The Red Scream

by Mary Willis Walker

  Addie shivered in the wind. “Yes, I believe it is.” She reached into her bag, pulled out a thin pink sweater, and threw it over her shoulders.

  As they walked down the steps, one of the assistant wardens approached them and said to Addie, “Sister, if you’d like, I’ll drive around the side with you and load everything up for you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Jim Bob. That surely would be a help.” She was struggling to put her arms into the sweater sleeves.

  As he reached around to hold it for her, the assistant warden asked, “Sister Addie, don’t the idea of it, you know, driving back like that, don’t it give you a creepy feeling?”

  Addie laughed. “No. I wasn’t afraid of him while he was alive and I’m certainly not afraid of him now.” She turned to Molly. “Maybe we can finish our talk tomorrow over the phone. I am just plumb beat right now.”

  “Yes, of course. You’ve been here all day,” Molly said, feeling the hair on the back of her neck prickle. “Addie, what’s happening with Louie’s body?”

  Addie was looking down, trying to button the little pearl buttons on the sweater. “Well, his sisters didn’t want anything to do with him, dead or alive. And there’s no one else. So we’re going to bury him at our church. Nice little cemetery overlooking Lake Waco.”

  “That’s what they’re going to load up?”

  “That, and some boxes. I have a station wagon. Fortunately.” She chuckled. “I don’t know what I’d do if I still had my little Volkswagen bug.”

  Molly was stunned. Almost too stunned to register the story possibilities. “Do they … put him in a box, or what?”

  “No box. There’s no budget for it. They wrapped him in a sheet I brought and my afghan. It turned out to be finished enough.”

  “What will you do when you get back to Waco?” Molly asked.

  “Drop him off at the funeral home there. It was too costly for them to come here to pick him up and since I’m making the drive and have room, well, it’s the sensible thing.” She laughed again. “Gives me some company on the way home.”

  “Well,” Molly said, “drive safe.” She was hit suddenly with the image of Addie being stopped by a highway patrolman who would peer into the back of the car and see Louie wrapped in the pink and brown afghan. It struck her so funny that she began to laugh.

  But once she had started laughing, she couldn’t stop. She stood on the sidewalk and laughed, helpless, until tears ran down her cheeks. She tried to stop, tried to take a deep breath and control it. But she just could not stop. She was caught in the ridiculousness of it all. As she raised a sleeve to blot her cheeks, she caught a glimpse of the warden looking alarmed and Sister Addie looking worried. Still she could not stop.

  Sister Addie reached out and put her arms around her. She hugged her in close and they stood together like that on the sidewalk, while Molly laughed and the tears ran down her cheeks. Finally, worn out, Molly came to a gasping stop. She stepped back out of Addie’s embrace, embarrassed by her loss of control, and used her sleeve to blot her wet face.

  “Sorry,” Molly said, pushing her hair back. “I don’t know what happened. All of a sudden it all just seemed so ridiculous.”

  Addie smiled up at her. “Well, it is that. Were you thinking of me being stopped on the highway with Louie in the back?”

  Molly let out a hiccup. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “It is a funny image, me trying to explain it to the highway patrol. Are you going to be all right driving home or would you like to come along with me and Louie? We could put you on a bus to Austin in the morning.”

  “No. Thanks.” Molly rummaged in her bag for some Kleenex. She hiccuped again. “I’m fine. I need to get back.”

  “Yes. Maybe you’d like to come to the service for Louie on Thursday.”

  “No. I don’t think so. Thanks, but I …” She didn’t know how to finish it.

  “It’s not your brand of worship,” Addie said.

  Molly nodded.

  They said their good-byes and Addie walked off across the street with the assistant warden. Molly headed along the sidewalk toward the town square.

  After she had walked half a block, she heard steps behind her and turned to look. Frank Purcell was barreling down on her, his Stetson low on his forehead, his boots hitting the sidewalk hard. “Mrs. Cates,” he called, “where are you parked?”

  She looked back to the prison where Stan Heffernan and a few reporters were crossing the street and she called out in her loudest, most carrying voice, “Good night, Stan!” She turned and waved. Stan, looking a little puzzled at her enthusiasm, waved back at her.

  At least, she thought, they have seen this man with me and he knows it. If he has any plans for me, that should nip them in the bud. “I’m parked on the square, across from the courthouse,” she told Purcell.

  He fell into step with her. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “Nice and safe with all the sheriff’s men around there.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. I had a bad experience in Fort Worth on Saturday.” She patted her cheek. “You remember when I came by the house. It made me a little cautious.”

  “I’d say, Mrs. Cates, you are one of the least cautious people I’ve run across.”

  She looked sideways at him. “I am?”

  He smiled and it was a pleasant smile although she couldn’t see if it reached his eyes because they were hidden in the shadow of his hat brim. “You are. That scene back there in the visitors’ lounge.” He tisked. “Now everyone knows you don’t believe Louie was guilty and it’s well known that you are not one to give up a bone you’re chewing on. That combination plate might make you a target.”

  Molly opened her eyes wide, pretending she was young and innocent. “You think so?”

  He smiled again. “That’s why I want to get you safely inside your truck and headed home. My boss’s orders actually.”

  “Well, I’m obliged. To you and to Charlie.”

  They passed the bus station and Molly could see the top of the courthouse. She felt the impulse to ask him about feeding information to Louie Bronk eleven years ago. It would be in keeping with her indiscretions of the evening and she really wanted to see his reaction. But she fought down the impulse. Another time.

  “How’s Charlie doing?” she asked instead.

  “Poorly. Very poorly.”

  “Sorry to hear that.” She really meant it. Charlie had his hand in lots of the subterfuge going on here. But he was no killer, she was certain.

  When they reached her truck, she had her keys out and ready. “Thanks for the company,” she said. She unlocked the door and climbed in. Just as she was about to close it, Frank moved in and took hold of the door handle. Alarmed, she started the engine, put her hand on the gearshift, and looked down into his face.

  He quickly lifted his hands, showing her his palms. “Don’t shoot,” he said with a smile. “I just wanted to ask you something.” The smile faded. “Do you have enough fuel to make it all the way home without stopping?”

  She nodded.

  “Then do it, please. Lock your door and don’t stop.”

  “Now why should I do that?” she asked.

  He sighed. “I could say it’s just that Mr. Bronk there, the late Mr. Bronk, reminds me of the dangers a lady faces out on the highway.”

  “You could say that, but I wish you’d tell me the real reason.”

  He looked down at the toes of his boots, then back up at Molly. “You and me both know there’s a killer, a living one, out there.” He gestured with his head toward the road in front of her. “Ain’t that enough?”

  “Your boss knows who that killer is,” Molly said. “You probably do, too.”

  He tilted his head down so his face was hidden by his hat brim. “Do like I said and have a safe trip,” he said.

  “Well, put your mind to rest, Mr. Purcell. That’s exactly what I intend to do.” She took hold of the door handle, slammed it shut, and locked it.

  Molly waited until
he stepped up on the sidewalk before she drove off.

  She let out a long breath. It was done. Now she could go home and sleep, which was the only thing in the world she wanted. She turned on the heater, first time that year, and headed north toward Route 30. If she could do seventy part of the way, she might get home by three-thirty. There wouldn’t be any radar traps to worry about this time of night.

  As she was leaving the city limits just before the turnoff for the highway she saw some movement ahead at the side of the road. She looked again. Yes, at the outer range of her headlights something was moving. She slowed down and checked to see if her doors were locked. Damn. Frank Purcell certainly had gotten to her.

  As she got closer her headlights caught a blur of white on the shoulder of the road. A figure rose and moved onto the road. It was a woman, wearing a skirt, a long brown skirt and a white shirt. She raised her hands and stumbled into the middle where Molly’s lights exposed her.

  Molly caught her breath. It was Alison McFarland. Her hair was a wild mess and she had a smear of blood under her nose. She was cradling one arm up against her body with the other. Molly looked in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was behind her. The road was clear. She slowed. Other than the girl, the road was deserted. On one side, nothing but a barbed-wire fence and open fields; on the other, the same thing. No place for anyone to be hiding; the girl was alone. And in trouble.

  Molly reached for her phone to call for help. She picked it up and saw in the display window the red letters “No Svc.” Damn. She was out of the service range of her system. She slammed it down.

  In the road, Alison started to limp toward the truck, tripped, and fell to her knees.

  Molly braked. Alison tried to rise from her knees. Molly could hear her crying now. She opened the door and looked both ways before getting out.

  “Oh, Mrs. Cates.” Alison was weeping so she could barely get the words out. “It’s you. Thank God. Mark threw me out of the car. My car,” she wailed. “I think my elbow might be broken. I landed on it. Can you drive me to a hospital?”

  Molly put an arm around the girl’s narrow waist. Alison looked ghastly. Her skirt was torn. Her blouse had mud stains and a few bright red blood drips. Tears were mixing with the blood which was seeping from her nose. Molly supported her to the passenger side of the truck, but found the door locked when she tried to open it.

  “Hold on to the handle. Here,” Molly said. “I’ll go around and open it.”

  “Hurry,” Alison gasped. “I’m afraid he might come back. Please hurry.”

  Molly ran around, hit the automatic lock, and hurried back around to help the girl in. Alison let out a little squeal of pain when she brushed her arm against the door getting in. “Okay,” Molly said. “I’m sure there’s a hospital right in Huntsville. We’ll find it. Hold on.” She closed the door, ran around, and got in. The first thing she did was hit the door locker. The engine was still running, so Molly shifted and turned the wheel sharply and drove forward onto the shoulder. As she was shifting into reverse and looking behind her, she felt it—cold metal digging into her neck, right under the jawbone.

  It was a surprise so total she felt the blood in her veins stop flowing.

  chapter 26

  A monster, a beast,

  A devil at least.

  No human being,

  They’re all agreeing.

  He has taken life

  Shed blood with his knife.

  We’ll show him his error.

  Make him taste the terror.

  Suck out his last breath.

  We’ll put him to death.

  LOUIE BRONK

  Death Row, Ellis I Unit,

  Huntsville, Texas

  In the coolest voice Molly had ever heard, as if she were giving a stranger directions to the nearest service station, Alison McFarland said, “We’re going to continue on the way you were going, for one mile. Then you take 19 west. If you take a hand off that wheel for anything, I will shoot—like this.” She pressed the gun under Molly’s jawbone and jabbed upward to illustrate. “Up here, into your head. It’s already cocked. The smallest twitch of my finger will fire it.” All this was spoken in a drone. No emotion.

  Too shocked for real fear, Molly drove the mile in silence.

  “Here’s the turn,” Alison said, “19 west. Take it.”

  Molly made the right turn onto the dark two-lane road. Her hands clenched the wheel. She struggled to regulate her breathing. Get calm. Think straight.

  For two miles they drove in silence, without passing another car. Beyond the strip of road illuminated in her headlights lay total blackness. If she was going to die out here in the dark, at least she wanted some answers first. “Where are we heading, Alison?”

  “Lake Livingston, a place called Point Blank,” Alison said. “In six more miles we come to the turnoff. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you.”

  “What would I have to worry about?”

  “That’s right. Just drive.”

  Molly kept her hands on the wheel and held the truck steady. She tried her daddy’s old calming trick—listening to her own breathing. Breathe out, breathe in. She heard it deep inside—in, out, in, out. But some other noise intruded itself—a tiny almost imperceptible noise, like … like a mouse gnawing. Molly’s eyes flicked sideways. It was Alison. Chewing. She was turned toward Molly, pressing the gun against Molly’s neck with her right hand and chewing furiously on her left thumb.

  As though a shot of painkiller had suddenly worn off, Molly felt the muzzle bruising her skin and, worse, the pressure of hot panic simmering in her chest. Her nerves couldn’t take any more silence, or gnawing. “Bad habit,” she said.

  “What would you know about anything?” Alison snapped.

  “Good point,” Molly said. “But I sure would like to know.” She waited to see if Alison would reply, but there was only silence. “Mark didn’t kick you out of the car.”

  “Of course not. He wouldn’t have the balls. I forced a big fight. It wasn’t hard since he’s so mad about me moving back home to be with Daddy. I said I was going to take the bus back. And I will take the bus back.” She pressed harder with the gun. “There’s one leaving Huntsville in two hours.”

  “Two hours,” Molly said. Whatever Alison was planning to do, she thought she could do it and get back to Huntsville in two hours. Molly began to let up on the accelerator, very gradually. Slower was better here. Alison didn’t seem to notice.

  Only the hum of the engine and the whir of the heater broke the silence inside the cab.

  “Sure is one dark, lonely stretch of road.” Molly tried to glance sideways without moving her head.

  There was no response.

  “How did you feel tonight, Alison, when you saw Louie die? Any misgivings?”

  A long exhale of disgust was the only response.

  “You might as well tell me the story,” Molly said. “It will keep me calm.”

  There was only silence.

  “Well,” Molly said, trying to keep her voice low, “I’ll start it off. I think that first one was an accident. Your mother must have been a difficult woman to have as a mother, neglectful and self-absorbed. But what happened was really more an accident than anything else, wasn’t it?”

  The only response was a resumption of the gnawing sound. Molly felt her palms getting slick on the steering wheel. She wanted to wipe them off, but remembered Alison’s warning and believed it. She gripped the wheel tighter.

  “Let me see how close I can get.” Molly kept her eyes straight ahead, on the dark ribbon of road. “You wanted to go with the boys that morning. Poaching rabbits. But they wouldn’t let you. So you went out to shoot targets. When you got back to the house you wondered where your mother was. You looked for her. Felt a little panicky at being alone. She wasn’t in the house or the garden, so you decided to see if her car was in the garage. The door was closed, so you poked your head in the side door. It was dark inside and you must have been scared when you saw
them there together, confused. I can imagine how upsetting that would be.”

  Molly tried to see her out of the corner of her eye but in the dark she could make out only the shape of the bent head. Alison was chewing on her finger again, as if she were intent on consuming herself. Like those animals that gnaw their legs off when they get caught in a trap.

  “You had your gun with you, one of those little .22 rifles kids often learn to shoot with. And in a moment of panic you shot. It hit her in the back and killed her. An impulse. An accident. Am I close, Alison?”

  There was no response. This time Molly kept silent, too.

  Finally Alison spoke. “She knew I hated being left alone but she did it all the time. That’s why Daddy got David to come live with us, because she was always going off somewhere. Then Stuart called. From Mark’s house. He was upset, crying so hard he could barely talk. He said he wanted to talk to her. I called and called and looked out in the garden, but I couldn’t find her. Stu told me what had happened. Mark had just told him that Mom was doing all these dirty things with David. Mark said he’d watched them. He told Stu all these disgusting details and Stuart told them to me over the phone. I didn’t believe people I knew would do things like that. Stu said he was coming home to ask her about it.”

  Alison kept the gun muzzle pressed hard against Molly’s neck. “After he hung up, I thought about looking in the garage to see if her car was there. They didn’t even notice me. They were half undressed and making all these weird noises. I didn’t know if he was hurting her or she was hurting him, or what. It was dark. I don’t know how, but the shot got her in the back. Just that one shot. When David backed away, and she dropped to the floor, it was a moment so … well there was never anything like it. One second, and she was dead. All it took was a tiny movement of my finger. I hadn’t even willed it. Not really.

  “It was so easy. That was the thing. I think about it all the time, how easy it was. Like tonight. People consider it this huge dramatic thing, but really it’s easier than switching a light off.”