they get. This here—” he said with a nod at Wood “—this is just a black piece of garbage.”

  My lips trembled, but I fought back the tears. I couldn’t let Padgett see me cry. He turned the gun on me. “Maybe you want to see how it feels too?” he said. “Huh, boy? Wanna feel the cool kiss of death?”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Mom said, but her voice was small, frail.

  “‘Don’t hurt him,’” Padgett whined in a tremulous falsetto. “Maybe I should do you instead, huh?”

  He aimed the gun at my mom.

  “Let her go!” I shouted. I took a step toward them, acutely aware of the dead cop spread-eagled on the floor beside me. Wood deserved better. He deserved a medal, not a bloody death.

  The gun darted toward me. “That’s close enough, Will.”

  I frowned. “How do you know my name?”

  Padgett’s expression morphed into something even uglier, something ancient and vile and dripping with venom. “Why dontcha tell him?” Padgett said. “Why dontcha tell him the truth?”

  “Please don’t,” my mom whispered.

  I looked from Mom to Padgett and back to Mom. “What’s he talking about?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing, Will. He’s just—”

  “I’m talking,” Padgett interrupted, “about the fact that your mother had your name changed when you were a baby.”

  Mom squirmed in Padgett’s grip, but he squeezed her arm hard enough to make her whimper.

  “Don’t hurt her!” I yelled.

  Padgett looked at me, delighted. “Ahhh,” he said, nodding. “So the kid does have some balls. And here I thought you were some faggoty mama’s boy.”

  I clenched my fists. “Shut up.”

  “That’s more like it, kiddo.”

  “Don’t make him mad, Will,” my mom said.

  “I’m not afraid of him,” I lied.

  “You don’t see it yet, do you?” Padgett said.

  I paused, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest. But my mind was racing. “See what?” I asked. But I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

  Mom’s voice teetered on the edge of panic. “Carl, please don’t—”

  I was growing panicked too, my breath coming in thin sips. “What’s he talking about, Mom?”

  “I’m talking,” he said, “about your real name. William Marcus Padgett?”

  My mouth fell open.

  His black eyes gli
ttered. “Be happy, kiddo. Your daddy’s one of the most famous criminals in American history.”

  PART THREE

  THE MOONLIGHT KILLER

  Chapter Ten

  The Cistern, the Drive, and the Gruesome Discovery

  “I don’t believe you,” I said.

  Padgett chuckled, the gun waggling a trifle too much in his big hand.

  Swaying too close to my mom’s head.

  Don’t hurt her, I thought. If ever I’d doubted my feelings for my mom, those doubts were erased as I watched the gun waver toward her head, hover, then swing away. Each time the barrel swept past her eyes, her pale cheeks, my mind leapt with terror. The man clutching my mother was a monster, a butcher and defiler of children.

  And adults, I amended. How stupid I’d been to think he only preyed on kids. He’d slaughtered those prison guards and the owner of the SUV in which he’d made his getaway, then he’d killed Kylie Ann Lubeck. And then…and then…

  With an effort, I forced myself to gaze down at Detective Wood.

  Who lay sprawled in a lake of his own blood.

  The carpet beneath him had formerly been a cheerless beige, but now Wood was surrounded by a wine-colored penumbra. Staring at his moveless body, I could almost believe this good, brave man was only resting. But when my eyes happened on the ragged splotches on his chest, the places where Padgett’s bullets had punctured Wood’s blue shirt, I knew he wasn’t resting.

  I knew he’d never see his three children again.

  I bit down on a sob. Outside, the rain and wind buffeted the house.

  “Ah, don’t take it too hard, kiddo,” Padgett said. “Pigs like him, they can be replaced easily. There’s always some other pig ready to take his place.”

  “Shut up,” I whispered.

  “Guys like our state cop here, they figure they’re right, and that belief will protect them from guys like me.” Padgett smiled a flinty smile. “But guys like me are the real enforcers. We’re the doers. We’re the ones who come out on top, the guys who get to live.” His smile broadened. “The guys who get the girl.”

  My hands bunched into fists. “Shut your mouth!” I hated the sound of my voice, which had risen hysterically, but I couldn’t help it. Because I knew what he was talking about, knew it and refused to face it. The horrible, disgusting truth.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Padgett nodded. “I don’t blame your mama for keeping it secret, Will. I don’t have the greatest reputation.”

  “You’re a pedophile and a child killer,” I said.

  I thought that would infuriate him, but he only watched me evenly. “That’s between me and my darlings. What I want to know is how it feels to have a famous daddy.”

  “Stop,” Mom pleaded. “Just—”

  But the rest of it died the moment he shoved the gun against her head. I took an involuntary step forward, but Padgett didn’t notice.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, woman,” he snarled. “Don’t ever tell me what to do.”

  She closed her eyes, tears streaming from beneath her lids.

  Padgett said, “Why don’t you tell our son here how we met? That’d be a nice way to pass the time before I throw your ass in the basement.”

  Her eyes shot wide.

  I moved forward, extended an arm. “You can’t—”

  The gun swung toward me, the barrel pointing straight between my eyes. I was sure at that moment I was dead. Padgett would shoot me and he’d shoot Mom, and then he’d bury us with Detective Wood in the graveyard.

  I had to distract him. I said the first thing that popped into my head. “I thought you were in Indianapolis.”

  Padgett tossed back his head and crowed laughter. His laugh reminded me of a possessed donkey, a loud, strident braying that set my teeth on edge.

  I felt a flush of anger. “What the hell’s so funny?”

  He wiped a tear from his eye, slowly got control of himself. “You know, it’s the damnedest thing. Sometimes luck is on your side, you know? I got to Shadeland on the night I escaped, and I’ve been here ever since. But people are so skittish, and communication’s so fast these days…all it takes is one frightened grandma, and you’ve got reports of Carl Padgett sightings all the way from here to Texas. And the whole time I was holed up in the Hollow.”

  A chill took hold of me. He’d been here the whole time? In the woods behind my house?

  “That’s right, kiddo,” he said, studying me. “I saw those fellas beat up on you.”

  I gaped at him. “You were there?”

  He nodded. “And I watched you stand there and take it.”

  Before I could answer, Mom said, “Will, there’s something you need to know about Peach.”

  Padgett’s face went hard, his eyes and nostrils doubling in size, and he shoved the point of the gun against her ear.

  I started forward, but Padgett growled, “Sit your ass on the couch unless you want me to paint this room with your mama’s brains.”

  I complied.

  “So after I got to Shadeland,” he went on conversationally, “I cased the town and found it pretty much the way I’d left it.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘left it’?” You’re not from here, you’re from Bedford.”

  “Ah,” he said. “That.” He brought his lips revoltingly close to Mom’s ear and said, “Maybe you should tell him that part, honey.”

  My stomach roiled at the word honey, but I forced myself to ask, “What’s he talking about?”

  “He…,” Mom said, her voice tremulous and so brittle it sounded like it would shatter. “He…”

  “Well, hell,” Padgett said. “Since your mama here’s lost her tongue, I might as well tell it. I used to do a lot of work here. I probably built half the buildings in this town. And I got to know several of the local ladies.”

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  Padgett smiled, unabashed. “See, to you I’m a monster. The boogeyman. You can’t imagine your mom falling for me.” He tipped me a lewd wink. “But she did, Son. They all did. For a while I had my run of the place. More pussy than I could handle. Whether they were single or married, they were linin’ up to get serviced by Mr. Carl Padgett.”

  I couldn’t take it. “No woman could stand you. I can smell you from here.”

  “You know it’s true, boy. I can see it in your eyes. And speaking of your eyes, they’re mine. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  My legs tingled. My bowels churned. It was as if my entire body was revolting at the idea of carrying Carl Padgett’s genes.

  “Yep,” Padgett said, eyeing me steadily, “you favor me more’n your mom. Got my eyes, my chin. Hell, the same wiry build. But if you develop your physique, kiddo, you’ll be the strongest guy around. Just like your daddy.”

  “Stop saying that!” I shouted.

  “It’s the truth,” he said. “Anyway, I had so many good times in Shadeland, this place felt more like home than anywhere else.”

  “If you spent so much time here,” I said, “why doesn’t anyone ever talk about you?”

  “You know how people are, Will. If I was some rock star or sports hero, they’d gladly claim me. Probably name a street after old Carl Padgett. But a murderer? Hell, they probably don’t even admit to themselves I ever spent time here.” He pitched a deep sigh. “But Will, I can’t tell you how good it felt to come back. To see your mama’s cute little ass again.”

  Before I could answer, he stood up, dragged my mom to her feet, and nodded toward the kitchen doorway. “Now, how ‘bout we all head to the basement. There’s something down there I need to show you.”

  ¨

  When I glimpsed the heap of newspaper clippings, I felt a tug of foreboding. I don’t know why, but I was mad at myself and mad at Mom for not stuffing them back into the box. It was just like us, I reflected, to leave a loose end like that. Mom made a habit of being lazy, and apparently I was adopting that trait as well.

  But why, I wondered, should I c
are if Carl Padgett discovered the newspaper articles? What possible ill could come of it?

  Just as I knew he would, Padgett spotted the spill of papers on the far side of the basement. Turning his back to us, he strode over, bent, and retrieved some clippings.

  His face spread into a look of real joy. “Why Michelle! I didn’t think you cared enough to save these.”

  I glanced at my mom. She looked like she’d swallowed a rotten oyster.

  He shuffled through the articles, examining each in turn. “Jeeee-zusss,” he said, shaking his head. “This is just like taking a time machine back to the years I spent here. There’s me at the Baptist church dedication. There’s me at the—” Padgett’s expression changed, his voice going stony. “Wait a second.”

  He turned to Mom and held up a clipping for her to see. “Ted Dexter? You’ve got the nerve to have this little worm’s picture in your house?”

  The moment was so surreal I felt like I was watching a movie. Here was Carl Padgett, a warped, depraved psycho, berating my mother for keeping an article about a man she’d known years ago.

  Mom’s chest hitched, a pitiful little sob escaping her lips. “He was…Audrey’s dad.”

  I could only stare at her. I’d always wondered who our fathers were. I just never imagined Peach’s dad would be an insurance salesman.

  Or mine a child-killing cannibal.

  Padgett’s face went livid with rage. “You’re a sad, pitiful excuse for a woman, Michelle. You spread your legs for that loser? I’m surprised Will still calls you his mama.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I strode forward and swung at Padgett.

  Who feinted to the left like he’d known what was coming. My fist whooshed harmlessly by his face, and then he unloaded with a hard-fisted blow to my stomach that lifted me a foot off the ground and left me lying on the concrete gasping for air.

  For a time, all I was aware of was the sound of Padgett doing something to my mom. He wasn’t hurting her—at least it didn’t sound like it—but she was asking him hushed questions, which meant he was doing something that scared her.