Welcome To The Family

by R. K. Latch

  Lonely wasn’t the word for the life she’d led. Not exactly. Gabrielle was an outsider. Always looking in, never part of anything, not even her own family had been accepting of her strange eccentricities. It had started young and her father, she knew, was the first to recognize that she was not only a little different than the rest of the clan, but downright odd in her ways.

  The death of two housecats in a row and suspicion finally began to linger on Gabby. How anyone else in the house could stand those felines was beyond her. The way that sat, down on their haunches, looking, judging every little thing you did. She began to think that the cats knew more than they let on. She became paranoid. She was not an imbecile. She knew cats could not talk, thereby never sharing their concerns with anyone among the human race. Still, she knew they’d both, at one time or another, seen her doing things that even their animalistic mind could not reconcile, and she hated the way they held their sleepy green eyes upon her.

  Gabby had enjoyed the first kill and could remember it clear as a bell. Snowflake, the pure white tomcat that her sister had named and always doted on, had been lingering a bit too close to Gabby as she swung on her swing. Just an old board suspended from the large branch of a gigantic live oak out in the backyard, Gabby whiled away hours, sitting on it, swinging lazily, touching herself in a manner that no child of her age should even thought to have done. Then, after a while, she’d caught sight of that white bastard.

  Stopping what she was doing, she urged the tomcat closer to her. Not as dumb as she would have liked, Snowball would not walk so easily into her trap. No, she would need bait.

  Inside, her father was napping on the sofa and her sister and mother were nowhere to be found. She thought they’d yelled out saying they were going to walk to Mrs. Banks’ house, a few doors down but Gabby, as always was lost in her own thoughts. Still, they were not there, so Gabby collected some scraps from inside the kitchen and spread them out in the back yard and backed away as Snowball watched. Perhaps he was no idiot, but he was a living thing with a belly and field mice and rats were only so tasty.

  With a suspicious eye, the cat approached. Gabby had not made her move then. No, that would be foolish and with the way the cat eyed her, futile.

  Once Snowball began feasting on the smorgasbord laid before him, however, his apprehension was forgotten in lieu of the delicacies drowned in meat sauce before him.

  That was when Gabby made her move. She moved, catlike, pardon the pun, and she smiled as she recounted her actions.

  All these years later, miles and miles from the scene of that first crime, she could feel the cat’s neck in her hands, fluffy and delicate, even as he screamed like some wild banshee from some exotic faraway jungle. The cat started scratching at thin air, unable to reach her hands. It made an awful high pitched mewl and to Gabby it sounded like a symphony for the ages.

  The claws of a cat were sharp and its limbs limber, and she felt a few lucky strikes, but she was undeterred. Not a particularly strong little girl, Gabby squeezed with every bit of her might as the mewling went low and the cat began to convulse.

  There was one brief moment where she considered what she was doing. That she was, in fact, killing an innocent animal, her sister’s preferred pet and that it was wrong, that it was sinful. Then young Gabby smiled only in the way she did when no one was around to witness, and she squeezed harder.

  She’d always heard cats had nine lives. If that were true or pure fantasy, she did not know. She held tight to the cat’s neck even as it hung loose, almost floppy. She wanted all eight remaining lives to be ended, if in fact this was the awful thing’s first life. There was no way to know how far along the multiple lifetimes such a cat was, so she held tight even after the cramps started in her hands.

  Later, she walked to the edge of the woods, and buried it beneath dead and rotting leaves upon the forest floor.

  Her father would notice the scratches along her wrists and forearms, but she would only say she did not remember how they came to be. He did not believe her, but then, at the beginning of it all, he did not call his daughter a liar. That would come later.

  Gabrielle was brought back to the here and now as Luthor came into the room. Oh, how she loved this man, she thought.

  He nodded. “He’s getting dressed,” Luthor said. Gabby moved to him and put an arm around his side.

  “Oh, how perfect this will be,” she said, that smile, once hidden from the world was on full display now. Thanks to Luthor, she found, she did not have to hide it away from everyone.

  “Let us hope so.”

  Gabby looked at her husband. “It will be. I just know it. He’s like us. I can tell these things.”

  Without looking at her, Luthor spoke lowly. “I pray you are right, or we will have to get rid of him.”

  Chapter 9

  The night was hushed as the three of them walked soundlessly across the deep back porch then down to the grass. Damp from dew, Wade felt the moisture seeping through the footies of his pajamas. After meeting Mr. and Mrs. Duncan in the living room, Luthor had led them, wordlessly through the house to the back door.

  The grass silenced their footfalls, it was a warm night, not hot, just balmy. These were Wade’s favorite kind of nights. If you had a good place to sleep outdoors, whether underneath the low bows of a cedar or underneath a lean-to under which someone might stack their firewood-always keeping an eye out snakes, spiders and things that creep through the night it could be quite comfortable. After a long hard, usually terrifying day, the nice temperate air would settle over him like a medicinal balm. Such nights were the best he could hope for until last night.

  Wade did not know what to expect. All this was so strange, disconcerting. Halfway across the lawn, the preternatural silence hit him. It was much too quiet, much too calm. Above, white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, blocking out any stars and the moon itself.

  He wanted to ask what was going on, where they were going, what they had in store for him. His mouth uttered not a word. They were headed in the direction of the side building or garage as Wade had come to think of it, though more times than not Mr. Duncan left the car in the front, at least since he’d arrived at the Duncan home.

  Mr. Duncan spoke neither of hobbies nor of uses for the building. Wade figured he would find out in just a moment the purpose of the building was. He looked up several times at Mr. And Mrs. Duncan but found them looking straight ahead, Luthor’s face blank and betraying no emotion, but Gabby’s turned into a slight smile.

  They rounded the side to the front of the building. There were tracks of gravel leading up to it Wade now saw as they were right on top of it. The night was as black as pitch and seeing anything a few feet beyond you was close to impossible.

  There was a large wide swing up door that would permit the Studebaker in but there was also a man-sized door to the side of it. To that smaller door is where Mr. Duncan led them.

  Looking to his wife, he said, “Are you sure?” Mrs. Duncan looked down at Wade. She merely nodded.

  Wade wanted to ask what she was sure about that seemed to include him but again, he kept his mouth shut. This was weird, but in his years, Wade had borne witness to much weirder.

  “You remember the rules?” Luthor asked Wade. For a moment, the boy did not understand. Then, he remembered the rules Mr. Duncan had laid out for him just this evening.

  “Yes,” Wade said his voice small and low.

  Unsure of the boy’s answer, Luthor continued, “and what is the most valuable thing in the world, the one thing above all else?”

  That Wade remembered well, Mr. Duncan had stressed it and Wade figured he’d be asked about it, so he committed it to memory. “Secrets. Secrets are worth more than all the treasure in the world.”

  “Exactly, sweetie. See, Lou, I told you, he’s such a good boy, “Gabby said. Luthor grunted like he was still unconvinced, but he asked nothing further.

  Instead, he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket. The keys jingled
and for a brief moment, filled the night with an unkempt music. Then, he inserted a key, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open.

  Gabby took Wade’s hand and squeezed. She did not let go. His hand, once more, felt good in hers.

  Luthor stepped in and Wade and Gabby followed as he flipped a breaker switch and dim light flooded the building’s interior. The air was stale and smelled of motor oil and gasoline and other things he couldn’t readily describe. Despite the light, the shadows were deep, and Wade could see little.

  Mr. Duncan stopped abruptly and turned to Wade. He exhaled and then came down to one knee. Still a bit taller, he was as close to eye level with Wade as he was likely to get. “Wade, it’s time for you to see something. It might scare you at first, but I assure you that is not our intention. I asked you that first night if you were a sheep or a wolf. We are about to find out, my boy.” Mr. Duncan clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. Not hard, just an affectionate gesture, or Wade supposed. Affection and he weren’t on the best of terms, after all.

  Already biting at his lower lip, Wade started to squirm as Luthor stood up and turned back to the front. A million things were running through Wade’s minds. What was this? He didn’t understand a bit of it. Gabby still held his hand but suddenly that wasn’t enough. No. He wanted out of this place, he needed to get out of here.

  Luthor took a few long strides to a sheet covered worktable. The sheet was spotted all over with paint. Wade watched as he reached up. There was a lightbulb suspended on a chain from a roof rafter from which a string hung down. Luthor tugged it and a bright, yellow light shot outward and downward to the table. It was so bright Wade used his one free hand to partially cover his eyes.

  “Wade, my boy,” Mr. Duncan said in a loud, happy voice. “I think you’ll remember this bastard.” Luthor’s profanity surprised him. He had not so far heard the man curse for any reason, but now he seemed to delight in it. If his words surprised him, what lay beneath the sheet as Luthor yanked it from the table.

  Wade started. He felt Gabby release his hand and he started backward, but a strong warm arm caught him across his back. “No, no, Wade,” Gabby cooed as if talking to an infant.

  It was Larry the hobo from the alley way two nights ago, or was it just last night. Suddenly Wade did not know. He did not know anything. The sight before his flashed through his mind and there was room for nothing else.

  The old tramp was naked, his pale white skin blaring underneath the light. He was thin, a mere skeleton with skin stretched across it. The old man had old man hair along his legs, on his stomach and his chest. The hair of his head was now gone, his head bald only decorated now with a few ugly looking cuts where it looked as if someone had shaved him with either a really dull knife or a sharp rock. He was secured to the table with rope, tied so tightly, he was unable to move more than half an inch in any direction, despite his current attempts to do so. A greasy white rag was shoved in his mouth and a length of rope wrapped round and round his head to secure it.

  Larry looked in Wade’s direction, his eyes out of focus. But slowly, so slowly, they settled on Wade and recognition dawned. He began fighting anew.

  With a large open hand, Mr. Duncan reached over and slapped the man hard. The impact echoed off the walls of the shed. The old man’s eyes watered instantly and behind him, Gabby giggled in delight.

  Suddenly, Mr. Duncan was holding something. Wade saw it was a pair of pliers. Wade found it difficult to swallow. He knew about such tools, unfortunately not always from their intended purpose.

  Wade was transfixed. He found that even without Mrs. Duncan keeping him in place, he was unable to will his legs to move. His knees felt weak and watery, but they did their job. Neither could he turn away. He realized, after a moment, that Mr. Duncan was speaking to him.

  “People like this young Wade, do not deserve your pity. Had I not come along when I did, he would have no doubt inflicted savage and profane acts upon your young flesh. He would not have stopped after satisfying his arcane appetite. No. In such a small town, he could not afford to take the chance of you telling someone. I imagine there aren’t a multitude of homeless gents roaming the night. And after what I can only guess he wanted to do to you, evidence of his sordid acts would exist. Whether it be a ripped anus, bleeding and sore, or a torn and scratched face. No, he would have killed you dead only after taking you through hell.”

  “It’s true,” Gabby said. Wade turned to look at her lovely face. It was twisted into something different now, like a mask as her eyes seemed to dance at the man’s predicament in front of her. Maybe her lovely face had been the mask after all. “I’ve known people like this all my life. They are vile and cruel and think nothing about the lives of those they ruin. In fact, this sick man probably can’t remember the faces of all his victims.”

  Even through the gag in his mouth, the man’s scream broke the spell Gabby’s words had on Wade. Looking, Wade saw Luthor leaned over the old vagrant, Pliers in hand, the man’s left nipple grip tightly in the nose section. The way Luthor pulled on the pliers, it looked to stretch the old man’s flesh. The skin of his chest, already loose and flabby from age stretched so thin, Wade could see stretch marks forming before his eyes.

  The geezer flailed or attempted to. He was a strong man compared to young Wade, but he was no match for the good, new rope that held him.

  As disgusting as it was to see Mr. Duncan stretch the man’s flesh, Wade did not look away. He did not enjoy it. No, it was quite disgusting, but he considered that if he acted weak or childish, he’d be the next one upon the table.

  Luthor’s face contorted as he strained and added a second hand to the handle of the pliers. Larry the bum shuddered and yelled against the rag.

  The sound the flesh made as it finally split was a wet sound and did not sound like Wade would have thought. Something churned in his gut as blood sprayed up like a fountain as the pliers shot backward, the old man’s nipple and a portion of skin still caught between the two harsh tines.

  Larry screamed violently behind the rag, but his shuddering eased and then stopped altogether. His ruined chest rose and fell as he took in deep breaths through his nose. Until he began to cough behind the rag, that was.

  Luthor flung the flesh to the floor. He moved toward to Wade. His face was covered in spots of blood and suddenly Wade understood why they were all wearing one-piece suits. It was to keep the blood odd their good clothing. Even Gabby, dressed in a long pullover dress with long sleeves was dressed similarly.

  “See, Wade. He’s not nearly the man he was back in that dark alley, is he?”

  Wade said nothing. This time, however, silence was not the appropriate response.

  “Did you hear me, boy?” Luthor said. “Is he so tough now?”

  “N-n-no,” Wade managed to get out.

  “This isn’t upsetting you, is it? You’re not squeamish, I hope.”

  It felt, at least to Wade, that Luthor was making fun of him now, patronizing him. Luthor’s eyes bored into him. Wade could feel the weight and the sharpness of that stare. He knew Gabby was still behind him, could feel her arm still holding him in place. He reached for her hand, but she would not accept his.

  “Hmm,” Luthor said. “Perhaps you haven’t seen enough yet.” Luthor tossed the pliers to the floor. Even as the world went mad all around him, at least within this shed, this garage, Wade was struck how uncharacteristic Luthor tossing a tool to the floor was.

  Mr. Duncan had a tall, three drawer metal tool cabinet within arm’s reach. He pulled open the middle drawer, gazed over the contents and pulled a mallet free. It was not a rubber mallet. No. It was all metal, both ends of the hammer head, flat blunt steel. Colorful beads wrapped in an intricate web covered the handle of the hammer. It looked flashy, gaudy, and fit for someone feminine. Even dropping the thing on a foot would break bone.

  But Luthor did not drop it on his foot, nor did he use it immediately on Larry. Instead, he handed it to his wife, with such grace and anim
ated flourish, it was if he were handing his love a bouquet of fresh roses. To Wade’s surprise, she let go of him and stepped around him briskly.

  Chapter 10

  Sometime in the morning a storm rolled in. Angry rain pelted the tin roof and thunder vibrated the building on its foundation causing a maddening cacophony. He could not see the lightning, the windows on the shed and the rollup door were painted black, with only a few scratches permitting scant light.

  Wade was not sleeping. He barely had closed his eyes. The cage, pen, whatever one would call it that he found himself in was not large. He could not stand, barely even squat. When he spread his arms, he could almost touch the sides. On his knees, it took only three movements from end to end.

  Still, it was dry. The air inside the shed was warm this early in the day but would build as the day grew warmer, especially once the storm passed. He dreaded the passing of the storm.

  Larry still lived and his breathing and what could only be called crying were disturbing. With the onslaught of the rain, those pitiful sounds were drowned, giving young Wade a small amount of piece.

  He still wore his red pajamas that Mr. Duncan presented to him last night after waking him.

  The look on Luthor’s Duncan’s face, the menace in his eyes still haunted Wade. Until then, he’d thought he’d seen the scariest people alive in the throes of anger and menacing glee. He’d been mistaken, quite mistaken.

  How Mr. Duncan had transformed from the ideal father-like figure into what he’d seen last night, rejoicing in the pain and torture of another was still something Wade could not reconcile. Even with his experience of people not showing their true self until the penultimate moment, it just didn’t seem possible. He’d been tricked by the best of them, he would say, but now he had truly met the best of them.

  Gabby too, was mind boggling. Her wholesome, ideal persona had melted away and the sick, laughing maniac had revealed itself. Even more than her husband, she had taken to rendering pain and humiliation with a gusto that would have made anyone he’d ever know blush in shame, and he’d met some awful characters so he should know. She was no southern belle, but a crazed looney.