She changed the TV channel, the repulsive food raising bile into the back of her throat. The screen switched to some historical setting describing centuries old medical treatments. Priests and doctors in strange garb tended patients with methods both outdated and disturbing. Amanda watched in fascination, wondering if a needle pushed into her orbital socket, or a hole bored into her skull might take away the pain, might relieve the pressure building inside her head and heart. Perhaps a bloodletting—gaping cuts to leak away the toxins debasing her dreams with insidious corruption. Still, she doubted a thousand leeches could draw out the poison polluting her memories. No treatments modern or centuries old knew how to erase the agony of a mother’s grief.
Her phone sang from the end table—some random song selected simply to have one, easier to hear than rings and chimes—the sound like a gong shattering her thoughts. She wanted to ignore it…
“Sheriff Beacher.”
“Amanda, it’s Bill Simmons.”
Bill Simmons, captain for Tuscaloosa City Police and an old friend of her family, she had a good idea why he would be calling. Her anger gained new life, flaring into a blaze.
“April?” asked Amanda—more statement than
question.
“I’m afraid so. Picked her up for shoplifting…again.”
Amanda sighed, letting the anger flow out in the exhalation, the next intake of breath bringing with it apathetic acceptance. “I’ll be right there.”
“We go way back, Amanda. Your dad meant the world to me. But I can’t keep looking the other way and letting her off the hook. This is the third time in a year I’ve had to bring her in.”
“I know, Bill. I appreciate you allowing me to handle it.”
“Please do. Handle it, I mean. Next time, I’ll have to charge her.”
“I understand. I’m on my way.” She ended the call and reclined her head onto the sofa cushion, the back of her hand pressed against her forehead. April, her little sister, at one time closer to a daughter than a sister, Amanda practically raised her after their parents died, and never a chore she resented. Their closeness gave each of them strength, and their love provided a bond to bind and carry them through the change and upheaval. Here, you stood by family, always and through anything. Almost anything. Not the death of a son. Estrangement snuck into the gaps wedged by grief and guilt, especially when recrimination compounded the loss.
* * *
Ten-year-old Amanda was thrilled with the prospect of having a baby sister, the next best thing to getting a puppy. Although the constant crying and funky smell dulled the allure when the chubby pink bundle actually arrived in the Woods’ household, Amanda still relished having a sibling to play with. As they grew, April’s constant desire to stay underfoot and butting in when Amanda had rather be alone or undisturbed with friends, cramped her style a bit, but never so much to seriously damage their closeness.
A clear division of paternal focus avoided either girl feeling a lack of attention. Amanda, a tomboy, idolized her father and remained his ever-present shadow, working alongside him in the yard and watching old cowboy movies with dreams of being Roy Rogers or John Wayne. April, on the other hand, was a momma’s girl who had rather play house and dress up her Barbies. The accident devastated each of them in different ways. Amanda still remembered the tears glossing Jerrod Banks’ eyes when he came to the door with the news. She lost her greatest hero that day and set her mind toward honoring his memory. She would follow in his footsteps and someday wear his badge. April, only six, could not process the loss, each day expecting her mother to come home.
“I want mommy,” she cried into Amanda’s shoulder.
“I know you do. But mommy and daddy are in heaven. We’ll see them again someday.” Amanda hugged her sister close, fighting back her own tears. Her grief would need to wait until she huddled in her bed, away from April. For her sister, she had to appear strong.
Their grandmother moved in with them, but they did not know her well, and she was not in the best health, so at sixteen Amanda became as much mother as sister to April, the weight of responsibility settling on her young shoulders.
April gazed up, her nose red, tears streaking her cheeks. Her tiny lips quivered and the fear in her eyes broke Amanda’s heart. You won’t leave me, will you?”
“Never,” said Amanda.
“We’ll always be together?” April snuggled close.
“Always.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Amanda mustered a smile and kissed April on the forehead. The exchange became a nightly ritual and each night Amanda promised. They grew close, inseparable, as time passed. Even when Amanda attended college and later married, April remained a fixture in her life. April adopted Tommy as more brother than nephew. The two adored each other. And Amanda kept her promise…until the day Tommy died.
Gary had made partner at his firm and Amanda now the new sheriff, but they managed a date night each month. April never needed to be cajoled into baby-sitting, but jumped at every opportunity to spend time with Tommy. The call came in while Amanda and Gary laughed and caressed hands across the table at Salvatore’s Restaurant.
April in hysterics. “Tom-Tommy…I can’t find him. I-I…”
Gary raced home with Amanda’s heart threatening to explode in her chest. All the fear swelling inside, building during the mad rush home, rose to fill her entire body as their house came into sight. Red and blue flashing lights, a half dozen patrol cars, paramedics, and a horde of onlookers congregated in the yard.
Amanda ignored April’s panicked pleas as well as the words of comfort and assurance from neighbors, pushing past them to follow her deputies into the forest. They searched for two days and finally Amanda herself found Tommy’s body. Scanning across the river, she noticed a hint of fabric caught on a branch. A fallen tree had collapsed into the water, its lower half submerged. Amanda plodded into the water, oblivious to the frigid sting. Closer now, a hand lay limp against the bark. She dove into the ice-cold water, frantic slaps beating against the surface. His body, bloated and gray, would not budge from the tangle of limbs. Skin sloughed off in her hands as she tugged. Men with tools were needed to cut the branches away, free him, and drag his little body onto the bank. Amanda sat there, drenched and freezing, shaking with sobs and holding her son to her chest. April found her and knelt close.
“Oh my god. No, no.” April reached out to touch Tommy, but Amanda jerked to the side, keeping the body out of her sister’s reach.
The pure venom oozing from her glare thrust April away like a physical blow. Hurt and shame washed over April’s face as she backed away and ambled from the forest. Amanda had never forgotten that look, nor had she ever forgiven her sister.
* * *
Amanda waited for the officers to escort April from the holding cells, half-listening to the duty sergeant—a burly, baby-faced man who gave credence to the donut loving, cop stereotype.
“…so guy goes to make his getaway and the dumb fuck’s locked his keys in the car.” The sergeant bellowed laughter that echoed down the hallway.
Amanda smiled. “Gotta love stupid criminals.”
“I’ll say.” He nodded toward the distant door. “Here comes your package.”
Skeletal and sickly looking, April tottered along behind a female officer. Her threadbare dress left little to the imagination, though in truth, her rail thin frame resembled a prepubescent boy more than a twenty-four-year old woman. She did not look up at Amanda as the officer removed the cuffs and signed her out, nor did she speak as they exited the precinct.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Amanda’s hand darted out to slam the passenger door shut as April opened it. “What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m sick and tired of bailing your ass out of trouble.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” April’s voice, lifeless and brittle, whispered from beneath stringy, unkempt hair, black in the night’s dim light and gently streaming with the breeze. An appar
ition of the sister Amanda once knew and loved, April swayed like an after image, the real thing long removed.
“No. Bill did. You remember him, right? Captain Simmons?” Amanda huffed. “He won’t let you slide again. And if they catch you shoplifting, possessing…anything, you won’t go to county. It’ll be state prison.”
“I don’t care.” April stared at the ground, unwilling to meet Amanda’s glower.
Amanda stomped forward, her nose inches from her sister’s. “The pity party shit won’t work. We’ve been down this road too many times.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m done, April. This is the last time I help you. You’re on your own. I’m done with you.”
April tilted her head, her deep, brown eyes—hollow, dead things—locked onto Amanda’s. “You were done with me a long time ago.”
Amanda clamped down on her emotions. Not again, she would not let April play the victim and suck her in. “Whatever. Here’s twenty bucks. Catch a cab and go back wherever it is you go. And…don’t call me again.”
She left her little sister standing there, framed in the Tuscaloosa City Jail’s entrance. On the drive home, her thoughts whirled in a torrent of anger and frustration. Images she fought hard to suppress winked in and out—her parents lying somber in their caskets, April sitting on a cot behind bars, Gary kissing another woman, and Tommy… By the time she entered her front door, the thermostat inside her had hit the boiling point. When the phone rang, she snatched it up. April could not respect her request for an hour.
Enough, goddammit. I’ve had it!
“I told you not to call here anymore,” she snapped into the phone.
“Would you rather I just stop by?”
Shit, Gary.
She had avoided his calls for weeks, and honestly, it surprised he had not already turned up on her doorstep, which would have been awkward to say the least.
“What do you want, Gary.”
She heard an exasperated sigh on the other end. “If you want to do away with any pretense at civility, fine. You know very well what I want.”
“I don’t have time for this right now.”
“You need to make time. I’ve been more than patient. I’ve given you space and time. You have to admit I’ve haven’t pushed you…not until recently. But I moved out two years ago. It’s time we both move on.”
Amanda huffed. “So you can marry that bitch?”
“Don’t do that, Amanda. You don’t know her. And besides, it’s none of your business. Just sign the papers so we can get this over with.”
“I’m dealing with three missing girls who might be dead. I think it’s a little more important than your goddamn divorce.” Anger boiled right over the lip of the pot—her fists and teeth clenched, she squeezed the phone so tightly it might shatter at any second.
“Our divorce. I’m going to have to take further steps if you won’t cooperate. I want to do this amicably. But…”
“Do what you have to do, Gary. Goodbye.” She slammed the phone onto the countertop, the force cracking a spider-web across the display. “Fuck.”
Amanda fell face first onto the sofa. She wanted to cry, but the dam would not break, the reservoir dried up long ago. Akin to a sickness, if only she could vomit out all the bile and filth, maybe she would feel better. But she couldn’t. The disease continued to build and infect.
A vodka bottle, three/fourths full sat on the coffee table. Amanda wiggled her fingers around it. Not bothering with a glass, she brought it to her mouth and took a deep drink. The last of her stash, she would need to stop by and pick up more tomorrow. By the time only a few drops coated the bottom of the bottle, her eyelids grew heavy and drooped over her pupils. The thump of the bottle hitting the floor ushered in the dream—the same nightmare crawling into her sleep every night for four long years.
* * *
She floated weightless near the river bottom as swaying stalks of milfoil tickled her bare back and legs. Cool water enveloped her with relaxation and ushered away aches both emotional and physical. Tiny fishes nibbled at her fingers and toes. Amanda giggled and waved her arms against a gentle current. A full moon shimmered, glossed beyond the water’s surface, and sent spears of light to gild her. She did not feel trapped, not then, but instead thought herself a mermaid, at home in this underwater world.
A bass, or perhaps brim, hovered near her head. Its little mouth opened and closed as if trying to speak. Mommy. Amanda stared at the fish, certain her imagination played tricks. And again…Mommy. Timid and weak, the voice did not emanate from her tiny friend, but from somewhere distant, outside the confines of this watery realm. Amanda knew that voice. She had heard it call to her a million times.
Tommy.
Amanda’s chest felt heavy, tension building inside her head. She needed air, needed to breathe…needed to find her son. She worked her legs beneath her and bounded off the river floor, catapulting herself toward a surface that appeared a hundred miles away. The moon, which filled the sky moments ago, shrank to an insignificant silver dot on a pitch-black background; the river plummeted into darkness. She thrashed at the water, pulling upward, seemingly no closer to the sweet night air. For hours, she struggled. Her muscles burned, her lungs forcing bubbles from her mouth and nose to ease pressure. As she broke the surface, gulping air, a scream…Mommy.
Amanda paddled frantically to the bank, dragging herself through the weeds and mud. She pushed to her feet, hands braced on her knees as frenzied pants racked her body. Her head darted this way and that, seeking the voice. Mommy… Mommy… Mommy… It echoed through the forest, originating from everywhere and nowhere. She tried to call out. The skin beneath her nose oozed down, the skin on her chin crawling up. The flesh met and mended together, sealing over her mouth. Only pitiful moans escaped.
Tommy’s voice again—through the forest, straight ahead. She ran, stumbling and tripping over roots and rocks. Amidst the trees, the trail narrowed to a concave, funneling her onward, groans and malicious growls swelled around her as countless crimson eyes opened on the trees’ trunks. Branches like elongated arms with vicious claws twisted onto their ends reached down, biting deep into the flesh of her forearms, seizing her. A root pushed up from the forest floor to entangle her right ankle. Another sprang up to grasp the left. Hoisted into the air in a crucified pose, Amanda writhed in panic against her captors. Tendons stretched and bones popped as the malevolent trees sought to tear her apart.
Mommy, please help me. I’m scared.
A mother’s fury pumped strength into her arms and legs. She gave a ferocious tug and a branch broke at its base with a loud snap. Enraged howls of pain thundered from the forest’s denizens. Amanda clutched the limb holding her left arm, enclosed her hand around one of its fingers and yanked upward. Crack. Another bellow. The roots released her and slithered away from the trail. Branches flew out of the darkness, from left and right, from high and low. She slapped them aside or wrenched them free, pushing ever on. A thousand slashes and nicks gouged her flesh, blood flowing down her body to cover her in sticky wet.
Tommy’s voice, closer now, grew in volume and in terror. As she made the edge of the forest, the landscape changed—a world come alive on canvas, hued in scarlet and jade. Stars of deep green melted in the sky and rained down to an earth that drank them greedily. A charming yellow house on a hill stood in the center of the painting. She knew this place. Her home.
Tommy, in the same clothes he wore the day he died, waited in the front yard surrounded by his bike, balls, and toys. The picture would have been beautiful if not for the horror etched on her son’s face. He turned and pointed at a tarry substance creeping across the ground toward him. Even from the distance, Amanda smelled the rank filth emanating from the gelatinous ooze. She retched and vomited. Filled with writhing worms and maggots, the bile hit the ground at her feet and burrowed into the dirt. Loathing and nausea took her to her knees.
Colors of every spectrum, oily and dense, ran together from earth and sky in bro
ad brushstrokes, merging into black. Amanda crawled, trembling fingers digging down to drag her on. Some hidden reserve of will imbued her determination, but lacked the potency to animate her body. No force, natural or otherworldly, could strengthen arms and legs gone elastic and useless. She could only stare, helpless, at the horror ripping precious innocence from her life.
The thing rose up behind her son and hovered there, seeming to savor the delicious cruelty. Amanda shrieked against a mouth-sewn shut, a high-pitched wailing filling her head. Droplets, thick and moist, trickled from her ears.
She wanted to wake.
Only a dream. It’s just a dream. Oh please God, let me wake up.
Like the close of a tragedy, the black curtain fell, engulfing Tommy. It squeezed in around him, creating a slimed, ebony statue—indentions at the nose and mouth, mangled protrusions at his limbs. And her son was gone. The fear in his eyes moments before the horror descended fueled her hands to rip the skin from her face. With her mouth free, her palms slick with blood, she screamed and screamed.
* * *
Amanda woke with a parade of shit minions dancing on her tongue and a gong shattering the gray matter of her brain. She squinted against a beam of sunlight peeking through the slit in the curtains and cursed the bastard for dead. The precious elixir needed to reanimate her from this corpse-like state lay on the floor near a hand she dimly recognized as her own. Summoning what little strength she could muster, Amanda wrapped numb fingers around the neck of the bottle, rolled onto her back, and turned it up. Not a single drop remained.
October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller Page 6
