Hell on Church Street

by Jake Hinkson

  I stood up and moved to my left. The cat watched me go, stood up and wandered back into the kitchen. To my left there was a flight of steps, surprisingly steep. Gently, I took the first step, but the boards groaned like I had pained them. Ian might have been completely devoted to his grandmom, but he hadn’t spent his time keeping the house up for her. Van had said that his mother was a heavy sleeper, but every step I took creaked. Halfway up, another cat spat at me, clawed at my leg and darted down the stairs. I had to grab the railing to keep from tumbling backwards.

  At the top of the steps, I took a moment. There were no windows in the hallway, and I couldn’t remember where Van had told me to find his Mother. I went left, creeping down the hall. Another goddamn cat hissed at me. It was scrawny, with a clipped tail and an arched back.

  I tried to move past it, but the damn thing kept hissing, its hiss getting louder and building into a loud, awful growl.

  I wanted to run. I didn’t want the old woman to wake up and start screaming. I didn’t want to have to look her in the eyes.

  The cat kept growling. I stuck my foot out, just shook it in the direction of the goddamn beast. The cat took a couple of swipes at my shoe and I kicked it in the face. It darted away, thumped into a wall and ran away.

  After I’d caught my breath, I went to the end of the hall. Mrs. Norris’s bedroom was facing the front yard, so I knew it had to be on the right. The door was closed.

  When I turned the doorknob, my hand was slick with sweat. The door creaked like an old casket. I stepped inside. Directly in front of me a lot of moonlight shone through two big windows a few feet apart. It took a couple of long seconds for my eyes to adjust. I wasn’t even sure where the bed was. When my eyes settled down, I saw the big bed between the windows. I also saw Mrs. Norris sitting up and staring at me, cold moonlight glinting off the gun in her hand.

  “You come up here…to kill me?”

  I didn’t have any way to answer that question, so I didn’t even try.

  “That’s my…son out there…in the truck?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said.

  As my eyes adjusted, I saw her hair draped down both sides of her chest. She was wearing a white nightshirt and in the dark she looked a great deal younger. It took a second—because she’d surprised me, because she had a gun, because I was terrified—but I also noticed something else. It’s another of those details which did not register so much at the time, but which the years have brought clarity to: she was sitting on the left side of the bed, not in the middle. To her right was a dent in the mattress. A big dent.

  “Where’s Ian?” she asked.

  I felt for the door.

  She held the gun up with both hands. “I’m old,” she said, “but this here’s an easy…gun to shoot. And…I found the bullets for it…when I got home…So you take your hand…off the door.”

  I dropped my hand. “Okay,” I said.

  “Now, I asked you…a question.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I know you’re lying, dear. You tell me…where my Ian is.”

  “Please,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say.

  She stared at me. I couldn’t see her well, but I think she might have had tears in her eyes. “Ian…”

  “It wasn’t me,” I said.

  She lowered the gun. Her head drooped. I could have run. I knew it, but I didn’t run. I watched her sit there in the dark contemplating Ian. “My precious Ian.”

  “It wasn’t me,” I said.

  “No,” she said leaning back into her pillows. “It was Van. That took my precious Ian.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said. “He was the one who sent me up here.” I was getting my steam back. I could run, but I saw more benefit in not running at that moment. “I don’t know why he killed Ian.” I started talking then. I told her I could go back downstairs, tell Van I’d done what he wanted me to do. She could be one step ahead of him. Or she could go out with me and confront him. Or I could lure him into the house. I talked for a while. I spun it. I sold it to her.

  And she said nothing. She didn’t move. At all.

  It took me a while to notice. I get caught up in hearing myself talk, as you’ve doubtless realized. But it finally did break through. She wasn’t moving. I said, “Mrs. Norris.”

  Nothing.

  “Mrs. Norris?”

  I took a step forward. The gun in her lap still glinted in the moonlight. I grabbed it. And she sat there, her head back in the pillow, her eyes opened. I touched her shoulder and she slumped back a little, her lungs releasing the last breath she had taken, a breath trapped there as she had slumped over and died.

  “Well?” her son asked as we pulled out of the yard.

  “She’s dead,” I said. “Your mother is dead.”

  Van put his elbow on the arm rest of his seat and rubbed his face. When we got to the end of the gravel road, he turned and we went down another gravel road until we hit the two lane black top.

  We were driving for a while in silence when he coughed and wiped some tears away and cleared his throat.

  “You must find that pretty funny,” he said. “The fact that I’m crying.”

  I watched him for a while as he wiped away more tears and stopped crying altogether. I thought of his mother dying of a broken heart, thought of Brother Card’s scream when he saw his wife dead on their kitchen floor, thought of Angela sobbing over the loss of her parents.

  I shook my head. “Everybody loves somebody.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Van drove back to the hospital and pulled up to the curb, far from the entrance.

  “Here?” I asked.

  “Where else?”

  “I thought you’d take me back to Church Street.”

  “No,” he said. “It does neither of us any good to be seen together.”

  “How am I going to get home?”

  I didn’t mean anything by the question, but Van looked at me with pity. “Jesus,” he said. “You’re certainly a puzzle to me, Brother Webb. For a criminal mastermind, you are certainly clueless.”

  “I’m not a criminal mastermind.”

  “No, but you are a criminal. As am I. You can get out now. We won’t be seeing each other again, of course. I’d recommend you start running as quickly and smartly as you can.”

  I opened the door and got out. I didn’t have anything left to say, nor did he, so he drove off and I walked back up to the hospital. I had to get back to Little Rock, but I didn’t have any money on me. I figured I’d go to the nurses’ station and use their phone to call someone from the church.

  I was still thinking that when I heard someone call my name.

  I turned and saw Brother Herschel walking out one of the side doors to the hospital. I waved at him.

  Then I noticed he was with Nick.

  They walked over to me, and Nick asked, “Was that Van?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The guy that just dropped you off. It looked like my brother-in-law.”

  “Yeah, that was Van. We were talking.”

  Brother Herschel smiled at me. “I’m surprised to see you up and about so soon, Brother,” he said.

  I rubbed my shoulder. “Sore,” I said, “but okay. I’m a quick healer. Always have been.”

  They offered to give me a lift home. I didn’t particularly want to talk to Nick, but I needed to get to the house as soon as possible so I accepted. I kept checking behind us to see if there was anyone following Nick’s car. Occasionally, trucks or cars would appear, but I didn’t see any signs we were being followed. Not that I could have known, I guess.

  Nick drove, and Brother Herschel sat up front so I could sprawl out in the backseat. I actually fell asleep for a little while. Exhausted, I just passed out.

  I dreamed. I’m not much of a dreamer, really. I never have been. Maybe my subconscious is too underdeveloped, or maybe there’s just not enough going on inside of me. I don’t know, but I rarely dream. The dream I had in Nick’s backseat
disturbed me. I was in my father’s house. He sat on the back porch shooting at the trees. Angela and I hid in my room and she showed her breasts to me, but she had no nipples.

  My father called, “Angela!”

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “No,” I said.

  And then she was Bertie Mae Norris and she leaned over and kissed me. My mouth was bloody. I pushed her away and ran outside. Angela was sitting on Brother Card’s lap. I stood behind them. In the yard, Mrs. Card was picking up fallen limbs. I started to cry and woke up.

  As soon as he saw that I was awake, Nick was ready with the questions.

  He said, “I wasn’t aware that you knew the Norris family.”

  He was talking, of course, about Doolittle. It took me a second, as I tried to shrug off the dream, to remember what Nick knew and did not know.

  “Not very well,” I replied. “I didn’t know them until you introduced me to Sheriff Norris. You remember? His son is in our youth group.”

  “That’s right,” he said.

  “We had done some talking over the last few weeks about…” I could not remember Tim’s name “about his son. I think it had opened up an avenue for witnessing. We were talking about it here and there. I think the Lord was convincing him that he needed a change.”

  Brother Herschel nodded.

  Nick glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I see,” he said. “It’s odd that Doolittle didn’t mention anything to Lacey about that.”

  “How is Lacey? It must be a hard time for her.”

  “Well, her brother is dead, and we have no reason to think that his soul was saved before he died…” Nick’s tone implied that I was an idiot. Or worse.

  “I’m so sorry. Please tell her.”

  “Odd that Doolittle wouldn’t tell her about this struggle he was having,” Nick said. “She and I have been trying to talk to him about the Lord for the last eight years, so it’s really bizarre that he wouldn’t mention it to her, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think he wanted to tell her yet. It was a disturbing thing for him, I suppose. He wasn’t a man given to examining his life.”

  “No,” Nick said. “He certainly wasn’t.

  “So we were talking. Just riding around and talking.”

  “I came to see you a few days ago. Saw Van there. And Ian lurking around. Do you know them well?”

  “Not very well. Just met them…as a result of this tragedy. Van, I believe, is a lawyer of some kind.”

  “I believe,” Brother Herschel said, “he has some unsavory connections. That’s what I’ve been led to believe, anyway.”

  Nick said, “His primary unsavory connection was Doolittle. I only see Van a couple of times a year. I don’t know Ian at all. He lives up in the mountains with his grandmother. No one sees either of them very much.”

  “Tight family,” I said.

  “Not really my family,” Nick shot back.

  “No,” I said.

  Nick watched me in the rearview mirror for a moment and he said, “I’d like to ask you something.”

  I leaned back. “I need to rest,” I said.

  Brother Herschel nodded, the old peacemaker. “I agree,” he said. “We should let the man rest his bones, Nick.”

  Nick didn’t say anything more, but when we rolled into my driveway an hour later he walked me to the porch. I unlocked the front door, and Nick stood there watching me.

  “Thanks for the lift,” I said.

  He straightened up like he was reporting for duty at a flagpole. “I should tell you,” he said, “that there has been some disturbing talk around the church the last few days.”

  “About what?”

  “About you. Brother Herschel’s too polite to mention anything. I’m not so polite. I’m direct. Do you care if I’m direct with you right now, brother?”

  I leaned against the door. “No, Nick,” I said. “Please be direct.”

  “Gabriel Card brought it to my attention that his sister met with you at the school near his aunt’s house a few days ago.”

  “Yes.”

  He cocked his head a little. “Is there anything else about that meeting that you feel is relevant?”

  I pursed my busted bottom lip and said, “No. I’m her pastor. Is there anything odd about a youth pastor meeting with a youth who has gone through a traumatic loss?”

  “If the meeting takes place in private.”

  “It was hardly in private. It was in a public place, a public place she called and asked me to meet her at. You yourself encouraged me to talk to her. I don’t see that Gabe has a cause for concern.”

  Nick glared at me. “Gabe seems to think there was something going on between the two of you.”

  I glared back at him as long as I could, then I rattled my keys a little and stared down at them.

  “Preposterous,” I said.

  “She came to see you at the hospital,” he said.

  “So did you.”

  “There are no rumors going around about me and you, though,” he said.

  “Have you talked to her?” I asked.

  Nick crossed his arms like a disapproving father, “Yes, I’ve asked Angela, and, no, she has nothing to say. Her friends all seem to think there’s something wrong with her, however.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Nick, her parents were just murdered.”

  “They seemed to think there was something going on before that.”

  “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

  “For starters, I’d expect you to look me in the eye and tell me nothing was going on between you and Angela Card.”

  I looked up at him and said, “There was nothing going on between me and Angela Card.”

  Nick raised his thick eyebrows. “I see,” he said dryly.

  “God,” I said, “you really don’t like me, do you?”

  “There’s just been some disturbing talk in the last few days. I don’t know what to make of it. I really don’t. I’m still thinking about it, trying to figure it all out. And now this thing with Doolittle… And then, just tonight, I’ve seen you with Van. It’s all very…”

  “What?” I said. “ ‘It’s all very’ what?”

  Nick squared his shoulders. “It’s suspicious, Geoffrey. It’s all pretty damn suspicious.”

  “Maybe you should pray about it.”

  Nick stared at me like he’d like to punch me in the face. “I am praying about it. A lot of people are praying about it.”

  “Good,” I said. “It’s good to know you wouldn’t rush to crucify a man on innuendo and lies.”

  Nick said, “I’m asking you not to speak to Angela until this is resolved.”

  “I see. And why is that? Doesn’t that already sound like I’ve been convicted?”

  “It’s for the best. Her aunt agrees. When she took Angela to see you in the hospital she hadn’t been made aware of the situation in its fullness.”

  “Did you make her aware of the situation in its fullness, Nick?”

  “Yeah, Geoffrey. I did.”

  “I see.”

  Nick smiled. The son of a bitch smiled. I was like a butterfly with a pin through its thorax. He said, “We’ll be talking later.”

  I stared at him for too long before I finally managed to say, “Okay.”

  He turned to walk back to the car.

  I called to him, “You never liked me, Nick.”

  He turned around part ways and said, “It’s not about you and me, brother. That’s maybe part of the problem: you think it’s about you and me.” Then he kept walking.

  Brother Herschel was staring at me through the windshield, his amiable old face as blank as a burlap sack. I waved. He didn’t wave back.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I was standing in the center of my living room. I just stood there like an idiot. My neck hurt like all hell, but I didn’t take any medicine. I just stood there, thinking, but it was like trying to think at the epicenter of an earthquake. The Cards we
re dead; Doolittle Norris was dead; Ian and his mother were dead; the church was about to kick me out; and Angela, sweet Angela, seemed to be afraid of me. It was all falling apart, and it was all falling apart so goddamn fast I could barely keep up with it.

  There wasn’t any hope of pulling the church back together, not with an investigation of Doolittle’s wreck and certainly not with rumors about me and the preacher’s underage daughter. Jesus. If Nick knew, then I could be goddamn sure everyone knew. He’d been looking for something to get me out of the way, and I had handed it to him, two or three times more than he needed.

  And of course none of that shit mattered anyway—and by that shit I mean my whole damn life—because I still had to deal with Van Norris. He had let me go, but it all seemed too easy. Was I being set up to take the fall for Ian and Bertie Mae Norris? Almost certainly. Would it matter that I hadn’t killed either of them? I doubted it. I’d still go down for Ian’s murder. And that was only if Van decided to let the law catch me. I was still dangerous to him. I ran to the window and looked out on Church Street. It was quiet, but he could already have people on the way. Or maybe the cops were on their way to question me about Doolittle and the Cards. Either way, if I stayed in Arkansas, I was a dead man. Jesus, the best option I had, if absolutely everything went right, was to get defrocked and thrown into jail as a statutory rapist.

  I rushed into the bedroom. I didn’t think about it. I didn’t think about anything for days. From here on out I was going on instinct.

  I threw some clothes and utilities in a little suitcase my grandmother had given me and piled in a couple of my movies. Then I cleaned out my Just-in-Case fund from a box of macaroni and cheese in the back of the cupboard. The fund only amounted to a couple hundred dollars. I would have to hit the ATM on the way out of town and clear out my account. If my last car payment check hadn’t been cashed yet, I had around eight or nine hundred dollars in the bank. I’d need it all. I pulled on a coat and stuck Mrs. Norris’s gun in one pocket, and my grandmother’s fancy carving knife and its sheath into the coat’s lining. I cursed the money situation. Brother Card had convinced me to put a bunch of cash into a CD. Sound investment, he’d called it. Good stewardship of the Lord’s blessing. Asshole. Now I’d be on the run with a thousand dollars.