by A.R. Wise
CHAPTER TWO
Family Reunion
Widowsfield
March 14th, 1996
“How are you feeling?” asked Kyle’s mother. She placed her palm on his forehead, and then his cheek to check his temperature.
“Pretty yucky,” said Kyle. He pulled the covers close to his chin as he shivered. It was an odd sensation to be cold and sweating at the same time. No matter how many blankets were piled on top of him, he never seemed to get any warmer.
“You feel pretty hot. That’s not a bad thing though. I think your best bet is to let the fever try to burn away the sickness. I bet you’ll be up and running around again in just a few days.” She tucked the covers down around him and then started to collect the used tissues that littered his bed. “In the meantime, I want you to stay in this bed and drink lots of water. Can you do that for me?”
“I guess so,” said Kyle as he wiped his nose on his hand. “Can you bring up the VCR?”
His mother rolled her eyes and hesitated before answering. “You know how I feel about you watching television all day.”
“Please? I’m so bored.”
She finished collecting the tissues and put them in the overflowing Spiderman trashcan in the corner of his room. “What about your comics?”
“I read them all.” Kyle looked at the stack of Image comics that his mother had picked up for him at the Jackson Comic Shop where he had a file. They filled the file each week with his various favorite comics, and he’d fallen behind on picking up the newest issues. Wednesdays were the day that new comics were released, and if his file hadn’t been cleared the shop’s owner would’ve stopped saving them.
“You read all of those?” She looked at the stack of bagged and boarded comics on his nightstand.
“Yes, I told you, I’m bored. Can you please bring me the TV from the den with the VCR in it? I want to watch a movie.”
His mother sighed and then capitulated. “Fine, but just one movie. Okay? I don’t want you rotting your brain in here. You know how I feel about having TVs in the bedroom.”
“I know, but I feel like sh…” he almost cursed, but caught himself before he did, “…shadoobey.”
His mother smirked at his nearly foul mouth and muttered as she carried his trashcan out of the room. He coughed, despite not needing to, in hopes his mother would hurry to get the television if she felt bad about how sick he was.
She eventually brought the 19” television with the built in VCR and set it on his dresser. He asked her to let him watch his father’s copy of Goldeneye, but she laughed off the request and put in Toy Story instead. He didn’t complain.
Somewhere around the point in the movie where the toys go to Pizza Planet, Kyle closed his eyes. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing he knew he was waking up on a cold pillow that was wet with his sweat and drool. He wiped off his cheek and looked around in confusion. The television displayed snow, the movie long over, and the clock on his nightstand revealed that he’d been asleep for over two hours.
3:14
“Mom,” he said and rubbed his eyes.
He glanced out the window and saw that the previously bright afternoon had turned dark. At first he thought a storm had come through, but then he recognized that it was fog he was looking at. The fog flashed with green light and he pulled the covers up over him tighter. The flash of electric green light rippled through the fog as if he were watching monochromatic Northern Lights.
“Mom,” he said with more insistence.
Something moved beneath his bed.
He leapt into a sitting position and pulled the covers up closer to him as he yelped. There was something scratching at the floor beneath him, and it seemed to get excited by his voice.
“Mom, help!”
She didn’t answer. The green light flashed outside and cast devilish shadows across his room.
“Mommy!”
The scratching became more intense, and then the creature under the bed started to groan. It made a guttural sound, like the gasps of a choking victim shortly before they succumb.
“Mommy, please help. There’s something under my bed. Mommy!”
He continued to scream as the scratching got worse. He was terrified of getting off the bed, afraid that whatever was hiding below would grab at his feet and pull him under. Yet, despite how loud he screamed, his mother wouldn’t answer.
He turned and pulled one of the wooden swords off the wall above his bed. He held it tight against his chest as he stood on the bed and prayed. Then he gathered his strength before leaping off the bed in the direction of the door. His bare feet slapped against the wood floor and he wasted no time fleeing. He only dared to look back once he was safely in the hall, far from whatever had been hiding under him.
Kyle saw the top half of his mother’s head on the floor, with her fingers sprouting from the wood like the tops of carrots. She was scratching at the floor and he could see the top of her head wiggling as she tried to speak. Her body was fused with the floor, and as he reached the stairs he could see the bottom half of her body hanging from the first floor ceiling, beneath where his bed was.
“Mommy,” he said in shock.
She gurgled and scratched before her legs went limp, dangling from the ceiling.
Kyle fled the house, desperate to find protection from what had happened within. Fog enveloped the rest of the block, but drew an unnatural circle around his house, as if the home was somehow protected from it.
“Help,” Kyle called out at the house across the street, which was shrouded by the fog. A dog barked from within, and a flash of green electricity crackled along the curb. Then Kyle heard teeth chattering, and saw a tall, thin figure appear at the door of the home. The man spread his arms as if welcoming his neighbor in for an embrace. Kyle ran to him, desperate for protection.
16 Years Later
March 9th, 2012
Alma was anxious about meeting with the reporter, not because of the story they were going to run, but because of the offhanded remark by the cameraman about her relation to the mystery of Widowsfield. It had been nearly 16 years since that awful day, and she tried for all that time to forget as much about the investigation that tore her family apart as possible. She would’ve refused to meet with them, but wanted to make sure her past wasn’t going to be part of the story. The last thing she needed was to be contacted by her father about why she had allowed reporters to discuss their family’s dark history.
“Alma.” Rachel waved at her from across the small dining room. She was seated at a table with the cameraman, Stephen. The meeting was set up at a local Chinese Buffet restaurant, and the smell of sticky sweet chicken and pork sickened Alma. She’d been a vegetarian for years, not for any altruistic or health related reason, but because the thought of eating flesh sickened her. It had bothered her since the day her brother disappeared in Widowsfield, 16 years ago.
“Hi.” She stared at Stephen’s plate, which was loaded with fried pork covered in a fiery orange glaze and mixed with rice. It was steaming, and the sauce clung to his chin as he smiled up at her. He wiped his lips off on a red napkin that had been in his lap before he got up and pulled out a chair for her.
“Want me to get you some food?” he asked, trying to be nice.
“No, thank you.” She sat down with Stephen to her right and Rachel across the square table from her. The reporter had a sparse amount of food on her plate, and no meat.
“Not hungry?” asked Rachel.
Alma shook her head. “Not really.”
Rachel tilted her head and sympathetically asked, “Not a fan of buffet food? Me neither. This was his pick.” She jabbed her thumb in Stephen’s direction.
“I thought you’d have the camera equipment here,” said Alma. “Aren’t we supposed to be doing an interview?”
Rachel smiled and squinted as she bobbed her head as if about to apologize. “Well, that’s not really the case. We’ve got everything we need for the story. I guess I should just come o
ut and admit the truth. You see, Stephen and I have a side project going on that’s been gaining steam lately, and we thought you might be able to help out with it.”
Alma was confused and looked back and forth between the two of them. “How?” she asked with suspicion.
“Stephen started a website last year about haunted houses. It was sort of a pet project for us, and we filmed a few videos to put up on Youtube, never really expecting much of anything to happen.”
Stephen wiped his mouth again before he interrupted Rachel. “Yeah, it was just for shits and giggles initially, but now we’re starting to pull in serious numbers.”
“Okay,” said Alma, afraid of why they were talking to her about this. She could guess where the conversation was headed, and didn’t want to go there.
“A couple months ago, Stephen caught something on camera in a house out near Pittsburgh,” said Rachel. She absently stabbed her fork into a piece of fried zucchini on her plate. “We didn’t even see it at first, but one of our viewers did. Stephen was calling out the name of a little girl that was supposed to have died in the house and in the corner of the room you could see the shadow of a figure. It’s hard to really tell what it is, but the net just went bonkers over it. We split the video up to just show that scene, and it’s gotten almost a million hits already.”
“Okay,” said Alma, hesitant to let the conversation continue, like she was being forced to watch a movie she’d seen before with an ending she hated, but didn’t want to spoil it for the others around her.
“We’re trying to make sure that we take advantage of the exposure and put up new content on the site that can get people to keep paying attention to what we’re doing,” said Rachel.
Stephen was quick to continue. “You’ve probably seen all of those shows on TV these days about ghost hunters and stuff, right?”
Alma nodded.
“That’s sort of what we’re trying to do, but with a more serious take on it. We want to go to places that have ghost stories, or unsolved crimes with a supernatural feel to them, and do a story about them.” Stephen dropped his fork and flung syrupy red sauce in an arc across the wall behind him. His utensil bounced off the edge of the table and fell to the floor. “Shit, sorry,” he said as he retrieved it. The glazed pork had collected a wealth of carpet fuzz when he picked it up. “Gross.” He put the fork on the plate and covered it with his napkin.
“Smooth,” said Rachel in jest.
“So, you two are partners in this website?” asked Alma.
“Yeah.” Rachel seemed to recognize why Alma looked confused. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to mention Stephen’s not just my camera guy, he’s my husband.” She held up her left hand and pointed at her naked ring finger. “They don’t want me to wear a ring on camera. All part of the illusion, you know?”
Alma shook her head. “Not really.”
Stephen got up to get a new plate of food from the buffet and set his hands on his wife’s shoulders to massage her for a second. “Rachel’s supposed to be the hot, single reporter. They don’t want viewers to know she’s taken.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yeah, it’s a sleazy business.”
“Well, at least it pays well,” said Alma.
Rachel gave a quick laugh and straightened her posture. “You’d think, right? Truth is, reporters get paid like shit. You think teachers have it bad? Try being a reporter on a local news show.”
“Really? I had no idea. I just assumed you guys made a lot.”
“Not unless you’re an anchor.” Rachel looked over her shoulder at her husband. “He makes more than I do, by a lot.”
“That’s why we’re trying to get this site off the ground,” said Stephen on his way to the buffet table, out of earshot.
“Look,” said Alma sharply. “I have a feeling I know where this is headed, and I should just stop you before we go any further. I can’t help you with your site. I’ve left that part of my life behind me.”
Rachel visibly deflated, and she looked nervous as she continued to stab at the zucchini on her plate. “I understand. I really do, but will you just hear us out?”
“Honestly, I probably couldn’t help you out anyhow. That happened when I was eight years old. I don’t even remember it that well anymore.”
“Stephen’s been working really hard on this,” said Rachel. “He’s been interviewing people from the area, and is convinced this will be the best way to start off a web series. I think you should just hear him out. He’d love to ask you some questions about what you saw there.”
Stephen overheard them as he came back with a new plate of disgusting fried meat. “Did you tell her?” He sounded disappointed.
“She saw it coming,” said Rachel. “Probably because of your none-too-subtle introduction at the school.”
“Sorry to be a bummer,” said Alma. “I really can’t help you though. I don’t know anything more than what’s already been out there. And to tell you the truth, I don’t believe all the ghost stories anyhow. The police said that the disappearances were due to a fight between a motorcycle club and the mob. They said that the people in the town are probably all living in Mexico or something, hiding from the mob.”
“Yeah, but that’s crazy,” said Stephen. “An entire town just packs up and moves because of some drug running mob deal? I know it was a small town, but there were still a couple thousand people there. To think they all just packed up and left is crazy.”
“What’s crazier?” asked Alma. “That, or that they all got abducted by aliens, or sucked up into an alternate dimension, or whatever other crazy conspiracy theory is out there now.”
“You told the police that you saw the green light that night,” said Stephen, almost as if trying to confront Alma with a lie.
“I was eight,” said Alma. “Who knows what I saw? I don’t remember any of it.” She had a habit of avoiding eye contact when she lied, and tried to stare at him when she spoke, but still averted her gaze when she said that she didn’t remember that day. The truth wasn’t that she couldn’t remember anything, but rather that she couldn’t remember pieces of what happened. There was a large chunk of time that had been lost to her.
“Have you heard about the Widowsfield lights?” asked Rachel. Her light tone calmed the conversation. “Not just what the police report said you saw, but the phenomenon that’s been going on out in Missouri ever since the day the people in Widowsfield went missing.”
Alma shook her head. “I try not to pay attention to the rumors anymore.”
“People that live near Widowsfield say that they can see green lights on foggy nights,” said Rachel. “They’ve even started to film it. Stephen talked to someone out there that posted a few videos. You can watch some of them online. It’s actually pretty creepy.”
“And you don’t think that’s staged?” asked Alma. “Come on, the people making those videos are setting out green lights on foggy nights and then taking video of it. There’s nothing mystical about that.”
“And that’s what we want to find out,” said Stephen. He was excited about the project, and Alma could understand how that could be infectious for people around him. He had an almost childish exuberance about the subject. “We want to approach this type of thing differently than other shows out there. Our goal is to go in with various viewpoints. Some of the people on our show will be skeptics, and others will be believers. I’m going to find a local out there that has seen the lights, maybe even someone that has been to the town a few times. It won’t be hard. I had to go through Branson last year for a story, and I met a girl that’s been out there. That’s what got me thinking about doing the site in the first place.”
Alma noticed that Rachel looked away as Stephen spoke. Without even knowing the couple that well, Alma could ascertain that Rachel was perturbed by something Stephen had said. She didn’t have time to contemplate it, because Stephen continued excitedly.
“This should’ve been a huge national, if not international story
. I mean, come on, a whole town disappears in modern times and no one pays any attention? The whole thing stinks of conspiracy, big time. And with the supernatural angle to it, this is a goldmine of a story. But we’re not going to just go in there and focus on the ghost angle. We’re going to try and dispel any of the fake crap out there, and only bring out the truth.”
“I doubt there’s anything supernatural to it,” said Alma.
“I’m on your side, Alma,” said Rachel. “I always try to think of the most reasonable solution to things, and I agree that the people of Widowsfield probably just fled the mob. It was a pretty small town, and it’s not impossible to think that the majority of them were mixed up in the meth ring.” She crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. She looked over at her husband as she continued. “Did you know that right around the time all this went down, the DEA had just changed the laws around pseudoephedrine? They made the sale of large quantities illegal, and they discovered a meth lab in Widowsfield after the disappearances. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
Stephen shook his head and frowned as if he thought Rachel’s point was ridiculous at best. “They found a tiny little meth dealer’s set up. It wasn’t Breaking Bad or anything in there. Shit, I bet there’s a home meth lab within walking distance of this restaurant. They’re not exactly rare.” Then he looked at Alma and got excited again. “But you see, that’s the kind of thing we want to go over on our show. We want to explore every possibility, no matter how ludicrous they are.” He cast a snide look at his wife.
“It sounds great,” said Alma. “But I’m not sure what you want from me.”
Rachel and Stephen looked uncomfortable. It seemed that they were wary to ask for what they wanted, as if they knew it was asking too much. Stephen eventually explained, “We were hoping to convince you to come with us to Missouri, to go to the place where your brother disappeared.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” said Rachel.
Alma laughed uncomfortably. She felt like she was being attacked and had to defend herself. “No way. Sorry, but I’ve left all of that behind me. Besides, my brother didn’t disappear there. The police agreed with my father. My brother was kidnapped from his room.”
“Yeah,” said Stephen, “but that’s not what you told them originally. You told them he was…”
“I know what I told them,” said Alma, and was immediately embarrassed by her abruptness. “But I was eight years old. Remember? I had a bad dream, and that’s all there is to it. You have no clue what this whole ordeal did to my family. It ruined us.” She looked back and forth between Stephen and Rachel as if admonishing them for daring to bring this subject up. “I haven’t talked to my father for more than a few minutes in almost a decade. My mother…” she faltered and cleared her throat. “My mother killed herself.”
“I know,” said Rachel. “I’m sorry.”
“And the worst part is, every year around this time I get a call from someone that wants to dig up the past. I get letters all the time from people with all sorts of insane theories. They say that the government was involved, or that some corporation with a facility near there was doing tests on some Greek boat they bought,” she laughed at the absurdity of the next theory. “For fuck’s sake, I even had one guy say that sightings of Bigfoot skyrocketed right before the people in the town disappeared. He accused me of trying to hide the fact that the government kidnapped everyone in the town to turn them into Sasquatch super soldiers.”
Rachel chuckled and then gave Stephen an apologetic glance.
“It’s nuts,” said Alma and couldn’t help but smile.
Stephen looked pensive. “I’ve never heard anything about a Greek boat. What was that one about?”
Alma shook her head and laughed in exasperation. “You don’t get it. That’s the point, it was bullshit. All of it is just bullshit. Just like the 9-11 conspiracies, and the faked moon landings, and the magic bullet that killed Kennedy. People turn things into conspiracies because they have some deep-seated notion that the world is more mystical than it really is. The people of Widowsfield disappeared because they were involved in a drug ring that went bad. That’s it. A small town like that, where everyone knows each other – it’s not crazy to think they all knew about the drug ring. And my brother was kidnapped in the middle of the night, from his bedroom, and not by some creatures in the fog.” She was frantic now, and had trouble keeping herself from crying. She got up and got ready to leave. “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I’m sorry. Good luck and everything, but I’m going to go. Okay? I’m sorry.”
Stephen got up, but Rachel was faster and motioned for him to sit back down. “It’s okay, Alma. Don’t be sorry. I understand.”
“I just,” Alma tried to explain herself. “I just left that part of my life behind me, and I’ve been trying to move on ever since. I just wish I could. Every damn year it all starts up again.”
“I can imagine,” said Rachel as she walked to the front of the restaurant with Alma. “I’m so sorry to have dragged you into this. We never meant to hurt you.”
“I know,” said Alma. “I don’t blame you. I’m not mad or anything, I just want to put that part of my life to death.” She meant to say, ‘to bed,’ and was surprised by her violent wording.
Rachel didn’t pick up on the Freudian slip. “I get that, but if you ever want to talk about it, or anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Here, take my card.”
Alma took the business card, if only to be polite.
“The cell phone number on there is my personal phone too.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “They don’t even buy us our own cell phones, if you can believe it. We have to supply our own.”
“I hope the whole website thing works out for you,” said Alma, looking to end the conversation. “You guys seem like nice people. Sorry I’m being so weird about this.”
“No, don’t worry about it.” Rachel waved off Alma’s apology.
“Who knows, maybe one of these days I’ll be ready to talk about it. Maybe that’d be good for me, but I’m just not ready for it now.” Alma lingered because she felt guilty.
“I understand,” said Rachel. “But if you ever do, you know, want to talk, you’ve got my card. I’m a good listener.”
Alma got to the exit and looked back at the two of them. Rachel still stood in the middle of the restaurant, and had a look of concern that reminded Alma of a mother watching her child go away to college. Stephen seemed frustrated, but not angry, and continued to eat his fried pork. They were a good looking couple, and seemed kind. If circumstances were different, Alma might’ve enjoyed getting to know them. However, the fact that they wanted to dissect Alma’s past made them seem parasitic and dangerous. She waved goodbye, feeling a unique mix of regret and disdain at leaving them behind.
She sighed and started to walk through the parking lot, but then jogged, eager to get as far from them as possible. She fumbled with her purse to find the keys to her Subaru Outback. Emotions swirled, sorrow battled with anger, calm fought frenzy, and she wasn’t sure if she was about to cry, scream, or laugh. “What the hell,” she muttered to herself as she pushed through the things in her purse in search of her keys. She stuck Rachel’s business card in a pocket on the inside of her purse as she continued to rifle through the contents.
It was a chilly night, just past dusk, and the moon cast a brilliant blue light over everything. Bats squeaked as they zipped through the night sky, spots of black shooting through blue. Alma found the teddy bear key chain that her ex-boyfriend had bought her and pulled the keys out. She kept meaning to take the teddy bear off the chain and throw it away, but every time she started to, she stopped. Her relationship with Paul had always been tumultuous, and all of her friends consistently pleaded with her to stop going back to him, but there was an undeniable bond between them. She wasn’t sure they’d ever get back together again after the way it had ended six months earlier, but she was certain she’d never stop loving him. She thumbed the
soft fur of the keychain and wished Paul was here with her now.
The ring caught on one of her white plastic wrapped tampons, which fell to the ground beside her car. She cursed and picked it up. When she knelt down she saw the shadow of a man cast by moonlight against the side of her car. For just a moment, her heart fluttered as she thought it might be Paul, as if rubbing the keychain had somehow summoned him like a genie from a lamp.
“Alma,” said her father in a frantic, hushed whisper.
She yelped in shock and stood to face him. She pressed her back to the car and held her mouth with the hand that her keys were in.
He was ragged. His clothes were a tattered mess and his hair was greasy, with strands of grey and black sticking up in various directions. His eyes were wide and darted back and forth above dark circles. He hadn’t shaved in weeks and his stubble was almost completely white. “Alma, baby. Baby girl. Alma, what did they want?” His words flit past his lips too fast for him to properly say them, causing the syllables to mix together between quick breaths. He had sores on his lips and cheeks, as if he’d been scratching at himself until he’d bled. “Did they want you to go with them? You can’t. You know that, right? You can’t go there. You’ve got to let that die. You’ve got to let it die.”
“Let me go!” She pulled her arm away from his grasping hands like a disgusted royal squirming to escape a leper.
“Don’t fuck me like this, kid.” He scowled.
“I said back off.” She palmed her keys so that they poked out between her fingers as she made a fist. She gripped the teddy bear in her palm as if holding a pair of brass knuckles.
“You’re never going to save him.” He backed away, just as Alma had asked. Then he glowered as if he suddenly remembered a hatred he’d forgotten for years. He surged forward and grabbed the back of her head with one hand as he pressed the other against her mouth. All at once, she was a child again, caught in the grip of a sadistic father, tasting the grime of his palm as he kept her silent. He pressed himself against her tall frame, and still towered over her, just as he did so many years ago. She clenched her eyes shut and a hundred terrible moments were suddenly fresh in her mind. It was impossible to breathe, to scream, to do anything but cry as he growled at her.
“You better keep your mouth shut.”
It was easy to retreat into her mind and let the assault end. If she closed her eyes and sang a song to herself, the end would come eventually – it always had before. The little girl she’d been for years was always with her, waiting to help comfort her through moments like this. Just sing a song, Alma, and the pain will stop. Hum and focus on something nice.
No more songs.
She thrust her fist into his abdomen, the keys like knives between her fingers. He gasped and staggered back as he gripped his wound. He checked his hand for blood, but there was none. Her punch hadn’t cut him, but seemed to have hurt him enough that he thought it had.
The taste of his oil stained hand was still on her lips.
“You want a fight, old man. Let’s do this.” Her stilted, terrified tone belied the courage of her words. She was on the brink of tears.
“I didn’t kill Ben.”
She expected him to attack, but he paced in the parking lot instead. She kept the keys in her fist and was ready to defend herself, but her father wasn’t willing to fight anymore. He stared up at the night sky as he walked back and forth.
“I know what you think, and what your mother thought, and what everyone else thinks, but God knows the truth. God and me, we know, I didn’t hurt that boy. Some devil did it.”
“Why are you here?” asked Alma. Her father lived two states away and she never told him where she’d moved.
“To warn you, you dummy.” He spoke as if chiding a friend instead of threatening his child. “I want to keep you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want to protect you.” He took a step toward her and she stiffened at the approach. “You might not believe it, but I love you, Alma. I always have.”
“You had 24 years to prove that to me, and you screwed up each and every one,” said Alma. “Now get in your car, or bus, or however the hell you got here, and get out of my life.”
He looked sad for a brief second, but then grinned. His meth rotted teeth and sunken cheeks were a wicked sight, accentuated by raw sores on his chapped, cracked lips. “Darling, I’ll never be out of your life. We’re family.”
“Do your family a favor and die, asshole.”
He whistled and shook his head. “Look at you, girl. Acting like a tough one now? You’re no tough one. You’re a pretty little flower. You’re my pretty little flower.”
“This pretty flower has thorns.” She jangled the keys in her hand for emphasis.
Her father chuckled and shook his head. “Listen to you. You’re a toughie now, huh? All right, all right.” He held up his hands and backed away again. “Nothing but love for you, girl. Swear to Christ, nothing but love. I’m here to protect you.”
Alma found that hilarious and couldn’t help but guffaw. “You, protecting me? That’s rich.”
“I’ll never stop protecting you,” he said, his skittish mannerism helped turn his promises into threats. “I’ll always be there for you. I’ll always watch out for you.”
Alma saw Rachel through the window of the restaurant. The reporter had just noticed the confrontation in the parking lot and was rushing to help. She stopped at the entrance, her hands pressed against the bar that would open it, and looked at Alma. She was uncertain if she should come out and was looking to Alma for approval.
Alma nodded to her and Rachel opened the door a crack. “Call the police,” said Alma.
Her father turned and yelled out at Rachel, “Stop! Don’t do that.”
Rachel closed the door and ran back into the restaurant, screaming for the owner to call the police. Alma saw Stephen standing near the door, and Rachel’s panic alerted him to the gravity of what was happening outside. He rushed to action.
“Get away from her.” Stephen burst through the door, causing a rapid tintinnabulation as the bells above the entrance bounced. He didn’t wait for Alma’s father to comply and ran into the parking lot, ready to fight.
“Stay out of this,” said her father.
Stephen stopped for just long enough to get into a tackling stance. He bent his knees and lowered his shoulders while keeping an eye on his target. Alma almost expected him to extend his right arm and touch his fingers to the ground like a defensive lineman, but Stephen bounded forward before he got that low.
“Stephen!” Rachel screamed from the restaurant entrance.
He was already crashing into Alma’s father. He lifted the thin man into the air and Alma heard her father’s breath escape in a sudden huff. She dashed to the side as Stephen rammed the old man into the Subaru. Stephen didn’t hesitate after impact and brought his right arm up to Alma’s father’s throat. He pushed at it as if trying to pop the man’s head off.
“Stephen, let him go,” said Rachel as she ran forward.
An older Asian woman appeared at the door and gasped when she saw the altercation. “Oh my gosh. You need to go. Get out of here. I’m not going to have this in my parking lot. Get out of here. Now!”
Alma enjoyed watching her father squirm. She couldn’t help but smile as Stephen choked him.
“You need to leave,” said Stephen. “Take your junky ass back to Pennsylvania and leave your daughter alone.” He released the old man, but then grabbed Michael Harper’s shirt and pulled him away from Alma.
“Don’t go with them,” said her father as he rubbed his throat. He staggered away, walking backward as he stared at his daughter. “Let it die, girl. Bury it.” He turned and ran into the night.
Stephen panted and looked prideful, his face flushed and eyes wide from the adrenaline rush. He smiled at Alma, expecting her to thank him. Instead, she scowled.
“How did you know he was my father?” Alma looked from Stephen to Rachel. “How did you g
uys know he was from Pennsylvania? Did you bring him here?”
“No,” said Rachel. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” asked Alma.
“We met him first, when we were doing the story of the haunted house,” said Stephen. “We knew he was accused of killing his son, and that he was tied to Widowsfield. We got a hold of him to see if he’d be interested in taking part in the story.”
“How did he end up here?”
“He must’ve gotten here on his own,” said Rachel. “We didn’t bring him.”
Alma tried to grasp the situation, as well as her emotions. She was furious, but knew that the two hadn’t meant any harm. Alma’s family had kept the discord between them a secret. Stephen and Rachel couldn’t have known what their meddling could cause, but that did little to keep Alma from hating them for it. “I can’t believe this. It’s like a nightmare.” She laughed nervously. “And I was having such a good day.”
“I’m sorry about this, Alma,” said Stephen. “I really am.”
The restaurant door opened again and the Asian woman frowned even as she spoke. “I called the police. They’ll be here soon. Get out of here, now.”
“Can I go in and get our things?” asked Rachel. “I still need to pay for the food.”
The woman reluctantly moved aside to let Rachel in and then glared out at Stephen. She pointed at him and said, “You get out of here, jackass. Don’t come back.”
He saluted her and snickered. “That sucks. I liked this place.” He inspected the dent in the side of the car as Alma unlocked the door. “I’ll pay for the damage.”
“That’s okay,” said Alma. “I don’t care. I just want to go home.”
“I’m sorry for all of this,” said Stephen.
Alma got in as Stephen stood beside the car, holding the door open. She turned the car on and music blared before she had a chance to turn the volume down.
“We can help you bury the past,” said Stephen as a last ditch effort to get Alma to agree to the trip.
“You’re off to a hell of a start.”
She was prepared to leave and reached out for the door’s handle.
“I know about Chaos Magick,” said Stephen.
Alma halted. She didn’t even breathe as she looked at him.
“You said you don’t believe in the supernatural, but I know about 314.”
She pulled the door away from him and slammed it shut. She turned the music up until the speakers crackled. Her tires squealed as she raced away.