Velvet Rain - A Dark Thriller

by David C. Cassidy

  He had just climbed to the top when the pickup flew past the other side of the barn and ran up to the house. Ryan emerged from the cab, and Ben Caldwell did a quick one-eighty before flying into the dust he had spewed up coming in. Ryan slipped inside and came out not a minute later. He set his hands firmly on the railing, but before Kain knew it the kid was rushing down the steps in a beeline for the barn.

  Already the boy was halfway and picking up steam. He yelled something, perhaps an expletive, but Kain could not make it out; the outburst had come harshly, like words blasting out of a cracked loudspeaker. For a moment, he feared the boy would grab the ladder and shake him loose like an apple from a tree. Or simply push him over and be done with it. It would take some effort on the kid’s part, but once he got it going, gravity would take care of the rest. He was up a good thirty feet or so, a serious drop; his earlier fall had softened him up, and that had been from maybe fifteen feet. From this height, a fall would most surely break his legs. Or kill him.

  “Where’s my SISTER?”

  “Hang on a sec,” Kain said, pretending to touch up a spot. He finished slowly and finally looked down. Ryan was standing impatiently at the base of the ladder now.

  “Where is she? She never goes out by herself. She never goes anywhere.”

  “Take it easy,” Kain said. “She’s up at your grandparent’s place.” He almost said, Your mom’s there, too, but stopped himself. Ryan wouldn’t be expecting that; as far as he knew, his mother was still at work.

  Ryan turned in a temper, glaring over the fields toward the Hembruff farm as if he might actually spot his absent sibling. He didn’t, naturally, and when he turned back round, he looked grittier, a craze in his eye. A craze Kain had seen before.

  In Lynn’s kitchen.

  The diner.

  Suddenly, those disquieting words came back to him in an alarming rush.

  Ray Bishop’s dangerous … crazy dangerous.

  He prayed he was imagining the resemblance. Physically they bore little likeness, but their eyes … oh yes. This was Ray Bishop’s boy. And if it had been his father standing there instead, then Big Boy would surely have come tumbling down by now. It still might.

  Ryan lowered his head as he turned away. He stormed to the farmhouse. He went inside, and Kain figured that was the end of it.

  A minute later the screen door creaked open, and Ryan stood cold on the veranda.

  Beakers stood next to him.

  ~ 28

  Kain watched from the corner of his eye as Ryan took the steps, his loyal companion in tow. He knew the animal hadn’t seen him; it would have been gunning for him full throttle. His initial reaction was to climb down to confront the boy, and he started to, moving down a few rungs, but his instincts told him no. Better to be clear of the dog, than down on the ground and driving it to a frenzy.

  Ryan closed on the barn. He stopped well short of the ladder and knelt beside the dog. Beakers stubbornly fought the leash round his neck, but Ryan roped him in and threw an arm around him.

  “Good dog,” he said, hugging him. Old Beaks sat with his big fat tongue hanging limply in the heat. Ryan stroked him, and as he did, he rose slowly, gazing away from Kain and across the plain.

  “I don’t like secrets, Beaks,” he said, as if the animal understood. “You got any secrets, Ghost?”

  Kain said nothing. He kept very still.

  “You know my friend, Ben? He said he had this dream about you. Imagine that.”

  “Ryan,” Kain said, and that’s all he had time to say before the dog slipped into a fit. The animal loosed itself of its master’s grasp and lunged at the ladder, snapping and snarling. Ryan had to rein it in. The dog braved a step onto the first rung, and the boy drew it back. The ladder, heavy as it was, rattled against the barn.

  The dog bared its choppers and started to growl.

  “Easy, Beaks. He’s not going anywhere.”

  The animal barked as it settled on its hind legs. It stirred, ready and able, and the boy had to steady it.

  “What do you want from me, Ryan?”

  “How about the truth.” The boy was glaring now. “I’m not an idiot. Don’t treat me like you treat them.” He said this as he drew his head back, as if pointing to the Hembruff farm. “Ben’s no idiot, either.”

  “I didn’t—” Kain had to wait for a break in the din of the dog’s rambling. “I didn’t say he was.”

  “He had a dream about you,” Ryan said. “Said he saw you standing in some kind of fog. Said it was floating around your boots. That it was glowing.”

  “A dream.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that! Don’t you dare. He said you were doing something with your hand. Know anything about that?”

  “It was a dream.”

  “Yeah? Ben thinks it was more than that.”

  Beaks tried to break away. He was all wound up, bouncing to and fro, barking so vehemently his throat grew hoarse. Suddenly he shot forward, striking the ladder with two big paws. It was all Ryan could do to contain him.

  Kain shifted as the ladder shook. He could barely hold himself steady. One hand held the brush, one the can.

  “No more lies,” Ryan said. “I want to know where you came from. For real.”

  “Miami.”

  “Why don’t I believe you? You say Miami like it’s just a name on a map. What’s it like there? What street did you live on? What school did you go to?”

  The dog barked three times, as if asking the same.

  “What school, huh? What was your math teacher’s name?”

  “Maple Street,” Kain said. “Big brick house.”

  “Maple Street,” Ryan echoed. “Sure it wasn’t Oak? Main? You must think I’m just a dumb hick from the sticks. Every town’s got a Maple.”

  “If you don’t believe me, why ask?”

  “So what school?”

  “Lincoln High.” Another lie. Maybe there was a Lincoln High, but he doubted the kid would actually check.

  “What about your folks? I suppose they still live in that big brick house on Maple. Got an address?”

  “If you must know,” Kain said, “they live in a high-rise now. I’d gladly give you their address, but I haven’t spoken to them in years. I don’t have it.”

  “Yeah. Right. Have you even seen Miami?”

  “Ryan … if you want—”

  “I asked you a question! Damn you!”

  Purposely, Ryan let the leash slip from his grasp. The big shepherd bolted for the ladder, landing those awesome paws on the third rung. The ample weight of the beast made Big Boy shudder. It slid an inch or so to the left, and Kain had to drop the brush and grab hold of the side rail. The dog snapped at the brush.

  “You better start talking, Ghost.”

  “You don’t want to do this—”

  “DON’T TELL ME WHAT I WANT! YOU DON’T KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT WHAT I WANT!”

  This outburst bore another from the shepherd. Smartly, the dog kept jumping up and pounding down on that third rung. Kain looked for something to grab onto on the side of the building, but there was nothing. The ladder kept shifting, and all he knew was that if he managed to survive the fall, he’d be in no shape to fight those jaws. For his part, Ryan had whipped himself into an equally dizzying fury. Kain wondered if Lynn Bishop truly knew her son; knew the ugliness that poisoned him. Had she ever seen him like this? He doubted she had, but would no doubt recognize it if she did.

  Static struck like a hot poker between the eyes. It overwhelmed him, its din drowning. Was it a mixed signal? A crossed station? No. Not this time. He was as certain of that as he was of Lynn’s Sense.

  “What about the dog? The cats! What about THEM?”

  Ryan’s eyes had seemingly doubled. They seemed to double again at the drifter’s silence.

  “You saw my eyes,” he said, and then he pointed to the dog. “You saw his.”

  “I saw them,” Kain said, and those three simple words sent the dog into a wilder frenzy. He
gripped the rail tighter. If it came to it, he’d drop the can as well.

  “How do you explain it? What did you do?”

  “Ryan, please, listen to me.”

  “No! You listen to ME!”

  Barely audible above the din below, Kain heard a vehicle coming up the road.

  “Where’d you get those scars, Ghost? How?”

  The old dog had new life, for it kept at it like an animal possessed. Its rage seemed no less than its master’s, no less dangerous. Crazy dangerous.

  Ryan placed his hands on the rails. He looked up with a glare that could kill.

  “You’re not from Miami,” he said, so calmly it was far more frightening than his outbursts. He dropped his head, as if in despair. “You’re not from Miami,” he repeated, his voice breaking.

  The vehicle—Big Al’s flatbed—turned up the drive. The truck carried on at a laborious pace, but then, as Lynn came forward toward the windshield and into the sunlight, her eyes widening in disbelief, the vehicle suddenly sped up. The truck skidded to a stop, and she seemed to leap from the cab. Her daughter followed, and they both started to run. Lynn called out to her son in a panic.

  Ryan was shaking the ladder now, with all his might could muster. He sounded close to tears. “What did you do, Ghost? God, God, what did you do to us?”

  “Ryan!” Lynn screeched. “Lee! Get Beaks out of here!”

  Lee-Anne looked up in confusion. She wavered, her wide eyes lost above a crisscross of bandages. Her mother yelled at her again, and she got moving. She took several stabs at it, but she managed to snatch the leash and pull Beakers back. The dog was a brute, and she nearly had the leash slip from her grasp. As if sensing the drifter would soon be horizontal, the animal flung forward, stretching its leather restraint to the limit.

  “In the house, Lee! Get him in the house NOW!”

  The girl fought the dog and practically dragged it kicking and screaming onto the veranda. Nearly in tears, she turned to look back, and then she forced the beast into the house. She shooed him off down the corridor, then stood behind the screen door, fearful and bewildered.

  “Is Richards even your real name?” Ryan pounded on the rail with a fist. “Is it? Is it …” He groaned, his voice sagging; now he seemed more like a drunk coming down from an all-night high.

  Lynn looked up, so lost, so sadly out of sorts. Kain gave her nothing more than a frayed look that said, I have no idea what’s going on. Static was flying about, grilling him from every direction, overloading his senses. He was beginning to feel faint, and if the situation kept up, he might save Ryan the trouble. The kid was really hammering on the ladder now.

  “RYAN! RYAN! STOP THIS! PLEASE STOP IT!”

  Lynn lunged and placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. Ryan whirled round with wild eyes, and she slipped back in fear; slipped back as if she’d slipped back a hundred times that way. Or had been slapped back.

  If you touch her, you’ll be sorry, Kain thought, and found himself moving down a few rungs almost unconsciously. If he had to, he’d jump on the boy, height be damned.

  Ryan stepped back, his mother drawing away, and he started towards the house with his head down. He passed the flatbed without regard, but when he saw his sister he stopped abruptly, as if he had struck some invisible wall. He whipped about and launched a burning glare at the drifter with all the fire of one of his wild fastballs. His eyes deepened to coal. At that moment, he looked more like his father than at any time prior, and from the horror on Lynn Bishop’s face, Kain knew that she saw it, too.

  “Did you do this? DID YOU?”

  Lynn stepped forward, just a little. “He didn’t do anything, Ryan. He hasn’t done anything.”

  Kain was halfway down the ladder now.

  “Answer me, Ghost!”

  “Ryan, you’re scaring me—” Lynn teetered on tears.

  Ryan fixed on the drifter. He followed the man’s every move until he had reached the ground, and then, as cold as granite, turned about and made his way to the door. His sister backed away.

  He opened the door, paused, then turned to his mother.

  “I’m not the one to be afraid of,” he said, and then he lumbered inside and let the door close behind him.

  ~ 29

  The rains came. They came at midnight without warning, unwelcome and cruel. The drifter lay in his bed restless, listening to their whisper, hearing their call. His thoughts drifted between the events of the day and, curiously, cigarettes; the craving drove him, like a wounded animal clawing at the wire that has snared it. His knapsack was already packed. If things went right, he could cross the border into Minnesota by mid-morning.

  Thunder boomed. A flash of lightning lasted, and then the room fell to darkness.

  He sat up sharply. A knock? At this hour?

  He peered through the webbed glass—he never did get around to replacing it, realized he never would—and whispered Lynn? under his breath. He hurried to the table, took the envelope there and stuffed it beneath his pillow.

  “Couldn’t sleep,” she said, when he opened the door. She wore a long housecoat and a pair of rubber boots, and an old ratty coat that was positively soaked. He could hardly make her delicate features, for the dim porch light of the farmhouse barely illuminated her. Her eyes weren’t the fabulous bright lights he was used to; they were subdued and dark and filled with unease. Standing there with her arms wrapped round herself, she seemed a lost child, and spoke as softly as one. “Did I wake you?”

  He brought her in and took her coat, and placed it on the back of a chair. “I couldn’t sleep either.”

  She slipped off her boots and sat at the table.

  “Uh … could you—”

  “Oh!” He fumbled for the light switch on the lamp beside his bed. “Sorry.”

  She looked so tired … tired of life. It was as if someone had reached into her heart with the coldest fingers and had stopped it from beating.

  “I’m disturbing you … I should go.”

  “No,” he said. “It’s all right. Really.”

  She seemed to hesitate. He knew why she was here.

  They both spoke at the same time.

  “You first,” she said.

  “No … you.”

  She nodded reticently. “I guess I’m here to apologize. Again. I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  It was his turn to waver.

  “Yes,” she said, as if reading his mind. “He was drinking again.” She looked at him squarely. “What can I do? I can’t reach him. He’s like a stranger to me.”

  “I could talk with him,” he said, and couldn’t believe he had uttered such five brainless words. By sunup, weather permitting or not, he figured he’d be a good five miles north of Spencer. Still, he had to admit—and the real reason he couldn’t sleep, rains be damned—he didn’t like skipping out on people. Not good people. Not Big Al Hembruff, and certainly not Lynn.

  Not Lynn.

  He would stay another day; he would tell them tomorrow. He owed them that. Whether he could live with that was another matter.

  “Thank you,” she said, and for a moment, he figured she had accepted his offer. “But I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “It’s the least I can do, considering.”

  “… I don’t know, Kain.”

  “Just ask him. It’s up to him.”

  “This is crazy. I can’t imagine what he’d say.”

  She meant do. He could see it in her eyes.

  “I’ll ask, Lynn. You won’t have to get involved.”

  Lightning. The rains grew heavier suddenly, pounding the small roof, then quickly subsided to that punishing drizzle. The lamp flickered.

  “He scared me, Kain.”

  She sniffled, forcing back the tears that had been forming there since he opened the door. She was looking past him now, watching the storm.

  “He’s never hit me,” she said blankly. “Ray has.”

  He started to say something. Only started.<
br />
  “Weren’t they the next questions?” she said. “Of course they were. Now you know.”

  “Lynn, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said. “Lee won’t talk to him. She won’t go near him.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Longer than I care to remember,” she sighed, her gaze drifting. “Since I—since his father left. Two years now.”

  “The drinking?”

  She shrugged. It was the feeble gesture of one who has finally said, To hell with it, what’s the difference. “Maybe six months. Maybe longer.”

  “You can’t give up on him.”

  She looked up solemnly. The soft glow of the lamp could not warm the harsh cold he saw there. He settled across from her, reached over, and gently stole a tear from her eye with his finger.

  “You can’t,” he said. “You understand?”

  She smiled a little. Nodded a little.

  “Do you think he’ll talk to you? Really?”

  “All I can do is try.”

  “… Kain … I need to ask—”

  “I know. It wasn’t the storm that kept you up.”

  “Was I that obvious? I guess I was.” She paused, looking utterly confused. “What happened out there today? I mean, first Costello, and … and those things Ryan was saying—”