The Revenant: A Horror in Dodsville

by Brian L. Blank

  Ann ordered a beer and Stephen ordered his usual Pepsi.

  The bartender returned a minute later, setting Ann's beer on the pad in front of her, and popped open a can a Pepsi for Stephen. "Heard about your accident," he said, pouring the Pepsi into a glass. "And about your grandmother. I'm awfully sorry."

  "Thanks."

  The bartender nodded toward Ann. "But I see you’re doing all right for yourself."

  Ann smiled and placed her hand on Stephen's knee.

  "Hey," the man from the booth called. "How about another whiskey over here?"

  "All right, Charlie," the bartender replied and turned away from Ann and Stephen.

  "Charlie?" Stephen whispered under his breath, finally realizing who the old man was. "He's the guy who said that Reed hadn't drowned."

  "What?" Ann asked.

  Stephen called the bartender over after he served Charlie. "What's Charlie's favorite drink?" he asked.

  "That would be an extremely dry vodka martini. Why?"

  "Get him one. On me."

  The bartender nodded and left.

  "You know that man?" Ann asked.

  "Slightly." He smiled at her. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't be mad, all right?" After receiving a smile from Ann in reply, Stephen got up and walked over to Charlie's booth.

  Charlie looked up at him suspiciously. "What do you want?"

  The bartender arrived with the drink before Stephen could reply. He set the drink down in front of Charlie and nodded toward Stephen.

  Charlie stared at the two drinks in front of him, as if not believing his good fortune, and then looked up at Stephen. "What do you want?" he asked again. The tone of hostility remained in his voice. Yet, he picked up the martini and took a sip.

  Stephen sat down across from him. "I don't know if you remember me or not." He waited as Charlie took a gulp of the martini and sighed. "But we met once before at this tavern. About a month ago."

  "So?"

  "Well, you told me that Reed Price hadn't drowned, even though the police report stated that he did." Stephen again waited while Charlie drank. "What did you mean when you said that?"

  Charlie lifted the martini to his lips and polished it off. He sighed heavily and wiped his chin with his shirtsleeve. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Stephen reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He placed a twenty-dollar bill in front of Charlie. "Remember now?"

  Charlie only glared back.

  Stephen placed another twenty on the table. "That's my last one."

  Charlie quickly scooped up the two bills, as if afraid Stephen would change his mind, and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He leaned over the table and motioned for Stephen to do the same. Stephen did, but backed off some when the fragrance from Charlie reached him. Charlie furtively scanned the tavern, as if making sure no one was paying any attention to him. Only Ann watched from the other side of the bar.

  "He's not dead," Charlie whispered hoarsely, and winked.

  Stephen leaned back in his seat. He shook his head at Charlie in disgust and started to get up. Charlie, however, grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

  "Now you asked," he said. "So you sit there and listen. But promise you won't say a word to anyone."

  Stephen nodded, looking at his watch.

  "It's the God's truth," Charlie said. "He's up and walking about like a cat on the prowl."

  "And I saw him in his coffin. How do you explain that?"

  "Can't," Charlie replied, shaking his head. "Only know I saw him the night after he supposedly drowned. It was right out back of this place in the alley. I was on my way home."

  "How can you be so sure it was Reed? Seems to me you may have been a little sauced up that night."

  Charlie flashed him a brief look of anger, then relaxed. "Even I thought it was the alcohol at first. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. But he was still there, grinning at me in the moonlight. 'Reed?' says I. 'That you?' There's not much light back there, so I goes closer to him to get a better look. He says to me, 'Hi, Charlie. See you're sauced up again.' Then he laughs and takes off running like he shouldn't be there." Charlie took a quick drink of his whiskey. "And there was something in his run that bothered me. He didn't move quite right, like he had a stick up his ass. You know what I mean?"

  "Not really." Stephen thought about what Tabitha had said about Reed being out at the mansion. And then there was good old Aunt Martha who claimed Reed had winked at her in his coffin.

  "I thought I saw him one time after that, too," Charlie continued. "But he kept away from me." He belched and winced. "And I didn't go after him."

  "Interesting story," Stephen said, and stood. "But it couldn't possibly have been Reed you saw."

  "Probably right," Charlie replied, reaching for his whiskey. "Probably only tricks of the booze." He smiled and took a prodigious swallow of his drink. "But well worth it."

  Stephen shook his head and left Charlie to his own private party. Ann smiled when she saw Stephen approaching her.

  But that smile didn't last long as she noticed Stephen's deep frown. "What was that all about?" she asked.

  He picked up his glass of Pepsi and downed it without sitting or stopping for a breath. He belched. "Let's go," he said. He waved to the bartender, who waved back, and headed for the exit.

  Ann had to hurry to catch him.

  * * *

  Charlie watched them leave, rubbing the gray stubble on his chin. When they had closed the door behind them, he pulled the two twenties out of his pocket and unfolded them. He flipped them around in his hands a couple of time, as if making sure they weren't counterfeit. He crawled out of the booth, hanging onto the side of the table until he got his balance, and stumbled toward the bar. He waved a twenty in front of the bartender. "Bottle of your best, Rich."

  Charlie left a minute later, whistling and carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels in a brown paper sack. He exited by way of the back door, as he always did when he decided not to call a taxi and walk, and stepped out into the darkened alley. It was a shortcut home. He had taken this route through the alley and out to Fifth Street hundreds of times since he first began frequenting Rosey's Place over two decades ago.

  The moonlight glinted on an old beer can, and Charlie kicked at it and missed.

  "Not as young as you used to be, huh?"

  Charlie almost choked on his whistling. The voice had come from just up ahead. Squinting his old eyes, he saw two silhouettes standing beside one another ten yards in front of him. Charlie squinted harder, trying to make out who it was. One of the silhouettes was an adult, but the other was much shorter.

  "Hello, Charlie," the large silhouette said.

  Charlie recognized the voice. He laughed nervously. "That you, Reed?" he asked, sliding his right foot backwards, toward the safety of the tavern. A slight breeze caused a strand of his hair to fall in front of his eyes. He quickly brushed it away.

  The tall silhouette took a step forward; the shorter followed. "You've been talking, haven't you, Charlie?"

  "He gave me forty bucks." Charlie held up the brown paper bag. "See?"

  Something in the hand of the shorter silhouette glinted in the moonlight, much like the old beer can Charlie missed kicking a minute ago. Both figures came toward Charlie slowly, seeming to float inches above the gravel of the alley. Charlie swallowed hard, but stood his ground. They stopped three feet in front of them, close enough for Charlie to see their faces.

  "Who's the little girl with you here, Reed?" Charlie asked. He stared down at their feet and tried telling himself he wasn't actually seeing the two inches of space between them and the gravel of the alley.

  Reed reached out and placed his hand gently on Charlie's right cheek. Charlie flinched from the coldness of the touch. "We can’t have you spouting off, Charlie," Reed said, dropping his hand to his side. "You understand, don't you?"

  Swamp gas, Charlie thought, wishing he could take a quick drink of what was in the bag. Reed�
��s breath smelled like swamp gas. He nodded. The side of his face was still numb from Reed's touch.

  Reed looked down and nodded at the little girl. She smiled in the darkness and nodded back. She raised the glinting object she held in her right hand.

  Charlie saw the knife only an instant before she plunged it into his belly. He grabbed his stomach, shaking his head vehemently. "No," he croaked. He fell to his knees, held that position for a second, and then continued forward onto his face. The bottle hit beside him and broke. Whiskey trickled out of the brown bag toward Charlie. He tasted it when it reached his mouth. He croaked one last time, and then was silent.

  Reed kicked him over onto his back, and the girl immediately jumped on the body. She stabbed down with the knife two more times.

  Reed helped her to her feet and took the knife from her hand. He led her by that same hand down the alley and into the darkness.

  * * *

  "First thing tomorrow," Stephen said as he and Ann walked up the stairs to the second story of the boarding house, "I get another rent-a-car." Even though his left leg showed little signs of the accident, it was now sore enough to cause a slight limp in his gait. "That is if they'll let me."

  There was a window at the top of the stairs at the end of the hall that led to his room, and Stephen stopped to look out at the town. Everything appeared still--and innocent--and he wondered how anyone could be having a problem on such a night. The moon was out and cast a dull glow on the houses and lawns and cars.

  "Are you going to invite me to your room?" Ann stood on the last step, waiting for Stephen to move.

  He looked away from the window and at her. "You're beautiful in this light," he said, smiling.

  "It's about time you noticed." She climbed the last step, took Stephen by the hand and led him down the hall to his room. She locked the door behind them, as they both took off their shoes.

  Ann reached behind his neck and pulled the arm strap over his head and slid it off his cast. She threw it into a corner. "We don't want that getting in the way anymore."

  She leaned toward him and planted her lips on his. He opened his mouth and met her tongue with his own. Without letting go, he backed her to the cot, and they fell onto it. Ann giggled for a few seconds, but Stephen attacked her mouth with his and she stopped. He reached behind her and fumbled at her bra strap through the blouse she was wearing. Even with the cast coming down over his left wrist, he managed to unsnap it. She leaned back away from him and pulled the blouse over her head. The brassiere fell to the cot. Stephen picked it up and tossed it onto the dresser.

  “Perfect breasts,” He whispered, as she lay back on the mattress. He moved down quickly and caressed the right breast with his good hand as he kissed the left. Ann responded by moaning with pleasure.

  He mumbled into her breast, "How are we ever going to manage with my broken arm?"

  Ann smiled down at him. "Don't worry," she replied. "We’ll think of something."

  He pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, before moving up to her lips again. Their tongues darted in and out of each other’s mouths. His hand slid down and he undid her pants.

  She pushed him away. “Off for a second.”

  Stephen frowned as he rolled over, but smiled again after seeing what she was up to. She pulled off her pants and tossed them on the floor. “Wait,” he said, as she reached for her panties. “I want to.” He grabbed onto the waistband with his good hand and worked them down inch by inch. When they were down to her ankles, she kicked them the rest of the way off. He then pulled off both her socks. She lay there now, totally naked.

  She sat up and pulled Stephen’s shirt out of his pants. Without bothering to unbutton it, she grabbed it in the middle and yanked it apart. Buttons flew across the room. My best shirt, Stephen thought, but didn’t say aloud.

  He only smiled again as she unzipped his pants and pulled them off, while he took off what was left of his shirt. His underwear and socks quickly followed.

  She attacked his lips, her tongue darting deeply into his mouth. He moved his right hand from her breast down her body slowly until he stopped between her legs. She opened them slightly as she moaned again, somewhat louder this time.

  Later, when he entered her, Stephen forgot all about Melissa.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  The Alibi

  Ann rode along with Stephen in the taxi the following morning out to the airport to pick up another rent-a-car. He chose a Ford Escort this time, trying to be more frugal. He hadn't expected to be spending nearly this much time in Dodsville, and his resources were starting to run low. Paying with his only credit card, he was thankful after checking that the issuing bank offered full insurance when the holder rented a car. The manager, managing the only rent-a-car business in Dodsville, called to make sure of this fact, eyeing Stephen suspiciously over his bifocal glasses.

  On the way back into town, they stopped at The Border Cafe for a quick breakfast. From there they headed straight back to the boarding house.

  "Shit," Stephen said, noticing Detective Pierce's familiar brown station wagon in the parking lot. He almost decided to drive on, but he realized that would only be postponing the inevitable. He parked the Escort next to Pierce's car.

  "This is just great," he said to Ann as they walked to the front entrance. "What did I do now?" This is what I get for getting up so blasted early, he thought.

  Ann opened the door and held it for him to pass. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

  "You'll see in a minute."

  Pierce sat on the couch in the front lobby, his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. Mrs. Potch stood behind the counter. She gave Stephen a look of disgust when she saw him. Stephen wondered if it was because of something Pierce had told her, or because he had a girl in his room last night. Pierce, on the other hand, showed no emotion when he looked up and saw them enter. He only motioned for Stephen to sit in the chair across from him.

  Stephen didn't like the fact that Pierce wasn't up in his face, giving him a hard time. Something had happened during the night, he thought bleakly. No doubt about it. He was quietly happy that Ann had spent the entire evening with him. This time he would have an alibi.

  "Well, what is it this time?" Stephen asked as he sat down. Ann sat next to him and held his hand. Pierce saw this and scowled. "I take it you're not here on a social call."

  Pierce hesitated a moment, as if trying to find the right words, before replying. "Where did you and the young lady go after you left Rosey's last night?" he asked at length. Still, he showed no emotion.

  "Why don't you just tell me what happened last night?" Stephen replied. He was beginning to regret his decision not to just keep driving past the boarding house.

  "Just answer the question please, O'Neal." Pierce spoke in a monotone.

  "What makes you even think we were at Rosey’s last night?” Stephen frowned. "Or are you still having me followed?"

  Pierce hesitated again before replying. "I talked with the bartender who worked there last evening."

  "And why exactly would you want to do that?" Stephen knew he was pushing him. Yet, he didn't like that look completely void of expression that Pierce was giving him.

  Pierce sighed. "Because an early morning jogger stumbled upon a dead body in the alleyway right behind that particular building. The bartender claims you spoke with the deceased only minutes before he left the tavern. You even bought him a martini and gave him some money. He also says you left in quite a hurry after talking with this man."

  "Charlie's dead?" Stephen asked, already knowing the answer. Ann tightened her grip on his hand.

  "That's the one," Pierce said, still showing no emotion. "So, you can guess why I'm here this morning, wishing to find out where you spent your time after leaving the tavern."

  Stephen bit his lower lip. Someone had killed Charlie. Pierce hadn't said it was a murder, but then why would he be here if it wasn't?

  Ann spoke before Stephen had the chance: "
We came directly back here. On foot. And Stephen was never out of my sight. Not for the entire evening."

  Stephen could almost feel Mrs. Potch's glare. "That's right," he said. "So, you now know that I couldn't possibly have had anything to do with Charlie after I left him." Stephen knew that somehow he was involved; it was just too much of a coincidence. Someone objected to Charlie having spoken to him. Someone who objected enough to have Charlie silenced for good.

  Pierce turned to the manager. "Mrs. Potch?" She was still behind the counter. "Did this young lady spend the evening here last night?"

  "It's not allowed," she replied stiffly. "But I wouldn't know. I go to bed at ten."

  Detective Pierce sighed and scratched the top of his head. "What exactly did you and Charlie Fiest talk about last night?" he asked. "It must have been important since you paid him."

  He had Stephen there. "Maybe I owed him some money," he replied, more to stall for enough time to think of a good excuse than to be a smart ass.

  Pierce gave him a hard glare. "Why would you need to lie, O'Neal?" he asked. "What exactly is it you're trying to hide?" He stood and calmly straightened his pants' legs. Then he pointed a finger at Stephen. "It's only a matter of time," he said, "before I nail your ass to the wall." He turned to Ann. "And if I were you, I'd leave this asshole in my tracks. Fast. Before you find yourself so deep in trouble you’ll need an oxygen tank just to breathe." And with that final warning, he stormed out of the building.

  Stephen and Ann started toward the stairs, but Mrs. Potch stopped them. "May I have a word with you, Mr. O'Neal?" she asked, quite colorlessly. "Alone."

  "I'll wait for you up in your room," Ann said, taking the blatant hint.

  Stephen approached Mrs. Potch, knowing what was coming.

  "You know the rules around here about members of the opposite gender," she said, glaring at him over her glasses. "You are to have no girls in your room after ten o'clock."

  "It won't happen again, Mrs. Potch. I can guarantee it." Stephen didn't want to get kicked out of the boarding house. The only other place he'd be able to afford was Julie's apartment. And he didn't want to go back there; not after what he had said before leaving.