Samuel Senior killed the truck’s engine, and the night was suddenly very quiet. The driver’s-side door was opened and the song of crickets permeated the night. Samuel Senior got out and said, “Come on, then. We’ll talk inside, and you can explain to me what the hell you think is going on.”
As Samuel Senior walked around the rear of the truck, Leah pointed to the covered object behind the trash cans, looking toward it almost longingly. “That’s my mom’s car,” she said quietly. “Just an old VW Beetle, but she always loved it. Always kept it clean, inside and out.” Then Leah paused, smiled at a memory. “Daddy still takes care of it. Keeps it nice. That’s why it’s covered. I don’t think he’s driven it anywhere but the driveway since she passed. Nobody has.”
Lance pondered the complexity of the human mind, human emotions. He ached for this broken family.
Lance opened his own door, mindful of the shotgun. He got out and then extended his hand to help Leah out. She hopped up and down until she got her crutches situated, and then they rounded the house and took the three steps up the front porch and went inside, where they found Leah’s daddy sitting at a kitchen table with two cans of light beer in front of him. One was already cracked open, and Samuel Senior slid the other across the table’s worn surface toward Lance. Lance caught the can and stared at it, his mother’s opinion of alcohol weighing heavy on his mind. Plus, Lance generally disliked the taste.
But, in this particular situation, Lance figured it would be extremely rude to decline the friendly offer, especially from a man who’d attacked him only a couple hours ago and was the father of a girl he’d kissed multiple times today.
Lance rested the shotgun on the floor next to the table, terrified that if he simply leaned it against the wall, it would accidentally fall over and blow the brains out of him or one of his companions, which, aside from the certain death, would make an awful mess to clean up. He sat in one of the empty chairs and took the beer, popped the top and took a small but respectable sip.
The taste was bitter and sour and awful. He swallowed and tried his best not to grimace. With the duty done, he set the can back on the table, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Long story short, sir, we think Allison Strang is murdering the boys.”
Samuel Senior shifted in his chair, the old wooden boards of the flooring creaking under his weight. He stared at the table, sliding the beer can back and forth between his workman’s fingers. Lance looked around the kitchen, saw creamy white appliances along with chipped but clean countertops. The kind of things that would have been new and modern and the latest style twenty years ago but now looked dated, yet respectable. Well kept, like the front of the house. Leah’s daddy took pride in what was his, that was certain. There weren’t even any cobwebs or dust on the overhead light fixture above the table.
Samuel Senior lifted the beer can to his mouth and took a long gulp. Burped under his breath and looked at Leah, then at Lance, eyes narrowed. “Look, I’m trusting you only because of the thing you knew about my son. The bait sandwich. But this … you’re going to have to explain.”
Lance nodded, hating the time they were losing by having to recap again what he and Leah had figured out. There was no deadline, so to speak, but the longer they waited to take some sort of action, the higher the chance Lance would be stopped, or worse, others would be hurt.
Lance told Samuel Senior everything he knew. Started with the gust of wind that had knocked him out the night before, worked through the possessed sheriff’s deputy and car accident, the conversation with Susan Goodman, the incident at the football game, his somewhat of an abduction by Bobby Strang and the conversation he’d overheard and the vision he’d gotten when he made his escape, finally ending with the phone call on Bobby’s phone at the motel and Leah’s daddy himself showing up.
When Lance had finished the story, he took another sip of his own beer—a small one—because all the talking had made his throat dry.
Samuel Senior was quiet for another moment. He finished his beer and then stood from the table and tossed the empty can into a small trash can by the sink. He stood there, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. “So you’re saying that Allison Strang can … what? Control the weather? Can control people? Like some sort of, I don't know, witch?”
(My dad calls her the Voodoo Bitch Doctor, but we don’t understand any of it.)
Lance formed his answer carefully. “Yes and no, sir. I think Allison Strang is calling the shots, somehow, but I think she’s being … used. Used as some sort of vessel for something else. Something … not of this earth.”
Samuel Senior frowned. “And you can tell me for certain that things like this—these things not of this earth—actually exist. You’ve seen them?”
“Yes, sir.”
If Leah’s daddy was waiting for more, he wasn’t going to get it. Not then and not there.
To the man’s credit, he was moving the conversation along without questioning Lance’s credibility. “And how exactly is Allison Strang managing to get these boys off somewhere alone, and then managing to overtake and murder them? She might be pretty, but there’s no way she’s strong enough or quick enough to outdo most of the boys on that football team.”
“Biology, sir.”
“What?”
“Sex, sir. She’s using sex. At least, that’s what I think.”
Samuel Senior grimaced and then made a face as though he’d be sick. “God, and you’re positive she’s sleeping with her son? Her own goddamn son?”
“It appears that way, sir.”
Samuel Senior ran a hand over his closely shaved scalp, blew out a big breath of air. “So, what exactly do we do about any of this? Assuming it’s all true,” he added.
Lance looked at Leah and took a deep breath of his own. “At this point, I think it’s best everybody stay out of it as much as they can, and I’ll go find Allison Strang.”
Leah’s eyes widened. “Nope, no way. We’re going to help you. From what we know, the entire Strang family is working together in this. There’s no way you can fight off all three of them. They’ll kill you for sure.”
Lance shrugged. “Maybe. But maybe not. They might let me go with a warning.”
“This isn't funny, Lance!”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “But it’s also something that none of you can help with. This is coming down to me versus her, or it, or whatever.”
“And I don’t suppose the police would be any help?” Samuel Senior said, opening the refrigerator and popping the top of another beer. “Haven’t been up until this point.”
“Correct, sir. I don’t think this is something they’ll be of use to us with until we can present them with solid evidence. Also, I was seen fleeing the car accident earlier by the truck driver who called in the wreck. If the gossip mill in town was already concerned about my showing up, the police are definitely looking for me now. Especially with one of their own dead.”
And then, as if waiting for their stage cue, the blue lights of a police cruiser danced off the kitchen walls, followed by the sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside.
35
“What the hell?”
Samuel Senior stood up from the kitchen table and mumbled more obscenities. He looked at the beer can on the table, still half-full. “I’m not drunk,” he said. “I’m not drunk, right?” He looked at Leah, his eyes pleading. Lance again felt sorrow for the man, a man who’d been broken by life and was holding things together the best he knew how. Flaws and all.
“No, Daddy,” Leah said, hopping up from the table. “No, you’re not drunk. I can always tell when you’re drunk. Plus, you’re in your own home. They can’t give you grief for drinking in your own home.”
Samuel Senior’s demeanor changed. He stood up taller, more confident. “Then why the hell are they here?”
Lance was the last to stand from the table. “Me,” he said. “They’re here because of me.”
“They can’t know
you’re here,” Leah said. “Maybe because of the call on Bobby’s phone they—Allison Strang … whoever—maybe they knew we were at the motel. But how would they end up here? Everybody in town knows …” She paused, looked at her father and shrugged in a half-apologetic sort of way. “They know I never come here anymore. I live at the motel, for goodness’ sake.”
And then Lance wanted to kick himself in the head. “You just said it,” he told her. “Bobby’s phone. I bet they tracked it. It’s an iPhone, so he could have just used that, what’s it called, Track My Phone app thingy?”
“You need to upgrade and get with the times,” Leah said. Then she thought for a moment. “But damn, you may be right. But would Bobby really call the cops, given what happened? What he’s been hiding? All over a cell phone?”
There was a knock on the door. Three hard bangs meant to be loud and disturbing and get people’s attention. Lance glanced around the kitchen. Looked down a small hallway to a living room, then found a closed door halfway between. He’d have to head toward the front door to get there, but it looked to be his only place to hide.
“Go, Lance,” Samuel Senior said. “The window in that room faces the backyard. If you think you need to get out, just go. Straight through the woods about a mile and you’ll come out on the ass-end of town. You do whatever you need to do from that point on. You’ve already given me more closure than I’ve ever had before.”
Lance looked at the man, saw the sincere thanks in his eyes, then looked at Leah. He could tell she wanted him to stay, but also that she knew he had to go. “Text me the Strangs’ address,” he said. Then he took a step forward, gave her a quick kiss, and quietly walked down the hall toward the closed door and slipped inside.
Three more loud knocks.
“I’m coming,” Samuel Senior hollered. “You guys know what time it is?”
Lance turned, and in the darkness, he found himself in a sort of home office. A worn couch pushed up against one wall, a cheap computer desk against another. A large and ancient Dell computer sat atop it with what looked like nearly an inch of dust encasing it. The monitor was bulky and deep, not like the new flat-screens you saw today. For a brief moment, Lance imagined Leah sitting in this room and using the computer to type a paper, or do research for project for school, back when she still living at home and her brother was still alive and everything was still picture-perfect. Before the tragedies that would dictate her life going forward. Lance wished he could send her back to that time. Her father, too.
Between the couch and desk, in the middle wall, was a window with the blinds down. Lance made his way to it and gently pulled the string, the blinds rising in what sounded like a deafening noise. Then he thumbed the lock on the window and eased it up, a cool night breeze blowing in.
Lance heard a knob turn and the front door open.
“Jesus, Ricky, what the hell you doing here at this hour? It’s after one in the morning!”
“Can I come in, Sam?” A new voice, higher-pitched than Samuel Senior’s, and a little nervous.
Samuel Senior sighed, “Sure. Sure, might as well. You’re lettin’ the bugs in anyway.”
Lance heard the sound of two sets of heavy boots in the hallway, then the door shut.
“All right, you’re in. Now why are you here?”
Lance heard the soft rubber scuffling of Leah’s crutches coming across the floor.
“Leah?” the new voice said. “Oh, thank God you’re here.”
This statement confused Lance. Why would the officer be glad Leah was at her own family home? Did they think Lance had abducted her and taken off?
“Goddammit, Ricky. Tell me what the hell’s going on.” Samuel Senior raised his voice but did not shout. Then he got quieter and said, “Ah, Jesus, this isn’t about the thing at the hospital, is it? Look, I told Roger it was just a little misunderstanding. Nobody got hurt and—”
“I don’t know anything about that, Sam.”
There was a small moment of pregnant silence. All of them—Lance included—waiting for whatever news was coming.
“Your motel is burning down, Sam. The whole damned thing is ablaze right now. The crews are there, workin’ it hard, but … but I think it’s gone, Sam. Most of it, anyway.”
Again, silence.
“We were scared to death Leah was in there. We were worried she’d been asleep and …”
He didn’t have to finish.
Because of me, Lance thought. All because of me.
“How?” That was all Samuel Senior could seem to muster.
“Don’t know yet,” the man named Ricky said. “Fire guys mentioned something about electrical. Since the building’s so old. Makes sense, I guess. We won’t know more for a while, though. Like I said, the crews are still—”
“Thank you, Ricky,” Samuel Senior cut him off. “Thanks for coming to tell me. You have a good night, now.”
A hesitation. “Um, Sam, I think … I think you should come back with me.”
“Why?”
“Well, um, I guess some folks want to talk to you. There’s some questions that need to be answered, and I guess insurance details need to start being worked out.”
“I can drive myself,” Samuel Senior said.
Another pause. “You sure?” the man named Ricky asked. “You haven’t had too much, um, you know?”
“I’ve had one and a half beers, Ricky, you asshole. You and I both know it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to impair me.”
The man named Ricky sighed. “Sam, do an old pal a favor and just let me drive you. Please?”
Samuel Senior started to protest again, annoyance lacing his words, but then he cut himself off, suddenly choked back his retort and paused before sighing again and saying, “You know what, fuck it. Why not? It’ll save me some gas. Can you give me a sec with my girl before I go?”
“Uh, yeah, Sam. Of course.”
The front door opened and closed, and Lance waited a beat before cracking the office’s door a tiny bit and peering out. He found Samuel Senior and Leah standing in the hallway, staring back at him through the tiny slit.
He’s leaving us the truck. He thinks we’ll need it. Lance silently thanked Leah’s daddy for being a lot smarter than the town might have given him credit for.
“This is part of it, isn’t it?” Samuel Senior asked. “This is because they know you’re getting close?”
Lance stepped into the he hall and nodded. “I think so, sir.”
Samuel Senior took one deep breath and then nodded once. There was a jangling noise as he pulled his key ring from his pocket and worked to free the key to the truck. He held it out and pressed it into Lance’s hand. “I’ve got to go. Lance.” He gripped Lance’s shoulder with a strong hand. “You do what you got to do, but dammit, keep my baby girl safe. If you can find out what happened to my son, I’ll owe you everything. But don’t let me lose the only child I have left.”
Lance swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Samuel Senior hugged his daughter and kissed her on the top of the head, and then he left. Lance and Leah waited for the tires to crunch over the gravel as the police car drove away, then turned and met back in the kitchen.
“What now?” Leah asked.
Lance swung his backpack over his shoulders. “Now I go try to end this. Even if it kills me.”
The look on her face told Lance she didn’t like his choice of words, didn’t care for his mindset. But another part of her, the one that understood the situation they were facing was bigger than just her and him, asked, “And me?”
Lance picked up the shotgun and set it gently on the kitchen table. “You stay right here, and put holes in anybody that comes through that door that’s not me or your father.”
He didn’t give her time to argue. Just kissed her one more time and left out the front door without looking back.
36
The truck roared to life, shaking Lance’s brain around in his skull for a moment before he slipped the
motor into gear, made a three-point turn, and drove slowly down the driveway. Away from the house, away from Leah. He glanced in the rearview as he went, begging the girl not to be standing in the doorway watching him leave. It’d been hard to walk away from her in the kitchen, but if he saw her standing there now, it would be even harder not to turn the rumbling truck around and go back for another kiss.
He kept his eyes glued to the gravel road, squinting into the headlights slicing through the darkness. He slowed, then stopped at the mailbox, flicked on his right turn signal because it was what he felt Samuel Senior would have done, and then pulled out onto the pothole-speckled road and drove cautiously back toward Route 19, back toward town, back toward the Strangs. It was an odd feeling to know you were directly seeking out evil, walking into danger. It wasn’t the first time for Lance. Didn’t mean it got any easier.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Since he was still on the desolate road, he came to a full stop before fishing it out and reading the message from Leah. He very well might die later. No sense in expediting the process by hitting a pothole, swerving, overcorrecting, and then slamming into one of the encroaching trees. He probably wasn’t going fast enough to do any serious bodily harm, but the way the day’d been going, he wasn’t going to take the additional risk.
Leah had sent him the Strangs’ address, and then, probably assuming Lance’s relic of a phone lacked a GPS feature, had given him some crude directions, which he scanned through and figured he could follow easily enough. He’d followed the Strangs from the high school earlier when he was tailing Bobby, so he could get at least that far by himself.
“You’re very brave, do you know that?”
Lance jumped, his foot slipping off the truck’s brake before finding it again and stamping down hard. He swung his head around and found Annabelle Winters sitting in the passenger seat. She was ramrod straight, looking ahead out the windshield. Lance followed her legs down from the seat and saw them passing right through his backpack on the floorboard.
Lance Brody Omnibus Page 29
