We Came Back

by Patrick Lacey

  Without saying another word, Alyssa took a bite of her pop tart and charged up the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Frank fell asleep with Mona in his arms, trying to soothe her but knowing all too well he was the one that needed soothing. His job was falling apart on account of the vamps, as was his family, and the same went for his sanity.

  “You’re a good father, Frank Tanner,” Mona had said over and over like a mantra but even she didn’t sound so convinced.

  Eventually they both nodded off and Frank’s dreams turned quickly to nightmares where Jeremy was screaming constantly, his raspy cries caught in an infinite loop while Alyssa laughed in tune, her face pale, her hair blacker than the night. She’d finally joined them and was turning into a stranger that only vaguely resembled his daughter.

  As if the real world was syncing up to his subconscious, Frank woke to the sound of shrieking and wailing. At first he thought his alarm was malfunctioning, sounding an hour too early, but then he realized the sound was not his clock or, mercifully, his son. It was the steady howl of cop sirens.

  He and Mona jumped up from bed and looked outside. Through the window the night flashed in shades of red and blue. There were two police cruisers, just across the street at the Davis’ house. He threw on his bathrobe on and ran downstairs, Mona not far behind, wearing not a robe but a nightgown that hugged her body like a second skin. He would’ve been turned on if he wasn’t so scared.

  He opened the door and even from there he could see one cop comforting Anna Davis while another put on latex gloves to remove something from the front door.

  Anna and her husband Jose bad been model neighbors for the twelve years they’d been living across from the Tanners. They never showed up unannounced or participated in the rumor game when Jeremy had passed. Instead, they’d always kept to themselves and only offered to help out when it was appropriate. They’d hosted the Tanners more than a few times, shared laughs and drinks. They weren’t the best of friends but they weren’t simple acquaintances either. Which is why it broke Frank’s heart when he saw Anna crying so hard, not unlike Mona had been just hours ago.

  Jose caught eyes with Frank and shook his head in disgust at what had been done to his front door. The second officer was now prying the small carcass from the wood and placing into a large plastic bag. Frank had seen the cat around, had left it water and food a few times. It was a stray but it would purr if you petted it and now its lifeless body had become a mockery.

  Mona jogged across the street to see if she could help. Frank remained in the doorway, frozen for a moment. He watched as the cop sealed the bag and wiped away sweat from his face with the back of his hand despite the October chill in the air. He looked young, probably new to the force, and ready to lose his dinner at any moment. Lynnwood was a small town. Nothing much happened, present situation excluded. Prior to this school semester, there probably hadn’t been many distress calls to the station.

  Kid, you picked a hell of a time to start your career.

  Frank began to walk across his front yard but stopped short when he saw the young cop pull out another, smaller bag and place a second item of evidence inside. Frank wasn’t shocked to see the piece of paper. Though it was too far to read, he didn’t need to see what was written to know what it said.

  We’re coming.

  He tightened his bathrobe and made his way across the street, trying to assure himself that there weren’t hundreds of eyes watching from the dark corners of his neighborhood. He realized the note was an understatement.

  More like you’re already here.

  ●●●

  The next morning, just over one hundred miles away, with the house smelling like apple pie, Marianna Brown set the timer on the oven and poured herself a hot cup of tea. All the windows in her house were open and a cool draft permeated through the kitchen. She shivered and tightened her robe.

  Fall was in full effect. It felt closer to Thanksgiving than Halloween. She frowned at the thought of trick-or-treaters, of witches and werewolves. Not to mention vampires.

  This time of year was her least favorite. It brought with it a sense of loss. The landscape was getting ready to call it quits until spring came around. Winter she could deal with. She hired some neighborhood boys to shovel her walkway and truth be told, the isolation wasn’t all that bad. It allowed her to be alone and that’s what she’d wanted these last few months more than anything.

  Alone. She tested the word on her tongue, not feeling foolish for speaking aloud because there was no one around to make her feel foolish.

  Sometimes, after she got out of the shower and fixed herself up, she would stare in the mirror, wiping away the steam, and tell herself her family was gone.

  “You are alone. Your husband is gone. Your oldest son is dead. Your youngest son lost his mind and will likely follow the same path. You are alone and you ought to get used to it. Because if you don’t, if you think about this situation too much, you will start screaming and never stop.”

  Almost a year now and Busty hadn’t called once. She’d tried to get in touch but his cell was either turned off or he ignored the call every time she tried to reach out. She still couldn’t figure him out, couldn’t fathom where she’d gone wrong this time around.

  With Melvin, though she’d never say the words aloud, she knew she was to blame. There’d been signs of course, hints that there may have been something…off with him. But she’d chosen to turn her head and pretend like he was just going through some phase.

  She’d actually told him it was hormones messing with his emotions. Imagine that. The boy was hearing voices in his head and she’d blamed it on the teenage blues. She’d seen those awful drawings he created obsessively, noted the way he tacked them onto his walls. She’d heard him speaking to himself on more than one occasion. His teachers had given her several talks, tried to warn her that something was wrong. Even Melvin himself had begged for help.

  But she’d pretended not to notice until the day he exited this world, creating the necessity for a closed casket funeral. Even now, if she concentrated hard enough, she could see his face, the way the bullet had taken a large portion of his skull with it.

  It reminded her of a Halloween mask.

  Busty had been a different story. She’d tried her damnedest to give him all of her attention, perhaps too much so. After Melvin, she’d turned to smothering her remaining child, making sure there were no signs that the madness had infiltrated his bloodstream.

  She hadn’t cared that he was gay. She’d been the first to learn the news and though some of her family were old school, didn’t approve of such things, she was just happy he was a healthy, normal boy.

  Until the day he came home looking like a carbon copy of Melvin, dressed in the same black clothes with the same pale skin and the same tacky tattoo on the back of his hand. She knew then she was a terrible mother.

  The house grew colder and she sipped her tea. It burned her tongue on the way down, not helping much to warm her up.

  Ought to close all the windows and leave them that way for the rest of the year. Crank the heat and have yourself a nap. The pie will be ready soon enough.

  She set her mug down and made her way into the hall, not noticing at first that the front door was open. She closed the living room windows one by one, struggling on the one closest to the street. It had always given her trouble. She used to ask her husband for help but she’d learned to fix it on her own. After a few moments of pushing, the wood creaked into place.

  The house didn’t feel any warmer. She sensed a draft. She went back into the kitchen, closed the remaining window, but still she felt a chill. She heard the wind outside pick up too clearly, which is when she noticed the front door.

  She’d been certain she locked it when getting the mail earlier. She was a stickler about such things, especially now that she lived alone. Perhaps the locks were failing with age. She made a mental note to call t
he locksmith tomorrow morning.

  The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg soothed her. The pie would be ready soon and sweets, she often told herself, could cure anything. She shut the door, checking each lock twice.

  From behind, the floor creaked. She spun around and thought for a moment she was looking at a ghost. She had to convince herself it was Busty, not Melvin, standing there.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” she said, holding her chest.

  “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.” In his hands he held a picture of Melvin and him, taken just weeks before his death. In the photo, they sat at the kitchen table, laughing at something. “I always liked this one. It’s one of my last memories of him, you know. We’d just gotten in from playing with my action figures. You had hot chocolate and brownies ready for us. God, it’s a miracle we don’t have diabetes. I don’t have much of an appetite these days. Melvin, though. That boy can eat.”

  Her pulse raced with a warning. He spoke of his brother in the present tense. She looked toward the phone in case she should need to call for help and shamed herself. He’s your son. He needs his mother, not a jail cell.

  He sniffed the air and smiled. “Smells like you’re cooking up something as we speak.”

  “Apple pie. Your favorite.” Her voice quivered. She tried hard not to seem frightened.

  “I’d love a slice when it’s ready.”

  “You can have as many as you’d like.”

  “Say, Mom. You mind if I ask you a question?” He set the picture back on the shelf in the hallway, and moved it until it was precisely in the same spot again.

  “Not at all. Why don’t you come into the living room and sit down?” She attempted to walk down the hall but he blocked the way.

  “I’d rather not. This will only take a second.”

  He grabbed onto her shoulder, squeezing the flesh with his fingers, and she could no longer deny her fear. “W-what is it?”

  “Have you, by any chance, spoken with anyone about me lately?”

  Her mouth dried out and her throat swelled “How do you mean?”

  He began to pace, looking at the other pictures. “It’s just… well, I’ve been seeing this girl. Don’t look so shocked. It’s not that kind of relationship. See, I’ve been given instructions to keep her close until the time comes and that time is coming very quickly. I’ve been trying my hardest to pretend I like her that way but it’s hard pretending you’re something you’re not.”

  “Then why are you dressed like that?” She covered her mouth, shocked at her own words.

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t make me say it.”

  “Is that what you think is going on? You think I just decided to dress like him one day? It’s not Halloween yet, you know. I had no choice in the matter. He needed me. Needed to see through me. Live through me. God, he waited so long in the ground like that. It must have been so lonely.”

  Her eyes clouded over with tears. She breathed in through her nose, hoping the scent of allspice would calm her, but snot blocked her nostrils. “Busty, what’s happened to you? Why did you leave me like that?”

  “Like I said. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question.” He picked up another photo, this one with the three of them playing in the front yard.

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “It’s simple. Did someone come to talk to you?”

  “Why would you even think that?”

  “Because this girl’s father told her a funny story. He told her I was gay. No one in Lynnwood would know that unless they did some digging. Did you talk to a man named Frank Tanner, Mom?”

  She shook her head.

  “This would be much easier if you told the truth.”

  “Let’s forget about this. The pie should be done any minute.”

  He smashed the frame against the wall, removing the shards of glass and pulling out the picture. He held it up for her to see, as if she could forget such a thing. Then he ripped the paper in half so that her younger self was torn away from her sons, dropped it to the floor.

  “Frank Tanner. The name doesn’t ring a bell?”

  “I swear I’ve never heard of him.”

  “You should have. He was a teacher when we lived in Lynnwood—still is in fact. Not just any teacher. He was there that day. He saw that jock badgering your son and you know what he did, Mom?” He took a step closer to her. “Not a damned thing. He let it happen. He let your boy blow his fucking brains out.”

  He was close enough that his spit washed across her face, mixing with the tears. She looked at the phone, attempted to move, but he grabbed her hands and held her in place.

  “The reason Melvin has me pretending to be something I’m not is because he wants Frank to pay for what he did. And you may have ruined that. She’s not answering my calls. Her father won’t let me see her anymore. You’ve made a real mess of things.”

  “Honey,” she said, her lip trembling. “Melvin’s dead.”

  He nodded. “He certainly is. But as it turns out, death isn’t always the end. Sometimes, when you’re angry enough, when you have so much hate in your body and soul, it jump starts you. Hate is the only thing stronger than death.”

  She struggled, begged him to let her go, but he pinned her against the wall without effort.

  “He sees through me, you know. He’s watching you right now. And he’s smiling like it’s senior picture day. You wouldn’t know it just by looking at him, though. He doesn’t look so… human anymore.”

  He bent her wrists back until she was sure they would break. “Okay,” she finally said, nearly passing out. “I talked to someone.”

  He nodded. “That’s good. Frank had balls coming up here like that.”

  The pain made her see two of everything. “No, his name wasn’t Frank. He was a reporter for the Lynnwood Herald.”

  “You mean the Times.”

  “No, the Herald. It’s a start-up paper. I’d never heard of it either. His name was Justin something. Justin Raimi.”

  A smile spread across Busty’s face, contorting his pale features so that he didn’t seem like a boy anymore. The fear must have been playing tricks with her. The pain must have had her seeing illusions.

  Because for a moment she swore he had fangs, long and sharp protrusions where there should have been normal teeth.

  “You did good, Mom. Melvin’s proud of you.”

  She cried harder at the sound of her son’s name, cried for all these years of pain. Cried for the loneliness she felt each and every waking moment of her life as she tried to adjust to living without her loved ones.

  Just when she thought he’d loosen his grip and let her go, he tightened it exponentially. “He sends his regards. And he wants you to know you’re right.”

  The pain was searing. She felt warm wetness dripping down her forearms. “Right about what?”

  “It really was your fault.”

  He finally let got but only long enough to kneel down and pick up a shard of glass that had moments ago belonged to the broken frame. His hand moved so fast her mind barely registered the sensation of her throat slicing open. She cupped her wound, felt the blood seeping onto her robe, felt the life draining out of her. She looked up at her son and asked for help, though it came out as a wet rattle.

  In the kitchen, the timer buzzed.

  Busty clapped his hands. “Pie’s done.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  On that same Friday, the day before Halloween, Justin decided to skip school. He was only two months into the semester and he’d already had enough of his senior year. He’d always flown by with decent grades and he’d still graduate with flying colors. Besides, the teachers had enough on their plates with the vamps causing a scene every chance they got.

  His alarm clock sounded but he was already wide awake. He’d been up most of the night lifting. At his usual spot by his bed
room window, he’d heard a commotion next door, an argument between Alyssa and her parents. He hadn’t caught specifics but he gathered it wasn’t anything good judging by the sound of something smashing.

  He’d smiled at the commotion, thinking Frank had finally held up his side of the bargain and told Alyssa that Busty was out of the picture.

  Even if he did drop the news, that doesn’t mean she’s going to listen and it certainly doesn’t mean she’ll come crawling back to you.

  After that, there’d been silence until the debacle across the street, another dead cat to add to the mix. He’d only managed to sleep for a few minutes up to that point and it was a lost cause to try any longer.

  Instead he dressed and went downstairs. His mother was still working, wouldn’t be home for another couple hours. He wanted to be out of the house by the time her shift ended. He fumbled with the coffee maker for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to use it. He’d been buying coffee every day before school but it was getting expensive. He’d dropped down to two shifts at the supermarket and if he didn’t watch his funds, he’d be even more broke than he already was. Eventually, he realized the water was meant to be poured into a separate compartment rather than into the filter itself. Soon steam drifted from the top, the smell pleasant to his nostrils.

  If only his father were here to see this. He’d have a field day telling Justin I told you so, welcoming him into adulthood and the endless addiction to caffeine.

  For a moment, he had to remind himself his father wasn’t upstairs, getting ready to play a prank on him. After the joke shop had closed, he’d sold most of his inventory but he’d kept a handful of items. It wasn’t unusual to find a fake pile of dog shit in front of Justin’s room or a glass, the top of which had been covered with plastic wrap, splashing liquid onto the victim, usually Justin.