Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller

by Brandon McNulty

  “Fuck off,” she said in a tired voice. “Go home, Kevin.”

  “It’s Ken, not Kevin. Where’s Robby?”

  “Down the hall.”

  Ken tried the other doors. He found Robby passed out on a sulfur-colored couch that crawled with ants. His brother’s cheek was propped against the armrest, his hand dangling near the floor where a depressed syringe lay beside a strip of cloth, probably used as a tourniquet.

  Though Ken had pictured his brother in situations like this, he’d never actually seen him passed out cold. It was unsettling. Chilling. Without thinking, he shook Robby, who continued to snore. Ken grabbed a half-empty beer bottle and poured the contents over his face.

  Robby twitched. And groaned. He reached up to wipe his face without opening his eyes.

  “Robby,” Ken said. “Wake up.”

  Robby blinked, his eyes red and glossy. He looked at his wet hand, then at the bottle in Ken’s. “That was fucking piss.”

  “Robby,” Ken said with a lump in his throat, “Dad’s dead.”

  Chapter 22

  Robby peeled his head from the armrest. An unkempt strand of hair clung to his lip and he brushed it away with a scrawny hand. He attempted to push himself upright but quickly surrendered, lying there reeking of sweat and foulness. His eyelids drooped. Ken had to shake him again to keep him from dozing. Sniffling, Robby looked at Ken and said, “Dad…what?”

  “Dad’s dead,” Ken said.

  “Dead?” Robby tasted the word. “Don’t you mean Mom?”

  Ken shook his head, fighting back tears. He hated that Robby was too strung out to grasp the situation. More than anything, Ken wanted to unburden himself of this horrible secret and confide in his brother.

  Robby sat up, his head hanging sideways. For a moment he stared ahead before he abruptly leaned forward and expelled stomach acid onto the floor. When he finished vomiting, he dropped back on the couch, his head sinking into the cushioned armrest.

  “Robby!” Ken pinched his brother’s ear. “Wake up!”

  “Ken? Huh? What’re you doing here?”

  “Focus, Rob. You need to keep this in your head—Dad’s dead.”

  “Head. Dead. Head. Dead.”

  “Snap out of it. This isn’t a joke.” Ken grabbed his brother’s elbow and yanked him away from the armrest. Instead of sitting up, Robby flopped onto the opposite seat cushion.

  “Hannah, get his other arm,” Ken said.

  Together they propped Robby upright, but the moment they let go, he drooped forward. Ken touched his palm to Robby’s bony chest and held him steady while he sat beside him. Hannah ripped the cardboard away from the windows, welcoming hard sunlight into the room. Robby shuddered away from the yellow blaze like a vampire, covering his eyes with a hand.

  “Ken,” he said. “I bombed the interview. Sorry, man.”

  “That’s okay,” Ken said, rubbing his brother’s shoulder.

  “Did you say…Dad’s dead?”

  Once Robby’s eyes opened, Ken explained what happened. He tore the details out of himself like bits of shrapnel from a festering wound—painful yet necessary. Robby bawled and Ken joined him, weeping for the first time today. Though Ken unashamedly considered himself an emotional person, he’d been numb since last night. His brother rehumanized him.

  “Why’d this happen?” Robby sobbed his words. “Dad’s just an old geezer. This is bullshit.”

  A floorboard creaked as Hannah backed into the hall.

  Ken gave his brother a clumsy one-armed hug. Robby returned it. They held each other tight, and Ken rested his chin on Robby’s shoulder. It felt great to have someone to lean on. Someone to share the burden with.

  “First Mom, now Dad,” Ken whispered. “Both too soon.”

  “This blows,” Robby said. “Y’know, Dad said I became a disgrace after Mom died. He was right. Totally right. I wanted to prove him wrong though. Get back to my former self. I wanted him to be proud, like he was when I worked in Philly. I wanted him to see me like that again.”

  Ken knew the feeling. “Same here. Couple days ago, I was up for a full-time teaching position. Thought I’d have good news for Dad, but I got snubbed.”

  “Sucks to be us.” Robby’s head sank against Ken’s shoulder. “What do we do now? Call a funeral home?”

  “We can’t,” Ken said. “I’m in a tough spot.”

  “Dad has money. We can use that.”

  “The problem isn’t financial.”

  Robby pulled back and dabbed his eyes with his sleeve. “What is it then?”

  Ken lifted the revolver into view. “This is what killed Dad. It killed his murderer too. And right now it’s stuck to my hand.”

  “Stuck? Are you high or just me?”

  After demonstrating how stuck it was, Ken explained his predicament. The one-two punch of news regarding Dad’s death and the cursed revolver overwhelmed Robby. He clutched his head, staring at a crushed pizza box on the floor while he mumbled to himself.

  “I want you home,” Ken said, cupping his brother’s elbow. “I need a friend. Can I count on you to keep it together, at least for today?”

  Robby sniffled. He lifted his head and noticed Hannah fidgeting in the hall. “Who’s she?”

  “She—” Ken stopped himself. He’d always known his brother to be volatile, and if Robby found out who Hannah was, he might explode. “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh.” Robby frowned. “What’re we gonna do about Dad?”

  “If you want to see him, we can go there now. Either way, please come home. I need you, Rob.” He held up the revolver. “I need your help finding…”

  “People to shoot?”

  “Yeah.” Ken cleared his throat. “Maybe you can name some dealers.”

  “I can do better than that.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “I know someone who deserves it more.” Robby rose to his feet. “You know her too.”

  Chapter 23

  Ken drove home without paying any attention to the road. His mind was on fire. Though he’d planned on shooting heroin dealers until the revolver ran empty, Robby had a point. There was someone out there who deserved it more. Ken was almost ashamed of himself for not considering the target sooner.

  Three summers ago, he had taken his mother to the hospital because of back pain. Nothing debilitating, just something that was slowing her down. He hadn’t even noticed until one morning when Mom squatted over her strawberry bushes and rubbed her spine with a gloved hand. A week later he found her kneeling beside her pepper plants for an exorbitant amount of time. After helping her up, he scheduled a doctor’s appointment for her; she refused to go.

  For as long as he could remember, his mother had hated hospitals. She blamed the “dead” vibe they gave off, but he knew it was something deeper, something personal. He never found out the specifics because the secret died with her.

  But it didn’t have to.

  After days of pleading with her and two calls to reschedule, he finally coaxed her to visit the hospital. He’d been out of work at the time, so he drove her to the Internal Medicine building and accompanied her inside. They toured several waiting rooms and finally met with a general practitioner named Dr. Courtney Glinski. The moment Glinski asked about the back pain, Mom attempted to leave. Ken pleaded with her until she finally went through with the exam.

  Dr. Glinski seemed equally reluctant to be there. She was a younger physician; her weary face signaled burnout. Ken had seen that look in teachers who soon left the profession, but not in a family doctor. She went through the motions as she examined Mom and hurried her out the door with a prescription for painkillers.

  Two months later Mom was feeling worse despite the pills. Ken urged her to meet with another doctor. Next thing they knew, Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. Worse yet, it had metastasized to her spine. Glinski should’ve caught it. If she had, the cancer might’ve been treatable. But by the time they knew, it was too late. Mom
didn’t last through winter. Never again did she chase rabbits away from her strawberry bushes or lovingly pinch Ken on the cheek during dinner. Instead she became nothing more than a memory and the subject of a medical negligence lawsuit.

  Now, as Ken pulled his Camry into the driveway with his brother slumped in the passenger seat and Hannah in the back, he mulled the idea of delivering a bullet to Dr. Glinski. He pictured himself poking the snubnose against her back. He would line it up with her spine, at the spot where X-rays had revealed his mother’s tumor.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  He didn’t want to do that.

  But he had to.

  No. Only as a last resort. Need to find a nonviolent way to drop this gun.

  As he and Robby entered the front door, Ken felt the house’s aura crushing in. For years the house had carried a lonely vibe thanks to his mother’s absence. Adopting Hopper had lessened the sting, but now Dad’s recliner was empty; there were no baseball highlights on TV. And maybe it was Ken’s imagination, but he could smell the decay rising from the root cellar.

  Hannah stepped inside and shut the door. She stood there awkwardly, tucking her hands into her pockets. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

  “No, you’re not,” Robby said, blocking her path.

  She smiled wryly. “Would you rather I go on the floor?”

  “I’d rather you explain who you are,” Robby said. “Though I think I already know.”

  She crossed her arms. “Is that right?”

  “Ken mentioned two attackers. He shot one dead. Never said what happened to the other.” Robby scowled. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “I’m helping Ken.”

  “Bullshit—you killed our father.” Robby shoved her into the wall. Photo frames rattled. “And now you want to use his bathroom? What, you think you can just kill him and use his toilet? His sink? His hand soap?”

  “Robby, wait.” Ken stepped between them. “Let’s talk this over.”

  “Get back here,” Robby snapped as Hannah snuck toward the bathroom. When she shut the door, he faced Ken. “Why the hell don’t you shoot her?”

  “Because her sister forced her into this mess,” Ken said, surprised by the conviction in his voice. He didn’t trust Hannah, but when she had aimed a pistol at his face this morning, she let him live. That had to count for something. “Hannah could’ve killed me but she didn’t. She’s trying to help.”

  “You’re a total sap, you know that?” Robby steered him into the kitchen, his voice a conspiratorial hush. “Wake up, man. She’s responsible. Thanks to her…” He rubbed his eyes. “Ken, I let Dad down so many times. Now I’ll never get to make up for it. Never. All because of her.”

  Ken swallowed an emotional lump.

  Robby grabbed him by the jacket. “Do it. Blast her skull open. You can’t tell me there are five people who wronged us more than her. Come on, you’re supposed to be Ken the Eraser. Get us some justice.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Ken said. He explained her plan to trade the revolver for new IDs in LA. When he finished, Robby turned his back to him.

  “Listen, I have the gun,” Ken said. “I get the final say. Like it or not, Hannah’s the only one who understands this revolver. If I run into problems, who else can I turn to? Besides, she knows the buyer. I don’t.”

  “What, you think the buyer will only deal with her?” Robby said. “If he wants the revolver, it doesn’t matter who delivers it.”

  “I don’t even know how to find the guy.”

  “Then ask her at gunpoint!” Robby threw his hands up in frustration. “I’ve had enough of your shit, Ken. You gotta stop being a doormat. If you don’t think Hannah deserves a bullet, maybe we should ask Dad for his opinion. What do you say?”

  Ken suppressed the urge to smack his brother and watched as Robby darted for the basement door. His brother’s energy exceeded anything he’d displayed in years. As he thumped down the steps, Ken recognized shades of his real brother—the man he’d been before Mom died and he lost himself in narcotics. Ken moved across the room to stand at the top of the stairs.

  Downstairs the stench was worsening, but Robby seemed unfazed by it. He studied the shelving rack Hannah had spent the night attached to. After ripping off a shredded strip of duct tape, he looked at Ken.

  “Did they tape Dad to this?” Robby said, his voice thick with emotion.

  “No, I taped Hannah to it last night.”

  “Should’ve left her there.”

  Before the mood could escalate, Ken met him at the bottom of the stairs and patted Robby’s back. He steered him toward the root cellar. Though the door was shut, the stench of two cooling corpses leaked out. Ken buried his nose in his sleeve and opened the door. It was a cramped space, so Robby entered alone.

  Somehow he stayed inside for ten minutes.

  When Robby came out, his eyes were rimmed with red. He leaned toward Ken’s ear and said, “You’re right. You have the gun. But if you don’t start killing the right people, I will.”

  Chapter 24

  Around 10:30 that night, while Ken was sitting in the kitchen trying to hypnotize himself with a YouTube video, the doorbell rang. It broke his trance and kicked his paranoid mind into overdrive. He pictured Officer Isaacs standing on his doorstep with a warrant and an army of uniformed officers, SWAT team members, foreign mercenaries, you name it.

  The bell rang again, and Hopper left his dog bed to bark at the door.

  Within seconds Ken flew across the living room, tugging his jacket on before he shoved Hannah into the bathroom where she couldn’t be seen.

  After the third ring, Robby, who’d spent all evening Googling Dr. Glinski, got off the couch and lumbered over to the door.

  “What’re you doing?” Ken said in a harsh whisper. “That could be the cops.”

  “Nah, it’s Chrissie.” Robby shrugged. “I invited her over.”

  “You—what? You invited your girlfriend over now?”

  The bell rang again, and Robby opened the door. Chrissie rushed in and smooched his cheek about a thousand times before kissing him hard on the lips. When she pulled back, she brushed her blonde hair from her face and waved to Ken. “Hey, Kevin. Robby told me about your dad. Bummer, huh?”

  Ken’s heart skipped multiple beats. “He…told you?”

  “Yeah, gave me the cliff notes,” she said. “About your dad, the gun—”

  “Robby!” Ken stomped the hardwood. “What were you thinking?”

  “Chill, Ken,” Robby said. “We can trust her. She’s basically family.”

  “Like hell she is.” Ken gestured toward the porch. “Go home, Chrissie. Please. Just go home.”

  Chrissie laughed and spread her arms wide. “But I am home.”

  Hopper barked at her.

  Ken couldn’t believe it. The last thing he wanted was another person being privy to his nasty situation—especially someone as devious as Chrissie. Last year she’d visited the house for dinner one night and left with half of Mom’s jewelry. Now, for all Ken knew, she might blackmail him into robbing gas stations or carrying out a bank heist. There was no telling what hideous possibilities were slithering through her mind as she eyed his jacket pocket. The way she smiled drove cold, solid fear into his chest.

  “So, lemme get this straight,” she said. “A gun is…stuck to your hand?”

  “For now,” Ken said.

  “And you gotta kill five people?”

  “I’m not killing anyone.”

  The bathroom door squealed open. Hannah exited and said, “Guess I can come out now. Oh, hey, you’re that chick from this morning. Nice to see you with clothes on.”

  “Excuse me?” Chrissie scrunched her nose. “Who the fuck are you? You must be the bitch who killed Robby’s dad. You’re gonna look real cute with a bullet in your head, you know that?”

  Ken twitched. The image of Hannah dead and bloody sent a sickening warmth through his gunhand. Heat bundled in his knuckles and crept toward his elb
ow. His throat went dry. The living room turned hazy. Sweat rolled down his face like rain. He untucked his shirt and fanned his chest to cool down.

  Soon he was shivering. Along with the chills came a strange tremor in his gunhand. It was like his bones were trying to shake free of the curse. More likely, the curse was shaking his sore fist deeper under its control.

  Then his gunhand wobbled. His wrist bent toward Hannah.

  Toward Chrissie.

  Toward his brother.

  “No!” Ken grabbed his gunhand and pointed it to the floor.

  He bolted for the kitchen. Hannah rushed over as he drank from the sink, gulping water in hopes of quenching his unbearable thirst. He splashed his burning cheeks, then shoved her aside and headed for the back door. He needed air.

  “It’s happening, isn’t it?” Hannah asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m telling you, you need to hurry up with those kills.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Trembling, he flicked on the backyard lights and stepped outside.

  The night breeze brought him comfort. The backyard seemed to be the only part of the property exempt from bad vibes. Though the garden plants hung withered and the toolshed showed rot, the lawn itself remained green. He wandered in circles, sucking down the damp night air. A tall wooden fence offered privacy, but nonetheless he buried his revolver in his jacket pocket.

  The door creaked open behind him.

  “Ken?” Robby asked. “Something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s perfect.”

  “My bad. Should’ve mentioned Chrissie was coming.”

  “You shouldn’t have told her.”

  “I don’t keep secrets from her, man.”

  They sat side-by-side at a wooden picnic table they’d built together years ago. It had been a surprise Mother’s Day gift, where Mom had sat daily while she sipped her morning coffee. Even after she passed away, Ken maintained the table, giving it a fresh coat of burgundy paint each spring. This year’s layer was peeling but still vibrant.