"How are you kids holding up?" Pastor Gresham asked.

  "See, Joshua? It's pastor Gresham. We've come to bless you."

  Gresham cleared his throat. "You guys got enough food to eat?"

  Joshua relaxed. "We got a bit."

  "I didn't think so. But you're in luck! On our drive up we spotted a big ole gobbler at the tree line. What do you say you and me go down there and check it out?"

  "Preacher, I need to stay here with my brother and sisters."

  Mr. Gresham started toward the porch. "Joshua, you're the man of the house now, and it's up to you to provide for your brother and sisters. Do you know how to hunt?"

  Joshua straightened. "Sure, I do."

  Pastor Gresham smiled at him. "Have you ever shot a gun before?"

  "Yes, sir, of course. Diddy and I used to go hunting all the time."

  Mr. Gresham laughed. "Then why are you still standing there, boy? Let's go get that turkey." Mr. Gresham continued laughing as he started walking toward the woods. He turned. "You comin' or not?"

  Joshua ran inside and grabbed his father's gun, then ran back out the door.

  Grace shouted, "What do you need that thing for?"

  He answered over his shoulder as he ran, "I'm going to go shoot us some dinner. Pastor Gresham says there's a big gobbler at the tree line."

  Isaac and Grace moved to the window to watch as their brother ran to catch up with Gresham. Once Joshua caught up with him, the preacher put his arm around his shoulder.

  I turned to the sound of lighter steps as Isaac walked out onto the porch. "Some turkey sounds real good to me."

  Mr. Bankward laughed. "Good turkey is good eating, my friend. Let's go inside and get out of this chill. They shouldn't take too long. That turkey was so fat I bet it couldn't run off even if it wanted to."

  Isaac giggled as the men moved into the living room and everyone sat down together. Isaac kept shifting his eyes to the window.

  Mr. Self finally spoke. "You girls have breakfast yet?"

  Grace shook her head. "We had some butter cookies at the church this morning."

  "You were at church?"

  "Yes, sir. Pastor Gresham is a truly anointed man."

  Self eyed the girl with fearful curiosity. "You thought so?" He flattened his lips. "I didn't see you there."

  "Oh, yes, sir, we were all there. Grandpa said it would be best for us to sneak in up to the loft so we wouldn't distract the service."

  Self's face went white. "Oh?" he asked as he narrowed his eyes on Randy Bankward.

  Backward ignored Self's stare. "Well, I love butter cookies, but I'm sure you kids are starving. We brought you some groceries. I hope you like oatmeal."

  Isaac laughed, "Grace doesn't like oatmeal."

  Bankward smiled. "Don't worry, we brought a bag of brown sugar and raisins, too. Come on into the kitchen and Mr. Self will cook up a pot for you and your little sister."

  Turtle spoke up with a worried face, "What about the turkey?"

  Bankward smiled. "Even if they get a turkey, it will take them an awful long time to clean it and cook it. You girls will be skin and bones by then."

  Grace nodded. "They're right, Turtle. It takes a long time to pluck all the feathers off a chicken, and a turkey is much bigger."

  "That's right," said Self. "Let's go make us some oatmeal. We'll tell Joshua you made it all by yourself." He looked at Isaac. "That is if Isaac won't tell your big brother."

  Mr. Bankward leaned to Isaac and asked, "Can you keep a secret?"

  74

  Isaac sat up straight. "Yes, sir."

  Mr. Bankward smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "I bet you can." He looked to Mr. Self. "Bill, go on and help the girls get started."

  "Okay, girls, you heard him. Let's go make some breakfast."

  I followed as Mr. Self led the girls into the kitchen. Looking around, Mr. Self asked, "Where are the pots?"

  Grace ran to one of the lower cabinets. "I'll get it." She raised a pot to him. "Here you go."

  "Thank you. Well, it's real simple to make oatmeal. You put three cups of water and then a cup and a half of oats. Oh, and don't forget the salt."

  Turtle crinkled her nose. "Salt?"

  "Yes, but just a pinch. It makes it taste better. Isn't that right, Mr. Bankward?" Self called through the doorway to the living room.

  Mr. Bankward walked into the kitchen. "Oh, yes, yes indeed. You girls come here for a second. I've got a surprise for you two and your brother."

  "What is it?" asked Turtle.

  Mr. Bankward leaned over to them. "Is everyone listening?"

  I too fell for Mr. Bankward's distraction, but I was facing Mr. Self. With the children and Bankward between us. Mr. Self's eyes hardened, at first I thought he was looking at me, but he took a small bottle out of one of the bags. He opened it and poured it into the pot.

  I lifted my hands to my head. "No. No, no, no."

  Mr. Bankward continued, "I've got some oranges for you kids in the back of my car, but you have to eat all your oatmeal first."

  The children's faces lit up with joy.

  Turtle held her doll close and squeezed it with excitement. "Oranges are my most favorite."

  "No, don't listen to them," I growled.

  "Mine, too," beamed Isaac.

  Bankward grinned. "I thought they might be."

  "Stop hogging those kids. I don't want their oatmeal to get cold."

  He stood. "You got breakfast done already in there, Mr. Self?"

  "Yes, it is," Self moved to the kitchen doorway. "Let's get this over with. Who wants brown sugar and raisins?"

  "Me! Me!" Grace and Turtle said raising their hands as they rushed into the kitchen. The two girls sat down at the table where three bowls were already sitting out for them.

  I rushed to Isaac who remained. "Grab your sisters and get to your brother."

  Grace called out, "Come on, Isaac! It's oatmeal time."

  I knelt in front of him. Tears built in my eyes. "Isaac, get out. Please!"

  Isaac sauntered back to the living room. "I wonder how Joshua is doing?"

  My eyes widened. "Yes! Good."

  "I'm sure he's doing just fine," said Mr. Bankward. "He probably has that turkey by now."

  Isaac frowned. "Not yet, Mr. Bankward. We would have heard the gunshot."

  I nodded. "That's right. Don't listen to him. Call for your brother."

  Bankward and Self exchanged glances. He cleared his throat and gently prompted. "Go on and eat your breakfast, Isaac."

  "No. I'm not hungry."

  Bankward lowered his chin in a stern, but playful scowl. "Little man, you need to do as you're told."

  "Thank you, but I'd rather have the oranges, Mr. Bankward."

  Wiping his forehead, Bankward said, "Okay. If that's what you want." He looked to Mr. Self. "You go ahead without us, Bill. I'm going to spend some time with Isaac here."

  "What are you going to do, Randy?" asked Self, his voice shaking.

  "Don't worry yourself. We are just going to go get those oranges out of the car." He turned his thin gaze down at Isaac. "Do you think you are strong enough to get them yourself, little man?"

  I covered my mouth with my hand. "You've said this before. Oh, no. Don't go outside. I was wrong. Don't go outside."

  "I can sure try," smiled Isaac.

  He led Isaac out. "I'll be right back, Bill."

  At the table, Turtle made a yucky face. "This doesn't taste good."

  "Oh, no," I ran to the girls, my feet heavy as a last breath.

  "Turtle! That ain't polite."

  "No. It's fine. I don't like oatmeal either without a lot of brown sugar." Mr. Self mixed another large spoonful into her bowl. "Try it again, honey."

  Turtle took another bite.

  "Is that better?" Grace asked. Turtle didn't respond. "I don't think she’s going to eat it, Mr. Self."

  "Well, Grace, be the big sister and show her how to do it."

  I stared at Self. "You bastard. You horrible, horrible ..."

  She picked up a big spoonful. "Watch me, Turtle. This is how you do it." Grace put the spoon in her mouth. A disgusted look showed, but she chewed it up and swallowed it.

  "See. Your mother would be so proud," Mr. Self said. "Let's put some raisins in that. If you eat it fast, it will be better."

  The girls both took another bite. It was hard for me to watch.

  Turtle put down her spoon. "Grace, I don't feel good."

  "What's the matter?" her sister asked.

  "My tummy hurts."

  My knees gave out, and I crumpled to the floor.

  "I don't think we should eat any more of this, Mr. Self," Grace said.

  Self planted his palms on the table and spoke low and firm. "You are both going to keep eating or you both will get the belt, do you understand?"

  Turtle whimpered.

  I spat. "I'll kill you for this."

  "Just eat one more bite, Turtle. It will be okay," Grace said in a comforting tone.

  Turtle spat up some of the oatmeal onto the table.

  "Turtle!" Grace grabbed a towel and wiped her little sister’s face."

  "That's okay," assured Mr. Self. "Just a little more brown sugar will help it go down."

  "They don't need any more brown sugar!" I swung at the box, and it flew off the table.

  Self jumped and looked around the kitchen.

  Turtle put her head down on the table.

  Grace's head swayed as she regarded her sister. "I'm sorry, Mr. Self, but I think she fell asleep. Excuse me, I need to go to the—" Grace's words fell off, and she fell out of her chair and threw up.

  I stood there looking at the two girls as they lay curled up on the floor in pain. They might not have been dead yet, but they soon would be.

  I stepped up to Self. "What have you done?"

  "What I have done?" he whispered to himself.

  I ran outside to Isaac, his voice calling from behind the cars. "I don't see any oranges, Mr. Bankward."

  As I rounded the side of the house, Bankward grabbed the boy by the back of his hair.

  Isaac pulled at the man's hands. "What are you do—!" Isaac's scream was cut short as Bankward threw the boy's head down onto the tailgate of his truck.

  The dazed boy attempted to hold his injured head, but Bankward slapped him across the face, and Isaac hit the ground.

  The grown man reached down and picked him up by his overall straps. The boy struggled, but he was only eleven. He was no match for the monster, but he did manage to do one thing.

  "Joshua!" he screamed.

  Bankward struck Isaac in the throat, and the little boy fell, jerking and gagging. Bankward bent and tried to catch hold of Isaac, but he kicked his way under the truck.

  I stepped to Bankward. "I swear, I'll make sure you suffer for this."

  "I swear boy, if you make this harder for me I'm going to make you suffer." Bankward dropped to the ground in his expensive suit. "Do you hear me?" he said grabbing at the boy's legs.

  Isaac squeezed himself into a ball just out of Bankward's reach.

  "You piece of shit," he spat. "Fine!" He stood and walked around his truck as he beat the dirt from his suit. "You stay under there, and I'll crush you like a possum." Bankward threw open the driver door.

  I threw a punch into Bankward's face, but my fist went through him.

  I threw another swing.

  I screamed and threw another.

  Bankward smashed into the ground so hard he rolled.

  Joshua stepped through me.

  "Get away from my brother!" he roared readying the piece of firewood for another blow.

  Bankward pushed himself off the ground.

  Joshua gripped the wood and threw it down against Bankward's back. Joshua held his glare on Bankward. His face was pure rage to the point of seething tears. "Are you okay, Isaac?"

  Isaac let out a cry.

  Joshua growled and raised the wood again. "I swear, I'll kill every last one of you."

  A distant gunshot.

  Joshua's left eye exploded, spraying Bankward's face with blood.

  Joshua dropped to his knees and fell on his stomach.

  I rushed to catch him, but he fell through my arms.

  "About damn time," said Bankward as he staggered to his feet.

  "Are we finished?" Self called from inside the house.

  "Yes," Bankward replied as he pulled a cloth from his suit and wiped the blood from his face. "Where is Gresham?" Bankward scanned the tree line and saw Gresham running back to the house.

  Self walked outside. "What the hell happened to you?"

  "That bitch of a boy hit me with a piece of firewood." He raised his voice as Gresham neared. "How did you let Joshua get away from you?"

  Mr. Gresham huffed and was bleeding himself. "He knew something was up. Then he pegged me straight in the nose with the stock of the gun when his little brother screamed for him."

  Under the truck, Isaac choked and sobbed. Bankward turned his attention back to him. "Damn boy. Just die."

  "Shoot him and get this over with. He’s suffering," said Self.

  Gresham dropped to the ground to peer under the truck as Bankward went around the other side.

  "One shot isn't a big deal. Two shots get people's attention," Mr. Gresham said.

  "Well, he's not going to be eating any oatmeal with a crushed neck," Bankward said catching the boy's foot and dragging him out from under the truck.

  Gresham got to his feet. "What are we going to do with him?"

  "This whole thing has pissed me off," said Bankward as he flung Isaac, rolled him over on his back, and grabbed him by his shirt. "If you would have eaten the oatmeal, it would have been painless. But you had to be a little shit, didn't you?"

  Isaac choked. "Don't—"

  "Don't what?" asked Bankward and he punched him in the face.

  Self turned away. "Good God, Randy."

  Bankward glared at Self, exposing his wild, crazy eyes. "Don't judge me, you prick. You just poisoned two little girls." To Isaac, "Did you hear? That man poisoned your two little sisters. How do you feel about that?"

  "Get it over with, Randy," said Gresham firmly.

  "What's the rush? We can do anything we want with him. There isn't anyone here."

  "We are here to do a job, not anything else," Gresham warned, walking up to Bankward.

  "Fine!" he spat through his teeth. Bankward looked around and spotted a filled washtub. He dragged Isaac and pushed his head down into the water, which overflowed.

  I went to Isaac and dropped to my knees, trying to pull the boy from the water.

  Isaac’s hands flailed, but Randy's strength held him down.

  "What do we do now?" Self asked.

  Randy stood. "We burn the house. The fire will cover it all."

  I screamed as loud as I could, but no one heard me.

  A small hand took mine, and I opened my eyes to see Isaac's milky, dead eyes and blue face. "That's how we died. We wanted you to know. We wanted you to see us."

  75

  I woke to searing heat burning into my face.

  The fire had grown hotter.

  The ghosts were gone, but I was trapped under the weight of debris.

  I tried to find a pocket of breathable air while I pushed with all my diminishing strength against whatever had me pinned.

  My eyes were boiling, like hundreds of fire ants were eating them. My breaths were short, thorny inhalations. I tried to focus and not panic. There was no time for extra complications. Peter was trapped somewhere, too. I needed to find him. I just hoped I wasn't too late. That fear made me fight harder, but I was was losing my struggle.

  I knew the truth. I knew what had happened to the Johnson children, and I had to get out of there so I could tell the town.

  I pushed against the weight on top of me, but I couldn't catch my breath. My lungs were dry and brittle. I was suffocating.

  Something banged. I readied myself for more of the house to fall in.

  Fear filled me.

  * * *

  I pushed against the door with my back, arms, and stomach.

  Adrenaline rushed through me as I fought to get out. Using my hands, arms, and elbows, I pushed.

  * * *

  The living room fumed with smoke. Fire blazed from the kitchen. The heat burned the left side of my face. Memories of falling off my bike on the summer Georgia asphalt raced through my mind. I clamped my eyes shut. It was like we were swimming in a lake of smoke, and I needed to break the surface.

  The ceiling in the kitchen caved in, and burning boards fell. The white roof of the living room was black and danced in red and yellow flames.

  * * *

  Freed from the smoke, I took half a breath, but everything went black.

  Smoke stung my lungs as I hacked for air.

  "He's waking up," a man's voice said somewhere beyond my tear-blurred vision.

  "I told you we should’ve checked," a higher pitched male voice said.

  My gasps for air clashed in between shallow choking coughs. My muscles were fatigued from straining to free myself from the weight of the rubble, but I was able to roll onto my stomach.

  A muffled conversation swarmed around me.

  “I was hoping he wouldn’t make it.”

  “The smoke might still kill him.”

  “Are you deaf and blind? He’s alive.”

  “He still might not make it.”

  I was fighting to take in little amounts of air, as I fought to push out the fumes that filled my lungs. I needed to try and stay calm. Cough out the smoke, let the air find its way in.

  “Anyone want to make a bet?”

  The first wisp of breath that filled a small portion of my chest was cool. It sent me into a stronger fit of coughs, but through that grasp at life, I was able to focus on my other senses. I wasn’t surrounded by heat. The threat of the fire was gone.

  I pushed my palms against the ground. I was on dirt. I could have been on any road or dead field in Middwood. I wasn’t sure. Wherever I was, I wasn’t pinned any longer, but I knew I was still in danger.

  "Hurry up and take care of him,” said a horribly familiar voice.

 

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