The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  The pain in her chest was becoming unbearable, and Mrs. O’Neal relented and lifted her dress. “You’re sick,” she croaked, and quickly gasped for air. Her heart began to pound even harder. Her breath became sporadic.

  Randy reached under her dress and pulled down her underwear. "Now that's not so bad, is it?" he said, caressing her.

  Mrs. O'Neal gasped suddenly as a bolt of pain stabbed her in the chest. She tried to scream, but all that came out of her throat was a weak croak--the sound of a frog that had just been shot by a kid with a BB gun.

  Randy backed away from her. "What's wrong?"

  Someone screamed from across the street. Randy rezipped his pants and turned to see who it was. The same two girls who had given him a hard time at the tavern earlier pointed right at him. They screamed again, and hollered for help.

  Mrs. O'Neal dropped to the sidewalk behind him, gasping desperately for air. She weakly raised her hand for Randy to help, held it for a second, and then fell limp--and quiet. Not even noticing that she had quit breathing, Randy sprinted down the sidewalk toward his truck.

  The two girls ran across the street as a few more people from The Border Cafe headed in their direction. The blonde bent over Mrs. O'Neal's body and took her pulse. "I think she's dead," she said.

  A crowd quickly gathered. "What happened?" someone asked.

  "That guy from the bar," the blonde replied, not looking up. "He killed her." She leaned back against the door. "He raped her and then he killed her."

  It took fifteen minutes for the police to arrive.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN:

  More Tears

  Stephen refused to get out of bed, and Julie hadn't the heart to force him. He took his grandmother's death hard. She had raised him since he was eleven years old. And she was his last remaining relative. Now he had no one. Everyone he had loved was now dead.

  The sheriff's department didn't take long in figuring out who the man was that attacked Mrs. O'Neal. But two days had passed now since the incident, and Randy Beliwitz was still roaming around on the free side of prison walls. First degree murder had been ruled out; but with the marks on Mrs. O'Neal's body and the testimony of the two eye witnesses, they had enough on Beliwitz to send him away where he could do nobody any harm for a long time.

  Pierce now had a new suspect to add to his diminutive list.

  Julie sighed and sat on the edge of Stephen's bed. "This is the last day you lie here like this." She caressed the back of his neck. "Life goes on."

  The funeral was arranged for tomorrow at three o'clock. His grandmother was to be buried in the Dodsville Evergreen Cemetery next to her late husband. His grandparents had purchased the plots next to each other before she and his grandfather left for Milwaukee. He had died only two years after they left. Her gravestone had been in place for fifteen years now, only waiting for the date of death and the epitaph. On the other side of Stephen's grandfather's grave lay his parents.

  "Just leave me alone," Stephen mumbled from under his pillow. "You don't understand what I'm going through."

  Julie slightly tightened her grip on his neck. "What do you think I felt when I lost my brother? Huh? And how about when my own mother passed away? Don't those count for anything?"

  Stephen only groaned in reply.

  Julie suddenly had enough of his behavior and pulled the pillow off of his head. "Now you listen to me, Stephen O'Neal," she said, outspoken with anger. "You are not alone in this world, like you want to believe you are so you can go on feeling sorry for yourself. There are four people in this town who love and who consider you family."

  Stephen turned around, but made no move to get out of bed. "You don't even know me. Any more than I know you."

  Julie stood and walked to the door. "Cry now," she said before exiting. "Because tomorrow I no longer allow it." She threw the pillow back into his face, and left.

  Melissa and Sly sat silently in the living room with sullen expressions on their faces. Tabitha had moved back to her father's, as she was too embarrassed to face Stephen--she felt responsible.

  When Julie sat next to her on the couch, Melissa asked, "He won't get out of bed?"

  Julie shook her head. "This is exactly the opposite reaction I expected him to have. I thought for sure we'd be holding him back from finding and killing Randy."

  "We may still have to," Sly said. He drew on his pipe and let the smoke out in short puffs. "We'd better not let him out of our sight at any time for the near future."

  Melissa got up and walked to the front picture window. She hadn't told anyone about Stephen losing his fiancée just a few months ago. And from his reaction when he found out that just she knew about it, she didn't think he would appreciate it if she told anyone else. "I still can't believe Randy would resort to such extreme violence like this."

  Julie got up and moved next to Sly, leaning her head on his shoulder.

  Melissa watched a bird pull a worm out of the grass on the front lawn. "Poor Stephen. He must feel like there is no one left to love him." The robin flew away with the worm dangling from its beak. "Or for him to love."

  "He loves you," Sly said.

  Melissa jolted around to face him. "You don't mean that. And don't even joke about it."

  Julie said, "I'm sure he does."

  "Does what?" Stephen stood at the living room entrance, scratching the top of his head. He was fully dressed, but his clothes looked as though he had slept in them (His overnight bag with the remainder of his wardrobe was still in his old room at the Klaus mansion, and even though he had asked Sheriff Ryan to get them back for him, the police had yet to reply to the request). His hair was also unkempt.

  Melissa ran to him, breaking into a smile. "You're up," she said.

  Stephen brushed past her. "No shit. What was your first clue?" But he quickly turned around and took her hand. Her smile had disappeared. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean that."

  "I know you didn't." She tried to smile again, to show her support, but failed. "We're all under a lot of stress."

  Motioning for Melissa to sit, Stephen moved to the middle of the living room and straightened the strap for his arm cast. There were wrinkles on his face from the bed, and he had a two-day's growth of stubble. His expression was stolid. "I'm going to get my own room at the boarding house for the remaining time I'm in Dodsville." He paused, expecting a backlash from Julie. When he saw she remained staring at him without emotion, he continued. "I'm on my own now. So, I might as well get used to it right away. No use kidding myself anymore; I'm meant to be alone in life."

  Melissa stood, walked calmly up to him, and pushed him back onto the couch. "And who the hell are we?" She motioned toward Sly and Julie. "Chopped liver?"

  "You just feel sorry for me. You'll get over it."

  "The only person feeling sorry for you is you." Her facial expression softened. "We all love you, whether you want us to or not."

  Stephen relaxed a little and sighed through his nose. "I guess I know that," he said. "It's just that . . .” Tears formed in his eyes and rolled slowly down his cheeks. `

  Melissa sat beside him and hugged him. "Go ahead," she said. "Let it all out."

  * * *

  The church was half filled on the day of Lucille O'Neal's funeral. Most of the older folks in town remembered her from days past--before her husband died and she moved to Milwaukee to reside with her sister. A few of her friends made the drive up from Milwaukee to pay their last respects. The remainder of the mourners were either curiosity seekers wanting to see if a body actually made it to the graveyard without being stolen, or they were persons who had lost a loved one among the town’s missing and needed to hold onto something tangible.

  Beliwitz had yet to be apprehended, and security had been tight around the body since the day she died. Plain-clothes officers roamed casually around the churchyard, trying to appear inconspicuous. Even Detective Pierce and Sheriff Ryan sat in the back row.

  Only two persons were sitting in the front row when the
minister made his way to the pulpit. Melissa sat next to Stephen, holding tightly onto his right hand. She had insisted upon sitting with him, and Stephen gave her no argument. The thought of sitting up front by himself was not pleasant. He squeezed her hand gently, grateful for her care and companionship.

  The minister cleared his throat as the church bells quieted, and began the eulogy.

  Stephen didn't hear a word he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY:

  At the Boarding House

  Melissa approached the door of Stephen's rented room at the boarding house, but stopped before entering. The door was ajar and she overheard Tabitha's voice. She knew Stephen and Tabitha hadn't spoken to each other since the funeral, and only wanted to give them some time alone. She had no intention of eavesdropping. So, she stood silently right outside the small room.

  She had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. Melissa had visited Stephen several times since he moved in here a week earlier. Small, she knew, was too generous a word to describe Stephen's new suite. Though he claimed it was suitable--a cot, a dresser, and a closet--for someone with one overnight bag (Sheriff Ryan finally retrieved it from the mansion only two days ago), Melissa had to believe he would have been more comfortable staying at Julie's.

  The occupants were silent for a minute, and Melissa peered through the crack to see what was happening. Tabitha sat on the cot, staring solemnly down into her lap. Stephen sat in the only chair in the room and stared out the window into the parking lot below.

  "I'm sorry about not seeing you before this," Tabitha said, without looking up.

  Stephen turned in his chair to face her. "I understand. But you have to know it wasn't your fault. You believe that now, don't you?"

  "I shouldn't have made him so angry."

  "He was born angry."

  Tabitha looked up. "Not always. Not when we first started going out. Something happened along the way, though." She paused. "I only wish I knew what."

  "I wish I could turn back time," Stephen said, standing and walking to her. He sat down on the cot. "Back to when we were children again. Life was so simple then. But at the time I had thought it was so rough. Now look what's happening."

  Tabitha grabbed his right forearm. "We're going to get him," she said.

  "What?"

  "You and I," she replied. "We're going to find Randy and . . ."

  "And what?"

  "And get even." She let go of his arm and stood, facing away from him. "He killed my brother--and your grandmother."

  Melissa had heard enough. She kicked open the door and stormed into the room, as though she had caught them in some inexplicable act of hideous proportions. "I heard that," she said, stopping in front of Tabitha.

  "How long have you been out there?" Tabitha asked.

  "Long enough to hear about your plans for Randy." She walked back to the door and closed it. "And if you think I am not going to tell Julie and Sly about this, you're crazy. Randy is dangerous. And if you back him into a corner--"

  "If you would have waited outside the door for a couple of more seconds," Stephen interrupted, "you would have heard me tell Tabitha that I was not only against the idea, but would do anything it took to stop her."

  Tabitha turned sharply and glared at him.

  "That's right, Tabby," Stephen continued. "I agree with Melissa. Randy is just too dangerous. And now he's on the lam."

  Melissa said, "All right. I won't mention anything to Sly or Julie about this. That is, if Tabitha here gives me her word she's not going to do anything foolish."

  Tabitha sighed. "You have my word."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:

  Ann and Charlie

  Later that afternoon Stephen lay quietly on his cot, staring blankly at the ceiling. Tabitha and Melissa had left hours earlier and now he was alone with his thoughts. Which were troubling him. Too many people close to him had died--and had been taken from him before their time. He lost his parents when he was only eleven. That had hurt him so much he thought nothing that happened to him after that would shake him. But when Darla was killed by a drunk driver last Thanksgiving, he felt sure his heart would never recover. Then came Julie's phone call about Reed. Though he hadn't seen Reed in thirteen years, it had still affected him—more time would be needed for his heart to heal completely. Now his grandmother was gone. Now he had no one left.

  Of course, there was Melissa.

  No, Stephen thought, it was too soon after Reed’s death for her to be serious about anyone, including him. She may need him right now, maybe, but she would soon forget about him. Yes, he really was alone in the world.

  “Wait a minute.” He sat upright. “What about Ann?” A normal date with an attractive girl would be just the ticket.

  He went downstairs to the phone, looked her number up in the phone book, and called her.

  “I’d love to,” Ann replied when Stephen asked her if she wanted to see a movie that evening. “But what about Melissa? I’ve seen you with her a lot lately.”

  “She and I are just friends.” He winced at his own words. Yet, they were the truth.

  Stephen said he would pick her up at seven, and then went back to his room to take a nap. He whistled as he walked down the hallway.

  * * *

  Later that evening, as Stephen was getting ready for his date with Ann, Melissa knocked at his door. He had yet to put on a shirt--the only decent shirt he had brought with him he had worn to the two funerals--and his hair was wet. He opened the door, and took a quick step back when he saw who it was.

  "Melissa," he said, unable to look her in the eyes for more than a few seconds. "What are you doing here?"

  She brushed past him, not waiting for the invitation, and turned to face him. "I need to talk to you." Her facial expression was one of seriousness, though she appeared to Stephen to be nervous.

  "What about?"

  "Us."

  Stephen's eyebrows shot up, but he walked to the mirror on his dresser and began to comb his hair. "Actually, tonight is not such a good night." He looked at her image in the mirror in front of him. "I have to be somewhere in a couple of minutes."

  "Where you going?" There was a tone of disappointment in her voice.

  He put his comb down and faced her. "I'm sort of going out with Ann Smith tonight." Suddenly, he felt vastly uncomfortable. Again he couldn't meet her eyes. "Can we maybe talk tomorrow?"

  "No." She walked to the door, opened it, and turned back around. "I guess you’ve answered my question." She left without saying goodbye.

  Stephen stared for a minute at the open door she had just exited. At length he sighed and turned back to the task of combing his hair. The expression on his own face, he noticed, was not one of delight. "Well, kid," he said to his reflection. "You did the right thing.” He sighed heavily, glancing down at Melissa’s signature on his arm cast.

  “So how come I feel so empty inside?”

  Ann and Stephen went for a walk after the movie. They had seen Plan Nine From Outer Space and now they walked hand-in-hand on the side of a street at the edge of town. Stephen had yet to get another car, so he had been forced to walk to Ann's, and from there they both had walked to the theater.

  "Earth to O'Neal," Ann said after a few minutes of silence, squeezing his right hand gently. They walked through a residential area. "You still with me?"

  Stephen snapped out of his reverie. He had been thinking about the expression on Melissa's face when he told her he was going out with Ann. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

  "What were you thinking about?"

  "How glad I am be with you tonight."

  Ann smiled. "Really?"

  "Really," Stephen replied. And it was the truth. Still, why did he have that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he were cheating on somebody?

  They came to the end of the cul-de-sac, but a railroad track was just into the field ahead of them. They stepped off the end of the pavement, into the grass, and walked to the tracks. Stephen let go of An
n's hand and put his good arm around her. They walked in silence for a few minutes. The sun had long since set, and they proceeded out of range of the streetlights.

  The tracks wound into a small wooded area, and it became dark enough for them to have to worry about their footing. Stephen stopped and slapped at a mosquito on the back of his neck. Ann took him silently by the hand and led him up the embankment on the side of the tracks. They sat down on the top of it.

  "So, what are you thinking now?" Stephen asked, leaning toward her.

  Ann smiled in the darkness and leaned forward to meet his lips. She tried to embrace him, but his broken left arm got in the way. She pulled back, tried another angle, but with the same results.

  "Wait," Stephen said, pushing her away when she attempted her third approach. "This isn't going to work under these circumstances." He stood and walked down the embankment to the tracks. Another mosquito lit on his neck and he wiped it away. "Let's get out of these trees." He started walking down the tracks.

  Ann hurried down the hill to catch him. "What's wrong?" She grabbed onto his free hand.

  The trees began to clear, and the bright neon light of Rosey's Place became visible ahead. Stephen thought back to his first day in Dodsville--the night the horror started with the murder of Del Smith. "Let's go for a drink," he said. "What do you say?"

  "All right, but you didn't answer my question."

  "It's just this broken arm of mine. It gets on my nerves once in a while. Like now."

  Five minutes later they were seated at the bar. Four people shook dice for drinks at the other end, and an old man sat by himself at a booth, sipping slowly at his drink. He looked familiar to Stephen, but he couldn't place him.

  "Ah, the Irishman," the bartender said as he approached for their order. "About time you came back. What'll it be for ya tonight?"