River of Bones

by Dan Padavona

  “You were my enforcer? What a joke. I could’ve bled you anytime I wanted, bitch.”

  As LeVar crawled to his knees, Rev pounded LeVar with a punch to the face. Blood spurted from his nose. He pushed himself to his feet before his knees buckled, the woods a confusing pattern of whirling motions. He swung blindly, intent on knocking Rev’s head off his shoulders. The blow whipped harmlessly through the air. A low chuckle behind him revealed Rev’s position. Too late for LeVar to react. Hauling LeVar up from behind, Rev snaked his powerful forearms around LeVar’s neck. He squeezed, sapping LeVar’s strength. Rev was going to kill him.

  The arms around his throat constricted. LeVar gasped for air and reached out, desperate for a makeshift weapon or something to grab hold of. His hand fell to the sheathed knife. Rev hooked one arm around LeVar’s elbow and pulled back, preventing LeVar from reaching his weapon. The other arm choked his life away as a cracking sound came from LeVar’s neck.

  “You’re a nobody, LeVar. You never should have walked away from your real family. Shame. But when a dog goes bad, you gotta put her down.”

  LeVar whipped his head back and smashed it against Rev’s face. Bones crunched in the gang leader’s nose. Stunned, Rev’s grip weakened. LeVar swung an elbow and caught Rev in the stomach, driving his attacker back. LeVar sucked air as Rev stumbled through the dark, fighting to regain his senses.

  The forest turned red in LeVar’s vision. As his strength returned, he zeroed in on the feared leader of the Harmon Kings. Rev doubled over, one arm wrapped around his stomach as he coughed blood. LeVar thought of the knife on his hip.

  No. A quick kill would be too easy. He wanted the sociopath to suffer. Pay for the lives he stole while running Harmon’s streets.

  Rev recovered and raised his head a split-second before LeVar launched into him. His shoulder drove through Rev’s midsection. The gangster’s legs flew out from under him. He crashed back-first against the forest floor with LeVar atop him, fists raining down on his face. Rev raised his arms to cover up. But there was no stopping LeVar’s fury.

  “You shouldn’t have threatened my friends.” LeVar’s punch snapped Rev’s head backward. Blood flew from the man’s mouth as LeVar smashed his fist against Rev’s cheek. “I knew you were too stupid to leave me alone, Rev. You’re a coward. You never would have survived Harmon without me watching your back.”

  Rev snatched the knife off LeVar’s hip. The blade slashed at LeVar’s arm and gashed his flesh. He cried out and fell as the gangster gasped for air and retched. LeVar covered his bleeding arm as Rev found his footing. The gangster stood hunched over, one hand on his knee, the other clutching the knife like a lifeline. A cruel smile twisted his lips. Instead of coming at LeVar with the knife, Rev tossed it aside. It landed somewhere between the trees. For a moment, LeVar thought Rev meant to settle the score with his fists. An unwise decision, even for a hardened criminal like Rev. Then Rev drew the revolver from his pocket.

  “It’s over, LeVar. First, I blow a hole in your head. Then I shoot that pig forest ranger you like so much and fuck your sister. I’ll kill you slow, let you watch me rape the bitch.”

  A branch snapped on the trail. Rev swiveled his head toward the sound, giving LeVar the opening he needed. LeVar threw himself at Rev as the leader of the Harmon Kings raised the gun. The shot exploded and ripped past LeVar’s skull. Taken by surprise, groggy from the battle, Rev lost hold of the gun. LeVar drove his fist against Rev’s jaw. The gangster stumbled and propped himself against a tree as LeVar converged on him. Somewhere in the night, Raven shouted for LeVar to stop. He couldn’t. Not until he finished Rev and ensured the psycho never threatened his family and friends again.

  LeVar lifted Rev like the man was a rag doll. Hoisting the gang leader over his shoulder, LeVar spun and drove Rev against the ground. A gasp escaped Rev’s chest. He lay wide-eyed and defenseless, the breath stolen from his body. He couldn’t defend himself against the punches LeVar delivered. The gangster’s eyes rolled back as LeVar pummeled the man’s face. LeVar was a rabid dog, a force of nature Rev shouldn’t have underestimated.

  As LeVar raised his fist for the killing blow, someone dragged him off the unconscious gang leader.

  “It’s over, LeVar. Let him go.”

  Darren pulled LeVar to his feet, the former police officer unable to keep hold of LeVar. It wasn’t until Raven rounded on her brother and pressed her hands against his cheeks that LeVar snapped out of his haze.

  “Stop fighting. I won’t lose my brother to prison over a stupid gang rivalry. Are you listening?”

  LeVar blinked and glanced down at his bloodied hands, realizing he would have murdered Rev had Darren and Raven not stopped him. He thought of his new family—his mother, Scout, Naomi, Thomas. He couldn’t let them down. This wasn’t who LeVar was. Not anymore.

  A choked sob came from his throat. He threw his arms around Raven’s shoulders and cried for a long time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Sunday, August 15th

  9:20 p.m.

  Thomas checked his mirrors. Since he’d driven out of Wolf Lake into the depthless night, he’d sensed eyes on him. The road lay empty, the distant hills black monstrosities looming over the horizon. He had Aguilar on speaker phone as he rushed toward Cathy Webb’s address on County Line Road.

  “I’ll arrive at the courthouse in fifteen minutes,” said Aguilar. She would get the judge’s signature at the courthouse to expedite the warrant. “Don’t make a move until I join you.” He didn’t reply. “Thomas?”

  “I heard you.”

  The centerline extended into the unknown, a line pulling him toward hell. For six years, a murderer had lived outside Wolf Lake with no one’s knowledge. As he directed the cruiser around a curve, he remembered the real Cathy Webb’s face. Except for the teenager’s overbite, she looked exactly like her cousin, Dawn Samson. Dawn’s suicide had driven Alec mad. The boy murdered his cousin, the kind woman who’d invited him into her house, because she was a carbon copy of his dead sister. A chill slid through Thomas.

  Killing the headlights before he reached the decrepit home, he eased the cruiser onto the shoulder behind a stand of trees. He slipped into the night and watched the house through the branches. The screaming face of a full moon hung over the rooftop, the garage colored in deep azures. Silencing his phone and radio, he followed the tree line along the driveway. One light shone on the second floor. The silhouette of a woman brushing her hair played over a drawn shade. Thomas squinted at the figure. Inside, a speed metal rock song rattled the windows.

  When the silhouette moved away from the window, Thomas crept down the driveway to the garage. Checked the door. Still locked. He rounded the garage and felt along the walls until he found what he sought. A crack in the wood, just large enough for his flashlight. He cast an eye at the house, worried he’d attracted Alec Samson’s attention. Then he directed the light inside the garage. He stopped the beam on a dark blue Honda Odyssey. Flicked the light at the windshield and read the registration sticker—expired four years ago. No license plate. Just a paper copy mimicking the temporary license plates car dealerships placed on their vehicles.

  Thomas doused the light and stepped away from the garage. He couldn’t wait much longer for the warrant.

  * * *

  Alec Samson applied lipstick at the bedroom mirror. One leg crossed over the other with black fishnet stockings ending at mid-thigh, he puckered his lips and turned his face one way, then the other. He grinned at his profile.

  The girl bleated from the neighboring bedroom. He turned the music louder to drown her out.

  “You can’t keep me locked in here!”

  She pounded a fist against the bedroom door. Normally, he allowed his pet to wander the house as she wished. The doors locked from the inside and required keys. Concealed behind the blackout curtains, steel bars covered the first-story windows. Without a lower roof overhang, a leap from the second floor would guarantee shattered bones. It had been a f
ew years since the girl last attempted escape.

  But tonight was different. She raged against the bedroom door, screamed for release. He’d made a mistake last week, forgetting to lock the basement. She’d seen Justine. It snapped his pet out of her submissive state and reminded her of who she was, of what she once had. During her teenage years, she’d stood idly by and allowed Paige to torture his sister. He required repayment for her sins. A lifetime’s worth.

  Alec’s hands curled into fists. His body trembled as he struggled to contain his fury. So many times he’d wanted to slam the girl against the wall and strangle the life out of her, glaring into her panicked eyes as he squeezed.

  “You will be quiet now, or there will be punishment.”

  The pet turned silent for a moment. Then the pounding began again. This time with greater purpose, as if she meant to smash through the wood. The corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Silence!”

  His command had no effect. The walls shook as she threw her weight against the door. The sound like bombs exploding. Boom, boom, boom. His hands shook as he ran the brush through his gnarled hair. This is the way Cathy had responded after he locked her in the bedroom. She’d discovered his secret—the shack in the woods where he chained his pet and kept her hidden. Cathy finding out turned out to be a blessing in disguise. By eliminating his cousin, the girl who looked so much like Dawn, he had the house to himself. No more need for the shack. He moved his pet into the house, secured the doors and windows, and beat the girl into submission whenever she tried to flee.

  But his world was falling apart tonight. It wasn’t the infernal pounding that drove him mad. He sensed a change in the pattern. A drop in the pond, pushing concentric waves across the water, disturbing what lay hidden. His instinct told him to move away from the window.

  Now he stood in the bedroom entryway as the girl hurled her emaciated frame against the locked door across the hall. By now, she must have thrown her shoulder out of socket or cracked her collarbone. Yet her fervor intensified.

  “Let me out!”

  Heavy metal music blared through the hallway. Deafening. He clutched his ears, a breath away from ripping twin slices of flesh and cartilage off his head.

  “Stop it.” He screamed. “Stop it! Stop it!”

  That’s when the light flashed outside the bathroom window. A pinprick of illumination between the sill and the drawn shade. It was so subtle, it might have been a firefly.

  Yet Alec Samson knew better. The break in the pattern. A fly caught in the spider’s web.

  He shuffled toward the window and stared out toward the garage.

  “Here, piggy piggy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Sunday, August 15th

  9:35 p.m.

  Thomas grabbed his firearm when the screaming started. Though it was difficult to discern over the thundering music, there was no mistaking the woman’s cries.

  He checked his phone for Aguilar’s message. She hadn’t gotten the judge to sign the warrant yet. He radioed his position to dispatch and called for backup, knowing no one was coming. Aguilar was on the opposite side of Wolf Lake, and Lambert was home. It would take a half-hour for either of his deputies to reach County Line Road, and just as long before the state police arrived.

  Then he was running at the leering fun house. The overgrown, dewy grass wicking his pant legs. Night hurtling past his face as deafening booms exploded upstairs, as if someone pounded holes in the walls.

  He sensed, though he didn’t see, the double bolted locks on the back door. He kicked the door open. It whipped into the kitchen and bashed the wall as he shone the flashlight over the dark interior.

  “Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department!”

  The music mocked his pronouncement. Shook the walls and forced Thomas to place a hand over one ear. Loud noises had always disturbed him, a symptom of autism. The affect had worsened after the Los Angeles shooting.

  Oblong light from upstairs fell over the lower landing. He aimed his gun up the staircase.

  “Justine Adkins. Can you hear me?”

  The hammering continued. Between the blasting music and the explosions reverberating through the walls, he couldn’t tell where the sounds came from. Intent on climbing the stairs, he swung around when a woman cried out. From beneath his feet.

  He peered down at the floorboards. The basement.

  Gun raised with the barrel aimed up the staircase, he retreated from the speed metal and returned to the kitchen. Sweeping the flashlight across the kitchen, he spotted a door in the corner leading down to the basement. Two locks secured the door. They required keys.

  “Justine Adkins, this is Sheriff Shepherd with the Nightshade County Sheriff’s Department. You’re safe.”

  “Get me out of here. He’ll kill me!”

  Thomas glanced around the room, hoping against hope the keys hung in the kitchen. No luck. He tugged the handle and found the reinforced door impossible to budge. Darkness crept inside the kitchen and slithered up to him, embracing his body with cold, dead hands. He swung his gaze over his shoulder. Knew Alec Samson was somewhere in the house and aware of Thomas’s presence. Options flew through his head. He dare not shoot the locks without knowing the layout of the basement or where Alec Samson held Justine Adkins.

  “Tell me where you are.”

  “I’m in the dark! He chained me to the wall. Open the door!”

  “I need the keys, Justine. Stay calm. I’ll be back for you as soon as I can unlock the door.”

  “Don’t leave me down here. Please, please, please! Sheriff!”

  Thomas hated to abandon her in that private hell a second longer. But he had no way to break into the basement, and a murderer was somewhere in the house.

  The disorientating music and pounding pummeled his ears. Another scream. He thought it was Justine again. But this cry came from elsewhere. Another prisoner inside the house.

  He hurried across the kitchen toward the threshold. Recognized the blind spot beyond the door. Always the most dangerous place. Breaths flew in and out of his chest as he pressed his back against the wall. Turned the corner and aimed the gun up the staircase. Then swung the weapon toward the darkened living room. The upstairs seemed too bright, almost as if the upper floor was ablaze.

  As he stepped toward the stairs, the lights went out. Suffocating black. Interrupted only by the flash beam as he swept the light from the chipped plaster to the wobbling banister. Alec Samson had snuffed the power somehow, though the infernal music continued. Battery operated radio. Somehow, the music and explosions sounded louder in the dark.

  He considered withdrawing to the kitchen. Shooting the locks out on the basement door, despite the risks. Then what? Shoot the chains off Justine’s wrists and leave the second prisoner upstairs until help arrived?

  A soiled shirt draped over the steps. He brushed it aside and waited for his eyes to adjust.

  The cacophony masked his approach. A door stood open straight ahead. His brain resolved the familiar shapes—a sink and faucet with a toilet in the corner. Two closed doors to either side of the hallway. The one on his left buckled each time the prisoner threw her body against it.

  “Who’s out there?” The second prisoner’s voice. “Please, I know someone is there. If you can hear me, my name is Skye Feron.”

  Thomas spun his head toward the door. Skye Feron. Impossible. Had Alec held the girl prisoner all these years?

  He moved to the top of the staircase. One thin wall between him and whatever hid in the dark. The flashlight still shone. He considered turning it off so Samson wouldn’t see his approach. But he couldn’t bear that much black and place himself at the killer’s mercy. Two danger areas. The bathroom and the open bedroom. If Samson wasn’t inside either room, he’d fled to the attic crawlspace. Thomas’s eyes widened until his head hurt.

  He set his back against the wall. Reached out and tested the knob on the closed door. It wouldn’t open. Like everything else in this murder house,
it opened with a key. The jiggling handle got Skye screaming again. She knew he was on the other side of the door, that he represented freedom, escape, safe harbor. It killed him to leave her. He needed to eliminate the threat first. Then find the keys.

  The plaster crumbled as he slid along the wall. He remained blind to the inside of the bathroom, except for the sink and toilet. The bedroom was a black abyss. And the noise. The slamming drums and screeching guitars.

  Something reached out and touched his back. He spun with the gun aimed. It was just the jamb surrounding the bathroom entryway. Thomas swerved back and aimed at the bedroom. If he couldn’t see Samson, the murderer couldn’t see him. No movement. Not that it was possible to discern the killer shifting inside the bedroom, it was so dark.

  His breaths came too fast and pushed him toward hyperventilation. First step. Clear the bathroom.

  He swung into the room and swept the gun into the space. Moonlight bled around the drawn shade and pooled on the sill. Thomas rotated his body and directed the gun at the shower. Reached for the shower curtain a second before Alec Samson ripped the curtain aside and leapt at Thomas. In the split second it took him to react and squeeze the trigger, he spotted the pale white face, the wild eyes and mad leer, the knife.

  Four blasts threw Samson backward and sprayed blood over the walls. He hung there for a moment, as if suspended by an invisible hand, then slumped into the tub, painting a long, red streak. Over the maddening music, he choked. “Kill them…both. For what they did. Kill them…pig.”

  Samson’s eyes hung open long after the life fled his body. Thomas didn’t want to turn his back on the murderer. He nudged Samson with his foot. The madman’s neck lolled at an inhuman angle.

  He swung the flashlight at the wall and flipped the switch, forgetting Samson had cut the power. Turned on the faucet and splashed water over his face. He stared at his silhouette in the mirror, wondering how different Alec Samson was from him. Tragedy pushed us over the edge. Did a monster lie dormant in each of us, hibernating until a crippling life event awakened the beast?