The Homecoming

by Carsten Stroud

  Halfway down the hall, double-glass doors opened onto a woodpaneled study on one side, and on the other a light and airy music room in an octagonal shape, with stained-glass windows on every wall. The windows were shuttered and the music room was dim and shadowy.

  They stood at the bottom of the central staircase and listened to the old house creak and groan as the heat of the day slowly faded.

  “Where to now?” asked Lemon, who had never been inside Delia Cotton’s mansion before. All he knew of her was that she was one of the famous Cotton clan, that her husband had made a fortune mining sulfur, and that she had been a stunning beauty when she was young.

  Before her disappearance, she had lived alone at Temple Hill in the kind of Victorian splendor that old money favored and then one sunny afternoon she had virtually walked off the planet, never to be heard from again.

  “I think it’s this way,” said Kate, leading them down a side hall that opened up onto a large paneled dining room. At the far end of the dining room French doors led back into the music room. Beyond the dining room was a huge kitchen and past that was a glass-walled solarium full of ferns and palms and orchids.

  “Someone must be watering those,” said Lemon. The smell of rich, damp earth and the scents of jasmine and lavender floated in from the solarium.

  “The Cotton estate keeps the house the way it was on the day Delia disappeared. It was in her will. She left a separate fund to pay for the maintenance. That’s why the power is on. The door to the basement is over here.”

  They crossed the checkered tiles of the kitchen and stopped at a large wooden door painted the same buttery yellow color as the kitchen.

  Rainey halted a few feet away from the door.

  Kate looked back at him.

  “Rainey. We have to go down.”

  “I’m not going down there.”

  “We have to.”

  “I know what’s down there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Nick took a video of it, when he was looking for the woman who lived here. I found it. There’s a wall down there, and it was like a movie was playing on it. It was a farm and people were working in the fields. It was where I went when I was in the mirror. Where Glynis lived. You want me to go back into that place and not be in this world anymore. I’m not going down there.”

  Kate opened the door and stood beside it. The stairs led down into darkness, but there was a faint glow in a far corner.

  “Rainey, I can’t do anything else for you. It’s all I can think of to do.”

  Lemon, quite ready to force the kid, took his arm. Rainey was vibrating and his face was white, but he went down the stairs without a struggle. Inside his head he could feel Cain buzzing.

  Although it was dark, there was enough light to let them see that the basement was a huge open space with a stone floor. Rough-cut beams ran overhead from one side to the other, supported in mid-course with standing girders that must have been added years after the original construction. A gigantic oil-fired furnace with conduits running everywhere stood in the shadows.

  But there was light in the room.

  There were slit windows set into the thick stone walls just below the beams. They were boarded up and sealed with tape.

  Except for one.

  There was a circular hole in it, about the size of a quarter. A beam of sunlight that looked as solid as a laser was shining in through the hole. The beam was playing on a wall of stone opposite the window. There was an image there, blurry and indistinct, but moving. There was a band of dark green running along the top of the wall, and then a line of black spikes, and a field of clear blue along the bottom of the wall.

  “It’s a pinhole camera,” said Kate, looking at the image. “The image is upside down.”

  “What are we looking at?” asked Lemon.

  “You have to work at reading it. The green line along the top is the grass outside the house. The black spikes are the fence that lines the property. And the blue is the sky. Can you see it?”

  Lemon got it in a moment.

  The indistinct shapes, luminous but faint, gradually emerged as an upside-down picture of what was on the other side of the window. Lawns and trees and fences and beyond the fence Upper Chase Run. The live oaks were moving with the wind and the pale blue sky had clouds gliding across it.

  Rainey had backed himself into a corner as far away from the image as he could get. Lemon looked at him, and then back at Kate.

  “What happens now?”

  “I don’t know. Nick said the image changed into a farm, people working in the field, pine trees.”

  “All I’m seeing is the street outside.”

  “And that’s all you will ever see.”

  They all turned at the sound of this new voice, and there was a woman standing on the basement stairs. She was tall and slender and very old. Her silver hair was long and it flowed down over her shoulders. She was wearing a Chinese robe in sky blue silk embroidered in gold thread. She was staring at Rainey with a cold eye and her mouth tight.

  “Glynis Ruelle will never let that thing come into her world.”

  “You’re Delia Cotton,” said Kate.

  “I am. You’re Kate Walker. I knew your mother very well. Is this child Rainey Teague?”

  Rainey jerked when she said his name.

  “Yes,” said Kate. “Miss Cotton, I thought you had—that nobody knew where you were?”

  “Perhaps. But I knew where I was, which is all that mattered. I have chosen to live this way. I have the money to make it possible. I am very weary of Niceville and the problems it presents. Such as the one presented by this creature here.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Right here,” she said, making a gesture that took the entire house in. “In Temple Hill.”

  “But the place is all boarded up?”

  “I have become wary of windows. And basements. I hardly ever come down here.”

  “Why not?”

  “This trick of the light you’re looking at. It always happens at this time of the afternoon, at least if the day is sunny. I heard the boy describe it and he is quite right. The room reproduces the effect of a camera obscura, a pinhole camera. I suppose I should board up that hole, but I haven’t yet. I have no idea why. But if you’re waiting for Glynis Ruelle to open the way, you must think of something else to do instead.”

  “She let Rainey in once.”

  “The boy hadn’t gone to Crater Sink then. Now he has. Nothing is in him now. I can smell it on him.”

  “Do you know what’s happened to him?”

  She looked over at Rainey.

  “Yes. Nothing has happened to him. Nothing happens to most of the Teagues. You don’t actually know who this child is, do you? I mean, his antecedents are obscure, are they not?”

  “Yes. We can’t find any trace of his birth.”

  “This boy was conceived in April of 1999, in Abel Teague’s hospital room at the Gates of Gilead Palliative Care Center in Sallytown. It was not a consensual transaction. This boy is the consequence of a sustained and brutal rape. I do not know his mother’s name. His father was Abel Teague. She was confined to that room for nine months. When she delivered this boy, she was killed by Abel Teague’s Guardians. Abel is a terrible man. Glynis Ruelle managed to bring him to the harvest, where he suffers. He wishes to escape. He is trying to become a living man again. Now that this boy is almost grown, and the heir to great wealth, Abel Teague wishes to come back and have a new life inside this boy’s body. The presence inside this boy is helping him.”

  “But we have to stop that!”

  “Yes. You do. That is easily done.”

  “How?”

  “Kill him.”

  “What?”

  “Your friend here has a weapon. Kill this creature and it all ends. The portion of the presence that is in him will dissipate and be gone. The Guardians that the presence has created will fade. Abel Teague will remain where he is, a part of the harve
st.”

  “We can’t just kill him!”

  “You have no choice.”

  Delia looked at Lemon.

  “Young man, you must be strong. For the woman and the boy. Do it. Kill him now!”

  Lemon hesitated, and then he walked over to Rainey and put the gun to his head. Deep down in his skull, Rainey heard Cain begin to hiss, like a trapped snake. Rainey closed his eyes and waited.

  Anything was better than this.

  Kate screamed at Lemon to stop.

  He didn’t.

  Lemon cocked the hammer back, pressing the gun muzzle in tight. Kate came across the room at Lemon.

  “Lemon, how do you know this woman is real?”

  Lemon looked over at Delia.

  Delia Cotton nodded at Lemon.

  “She may be right. For some time now I have suspected that I might be dead. Time has a way of moving around me and it isn’t always where I left it. It doesn’t matter. The thing inside the child has to be driven out. There is no other way.”

  Hannah’s hearing aids.

  “Lemon, listen. There may be another way.”

  “There is no other way,” said Delia quietly.

  Kate’s eyes were locked on his.

  His heart changed.

  Maybe she was right.

  Maybe there was another way.

  Lemon took the muzzle away from Rainey’s temple. Through it all Rainey had neither flinched nor shown any kind of emotion.

  Delia waited until Kate looked at her.

  “I pity you, Kate. You are making a grave error and you and your family will come to bitterly regret it. But it is done. Now please take that creature from my house.”

  She looked at Rainey, and he met her look.

  “To what lives in this body, hear me, the way is shut. Shut and barred and I guard it. Never come here again, creature, or I will put an end to you.”

  No, Really, Harvill, You Shouldn’t Have!

  It was a fine, clear Monday evening and the view across Fountain Square was particularly stellar. Delores Maranzano was standing at the long floor-to-ceiling window in the living room of her suite on the Pinnacle Floor of The Memphis and watching the lights of the city glitter and sparkle in the cool fall air. She was wearing one of Coco Chanel’s little black dresses because she had just come from poor Frankie’s memorial service at Holy Name, where the novena that Mr. Endicott had kindly paid for had just been performed, against the medieval background of a magnificent Roman Catholic cathedral and a full choir.

  Now she was having a bracing gin and tonic and admiring the panorama. But her mind was not at ease. Events had not gone well at that ranch up in the foothills. In fact they had gone quite badly.

  Not only had she lost four nice young men in her employ, but she had also lost her nephew Manolo, who had somehow managed to get himself shot in the face during that fiasco, and now he lay on a tin tray in the morgue at Lady Grace, with four other bodies nearby to keep him company.

  His condition had been described to her by a Special Agent Boonie Hackendorff of the FBI—whose offices she was looking into right this moment, on the other side of Fountain Square—as “a closed casket deal, ma’am. A closed casket deal.”

  Apparently his investigation into the entire affair would be clouding her future for quite some time, and he showed every sign of being very persistent. Well, that was a concern for another day. There was an upside.

  She had heard from Tony that Frankie’s associates were impressed by the energy Delores had shown in the abortive attempt to avenge the wrongful death of her husband, and that while things had clearly not gone well, her display of steel had gone a long way to improve her standing with the organization. At that point in her ruminations the doorbell rang.

  Frankie Il Secondo was at the vet recovering from having his vocal cords sliced apart, so there was no earsplitting crescendo of falsetto yapping to contend with as she made her way across the carpet to open the door.

  Mr. Endicott, as expected, stood there in the glow of the overhead light, holding a bouquet of white roses and wearing a sad, sympathetic smile.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said.

  “Not at all. Please come in.”

  She stood aside and bowed him into the room.

  He noted the improvement in the atmosphere at once and looked around for Frankie Il Secondo, who was nowhere to be found. He came to the center of the room, still holding the flowers, waiting, she assumed, for her to do something clever with them.

  She smiled, carried them into the kitchen, filled the sink with water, set the stems into it, and came back out with a bottle of Pellegrino and two glasses. She set them down on the coffee table and poured a glass for Mr. Endicott, who seemed ill at ease.

  “I am very grateful to you for seeing me, Mrs. Maranzano—”

  “Please. After what we’ve been through? It’s Delores to you.”

  Endicott bowed slightly.

  “Delores, then. I am painfully aware that the events of the weekend have created a number of problems for you. And I am very sorry for that. It is unfortunate that when your people arrived, several law enforcement officials happened to be visiting the residence. I understand you have been called upon by Agent Hackendorff of the FBI?”

  “Oh yes. This morning. Early.”

  Endicott sipped at his sparkling water.

  “Was he … unpleasant?”

  “Not really. He was under the impression that my nephew, Manolo, had taken matters into his own hands. I told him that I had no idea what Manolo had been planning and that if I had I would have done everything in my power to stop him.”

  “Excellent. May I ask …?”

  “Did your name come up?”

  He inclined his head.

  “Not at all. Why complicate things, right?”

  “Excellent. I thank you for your discretion. I was hoping to hear you say that.”

  “I’m sure you were,” she said, with a sly up-from-under look that was decidedly flirtatious.

  Good Lord.

  Is the woman making a pass at me?

  He had been planning to use one of the kitchen knives on her—the security detail downstairs was too thorough to risk bringing up a weapon—but dear God she did have a lovely figure on her, and it was a poor heart that never rejoiced.

  Tidy as you go was his motto, and after he tidied up the Delores problem, he was going to go back to Warren Smoles’ house and tidy him up too.

  He had taken up a very discreet residence at Warren’s lovely home, since hotels and motels were a trifle too hot for him right now. He had even let Warren live for a while longer. He was back at the house right now, lying on top of his king-sized bed, naked and bound and gagged.

  He had kept Warren alive largely because, now that Warren had become talkative, Endicott was learning so much about All Things Cap City. Niceville and Cap City had all sorts of possibilities for a talented and enterprising psychopath. Concerning Delores here, he could always slice her up after they made love. He was pretty certain that there was a Jacuzzi somewhere in this flat. They were perfect for that sort of work. He watched her with renewed interest as she went about seducing him.

  She was wearing a black dress. She crossed her legs to great effect and leaned over to pour out more Pellegrino, giving him a glimpse of her marvelous breasts. From this vantage he concluded that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She handed him his glass, still leaning forward and opening her legs slightly.

  Endicott felt his skin beginning to burn.

  She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs again, this time more slowly, to even better effect.

  “Delores, may I say you look perfect this evening. Grief often makes a woman—”

  Delores was on her feet.

  “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable, Harvill. Give me five minutes.”

  He gave her three. He had his shorts and socks on but was otherwise naked when he pushed the door of her bedroom open with his le
ft foot. He had two glasses of white wine, one in each hand, so there wasn’t much he could do when Desi Munoz clubbed him across the back of his head with the barrel of Frankie Maranzano’s Dan Wesson .44.

  The glasses went flying and Mr. Endicott went sprawling. He rolled over onto his back and blinked up at Desi’s towering bulk. Even a happy Desi Munoz was not an endearing sight, and right now Desi Munoz was very far from happy.

  “Desi. You’re supposed to be in Leavenworth.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not, am I? I’m fucking here.”

  Delores was standing behind him, half-naked.

  Unlike Desi, she looked quite happy.

  “You said they were in Leavenworth. I asked around and found out that Desi was already out. I felt I had to call, Harvill. I mean, we’re all part of the same family, aren’t we, Desi?”

  “Fucking well told we are.”

  “Desi has agreed to help me run my end of things here. He has expertise in the business. Mr. La Motta and Mr. Spahn are flying down later. Isn’t this exciting? And it’s all because of you, Harvill. Desi, are you going to shoot him right here? Because, you know, the carpet and all?”

  Desi frowned.

  “Okay. Where you want him?”

  “How about the tub in the guest bathroom? It’s a Jacuzzi. You know, for the blood and icky bits and all that stuff?”

  “Okay. The bathroom. Get up, Harvill.”

  On the way into the bathroom Mr. Endicott’s mind was racing. He knew he could come up with something. And sure enough, he did, and it was absolutely brilliant, but before he could really get things off the ground Desi shot him in the back of the head. Getting shot in the back of the head at close range with a .44-caliber revolver renders the entire concept of having a head retroactively moot.

  Being a gentleman, at least where half-naked ex-goo-mays worth thirty million dollars were concerned, Desi Munoz dumped what was left of Harvill Endicott into the Jacuzzi to bleed out.