by Tabitha King
Ricky propped himself on his elbows. “Jesus Christ, it’s cold,” he said.
Rand sank to his haunches by the hearth, holding a stick of wood in his hands, waiting for the kindling to burn down a little. “That’s your fault. You got a cigarette on ya?”
Ricky laughed. “Everybody’s always blaming me for somethin’.” He jumped up and displayed his nakedness. “Where you think I got a cigarette hidden, Rand?”
Rand ignored him. “What time do you think it is?” he asked Liv.
Liv stood up and dusted off the knees of her jeans. “Clock in the kitchen is on batteries. I’ll check.” She hooked Travis by the hand as she went by him and hustled him into the kitchen.
The clock over the table read 6:27.
“Stay here,” she ordered Travis, and boosted him onto his chair.
In the living room, she told Rand, “Six twenty-seven.”
Ricky stood stark-naked, yawning and scratching himself. He kicked Gordy casually. “Wake up, asshole,” he said.
The Poor leapt off Gordy, landed next to Liv, and stretched slowly and deliberately before climbing onto the hearth and planting her rear end comfortably close to the fire.
Gordy snorted and coughed and rolled over. He looked up at Liv with pain-glazed eyes.
Liv felt sick to her stomach.
Rand tossed a couple of pieces of wood onto the fire. “How’s your war wounds?” he asked Gordy.
Gordy sniffled. “Hurts a lot, Rand.”
Rand looked at Liv.
“Excuse me,” she said and hurried toward her bedroom. She heard Rand rise and follow her but did not slow for him. He caught up with her at the bedroom door. “Getting some pills for him.”
“Fine.” Rand reached into the sleeve of his sweater and showed her the gun. He shoved her up against the door. “Now you show me where they are, before I get itchy with this gun.”
“Glad to,” Liv said. “Want to know when you’re leaving.”
“I ain’t proposing a trade,” Rand said. “Not unless you got some cigarettes somewhere’s. Even an old stale butt would taste good right now.”
“Maybe,” Liv said. She went to the closet and began to rummage through the pockets of the clothes Pat had left behind at the end of the summer. Old, baggy, or threadbare at the elbows or collars, some of them hangovers from his days of teaching English lit and drama at the university, consigned to the summer house rather than discarded out of hand, they had always seemed like good omens to Liv, if only because they were proof Pat wasn’t ready to throw out his own history. And they delivered. In the breast pocket of an old gray suede sports coat, she found a pack of Pall Malls, stale but nearly intact.
“Jesus Christ in a handcar,” Rand said when she tossed them to him. He shook out a cigarette and lit it reverently.
Liv pried off one sneaker with the other, by the heel, then applied her toes to the remaining sneaker. She hooked off her socks and held them out to him. “Every last goddamn one ‘n’ the butts, too,” she said. “Welcome to ‘em. Use ‘em in bad health, hope it’s terminal lung cancer.”
Rand took the socks and shook them. He laughed around the butt in his mouth. “O-liv-i-a, you’re a ticket.”
“Light out,” Liv said. “Storm’s slackening: Hear the wind? Whyn’t you pill up poor dummy ‘n’ haul on outta here before Walter McKenzie or the power crews show up? I’ll forget you were ever here.”
Rand tucked the socks up one sleeve, then the gun up the other. “Right,” he said. “Wouldn’t feed me and the boys somethin’ first, would you?”
“Can’t cook anything,” Liv said. “There’s cereal and milk.”
Rand nodded. “Good enough.”
She snatched a pair of socks from her dresser and hurried back to the kitchen. Travis sat where she had left him. He had taken out his G.I. Joes and arranged them around his placemat. She went directly to him and hugged him. He hugged her back.
“How ‘bout some grub?” she asked him.
Rand crouched next to Gordy and examined a handful of pills. They didn’t look like the amphetamines with which he was familiar. Finally, he picked out four of the biggest kind, figuring the bigger they were the more painkiller they packed. Gordy choked them back gratefully, washing them down with the dregs of last night’s sour wine, fetched from the bedroom by Ricky under Rand’s orders.
“Olivia is putting out some cereal,” Rand told them.
“That’s kid shit,” Ricky protested. “I hate that shit.”
“Maybe it’s got marshmallows in it,” Gordy said.
Rand ignored them. “We’re going to eat it and then you two are going over to Miss Alden’s place.”
Ricky stared at him and then hooted.
Rand put a finger to his lips to silent him.
“Olivia don’t need to know about it. I’ll meet you over there.”
Gordy shifted, and winced. “Jeez, Rand.”
“You’ll be okay,” Rand said. “Give them pills time to work. You’ll feel like goin’ dancing.”
Gordy nodded. If Rand said so.
Ricky peered at Rand slyly. “Why can’t you come with us?” he asked. “You got somethin’ better to do?”
Rand grinned. “Maybe I do.”
Gordy sniggered. “Jeez, Rand,” he said.
Ricky turned sullen. “How come I don’t get any?”
Rand looked at him. “You won’t want this when I’m done with it,” he said.
Ricky stared at him.
Rand took out the gun and studied it. “You want to go to Shawshank for a spell? Get your ass reamed?”
“They gotta catch us, first,” Ricky said. “Ain’t daddy always said so?”
“Yeah,” Rand said. “Daddy’s right, too. Now O-liv-i-a is full a promises about how if we just leave, she’ll forget we was ever here. But I don’t trust her. I ain’t gonna trust her. So now you know.”
“What?” Gordy asked.
“I’m gonna keep your ass out of Shawshank,” Rand said.
Ricky giggled. “How come I can’t have a piece first?”
“Because you’re a nasty little bastard,” Rand said, and “I don’t want to catch nothing from you.”
“Hey,” Ricky said. “That ain’t called for.”
Rand put the gun away and stood up. “Go get your cereal from the Missus and get your asses in gear. I expect you to have Miss Alden’s place busted open and waiting for me.”
That cheered Ricky up. He poked and prodded Gordy into the kitchen.
Liv and Travis left the kitchen almost as soon as Ricky and Gordy sat down at the table and found Rand sitting by the fire, contentedly smoking another of the stale cigarettes.
“Go get some clothes,” Liv told Travis. “Bring them back here to dress.”
Travis scooted down the hall toward his room. Liv saw him skid to a halt at his bedroom door, and cautiously push it open and peek in before he disappeared into it.
She began picking up the living room, mopping the trays with a damp rag, breaking them down to stack in their holder, picking up the dishes. The Poor had surreptitiously cleaned the dishes and snapped up the crusts of sandwiches and bits of chicken and vegetables from spilled soup. Even the places where broth stained the carpet had been licked until the wool was flattened and shiny. Now the cat sat on the hearth near Rand, washing her paws and face.
Travis shot back into the room. Liv stopped righting the furniture to help him, but he frowned at her and she backed off.
“I can dress myself, Liv,” he said, and grinned so she wouldn’t think it was personal. He went as close to the fire as he could while keeping his distance from Rand, and proceeded to unzip his pajamas and dress himself.
Liv went back to work, wondering at the adaptability of children. She had been afraid he might never want to go into his bedroom alone again. Now he was exhibiting his independence again.
Ricky and Gordy returned to the living room to retrieve their out-of-doors gear. Gordy was limping but the painkill
ers had clearly-helped.
Ricky finished dressing first. He handled some of the video tapes idly then suddenly reached out and grabbed Liv.
“Hey,” Rand protested.
Liv stomped on Ricky’s boots and tried to pull away from him.
Travis hurled himself from the hearth against the back of Ricky’s legs. Rand jumped up and hauled Travis off.
“That’s enough,” he warned Ricky.
Ricky was giggling with excitement. “Just funnin’,” he cried. Then he grabbed Liv by the back of the neck and forced his mouth onto hers.
She nearly fainted with the sudden fierce blossom of pain at the pressure on her swollen lips. He forced his tongue into her mouth. She bit down hard, though it hurt the exposed stumps of her teeth as much as it did him.
Ricky’s head snapped back, and he let her go, in order to cover his mouth with both his hands. Tears started in his eyes.
“Jesuth,” he gasped. “She bith me!”
Rand laughed. “Good.”
Liv put the couch between her and Ricky. Travis scrambled away from Rand and wrapped his arms around her legs. She scooched down and hugged him.
“Got what you deserved,” Rand said. He prodded Ricky toward the back door. “Get the fuck outta here, now.”
Gordy shuffled after them, sneaking amazed and frightened looks back at Liv.
Rand came back and sat down. He took out the found cigarettes again. “Bet that hurt,” he said.
Liv nodded.
“You want somethin’ for it?” Rand asked, and fished one of the socks full of narcotics from his sweater sleeve.
“No,” Liv said, and then a flair of pain changed her mind for her. She nudged Travis behind her. “Yes,” she said. “Please.”
Rand handed her the sock. She shook out a handful and rummaged through them, selecting a couple of Darvon.
Rand reached into his sleeve and showed her the gun. “Whyn’t you just take a few more? Enough to go to sleep on.”
She stared at him.
“Give us a few hours before you start running your mouth,” Rand said.
She pushed the sock away and shook her head.
“You want me to hurt the boy?” Rand asked.
She dry-swallowed the Darvon. “You do and you’ll go to jail.”
“Only if you live to tell about it,” Rand said.
Travis hugged her tighter.
“Fuck you, Mr. Nighswander,” she said.
He tensed, then forced himself to relax. “Look,” he said, in a reasoning tone, “be sensible, O-liv-i-a. I want you and the boy to sleep a while, is all.”
Liv twisted around and picked up Travis. “We’ll go in the bedroom and stay there until Walter or someone shows up. That’s the most I’ll do.”
Rand sighed. “All right. I ain’t forgot you found me them butts.” He looked her up and down. “You was okay last night.”
Liv’s lip curled, but she held her tongue about that. “It’ll be cold in there. I want to put on our snowsuits so we can stay warm.”
Rand studied her. The scene he meant to leave behind would be a tragic but unincriminating one: a woman and a kid overdosed, murder, suicide, with a fire, like last night’s but bigger, to blur the evidence. Snowsuits didn’t fit in. On the other hand, he couldn’t shoot either of them because bullets would be recovered from the bodies.
“Take ‘em with you,” he said. Once they were in the bedroom, he would work out a way to make her eat the goddamn pills. The boy he could force-feed once she was on her way.
They trooped to the bedroom, stopping at the closet for the snowsuits. Liv insisted on gloves and mittens and wool socks for their extremities. Rand shrugged and let her take them.
The bedroom was still cold and stank of the burnt linen, the scorched rug. The Poor appeared at the door, twisted past Liv’s ankles, and bounded onto the bed. She began to circle, making herself a nest. Liv went down on one knee to help Travis into his snowsuit.
“Hold it,” Rand said. He gestured toward the bathroom. “Put the boy in the bathroom for a while. Tell him to stay there.”
Liv stared at him. He had caught her off-guard, and she couldn’t think how to respond.
“Do it,” Rand said. “You don’t want to give him a complex, do you?”
Travis clung to her. Rand had succeeded in frightening him half out of his wits again.
She shooed him gently into the bathroom, hugged him, and asked him to wait. Rigid with fear, he sat down on the closed seat of the toilet and clasped his hands together. As she closed the door on him, shutting him in darkness, she could see his white face and wide eyes like a mask.
She shot a look of fierce hatred at Rand. He laughed softly.
“How’s your mouth feeling?” he said.
“Have you forgotten what I did to your creepy brother?” she asked.
Rand reached for her and drew her close. He stroked her hair. “I ain’t Ricky. You liked it well enough last night.”
She pushed away from him. “I hate you.”
“You keep saying ‘fuck you,’” he said. “Gives me ideas.”
His hands fell on her shoulders and he put his weight on her. She resisted him, twisting away from him, but he held her deliberately, digging his fingernails into her shoulders, until she gave way with a gasp, and fell to her knees. Rand unzipped his jeans and reached into them.
Ricky and Gordy struggled through knee-high snow to the machines under the trees by the beach. The tree line along the shore was all that distinguished the barren lake from the land anymore. The wind was sculpting fantastic dunes on it, so it looked as it might have if it were suddenly frozen in violent motion. Gordy hunkered down in the shelter of the trees. His face was ashen and shiny, his eyes a little glazed. Ricky bent over him and grimaced.
“You don’t look too fuckin’ chipper,” he shouted over the wind.
Tears provoked by the cold, rather than pain, which the narcotics were successfully killing, trickled down Gordy’s face. The wind burnt them into his skin until it was red. If he stayed out long enough, the first place the frost would bite would be his tear-dampened cheeks.
Ricky started Gordy’s machine for him, and helped him onto it, then mounted his own and led Gordy out onto the lake. Head down against the wind, they ground slowly along the shoreline toward Miss Alden’s house. It should have taken them five minutes. It took them fifteen. The machines left the lake and crossed the beach directly to the empty house. Ricky led Gordy into the lee of the house.
Gordy pulled his machine close to Ricky’s.
“This is gonna be fun,” Ricky said. He dismounted and poked Gordy in the chest. “At least we’ll be outta the cold.”
Gordy tried to grin. “Okay with me, Ricky.”
Ricky bounded up the steps to the porch. He bounced impatiently from foot to foot, but Gordy moved very slowly through the deep snow.
“Come on!” Ricky shouted. He opened the storm door and fixed the spring to hold it open.
Gordy stopped. “I can’t,” he said. “It hurts.”
“Fuck,” said Ricky, and grabbed the old hand-wrought iron door handle. He rattled it furiously. He stepped back and raised his leg.
Gordy arrived at the bottom of the steps.
Ricky kicked the door. It shuddered but did not give.
Gordy struggled upward to the second step.
Ricky stepped back again, and threw all his strength into the second kick. The frame that held the antique hinges splintered.
Gordy panted his way to the top step.
Ricky hooted and kicked the door a third time. It fell slowly, heavily inward. He hooted again and jumped through the door frame. He felt the slight constriction of the wire as his chest hit it but there was no time to even wonder what it was before the shotgun went off. It caught him square in the chest and blew him out onto the porch. He was dead so quickly he didn’t even scream.
But Gordy did. He stumbled backward against the railing of the steps, screaming, first
with surprise, and then with fear, and then with horror. He fell to his knees and climbed back up the steps, staring at Ricky. He ran out of breath for screaming. Sobbing, he crawled to where Ricky sprawled. Ricky’s chest looked like hamburger. Gordy crept close enough to look into Ricky’s eyes. They were open. Snow spritzed over the porch railing and dusted Ricky’s eyelashes.
“Dead,” said Gordy, spraying spit on Ricky’s face.
He had seen enough dead deer and moose and varmints, legal and poached. He had seen numerous dogs and cats die at the hands of the Nighswanders. He knew dead when he saw it. It was as good as a doctor’s declaration of death.
Chapter 16
Distantly, there was an explosion. Rand froze, startled. Liv grabbed The Poor and hurtled the cat into Rand’s face.
Cat and man screamed simultaneously. He stumbled backward, clawing it, as it clawed reflexively at his face.
The bathroom door flew open, and Travis stood on the threshold, agog.
Liv grabbed the pottery-based lamp from the nightstand and backhanded it onto Rand’s head. A huge chunk of the ceramic flew off the base of the lamp and shattered against the floor. The lamp rolled off Rand’s head and onto the rug. He went limp with an oofing sound. The cat scrambled away, and disappeared out the door at top speed.
“Get into your suit,” Liv ordered Travis, snatching his snowsuit from the floor and throwing it at him.
She looked around frantically, then tore a handful of old ties from the rack in the closet. She straddled Rand’s limp body and tied his hands together, then his feet. He was already semiconscious, rolling his eyes, starting to move, making sounds.
With shaking hands, she helped Travis zip his suit.
“What was that noise, Liv?” Travis asked her anxiously. He kept his eyes on Rand, and pulled on a cap.
“Gunshot,” Liv answered. She was climbing into her own snowsuit, zipping it, grabbing the socks and mittens and caps from the floor.
She kicked off her sneakers. Travis quickly began to take his off. They pulled on the socks, the mittens. She grabbed his hand and dragged him from the bedroom to the hall closet, where they quickly pulled on their boots. There was no time to buckle Travis’ boots or tie hers. She threw open the door and dragged him out into the storm.