by Hunter Shea
He pumped his legs as hard as he could.
I wish Anthony was here.
He needed his best friend to share his burden. Maybe that was a selfish way for him to think, but to hell with it. He was scared as hell. Anthony would stick by him, no matter what.
But he was a hundred miles away.
West was on his own. At least for the moment.
He hit the corn stalks at a full gallop, fat ears thumping him like wild dancers at a nightclub. His hacking and slashing made a hell of a racket, scaring the crickets into silence.
Please be there, Mom and Dad.
Tiny paper-thin cuts opened on his arms as he batted away the stalks.
Was this the right way? He’d passed by Faith’s spot, taking what he was sure was the same route to her house she took.
The moment he doubted himself, he stumbled into the Simmons’s front yard. A few lights were on downstairs. His parent’s truck wasn’t there.
He didn’t slow down, taking the porch steps two at a time. His chest bumped into the door. West pounded on it with his fists.
Faith opened the door, her face waxen.
“West, what’s wrong?”
Now that he was here, he couldn’t find his voice. His lungs burned like lava. He wheezed and gasped, motioning with his hands that he’d be able to speak in a minute… if he was lucky.
She led him to a wicker chair. “Sit down and catch your breath.”
“Where… where’s your father?”
Faith fidgeted with her hands. “He and my mom left for your place. I got the feeling my father was kind of a butthole to your parents. My mother said they were going over there to make things right.”
Jesus, West thought.If I’d just stayed there…
He was here with Faith now, which was good, but he desperately needed adults.
“I need to tell you something,” he said.
She leaned on the porch rail opposite him. “What? West, you’re scaring me.”
“I know this is going to sound crazy, so I’ll just say it. Is your sister’s name, Rayna?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Yes. Why?”
He took a stuttering breath. “My grandfather has her locked in his basement.”
Faith stared at him, studied him, biting her lip. “But that’s impossible. She’s at camp.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
She didn’t hesitate, saying, “Yes. I’ve gotten texts and emails from her. At least when I had my phone. She’s supposed to come back next week. She wanted to take me to Stroudsburg when she got back, but I told her I was punished. I was hoping my father would give me a get out of jail card.”
West collapsed in the chair, feeling his bones turn to putty.
How was that possible?
Then who was the girl Grandpa Abraham said was Rayna?
“I… I saw a girl in the basement. My grandfather showed her to me. He said her name was Rayna Simmons and he was keeping her there to keep me and my family safe.”
Faith started pacing. “You’re not making any sense.”
“I know! But I know what I saw. There’s a girl, chained up and barely alive down there.”
“This is insane. Are you sure?”
“I was standing next to her, just as close as I am to you right now. At first I thought she was dead, but she moved a little and asked me to help her. I totally freaked out and just ran.” He got a lump in his throat as he admitted his childish cowardice.
Faith looked ready to cry. “We have to tell our parents.”
“That’s why I ran over here.”
She dashed inside, returning with sneakers on her feet and a pair of flashlights. Plucking him from the chair by his hand, she said, “Come on!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt was sick with worry.
But his father seemed indifferent. He’d even go so far as to say cold as a well digger’s ass.
Why?
Did he really not care that much about his own grandson? Was he so oblivious to everything going on that he couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation? Maybe it was all the drinking. It not only chewed away at the liver, but brain cells withered and died right along with it. Matt was well acquainted with the process of watching a brain deteriorate.
No matter the reason, Matt wanted to throttle the man.
Debi was close to hyperventilating. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away, going back upstairs to look for West, even though they both knew he wasn’t there.
When he was three, West had fallen into the habit of hiding in the house and refusing to reveal his location, no matter how frantically they shouted his name. They’d eventually find him in the toybox, a living doll lying atop trucks, balls, and game boxes, or under the bed, and once, somehow crammed in the tight space where they kept their pots and pans. It was a big game for him, and no matter how severely they admonished him for hiding, their raw panic and anger never sunk in. They were exceedingly grateful when he simply grew out of the game by the time he was four.
He was a long way from three now. Matt knew he wasn’t hiding in the house, chuckling as he heard them desperately searching for him.
He turned to his father. “What happened while we were gone?”
“How the hell should I know? That kid is always off in his own world.” He grabbed a bottle from under the sink, twisted the cap off, and took a hearty swig.
“That’s the last thing you need,” Matt said.
His father scowled at him. “I’ll take that under consideration, Esasky.”
He knows something, Matt thought. What the hell did he say to West?
The man held on to secrets as if his life depended on them. Matt knew he wouldn’t reveal anything he didn’t want to divulge, no matter what he threatened.
For the thousandth time, he cursed that damn drunk woman for bringing them back to this madhouse.
Debi rushed down the stairs. Now she was crying.
“Where can he be, Matt? It’s getting dark.”
The Guardians seemed to be most active in the night, like vampires. The thought of West out there, unprotected, chilled Matt to his soul.
“I don’t know, but he can’t be far. You think he went to Faith’s house? Maybe he was upset we told him to stay here.”
“I… I guess. Let’s go back there. I didn’t like her father one bit and I don’t want West anywhere near that man.”
“You and me both. Look, you stay here in case he comes back. Dad, you’re driving us to the Simmons farm.”
“I thought I was too drunk,” he said mockingly.
“You are, but I’ll have to take my chances. I’m not asking you to do it.”
His father put the bottle down, glaring at him like one would a rabid raccoon. Matt waited for a flurry of insults, or at the very least, a derisive dismissal.
The old man surprised him by taking his keys from his pocket.
“I drive just as good drunk as I do sober.”
Matt thought back to the way he’d swerved the truck perfectly into its resting spot earlier tonight and wasn’t able to argue.
Debi looked horrified, but there was no other way.
“Matt, be careful.”
He sighed. “It’s pretty much out of my hands. I’m sure West will be back as soon as we leave. Try not to yell at him too much.” He kissed her wet cheek, feeling her soften just the slightest bit.
It was a struggle, hurrying after his father. He tried to concentrate on the mechanics of walking rather than the spinning of the house or gyrations of the moon when he stepped outside. He dry heaved, collapsing into the truck. The engine sputtered to life.
“I’d tell you to buckle up, but the seatbelt on that side broke years ago.”
His father gunned the accelerator and they tore across the front yard, spewing dirt and grass and gravel. They sped past the gnarled, dead tree, nearly clipping its withered, flaking trunk.
Matt couldn’t help feeling his father, the farmhouse
, and now them, were all infected by whatever blight had withered that nightmare tree.
***
Debi scurried from one end of the house to the other, peering out of every window, waiting to see West come strolling back home.
Home.
This was no home.
She hated this place. Hated her father-in-law.
Most of all, she hated the Guardians as much as she feared them.
And West could be out there with them.
The thought of it burned like acid in her gut.
“West! West!” she shouted out the back door. Flashes of swirling yellow dotted the rapidly decaying dusk. West used to love collecting fireflies when he was little, keeping them in a sealed mustard jar on his nightstand. They poked holes in the lid and placed bits of grass and leaves on the bottom of the jar. Debi was never sure what fireflies ate, but West was the one to suggest making the jar look as much like the outdoors as possible. He’d catch ten, fifteen, or even more fireflies, or as he called them, lightning bugs, a night.
If he was lucky, a couple would still be alive by morning, the daylight robbing them of their ethereal beauty. Debi would unscrew the lid and release the living while pouring the hard, dead bodies under one of the rose bushes in the back corner of the yard.
Where had the time gone? What cruel trick had life played on them?
She made a promise to go back to church if West came back any minute now.
“Please God, no more games. Haven’t we been through enough?”
Debi barely noticed the half-moon dents her fingernails made in the palms of her hands as she went from window to window. She’d made sure to turn on all the lights, opening every blind and shade, creating a beacon he couldn’t miss.
It left her wide open to be watched by the Guardians, but she didn’t care one bit.
A brief pinprick of light, bigger than a lightning bug’s, caught her eye. She squinted, waiting to see it again.
It snapped into focus for another moment, trailing away like a thin searchlight.
“West!”
Debi sprinted out the front, the screen door slamming behind her.
“West, honey!”
Heading around the corner of the house, something snagged her foot. Debi sprawled forward, her face smacking hard against the ground. Her head bounced up, then back down for a second blow that knocked her out instantly.
***
Matt grimaced as his father narrowly avoided sending the truck into a ditch. He didn’t say a word. The last thing the man needed was a distraction, and getting him mad by criticizing his drunk driving would surely lead to a heated argument.
“The entrance to their farm should be coming up,” Matt said, gripping the dashboard.
“I’ve lived next to the damn place all my life. I think I know where it is.”
A pair of bright headlights approached them.
His father shielded his eyes, the truck swerving into the oncoming lane and whatever vehicle was behind those lights.
Matt reached over to steady the wheel. “Look out!”
The car or truck, he couldn’t tell, sped past with inches to spare between them.
Matt expelled the breath he felt he’d been holding for a lifetime. “Jesus, that was close.”
“What the hell was that asshole doing driving with his brights on?”
“Just concentrate on the road.”
“Fucking moron,” his father muttered.
They almost missed the entrance to the Simmons farm. His father pumped the brakes and jerked the wheel. Matt felt half the tires rise from the safety of the road. The truck bounced crazily, heading up the driveway like a runaway train.
***
Faith turned to West when they reached her special spot.
“You’re going to have to take the lead from here. I never went to your grandfather’s property before.”
Night had fallen suddenly and fast. West had never been anywhere near as dark as the field. Even with the flashlights, it was disorienting and oppressive.
But he wasn’t going to let her know that. She had enough to worry about, wondering if her sister Rayna was actually chained up in his grandfather’s basement.
Just thinking it made West feel as if he’d stepped into the pages of one of his books, a book he desperately wanted to escape from, not to.
“Just stick close to me,” he said, navigating by memory. There were no markers, especially in the pitch, to tell him if he was headed in the right direction. The stars and half moon were bright, but they were also millions of miles away.
Faith kept a death grip on his hand. They ran through the wild growth of the Ridley farm, nearly tripping more times than he could count.
He checked himself from crying out with relief when he spotted the blazing farmhouse up ahead. It looked like every light on both floors was on.
That was odd.
“That’s it,” he said, a flush of renewed energy picking up his pace.
As they got closer, Faith pulled back. “You live there?”
He stopped to look at the dilapidated house. It was a disturbing sight at night, especially knowing the secret hidden beneath it.
“I don’t think I will after tonight.”
The back door was unlocked, adding to the strangeness. Faith kept stepping on the heels of his sneakers as they walked through the house.
“Mom? Dad?”
The front door was open as well.
“Grandpa Abraham?”
Faith clutched his arm when he mentioned his grandfather.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think he’s here. His truck is missing.”
But his parents’ truck was right there. Where the hell could they be? And why were all the blinds open? Nothing was making any sense.
“You don’t think he’s hiding in the basement?” Faith asked. “Maybe he’s having second thoughts about showing you and wants to lock you up, too.”
She was trembling with fright, her eyes as big as silver dollars. West wondered if he looked the same to her.
“I don’t think he would,” he reassured her. “He’s got this whole thing about protecting the family. And as much as I wish I wasn’t, I am his family. We better go to the basement now, before he gets home.”
Faith hesitated. “Maybe we should just call the police.”
“We can’t. My grandfather wrecked the phone a while back and hasn’t gotten it fixed.”
“And I left my cellphone home.”
He led her to the kitchen, and down the basement steps. It still smelled like his grandfather – alcohol infused sweat and body odor. He hadn’t been gone long.
Or maybe he was still down here? What would Grandpa Abraham do if he saw Faith? Would he try to lock her up, too?
West would hurt him, hurt him real bad, if he even tried.
“I don’t see anything,” Faith said when they reached the bottom, the meager light casting strange shadows among the piles of junk and boxes.
“She’s in there,” he said, pointing to the door, immediately cursing himself.
Grandpa Abraham had the key. The door looked like a poor man’s bank vault, but impenetrable just the same.
Plus there was the added threat of it truly being booby trapped.
“We have to be careful,” he whispered, even though he knew they were alone. They were in the presence of evil, its essences as cloying as the humidity outside. “My grandfather said he rigged it so if anyone tried to get it, Rayna would be hurt.”
Or worse, he thought.
“Then how will I know if my sister, or anyone for that matter, is inside?” Faith looked terrified, a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes that he was pulling a prank on her.
West took a deep breath of the musty air. “Well, she wasn’t moving much, but she did talk a little. Maybe if we let her know we’re here, she’ll answer. If the girl in there is really Rayna, you’d know her voice, right?”
Faith swallowed hard. She kept stealing glances at the stairs,
and toward escape.
He held her hand, as much to soothe her as keep her down here until he proved he wasn’t crazy.
“Of… of course I would,” she replied, a hint of a tremor in her voice.
He knocked on the door hard enough to make his knuckles burn.
“Hello! Can you hear me? My grandfather isn’t here. I’m going to find a way to get you out of there. Please, say something so I know you’re all right.”
They waited and heard nothing. Not even the shuffling clink of the chain.
“She was really out of it,” he said, this time kicking on the door.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be so loud,” Faith warned him. “What if your grandfather comes home and hears?”
Her fingernails dug into the flesh of his bicep.
“I have to do something to wake her up.”
He didn’t confide that he was worried she might be dead. She looked as if she were knocking on its door earlier.
“Why don’t you try saying something?” he said. “If Rayna’s the one in there, I’ll bet hearing your voice will wake her up.”
“Maybe we should go. If there is a girl in there, we can call the police from my house.”
“Just try. I promise, we’ll call the police whether she answers or not.”
Faith stepped up to the door, her fingertips trembling against the cool metal. She cocked her ear to the door, listening.
“Hello?” she said softly.
“The door is real thick. You’re going to have to be louder.”
She shook her head, biting her lip until it turned white where her top teeth pressed.
“Is, is anyone in there?” she said, louder. “We’re here to help you. Can you hear us?” She took a trembling breath, then said, “Rayna, it’s Faith. Please, Rayna, let me know you’re okay.”
She went rigid as tent pole at the sound of movement on the other side of the door.
A small, raspy voice replied, “Faith? Faith, is that you?”
Faith covered her open mouth with both hands, her eyes wildly looking back at him. “Oh my God!”
