The Grateful Boys

by Françoise DuMaurier

  “Okay. Let me get this right, Mason. You’re not here to tell on me… You’re just here to take on the role of Mom and admonish me? Do you make it your mission to live as little life as possible? Video games, horror movies, trashing my sister for enjoying herself a little, and more video games and horror movies. Please, Mason. Interrupt me at any moment.”

  “How about you just shut the hell up for a moment, sis. I’m not here to knock you for drinking.”

  “Then what are you here for, bro?’” She made sure to heavily emphasize her sardonic use of the word bro.

  “Close your goddamn mouth and let me talk!” Mason threw his hands in the air.

  “Oh… My God,” Hailey said, placing her fingers to her temple. “Little boy, you did not, like, just use the word goddamn at me.”

  “So here it is,” Mason spat it out instead of continuing their argument. “Me, Alex, Ben, and Sebastian all went into the center of the woods. Well we tried to. Half way there we were stopped by these bullies. Some assholes named Jason and Harry.”

  “Jason Richly, Harry Fletch. Those annoying ninth grade losers?” Hailey said.

  “Yeah, them,” Mason nodded. “They stopped us. And they had, like, knives. Blades. Whatever. I swear to God, Hailey. I thought I was gonna die last night.”

  “Knives? Pointed at you?” Hailey gasped, genuinely interested. “What happened?”

  “We got the hell outta dodge is what happened. We managed to out run ‘em but then there was a bunch of firework explosions. I guess you were still out drinking in the parking lot or wherever,” Mason said. This confirmed to Hailey that Mason truly didn’t know about her harrowing incident in the woods.

  “There was a lot of smoke,” Hailey said before catching herself.

  “How do you know?”

  “I kinda saw the smoke and flames from the parking lot,” Hailey lied. Good dodge. “So what happened next?”

  “Well,” Mason continued. “I started coughing like hell until I made it out of the woods. Me, Alex, and Ben were together. That’s when we realized we had lost Sebastian. We looked all around and couldn’t find him.”

  “You lost your friend in the fire!?” Hailey gasped.

  “Okay, so we went back into the woods. I kept calling Sebastian’s name. He finally answered. Mom took us all home.”

  Finally, Hailey realized why Mason was confiding in her. He had a harrowing story of nearly being killed and didn’t feel comfortable enough to share this with an adult. But an understanding sister would do just fine. It was unfortunate for Hailey that she could not share her story in the same respect.

  “Thanks for sharing that with me, little bro,” Hailey said. And this time there was no sardonic use of the word.

  “So after that,” Mason continued, “we didn’t see you at the game so me and Mom went home and expected Madison, to drop you off. Shortly after that, the doorbell rang, mom answered, and found you passed out drunk on the porch rocking chair. We assumed your friend drove you here.”

  “She did,” Hailey lied.

  “Well mom was worried about you. I didn’t tell her about what happened with me and the guys. Didn’t want her worried about me too.”

  “I understand. We can keep it a secret,” Hailey said tenderly.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it, Hailey. And sorry about cursing at you,” he smiled.

  “Don’t mention it,” Hailey returned his grin.

  “You’re awake!” their mother’s voice called out.

  They turned to face Hailey’s bedroom door as their mother entered the room.

  “You okay, Hailey?” Mom asked.

  “Eh, yeah,” Hailey said awkwardly.

  “I kinda smelled it on you last night,” her mom said, scrunching her face in the process.

  “Smelled what?” Hailey asked, full well knowing the answer.

  “Tequila, I’m guessing,” Mom took a deep breath. “But I’m not upset. I want you to know that. Still, we should probably discuss it at some point,” Mom smiled wearily.

  “Yeah, sure. Definitely, Mom,” Hailey tried smiling.

  “Mason, what are you doing in here?” His mom raised an eyebrow, truly curious why Mason was in his sister’s room – a place he generally avoided like the plague.

  “Oh,” Mason said, quickly coming up with something – that first thing that popped into his mind. “Was gonna ask Hailey if she had an extra toothbrush I could borrow. Or maybe use hers. Since I can’t find mine.”

  “Ew!” Hailey said.

  “Well, it’s Saturday,” Mom answered. “So let’s all try to get some rest. I’ll make breakfast in a bit. We can talk later.”

  ***

  Sheriff Zeddman had enjoyed the Friday night football game and, in accordance with the responsibilities of being sheriff, went straight home to sleep shortly thereafter. By the crack of dawn Saturday morning he was back in uniform and at his desk – perhaps his least favorite place to be.

  The desk didn’t last for very long when he read the reminder on his schedule. Be at the town morgue: 8:30AM Saturday. So he left the office, cranked up the engine of his sheriff’s cruiser and headed down to the Corpus County Coroner’s Office. On his drive he played his favorite song, ‘Betty Lou’s Got a New Pair of Shoes’.

  The morgue was a small brick building that had served the same role for the past seventy years and had the same medical examiner for the past forty.

  Sheriff Zeddman arrived five minutes early and was ushered by an assistant to the area of the building where the bodies were placed upon slabs within walls – the body fridges. This was where the coroner worked – the heart of the morgue.

  “Hello, Sheriff,” the medical examiner said as his assistant left them together.

  He was an elderly but astute man. He stood several inches over six feet and had a silver beard that matched his thinning dome. His nametag read ‘Walter Price, MD’. He had worn the same uniform each day for forty years – baby blue scrubs and a matching medical cap.

  “And good day to you, Doctor,” the sheriff tipped his hat.

  “We had an appointment today, didn’t we, Sheriff Zeddman?”

  “Yes, sir we did.”

  “Forgive me, I’ve been out for a few days so I’m ever so slightly behind on medical reports and death certificates.”

  “I’m here regarding the couple found dead off Old Mill’s Road.”

  “Oh yes,” Dr Price said, “that ought to jog my memory. Give me an inch and I shall return a mile. I’ve been doing this for forty-three years and I can recall the cause of death relating to just about every human body I’ve examined.”

  “And the non-human bodies?” Sheriff Zeddman said, cracking a joke.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the local vet about that,” the doctor smiled.

  “So… what have you?” the sheriff asked.

  The medical doctor handed the sheriff a pair of light blue latex gloves.

  “Put these on,” he told the sheriff.

  Dr Price walked over to a morgue drawer, squeezed the handle, and opened it. He rolled out a metal slab. Lying upon it was a corpse covered by a cloth.

  “Open that one for me,” the doctor instructed the sheriff as he pointed to a morgue drawer next to one he had just pulled open.

  Sheriff Zeddman, with his latex gloves, grabbed the morgue drawer, opened it, and pulled out a second metal slab – this one too held a covered corpse.

  Dr Price pulled the cover back, unveiling the body of the man killed on Old Mill’s Road. The doctor moved to the other slap and pulled back a second cover. This one unveiled the corpse of the man’s wife.

  “Their names,” said the doctor, “Jonathan and Marla Franklin. Both died six nights ago at approximately half an hour past midnight.”

  The sheriff nodded.

  “This one first,” the doctor said, shimmying back to the male corpse.

  “Official cause of death?” Sheriff Zeddman asked.

  “Loss of blood,” the doctor said a
ssuredly. “But there was much more going on than that.”

  “Such as?”

  “Blunt force trauma. Blood was found on the hood of the car, presumably where he banged his head.”

  “Is that all–?” the sheriff asked.

  Before the sheriff could finish his thought, the doctor continued. “Deep puncture wounds resulting from bite marks across his arms and torso.”

  The doctor pulled the cloth down to the corpse’s waist. There were peculiar bite marks all along the lifeless body that lied on the slab.

  “Quite unfortunate, what a demise these two met,” the doctor said. “And look right here on his shoulder.”

  Sheriff Zeddman looked to where the doctor pointed. The man’s shoulder had been sliced vertically, and stitched postmortem.

  “His shoulder was slit?” the sheriff asked.

  “And not particularly deep. As for Mrs Franklin…”

  Dr Price turned to the other slab and pulled back her cover, down to her upper chest.

  “Right there,” Dr Price said, pointing to a wound below the women’s throat. “She was impaled by a small object. Cause of death – blunt force trauma in addition to severe loss of blood. What a pity.”

  “Any bites on her?” the sheriff asked.

  “Mainly her hand,” the doctor answered. “Which suggests,” he raised his own arms to simulate, “that she was defending herself during the attack.”

  “What did this?” the sheriff asked.

  “Well, Sheriff Zeddman. No human on earth could bite like this.”

  “So definitely an animal,” Sheriff Zeddman said darkly.

  “Only partially, I’m afraid.”

  “What does that mean?” the sheriff asked him.

  “You know that rumor that’s been going around, Sheriff. That these two were drained of their blood – it’s true… drained of every drop. That is the work of only a human, I’m afraid. But no human can form bite marks like the ones we see here. And no animal will methodically drain a human being of their blood.”

  “That suggests the work of both,” the sheriff said lowly.

  “It does,” the doctor nodded. “Animals were behind the initial attack, most certainly at the instruction and order of their masters, who then drained these two innocent souls of their blood. We stitched up their shoulders which had been…”

  “Cut open by a blade?” the sheriff asked.

  “No,” the sheriff corrected him. “The jagged edges of the wounds along their shoulders suggest this too was the work of animals.”

  “Then what did the animal handler do?” the sheriff asked.

  “Well it was most certainly the handler in question who held these two upside down for the blood to actually leave their bodies, via the shoulders. The way these two were drained suggests they were surely held upside down for no less than fifteen minutes. We’re talking every drop.”

  “There was no excess of blood found on the road,” the sheriff said. “So they had to have been drained into something like a bucket. This… is… sick.”

  “Indeed… in all my years,” the doctor said wearily.

  “So we’re looking at crime committed by an directed by a person.”

  “You’ll notice,” Dr Price said, “I’ve been saying people, and not person in the singular. If you match up the estimated time of death of 12:33 that we’ve arrived at against the time of the 911 call at 12:29 and further match it against the arrival time of the emergency team at 12:51, you will find that it is not possible for this to have been orchestrated by one man.”

  “Because if it were just one man he would have taken fifteen minutes to drain one of the bodies,” the sheriff continued, “and another fifteen minutes to drain the second body. So we’re looking at least two men to have done this simultaneously.”

  “Bingo,” Dr Prince winked.

  “So we’re looking at a crime orchestrated by humans, using trained wolves,” Sheriff Zeddman said, tapping his foot now.

  “Now we have reached a snag,” said Dr Price.

  “How so?” Zeddman asked.

  “You said wolves and humans.”

  “I did.”

  “Well we tested the traces of fur left behind. And yes, there was a 60% match of wolf fur.”

  “And the other 40%?”

  “Bat fur. Ha,” Dr Price laughed darkly.

  “Bat fur?”

  “Bat fur,” Dr Price repeated himself. “And wolf fur. The two were found together. Mixed. Strands overlapping strands.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Sheriff Zeddman said. “Bats can’t do that.”

  “You’re tellin’ me,” Dr Prince scoffed.

  “Impossible.”

  “I thought the same. Then I began to think. Remember what I said about the shoulder lacerations.”

  “The lacerations were too jagged to have been created by a knife,” the sheriff said. “But by… an animal.”

  “And,” the doctor went on, “the way this poor woman was impaled. No ordinary object did that. That too had to have been the work of an animal. I would have thought sure it was perhaps a deer’s antler that did the damage. But knowing the results of bat fur… well.”

  “You’re telling me we’ve got a psycho with a wolf and a goddamn pet bat?” the sheriff said, astonished. “There’s no bat big enough to have done that.”

  “I am no animal expert but there is something known as the megabat. A species known as the golden capped fruit bat. Massive creatures with a wingspan as wide as I am tall. And that is no exaggeration. Their wingspans can be roughly six feet. Now imagine the power of their hooks. Enough to impale this poor woman. And create the shoulder lacerations used to drain these two. The only snag we run into is the fact that golden capped fruit bats are only found in Australia and the Philippines – hardly creatures sleeping about in the caves of Corpus, Georgia.”

  “And how on God’s earth does someone control a bat!” the sheriff said as his eyes widened.

  “The blood draining was unequivocally the work of humans so I am afraid I must classify both of these deaths as homicides.”

  “Jesus,” was all the sheriff could muster as he removed his latex gloves.

  “A double homicide in Corpus,” Dr Price sighed. “What a sign of the times.”

  Sheriff Zeddman thanked the medical examiner for his time. His head was spinning as he entered his police cruiser. He turned on the ignition but sat idly for several minutes outside the coroner’s office.

  He took a deep breath. A killer… with a wolf… and… a bat…. A BAT!

  The thought of what was to come entered his mind. The coroner would release a report, which would immediately go public. Sure there was no local news station but the local radio show was more than enough to cause damage. They’d release the information and have three quarters of the town in a panic over the threat of a killer who’d just committed a double homicide. A killer with a pair of murderous animals, no less.

  The fallout had not yet begun, and already the sheriff was feeling weary. He spent another minute just sitting in his cruise. Finally he took off down the road. Moments later, his radio dispatch began murmuring.

  “Sheriff, are ya there? This is Deputy Coleman speaking,” called the voice on the radio that draped over the shoulder of his sheriff’s uniform.

  “Go ahead for Sheriff Zeddman,” he said.

  “Sheriff, I’m heading to the Corpus Trinity Hospital. A double assault’s been called in. Thought you’d might like to join me if you’re not busy,” said Coleman over the radio.

  “Sure thing, Deputy. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

  “10-4,” the deputy said.

  “10-4, over and out,” Zeddman repeated, and took the next left turn down the street.

  He arrived at the hospital roughly ten minutes later and noticed Coleman’s deputy cruiser parked near the entrance. This was because cops rarely parked in designed spots while making hospital visits. They’d park their cruisers near the front of the hospi
tal to alert everyone that officers had arrived.

  The sheriff got out of his vehicle, made his way to the lobby of the hospital, and then to the third floor. A nurse was already expecting him, ever since the police had been requested.

  As the sheriff got off the third-floor elevator, he spotted Deputy Coleman near the next lobby area.

  “Was waitin’ on you, Sheriff.”

  “Thank you, Deputy.”

  “Right this way, officers,” said another female nurse as she directed them down a hall.

  “So what’s this about?” Sheriff Zeddman asked.

  “We got two adolescent males in hospital beds. Each reporting an assault last night during the Corpus High Football game,” Coleman told him as they followed the nurse down the hall.

  “Strange, I was there at the game,” the sheriff said.

  “Yeah but you know how them games are, Sheriff. The area’s so large there’ll be five different things going on at once. The game, the bonfire, the cookouts, the tailgating teens that we choose to overlook.”

  Sheriff Zeddman looked him in the eyes and raised an eyebrow, as if to tell him he was saying too much – perhaps because they were in the presence of hospital staff.

  “Mhm,” the sheriff muffed, an eyebrow still raised.

  The nurse pointed them to a room in the hall and left. “Tell me if you need anything, officers,” the nurse said.

  “Thank you, we’ll take it from here.”

  “Well yeah,” Coleman said. “The boys claim they were attacked during that time.”

  Then Coleman knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” called a woman’s voice.

  They entered a two-bed hospital room. There was a television mounted on the wall in the center. A middle-aged woman sat in a reclining chair near the door. She was next to a boy in a hospital bed whose hand was entirely wrapped up – it was Harry Fletch.

  On the other end of the room was a round middle-aged man. He was seated. In the second hospital bed next to him was another teenage boy. This one had a bruised face and wore a neck brace. It was Jason Richly.