A Blood Thing

by James Hankins

  Even over the gunfire erupting from his video game assault rifle, Tyler heard the beep of the timer Molly had set and placed on the table right beside his chair: 8:55 p.m. He’d told her he didn’t need a timer. He would remember. He knew how important this was.

  Still, he sighed as he paused his game, then walked across the room to stand near the stupid thing so it could talk to his stupid ankle monitor and tell whoever was paying attention to it that he was home, like he was supposed to be.

  The sudden silence in the house after so much noise was always weird to him, every time he stopped playing one of his games.

  He stood next to the machine, looking at the little screen. Finally, the words Reading Device appeared. A few seconds later, he was free to go back to his Smilin’ Jack game and continue shooting his way through that Vietnamese jungle.

  He picked up the game controller and was about to sit again when he heard a sound come from somewhere in the otherwise quiet house, a sound different from the usual ones. He didn’t know what it was, but something about it made him want to find out. He snuck a look at the game paused on the screen. Jack Smiley would be there waiting for him when he got back.

  He walked down the hall, toward the front of the house. No one in the rooms there. Back down the hall again, past the sitting room on his left, his TV room on his right, the dining room on his left. No one there, either. He walked into the kitchen.

  No one.

  He was about to give up and get back to his game when he heard another sound, definitely coming from upstairs. He called up the back staircase—loudly, because Julie was all the way on the third floor. “Julie!”

  No answer.

  He called again.

  No answer.

  With a longing look down the hall toward the doorway to the TV room, he started up the steps. There were a lot of them. His room was on the second floor, so when he wanted to go to bed, he only had to go up one flight of stairs, but Julie had to go up two flights. Every time. If he was her, he’d ask them to put in an elevator to take her up and down. No, even better: an elevator to take her up and a really long fireman’s pole to take her down. That would be fun.

  Now he wanted a fireman’s pole from his room to the first floor. Molly would say no because they’d have to cut a hole in his floor or something, but he decided to ask for one anyway.

  When he reached the top of the steps, he saw that the door to Julie’s rooms was a little bit open.

  “Julie?”

  She didn’t answer, so he pushed open the door.

  “Hello?” he said a little louder.

  He walked slowly through her sitting area, then her kitchenette, and stopped outside her partially open bedroom door.

  “Julie?” he said, more quietly this time.

  He heard a sound inside the room and gave the door a nudge. It opened slowly.

  Inside the room, Julie lay on the bed, on her back. She wasn’t wearing pants, only girlie underwear, and her T-shirt was pulled up, exposing her bra. Seeing her almost naked like that embarrassed Tyler. But he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t the undergarments that were making him stare, though, but the stab wounds on her chest, one a few inches above each lace-covered bra cup, and the long, bloody slice across her stomach, curving up on the ends like a grin. The wounds looked like those that Jack Smiley left on the enemies he killed in hand-to-hand combat in Tyler’s favorite video games. Only this wasn’t a game. It was real. That was really Julie lying there, bloody, maybe even dead. He blinked back tears. He liked Julie a lot.

  He should probably run, he realized. But that wouldn’t be brave. Cowards ran. Brave people didn’t, not unless they were chasing bad people. Besides, Julie might still be alive. She might need his help. He stepped over to the bed on legs that were a bit wobbly, then stared down at her, wondering what to do. He’d seen things like this on TV. He should put his fingers on the side of her neck. They did that on TV. But he didn’t want to, because what if she was dead? He didn’t want to touch her if she was dead. The problem was that he didn’t know if she was dead, and if she wasn’t, she needed his help. He reached toward her, leaning on the bed for support. The comforter under his hand was wet with blood, and Tyler almost turned and ran again, but he stayed brave. He put his fingers on her neck. Then he leaned down and put his ear near her mouth. He had to put both hands on the bloody comforter this time, which felt squishy and gross, but he leaned close. He figured he was checking for breath or something. While he was waiting to see if she was still alive, but figuring that she probably wasn’t, he heard a small whisper.

  She was alive! Holy cow.

  “Don’t worry, Julie. I’ll get help.”

  “Tyler . . .” she whispered right into his ear.

  “Yes?” he whispered back.

  “Run . . .”

  The door behind him closed suddenly, and he turned to see someone standing in front of it, only he was like no one Tyler had ever seen before. He was bigger than Tyler. He was wearing goggles and had a white mask that covered his whole head. In fact, he was wearing a white suit that covered his whole entire body under clothes that looked too small for him. He held a knife in one white-gloved hand, and there was blood on both of his gloves and on his clothes. The man’s bloody T-shirt, stretched tight over the white suit and across his chest, had the cover of a Beatles album on it. Abbey Road. Tyler used to have a shirt just like that. He hadn’t seen it in months.

  “You hurt Julie,” he said in a voice he fought to keep steady and strong, even though he was close to crying.

  “I think I did more than that,” the man in white said, and it was a little hard to understand him through his mask. “I think I killed her.”

  Tyler took a quick look at Julie, and though her eyes were still open, they looked different now. Like the eyes of a doll. Or a dead person on TV. He was really sad, really suddenly. Julie was always so nice.

  “Are you gonna kill me, too?” His voice wasn’t very brave that time. His knees weren’t very brave, either. They were shaking badly.

  “No, Tyler. But I think you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because everyone is going to think you killed Julie.”

  “I didn’t do it. You did.”

  “Yes, but they’ll think you did. They already think you killed Sally Graham, right?”

  Tyler nodded, and as he watched the man slip a pair of rubber gloves over his bloody white gloves, a thought came to him. “You killed her, too, didn’t you? Sally Graham. You’re the reason everyone thinks I’m a murderer.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about that, Tyler. But it’s too late to do anything about it now. At this point, you need to think about Julie’s murder. They already suspect you of stabbing one woman to death, so of course they’ll think it was you who did the same to another woman right in your own house, when no one else was home.”

  “I’ll tell them about you. That you did it. And you killed Sally Graham, too.”

  “Really, Tyler? You’ll tell them to pretty please believe that you’re not a killer, and the real killer is some guy wearing a white suit, dressed in your clothes? You think they’ll believe that? Or will they think it’s just some ridiculous story you’re telling to try to get yourself out of trouble?”

  He was right, Tyler realized. No one would believe him. They’d think he killed Sally Graham and Julie. He’d be in twice as much trouble. He’d never be able to prove his innocence at trial now. Not after this. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt a tear running down his cheek.

  “Here, take these,” the man said as he handed two items to Tyler, who was too surprised to refuse them. In one hand, he now held a bloody knife. In the other, he held a white plastic bag.

  “I don’t want them,” he said, dropping them on the floor. He blew out a shaky breath, closed his eyes, and lowered his chin to his chest. “What do I do?” he asked softly.

  He wasn’t really expecting an answer, just asking the question ou
t loud, but the man in the white suit responded. “You run.” Tyler looked up. “Run away, Tyler.”

  Run. It was the same thing Julie had told him to do right before she died. “I wouldn’t know where to go,” he said, shaking his head. “I ride my motorcycle around, visit other towns sometimes, but I never go too far away. Most of the time it’s just to the animal shelter or the high school. I wouldn’t have any money to buy food or anything. And I don’t even have my motorcycle, anyway. The police took it.”

  “That’s a tough break. But you know what? I could help you. I could give you a place to stay.”

  “You could?”

  “Sure. For a while, anyway. Until you figured out where you want to be in the long run.”

  “I wanna be here. At home.”

  “Of course you do, Tyler. But you’re not a dumb person, no matter what some people think, right? You’re smart enough to see that you can’t stay here. Everyone is going to find out about Julie soon. The police. Your brothers. Molly. They’ll all think you killed her. Maybe your family thought you were innocent with Sally Graham, but they’ll never believe you now. Not with two dead people you seem guilty of killing. No, you can’t stay here.”

  More tears formed in Tyler’s eyes. He couldn’t stop them.

  “You see that, don’t you, Tyler?”

  He nodded and sniffed. “You’d give me a place to stay for a while?”

  “I would.”

  Tyler had never been so confused in his life. This guy had killed Sally and Julie, so he was a terrible person. But he sounded calm and normal when he talked. He was even being kind of nice to Tyler, offering to help him. And what he was saying made a lot of sense.

  What should he do? What was the right thing? Never before had he wished so hard that he was smarter. Then something occurred to him. “I can’t leave. There’s a thing on my ankle. They know where I am all the time.”

  “I can take care of that. I have something with me I could use to cut it off. But when I do, you’ll have to be ready to move very fast, because as soon as it comes off, the cops will be on their way here. And we need to be long gone before they get here.”

  Tyler nodded. His head hurt. It was all happening too fast. Everything was changing. Could he leave his home, his family, forever?

  “I know you’re sad, Tyler, and I don’t want to make you feel worse, but have you considered the idea that Molly and Henry and Andy might be better off if you left?”

  “Wait . . . what? That’s not true. We’re family. They love me.” The man was wrong. He had to be wrong.

  “I’m not saying they don’t love you, Tyler. But think about it: Right now they have to worry about you. They have to deal with a trial. That’s going to cost them a lot of money. Plus they’re probably embarrassed about all of this. I know for a fact that Andy is having to do a lot of explaining to people about you. Don’t you think it would be a lot easier on them if you just disappeared?”

  Tyler was crying freely now. He didn’t bother trying to stop. The man in white was right. Tyler hadn’t wanted to admit it, but he’d seen evidence of it just a little while ago at dinner, when he realized that everyone looked tired and cranky lately, which had only started after he got arrested. And he heard about how people were mad at Andy, and that Henry got into trouble at work, and that too had happened after his arrest. Everything seemed to be going wrong since then. It was true, he realized with a terrible, achy feeling in his stomach. They’d all be better off without him. He had to leave.

  “You can get this thing off my ankle?”

  “I can.”

  Tyler thought for a moment longer, then said, “Okay.”

  He didn’t like relying on the man for help, and he sure didn’t want to live with him, even for a short time, but he couldn’t think of any options.

  “Do I have time to pack some things?”

  “We won’t cut your ankle monitor off until the very last possible moment, so that we’ll have more time before the police get here. And Molly won’t be home from school for at least another hour. We have a little time. Just give me a second to finish packing up my things,” he said as he picked up the white plastic bag, which Tyler saw had blood on it from where he had held it with his bloody hands. He couldn’t imagine why the man wanted it. He put it into a black canvas bag along with another white plastic bag. There was other stuff in the black bag, too, but Tyler couldn’t see what it was.

  “Okay, Tyler,” the man said as he zipped the bag closed. “Are you with me?”

  Tyler sniffed. “I guess.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  On the drive back to his apartment building, Henry wondered when someone affiliated with the state police would remember that he had been issued a state-owned vehicle, and more important, when that person would ask for it back. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford to buy a car of his own, but after turning in his badge, gun, and office keys, the Taurus was the last part of the job he had with him, and he wasn’t looking forward to giving it up. He also wondered briefly whether he should head straight home for the night or if he felt like trying to drown his troubles in beer at one of the dive bars he preferred, either Timberland Tom’s or the Village Tap. He realized quickly, though, that he wasn’t in the mood to run into anyone who knew him, and there was a good chance that everyone would know him if they’d watched the local news over the past day and a half. He had just decided to drive straight home when his cell phone rang.

  “I just got off the phone with our mystery caller,” Andrew said without preamble.

  “Again? Doesn’t that guy have anyone else to call? Somebody else he’s blackmailing? What did he say?”

  “Remember Judge Morgan Jeffers?”

  The name more than rang a bell. “Sure. Testified in his court two or three times.” He didn’t bother to add that he would have testified before the judge another time years ago in the trial of the man charged with the murder of Dave Bingham, if the accused hadn’t confessed before trial. “Why?”

  “Jeffers is dead. Our caller killed him and pinned it on Kyle Lewis, a revenge thing, then turned around and killed Lewis, too. Made it look like they’d shot each other.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “This is exactly what I feared when I pardoned him, Henry. That someone would get hurt or killed.”

  Actually, Andrew had been worried that Lewis would kill or hurt someone, but Henry didn’t think this was the time to point out the distinction. Besides, it didn’t matter. The fact was that a respected judge had been murdered, and he probably wouldn’t have been had Andrew not pardoned Lewis . . . because framing Lewis for murder had apparently been the caller’s plan for him all along.

  And the public would blame Andrew for the judge’s death.

  “From everything I ever heard, Jeffers was a good man,” Henry said. “Damn that asshole.” He trusted Andrew to know that he was referring to the blackmailer.

  “He was,” Andrew said. After a pause, he added. “And it gets worse.”

  “How?”

  “He said that it’s over.”

  “What is?”

  “Everything. He’s done. This whole thing is over.”

  “That’s it?” Henry asked, surprised. “Just like that? It’s all over?”

  “That’s what he says.”

  That seemed implausible to Henry. Though he already knew the answer, he asked, “What about the recording that would clear Tyler? Any chance he’s gonna give us that like he promised?”

  “He says he destroyed it.”

  “I knew it. That son of a bitch.”

  “So,” Andrew said, his voice tired and flat, “all of this . . . everything . . . was for nothing. Judge Jeffers is dead. Tyler will get a life sentence. You’re looking at termination and possibly prosecution. And my reputation has been destroyed. He’s ruined us all. And for what? So he could frame Kyle Lewis for the murder of the man who sent him to prison fifteen years ago?”

  Henry thought about that for a mome
nt.

  That was his endgame all along?

  It didn’t feel right.

  Gabriel Torrance poking around the Rutland projects . . .

  The murder of Judge Jeffers . . .

  What did these things have in common? The only thing Henry could think of—the thing that clawed itself into his mind—was that Dave Bingham had died in the projects, and Jeffers would have presided over the resulting murder trial had there been one. But that was eight long years ago. What could Torrance’s connection be to that? He hadn’t been there that night. And neither had Kyle Lewis, whom the blackmailer had framed for killing Jeffers. So why kill Lewis, then set him up for that murder? Did the blackmailer have some specific grudge against him?

  “I have to go,” Andrew said, derailing his train of thought. “I have to bother Jim Garbose at home and tell him about the firestorm we’re going to face from the media in the morning. I don’t see how we recover from this, Henry. I really don’t. He’s destroyed us all, with the possible exception of Molly. Doesn’t seem like he plans to release the audio of her negotiating Torrance’s release. So at least there’s that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  They disconnected, and Henry slid his phone into his jacket pocket.

  . . . with the possible exception of Molly . . .

  He drove with his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, and his mind on recent events—turning them over in his head, examining them from all angles.

  Let’s see, he thought . . .

  Judge Jeffers is dead.

  Kyle Lewis is dead, though that’s not a huge loss.

  Tyler goes to prison.

  Andrew’s career is ruined.

  I lose my job and will probably go to prison myself, but . . .

  If the blackmailer can be taken at his word—not a great bet, of course—Molly gets off without her life ruined, other than the sadness she’ll probably feel watching her brothers suffer.