by Hunter Shea
She laced her fingers within his own.
Debi asked, “How are we going to get out of this?”
Matt sighed. “Every time I think about it and run different scenarios in my head, it’s not pretty. As long as you and West are all right, that’s all that matters.”
“No, that’s not all that matters,” she protested, squeezing his hand. “We all have to walk away from here, without those assholes following us or doing something,”
He wanted to look at her face, but knew moving his head would make things worse. “Even my father?”
“Even your father. He’s all the family we have left. And he’s as much a victim as we are.”
“And that’s it right there.”
“What’s it?”
“Victims. We’re letting the Guardians keep us on our heels. And by identifying ourselves as victims, we’re just helping them along. That’s what I keep thinking about. And when I imagine how we turn the tables, that’s when things get dicey.”
Matt wasn’t sure if he ever loved his wife and son more than he did now, or at least appreciated his love for them. Every time he thought about something happening to them, his love and need to protect them grew.
He was prepared to do anything to keep them safe, to free them from this place.
They both flinched at the sound of something heavy thumping on the floor somewhere in the house.
“What was that?” Debi asked, rising from the couch, her hand still in his.
Matt reached for his cane, his stomach doing backflips as he pulled himself up.
Fump!
Matt angled himself so his wife was behind him.
He whispered, “I think it’s coming from the kitchen.”
Chapter Twenty
They sat at the big kitchen table, the wood top so thick, West wasn’t sure if he could get his hand around the edge. A glass of iced lemonade dripped condensation. He nervously took a sip, the ice cubes jangling against the glass.
Faith’s father sat on the other side of the table, along with his daughter. West was able to sum him up in one word – mountain. The man was a mountain of flesh and thick bones, with a black beard and low hairline that almost met his eyebrows. His hands were massive and scarred from years of working the farm.
Those hands rested on the table, inches from his own. There was a faint smile under the beard, but West felt it was pasted on simply to calm him down.
“I apologize if I startled you back there,” he said with a baritone that would have been soothing if the situation were any different. “You’ll understand someday when you have a daughter of your own.”
“Dad, stop,” Faith said. She looked just as nervous as West felt.
West swallowed hard, the lemonade far from refreshing. The acid tang of the lemons burned his vocal cords, made it difficult to talk. “I understand,” he managed to croak.
Her father narrowed his eyes at him, letting an uncomfortable silence fill the space between them. He scratched at his beard and said, “You don’t, but like I said, you will one day. So you’re related to Abraham Ridley, huh?”
“Yes.”
Should I have said Yes, sir?
“And how do you and Faith know one another?”
He was going to lie and said they’d met at school, but he knew he’d fold like laundry under the man’s icy gaze.
Faith saved him by saying, “We ran into each other in the field. West was doing some exploring and I was just hanging around.”
“Exploring.”
West didn’t like that he’d fixed himself on that word. It implied way too much.
He tried to save himself. “I don’t have much to do, so I spend most of my time outside, just walking around or reading. Faith is the first and only person I’ve met since I moved here.”
“You come to my house often?”
Be very careful what you say next!
Again, Faith interjected, “He came looking for me because I haven’t been around. I told him where we lived.”
He looked at Faith and she held her ground. That seemed to satisfy him.
His next question was like a punch to the solar plexus. “How do you know about the Guardians?”
Taking another sip, he replied, “Because they’ve been leaving notes around the house. I asked my grandfather about them, too.”
Faith’s father sat back, looking grave.
“Tell me what your grandfather said.”
Both Faith and her father locked onto him, absorbing everything as it spilled from his mouth. West found that once he started, he couldn’t stop, touching on the words scrawled in shit on the house, the time the Guardians were in the bathroom when his mother was in the shower, and the pitchforks around Grandpa Abraham. The only things he kept to himself were Stella and the admission that the Guardians had murdered his grandmother. Was it fear that prevented him? He wasn’t sure.
He was pretty scared now, his voice trembling and cracking constantly.
When he was finished, her father flexed his hands, exhaling mightily. “I’ll be goddamned. We’re not the only ones.”
Faith looked like she wanted to cry.
Her father surprised him by extending his hand. “Sorry, my name is Gregory Simmons. But you can call me Mr. Simmons. I’m not going to lie to you. I’m not happy that I found you sneaking around with my daughter. But I am appreciative that you told your story. That takes courage.”
“Th-thank you.”
Gregory Simmons got up and poured a fresh glass of lemonade for himself. He drank it in one large gulp. “So, those bastards are everywhere,” he said to no one in particular.
“They leave notes around your house, too?” West asked.
“Every now and then,” Faith said. “Although it’s never been as crazy as what’s been happening to you.”
“I’ve met your grandfather only a couple of times. My father knew him a little better, though you’d never call them friends. We pretty much keep to ourselves around here. Guess that’s why neither was aware what the other was going through.”
The Guardians are the dirty secret of Buttermilk Creek that no one will talk about, West thought.
“Did you know my father growing up?”
“Is his name Mark?”
“Matt.”
“Right, right. I think we were in first and second grade together. That’s right when my parents split up. I went to live with my mother in West Virginia. I didn’t come back to Buttermilk Creek until I was in my twenties. I don’t remember much of my childhood here. You said he’d known about the Guardians all his life?”
“Yes.” West felt a glimmer of hope. He dared to ask, “So, have you ever called the cops on them?”
Gregory Simmons shook his head. “Never seemed to be much point. A few notes don’t scare me. I actually used to think the Guardians were your grandfather. You live with him, so you know he’s not the most amicable guy. When I was younger, I thought he left the notes just to mess with us. But he must be pretty old now. I can’t see him trekking out here just to be a wise guy.”
“Were any of the notes every threatening?”
“I don’t get to read them, but I don’t think so,” Faith said.
“Not at all,” Gregory Simmons said. “Just strange. Nothing like the things you just said.”
“Maybe they’re doing it to a bunch of people in town,” West said.
Were these farmers so insulated that they really never talked to one another? Looking at Faith’s father, his bulk taking up most of the doorway to the dining room, and thinking about his grandfather, West believed it. These were men who relied on themselves. It reminded him how far removed he was from New York, by environment if not my sheer mileage.
“I never thought much about it, to be honest,” Gregory Simmons said. “Some pranks go on longer than they should, but it’s no reason to run around like a chicken without a head.”
“Well, I think someone should call the police. If my parents won’t, I will. I’m
tired of being cooped up in that house, afraid of every sound.”
Gregory Simmons leaned close to him.
“You’d really do that, even though your parents told you not to?”
Sensing a test – he probably wanted to see if his daughter was getting mixed up with some kid who didn’t mind his parents – West hesitated, the answer clogging in his throat.
The front door opened and closed and a pretty woman with short, chestnut hair and a warm smile walked into the kitchen.
“And who do we have here?”
When Faith saw her mother, she visibly relaxed. “Mom, this is my friend West.”
“So nice to meet you,” she said, putting a couple of shopping bags on the counter.
“He came here to break our daughter free from her punishment.”
West felt an urgent need to shit. He thought they’d already turned that corner.
Her mother waved him away. “I think it’s high time we did that anyway. Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“I… I don’t think so. I just moved here with my parents. We live with my grandfather.”
“He’s Abraham Ridley’s grandson,” Gregory Simmons interjected.
Was that a look of pity that washed over her face? She recovered, putting a light hand on his shoulder. “Well, it’s nice to meet a neighbor. You and Faith must be around the same age.”
Before he or Faith could answer, her father said, “West here says that they have a problem with the Guardians, too. A big problem.”
Her mother’s hand fluttered around her mouth. “Oh my.”
Gregory Simmons leaned against the refrigerator, running his hand through his beard. “That’s right. Oh my.”
***
Debi was not thrilled to see that Matt had the gun on him. He pulled it from his pocket, but he was so unsteady on his legs, she worried he’d shoot them both before an actual intruder.
“Put that away,” she hissed.
“What good will it do me then?”
They kept their voices low.
“More than if you accidentally do something you’ll regret.”
Silence had descended on the house again. But those sounds were too prominent to ignore. Debi stared Matt down until he put the gun back in his pocket, shaking his head ruefully.
We’ll have to talk about that later, she thought.
He took the lead creeping to the kitchen, mindful to keep her at his back, unexposed should someone be lurking.
Debi’s heart thrummed. Could they actually be about to catch the Guardians in the act? Or were they too late? What did they leave behind this time?
And if they weren’t too late, just what would they do? Ask them to stand still long enough for Matt to shoot them?
The ancient floorboards gave them away. How could the Guardians skulk about when they couldn’t take two steps without it sounding like the house was coming down?
Matt picked up the pace, the rubber tip of his cane thumping with each hobbled step.
The kitchen was empty.
The door was still locked, the window open just a slit, exactly the way they left it. Debi took a quick look around. Mercifully, there weren’t any fresh notes, at least in plain sight.
“We’re getting too jumpy,” she exhaled, head leaning forward until her nose touched the back of Matt’s shoulder.
“I could have told you that.”
Debi and Matt flinched.
Abraham scooted past them, heading for the refrigerator.
“How… where did you come from?” Debi asked. She’d been so spooked, she was dizzy.
“The front door,” he replied, drinking milk straight from the carton.
“We didn’t hear you,” Matt said, aiming for the chair. He slumped into it so hard, the old metal whined.
Abraham pointed down the hallway. “See that board there? The one that’s lighter than the others? I put that there about five years ago. The old one rotted out. You walk on that, it doesn’t sound like my bones.”
Now Debi was angry. “So you intentionally snuck up on us?”
He wiped milk from his upper lip. “Not on you. On whatever had your hackles up, which it appears was nothing.”
“I could have shot you,” Matt said, taking out the gun and dropping it on the table.
Abraham eyed the pistol. “Well, let’s be glad you didn’t.”
Debi said, “Now that you’re here, maybe we should talk.”
The old man shook her off. “What for?”
“If what you said about Violet was true – “
“It is true. I may be a bastard but I’m no liar.”
“Okay, so the Guardians killed Violet and have threatened all of us. We’re living in here like we’re under house arrest.”
“You’re living like you’re under house arrest. I’m not.”
“That’s not the point, Dad,” Matt said, his head in his hands.
“Actually, Esasky, that is the point. I don’t let them win.”
“You call what they did to Mom, and now you, not letting them win?” Matt looked like he wanted to leap from his chair and pin his father to the wall. Debi wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t be right alongside him.
“Abraham, enough is enough. This has to end,” Debi said.
“You gonna let my son shoot them and probably go to jail? I guess that’s one way to do it, if they stick around long enough for him to do it. Which they won’t.” He slammed his fist against the refrigerator. “I told you before, it’s not going any further than it did last week! Why can’t you just trust me?”
Matt huffed. Debi stared at her father-in-law incredulously.
“You can’t be serious?” she said.
“As cancer,” Abraham said. “Stop moping around the house, go to work, make your money, and move on out. I’ll be just fine here. I was before.”
“Unlike Mom,” Matt said, seething.
Abraham rushed him, both of them nearly spilling onto the floor.
“Don’t!” Abraham shouted. “Don’t you dare!”
Debi tried to pull them apart. Abraham had a death grip on Matt.
“What?” Matt spat. “Tell the truth? Try to talk sense into you? How could you let this carry on after what they did to Mom?”
Abraham shook him. Matt’s face paled. “I don’t need you telling me what to do. You hear me? This is my house, not yours. You want to play the hero? Be my guest. Pick up the phone and call the police. Get them out here right now. I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“Get… off… of… him!” Debi said, struggling.
Abraham let go, chest heaving.
Matt regained his seating, but looked ready to throw up. “Is that what you tell yourself? That you’re not responsible? Is that how you sleep at night? Or do you know how full of shit you sound? You must. It explains the drinking.”
Abraham looked ready to explode again. Debi tensed.
He balled his fists and said, “You feel so sure, like I said, get on that phone. I’m tired of fighting you. Or you do things my way, and you and your family can walk away from here and not have to spend a lifetime looking over your shoulders.” Abraham ran his hands through his wild hair. He grabbed a liquor bottle from under the sink. “It’s your call, son.” His face softened, his eyes saddening. “One thing you’ve never understood about me. I love my family. Maybe I don’t show it the way you think I should, but I can’t help that.”
Debi moved closer to Matt, laying a hand on his rising and falling chest, feeling the wild beat of his heart.
“Just remember that,” Abraham said as he turned and left, slamming the back door behind him.
They stared at one another, speechless.
Chapter Twenty-One
West stayed with the Simmons family for most of the day. Conversation moved away from the Guardians and onto much safer topics, but the heavy undercurrent was there.
He learned that Faith’s mother was Sarah. She kept giving him funny looks when she thought he wasn
’t looking. He wasn’t sure what to make of them. They weren’t the knee-buckling glares her father locked him under before the talk of the Guardians.
If he didn’t know better, he’d almost think it was sorrow, though for whom, he wasn’t entirely sure. Did they know something he didn’t? They’d been under the Guardians watchful gaze as well. Was it possible that she knew what was in store for him and his family?
Coming up with the courage to outright ask her had proven impossible. Noting the time on the wall clock – it was late afternoon already! – he told them he had to get back to his house, leaving out the part that he’d snuck out in the first place.
“You take care of yourself,” Sarah Simmons said. She handed him a bottle of water. “It’s a scorcher out there. Just in case you get thirsty on the walk back.”
Gregory Simmons walked him to the door alongside Faith. “You be careful. Don’t let your guard down.”
On the one hand, West was relieved that the Guardians weren’t just his problem. If the Simmons family was living with them without any visible problems, that was a good thing. Right?
Don’t let your guard down.
It made perfect sense, but there was something in the way he said it that implied a much, much deeper meaning.
“Can I walk him halfway?” Faith asked her mom.
“Sure.”
Her mother was right. It was a scorcher. The sun felt as if it had descended to a hundred feet over their heads. In the walk from the house to the edge of the cornfield, West’s hair felt hot enough to burn.
As soon as they stepped within the corn, Faith grabbed his hand.
Great, she can feel how sweaty I am!
“That’s so crazy that the Guardians have been watching your house, too,” she said.
“It’s way crazy. I’m just glad they’re getting weird with us and not you,” he said, trying his best to sound brave.
“I’m not. I just wish they’d go away. Or we’d find out who they are and… and… I don’t know.”
He knew exactly what she was saying.
“It’s bizarre that no one’s caught them all this time,” West said.
