by E V Lind
Beth shook her head. Obviously, it was a day for weird stuff. So how much worse could it get?
*
He should have sent one of the guys around to finish pruning the bushes. He didn’t need this. One minute she was frail and scared, the next she was belligerent and challenging. Women. He’d never understand them. Never wanted to. She didn’t need him and that was all good as far as he was concerned. He didn’t want to be needed, either.
The scream that cut through his thoughts was blood curdling. Ryan froze for a split second then moved, fast. Knowing she’d have the back door firmly locked, he ran to the front of the house. His booted feet pounded up the front stairs. He knew this had been a mistake from the start. They should never have allowed anyone to stay here. Locals said the house was haunted, he hadn't listened. Hadn't wanted to listen. Hadn't wanted to acknowledge what it was that he already knew.
Dreading what he'd discover when he got into the house he reached for the door handle, but it didn't budge. A whimpering sound came from the bedroom window that opened onto the veranda. It galvanized him into action. He shoved the sash window up high and stepped through the opening, his eyes scanning for Beth, for blood.
She was on her backside, sitting on the floor with her back up against the bed end. Her lips moved constantly and it sounded like she was crying, “My baby, my baby,” over and over again. Her eyes were riveted on something inside a drawer that was half tipped out of the dresser. Ryan bent to her, his bad leg protesting as he squatted down. His hands hovered over her, hesitating to touch her in case he frightened her even more than she was already.
"Beth? Beth!" he repeated, settling his hands gently on her shoulders.
She'd gained a little weight in the past couple of weeks but he could still feel the bones of her shoulders beneath his palms. The sounds she uttered stopped and she turned her face to his. Shock, grief, horror—they were all there, painted in stark lines on her delicate features. Her eyes washed with tears that hovered on her lower lids before slowly spilling down her cheeks.
"What is it? Is it the baby? Are you hurt?"
She didn't speak, just looked from him to the drawer. Ryan got to his feet, his leg protesting painfully as he put weight on it. The sprint, climbing through the window, bending down as he just had, were exacting their revenge. He took a step closer to the dresser and looked for whatever it was in the drawer that had terrified her. A tin box, a little bigger than a shoebox, sat inside. Its lid had been pried off and discarded on the floor beside the dresser. In the box he noted that flaps of oilskin cloth had been unfolded and beneath them he saw yellowed newspaper. Through the torn paper he saw something that made every cell in his body recoil in horror.
A baby.
Ryan gasped out loud as shock and revulsion punched him straight in the gut. He’d seen many incarnations of death but never anything that horrified him quite as much as this. Gaps in the newspaper exposed leathered skin that was stretched over tiny bones. Patches of skin had disintegrated here and there, especially on the forehead, where the baby’s skull was exposed, and hollows existed where its eyes should have been. Ryan put out a hand.
“Don’t touch it!” Beth said sharply.
“I have to call the police.”
“No! No police.”
“Beth, be reasonable. They have to be involved. I have no idea what to do with this? Do you?” He turned and faced her. She shivered with shock and her face wore a look of complete desolation. “Come, let me get you out of here.”
He held out his hands and was relieved when she accepted them and allowed him to pull her to her feet. He used his body to shield the view of the dead child from her and shepherded her through the door and to the kitchen where he guided her onto a chair. Moving quickly about the kitchen, he put the kettle on the hot plate and made her a hot mug of tea, which he pushed into her hands once it was made.
“Hold onto that. It’ll warm you. You’re in shock.”
So was he, he realized as he grabbed a mug for himself. What the hell? Why was a dead baby in a drawer? Who did that?
“Wh-what are you going to do?” Beth asked through chattering teeth.
“I have to call the cops, Beth,” he answered gently.
She shook her head vehemently. “No police.”
“Beth, they have to be involved.”
“I can’t talk to them. They can’t know I’m here!” her voice rose in distress and she put the mug back on the table roughly, making tea spill over the sides and pool on the table. “He’ll find me.”
Ryan sat down beside her at the table. “He? The guy who hurt you?”
She nodded, her eyes darting to the wooden flour bin against the wall and then back to him. “I have to go. I can’t talk to the police.”
“Why would they tell anyone where you are?” he pressed.
Her voice was small, barely above a whisper and the huskiness that was always evident grew stronger. “They wouldn’t have to. He’s probably flagged me in the system somehow. He’ll know the second my name comes up.”
Understanding dawned. “He’s a cop?”
Beth stared at him in silence then inclined her head very slightly. Ryan shoved a hand through his hair and began to pace the room. How the fuck were they going to get around this one? Frustration warred with fury. How dare someone who was sworn to protect the community be the kind of man who’d do a number on someone like Beth? It defied explanation. But it also left him with a big problem. The police would want to interview her, since she was the one who found the baby’s remains. Her name would go into police records and once there...
“Tell me exactly what you were doing in that room. I have to notify the police, but I’ll tell them it was me who found it.”
“You...you’d do that for me?”
It’d be lying but, shit, what other alternative was there? It wasn’t like he could just bury the babe in the back yard. There was a process to follow and the poor wee thing deserved that if nothing else.
“I would.”
“But, they’ll see me here, see my car.”
He reached into his pocket and drew out his house key. “Here,” he said holding it out to her. “Go up to my house, let yourself in and stay there until I phone you with the all clear.”
“I can’t do that. You don’t trust me, remember?”
“Where else are you planning to go? I think we’ve established you aren’t going to empty my house of all its possessions and make off with them.” When she didn’t answer he attempted to inject a little humor. “You’re not, are you?”
He got the reaction he wanted. Her face flooded with color and a hint of anger sparked in her eyes.
“No,” she said, emphatically. “I’m not.”
“Then tell me everything you did from the moment you entered that room today. Including how you hurt your hand.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she protested.
“Beth, I know it’s a historical crime, if it even was a crime, but they might call in investigators—possibly even need to examine the house.”
That stricken look took her face hostage again. “I should just leave altogether.”
“If you don’t want to stay with me, you know Ma would be happy to have you back in her apartment, but,” he said, holding up one hand when she started to protest. “Look, why don’t you move up to the big house for now. God knows there’s enough room in the place. Pack your things, okay? As soon as the police are finished here, you can move back in if you still want to.”
She looked like she was about to argue but then she nodded and silently got up and left the room. Seconds later he heard her tread on the stairs leading up to her bedroom and less than ten minutes later she was back with her belongings stuffed in an old suitcase he recognized as his mom’s.
“What about Snowball?” she asked. “I can’t find her.”
“I’ll bring her up to the house when she shows. Now, tell me everything that happened.”
“Right, I got this. Now, go and help yourself. I’ll be up as soon as I can, okay. And don’t worry.”
He walked her outside and stowed her bag in the back of the hatchback then watched as she drove off. Her story sounded fantastical but he knew better than to disbelieve her. He knew, with every cell in his body, that she had told him the truth. Ryan sighed and scratched at his jaw a moment before turning back to the house. He had a call to make.
THIRTY
Riverbend, OR, February 1942
Mamma knows.
THIRTY-ONE
Dan checked the numbers on the street as he approached the house in the dark, alert for the twitch of curtains from any of the neighbors on either side, or the noise of some yappy lap dog. It was the kind of neighborhood where some old biddy was bound to be nosing away at someone else’s business. The kind that made his skin crawl. He preferred his neighbors to be further away-to live outside of what he called the scream-zone. He flexed his fingers inside calf-skin gloves. He’d just have to make sure there were no screams, then, wouldn’t he? No audible ones, anyway.
Dressed all in black, he glided through the front yard. Idiot woman had no security lights, no gates. It was almost as if she was inviting some intruder to enter her home. To violate her. The familiar swell of arousal swarmed through him. Oh, yes, he’d violate her. He’d teach her a lesson she’d never forget. And others like her would think twice about helping those that didn’t deserve to be helped. He sneered. Men like him made those decisions—it was their right to control their people. Fuck, they provided for them, didn’t they? Put roofs over their heads, food on their tables, sheets on their fucking beds.
There was a car parked in her drive. A visitor? That was fine. He was a patient man, he could wait. And while he waited, he would plan. He took cover in the darkness of some shrubs on the boundary. Just in time, he noted as the porch light came on. The front door opened and he saw two figures in the doorway. A man and a woman. He recognized her immediately, but he recognized the guy, too. He was new at the station, having transferred from one of the other precincts not long ago. A tiny tremor of uncertainty rippled at the periphery of his thoughts but he quashed it ruthlessly. Whether they were seeing one another would make no difference after tonight.
The soft sound of the woman’s laughter traveled on the cold night air, making him scowl in annoyance. The sound was muffled as the guy kissed her then, calling a goodnight, he left her on the porch and loped to his car. He hesitated a moment, looking in the direction of the boundary, then shook his head and got into his car and backed out of the drive.
Dan waited until the car’s tail lights were distant pinpricks up the road before he walked toward the house. Initially he’d thought to make his way in through a window, to make it look like a burglary, but this might work out much better. Might even cast blame on the upstart who’d just left. He strode up the front steps and knocked at the door. He heard Colleen Davies’s laughter as she walked toward the door.
“What is it? Did you forget someth—”
He wasted no time, punching her in the throat before she could scream and shoving her backward. He closed the front door behind him and took a minute to turn the key in the lock. He stood over her, watching her cough and retch, and waiting for the moment when she looked up and recognized him. It didn’t take long. He was already semi-hard and his cock flared to aching fullness when understanding flared in her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she croaked, struggling to her feet and putting out one pathetic hand as if that could stop him.
Fear pulled her features into sharp lines.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” he said softly, taking a step closer. “About the lies you fed to my boss.”
“Get out! Get out of my house!” she rasped.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I think we need to have ourselves a little chat.”
She surprised him by lurching backward and staggering down the hallway. He let her go, following close behind. Let her have her moment, thinking she could get away. He followed her into her living room and smiled when she realized how close he was.
“It’s no use, Colleen. I’m not leaving until I’m done.”
He smiled as he saw her eyes flick to her cell phone on the coffee table in front of her then to the door, as if weighing her chances of either making an emergency call or getting away. Fool. He could have told her not to bother, but then again it might be fun to watch her try.
“Where is she?” he asked, keeping his voice civil.
“Where is who?” she answered, moving further from his reach.
“Don’t be tiresome,” he drawled. “You know exactly who. That lying cunt you worked with.”
“I don’t know who you mean,” she insisted. “I work with so many people.”
“Oh, you know exactly who I mean,” he said.
Dan shot across the room, grabbed her by one arm and pushed her down on her knees. The woman flailed her free arm at him so he twisted the one he held higher up her back until she quit her flapping and moaned in pain instead. His cock throbbed.
“Now, where were we?” He bent down and spoke softly in her ear. “Ah, yes. Where is she?”
“I...I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He yanked her arm harder, heard the satisfying pop as her shoulder dislocated and almost came in his pants at the high-pitched scream of agony that ejected from her. He held himself back, controlling his basic instincts. No DNA at the scene, he told himself and laughed out loud.
“Are you sure about that?”
Another sharp tug made her scream again and left her whimpering as he suddenly let her go. Instantly she cradled her arm and scooted across the carpet, trying to get any kind of distance from him. Impressive considering how much pain she’d be in. Snot dribbled from her nose and tears streaked her face. He was doing the world a favor getting rid of someone as repugnant as she was.
“Where is she, Colleen?”
“She...wouldn’t...tell...me.”
“She’s spoken to you?”
The woman nodded. “She called me. A few days ago. But she wouldn’t say where she was.”
“Well, isn’t that a shame. Now I have no reason to keep you alive,” Dan drawled menacingly. “But first, we’ll have a little fun, you and I.”
Even with the dislocated shoulder she defended herself far more strongly than he’d expected. It made it all the more satisfying when after raping her, and pocketing the condom, he closed his fingers around her throat and finally squeezed the last breath from her body before letting her fall limp to the floor. He shook his head sadly. When would they learn? He was the one who made the decisions. He ruled who lived and who died.
Dan searched the floor for her cell phone. He’d seen it go flying when she’d fallen through the coffee table. Pieces of glass and splintered wood covered the carpet. And blood. So much blood. A good cleansing fire would clean that up in no time.
He grimaced looking at the mess she’d made of him as well. He sure hoped she’d kept her bathroom clean because he’d need to wash his clothes and shower before starting the next leg of his journey to justice. He spied the phone under the edge of the sofa, grabbed it and quickly accessed the call register using the access code she’d gasped in his ear seconds before he’d killed her. He scrolled through the list until an area code popped up that was different to all the rest. A smile of satisfaction pulled at his lips. There she was. Thumbing the call button, he dialed the number.
*
Beth paced the floor of the kitchen at Ryan’s home. Backwards, forwards, and again. The police had arrived hours ago, she’d heard the siren down the hill. Surely, they should have left by now. Ryan
’s house phone kept ringing off the hook but she didn’t dare answer it.
She shouldn’t have come here. Instead of turning up his driveway she should simply have kept on going down the road and headed for the coast. She didn’t need this kind of trouble and the attention it could bring to her. The sound of the dogs barking outside made her look out the window. Mary-Ann. Beth flew to the door and opened it as the older woman alighted from her car and approached the house.
“Oh, hon. I came as soon as I heard. Are you okay? I tried to call you, Ryan said you’d be here, but you didn’t answer.”
She opened her arms and Beth flew into them, relishing the warmth and comfort Mary-Ann offered. After a moment, Beth pulled free.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if I should answer or not.”
“It’s okay, hon. I know. Ryan told me you didn’t want to be involved. We understand.”
“Is Ryan okay? He’s been there for ages now.”
Mary-Ann nodded and closed the door behind them, guiding Beth toward the kitchen where Mary-Ann pushed her into a chair before putting the kettle on to boil.
“He’s fine. The police had a few questions, is all. The baby’s been taken away for examination. God rest its poor, wee soul. I’ll never understand how someone could hide something like that. People were funny about things back then.”
“Back then?”
“The newspaper wrapped around the baby—Ryan told me it was from September 1942. Back then, there was still so much shame attached to a child born out of wedlock, if it was indeed born out of wedlock. It’s not impossible that it could have been Mrs. MacDonald’s child but that seems unlikely given the date on the paper and how old she would have been around then. Not to mention the fact that Mr. MacDonald hadn’t been on the scene for some time. Mind you,” Mary-Ann mused, clearly catching hold of an idea and running with it. “I suppose she could have had an affair or something. Although that doesn’t fit with the woman I remember, nor the stories I heard about how righteous and upstanding she was in the community. She didn’t have many friends but she was respected.”
