by Jon Mills
He looked over his shoulder and second-guessed going in alone. Hours earlier he’d been at home dealing with Mindy’s bullshit. After draining three cans of Bud, and getting into another argument, he’d headed out with no destination in mind. It didn’t take long for Darryl Clayton’s words from earlier to echo in his mind causing rage to swirl. “You’re Tom Young’s son. That bastard is where he deserves to be.”
There was no respect for the dead.
Not long after Charlie’s abduction he’d overheard a neighbor talking to his father about Darryl. “Oh yeah, the police showed up here asking questions but they never took him away. He laughed at them. Said they didn’t have any proof. When they drove off he felt he was above the law. Acted like the whole abduction was one big joke. Clayton enjoyed the attention.”
Sam knew that asshole was hiding something and after his insult, he was determined to find out if the Bonneville was still there. Oh the look on his face if it turned out that he was involved. He trudged on through the waterlogged field, his boots making a squelching noise. Under the cover of darkness he made his way to the back of the decaying barn. Sam shot a sideways glance either way before sliding around the corner keeping his back pressed to the wood panels. He’d considered bringing a knife or baseball bat as protection, but in the chance he got arrested he didn’t want to end up doing time. At least this way if the cops nabbed him he’d only be charged for trespassing.
Under the faint light of the moon, the silhouette of structures loomed before him. He could hear two dogs barking outside, and the faint sound of bluegrass music. Sam ducked and remained still as someone burst out of the back door of the house and yelled at the dogs.
“Shut up, you mangy mutts,” the familiar voice said in a slurred fashion.
The yellow glow of an outside door light gave him a clear shot of who it was — Darryl Clayton. He had what appeared to be a bottle of bourbon in hand, and a cigarette hanging out the corner of his mouth. He peered out into the night, grunted and ambled back into the house. The screen door slammed behind him. Sam waited a few more seconds before he continued on to the front of the barn to make his way inside. He glanced over his shoulder before pulling back the door ever so slightly to give him room to squeeze in. The barn stank of chicken shit, and engine oil. He took out his flashlight, and clicked the end. A white beam shot out illuminating the spacious confines. The ground was muddy, covered in a fine layer of hay. There was a John Deere digger directly ahead of him, and two tiers to the barn. Haystacks were on both sides, and off to his left was a long workbench covered in lots of engine parts, tools and paint cans.
Sam moved through the darkness lifting heavy covers off the first vehicle which turned out to be a battered green 1940 International Harvester truck. Near his feet he heard the sound of rodents scuttling across the ground. He looked back at the main door and continued on to the rear. The next cover he lifted was for an engine that he figured had been taken out of a truck. He dropped the cover and shuffled forward casting the light over the cobweb-filled structure. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in decades. From what he’d learned from his father, the Clayton family had been residents of Forks for a long time. No doubt the property had been passed down from father to son.
At the back of the barn, he lifted a cover on the next vehicle. Beneath it was a dark black car. He made his way around to the back and saw that the logo for a Bonneville had been removed. At a closer inspection, he could tell that the vehicle had at one time been white. Bastards! They’d given it a paint job and removed anything that might identify it as being a Bonneville. He shone the light on the tires and noticed the back one was deflated, the other one was gone and the brake drum was resting on a stack of bricks.
“Gregory?” a voice echoed.
A shot of fear went through Sam and he clicked the light off and ducked down behind the vehicle. His eyes scanned the back of the barn searching for a way out. He’d only seen one entrance, but there was another higher up on the second floor. His heart was slamming in his chest as he waited in the silence. The sound of boots could be heard approaching, puddles splashing and then the door he’d entered opened.
“You in there, boy?”
Sam closed his eyes and willed him to leave. Don’t come in. Don’t come in. The door closed and he heard the sound of heavy boots trudging away. He breathed a sigh of relief as he snuck a peek around the corner of the vehicle. Sam fished into his pocket and brought out his cell phone, pulled back the cover on the vehicle and turned on the video. He spoke in a low, hushed voice.
“Appears to be a 1982 Bonneville. It’s had a paint job. A sloppy one but a paint job, nonetheless. The logo emblem has been removed but on closer inspection it’s clear to see they used some kind of filler in the holes.” Sam scratched away at the body with the keys to his bike and revealed the paint. “As you can see it’s white underneath. My bet is another part of the vehicle is brown.”
Right then he heard more voices outside — a female, then a louder male voice, possibly Gregory’s? “Alright, I’ll go check it out.”
Shit! He moved fast, holding the small flashlight in his mouth and pulling the covers over the vehicle. He heard the door crack open as he clicked the button and the barn returned to darkness.
“I know you’re in there. We saw the light. Now come on out!”
Sam’s heart was pounding like a drum. His throat went dry as he shuffled behind the vehicle and tried to remain as quiet as possible. More voices could be heard, a woman and a man arguing. Sam glanced up at the second floor and could see the double barn door. It would be quite a drop but unless Gregory walked away the chances of getting out of the main door were slim to none. He scuttled across the floor, staying low and moving towards a wooden ladder that went up to the loft.
“I’ve got a gun. You better come out now or I’ll set the dogs on you.”
Hearing that only strengthened his resolve to get the hell out of there. At the foot of the ladder in the darkness he waited until he saw Gregory go around the far side of the digger before he began climbing. He’d only made it up four steps when he heard him shout. “Hey! Stop.”
There was no stopping him. Sam’s legs pumped like pistons as he scrambled up the ladder and launched himself into hay and made his way to the back door. Below he could hear Gregory making his way around the digger, yelling at the top of his voice for him to stay where he was. Was this guy out of his mind? Sam kicked the door open and looked down. It had to have been a good ten-foot drop. Crawling over the edge he let himself hang by his fingertips and then dropped to the ground. He landed hard and his ankle twisted. He let out a groan and clamped a hand around it before staggering to his feet. He was going to bolt across the field but before he could, a gun erupted. He saw the muzzle flash and he dashed around the other side of the barn and crossed over to the grain storage. He didn’t wait but kept moving, now with the sound of Gregory and Darryl yelling.
“Get the dogs, you idiot!”
He knew he didn’t stand a chance of outrunning dogs especially with his ankle, so using the cover of darkness he headed toward the house, hoping to make them think he’d bolted and possibly get the dogs off his scent. Sam limped his way to the rear porch, and saw the dogs barking. One was a hound dog, the other a Rottweiler. Both were up on their hind legs trying to get at him but a thick chain kept them in place.
“Did you see where he went?” the voice of Nancy Clayton hollered.
Sam ducked into the back of the house, groaning in agony. He pushed back against the wall and glanced out seeing Gregory head over to the dogs and release them. The second he did they bolted for the back door and started jumping up at it. Sam didn’t wait around, he moved further into the house. It smelled almost as bad as the barn. He slid by the kitchen and saw a mountain of dishes that hadn’t been cleaned and a dining table partially peeking out from beneath magazines, and all manner of shit. He was planning on going through the hallway and out the front, hoping they would cross the far
m land out the back and he could escape down the main driveway but that wasn’t to be.
“What’s going on?” another guy’s voice bellowed. A large, overweight man stepped into the hallway with his back to Sam and headed for the front door. For a brief second Sam thought it was over. The obese figure grabbed up a rifle by the door and pushed out. It was Edwin Brewer, Nancy Clayton’s halfwit brother. Sam twisted around hearing Darryl out back and Edwin out front. He wasn’t getting out of there anytime soon. His eyes darted to the stairs and he double-timed it up them. It was dark upstairs. None of the lights were on. It smelled like dirty clothes and piss. He peered into one of the bedrooms and saw what resembled a kid’s room. It was odd for sure. There were posters up and a duvet cover with wrestlers from the WWE. He kept moving still hearing their voices and the dogs barking. Sam slipped into another room and closed the door behind him. His heart was hammering. All he could think about was getting out of there and away but the last thing he wanted was to try and outrun vicious dogs. He walked backwards away from the door and his legs bumped into a king-size bed. Sam glanced over his shoulder and then went over to the window and peered out. He could see Gregory standing just beyond the porch, raking his rifle back and forth.
He fished into his pocket for his phone and dialed Kara’s number. “C’mon, pick up. Pick up!” he muttered under his breath while keeping his eyes fixed on Gregory. No answer. Just the voicemail. Shit! He backed away from the window and cast his gaze over the room. His eyes had now adjusted to the darkness and he could make out a few side tables, a rocking chair in the corner and a closet. Okay, stay calm. You can do this. You’ll just wait until they leave and then head out the door or climb out the window.
The sound of Nancy coming back into the house caught his attention. She was cursing and blaming Darryl. “You are good for nothing. I told you to get rid of them.”
More heavy boots entered the house.
“And I will.”
“You said that last year and the year before.”
“Shut up, woman, I can’t hear Gregory,” he replied.
It sounded like he was standing in the doorway. “You got anything?”
Gregory replied, “Nothing. Whoever it was is gone.”
“Edwin, go around the perimeter. Gregory, check the barn again and leave the dogs off the leashes.”
Sam brought a hand up to the bridge of his nose and squeezed it. Idiot. Why did you have to come here? You should have just left it to her, he thought as he made his way over to the window and looked out again. Now he had nowhere to go. He scanned the room and cursed multiple times under his breath. The floorboards had creaked when he’d entered but no one was inside at the time. What was he meant to do now? He remained by the window expecting the two of them to eventually give up searching, at which point he would escape but it didn’t happen. He glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven at night. The minutes rolled over and when he heard Nancy say she was heading to bed, he panicked. Sam scanned the room. Her footsteps were getting louder as she reached the top of the stairs. He was about to enter the closet when she headed for the room. He dropped to the ground and slid across the floor, squeezing under the bed frame, a feat that wasn’t easy.
Beneath the bed it was thick with dust and there were a single dirty sock, and a used condom wrapper. He grimaced at the thought of them getting it on. How could anyone fuck that? The door cracked open and light shined in as Nancy walked in mumbling to herself about how stupid they all were. “I’m telling you, Darryl. I want them gone by the end of the week or I’ll get rid of them myself.”
He watched from his confined space as she stripped down leaving a pile of clothes on the floor. She padded out of the room into the washroom. The sound of a faucet turning on followed by water rushing was his signal to move it. Sam slipped out and made a beeline for the door only to stop in his tracks at the sight of Darryl coming up the stairs. His eyes widened and he backed up. This time he opted for the closet, slipping inside and pulling the slatted door closed. It was cramped as he pushed back behind mothball-smelling old clothes. Through the slats in the closet door he saw Darryl head over to the window and shift it up. “Get inside, you morons. He’s obviously gone.”
“At least I know who it was!” Gregory shouted back.
“What?”
“Found a set of keys belonging to one Sam Young.”
A cold shiver shot through him as Sam reached for his pocket and patted it. Shit! Sure enough they were gone. He must have dropped them or they fell out of his jacket when he exited the barn. Inwardly he screamed. All he could think about now was the cops showing up at his place and… well, he already had history with them.
“That bastard. Just like his old man. All right, call it a night. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Darryl continued cursing as he shuffled over to the bed and proceeded to peel of his clothes until he was butt naked. His paunch of a belly hung like a sack of potatoes almost covering up his micro sized penis as he hopped up on the bed. Shit. Shit. Shit! That’s all that went through his mind as he remained still in that stuffy closet, barely able to breathe.
He heard water being shut off and a minute or two later, a haggard-looking Nancy ambled in with a towel wrapped around her. She approached the closet and Sam held his breath expecting her to see him when Darryl piped up.
“C’mon, get over here and service your old man.”
“Not tonight.”
“What did you say?” he replied in a disgusted fashion.
“I’m tired, Darryl, and not in the mood.”
“Woman, you better get your ass over here now before I give you a whipping.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she snapped back.
He rolled off the bed and made his way over as she fished into a drawer for underpants. Darryl reached around and snatched them out of her hand and tossed them. “You won’t be needing those.”
“Darryl!”
He pulled her around and led her back to the bed, tearing off the towel and throwing her down before suffocating her beneath his greasy body. She squealed like a stuck pig beneath his grasp. It was hard to know if she was enjoying it or begging for him to stop. All Sam knew was he was trapped there, a spectator to a vomit-worthy sex session that was over before it hardly began. Within minutes he rolled off her like a beached whale and was snoring up a storm. “What about me?” she asked. She slapped him on the belly but it did little to wake him before she gave up and slipped under the covers beside him. There in the silence Sam remained. After an hour he thought Gregory and Edwin would turn in for the night but he could still hear them shuffling around. Swallowed by darkness, and certain both were asleep, he switched on his small flashlight and raked the light over shoes beneath him. He crouched in the closet, cupping a hand over the flashlight to reduce the amount of light. At the far end of the closet he noticed a large brown cardboard box. He might not have given it a second thought if it wasn’t for what was sticking out. He squinted. It was a shoe. It was no adult shoe. It looked like the tip of a Converse sneaker. Certainly wasn’t the kind that he would imagine they would wear. They were country folks. Farmers rarely wore much else than work boots. Sam slid over and pulled back the cardboard flap and shone the light in. He reached in and pulled out a red and white sneaker. The size was too small for an adult. He gazed inside and found a pair of jeans. Again, too small. They looked like a teen or a young boy might have worn them. He continued fishing out one piece of clothing after another; a jacket, three pairs of underpants, and then there buried beneath them were aged Polaroids like those that came from an old-style camera. Sam grabbed a handful and washed the light over them. What he saw made him drop them. He stumbled back, his heartbeat racing even faster. Darryl stirred and groaned, turning over in bed. Sam was quick to turn the light out.
One, two, three minutes passed before he fished out his phone and turned the light back on and started to record what was in front of him. He couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around it. It seemed unrea
l and yet on the other hand it made sense.
Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Sam crept out of that closet and exited the house armed with everything he needed to bring that sack of shit down.
Chapter 28
Two days before Halloween
Gale force winds howled, and rain beat against the windowpane as Kara stirred that morning. Her eyes fluttered, bordering on the brink of dream state and being awake. She noted the smell of coffee, and vaguely remembered the sound of Noah puttering around the apartment before the clunk of a door snapped her awake.
Kara rolled and breathed deeply feeling relaxed and warm beneath the duvet. She turned on her side and eyed a scrap of yellow-lined paper on the pillow beside her. She shifted up onto her elbows, clasped it in one hand and read it.
Had to get going. Didn’t want to wake you. There’s a pot of coffee on. Are you aware you snore? (Just joking.) Call me. Noah.
She smiled and rolled onto her back staring up at the bedroom fan. She slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen. A window was slightly ajar letting in cold air. She went over and closed it and put the heat on, turning it up a few notches. Kara poured herself a cup of coffee and nursed it with both hands as she leaned against the counter eyeing her surroundings. Only the sound of a clock ticking. It was quiet just as Noah said it would be. Fortunately his neighbor only switched on the music at night. She scooped up the sketches from the previous night and took a seat in the recliner and stared at them trying to make sense of it. Her bag and phone were on the coffee table in front of her. Kara scooped it up planning on giving Noah a call when she noticed four messages. She tapped in the code to access them. The first two were from late last night and were straightforward and to the point — call me. The last one was in the early hours of the morning. Sam sounded hyped up but still not clear about why he wanted her to phone — only that he’d stumbled upon something big and to phone him as soon she got the message. She sat back in her seat and dialed his number while looking at the photographs in the spare room across the way. No answer. She left a message and hung up. The last one was from her father asking her where she was but not apologizing. Without giving it another thought she ambled into the bathroom and got ready for the day.