Our Lady Chaos, page 23
part #5 of Bloodletter Series
He sensed Karl’s gaze on him, despite the darkness inside the Galaxy, despite the fake face that stared straight out through the windscreen. Again, he opened his eyes wide and did that thing he did inside his head that felt like pushing. He maintained the effort past when his pulse started to pound, past when his eyes teared up from the ache of not blinking. He clenched his fists and hunched toward the window, pushing and pushing and pushing.
He let his pulsing eyes slide closed, and just before they closed all the way, he glimpsed something yellow in the driver’s seat of the old Galaxy. Something yellow that resembled one of those silverback gorillas Jane Goodall lived with. The thing had a broad, V-shaped mouth filled with the teeth of a great white shark. The vision came to him for only a split second.
He remembered his nightmares of the yellow monster chasing him, wearing Kristy’s skin as a cape. Sean remembered how the thing had spoken in Karl’s voice, how uncomfortable those dreams had made him.
He recalled the fever dreams he’d had when he was eight. Karl had stayed by his bedside along with his mother—and he remembered awakening during one nightmare to find Karl staring at him with a peculiar expression on his face. Karl had stared at him as though irritated by the nature of his dream—and Sean hadn’t told him a thing about the dream. We should talk about your imagination, kid, Karl had said. It might get you in trouble someday. But they’d never spoken of the incident again.
Was that my subconscious? Were those dreams my mind trying to warn me about Karl? Sean snapped his eyes open and stared at the car. If my subconscious mind can see the reality of him, then so can my conscious mind. Right?
Behind the steering wheel, the driver shifted his position—leaned his head back against the headrest and rested his wrist on the door, letting his hand dangle in the night air.
Sean started to turn away, but a flash of yellow caught his attention. He returned his stare at the car but could pick out nothing yellow. He turned his head to the side again, and when he caught the flash of color, he froze, resisting the urge to roll his gaze on the yellow flash.
Watching from the corner of his eyes, Sean moved his head a little at a time and Karl’s pure form—the yellow scaled flesh, the bulging gut, thick musculature, chartreuse alligator eyes—became apparent as his vision shifted over the man’s frame.
The man’s frame? Karl is no man, he thought. Karl is a monster. A real-life monster.
Sean moved his hand away from the blinds, letting the peephole close again. Karl could smash him like a gnat on the windshield of a big rig. A baseball bat to the noggin probably wouldn’t even faze him.
Even so, Sean had to move. If his dreams about the yellow monster were real, then his latest dream about Kristy most likely contained some truth to it.
And that truth is Denny Cratchkin is after her. With that thought, Sean turned and tiptoed toward the back door of the house, carrying his shoes and socks in one hand.
8
December 1979
When he’d prepared everything, when he’d set the prefect scene for the night’s theater, Denny stood back and smiled at it. Red had told him the story, how Denny’s pervert of an old man had tried to bed Kristy but hadn’t been able to get it up. Red told him how Kristy had belittled the man, laughed at him for being small and impotent, and despite Denny’s hatred for his father, rage seethed within him as he recalled the tale.
The old man’s an asshat, but no one’s going to get away with mocking him… Or with mocking me through him. Denny nodded to himself, his unfettered expression gone savage in the darkness. She’ll see just how us Cratchkins take care of business tonight, he thought, wrinkling his nose at the primitive nature of his own smile. She’s going to learn her lesson. And right fucking now.
He spun on his heel and retraced his steps through the dark house. Denny drew a deep breath on the top tread of the back stoop, then jumped down, landing with both feet on the gravel drive, imagining the sound came from bones shattering beneath him.
He turned and dashed down the gutter of space left between the two houses, bent a little at the waist as he imagined those Killer Kane motherfuckers had run in Nam. Those bad asses ran hunched over their guns.
Denny didn’t have a gun, but he had a new hammer.
9
December 1979
Sean shifted the curtains open a mite and dragged one of the kitchen chairs to sit in front of the stripe of the dark night. He sat and pulled on his socks.
A still silence reigned in the backyard. Nothing moved against the backdrop of fresh snow, nor could he see any footprints marring its surface.
Shoes on and tied, Sean sat for a moment, reflecting about what he’d seen in the Galaxy across the street. No wonder he gave off such a weird vibe at times. He’s a monster…a real-life monster. A demon, maybe.
But if that’s true, why didn’t he eat me?
He got up and fetched his winter coat, wool cap, and gloves. Big, wet flakes of snow still fell from the sky, and he didn’t know how long he’d be out skulking around in the darkness. He didn’t know if he’d have shelter from the snowstorm or whether he’d have to sit in the tree in front of Kristy’s house until dawn. Whatever he had to do, though, he wanted to be warm.
He returned to the slider and stood staring out into the snow-covered yard, his breath fogging the glass a touch as he exhaled. Nothing moved out there. He turned back toward the coat closet and found his baseball bat.
Warm and ready for anything, he thought.
Sean slid the door open just wide enough to allow him to squeeze out and stepped outside. He closed the door behind him, then froze, scanning the backyard for telltale puffs of breath, listening for soft footsteps or the mere shifting of weight from foot to foot.
He took a step away from the house and scanned the yard from the corners of his eyes—just like he’d done to see Karl’s actual shape. Satisfied no one spied on him from the shadows, Sean stepped from the deck into the snow and slogged his way to the stockade fence that stretched across the rear of their property. Trees buffered the backyard from the noise of Main Street, but Sean had the idea they might also cover his exit.
Karl was out front, and if he went through the woods, Sean could get away clean.
10
December 1979
An unfamiliar noise awakened Kristy. She let her eyes drift closed again, hoping sleep would return. She’d fallen asleep thinking about Sean Walker again, about her debt to him, as she often did. Kristy didn’t know how to repay him—the first idea that came to mind was always Leif’s preferred method of payment, and that would not happen.
No matter what other debauchery Leif had talked her into, she wasn’t going to bed a twelve-year-old. She shook her head in the darkness and rolled to her side, drawing the blankets closer. Winter was often colder in Oneka Falls than other parts of Western New York, but that year had been super-cold. She considered a mad, freezing dash to the thermostat, even imagined the scent as the heater stepped it up a notch, but she never so much as twitched the covers. No matter how great turning up the heat seemed in the middle of the night, the image of her mom’s disappointed expression brought her back to reality.
Since that evening in September, the truth had come out. The drugs, the sex, the nude dancing, all of it. Kristy had told her everything, and true to her word, her mother hadn’t shouted at her, hadn’t punished her, but the disappointment in her eyes had cut Kristy to the quick.
Downstairs, something thunked, and Kristy’s face wrinkled. She’d quit thinking about the sound that had awakened her. She’d put it out of her mind, but that thunk wasn’t right.
Kristy cocked her head, pulling the covers down to expose her ear, and listened hard. The house creaked and sighed the way it always did. They had no grandfather clock, so the only ticking Kristy heard came from a cheap K-Mart alarm clock on her nightstand. Strain as she might, she detected nothing out of the ordinary. Chiding herself for a kid scared of the dark, Kristy forced herself to relax, to lay back and get comfortable.
Then the loose third step of the staircase creaked.
11
December 1979
He froze as the tread beneath him creaked. Nothing I could do about that one, he told himself, but even so, part of him imaged Red’s disappointment, and shame soured his stomach. The house remained quiet, despite the noise he’d made, though, so Denny pressed on.
Without putting more weight on the loose step, he shifted toward the wall—where Red said stair treads would have the most stability—and felt a blush creep up his neck. He climbed the rest of the stairs at a slower pace, testing each tread as he ascended.
At the top of the steps, he took a second to orient himself. He knew Kristy’s bedroom was across the gap between the two homes from the room where Denny had set up his scene. The place where Kristy had mocked his old man.
A grin stretched his lips as he turned right, turned toward Kristy’s room. He crept toward her door, staying close to the wall, one gloved hand skimming the plaster, the other fondling the haft of his short-handled sledgehammer.
He stopped at the door with a big wooden K hanging from its center. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he moved his jaw back and forth, trying to loosen the muscles, but the moment he relaxed, the rictus grin returned.
He dropped a hand to the doorknob and withdrew the hammer from his belt with the other. He sucked in three deep breaths, then flung the door open and charged into the darkness beyond.
12
December 1979
Sean pushed the ajar front door open wider and peered into the darkness of the Benchly home. He’d seen the open door first thing and understood what it had to mean on a cold winter night. He tiptoed into the house, closing the door with as little noise as possible and throwing the deadbolt.
Sean had visited Kristy many times and was familiar with the layout of the first floor. He passed the couch where they’d spent so many evenings watching Jeopardy. He stepped beyond the arch that led to the formal dining room, where he and his mother had shared Thanksgiving leftovers with the Benchlys the day after Turkey Day. Sean glanced through the pocket-door into the kitchen as he ghosted past it, but he didn’t waste time searching the room. He knew Denny’s destination, and it wasn’t on the ground floor.
Sean made his way back to the staircase and climbed, stepping over the loose step he knew was there. Two steps shy of the second floor, he stopped and peeked around the corner. At the far end of the hall, a black-clad figure flung the door with the large wooden K on it open and charged inside the darkened room.
Without making a sound, Sean ascended the rest of the staircase and rounded the corner to the right.
13
December 1979
Denny charged into the dark room and stumbled over something. He fell headlong into the darkness. Rolling to his back, he swept the hammer at whatever had tripped him.
The hammer smashed the cardboard box, and inside, glass tinkled as a tchotchke broke. What the… Denny whirled to his knees and glared around at the boxes stacked in towers spread throughout the room. No bed, no nightstand, no vanity, only stacks of cardboard boxes.
Denny glanced at the shade-blocked window and crawled there on his knees. He pulled the blinds back and peeked out on the bedroom where he’d set up in the neighboring house.
This is the right room… He looked around. But at the wrong time. His face settled into grim lines. He could call it, wait a few months, and come back to finish later. Yeah, that’s the safe choice. The other option is to search room by room until I find the bitch, then drop the hammer. At the moment, he didn’t know whether that meant he’d kill her or take her next door and teach her a lesson. Maybe it means both.
14
December 1979
Sean stood in the dark, waiting for the sound of footsteps. Or for the rattle of the doorknob that opened the bathroom door to the hall.
He hid in a tiny space, sandwiched between where the open door would stand and the wall of the linen closet. At that moment, the truth about Kristy’s room kept him from worrying. She and her mother had switched her bedroom to one right next to Miriam’s.
One that lay to the left of the staircase.
He strained his ears, listening for footsteps, but only the sound of his own heartbeat reached him. He held his bat in front of him, almost like a shield, choked up to where the meat of the bat swelled to treble the size of the handle. The wood felt cold beneath his gloves, but Sean sweltered in his coat, gloves, and hat.
He lowered the bat and leaned it in the corner behind him, then he stripped the wool beanie from his head and threw it on the counter across from him. Sean peeled the gloves off as well, then unzipped his coat with as little noise as he could. He skinned out of it and tossed it into the tub.
The zipper hit the side of the porcelain bathtub with a hollow thunk, and he winced, cursing himself for his stupidity.
15
December 1979
Her mind supplied the image of Leif creeping down the hall toward her old bedroom, his little black bag tucked under one arm. For a moment, Kristy hoped it was Leif, hoped he had his bag of tricks, hoped for the bliss therein. But only for a moment.
Her mother wasn’t the only person disappointed in the depths of her depravity.
She heard someone else on the stairs, a light tread on the steps. Who could that be? Leif had had no sidekick.
Except for Kristy.
At the far end of the hall, a door creaked open followed by a thud. Kristy rested her palm on the doorknob. She’d taken a moment to pull on a pair of jeans, but she still wore the extra-large T shirt she slept in, and her bare feet ached with the cold coming off the hardwood floor in waves.
She peeked over her shoulder at her bifold closet doors and lifted her hand from the latch. It rattled a bit as she stepped away from it. She opened one side of the closet and bent to find a pair of warm socks and her boots.
Behind her, the door slammed open, and she couldn’t help it.
Kristy screamed.
16
December 1979
The doorknob rattled, and Denny froze, listening hard. Someone stood on the other side of the door, listening and breathing.
Waiting.
Kristy, he thought, and almost sighed with the elation that piggy-backed it. He leaned close to the door and heard a rustle—like a woman walking. His rictus-grin stretched broader still, and he grasped the doorknob, ready to throw the door open and charge inside.
He heard a strange creaking noise that took a moment to identify. Folding closet doors! Oh, isn’t that sweet? Kristy-poo thinks she can hide from me in her closet.
He drew a deep breath and crashed through the door. Kristy kneeled across the room, pawing through a pile of clothing, and Denny stiffened where he stood.
Their gazes met, and she screamed.
Denny lifted his hammer and sprinted toward her, not shouting, not making a sound, but charging her as Red had taught him—in eerie silence. Her eyes widened, but true to Red’s teachings, she quit screaming and didn’t move.
He shifted the hammer into a two-handed grip and flung it high over his shoulder. All thoughts of teaching Kristy Benchly a lesson, thoughts of rape, thoughts of a beating, all that had disappeared into a mist of red rage and bloodlust.
He was almost within range when the hand of God clubbed him in the back of the head.
17
December 1979
After Kristy screamed, Sean sprinted to her new bedroom, bat raised. Denny Cratchkin ran at Kristy, who kneeled at her closet door. Sean’s eyes widened as Denny switched grips on the short-handled sledge.
He dashed forward, moving his grip on the bat for maximum reach. He hoisted the bat around to his right and leaped at Denny. At the apex of the leap, he swung with all his strength. Denny dropped like a sack of stones, and Sean swung again, this time shifting his aim at the sledgehammer, sending it spinning under the bed.
Kristy stared at the bat, and Sean followed her gaze. Blood dripped down its length from where it had smashed into the back of Denny’s head. He ripped his gaze away from the blood. “Come on, Kristy. We have to get your mom.” He forced one hand to let go of the death grip he had on the bat and held it out to her.
“You’re…” Kristy’s voice broke, sounding like the croak of a frog. She sat for a moment, her throat working. “You’re making quite a habit out of saving me, Sean.”
“Come on,” he said.
18
December 1979
Somewhere out on Main Street, a siren whirred to life, and Karl started out of his revelry. He peered at the Walker house, but it remained dark, asleep. Sean hadn’t peeped out at him in a while, and Munnur figured the boy had gone to sleep.
Red and blue sweepers revolved on the roof of an Oneka Falls Police Department cruiser as it roared past the intersection. Out of habit, Munnur reached for the switch controlling his own red and blues, but he no longer had a car equipped with lights and a siren. He no longer had a job in law enforcement, no position that allowed him to satisfy his curiosity by joining the call in progress.
Munnur let loose a deep sigh and dropped his hand. He didn’t even have a scanner yet. Well, that’s one point I can control. I’ll get over to RadioShack tomorrow and buy one. And there’s another thing I can do. With a final glance at the Walker place, Munnur started the shitpile Galaxy and drove to the end of the street. He looked both ways on Main, then pulled out.
He had no idea where the cruiser had gone, but in a town as small as Oneka Falls, finding them again wouldn’t be hard. Munnur sat at the town’s single traffic light, right across from the town hall, and considered his options. The likelihood someone on Rabbit Run or Deer Vale had called the cops paled in comparison to the streets on the other side of town, the other side of Main Street.
Munnur smirked to himself and drove through the intersection against the red. If they had a felony call, both police cars assigned to night patrol would respond. Another benefit of small-town life. He turned right on Union and let the old Galaxy advance at idle until he rounded the bend.
