Blood Stained

by CJ Lyons

  Guided by the narrow beam of light, his footsteps crunched through dead leaves and tinder, releasing the scent of hemlock and pine and decay.

  If he wasn't who he thought he was, then who was he? With each footstep one answer echoed through his mind: his father's son.

  His father would disagree. Had disagreed when he left Adam, abandoned him as a failure and ran off with Morgan in tow.

  This was Adam's last chance to prove him wrong.

  <><><>

  "We shouldn't have included Megan in our discussion." Lucy grabbed the mouthwash and rinsed while Nick flossed beside her at the bathroom sink. He always had so much more patience than her. Would floss each tooth twice then brush for the full two minutes, no cheating. Lucy used a kid's toothbrush with a noisy timer to keep her honest. But her dentist said it helped keep her TMJ symptoms down, especially since she kept losing or breaking night splints.

  Nick pulled the floss free. "After September, we need to give her some sense of control over her life. Besides, she's thirteen now—"

  "That doesn't make her an adult—"

  "You don't think I'm adult enough to have been included in our discussion." He snapped the floss one last time, the string so tight his fingers went white. "You wanted me to cave in, do whatever you damn well wanted."

  She yanked the toothbrush from her mouth and spat. The motor kept whining, flinging toothpaste all over the mirror. She turned it off. The sudden silence made the small room feel even smaller.

  "Doing what I damn well wanted would ensure your and Megan's safety. I don't see how that's a mistake." She wiped her face on one of their mismatched towels. Her jaws were clenched so tight, lightning crackled along the nerves into her ears. So much for controlling the TMJ.

  Nick saw it too. He dropped the floss into the waste can and stood behind her, his fingers expertly massaging the tension away from her neck and jaw. Slowly the pain eased. "I know you want what's best for us, but being locked away in a jail of our own making isn't going to keep us safe. Especially not Megan, not at her age. The more you try to protect her, the more she'll try to fight free."

  She leaned back into his healing warmth. "Maybe. But the New Hope case—"

  Her shoulders tightened and he laid his palms down on them, pressing gently until the muscles relaxed.

  "You never told me what happened." He sounded hurt.

  She opened her mouth then shut it again. She didn't want to make an excuse. And she wasn't ready to dissect those memories.

  Their eyes met in the mirror. His calm, waiting. Hers tight with worry.

  "Have you considered that maybe the emotions you associate with the New Hope case are making you overreact?" His work voice. She hated when he used it on her. Not because he might treat her like a patient, but because when he got all calm and reasonable, he was usually right.

  "You think I overreacted?" The thought hadn't even occurred to her. Although Lord only knew, she was prone to jumping in first, figuring out the details later. She trusted her gut instinct. It's what kept her alive and successful as a street agent. Now that she sat behind a desk, her greatest strength had become her greatest liability.

  Maybe she had overreacted. She abandoned all thoughts of dental hygiene and sat down on the toilet. "What do you think of the note? Professionally?"

  He thought about it for a long moment. His eyes turned paler than their usual gray as he focused on a distant point, chin tilted so a stray lock of sandy colored hair fell into his face. "From what I read in the papers, the man behind the New Hope case was some kind of mastermind, able to elude police for years, getting away with kidnapping, rape, and murder. When you cornered him, he killed himself, taking his last victim with him rather than let you rescue her…Classic malignant narcissistic personality."

  "What if the letter's right and that wasn't really the killer down in that cave?" Impossible. She'd seen the man plunge to his death, taking Marion Caine with him. But her job was to explore every possibility—no matter how remote.

  "Then the New Hope Killer was even more brilliant if he was able to fool you and escape. First of all, why call that to your attention after all this time? Second, look at the letter. Whoever wrote it has the emotional IQ of a child Megan's age. There's no evidence of true narcissism or sociopathy. Despite the melodramatic language, the intent seems almost the opposite. It's not about 'look at me, I fooled you, I'm brilliant.' This letter is more like a cry for help.

  "My bet is you'll get another letter in a few days telling you the real reason they need help. Then another hinting at their location or identity. Breadcrumbs to get you to come rescue them. Whoever sent that letter is no killer. That much I'm certain of."

  She traced the hexagonal black and white tiles with her toe. Nick was right. The letter was childish. Attention-getting more than threatening.

  "You said it sounded like a kid. If so, I know who sent it."

  "Who?"

  "Adam Caine."

  "The boy whose mom died?"

  She nodded. It had to be Adam. He'd be what, fourteen, now? And she may have mentioned Megan to him while trying to comfort him in the aftermath of his mother's death.

  "But why?" she asked. Adam could have easily picked up the phone, called her. There was no reason for playing games.

  Nick misunderstood her question. "Lucy, you're a hero. Who else would he send it to?"

  If only he hadn't said that. Not that way, his voice filled with pride. She looked away, her gaze zeroing in on the corner below the tub where the grout had turned dingy gray because she never took the time to properly get into the tight area when scrubbing and do the job right.

  Just like she hadn't in New Hope.

  "Hey, what's wrong?" Nick said. He crouched down to her level and tipped her chin towards him.

  Tears choked her throat. She swallowed them without allowing any to come to the surface. Shook her head. Blinked hard as her gaze scoured the rest of the tiny room, seeking out further evidence of her housekeeping failures. Looking anywhere except at him.

  "I'm no hero," she muttered, pushing to her feet and marching out to the bedroom, leaving him behind. She dreaded the day when she'd have to finish the sentence, tell him the truth about what happened in New Hope. Everything that happened. And didn't.

  The day when she'd confess she was a coward.

  Maybe that's why Adam sent the letter. He finally realized Lucy was to blame for his mother's death.

  Chapter 5

  The cave was a constant fifty-six degrees year round, so Adam didn't bother with a fire. Especially after finding his stuff sealed up just fine, except for a few books animals had nested in. Huddled at his table in his bedroom, wrapped in his sleeping bag, he examined his belongings. Everything he needed. Unless he had to stay here more than a few days.

  Dad said never plan too far ahead. "It'll only break your heart."

  Better to learn how to improvise, go with the flow. Something Dad relished. Morgan, too. Sometimes the two of them would start riffing and lie to fish just for the fun of it. Adam couldn't do that. He liked to have a plan—at least the inkling of one—and he craved routine, security.

  Two things Dad scoffed at. "You guys are the luckiest kids in the world," he'd proclaim as they left one town for the next. "I'm giving you the whole wide world. How many fathers do that for their kids? No one. No one except me."

  He'd honk the horn to punctuate the sentiment and smile expectantly at Adam and Morgan. That smile was a starter gun, triggering a competition to outdo each other with their thank yous. Morgan always won, of course.

  Adam liked Morgan, but he liked it better when it was just him and Dad. Until two years ago when he took a growth spurt and started scaring the fish. That's when Dad began checking in on his other kids. They even came back here to New Hope—although Dad made sure no one saw them—before Dad decided it was time for Morgan to start learning the family business.

  They didn't come back to New Hope after that. Adam wondered how the kids he
re were doing. He was their big brother. He should make sure they were all right. Dad would want that. Family was everything to Dad.

  He glanced at his watch in the light from the wind-up flashlight. Almost midnight. A good time to check on the kids without anyone seeing him. He was tired but the more he thought about seeing his half-brothers and sister, the more he wanted to. It had been months since he felt a real connection to anyone, especially a bond like what he had with Dad. He missed that so much, his insides ached as bad as when he got food poisoning after dumpster diving in Cleveland.

  Adam re-dressed in his layers, adding a black Steelers knit cap turned inside out to cover his light hair. The cap was a little small—he'd been ten when he last wore it—but it stretched enough to fit.

  While he sorted through the old clothing, he found the first paracord bracelet he ever made. Mrs. Chesshir had taught the class how to weave the special knots. Some of the other boys laughed, saying it was like knitting. Knowing how to make the bracelets kept him alive in Cleveland. Not just selling them for a few bucks on the street, but having something to do. A purpose.

  The bracelet had been too big for him back then. He'd used about ten feet of paracord, way too much. Now it fit just right. And it was red—Dad's favorite color. That had to be a good omen. He slipped it on, then grabbed his knife and the duct tape he'd taken from the Safeway, the roll smushed flat to fit in his pocket without making a bulge.

  Be prepared, Dad always said. Just like the Boy Scouts.

  <><><>

  He came out of the woods behind the elementary school and headed west along Pine Avenue. He didn't pass a single soul on the way and only saw the headlights of one car in the distance, but it turned before drawing near.

  Marty and Darrin lived a couple of blocks away from each other, but their houses were very different. Marty and his mom had a brick ranch house with a small yard and carport and a rope swing dangling from a big old maple in the backyard.

  Darrin lived up the hill in a house that stood all alone, surrounded by forest as it glared down at the town below. Darrin's house was built in layers like a wedding cake cut in half and welded to the side of the hill, all glass and wood and steel beams jutting out.

  No one in New Hope liked Darrin's house. Or Darrin's mom's husband who built it.

  When Adam was about Darrin and Marty's age, six, Mom got sick for the first time and had her surgery. Then chemo. Dad stayed home, took care of her, worked only local deliveries during those two years before she was strong enough to handle him leaving on long-distance hauls.

  Adam still remembered her crying the first time Dad left. But he came home with a new fish and things changed. Mom had something to do, taking care of the fish when Dad was gone. Sometimes there was more than one. Then she began to go fishing with Dad, leaving Adam home alone. He figured out at the time it had something to do with Mom not being able to have any more kids.

  Kids were so very important to Dad. Even though half the time he accused Adam of not being his. Usually when Adam messed up. So Adam tried harder to get things right, to do them just like Dad would, make Dad proud of him.

  When he did…it was better than Christmas and Easter and summer vacation all wrapped up into one bright moment. He treasured each of those moments, reliving them in his memory, trying to figure out what he did right and how he could win Dad's smile again.

  Checking on the little kids, taking care of them for Dad, that would definitely be a step in the right direction. Not as big as reeling in a fish, but close.

  He started with Marty's house. Marty's mom's Honda made ticking noises as the engine cooled in the carport. She must have just gotten home from her shift at the hospital. He slid between the brick wall and the hemlocks that lined the front wall of the house. A perfect hiding place to see inside through the wide picture window.

  To his surprise, Marty was up. It was way past a little kid's bedtime. Even worse, his mom was yelling at Marty. "Go to bed, young man."

  "When's my Daddy coming home? I want my Daddy!" Over and over and over he cried, his wailing so loud, Adam thought the window would shake out of its frame.

  Marty's mom hugged him but he fought free. When Marty stopped screaming long enough to drag in a breath, she shouted, "He's not coming back, he's never coming back! Now go to bed before I give you a spanking."

  Marty froze. His mouth wide open, his eyes wide. The same look of sheer terror the fish got after Dad hooked them. He ran from the room, his little feet thump-thumping loudly even after he vanished down the hall.

  His mom took one step after him.

  Anger surged through Adam. She had no right to yell at a little kid like that. Of course he wanted his daddy. Who wouldn't?

  If she went after Marty, he'd break in and stop her. He'd been hit too many times. No way would he let his little brother get treated that way. Dad wouldn't stand for it.

  But she didn't go after Marty. Instead she collapsed onto the couch, buried her face in her hands, and cried. Adam couldn't stand watching that. He hated women crying—just like Dad—so he left to go check on Darrin.

  <><><>

  It was a climb up a lonely gravel drive to get to Darrin's house. House, not home. There was nothing warm and homey here. The hill was steep, although nothing compared to the mountain looming above it. Leaving the house always in shadow.

  Lights were on in every window. Still it felt gloomier here than down the hill at Marty's home. Colder, too.

  Before he chose Morgan, Dad visited Darrin's house more than any of the others. He always came away pinch-eyed and angry. Maybe because Darrin's mom's husband was so rich. Or maybe because he was never home with his family. A lobbyist in DC, he worked there most of the week then would fly his plane back home for the weekend.

  Adam once asked Dad why Darrin and his mom didn't live with her husband. And why he'd built such an expensive house way up the side of the mountain when he was never home to use it. Dad said it was because the SOB wanted to build the perfect prison.

  That created more questions than answers, but when Dad got that look on his face, you knew better than to keep asking, so Adam shut up and watched as Dad showed him where the security cameras were and how to tell if the alarm was on or not. Every time they checked on Darrin, the alarm had been off, but Adam didn't take any chances. He shimmied his way through snow-covered pine needles to shine his light through the basement window. If he angled his body just right, half way down the window well and stretched to the left, he could see the alarm box. Green light. It was off.

  Adam brushed off the dirt and leaves and pine needles then trudged up the hill alongside the house's foundation. The cement blocks stepped up as they formed the wall, but there were no steps for Adam, just a rain-washed patch of dirt. Finally he made it to the rear of the house where the kitchen opened onto a wide deck notched into the side of the mountain. There was no view here, unlike the front of the house that was shaped like a glass boat keel and looked out over the valley. There was also no sunlight except right at noon, making the deck with its hopeful wooden swing set and playhouse a dark and dreary place.

  Adam heard shouting, just like at Marty's house. Only this time it was a man. Adam climbed over the deck railing and peered in through the kitchen window. A little boy stood beside an open cellar door, his arms filled with sheets. His pajama bottoms were wet. And he was crying.

  No frank sobs. But tears shone in the overhead light. He bit his lip, his entire body trembling. And he stood there. Silent.

  The man yelling at him wasn't tall, but he was big. Adam smiled at the sight of his belly hanging out between the waistband of his boxers and the bottom of his undershirt. The only times he'd ever seen Darrin's mom's husband before was when he came to town around election day to talk with the farmers. He always looked out of place with his spiffed-up suit and city-shoes. Without the fancy clothes, he looked like anyone else in New Hope. He even had a tattoo: Daffy Duck, hunched forward, hands on his hips. Angry just like his owner.r />
  Mr. Daffy moved his hands up and down as he yelled. Darrin's gaze never left those hands. He knew where the real danger lay.

  "Look at me when I'm talking to you! You bedwetting little faggot. You get down there and wash those sheets and filthy clothes so your mother won't have to." He pointed to the open doorway behind the boy and the darkness that lay beyond. The way down to the cellar. Darrin cringed and edged away from the steps.

  The man blocked his escape. "Get down there right now. You hear me?"

  A woman came in from the front of the house. Darrin's mom. She never left the house, so Adam had only seen her from a distance. Up close, he saw she was younger than Daffy Duck. Dark hair hanging down past her shoulders. Skinny, but big breasts. A good fish. Just the way Dad liked them.

  She wore a fancy silk robe and kept twisting the belt as she shuffled into the kitchen, eyes always aimed at her feet, so Adam couldn't really see her face. In the hallway behind her, he caught a glimpse of a girl, about his age. The big sister. She should take better care of her little brother, he thought, glaring at her even though there was no way she could see him in the shadows.

  The girl flattened herself against the wall, listening but poised to run away. No fight in her. Just another fish.

  "Are you deaf, boy?" The man thundered, raising his fist.

  The mother shuffled faster, still not looking up. "Darrin." Her voice was soft but carried. "Listen to your father now."

  She joined the man. Together they formed an impenetrable barrier. Darrin looked up at both of them then looked behind him to the dark stairway. The man pointed. Stood there like the grim reaper.

  Adam couldn't hear Darrin's sigh of surrender, but he felt it. The way the boy's expression crumbled to the ground as he inched along the fancy tiled floor, focusing on his feet as they climbed down. As soon as he'd gone three steps, the man slammed the door shut behind him and bolted it.