When the Darkness Falls

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  The motel clerk who checked Banning in reported he’d done so late that morning. After checking in, Banning was gone for a good four or five hours. He returned just past four-thirty—the clerk saw the car pull past the front office and around to the back where he’d rented his room, and the cleark didn’t think about him again until this morning when he showed up for work and the place was overrun by cops.

  Based on what the police had been able to get out of Amy and the children she’d been playing with, as well as the motel clerk, the crime was both pre-meditated and impulsive; pre-meditated because Ken had already secured a motel room in which to commit his crime in privacy, impulsive because he wasn’t familiar with the area and the kids that were playing with Amy reported they’d seen him drive by twice before he stopped a third time, left his car running, got out of the vehicle and simply grabbed Amy off the sidewalk and made a beeline for his car. He’d thrown her into the car, quickly handcuffing her to the door handle of the front seat, and driven away. Emily shuddered at what the police told her they’d found in the blood spattered motel room—leather restraints and a ball gag.

  Amy had screamed and struggled during the ten-mile ride to the motel, and she claimed that Ken produced a gun at one point and threatened to shoot her if she continued struggling. A handgun was recovered from the vehicle, but this proved to be fake. Nevertheless, it had the desired effect and Amy was complaint until they reached the motel. When Ken tried to usher her in to the room she became combative again and Ken quickly gagged her, uncuffed her wrists from the door handle, and carried her into the motel room.

  Amy didn’t remember what happened after that.

  The next thing she remembered was walking along Route 272, dazed and covered in blood. She didn’t remember how long she’d been wandering—she’d started off when it was dark and then it was dawn, and then she was found by that trucker. She didn’t remember how the blood got on her, and she didn’t see what happened to the man who’d kidnapped her. Dr. Knoll explained that Amy’s lack of memory in the hours between arriving at the motel and wandering near Route 272 in the early morning hours was due to shock; the mind’s natural defensive mechanism to cope with what happened to her.

  The motel clerk claimed he heard no violent sounds of struggle coming from the room. When pressed on the matter, he later claimed that he thought he heard screams, but he didn’t feel inclined to investigate. “Nobody was screaming for help,” he explained during questioning. “The people that check in here...they tend to rent rooms by the hour, you know what I’m saying? This guy, I just figured he wanted to play a little heavy duty by renting for the night, you know? Long as he paid and nobody called the cops, why bother?”

  The pitiful remains of Ken Banning were still being examined later that day when Emily and Jeff took Amy home.

  Deputy Sam Boyer—Hound Dog face to Emily Doyle—watched the family leave in a red Saturn station wagon. His partner, Don Hudson, stood beside them. “She’s one lucky girl,” Don said.

  “She is,” Sam Boyer replied. “I can’t imagine what she could have gone through.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “Have you heard from the coroner?”

  “Nah. They’ re still trying to put the guy back together.”

  “Any idea what cut him to pieces like that?”

  “If they know, they aren’t saying yet.”

  Sam Boyer shook his head. What happened to Ken Banning was what had the department in a frenzy. On one hand it was a good thing Amy Doyle was alive and unscathed physically...but something happened in that room that tore Ken Banning apart, and Sam had no doubt Amy saw what happened and it scared her so bad she’d blocked it out of her memory.

  Don Hudson appeared to be reading his thoughts. “Think we’ll ever find out what happened?”

  “I imagine we will eventually,” Sam Boyer said, turning to go back into the Lititz Police station.

  Don followed him inside, still chatting. “You know, something weird just occurred to me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I shook Emily Doyle’s hand at one point I noticed she was missing one of her pinkie fingers.”

  Sam Boyer frowned. “I noticed that about her husband. Jeff’s left pinkie finger was missing. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Figured maybe it got lost in an accident. Emily’s missing hers, too?”

  Don Hudson nodded. “Yeah. Weird, huh?”

  “It is,” Sam Brower agreed.

  IT HAD BEEN a long time since they’d had a fight. They waited until Amy was asleep to let it all out.

  Emily started by screaming at Jeff that this was his fault. Jeff countered by saying, she’s alive, isn’t she? She’s alive and healthy and she’s going to go through a lot of emotional turmoil, but she’s going to get better. That’s what matters, Emily. Our daughter is alive. If we hadn’t done what we’d done, she’d be laid out naked and dead and alone in some farmer’s field by now, raped and murdered.

  Emily started sobbing, knowing Jeff was right but still feeling angry at him—at herself—for what happened. It was true—Amy was alive. She would have a chance at life that was denied to so many other children who’d faced similar horrors. But there was a price she and Jeff would have to pay now and she was sure Jeff knew that. He had to.

  Surely he had to have noticed the smell by now.

  She thought she smelled it late last night, when they were still waiting to hear if they’d caught the bastard who’d snatched Amy. It began as a faint tickle in the back of her throat that she first dismissed as tears—she’d been crying a lot—but it remained steady and constant. A steady smoky scent, pervading and unique, with an underlying tint of rotten eggs.

  It remained with her the rest of that morning and throughout the day. There were times when she appeared to forget about it and not notice it was there, and then suddenly it would be almost enveloping, strong in its odor. Several times she found herself stepping outside her mother’s house or the police station where they’d gone for questioning to see if she could see smoke, but she never saw anything.

  “Don’t you smell it?” She asked, looking at her husband. She’d settled down on the sofa, crying, and paused amid her sobs to look at him through tear-stained eyes.

  “Smell what?”

  “Just...sniff...” She sniffed the air. Despite her stuffed nose she could still make out the faint scent.

  Jeff sniffed. His face flushed briefly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  She could tell he was lying.

  At some point during the argument the subject of packing up and moving came up. “What good would it do?” Jeff asked. He was pacing the living room, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “The cops would think something is up.”

  “How?” Emily asked. She was sitting on the sofa. Despite being tired, despite being up for over twenty-four hours, she was wired.

  “We can’t just pack up and leave!” Jeff protested.

  “What are we going to tell them when they want to question Amy?”

  Jeff paced the living room. She could tell he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”

  Emily sat on the sofa, fidgeting. They’d never stopped to think about other consequences if this happened - or something similar. They’d been as careful as possible to avoid exposing Amy to danger. She told herself that she couldn’t continue beating herself up over what happened. What happened wasn’t their fault; the danger had come to them. Thank God they’d done something about it.

  She paused at that thought: thank God.

  God had nothing to do with it.

  She became aware of the scent again, this time unmistakable, and she broke down again, weeping silently.

  Jeff could only pace the living room.

  OFFICER SAM BOYER came to see them three weeks later.

  Emily knew this day would come. After their blow-up the evening Amy was found, she and Jeff agreed to think about it and ta
lk about what they would do and say if the cops came around and started asking embarrassing questions. In the meantime, they agreed that it was time to move. They loved living in their little town, but their idealistic dream of small-town life had been shattered permanently by what happened. Jeff began quietly making plans to resign from his position at Strothers and Sons and Emily made plans to transfer a portion of their savings account into bonds, something that would gain interest they could draw some income on. They’d made a tidy bundle on the sale of their home in California, and they’d been fortunate enough to not have to touch any of it. That bundle had grown in the five years they’d been in Pennsylvania and it would continue to grow a little bit each year, so long as they lived frugally for awhile.

  Jeff began looking into real estate in New England. Specifically Maine and New Hampshire.

  Emily doted on Amy and drove her to her daily therapy sessions where she seemed to be rapidly improving. The psychiatrist told Emily and Jeff that what she’d witnessed in that motel room would no doubt live with her forever. “Fortunately she’s suppressed that memory,” he explained one afternoon a week after the incident. “It’s in her subconscious, though, and there’s no doubt we’ll be dealing with this for some time, but for now her mind is handling this very well. She’s not displaying any symptoms of depression or paranoia and she’s sleeping well. My recommendation is she remain on the medication for the next year or so and I continue to see her every week, then maybe we can drop the visits down to bi-weekly, then monthly. At some point, preferably when she’s in her early twenties, we’re going to need to schedule some heavy therapy to draw those memories out gradually and deal with them. It’ll be catastrophic if they come out of her suddenly and without warning.”

  Emily and Jeff nodded, silently agreeing. Emily once again became angry with herself for allowing Jeff to talk her into this and once again her thoughts circled around to the inevitable. What they’d done was the only thing they could have done. When Amy was born they’d made a vow to each other that they’d do anything to keep Amy safe from harm and they’d kept their end of the bargain. If they hadn’t, their daughter would be dead, plain and simple.

  But at some point the questions were going to come, either from Amy or the police, and they knew it was going to be harder to try to fool the police. So they discussed their options and agreed on a plan of action.

  And now it was time to act on it.

  Sam Boyer stood on the front porch, alone. He was wearing his uniform and he nodded at Emily as she answered the front door. “Mrs. Doyle.”

  “What can I do for you, Officer Boyer?”

  “Is your husband home?”

  “Right here.” Jeff appeared beside Emily.

  “Amy home?” Officer Boyer asked.

  “She’s with my mother,” Emily said.

  “We need to talk,” Officer Boyer said.

  Jeff opened the screen door. “Come on in.”

  They offered Officer Boyer drinks and he declined. He sat down on the sofa and got right to the point. “The autopsy on Ken Banning has been complete and our investigation is far from over. There’s...” he hesitated, regarding them both uncertainly. “...lots of unanswered questions. I realize that Amy doesn’t remember anything about that night—”

  “And we don’t intend to put pressure on her to submit to hypnosis in an effort to find out what happened to that scumbag, either,” Jeff said, sternly.

  “I realize that,” Officer Boyer said. He looked nervous. “Trouble is, I got the State Police breathing down my neck for answers. The Attorney General of Pennsylvania wants answers, too. I realize that legally we’re rather restricted in what we can do. Officially, Ken Banning’s death is classified as a homicide and your daughter is the only witness. She’s not considered a suspect because there’s no physical evidence pointing to—”

  “You were actually considering Amy a suspect?” Emily asked, her temper flaring.

  “No, no, not at all!” Officer Boyle said, raising a hand. “If anything she’s a victim in this, but she’s also a witness - and a good one, too, if she could only...” His voice trailed off.

  “If she could only remember what happened,” Emily finished for him.

  “Yeah,” Officer Boyer nodded.

  Emily and Jeff glanced at each other and turned back to Officer Boyer. “I’m sorry we can’t help you, Officer,” Jeff said.

  Officer Boyer continued as if he hadn’t heard them. “The coroner stated that Banning could have died in any number of ways: blood loss, shock. It’s hard to be entirely sure if he was alive when most of the mutilation took place because his heart was never recovered, although the amount of blood in the room indicates that he was alive for some time while he was being torn apart. Some of the...injuries he sustained appear to be from teeth...or claws from some kind of animal...”

  Emily resisted the urge to gasp; she glanced quickly at Jeff who avoided her gaze. Officer Boyer was watching them and he noticed Emily’s reaction. “Does this mean anything to you at all?”

  “No,” Emily said a little too quickly.

  “I think it does,” Officer Boyer said, gaze locked on Emily’s now.

  “Why would you think that?” Emily asked, trying to dismiss Boyer’s allegations.

  “Supposing some kind of animal got in that motel room and attacked Ken Banning, what difference does it make?” Jeff asked. “I mean, big deal! The man was going to rape and murder my daughter! Maybe Banning didn’t check the place out too thoroughly when he got the room and woke up a bear or something that slipped in through an open window or something.”

  “Forensics found no evidence of any animal or other people in the room aside from Ken Banning and Amy,” Boyer said quickly.

  “And since you said Amy isn’t a suspect, you need to focus your investigation elsewhere,” Jeff quickly countered. “You know we were nowhere near that motel - you were here all night with us. That leaves a third party.”

  Boyer’s gaze was hard, stern. “There’s something else I haven’t told you yet.”

  “What’s that?” Jeff said.

  “We retrieved a knife at the scene,” Boyer said slowly. “Banning’s mother identified it as one her son owned. We found blood on it.” He paused. “The blood on Banning’s knife didn’t match his blood type.”

  “So?”

  “The blood was human.”

  Emily’s heart pounded. She glanced at Jeff. What is he talking about? she wanted to ask.

  “By process of elimination, we ran a test against the blood we drew from Amy a few weeks ago,” Boyer said. “The blood on the knife matched.”

  Jeff opened his mouth, stunned. Emily’s heart stopped; she felt numb.

  “I know what you’re probably thinking,” Boyer continued. “It can’t be Amy’s blood. She sustained no injuries. Nevertheless, the sample from Banning’s knife matched your daughter’s blood type and I think we need to discuss this.”

  “Who knows about this?” Jeff asked, his voice raspy.

  “Just the three of us, my assistant, and the coroner.”

  Emily’s mind was racing, her limbs felt numb. She felt on the verge of faint.

  “This needs to be explained because I have to submit our findings to the Prosecutor tomorrow. Do you understand what I’m talking about? You and I know Amy couldn’t have killed Banning. We know you couldn’t have done it. The prosecution is going to want some kind of case, though. We don’t want a drawn out ugly court battle. I think you just want to pick up where you left off and get back to raising your little girl. Am I right?”

  Emily could tell Jeff was stunned. This hadn’t been in the script - no way were they prepared for this.

  Boyer regarded them calmly. “I’m waiting.”

  Emily glanced at her husband again quickly and determined this latest revelation was too stunning for him—it had totally blindsided him. She turned back to Boyer and he met her gaze.

  She nodded at him. “That’s a lovely cross you
’re wearing Officer Boyer,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Officer Boyer fingered the cross he wore around his neck on a slim gold chain.

  “Are you a Christian man?”

  “I am.”

  “Then you believe in Jesus...in God?”

  “I do.”

  “Then if you believe in Jesus you believe in Heaven, correct?”

  “I didn’t come here for a Bible lesson, Mrs. Doyle.”

  Emily ignored him. “If you believe in Jesus and Heaven then you must believe in his adversary and the fiery pits of hell. Correct?”

  “What does this have to with—”

  “Please just answer the question, Officer Boyer!”

  Boyer sighed. “Yes. I believe in Hell, Mrs. Doyle.”

  Emily continued, ignoring Jeff’s nervous stare as he settled down in one of the kitchen chairs.

  She also tried to ignore the scent, which had remained constant for the past three weeks.

  “Do you have children, Mr. Boyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “A son and a daughter.”

  “Do you love them?”

  Boyer looked at Emily, his features uncomprehending. “Yes. I love them. Now please, what does—”

  “How far would you go to protect your children, Mr. Boyer?”

  Officer Boyer looked grim. “Mrs. Doyle—”

  “Let me tell you a story, Mr. Boyer,” Emily began. She could feel the shakiness in her voice and she pressed on. “Once upon a time there was a couple who tried and tried to have a child but they couldn’t. For some reason, they just couldn’t. They tried everything. Fertility doctors, various treatments. All to no avail. They prayed about it, and they kept trying and then finally the Lord blessed them with a child...a beautiful little girl they named Amy.”

  Officer Boyle listened. Jeff was sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed, not looking at them.

  “When Amy was born her mother and father wept tears of joy. She was the most beautiful thing they’d ever seen. They felt blessed. They swore to each other they would love their child more than they loved themselves and that they would do everything in their power to protect and love and cherish and provide for her. You see, her mother and father never had that love and security when they were children. Her father came from a family of alcoholics that neglected him, and her mother never knew her father—she never knew her mother well either, since she was emotionally unavailable. They swore they would never put their daughter through what they went through as children. They would put their child first, above everything, even themselves. Their love for each other was still strong—in fact, it strengthened with the birth of their daughter—but it was stronger for Amy. Do you understand their love for their child, Officer Boyer?”