Shelby let out a laugh that almost sounded genuine. “Kids, right? I tell you what, they are something else. Say, I thought you were headed back over the bridge. The last time we talked, you were practically giddy at getting back home.”
Jim shifted his feet and looked away, his eyes focusing on nothing in particular. “Well, you know how it is. Ma got upset about us leaving and she wouldn’t come with us. So we decided to stay for a little bit longer. And, besides, this house is nicer than what we’ve got up north.”
“Speaking of your mom, how is she doing these days?”
“Oh, she’s good. Downright tolerable. She’s a lot better now that Scott—” Jim broke off and a panicky look appeared in his eyes.
Shelby decided to ignore the man’s slip and instead made a grand gesture around the clearing. “It sure looks good around here, Jim. You’ve kept the place up and running nicely.”
Jim looked both pleased at the compliment and relieved that Shelby hadn’t mentioned his error. “I can’t take all the credit. Jimmy’s been working hard. I’ve been paying him a wage to help out. A young man needs a little pocket money, you know.”
Shelby nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but the front door banged and a young man appeared. Jim Ellis turned and waved him back.
“Go on back in the house, Jimmy.”
“Everything all right?” the young man said. Then he saw Shelby and waved. “Hi, Mr. Alexander.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” Shelby said. “How are things?”
“Not bad. I turned sixteen this year.”
“About ready to be your own man, then.” Shelby said this with a grin, but inside, he was surprised. The boy looked to be in his later teens, perhaps even twenty. The kid must have grown up fast—already the world was leaving its mark.
“So, anyway, we’ve been working hard out here,” Jim said, fidgeting.
Shelby moved forward, smiling broadly and trying to appear casual. “Say, Jim, you wouldn’t mind if I had a look in the basement, would you?”
“The basement?” Jim’s face turned several shades whiter. “Why the hell would you want to look down there?”
“Well, I had the scare of my life down there. It’s haunted me ever since. My therapist tells me that having another look at the place—while not in shackles, you know—might relieve the trauma.”
“I don’t think—”
“The nightmares have been pretty nasty.”
“I’m sure sorry, Mr. Alexander. I’d like to help out, but I really can’t let anyone in the house right now.”
“Why not?”
“We’re…remodeling, yeah. It’s all tore up something awful.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Shelby said. “What harm could come of it?” He pushed past Jim Ellis and began walking toward the porch steps.
There was the loud wooooop! of a siren from behind and Shelby whirled around to see a patrol car pulling into the yard. It stopped and Sheriff Hammer got out. She stood behind the open door of the vehicle with her hands on her hips, her face cloudy.
“Alexander! Unless you have permission from the owner, step back from the house.”
Shelby stood rooted to the spot, wondering how far Hammer would go to uphold the rights of an Ellis. He found it difficult to swallow but had to remember she was an officer of the law, not to mention had no prior experience with the Ellis clan. And, while she might be bluffing, he didn’t know her well enough to risk it. Bucking her authority at this early stage would certainly do little to build any sort of successful relationship, whether it be personal or professional.
Hammer pointed at Jim Ellis. “Are you the owner?”
“I suppose you might say that. I’m an Ellis.”
“And did you give Mr. Alexander permission to enter the house?”
Jim hesitated, looking back and forth between the sheriff and Shelby. At last, slowly, he shook his head.
“There you have it, Shelby. We don’t have cause to go in there and the man has refused entry.”
Against every urge in his body, Shelby backed down. He turned slowly and began walking slowly back toward the Jeep, the ease of his movements concealing the turbulence he felt inside.
“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “The law wins again. Sorry, Jim. I’ll tell my therapist to come up with another plan.”
Nodding curtly, Jim Ellis retreated back to the porch, moving like a jack rabbit up the steps and into the house.
Shelby bypassed the Jeep and kept on going until he was just across the patrol car’s door from Sheriff Hammer. Mack followed close behind, no doubt sensing his friend’s anger.
“Convenient time for you to show up, Sheriff. Did you get a call?”
“Not from you, I’m sad to say.”
“How’d you find me, then?”
“Easy. I started looking through incident reports involving you, trying to pinpoint anyone who might have reason to go after your daughter.”
“And?”
“And the Ellises came up more than once.”
“And you thought you’d swing by?”
“I went to your place first, but you weren’t there. Call it a hunch.”
Shelby frowned, feeling highly disconcerted that Hammer had anticipated his actions so well.
“Besides,” Hammer said, once it was clear Shelby wasn’t planning to respond to her latest statement, “I thought we were sharing information.”
“I have been.”
“And yet here you are.”
“Sharing information doesn’t mean reporting my every move. I don’t answer to you, Sheriff, not when my daughter’s life is on the line.”
“If you care about your daughter, you might want to think about letting the police do their job this time.”
“Okay, now,” Mack said. His tone was light as he tried to defuse an increasingly tense situation. “Let’s all settle down and reset, shall we?”
“Suggesting that I’m putting my own pride ahead of my daughter’s wellbeing isn’t the best way to win me over,” Shelby said, ignoring his friend’s peacekeeping efforts. “You’re new around here, but we do things a little differently.”
“Not while I’m sheriff,” Hammer said, her voice remarkably calm. “You got away with your antics before, but that was because everyone knew Wilkes was a complete farce as a lawman. Things are different now, and you’re going to have to play by the rules, do you understand?”
Instead of answering, Shelby rounded on his heel and stalked back toward the Jeep.
“I asked you a question,” Hammer called after him. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Shelby got into the Jeep and started it up, barely giving Mack enough time to swing into the passenger seat before peeling away in a cloud of dust and gravel.
13
“You think she’s fallen in with those Ellises?” Mack asked. He’d waited a full ten minutes to say anything, letting Shelby’s smoldering anger dissipate before risking speech.
Shelby growled something unintelligible.
“What was that?”
“I said I don’t think so.”
“You seem pissed enough.”
“Oh, I’m pissed, all right. But I’m as angry at myself as I am at the sheriff, and it’s because she’s right. Things are different now. As unfortunate as it was for everyone else, Wilkes’ crookedness gave me the perfect excuse to do what I wanted. Few regular folks blamed me for any vigilante behavior I’d engage in, because they knew Wilkes couldn’t be counted on. If Hammer turns out to be trustworthy and by the book, then I won’t have that cover.”
“And that’s making you angry?”
Shelby shook his head vigorously. “No. What’s making me angry is because I didn’t put this together sooner. I went marching out to the Ellis place like I owned it, when I should have practiced a little discretion.”
“Ah, so you’re not saying you shouldn’t have done it, but rather that you should have been a lot sneakier about it.”
/>
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so what now?”
“Now we need to kill a little time.”
“Waiting for nightfall, huh?”
“You know me too well.”
“A little too well. What shall we do in the meantime?”
Shelby gripped the steering wheel with both hands, turning his knuckles white. “Something I very much dread doing. We’re going to pay a visit to Grant Bachmann.”
14
The old woman limped down the wooden stairs, holding a tray in trembling hands. Had Leslie been in a betting frame of mind, she would have laid fifty bucks on the tray’s contents sliding onto the floor within the next five seconds. But she would have lost that bet, as against all odds, the old woman made it all the way without spilling a drop.
“Here’s yer breakfast,” the old woman said, bending over to pass the tray. “Eat it all up. I don’t like when people don’t appreciate my fixin’s.”
Leslie looked into the old woman’s eyes, remembering them more from the other night than now. Then they had been wide and frightened, almost glowing in the glare of Leslie’s headlights. Now they were flat and lifeless, a more terrifying sight than sheer cruelty, as there was no way of knowing what was happening in the brain behind those eyes. If Leslie had to guess, however, she would have said “not much.” The woman did not seem malicious or evil, but rather…Leslie struggled to find the word, but the best she could come up with was “harshly vacant.” There was an edge to the old woman, yet she didn’t seem to have any real desire or motivation for meanness. And though it could have been Leslie’s imagination, there seemed to be a tinge of sadness about the woman as well.
“Thank you,” Leslie said, reaching out as far as she could with chained hands. She took the tray and set it on the floor. She looked back at the old woman. “What’s your name?”
The woman shrugged and looked away. “Don’t got a real name. They just call me Ma.”
“Is that what I should call you?”
“You don’t got to call me anything,” Ma said. “You prolly won’t be around long enough to need to. Nothing good comes of this basement.”
“You know about this basement? What happens here?”
Ma backed away and straightened, not without effort. She edged farther and farther away, before suddenly turning and scuttling with surprising quickness across the basement floor and up the stairs.
The door shut solidly behind her and a lock clicked.
Leslie pressed her back against the hard coolness of the metal support pole. The entire situation was surreal, something out of a movie. The basement, the old woman, the chains…but the thing that stuck in her mind was the man she had seen earlier—she had lost track of time—who had claimed to be her worst nightmare. He hadn’t been exaggerating. The horrific experience she’d had with the man would be forever etched upon her psyche. Even the last-minute rescue by her father could not still the dread and terror. The nightmares still plagued her, and she suspected they always would.
But the nightmare was once more reality. The man known to her only as Darkmore had returned, bringing with him the diabolical need to inflict pain and suffering on the innocent and helpless. Leslie wondered what he had in store for her this time—and then decided she didn’t wish to think about it.
15
Shelby’s cabin was on the way back into town, so they made a stop to grab lunch before heading out again. While eating, Shelby called Angel and obtained Grant Bachmann’s address. She tried to thank him for following up, but he wasn’t in the mood and hung up while she was still talking.
As they were leaving, Shelby heard a scratching sound along the base of the cabin. He looked down and saw the same cat from the other night. To his surprise, it jumped onto the porch and began purring, obviously doing its level best to be adorable. Even a lifelong dog person like Shelby had to admit it was succeeding.
“Did you get a pet without telling me?” Mack said, pointing at the animal.
“It seems to think so. I found it scratching at that same place the other night.”
“Probably a mouse under there.”
Shelby nodded in agreement and then looked back at the cat. “What do you want, little fella? More food?”
The animal let out a little squawk that sounded a lot like “Eat!”
“All right, you win.” Shelby went back inside and retrieved some lunch meat and bits of cheese, which he took to the porch. He set the saucer down, then stepped back and watched as the animal ate its meal. Shelby noticed the cat never took its eyes from him, even as it ate every last crumb of food.
It took one final lap around the rim of the saucer with its tiny pink tongue, then backed up and waited while Shelby picked up the dish and took it back inside. When he returned, the cat had disappeared.
“Not much for after dinner conversation,” Mack said as they headed for the Jeep.
“Yeah,” Shelby said. “Maybe we have even more in common than I thought.”
Bachmann’s apartment building was not the finest Shelby had ever seen. In fact, Shelby had a difficult time remembering when he’d seen worse. The building looked almost abandoned, save for a few windows through which glowed dirty yellow light. Many of the windows were covered in plastic sheeting and all of them were filthy.
“When’s the last time you had a tetanus shot?” Mack asked, picking his way along like a barefoot man in a briar patch.
“I doubt there’s any way to inoculate yourself against this place,” Shelby said, scanning the doors for the correct room number. “And I left the hazmat suits in the other Jeep.”
And then, there it was: Room 107. The door appeared to be smeared with some manner of dark substance and Shelby decided he would kick it, rather than risk giving his knuckles some sort of incurable disease.
Mack looked at the door, his lips curled into an expression of disbelieving revulsion. “Shel…I think that’s shit on the door.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Shelby said. He aimed the toe of his boot at a bare spot near the bottom of the door and kicked, quickly withdrawing as a shower of dried substance came loose and fell to the ground.
Mack stifled a gag and Shelby grinned at him. “You can relax. I think it’s mud.”
From inside, Shelby heard the sounds of locks being drawn back, unbolted, and turned.
“This guy’s door has more locks than a nun’s chastity belt,” Mack said, his face beaming with pride at the joke.
Shelby looked at his friend and nodded with modest approval. “Not bad, not bad. Come up with that yourself?”
The door opened about two inches, the gap being spanned by a chain lock, and a man peered out. The lower half of his face was covered in beard stubble and his bloodshot eyes were round and jittery.
“Who is that? What do you want?”
Shelby mustered up a wide grin. “You Grant Bachmann?”
“Maybe. Who wants to—?”
The question was cut off by the sole of Shelby’s boot crashing into the door at full force. The chain lock exploded off the door, broken links and screws spraying the inside of the room like buckshot. Grant Bachmann backpedaled furiously, trying to maintain balance and failing. Tripping over his own feet, he slammed backward into the far wall and slid down to the floor like a puppet without a string. He hit the floor on his backside and tried to roll away, but Shelby was already inside the room and grabbing a fistful of shirt collar.
“I asked you a question,” Shelby said, his voice a growl that grated out between teeth clenched both in anger and disgust. “Is your name Grant Bachmann?”
Bachmann nodded shakily. “Yeah, that’s me. But I don’t know you. Put me down, man. I haven’t done anything.”
“Nothing except beat up a woman because you couldn’t afford her.”
“Angel? You’re here because of Angel?”
“So you know her?”
“I know her, okay? I know her! She wouldn’t leave, man. I didn’t want to hurt h
er.”
“You always do things you don’t want to do? Because you did a damn good job.” Using his grip on the man’s collar, Shelby threw him bodily across the room, where he landed on a chair that promptly broke, sending Bachmann onto the floor once more.
“Geez, Shel,” Mack said. “Leave some for the buzzards.”
Shelby ignored his friend. His head was so full of buzzing rage that he barely heard him at all. He leapt forward and dragged Bachmann upward again.
“You know, it’s pieces of shit like you that really chafe me,” he said. His voice was now less of a growl and more of a rumble that started deep in his chest. He drew back a fist and smashed it into Bachmann’s face.
The man’s nose opened up like a hydrant, sending blood pouring down the front of his shirt.
Shelby let go of the man’s collar and let him drop.
“You broke my nose, man!”
And then Shelby kicked him in the ribs, putting all the anger behind it. Ribs cracked and Bachmann howled.
“Shel! Goddamn it!” Mack grabbed Shelby’s arms and pulled him back. “For Christ’s sake, I think he got the message.”
For a second, Shelby struggled, but then stopped himself and stood, breathing hard and massaging his knuckles. The anger slowly drained away, leaving a horrible sickness behind in his stomach.
“We should go,” Mack said. “Someone’s bound to have heard that racket.” He put an arm around Shelby’s waist and guided him back to the Jeep.
16
At the cabin, Shelby excused himself to take a shower. He turned the water as hot as he could bear and then stood in the gathering steam, trying not to think. But the memories pounded on the door of his mind, brought back by his interaction with Grant Bachmann. Thoughts he had locked away returned—Grant had looked just like his great grandfather, Sid. It had been like falling into a time warp and reliving the worst experiences of his life.
Shelby felt the flood of emotions coming and tried to force them back. He was too old, too strong, too much of a man to be feeling this way. But right now, he didn’t feel grown up, strong, or masculine. He felt like an awkward, confused kid. Against his will, his mind drifted back in time.
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